A fresh powder had found its way onto the streets of Little Hoofington, undoing the diligent work of her few remaining inhabitants and the reprieve provided by the temporary clearing of yesterday’s skies. Most streets were no longer passable and wouldn’t be again until the breaking of spring in several months, for there simply weren’t enough ponies left to see to them all. Those avenues that could be traversed were gradually narrowing, as the vital arteries that connected the key establishments still in use began to thicken with a fatty layer of white cholesterol around the edges.

Into the pale epoch rose Captain Hector Silvermane, who stood before the mirror in his Spartan accommodations above the constabulary. He placed time into tasks such as the feathering of his helmet plumage and straightening of his armor plates. These tasks seemed trivial to the point of ridiculous, but his station demanded no less.

From the moment he arrived in Little Hoofington, the old mining borough had become his responsibility. In that time, two pegasi had been murdered, four more had been stripped of their nature, one unicorn had been falsely imprisoned, and every remaining citizen was marking time until the end.

Under martial law, Little Hoofington was a police state, and he its dictator. That technically made the town his first independent command, and to call it a disaster would have been an understatement. Sleep did not come easily, but as a trained soldier, he knew no good would come of starving himself of it. Nor could he command respect without the proper look.

Silvermane’s thoughts drifted to home. The cot laid out for him was stiff, cold, and without the companionship of his darling wife. Once upon a time she had told him that even if he were a simple trashpony, she would still love him. Just take a shower before coming back to bed.

Now, he was beginning to wonder if he would come back at all.

Hector’s reverie was broken by an unexpected sight at his door. Though the jamb remained stiff, the gleaming light of the snowy morning reflected upon a thick tome that somehow had been shoehorned under the door, presumably at some early hour of the night. Hector approached the volume at a wary canter, head tilted and one ear flicking like a facial tick, as though he expected the sudden package to explode.

A quick scan of the interloping book with a spell he had picked up in bomb squad training revealed no known traps. Reassured, Silvermane ensorcelled the book and levitated it to the room’s rickety desk, flipping its cover open and fanning the pages for a quick overview. Therein lay a multitude of records concerning the more recently deceased denizens of Little Hoofington, complete with birth records, photographs, hoof print identifications, and in all cases, dates of death. Every death date Hector’s eye fell upon was fairly recent. Far too many of them were clustered around the same fixed block of time, and he shuddered when the birth and death dates were particularly close to one another.

Intrigued, Hector levitated the book before him and began emerged from his quarters. By the time he was on the stairs, he had taken note of the strange dichotomy between proper recordkeeping and less so – practically all the information for each entry that occurred close to the subject’s death, including the date of passing, was in scrawled, somewhat sloppy hoof-script, as opposed to the more efficient mechanical typeface that graced the earlier data.

The book had many pages – far too many to set his attention upon in only one review unless he planned to waste most of the morning on it. Satisfied as to what the book was and its usefulness as a source of public record, he snapped it shut just in time to enter the lobby and move into the company of familiar faces.

“What’cha got there Cap’n?” Constable Rose nodded at the book from the other side of the coffee counter. “Looks like you could learn to raise the sun with that there thick rag.”

“Vital records,” Silvermane responded dryly, as the tar that passed for dark roast came automatically to his lips. He winced at the natural bitterness of coffee that had always given offense to his delicate palette, but suffered through it for want of a boost. “Which could come in handy, thank you Zit.”

Whatzit, who was lounging on the couch looking bleary-eyed, glanced up in confusion. “Huh?”

Hector waggled the book in midair. “Research. Thanks for getting it to me. It did come from you, correct?”

“Oh…?” Zit adjusted her glasses and collected herself. “Oh, yes! I thought…thought you might find it useful…Sir.” She eyed the book. “May I?”

With a dismissive nod Hector passed the book to his newest deputy and turned his attention to the town constable. “Where’s Deputy Trotter?”

Rose scratched her chin hesitantly. “Oh he, uh…he went to dump the bodies. Y’remember what I told ya. Too cold to bury ‘em and the sight, well…it gets folks on edge. Grisly work, but s’gotta be done.”

The very mention of the deceased young twins and the terrifying memories of their mangled corpses sent an instant pang of guilt through Hector Silvermane’s mind. They had died horribly, possibly slowly, and here he was, sipping on coffee and perusing records as though it was a normal day at a city precinct. He sat his cup aside and banished his remaining personal thoughts in favor of business.

“The warehouse you told me about before?”

Dusky Rose nodded. “Ain’t no secret what’s in there, but it’s outta sight and outta mind fer folks. You…don’t wanna go there, do ya?”

The idea had crossed Hector’s mind, but no crimes had been reported in that area and the perusal of those who had already fallen victim seemed of little immediate value. “I think it might be better we make rounds. There’s still an investigation to conduct here, and I intend to do so.”

A tearing noise drew the attention of the conversationalists. They turned in unison to find a single page of the records book rent from it and in the glow of Zit’s magic. Caught red-hoofed as she balled the paper up, she offered an explanation.

“My record is in here for some reason, Captain. Did you see it?”

Hector looked puzzled. “No. What would that be doing in a compilation of the deceased?”

“I…don’t know,” Whatzit said softly as she tossed the paper into the wastebasket with myriad other wadded up bits of offal. “A-and I’m sorry, but my personnel file is in the cabinets with all the others if you want to see it..”

Hector understood. The copied record could have been placed there by accident. Or it could have been somepony’s idea of a sick joke. Or even a warning.

Warm refreshment no longer held any appeal. “Is there any residence in town that’s still inhabited that I haven’t seen, Constable?”

Rose shook her olive-drab, leathery head. “Nope. We alls got our own homes and all that, but…nopony really wants to go to ‘em and be all alone. Those what ain’t stayin’ here or at the clinic are holed up at Kitty’s. Safety in numbers an’ all.”

“Shouldn’t we search the uninhabited areas?” Whatzit perked. “They’re the perfect spot for changelings to hide, if you ask me.”

Rose looked grim. “The changelings in our town don’t got no reason to hide nomore, sweetie. Ain’t none of ‘em turned up dead, so there’s at least four out there, an’, well…that’s almost a third of the entire population of the town, now.”

The comment sucked away all attempts to break through it with nervous laughter. Whatzit was the first to speak, her voice solemn.

“It…really could be any one of us, couldn’t it.”

Rose sighed. “Only thing you can bank on is that however many of those bugs are lurkin’ out there, it don’t add up to more than half the ponies what’s left. Otherwise they’d be so confident they’d just bust down the doors and finish us. Ain’t no reason to hide your cards when you got the winning hand for sure.”

“W-well we can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Whatzit protested, a hoof tousling her mousey bangs. “If we don’t do anything—“

Silvermane wouldn’t let her finish the fatal thought. “You look tired, Zit. What were you up to last night?”

Whatzit let the subject be changed. “I kept an eye on the Waffles Sir, as you requested.”

“And?”

“Nothing to say,” Zit replied dutifully. Nopony came out of the building, nopony went in…no lights in the windows at a strange time of night. At least not until…uh…”

Silvermane waited with as much patience as he could muster. Zit blushed.

“…at least not until I couldn’t stay awake any longer. I’m sorry Sir, I…I don’t think anypony in town is sleeping well anymore and it’s hard to fight off an attack from the sandpony sometimes.”

Zit futzed with her hooves and pulled Chloe’s scarf tighter about her neck, as if the room had just gone cold. Hector wasn’t planning to dress her down, but Rose placed a staying hoof on his shoulder anyway.

“Can’t be helped, Cap’n. We ain’t got the ponypower anymore for a stakeout.” When Hector didn’t reply, Rose balked. “You want me t’call in Beanie?”

“Is he ever sober enough to be of any use?” Hector asked incredulously.

“He was good at his job once,” Rose offered in the previous station commander’s defense. “It’s just…well you know what’s goin’ on here, an’ he’s young. Some ponies just ain’t got the will, an’ this here’s a lot even for those what does have it to accept. Some things, well…they happened, he fell into the sauce an’…well he ain’t right nomore, bottle or no. Best let him lie.”

The taste of any fellow guard falling so far from grace was bitter in Silvermane’s throat, but he nodded his begrudging assent without words. The captain of the royal guard had a way with his men, but he wasn’t a military psychologist, nor could he afford to take risks with those who had so little of his trust. It might have been just as much of a mistake to put his trust in anypony at all in Little Hoofington, but his officers were all he had. Diligence was mandatory, but an unwillingness to extend any sort of hoof to anypony at all was a recipe for chaos, and an assured victory for the changeling menace…not to mention the psychotic killer who was also on the loose. Duty brought him back to the present.

“Zit, get some rest. Constable Rose and I are going to Kitty’s Nip to check on the populace. Deputy Trotter can catch up with us when he gets back.”

Zit rose to her weary hooves. “I-if it’s all the same Sir, I’d just as soon come with you. It’s the least I can do to make up for last night, and, well…I…don’t want to sleep here alone.”

Silvermane considered this request for a moment, and finally acquiesced. He left a note for his senior deputy, and on the way out the door, spoke to his subordinates about a secret knock. The doors of the constabulary were otherwise to be locked at all times.

*****

Kitty’s Nip was a bustle of activity, if any building in Little Hoofington could still be thought of that way. A hearty fire crackled in the hearth, but Whim’s piano music had taken a back seat to the bite of static from a weatherbeaten radio that sat upon the bar. The device was chugging along and doing its best, but it was clear that beyond a few musical notes and ambiguous snippets of conversation, the weather was in control of the airwaves.

Whim, the deep blue clockmaker with the rainbow umbrella on his flank, occasionally cranked the device while just as often smacking it with annoyance. Behind the bar and near him stood the fiery curls and emerald bustle of Kitty Contessa, who had a thoughtful look about her as she refreshed Whim’s drink without being asked. One of the tables before the hearth was home to Caveat, the armed and armored self-styled mercenary, who was nursing something in a tankard while pensively watching the pair. All eyes turned to the newcomers, but a lack of perceived threat seemed to set them all at ease.

“General!” Whim called to the door, waving the trio over with one foreleg. “You’re just in time. I’m handy with quartz movement and the occasional cuckoo, but I’ve got to say, contraptions like this are beyond me. Got any training with one of these?”

Silvermane approached the bar, his subordinates in tow, and waved dismissively behind him. It was a signal he was used to giving to his men to let them know they could be at ease and mingle, but he offered it automatically, without considering his audience. He eyed the radio.

“Manual crank. This is an emergency device?”

“Right as the mail,” Whim replied as he sat back on his stool to offer space. “Though…I suppose that expression doesn’t have much use around here anymore.”

Kitty cut in, her voice as sultry and hypnotic as always. “Whim’s right, you do have uncanny timing, Captain Hector. Maybe you’d be so kind as to offer us some of that military expertise? You capital city guards can probably handle anything, after all.”

Silvermane flushed slightly at the excessiveness of the compliment, but kept his attention on the radio. He had no more skill with electronics than a laypony, and though his instinct was to help, he could do little other than repeat the attentions – and frustrations – that Whim had lavished upon the little box.

“Won’t do no good,” Rose finally piped up. “Beggin’ yer pardon for trying Cap’n, but with the squalls we get around here, it’d take Starswirl the Bearded and half a dozen wizards to raise a clear radio signal.”

Kitty sighed. “I suppose she does have a point. Still,” she grinned, “I have often depended on the kindness of strangers.”

Hector hadn’t sat down, but he found a warm mug of tea that smelled slightly of spearmint suddenly at his hoof on the bar. “Ah, thank you Miss Contessa, but—“

“Kitty, Captain Hector,” Kitty smiled. “Or ‘Miss Kitty’, if you absolutely must. And before you refuse my hospitality because you think it’s the proper thing to do, I’m well aware that you won’t accept alcohol on duty, and I’m not giving you any special favors. Drinks are on the house for…everypony, right now.”

Nopony chimed in with the obvious – that there were so few patrons left, turning a profit was a comical notion. It was better Kitty just dole out free drinks to keep nerves at bay. Hector appreciated that line of logic from the proprietress, and allowed the soothing concoction to wipe away the sharpness of coffee beans.

“I trust you won’t allow anypony to take advantage of your kindness, Miss Kitty?”

Kitty seemed confused by the comment, but Zit, who had quietly arranged herself on a stool, elaborated whilst adjusting her glasses.

“He’s asking if you’ll keep everypony from getting drunk.”

Kitty’s saccharine smile returned almost immediately. “Rest assured Captain Hector, I’m not planning to turn the neighborhood into a lagoon of debauchery. But I daresay that in times like these, I can hardly blame anypony for whatever opportunity they can make use of to forget their troubles.”

“Miss Kitty,” Hector sighed. “Please.”

“Oh all right, all right,” Kitty finally acquiesced. “You have my word, I’ll rein folks in. Though I’m not their mother of course, and I can’t necessarily know where everypony’s limit is.”

Hector considered closing the bar. It was well within his rights to do so – martial law meant nearly anything was within his rights to do. But crippling the last remaining public establishment in the entire town would make it harder for him to keep tabs on where the remaining citizens were spending their time. Further, drying up a town in such dire circumstances might cause more trouble than it stood to prevent.

Rose was leaning on the bar, her eyes on Caveat. “Ain’t got nothin’ to worry about with some folks. That one over yonder prolly ain’t been drunk a day in her life. Wouldn’t dare let her guard down. Unless mebbe she did get drunk once, and it got ugly. Vowed to never do it again.”

“I can hear you, Tin Star,” Caveat replied. She was toying with her knife again, like a great cat toying with a pony’s femur just to look intimidating. “Just keep being so blatant about deflecting attention to me. It only makes you look more guilty.”

“Consarnit!” Rose spat, “you little--! Why I oughtta--!”

“Constable,” Hector simmered. “You are not exempt from my feelings on brawling, as I believe I’ve already mentioned.”

“Now, now, the Captain has a point,” Whim quipped. “How about we all just have a drink and calm down, huh?” He cracked his fetlocks. “I’ll whip us up a nice spirited tune and we’ll all be dancing the afternoon away in no t—“

A communal growl from the pair of grizzled mares in the room made Whim stick to his stool as though the floor had suddenly given way to lava. “Or…or not, then.”

“Changelings aren’t likely to start a brawl while they’re in hiding anyway, Captain,” Caveat called from across the room. “It’s more likely they’ll try to spread as much paranoia as possible, like purposefully trying to draw attention to innocents and frame them. Defending oneself is a different story, however.

Rose gritted her teeth but choked back whatever cantankerous thought cranked to the forefront of her mind. Instead, of all things, she also cracked her fetlocks, and stepped to the upright in the back of the room in lieu of Whim.

“I got this,” she insisted. “Y’all never heard Camptown Races till y’heard it from the hooves of a maestro. If my callin’ weren’t soldierin’, I’da been sellin’ ‘em out at the Meyerhoof for sure.”

Rose’s skill with the ivories was exceptional, but she was no progeny, and that plus her insistence upon show tunes did little to cement her claims. With the music livening up the room, Hector turned his attention back to the proprietress and her regular.

“I’d like to ask the two of you a personal question,” Hector ventured. “One that might offend you on the surface, I admit.”

Kitty and Whim exchanged glances, but did nothing to discourage the Captain from proceeding.

“I know that these are times when a little levity goes a long way and I appreciate that, but neither of you are strangers to this town. Certainly each of you have lost somepony, or perhaps several here, and I do believe the outside world would see this situation as horrifying. How are you able to remain so chipper?”

Zit understood the true purpose behind the question immediately. She cleared her throat and took to her drink, pretending not to pay attention. Kitty’s expression hardened.

“I’ve said this before Captain Hector, but this is the last place in Little Hoofington where anypony can go to expect some peace and good cheer. If you’re insinuating that I look aloof, and might be a changeling because of that, ask yourself what else I could be doing with my time right now? I’m no detective, and I’m no good with clues and accusations. All I can do is my best to make my friends happy, and hope that the law, you, will stop this before it gets any worse.”

Whim nodded through the explanation thoughtfully until it was his turn to speak. He swiveled around partially on his stool and nodded down at the colorful, open umbrella on his flank. “I’m a clockmaker by trade General, but only because I followed in my daddy’s hoof prints. My true passion is making other ponies happy. It’s like Kitty said – I’m no sleuth.” He produced an umbrella from somewhere beside him and popped it open, twirling the rainbow colors in a slow, soothing manner. “This is all I can do.”

In a quick turn of the subject, Kitty spoke up. “Captain Hector, how are the Waffles? We heard about what happened to that poor filly, but…you don’t really think that they could have…”

“I’m not entirely convinced of that yet, no,” Silvermane assured. “But I’m not convinced they didn’t do it, either.”

“They didn’t do it, Captain Hector,” Kitty insisted. “I’d stake my reputation on it. They were framed.”

Intrigued, Silvermane decided to let the conversation take its course. “Oh? And why do you think that? Beyond their reputation, that is?”

Kitty faltered, but Whim picked up the slack. “We may not be sleuths, General, but we’ve seen death by changeling enough times around here to know what it’s like. Changelings don’t kill ponies like that.”

Silvermane searched for something to allay the fears of the tavern ponies, but Kitty made it all gruesomely unnecessary.

“Captain Hector, it’s not like the radio never works, and it’s hard to keep secrets among a group this small. We heard about Pinkamena being on the loose, and we heard about her being sighted in the area around Neighagra Falls.”

“There’s no evidence to confirm—“

“There doesn’t have to be, Sir,” This time it was Zit who spoke up, though she downed a sip of a surprisingly strong drink to steel herself first. “Specs was not the first victim to die that way, and her remains aren’t consistent with being drained of their love. It would be a waste for a changeling to kill that way. There weren’t many such deaths before, but lately they’ve been…increasing in number.”

Kitty shuddered and placed a hoof over her heart. “It has to be her. She’s been wandering around here, got wind of what’s happening in our poor little village, and she’s probably trying to use it as a cover for her horrible work.”

Silvermane wasn’t comfortable discussing the details of a case so frankly, but he had already breached protocol several times to allow for unique circumstances. Still, the idea that his enemy was most likely right before his eyes and taunting him made the decision over what to say a daunting task in and of itself.

“I-if you want my two bits,” Zit spoke haltingly, uncertain if she should give them, “I think it was Pinkamena too.”

“Or the changelings might want us to think that, Whatzit,” Silvermane admonished. “The loss of an opportunity to drain the love of just a few victims might be worth that to them, especially if they’re part of a larger force and intend to establish a hoofhold on Equestria here.”

Whim had placed a hoof over Kitty’s on the bar in an attempt to calm her. “All I know is, if I were a changeling, I’d be just as afraid of Pinkamena as I would getting blasted by the Elements of Harmony. They say she has abilities that ought to be impossible for a normal pony.”

Kitty fanned herself with a hoof and took in a sharp breath. “Well! All this talk is enough to make anypony hungry, and I suspect even you two can’t subsist off of that tar you law-types call coffee at the jailhouse. Let me make you all something, please. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Silvermane had thought little of food since he had arrived in town, and his stomach gave him away at the very mention of sustenance. Lack of food would be of no more use to him than lack of sleep, and so he waited patiently, engaging in softer conversation, until a sunflower sandwich found its way to the bar before him. He made short work of it, and was about to gather his team to patrol the rest of the village, when a piercing crash broke up the scene, and a showering of splinters from a rent in the front door assailed him.

A bundle hurtled through the door and landed in the middle of the room. Silvermane was on his hooves as fast as Rose and Caveat, their horns alive and the latter brandishing her long knife, but the bundle was quickly recognizable as anything but a changeling or a psychotic, cotton candy mare. A cobalt blue cape, adorned with silvery stars, thrashed as the sangria-colored mare within flailed to regain her hooves.

“Heathen!” Cadabra Smile cried. “Scoundrel! Villain! Thou accosts us without cause, and in the broadness of Celestia’s hour to boot! Thy madness bespeaks of guilt!”

Eyes rolled to the door, where stood the washed-out and appalling countenance of Stringbean, the miner who had only recently found himself with cause. His hackles were up for a fight, and the look in his eye was borderline murderous. He pulled out the many charms he kept at his neck from beneath his cloak and jangled them.

“Think y’could do me, huh witch!?” Stringbean snarled.

Cadabra finally made it to her hooves. She touched her hoof roughly to her lip and came back with a spatter of blood, which brought a combination of shock and anger to her features. “No assistance from us is required in that, knave! Itinerant miner in an village that can no longer support thee, thou art better served in the embrace of the shafts which thou still rummage aimlessly through!”

Silvermane instantly imposed himself between the combatants. “What’s this about!?”

“She tried to kill me!” Stringbean made a poofing gesture in the air, “With one of her mumbo-jumbo hexes!”

“We did nothing of the sort!” Cadabra leapt to her own defense. “We were performing the nightly repose, it is part of the litanies of the night, and is offered at sunrise each morning to see the darkness to its rest. This buffoon just happened to be cantering by, and in his ignorance took offense!”

Silvermane was trying to keep his attention on both belligerents at the same time. “We can talk about this--!”

“NO!” Stringbean challenged. “I’m through with talking! You let that murderer that stole Maple Waffle’s body get off, and now you’re protecting the queen of them all! You’re also the only one, Silvermane, that none of us have seen before, and it’s awfully convenient that you just happened to show up to take control of everything! You let those two poor fillies die, and you’re gonna let it happen to all of us! You’re probably one of those things!”

The lanky miner sprang, and Silvermane had no alternative but to defend himself. Thankfully the unskilled attacker was clumsy, his blows wracked by emotion, and the guard captain was able to knock him prone and leap upon him, pinning him to the floor without causing any significant injury.

“—offa me! Get offa me!” Stringbean wailed. “You’re all gonna pay if you listen to this one!”

There was a sound as galloping, and the familiar Stetson of Beat Trotter appeared at a run in the entranceway.

“Constable! Deputy Trotter!”

The two officials didn’t need to be given specific orders. They fell upon their commander and assisted him in wrestling Stringbean into submission, until Trotter managed to slap a pair of hoof restraints on the miner.

“Get him out of here,” Silvermane ordered.

“You can’t lock me up!!” Stringbean pleaded with the other tavern ponies. “Don’t let him lock me up! I’ll be next! At least let me defend myself!!”

“You’re under arrest!” Silvermane shouted, his patience cracking. “For inciting unrest yesterday, and aggravated assault of a civilian and an officer of the court today! I’m willing to let tempers flare under the circumstances, but I will not be tested. Take him away!”

Such was Stringbean’s thrashing that it took both constable and deputy to escort him from the tavern. Silence lingered, and so piercing was it that Silvermane turned to investigate, only to find all eyes on him.

“I’m…sorry you all had to see that,” he muttered, referring more to his outburst than the brawl. Cadabra, who had collected herself and smoothed out her cape, was checking herself over for bruises.

“Well! We are most certainly appreciative to see the persistence of order in this community, that ruffians are appropriately taken from the streets!”

Caveat was back in her seat, where she had resumed her unnerving habit of picking her teeth with the point of her blade. “Is locking anypony up even going to make a difference at this point, Captain?” She challenged.

“I will have order,” Silvermane replied, his tone threatening. “This is still a criminal investigation, and there will be no tolerance for fighting in the streets.”

“So I guess if he dies in custody…we know who did it,” Caveat shrugged as she sat back. “Either that, or all the rest of us die, and he starves to death all shut in there by himself. Unless you’re planning to hang him without trial.”

Silvermane ignored the provoking comments and turned his attention back to the bar, where the three ponies he had lunched with were trying to avoid eye contact with one another.

“I’m sorry that had to happen in your establishment Miss Kitty,” Silvermane repeated. “However, Stringbean has proven himself dangerous on more than one occasion.”

Kitty tilted her head. “And what about the Night Mistress over there, Captain Hector?”

Silvermane glanced across the room. Cadabra had a small bruise near her temple, but as far as what there was to see of her body under her starry cape and mane, that was the only noticeable injury beyond the cut at her lip. She was standing beside Caveat’s table, and the guard captain focused on their conversation.

“—this is our final offer.”

Caveat glanced at a bag of bits that had found its way to the table. “You wanna hire a bodyguard? Can’t you just hex ponies to death?”

“Your candor is not amusing to us,” Cadabra sighed. Something about seeing her in a disheveled state lent itself to picturing her in a softer light, as far as Silvermane was concerned. “We are no ‘witch’, but we are well aware that most ponies do not take our faith seriously, and dismiss us as some manner of Nightmare Moon-worshipping cult. Nothing could be further from the truth. We are watchers, who believe that the power that turned Princess Luna towards evil is a tangible, sapient force in and of itself. It is The Night personified, and we are the chosen who seek always to placate The Night and it’s time, to see that it does not anger again and consequently rend our nation once more asunder.”

Caveat seemed unimpressed. The bag was in the glow of her magic, and she had taken to testing it for weight and the satisfying jingle of coin. “Whatever you say. I don’t care if you worship parasprites, so long as I get paid.”

“You believe in our innocence regarding these matters then?” Cadabra said, somewhat hopefully. “And that we have decided that because of them, we require additional protection?”

Caveat chewed on one of the bits as a final test, stuffed it back in the bag, and the back in one of her pouches near her scabbard. “Don’t care about that either. You pay me to protect you, I protect you. You turn out to be the killer? You better catch me off guard, because I won’t have any moral issues about killing you first and keeping your money anyway. I bet there’s plenty of trinkets in that church that would be worth a pretty penny for my trouble, too. And I only protect one pony at a time, so don’t ask about your little assistant.”

Cadabra made a face. “Indeed, well…so it shall be. It is daylight, and we wish to see to our rest.”

Caveat got the picture and stood, kicking her chair in with a great scrape upon the floor. “Lead the way.”

Silvermane watched the pair trot by, and couldn’t help himself.

“Caveat, if Cadabra did have anything to do with this—“

“I’m a law-abiding citizen, Captain,” Caveat replied in passing. “If you abide by the law, so will I.”

The pair departed, leaving the remaining tavern ponies in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zit questioned. “You are the law here, Sir.”

Silvermane sighed. “She means that if I feel arresting Cadabra is warranted again, she’ll let it stand, assuming she feels I have a good reason for doing it. But if we end up having to bust down the church door with horns blazing, she’ll fight us.”

“B-but she can’t just—“

Silvermane held up a silencing hoof. “That doesn’t matter to a pony who lives by coin, the way she does. At this moment in time I have no further grounds to take any action against Cadabra Smile, and she knows that.”

Zit frowned. “…personally I think you do Sir, but…it’s your decision.”

Kitty echoed the sentiment, though she put a softer spin on it. Hector didn’t challenge either of them. The morning was already almost gone, and he had planned to familiarize himself with the rest of the town in order to consider possible hiding places for his enemies to confer. It was going to be a long afternoon, filled with intense investigation.

“Zit, we have work to do. Go back to the constabulary and tell Deputy Trotter that I want to speak with him near the mine cliffs right away. I’ll have further orders by then.”

“Yes Sir,” Whatzit announced, whereupon she rose to her hooves and left.

“Uh, General,” Whim piped up. He still had the umbrella out, and though he was twirling it slower, Silvermane thought that the gently swirling colors did have a sort of calming effect. “Is it okay if I go and see the Waffles later? I’m sure it’s difficult for a Pegasus to not spread their—I mean, I’m sure things have been difficult for them lately, and the entire town owes a lot to their clinic. I’d like to drop by and cheer them up a bit, if you catch my drift.”

Silvermane flicked an ear. “You’re aware that the clinic lobby is a crime scene, yes?”

Whim nodded. “I won’t disturb anything General, honest! It’ll be like that time I tip-hoofed through the forest of undeniable peril with Daring Do! Not a single saw-toothed saberlion was disturbed that day, let me tell you!”

Kitty rolled her eyes and chuckled dryly. Silvermane didn’t.

“Just don’t go out at night, Whim. If you’re going to be there late, stay there. And…be certain you find yourself a locked room.”

Whim clicked his heels and saluted! “Once more into the breach!” With that he too was gone, leaving a mere two ponies in the common room alone.

Kitty quietly cleaned a glass, waiting to speak until Silvermane’s shoulders slumped a bit.

“Sit a spell, Captain. You really could use it.”

Silvermane shook his head without looking at the bar. “I can’t. There’s too much at stake.”

“I know what you want to talk to Trotter about.”

This made the captain peek in Kitty’s direction. “Oh?”

Kitty looked sly. “You’re not the first one to try it. You saw the old gallows near the mine pit, didn’t you. A century ago they were used to mete out swift justice around here, and then they’d just toss the bodies into the deepest part of the ravine, down below where the mines are and nopony goes. They’re antiques now, but we all still know they’re there.”

Silvermane took in the history lesson but said nothing. Kitty grinned.

“That’s what I would be doing in your position, Captain Hector. Even if I didn’t plan to actually use them, prepping a hangpony’s noose sends a message. There’s even a chance it might just scare away whatever dirty thug killed that second filly. You know a changeling didn’t do that as well as I do, but with a pack of them on the loose…it would be better to just not have to deal with yet another killer.”

Silvermane hesitated. He made for the door, and paused as it swung open on one blasted hinge.

“Don’t worry about that, Captain Hector,” Kitty sang. “I get the feeling doors aren’t going to be much protection for us anymore, but I’m good with a toolkit and I’ll deal with it later.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Kitty.”

“Mmhmm. Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

Author's Note

There were no new deaths in this chapter.

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 (Watchpony)
Caveat
Beanie