Outside your window, the city of Chicoltgo sprawls across the landscape, a sea of concrete and glass. The midmorning sun rising above the river casts its light at a harsh angle, causing the windows to glow scarlet red and brilliant gold. You might appreciate the beauty of the sight if the light wasn’t distracting you from your work.

The blank sheet of paper sits adamantly in your typewriter, and as much as you might like, no force of will on your part will summon the words you need to finish this report on your latest case: an investigation into an insurance fraud ring. With a long sigh, you drop your face into your hooves and rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up. Funny: when you got your private detective license, you imagined you’d be doing a lot less paperwork. Guess somepony forgot to tell all the pulp fiction writers that PI work involves a lot more sitting around and typing than it does chasing ponies through alleyways and questioning beautiful mares and mysterious stallions in seedy bars.

“I need a coffee,” you mutter to yourself, rising from your desk. You stride over to the door of your mostly bare office and open it, entering the lobby of your place of employment: Pinkeye and Sons, Private Investigators, located on the twelfth floor of the Acme building.

As usual, the lobby is mostly bare: just a few empty sofas, worn magazines on the table, chugging coffee machine in the corner. The other offices are all dark behind their closed and locked doors; right now, your only companionship is the office secretary, Open Case, sitting behind his desk with his nose buried in today’s crossword puzzle.

“Hey, rookie,” the blue-mustached pale yellow unicorn calls up to you as you enter. “Need some help with this one.”

“Sure,” you nod, your focus on the coffee machine. You’d given up long ago trying to tell the others at the office that your name is not “Rookie.”

“‘A colorless house as time goes by.’ Twelve letters,” Open reads the clue out loud.

“Casablanca,” you state with barely a moment’s thought as you pour the black gold into your cup.

“Casa…” Open mutters, tapping his pencil against the paper. “Hey, you’re right. Good call.” He grins at you over the top of the paper. “You always were good at puzzles,” he says, filling in the blanks.

"Here's looking at you, yearling," you raise your mug to your comrade.

You’re about to go back into your office and try to finish that report, when the door opens wide. A timid pegasus mare enters the lobby. She has a bluish-white coat and her curly, grassy green mane is untidy, a sign of stress. Her cutie mark is a wing-shaped cloud, and she is wearing a dusty brown coat, fastened incorrectly. Her wide, green eyes focus on you.

“Are you a detective?” she asks in a wavering voice.

“Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?” you ask.

“It’s my husband,” she says, approaching.

Internally, you groan. Another philanderer, which means another week of long nights following some lonely stallion around—

“He’s been missing for days.”

Your thoughts come to a screeching halt. “Why don’t you step into my office and we can talk about it?” you ask, gesturing the mare into your office. She nods silently and follows you into the office, taking the chair across from your desk. You notice that despite the warmth of the room and her coat, she’s shivering slightly. You press the coffee mug into her hooves.

“Thank you,” she mumbles and takes a sip. The bitter black liquid seems to revive her slightly.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” you ask as you slip into your own chair. Even tone, steady eye contact. Keep her calm.

“Wind Walker,” the mare answers. “My husband is Idea Spark. I haven’t heard from him in two weeks.”

“Have you contacted the City Guard?” you ask.

“I did, but they said there’s not much they can do,” Wind admits, hanging her head.

“When was the last time you saw him?” you continue, internally reflecting that you’re probably asking the same questions that the City Guard asked her before.

“Two weeks ago,” Wind explains. “He had just gotten a letter inviting him to a new job.” She looks up. “Idea is an expert in magical engineering. He used to work at an engineering firm, but was laid off a year ago. He’d been looking for work ever since, sending applications everywhere.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No,” Wind shakes her head. “He just packed his bags and left. He was elated: said that this would solve all of our problems. And then I didn’t hear from him again...not until today.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope. Scrawled onto the front of it was an address in pencil:

Wind Walker
1732 Skywatch Street
Chicoltgo, Equestria

Wind hands you the envelope, which had already been torn open. You open the envelope and unfold the letter inside, staring in confusion at the message:

Veni, vedi, vici. Most common=A

DAHL

Forward 7

PH UDYH

Back 19

X RYVV

Forward 4

CK

The strange letters were written in a quick, jittering lettering.

“It’s my husband’s writing,” Wind states.

“Are you sure?” you question.

“I’ve been married to Idea for seventeen years. I’ve seen his writing. I know what it looks like,” Wind states matter-of-factly. She leans in closer, her expression desperate and tense. “This is the only message I’ve gotten from him. Something is wrong: my husband is in trouble and nopony is going to help him. You have to do something. Please.”

You look up at her, keeping your gaze steady. “I will. I’ll do what I can to bring him back to you.”

Wind sighs, looking as though she has just allowed a great weight to fall off her shoulders. “Thank you, detective.”

You turn your attention back to the strange message, which, right now, is your first and only clue.

Solve the code.

Author's Note

Here we go. The first puzzle for you to solve! Can you crack this code? Good luck!

Clue: inventwithpython.com/cipherwheel