Captain Hector Silvermane kicked the wet, cloying snow from his hooves for what felt like the thousandth time in half an hour.

He had been on the same trail since the train dropped him off at a station so dilapidated and forgotten that he nearly felt sorry for the very floorboards themselves; as if they had been cruelly abandoned at birth by abusive trees. The conductor asked him twice if he really wanted to get off there. The only thing keeping the nearest train station to Little Hoofington functioning it all was the occasional party of shabbily dressed locals, standing on the platform with bits sufficient to purchase one-way tickets.

“Some board,” The conductor had said, “But nopony disembarks.”

Captain Silvermane banished the prattling semantics from his mind. Morning had already progressed into afternoon, and in the interest of time he followed the first and only trail he could find into the foothills. He was rewarded when wayward plumes of smoke on the horizon gave way to the tops of chimneys, and finally a guard station with a gate in the distance.

From his vantage outside its boundaries, Little Hoofington looked as though it had been built right into the side of the mountain in stood at the foot of. A modest stone perimeter wall emerged from the wall of stone behind the village, ran the semicircle length of it, and then disappeared back into the earth. Within were the homes and businesses he had been charged to investigate and protect.

Wasting no time, Hector rapped sharply on the tiny, outhouse-sized guardhouse that kept watch over the open gate. There was no response. Indignant at the idea the guardhouse would be unmanned in the middle of the afternoon, Hector looped his hoof around the door handle and yanked it open.

The hinges creaked dryly, and the tiny room revealed the image of a ruddy-looking male earth pony. Rocked back against the wall on a chair, his hind legs were crossed over the room’s small desk. His uniform - that of a lieutenant - was rumpled, and he wore a non-regulation beanie, complete with a little propeller, on the crown of his head. He was snoring, and the room positively stank of low-quality, stale turnip rum.

Silvermane furrowed his brow and barked. “Ten HUT!”

The snoring interloper didn’t move in the least, other than to grin and mumble something about hoofball. Incensed, Hector grabbed a heavy field manual from the desk in the glow of his magic and tossed it right into the stallion’s lap.

“Soldier!” He barked again. “You’re being called to attention by a superior officer! Look alive!”

With a clatter and a crash, the chair, the book, and the snoozing pony all ended up in a jumble on the floor. Eyes finally open, the pony in the tattered uniform, now on his stomach on the floor, looked around as if he was quite used to waking up in such a position. He glanced up, blinked a few times, and grinned broadly.

“Well! Aintchoo a purdy admiral!” He declared in a saucy voice. He pushed himself up from the floor and saw to his priorities - the open flask of rum on the desk. Finding it still half-filled with amber-colored liquid, he picked it up with his mouth, turned his head up to swallow a few gulps, and then balanced it on the flat of his hoof, pausing to let out a dramatic breath. “Gee Admiral, shore is nice t’meetcha! Don’t get many soldierin’ types ‘round here!”

Hector did his best to hide how appalling this entire scene was. His voice was clear, stern, and to anypony who wasn’t inebriated, menacing.

“Are you not a soldier, Lieutenant? There’s supposed to be a guard house in this village. Or did you win that uniform in a poker game?”

The stallion let out a guffawing, spitting laugh that reeked worse than the entire room. “Aw shucks Admiral, dontcha worry. I won it back every time I lost it!” He replied to the rhetorical question before laughing again. “Yanno they say yer eyes are the windows to yer soul. Yanno what that means? All ya gotta do is look somepony in the eye and you’ll win every time!” He offered the bottle, “Care for a snort?”

Hector pushed the revolting substance away. “Name and serial number, Lieutenant. And don’t think I won’t be mentioning drunkenness on duty to your commanding officer. Do you realize who I am?” He leaned in with the last word, showing off the crest on his helmet that even a raw recruit would recognize as the emblem of the royal palace. The ‘lieutenant’ leaned in and squinted at the emblem.

“...kinda looks like a butt,” he said plainly. A second later he finally chortled. “Oh, oh, OH, I get it! I’m sorry - yer the rear admiral!” He stood up straight and saluted...then collapsed into idiot laughter again. “R-rear....aw didja hear that? Darn I sure am funny, ain’t I? Ain’t I?”

“Where is your commanding officer, lietenant?” Hector growled. “If you don’t identify yourself and respond to my questions this instant, so help me I’ll--”

“Don’t bother none, Cap’n.” A gruff voice spoke from somewhere behind Silvermane. His training kicking in, he whirled on the spot until his eyes fell on a unicorn nag. She was bent with age, but managed to maintain a regal posture and came to attention with a sharp salute.

“Dusky Rose, Cap’n!” She announced. “Sherriff of the Little Hoofington Constabulary, at yer service, sir!”

Appreciative of a proper greeting, Hector relented and waved a hoof at the stallion in the guard box, who had gone back to his drinking. “Constable Rose. Good to meet you. Who - or what, is this supposed to be?”

Rose and her sergeant’s striped cutie mark remained at full attention. “We calls him ‘Beanie’, Sir. Don’t mind him none, Cap’n. He’s harmless.”

“Is he actually a soldier?” Hector asked incredulously.

Rose nodded. “Sure as ah’m older than yer momma, Sir!” She hesitated, “Er, pardon mah Prance talk.”

Hector dismissed the comment, “Where is the commander of the guard station for this town?”

Constable Rose cleared her throat, hesitating. “Afraid yer lookin’ at him over in that little box there, sir.”

Hector was shocked. “This...lout is the commander of the local guard station?”

Rose shrugged. “By default, seein’ as how he’s the only guard we ever had in decades, Cap’n. This ain’t Canterlot or Manehattan. The guard only got so many ponies to watch all of Equestria.” She puffed her chest and proudly presented the tin star on the light vest she was wearing. “But don’t worry. Ah take care of the law ‘round here. Ah can throw him in the drunk tank if y’want, Sir, but...ah’d just as soon not.”

Hector tapped his hoof impatiently. “Explain.”

“Well sir, y’see,” Rose coughed lightly. “Folks around these parts, they need a lot of cheerin’ up as of late. Ol’ Beanie there, he’s a barrel of fun and friendliness. Keeps folks calm and happy like, fer the most part. They really appreciate him bein’ around, Sir.”

“Shore!” Beanie declared, rocking back in his chair again. “Ah got friends all over town! Ah’m mannin the outposts, Admiral! Mah friendship is magical!”

Hector sighed. “Is he armed?”

“No sir,” Rose replied smartly, “Ain’t that stupid.”

Giving Beanie one last cursory glance, Hector moved away from the guard box. “I’d like a status report, Constable.”

Rose nodded and began marching her olive drab coat towards the gate. “Yes Sir! Yer hooves cold, Sir?”

Hector considered the question as he fell in. “As a matter of fact, I am a little...chilly. It’s quite a hike here from the train station. Why do you ask?” The vista before Hector’s eyes gradually changed from wilderness to snowed over, cobblestone streets with tightly packed homes and businesses.

Rose picked a street, “First we’ll take ya to the clinic. It’s Standard guard procedure to check yerself out after a hike like that, ain’t it? Then we’ll have a looksee around.”

Silvermane considered the elderly mare beside him as he walked. She knew when to salute, had knowledge of a rather insignificant guard procedure, and recognized his rank. Clearly she had been a guard herself at some point in her life, and that thought made Hector feel a little better about the shabby state of military affairs in Little Hoofington. He turned his attention to the streets, and immediately noticed something strange.

“That will be fine, Constable. But tell me...where are the street cleaners?” Hector glanced at the position of the sun, “It will be dark soon. Where are the lamp-lighters? And why hasn’t the snow been cleared from any of these residences?”

Constable Rose remained silent for a long time. She fell out of step and returned her marching walk to a normal gait. Hector thought he could see the age on her shoulders and brow more prominently than before.

“We’ll...get around to it, Cap’n. Ain’t a lotta ponies around to do that kinda work, and ain’t no point cleanin’ off a roost with no chickens in it.”

Hector’s questioning was cut off by the presence of a larger building with a red cross emblazoned over the door. The words ‘Sunshine Waffle Community Health’ were etched into a panel just below the cross, and winter-blooming flowers had been set out in a box under one window. Hector appreciated the touch of color in an otherwise steel gray and white world, thinking fondly on it as something Chloe would have had the attentiveness to do. He allowed himself to be led into a series of disinfected hallways, colored with bright imagery intended to soothe foals who were in need of a check-up.

“Maple!” Rose bellowed. “Where’d you git to, ya big ol’ buffalo? Buttermilk! Sweety where ya at? Ah done got y’all a patient here!”

“Oh!” A voice that sounded to Hector remarkably like the singsong of his wife called, “In the examination room, Miss Rose! Please bring them in!”

Hector was escorted behind a glass reception desk to another room painted in the gleaming whites and yellows of a cheery summer’s day. There were two examination beds, ample supply cabinets, and a desk with a rolling stool, occupied by a smiling, periwinkle Pegasus mare with a curly auburn mane and a sunrise for a cutie mark. She seemed awed by Silvermane’s armor, and was on her hooves in a flash.

“Oh my, is this the patient? He looks like a royal guard right out of Canterlot!”

Hector suddenly felt a need to remove his helmet. He grasped it in his magic and set it aside, allowing his silvery locks to flow freely. “You have a good eye, ma’am. I’m Captain Hector Silvermane of Her Majesties’ Royal Guard. I’ve come from Canterlot to check up on all of y--” he corrected, “to check up on your village.”

The mare clapped her hooves together in delight. Her movements were as much poetry as Chloe’s were to Silvermane. When he noticed the golden marital hoop in her ear however, he averted his eyes politely.

“Well! How delightful, Captain Silvermane! Why, I feel better already having a royal guard come to check up on us! But what seems to be the trouble that brought you to our clinic today?”

Hector cleared his throat. “Just...standard procedure, ma’am. I walked here in the snow, and--”

“Oh!” She cut him off, “You could have frostbite on your poor hooves!” She ruffled her feathers and gestured insistently to a table. “Please sit, sit! My name is Buttermilk Waffle. My many-times great grandmare Sunshine established this clinic ages ago to see to the health of those poor ponies who were working the mines at the time. Please get comfortable! I’d be more than happy to see to your health!”

Rose leaned back against a wall and folded her forelegs, “Her husband took her name,” she commented bemusedly. “Not that that ain’t uncommon in Equestria when y’think about it, But the Waffles are good folk with a solid reputation. If you get a chance to be a Waffle, you oughtta take it.”

Buttermilk was back on her stool as Hector took a seat, and she was already readying some equipment when she blushed. “Oh Miss Rose, you flatter us all!” She turned to Hector, “Maple Waffle, my husband, is a wonderful soul who simply wanted to honor me in his own way. It was such a touching gesture, how could I refuse?”

“Touch his kin though,” Rose commented, “An’ he’ll smack ya down till whatever’s left could be poured into one of those beakers over there.”

Hector felt a sudden need to defend the fair mare that was being so kind as to examine his hooves. “Constable--”

“No no Captain,” Buttermilk smiled, caressing the hoof of one of Hector’s hind legs in a way that made the proper guardspony uncomfortable. “Miss Rose is quite right. My husband is...protective, and he can be stubborn at times. Nopony’s perfect, they say. But I’ve borne him two wonderful children and he cares for us all. I love him very much. Oh, but you should meet them all!” Buttermilk turned her attention to the door and called out before Hector could say anything to the contrary. “Maple, darling! Please come in and meet our visitor! He’s a royal guard from Canterlot! Isn’t that lovely? Oh and bring the foals!”

A large, bulky pegasus stallion, whose pineapple yellow coat nearly blended with the walls, suddenly filled the doorway. Hector yanked at his hoof, feeling suddenly self-conscious over having this new stallion’s wife touching him, but Maple only nodded a greeting.

“So you’re a guard, huh?” Come to check on us? About time.”

“Dear, please,” Buttermilk scolded. “This is Captain Silvermane. He’s here to help us, so please set a good example so we can show them all in Canterlot that even out in our humble village, we know all about the magic of friendship.” She looked up to Hector with crocodile-eyes the size of dinner plates. “You are here to help us, aren’t you Captain?”

“Y-yes well,” Hector stammered, forcing himself to look at Maple’s asclepius cutie mark instead of his wife. “Of course, yes. This is just a checkup, however. Constable Rose is going to take me around town to get my bearings, and after that we’ll see about putting things right.”

Maple Waffle snorted. “They haven’t told you much, have they, Captain.”

A teenage colt and filly entered the room with noticeably dissimilar gaits. Like both their parents they were pegasi, but the fruity-red filly with bouncing curls like her mother’s glided in on her wings with boisterous glee, while the chocolate brown colt with a coal-black mane over his eyes sauntered about with a look of hideous boredom. Buttermilk nodded at each of them each in turn as she worked.

“Our children, Captain Silvermane. Strawberry Waffle and Chocolate Waffle.”

Strawberry, who bore a cutie mark that matched her name, landed and stepped up to nuzzle her father’s chest, who in turn wrapped his foreleg around her and grinned. “Apples of our eyes, they are.”

Hector glanced at the colt, named both for his coat color and the image of cocoa beans emblazoned on his flank. The boy’s ears were swiveling, suggesting he was paying attention, but his downtrodden gaze was on the floor. He didn’t look like he wanted to be there, but then, he didn’t look like he wanted to be anywhere at all. Buttermilk noticed the glance and softened her voice to just above a whisper.

“P-please forgive my son, Captain. He, well...we’re all doing our best to keep our spirits high. He’s having some...difficulty coping.” Distress climbing into her voice, she continued, “Times have been trying for us all.”

“Choco, hey,” Strawberry nudged her brother’s chin with her muzzle, “Daddy will take care of us. Daddy would never let anything bad happen to us.” She turned sharply to Hector, her voice and mannerisms somewhat juvenile even for her age, “My daddy is the best, you have nothing to worry about with him around, um...Sir!”

Maple scratched the back of his neck, though he seemed to accept the praise, puffing out his chest. “She speaks the truth, Captain. We’re grateful for your assistance, but never fear. The clinic is well protected. We’re one family that isn’t going to be intimidated.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hector offered politely. Buttermilk pulled back and sat up on her stool.

“Captain, you have a clean bill of health.”

“Ah, thank you,” he replied, “What do I owe--”

Buttermilk interrupted with a wave of her elegant, periwinkle hoof, “We wouldn’t dream of it. You came here all the way from Canterlot just to help us all, Captain. I simply will not accept payment for helping you in return.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Maple added, softly stroking his daughter’s mane as she leaned against him. Hector got to his hooves and picked up his helmet.

“Well, it was nice meeting you all.” He sought for something comforting to say. “It’s...going to be alright.”

On his way out, Silvermane glanced at Chocolate Waffle and smiled. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll get ‘em.”

Chocolate simply looked at him with eyes that were a million miles away.

* * * * *

“Fancy a snort, Cap’n?” Constable Rose broke the silent rhythm of their hooves crunching snow in the streets. Hector made note of the silence and took no small discomfort in it.

“I’m on duty, Constable,” He replied.

“Well, what ah meant is,” Rose amended, waving a foreleg down the street, “There’s just one watering hole left that’s still runnin’ in town. Kitty’s Nip. Lotta ponies tend to congregate there. Safety in numbers an’ all. Ah figured you’d wanna meet some more of the townsponies.” Rose stared idly at the sky, “Miss Kitty calls the place that on account of...well, yanno, her name bein’ Kitty, and catnip, and...well y’all get what ah mean.”

Hector was only paying half attention to the constable’s words. The rest of his thoughts were focused entirely on the nature of the path upon which they trotted. As the cobblestones meandered to the far edge of town, a great chasm opened up in the earth and ran parallel to the course of the two ponies for several hundred yards, before the path turned away and moved back into the town proper. Hector peered down the side of the cliff, but found that it ran so deep, he couldn’t determine where the bottom was.

“How is this here?” He asked, asking the question from the perspective of a pony who assumed all of Little Hoofington’s surroundings went up, not down.

Rose glanced back and shrugged. “Yer in an old mining town, Cap’n. Them’s the mines down there. See yonder?” She pointed at the sheer rock face on the other side of the chasm. “Mountains run all the way along the north side of town. This here’s a cut in the earth that got bigger the more miners came in to chip at it way back when. It’s so steep, y’all can’t even walk down there. Lookit them ropes and baskets on them pulleys over there.”

Sure enough, Hector could make out a series of baskets large enough to fit two or three ponies plus some equipment, anchored in various places to the town side of the chasm. Peering down, he noticed a rope guidance system on pulleys, and a number of small caves in the side of the cliff face.

“That’s how they done it,” Rose went on. “Up ‘n down the wall like spiders. Clever, but precarious as hell. Accidents’n such. Ain’t nopony uses ‘em nomore. Not much minin’ to be had.”

Hector took note of the bit of local history and turned his attention back to the street. He noticed another larger building. There were no words to identify it, but a hanging sign laden with snow bore the stylized image of a cat rolling around with a ball of yarn. Rose lit her horn and fired a bolt of magic energy sufficient to swing and clear off the sign without damaging it.

“Mosta them miners weren’t literate,” she explained. “Pictures spoke louder. C’mon, let’s check it out.”

This time, the odor of turnip rum that assailed Hector’s nostrils was buffeted by the scents of various finer alcohols and sweet chasers, with a hint of lavender perfume in the air. The sounds hit him next - on the far wall of the large common room of Kitty’s Nip stood an old player piano, upon which a deep blue earth pony stallion with a rainbow-hued umbrella cutie mark was beating out a loud, spirited tune. To the right was a crackling hearth, above which rested a number of mining artifacts and a mural of what Hector suspected was Little Hoofington in its heyday - populated, sprawling, and by all rights nearly a century out of date.

Several round tables were spread out before the fire, two of which were occupied. Three ponies sat at one - two biscuit-white pegasi mares with similarly-styled manes were chatting with a lanky, rough, washed out earth stallion in a peasant hood who looked to Hector like a drifter. At the other table sat a bulky unicorn mare with aged armor plates. Her back was to the wall, and she returned Hector’s gaze with an appraising look of her own as the levitated and polished a well-loved machete.

“Well, look at what marched through the door!” A voice declared from off to the left. Hector turned towards the bar; behind its lacquered surface stood a made up, middle-aged, pale earth mare with too much eyeshadow and the look of a bridleway showmare about her. Her fire-brigade red mane fell in an intentionally ‘random’ series of curls around her face, spouting from a comb atop her head with an image of a rock and a miner’s pick on it. An emerald corset ran along her curves, just far enough to kiss the top of the ball of yarn protruding from a beer stein that served as her cutie mark. Her smile was broad, and she waved at the piano player without taking her eyes off of Hector.

“Hey Whim!” She called, “Look what we have here! Why, I declare this stallion has so much big brass on him, Celestia herself might trot through that door next!”

The piano player turned, looking completely away from the keys without ceasing his recitation, and grinned a cheery grin. “Ya’don’t say? Hi there General! Why not have a spell of dancing? Maybe we can get the whole room into it!”

Hector removed his helmet out of politeness again, but waved the invitation off as he approached the bar with the feel of eyes on his back from the direction of the tables. “Thank you, no.” He sat the helmet on the bar, got a look at his own regal countenance in the mirror behind it, and announced to the room: “I’m Hector Silvermane, A Captain in Her Majesties’ royal guard at Canterlot. As citizens of Equestria, I’ve been dispatched here to...” He chose his words carefully, “See to the continued safety and security of your community.”

“Oh?” A voice rose from the tables, and Hector took note of the lone, armored unicorn mare whose coat was as much a dusky, beaten copper as her armor. A cutie mark consisting of three golden bits surrounded a helmet on her exposed flank. “That’s a high office, Captain,” She observed. “Where’s the rest of the division you should be marching at the head of?”

Silvermane didn’t particularly want to inform any of these ponies that his lack of entourage was an attempt not to instill paranoid fear in the rest of Equestria. “I’m here as an...observer for the time being,” He then added: “You have a good eye for protocol. Like a guard might.”

“Ex-guard,” The mare offered, spinning the machete in little circles in the air before driving it point down into the table before her. “It’s a nice life, but I found I could make more bits doing it privately.” She nodded at Rose, “Constable there was a guard too, as I recall.”

Dusky Rose cackled like the old biddy she was. “By Celestia, Caveat! Y’all know ah retired half a coon’s age ago!” She proudly pushed out her chest, presenting the tin star on her beige vest. “Got peacekeepin’ in mah blood though. Ah’m gonna be pushin’ up daisies with a star in mah fluff someday, so help me.”

The armored mare called Caveat pulled the knife free and pointed it in Rose’s direction from across the room. “Just watch your tail, Tin Star,” she threatened. “I’m an honest pony, but if you’re one of those...things, I’ll do what I have to do.”

Rose’s horn lit up, her wrinkled brow furrowing. “Y’all try it. Ah got corns on mah hooves older’n you. More experience, too.”

“Ahem!” Hector spoke up, interposing himself between the two mares as the music stopped. “Constable Rose. Miss Caveat--”

“I ain’t no ‘Miss’,” Caveat insisted.

“Caveat,” Hector appended. “On the authority of the royal house, I’ve assumed overall command of law enforcement duties in Little Hoofington until further notice. I won’t have brawling.”

Caveat’s knife vanished into a leather scabbard on her belt. Slowly. “Understood, Captain.”

Rose doused her horn. “Reckon ah weren’t plannin’ to start anything, Cap’n. Only finish it if needs be.”

“Well!” The mare behind the bar clapped her hooves together once. “Constable, Captain, please. Have a seat at the bar.” Her smile showed only the slightest signs of age-wilting. “Captain, I’m Kitty Contessa, and this is my place, Kitty’s Nip. On behalf of all of Little Hoofington, may I welcome you to town with a ‘nip’ of whatever your pleasure is. On the house, of course. I for one feel better already with the presence of a royal guard in our midst.”

Whim began playing again. With the situation diffused, Hector found a stool at the bar but held up his hoof. “You’re very kind ma’am, but I’m on duty.”

Kitty didn’t skip a beat. “Coffee then. You’re not a pegasus, dear, so you must have hiked all the way through those awful hills, and in this snow! You need something warm-” She batted her curled lashes, “Yes?”

“I...” Hector cleared his throat and looked away. “Thank you ma’am, but--”

“Not coffee?” Kitty stated plainly, slapping a steaming cup of something else down on the counter. “Tea then! You look like a stallion that might approve of a hint of fine bergamot rather than a robust dark roast.”

Hector lifted the delicate cup in his magic and took a long breath of it, allowing the aroma to seep into his chilled core. “I do, ma’am. You’re very perceptive, thank you.”

Kitty sang out a laugh and stepped back to fill a wooden bowl with beer nuts. “I have to be perceptive in my line of work, dear Captain. I used to be the proprietress of a drinking hole in a dried up mining town. Now I’m the proprietress of the only drinking hole in a dried up mining town.” Her expression faltered. “Keeping ponies merry is more of a responsibility than it sounds like.”

Hector absorbed the bitterness of the information on the cusp of his soothing drink. He wanted to question Constable Rose further - find out what was really going on in Little Hoofington. But his better judgement told him to wait. If the townsponies were as in need of good cheer as Kitty suggested, it was the wrong time to broach such a topic. Instead, he kept to his observations.

“Hiya General!” A voice greeted him, and Hector turned his attention to the royal blue stallion in a ridiculously garish necktie called Whim. He slipped behind the bar as if it were natural to do so and rested his forelegs on it, looking as though he were settling in for a campfire story. “So you’re from all the way in Canterlot, huh? We don’t get many visitors ‘cept for the twins over there. How about some cool soldiering stories?”

Hector’s eye moved to the two similar-looking mares conversing with the rough stallion at a table. “Stories...?”

“Oh,” Whim grinned like he had peanut butter on his gums, “That’s what I do, General! I’m a storyteller!”

“Yer a clockmaker,” Rose interjected.

“Oh psh!” Whim scoffed. “Nopony needs clocks right now! General--” he turned his attention back to Hector, his smile evening out. “What ponies need right now is some comfort. Something to take their minds off their troubles. Now I happen to have a talent for tales short and tall. My brother’s kids used to love it. I’m also none too bad with an upright and a set of pearly keys, so I said to myself, ‘You know, Whim? You should do you part to give a hoof to your fellow townsponies!’ I don’t know much about guarding and healing and all that, but you’d be surprised how many ponies appreciate something as simple as a nice web spun around a warm hearth, with some musical accompaniment!”

“Just check reality at the door,” Kitty laughed. “Yesterday Whim was telling us about the time he flew with the Wonderbolts.”

Whim, clearly an earth pony, held up his hooves in a gesture of submission and smiled. “They drummed me out for making them look bad with my moves! Oh, it doesn’t matter how tall the tale is, so long as somepony gets good cheer out of it. Wouldn’t you say, General?”

Despite his sense of decorum, Hector found his lip turning up in a small smile. Warmth in his tummy, a good drink, and some simple camaraderie. He nodded his approval.

“Can’t say you’re wrong, Mister Whim. It’s admirable of you to take up the charge.”

“Mister!?” Whim made an obviously pretend show of offense and took to twirling his loud tie. “Please, General! Just Whim will do. Or on more formal occasions, ‘The Reverend, His Royal Highness, Your Honor Whim, Esquire’.”

“He has no idea what ‘esquire’ means,” Kitty giggled.

“It’s true! I don’t!”

Kitty began mixing a drink without taking any orders for one. “Captain, Whim and I are...doing our best to make Kitty’s Nip a welcome respite for our neighbors. If there’s anything we can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Hector nodded and glanced again at the tables. “I’d like to know more about your patrons if you wouldn’t mind, Miss Kitty. Do they come here often?”

Kitty slid something that looked like a mint julep over to Whim and began organizing ingredients for another concoction. “Caveat came here a few years ago. She claims she quit the guard, but...well, our town isn’t exactly the sort of place ponies go to pursue other opportunities. I can’t tell you much about her dear, other than she pays her bills, never runs up a tab, and she made a better living when there were more ponies around here in need of her services. You’d think ponies would want a personal guard around even more than usual, except--”

Rose, who had been silent just long enough for Hector to forget her presence, cut in, “Exceptin’ she might be one o’ those dirty critters scurryin’ about at night.”

“Constable, you don’t know that,” Kitty admonished gently. “And forgive me, but in all honesty, any of us could be something other than we seem. Even you.”

“Me!?” Rose sputtered in offense, “Spoken like a true conspirator what wants the heat off ‘em! Lansakes, I’ll tell you what - I see ponies goin’ out in the dark, and I’ll warn y’all right now not to be knockin’ on mah door at night!” Her horn flashed, “Ah don’t ask intruders questions first!”

“Constable please,” Hector warned. This time he put his hoof on Rose’s shoulder. The old mare’s magic winked out, and Silvermane saw once again the weakness of age in her eyes.

“...beg pardon, Cap’n. It’s just...well ah’m a duly appointed servant of the law, and...well it’s just frustratin’ around these parts as of late.”

“It’s all right dear,” Kitty cooed, pushing something alcoholic towards Rose that the old nag took up in her magic without pause. “We’re all on edge. Have a drink and relax--” She turned to Silvermane, “With your approval of course, Captain.”

Hector merely nodded again. He didn’t approve of the town Sherriff drinking on duty, but begrudged that Rose’s hackles had gone up too many times already. Just one might do well to calm her down. Kitty continued to answer his question.

“Those two pretty fillies at that table over there claim they’re twins. With the way they look so similar, I believe it. Not from around here though. They’ve only been in town a week, from Manehattan.”

Hector raised a brow and glanced at the mares. The only difference between them physically was the glasses the more excited of the two wore. The other smiled periodically, but her expressions varied and she didn’t speak as often. The idea that anypony would come here willingly fanned Hector’s curiosity.

“Did they say why?” He asked absently as the piano music began again.

“The one with the glasses said something about ‘hexes’,” Kitty replied. “The other one doesn’t seem quite as interested. That stallion with them is Stringbean, a local. Miner in a dried up town. Kind of a hard luck case, but I don’t think he has anywhere else do go. Stubborn as a mule though. Still goes down in the mines looking for his treasure.”

Hector got up, finished his tea, and approached the table on his own. He wasn’t hard to notice in his finery of his armor, and the three ponies abruptly ceased their conversation to address him. The bespectacled young mare bearing a sheet of folded notebook paper for a cutie mark spoke first.

“Oh, hello! You’re really from the royal palace?” Hector nodded, and her grin broadened all the more. “Are you here for Cadabra?”

Hector raised a brow. “I’m sorry, but...Cadabra?”

Seeing the lack of recognition in his eyes, the mare lowered her voice and began looking around as though she were expecting eavesdroppers. She pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. I’m Scoops.” She waved at the other mare, “This is my sister, Specs.”

“Elder sister,” Specs amended.

“By two minutes!” Scoops complained. “A-anyway, ponies get us confused a lot on account of how we look so similar, and my sister’s name.”

Specs piped up, “And because I’m not the one with the glasses. I got my name because I have good eyes, not bad ones. I watch things.”

“My eyes aren’t that bad!” Scoops insisted, turning back to Hector to continue her explanation as she sipped on a beverage so sweet, he could smell the molasses. “My sister just came with me because she likes to stick her muzzle in what I do.”

“I’m looking out for you,” Specs insisted. “You’ll get yourself in trouble otherwise.”

Hector waited for them to squabble again, but Scoops only smiled softly. “Yeah...I know. Thanks sis. Anyway, we’re from Manehattan. I run a column in one of the smaller newspapers, the Mane Examiner?” She paused, hopeful for recognition on Hector’s face. When she didn’t receive any, she moved on with an expression as though she expected as much. “It’s all about the occult and the supernatural. I’m always looking for a good story.” She puffed up with pride, “I investigated The Weeping Windigo of Vanhoover, The Appaloosa Strangler, and even the Thirteen Bumps in the Whinnyapolis Night!”

Hector had no idea what the young pegasus was talking about, but he made an effort to be polite. “And you and your sister came here because of something called...’Cadabra’?”

“Not something,” Scoops corrected, “Somepony. Cadabra Smile, the evil wizard that runs the local Cult of the Night!”

Specs rolled her eyes, “She’s not an evil wizard, Scoops. She’s just a Night worshipper.” She looked at Hector, “You must have heard about that if you’re from Canterlot, right? The ponies who consider Princess Luna to be their patron saint? It’s common among fireponies, and ponies who believe ‘The Night’ should be respected, for fear that to disrespect it might mean the return of Nightmare Moon.”

“They stay up a lot at night,” Scoops took over, “They do weird rituals too. It’s totally a cult. Like they believe if they don’t do all kinds of weird things, Princess Luna will think nopony cares about her night again, and she’ll, you know--” She touched her hoof to her temple and spun it in a circle, “Go all nutty again. Like there’s some other force out there controlling whether that happens. They call it ‘The Nightmare’, or just ‘The Night’”.

Hector found his attention captured further than he intended by the sisters’ story. “Are you two aware of the situation in this village currently?”

“Oh yes!” Scoops replied quickly. “That’s why we came here! Y’see, I ran into a pony from Little Hoofington back in Manehattan who told me about weird stuff going on up here, and about this pony in this tiny village that was running a Cult of the Night. Nopony even knows about it! Can you believe the story this is gonna turn into? Occult groups all over Equestria are gonna want to know all about this!”

Hector tried not to cringe. “Listen, both of you. I appreciate your...enthusiasm, but you really shouldn’t stay in this village. At least, not for the time being. There is an investigation being conducted by the royal house, and until that business has been concluded, I cannot vouch for your continued safety. I’d like the both of you on the morning train back to Manehatten.”

Specs seemed relieved. Scoops looked crushed.

“Whaaat? C-captain Silvermane, please! This could be the occult discovery of a lifetime, with all the things that have been happening in this village. I-I can help you with your investigation!” Scoops sputtered, “Whatever’s going on here, you can bet Cadabra Smile is behind it! If she’s running a Cult of the Night, she’s sure to be out when everypony else is asleep! Just let me go out tonight and check her out--”

“No.” Hector insisted, enough firmness in his tone to shut the young mare down. “I am truly sorry to inconvenience the both of you, but unlike the other residents of Little Hoofington, you have someplace to go. I’m afraid I would have to consider anything you do to be potentially impeding the official investigation, so...I’m very sorry. You’re welcome to come back when this has all blown over. But you need to go home in the morning.”

“B-but that’ll be too late...”

Specs laid a hoof on her sister’s shoulder, the latter looking utterly crestfallen. “Sis, it’s for the best. You heard the captain. The royal guard are only trying to protect everypony, and that’s a big job. We should stay out of their way.”

“But...” Scoops blubbered, “But...oh...f-fine!” Abruptly she shoved her chair back, the legs screeching across the hardwood floor. “Fine, I...I understand. But I’m telling you, if you’re an investigator? It’s Cadabra you should be investigating. You’d be a complete idiot not to suspect her. They say that Night Cult extremists aren’t above...” she lowered her voice, “...pony sacrifice.”

With that, Scoops stormed towards the stairs. Specs rose, flexed her wings, tousled the ruddy brown curls she and her sister shared, and addressed Hector in passing.

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. Miss Kitty is letting us stay in a room upstairs, so we’ll be safe there. And, um,” she hesitated, and a gentle blush touched her light, young cheeks. “...thanks. I worry about my sister when she goes to extremes. This is just the excuse I needed to keep her safe.”

Hector found himself alone at the table with the unfortunate earth pony miner called Stringbean. Silent all this time, he finally took a swig from his mug of ale and flicked an ear along its socket in his hood.

“They’re nice girls,” he said, his voice gruff and monotone. “I told ‘em some stuff they wanted to know. The older one’s right though. They shouldn’t be here. Nopony should be here.”

Hector tilted his head slightly. “If you believe that, what are you doing here?”

Stringbean’s expression was so bland, Hector could barely distinguish it from that of Chocolate Waffle. “Don’t got noplace else to go. But something bad’s going down in this village, Cap’n. I don’t give a damn about it. I don’t give a damn about anything but crunching the last little bit of ore out of these rocks. Ain’t been no gold for a long time, but I can put enough raw materials together to at least buy my way into some other city and make a new start. Soon as I got enough, I’m outta here.”

Hector considered the stallion’s claims. Unlike the two young pegasi he wanted out of town as quickly as possible, he found himself preferring this one to stay for a while. At least until the investigation was concluded.

“I see.”

Stringbean rose as well, downing the last of his drink and wiping the froth from his lips. The earthen cloak he wore obscured his cutie mark and gave him an overall look as though he had been rolling in dust. “Those girls are nice,” he repeated. “Real nice. Be a damn shame if something happened to ‘em.”

Hector watched as Stringbean disappeared into the waning light of late afternoon. Caveat’s table was empty; Hector saw no sign of the armored mare. Collecting Constable Rose and bidding Kitty Contessa a good evening, Hector left Kitty’s Nip to the sound of a slow showtune being tapped out on the piano.

* * * * *

The pair of law enforcers trotted silently until a humble building bearing the star of justice came into view. The Constabulary looked more to Hector like a home in its own right, with an ample porch and rocking chairs that made the building resemble an Appaloosan jailhouse. The stairs creaked with age, and a plaque outside the front door depicted a year of establishment that far predated any living pony who wasn’t a princess. Hector had been silently observing thus far, but his tongue would no longer be held.

“Constable Rose,” He addressed his guide while glancing at the sky of early evening, “The night is still young. I’d like to meet some other members of the local population.”

Rose snerked as she held the door open for Silvermane to pass through first. “Yer about to do that. Ain’t much else to see out yonder.”

Hector considered the strange statement and the modest accommodations inside the constabulary. The inside looked as much like a home as the outside - if it weren’t for a number of desks stacked with paper, extra chairs, a few bulletin boards crowded with notes, and three empty jail cells lining the rear wall, the crackling hearth and comfortable rug might have made him believe he was being shown to a room for the night. The smell of stale coffee was in the air, and Hector immediately noticed two ponies in the room - an orange earth stallion in a ten-gallon hat with a keyring and a vest like Rose’s; and a lime green unicorn mare with glasses, a short, scruffy mauve mane, and an image of a magnifying glass on her flank, who was levitating a pad of paper.

“Trotter!” Rose scowled. “Git up offa that couch ‘n show some respect! This here’s Heckter Silvermane. He’s a Cap’n in the royal guard an’ he’s come here to help us out!”

The stallion rose too slowly and casually for Hector’s taste, but he did offer a proper salute. “Sir. Nice to see we’re getting’ some attention here, finally.”

“This here’s Beat Trotter,” Rose explained. “He’s the Deputy. An’ before you ask, Cap’n, Ah’m the sherriff and he’s the deputy. That’s all we got.”

Beat Trotter looked solemn. “...ain’t nopony else wants to stick their neck out nomore.”

Hector nodded a greeting and glanced at the small mare with a pencil behind her ear. “We have official business to discuss. Is she...?”

Rose waved the concern off. “Aw, she’s alright. She ain’t been deputized but she might as well have been by now. Tell him yer name, Whatzit.”

“Whatzit...?” Hector repeated, scrunching his muzzle at the odd word. The mare stood and smiled, extending her hoof.

“Autumn Dew Drop Jelly Passion Rainbow,” She recited. “My father was a poet, and my mother was...kinda ‘New Age’,” She offered by way of explanation. “Whatzit is easier to say, but you can use any of those words you want. ‘Zit’ is probably the simplest thing that I’m used to responding to. And don’t worry, I realize you’re not calling me a pimple.”

Hector bumped the offered hoof and took a moment to absorb the curious explanation. “Ah...nice to meet you then...Zit.”

“Mmhm!” Zit replied, “You too Captain! We sure could use somepony like you around here right now!”

Rose injected herself into the conversation. “Whatzit here used to work at the baker’s, but that closed up. Then she moved to th’florist…but then that closed up. Then--”

Whatzit interrupted, “I’ve also been a barista, a waitress, a bookkeeper, and a clerk at an asparagus stand.” She smiled wanly, “My parents died in the mines years ago and the village kind of…took me in. Everypony here is…kinda like family to me.”

Beat Trotter closed in and added his low voice to the conversation, his keys jangling as he moved. “Whatzit here has a real good eye for detail. There ain’t no place left for her to work, so she’s been doin’ private dick work for us.”

“Y’all can say whatever y’need to say around her, Cap’n,” Rose assured.

Hector examined the perky young mare called ‘Whatzit’. Her posture and the gleam in her eye suggested she was eager to be put to work. She was probably around the age of the twins, but she didn’t come off quite as naive as Scoops. Finally, Hector nodded his acceptance.

“Alright. First thing’s first.” He walked into the room proper and glanced about. “Constable, the night is still young but you didn’t take me to meet any other pony in town. And now you’re all telling me that Zit here has nowhere else to work. Little Hoofington has a reported population of one-hundred sixty-six. Why have I not made the acquaintance of any of the other one hundred and fifty-two ponies in town?

The other three ponies in the room exchanged muted glances, each of them appearing to be encouraging the others to speak first. Rose spoke, and for the first time Hector saw the grizzled constable flatten her ears under her snowy mane.

“...ain’t nuthin’ else to look at.”

Hector wasn’t in the mood for additional detective work. “What does that mean, constable?”

Whatzit spoke up. “Wh-what she means, Captain, is that...well...” She trailed off, Beat Trotter finally picking up her slack.

“About two dozen of ‘em left in the past couple months. Mostly folks with little colts and fillies.”

Hector was tapping his hoof. “And what about the other one hundred and twenty-eight?”

There was more hesitation. Rose and Trotter began tumbling snippets of conversation over one another:

“...ol’ Granny Corncob died from the fever last year...”

“...Slate Quarry got caught by a cave-in six months ago. Poor guy...”

“...Double Dare choked on a chicken bone. Damnest thing I ever saw, a pony tryin’ to eat a chicken bone…never could turn down a bit, that one...”

Hector stopped listening. He bore his gaze into the only pony who was looking him in the eye, and Whatzit withered under it.

“...they’re dead, Captain Silvermane.” Whatzit swallowed. “But the population numbers are slightly off.” She raised her pad of paper and examined it, “In the past year, five ponies have died of various causes in this village. Accounting for the twenty-four who left in the last few weeks, that leaves...one-hundred thirty-seven. Counting Specs and Scoops,” She added with a hasty bow of her head, “...just for completeness’ sake.

“I have met exactly fourteen ponies since my arrival, Zit,” Hector announced, running the numbers in his head.

“He ain’t met Cadabra or Lora yet,” Rose interrupted.

“Sixteen ponies,” Hector corrected, staring the older mare into silence. “What is the current population of Little Hoofington?”

Whatzit glanced at her notepad but thought the better of answering slowly. “There are currently...six pegasi, five earth ponies, and five unicorns in Little Hoofington...well, six unicorns including you now, Sir.”

Hector’s square jaw dropped.

“Are you three trying to tell me that there have been one-hundred and twenty-one unexplained deaths in Little Hoofington in a matter of weeks!?”

“They ain’t unexplained,” Rose offered, her cowed tone now that of a crusty old nag. “We know what happened to ‘em. An’ who did it.”

“Who 'did' it? You mean they were all murdered!?” Silvermane was shouting now, “And you know who the killer is, but they remain at large!? Constable, I’ve heard of incompetent policework before, but this sort of negligence borders on a crime in its own right! Why in the name of the Sun and the Moon have you not arres--”

“She can’t, Captain!” In an unexpected show of defiance, little Whatzit interposed herself between the guard captain and the two mortified local peacekeepers. She took a breath and began again. “She can’t, Captain. The killers are changelings. They can...” her eyes darted around the room. “...they can be any one of us, at any time.

Rose covered her star with a hoof as though she were ashamed of it. “At first, some folks said they caught other folks actin’ funny. Like old friends that didn’t seem familiar no more. But by the time we all caught on...it was too late. Those critters wised up. Had time to watch the targets they were standin’ in for. We...can’t tell who’s who no more.”

“We can’t just arrest the whole town,” Beat Trotter added. “An’ we can’t call for help, because...well...”

“Because why, deputy?” Hector demanded.

Rose shut her eyes, feeling disgusted with herself, and replied. “...we’re skeered, Cap’n. Everypony in town, even th’ ones that are puttin’ on a show of it, are skeered. We dunno who to trust. So far anypony what’s had a notion to leave and bring back help always turns up dead.”

“What about those who simply left town?” Hector pointed out. “Why haven’t any of them brought back help?”

“Well sir,” Whatzit stepped out from her companions and up to one of the bulletin boards, which held a series of timeline events. “At first we thought there was simply a disease going around. But even then, the death toll wasn’t very high. The ponies who fled, well I can’t speak for them directly, but the general consensus was that they didn’t want to be around sick ponies for fear of catching whatever they had. They weren’t aware that a string of murders had been occurring. And, well...” she adjusted her glasses, “...Little Hoofington isn’t a lavish place to live. Some of them might have simply wanted an excuse to uproot and leave.”

Hector, who didn’t much care for the idea of stale black coffee, poured himself a cup anyway and downed it like a shot. “So what you’re telling me is, a changeling killer is masquerading as somepony among you, and has committed over one hundred murders, and you have nothing to do but wait around until he or she kills you all?”

“Prolly ain’t just one,” Rose dodged the question and puttered around the room as she spoke. “Ah learned a few things about changeling huntin’ packs way back in the guard. You ever been up against one, Cap’n?”

Silvermane felt some of his bravado escape him. “...no. I was stationed in Baltimare when Queen Chrysalis attempted to conquer Canterlot.”

“Well, ah kin tell you,” Rose continued, “That a changeling that don’t wanna be found bad enough? Can’t just be up an’ found by any old pony. They know that we know each other better than just what we all look like. You give em time, and they learn. And they ain’t stupid. If ever y’see one actin’ all by itself, it’s either by accident, or it’s rabid or insane or somethin’. The smallest changeling hunting packs are never smaller than four, and they all got roles.”

Rose’s wanderings took her to a chalkboard. She levitated a piece of chalk in her magic and began to draw a crude flowchart.

“At the top, you got yer ‘Queen’. Course she ain’t the queen of all the changeling nation, but some folks think Chrysalis is the only female changeling there is, and the whole shebang is all like honeybees or somethin’. That ain’t right. Sure there ain’t many females, but they do exist, and they pretty much always end up with a group of males servin’ ‘em, makin’ their own little broods under the main one. Next, you got the ‘Drone’. He’s big and he’s bad, and he does the killin’. Course that don’t mean the Queen ain’t doin’ no killin’, but he’s usually the one that goes out and brings in pony love for the rest of ‘em to feed on. After that, it depends how big the brood is. With more than four, you can bet there will be more of every role, up until you got yerself an army, but with the smallest broods? There’s prolly one or two runts buzzin’ around somewheres. They ain’t much use for killin’, but they’re smart. They can play roles even better than the drone can, and they can make you think the changelings are yer best friend, while y’go out there and lynch your buddies for ‘em.”

“If that’s the case, Constable,” Hector asked, “Haven’t you been able to draw any conclusions from the behavior you already know a small changeling brood to have?”

Rose stared at the board, refusing to turn around. “...ah got mah suspicions. But ah can’t just go around arrestin’ folks without no proof.”

Finally she turned, “But you can, Cap’n.”

“Yanno,” Trotter spoke up, “To be fair, Captain...any one of us in this room could be a changeling, right this very minute. Even you. None of us ever seen you around before and nopony knew you were comin’, after all.”

Silence ensued. It grew thicker, until Whatzit felt an instinctive need to slice into it with her words.

“We can’t just succumb to paranoia. We have to put our trust in somepony, otherwise we’d have nothing but anarchy. But Captain Silvermane...” She paused, “...there’s something else you need to know. There’s…another spoke in the wheel that turns the entire theory we have so far on its head.” She turned to Rose, “Um, Miss Rose...”

Hector waited. Rose seemed to pale despite her coloring, and stiffly nodded at Trotter. “Show ‘em, Beat.”

Beat Trotter waved Hector into a small room that was empty except for a lamp, and two rectangular tables...each with a covered bundle laying atop it. Whatzit took a deep breath, pushed past the crowd, and approached one of the tables.

“This...is what we thought was a...disease.”

Shutting her eyes, she nabbed the sheet in her magic and yanked it hard off of the bundle.

On the table lay an object that looked to Hector like a grotesque sculpture of a pony. It was vaguely pink - its limbs stiff and twisted, its forelegs bent like a praying mantis. Its tail and mane were nothing but a few scant hairs sticking up from its coat, and its wings were plucked like a chicken - the feathers having fallen out in death to leave nothing but stumps. Hector dared to reach out. There was no softness or warmth in the body. Just a hard, leathery, desiccated lump of flesh and muscle with a mangy coat stretched atop it. The corpse’s eyes had dried and shrunken in its sockets like raisins, and there was a misshapen blotch on its flank that Hector assumed was once a cutie mark.

“Changeling attack,” Rose was suddenly at Hector’s side. “Poor Miss Bead used to be a jeweler. Folks would bring her whatever shiny stones they found around the mines, and she’d fashion ‘em into some pretty trinket. Dang critters sucked all the love right outta her. Ain’t nopony deserves to die like that.” Rose lowered her voice out of respect for the dead. “The love in our hearts is what makes us ponies. I hear havin’ it all taken away from you, well...there almost ain’t no more painful, horrible way to die.”

“‘Almost’?” Hector drew his hoof back. He stared hard at the corpse, as if distracting his brain with inspecting it would keep him from being disgusted by it. “...so what’s the extra spoke in the wheel?”

Whatzit nodded at the other bundle. “Over there, Sir.”

This time, nopony moved to displace the sheet. Hector approached the bundle and took the sheet in his own magic. He steeled himself against whatever might lay beneath it...

...but choked anyway at what his eyes fell upon.

The lump of flesh under the sheet was nothing like the dried remains of the pony that lay beside it. Hector ventured that he was looking at a unicorn, but only because its head had the jagged remnants of a stump protruding from it. The corpse was missing chunks of its coat, but unlike the other body where much of it appeared to have fallen away, this one looked as though it had been violently torn out. The same held true for its mane and tail, which were nothing but an incongruent pattern of stringy stalks and tufts. Its hind legs were slightly parted, but there was so much puncture damage Hector couldn’t make out the pony’s gender. One eye was simply gone, while the other, bloodshot and glazed over, stared up at him, its mouth open, as if pleading for release from an eternity of damnation. The body was twisted at an impossible angle for a spine to assume, and its hind legs were flopped over one another in such a way that the bones inside must have been crushed to powder. The cadaver had bled copiously from every opening in its body. One leg looked as though it had been gnawed off by a wild animal at the elbow, and there were so many ‘smiley face’ gashes in its neck that bone spurs were pressing against its throat from the position of the lolling head.

Hector stepped back and held a hoof to his mouth. Rose gave him a moment.

“Look there, Cap’n.”

Hector opened his eyes and noticed the pony’s flank. Where its cutie mark should have been, there was nothing but a pattern of slice marks in the shape of an X.

“There’s only one pony what does that,” Trotter spoke up. “Kills so...awful like that, and then takes yer cutie mark away. Ever our little village has heard of her.”

Hector called up his memory files and sifted through them. When he came upon the correct folder, it was as though the room was spinning at an opposite axis to the rest of his world.

“...Pinkamena.”

Whatzit was by the door now, levitating a handkerchief over her muzzle. Everypony nodded in unison.

“But...Pinkamena...” Hector stammered, “...isn’t she dead?”

Whatzit spoke up. “Actually Captain, that’s a common misconception. I...well I like to read, and...I heard that she was tried and imprisoned three times in the Canterlot dungeons. But she escaped every time.”

Hector nodded, remembering the story that predated his tenure as a guard captain. “They said that she could do the impossible. Fly with her tail. Bend her body in ways no pony can. Before she...snapped, he had been such a good friend to Princess Twilight and had helped save Equestria so many times that they didn’t want to hang her. Every time they felt they could get through and rehabilitate her.” And every time, she got away. Killed again.”

Hector replaced the sheets and left the room, the other ponies in tow. “The fourth time they resolved to finally have her executed, but she vanished into the hills, and somehow managed to elude the best trackers in the country. That was two years ago. Eventually it was assumed she died somewhere in the wilderness of exposure, but…they never found her body.”

Whatzit poured herself a cup of stale coffee. She let it seep through her body before taking up the tale. “They say she has an obsession with cutie marks, and she believes that she will be the most beautiful pony ever if she fashions a cloak from the cutie marks of other ponies. She’s clever, too. She’s a master of disguise and can hide among other ponies almost as well as a changeling, but she goes crazy at the sight of blood and does...horrible, horrible things.”

Hector’s annoyance over the perceived incompetence of these ponies turned to sympathy. A small town, isolated and unprepared, set upon by changeling hunters, while at the same time Pinkamena just happens to wander out of obscurity and chance upon them.

“Have you seen her?” He asked of nopony in particular.

“Naw,” Rose replied. “But it’s her. Ain’t no other pony would ever do what y’saw in that room.” She nodded at the antechamber with the corpses and digressed, “Ground’s too hard this time of year to dig graves. Those two were just found yesterday. We...we just been stackin’ em up in a warehouse near the cliffs. The cold’ll keep them from stinkin’, and nopony, yanno...” she looked down, “...nopony hasta see ‘em. We ain’t seen Pinkamena, but then, we ain’t seen none of the changelings, neither. Prolly just as much under our muzzles as they are. Could be yer best bud and you’d never know it. Could even be somepony you hate, just to trick you into thinkin’ it can’t possibly be the obvious answer.”

“We can’t trust anything anymore, Captain,” Whatzit said. “All of the monsters in our town are professionals at this. We...some of us are hoping Pinkamena will kill the changelings for us, and...maybe there will be so few of us left that...we’ll be able to...figure out who she is.”

Beat Trotter leaned against a wall, folded his forelegs, and tipped his hat down. “We’re all just waitin’ to die.”

The situation was far more dire than Hector ever expected it to be. He thought of home and his wife, and tucked the frilly shawl still around his neck in closer, a shiver running through him.

“We need to get help,” He concluded.

Rose shook her head and pointed at the window. “No good Cap’n.”

Outside, the snow had kicked up into a frenzy, and the winds were licking at the edges of the building, making it creak slightly. Rose went on.

“I been in this town long enough to know how th’weather works. A squall like that? Sun won’t be able to clear away what that dumps on us for at least a week. Ain’t nopony gonna come check on us, neither. Never have before. Ain’t no reason to now. You just try gettin’ out to Cloudsdale to tell them weather ponies to turn it off.”

Whatzit brought another steaming cup of coffee over to Hector, passing it from magic to magic with a nervous smile. “Captain Silvermane, you’re the highest authority in town, now. What happens next is...your decision.”

His mind reeling with names, faces, and grim facts, Hector Silvermane plopped down on the couch in front of the fire and watched the storm rage.

Author's Note

Welcome to the Game!

Pinkamena is a classic werewolf/mafia style party game, where players are tasked with finding the killer(s) amidst a rogue's gallery of personalities before all of the innocents are killed. This story puts an MLP twist on it, following the Android game 'Pinkamena'. Everypony you will meet from chapter two on, besides Captain Silvermane, represents one of the character archetypes in the game. It is up to Captain Silvermane to identify innocents and prevent any more killings by bringing the guilty to justice.

Roles are listed below. Please note that some of the role descriptions have been slightly altered from the base game to accommodate the flow of this narrative. Also, the generic pronoun 'she' has been used to describe every role below - this has no bearing on the gender of the actual pony that fits said role!

Reporter - The Reporter is a tabloid investigator who is skilled at rummaging through the private affairs of others to determine evil intent. This makes her both a considerable asset for Hector Silvermane, and a liability for those who chose to remain nameless. She’s valuable, but vulnerable, and losing her early can mean big trouble.

Gumshoe - The Gumshoe isn't as quick as the reporter, but she's more methodical and taken to keeping good records. What she has to say might make a life and death difference, if all her facts are in a row. Losing both her and the reporter early on can mean a death sentence for Little Hoofington.

Nurse- The sweet, innocent nurse will do her best to protect others from harm, or save victims who can still be saved. Sadly she cannot save herself, and in that respect she is vulnerable indeed. she’s a bastion of kindness - her loss could mean a major blow to the town's morale. Her guise is an excellent 'hiding place' for a changeling, but her medical knowledge is hard to fake.

Bodyguard - The bodyguard can take care of herself (even against changelings and Pinkamena), but she's motivated by coin, and thus one can buy her loyalty. She can protect a pony from accidental death by the Veteran, but it may very well cost her her life. She's not invulnerable, after all.

Watchpony - The watchpony is just that - she has sharp senses, and not much gets past her perception. She's pretty good at whodunnit stories and works well with the reporter or the gumshoe, but she has to stay alive long enough to make sufficient observations. Unfortunately she's rather suspicious, and she might accuse an innocent merely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hanging innocents is disastrous for town morale.

Partypony - The Partypony believes that laughter is the best medicine, and can prevent anypony else from acting on a given night by throwing a party for them - even the killers. Only trouble is that Pinkamena has little interest in parties, and may very well kill whomever tries to throw one for her. Furthermore, the more paranoid folks get, the more likely they might kill the partypony themselves just because she’s wandering around their place. Is her behavior legitimate, or is she just trying to distract you?

Veteran- The veteran is skilled, dangerous, and more than capable of killing anypony who crosses her (even the Queen or Pinkamena). Trouble is she has an itchy trigger finger. That plus a touch of paranoia could result in her murdering innocents by accident.

Spellcaster - The Spellcaster is no Twilight Sparkle, but she knows her way around magic - she has the ability to hex others (effectively killing them), which can be useful for weeding out those evil changelings. She is a moral citizen however, and is loathe to act without certainty. Hexing an innocent to death might even cause her to kill herself out of remorse. Is she a unicorn, or is she just really handy with potions and such?

Jailor - The jailor can incarcerate a pony for a night, blocking them from performing their role. This can help to keep potential innocents safe, but the wrong inmate may very well murder the jailor instead.

Town Drunk - The village idiot might be onto something where drowning one's sorrows is concerned. She doesn't pay much attention to where she goes or when, which could lead to her being either framed or killed - or she might end up beating the odds on blind luck.

The Mule - The mule represents the masses. She's an everypony - a jack of all trades and master of none. But what does that say about her intuition? Her hunches and ideas might be worthless...or they may be the most valuable thing out there to hold onto.

Changeling Queen - The queen wishes to avoid discovery, and will not kill so long as the drone is alive to do that for her. The queen may go as far as to allow herself to be jailed or partied with to keep up with the charade, but if the drone dies, she will have no choice but to sate her need for love by killing in the drone’s place, no matter who the target is. The queen is the glue that holds the hive together - taking her out might just cause the lesser changelings to abandon their plans and flee. Will she kill in other ways, and thus to stoop starving herself of precious love, just to sow misdirection?

Changeling Drone - The drone is the muscle of the hive, and the one who does the dirty work. All the drone cares about is supplying love to the hive, and will do whatever is necessary to ensure this continues to happen. This makes her one of Captain Silvermane’s chief targets, and extremely dangerous.

Changeling Forger - The forger is of little use in a fight, but she is a clever distractor. She will do what she can to take attention off of her brethren, not to mention framing innocents if possible. She is just as vulnerable to Pinkamena as everypony else - if she knows who to watch out for!

Changeling Consort - The consort is also not a combatant, but she’s also quite good with distraction, not to mention seduction. Her goal is less taking attention off her friends, and more preventing her enemies from performing their duties or noticing things that are amiss.

Pinkamena- Psychotic Pinkie Pie is a horrifying prospect, considering her natural ability to 'break all the rules'. She's a master of disguise, second only to the changelings themselves, and as hellbent as ever upon harvesting cutie marks to create her patchwork coat and become 'beautiful'. She's already committed a boatload of murders in Little Hoofington, and nopony - not even the changelings - are safe from her. If she's not found and stopped, who knows where in Equestria she'll strike next?

All of the characters that fill every role above will be introduced by the end of chapter two - there are therefore no surprise characters that have been hiding in the shadows to show up later. Each time there is a murder in the story, author's notes will identify the role of the character(s) who was/were killed. In this way you can follow along, and try to put your hoof on the villains before it's too late!! Remember that the survivors of Little Hoofington are under a lot of stress, to say the least - not every death will necessarily be perpetrated by a villain!

(Please be advised that this project began in 2016, before the developer made certain updates to the game, such as the ability to decorate and name your own character. Also, obviously this story assumes changelings are evil, contrary to whatever developments may have occurred in the MLP canon.)