I. What's Past is Prologue

“You’re sure this all counts as ‘progress’, Cantor?” Hoofrey Bogart’s tone was dubious, he made no effort to disguise his own lack of satisfaction concerning what concrete results the past ten days at the Bodleian had produced.

“Indeed,” Dozy agreed, “What isn’t vague and mystical sounds a bit … well … eerie. Or fantastic. Or both.”

“Oy, we’re talking ghosts ‘n’ demons ‘n’ the changelingawhatsit is surprised it’s ‘eerie’?” Magpie sounded indignant.

Cantor grinned. “As Magpie just reminded me, we are talking about ghosts and haunts and other such occult things. A bit of eerie weirdness is to be expected.”

Valentina raised an eyebrow at Dozy and the changeling gave a little nod of agreement. What had struck her most over the past week had been the growing confidence and purpose Cantor had begun to display. A week ago, Cantor had seemed to be flailing about in the dark – unsure of where to go or what to do … unsure, perhaps, as to whether or not he was mystically gifted or simply mad.

Although Cantor’s progress was also what Valentina would call a mixed bag. Ever since Cantor had begun meddling with the Book of Shadows, Valentina (who shared the suite with him) noticed that Cantor had begun to have night terrors. He’d twitch and mumble in his sleep, so much so that it would wake Valentina. She would try to quiet him, and usually succeeded. Although just last night, while she was sleepily murmuring “shhh’s” and “it’s just a dream” to him, Cantor had sat bolt upright in the bed, his eyes gone completely black. Cantor had then seized her by the shoulder and said something like “markesis!” It had been quite startling, but Cantor had fallen immediately back to sleep again. As with his other bad dreams, Cantor had no real memory of it once morning had rolled around and he actually woke up. Just a few fragments. Someplace cold. Old stones. A beautiful voice.

Cantor’s grin faded. “Sure, you’re right – I’ve not found much in the way of specifics that are immediately helpful in resolving the current problems of the rise of the Trotting Dead. I still don’t know how to return them to rest, or to keep the Trotting Dead from waking up in the first place. But I’ve found corroboration for the tales Fairweather and Morari have told us. Heck, I even found some corroboration for Magpie’s own bit of history.” Cantor’s expression grew more serious. “I’m not sure you really understand how much that means to me – to find some outside source of information that proves, at least to my own satisfaction, that I’m not just … well … mad. That I’m not somehow just making all this up on my own.”

Cantor continued, “We know more about the Winter Queen and her war. We know more about the murderous Cult of the Red Reaver. And, assuming the descriptions are correct, multiple sources – some of them old enough to be contemporary to those events – confirm that both of those were undead, ghostly unicorns who wielded at least one of the Four Blades of Fear. We know, from the newspaper reports in the archives, that there was a mass murderer in New Amsteerdame two centuries ago known as Laughing Jack (who was killed in the attempt to capture him) and that he too had a red knife that required special handling and disposal.”

Bogart looked rather unhappy. “I’ve got some news on that front, Cantor. It’s not good. But carry on. You said you found out something important about those knives?”

Cantor nodded, “Yes. And that’s the big news for tonight. Assuming that I pieced together about three stories properly, those things are old. Very old. They date back to the first century of Celestia’s reign and a unicorn called as Phobe (a name that, itself, indicates fear) who had the four blades made. Their actual magic is much older than that. And, while I would like to think that the source which mentioned them was being melodramatic and symbolic, it said that Phobe intended to use them to ‘slay the sun’ and ‘conquer death.’ I don’t think it is coincidence that those knives have popped up at least twice since then in the hooves of unicorns that have broken free from death’s realm and who have then sought to bring down Celestia.”

“So … are you saying the blades themselves are to blame for things like the Winter Queen? Both her rising from the grave and her compulsion to assault Equestria?” Dozy poured himself another cider and offered one to Bogart, who declined.

Bogart frowned, “Back up a bit. How can the knives’ magic be older than the knives themselves?”

Cantor seemed caught between a grin and a grimace. “Because of what they are made out of!” He started shuffling through his notes.

“And what’s that?” Dozy leaned forward to catch some papers that would otherwise have tumbled to the floor.

Cantor slid a sketch across the table. “That. I copied it from a scroll that was evacuated from the old Pegasi lands when they fled the Wendigos.”

It was a crude picture of a bell. With notations indicating that it had shattered and four jagged fragments circled as if they were important. The sketch was shoddy, at best.

“That’s a broken bell.” Bogart’s tone said this didn’t clarify matters in the slightest.

“It’s a broken magical bell that once channeled the powers of a demonic entity known as Grogar. When it shattered (or by some accounts disintegrated) during a confrontation with him at somewhere called Dream Valley, its loss banished him – and the ruined city he ruled – back to the Shadow World.”

“A demon.” Dozy sounded a bit skeptical.

“Yes, there was a picture of him in the apocrypha for the original printing of the first edition of Daemonologie and Newes from Shetland. You won’t find it in later versions. Valentina’s quite good at copying pictures!” Cantor slid another paper across the table. Dozy and Bogart both frowned at it.

“He looks like some sort of evil ram.” Bogart sounded thoughtful.

Valentina leaned forward and tapped the picture, “Yes. And you’ll notice he was drawn wearing a necklace or collar with a bell prominently displayed upon it.” She was rather proud of her accuracy with sketch-work. Cantor could copy words wonderfully but watching him breaking quills and splattering ink, all while frowning with his tongue between his teeth as he struggled to reproduce a picture, had simply been too much for her. It had been some years since her figure drawing class, but she was still quite decent at reproducing a sketch. As a result, most of the sketches in Cantor’s notes were her work.

Cantor began to sound a bit grim. “Grogar (or mentions of him anyway) pop up repeatedly in the oldest legends regarding necromancy as a magical discipline. I've read quite a bit over the years that touches on him and his magic. Indirectly he’s one of the reasons necromancy has such a bad reputation, not that the discipline needed the help! However this was a demon whose arcane specialty was not raising the dead, directly. No, he never raised armies of skeletons and zombies or conjured up ghosts. At least, not that I've heard. But Grogar was a tyrant, and he was either a native of, or somehow semi-permanently banished to, the shadow lands.”

Cantor, looking at the uncomprehending expressions of those around him, sighed again. “The ancient pony kindreds associated the shadow lands with the lands of the dead. They thought of it as a place of haunts, spirits, shades, ghosts, and ... well ... shadows. Separate from, but in some ways rather like, Tartarus. The first pony necromancers, legends have it, were able to reach into the lands of shadow and begin to pull spirits out of it ... or perhaps through it. In theory, this later became the foundation for the spells that could raise the undead. And much of the power used, and the way it was used in these workings, was based off of Grogar’s work.”

“How so?” This from Dozy.

Cantor shuffled through a few other notes as he continued, “Well, while Grogar’s own recorded uses of power generally focused on his using imprisonment spells and blasting those who didn't bow to his whims – those who didn't become his slaves and servants – one of Grogar's weaknesses was that he, and his ruined city of Tambelon, were both somehow bound into the shadow lands. He was trying to break free, or perhaps return, to rule over all of Equestria.”

Cantor blinked thoughtfully then corrected himself, “Well, technically this was all before Equestria was formed. So I suppose ’all of the pony lands’ would be more accurate. Regardless, he wanted to rule the world – and, in part through his mastery of the magic of the shadow lands, he had the magical power to make a very serious go at it.”

“Anyway, he made use of some ancient relic in Tambelon to channel mystic power to free it, and himself, from the shadow lands on a temporary basis. Once free, he sought to conquer – to establish himself here, in the lands of the living rather than, as the ancients understood it, in the lands of the dead. When he was defeated, his power weakened, he and Tambelon would fade away. But he'd be back, on something like a five-hundred year cycle if the legends are accurate.”

“But Cantor,” Bogart chimed in as he looked over Cantor's notes, “It's been well over five hundred years ... well over a thousand if those scribbles of yours are correct, since Grogar or Tambelon have been heard from.”

Cantor nodded, “Quite right. But the last time he was defeated, that magic bell of his was broken. Some speak of it as having shattered. Others of having melted or dissolved away like frost in the sunlight. However there were rumors that a few fragments of it survived, and were left on our side of the border between here and ... uh ... there. Anyway, the bell was (as I mentioned) one of the chief vessels of Grogar's power. Without the bell, it would be much harder for him to gather and control the power to needed to return to Equestria and make another go at conquest. And gathering the power to reforge another bell like it would certainly add many centuries to his imprisonment. Even without factoring in all the extra precautions that the unicorns of old took to keep Tambelon sealed away in the shadow lands.”

“The unicorns had extra reasons to be concerned. Apparently Grogar, existing in his shadowy ‘otherwhere’ as he did, could ... uh ... I guess you could call it ‘intercept’ a unicorn mid-teleportation. They’d vanish away from here, but appear in a cell in Tambelon rather than at their intended destination.”

“Even with the idea that the shadow lands are a realm of unquiet ghosts, that’s not a very direct connection between Grogar and your haunts.” Bogart still didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“No, the more direct connection – and the relation with the foundations of necromancy – lie in how Grogar strove to use the magics of the shadow lands. Specifically, he developed rituals designed to sacrifice and banish living ponies, sending them bodily to the shadow lands of the dead, and using this exchange to bolster his continuing power and ... well, ‘reality’ I suppose you could say ... here in our sunlit world. Send enough ponies into the shadow lands then he, and Tambelon, could remain here forever.”

“Trading the living, or their energies, for power and knowledge from the lands of the dead? That’s one way of understanding how a traditional medium works – their living consciousness is temporarily traded to the ghost of one who has passed, the exchange allowing the dead and the living to communicate one with another.”

Cantor chuckled, “That’s also not a trick I've ever managed myself, though I have experimented with it a bit, back in my school days. Which is why I usually just qualify myself as a ‘spiritualist’ or ‘medium-in-training.’ I’ve never fully succeeded in getting my conscious mind to step aside or trade places with one of my spectral friends in the way a true medium could theoretically manage.”

Cantor smile faded. He sounded quite solemn, “But that sort of transfer – tapping into the power of the shadow lands ... using that power to rip a ghost free from the ‘undiscovered country from which no pony returns’ and dragging them, wrapped in that shadowy, unnatural magic, here, to Equestria? According to my studies back in Nighthaven, that is exactly the sort of thing pony necromancers studied in ancient times. It’s basically what Grogar was trying to do, just kind of in reverse. And it’s all too much like what these vortexes we've been struggling with are doing today.”

There was a moment of silence before Cantor continued.

“We don’t know much about the forging of the Four Blades of Fear. Heck, Phobe herself may be largely mythical – the stories that come to us out of the first Celestial century of peace are from a time sufficiently distant that facts have faded to legend and faerie tales. Whoever forged them clearly meant for the blades to channel a portion of Grogar’s power over the shadow lands, part of his whole ripping something free from death’s domain schtick. And, judging from what little we do know – again, mostly through Fairweather and Magpie, both of whom felt the blade’s bite – the sound of a bell is part of its magic. Fear and madness are two other parts. Who knows what else Phobe incorporated into their forging?”

“We get it. The blades are bad news. But assuming you are right, I’ve got some questions,” Dozy leaned back in his chair.

“Ask away,” Cantor grinned.

“Oy, who wants ta bet they’re the same questions tha cute stewardess asked? She’s a smart cookie!”

“I do not have anything to wager, young lady. And a Gentlecolt ought not dabble overly much in such things.”

“If the wielders of the blades of fear don’t stay dead, then what was the deal with Laughing Jack? I’m pretty sure we would have turned up mention of some lunatic wight or ghoul murdering their way through New Amsteerdame a century-ish back. That’s way more recent than either the Reaver or the Queen – so there should be more information on him. And from the sounds of it, last we heard he died in the course of being apprehended.”

“One fer one!” Magpie nudged Morari.

“I’m not taking that bet either, reprobate.”

“Laughing Jack didn’t rise from the grave.” Cantor confirmed. “But, unlike either the Winter Queen or the Red Reaver, he was neither a mare nor, probably more importantly, a unicorn. I suspect that the sort of magic caught within those knives can only be fully harnessed by somepony who, like their legendary forger, uses unicorn magic. Possibly who is female as well – though I would be inclined to say that’s less important in this case. For somepony who isn’t a unicorn to wield the blade … well … its power would work on, and through, them – but I doubt they could learn to control it enough to break free of death. It would probably just drive them mad with fear and send them on unfocused killing sprees.”

“I notice some ‘probablys’ and ‘possiblys’ in your theory, there, Cantor.” Bogart didn’t sound particularly dubious, but he clearly felt the need to address that point.

Cantor chuckled, “‘Probable-Possible, my black hen.’” He gave an apologetic smile at the resulting, rather worried, stares. “Sorry! That's from a not-so-old children’s rhyme. But yes, it is theory. Even if we had one of the knives here, testing my hypotheses would be a dubious proposition. But it fits the available data better than anything else I’ve had to work with so far this year!”

Dozy nodded. “No doubts there. But, another question.”

“Ask away!” Cantor said again.

“If these blades of fear are the reason the dead are rising, why are they only rising now? Sure, Fairweather and Magpie were cut by them, but so too were countless others. Likewise Morari’s magic was wrapped around a wielder of one blade, but so too was Trotwine’s … and quite a few other unicorns by Fairweather’s account. Why aren’t more dead rising?” Dozy blinked. “I guess that makes two questions.”

“And it gets me up ta three fer three!” Magpie was gleeful.

“This is hardly a laughing matter, young filly.” Morari scolded.

“Course it ain’t! That’s why I laugh. I, fer one, ain’t gonna let me fear o’ all that be a chain ‘round me already slit throat. I’m gonna laugh at it all. Mock it if’n I can’t fight it. Gotta find yer fun where ya can, scribbler. ‘n Cantor ain’t the only stallion ‘round here what needs ta learn ta lighten up.”

Cantor nodded, “And the answer to your second question is ‘I’m not sure.’ Not to mention,” Cantors face seemed to slide briefly back to an expression of helpless desperation, “I have no idea how many other ghosts have risen like this. I’ve found three. I had two more leads almost as good a Whitstable when I came to Albion. There could be another vortex in Seaddle. Another one somewhere in the Badlands. Who knows how many souls there are out there right now, trapped by this evil remnant of Grogar’s magic? I sure don’t. Sisters preserve, I’ll do what I can to help them, but I’ve no idea how many there are nor where to find them all.”

Cantor shook off his fey mood, although his expression was still grim, “As for why now? Well the best theories I have for that one are … uh … a little on the unpleasant side.”

Valentina rolled her eyes, “A little, Cantor? Gave me the shivers right proper they did!”

“Well?” Bogart tucked his blanket around his legs a bit more tightly.

“Something’s changed with the knives. Or at least one of them. One theory is that somepony … or something … is now trying to actively use their power. As a result – either intentionally or as a side effect – some among the dead who have a direct, one might say a ‘personal’ connection with the magics involved are being … affected.”

“That’s not good,” Dozy agreed.

“It’s not. If whoever, or whatever, it is continues to use the blades, then (whether or not they're trying to) it looks like the situation with these vortexes of shadow-magic will only get worse … to wake more Trotting Dead. And, like our three haunts, they will awaken mad with fear.”

“Yay. More new friends,” Admiral Fairweather sounded distinctly unenthused by the prospect.

Morari looked at him in shock.

“What? I am only taking Magpie’s particularly good advice ...” Fairweather’s face remained solemn.

“Thank ye!”

“… it is rare enough that she gives good advice after all.”

“Sod off!”

“Another possibility also exists,” Cantor continued, “One of the sources of the blades power could be actively exerting itself and (again, intentionally or not) the blades are just serving to channel a portion of that power to raise those among the dead who had a personal connection to at least one of the knives. This could be the case even if somepony isn't actively trying to use the blades for their own purposes.”

“That sounds worse,” Bogart was frowning.

“It could be. If Grogar’s regained his power and is striving to break out of the Shadow Realm again then yes, that's worse. Much worse. Given the age of the spells that banished Grogar there could be cracks between our reality and the otherwhere he rules. Why, the knives themselves might even serve as cracks of a sort. Anyway, assuming such cracks exist, then if he's aware of them and if they are letting him push even a fragment of his power into Equestria ... well, ‘bad’ doesn't even begin to cover it.”

“Agreed,” Dozy added.

Cantor sighed, “For that matter, we don’t know what other powers went into those blades. There might be something else piggybacking on Grogar’s old mastery of the shadow lands for some other ill purpose. Grogar may have been a terrible mythic figure from beyond the spheres, but there are plenty of other wicked … uh … I don’t even know what you’d call them ….” Cantor considered for a moment. “Eh, call ’em entities. Things that lie beyond the boundaries of the natural world. Like Grogar, some of them try to get in. Some ponies,” Cantor sounded rueful, “are occasionally stupid enough to try cracking the walls of time and space to talk to them. Doesn’t really matter which side of a wall a crack starts out on, I suppose. Cracks that let whispers of wicked influence in from outside are bad.”

“Why in the world would somepony try to talk to something like that?” Bogart rarely sounded shocked. This was one of those rare times.

Morari sighed, “Yes, Magpie. Four points to you now.”

“Leaving aside the fact that plenty of ponies do stupid, even self-destructive, things for knowledge and power (and talking to the whisperers in the dark is an old, old source of both), part if it is because not all the things outside of the real world as we know it are bad, Hoofrey. Some of them are very nice. Strange like you or I wouldn’t … like we couldn’t believe or understand, but nice. Heck, a large portion of my own magical gifts are ultimately tied to … uh … ‘the Dead’ I suppose you could say. To my personal relationship with the great beyond. And the Dead are as much one of those strange dark forces ‘beyond the walls of reality’ as anything else out there. Kindly remember, not all that is dark is bad. Luna is dark. Her night is dark. Does anypony here really think she’s evil?”

Cantor looked around the room.

“He makes a good point,” Morari commented.

“Do not judge a book by its cover, eh sir?” Fairweather added.

“Oy! I’m still shocked that tha whole Nightmare Moon legend turned out ta be real! Much less that some ponies managed to break tha honest ta goodness Luna free from it.”

“I say, why do you start every other sentence with ‘Oy?’” Fairweather was frowning at Magpie.

“Do I?” she looked startled, “Ne’re noticed. Just a thing, I guess. Lots o’ ponies talked like that back where I grew up.”

Cantor sighed. “The problem is, when you shout at a cracked wall ‘Hey! Anypony over there?’ You’re never quite sure what’s going to bother shouting back. And what they might want from you.”

“And that brings us around to ‘what shall we do about it,’ yes?” Valentina chimed in.

Bogart’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean we have something as breathtakingly novel and revolutionary as a plan?”

“Yes,” Cantor nodded. “Right now we have theories. Even a second-rate academic like me knows that you need to test theories – to determine which elements of them are right and which are wrong. Refine them until you reach the truth. And without the truth of the matter, the best we can do is treat the symptoms of this problem. Right now, I could spend all my time tracking down disturbances and freeing individual haunts … but that doesn’t lay them to rest, nor stop them from rising in the first place.”

Cantor sighed. “So, we’ve got two possible leads to follow up on. One would be to track down the knives. I’m pretty sure that the unicorn wizards of old flat out lied to Admiral Fairweather. I’d bet that any of the blades they recovered weren’t broken. That leaves three daggers at large and one in the Winter Queen’s barrow.”

“As I said before, I’ve got some news on that front, Cantor.” Bogart broke in.

“Really?”

“It’s not good. First we had some of our contacts check with the Ashmulean. They did have one of the Red Reaver’s knives. They had it sealed away in a vault and under strict quarantine and containment – just touching the thing was apparently very bad for one’s mental health.”

Valentina groaned. “Oh no. The break in!”

Bogart nodded. “That knife is among the things that went missing.”

Cantor grimaced and nodded, “That’s very bad. But not too surprising. At least the authorities are hunting for the perpetrators. And thank Celestia they don’t think I’m one of them! But,” Cantor’s tone shaded to the thoughtful, “unless somepony was fiddling around with the blade while it was in storage, that doesn’t explain the sudden rise of Morari, Magpie, and Fairweather some months back.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bogart agreed. “But I checked up on Laughing Jack. His knife wound up in the Fort Trotten Officer’s club, the Castle they call it. These days, it’s the Bayside Historical Society – a small museum in Manehattan.”

Bogart’s expression turned grim. “Jack’s Red Blade has been missing from their collection for over two years. No pony knows where it went, or even exactly when it disappeared.”

Cantor was silent for a moment, then he said, “Well … poo. That’s got two blades now known to be at large, one entirely unaccounted for (hopefully, it’s buried with the Reaver but neither Morari nor the other sources I’ve turned up are clear on that point), and one that, by Fairweather's account, should still be buried with the Winter Queen.”

“Pardon, Cantor – ‘should still be?’” Dozy interrupted.

“Yes, should be. Her barrow isn’t exactly on the beaten path. We’d have to sail to the griffon kingdoms and do quite a bit of hiking to find the spot. Nor has it been well maintained from what we can gather. It’s one more pile of rocks in a stretch of country that consists of little more than other piles of rocks. Given that it’s been five centuries, even Admiral Fairweather himself would have some difficulty in finding the precise location again. And we’ll need to check on it to be sure that it hasn’t been opened. While unlikely – as the wards they used were pretty strong – its possible somepony could have broken in to retrieve the knife. If they have, then hopefully the Winter Queen wasn’t accidentally released.”

“Or released on purpose,” Admiral Fairweather added.

Cantor winced. “Or, as Fairweather just pointed out, let out intentionally.”

“So you will be sailing east, I take it? I can have my agent make the necessary arrangements.”

“No, Bogart. First I have to arrange a little private time with the Iron Book of Shadows after hours.”

“What? Why? That could get you in even more trouble.” Dozy was concerned.

“Because the Queen’s barrow isn’t the first thing we’ll need to check up on.” Cantor’s expression matched his tone – very, very serious.

“The worst possible danger we’ve come up with would be the return of Grogar himself – either because bringing him back is what the wielder of the Blades of Fear is striving to do, or as a side-effect of their tapping into the magic of the shadow realm to do ... well ... whatever it is they're using these wicked knives for instead. If Grogar is forcing his way back into Equestria, then there will be obvious and detectable signs. We need to find Dream Valley, to see if the lost city of Tambelon has begun to return from the Shadow Lands. If it has … if the ancient spells that banished Grogar have begun to weaken … then we will need to deal with him first, before he has more time to gather his power. And by ‘we need to deal with him’ I'm thinking run screaming to the Mares from S.M.I.L.E. with a full report and see if the experts can figure out something to do.”

Cantor sighed. “I really hope I’m wrong on this one, folks. But it’s a little odd how many ‘thousand year old’ magical banishments have faded in recent times. Nightmare Moon, Discord, Sombra, Tirek … Grogar’s been gone a long time. One source I found indicated that he may have been one of Tirek’s contemporaries, that part’s unclear though. So if the bindings on those other wicked powers have faded, why not his?”

“That has to be our first concern. That has to be our first order of business. If it turns out that the Shadow Realm remains sealed … that it still holds Tambelon safely away from Equestria … then we can head for the Winter Queen’s barrow and check up on that knife.”

“And do you know where this Valley of Dreams, this Lost Tambelon, is located?” Bogart raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Valentina replied.

“Not yet,” Cantor clarified. “But I am positive that information is concealed in the Iron Book of Shadows. I just need to … uh … read that part properly.”

“What, you can’t just read it?” Dozy’s confusion was shared by Bogart.

“It’s an extraordinary book,” Cantor explained. “As Morari had initially suspected it’s not just a book about magic, it is a magical book. Blank obsidian pages to those who view it in the light, meaning it can only be read by ponies who can see in darkness. There are spells that can make that happen – but those are more difficult, and much less common, than the petty magic that conjures light from a unicorn’s horn. In darkness, seeing by darkness, words become visible.”

“But that’s not all. In confirming our suspicion that the book was innately magical, and not merely filled with information about magic, I discovered that if you can both see in the dark and see magical auras, another layer of meaning appears – different words, different illustrations, different annotations.”

Dozy let out a low whistle. Bogart muttered, “So that’s why it’s been taking you so long with that book – its two books in one.”

“Oh, more than just two, Bogart,” Cantor grinned. “I’m not entirely sure how deep that rabbit hole goes, but we kind of stumbled into the realization that if you’re … uh … looking through a ghost at a page, that acts as yet another filter – leading to yet more text.”

“’Stumbled into’ is right,” Morari muttered.

“And between these different readings, I’ve discovered references that strongly suggest certain magics might be evoked via the tome, magics which would reveal even more information. Those references are closely linked with multiple references to both Tambelon and to the Shadow Realms.”

“So,” Bogart said, “What exactly do you need to do.”

“I need to have the book in hoof as midnight approaches. Then I have to pull the shadows around myself.”

“Do you know how to do that?” Dozy asked.

“I … I think so. I’d need the book in hoof to do it, though. I’ve never done anything like that before. I didn’t really consider that there might be other implications to my ability to … er … supernaturally see in the dark. But from what I’ve read there are.”

“Unicorn magic is somewhat like a muscle – use it regularly and it can grow stronger. Overtax it and you can strain yourself … possibly even damage yourself badly. Back when I … uh … let’s just say when I developed my facility with ritual magic and seeing in the dark … I began building upon elements of my natural gifts of communing with the dead. My innate magic. So while the whole ‘seeing in the dark’ thing is one outgrowth of that, there can be others. The ability to manipulate shadows and shades was strongly implied.”

“What I read about pulling shadows around myself sounded …” Cantor looked like he was struggling for the right words, “… familiar I guess. Like déjà vu? Only not quite. Like something I already knew how to do, but had never actually done, because I had forgotten I could.”

Cantor’s expression looked a bit worried, “Rather like that spell I uncovered.”

“What, the crystal-reading divination? I thought you figured that out from other ritual books.” Dozy was frowning, trying to recall what he had been told.

“Oh, no – you’re right. That trick with the crystal I picked up elsewhere. It’s just …” Cantor sighed.

“When I was both seeing in the dark, viewing magical auras, and looking through Morari’s shade to see the pages there was a spell that was revealed. And it was …” once again Cantor was struggling to find the right words, “Familiar. So very familiar. I don’t know if you’ve ever been studying some subject, or trying some activity, and thinking ‘this is all very difficult’ then just had something seem to ‘click’ and suddenly it all made perfect sense … but it was like that. I’d never seen that particular spell before, but as soon as I laid eyes on it I just … I knew it.”

“What spell?” Bogart sounded suspicious.

“Uh … I can make dead ponies talk.”

“You could already do that Cantor.” Dozy seemed both amused and concerned.

“No.” Cantor clarified, “I couldn’t. I could talk to the spirits of dead ponies that were lingering around. I couldn’t point at a corpse and say, ‘answer me these questions.’ Not and expect their dead body to spontaneously draw breath and actually do it.”

There was a moment of silence before Cantor, rolling his eyes, added, “Yes. It’s creepy. I get that it’s creepy. It creeps me right the fuck out. Knowledge crawling unbidden up the back of my mind from … from somewhere, summoned up by a mystic tome that can only be read in darkness, and gifting me with secrets to draw answers from the dead? Back when Morari was alive, heck back when Magpie was alive, admitting I could do that sort of thing could have gotten me burned at the stake.”

Cantor chuckled. “Tartarus! With some of the angry mobs I’ve run from in my time, it could get me burned at the stake tomorrow for all I know.” He fell silent, contemplating that last bit.

Valentina spoke up. “Only five questions before the magic fades, corpses will only talk for up to ten minutes before the magic fades, trying it again on the same corpse won’t generally work unless a couple of weeks have passed, they don’t know anything they didn’t know when they were alive, the corpse (in answering) is basically the same pony they were in life – so if they aren’t inclined to be of a cooperative disposition to the pony asking them questions they’ll lie or just refuse to talk, and it’s not something that can be done easily or often – Cantor only has enough ‘oompf’ to pull it off maybe twice before he’s shot for the day. It’s not one of those ritual things he can just do anywhere, time permitting.” She ticked off the points one by one.

To the somewhat surprised looks from Dozy and Bogart she replied, “Loves, I was there when he was rattling on (and on and on) about the discovery. Cantor once impressed upon me the importance of knowing the limits of specific magics.” She smiled fondly, “Lest I become annoyed from asking its practitioners to do things their magic cannot, in fact, do.”

“I’ve had a few more hours to get over the heebie-jeebies than you two. And when it eventually occurs to you two colts that the good inspector from Shetland Yard has a morgue full of corpses from the Ashmulean that might be able to shed a bit of light on the break in, if only somepony could ask them nicely to answer a few questions, it would be best if you knew exactly what Cantor can and can’t do with this new spell of his.”

“Oy! Can we keep ‘er, Cantor? She’s good to have around. ‘n’ not just ‘cause she’s easy on the eyes!”

“You could certainly use the help of one of the living for your work. Especially one who isn’t spooked by … uhm … spooks.” Morari chuckled a bit.

“Thank you Valentina,” Cantor smiled. “And getting back to the point. There are things to be arranged. Somepony ought to follow up on the knives, as much as we can. Somepony ought to figure out if there are more of those vortexes out there and, if so, where. Somepony ought to follow up on that Doctor Caballeron fellow, especially if he’s as involved in this as we suspect he might be.”

“And I need to get into the archives tomorrow night to see what I can learn of Tambelon from the Iron Book while it, and I, are wrapped in shadow. With luck, I can walk out of there with enough information to place it on a map. And then it’ll be off to … well … wherever that winds up being.”

“As for why tomorrow – they’re having a small gallery presentation, honoring a gift of several new and rare volumes. There will be ponies in attendance, and I should be able to slip away to the archive reading room for the few moments necessary to get some time alone with the Iron Book of Shadows. It’s really the perfect time to be trying to sneak around in their back rooms.”

“Provided,” Cantor grinned at Bogart. “You can get me a ticket!”

“I’ll get you two,” Bogart said, rather grimly, “You’re taking Val, here. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. If things don’t go as smoothly as we’d like, you may need that. I trust that will be satisfactory?”

Valentina grinned, “Oh yes! Cantor takes me to the nicest places!”

Cantor rolled his eyes as she took his foreleg.

“What? I’m serious! They’re ‘hauntingly’ beautiful!” Valentina’s grin grew when Dozy winced from the joke, “And, best of all, it’s exciting!” She gave Cantor’s leg a squeeze, “I like exciting. It’s why I’m sticking around.”