Chapters 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
The key to any puzzle is to break it down and solve it piece by piece. You apply that strategy to this code.
“Veni, vidi, vici,” you read out loud. “Latin: ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’ That’s a quote by Caesar.”
“What does it mean?” Wind asks in obvious bewilderment.
“It means that this is a Caesar cipher,” you state, opening one of the drawers of your desk and rummaging around inside. “Where did I—ah, there you are,” you declare as you extract a pair of circular disks stacked on top of one another, one smaller than the other. Both of them have the letters of the alphabet written around their circumferences.
“The Caesar cipher is simple,” you explain. “You just shift the alphabet a certain number of letters and replace every letter in the message with one from the alternate alphabet.” You look back at the message. “‘Most common=A.’ The most common letter in the Standard Equestrian alphabet is E, so…” You rotate the outermost disc so that the E lines up on top of the A and set to work.
“D…” you mutter, identifying the D on the inner ring and noting that it aligns with “H.” You repeat the process for the other letters: E,L,P. “HELP.”
Oh. That’s not a good start. You turn back to the message: “Forward 7.” You rotate the outer disc clockwise seven spaces and begin decoding the next line. Within a couple of minutes, you have fully translated the message:
“HELP ME RAVEN HOLLOW.”
Wind Walker studies her husband’s words with a horrified expression. “Is he—?”
“Ma’am, we don’t know anything for sure,” you interrupt her gently, hoping to cut off her panic. “Have you ever heard of Raven Hollow?”
Wind stammers for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. It sounds like a place to me, but I have no idea.”
You look back at the original letter. “And does your husband normally write you messages in code?”
“No, never,” Walker shakes his head. “He's good at puzzles, but he's not very interested in them.”
“Hmm,” you mumble, turning back to the message. The scrawled letters on the paper scream of desperation, written in a quick hoof, yet the message required intelligence and care to craft.
“Wait here for a moment, Mrs. Walker,” you tell her, standing and striding over to the door. You exit back into the lobby. Open Case has finished the crossword and is now reading an article about the opening of a new exhibit at the Chicoltgo History Museum about somepony named Blackfeather Quill. Maybe a writer.
“Open, you think you could look up anything on Raven Hollow?” you call out to him.
“Sure!” Open eagerly declares, dropping the newspaper and ducking down underneath his desk. After a minute of rummaging, he pops back up again with a large encyclopedia, which he slams down onto the table and starts flipping through with great excitement.
“Ah, here it is!” he declares, placing his hoof onto the page with a dramatic gesture. “Raven Hollow is a small village in the Green Hills, north of Chicoltgo. It’s the site of a large mine of sirenium, a magical element in the hills that is known to have psychoactive properties.”
“So what was a magical engineer doing there?” you ask yourself. “Open, you think you could find a map to Raven Hollow?”
“Sure can,” Open nodded, ducking back down so that all you can see of him is his cutie mark of an open manila folder. With a great rustling, a whirlwind of papers starts billowing out from beneath the desk, files flying everywhere like a flock of maddened birds. You pause to watch the show for a moment: it always defied your belief that Open Case could find anything in that mess of books and files, but whenever any of you need information, he is sure to provide.
You return to your office to find Wind Walker still sitting in her chair, rubbing her hooves against one another in a futile attempt to reassure herself. “Mrs. Walker, do you have a recent photo of Idea?”
“Yes, here,” she nods, reaching into her coat. She extracts a photograph and hands it to you. The picture is of herself standing next to a tall, lanky sunshine yellow unicorn with matted brown hair, crooked square glasses, and a cutie mark of a lightbulb. He grins up at you, adorned with a dark blue jacket. You notice a glimmering silver pin on his collar, shaped like a triangle with a spark in the center.
“Is that a Pinnacle Club pin?” you ask, recognizing the symbol for the nonprofit IQ society.
“Yes, he was a prominent member in our local chapter,” Wind explains. She swallows, raising a hoof to her mouth. “Detective...will you bring him back?”
You feel like you swallowed a block of ice and deliberately avert your gaze back to the picture. You’d like to promise this poor mare that you’ll find her husband and bring him home safely, but you remember one of the first lessons you learned working here: never make a promise that you may not be able to keep. If Idea has really been missing for this long…
“I’ll do my best,” you compromise with yourself, giving Wind a brief nod. “Leave your contact information with Open in case you think of anything else, he can reach me.”
“Thank you, detective,” Wind sighs, a relief that you can’t help but feel is premature flooding her being.
Swinging your trenchcoat onto your frame, you exit the office and return to Open’s desk. He hands you a map that he’d pulled out of who-knows-where. “I’ve marked the quickest route to Raven Hollow from here,” he says, tracing over a route that he’d marked in red ink. “It’s still a pretty long trip, though; you probably won’t get there until towards sunset. Once you get there, I’d check with the local sheriff’s; his office will be at the center of town.”
“Thanks,” you nod to Open, taking the map and tucking it into your coat pocket.
“Be careful out there, rookie,” Open Case warns you as you head for the door. “Try not to get into trouble.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Please. When have I ever gotten into trouble?”
“Well...just don’t start,” Open says slowly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll come back safely,” you reassure him, opening the door and exiting out into the hallway. You descend down the winding staircase, down all twelve floors and out the front doors, greeting the warm, thick air and the constant soundtrack of bustling hooves, overlapping voices, and growling engines that is the city. You look around and spot your faithful companion, right where you left her. She waits dutifully for you, her polished metal skin reflecting the sunlight as she sits next to the sidewalk.
“Ready for a long trip?” you ask her. Of course, the motorcycle can’t talk back, but you’d like to imagine her eager reply to the offer.
Swinging your legs onto the seat, you extract the helmet from the saddlebags and strap it onto your head, snapping the goggles down over your eyes as you strike at the kickstarter. With a growl, the engine leaps to life beneath you. You pull away from the sidewalk and accelerate into the street, heading north.
Some hours later, as the lowering sun paints the sky in dark oranges and pink hues, you notice a strange smell tickling at your nostrils. You take a deep breath in and smile as you identify the aroma: fresh mountain air!
The bike grumbles beneath you as you climb a dirt road, headed for the peak of a grassy hill. Trees surround you on both sides, their golden, amber and scarlet leaves whispering in the wind as you continue the trek upwards. Pausing at the apex of the hill, you look down and behold your destination.
Nestled into the valley, cradled by the gentle slopes of the mountains in their dazzling array of colors, was a small village of wood and brick houses. Already, faint lights are glowing in the windows and streets. A wooden sign hangs next to the dirt road that descends into the valley. Welcome to Raven Hollow , read the black, flowing letters.
Releasing the brakes, you begin to carefully guide your bike down the winding dirt road and into the little hamlet. The dirt roads seem abandoned: not a single pony is in sight, despite the pleasant coolness of the zephyrs that quietly whistle through the alleyways. Your bike purrs as you carry it through the streets into the town center. The circular space, paved with clay bricks, is decorated with a large statue of a raven standing upon a tree branch, its marble head turned to face the setting sun. Looking around, you spot a squat building with a six-pointed silver star painted over the door: the sheriff’s office. Parking in front of the building, you swing off your bike and walk up to the door.
Unfortunately, the lights are all dark and the door is locked. Taped upon the front window is a sheet of paper that reads in black marker, “Out to dinner at the Waxwing Diner.”
“Darn,” you mutter to yourself, looking up and down the streets. No diner in sight, and you don’t feel like wandering around town.
Turning, you spot your first local inhabitant: a unicorn sitting huddled up against the wall of the sheriff’s office. This pony is dressed in a dusty threadbare jacket. His coat is the color of unpolished brass and his matted mane and beard are a dusty grayish-white.
“Excuse me,” you call out to the elder pony.
He turns to look up at you. The jittering myokymia of his oak brown eyes would’ve betrayed his drunken state if his breath hadn’t done that already.
“New pony,” the vagabond mumbles, struggling to focus on you. He nods and taps his chest with his hoof. “I’m Sunrise Glow.”
“Hello, Sunrise,” you greet him. “I’m a private detective, I’m looking for the Sheriff. Do you know where the Waxwing Diner is?”
Sunrise nods, continuing to stare up in your general direction.
“Uh...could you tell me, please?”
Sunrise swallows. “You’re going to have to go down that road,” he says, pointing towards a road opposite the one you used to enter. “And then there’ll be a turn…”
“Uh-huh. Which way do I turn?”
Sunrise looks like he’s trying to speak, but no matter how much his mouth spasms, no sound will come out. Finally, he manages to speak.
“The four roads speak, but only one tells the truth,” he declares, looking down at the sidewalk at your hooves.
“‘Tis Hummingbird,’ says Whippoorwill.
“‘Follow Sandpiper,’ says Hummingbird.
“‘It is not me,’ protests Sandpiper.
“‘Yes, tis Hummingbird,’ agrees Tern.”
You blink in confusion at the riddle. “Couldn’t you just tell me what road to follow?” you ask.
Sunrise blinks up at you. “I just did.”
Figure out which road to follow.
Author's Note
As promised, here is the next chapter within a week, this one with another puzzle for you to solve.
Clue: two statements in particular stand out against each other. Pay close attention.
Congratulations to The Villain in Glasses, Everfree Pony, Magic Step and MLP Fangirl for correctly deducing last week's puzzle! I wish y'all luck on this week's challenge!
After staring at your strange informant for a few seconds, you turn away to consider the riddle.
If only one of the statements is true, you determine, then it can’t be Hummingbird, because then both Tern and Whippoorwill would be telling the truth; thus, you dismiss both statements as false. The only two statements remaining are the ones that are mutually contradictory: Hummingbird’s claim that Sandpiper is the correct path, and Sandpiper’s protest that it is some other road.
If Sandpiper is telling the truth, that still leaves either Whippoorwill or Tern as possibilities; however, if Sandpiper is lying and Hummingbird is the one telling the truth, then there is only one conclusion. Sandpiper must be the correct path.
“Thanks for the help...I guess,” you mutter to Sunrise, turning back to your waiting vehicle.
Suddenly, Sunrise Glow rears up and grabs your hind leg, holding you back. “You need to leave!” he rasps, his voice suddenly taking on a desperate tone.
You whirl back to face him, trying to shake your limb loose from his grasp. “Let go!” you demand.
“They know you’re here!” Sunrise continues, his eyes focusing on yours with a terrified expression splashed across his irides. “They know why you’re here! You need to leave! ”
“Let go!” you shout, yanking your leg away from him. Sunrise sprawls onto the sidewalk and immediately curls up into a ball, mumbling to himself and slowly rocking back and forth on the concrete.
“If X is equal to three Y...rotation effects orientation...her brother is my father’s cousin…”
You can’t help but stare at the display for a few moments, then swing yourself back onto your motorbike and kick it to life. With a growl, the bike pulls you away from the sidewalk and down the street indicated. You slowly cruise down the road, noting the names of the streets you pass. Whippoorwill...Tern…
...Sandpiper. You turn right and follow down the street, passing several small cottages. Every window is still dark; the few ponies you pass walking up and down the street pause and stare at you as you bike past. It suddenly occurs to you that an outsider such as yourself probably are very conspicuous in a small village such as this.
Sunrise’s warning echoes through your mind: “You need to leave!” Logically, you know should most likely dismiss his warnings as the rantings of an addled, drunken pony, but the image of his terrified, oak brown eyes floats in front of your gaze…
You shake it off just in time to spot an approaching sign: a waxwing taking flight, painted in magnificent grays and browns, with the words Waxwing Diner painted beneath in stark orange. You pull the bike to the side and turn the engine off; the bike falls silent with a final purr. Swinging yourself off the vehicle and placing the helmet and goggles in the saddlebag, you pull your coat collar up to protect yourself from the chill wind and stroll up to the glass door, passing beneath a flickering lamp. As you push open the door, a bell jingles over your head, and you turn to your left to examine the room.
The Waxwing Diner is a small establishment, with white and pale bluish-gray tiles on the floor and a few fixed tables that were once white partnered with scarlet cushioned chairs. A low metal bar with several metal stools separated the kitchen from the dining area. A slightly scratched mirror is placed on the wall behind you, apparently intended to make the room seem larger than it actually is. There are only a few ponies in the diner, all of them sitting by themselves at different tables.
A small waitress standing behind the bar looks up as you enter, brushing a lock of dirty blonde hair out of her haggard face. “I’m looking for the sheriff,” you tell her.
She nods towards the back of the diner. A portly dark blue unicorn sits in a corner booth, stuffing his face with some kind of hot potato dish. He has wavy lime green hair, sharp yellow eyes, and the cutie mark of a diving hawk imposed on a five-pointed silver star. He wears a faded olive green shirt with several pockets, crumbs from his meal spread across the front. You walk up to him. He looks up at your approach and fixes you with a friendly gaze.
“You’re the PI looking for Idea Spark, right?” he asks. “Your friend called ahead to let me know you were coming, but I didn’t expect you to arrive while I was eating dinner. I’m Sheriff Hawkdive, take a seat.” He gestures to the seat opposite you. You slide into the chair, sinking into the velvet cushioning.
“Shepard’s pie?” Sheriff Hawkdive offers, nudging the plate towards you. “There’s plenty for two!”
“No, thanks,” you dismiss the offer, taking out your notepad and pen. “So, how long as Idea Spark been missing?”
Hawkdive wipes his mouth on his foreleg before answering. “Two days now. He was invited down here to work at the factory.”
“Factory?” you ask.
“The Magopharmaceutical Factory,” Hawkdive explains. “It’s our big source of jobs here in the village: we make all kinds of enchanted pills there, everything from pain reducers to antidepressants and cures for magical ailments. From what the forepony at the factory told me, Idea Spark had been hired to work on some new prototypes for some kind of machine there.” He shrugged. “A bit over my head, to be honest.”
“And in two days, he hasn’t been seen or heard from?” you ask.
“Nope,” Hawkdive shakes his head. “And we’ve searched the village up and down for him. Even checked in the sirenium mines in the mountains. Nothing.”
“But his wife received a letter from him in Chicoltgo this morning,” you state.
Hawkdive’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “Is that so? Well, sometimes mail can take a while getting out of here to a larger city: the delivery system is a bit slow. What did the letter say?”
“That he needed help,” you reply. “Was there any sign that he was in trouble?”
The sheriff thoughtfully chews on his forkful for a few moments before answering. “Not that I know of,” he states. “At least, nopony that I talked to gave me any reason to think that he was in trouble.” He sits back and folds his forelegs across his sizeable chest. “Raven Hollow is a quiet little town, detective. We don’t normally have things like this happen here.”
“It can happen anywhere,” you point out. “So when was Idea Spark last seen?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Hawkdive says, scratching his head. “I’ve got two statements here that contradict each other: one from the waitress here, Honey Roll, and another from the head of the hotel he was staying at, Turtledove.” He pulled a notebook and pencil out of one of the pockets in his shirt and flips it open.
“They both have Idea at two different places at the same time. Turtledove said she saw him leaving the hotel at around 11:20 AM, but Honey Roll said that he had lunch here on the day he disappeared, and that she saw him leaving this diner at 11:25 AM.” He flips the notebook shut. “Right now, I’m considering both of them my primary suspects, but I can’t figure out who to focus on. One of them is definitely lying, though.”
You think for a moment, glancing up at the small, unmarked clock hanging on the wall over your head. “Actually, I think I can solve that little problem for you right now.”
Resolve the contradiction. Who is telling the truth and who is lying?
Author's Note
So far I've been able to keep up with this weekly schedule thing. I should try to work on a timetable more often!
Congratulations to Magic Step, The Villain in Glasses, and Everfree Pony for correctly solving last week's riddle! How will you fare with this challenge?
Clue: the answer isn't immediately obvious, but the details you need are all in this chapter. Think carefully.
“I don’t think that either of them were lying,” you tell the incredulous Sheriff. “There’s just an honest mistake here.” You turn and call over to the waitress. “Honey Roll?”
The mare looks up. “Yes?”
“Could you come here for a moment, please?” you beckon her over. “We just want to clarify something.”
Honey hesitates for a moment, looking nervous, then walks up to your table. “You said that you saw Idea Spark leaving the diner at 11:25 two days ago?”
“Yeah,” Honey nods.
“Well, when you checked the time, did you look at the clock on the wall, or did you look at the mirror next to the door?”
Honey ponders the question for a moment, then her eyes widen and she cringes. “Ugh, I’m so stupid! Yes, I saw the reflection of the clock in the mirror, and I got the time wrong.”
“It’s all right,” you reassure her. “An honest mistake.” You turn back to Sheriff Hawkdive. “So, Idea actually left here around 12:35 PM.”
“And there’s something else,” Honey Roll cuts in. “I didn’t remember it earlier, but I do know. Idea left with somepony in a hurry: I remember now because he left his meal half-eaten.”
“Who did he leave with?” you ask, leaning forward.
Honey Roll stares at you for several seconds, blinking rapidly. Her mouth spasms repeatedly, as if she is trying to force something out of her mouth, but cannot articulate whatever she wishes to say. You are reminded of Sunrise Glow’s expression as he struggled to tell you the location of the Diner.
“I don’t know,” Honey Roll bursts out suddenly. “I don’t know who they were.” And with that, she turns on her tail and walks quickly away. You start to call after her, but in your bewilderment at her abrupt departure, you cannot form the words that could be used to summon her back to answer further questions.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Hawkdive tells you, noting the evident confusion splayed across your features. “Honey’s always been a bit of a shy one. Took me quite a while to get anything out of her.” He examines your face. “You sure you don’t want any of this?”
Your stomach growls in response and Hawkdive smirks. “Tell you what, how about I have them put this in a doggie bag and you take it to the Sparrow’s Nest?”
“The Sparrow’s Nest?” you ask.
“That’s the inn,” Hawkdive explains. “The only local inn. You’ll find it not far down the road from here,” he points. “You can take a rest there, then tomorrow, we’ll get a fresh start on this case.”
You ponder the offer for a moment, suddenly acutely aware of how hungry and tired you are after your long journey. “Sounds like a good idea,” you nod.
Hawkdive grins and signals another waiter over. “Always good to get a night’s rest before thinking too hard,” he advises as the waiter places the leftover shepherd’s pie in a disposable holder. He places the tray into your hoof, then holds out his own hoof. “I’ll see you in the morning, detective. Looking forward to working with you.”
“Me too,” you agree, bumping your hoof against his. Taking the warm leftovers in your hoof, you exit the diner and out to your bike. The sun has already fallen below the horizon, and the stars are dancing across the night sky, far above your head. Their light is contrasted by the light of the oil streetlamps that stand at every other street corner, and the few lights from windows muffled by drawn curtains. Dropping your dinner into the saddlebags, you clip your helmet back onto your head and kick the engine back to life. With a grumbling that fills the chilly, windswept streets, you travel up the road.
The Sparrow’s Nest is not hard to find: a two-story cottage with rounded curves, light blue paint on the walls with light brown trim on the windows and around the large front door. Hanging over the door is a sign with a painting of a nest with four turquoise speckled eggs laying in it. Parking your bike next to the curb, you sling your saddlebags off the bike and over your shoulders, climb the short set of steps and through the front door.
You find yourself in a cozy lobby. A long, low counter sits to your right, with a silver bell and an open guest log sitting atop it. A dozen cubby holes with room keys sit on the wall behind it. To your left, a fire blazes merrily in a brick fireplace in the corner, filling the room with warmth. Several squashy looking couches form a sitting area, and a well-stocked bookshelf sits in the corner, waiting to be perused. The room is painted in vibrant, soothing shades of blue and green, and a number of paintings and photographs are hung up upon the walls.
Your eyes are drawn to a particularly old-looking photograph. The framed picture depicts a grand, three-story mansion, composed of gray cinderblocks and topped with three pyramidal peaks. A set of great doors with a painting of a raven spreading its wings in preparation for flight stand at the center of the edifice, and you count more than a dozen windows per floor. The mansion sits in the middle of a large clearing in a mountainous forest: the setting makes the stone architecture seem as unnatural as though it had been dropped out of the sky.
“That’s Blackfeather Quill’s mansion,” a voice calls behind you. You turn and see a short, slightly dumpy unicorn mare walking out of an office and taking her place behind the counter. She has a pale ivory coat, hair the color of pine needles in spring, and a round, smiling face graced with a small nose, bright green eyes, and thick, round glasses. Her cutie mark is a turtledove taking flight from a branch.
“Blackfeather Quill?” you ask, remembering the name from Open Case’s newspaper.
“He founded this little village,” the mare explains. “He was the one who created the sirenium mines. He made a fortune, built that old mansion of his to overlook the town.” She pauses, then claps a hoof to her forehead and giggles. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Turtledove, the head of this hotel. Are you here for a room?”
“Yes,” you reply, approaching. “I’m a private detective. I’m here to investigate Idea Spark’s disappearance. I understand that he stayed here?”
Turtledove frowns slightly. “Oh, yes. I understand he hasn’t been seen in two days.”
“You were one of the last ponies to see him,” you state. “Was he acting unusual?”
Turtledove shakes her head. “No more than usual. He was a quiet one, kept mostly to himself. If he wasn’t at the factory or here, he was usually at the library.” She sighs. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, detective, but I didn’t know him well.”
“That’s all right,” you say. “If you think of anything, please let me know.”
“I’ll be sure to do so,” Turtledove nods. “Now, would you like a room?”
“Yes, please,” you ask, signing your name into the guest book.
Turtledove lifts a key from one of the cubbyholes and floats it over to you. Room number 7. “That’s Idea Spark’s room,” she explains as you take the key in your hoof.
“Thank you,” you reply.
“I will see you in the morning, detective,” Turtledove smiles as you start to ascend the stairs.
“You too, Turtledove,” you nod to her. “Good night.”
You climb up to the second floor and trot down the hallway. The wall to your side is decorated with a row of colored tiles, some of them decorated with outlines of animals: turtles, eagles, frogs, bears, snakes, and so on. Everyone one of the animal silhouettes is a different color.
You find room number 7 behind a simple white door with a golden “7” affixed over the peephole. Unlocking the room, you enter to behold a simple, two room place. Your hooves sink into the carpeting, which is the color of an old, slightly faded lawn. A simple, but comfortable-looking bed takes up most of the room, accompanied by a desk and chair, two standing lamps, and a dresser. A painting of a dove taking flight from a weeping willow is hanging on the wall over the head of the bed. Attached to the bedroom is a bathroom with a toilet, sink, mirror, and combined tub-shower. A large window opposite the door gives you a view of the rest of the village, with its dark cottages and cobbled streets lit by the waxing moon and the flickering streetlamps.
Dropping your saddlebags onto the floor, you flop down onto the bed. The mattress creaks as it struggles to hold your weight. Rolling over onto your back, you stare up at the tiled ceiling, turning over the events of the day in your mind.
However, your reflections are interrupted when you spot something odd. Stuck into the crack between two tiles over your head is a small slip of paper, intentionally placed so that it would not be visible unless somepony were to lie on the bed and look up. You reach up and take the folded sheet, opening it up to reveal its contents. You immediately recognize the desperate scrawling hoofwriting.
Green snake=1, advancing to the left.
Mr. Clockwork got on the trolley to come home from work at 4:00 PM. Unfortunately, all of the seats were full, so he had to remain standing. However, his luck changed when 60% of his journey was complete: a seat opened up, and he was able to take a load off his weary hooves. Unfortunately, after a while, an elderly mare staggered onto the trolley, and he graciously gave up his seat. When he stood up, he still had one third of the way to go as he had spent sitting. When he finally arrived home, he noted that if he had arrived 10 minutes earlier, the time would be as far in advance of 3:15 PM as it was behind 7:45 PM. How many minutes did Mr. Clockwork spend sitting?
You sit up on the mattress, studying the riddle in the light of the moon filtering in through your window. It’s another message from Idea Spark, of this you are certain. But what is he trying to tell you?
Solve the riddle and determine what to do next.
Author's Note
I almost thought I wasn't going to get this chapter out in time, but I made it!
The plot thickens as more and more suspects are added to the list. What secrets are waiting in Raven Hollow?
Clue: there are two parts to this riddle. Solving one half will help you figure out the other.
Congratulations to Magic Step, The Villain in Glasses, and Everfree Pony for solving last week's puzzle! Good luck with today's clue!
You stare at Idea Spark’s message. More puzzles. What is it with this town and puzzles?
Shaking your head, you examine the riddle more carefully. You decide that the first step is to decide when the hypothetical Mr. Clockwork arrived home. If he had arrived ten minutes earlier, he would’ve been halfway between 3:15 and 7:45. The difference between the times is four and a half hours: thus, halfway between them was two and a quarter hours. Adding that time to 3:15 gives you 5:30 PM; add ten minutes, and you conclude that Clockwork arrived home at 5:40 PM, having spent an hour and forty minutes on the trolley. One hundred minutes.
Now, you need to figure out how much time Clockwork spent his journey sitting. He wasn’t able to sit down until he had completed 60% of his journey: 60 minutes, leaving 40 minutes total. You go back and study the riddle again.
“When he stood up, he still had one third of the way to go as he had spent sitting.”
Thus, the time he spent sitting is equivalent to triple the amount of time he had left: X + 3X = 4X. Therefore, the 40 minutes must be divided up into four ten-minute segments, and find that Clockwork was sitting for 30 minutes.
Now, for the other clue: “Green snake=1, advancing to the left.” What does that mean? Obviously, 30 must play into it…
Your eyes stray to the door. Of course! The colored tiles on the hallway wall outside! You exit your room and, without quite knowing why, check around to make sure that no one is watching before you proceed to examine the tiles.
Before long, you find a green tile with the disturbingly realistic image of a coiled snake embossed upon it. The serpent hisses up at you, baring its fangs and tongue in preparation to strike. Repressing a shudder, you start counting down the hallway to the left. The thirtieth tile is a pale blue square with an owl upon it. The bird stares directly at you, fixing you with a piercing gaze. Why are all of these pictures creepy up close?
You reach forward and carefully pry the tile from the wall. It comes off easily, and you turn it over to examine the other side.
Scrawled onto the plaster is a set of numbers: 923.47 61-64. Letters backwards + 1. You quickly memorize the strange message and replace the tile. Glancing around once more, you are reassured that the hallway is empty and silent. Retreating to your room, you lock the door behind you, pondering this new clue.
Until you understand what it means, you decide that it would be best for you to follow your actionable lead: the factory. You’ll visit there in the morning and ask about Idea Spark. Right now, though, you need to finish this admittedly delicious shepherd’s pie, and then a shower and a bed.
“You need to leave!”
You jolt awake with a gasp, the warning still ringing in your head. After a few moments, you realize that you are still laying in bed in your new room. The sun has already risen, and is now perched in the sky, just in the proper position to shine its rays directly into your face. You turn to the bedside clock-radio. The time reads 8:30. You groan: you swear you just went to bed half an hour ago.
Yawning and rubbing your eyes, you reluctantly pull yourself out of the comfortable bed. It takes you about ten minutes for you to find the rest of your face and trudge out of your room, desperately wishing for a cup of hot, black coffee. You’re so tired, you’re imagining the addictive, intoxicating scent right now.
You sniff deeply, your eyes opening wide. You’re not imagining it: coffee! You descend down the stairs and into the lobby.
Turtledove is pouring a cup of fresh, coal black coffee from a pot into a cup that she is placing on a table that is laden with hay bacon, oatmeal, and three slices of egg-in-the-basket.
“Well, good morning to you,” Turtledove cheerily chirps, looking up at your arrival.
“Do you treat all your guests this well?” you grin at the breakfast spread.
“Here at the Nest, we believe in good beds and good breakfasts,” Turtledove replies. “I hope you enjoy!”
“You’re not joining me?” you ask, sitting down.
“I already ate,” Turtledove says, extracting a corncob pipe from behind the counter. She’s so short that she can barely smile over the desk at you. You notice that the the bowl of the old pipe has burns down its left side. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“All right,” you wave as your hostess exits out the back. Suddenly aware of how hungry you are, you start to feast. Everything tastes wonderful, and now that you have some food in your belly and caffeine in your veins, you are quickly fully awake and ready to start the day.
Fifteen minutes later, you are on your bike and pulling away from the Nest, heading for the thin columns of smoke that are billowing from a trio of brick chimneys in the distance. You pass through the city square, casting a glance up at the great statue of the raven in the center. The great stone bird, its head facing the south, seems to scrutinize you as you pass by.
Shaking off a sudden chill, you throttle past, headed for the factory. Hopefully there, you can find an actual clue.
The Magopharmaceutical Factory is a sprawling behemoth of brick walls, high glass windows, and chimneys that send columns of dark gray smoke into the sky. You pull up to the front door and turn your engine off, swinging yourself off the bike.
But as soon as you put the kickstand down, you notice movement at the door window. A pair of eyes peeps out at you, then the shades come down as fast as a blink. You walk up to the door and try the handle, but to your surprise, it’s locked. You knock at the door.
No answer. Frowning, you knock again, harder.
“We’re closed!” a voice snaps through the door.
“I’m a private detective,” you call back. “I’ve come to talk about Idea Spark.”
The shades shift slightly and the eyes reappear, glaring at you. “I don’t know anypony by that name!” the voice replies. “Go away!” The eyes retreat and you are left standing outside.
With an irritated huff, you return to your bike. Your lead turned into a big waste of time. Kicking the engine back to life, you turn and start the drive back to town. Now what?
You slowly drive back the buildings on the outskirts of Raven Hollow, the signs and addresses passing by your gaze but barely registering to your comprehension. A few homes, their windows still dark. The post office. Grocery store. Library…
You slam on the brakes, looking up at the small white building with the sign swinging over the door. Blackfeather Quill Library , reads the sign, the bold letters accompanied with a raven feather symbol.
The numbers from Idea Spark’s message last night suddenly spring to mind: 923.47. A library book number! Parking your bike, you walk up the library steps and push open the door.
The library is a small establishment, but its patrons have been generous. There is a wide reading area with comfortable cushions set before polished maple tables, a section for foals with colorful children's books, and aisles of books that stretch all the way up to the ceiling. A few other ponies are here, all of them reading quietly. As you enter, all of them look up at you, then quickly look back down at their books.
The librarian peers at you from behind the desk. She is a tall, skinny black mare with graying hair and a beak-like muzzle, upon which is set a pair of thick reading glasses. Her cutie mark is an open book with an owl sitting upon it. She blinks owlishly at you; even from this far away, you can smell the nicotine on her breath.
“I’m just looking around,” you say to her, an unnerved chill descending down your spine. Her small lips forms into a scowl, accentuating the lines around it.
“Hey, Feather Page,” a bushy-bearded stallion calls up as he approaches the bench. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find a book on engine repair? The old tractor’s acting up again.”
While the librarian is distracted with the stallion, you sneak away and start scanning the aisles, studying the labels on the books spines. It doesn’t take you long to find the 920s, and then you start narrowing your search. You finally locate book number 923.47: a slightly battered blue tome with gold lettering across the spine: The Secret History of Blackfeather Quill . You take the book down from the shelf, noting that the edges of the pages are heavily wrinkled. Apparently, this book is quite popular. Taking your prize to a table in the corner of the room, you open it up to page 61. The first thing you notice is an old faded photograph, depicting an elderly black unicorn with a cutie mark of a raven sitting upon a desk, and a younger pale silver unicorn with the cutie mark of a jeweled goblet holding a golden liquid, both of them standing side by side in front of the familiar Quill mansion. Curious, you start reading.
The sirenium mines made Blackfeather Quill a rich pony: the discovery of the enchanted minerals in his mountains brought great business to his little village. Sirenium could be used in almost anything, from medicines to engines and more. Workers flocked to Raven Hollow to work in the mines, processing and shipping, and the rising population brought other work to the village.
Amongst those workers was a scientist, Gold Elixir. The young scientist, who had ambitions of designing medical machinery, came to Raven Hollow and approached the aging Blackfeather Quill with his plans. The former writer turned alchemist and the young scientist agreed that Elixir would be allowed to live and work in Quill’s new mansion overlooking the valley, experimenting with new medical engineering applications for the sirenium. In return, Quill would be granted a large percentage of whatever profits Elixir made on his machines. Elixir set to work immediately, producing an early artificial lung and dialysis machine. Famed for their secrecy, Quill and Elixir refused to speak about the details of their inventions
Some say that the two also came to another, hidden agreement. Still today in Raven Hollow, whispers abound of a secret society named “the Court of Ravens.” The Court, which was rumored to meet in an old lodge near the sirenium mines, was built with the purpose of aiding Elixir in his research and in keeping his secrets. Members would scout out local villagers for signs of aptitude and attempt to recruit them into the Court, testing them with puzzles and riddles for the purpose of developing their intellects. It is rumored that the leader of the Court kept their identity a secret from the other members: if a member could deduce the leader’s identity, they would be given a special favor. The Court would spy upon the other villagers and attempt to root out anypony that they considered a threat to their work; the disappearances of a number of visiting outsiders was blamed upon the Court. If the Court does exist, no members have ever identified themselves, although villagers still live in fear of the Court.
Unfortunately, Blackfeather Quill and Gold Elixir’s arrangement was not to last. It was eventually discovered that close proximity to sirenium for extended periods of time could cause insanity: before long, many of the workers in the mine and those who had used sirenium products had dissolved into madness, and the mines were permanently closed. One night, not long after the mines were closed, Quill and Elixir locked themselves in their mansion. Neither of them was seen again: for over a hundred years, the Quill mansion has remained abandoned. Rumors of ghosts, tales of curious ponies who vanished near the mines, and whispers of the still-watching Court of Ravens keep the villagers away.
As you finish reading the tale, you spot something odd: the corner of a piece of paper is hidden in the spine of the book. You carefully tug it out and unfold it. A message is printed upon the little sheet, beneath the embossed image of a raven’s head.
Towards the unmoving star: tomorrow at --/-./-./--
Towards the mallard’s retreat: tonight at .---/.-./-/-.-.
Towards Celestia’s rest: .../-../..../-/.--.
Towards tomorrow: two days at --/-../...
Idea Spark must have left this here for you to find. But what does it mean?
Solve the code.
Author's Note
Whew! Just barely made the deadline!
Sorry for the delay, folks, I should've started this sooner, but things got a bit hectic over Thanksgiving vacation. Ironic, considering that's the time to relax!
Congratulations to Magic Step, the Villain in Glasses, and Everfree Pony for solving last week's puzzle! I hope you enjoy this one!
Clue: there's one little "incorrect" detail that you may have missed that will help you figure out the intended message.
The dots and dashes upon the note can only mean one thing. You dash back to the shelves and return to the table a few minutes later with a book of cryptography, open to the section on Morse code. Whipping out a notebook, you set to work at decoding the encryption.
“Tomorrow at MNNM.”
“Tonight at JRTC.”
“SDHTP.”
“Two days at MDS.”
Initially, you are thrown by the seeming gibberish that the code translated into, but then you remember the second part of the clue hidden behind the wall tile: Letters backwards + 1. You rewrite each of the words backwards, then replace each of the letters with the one following.
“Tomorrow at NOON.”
“Tonight at DUSK.”
“QUIET.”
“Two days at TEN.”
With the code broken, you turn your attention to the other parts of the message. “Towards the unmoving star” must refer to Polaris, the north star. “Towards the mallard’s retreat…” Mallards are birds, and birds fly south in the winter.
“Towards Celestia’s rest…” Celestia rests at night, when the sun goes down in the west. And “towards tomorrow” must refer to the sun rising in the east. Each of the messages refers to a cardinal direction.
But what are you going to do with this? Your mind wanders, and your eyes drift up to the embossed raven at the top of the card, then to the open book detailing the story of Blackfeather Quill and the alleged secret society. Idea Spark must have wanted you to see this for a reason…
Suddenly, you recall the stone raven in the city square. It was facing south when you passed it earlier...but it was facing west when you arrived!
“The Court of Ravens,” you mutter, your hoof tracing the words on the page. Somepony is still sending their messages.
And now you know what you have to do. You approach the librarian, who is now squinting at an edition of The Odyssey . You clear your throat to get her attention. She looks up and fixes you with a glare not unlike a mother hawk protecting their nest.
“Do you have a map of the area, especially around the mines?” you ask, whispering without knowing quite why.
Her eyes widen. Without a word, she reaches behind the desk and pulls out a map, which she unfolds on the table. The map details the woods and mountains around Raven Hollow, spreading outwards from the village. She taps a pencil on a small clearing towards the north and hands the map to you.
“Thank you,” you say, folding the map up and tucking it into your trenchcoat pocket. You turn and exit the library, feeling the pressure of the librarian’s gaze every step of the way. It is a great relief when you finally close the door behind you and you are back out in the cool, autumnal afternoon air.
You look up and see that the sun is nearing its apex. It will be dusk in a few hours.
Whatever remains of the Court of Ravens, and whatever their purpose is, they had something to do with Idea Spark’s disappearance. The answers are waiting at the lodge.
The sky darkens as night approaches. The sun, now a burnt orange hue, is dipping lower and lower towards the western horizon.
Sitting astride your motorcycle, you scan the map one last time. The path leading up to the clearing that the librarian pointed out to you heads up into the northern woods, weaving up the mountain where the sirenium mines were located. It’ll be a long trip; you just hope that the lodge is still there.
You fold the map back up and snap your goggles down over your eyes, tightening the strap around your helmet. With a kick, the engine grumbles to life beneath you, the headlights snapping on to fire a powerful beam of light through the encroaching darkness. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of movement at the mouth of a nearby alleyway that is suddenly cast in your light, but it disappears in an instant.
Opening up the throttle, you begin the drive up north. The sound of your rumbling engine echoes off the houses of the village as you navigate through the streets, before finally breaking free. A worn dirt path leads you into the woods. Here, the trees are so thick that the light is all but muted: you drive carefully down the winding, steepening pathway, past enormous oaks and maples and over an old bridge that spans a babbling stream.
The raspy caw of a raven sounds over your head, and you glance up to see a pair of midnight black wings passing just a few feet over your head. The information from the book you read begins to swirl around in your mind. Secret societies, sirenium, codes and riddles…
A thought suddenly occurs to you. What if Idea Spark isn’t the one sending you these clues? What if whoever is laying this breadcrumb trail is sending you on a wild goose chase...or worse?
But right now, this is your only clue. And you made a promise to Wind Walker that you would do your best to find out what happened to her husband.
You look up to see that you are approaching a crossroads, two equally beaten paths branching off in two different directions around a great boulder. You pause for a moment, considering both pathways. If memory serves, you should be at the aptly-named Boulder Pass, and to get to the lodge...
You turn right and continue up the pathway, which gets gradually steeper and rougher as you climb the mountain. The forest around you darkens as the sun dips lower and lower into the sky and the trees around you get thicker and thicker. The wind hisses and shivers through the trees; unseen birds flap over your head.
The bike’s engine groans as you force it up another crest. You pause at the top, staring in disbelief at the sight in front of you.
An enormous cave sits in front of you. The roughly-shaped mouth, supported by an old wooden framework, is just as gaping, dark and inviting as the mouth of a hydra. A rusty metal gate, sealed shut with a padlock, blocks your entry. Next to you, a wooden sign is posted in the ground. The moss covering it makes the words written on it almost illegible: “MINE CLOSED. DANGER: KEEP OUT.”
This must be the entrance to the sirenium mines. But you’re not supposed to be here! Unfolding the map, you examine it again with the aid of your flashlight as the engine idles beneath your seat.
“Let’s see...I went over the stream, passed that fallen log, and made it to Boulder Pass,” you mutter to yourself. “I should be at the lodge by now...but, for the sake of argument, let’s say I took the wrong turn at Boulder Pass. That means that I would be…”
You trace the path with your hoof, pause, then smack yourself on the forehead. “In front of the mines.” Grumbling, you stuff the map back into your pocket and begin to walk the bike backwards to turn around.
Suddenly, clear and distinct over the low engine, you hear an indistinct voice hissing from the darkness. “Who’s there?” you call, whirling around. But the voice disappears as suddenly as it had begun, and there is no reply to your call.
With an effort, you shake off the chills running down your spine and throttle away, quickly leaving the mines behind. It takes you a while to get back to Boulder Pass and go up the correct path, and even longer to make it through the dense, dark forest. All the time, the night comes on far, far too quickly as dark clouds smother out what little light the sun had remaining. Finally, you burst free from the surrounding trees and find yourself facing a sizeable clearing.
Sitting in the middle of the bare, grassy field is a small wooden lodge, looking completely unnatural in the midst of the forest, as though a giant had dropped it there. Every window is dark, and there is no sign of any movement nearby. The sky above it has turned into an inky dark blue, providing you with barely any light to survey the territory. And just to add to the feeling of foreboding, an owl hoots directly over your head, causing you to almost fall off the bike in surprise.
Pulling to the side of the path, you shut off the engine and swing yourself off, placing the helmet and goggles into one of the saddlebags. You turn up the collar of your trenchcoat in a futile attempt to keep out the frosty winds and walk up to the lodge.
There is no porch in front of the lodge, merely a plain-looking door with a golden knocker shaped like a raven’s head. The empty black holes where the eyes should be seem to stare judgingly at you as you approach. Forcing yourself to break eye contact with the figure, you turn to a window next to the door and attempt to peep through it. Unfortunately, the curtains are drawn, denying you a view into the interior, although you think you can catch a glimpse of lights and flickers of movement. You walk around the perimeter of the building, but all the other windows are also closed and shaded, and there is only one door.
Nothing for it, then. With a nervous swallow, you reach up and try the knocker, rapping it sharply against the wood three times.
“Two tomatoes for an apple!”
“Yaaah! ” you shout, leaping backwards at the sudden voice, whirling around to identify the intruder. To your shock, you realize that the speaker is the knocker!
“Two tomatoes for an apple,” the enchanted raven head repeats in a raspy crow of a voice, it’s eyes now glowing faintly green. “Three tomatoes and an apple for two pears. Three pears, one tomato and two apples for 25 bits. How much for an apple?”
You stare at the raven head with a mixture of fright and frustration. Of course the Court of Ravens would require members to answer a riddle before entering!
Solve the raven’s riddle.
Author's Note
Right on schedule!
But secret socities, mines and forests, oh my! What is waiting for you inside the Court of Ravens' lodge?
Congratulations to Magic Step and the Villain in Glasses for solving last week's puzzle, and many, many apologies for the confusion caused by the initial version. I hope that you have better luck with this one!
Clue: you're going to have to do some algrebraic substitution for this one.
Guess algebra class was good for something after all, you think.
If two tomatoes are equal to an apple, then two pears are equal to three tomatoes and an apple, or five tomatoes. Thus, one pear is worth two and a half tomatoes.
So if three pears, two apples, and one tomato are equal to 25 bits, that comes out to...seven and a half plus four plus one equals to twelve and a half tomatoes for 25 bits, or 2 bits for a tomato. Thus…
“Four bits,” you tell the knocker, feeling a bit foolish despite yourself.
The glow in the brass raven’s eyes fades away and the door unlocks with a click. You hesitate for a moment, then push the door open with a slow creak and enter. The room on the other side is dark and silent, prompting you to pull your flashlight out of your pocket and flick it on.
You find yourself in a large single room with a wooden floor. A great table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by several cushioned chairs. Several unlit candles are mounted on the table, all of them faintly smoking. A stone fireplace sits in the corner of the room, smoke rising from the ashen logs. All the windows are covered in curtains. To your complete surprise, there is no sign of anypony inside. Other than the creaking of the floorboards beneath your hooves, the lodge is completely silent.
Maybe this whole thing was a wild goose chase? But the smoke rising from the dripping candles and burnt logs in the fireplace proves that somepony was here recently. Where did everypony go?
Your flash falls upons the chair at the head of the table. The chair has exceptionally long legs, so tall that the seat almost reaches the table. Laying on the floor to the right of the chair is a small pile of ashes and three long, wooden matches. A sheet of paper is sitting on the table in front of the chair. You spin it around to read.
“Discuss:
A chill runs up your spine. “Detective” can only refer to one pony. And City Guard, alibis...none of that bodes well.
There’s an old rust-covered key sitting on the table. Without knowing quite why, you pick it up and put it in your pocket.
The sound of a wolf howling suddenly pierces the night air, causing you to jump, your heart leaping into your throat. It’s at this point that you suddenly remember that not only are you in the headquarters of a secret society that may have been involved in dozens of disappearances, you’re up in the middle of the woods long after dark.
You cross the room in three strides and push the door open, exiting the cabin. The wind seems to have picked up, and the leaves and branches of the trees around you whistle and creak, providing a constant soundtrack to your terror. Shivering, you hurry over to where you parked your bike, checking every shadow three times along your way. Stowing the flashlight in your pocket and plunging yourself down into darkness, you swing your legs over the bike and strike at the kickstarter.
The engine grumbles, but does not start. “Come on, come on…” you whisper, ramming your hoof down onto the kickstarter. The bike whines in protest, but refuses to start.
Suddenly, a bright light pierces the dark, blinding you. You tumble off the bike, screeching out a startled curse.
“Detective, there you are!” a voice calls out happily. You look up to see Sheriff Hawkdive approaching, a flashlight held in his pale blue magical grip and a smile on his face.
“Been looking for you,” he says, helping you back to your hooves. “Turtledove saw you driving off and when you didn’t come back, she got worried and sent me looking for you. What’re you doing up here?”
It takes a few seconds for your heart rate to climb back down from the stratosphere, allowing you to speak. “Following a lead on Idea’s disappearance,” you answer.
“Up here?” Hawkdive raises an eyebrow. “We already checked this place, there wasn’t anything.”
“But somepony was up here earlier,” you declare. “When I came up, the candles had been lit and there had been a fire in the fireplace.”
Hawkdive raises an eyebrow. “Ponies use this lodge for recreational purposes. Some of the villagers like to come up here from time to time and stay up here for a few days, just to get away for a while.”
“In a single-room cabin that you have to solve a riddle in order to access?” you ask.
“This lodge was built by Blackfeather Quill,” Hawkdive explains. “He thought the enchanted knocker was a novelty.” He chuckles softly. “What did you expect to find up here? The Court of Ravens?”
You blink. “But—”
“Detective, the Court of Ravens is just a bedtime story around here,” Hawkdive says. “There are no secret societies, and you’ve been following a trail of red herrings.”
Another wolf howls in the dark distance, closer this time. “It’s time you headed back to your hotel,” Hawkdive says, glancing around. “These woods aren’t safe at night.” He turns and walks back to a squat ATV that sits idling behind him.
You hesitate for a moment, glancing back at the dark lodge behind you, then climb back onto your bike. This time, the engine responds to your striking at the kickstarter; the patient grumbling of the engine and the bright light from the headlights piercing the darkness gives you some level of relief. Turning the bike around, you follow Hawkdive back down from the mountain.
Hawkdive escorts you back to the Raven’s Nest, watching as you park the bike on the curb and shut off the engine.
“I’d suggest you turn in, detective,” Hawkdive tells you, watching you over his shoulder. “It’s been a long night, and you’re going to need your rest for tomorrow morning.”
You look up and down the street. The only lights are the flickering oil streetlamps, which seem puny compared to the great darkness that has descended upon the village. All the windows are dim; even the stars appear to have fled the sky above you.
“And you’d best stay in your room tonight, detective,” Hawkdive adds, a sudden cold edge added to his voice. “The woods aren’t the only place that isn’t safe at night.” He gives you a brief nod, then drives his ATV away, disappearing around another corner.
You hesitate for a moment longer, then walk back inside the Nest. The lobby is dark, the only light coming from the fireplace in the corner that casts the room in an ominous mixture of orange glows and shivering shadows. A quiet snoring comes from the room behind the counter, telling you that Turtledove must be in her bed.
You walk up the stairs to the second floor and start down the hallway towards your room. The animals on the tiles along the wall all seem to stare at you as pass by. Judging you, or warning you?
You enter your room and sit down on the bed, considering what little you learned. The most important thing is this: Sheriff Hawkdive is definitely not on your side.
But what of the Court of Ravens? The idea of a secret society obsessed with riddles operating out here in a remote village being responsible for dozens of kidnappings, including Idea Spark, does seem pretty unbelievable. All the clues you found could simply be a trail of breadcrumbs, or red herrings. But if somepony is trying to lead you down a false trail, what is the goal? And what if the Court is real?
You feel a weight slap against your leg and extract the old, rusty key from your pocket. Another breadcrumb. What is this for?
CRASH!
You leap off the bed and whirl around to see that your window has been smashed open, the curtains dancing in the wind that is now allowed to swirl in through the smashed glass. A brick lays on the floor amidst the shards. A note is tied to the brick. You undo the cord and unfold the paper.
Written on the sheet is a message in an angry scrawl that makes it seem like the paper itself is screaming at you: “LEAVE RAVEN HOLLOW!”
The door bursts open and Turtledove rushes in. “Detective! What happened? Are you all right?” she cries.
“I’m okay,” you reply, holding up the paper. “But someone thinks I’m wearing out my welcome.”
Turtledove gasps when she sees the threatening message. “Who did this?”
You look out the window at the empty alleyway below. “Well, they can’t have gotten far.” Swinging your coat over your shoulders, you quickly descend the stairs and exit out the back door.
The night seems to have gotten colder and darker in the past few minutes. Walking around to the back of the Nest, you start scanning the alleyway with your flashlight, looking for any sign of a brick-throwing pony. But aside from some dumpsters and litter blowing by in the wind, the little street is empty. With a sigh, you turn to go back inside and stumble over something.
The thing you trip over moves and grunts. “Whoozat?”
You recognize the voice. “Sunrise?” you ask, turning around.
Sunrise Glow blinks up at you. “Detective.” He shakes his head sadly. “You shouldn’t have stayed. You should’ve left.”
“Somepony threw a brick through my window. Did you see anypony here in the past couple minutes?” you ask him, crouching down to his eye level.
Sunrise’s eyes widens and he looks away, slowly rocking back and forth. “Ravens,” he mumbles.
“Ravens. Th-the Court of Ravens?” you sputter. “But they’re just a myth…”
“No, not a myth,” Sunrise states, shaking his head. He looks up at you. “I knew Idea Spark. He stayed here. Good pony. Treated me well. He didn’t…” He winces. “Didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“What did happen to him?” you ask.
Sunrise cringes and slaps his head with his hoof a few times. “No, can’t tell, can’t tell…” Suddenly, he notices something on the ground; the rusty key from the lodge fell out of your pocket.
“Where did you get that?” he whispers. “Did you go up to the lodge?”
You hesitate for a moment. “Yeah,” you nod slowly.
Sunrise blinks sadly. “You shouldn’t have taken it.”
“Sunrise, I’m trying to find Idea Spark,” you tell him. “His wife is back in Chicoltgo, and she’s worried sick about him. Please, if you know anything about what happened to him, you need to tell me.”
Sunrise licks his lips, rocking back and forth as though in distress. His oak brown eyes, no longer shaking and jittering like they were before, are focused on the key.
“I know where that key goes,” he finally mutters.
“Where?”
Sunrise lets out a long, low groan, as though he’s trying to say something but the words won’t come out of his mouth. He starts slapping his head with his hoof again. “Riddles, riddles, head’s full of them, riddles…”
"Hey, hey, hey,” you call, grabbing his shoulders. “Sunrise, you need to tell me.”
Sunrise stares up at you with the desperate look of a pony on the edge of a canyon, about to leap. He licks his lips and speaks.
“Wednesday, Jane and Ginny went to the Waxwing Diner for dinner. They ate and left, leaving the bill paid with a generous tip. But Jane and Ginny did not pay a cent. Who did?
“Mary’s father has four children. Three are named Nana, Nene, and Nini. What is the fourth child’s name?
“It is always to come, but it never arrives.
“It is a five letter word that becomes shorter when you add two letters to it."
You stare at him in confusion. “Riddles for riddles,” Sunrise mumbles. “Answer me these, and I’ll answer you that.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” you sigh.
Solve all four riddles.
Author's Note
Things are starting to get intense; clearly, somepony doesn't want you to find Idea Spark. But where's this trail leading you?
You'll have to solve these riddles to find out.
No clues this week, unfortunately. You're on your own here.
Congratulations to Everfree Pony, Magic Step, The Villain in Glasses, and themouthofmush for solving last week's puzzle. Good look solving these riddles!
For a moment, you wonder why you’re being asked four questions for one answer. Well, at least all of them are relatively easy.
“Wednesday paid the bill, the fourth child is Mary, ‘tomorrow,’ and you can add ‘er’ to ‘short' and make it ‘shorter,’” you answer.
Sunrise blinks sadly, then slowly nods. “The key,” he mumbles, his eyes focusing on the rusty key dangling from the lanyard clasped in your hoof. “The key is for the mines.”
The mines. You think back to that gaping mouth of the cave that you had found, the way in barred by the rusty gate.
“You have to go into the mines. You have to find Idea Spark,” Sunrise says, curling up into a ball. “It’s the only way.”
“What about the Court?” you ask.
Sunrise closes his eyes. “You don’t find the Court,” he says, his voice heavy with surrender and resignation. “It finds you.”
“Sunrise,” you ask, crouching beside him. “What did they do to you?”
Sunrise does not respond, save for a very small shake of the head. “Sunrise?” you ask, laying a hoof on his shoulder. He does not respond at all; he simply sits there, eyes closed, slowly rocking back and forth.
You reluctantly pull away and walk back inside the hotel, slowly tucking the key back into your pocket. You turn over what you have learned in your mind.
Whatever is happening in this village, it needs to stop. Maybe you should call back to Chicoltgo and get some help, possibly the City Guard?
You shake the idea out of your head. You don’t have any real proof, other than the word of a homeless and obviously disturbed pony. You need to find something more solid as evidence.
The mines. Whatever is hiding in there, it may be the clue you need to discover what happened to Idea. But you don’t dare to go back up there at night; you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning.
“Dear, I’m going to give you another room for the night,” Turtledove says, floating a key for room number two to you.
“Thank you,” you nod, taking the key.
Turtledove nervously shifts from hoof to hoof, licking her lips. “Are you sure you want to stay? Don’t you think it’d be better for you to leave?”
“I’m staying,” you reply, hardly believing your own daring as the words fly from your tongue. “I have to find out what happened to Idea Spark.”
“Are you sure?” Turtledove asks softly.
You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “I’m sure.”
The next morning comes all too soon; you feel as though you barely slept at all. Upon your descending into the lobby of the Sparrow’s Nest, you find Turtledove sitting in one of the chairs, nibbling on the stem of her pipe.
“Oh, there you are,” she cries at your entry, standing up. “I’ve asked Sheriff Hawkdive to accompany you for the day. You’ll be safe as long as you’re with him.”
You feel your heart sinking and start to protest, but you already see Hawkdive waiting outside. He leans against his ATV, striking a match with his right hoof and using it to light a cigarette in his mouth.
“You’d best not keep him waiting,” Turtledove insists, knocking ashes from her pipe into a bowl. “He’s a busy stallion.”
You sigh and exit the Nest. Sheriff Hawkdive grins broadly when he sees you approaching. “Morning, detective! Sleep well?”
“Not really,” you grumble, stifling a yawn. If he doesn’t already know about the brick, you don’t really see the point of telling him.
“Ah, I’m sorry ‘bout that,” Hawkdive says, tossing his cigarette aside. “How about we go down to the Waxwing for breakfast, and then we can get back to work trying to find Idea?”
You nod. “I think we should check the mines.”
“The mines?” Hawkdive raises an eyebrow. “Why would you want to go in there? We already searched there, and besides, they’re dangerous. You’d go nuttier than a squirrel within a couple hours in there.” He shakes his head. “No, detective, you’d best stay out of the mines.”
You scowl. “But I think—”
“Think what? That you’re following a breadcrumb trail that somepony with a sick sense of humor has been leaving behind to make you think that there’s some secret society in town?” Hawkdive’s lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes show no humor. “You’ve been reading too many pulp fiction novels, detective. Now, c’mon. It’s time we did some real detective work.” He swings himself up onto his ATV and sits atop it, waiting for you to follow.
You hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of the rusty key thumping against your chest, hidden beneath your coat. If you weren’t already certain that the sheriff wasn’t really working with you, this just confirms it. Red herrings or no, these riddles are the only clue you’ve got.
You have to get into the mines. But you’re not going to be able to do that with Hawkdive watching you like...well, like a hawk. You’re going to have to think of something quick.
The growling of your stomach interrupts your thinking. Maybe you’ll have to come up with a plan over breakfast. You swing yourself onto your bike and reluctantly follow Hawkdive to the Diner.
The Waxwing is mostly empty this time of year, with only a few customers sitting at separate tables and Honey Roll greeting you at the door. Hawkdive orders coffee, Prench toast and hay bacon slice for you both, which she brings to your table within minutes. While you eat, Hawkdive launches into a lecture about his time as Raven Hollow’s sheriff.
“Now, the biggest case I ever had before this one was a flood of counterfeit bits,” Hawkdive said through a mouthful of Prench toast. “They were coming in from another village not far from here, but until I found that out, I was running around in circles for weeks. I was not happy with the counterfeiter when I finally found her, let me tell you!”
“More coffee?” Honey Roll offers, appearing suddenly at your ear.
You look down at your mug; it’s barely half empty. “I—”
“Here,” Honey offers, leaning in close and pouring more coffee into your mug. Her breath brushes against your ear. “I’ll distract him,” she whispers.
She pulls away and turns to Hawkdive. “Sheriff, could you give me a hoof in the kitchen? I’ve...uh, the oven’s acting up again and I’d like you to take a look at it.”
“Why, certainly!” Hawkdive smiles, standing up and following Honey Roll to the back. The waitress glances back at you while the sheriff’s back is turned and quickly tilts her head towards the door. Nodding, you finish off your coffee and sneak out the diner door. You quickly walk your bike a safe distance away before climbing on and kicking the engine to life. The motorcycle responds eagerly and you hit the throttle, pulling away from the diner.
A grin crosses your face as you consider the trick you just pulled off. What you wouldn’t give to see the look on Hawkdive’s face when he realizes you’ve vanished! And the best part is, you left him with the bill!
You drive up north, exiting the village and entering the woods of the mountains. The forest seems remarkably different during the day; the clear air seems to have been refreshed by the sunlight, and the singing of the birds is a more welcoming chorus. You bike your way up the path, considering your mission.
You reach Boulder Pass and turn right once more. The motorcycle groans under the strain of the uphill climb, but you press it onwards, weaving through the trees that reach out towards you with their branches.
Finally, you reach your destination. The entrance to the mines stands before you, still as intimidating as before: a great black hole in the world, with an old rusty gate protecting outsiders from whatever lies within. The same wooden sign stands next to the entrance, still trying to warn you away with its threat: “MINE CLOSED. DANGER: KEEP OUT.”
You hesitate for a moment, the deterrent effect of the area giving you pause. The mines were closed for a reason. The excerpt from the book flashes across your mind: “close proximity to sirenium for extended periods of time could cause insanity…”
But a promise is a promise. Turning your bike off, you drop the kickstand and approach the gate. Extracting the key from around your neck, you unlock the door and push it open. The gate creaks as it slowly swings open, the hinges obviously having not been used in a long time. Clicking on your flashlight, you descend into the inky darkness.
The stone is cold beneath your hooves, and the air tastes of dust. Somewhere deep below you comes an incessant drip...drip...drip... of water. Your flashlight reveals a pale, off-white mineral deposited into the walls, faintly glowing with energy. You slowly walk further down into the tunnel, your hoofsteps echoing off of the close walls.
Suddenly, you hear it again: a faint, indistinct whispering sound that seems to be coming from somewhere ahead, just out of your sight. “Who’s there?” you call down, casting your light around. But there is nopony in sight, the dim glow from your torch failing to penetrate the deepest shadows before you. Just as abruptly as they started, the whispers cease, leaving behind a faint buzzing in your ears. Your head spins slowly and you lean against the wall to hold yourself up.
CLANG.
Your heart stops as you recognize the sound. Turning around, you race back up to the mine entrance, and your eyes confirm the horrible truth. The gate is closed tight. You reach through the bars for the lock, but to your horror, a brand-new padlock is clasped tight around the latch, securing the door shut. You look about, but there is nopony in sight of the entrance; just your bike sitting sentinel. You try to push and kick the doors open, but they refuse to budge, trapping you inside.
“HELP!” you scream, shaking and rattling the doors desperately. “SOMEPONY! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
But the only answer is your own voice echoing off the tunnel walls and faint birdsong in the distance. Panic, pure and unadulterated, seizes you in its terrible embrace, seeming to smother you with fear.
You are alone. You are trapped. You are lost.
You fight to keep your mind clear. This tunnel can’t be the only way out; the first thing the miners would’ve done would be to dig a secondary shaft back to the surface in case of cave-ins. You turn back into the cold darkness behind you. With a nervous gulp, you start to descend.
The journey deeper into the tunnels seems to take hours. Your glow of your flashlight feebly attempts to penetrate the blackness; the air grows colder and heavier as you descend, and you have to force it down your throat and in and out of your lungs. The only sound beside your hoofsteps and heavy breathing is the occasional echoes of dripping water and faint scuttling of unseen critters. In an attempt to give yourself courage, you start singing quietly, but your tiny voice just reminds you of how small you are compared to the enormity of the mountain threatening to crush you like an ant.
Eventually, you come to a split in the tunnels. Two pathways open up before you, both equally as small and dark and cold and uninviting.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, mo,” you mutter, clutching your trenchcoat to yourself as you try to decide. “Catch a griffon by the toe...I don’t know where the buck to go, so I’m gonna go...this way.” You decide on the left pathway. Gathering up some pebbles, you mark an arrow on the ground so you can trace your steps just in case and press on your way.
Suddenly, you hear it again: the whispering noises, coming from all angles around you. Multiple overlapping voices assault your ears, drilling directly into your brain. Panting, you collapse against the wall, your head spinning wildly.
“Stop...stop it!” you cry out, clutching your temples. The whispering ceases abruptly, leaving you alone once more.
How long does it take for the sirenium to take effect? you think with a chill. Hopefully, you don’t find out.
“If I ever get back,” you say to yourself, continuing forward. “I’m never going to complain again if I get stuck with philandering cases—”
With a crackling, the ground beneath your hooves crumbles away. You cry out as the ground peels away from your hooves, sending you tumbling down a steep slope. The stone scrapes against your body as you slide down uncontrollably, finally hitting the bottom and crashing facefirst into the ground; your nose breaks with a loud crack . Your entire body aches, you head feels like it’s been cracked open, and your nostrils are filling with blood.
With a low groan of mingled pain and frustration, you pick yourself off the ground and look around, quickly spotting the flickering light from your now cracked flashlight. “Great,” you sigh nasally, crawling over and scooping it up. “Now where am I—”
A face lunges at you from out of the darkness: a horrible, shrunken face with empty eye sockets and rotting green skin barely clinging to the bones. The zombie’s jaw hangs open, yellow, crooked teeth ready to bite and consume. Your shriek echoes off the walls as you leap away, cowering up into a ball and waiting for the end.
It takes you almost a minute to realize that nothing is munching on your brains and you slowly peek up. The body isn’t moving: it’s sitting slumped against the wall, still and silent. You slowly approach to examine the corpse. A ragged dark blue jacket clings to the skeleton. A piece of jewelry on the lapel catches your eye: a silver triangle with a spark in the center.
“Idea Spark,” you whisper, your heart slowly sinking. He’s been dead for quite a while from the looks of it.
“What happened to you?” you ask, but of course he doesn’t answer. With a quiet sigh, you take the Pinnacle Club pin off of the jacket and place it in your pocket. Wind Walker will want to know what happened. Taking your flashlight, you look about the cavern.
You seem to be inside some kind of rest area for the miners; you can see a short row of lockers on one wall and a box of some old, rusty tools. Old miner’s helmets and boots lay everywhere.
But then at the end of the cavern, you see something that makes your heart leap. A ladder that leads upwards, with a glow of light illuminating your escape route! You rush over, only to find your path blocked by a rusty gate, this one also locked with an old padlock.
“Of course. Because nothing in this town is ever easy!” you cry, throwing your hooves up into the air. You look around. Maybe the key is in one of those lockers.
You see two old crowbars lying on the ground. You walk over to one of the lockers and insert the end into the door. With a grunt, you push as hard as you can.
Two snaps echo through the cave and you fall flat on your face. Two things have happened: the locker door has broken open, revealing the empty contents. The crowbar has also snapped in half, rendering it useless.
You examine the other four lockers. You can faintly make out the names written on each of the doors: Gem, Geode, Carver, and Pick.
You also spot a letter laying on the floor, the typewritten message faded but still legible.
“Boss,
Things are getting weird down here. More and more of the miners are reporting hearing voices when they’re by themselves. Driller even reckons that he saw something down in one of the lower tunnels; he says it looked like a pony with a raven for a head. He even said he saw it following him home. Even I’ve been hearing things, and I’ve been having trouble sleeping; I've been having nightmares that are just getting worse and worse.
But that’s not the important thing right now. I can’t find the key to the emergency ladder. I think that one of my four colleagues took the key, but I can’t get a straight answer out of them. They’re all members of that Raven club or whatever it is. I heard that their latest gimmick is that whenever they give an answer to something, they always answer with one true statement and one lie.
Here’s what they told me:
Gem: I don’t have the key. Carver has it.
Geode: I don’t have the key. Either Gem has the key or none of us do.
Carver: I don’t have the key. If Geode doesn’t have the key, then Gem does.
Pick: I don’t have the key. Gem is lying when he says that Carver has it.
I can’t figure it out, though. Think you could make a separate key? Also, we could use more lamps down here; it’s getting kind of creepy down here with the voices.
Stalagmite.”
Well, at least they all agreed on one thing. You glance back at your one remaining crowbar. You only have one chance at this: have to get it right the first time.
Figure out who has the key.
Author's Note
You've found Idea Spark...but will you be able to get his secret out, or will you be trapped with him forever? Only you can decide that, friends.
Clue: you can eliminate two suspects right off the bat.
Congratulations to Everfree Pony, themouthofmush, The Villain in Glasses, and Magic Step for solving last week's riddles! Good luck with this puzzle!
Assuming that each of the ponies questioned told one truth and one lie, you start with Gem’s statement. If he was lying when he said that he didn’t have the key, he would’ve been telling the truth when he said that Carver had it; however, this contradiction would be impossible. Therefore, Gem must be telling the truth that he does not have the key, and lying about Carver having it. This eliminates Carver as a suspect as well.
That leaves Geode and Pick. Geode’s statement is similar to Gem’s; if he’s lying about not having the key, then his second statement is false as well. But then your attention is diverted to Pick’s second statement: “Gem is lying when he says that Carver has it.” That is a true statement; therefore, he must be lying about not having the key.
You hope.
Taking the last crowbar, you insert it into Pick’s locker and brace yourself. With a grunt, you push as hard as you can, straining against the old, rusted metal.
With a great snap, the locker bursts open and the broken crowbar clatters to the ground. You look inside the dusty locker, rummaging through old papers and mold-eaten clothes. Beneath an ancient miner’s helmet with an oil lantern attached to the crest, you find a rusty key. Snatching it up, you hurry over to the gate, put the key into the lock, and twist.
With a beautiful click and squeak of old, oil-craving joints, the gate swings open. “Yes! ” you cheer, rushing forward and gripping the ladder. You can see a glimmer of light above you, and you start climbing with all the eagerness of Dante escaping the Inferno.
This section of ladder ends at another tunnel. You dismount and see another ladder next to you. You’re about to climb up this ladder to the surface when your flashlight catches something on the ground.
A shovel is lying on the stone next to the ladder. A new one, the blade still shiny. Turning, you note other tools, including picks, chisels, a wheelbarrow and buckets lined up against the tunnel walls, all of them fairly new.
Inside one of the buckets is a chunk of silvery-white rock that seems to faintly glow with a pale luminescence. Out of curiosity, you carefully extract the stone from the bucket. You feel a strange tingling in your hoof, as if the stone is charged with static electricity.
“Sirenium,” you say to yourself, placing the stone back in the bucket. Somepony’s been mining it recently. But who and why? And was Idea Spark killed for it?
Never mind that. You need to get back to Chicoltgo, contact the City Guard and get them here. This is way out of your hooves.
You scramble up the ladder, racing towards the light far above you. Finally, with a relieved gasp, you pull yourself out of a hole dug into the mountainside and into the fresh air. You are surrounded by great oak and maple trees, noon sunlight streaming down through the blankets of leaves. Birds sing above your head and the warm air kisses your skin. The peace of the scene relaxes you and helps you clear your head after the dark, cold tunnels of the mine.
You need to find your way back down the mountain. You look around, searching for a trail or something that you can use to find your bearings.
You don’t hear the hoofsteps rushing up behind you until it’s too late. As you turn, something crashes against the back of your head. White explodes across your vision, and then everything goes black.
You come to slowly with a groan. Your entire head feels as though it’s swollen to the size of a watermelon and throbs painfully. You open your eyes, only to see nothing but blackness. You try to sit up, but you can’t move.
You slowly realize that you are tightly tied down to a rickety wooden chair with a blindfold over your eyes. You struggle, but the ropes holding you down are tied too tightly, the coarse cord biting into your skin. The room is cold and the air tastes bitter and dusty.
“HELP!” you shout as loudly as you can.
A door slams behind you. “There’s nopony who can hear you,” a low, grumbling voice speaks. “Except me.”
You listen to the sound of the hoofsteps walking around you, the wooden floorboards creaking with each step. You suddenly realize where you are: the lodge. The hoofsteps continue around you, and then there is the creak of a weight sinking into a wooden chair from the head of the table.
“You…” you start to say, struggling to keep your breathing even. “You’re with the Court of Ravens, aren’t you?”
“Not with,” the voice speaks again. “I am the Court of Ravens.”
“What did you do to Idea Spark?” you ask.
“Idea Spark cooperated with us initially,” the voice states. “But he started working against us. He got afraid. So we had to remove him.
“Now, enough questions,” the voice barks. “Why did you come to Raven Hollow?”
You swallow and lick your lips, struggling to come up with a plan. There’s nothing to be gained from lying, you decide. “His wife in Chicoltgo,” you explain. “She received a coded message from him asking for help. She hired me to come here to investigate.”
“Who else knows you’re here?” the voice asks.
You pause, suddenly realizing what you just did. What if the Court goes after Wind Walker now? And what about Open Case and the others at Pink Eye and Sons?
“N-no one else,” you stammer out.
“Who else knows?!” the voice roars.
“No one! No one! I work alone!” you cry, shivering. Your heart feels like it’s trying to leap out of your chest.
“Then there’s no reason not to get rid of you…” the Court’s leader hisses.
Your mind races, trying to think up a solution. One thought pauses in the forefront of your mind: a section from the chapter on the Court of Ravens: It is rumored that the leader of the Court kept their identity a secret from the other members: if a member could deduce the leader’s identity, they would be given a special favor…
The clues you found flash before your eyes, the suspects face flickering past like a magic lantern. Without thinking, you blurt out a name. The name of the leader of the Court of Ravens.
Who is the leader of the Court of Ravens?
Author's Note
Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Boxing Day, and Kwanzaa, my lovely readers! Today, I am pleased to give you the gift of mystery.
Better hurry and deduce that name, or you may end up back in the mines...forever!
This is a test of deduction; you have all the clues you need in this story.
Congratulations to Villain in the Glasses, Magic Step, Everfree Pony and themouthofmush for solving last week's puzzle! Good luck with this one!
“Turtledove! ” you yell out.
A full minute of complete silence follows your declaration. Then the blindfold is pulled from your face, allowing you to see. You are indeed sitting in the Lodge, bound to a chair opposite the head of the table. Sitting at the head of the table is a pony in a dark cloak and a hood with a mask pulled over their face. The flickering, dancing flames from the fireplace and the candles cast them into eerie half-shadow, half-light.
They glare at you for a moment, then tug the mask and hood from their head, revealing Turtledove herself. “How did you figure it out?” she snarls, her face a picture of furious amazement.
You swallow and start to speak, barely believing your own daring. “Your chair. It has long legs, which means it’s meant for a short pony. Also, the ashes and matches next to the chair, which you left behind from smoking your pipe.”
Turtledove glares at you for several seconds, her frowning mouth sitting atop her steepled hooves. You hardly dare to breathe, thinking that every beat of your heart that now resounds in your head will be your last.
“You know, of course, that I can’t let you leave town alive,” Turtledove speaks quietly.
You swallow again. “But on the other hoof...you could be of great use to the Court,” Turtledove continues. “You are of the proper mind...few connections…”
She thinks for a moment more, then her horn alights. You flinch, but to your surprise, you feel the ropes loosening from around your body. You slowly sit up, rubbing your forelegs where the cord bit into the flesh.
“You’re coming with me,” Turtledove states. A beam of magic snakes out of her horn and wraps around your neck. “This is a leash spell,” she explains. “If you try to run away, I’ll do this.”
The leash glows with energy and pain rockets across your entire body. Your legs quiver and nearly give out, your jaws clamp together and white flashes across your vision; the agony is so great you can’t even scream, only silently beg for it to stop. The pain disappears as soon as it came, and you collapse to the ground, panting.
“Let’s go,” Turtledove orders, moving to the door. The leash of magical energy tugs on your neck and pulls you after her. You exit into the cold, dark mountain night. The stars far above your head gaze down at you pitilessly, and the shadows of the shivering, whispering trees reach out towards you, as if trying to seize you and pull you into the eternal abyss.
Your bike is sitting outside, waiting as though in fright. Turtledove swings herself onto the seat and gestures for you to get on. You pull yourself onto the seat behind her, reluctantly placing your hooves around her waist. She kicks the engine to life, and the bike responds with a roar, as if displeased at its new passenger. Turtledove guides the vehicle up a different pathway, a thin, more disused path heading further north, climbing further up the mountain. The trip is passed in silence; you battle futilely against your shivering all the way up.
Finally, she pulls the bike over a rise and you stare at the destination appearing before you. A great, three-story mansion stands in a clearing, majestically staring down at the land that it rules, faintly illuminated by the stars and the moon. But it no longer looks anything like the photograph; the pyramidal peaks are crumbling and have holes in them, and many of the windows are cracked and broken. But the door is the same as it was when you saw it in the picture: the great raven with its wings spread in preparation for flight, glaring down at you as you approach.
Turtledove turns the bike off and drops the kickstand. “Come on,” she barks, pulling you off the bike and pushing open the doors. You follow her inside. The doors close behind you, and you feel as though they are closing down on your life.
Turtledove lights the lamps hanging on the walls as you pass by, providing a faint glow as you advance deeper and deeper into Blackfeather Quill’s ancient home. Dust rises from the floor with every step. Paintings, many of them bird-themed, decorate the walls, all of them faded with time and dust.
As you proceed down the hallway, you become aware of a distant sound: what sounds like loud, raspy, distorted breathing, slow and deep. Turtledove opens a set of double doors and enters a brightly lit room. You follow inside and stare in a mixture of astonishment and horror at what the room contains.
Most of the room is taken up by a huge mass of machinery covered in dials, switches and blinking lights, from which the hissing, breathy noise is coming from. Tubes and pipes that glow with pale silver energy connect great black boxes to one another. A great web of wires are connected to a large cushioned chair, which sits in front of a desk with several books on it. Sitting in that chair is a corpse, hooked up to the tubes and wires. The body is of a black unicorn, bald and with mere tufts remaining of his coat, so wrinkled with age that it looks like a shriveled up grape. The body’s cutie mark is familiar: a raven sitting upon a desk.
A gasp of horror rises from your chest as the body suddenly opens its emerald eyes and rises up, fixing its gaze upon you.
“Grandfather,” Turtledove announces with a look of deep reverence as you both approach the desk. “This is the detective I told you about.”
Grandfather? you think, but your pondering is interrupted when the withered pony opens its mouth and speaks.
“Hello, detective.” His voice is like a slow bubbling coming up from a deep, murky swamp, horrible to your ears. “Do you know who I am?”
You gulp and nod. “Blackfeather Quill,” you reply quietly.
“Yes,” Quill nods. “You see this machine I am hooked up to? This machine is what has been keeping me alive for the past one hundred and twenty-seven years. It, and the sirenium from my mines that power it.
“Yet, I am wholly dependent upon this machine; if I am disconnected to it for even a moment, I will die. And worse yet, it is starting to break down.” As if to confirm his statement, the machine groans and a jet of steam blasts from one of the pipes.
“Gold Elixir built this for you, didn’t he?” you ask, receiving a nod in reply. “That’s why you and the Court brought Idea Spark here, to help you fix it.”
“Yes,” Blackfeather confirms. He slowly reaches forward and picks up a worn, leatherbound notebook from the table. His joints creak and crack horribly as he moves, placing the book in front of you. You open the book, only to find that its pages are covered in incomprehensible gibberish, bizarre riddles and strange drawings.
“That journal has been the bane of my existence for over a hundred years,” Quill states. “It belonged to Gold Elixir, who has been the source of my rise, and my ruin. He made these machines that were powered by my sirenium, granted me extended health and life. Yet his own gift drove him mad towards the end of his life. He would only speak in riddles and codes. Somewhere in that journal is the information that I need to fix this machine, and to grant me immortality, yet I cannot comprehend a word of its pages.”
“And that’s where the Court comes in,” you conclude. “You find the ponies that are best at puzzles and bring them here to try to decode the journal.”
“And also to weed out anypony that may interfere,” Turtledove adds with a rather nasty grin. “You probably already figured it out, but Sheriff Hawkdive is loyal to us. No brains at all, but he’s good at obfuscating information that we do not want to be discovered.”
“Beneath us is a machine that I helped Elixir design,” Blackfeather continues. “It sends out energy that affects the thoughts of the ponies below, causes them to develop a quiet obsession with riddles and puzzles. We can also use it to control the ponies to obey our instructions without question.”
“But it does worse sometimes, doesn’t it?” you add, remembering Sunrise Glow.
Blackfeather narrows his eyes. “Some ponies are more...vulnerable to its effects than others. And some ponies, despite our attempts to keep them under our control, resist us. Idea Spark was one of them; he attempted to escape and warn authorities, so we had to kill him. If he…”
Blackfeather’s voice suddenly trails off and he slumps in his chair with a low gurgle. He stares blankly at you, a line of drool running down from out the corner of his mouth.
“Uh…” you stammer to Turtledove. “Is he okay?”
“Give him a minute,” Turtledove replies patiently. “He’s just dead.”
The machine buzzes to life and gives a great groan as energy races through the pipes and tubes. A jolt of power runs down the wires and into Blackfeather Quill’s body. He throws his head back and gives a long, loud, violent scream that echoes throughout the entire room as more and more power is pumped into his body, his limbs shaking violently. The whole thing lasts for over a minute, and he screams the entire time. When it’s finally finished, he collapses into his seat. His eyes snap to you, filled with a mixture of agony and rage, and he lunges forward, seizing you by your lapels and pulling you up into his face.
“Every time I die, it’s always for a little bit longer, detective!” he screeches. His breath reeks of decay and rot, and his eyes burn into yours. “I have crossed over to the other side a thousand times! There is nothing there!” He releases you suddenly, panting as though exhausted, but continuing to glare at you with the same intensity. “You will help me, detective, or I will send you to follow Idea Spark!”
Your heart is trying to jump out through your throat and your breathing is rapid and shallow. The desperation that pervaded Blackfeather’s speech is infecting you as well.
“You will begin right now,” Quill speaks, his voice lower and feebler as he sags into his seat. “Turtledove, take them away.”
Turtledove tugs on your leash and pulls you away from Quill. The elder’s eyes burn into you as you are dragged through a different door and down a dark hallway. You fight to keep calm and pay attention to your surroundings. The stone walls are too close on your form, the shadows cold and suffocating.
You pass by a door on your right. This door is solid oak and is locked with a combination lock. A strange, throbbing hum can be heard through the wood; as you pass by, a piercing pain stabs into your skull and what sounds like dozens of hissing, whispering voices fill your ears. You stumble against the wall.
“Move!” Turtledove snaps, shoving you down the hallway. The pain fades and the whispering ceases as you move away from the locked room. She opens up a different door and pushes you inside. A bare bulb hangs from the ceiling, illuminating a small, cell-like room. A cot with thin sheets is bolted to the floor. Next to the bed was a table and a chair with several papers and pencils. Notes are scrawled over almost every sheet.
“This is a copy of the journal,” Turtledove states, pointing to a stack of papers on the desk. “You keep working, you stay alive.”
And with that, she closed the door behind her. You hear the sound of a lock clicking, and realize that you are completely trapped. You sink down onto the bed, numbly considering your options. All of them end in only one way: the mines. And nopony will ever know what will happen to you.
With a defeated moan, you collapse down onto the bed, covering your eyes with your hooves. Your body starts to shake, and you force yourself to gulp down air to try to stave off the growing panic.
Suddenly, you notice something on the wall next to the cot. A symbol is carved into the stone: a pyramid with a spark held in the center. A small arrow points down the wall to a small crack. Inside the crack, you see a corner of a piece of paper. Carefully, you extract the paper and unfurl it. The message is written in a quick, desperate, scrawling hoof.
If you are reading this, then I am probably dead. Which means it’s all up to you now.
When I came here, I thought it would be a simple job working at the factory, helping them to maintain their equipment. But then the Court found me. I was good with magical engineering, and good at puzzles; I was an irresistible prize to them.
Hawkdive brought me into the Court, and when I passed their tests, they set me to work with other members, helping them solve the journal of Gold Elixir. From what they told me, he had gone mad from sirenium exposure and started writing in riddles and codes, and they needed help decoding it. Initially, I was happy to help.
But then I started figuring out what the Court was really capable of: the ponies that they had killed, what they did to keep their secrets. When I attempted to leave, to contact my wife in Chicoltgo, they threatened me to keep me here; Hawkdive told me of the things that he had done to outsiders, brought me to the shallow graves where the bodies were kept, and told me that if I attempted to leave, he would pin these on me.
I had no choice. I had to stay, to stay quiet. At one point, I managed to figure out that Turtledove was their leader and followed her up to the Quill Mansion. And I saw her grandfather. I saw Blackfeather Quill, and the unholy thing he was hooked up to, and I realized that all of this—all the blackmail, all the murder—was to keep a madpony alive.
Unfortunately, Quill caught me, and they locked me up in here. As of this writing, I’ve been stuck here for two days. In the room next to me is a machine that they use to control the populace, the mind machine that causes everypony here to become obsessed with riddles and puzzles.
Here there were several lines that were crossed out, followed by a frantic scribbling:
It’s affected me, too: I can barely think clearly with all the puzzles racing through my mind.
But there’s been an upside. Quill brought me out of my room once, and I managed to see the combination lock for the room into the machine. I also managed to fix the lock on the door of this room so that it won’t close properly.
You need to get out and destroy that machine. While it is active, nopony can leave this village. Everypony in this village will be doomed to insanity, all because this madpony wants to live forever.
The code is…
Here there were more scribbles and lines that were crossed out, then:
A: I am having family over for dinner. I will be hosting two grandparents, four parents, one father-in-law, one mother-in-law, one brother, two sisters, four children, two sons, two daughters, three grandchildren, and one daughter-in-law. What is the minimum number of settings I’d need to place?
B: I was with my three friends, counting the number of bits between us. We discovered that my three friends had sixty bits between the three of them, and I had three coins less than the average number of bits between the four of us. How many coins do I have?
C: There is a group of ponies in a room. Five of them are blind in the right eye, four are blind in the left. Three can see in their left eye, two can see with their right, and one is sighted in both eyes. What is the minimum number of ponies in that room?
D: If one apple and six bananas weight the same as a pineapple, and three apples and a pineapple weigh the same as ten bananas, how many bananas weigh the same as the pineapple?
D is not the first, nor the last. B comes right after C, but before A.
I am sorry I can not make this easier, but the madness that consumes me won’t let me just tell you what the answer is.
I will attempt to destroy the machine myself. But should I fail, it falls on you. If you succeed, please tell my wife, Wind Whistler, that I love her and that I will miss her.
Good luck, my friend.
Idea Spark.
You stare at the message for several long minutes of silence, then slowly reach into your pocket and extract the Pinnacle Club pin. The spark seems to glimmer at you, like a small star plucked from the sky to guide you forward.
Your heart continues to beat rapidly, but no longer fearfully. You know what you have to do.
Solve the combination.
Author's Note
This is it, readers. Let's bring in 2017 with one last puzzle!
Everything hinges on this. This is your one and only chance of getting out of Raven Hollow alive. Good luck!
Hints: A and C are not as simple as you may initially think. D is similar to a previous puzzle.
Congratulations to Everfree Pony, Magic Step, The Villain in Glasses and themouthofmush for solving last week's puzzle! Good luck with our last puzzle!
One piece at a time.
Part A takes a few minutes to piece together, but you eventually deduce that the smallest party that fits the familial description is a family of seven ponies: a married couple, the husband’s parents, and their three children, two fillies and a colt. Including one for yourself, you’d need eight place settings.
Part B requires a bit of thinking. If you have less than the average number of coins, then you’d have to bring the average down. Sixty bits averaged between three friends is twenty apiece, and if you had three less than the average, then that’s the same as taking one bit away from each of the three friends. Therefore, the average between the four of you is nineteen bits, and you have sixteen in your pocket.
Part C is tricky, but after some thinking, you notice that seven left eyes and seven right eyes are specifically mentioned in the riddle. At minimum, there are seven ponies in the room: three totally blind, two blind in the right eye, one blind in the left, and one sighted in both.
Part D is simple, only requiring a bit of algebraic math. If you replace the pineapple with one apple and six bananas, then that means that ten bananas is the same as six bananas plus four apples, which means that bananas weigh the same as apples. Therefore, one pineapple is equal to seven bananas.
Finally, the last part of the riddle. It takes you only a minute to deduce the only order that makes sense: CBDA.
Seven-sixteen-seven-eight.
You slowly look up at the door. Beyond it is the machine that controls the village, and a madpony that will happily kill you so that he may live forever. One step at a time, you approach the wooden door and push at the latch. With a quiet clatter and a squeak, the door opens a crack.
You hesitate. A force seems to be pushing you away from the threshold; your throat dries out and you feel your breathing accelerate; your lungs burn as if struggling to extract the air.
As if on its own, your hoof reaches into your coat pocket and extracts the Pinnacle Club pin. You turn the little silver decoration over in your grasp. The spark winks at you like a miniature, twinkling star.
You have to do this. For Idea Spark. For Sunrise Glow. And for everypony else that has suffered at the Court’s hooves. You swallow, take a deep breath, and pocket the pin.
“If I survive this, I don’t care if I get nothing but insurance fraud cases for the rest of my career,” you mutter to yourself, pushing through the invisible barrier of your own fear and opening the door slowly.
The hallway is dark and empty. You shiver in the cold as you walk back down your path, dust rising with every step.
The locked door is just ahead. As you approach, the pain pierces into your skull, and the whispering voices start up again, hissing and buzzing in your ears. Pushing through the effects, you kneel at the combination lock and enter in the numbers: 71678.
The door unlocks, and you push it open to reveal a set of stone stairs leading downwards. Instantly, the pain increases tenfold and the whispering increases in intensity and volume, causing you to stagger. Breathing heavily, you battle your way down the stairs, one step at a time until you reach the bottom. A cord dangling from the ceiling strikes in the face, and you reach up and tug it.
A light snaps on over your head, and you behold the mind machine. A tangled mass of pipes runs through the entire room and out of the ceiling and walls, running through the entire house. Hisses and gurgles resound from within the steel spider’s web. You follow the pathway of pipes deeper and deeper into the room. The whispering continues incessantly, dozens of voices piling on top of one another and climbing through your ears directly into your brain, as if trying to warn you away.
The pipes all converge upon what looks like a big furnace. Several hoses are plugged into the big, black, metal vat. Through a grille set in the front, you can see several glowing silvery-white rocks, suspended in a pale yellow field.
Pain stabs through your skull again, but you force yourself to approach. You try to open the grille to access the sirenium, but the metal is too hot to even touch; you almost scald your hoof just reaching out to it.
Your gaze turns to the hoses plugged into the furnace. They lead to what looks like a large tank of water. Perhaps they’re a coolant of some kind?
You bite down on one of the hoses and pull. It refuses to give for a moment, then bursts out of the tank. Hot water streams from the hose, splashing onto you and causing you to drop the hose with a yelp of pain. In a sudden frenzy, you yank out the rest of the hoses, not even caring as you splash yourselves with the scalding liquid that rapidly pools onto the stone floor.
The effect is almost immediate: steam begins to billow from the furnace and pipes, and a great rattling shivers throughout the entire monstrosity. The pain penetrating your skull instantly vanishes, and the whispering voices cease.
Suddenly, there is a great explosion from somewhere behind you, and you turn to see the glow of flames from down the hallway.
“Oops,” you mutter, and turn and run up the hallway. More explosions chase after you as you hurry down the hallway and back up the stairs. As soon as you close the door behind you, a great explosion rumbles throughout the entire mansion, knocking you to your hooves and sending dust cascading from the ceiling.
Time to go! You scramble back to your hooves and start to run away, hoping to get out of the house before it all collapses on your head.
Suddenly, something seizes you around the throat. The force lifts you off the ground, kicking and struggling, and throws you down the hallway. You go skidding into the great room where Blackfeather Quill sat with his great machine.
“What did you do?! ” Turtledove screams, her horn alight and her eyes blazing with hatred as she lifts you off the ground by your throat. “You little bastard! What did you do?! ”
“Destroy them, Turtledove!” Quill rasps from his chair.
You struggle in midair, kicking and choking as her magical grip tightens about your windpipe. More explosions, increasing in intensity and frequency, rumble through the mansion, but the sound seems to be fading. Darkness creeps in on the edges of your vision, and your thudding heartbeat resounds in your pounding head.
Suddenly, the entire ceiling shakes and flaming debris falls from above. It lands on the life-extending machine, which explodes in a mass of sparks like a small fireworks display. Blackfeather lets out a long, terrible scream of pain.
“Grandfather!” Turtledove wails in despair, dropping you and rushing to her ancestor’s side. You sit up, coughing and rubbing your throat as smoke invades your lungs.
“Turtledove,” Blackfeather wheezes, his entire body trembling. “You must leave. Save yourself.”
“No!” Turtledove cries. “Grandfather, I won’t—”
“You must survive!” Blackfeather interrupts her. He slowly reaches up and, with what seems to be a great effort, strokes her cheek. “I love you, child. Now run.”
Turtledove slowly rises and turns to glare at you, furious tears leaking from her eyes. “This is not over, detective,” she vows, before turning tail and racing out of the room.
Another boom resounds from the mansion, and more debris falls from the ceiling. The flames roar higher, and the heat and smoke is becoming suffocating. You rise back to your hooves, panting and coughing, and turn for the door.
“Remember this, detective!” Blackfeather calls as you stagger for the exit, cursing you with his final breaths. “Remember that you were the cause of this!”
A howl of mingled fury and agony chases you out as you force yourself to run, hurrying back the way you came. The building shakes with explosions as you race for safety: flames race across the walls, licking at your tail as if pursuing you.
You reach the main doors and burst through them just the entire building rumbles with a final explosion. Collapsing to the ground from fatigue, you look up to see the Blackfeather mansion in flames, glowing against the night sky as it collapses in upon itself. The ravens on the doors remain, glaring down at you with a final curse.
You struggle back to your hooves and try to stagger back to your bike, which is still waiting faithfully to carry you away. Your body aches from the beating and burns, and your lungs convulse as they struggle for air. You try to climb onto your bike, but your legs refuse, too exhausted to lift your weight. You attempt once more, then collapse to the ground, your head spinning.
The last thing you see before you pass out is the vague shape of a pony bending over you.
A familiar scent tantalizes your nostrils: fresh, black coffee. The odor pulls you back into the waking world, and you open your eyes.
To your surprise, you are laying on a bed in a room at the Sparrow’s Nest. You sit up with a start, only to grunt in pain as your entire body protests all at once. You examine yourself to find that somepony has bandaged your torso, limbs and head. Sunshine streams into the room from the window behind you.
“Hello, detective,” a soft voice calls from the door. You look up to find Honey Roll entering the room, holding up a tray in a magical grasp. Sitting on the tray is a large cup of coffee and a plate loaded with steaming toast, scrambled eggs, and a couple of ibuprofen.
“What happened?” you ask, shaking your aching head.
“When you didn’t come back, I realized the Court must have taken you,” Honey explains, placing the tray on the bed in front of you. “I was trying to think of what to do when Sunrise Glow approached me.”
“Detective,” a familiar voice calls from the door. Sunrise Glow slowly enters the room. You almost don’t recognize him: his movements are smooth, his eyes are bright and alert, and a grateful smile is held on his face.
“He told me that he’d sent you to the mines,” Honey Roll explained. “I was going to go up to try to help, but then I heard the explosions from the mansion. I ran up and found you unconscious outside the burning mansion, and I loaded you up onto your bike and brought you here.”
Suddenly realizing how acutely hungry and thirsty you are, you dig into the provided breakfast. The food and coffee goes a long way towards reviving you, and the medicine relieves some of the pain.
“How did you know to help me?” you ask Honey Roll.
Honey glances down for a moment, then continues without looking up. “I was a member of the Court for many years; I’d help Turtledove take care of Blackfeather Quill, bring him food and help clean up, as well as spy on anypony that came into town. I didn’t want to, but Hawkdive intimidated me into doing what they said.
“When Idea Spark came into town, he treated me kindly. We became friends. And when Turtledove locked him in the mansion, I helped take care of him, bringing him food.
“He said he was going to try to stop Blackfeather Quill. I offered to help, but he told me no. He said that somepony might come after him, somepony honest who would help. He told me that he needed me to help them.” She blinks and wipes her eyes. “I waited days for you to come. I hoped that you’d be the one to finally stop the Court.”
“And you did,” Sunrise adds. “After you destroyed the machine, Hawkdive and the other members of the Court in town—the librarian, the factory manager, and many others—they all ran for it. They won’t be back. The Court is done; and thanks to you, I can think clearly for the first time in years. I don’t have the whispering in my head anymore.” He smiles and gratefully clasps your hoof. “Thank you, detective.”
His words of thanks fail to register within you. You slowly look down at your breakfast, thinking about Blackfeather Quill’s last moments, his final curse towards you, his accusation of your responsibility.
“Where’s my coat?” you ask.
“Hanging up here,” Honey Roll says, plucking your coat down from the bedpost.
You reach into the pocket and extract the Pinnacle Club pin. Honey Roll and Sunrise Glow’s eyes fix on the little decoration, their faces reflecting each other’s grief.
“I need to get back to Chicoltgo,” you declare.
You’d never been so glad to be back in your office. From out the twelfth-story window, the familiar Chicoltgo skyline, glowing orange in the aura of sunset, is like an old friend.
A constant music of clicking and dinging fills your office as you type out your report on your typewriter. Reaching a stopping point, you pause to stretch, rubbing your stiff neck.
Looking over your own report, you realize just how fantastic and unbelievable your story seems. If you’d heard it from somepony else, you might laugh it off as the premise for some trashy thriller novel.
Yet it happened. The testimonies of Honey Roll and Sunrise Glow, as well as your bandaged injuries, will go towards proving that.
There is a knock at your door and you look up to see Open Case there. “Hey, rookie, Wind Walker is here.”
You sigh and take in a slow breath. A steaming cup of coffee sits waiting on the table in front of you. “Thanks, Open. Send her in.”
“Rookie?” Open says softly. He manages to smile as you look up at him. “Good to have you back safely.”
“Thanks, Open,” you smile gratefully in reply.
Open steps aside and Wind Walker enters your office with a slow, frightful step. She looks exhausted, as though she’s barely gotten any sleep.
“Mrs. Walker,” you greet her, rising. “Please take a seat.”
She slowly approaches your desk and sits down on the chair in front of you. “Did you find my husband?” she asks, sounding as though she doesn’t really want to hear the answer.
You swallow and have to fight against yourself not to break eye contact. You reach into a drawer and pull out the Pinnacle Club pin, carefully handing it over to Wind Walker. Her eyes widen as soon as she says the familiar piece, but her face settles like one who has just received the news that they were expecting.
“I’m sorry,” you tell her softly. “Your husband was long dead by the time I got there. He was killed by a group that he got involved in.”
Wind Walker just sits in silence for a few seconds, staring at her husband’s pin. “Tell me what happened,” she finally declares in a quiet, but determined voice.
You tell her the condensed story of the Court of Ravens, Blackfeather Quill’s machine, and how you uncovered and defeated them. Wind Walker listens, never interrupting or reacting beyond asking an occasional question. When you finish, she just sits and stares at the pin.
“I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Walker,” you say.
Wind Walker stands up, a few tired tears trickling down her face. “It’s not your fault, detective. Thank you for finding out what happened to him.”
She reaches out and places the pin back on your desk. You blink in surprise. “Ma’am, I can’t—” you start to protest.
“No, you keep it,” Wind insists quietly. “He’d...he’d have wanted you to have it; he always said he wanted to give it to somepony that deserved it. Anyway, you probably deserve it for solving this case,” she adds with a smile. “Idea always said that whenever he was stuck or unsure, he would just hold the pin for a while, and that would inspire him to get back to work and solve whatever problem he was facing. I hope that maybe it could do the same for you.”
“Are you sure?” you ask.
Wind nods and wipes her eyes with a wing. You slowly take the pin back.
“If you need anything, let me know,” you say.
“I know,” Wind says. She lifts a bag out of her saddlebag and drops a few bits and two colored gems onto your desk. Accepting the payment takes a great show of willpower on your part. Wind leans in and gives you a thankful kiss on the forehead. “Thank you for everything, detective.” With a final smile, she turns and departs your office.
You look down at the Pinnacle Club pin, then reverently clip it onto your coat. The little spark seems to dance in the low light of the sunset, winking at you.
You study the little decoration for a moment, then turn back to your typewriter. Sliding the carriage back and turning it to the next line, you start typing the conclusion of your report.
Blackfeather Quill is certainly dead after the destruction of his machine and his mansion. Honey Roll has elected to remain in Raven Hollow to aid responding Chicoltgo City Guards with their investigation, including the finding and identification of the remains of the ponies that were murdered by the Court. Sunrise Glow has been taken to the city of Chicoltgo for treatment of lingering psychological symptoms.
The following ponies, all of whom are members of the Court of Ravens, were unaccounted for. The City Guards of Chicoltgo and surrounding cities should be warned to be on the lookout for them, as they are all very dangerous: Feather Page, Assembly Line, Hawkdive, and Turtledove.
Finishing the report, you tug the paper out of the typewriter and stack if with the rest of your report. Stapling the entire bundle together, you lean back into your chair with a sigh, rubbing your eyes.
“Hey, rookie!” Open Case calls from outside. “Five letter word for disciplinary!”
“Penal,” you shout back.
“Thanks!” Open replies. “Hey, think you could give me a hoof with this?”
“Put a fresh pot on, and you’ve got a deal,” you reply, getting out of your chair and exiting your office.
As you walk out, you fail to notice a bird flapping down to land upon your window ledge. A raven, its coat as dark as midnight and eyes like black pearls, stares into your room, watching you as you close the door behind you.
THE END…?
Author's Note
Case Closed at last, and right on schedule. But what of the Court? It's still out there...
Congratulations to The Villain in Glasses, themouthofmush, Magic Step, and Everfree Pony for solving this and every riddle in the story! I hope that you all enjoyed Raven Hollow! This was a greater success than I anticipated it would be, and am pleased at the positive attention that I received.
A sequel may come one day, so stay tuned, and keep that pencil and scrap paper ready. You never know when a puzzle might come!
Hello, reader, and thank you for participating in my little experiment.
If you like puzzle games and mystery, then you've come to the right place. In this story, you get the chance to be the detective and solve the crime yourself!
Before we get started, let me explain how this is going to work. Every chapter of this story will have a puzzle, code, or riddle at the end of it, which you, the readers, must solve in order to continue the story. You don't have to do it on your own: in fact, I encourage you to use the comment section to collab with other readers with suggestions, thoughts and help. I may provide a hint in the author's notes if you're really stuck.
However, I do have one hard and fast rule for you to follow: Do not put answers in the comments section. If you think you've solved the puzzle, send it to me in a PM. The reason for this is that I don't want to spoil the game for later readers.
I will do my best to release every chapter on a weekly schedule. With each chapter released, I will reveal who amongst you solved the previous chapter's clue.
I hope you enjoy the story, and have fun solving the puzzles!
—Josiah
