Maretropolis

They hit the Department of Motor Vehicles at four in the afternoon. The sun was low. Applejack pulled off the road and into the parking lot.

“Maud is the fasted one in there,” Spike said. “You need something done, she’s your woman.”

“I hope so,” Applejack said.

She didn’t think she needed to remind him that they were fighting the clock.

When they went inside, there was a huge line of people waiting to be helped.

“Wait. They’re all gray?” Applejack exclaimed, noticing the employees.

All the desks were manned by unhappy men and women, all a different shade of gray, who moved very, very slowly. One took an age to stamp a piece of paper, then move the paper to one side to stamp a second sheet, while the customer held his head in his hand in exasperation.

At another desk, a bespectacled woman took her time to staple a document for another customer. Another took a smiling lady’s picture for her driver’s license very, very slowly.

Then, when Applejack looked at the room, she noticed that it was just as ashy as the employees who worked in it. The walls were gray, the floor was gray, even the desks. All a different shade of gray. It was like they had stepped into a black-and-white movie. And, aside from the line of customers, they were the only things in color.

“You said this was going to be fast!” Applejack growled at Spike.

“Are you judging a fellow human being based solely on one external characteristic?” Spike asked. “Last time I checked, that’s racism. And I do not associate myself with racists. Besides, aren’t you the one who said that ‘in Maretropolis, anyone can be anything’?”

Spike led Applejack over to an ashy woman who was sitting behind the counter at one of the windows. She had turquoise eyes, blue violet hair, a Persian bluish gray complexion, and she was wearing a gray frock dress.

“It’s a Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud World,” Spike said. “How you doing, Honey? It’s nice to see you.”

The woman looked up at them with half-closed eyes and a blank, almost neutral expression on her face.

She blinked.

“It’s nice to see you too, Spike,” she replied in a drab monotone.

“Maud, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet,” Spike said. “Uh, sorry, darling, I’ve already forgot your name.”

“Hmm,” AJ said as she shot him a sarcastic smile. “Officer Applejack Smith, MPD, how are you?”

Maud looked at Applejack and didn’t respond for a good five seconds.

“I am doing just as well as I can,” she replied, still flat. “What can I do for you today?”

“Well, I was hoping you could run a plate for us,” Applejack said. “We are in a really big hurry.”

“Sure. What’s the plate number?”

Applejack took a deep breath and said, “2-9-T-H-D-0-3.”

The frowning woman, Maud, slowly typed the number onto her computer.

“Two... nine...”

“T-H-D-0-3,”

“... T...”

“H-D-0-3,”

“... H...”

“D-0-3,”

“... D...”

“Mmm-hmm. 0-3,”

“... Zero...”

“Three,” Applejack whimpered softly.

Just as Maud was about to punch in the last digit, Spike interrupted her.

“Maud, you look like you could use a laugh. Would you like to hear a joke?”

“No!” Applejack cried.

“Sure,” Maud replied dryly. “I would love to hear a joke from you, Spike.”

Applejack growled.

“Okay. A Princess, a magician and an exile walk into a bar... Are you with me so far?”

“Yes. ‘A Princess, a magician and an exile walk into a bar.’ What happens next?”

“The bartender looks up. He looks at them. And what do you think he says?”

Maud thought for a moment and replied, “I don’t know. What does the bartender say?”

“‘What is this, a joke?’” Spike laughed.

At first, Maud showed no reaction. But then, her eyes widened extremely slowly and a broad smile crept across her face.

“Ha... ha... ha... ha...” she laughed.

Applejack’s impatience grew.

“Ha-ha! Yes, very funny,” she said.

Maud turned toward the woman who was sitting next to her.

“Hey, Marble!” she called.

A bashful young woman with turquoise gray skin peeked through her dark gray hair with big, grayish violet eyes.

“Mm-hmm?” Marble asked softly.

“A Princess, a magician, and an exile walk into a bar...”

Applejack groaned and banged her head onto the counter, but eventually, Maud produced the printout with the address for the license plate number.

“Here you go,” Maud said, handing it to Applejack.

“It’s registered to Dragontown Limo Service. A limo took Stratus Shy and the limo’s in Dragontown! It’s in Dragontown!”

“Way to hustle, Maud,” Spike said. “I love you. I owe you.”

“Hurry! We’ve got to beat the rush hour,” Applejack said as she hurried through the door to get outside, “and... It’s night?”

She looked at the sky in awe. It was completely dark.

They had been there for hours!

Applejack was running out of time.

Applejack hadn’t gotten a good look at Dragontown the first time around (when she was chasing Discord through the streets), but now, as she drove Spike to the limo service depot, she did.

It began at the gate, which was a white counterbalanced pole with a guard shack next to it and a tall brick wall, eight feet tall and topped with coils of razor-wire, which divided Dragontown from the Central Plaza. It was followed by a dark, cube-shaped, brick building, three stories high. Next to it was an identical building, then another, and another. Applejack was no expert in architecture, but the whole borough seemed to give off the feel of an old factory town, or the riverfront of Manehattan when she went to live with her Aunt and Uncle Orange for a while.

It was plain, simple, and out of date.

Except for the gate at the entrance, which looked more like an entry into a military base.

Dragontown was dark, but warm, and the still air smelled of sulfur and brimstone. There was no traffic on the streets, and there were no pedestrians on the sidewalks like there had been during the day. There was no activity anywhere. No traffic. Not even dogs barking.

No activity at all.

It was still, silent, and lonely.

Finally, after twelve blocks of nothing but brick buildings, they passed a vacant lot where something had been planned maybe twenty years before but was never built. Then came a faded old grocery store, shuttered and permanently abandoned. Next to it was a barbershop and a bar.

Finally, they arrived at the limo service depot... and a padlocked gate.

“Closed,” Applejack said after she’d exited her vehicle. “Great!”

“And you don’t have a warrant, do you?” Spike guessed.

“You wasted the day on purpose!” she accused him.

“Ma’am, I am wearing a fake badge,” he said, gesturing to the sticker on his vest. “I would never impede your pretend investigation.”

“What is your problem?” she yelled. “Does seeing other people fail somehow make you feel better about your own sad, miserable life?”

Spike didn’t even have to pause to consider her question before answering.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he replied calmly.

“Do you see this?” she asked, showing him the Shy Family photo. “Do you see this man? He is missing!”

“Well, then they should have gotten a real cop to find him,” Spike replied.

Applejack turned red, and I don’t mean just a little pink in the cheeks. She went full red in the face. She was so angry that steam started to come off her skin.

But she didn’t demand that he apologize for saying that she wasn’t a real police officer.

“Now, since you have no warrant, I guess we’re done here?” Spike asked.

Applejack sighed and her face returned to normal.

“Fine. Here’s your pen,”

He reached out to take it from her, but she threw it over her shoulder and over the wire fence, and it landed in the lot on the other side.

“Wow, you are one very sore loser, you know that?” Spike asked. “See you later, Officer Smith,” he said as he started to climb over the fence. “I really wish I could’ve helped more.”

Spike dropped down to the other side and reached for the pen, but Applejack was already there, waiting for him.

“Well, the thing is, ya don’t need a warrant if you’ve got probable cause, and I’m pretty sure I just saw one shifty-looking lowdown varmint climbing the fence,” she told him. “So, you’re helping plenty! Come on.”

Spike followed her, annoyed, but his face showed a morsel of respect for her trick.

In the depot parking lot, white limos were parked close together. Four were facing outward, toward the gate, ready to go. The fifth was facing inward, toward the depot itself. Applejack approached it.

She wiped the dried mud off the back bumper to show the plate.

“This is it!” she whispered.

They tried the passenger doors. Locked. Then they moved up and tried the driver and front passenger doors. Unlocked. And no alarm.

Using the flashlight on her cellphone, Applejack found a reptilian scale on the floor in front of the driver’s seat.

She pulled out an evidence bag and a pair of tweezers, and Spike rolled his eyes as he opened the glove box compartment.

“Oh, my gosh!” he exclaimed.

“What? What?” Applejack asked.

“The Golden Voice of Flank Sinatra!” he said, showing her the source of his excitement.

Applejack sighed as she went back to collecting the scale with the tweezers.

“They bought ‘em on CD,” Spike observed. “Seriously, who still buys CDs anymore? Just download the crap illegally off the internet like the rest of the planet.”

Spike put the CDs away and closed the glove box. Then he glanced up at the screen between the seats. He slid back the cover and his eyes widened.

“Officer, if your missing guy was here, he had one very bad day,”

Applejack shined her flashlight into the back seat. It had been shredded!

“Those are claw marks,” she breathed. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked Spike.

Spike shook his head, actually concerned.

Applejack spotted a wallet on the floor. She wiggled through the screen and Spike climbed through after her. She picked up the wallet, opened it, and found Mr. Shy’s driver’s license, his Marestercard credit card, and business cards for his wife’s floral shop.

“This is him, Stratus Shy,” she said. “He was definitely here. What do you think happened?”

Spike’s eyes shifted to a glass cup at the bar inside the limo. It was engraved with the letter “T” on the side.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Reptilian scales, Sinatra music, fancy monogrammed glass--I know whose car this is! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Why? Whose car is it?” Applejack asked.

Spike rushed around the limo, nervously trying to put everything back the way they found it.

“The most feared crime boss in the country, Torch Drago, they call him the Dragon Lord, and he hates me. So, we gotta go, right now!”

“We’re not leaving. This is a crime scene!”

“You think it’s bad now? It’s going to be much worse if we stay here, so with or without you, I am leaving!”

Spike made a break for the limo door. He opened it and stopped when he saw two big and mean-looking Dragon gangsters looking down at him. Both were dressed in black track suits and they looked exactly like what they were: a pair of second-rate hoodlums.

“Rex!” Spike gasped. “And is that Amarant? Long time, no see. And, speaking of ‘no see,’ how about you forget that you just saw me, huh? For old times’ sake?”

The two Dragons grabbed Spike and Applejack by their throats and yanked them out of the limo.

“Of course not,” Spike grunted.

Without saying a word, the two hulking thugs shoved Spike and Applejack into the back seat of another limo and they were driven away, sandwiched between their captors, to the house of the Dragon Lord.

The limo had soft seats, a quiet motor, a gentle ride, and a nice radio. Very different from the one that was used to pick up Stratus Shy.

Amarant used his cell phone and called the Dragon Lord.

The man he worked for.

And it wasn’t just a Dragon Lord. It was the Dragon Lord.

“We have a problem,” Amarant said. “We had a few unwelcome visitors at the limo depot earlier tonight. They’re here with us now.”

He paused.

If there was a reply, Applejack didn’t hear it.

“What do you want us to do?”

There was another pause.

“Yes, sir,” Amarant said. “We’re on our way back.”

He hung up and looked out the window at the lines of trees and yards with high fences and large houses.

A nice place to live, Applejack thought.

She leaned over to Spike and whispered to him.

“What did you do to make this Torch guy so mad at you?”

“I may have been engaged to his daughter and, due to a series of very unfortunate circumstances way beyond my control, left her at the altar... twice,”

Applejack stared at him in stunned silence.

Then she exhaled and said, “Oh, sweet sassy molasses!”

A short time later, the limo drove through a set of high iron gates manned by another Dragon in a black suit and burgundy tie.

The iron bars were bent and twisted into fancy shapes and the gate had a giant iron “T” mounted near the top (the same style as the one on the monogrammed glass from the limo at the depot) and it was shiny black.

The driveway was long and the house at the end of it was big and ornate. It could have been airlifted straight from the Dragon Lands. It was a massive, four-story stone fortress a hundred years old. It had turrets, multiple chimneys, and just as much stained glass as Canterlot Castle. It was aristocratic and affected in every way, but it was a comfortable house in the same way that the limo was a comfortable car. At the left-hand end was a three-car garage and at the right was a wing that maybe housed the bedrooms. And best of all, it stood alone in the center of many acres of flat land.

The giant residential compound that was the home of Dragon Lord Torch.