Hector Silvermane could not remember exactly when he stumbled up the rickety stairs of Little Hoofington’s homely constabulary in search of a soft place to sleep. Having given no credit to his exhaustion, his memories of the previous few hours were tangled in the tendrils of dreams, resulting in impossible scenarios like his dear wife showing up to comfort him, or a blazing sword in his possession that he could strike down his enemies with. He grinned ridiculously, making cooing noises with his cheek smashed against a squeaky mattress in a loft room, until a harsh rapping at a thin door jolted him awake.

“Captain Silvermane!” A muffled voice cried, “Captain Silvermane! Come quickly!!”

Roused and armored in less than a minute, Hector was in the hallway with a bluster that nearly knocked the unsound door off its hinges. He glanced at a window, noting the reflection of late morning light off of the fresh coating of snow. Before him stood Whatzit, her familiar green coat trembling with the throbbing of her heart.

“...did I really sleep so long...?” He wondered aloud, ashamed at his failure to be up with the sun. Whatzit was already halfway down the stairs.

“Captain, we need you in the street! Please hurry!”

Silvermane fell in with his new guide. When he stepped into the frigid morning, he found himself more grateful than ever for the token of his wife’s affection wrapped cozily about his neck. A fresh coating of snow had taken over the town, reflecting the sunlight back at him so brightly that he couldn’t examine the larger, pristine mounds of it for long. The street remained somewhat clear just from the previous efforts of the locals. He could still feel the cobblestones beneath his hooves as he galloped along, even if he couldn’t see them in anything more than mottled patches.

Hector would have investigated every nook of every alley that he passed by at speed, if it weren’t for the piercing scream that greeted him from three blocks away. The depth of grief in the cry chilled his core deeper than the weather.

Approaching at a hard gallop with Whatzit, he took immediate stock of the situation. Constable Rose was there, alongside Beat Trotter - the latter tipping his hat in a polite show of averting his eyes. Hector also took note of surly Caveat, standing solemnly in the street, and nearly the entire cast of ponies he had already met, holding to the entrance ways of nearby shops.

Kneeling in the street was a pony Hector recognized instantly, and was able to discern from her sister by the distinct lack of glasses hooked around the side of her face. Specs’s short, ruddy curls were sagging to either side of her sharply bowed head, and her creamy shoulders were quivering. Behind her, Buttermilk Waffle reached out without touching her, as if she were afraid the distressed pony would burst into flame if she made contact.

“Oh dear, oh you dear child...” Buttermilk was mumbling. “...Celestia preserve us...”

Caveat’s eyes bored into the captain, but neither Constable Rose nor Beat Trotter would look straight at him. Incensed, he shoved his way into the small crowd to get a better look at what he now fully expected to see.

Sprawled in the street was the twisted corpse of Specs’s younger twin sister by a few minutes - the pony called Scoops. Hector didn’t need to check her pulse. Her body resembled a dried prune draped in cured leather; the moisture of her love now so absent that even her bloodshot, shrunken eyes looked as though they would crumble to dust at the slightest touch. The notebook paper image of her cutie mark now resembled dried papyrus, and several of her primary feathers had already withered away and fallen out. Snow had collected in the scraggly strands of her mane and tail, kissing her to sleep in death. Beside Scoops, in the street, were her glasses, mangled and shattered nearly beyond recognition as though they had been roughly trod upon. Her head was resting in her sister’s lap, and the latter was rocking her in place, making cooing noises as tears dribbled from one biscuit yellow face to the other. Hector averted his eyes repectfully.

“How,” Hector let the single word hang in the air.

Nopony spoke. Only the bewildered cries of Specs and the soft hushing of Buttermilk Waffle could be heard.

“HOW!?” Hector demanded, back on his hooves in a flash. “Constable! Deputy! I asked you both a question!”

Beat Trotter was chewing on something. He hid under the brim of his cap - the best deflection he could manage without visibly shying away. Rose took in a terse breath and replied.

“Y’all saw it before, Cap’n. Changeling’s got her. There ain’t much of a trail to follow, neither. On a account’a them having wings an’ all.”

Hector was not in the mood, “I can gather that much with a few seconds worth of observation, Constable. I want details. These two were staying in a room above Kitty’s Nip last night.” His eyes flashed accusingly at the entrance to the drinking establishment, where Kitty Contessa and Whim were looking on. “Unless I am to assume that Kitty’s Nip is not the bastion of safety in numbers I’ve been led to believe it is?”

“It...it ain’t that,” Rose began. She was cut off by a wavering voice, thick with tears and sharp inhalations. Hector turned to look down at Specs, trying at the same time to keep his eyes off her sister.

“I t-told her...I said...” Specs whimpered, nose running and ears flat against her skull. “I said d-don’t be stupid...j-just go to bed a-and and...w-we’ll go home...come back another time...i-it’s just...” she bent her head again and lifted her sister’s desiccated remains, holding them tightly, “It’s just a stupid magazine! It’s not worth this!! Sh-she left me a note...w-went out last night...said she was going to ‘blow the case wide open’...wh-why did she have to go and do that!?”

Hector looked around. Caveat was still standing boldy in the middle of the street, looking at him. He matched her glare and waved his foreleg at the ruined sisters.

“Do you know anything about this?” He challenged the armored, coppery mare.

“I’m not the one you should be asking, Captain,” Caveat narrowed her eyes and looked straight at Rose. “As I recall, the sheriff of any given small town in Equestria is usually given the means to unlock any door in their jurisdiction, be it by skeleton key or magic.” She added sarcastically: “Only to be used in emergency situations, of course.”

Rose marched up to Caveat and stared slightly up at her, close enough for their muzzles and hot breath to brush one another. Her voice crackled out like bellows fanning a flame; her accent thickening with her intense focus.

“Now you lissen t’me, you totterin’ tin can,” Rose growled, “Mebbe yer used to backtalk. Mebbe y’all got kicked outta the guard on yer butt ‘cause of that, fer all ah know. But ah ain’t just gonna stand here and let you accuse me of murderin’ these here ponies that ah’m swored to protect!” Rose’s flanks shivered with emotion. Her horn lit up. “So help me, you keep flappin’ yer gums an’ it’ll just be the same thing as deflectin’ blame. An’ if you done it? Ah’m gonna burn you down.”

Caveat’s horn brightened in response, as if struck by flint and steel. “Are you making an accusation, Constable?”

Hector noticed the flap at Caveat’s belt that contained her machete was glowing with the light of her magic. Instantly he intervened.

“Enough! Both of you!” He boomed, projecting his voice to the nearby buildings. “I’ve told you both I will not have this!” Now his horn was alight as well. He fixed Caveat in particular with his best withering stare - the one he reserved for dressing down his subordinates. “Snap that pouch, Caveat. Or I won’t hesitate to execute my duty.”

A tense moment passed. Finally, Hector’s ears caught the satisfying snap of the weapon’s sheath, as Caveat doused her horn and stepped back. She sketched him a sharp nod.

“Captain.”

“Dern right,” Rose added. Hector whirled on her.

“Constable, your temper in the presence of a victim disappoints me. You will have the body brought in for examination, and begin a proper investigation of the crime scene, including questioning of everypony currently bearing witness.” He eyed Caveat, “And you will cooperate.”

“...aye Cap’n,” Rose muttered. Caveat merely nodded again, and the two belligerent mares parted. Hector shook a few flecks of newfallen snow from his muzzle and turned back to the grisly scene before him. Specs was lost in soft sobbing, though no new tears fell. He wondered if perhaps she had cried them all out. Buttermilk Waffle looked helplessly on. The rest of the Waffles were keeping their distance. Strawberry was wrapped closely around her father’s foreleg, while Chocolate was standing off to one side, favoring the proceedings with only sideways glances. Hector pitied the colt for his self-isolation at a time like this - it can’t have made the atrocities the two teenagers endured any better.

“Miss Waffle,” Hector completed the sentence with his eyes, shifting them to Specs when the family mare looked up at him. Buttermilk nodded.

“We’ll see her to the morning train, Captain,” Buttermilk said sadly. “It will have gone by now, but tomorrow is another day. She will be safe in the clinic until then. I promise you that.”

“Beggin’ your pardon Captain,” Beat Trotter approached, his hat still low on his brow. “And yours, Missus Waffle, but we don’t know that anywhere is safe right now.”

Maple Waffle could remain silent no longer. The lumbering, pineapple-yellow pegasus stallion crossed the street with his children in tow and stood protectively beside his wife.

“The clinic is safe,” He declared, the tone of his voice a veiled threat all by itself. “I make the clinic safe. There’s a reason the waffles are the only family left in this town. We will not be terrorized.”

“Now just what is that supposed to mean?” Trotter looked up at Waffle patriarch, who was more than half a head taller. “Are you sayin’ we can’t take care of you all no more? Are you calling the law incompetent?”

“If the horseshoe fits,” Maple replied, his gaze never wavering. Hector’s foreleg was over Trotter’s chest before he could rise to meet the insult.

“Assist the constable with the investigation, Deputy,” Hector warned.

Beat Trotter adjusted the brim of his cap, spit in the snow, and walked away. Hector, somewhat tired now of having to throw his weight around, merely gazed up at Maple and turned back to his wife. He didn’t get a chance to address her again.

“The train!?” Specs interrupted with a look in her eye was bordering on delerium. Her sister’s mangled head was still laying in her lap. “You think I’m just going to up and leave after some bastard murdered my twin sister!? That’s one hell of a thing for you to say to me, Captain Silvermane!”

Hector removed the edge from his tone. “Specs, I’m sorry for what happened here. I truly am. But like I said yesterday, you have a place to go where you can truly be safe. You need to go there. The royal guard is involved in this now. We will bring the pony, or creature, responsible for this tragedy to justice. I promise you that.”

“You ‘promise’?” Specs was on her hooves now, her eyes still wet with her sorrow. She jabbed a hoof at Hector, and he didn’t try to stop her. “That’s it? Your promise is what I’m supposed to take back to Manehattan for my mother and father, and all our friends?” She drew the hoof back and pointed at her own eyes. “I have a talent too, Captain! I’m a very good observer. I see things. You can use somepony like me. I’m going to find out who did this to my sister! I’m going to find them, even if I have to keep an eye on every single pony in this town who isn’t dead in a storeroom for the winter!”

“Specs,” Hector kept his voice even, “I can’t authorize--”

“You don’t have a choice, Captain!” Specs declared. “Unless you plan to throw me out of town or lock me up, I’m not going anywhere you tell me to go!”

“She’s right, Captain,” A monotone voice added. “You can’t just go around telling ponies how to live.”

Stringbean, the hooded, washed-out miner, was by Specs’s side. Around his neck were all manner of talismans and charms to ward off evil, from zebra holistics to gypsy snake-oil gadgets. He had a certain shimmer to his eye that was uncharacteristic of the first time Hector met him. He put his foreleg around Specs, and she buried her muzzle into his side with familiarity.

The grizzled miner actually looked like he gave a damn.

“You can’t just make her leave, Captain,” Stringbean repeated. “She’s got a right to see this through just as much as the rest of us, if that’s what she wants to do.”

Hector raised a brow, “Is there any particular reason you’d like ponies to remain in Little Hoofington, Stringbean?”

Stringbean didn’t take the bait. He kept his expression even and merely replied, “Is there any reason you want her gone so bad, Captain? Her sister was here investigating Cadabra Smile. Shouldn’t you be barking up her tree right now? Or do you have some reason not to?”

“She’s in danger here,” Hector replied sharply, aghast at the very idea of being implicated. “Don’t you get it? You’re all in danger here. Anypony that has a safe place to go should go there!” He turned away in disgust, crunching through trampled show and resting his aching head in a hoof. In all the actions he had been involved in during his career, a civilian in his care had never lost their lives. Now, with less than a day of military command in Little Hoofington, already he had lost somepony.

“Captain Silvermane.”

Hector looked up. Kitty Contessa’s fiery locks were blustering in the breeze. To her side was Whim, who was playing with his colorful tie nervously.

“We’ll talk to that poor filly. Try to take her mind off things.”

“Leave it to us!” Whim managed to add a little extra mirth to his smile. “There’s nothing like a hot toddy and a cool tune to soothe the mind.”

“I’m just...worried she’s going to do something foolish like her sister did,” Hector found himself admitting aloud. Kitty smiled.

“It’s alright, Captain. How about you come inside by the fire and take a powder too, hm? Y’all look tired.”

Hector waved the concern off. “Thank you Miss Kitty, but the day is young and I have duties to perform.” The thought that he would be asked to take a rest after he had done nothing but sleep and view a crime scene went against his sensibilities, but he considered that Kitty was only trying to help. He began to trot away, but kitty placed a hoof on his shoulder. Her smile was inviting.

“Captain, you’re a fine soldier I’m sure, or else you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in. Clearly you’ve got a heart of gold, too, but you won’t do anypony any good if you work yourself too hard.” She raised her brows, “Come and have one drink.”

Hector detached himself from the proprietress as tactfully as he knew how. “I’m sorry. Not now.”

With that, he returned to the street proper and called both Beat Trotter and Whatzit to his side. “Constable Rose has work to do. You two are with me.”

“Where are we going?” Whatzit asked.

“To the church,” Hector replied. “It’s time I met Cadabra Smile.”

* * * * *

Hector was surprised by the building referred to as the ‘church’. He was expecting something more open and inviting, given it had to originally have been constructed during the time that only Princess Celestia ruled. What he found at the end of a narrow street was something that looked like a small gothic mansion, complete with wrought-iron pickets and pointy spires. There were thick, masking drapes over all the windows, and the condition of the stone suggested the building was among the oldest he’d yet encountered in town -- and was suffering from the same disrepair, as a result of the diminished population.

Hector crunched through the heavier layer of snow in the tiny courtyard, his subordinates in tow, and rapped hard on the thick wooden door. When there was no answer he repeated the gesture and announced:

“My name is Captain Hector Silvermane, of Her Magesties’ Royal Guard at Canterlot!” He paused, letting the title sink in. “I must speak with you. Open this door.”

The lack of response played on his already fraying nerves, and he began to bend the facts to his own benefit. “I have the authority to declare martial law in this village, and if so, I will not require a warrant or probable cause to search these premises. I would prefer to speak with you cordially. I say again - open this door!”

The door finally began to creak ajar, and Hector found himself looking down at a short, ghostly gray pony. His or her body (Hector decided on ‘her’ merely for the general bone structure) was almost entirely masked under a weighty wool cloak of midnight blue, such that even her tail and mane could not be seen. Only her hooves and her face, from muzzle down were readily apparent; for the hood was draped down to cast a shadow over her eyes. The pony tilted her head, but said nothing.

“Lora,” Beat Trotter stepped up. “We need t’see Miss Cadabra. There’s been another killing.”

Lora simply nodded and began to turn away. Hector spoke up, his mind hungry for any facts it could absorb.

“Excuse me, but I need to know where you were last night. And what you were doing.”

Lora paused and simply looked at Hector. Her head tilted to the opposite side. Whatzit was there, and she spoke up quickly.

“She doesn’t speak, Captain,” Whatzit offered. “Lora Lore is a...faithful of the church. From what I’ve learned on my own, some of the more deeply faithful Night Cultists choose to either keep to a vow of silence, or...silence themselves...” she cleared her throat, “So as not to disturb the Night. Which they believe should be quiet.” She added, “I-I don’t know if Lora’s silence is a vow...or...well.”

Lora nodded at Whatzit. Ignoring Hector’s questions, she turned and marched into the establishment. The visitors were obliged to follow.

For a few moments, Hector could see nothing at all but pinpricks of candle light running parallel to their course. When his eyes began to adjust, other images came vaguely into view. Pews. A dais of some sort. A large object that resembled an altar. Beyond the altar was a stained glass window that commanded the room. It was as ornate as any in the royal palace, and it told the story of Nightmare Moon and her transition to and from Princess Luna - depicted in such a way as to make the process look cyclical. There was a light source behind the window - as light passed through it, the area around the altar was bathed in a glow consistent with Luna’s coat color. Lora paused before the dais and altar. She bowed her head, and simply stopped moving long enough for Hector to reach out for her.

“Excuse me, Miss...Lore,” he began, “But I need to speak with--”

“Won’t do no good,” Beat Trotter cut in. He was already past the tiny mare and wandering around as if casing the place, his eyes opened wide to let in as much light as possible. “She won’t come outta that...state fer awhile. I been here a couple times. But she won’t mind if we have a look around.”

Hector found that he was indeed unable to rouse Lora from her vigil. He frowned. A pony that could not speak would be difficult to question, and he was even more uncomfortable with the idea that she may simply be choosing not to. His inability to look her in the eye was also unnerving. He pushed past her and merely stepped up the stairs of the dais to the altar itself.

“Captain,” Whatzit offered, “Just walking right up there...could be construed as disrespectful.”

Silvermane furrowed his brow. “Zit, I appreciate that, but we have an epidemic string of murders on our hooves that are a clear and immediate threat to the entire population of this town. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to...accomodate every social situation.” He considered Whatzit’s pool of knowledge. “Do you know where we can find Cadabra?”

Whatzit looked sheepish, her hooves clicking on the stone floor as she shifted her weight. “She’s probably asleep. Night cultists usually adopt a nocturnal lifestyle.”

Hector’s frown deepened. “Has there ever been a murder in Little Hoofington during the day, as far as you know?”

Whatzit pushed up her glasses and ran a hoof through her scruffy mauve mane. “...not that I can recall, sir.”

Hector gritted his teeth and rapped his hoof on the altar. It was hard to make out any details in the low light, but he recalled Scoops’s comment about the potential for pony sacrifice among the most fanatical of Night Cultists. “Then I don’t care if she’s ‘sleeping’,” he declared, and then raised his voice. “Cadabra Smile! I am an officer of the royal guard on official business and I need to speak with you NOW!”

A sudden flash of disorienting light from a teleportation spell blinked into existence. When it faded, in its wake stood an impeccably groomed mare with a sangria coat, a flowing lilac mane, and a cobalt blue cape that fluttered momentarily with the flow of the dissipating magic. Both the cape and the pony’s mane were adorned with silvery glitter that resembled a sea of stars, twitching and bobbing with her every movement. Upon her flank was the image of a full moon with a thin cloud floating before it.

“We are in repose!” The mare growled, apparently not at all intimidated by Hector’s armored countenance. “Why hast thou interrupted our rest!?”

“Captain Silvermane,” Whatzit climbed a single step of the dais and waved a foreleg. “Meet Cadabra Smile.”

With a disdainful lack of recognition for his bluster, Cadabra looked Hector over. “We of the Order of the Night do not approve of the celebration known as ‘Nightmare Night’. Why dost though dress for it in this place?”

Hector choked back anger over his uniform being referred to as a costume. He introduced himself yet again. “I am Captain Hector Silvermane of Her Magesties’ Royal Guard. I have been sent here to investigate this village. There was a murder last night. I need to speak with you.”

Cadabra raised a brow and stared at Hector for a long moment. With a bustle of her cape, she pranced around the altar and ran her hoof across it as though it were a satin pillow. “Speak.”

Hector ignored the insolence and went on. “A young mare who was very much alive when she retired to her room yesterday was found dead in the street this morning. She was drained of her love.”

“We see,” Cadabra shrugged her adorned shoulders. “We know nothing of this.”

Hector continued, “She came to this town with her sister because she was interested in learning about your...” He waved his foreleg about the room, “...organization.”

Cadabra thrust her lower lip out, raising her chin disdainfully and refusing eye contact. “And?”

“And,” Hector persisted, “I need to know what you were doing last night.”

“We were in prayer,” Cadabra replied. “We must remain ever vigilant at the appropriate hour in order to appease The Night.”

Cadabra stood before the mural of the alicorn Hector had been speaking to only two days prior. She held her forelegs akimbo and raised her face to the ceiling. As she moved, the candlelight rose on its own, until Hector could make out the finer details of the room. The walls held a number of murals depicting ponies in various stages of worship. All at night.

Hector had little interest in deciphering what he felt were the ramblings of a zealot. “Did you leave this building last night?”

“We did. We cannot experience the fullness of The Night from indoors.”

“And can anypony corroborate your...‘worship’, activities?”

Cadabra looked bored. “If thou art referring to our adjutant, we left her here. She has mundane duties to perform.”

Beat Trotter, who had vanished into the backroom to investigate, appeared in the doorway and inserted himself into the conversation. “There’s tracks out back, Captain. The snow made ‘em hard to follow out into the street, but there’s definitely one set, leadin’ out of the rear courtyard.”

“You went out,” Hector confirmed, his eyes still on Cadabra. “And Lora didn’t.”

“Correct,” Cadabra replied.

“And you were alone the entire time.”

“Also correct,” Cadabra rolled her eyes and batted her luxurious lashes. “We tire of this. The Church of the Night is open to all, Captain, but we do not operate during Celestia’s hours. Come back later if you wish to partake in our services.”

Hector narrowed his eyes. “Deputy Trotter! Take Miss Smile into custody.”

For a moment, nopony moved. Hector bored his eyes into Cadabra and stood fast.

“Deputy Trotter. I gave you an order.”

Beat Trotter came up behind Cadabra. Dangling from his foreleg was a pair of hoofcuffs. “Miss Smile, I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me.”

Cadabra’s startled glance passed quickly between the two law enforcement officers in her abode. “Th-this is outrageous! Thou hast no evidence nor reason to arrest us! It is not against the law to leave our home at night!”

Hector looked at Trotter. “Deputy. Unicorn suppressor.”

Trotter nodded. As he slapped the cuffs onto the exasperated mare, he removed a small ring from a pouch at his waist and threaded her horn through it.

“Thou canst not arrest us without provocation!” Cadabra snarled. “We have rights! Thou canst not incarcerate us without cause!”

Hector said nothing. As Trotter was escorting Cadabra from the room, the captain noticed that Lora Lore had not moved a muscle. Whatzit was averting her eyes and looking as though she wanted to be anywhere but in the Church of the Night.

“This is brutality!” Cadabra’s voice enchoed through the Church of the Night. “Thou believest thou canst waltz into our lives and throw thy weight around to achieve thy goals! Thou art a poor excuse for service and protection!”

Her complaints continued straight out the door. Hector stepped off the dais and paused before Lora Lore, who raised her head, once again tilting it slightly to the side. Her hood shifted with the perking of a trapped ear. Hector opened his mouth, but found he had nothing else to say. He brushed past her again, this time marching out the door. Whatzit fell in hastily beside him. She didn’t speak until their hooves were crunching the snow again.

“Can you just...arrest her like that?” Whatzit meeped. “I mean, one set of hoofprints is kinda circumstantial...”

Hector kept his eyes forward and his back straight. “The relationship between the victim and Cadabra is a factor.”

Whatzit adjusted her glasses with a quick slip of her magic. “That’s...circumstantial too.”

“I know.”

“Then why--”

Hector held up his hoof, let out a sigh, and explained his plan. “Cadabra Smile is an adult mare who is aloof from the rest of the population. Pinkamena is just about as much a master of disguise as a changeling, and both would want to keep a low profile right now. If nopony dies tonight...we’ll know.”

Whatzit said nothing. For a time, they walked together down a quiet street in silence. The afternoon sun did little to warm their shoulders or their hearts.

“Zit,” Hector finally spoke, “I have something for you to do.”

Whatzit replied only with her eyes. Hector went on.

“What you’re probably thinking right now is correct. Just locking ponies up and taking a roulette chance that another one of us won’t be found dead every morning isn’t enough.” He finally looked at her, stopping in the middle of the street. “Zit, you have an excellent eye for detail. I’m going to ask you do to something dangerous...because you’re the best pony we have for the job. I need you to investigate some of the ponies in this town. The killers are among us, and we need information. They’re more used to you being around them, and thus you’ll be less conspicuous than me. But you may end up having to be out at strange hours, and you may have to get close to certain ponies in this town.” He smiled with as much reassurance as he knew how. “But...I need you. For the sake of Little Hoofington. Can I count on you?”

Whatzit swallowed. She then stood up straight and saluted clumsily. “Yes Captain. This town...” she faltered, “...this town and these ponies have always been my family. I can’t just sit and do nothing.”

“Raise your right hoof.”

Whatzit complied.

“Do you swear to execute the office of Deputy of the Constabulary of Little Hoofington, and uphold the measure of the law, to the best of your ability?”

“I...I do.”

Hector reached out his hoof until Whatzit got the idea and touched it with her own.

“Then congratulations, Deputy. This afternoon I’m going to teach you a spell you can use for self-defense. But if you ever believe yourself to be in immediate danger for your life, I want you to remove yourself from the situation and come to me. Immediately. At any hour. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes sir,” Whatzit’s mousey bangs tousled in a gentle breeze, a few flecks of displaced snow glittering her mane. She smiled through her nerves. “...thank you Captain. I...want to help.”

“Keep a sharp eye.” Hector winked, “I know you’ll do a fine job.”

Enamored with the praise, Whatzit nodded and went on ahead. Hector paused to stare at the gloomy sky and tugged his wife’s scarf tighter about his neck. He organized his thoughts while speaking to her.

“Chloe...I just deputized a child and locked a mare up with no evidence. I have no idea who I can trust, so I’m...cutting corners and abusing my power. If I drag my hooves even for a moment, this entire town is going to be empty. And if that happens, changelings will have a hoofhold in our lands, not to mention one of the most dangerous criminals of our time will gallop free.”

“What in Equestria am I supposed to do here?”

He waited quietly. Only the wind offered a solemn, empty reply.

Author's Note

Scoops has died. Scoops was the reporter.

Captain Hector Silvermane
Constable Dusky Rose
Deputy Beat Trotter
Whatzit
Cadabra Smile
Lora Lore
Stringbean
Kitty Contessa
Whim
Maple Waffle
Buttermilk Waffle
Chocolate Waffle
Strawberry Waffle
Scoops (Reporter)
Specs
Caveat
Beanie