Detective Rease and the Adventure of the Double Identity
When I arrived in San Franciscolt to conduct a simple interview, I ended up getting more than what I bargained for. I met Detective Rease, who is, without a doubt, the oddest pony that I have yet to meet. I have written articles on many individuals but his stands out in my mind, if not for the singularly curious affair that the two of us got swept into. And yet, said series of events, in addition to being an excellent study on the intricacies of pony society, highlighted Rease in a way which, I realize, a simple interview would never have shown.
Detective Rease is, of course, a household name today, due in no small part to his capture of the famous thief, Redley. I had encountered Rease before then but it was that capture which drove me to seek him out.
Thus, I stood before his door. His apartment sat amongst the row of low, flat-topped buildings which comprised Cooking Street in San Franciscolt, sandwiched between a bank and a law firm.
What looked like an older stallion, dressed in a poofy coat, brushed past me before I could even knock at the door. I reeled back with annoyance but said nothing, especially as he pushed his way into the doorway. I frowned, feeling uneasy about being in the same building as one so rude. Nonetheless, I cleared him from my mind and trotted inside.
Two flights of stairs later, I came face-to-face with a polished wooden door. A small plaque hung right beside the doorframe bearing the words Rease, Consulting Detective in small but ornate letters. Behind me sat a small couch, to which I wondered if he really used the hallway as a waiting area. Nonetheless, I grabbed the brass knocker and rapped it.
I heard shuffling inside, a few thumps here and there, possibly even a crash. Eventually, the door swung open. A stallion, diminutive in size and white as a sheet, glanced back at me. He twitched in recognition and then lapsed into a most indifferent frown. “Salutations,” he said, scratching his spiky blue mane, “how may I help you?”
I smiled back. “Hullo. Are you the detective Rease?”
“I am. Do come in and find a seat and tell me what has brought you here.”
I entered his room. Piles of books dominated one table and various containers from used but uncleaned chemistry sets lay scattered over various other tables. An armchair in the back corner sat perpetually occupied by a stack of books and a small frame-mirror. What parts of the floor that were uncovered were perfectly swept, providing an ample (but only barely) pathway.
And then I noticed the coat from earlier dangling off a hat-rack and frowned. “Is… Were you the stallion that passed me just now?” I asked.
“I must apologize,” he said, chuckling. “I was hot on the scent of a rogue, to which today’s events netted a capture. That is why I looked as such. You must not tell anypony about that disguise.”
Which, my apologies for telling everypony of it now.
I undid my saddlebag and set that aside, taking a seat on one of the floor cushions. He strode around the room, allowing me a good glimpse of his green puzzle piece of a cutie mark. In short order, he took the opposite seat. I noticed him eying me with a certain intensity, as if trying to read my mind. I knew that wasn’t possible. Not for an earth pony, at least.
“Well, first off,” I began, “my name is Parchment Pusher. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Rease.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
I hesitated, allowing an awkward silence to pass. While I had heard of him, I didn’t expect it to be so easy to get his attention. I figured that I should get straight to business; “I’ll be brief as possible. You see, I have read a little bit about you in the paper.”
His features lit up. “Ah, you have read of Redley.”
“That scene in the courtyard—”
“Where there was a light that engulfed us, yes.” He waved his hoof dismissively. “That is irrelevant now.”
“Indeed, it isn’t what I came here for. I’m actually interested in writing about how you work.”
“How I work?”
“Yes.”
It was only at this point that he cupped his hooves across his mouth, humming thoughtfully. I hadn’t even imagined that such a request would have started him. “I see. It isn’t often that I have ponies come to me on inquiries about my methods,” he mumbled. “...You have come by train, I perceive.”
The first words I wanted to reply with scurried back down my throat. “H-h-how did you figure that?” I stammered after a few moments.
“The same way I figured that your previous documentative writing was about a carpenter in Hoofington earlier today.”
I reeled back in my seat, gasping in surprise. I had a vague knowledge of his propensity for these things but I could not believe it.
“That is right! But…” I licked my lips like a hungry wolf and leaned forward challengingly. “There is no way you could have known that.”
Rease, with a twinkle in his eye, smirked. “There is, actually. And by the time this conversation is over, you too will see to it as astronomically simple.”
I snorted. “I should like to see it.”
He shifted into his cushion and cleared his throat. “The thoughts ran through my head so quickly that I arrived at each of those conclusions before really being aware that I had arrived. I first noticed the depressions in your coat, how your tail is more frazzled than your mane. That alone told me that you had been sitting for some time.” He then pointed at my saddlebag. “I then noticed the ticket stub sticking out of your front pocket. I could not see any of the writing on it, but I do know that that particular type of paper is used by the Equestrian Rail Line. It also takes the exact dimensions of a train ticket.
“The carpentry was also fairly obvious due to the specks of wood-dust still scattered about you. You have, thus, been around a good deal of wood today.” He then pointed at my face. “The stretch marks and depressions from where protective goggles have been pressed against your face sealed it for me. Clearly, carpentry work.
“But you yourself are not a carpenter,” he said, leaning forward. He pointed at my flank. “Your cutie mark appears like a written paper. Now, you must understand that cutie marks are indicative but never decisive. You appear like the writer type who has come to interview me today. You are a documenter, and you wrote a piece on carpentry work today.
“Placing all of that in Hoofington was a bit more daring.” He paused to give a hearty chuckle. “The train station here is a covered place which traps soot in the air underneath, of which you are coated with a thin layer of right now. The bits of wood on you have also been coated, thus placing your carpentry work before your arrival in the station today. This being a business trip and by your pre-dinner breath, I then surmised that you came straight here from the station. Incidentally, it is now 6:10 in the evening. It is at least a twenty minute’s walk between here and the station, more if you don’t know where you are going. That should place you on a 5:40 train arrival, which,” he said, waving his hoof at me, “just so happens to be the train arrival from Hoofington.
“I then told you of my thoughts and you were astonished,” he finished with a smug smile.
I clapped in response. “I must eat my own words! It’s as you say, ‘astronomically simple!’”
He leaned back on his cushion, “The science of induction is one of the most useful of techniques in my line of work. It allows me to create new information based on the combination of pre-existing premises; like the fact that A: you left the train station at 5:40 and B: the train from Hoofington usually arrives at 5:40.”
The reasoning made sense to me, and it was at that moment that I had my first glimpse as to what he was about. How he had boiled down details I would have never given a second thought to into a parade of tantalizing conclusions. I wanted—neigh, needed to see more.
Rease continued onwards, “One would be surprised at the information that a pony can acquire simply with observation and induction. It allows me to figure out in a second what might take you several seconds just to explain.”
“And you use this in your work?”
“Precisely. You would do well to learn observation and induction for yourself. Why, I believe that everypony should learn it. The world would be a better place for it.”
I nodded. “Well then,” I said, “tell me more about your work. Perhaps you could tell me all about your experience with Redley.”
Rease’s muzzle twitched and he shook his head. “I could recount it to you. I could recount any number of cases to you. However, I’m of the mind that the things you get out of it would be only the things which I tell you.”
“Ah, yes…” I said, sighing. “It would be much better if I could see you in action. Perhaps if I could tag along on a case, perhaps.”
“One would need to exist, to begin with,” he replied.
My heart sank. “That is certainly correct.”
“Perhaps, if you are lucky. ...Speak of the devil, that might be one now.”
There had been a knock at the door as he spoke and the both of us swiveled toward it at once. Rease stood up, opened the door, and showed the visitor in.
The mare was a tall, sky blue pegasus with a long, nearly flowing mane of the same color, sporting a single snowflake for a cutie mark. Being as well-traveled as I was, I had never seen a pony so fidgety or, with the way her gaze wandered, distracted. The bags under her eyes certainly did not help her image.
Rease regarded this with a largely nonchalant expression. “Please, do take a seat. You appear to be quite taxed and I think a moment of rest would do you some good.”
The mare stumbled about for ten or twenty seconds before finding herself a spot. “I am terribly sorry sir,” she said with a rough and guttural voice, “but I come to you at a most troubling time. I’ve nearly lost all of my wits with this—” she paused, noticing me for the first time, and frowned. “ ...I can see that you are currently busy with somepony else.”
Rease’s reply was partly to my astonishment; “That isn’t the case at all. This is Parchment Pusher, he is here to study my methods. You need not worry about his presence. Do pray tell, what sort of incident might have brought you here in such a manner?”
“Well, my name is Blizzard Frost and I come from northern Baltimare,” she said, pausing to take a deep breath. “I am a dealer in all things cold, ranging from snow to iced beverages to ice sculptures.”
“But master of none.”
“Exactly. And in my time in those various jobs, I’ve met quite a few ponies, Mister Rease.” She paused to take another deep breath. “I’m fairly involved in our little community so I know to a good degree what all the happenings are.”
She took yet another deep breath between her sentences, and at that point I chose to tune those out in order to better focus on her narrative.
“There are three figures in our community that stand out, though, and it is on their behalf that I stand before you today. The most prominent ponies in our community are, without a doubt, the Brush sisters. They are each unicorns, and all of them quite are involved in things whenever they are not working. Each of them is highly regarded. As their name suggests, they are brush makers, but they make other artistic tools as well.
“The first of them is Magenta Brush. She is a lover of music. She often finds and catalyzes conversation about the topic. She is very acute to sounds; it’s said she can pick apart different sounds and tell you about them. I think it’s her that organizes a lot of the musical get-togethers, whether it’s a club meeting or getting ponies to attend a concert together. She can’t play any instruments, mind you, nor do I think she would, as she prefers to listen. She does have a spell that can make or change a sound, though, so she has that for creation.
“The second is Olive Brush. She’s more of a visual mare and, if anything, she is the art lover of the three. She can pay the most attention to detail when it comes to how something looks. She is more of the critic, giving advice on things like fashion and design. She’ll even show you what something could look like; she has a spell similar to Magenta’s. Her projections are so well-done that you can hardly tell that her images are false.
“The third is Primrose Brush, and it is for her that I came for you today. I’d describe her as the real socialite, the go-to pony for all things conversation. She always has the right things to say, knows who to say it to, and, really, a gathering is not the same if she isn’t in it. I would dare say that she is, indeed, the life of our community. She also has a spell of her own; she can telepathically communicate with another pony. It is a one-way telepathy; she can transmit but not receive.
“And those are the Brush sisters. Or, at least, that’s how they used to be.”
Rease, who had been listening with the utmost attentiveness with his hooves shut together over his mouth, perked up at this point (a motion that I no doubt duplicated myself).
He leaned forwards. “Oh, do tell?”
“Well, I’ve noticed this more recently, if anything, but they seem to—all of them—be totally different. Magenta and Olive Brush, the both of them have started appearing at their events and gatherings less and less recently, and whenever they did make it, they seemed slightly taxed. They shook it off each time and went about their duties, however, but that has been sticking to me. The three sisters seem to be less out and about these days. It’s as if they’ve... become a little more reserved, even in terms of their magic use.”
Blizzard crossed her forelegs, furrowing her brow. “But who really has me worried is Primrose. She’s the one that has really changed the most. You see, I told you that she had nearly perfect conversational skills. Well, she has lost some of those skills, and it’s a bit noticeable. Not too much, mind you, as she’s still fairly fun to be around, but the errors are still plain.”
Blizzard’s muzzle twitched in thought. “In the way things used to be, Primrose never had to think hard about what she had to say, and when she said it she never stuttered. She knew what she wanted to say every time, and she knew how to say it as well. However, nowadays she pauses and stutters—and yes, I realize that by itself isn’t very damning, and it’s not really the issue.” She shrugged. “I just thought I should mention it.
“I have also noticed that she no longer uses her telepathy, and I know she used to use that quite a bit whenever the situation called for it. That is something that is fairly baffling to me, for why won’t she use it?”
“She hasn’t given any reasons why?” Rease suddenly interjected.
“She avoids the question.” She shrugged again. “I don’t fathom it any, as she didn’t have a problem with using it before, nor did anypony else, so why should she suddenly choose to stop?”
“Interesting, this entire change in behavior. Do continue with your narrative.”
The mare closed her eyes in thought. “And I do realize that those symptoms are similar to that of her sisters, but I thought I should be a little more detailed as to her.
“The bigger thing is that she doesn’t have the memory that she used to. And I’m not talking about memory loss. That’s not exactly what it is. She will remember things at one moment, then forget them completely later, and then remember them vividly again. It’s…” she paused, nodding about, “an in-and-out thing. I recall this dual incident fairly vividly that perfectly illustrates this.
“The first of the two had been at this dinner party my fiancé had put on for his friends and relatives. The party itself was well attended, and if anything was slightly more like a gala. Either way, I found Primrose Brush—of course she was there—with some other mares whose names escape me at the moment. Anyway, we started talking about the recent J. Stard novel.”
Interestingly enough, the detective’s muzzle curved into a smile at that, which I found curious. I figured he might simply be a fan.
“‘Shining Sky!’ she exclaimed, “I’ve read it at least twice already! It’s quite good!’
“‘Excellent!’ I said back, ‘I thought you should be on top of it.’ And then we started discussing some of the finer points of the book.”
“This Primrose Brush has good tastes,” Rease spoke, chuckling. “Shining Sky was one of his better works. It contained some very singular events.”
“I have yet to read it,” I interjected before they could talk about the book itself.
“That pretty much decides it. Ah well, it is of no consequence,” Blizzard said, grinning. She then turned back to Rease. “I assure you our discussion on the plot points was quite detailed, Mister Rease. Eventually, that topic reached its conclusion. ‘So Prim,’ I then say, ‘Silent Sign tells me about this new restaurant. He wanted to thank you for recommending it to him.’
“She had a confused look on her face in that moment, Mister Rease, before she replied, ‘Oh, ah, yes. That place. I go to a lot of places, so it’s slipped my mind.’
“‘It’s not a problem,’ I said, and I decided not to go after that topic further for the moment. We then went on to other things before she was finally pulled away by other friends of hers.”
Blizzard straightened up in her seat, taking a moment to take in a long and deep breath. “It was the next morning when I saw her again, and I had thoughts about the book during the night, to which I went to her when I saw her. And I told her about them.
“‘Oh...’ she said, ‘um, right. That. Now that you mention it, I can kind of see it now.’ She wasn’t quite comfortable with the words coming out of her mouth,” Blizzard said, shaking her head, “this I knew. She was tripping slightly, and I had the inclination to believe she didn’t actually know what I was talking about. You can also understand why I think the concept absurd.
“But then I said that I was going for breakfast. ‘Any recommendations?’ I ask her.
“She grinned from ear to ear. ‘I know just the one,’ she said. There is a neat little restaurant that I went to a few nights ago, ‘tis called the Mill Creek Diner. I will tell you like I told Silent Sign, a great place; food’s great, service is great. I think you might find them very good.’”
The detective nodded at this point, though he had no words to say.
The mare paused, closing her eyes in thought. “There’s one last thing that I think you would be interested in at least knowing, though this is far less tangible,” she said. She paused to take another one of her deep breaths. “You see, there are points here and there where I will talk with Primrose Brush, and she will seem like a different pony to me. She will look fairly identical and sound fairly identical, but I can tell that there is something different about her nearly every time I see her.
Blizzard tugged on the bits of mane hanging down the side of her body. “For example, I met her some place and she looked different to me. It might have been her hair, it might have been that her coat color seemed darker than usual, I do not know. In her defense, though, it could have been the lighting or the contrasts of the surrounding area.
“Another time I met her, I noticed something different was off.” Blizzard pulled on her mane even more. “As I was speaking with her, there was a certain quality about her voice that I just could not place. It was as she sounded different from before when she spoke. She would seem too high-pitched, or raspy. Again, in her defense, it could have been that there were other sounds going on at the time, or my ears were plugged, or her throat was sore.”
The detective shook his head, “You wouldn’t have brought such a thing up if it wasn’t recurring.”
Blizzard Frost jumped at his remark, and the color drained from her face for a few instants before it returned again. She lowered her head with a sigh, then she smiled. “You can read me like a book, Mister Detective. It is as you say, a recurring thing, and that’s the other half of my problem; it seems like this has all been going on for two years now.
“It all came to a head last night when Primrose noticed me fidgeting about. She asked me what was wrong, and such. And, normally, I just brush her off and say I’m okay. You can guess that last night went differently.”
Rease nodded, motioning for her to continue.
“‘You’re not the same mare I saw yesterday, Primrose,’ I said.
“Now,” Blizzard stroked her muzzle in thought, “I figured that such a comment might have, at most, merely confused her. Her reaction was, therefore, not one I expected; she paled. ‘Wha... what do you mean?’
“And I told her exactly as I have told you; that she looked or sounded different every time I met her. She listened to me with the utmost intent; which I think anypony would do. After I was done, she slowly shook her head, ‘You mustn’t think of such things, Blizzard, look at what it has done to you.’
“‘But Primrose, I—’
“She put a hoof to me in a sort of comfort, ‘It’d be best you forget about it,’ she said. I’m sure you are just tired. That’s all.’
“That’s really when I lost myself, Mister Rease. That her first thought was to deny it… I went home last night and I lost all of my sleep thinking about it. There hasn’t even been a moment passed when it’s not been in my head. And then I made the decision to come to you this morning and took the earliest train, and now you know everything that has brought me here.”
Rease was silent for many moments, his expression mostly unchanged from the look of concentration he had displayed on his face the whole time Blizzard Frost had relayed her story to us. It was only after about half-a-minute of thinking that he pulled himself upwards in his seat and stretched a little. “A most intriguing tale, certainly. I do have one question for you, Miss Frost.”
“Go ahead.”
“Is there anyone pony you can think of that might have some sort of grudge against the Brush sisters?”
“Grudge?” She blinked. “Oh... I think... if I remember correctly, Charmcaster isn’t friends with them. Not anymore, anyway. She’s also a unicorn, purple in color and adept at countless simple spells. She works as a small-time performer around town and helps with small-time magical problems. She’s quite good at what she does.
“It currently escapes me as to why Charmcaster might not be on good terms with them, so I’m afraid I’m of little use to you.”
The detective shook his head. “Do not worry about it, for memory is a fickle thing and I should hope not to rely on memory alone.” He hummed and stroked his muzzle. “If one thing is obvious, indications point to Charmcaster as having put some kind of spell over each of the three sisters, perhaps to hinder them in all of the areas they hold dear.”
Blizzard Frost jumped, “You think that’s what has happened?”
“It’s only one of the possibilities. It’ll only be a theory unless I can establish why, as nine times out of ten there is a singular event which would motivate her to torment them as such.”
“Oh, Celestia!”
“Egads!” I cried. “That is absolutely awful! What would drive a pony to do such a thing!?”
Rease held up a hoof and said, “Now hold a moment, I have not said that was the definitive answer. Like I said, it is only a theory, and one out of several that I have.” He shook his head. “You mustn’t jump to conclusions so hastily. I just find it a very likely possibility.
“Here is what I think I shall do,” he said, standing up. “Your case sounds intriguing, and I do believe I can make time to visit Baltimare tomorrow. Then I shall be able to see things for myself. And, hopefully, it should not take me too long to find an answer for you.”
“Oh, wonderful! Wonderful!” The mare jumped up, cheerfully clapping her hooves together. “Thank you very much, Detective Rease!”
“It is not a problem. After all, the case may prove deceptively singular. If anything,” he said, cracking a grin, “I should be the one thanking you. Nonetheless, do what you so will for the rest of the day, I shall arrive tomorrow before noon.”
“Okay, then, I will meanwhile return to Baltimare. I need to get some pictures for you, and a couple of addresses. I can have them for you when you arrive.”
“May the sun be with you,” Rease said.
The mare smiled widely and left without another word.
At this point, Rease turned his attention to me. “There’s one thing that you should know about me, Parchment Pusher, and that is I work to exercise my mind. I’ve done enough high-profile work already—that and a small share of inheritance—that I could retire post-haste and live comfortably for a long while. But I need problems, I need work.”
He trotted toward the window, parting the blinds just enough to watch the pegasus mare taking to the sky. “Her narrative has proven to be quite interesting, if mostly because of the fact that something so simple should cause her so much grief. I’ve the mind to think that there is something a little deeper going about. As such…” He left the window and turned back to me. “It should make a worthwhile addition to your documents. You should want, of course, to take the 8:30 to Baltimare with me tomorrow.”
“That will work for me,” I replied.
“Excellent. Then I would suggest you get some shut-eye.” He paused, glancing toward a nearby hall. “You... are free to stay the night if you like, I have a room that I can set up. You’ll want to be in tip-top shape for the story that is about to unfold.”
I spent much of that night tossing and turning, wondering just what I had gotten myself into. The mattress he supplied, meager at best, didn’t help that matter along. Eventually, however, I slept.
I woke up at 7:00 sharp to find the detective downstairs eating an undercooked batched of soy eggs and hay bacon. Aside from a brief glance for a “Good morning”, he had his nose pressed into the newspaper. I found my own dish, unsurprisingly, so-so. I guess it’s not his area of expertise. Soon after we left his residence and made our way to the train station, where I tried to see said soot in the air. I couldn’t find it. Nonetheless, we boarded the train to Baltimare, which promptly departed at 8:30 just as Rease had dictated
For a good while he was silent, simply gazing blankly out the window. I could tell, however, that he was in a fairly deep thought. As the countryside whizzed by at however speed we were going, as beautiful as Equestrian soil was, he didn’t even hazard a moment of fascination.
I attempted some idle conversation with him. “So... the Summer Sun Celebration is coming up soon. I think it is being held in Ponyville this year.”
Rease offered no acknowledgment other than an annoyed blink of the eyes.
“I’ve heard that it should be quite nice,” I added. “Supposedly, this is the thousandth year.”
Again, no response.
“Did you know that it alternates between some city or town in Equestria and Canterlot?” I said.
At that, Rease smiled, continuing his stare. “I have, in fact, not heard that before. But it is of no use or interest to me.”
I furrowed my brow and leaned across the seat. “…You don’t care?”
“Not in the slightest. I know now of this alternation and now… I shall do my best to forget it.”
I frowned. “…Forget it?”
“The mind is like a brain-attic, Parchment,” he replied. “There is only so much that you may keep up there. A fool will place anything up there, but the skilled will put only the things that he or she needs. The rules of which they dictate where the celebration is held mean nothing to me or my work. As such, I shall forget it.”
“The Summer Sun Celebration—”
“Is for something that is there every day,” he snapped. “Unless somepony is to prevent the sun from rising, I shall not bother myself with such a detail.”
I snorted, leaning back in my seat. “I suppose you are a joy at Hearth’s Warming,” I said.
“I do not partake in Hearth’s Warming. Its only potential use to me is the repulsion of windigos.”
I sat there, completely flabbergasted. But, in the end, I could not fault his reasoning. This was a stallion whose purpose in life was logic and had truly dedicated every fiber of his being to it.
Except for that small exchange, the train ride was uneventful. We eventually arrived in Baltimare before noon (exactly as he had predicted, yet again). We found Blizzard Frost waiting for us at the train station. The meeting wasn’t long; it mainly consisted of the two of them exchanging a few words, with her giving us the information we needed to tackle our lead.
As we walked through the streets of Baltimare (me with a sense of wonder and appreciation and him with an acute scan considering all the details), a question popped into my head. I decided to ask him, “So where is it that we will go first?”
“A key question, I suppose. We will find out more about the Brush sisters. After all, it is their curious actings—especially that of Primrose—that brought us here. Therefore, we should ascertain for ourselves exactly the problem surrounding them; the circumstances that they are plagued with. Only then will we be able to act accordingly.”
“We’re going to ignore Charmcaster, then.”
He nodded. “For now, at least. A grudge is a grudge, but it is not decisive.”
I thought about this line for a moment, and then gave my thoughts on what it meant, “I get what you are saying. You wanted to account for all possibilities, like if their problems were external.”
“Yes.”
“And that was why you asked if there were anypony that might not be on good terms with them.” I hummed in understanding. “Excellent, if I do say so myself, to see beforehoof if such a possibility might even be feasible.”
“The important thing is that we don’t jump to it. There’s still little that we know. Oh my.”
I stopped at this, just as he had, and looked to where he was looking, where we spotted two mares walking up the street. One of them was green-colored, with her mane a slightly darker shade than her coat. The other was yellow, with her mane (again) a darker shade than that of her coat. That was where the differences seemed to end, as the two of them each had a paintbrush for a cutie mark, each was just smaller than the average mare (though not by much). Their faces were well-rounded and clean, both radiant in the sunlight. They were like twins, and, in honesty, I would have pulled out some pickup lines had we not been on business (that, and I had an idea of who they were anyway).
Rease leaned in and whispered, “It seems we are in luck, we can kill two of our birds right here and now. How good are you at acting?”
“Versed enough.”
“Splendid. I am going to tell a small fib here.”
He turned towards them. “Excuse me! Hullo!” he called. “Forgive me for bothering you, but I am looking for the Brush Sisters. Would you happen to know them, by any chance?”
“We are them,” the yellow mare said with a raspy voice. “I am Primrose Brush, this is my sister Olive Brush.”
The green one bowed, “How do you do?”
Rease nodded, “A pleasure to meet the both of you, I am Rease.”
“And I am Parchment Pusher,” I said.
“It’s a pleasure, gentlecolts,” said Olive Brush, her voice as silk compared to her sister’s.
“You must forgive me,” Rease said again, “but I was informed that there were three sisters. I do believe there is another by the name of Magenta Brush?”
The yellow mare jumped for a moment, then nodded, “Uh, yes. She is elsewhere, currently.”
“That is not a problem,” he said. “Either way, I wanted to inquire about your artistic services. I was told that you make the finest brushes in eastern Equestria. Is that correct?”
The two sisters lit up. “Yes sir, we do!” Primrose replied. “We are very proud of our skills. Oh, whoever told you that?”
Rease turned to me, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Ah, it was a unicorn. She was a friend of yours, I would suppose.” His muzzle twitched. “Ah, what was her name again?”
I took that as a cue. “Oh, I remember. Her name was Charmcaster,” I said.
Here, the two sisters paused and exchanged uncertain glances. “Charmcaster? Her?”
Rease frowned. “You seem surprised. Why so?”
Primrose frowned. “Oh, it is nothing you need to worry about.”
“Oh, hmmm. I certainly hope not. It would be a true shame if she had a made an error in recommending you…”
Both sisters went red in the face. “No! Not at all!” Primrose replied. “We are happy to provide our services to anypony.”
“That is good. Because she was positively glowing about you. I imagine you would much like to hear all the praises that she sang. Those things that she said.”
Again, the sisters exchanged confused and uncertain glances. Rease, meanwhile, shot me a look.
“Well… we are, naturally,” Primrose said. “Perhaps you could tell us?”
“Well, I would be happy to. But, if we are to do business as well, then a short conversation just will not do.”
Primrose Brush nodded at this point, “Then I think, good sirs, that you wouldn’t mind terribly to walk with us?”
“Certainly,” Rease replied.
We all walked down the street as a single group. During that time, Rease told them some of the things which Charmcaster had “said”, although I recognized it as just what Blizzard Frost had told us about their personalities the day prior. He called Primrose a “most excellent conversationalist,” and then spoke of their brush-making skills in particular. He made several other comments, some of which were somewhat fabricated but otherwise believable. The sisters listened intently all the while, their expressions unchanging.
By the time they said the last words on the subject, we neared a site of construction, which subjected us to grating jackhammers and whistling sawblades.
“Ah, what about that,” I started.
Primrose Brush nodded in agreement, “Yep, that. You know, as much as I appreciate them building new things, sometimes, you know, those things hurt my ears. Goodness me.”
Olive Brush coughed. “Sometimes. Either way, it’s a change. A welcome one. They’re putting in a wellness center there.”
“I see,” I said.
“Anywho, you must forgive me for making a slight intrusion here,” Rease said, turning around. “But… I now have a question for you related to all of that.”
The three of us stopped, looking back at him.
Olive nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”
“You see, my work is very particular. I work as a detective, and one of my many talents which I put into that work is perception. And mine is astoundingly acute, so I see nearly everything.” He tilted his head. “And I… have perceived that you do not believe a word that I have said.”
The sisters frowned. “What makes you say that?” Primrose asked, narrowing her eyes.
“You have reacted with some degrees of surprise up until this point, but that is elementary. But then I noted those fidgets as certain words passed over my tongue, the glances that you would give each other after certain sentences. Every curl of your lips, every shift in your frame. I perceived it all and, to me, it was elementary.
“And, if I had to put a reason to it…” He leaned forward, staring into the pits of their souls, “this Charmcaster was lying through her teeth about the good things about you and you fully expected her to say ungood things.”
Both Primrose and Olive gasped sharply, turning their glances to each other. They turned back to Rease after some moments with their eyes will as wide as plates and nodded slowly.
“That is… incredibly observant of you, mister Rease,” Olive replied. “Or, I guess, Detective Rease. It is as you say.”
“Oh, the delicious discrepancy,” Rease said. “That is a mystery. I would be oh so remiss if I could not see into it. I insist… for the sake of my mental health, that you furnish me with some details behind this matter. Pray you do that for me?”
After a moment’s thought, Primrose nodded. “Very well. You were able to read us so well, after all. Actually, you might even prove useful.”
Rease straightened up. “Then, I suppose, tell me about her? What is your relationship with Charmcaster?”
Olive Brush decided to take the lead, “Well, to put it shortly... she’s a bit of a grump. To us, anyway. She can be pretty nice when you get to know her, but, honestly, we’ve hit a wall there.”
“I remember the way things used to be,” said Primrose, “as she was another one of our many friends. I do not know what happened, but I’ve noticed in the past two years that things... that things haven’t been so well between us Brushes and her. I cannot fathom what it might be.”
“So she wasn’t always the way she was to you?” I asked.
Primrose nodded. “Correct. That’s the peculiar part of it all is that we don’t really know why it all happened, but we’ve noticed it happen.” She paused. “She’s grown distant from us, and we’ve asked her, Mister Pusher, we have. She will not tell us what is wrong.”
“My experience,” Rease said, piping up at this moment, “would tell me this probably traces back to a singular event. Either that, or she may have already tried telling you what was wrong. I cannot be sure, so don’t peg me down just yet.”
The two sisters were silent at first, as if considering this, before Primrose nodded in acknowledgment, “I-I think I can understand that reasoning.”
“There is more that we would like to tell you,” Olive said, “but we cannot discuss it here, per say, as it’s more something that we need to show you.”
“I understand.”
“Perhaps you could come by our house later today, perhaps around six o’clock, if you know where it is,” Primrose said.
“We are aware of it.”
Olive frowned. “I won’t be there, for I’m booked for the rest of the day. I can tell Magenta all about it. She can explain better than I can, anyway.”
Rease nodded. “Then we shall see you at six o’clock sharp. Good day to you two.”
“Good day.”
We left the mares alone, walking some distance. I looked at him and spotted a sort of gleam in his eye.
It wasn’t long before he turned to me. “Have you ever been to Baltimare before?”
I shook my head.
“I think it shall do you considerable good to enjoy the city, for I’ve got a question or two to ask of a few ponies. It’s nothing big, mind you, so you’ll find it, at best, boring. I am sure. If anything, it will just be confirming what we should already know. You need not tag along for this particular series of inquiries.”
I figured he was going to ask for more information on the Brush Sisters from friends of theirs, so I decided at the time not to push it. “Then we should meet at their house at six, then.”
“Correct. Not a moment later. You have a good day, Parchment.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon sight-seeing, as I was sure the detective was going about his devices with the acutest attention. Close to six o’clock in the evening, I went to the house, a cozy and clean two-story cottage, and I knocked on the door. Who should answer it but the detective?
“Ah, good to see you have finally made it,” Rease said. “We’ve been waiting, you know.”
“Waiting!?” I cried.
“I got here ten minutes ago, but since you are just as involved in this train of events now and you being here is of some importance, we waited. But don’t fret about it; you are exactly on time. Come.”
He led me into the living room. Two mares occupied opposite ends of the couch. Primrose, I had met. The other one was the color red, and of nearly the same appearance and form as the other two sisters. I bowed, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Magenta, I am Parchment Pusher.”
“...Pleasure is mine,” the red mare said at just above a whisper, her expression unchanging.
“We did talk just a little bit, and from what they tell me, Parchment,” Rease began, “Primrose has an item of great importance that she might think Charmcaster is after.” He turned to the two mares, “And now that everypony is here, do pray tell us about it? I’m quite curious to know.”
Primrose, who oddly appeared a little rougher around the edges, nodded, “Yes, it’s time to show you both. Please, follow me.”
The both of us nodded, following the two sisters up the stairs. We took note of the several picture frames showing family and friends along the way. The stair opened up to a hallway, where we passed their cluttered supply-making studio. We entered Primrose’s room which lay opposite it. The room itself hosted an oaken bed and a few trinkets arranged in an orderly fashion on a few shelves. They showed us to the end of the room, where a large ovular mirror peered down at us, forcing us to overlook the neat varnish of its host dresser. A few other items, mostly common items like unsorted books, occupied the dresser.
I made note of a newspaper clipping with a date of two years prior that headlined about a Canis Minor loose in Baltimare. I instead focused on the centerpiece of the mantle; a small, well-lacquered jewelry box.
Primrose Brush opened the box with her magic. A large purple amulet sat nested inside. She did not take it out of the box; rather she held the box up for us to see. “This is mine,” she said, and there I noticed that the rasping was gone, “I’ve had it for about four years now, although I am trying to remember where I got it from… And it’s really well made, I tell you. I’ve never seen anything so pretty in my life. It’s really marvelous; the shine, the texture, it’s a perfect piece.”
Magenta cut in at that point, “But the thing is, I... we think that Charmcaster has taken a fancy to it. I remember one point where she asked us about it, and in honesty, I didn’t even know what she was talking about. It was peculiar, and I don’t remember the conversation at all, but I can tell you this, Mister Rease, that while many ponies know about my sister and the amulet, Charmcaster’s thoughts on it were peculiar.”
“We are afraid, Mister Rease,” Primrose said, stepping forward. “We’ve been afraid that Charmcaster may attempt to steal it from us. We’ve been for a while now. We don’t know what she is about, what her exact motives for it are, hayseed, we cannot fathom what she has to do with the amulet.”
Rease nodded. “I see. So you should like me to look into it then?”
“Please.” She swallowed. “This amulet is very important to me.”
After a moment he nodded, “We can probably do that, right, Parchment? Yes? Good, we shall want to get to it, as the night is young but that still we might make haste.” He turned to the two mares, “Thank you very much for sharing this with us.”
“A pleasure, Mister Detective. We must head out, there is a party tonight that we must attend.”
I held up a hoof, “You must excuse me, party?”
Magenta nodded, “Yes, a party. There will probably be quite a few ponies there.” She paused, wiping something from her eyes. “You are invited to come along if you see it fit.”
I questioningly looked to Rease but it seemed he was ahead of me. “I think we shall,” he said.
“Then I shall be a few moments,” Magenta said. “If you gentlecolts need not do anything beforehoof, you are more than welcome to wait downstairs.”
I looked at Primrose, “You are not going?”
The yellow mare shook her head, “No no, I’ve got some other obligations, actually! ...Olive will be there, I think, so you can talk to her.”
“She’ll be meeting us,” Magenta added.
“Very well then,” Rease said, nodding, “we’ll attend the party with you. Primrose, you have a good night.”
“I sure will,” Primrose Brush replied.
The two of us trotted down the stairs and took a seat on the couch. I turned to him and said, “Well, things turned out well.”
“That was much shorter than I thought it would be, but then again I cannot complain,” he said. “I’ve acquired a good deal of information.”
I nodded, “I think we are seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.”
The detective was silent for a few moments, and then his muzzle curled into a frown and he snorted. “Maybe someday you shall understand how it all works. On the contrary; we are even further into the rabbit’s hole than we were before.”
I looked over at him, my jaw hanging. “Oh?”
“Tell me, did you notice that newspaper clipping? Its existence is quite curious.”
I shuddered. “I did indeed notice it.”
“I do remember it as being an event of reportedly no more than a shocking encounter and of no other consequence. A Canis Minor wandered into this community. The residents managed to drive it off. Standard fare. But that clipping is something I must think about. Meanwhile,” he leaned in close, “you will do well to remember that detail.”
I nodded affirmatively.
“I do believe what we should do next is look a little bit into this Charmcaster character,” he said. “We should need to gather her motives and her reasons. At the very least we shall need to find out her history. That is where,” he said, turning to me,” I will need you.”
I held up a hoof at this point, as I wanted to attempt to guess where it might go, “I think I see. You want me to do the talking because I’m less prolific. Correct?”
“Precisely! That, and there are some other matters that I must look into. I want to talk to a couple of friends of theirs, to make sure all of our information is accurate. If anything, I am passing this off to you. I do believe that you might be able to acquire the crucial pieces to this puzzle of ours.”
“I’ll seek her out tonight then,” I replied, nodding. “If anything we know is correct then she should be at this ‘party’, I should call it. I’ll let you know what she says.”
“Very good then.”
It was at that point that Magenta descended. She had tied several braids into her mane, dolling those up into a few intricate patterns. She smiled demurely and I felt my heart skip a beat.
Rease merely hummed in acknowledgment but looked no less bored than he already was.
“Are you ready, gentlecolts?” Magenta asked.
The both of us nodded in response. We exited the house and made our way toward a banquet hall further down the road. The building stood well over the street and, after navigating a short maze of carpeted lobbies, we emerged into a large ballroom. Tiled floors mingled with marble walls. The entire backside was a giant window which looked out toward a little grove with a pond in the center. Dishes upon dishes ran down the length of curtained tables, which themselves ran down the length of the ballroom.
For a while, Rease and I simply mingled with the other guests (him less so than I), though I suppose that he was scouting (as was I to a certain extent) as to the identity of Charmcaster. As it turned out, she arrived later than we did, which was why neither Magenta nor Olive (whom we met a few minutes after our own arrival) was able to point her out to us on arrival. When we were able to discern Charmcaster, I quietly sauntered over in her general direction. Eventually, I came face to face with her.
“The hors d'oeuvres are fairly delectable today, really fancy,” I casually commented, popping a tomato grape into my mouth.
The mare stood a complete head shorter than I did. Her dark purple coat reminded me of the amulet I had seen in Primrose’s bedroom. Her light purple mane was long and neatly patterned, tied into knots all the way down the back. Certainly not like any thief I would imagine.
She chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yes yes, Salad Dressing has always been pretty good about it.”
“Oh, that is his name? I should probably give him regards, it’s been a while since I’ve tasted something that good.”
She asked the question that I was hoping she would ask, for it would make the whole process much easier; “You aren’t from around here, are you? I’ve never seen your face before.”
“No ma’am, I am not. I am Parchment Pusher. I’m visiting from Hoofington.”
The mare curtsied in return, “I’m Charmcaster, charm magic extraordinaire. The pleasure is mine,” she said, lighting her horn. A small firework popped next to her head, punctuating her smile.
I chuckled heartedly, “No no, it’s mine, I can assure you.”
“So then,” she asked, “what brings you to Baltimare? You said you were visiting, but any specific purpose?”
This was the crucial moment, as she was engaging me as to why I was here. After all, my whole purpose, if even for this visit (other than the documentation of Rease’s methods), was to serve his wishes. I knew then how to play it.
“Oh you see,” I said, “I’ve come here with a friend, who wanted to come to the city more than I. We arrived noontime today, actually. He’s around here somewhere...” I pretended to look around for him. In reality, I knew exactly where he was and what he was doing, and I could see him clearly from my position. “...Well, he might be in the facilities right now, but I might introduce you to him later.”
“Oh, I see.”
I looked around, trying to find an opening. Thankfully the sisters were together at the moment, so I thought I might be able to draw attention to them somehow. “I’ve met quite a few new folks around here already. I haven’t had the chance to speak with everypony, of course. Like them, for example,” I said, pointing to the sisters.
“They are Olive and Magenta Brush. They... are the sisters of Primrose Brush.”
I thought it a bit weary that she went straight for the yellow mare. “Ah, I have heard that name a few times. Are you friends with her, by any chance?”
Charmcaster stood there for a few moments, before sadly shaking her head. “No... I used to be, years ago, but...”
I wasn’t surprised by this at all, but I needed to act the part. Therefore, I raised my eyebrow, “Oh? What happened?”
“Well... there’s been a couple things really. Both are things that have happened quite a while ago—years. I’ve told a few ponies about these but they’ve either not believed me or they’ve written it off. Or they have passed me off as crazy.”
“Hmmm, I have heard some strange things indeed in my travels. I do not think it should be so bad. If you’re up for telling that story, that is.”
Charmcaster drew circles in the tile, nodding to herself. She remained silent for a few moments, edging toward sure, pausing, and then reassuring herself. I myself held my breath as she thought it over.
Finally, she gave me a definitive nod. “Alright,” she said, “I think I can tell you. It’s been too long a while since I’ve told this story, anyway.
“I used to be friends with her as I have told you, but there have been a couple of things that have destroyed our relationship.
“The first has to do with that amulet she has.” She paused, gauged my expression, then concluded that I didn’t know what she was talking about, “and if you must know, Primrose Brush owns this thing, and I’ve been given a lot of flank because for some reason,” she said, her features contorting for a moment, “she thinks that I want to steal it from her. And because everypony’s friends with her, she’s managed to convince everypony else that I am trying to steal it as well. I assure you, Parchment Pusher, that I am not.
“I shaped that thing with my own two hooves,” she said, stomping for emphasis. “It was hard work. A labor of love. It was a sign of our friendship. And, for a long time, it actually meant that. And then… there came a point where she forgot I even made it for her, and when I casually asked about it, she gave me odd looks and shook her head. I don’t even know what might have happened to induce such a thing. How ungrateful can you get?” she spat. “But alas, I don’t want to steal it from her; it was my gift to Primrose Brush and that is how it will remain.
“But there has been another unfortunate incident that still, to this day, weighs heavily on my conscience.”
“...Oh, is that right?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. This was new.
“There was a night a couple years ago where I was laying around in the nighttime, reading a book under the candlelight in my living room. I was just minding my own business, flipping through the pages and enjoying a good story, but then I started hearing things.
“They were mumbles at first, Mister Pusher, things that I could not readily identify, but I could hear them as clear as I could any sound. I looked around for the source of the sounds; I looked everywhere; outside, upstairs, the kitchen... And no matter where I went, the sound was the same; a mumble. I plugged my ears and I could hear it clearly still.”
She jammed a canapé into her mouth and chewed with vigor. Once done, she continued. “The mumble had grown much louder and much more erratic, almost if there was a panic to it. I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I didn’t know what to do, not at all. I planted myself in a seat and I waited to see what was happening.
“A realization came over me; the voice I was hearing was none other than Primrose’s, and my heart sank. I wondered if she was playing some queer trick on me, but then again she wasn’t anywhere nearby. I continued to sit there, languishing under her panicked cries before it finally reached the crescendo. It was a few simple words, ‘Help me! Help me! Help me! Canis!’ And then her voice screamed.
“And then everything went silent.”
Charmcaster shivered and bits of moisture appeared in her eyes. “I was an absolute mess at this point. I was on the floor, I was bawling my eyes out. I was so absolutely frightened by it all that I couldn’t even think straight.
“Even to this day, I am still haunted by it. I still hear it on some nights.
“I should have known it was a long shot, but I asked Primrose about it… and you know what she did?” Her expression turned sour and she shuddered again. “She... gave me this odd look and told me that I should do my best to forget it. I don’t know why she didn’t take it seriously, or moreover why she blew me off like that, and I haven’t forgotten it. …I am not sure I have forgiven it either.”
I had no words. I knew whatever words I could say at that moment would not properly convey how I felt. I remembered the attentive care that Rease had taken with Blizzard Frost throughout her tale and tried to take a page out of his book; I remained calm. I hid several long and deep breaths, trying to slow my beating heart down, and then nodded in acknowledgment. “I see, I see. It sounds like it’s all been downhill.”
“I want to be her friend,” she said, “but she won’t even talk to me anymore. I’ve been outcast—that’s what it’s done to me. And I would be mad about it, but I just know that there is something wrong with her. Something wrong that she doesn’t want. Perhaps I will know, someday.”
I looked towards the sisters as well, and I nodded. “Perhaps...” It was at that point, however, that I saw Rease looking at me with curiosity, likely wondering where I stood with my little interview. I felt satisfied with the answers she had given me, and I gave him a subtle nod. “I think my friend requires my prescience,” I said. I then bowed, “Charmcaster, thank you very much for the story. I should hope you know that I believe you, at least.”
Charmcaster grinned. “Thank you. Take care, Mister Pusher.”
I left her to her own devices at that point and I sauntered through the crowd on the way over to him.
“So what did she tell you?” he asked me as I reached him. After I relayed all of what she had told me to him, he nodded. “Indeed... indeed... that is very useful information. Her story is a bit unfortunate, but it would seem that the information that I spent this afternoon gathering corroborates her story. I have no doubt that she is authentic.”
“I see,” I replied.
Rease’s muzzle twitched contemplatively. “There have been others that have noticed some peculiar happenings with the sisters but have not been nearly as disturbed as Charmcaster or Blizzard Frost.” He paced around, gluing his eyes to the floor and keeping to himself. Then, “It would seem that we shall have to do something slightly immoral in order to bring this to a moral resolution. Come with me for a moment.”
Rease led me over to the small group of Olive, Magenta, and a few of their close friends.
Magenta received us with a smile, “Gentlecolts, a pleasure to see you again.”
Rease bowed, as did I. “Ah but the pleasure is ours,” he said.
“I certainly hope the night has been fruitful?”
“It sure has been.”
Olive Brush turned to her companions at that point, “This is Detective Rease and his friend Parchment Pusher.”
“Nice to meet you all,” I said.
“We wanted to see about Charmcaster. Y’all probably remember how she’s always asking us about Primrose’s amulet. A bit suspiciously. We asked Mister Rease here to look into why she’s behaving so oddly. I’m sure he’s hopped right on it.”
Magenta Brush gave her sister a friendly punch in the shoulder, “Oh hush you, give him some time to solve this riddle.”
“I have already solved it,” Rease said.
We all blinked in surprise, but none more so than the Brushes and I. I even looked over to him and voiced what we were thinking, “What?”
“I have already solved it,” he said again, grinning confidently.
Magenta had an uncertain expression for a few moments before a smile broke upon her face and she jovially clapped her hooves together. “Marvelous! I am glad to hear it! Pray tell us what you have found?”
“Ah, but I am afraid…” he said, his smile growing wider but into the nervous variety, “that what I have found is not something that you will very much like. Not immediately, anyway. Riddle me this: do you know where the amulet came from?”
“N-no, We do not.”
“Well, no wonder. Primrose wasn’t able to remember it either when we asked a couple of hours ago. I find it interesting, as I don’t think she in her right mind would have forgotten it was a gift from Charmcaster.”
A drop of sweat appeared on Olive’s brow and she laughed nervously. “A-ah, I see. But, Mister Detective, I am confused. What would our memories have to do with Primrose’s?”
“Everything. And that is the grand conclusion that I have reached, which I must now bring to light for more than just your sake. Primrose Brush cannot remember the amulet’s origin because you cannot remember it. And the reason for that is simple:
“You are Primrose Brush.”
It seemed like the rest of us gasped at once, enough to draw the attention of the rest of the room. Conversations descended into curious murmurs or swiftly died altogether. I myself blinked several times in rapid succession and then studied his face, trying to see if he was serious or not.
Olive frowned. “I’m sorry, Mister Rease,” she said, sharing a glance with Magenta. “That is the most absurd thing that I have heard all night. I am Olive Brush.”
Rease nodded. “Yes, you are Olive Brush. But you are also Primrose Brush in your spare time.”
Magenta stepped forward. “Mister Detective, she is not—”
“Same with you, Magenta Brush. You are also Primrose Brush in your spare time.”
Magenta looked at him like he had just said several heretical things in quick succession. “That…” she said, pointing at him with a shaky hoof, “is wrong.”
“It’s slander!” Olive cried. “Absolute slander! You are trying to besmirch us!”
“Not necessarily,” Rease said. “As much as I would like to let you keep your secret, unfortunately, there has been damage that you have not seen. You have alienated one pony, nearly driven another mad, and have given many others great causes for concern.” He shrugged. “I am truly sorry to do this to you, but your secret must out.”
Blizzard Frost trudged over toward us, her expression almost blank from shock. “Detective Rease…” She breathed. “What is it that you have found?
“I had my suspicions,” Rease said. “Mind you, I had many suspicions; such as an actual curse by Charmcaster or that you, Blizzard, had indeed developed a serious mental condition. Or Primrose, even. But those and many more have since been disproven. The reasons why Primrose Brush’s physical characteristics were not so consistent; her appearance, her voice. Her telepathy, once a defining trait of hers, now vanished.
“The two of you,” he said, turning back to Magenta and Olive and pointing between the two of them, “used both your visual and audio skills to casts illusions on the other, effectively being able to change one of you to look and sound like Primrose Brush. You took turns impersonating her, and it was good, but the only flaw was that you couldn’t account for yourselves. Not only are you less effective at casting on yourself—you can’t see yourself fully, Olive, so you’re rough around the edges, and your hearing of your own voice is skewed, Magenta, so you can’t peg down her voice.
“Admittedly, I thought such an explanation very unlikely. That was, until, I saw the newspaper clipping hanging off of your mirror.”
All of the colors drained from the sister’s faces and all breath rushed out of them. Olive and Magenta stood, staring in silence.
“Interesting that you should keep some memento of an otherwise un-noteworthy event. That, combined with all of the testimony that I have gathered this afternoon, including a key part provided by my companion here,” he said, patting me on the back, “I then reached my most profound revelation:
“The real Primrose Brush lost her life to a Canis Minor two years ago.”
Whatever murmured conversations that had been going vanished at that point. I even heard the faint whisper coming from the ventilation, and the slow, low, but somehow labored breaths that everypony took. The entire room sat in a standstill, with all eyes focused on us.
“And, for two years,” Rease continued, “you have tried to continue her life from where it left off. You have worked exhaustively to keep your illusion. But, unfortunately, it has not been without a cost. Both on your health and wellness, no doubt, and more.”
Charmcaster swallowed and approached them, her jaw hanging off the rest of her face. “Is... is it true? What he said, i-is it true?” she said, stumbling over her own words, unsure of what to say.
Both sisters glanced around the room, gauging all of the stares and worried expressions, before they exchanged glances one last time. Finally, they sighed. “Yes,” Olive croaked.
There were a few murmurs across the room at this point as questions were being asked and answered, theories flying about this way and that, before the talking died again altogether.
Blizzard Frost started to tear up, shaking her head, “Wha... why? Why would you do that?” She paused to sniffle. “Why would you lie to us like that?”
Olive Brush hung her head. “It all happened so fast that w-we didn’t know what to do. We were there when it all happened, Magenta and I. We sisters… Me, her, Prim, were in the woods that night two years ago. That Canis ran into us so quickly… I am sure that it had just left town.
“It got poor Prim. It did. We saw every second of it and we barely got away ourselves.”
Olive shuddered and leaned on Magenta, who held her up in support. “Prim… she was a pillar to us all. To me, to Magenta, to Blizzard… to everypony. I don’t remember whose idea it was,” Olive continued, “but we knew. We knew that with Primrose gone, everything would fall apart. We figured that maybe we could explain her away from this town and maybe, that way, she could pass on without our community collapsing. B-but, we... we could not do it.” Olive sniffled and wiped a tear from her eye. “We kept accepting her responsibilities and it piled up and piled up and, soon enough, we couldn’t explain her away anymore.
“So we continued on with it, going to all of her things as we could, juggling both our own lives and hers. It was very exhausting, as you have said Mister Rease; a hell. By Celestia’s mane… we’ve been…” Olive drew even deeper into herself, “doing it so long that we’ve forgotten what it’s like to live just one life.”
Olive broke and began crying into her sister’s shoulder. Several others, while they retained their distance, began sniffling and snorting and wiping their wet faces.
Magenta cradled her sister and glanced up. “Charm...”
“Y-yes?” Charmcaster asked.
“It was me that you talked to all that time ago. I was Primrose then. When you said that you heard her scream.” Magenta paused, now succumbing to her own tears. “Prim… she must have called out to you. I know she’d never been able to reach nearly that far before, but… yes. I believed that she had done it and that you got it, and… I lied to your face, Charm. I am so sorry.”
“Oh the stars!” Charmcaster cried, flinging herself onto them. “You should have told me, I would have understood!”
Blizzard Frost joined the group hug after that, and then several other ponies too. Those closest refused to break away, while those not gave their condolences.
Charmcaster, Blizzard Frost, and many other ponies stuck around and gave the two company throughout the rest of the evening. I continued mingling with the guests as they came to terms with it, and it seemed that the development was all anypony could talk about. As for Rease himself, he was a recluse for the remainder of the evening.
Eventually, the party died down. Many ponies went home, save for Charmcaster and Blizzard Frost, both accompanying the surviving Brushes. It was entirely possible to catch the night train back to Hoofington, and for Rease his own train back to San Franciscolt.
He was far ahead of me, “I think it might be time for us to depart. We can make our way to the train station. What say you, Parchment?”
“I was going to suggest the same thing, actually. But I think we should say goodbye first.”
“If you insist.”
I led him back over to the small group, which at this point only consisted of the four key ponies in our little case, each enjoying some smoothies, at which they all greeted us with smiles.
“Detective Rease, Parchment Pusher,” Blizzard Frost started, “you’ve done wonderfully.”
“Tut tut,” he said. “I just did my job, that’s all.”
Olive Brush shook her head, “No, you did more than that. This will... sting at first, but I think… this will be for the better.”
“And, if anything, we’ve learned a great lesson about friendship,” Magenta added.
Charmcaster came up and laid a hoof around each of their shoulders, “I think we’ll be able to start over with fresh hooves. That’s what I am most thrilled about.” She let out a small burst of light from her horn, and let off a small magical firework into the air, which popped like a balloon.
“Well,” he said, giving a polite bow, “then I am at least glad to be of service, but I shouldn’t take all of the credit.” He then gave me a small pat on the back, “It wouldn’t have been possible without Parchment Pusher here.”
“Aw shucks, detective,” I said, blushing, “it was nothing. Really.”
Rease smiled. “Now, we will be off. Ladies, we bid you goodnight and good luck.”
They hit us with a small flurry of goodbyes, with even a “Don’t be a stranger!” among them.
My curiosity started to get me along the way and I looked over to him, “So how did you figure it all out? I must say, I was really surprised when you announced you had the answer so suddenly like that.”
Detective Rease nodded in response. “Ah yes. Most of it I made fairly clear in my explanation but there were some details that I did not get into. There were some key pieces of information that did help me along the way.
“First, I want to examine the early events. If was established early on that Charmcaster, in some sort of event, gave Primrose Brush an amulet which came to be of great importance to her. It is safe to assume that she would not forget who gave it to her.
“Fast forward to our conversation earlier. You will certainly recall how it went; that she briefly touched on where she got the amulet from, but could not quite remember the name. A few moments later we were very definitely discussing Charmcaster.
“As you can probably guess,” he said, gazing right into me, “these two pieces of information are very definitely conflicting.”
“I can see it,” I replied.
“Now I should want you to recall both of the times that we met with the Brush sisters. The first time was in the streets. When we met Primrose, her voice was raspy but she was in good form. She then went on to comment about some construction noise and how grating it was to the ears. This was in the absence of Magenta Brush, who excels at audio magic. Now, the second time we met was at their house, whereas Primrose sounded well but looked a little worse for wear. She then went on to comment about how exquisite the amulet looked. This was in the absence of Olive Brush, who excels at visual magic.
“I thought I should find it interesting, either way,” he chuckled, "that Primrose was acting like Magenta when Olive was there, and Primrose was acting like Olive when Magenta was there.” He nodded thoughtfully as we rounded a corner. “I found that of interest but, for a while, it was not decisive.
“But, again, it was the newspaper clipping that did everything. I looked into this community’s history this afternoon. Most of it, including the Canis Minor (because of how inconsequential it had been reported as) I had planned to forget, much like whatever it was that you told me on the train here. It, instead, became of top importance, for the Brush sisters would not have a copy of that article if that event weren’t important; obviously,” he said, furrowing his brow, “something happened. And given Charmcaster’s testimony, the conclusion was that the Canis had done something to Primrose. I entertained the possibility that it had killed her.
“So, I had to fathom at this point one question; if the mare in front of us wasn’t Primrose Brush, who could it be?” He leaned over and added, “I had to entertain the possibility that Primrose was dead, after all.” He straightened back up. “With how Primrose acted around each sister and from that part of Blizzard Frost’s testimony was that Magenta and Olive have appeared very taxed in recent times, possibly due to the fact they were living an additional life in inclusion to their own, I concluded it was them.”
He looked into my eyes, his eyes alight with certainty. “This would also account for the loss of telepathy, the wobbly social skills, the inconsistent memory, as well as the other particular things that have disappeared. These were things that Primrose could do but Magenta nor Olive could not.”
“Right,” I replied. “And the motive?”
“Not very hard to peg into this, as it was established that they were great members of the community and a loss of any of the sisters would have been devastating. They attempted to prevent such a thing, and keep their dear sister alive, obviously.”
“And then you told everypony and we were astonished,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“Well there we go, case solved!” I exclaimed. “And we’ve managed to help a lot of ponies out. I would call this a most satisfactory experience.”
It was by this time that we had reached the train station. We bought tickets for each of our trains, and his was set to depart fairly soon. Therefore, we sat on the platform for a little bit, side by side, as we waited for his train to arrive.
“I am glad to hear,” he said. “This will make an interesting thing to put in your notebooks.”
“I’m sure there will be quite a few ponies that will want to read it.”
He stroked his chin and absently glanced down the tracks. “Yes. But I would suggest you at least wait a while to do so, for they may be spending the next while picking up the pieces.”
I shrugged. “Can’t argue with that, I suppose.”
Shortly after, his train did indeed arrive, and he turned to me. “Well, in any case, it’s been fun. I do hope you take care and remember what you’ve learned on our little journey.”
“I sure will,” I said, extending a hoof, “See you later, Detective Rease.”
He shook my hoof in return, “You too, Parchment Pusher. Have a safe journey home.”
And, with that, he turned and boarded the train and headed around a corner and into the cabin, at which point I could see him no more (as the yellow blinds of the windows were pulled down).
But, as the train pulled away, I saw a silhouette in the window like a spiky-maned stallion looking contemplatively upwards; the silhouette of a detective. The train then pulled away, and that was the last I saw of the detective pony Rease.
Author's Note
Hello, my dear reader. Cheers on making it to the end of the fic! I hope it was to your liking.
I originally wrote this story in 2012 for the Equestria Daily Roleplay. As such, while this is meant to be a Sherlock Homles style fic, it deviates from what might be expected in a fic such as this, such as Rease in place of Sherlock Hooves. This has both its upsides and its downsides.
Nonetheless, the character Rease, who hails from that roleplay, is also whom this story was written for and thus some of the circumstances within reflect that. In addition, Hoofington and San Franciscolt do not exist on the maps of Equestria that we have today but given in 2012 that information was largely unavailable, they are somewhat relics of the time. But then again, maybe they do indeed exist and the maps that we have are not detailed enough? That's what I will say, I suppose.
And once again, some assets for the cover art were done by Baby Boo circa 2012. I don't know if you're involved in the fandom anymore but if you are and you're reading this, thanks!
Anyways, I hope that you enjoyed this story! Thanks for reading!
RQK
