Who-dunce-it?

by RB_

Rating: teen
Tags: Rarity, Prince Blueblood, Fancypants, Sex, Fleur de Lis, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death, Mystery, Rainbow Dash, Comedy
Length: 19374

It's always a bad sign when the highlight of the party is the murder.

The crime? Murder.
The victim? Prince Blueblood.
The culprit?

Well, that one's Rarity's job.

Take heed! There be spoilers in the comments!
An ex-entry into Aragon's Comedy is Serious Business contest which sadly grew too far beyond the word limit to submit. Be sure to check out the actual entries here!

Published 2018-01-26 19:10:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-01-26 19:10:06 UTC

The Ominous Opening

Life, Twilight had once told Rarity during a particularly successful night at the bar, is a funny thing.

Rarity had agreed, in the sense that their lives had indeed been rather funny as of late, but that hadn’t been what Twilight had meant. She'd then gone on to lecture—pausing intermittently to down more gin—about the ridiculousness of life from a scientific point of view.

What Rarity had gleaned from this conversation was that all life, even ponies, basically amounted to big, sloppy, water-filled bags of cells. It hadn't been an especially pleasant conversation for Rarity. Especially when Twilight had, rather loudly, begun to explain what happened when two bags of cells got frisky with one another.

Rarity, high-society mare that she was, was in the habit of pretending she didn't know anything about that, despite knowing full well what happened when tab A went into slot B. And, like all high-society mares, she knew the inherent flaw in that system.

Namely, what happens when exactly the wrong bag of cells gets frisky with exactly the other wrong bag of cells?

Well, you would get what many ponies would call a nitwit.

Or, to his face, Prince Blueblood.

Who was, much to her displeasure, hosting the party that Rarity was on her way to at this very moment, in a softly-rumbling carriage she’d hired for the occasion. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone in her displeasure.

“So why are we going to this party again?” Rainbow asked. She was wearing a dress, quite a nice one. Rarity’s own design. It played well with her mane, which was always an issue with making dresses for Rainbow. Rarity was certain she’d nailed it this time. As usual, she was right.

“Because one simply does not turn down an invitation to an event such as this,” Rarity replied. She was also wearing a dress, a black one, cut just-so. She liked to think it looked good on her. As usual, she was right.

“But why are we going?” Rainbow asked.

Rarity pouted. “Can’t I enjoy an evening with one of my closest and dearest friends?”

“If that was all you wanted, you’d have gone with Twilight or Coco.”

“Your insinuation wounds me, darling.”

“There’s no way I was your first choice. Spill it.”

Rarity sighed.

“I brought you because, excepting Twilight, you have the highest social standing of any of my close friends, and because bringing a plus one who is of higher social standing than the host would be uncouth, and because Coco has a show tonight, and because I’ll spend a month in Tartarus before I try to get through this party on my lonesome.”

“Cool. I can get behind that.” She stretched out and leaned back into the seat of the carriage. “Have you ever gone to any of the Wonderbolts signing events we do? The ones where we spend hours trapped at a table?”

“Yes, you’ve taken me to several—ah, I see. Excuse me a moment, would you?”

She leaned out of the window. “Driver? How much farther?”

“Nearly there, miss!” said the pony at the reigns. “Should only be another minute or so!”

“Delightful.”

The view out of the carriage’s window was like something out of a decorative calendar. Long, rolling, grass-covered hills that stretched for miles, the sun just settling down over the horizon as the first light of the stars faded in. The last town, the town they had set out from, lay far in the distance behind them.

A distance Rarity rather wished was shorter, but the carriage trundled on regardless of her feelings. Soon enough, they turned a bend in the road, and their destination came into view around the side of the carriage.

It was a lovely manor, Rarity had to give its owner that. Large, too. Four stories, which was somewhat sedate when one considered the clear regency influences in its design.

She immersed herself in the details of it. Every window, every arch, every column. Within, she might find inspiration, perhaps, or at least something to occupy her thoughts for the night. Celestia knew there would be little else to.

Rainbow peered out over her shoulder.

“Dang,” she said. “That’s a big house.”

“This is just his autumn home,” Rarity said.

Rainbow squinted. “I thought it was ‘summer home’?”

“He has one of those, too.”

Rarity turned her attention now to the front garden, or what little she could see of it past the—quite well maintained—hedge walls.

There’s a fountain at the center of it, Rarity imagined. Marble, probably, with little statues around the edge. Either tiny ponies or fish. Maybe carved vines, as well. Could work that into a dress, actually, the natural look is starting to come back into vogue—

“How does Blue-butt even afford all of this?” Rainbow asked, interrupting her conjecture.

“Well, he is a prince, darling,” Rarity said, “if in title only. I would expect he gets most of it from the government.”

“So… the extra taxes I have to pay to keep my cloud house floating?”

“Most likely. Although he’s also said to have come into money during a brief stint in the military, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Geez, Rares, for hating this guy so much, you sure know a lot about him.”

“Yes, well,” Rarity said, “it never hurt a lady to be prepared.”

The sound of the wheels changed as the path moved from dirt to paving stones. Rarity withdrew from the window of the carriage and drew the curtain back across as they pulled up to the front of the garden.

“We’ve arrived!” came the call of the carriage-puller.

Rarity lit her horn, a matching glow appearing around the door’s handle.

She bit her lip.

“Hey, c’mon, Rares,” Rainbow Dash said, laying a hoof—with a very nice shoe on it, gold-covered brass, Rarity had had to send out for them, custom made—on her withers. “It’s not such a big deal! We go in, we say hello, have a few drinks, and if Prince Blue-boil bothers you, we hit the road. Nothing to worry about.”

Rarity smiled. “You’re right.” She made a move towards the door, then hesitated again. “But please do make an effort not to call him that in polite company.”

“No promises.”

Rarity turned the latch.

She stepped out of the carriage. Her dress slid over her hips like water over a windscreen, just-so. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Drinks were spilled. Monocles cracked against the paving stones.

No bag of cells had ever looked better than she did at that moment. It would be a long time before any other did.

Rarity, of course, was used to this kind of reaction, and took it in stride.

Rainbow, gliding out of the carriage after her, less so. She landed, stretched, and looked around at all the silence.

“Not much of a party,” she observed.

At this, the spell was broken, and everyone, mares and stallions alike, turned back to their partners. Conversations were restarted with polite coughs. Drinks were hastily downed. Monocles were picked up, quietly sworn at, and tossed into the bushes.

“Well,” Rarity said, striding forwards past the gate guard, who let them past without a word. “I think that was a good enough entrance, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’d give it an eight out of ten,” Rainbow said. “Warn me next time. I’ll do a rainboom. That’ll really knock their cashmere socks off.”

Rarity shook her head. “Subtlety, darling. Subtlety.”

As they passed through the garden, Rarity noted that she’d been right about the fountain—well, half right. It was there, certainly, but rather than fish or generic pony figures, it was covered with tiny effigies of its owner, in various poses. This disgusted Rarity, and she wasn’t alone; those ponies who found themselves standing within its radiance seemed to lean away from it at all times.

And one of these ponies wore a familiar face.

“Ah, Rarity, mon ami!” Fleur de Lis cried at their approach.

“Fleur!” Rarity said, stepping up her stride as Fleur did hers, and they met in the middle. They leaned in and kissed across each other’s cheeks.

“Ah, it is so good to see you!” Fleur said. “I did not know you had been invited!”

Fleur was wearing a red dress, red like wine, with excess fabric that draped over her like a waterfall. Rarity would have described her as “ravishing”.

A better word might have been “nervous”, but we’ll get to that.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here either,” Rarity said, “but you would not believe how glad I am to see you!” She stepped back. “Is Fancy here, too?”

“He was just on his way to refill our glasses,” Fleur said. “And I see you have brought a guest, as well?”

“Ah, yes,” Rarity said. She gestured Rainbow, who had kept her eyes locked on the statue since they’d passed it, over. “Surely, Fleur, you recognize Rainbow Dash, the Wonderbolts’ newest.”

“Ah, of course!” Fleur leaned in towards her, much as she had with Rarity, but Rainbow leaned away.

“Woah, there,” she said, “I don’t swing that way! Not this early in the night, anyway.”

Rarity nearly bit her tongue off, but Fleur laughed.

“Ah, nothing of the sort!” she said, then, to Rarity: “I like your friend. She is funny.”

“Yes, she is, isn’t she,” Rarity said. “Rainbow Dash, this is Fleur de Lis. She used to be quite the famous model, in Prance.”

Rainbow looked her up and down. Her eyebrows raised.

“Used to be?” she said. “What happened?”

“I fell in love,” Fleur said. She perked up upon spotting something over their shoulders. “Oh, Fancy! There you are! Come, come!”

Rarity turned. There was Fancy Pants, well-dressed as ever. Rarity would have described him as “dapper”. There really was no more fitting descriptor for the stallion, at least in her mind.

A better word might have been “cunning”, but we’ll get to that.

He was wearing a tuxedo, with a small flower pinned to the lapel; it matched his wife’s dress. He was also carrying a pair of bubbling champagne glasses aloft in his magic.

“Ah, Miss Rarity!” he said. “How wonderful of you to join us! And is that Rainbow Dash, of the Wonderbolts?” He shook her hoof. “Splendid! You know, I was quite impressed by your performance in the last derby, in the summer.”

“Oh, hey, thanks!” Rainbow said. “That was a pretty close race! I was sure Fleetfoot was going to pull it back at the last second, but nope!”

Fancy’s eyebrows raised over his—decidedly newer-looking—monocle.

“Really?” he said. “Why, from where I was sitting, it never looked like she had a chance!”

Those two continued their conversation off to the side. Meanwhile, someone behind Rarity and Fleur cleared their throat. They turned around.

The mare was dressed in heavy black lace, with a matching veil that covered most of her face.

Rather dreary attire for such an occasion, Rarity thought. Widow’s garb. Perhaps she’s mourning?

A better word might have been “duplicitous,” but we’ll get to that.

“Oh, ah, Rarity, this is an old friend of mine,” Fleur said. “Dela Crème. She owns land to the south of Vanhoover. Dela, this is Rarity. She’s a fashion designer, and a friend.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Rarity,” Dela said. As she spoke, the edge of a scar along her lower cheek became visible under the veil.

“And a pleasure to meet you as well,” Rarity said, shaking her hoof. “Might I ask where south of Vanhoover you hail from? Gryphon’s Bay, perhaps? I hear the view of the mountains is quite stunning.”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Dela said.

“Oh, really?” Rarity said. “You’re quite sure?”

“I am quite certain of where I was born, yes,” Dela said. Her eyes shifted under the veil.

Fleur coughed. “Was there something you wanted, Dela? You know you’re welcome to join us…”

“Just an introduction,” she said. “Nothing more.”

“—and then Spitfire turns to her,” Rainbow said, puffing up her chest, “and she says, get this: ‘If that’s the best you can do, private, then you can pack your bags right now!’ And guess what Surprise does!”

“I can’t possibly fathom,” Fancy Pants said.

“She packs her bags and disappears! Right before the show! And you’ll never guess where she was hiding—”

“Are you two getting along?” Fleur said as she strode up to Fancy’s side, pressing herself against him.

“Swimmingly, dear,” Fancy Pants said. “Miss Dash here was just regaling me with tales from the Wonderbolts’ barracks, as it were.”

Fleur chuckled. “I should have guessed!”

She turned to Rainbow. “Fancy is a big fan of anything that moves quickly. Sailing ships, zeppelins, courier pigeons…”

“Well, one has to be in my business,” Fancy Pants said.

“Yeah?” Rainbow said. “What’s that?”

“Fancy is a shipping mogul,” Rarity said. “He owns Fancy Freight, Equestria’s premiere freight-mover.”

“Indeed I do!” he said. “And, I say, if any one of my ships could fly as fast as you, Miss Dash, why, I’d be bathing in bits right now!”

“You’re already bathing in bits, dear,” Fleur said.

“Well, swimming in them, then,” Fancy said. “But speed and efficiency are the name of the game in the shipping industry. I must keep up on any advancements in the field if I want my companies to remain on top. Though it may not seem it, shipping is a cutthroat industry! Why, let me tell you, just this last week—”

A terse cough cut him off. It was the sort of cough a librarian makes to get people to stop talking. Pointed. Weaponized. Designed to kill a conversation dead from thirty feet.

Funnily enough, the pony who uttered it looked nothing like a librarian, but did look quite a bit like a butler, with suit, demeanor, and hair to match.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Pants?”

“Yes, that is us,” Fancy said.

He shuffled a series of cards around in his magic.

“Miss Rarity?” he asked a moment later.

“That would be me,” she said. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“There is,” he said. “His Highness has instructed me to find you, and your guests, and escort you to a private dinner that His Highness is holding in the west wing dining room. If you would care to follow me…”

Rarity shot Rainbow a side glance. Rainbow shrugged.

Well, I suppose there’s no avoiding it, then, Rarity thought. And I’d just started to forget who the host was, too…

The interior of the manor was almost as nice as the exterior, containing wood-paneled walls with carefully painted decorations that ran around their edges and elegantly carved decorative frames on the doorways. Even here, though, the vain tendrils of the house’s owner could be seen. For every tasteful landscape that adorned the walls, there was another portrait of Blueblood.

Rainbow drew up alongside Rarity.

“So what’s the deal with this special dinner?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Rarity said. “It certainly wasn’t mentioned on the invitations…”

They turned left down another hallway.

“So do you think there’ll be, like, fancy foreign food? Or just fancy regular food? Because I’d love to get some more of that, uh… what was it, that stuff they had at the gala?”

“Escargot, darling,” Rarity said.

“That’s the one.”

“Please don’t eat any escargot, darling.”

“Aw, but—”

“You remember what happened last time, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah—"

“You know I’ll hold your hair for you, darling, but I won’t like it.”

“Alright, I get it!” Rainbow said. “I’ll stick to broccoli this time! Yeesh!”

She glanced over.

“Hey, Rares? You alright? You’re kind of, uh… scowly.”

Rarity unclenched her jaw.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just displeased. I’d thought for a moment I might be able to get through the night without encountering our gracious host.”

Rainbow extended a wing over Rarity’s shoulders.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “I’ve got your back.”

Rarity smiled. “Thank you, darling. I knew I could count on you. Just make sure you get a firm grip; I can be rather nimble when I am possessed with anger.”

“…Not exactly what I had in mind, but sure.”

The butler came to a stop at last before an ornate set of double doors, and the rest of them stopped with him. They weren’t alone; three other ponies were already there waiting.

The butler turned around and addressed the group.

“Through these doors is the east dining room, where you will be eating tonight. However, His Highness has requested that you not enter until he arrives, so that he can personally welcome each of you.”

“Is there any word on when he will be arriving?” asked one of the ponies already by the door. “He’s left us waiting for almost twenty minutes, now.”

“Now, dear,” said the stallion at her side, “I’m sure he’s just taking his time. He must be very busy, keeping all of this running.”

“Mosely, five minutes is ‘taking your time’,” the mare said. “Ten is making us wait. More than twenty is either incompetence or malice. I would suspect the latter, but I’ve met our host before.”

The elderly stallion leaning against the wall behind them seemed to get a kick out of that, snorting. The other stallion looked shocked.

“Valencia!” he said. “How could you be so rude to our gracious host?”

“Him not being here to hear it. That’s how.”

“I do apologize,” the butler said, cutting in before more words could be uttered. “I’m sure His Highness will be along momentarily. If you will excuse me, I will come back shortly with fresh champagne.”

“None for me, thank you,” the elderly stallion said. He was in military dress, and quite well decorated at that. Rarity always had admired the formal attire of the Equestrian defense force. It was the epitome of style meeting sharpness, and it commanded authority.

Its wearer, despite the lines in his face, had much the same effect. Rarity would have described him as “aged but proud”, perhaps adding an allusion to wine for good measure.

A better word might have been “vengeful”, but we’ll get to that.

He was also carrying a long, thin case on his back, which was bound in tightly-knotted twine. We’ll get to that, too.

“Very good, sir,” the butler said. He left back the way they’d come, down the hall, and soon it was only their group of eight that remained.

“Mr. and Mrs. Orange,” Fancy Pants said, stepping forwards. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. I wasn’t aware you were acquaintances of our host’s?”

“We’ve had dealings,” the mare said. “We manage orchards, he owns vineyards, we were bound to cross paths at some point.”

She wore a black dress that left much to the imagination and a string of pearls around her neck. When she frowned, it crinkled across a mole on her cheek that looked like it was used to the treatment. Rarity would likely have described her as “no-nonsense”.

A better word might have been “scared out of her wits”, but we’ll get to that.

“The Prince also enjoys our unique orange wines,” her husband added. “He’s been one of our best customers!”

“And one of our only customers,” Mrs. Orange said. “But it’s enough to warrant not selling our distillery.”

Mr. Orange was very much unlike his wife. He wore a suit, a green one that matched his hair, which looked to have been expensive—or, on a moment’s inspection, had been made to look expensive. Still, it did a remarkably good job of it, and one would be hard pressed to tell if even he knew it wasn’t real cashmere. Rarity might have described him as “confident”, “poised” or perhaps even “assured”.

A better word might have been “nimrod”.

But we’ll get to that.

Mrs. Orange turned to face Rarity. “And you are?”

“My name is Rarity,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And I’m Rainbow dash!” Rainbow said. “You’re Applejack’s aunt and uncle, right?”

Mrs. Orange’s eyebrows raised. “Why yes, we are. You know our niece?”

“We both live in Ponyville,” Rarity explained. “We’re very close friends of hers.”

“I’m sure she hasn’t had much good to say about us,” Mr. Orange said.

“On the contrary; she’s always described you very fondly.”

“How typical of her branch.”

“And you, I presume,” Fancy said, regarding the stallion in the military garb, “must be Major Mild Mustardgrass?”

“That is my name,” the stallion said. “But not my rank. It’s ‘captain’ now. Has been for a while.”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Fancy said. “I only know of you through your exploits in Zebraha.”

“Then you won’t mind if we keep it that way,” the Major said. “Forgive me, but I seem to be the only one not acquainted with you, Mr…?”

“Fancy Pants,” Fancy said. “And this is my wife, Fleur de Lis.”

“Well, a pleasure to meet you,” the Major said. “Quite the odd bunch we are, eh? What do you suppose we’re wanted for?”

“You’re wanted for dinner,” someone said. They turned; it was the butler, a tray of glasses floating at his side. “Has his Highness not arrived yet?”

“Well, if he had, we wouldn’t still be out here, would we?” Mrs. Orange snapped. “Is he even attending this party? Are we sure he isn’t off drinking on a yacht on the other side of the country right now?”

“I am terribly sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I can assure you, he will be here in due time—”

“Excuse me,” the major cut in. “I know you are under direct orders from your master not to allow us entry, but—”

He winced.

“Well, it’s my back, you see,” he continued after a moment. “My old bones aren’t quite what they used to be, at my age—I’m sure you can relate, you look as though you’re getting to that age yourself.”

The butler’s straight face slipped slightly.

“I can… relate, yes,” he said. He shifted the weight on his back legs.

“Let me tell you, it only gets worse from there.”

“I… I see.”

“I’ve been standing here for almost half an hour.”

“Yes.”

“So you can understand how desperate I must be for a chair at the moment, yes?”

“Of course,” the butler said, pursing his lips.

“My hernia, you see.”

“Yes.”

“It keeps me awake at night, you see. Many a sleepless night, you see.”

“Yes.”

“The pain gets especially unbearable whenever I have to use the—"

“Alright!” the butler said. From his breast pocket, he withdrew a silver key.

“If he asks,” he said, “the door was unlocked when you arrived.”

The door was opened, and they all filed in. As they entered, the Major’s posture visibly improved. Rarity spotted this, and the Major winked back at her when he noticed she had.

The interior room was longer than it was wide, and contained a table that was the same. Four chairs sat on each side, and a ninth at its head. The ninth was noticeably grander than the others; one might even have called it a throne. The table had been set, but not plenished; the butler set their glasses down there, one at each place, and a more ornate one at the end.

But it was the back of the room that caught Rarity’s attention.

The back of the dining room contained a great set of windows that opened out onto the landscape. And what a landscape! It appeared the garden at the front of the house was only a taste of the main garden, which unfolded itself before them.

Rarity, entranced, walked to the end of the room and peered out. Why, they must have gone on for a mile, at least! And all of it lantern-lit against the night. Already, she could feel inspiration bubbling up. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be a total waste for her after all.

She wasn’t the only one. “Splendid, aren’t they?” Fancy Pants said from her side. “Designed by Bay Laurel herself, if it’s to be believed.”

“I’d believe it,” Rarity said. Even Rainbow seemed to be impressed, hovering beside them to get a better view.

“You know,” she said, “I’m not even mad that this is what my property taxes went into.” She pointed. “You see that bush down there, the one that looks like a squirrel? I paid for that.”

“Its tail, maybe,” Rarity said.

“Good enough.”

After a few moments more of gawking, they turned around. The other guests had already taken their seats; they did the same. Rainbow and Rarity ended up on the same side as Fleur and Fancy, while the Oranges sat together across from them. Dela and the Major, also on the other side of the table, seemed to have struck up a quiet conversation. The Major was grinning. Dela was not.

After a few minutes of idle conversation, the door opened a crack. The head that peeked inside was Blueblood’s. His eye ran over the room.

“Ah,” he said. “You’re all in here already.” There was a wholesome helping of disappointment in his voice.

“The door was open when we got here,” Fleur said.

Blueblood’s mouth shifted to one side.

“Hm.”

He withdrew, letting the door fall closed after him. A moment later, the doors opened again, both of them fully, admitting two marching lines of servants carrying all manner of dishes. Within moments, the table was covered in food.

Rarity noticed one plate had been stocked with snail shells. She also noticed that Rainbow had noticed. She also noticed that Rainbow was salivating. Then Rainbow noticed Rarity’s glare.

“Alright!” she hissed. “I get it!”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the servants departed. It was only after the last had left and the room had fallen into silence that Blueblood made his entrance proper.

Both doors were thrown open.

“Hello, esteemed guests,” Blueblood said. “I see you’ve all—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish, as the two doors, so violently opened, bounced off their respective walls and slammed closed again in his face.

Rarity, and several of the other guests, stifled snickers. Rainbow and the Major didn’t bother.

They opened again, more calmly this time, and Blueblood stepped gingerly inside before letting them shut.

“A-hem. Hello, esteemed guests,” he said. “I see you’ve all found your way here.”

He walked along the side of the table—everyone along that side of the table, Rarity included, scooting their chairs in as he passed—until he was at the table’s head.

Blueblood reared up, placing his front hooves on the table so that he was ‘standing’. He raised his glass into the air and tapped it with a spoon. As the conversation had stopped altogether once he’d arrived, this accomplished nothing, but he did so anyway.

He smiled, and took a sip from his glass before proceeding.

“It’s wonderful that you all could be here today,” Blueblood said. “To celebrate this, the glorious anniversary of my birth...”

As he continued to prattle on, Rarity idly wondered if he had written this speech himself, or if he’d needed help.

“…thirty-seven years have passed—and, of course, I am still as handsome and comely as I have ever been…”

He’d had help, she decided. He wasn’t clever enough to count that high.

She glanced around the table. Most were paying more attention to the tablecloth than to their host. Mr. Orange was the only one even facing in his direction.

“In that time, I’ve made many friends… many enemies, unjustly, I should say—”

He stopped, mid-sentence. Rarity turned her head to look.

Now, life may be a funny thing.

But Death?

Death is interesting.

This had been another topic of conversation between Rarity and Twilight Sparkle, on a different occasion, on a somewhat less successful night at the bar.

“Ever notice how the first thing ponies ask when they hear someone’s died is ‘how?’” she’d said. “Think about mystery novels. Twenty bits says that, if you picked one at random off of the shelf in the library, it’d be a murder mystery, or at least have a murder in it.”

Rarity had considered this. “I don’t think I’d take that bet,” she’d said.

“Exactly. Because murder means intrigue. It’s a raising of stakes. It’s an opportunity for drama. Who could hate somepony enough to kill them, and why? For what purpose?”

“I suppose you’re right, darling,” Rarity had said. “How dreadful.”

Secretly, though, she’d found it enlightening. A death, at least when observed from afar, did add spice to a lot of the mysteries she occupied herself with in the long hours of the night. There was at least one in every Shadow Spade book she could name off the top of her head—and she could name a lot of them.

The night had devolved from there into trying to calm Twilight after she’d gotten started on ponies not putting those murder mysteries back on the shelf, but that idea had stuck in Rarity’s head like used gum to a shoe.

Life is funny. Death is interesting.

And this was why it was only after Blueblood fell sideways off of the table, his head hitting the floor with a dreadful thwack, that most of the ponies present started paying any attention to him.

The Incisive Investigation

All was silent for a few moments.

“My word,” Fancy said at last. “Is he alright?”

“Someone check,” Fleur said.

No one moved.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to. The doors opened again, and the butler entered. He looked around.

“Has His Highness still not arrived yet?”

“Oh, he’s arrived, all right!” Mrs. Orange said. “And he may have just left!”

“Down there,” Fancy Pants said. “He’s collapsed!”

The butler peered over, spotted Blueblood’s leg sticking out from behind the table. He rushed over and knelt down beside him, put his ear to his chest, and listened.

“Celestia’s wings,” he said after a moment, “he’s dead!”

Silence for a moment more, then:

“Dead? He can’t be!” Mrs. Orange blurted out.

“Preposterous!” the Major cried.

“Yes, you must be mistaken!” Mr. Orange said, standing. “I donated funds to a medical school once, let me have a look at him!”

He strode over and did much the same thing the butler had done, placing his ear against Blueblood’s chest. He listened for a few seconds, his face screwed up in intense concentration.

A few moments passed.

Then a few moments more.

“Well!?” Rainbow cried. “Is he dead or not!?”

“Quiet!” Mr. Orange said. He listened for a few seconds more, then:

“Well, I can’t seem to find his heartbeat,” he said, standing, “so the question remains unanswered.”

Rarity, meanwhile, had stood up and had taken Blueblood’s glass. She held it under her nose and sniffed. Her eyes lit up, and she turned to Fancy Pants.

“Fancy, you’re quite the connoisseur when it comes to wines, yes?”

“Well, I certainly dabble,” he said.

“Take a whiff of this, then.”

He took the glass and did so.

“Why, this has an aroma quite unlike any variety I have ever encountered!”

Rarity hummed. She turned to the butler. “Excuse me, could you tell me what was in this glass, exactly?”

The butler took the glass, eyed its contents, then took a whiff of his own. His brow crinkled.

“Ma’am, I have personally sampled every bottle in His Highness’s collection,” he said. “Er, off the record, of course. I can say with complete certainty that this is not one of them!”

“Ah,” Rarity said again. “Well, in light of that information, I think we can safely assume that our host has been poisoned!”

There was a shriek, and several glasses went flying across the table.

“Now, now, no need to panic!” Rarity hastily added. “We’ve all been drinking from our own glasses for the last ten minutes or so! Blueblood took one sip, and keeled over less than a minute later!”

“She’s right!” Rainbow said. “And we’re all fine! We probably weren’t poisoned!”

“Now, aren’t you all being a bit hasty,” Mr. Orange said. “We still don’t know if he’s dead or not!”

“I think it’s fairly obvious at this point!” Rainbow said. “Look, he’s turning grey!”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Why, I turned grey just last Wednesday, and—”

“Mosely, sit down and shut up.”

“Yes dear.”

“I will send a servant out to collect the police immediately,” the butler said. “Until then, I am afraid none of you will be allowed to leave! I will lock the door behind me on my way out.”

“And how long will that be?” the Major asked.

“Well, the nearest village is several miles away,” the butler replied, “so it may be some time. Several hours at the least.”

“Several hours!” Mrs. Orange cried. “You can’t keep us locked up in here for hours with a dead body! It’s, it’s improper!”

“And how can you keep us here with a murderer in our midst?” Fleur added. “What if they decide to strike again!?”

“Forget that,” Rainbow said, hovering over them. “Once the police get here, they’ll spend hours questioning us! I have flight practice tomorrow! How am I supposed to be rested enough to fly at my best if you keep me here half the night!?”

“Darling, I think a little adjustment of your priorities is in order.”

They all turned. Rarity was standing at the head of the table—though, not very close to the body—and her head was held high.

“Now, the way I see it,” she said, “our host has been murdered. Now, he may have been an insensitive, idiotic, brutish, insignificant little—”

Rainbow coughed.

“—but he deserves better than to be left on the floor while his murderer sips champagne!” she finished.

The Major looked at her. “And just what do you plan to do about it, miss?”

“Why, I plan to find the culprit, and bring them to justice!” she declared.

“You just want to get out of here faster,” Mrs. Orange said.

“And so do you, so don’t complain,” Rarity said, not missing a beat. “If we can provide the police with a confession when they arrive, then they won’t have much to question us about, now will they?”

“Pardon me, Miss Rarity,” Dela Crème said, “but perhaps it would be best if we left this to the professionals?”

“Hey, Rarity is a great detective!” Rainbow Dash said. She flew over to Rarity, hovering just below the ceiling. “She saved my bacon once! Another Wonderbolt tried to frame me for something I didn’t do, and she had the whole thing figured out in less than an afternoon!”

“Are you talking about Wind Rider?” Fancy Pants asked. “At the opening of the Royal Gardens?”

“That’s the one!”

“I heard about that,” he said. “Quite the close call, indeed! That was your doing, Miss Rarity?”

“It was,” she said.

“Well, then I have no qualms about her taking a crack at it,” he said. “What say you?”

Dela frowned beneath her veil. “Fine.”

“But wait,” Mrs. Orange said, also standing. “What if she’s the murderer!?”

She then jerked back, her snout suddenly less than an inch away from a fuming pegasus’s.

“Are you calling my friend a murderer?” Rainbow said. “Because if you are…”

“Now Rainbow,” Rarity said, “it’s a perfectly valid—if absolutely untrue—thought.”

“…It is?”

“Of course.” Rarity strode around the length of the table. “There’s nothing saying I’m not.” She came around to Mrs. Orange, who eyed her with suspicion. “Nothing, except for one crucial detail!”

“And that is?” Mrs. Orange asked, her face level with Rarity’s.

“This dress doesn’t have pockets. You can inspect it if you’d like. And, unlike you, I did not bring a purse.”

“So what?”

“So where do you think I would be hiding the poison?”

Mrs. Orange blinked. “Well, I can think of several places—”

“And I suppose you’ll be wanting to search these places yourself?”

“I—well—ah.”

Mrs. Orange sat back down.

“Besides which, Rainbow and Fancy can vouch for me,” Rarity said. “I wouldn’t use poison.”

She turned to the butler. “Now, might I suggest we move to somewhere else? A library, or a study, preferably with an adjoining room? Somewhere away from, er—” she fluttered a hoof in the direction of the end of the table “—that?”

The butler considered this.

“I see no harm in it,” he said. “There is a library just down the hall, with an attached archive room. I will escort you there. All of you, if you would follow me, please…”

The butler led them down the hall to an another grand set of doors, pausing for a moment along the way to notify a servant of what had transpired.

The library itself was as grand as its doors (and everything else in the house), filled with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves, a chandelier that cast the room in gentle gaslight, and a comfortable reading area in the center of it all with enough chairs for all of them. A fireplace and chimney divided its back wall.

All of the books on the shelves were perfectly and neatly ordered, with crisp spines and straight pages, which was precisely how one could tell none of them had ever been read.

As the others got comfortable, Rainbow turned to Rarity.

“Hey, Rares, I know you can handle this, but… are you sure you can handle this? A murder’s pretty different from a fake letter.”

“Relax, darling,” Rarity said. “I have utmost faith in my methods. The devil is in the details, as they say, and so we will find the devil among us by following the details. My only regret is that I didn’t bring appropriate costumes this time. Would you mind staying out here and stand guard?”

“Sure thing, Rarity,” she said. “I guess this means you don’t think I did it then, huh?”

“Of course not, darling,” Rarity said, “you’re nowhere near subtle enough. Now then!”

She turned to the butler, who was standing in front of the doors. “You said there was an archive room?”

“Yes, just through there,” he said, gesturing towards a door set between two of the bookcases.

“Perfect,” she said. She turned to address the others.

“I would like to speak with each of you privately. A simple interview. Is that amenable to everyone? Good. You first, Fancy, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“So, Rarity said, “Fancy. Tell me everything you’ve done this evening since arriving at the mansion.”

“Everything?”

“Spare no details.”

The archive room was smaller, about the size of an office, and filled with drawers and shelves. A table sat in the middle of it; Fancy occupied a chair on one side, Rarity stood on the other.

Fancy leaned back in his chair.

“Well,” he began, “Fleur and I arrived at six o’clock—we took a carriage from the last town, you see. We were some of the first guests to arrive, I would say.”

“Go on.”

“Well, there isn’t much to say, quite frankly,” Fancy said. “We mingled and ate hors d’oeuvres until you arrived, and, well, you know what happened after that. Surely you would be more interested in what I saw after we had been summoned?”

Rarity shook her head. “We’ll get to that, but I would first like to hear everything that led up to it. Were there any points at which you left Fleur?”

“Only once,” Fancy said. “I went to procure more drinks for my wife and me. I found that the bar needed restocking, so I paid a visit to the kitchens.”

“Oh, really?” Rarity said. She leaned forwards ever so slightly. “And when was this?”

“Around seven, I should say. I found my way to the kitchens, after asking someone—it might have been our friend, the butler—for directions. I was there for some time, as well; I ended up striking up a conversation with several of the staff.”

“What about?” Rarity asked.

“The proper preparation of pufferfish. I’ve been quite curious about the subject recently, you see.”

“Ah,” Rarity said. “They’re quite poisonous, yes?”

“Only if prepared improperly,” Fancy said. “You see, all of the natural poisons are concentrated in the liver, as it turns out, so all you have to do is—”

He stopped, and his eyes bulged.

“You’re not suspecting that I was the one who poisoned Blueblood?” he said, steamrolling through his words. “Because I can assure you, there is quite the difference between knowing how to procure a poison and actually committing the act—"

“No need to worry,” Rarity replied. “Now, how long would you say you had this discussion?”

“Oh, for only about five minutes or so,” Fancy said. “They gave me a demonstration, you see. After that, I said my farewells and returned to the garden with drinks in tow. You were there for my return, you’ll recall.”

“Indeed I was,” Rarity said. “Let’s change topics. What can you tell me about the Major? You seemed acquainted with him in the hall.”

“Major Mustardgrass? Well, quite a bit, really; he was quite the figure in the Zebraharan conflicts. Led the third company, to great success. Why—”

Rarity cut him off with a wave of her hoof. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for his entire life story. What do you know about him and Blueblood?”

Fancy frowned. “I confess, I don’t know much about Blueblood’s military career. It hardly seemed worth studying; he was only enlisted for three months.”

Rarity pursed her lips. “What about the end of the Major’s career? He said he had been demoted?”

“I confess, I told a small fib in the hallway,” Fancy said. “I had heard about his demotion—and his unofficial discharge. I didn’t want to bring it up.”

Rarity leaned forwards over the desk. “Oh?”

“Apparently, he got greedy towards the end of his time in charge—or so the rumors say, you won’t find this in any book. Supposedly, he was caught smuggling gold out of a mine in Zebraha that his troops had been using as a base of operations.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. He was stripped of his rank and quietly shuffled out of power, or so they say. His superiors likely tried to keep this quiet out of respect for his legacy. This would have been seven or eight years ago, I would expect.”

“Fascinating,” Rarity said. “Back to the matter at hoof: tell me, at any point while we were in the dining room, did you see anyone move towards Blueblood’s glass?”

“No, I most certainly did not.”

“Did you see any odd telekinesis, then?” Rarity asked.

“None.”

“Anything else odd? Anything at all? Perhaps something that might have slipped under your attention?”

“I really cannot say I did,” he said.

“In that case,” Rarity said, “This interview is concluded. One last thing: would you mind turning out your pockets?”

“Not a problem at all,” he said. He stood and did so, turning out each one individually and laying their contents onto the table. The folded-card invitation to the party, two bits, and a length of cord, frazzled on one end.

“Wonderful. That will be all; you can go now.”

“Splendid. Does this mean I’m free of suspicion?” Fancy Pants asked, standing. “As it were?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you alright, Daring?” Rarity asked. “You look dreadful.”

“I-I’m alright,” Fleur said. It was her in the chair, this time. She kept her hooves together, and her forelegs rubbed against one another seemingly of their own accord every so often. “Just… a little shaken, that’s all.”

“I can’t blame you,” Rarity said. “Anyone would be, in this situation.”

“Not you,” Fleur said. “You’re the very picture of composure!”

“One becomes very good at faking it in my industry,” Rarity said. “Besides which, I have other things to distract me. Now then, tell me everything that happened from the time you arrived to when we met in the garden.”

“I’ll try,” Fleur said, a waver still in her voice.

Fleur then narrated everything from the time she left the carriage to the time Rarity had arrived in great detail, running through exactly who she’d had conversations with in the garden, what they’d talked about, the approximate time Fancy had gone to get drinks and what they’d been drinking at the time, and all without stopping for breath.

It was a downpour of details, an avalanche of an account, a crashing cavalcade of a conversation, albeit one-sided. It also told Rarity nothing that Fancy hadn’t already.

“Does any of that help?” Fleur asked, once she’d finished.

“I’m… sure at least some of it will,” Rarity said. “Now, once we’d gotten to the dining room, did you see anything unusual, at all? Anyone moving near Blueblood’s glass, anyone doing anything at all odd?”

Fleur thought for a moment.

“I can’t say that I saw anyone do anything to Blueblood’s glass,” she said. “But there was one thing…”

“Yes?”

Fleur bit her lip. “Well, I wouldn’t want to cast doubt where there may not be any, but the ponies who sat closet to Blueblood’s glass were Rainbow Dash and the Major, and I know you’ll vouch for Rainbow Dash…”

“You think the Major may have done something?”

“No, no! Just that he was in the place to be if he had… and that he chose that place himself. He sat down before the rest of us.”

“Interesting,” Rarity said. “But what about Dela Crème? She was sitting next to him on that side, across from me. It wouldn’t have been that much harder for her to administer the poison, especially if she was keeping him distracted through conversation.”

Fleur’s face had grown progressively paler as Rarity had said this. By the end of this, she was as white as a sheet—impressive, considering how light of a shade she was normally.

“I assume you can vouch for her character, what with you two being such longstanding friends?”

“Ah… yes, of course.”

Rarity hummed. “In that case, there is only one more thing.”

“Oh, really?” Fleur said, relief flooding into her voice.

“Yes. Could I see your purse, please?”

Fleur blinked, and the colour that had been ebbing back into her face faded again. “Why… you cannot think that I poisoned him, can you?”

“Of course not,” Rarity said, reaching across the table and laying a hoof on Fleur’s shoulder. “But it is a detective’s job to be thorough, and I always was a method actress.”

“I… I see,” Fleur said. She levitated the purse up and began to empty it of its contents. First a few bits, then her invitation, still in its envelope, then a make-up case—this Rarity inspected closely—and, finally, a handkerchief, with “F.d.L.” embroidered on its corner. She then put the purse itself onto the desk, which Rarity picked up and looked through.

When Rarity was satisfied, she placed the purse back onto the table and allowed Fleur to return her things to it.

“That will be all,” Rarity said. “Unless you have anything else you’d like to share?”

“N-not at all,” Fleur said, and hurried towards the door.

“So,” Rarity said, putting her hooves on the table. “Enough of this charade, hm? Who are you, really?”

“I have no idea what it is you’re referring to,” Dela said, adjusting her veil.

“Oh, I think you do,” Rarity said. “You see, two years ago, I was hired by the mayor of Vancouver to make a wedding dress for his daughter; he had seen my designs a year prior during a meeting of state in Canterlot. While I was there, I was treated like royalty. I was invited to a great many parties, far nicer ones than this one.”

“Your point being?”

“My point,” Rarity said, “being that, although I met almost every pony of any note on the entire western coast of Equestria, your name never came up. Which is why, earlier, I asked you from where south of Vanhoover you hailed.”

The corner of her mouth turned up.

“And you answered ‘Griffon’s bay’, which any native would know lies to the north of Vanhoover. So I ask again!” She slammed her hooves on the table. “Who are you, really?”

Dela said nothing.

“I should warn you, if you don’t tell me, I will make a point of informing everyone else. I’m sure they’d all love to ask you some questions at that point. I can assure you they will be less professional about it than I.”

Dela smiled. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” she said.

She pulled off her hat and veil. She looked to be in her late thirties, but scar that crossed half her face made her look even older.

“My name is Stalwart Guard,” she said. “I work for the Peryton Detective Agency.”

“You’re a police-for-hire.”

“Some would say that. Others would say ‘pig’.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to insult the pigs,” Rarity said. “I imagine you don’t do much actual detecting, considering I’m the one asking you questions.”

“Bodyguarding, mostly.”

“Bodyguarding whom?”

“Can’t say.”

“And why not?”

“Because of a little thing called ‘client confidentiality’,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You seem to like playing detective. Figure it out yourself.”

“Fine then,” Rarity said. “Tell me how you got that scar.”

“This?” Stalwart said, wincing unconsciously. “The unfortunate result of an accident during basic training, back when I served in the military.”

“Guard or standing?”

“Standing. I served for eight years.”

“The wound. Sword or spear?”

“Sword. A soldier I was training with’s grip slipped.”

“And this was while you were serving under Major Mustardgrass, or before?”

“Before—”

Stalwart’s eyes widened, and she jerked back in her seat.

“How could you possibly know about that!?” she exclaimed.

“A hunch,” Rarity said. “He didn’t ask you for an introduction when he met you at the door to the dining room, supposedly for the first time. This means he already knew you previously—but he knew enough not to say anything about it. Obviously, you had met before.”

Stalwart face betrayed her bewilderment, but she continued. “Well, er—this was before that.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He was as good an officer as any ever had,” she said. “Sharp, no-nonsense, and proud, very proud, of his country and his work.”

“So proud of his work that he chose to smuggle gold out of the country he was supposed to be protecting?” Rarity said. “Well, I suppose—”

Stalwart slammed her hooves on the table, the noise and motion of it making Rarity flinch.

“The Major had nothing to do with that!” she roared. “It was a setup! They framed him!”

The door to the library slammed open. It was Rainbow.

“What’s going on!? I heard shouting—ooh, nice scar.”

“Calm down, please!” Rarity said. “Both of you! Rainbow, everything is fine; please shut the door.”

Rainbow pulled the door closed slowly, keeping her narrowed eyes on Stalwart. Stalwart, for her part, sat back down in the chair and brushed off her lace.

“Now then,” Rarity said. “We were just discussing the exploits of the Major in Zebraha, weren’t we? You say that he was framed for the incident that earned him his demotion?”

“He was!” Stalwart said. “I have no doubts.”

“And you have evidence to back this up?”

“The only evidence I need is the five years I spent under him,” she said.

“So you would testify to his character, then.”

“Of course! He was an inspiration. The best commanding officer I ever had the pleasure of serving under, and the most loyal to his country. I tell you, there is no possible way he could have done what they said he had.” She punctuated this statement with a nod, as if agreeing with herself.

Rarity frowned. “And who is ‘they’, exactly?”

“His superiors,” she said.

“And why would they do that?”

“To cover up who was really smuggling gold out of Zebraha.”

Rarity leaned forwards, folding her hooves on the tabletop. Her eyes narrowed to a point.

“And that was…?”

Stalwart smirked.

“You’re the detective,” she said. “Figure it out.”

Dela—veil replaced—stepped back through the doorway into the library, and Rarity followed her out. She hadn’t been able to get anything further out of the mare. Her shoes made click-clacking noises on the wooden floor as she crossed it and sat down.

“Everything’s alright then?” The butler asked. “We were all a bit worried, when we heard the shouting.”

“Just fine,” Rarity said. “A minor misunderstanding, that’s—”

She stopped. Her nostrils flared.

“Why am I smelling smoke?”

“It’s probably the fire,” the Major said.

“Fire? What…”

It was then that Rarity’s eyes landed on the fireplace. It had been empty, before, but now a healthy blaze had been lit in its bosom. Its warmth bled out into the room.

Rarity almost screamed. This would have been most unladylike, however, and so she settled for just running over to the hearth and dropping to her knees. She snatched a wrought-iron shovel from a rack to the side of the fireplace and began digging through the embers.

“What’s wrong, Rares?” Rainbow asked from behind her.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong!?”

Another pile of embers shifted.

“You lit a fire! That’s what’s wrong!”

The Major coughed. “I was a little chilly, so I asked our stallion if he wouldn’t mind putting a fire together. My old bones, you see—”

“I don’t care about your bones, or how old they are! You may have just ruined everything!”

She wrenched something from the fire with her magic, sending embers skittering across the floor. She paid them no mind, instead throwing whatever it was she’d retrieved to the ground and stamping on it until it ceased burning.

“I suppose it was kind of a silly idea, lighting a fire in a library,” Fancy said.

“That’s not what I mean at all!” Rarity said. She peeled the thing she’d retrieved off of the ground. It looked to be a piece of paper, or rather, the remains of one.

“I mean,” she said, “that you’ve given the murderer a perfect means of destroying evidence! None of you saw who did this?”

None of them had.

The paper was laid out onto the table. Everyone stood and gathered around, eager to lay eyes on this latest clue, this newest bit of evidence. Could it be the one to reveal the culprit? Could it be the final piece to the puzzle? Most of it had been rendered unreadable. What hadn’t been…

“Oh my,” Rarity said, her cheeks suddenly growing pink.

“That is, er, that is to say,” Fancy said, “ah… yes, what she said. Quite.”

Fleur turned away, a fierce blush taking over her own features. The Major said nothing, but he didn’t need to; the upwards vector of his eyebrows said plenty. Dela seemed to have no interest.

“I can’t say I’ve ever thought to try something like that,” Mr. Orange said.

“I didn’t think you could do that with a pineapple,” his wife added.

“I don’t even know why you’d want to,” Rainbow said.

Rarity snatched the scraps up. She coughed into her hoof, then turned to the butler.

“Right. Excuse me, did Blueblood have a room in which he did business? A study?”

“Yes, of course,” the butler said.

“Could you show me the way there, please?”

“If you insist, ma’am, but whatever for?”

“I have a hunch,” Rarity said. “Rainbow? Would you care to join me?”

“Uh… what about…?” She jerked her head back at the other guests.

“Never mind them,” Rarity whispered, “If they were going to do anything, they already have. This is more important.”

She turned back to the butler. “Well, shall we?”

Blueblood’s study was clean. This was the first thing that struck Rarity and Rainbow as the butler gave them entrance. He remained by the door as they moved inside, keeping watch.

The room was wood-paneled, and much of it was taken up by two desks. One, massive and mahogany, with endless brass-knobbed drawers and a smooth coat of varnish. The sort of desk that puts the “executive” in “executive official”, the “bureau” in “bureaucrat”.

The other was a small writing desk with a stool and noticeably more papers atop it. It was the sort of desk that put the “clerk desk” in “desk clerk”.

It was towards this one that Rarity moved. She began to shuffle through the top layer of documents.

“What are you looking for, Rares?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ll tell you if I find it, darling,” Rarity said, then, a moment later: “Ah-ha!”

She pulled a sheet out of a stack of similar sheets. A blank piece of stationary, with a decorative border. She held the scraps of the letter up next to it.

“Just as I suspected,” she said.

Rainbow came up beside her. “What?”

“Look, there. The border on the stationary. Yes? Now, look at the border on the burnt paper.”

“They’re the same,” Rainbow remarked.

“Exactly! Which makes it fairly obvious who the author of this particular, er… diatribe, was.”

“But hang on,” she said. “The hornwriting isn’t the same.”

“Ah, but that hardly matters,” Rarity said. “I’d expect he had two different servants write these. What is important is that the stationary is the same.”

“Seriously? He has servants just to write letters?”

“He’s the richest stallion on the continent,” Rarity said. “I’d be shocked if he’d had to write anything longer than his signature in decades.”

Rainbow considered this. “Y’know, the fact that that letter was dictated only makes it more gross.”

“I quite agree,” Rarity said, returning to the pile. She shuffled through a few more layers, and then withdrew another paper.

“Look at this,” she said. “It’s an invoice. From the oranges, by the looks of it.”

She scanned it. Her eyebrows shot up.

“A hundred bottles?” she gasped. “The Oranges weren’t lying; he really did enjoy his orange wines! Just look at the price tag!”

The butler lit his horn and snatched the paper out of her magic. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I must ask that you keep your snooping to the matter at hand; we’ll have the lawyers in to deal with all of this.”

“Oh, I can assure you, this is very relevant,” Rarity said, snatching it back. She held the invoice out to Rainbow. “Here, smell this.”

Rainbow took it without question. “Mmm… oranges?” she said. “But, like, fake oranges?”

“Precisely,” Rarity said. “Like what ponies think an orange is supposed to smell like, not what it actually smells like.”

“Yeah, just like that!” Rainbow said.

“Good; I was worried I was imagining things.”

“Really, ma’am,” the butler said, “I must insist you leave His Late Highness’s affairs be!”

“I don’t think he much minds, being dead and all,” Rarity said, but nonetheless she returned the invoice to its place on the desk. “Regardless, I have what I needed. Now, shall we return to the—”

She paused. The picture behind the bigger desk, which had previously been ignored for being yet anotherpainting of Blueblood, had now caught her eye. Mainly because it wasn’t just a picture of Blueblood.

Oh, he was in it, certainly; he stood front and center, his self-absorbed smile illuminated by the same spotlight sunbeam that set him apart from the rest of the scene. He wore military dress, although his seemed to fit him far worse than the Major’s.

And standing next to him was a rendition—somewhat more sloppily done—of the Major himself.

“Oh, that’s interesting…”

Rarity crossed the room and stood in front of the portrait, inspecting every inch of it. There was a brass plate affixed to the bottom of the frame:

Zebraha, 1032

“Eight years ago,” she muttered. “Hm…”

“Is that the Major?” Rainbow asked.

“It would appear so,” Rarity said. She spun about to face them. “Oh well. Let us rejoin the others.”

“Splendid, splendid.”

“You’re not listening,” Mrs. Orange hissed. “I never—”

The door to the library swung open, and both she and Fancy Pants turned sharply towards it.

“Are we interrupting something?” Rarity asked, striding in, followed closely by Rainbow and the butler. “Please, continue.”

“I was just telling Mr. Pants that a shipment I’d sent out using his company that hadn’t yet reached its destination,” Mrs. Orange said. “He claims no knowledge of it, of course. You know how it is with these shipping companies.”

“And I can assure you,” Fancy said, “that Fancy Freight is no mere ‘shipping company’, and that our employees are known for their competency and for their speed. Your package will reach its destination soon enough. You have my word.”

“Ah, well in that case I won’t disturb you,” Rarity said. She cast her eyes over the other inhabitants of the room.

The Major and Dela were chatting again, though both were doing so in lowered voices. Fleur sat off to one side in a lounge chair, staring into theؙ—now unlit and smoldering—fireplace.

And Mr. Orange had a book in his hooves. Rarity approached him.

“Doing a little light reading?” she asked. He started at her intrusion, pulling the book closed.

“Oh, just a little,” he said. “I do enjoy the classics.”

Rarity glanced at the cover. “Romeoat and Juniper,” she remarked.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “One of my favourite tales of all time.”

Rarity smiled. “Well, I must admit, I wouldn’t have pinned you for a fan of the Bard.”

“Who?”

“Spear Shaker?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Would you mind accompanying me into the archive room?” Rarity asked.

“Well, if you’re asking, I rather do, yes—”

“Come along,” Rarity said. “Rainbow? Care to join us? I’d appreciate the company…”

“Now, Mr. Orange—”

“Please, call me Mosely.”

“—could you recount for me everything that happened since you arrived here tonight?”

It was Mr. Orange’s turn in the chair, now, and he had made himself comfortable. Rainbow stood by the door to the room, leaning against the wall.

He tapped his hoof to his chin. “Well, there was an awful lot to get through…”

“Just do your best, please.”

“Well… we arrived late. Our carriage lost a wheel partway up the road, you see, and we had to walk the rest of the way. Oh, it was awful! But we arrived around six-forty.”

“And it was just you and your wife, correct?” Rarity asked. “Neither of you brought a guest?”

Mr. Orange nodded. “We had asked around, but no one seemed very enthusiastic about coming, for some unfathomable reason. It’s only the social event of the year, hosted by Equestria’s esteemed prince. Why would anyone say no?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Neither can I,” he said, “but regardless, we were forced to come on our own.”

“A pity,” Rarity said. “And what did the two of you do after you arrived?”

“Well, we mingled, of course,” he said, frowning. “What else does one do at a party?”

“Not enjoy yourself, clearly,” Rainbow mumbled.

“And then…?”

“Then Blueblood’s butler came and collected me. He was awfully polite about the whole thing, a very good butler. I’ve always wanted a butler, you know. Valencia has always been against the idea, of course. I wonder, now that His Highness is no longer with us…”

Rarity found her attention drawn by a stain on the wall behind Mr. Orange. Deciding whether it was the result of a clumsy servant or something more sinister was proving more entertaining than listening to him. “And he brought you to the dining room door?”

“Yes,” he said, “And he told me to wait there.”

Rarity nodded, and opened her mouth to ask her next question—but then frowned.

“You say the butler came and collected you,” she said. “What about your wife?”

Mr. Orange blinked. “Ah, well, she was already there, waiting. And she wasn’t very happy about it, either! Of course, she almost never is—”

“So, hang on,” Rainbow said. “Mrs. Orange wasn’t with you?”

“Well, no; she’d gone to use the little filly’s room. Did I not mention that?”

“You most certainly did not!” Rarity said.

“Well, it was hardly important.”

“On the contrary, it might be the only important thing you’ve ever said!” Rarity leaned forwards, her eyes now focused. “Around when did she excuse herself?”

“Well, um, I’m not sure I could say,” Mr. Orange said, his demeanor suddenly breaking under the full force of Rarity’s attention. “Around seven, maybe?”

“And how long before you saw her again?”

“Oh, er… five minutes or so? Ten? I can’t quite recall—”

“And do you actually know where she went?”

“Well, no, I don’t make a habit of following my wife to the bathroom—”

“So you did not actually see her go into the restrooms?”

“No! No, I did not. You don’t think—

“What I think will be revealed in due time, Mr. Orange,” Rarity said. “But for now, this interview is concluded.”

“So,” Rarity said. “Valencia—”

“Mrs. Orange, please.”

“—could you tell me what exactly happened after you arrived here tonight?”

In contrast to her husband, Mrs. Orange sat ruler-straight in the chair. You could have verified a level off of her posture. A protractor, too.

“Nothing much,” she said. “Mosely and I arrived, we mingled, we were taken aside by the butler, brought to the dining room, and told to wait. And then we waited. For half an hour.”

“Together?”

“What do you mean, ‘together’?”

“Well,” Rarity said, “you seem to be insinuating that you and your husband were together the entire time. Is that true?”

“Well, no. I took a trip to the restrooms, and it was on my way back from there that the butler found me. Mosely caught up with me after that. It hardly matters.”

“We shall see,” Rarity said. “May I have a look inside your bag?”

“If you have to. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

The bag was passed over, and Rarity began to sift through it. A makeup case. A coin purse. Some pens.

“Tell me about your dealings with Blueblood,” Rarity said. A notepad. A lens. A packet of breath mints—Rarity regarded these with extra scrutiny.

“Well, it’s as I said earlier,” Mrs. Orange said. “He was our biggest buyer of orange wine. And he paid quite well for it, too.”

A pair of sewing scissors. An invitation.

“And that was all he ever bought from you?”

“That’s all he ever specifically bought from us, yes,” she said. “Of course, our fruits are shipped and sold throughout Equestria, so it wouldn’t be too far to think he’s bought something from one of our vendors. I don’t see how this is relevant.”

Satisfied, Rarity snapped the bag shut and placed it back on the table. “Well, one can never be too thorough. What did you think of Blueblood, personally?”

“He was an oaf, a buffoon, and a loyal customer. Do you actually have any relevant questions, or is this interview just as much of a farce as your credentials?”

“I’ve got a relevant question for ‘ya,” Rainbow said. “How’d you get that stick so far up your—”

Rarity clicked her tongue. “Now, Rainbow, no need to be crass.” She turned her attention back to Mrs. Orange. “One last question, and then you may go: did you cross paths with any of the other ponies in the library before you were brought to the dining room?”

“No.”

“Really?” Rarity asked. “I would think that, as you and your husband and everyone else at this party so enjoy mingling, that you would have spoken to at least Fleur and Fancy.”

“I never got the chance to,” she said. “We arrived late. Now, if we’re done?”

Rarity smiled. “We are.”

“So,” Rarity said. “Tell me how you knew Blueblood.”

“Bit of an odd question, isn’t it?” the Major said. He had reclined into the seat with the grace of the elderly, and the twine-wrapped package he’d been carrying around all evening reclined next to him.

“I hardly think so,” Rarity said. She smiled. “You met during your time in the military, I presume?”

“You presume right,” he said. “I had been serving for a decade and a half; he had been serving for two weeks.”

“And he was under your command?”

The Major snorted. “He was my commanding officer.”

“What?” Rainbow said. “How? That’s like… that’d be like if Spitfire was suddenly reporting to Songbird Serenade!”

“Money changed hooves,” the Major said. “The standing military isn’t nearly as inscrutable as the guard. Maybe that’s why we’re the only ones who ever get anything done.” His brow crinkled, adding an extra layer of lines. “Spitfire… You’re a fan of the Wonderbolts, Mrs. Dash?”

Rainbow puffed up her chest. “Not just a fan anymore! I’m a full-fledged member!”

“Oh? I’m sorry, I haven’t kept up on the rosters. You’re enlisted, then?”

“I’m a lieutenant, technically.”

“Well, good on you,” the Major said. “Remember to treat your CO with respect. No matter how hard they’re working you, they’re working double.”

“Unless their name is Blueblood?” Rarity said.

The Major snorted again. “Unless their name is Blueblood,” he repeated. “Stuck-up fool never lifted a hoof.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“He loved the power of the position,” the Major said. “He loved ordering us around—especially me and my soldiers, and he probably broke the chain of command more times than he broke a sweat. And we were stationed right in the middle of Zebraha, the hottest sinkhole south of Tartarus!”

He stopped to laugh, a dry, wheezy thing, then continued.

“What he didn’t like was the responsibility,” he said. “All he wanted was to play tin soldiers. So I ended up doing his work, and mine, on top of that catering to whatever his whim of the day was. It was enough to drive a stallion to murder—not that I’d ever contemplate such a thing, of course. Besides, he left the army not long afterwards. Got bored of us, I suspect.”

“And was this before or after your demotion?” Rarity asked.

The Major’s face fell.

“Now,” he said, his voice low, “there’s no need to go digging up the past.”

“I’m not sure you understand exactly what it is a detective does, Major.”

The Major narrowed his eyes. “Well, good thing you aren’t a real detective then, eh?”

“Fine then. What is that in that case you have, there?”

“Oh, this?” He patted the side of the package. “A present for the prince. I figured I owed him something, it being his birthday. Though I see no one else got him anything.”

“How generous of you,” Rarity said. “May I take a look at it?”

“Sure.” He dropped it onto the table; it landed with a muffled metallic clang. “Heck, you can keep it. I don’t want them, and he won’t be needing them.”

“Noted,” Rarity said. “Could you tell me everything that happened since you arrived?”

And so it went, with Rarity asking her usual questions, and so it went with the usual answers. He’d arrived early, and he’d mingled (“What is it with you ponies and mingling?” Rainbow had asked) until he’d gotten tired, and then he’d gone inside and found a spot to sit, whereupon the butler had found him. No, he hadn’t seen anyone go near Blueblood’s drink.

“Very well,” Rarity said. “That will be all.”

The Major got up slowly and, nodding on his way out to Rainbow, left the room, letting the door close behind him.

“He seems pretty cool,” Rainbow said.

Rarity circled around the table, pushing the chair out of the way and moving the case into the center of the table. “You would say that, darling.”

“He’s the murderer, isn’t he?”

Rarity took the twine that surrounded the package in her magic and pulled. It didn’t budge. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“Because last time I thought someone was cool, you found out they were evil,” Rainbow said. She had crossed the room now, and was watching Rarity’s struggles.

“I’d hardly have called Wind Rider—” Rarity grit her teeth. The package in her grasp continued to thwart her efforts. “Ugh. I’d hardly have called Wind Rider ‘evil,” darling, and a sample size of one isn’t a trend.”

“You get that from Twilight?”

“On one of our drinking nights, yes,” Rarity said. She dropped the package back onto the table.

“Need some help with that?”

“No need, darling,” she said. “Ah… would you mind turning away for a moment?”

“…Why?”

“My dignity.”

“Um… alright.”

Rainbow turned to face the door. She stayed that way for a few moments. Upon Rarity’s announcement of “Done!” she turned back around, only to find that the packaging around the case had been removed, and the twine that had held it had been split cleanly.

“How did you—” she began to ask, but then Rarity opened the case. “Whoa…”

Inside were a pair of swords, sabers. They both gleamed in the light like it had just been finished that day.

Rarity lifted them out of the box with care. “Hm… exquisite craftsmanship. But why two swords?”

“They’re for dueling,” Rainbow said.She took to the air and snatched one of them from Rarity’s magic with her teeth. She swung it a few times, using her neck and wings to guide it. The maneuver was less “graceful” and more “dog with stick”, but it worked. She managed to keep a good two inches away from breaking anything, too.

Meanwhile, Rarity examined her sword’s edge. “Yes, I do believe you’re right,” she said. “Somewhat morbid for a gift, don’t you think?”

Rainbow spat the sword out into her cradled hooves. “Only if ‘morbid’ is another word for ‘awesome’!”

“It is not.”

“Then you need to get your dictionary checked,” Rainbow said. “Is the other one a pegasus sword, too?”

“A what?”

“A pegasus sword. Y’know, lightweight? Easier to fly with? Weird to see one this bulky in the handle, though.”

Rarity lifted the other sword up with her magic, testing its weight. “I should say not,” she said. “It’s quite heavy, really. Since when do you know so much about swordplay?”

Rainbow shrugged. “Swords are awesome. I’m awesome. Transitive property.”

“I believe that would make you a sword, darling, if my math is correct.”

“Your math just isn’t on my level of cool yet.”

“Still,” Rarity mused, “why would the major give Blueblood one normal sword and one pegasus sword? Especially as a matching set?”

Rainbow shrugged. “I’m not complaining. Hey, he said that we could keep these, right? Because I sculpted a fireplace for my cloud house this year, and I’ve been needing something to go on the wall over it…”

“Yes, of course, darling,” Rarity said, but it was clear by the way her voice trailed off that her thoughts were focused elsewhere.

After a few moments, she straightened up. “Well, that settles that.”

“What settles what?”

“The penultimate piece of the puzzle,” Rarity said, striding towards the door. There was an extra sashay in her step, one that had been noticeably absent the rest of the night.

“The pen-what?”

“The next-to-last piece.” Rarity set her magic on the doorknob, then turned back to look at Rainbow. She was smiling. A devilish, I-know-your-secret-and-I’m-going-to-tell-everyone sort of smile.

“You’ll see, darling,” she said. “You’ll see. I just have one more thing I need to check first.”

“Through these doors are the kitchens,” the butler said. “As you requested.”

“Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes, and then I think we can wrap all of this up. Are you not coming?”

“I will remain here,” the butler said. “The kitchen staff and I… do not see eye to eye on some things.”

“In that case, could you gather the others in the east dining room, at the scene of the crime?” Rarity asked. “Tell them I will have an announcement to make when I return. I believe Rainbow and I can find our way back on our own.”

Rarity stepped through the swinging double doors and into the kitchens, Rainbow following close behind her. They’d come here straight from the library, but their route had necessarily taken them past the foyer, where they’d seen several of the other guests.

It had been evident from their faces and the nervous quality of their conversation that knowledge of the night’s occurrences had spread to the rest of the partygoers, though what form that took was anyone’s guess.

The kitchens themselves were, as one should have expected by this point, grand and well-furnished. Ovens lay below clean slate counters, shiny steel implements hung on carefully-organized racks, but these trivialities were hardly eye-catching at this point.

No, what really drew attention was the cooks. There was a whole team of them, and they ducked and wove around one another like dancers, darting over to one workstation, then to the next, in a display that could only be the product of either careful choreography or a dozen years of circus performances between them.

It was a shame that Rarity had interrupt it, but such was the price of justice.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Could I speak to the head chef for a few minutes? It’s of the utmost importance.”

One of the chefs broke off from the rest. “That would be me, ma’am. What can I help you with?” He was a strikingly tall stallion, with an equally striking mustache that twitched when he spoke.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Rarity said. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I assume this is about the unfortunate incident which has befallen our employer?” he asked.

“It it indeed.”

“Then you must be that lady detective they’ve been talking about.”

“Only when it suits me,” Rarity said. “Are they really talking about me?”

“I think half the household has been! It’s not every day something like this happens, is it? Everyone else has gotten all excited. Me, though, I want nothing to do with it, no ma’am.”

“It may already be too late for that,” Rarity said. “Tell me, did a stallion come in here earlier? Shorter than you, wearing a suit and monocle? Says ‘I say’ a lot?”

“That’d be Mr. Pant’s you’re talking about?”

“He prefers Fancy,” Rarity said. “I understand you all gave him a demonstration of how to properly prepare pufferfish?”

“Aye, we did!” one of the other chefs called out. “He was keen on the subject, he was!”

“Good thing we had those extra fish in the larder!” another one said. “We had to show him three times before he was satisfied!”

“And how long would you say that took?” Rarity asked.

The head chef thought for a moment. “Oh, a good five minutes if I had to guess. Why? Is it important?”

“It very well might be.” She gestured across the kitchen, to a door opposite the one they’d come in on. “That door, where does it lead?”

“To the west hallway,” the head chef said. “We’re at about the middle of the house, and there’s a dining room in both wings, so we have a door for each.”

“How convenient. Tell me, did Blueblood have any peculiar habits when it came to his champagne?”

The head chef snorted. “I’ll say. Now, are we talking normal pony peculiar, or high-society peculiar? Because there were plenty of both.”

“Either will do.”

“Well—”

“He had us open a new bottle every night!” another chef called out, partway through rolling a new sheet of pasta. “And then throw out whatever was left of it when he went to bed! He had the money for it, he’d say!”

Rarity cast a side glance at Rainbow. “More of your tax dollars at work, there, darling.”

“Figures,” Rainbow said, though she sounded distracted.

“We never did throw them out, though!” one of the other chefs said. “We’d say we would, then share it out around the staff! He was such a lightweight, we’d always have enough for a second round!”

“You might want to skip that tonight,” Rarity said. “The poison and all.”

“No worries! We’ve got an entire cellar to raid, now! We’ll all be going home with a bottle or five of poison tonight!”

There was a hearty cheer from the kitchen staff at that.

The head chef coughed. “Perhaps it would be better not to announce our plans in front of a detective,” he hissed.

“No need to worry,” Rarity said. “I’m only a detective when it suits me. Now, was there anything else?”

“There was one thing,” the head chef said. “Whenever guests were over, he’d always have us open two bottles: one for his guests, and a more expensive one for him.”

“I see,” Rarity said. “And did he have you do that tonight?”

“Yep! His choice from the cellar. He gave us strict instructions only to pour it for his glass.”

“Our courteous host,” Rarity muttered. “Could I see this bottle?”

“Sure; it’s over there, in the ice bucket on the counter. I don’t think anyone’s touched it since.”

Rarity strode over to the counter. There was the bottle, indeed, sitting in its own ice bucket alongside another that was far more filled. She lifted it out.

Rarity didn’t know all that much about wines; she’d always been more of a cocktail mare, though she’d never admit it in polite company. But just by looking at the label, she could tell this was what some might have called “the good stuff.”

The top was uncorked; she brought it up to her nostrils and took a whiff.

She smiled.

“Rainbow,” she said, turning around, “I do believe I’ve—”

Rainbow Dash wasn’t behind her, as she’d assumed. No, the pegasus was occupying herself at one of the counters—preparing to occupy herself with a steaming plate of stuffed snail shells.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake…”

Rarity, of course, was a high-society mare. A lady. And so, when she marched across the kitchen floor, she did so daintily. When she grabbed Rainbow’s tail in her magic, she did so with grace. And when she began to drag the pegasus away from great gastropod gastrointestinal grief, well, you can imagine.

“Oh, c’mon!” Rainbow moaned as she was pulled across the floor. “I’m a pegasus! My bird half demands snails! Don’t make me deny my instincts!”

“Never!”

“Lemme just have a couple!”

“Not even one!”

“But we haven’t eaten anything all night!”

“Not! Even! One!”

The Astonishing Accusation

The east dining room fell into silence as Rarity made her entrance. Not that it needed much help; the dead body was enough of a mood dampener as it was.

Rarity ran her eyes over those present. They’d all taken their seats, the same ones from earlier—though those at the end of the table had scooted closer to their neighbors.

“Well?” Fancy said, the first to break the silence. “The butler said you had something to announce?”

“I do,” Rarity said.

“Then hurry up and get it over with,” Mrs. Orange said. “I don’t want to be in this room with that any longer than I have to.”

“No, no,” Rarity said. She strode forwards, to the head of the table. “You can’t rush these things. And I don’t think you’ll mind much, because what I’ll be announcing…”

She tilted her head up, and there was that grin again.

“…is the identity of that’s murderer!”

The table erupted into chaos.

“Hey! Hey! Quiet!” Rainbow shouted, and they calmed. “Can’t you see she’s having her big moment, here? Yeesh, have some courtesy!”

“You mean you’ve solved it?” Fleur asked. “And, erm... pardon, but who is that?”

“I have indeed!” Rarity said. “And this,” she said, turning towards the uniformed mare who had followed her in, “Is lieutenant Cuffs, of Shetland Yard. The police arrived just arrived a few minutes ago. We met in the hall.”

“And I’m very interested to hear what she has to say,” she said. She’d taken post by the door; no one was getting out if not past her.

“I think we all are,” the Major added.

“Then we shall continue with no more interruptions,” Rarity said. “I will begin at… well, at the beginning, and proceed through everything I have uncovered.”

“And I will start,” she said, flinging out a hoof, “With you!”

“Moi?” Fleur said, suddenly the center of attention (and against her will, for once). “But I had nothing to do with this!”

“Au contraire!” Rarity cried. “You had everything to do with this!”

Her eyes grew soft for a moment. “And I am sorry,” she said. “I really, truly am.”

But just for a moment, before the detective’s façade reasserted itself.

“Now, would you care to tell me how your miserable, one-sided affair with Blueblood began?”

The silence was deafening. Then:

“This… this cannot be true!” Fancy pants exclaimed. “You must have made some mistake! This, this is an outrage! Why, I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in my life!”

Rarity said nothing. She kept her eyes on Fleur, who had the look of one who has just been shot.

“How…” she croaked out, then licked her lips. “How did you know?”

“The letter,” Rarity said. “It was easy enough to deduce it was yours, given the true nature of your plus one. I imagine it came in the same envelope as your invitation, which is how it slipped under my notice while I searched your purse.”

“Wait, huh?” Rainbow cocked her head to the side. “Her guest?”

“Yes, of course,” Rarity said. She began to pace. “You see, I had already earlier determined that ‘Dela Crème’ was not who she claimed to be. When I confronted her, she revealed herself as an agent of the Perryton Detective Agency, as a bodyguard. As she was undoubtedly here as either Fleur’s or Fancy’s guest—as evidenced by her following us to the dining room despite not being invited personally—and as Fleur introduced her as ‘an old friend’, it was obvious that she was the one she’d been paid to protect.”

She halted. “I asked myself: why would Fleur feel the need to bring a bodyguard to this party? The answer came in the form of the letter, which had been printed on Blueblood’s own stationary. An affair, an unwanted one! Blueblood was harassing you, and you wanted out of it, and so you planned to confront him about it tonight!”

Fancy looked towards his wife. “Is… is this true?”

Fleur squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head. When it came up again, her cheeks were tear-stained.

“Every word,” she said. The collective group gasped.

“But… why?”

“I never wanted to!” she cried. “It was just for fun, at first! He invited me to a party with some of my friends last autumn… I did not even think to say no! Then, every few weeks, another invitation, but with each, there were less and less friends, until it was just him and me. Then, only then did I start to realize what he had done!”

“Disgraceful,” Mr. Orange said. “Cheating on your husband like that, you should be ashamed! Why, I can hardly believe—"

Rarity’s head snapped in his direction. “I wouldn’t go saying things like that,” she said. “Or did you forget that you were having an affair with him, too? And yours was uncoerced, at that.”

He jerked back as if he had been struck. “I—you!”

“Bosquet no. 4,” she said. “I believe that’s the cologne you are wearing tonight, yes? Orange-scented, quite cheap despite the name? Funny that it should also turn up sprayed on an invoice I found in Blueblood’s study. An invoice signed by you! Disgraceful, indeed!”

She turned to Mrs. Orange. “You have my condolences.”

Valencia didn’t seem too distraught. “At least he was making someone happy,” she said.

“I, er, I didn’t let it go any farther,” Fleur said. She was speaking to all of them, but her leaking eyes were focused on Fancy. “He never… we never went farther than dinner. I refused to see him after that!”

Fancy stood, stepped forwards, and wrapped her in a hug. “I believe you,” he said. “I’m not mad.”

“Y-You’re not?”

“Not at you.” He squeezed her tightly, then withdrew, but remained at her side. She was weeping even harder, now, but she did her best to keep speaking.

“I left it there, and forgot about it… but then the invitation came, and with it, that damnable letter! It was the last straw!”

“And so you decided to end things, tonight,” Rarity said. “You would confront him, but you were worried. You hired a bodyguard, crafted a fake backstory to get her into the party without arising Fancy’s suspicions, for your own protection. Or perhaps… for revenge!”

All present gasped, save for Fleur and Dela.

“I, I wasn’t going to have her kill him!” Fleur said, though her words sounded hollow. “Just… just rough him up a bit, that’s all!”

Rarity shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she said. “Because Dela Crème—or, by her true name, Stalwart Guard—was planning on committing murder tonight regardless!”

More gasps. Dela, who had taken a rather nonchalant pose, tilted her head up. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”

“Your shoes,” Rarity said, striding forwards so that she was standing across from Stalwart at the table. “Any two-bit tailor could tell they’re steel-based simply by the shape and the sound they make when you walk. And I am no two-bit tailor!”

Rarity slammed her forehooves onto the table. “One does not wear steel-based shoes without the intention of causing harm. Besides which, you came here disguised. You could have gotten away with it easily, and only Fleur, who you could easily blackmail, would know who was really responsible. I suspect you were the one who came up with ‘Dela Crème’ in the first place.”

“Maybe I did,” Stalwart said, her posture growing more hostile by the second. “But why would I want to do something like that?”

“An easy answer, and a familiar one: revenge. When Fleur’s request came in, you must have jumped on the opportunity. But not revenge for yourself, no; for your beloved ex-commanding officer, who is currently sitting to your left!”

More gasps, though at this point they were beginning to sound forced.

“You were going to kill him for me?” the Major said. “I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s no way to act! You’re a soldier, not a murderer!”

“But he deserved it!” Stalwart said. “After what he did to you!”

“And what exactly did he do?” Mrs. Orange asked. Several others, including Fleur, nodded their agreement.

“Let’s not drag up the past,” the Major said, but Rarity shook her head.

“Tut-tut,” she said. “As I alluded earlier, you seem not to realize that the job of a detective is precisely that. And, as it turns out, that past was rather relevant, seeing as Stalwart here wasn’t the only one planning to commit murder over it!”

The major blinked. “Are… are you accusing me, now?” he said, rather indignantly. “On what basis?”

“On this basis!” Rarity said. “Rainbow, would you kindly bring me the case with the Major’s swords?”

“Sure thing, Rares.” The case was brought over, and Rarity took one of the swords for herself. The other she gave to Rainbow before assuming a fighting stance.

“Duel me,” she said.

“…I don’t think now’s a good time, Rarity. Aren’t we, y’know, in the middle of something?”

“On the contrary,” she said, sabre pointed towards Rainbow’s own. “En garde!”

She took a swing. Rainbow, reacting with characteristic speed, flicked her sword into the air, caught it in her mouth, and brought it around to parry.

She was quite surprised, then, when Rarity’s sword cleaved right through her own, sending the tip spinning through the air until—thunk—it embedded itself into the table, inches away from the Major’s empty plate.

Rainbow’s eyes opened about as wide as her mouth did, and what was left of the sword fell to the floor. “How—what did you do that for!?”

“Relax, darling,” Rarity said, levitating the other sword over to Rainbow. “You can have this one instead. Rather a good trade, I think; this one isn’t made from aluminum.”

“Aluminum?”

“Yes, indeed,” Rarity said, and she whirled back around to face her audience. “You see—and correct me if I’m wrong on any count, Major—during the Major’s campaign in Zebraha, he and his troops came to be stationed nearby to a zebra-owned gold mine. They were meant to protect the thing. However, there was a snake in the military, and his name, as you can no doubt guess, was Blueblood.

“Blueblood became the Major’s CO around this time, and he saw a golden opportunity. So, behind the Major’s back, he ordered the troops to take gold from the mines, illegally! This gold was loaded up and shipped back to Equestria—and straight into Blueblood’s coffers!

“Such a large operation couldn’t have gone unnoticed. But therein lay the problem: if it was discovered that Equestria’s prince had been responsible for this act, why, the scandal would have torn the country apart, not to mention threatened the current standing of the standing army! Therefore, the military’s higher-ups decided they needed a scapegoat, someone they could lay the blame on and then quietly shuffle to the sidelines. And that pony was the Major—or, more accurately, the Captain.”

She turned to face him; he had grown rather grey in the face. “Am I correct?”

“You are,” he said.

Rarity smiled. “Wonderful. Which brings us back to tonight. The Major planned to present Blueblood, publicly, with a pair of dueling swords. He would then—loudly, to attract attention—challenge him to a duel. In front of everyone, the prince would have had no choice but to accept. The duel would begin—but the Major would be the one with the real sword, which would cut through Blueblood’s aluminum sword like butter, as you’ve just seen. With Blueblood now humiliated and at his mercy, he would—”

“I would make him confess to his crimes in front of everyone,” he said. “And then I would drive my sabre right through that snake’s heart.” His face curled up like a pitbull’s. “He was a snake, you see. He’d curled up at the roots of this country, and he wasn’t letting go any time soon. He had his hooves in many pies, and every one of them turned to poison.”

He looked up at her, and there was a fire in his eyes. “I had to do it! For Equestria!”

“And Equestria would have thanked you for your service,” Rarity said, though whether or not she was mocking him was impossible to tell.

“But wait,” Fleur said; she seemed to be recovering. “Then neither of them poisoned him?”

“A very keen observation, Fleur!” Rarity said. “No, he did not actually get to kill Blueblood; someone else beat them, and you, and Stalwart, to the punch.”

No gasps this time. Instead:

“Well, why didn’t you start with them, then!?” Stalwart said. “You could have saved all of us time and embarrassment!”

“I, erm, must agree,” Fleur said.

“I have my reasons,” Rarity said. “All of which will become clear shortly. Also because I was doing my bit.”

“Well, don’t keep us waiting!” Rainbow said. “Who really killed him?”

“Patience, darling.” Rarity began to pace again, up and down the side of the table. “Now, it occurred to me, as I was interviewing each of you, that none of the eight of us had actually seen anyone slip the poison into, nay, go anywhere near Blueblood’s glass. Which meant one of two things: either we are all hopelessly unobservant—and I can assure you, I at the very least am not—or there was something that I was missing. So, I turned my thinking on its side.”

“On its side?” Fancy said.

“On its side. I asked myself: what if the champagne had been poisoned before it entered the room?”

She turned to address the butler. “Excuse me, Mr… I’m sorry, I think the one thing I haven’t deduced yet is your name.”

“It’s Butler, ma’am,” he said. “Brass Butler, of the Butler line”

“Ah. I see. Well, Mr. Butler, you carried the glasses from the kitchen to here, correct? Was there any point at which the glasses could have been tampered with?”

“None,” he replied immediately. “I encountered nopony in the hall, nor did the tray ever leave my sight.”

“I see,” Rarity said. “Then—”

“Then he’s the one who must have poisoned it!” Mr. Orange cried, throwing out an accusing hoof. He seemed to have at last recovered from the earlier revelation, and was now making up for lost time.

“Why would I kill him!?” the butler said. “He paid my wages! My family has served his line for generations! This whole affair’s put me out of a job!”

“An exquisite point,” Rarity said. “For every murder, there is a motive. Now, if I may continue?”

“If the glass hadn’t been poisoned in the dining room, and it hadn’t been poisoned on its way here, then where could it have been? Why, in the kitchens, of course! And this was made all the easier by a peculiar quirk of Blueblood’s, fueled by his own vanity: drinking from a separate bottle than his guests. And, on checking this bottle, which is still in the kitchens, I found that it had the same peculiar odor that the poisoned champagne had. The champagne had been poisoned before it even got to Blueblood’s glass!”

“But that means it could have been anyone who poisoned him!” Mrs. Orange said. “There are a hundred other guests besides us, any one of them could have done it!”

But Rarity shook her head. “Not so. You see, I have evidence to the contrary. But before I reveal that, might I ask you for your confession, Valencia?”

The gasps had changed to relieved sighs. Oh well; Rarity knew she’d have them back in a minute.

Mrs. Orange squeezed her eyes shut. She sighed. “I see it’s futile trying to hide it any longer.”

She straightened up, and held her head high in defiance of her situation. “Yes, it was me who planned to poison the prince. The poison itself was easy enough to acquire, with my family’s wealth and resources; I kept it in my purse, in a little glass vial. It was just a matter of sneaking into the kitchens and dosing his bottle. I would have been back in the garden and far away from him by the time he got to it, and among the hundred or so other guests, it would have been impossible to determine it was me. It was the perfect plan.”

“But you did not work alone.”

Mrs. Orange’s eyes grew suddenly wide. “What—what are you talking about? Of course I did!”

Rarity gave a little titter. “One would think, in your position, you would know better than to lie—even if you are being blackmailed.”

“You see,” she said, becoming more animated in her movements, “there is one glaring weak point in the plan you just proposed, one loose stitch in the seams: how could you be certain to you get the poison into the drink unnoticed by the numerous kitchen staff? Why, with an accomplice, of course, to distract them! You would have arranged to meet at a specific time, and then gone on to enact your plan.”

One of the ponies present’s wide-eyed stare began to shift into something sharper.

“Perhaps with a discussion on the proper preparation of the pufferfish.”

The pony stepped back from the table, just a little bit.

“But that pony wasn’t an accomplice—you were their fall-pony. The accomplice was the true mastermind, the pony who did in-depth research into Blueblood’s mansion! The pony who most likely paid off his staff in order to learn his habits! The pony whose company, according to the invoice we found in Blueblood’s study, controls the shipping of your own products, and thus you are completely reliant on and easily blackmailed by!”

The pony licked their lips and scowled.

“I am talking, of course,” Rarity said, and here came the ruthless, nigh-manic look of the detective triumphant, and here came the accusing hoof, “about Fancy Pants, of Fancy Freight Industries!”

And there, as Rarity had predicted, returned the gasps of shock twofold.

“Mon dieu!” Fleur cried. “It cannot be true!”

“Oh, but it is,” Rarity said. “You see, every murder has a motive. And, quite simply, Valencia Orange has none. I’ve seen how much money Blueblood was making her and her family, and Rainbow can confirm that. Why would she wish to kill her biggest customer?”

“She wouldn’t!” Rainbow said.

“Precisely! But what if someone else put her up to it?”

“But why?” Fleur asked.

“For you!” Rarity said. “Fancy Pants is a very keen stallion, very observant. He knew about your forced affair—and it distraught him so much he was willing to resort to murder! He arranged it all out of his love for you!”

Fleur looked frantically from her husband to Rarity and back again. “Is this true?”

“Supposing it was,” Fancy said, his words barbed. “It certainly is something I would do, and do gladly, under the circumstances you propose. But I hadn’t even crossed paths with Valencia at the point in the evening when this would have occurred. What evidence have you?”

“The best kind,” Rarity said. “You see, you would have gotten away with this all, but it seems your luck ran out at the last possible moment.”

She turned to Mrs. Orange. “Valencia, please open your purse. I believe there is something in there that could give us a clearer view of things.”

The purse snapped open, and, after a moment’s rummaging, an object was removed. Rarity took it in her magic and lifted it up for all to see:

A monocle.

“Fancy Pants is known in the fashion circles not just for his wonderful suits, but also for his distinctive taste in eyewear. He has his monocles custom-made in brass. And each one bears his initials.”

Rarity floated the monocle around, and everyone could see the tiny “F.F.” on the side of the frame.

“But as you can see,” she continued, “The monocle he is wearing now is considerably shinier than this one. It has no scratches on the lens; this has one or two tiny ones. It is plainly obvious that this one has seen more use, and that the one he is wearing now is a spare, a replacement he needed when he lost the first—the cord for which had previously broken and is currently residing in his pocket—and could not find it.”

She slapped the thing down on the table in front of Fancy.

“If, as Valencia stated during her interview, and as you stated just now as well as implicitly when you introduced us, you had not crossed paths before meeting outside the dining room, then how did your monocle end up in her purse?”

Fancy stared down at the monocle. Everyone present waited on bated breath, waited for his response.

Then:

“You are correct, Miss Rarity. I daresay, on every word of it.”

He looked up, and he was beaming. “Jolly good job. I couldn’t have asked for a better opponent in this endeavor. Truly splendid.”

“And to you as well,” Rarity said, and she was smiling too, though hers was the more fierce. “You nearly had me fooled.”

“All of this,” Fleur said, drawing their attentions. “All of this plotting, risking your life, your company, everything, you did it for me?”

Fancy turned towards her. “All of it,” he said. “I love you, my flower. I would risk it all again for you.”

Fleur sniffed. “It’s stupid,” she said.

“Such is love.”

They embraced, and they kissed, and it was perfect. As perfect as such a romantic scene could be, mere minutes before one of the parties would be dragged away to a jail cell for the rest of his life. Or perhaps that made it sweeter, who can say.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t destined to last.

“There’s just one thing,” Mrs. Orange said, and everyone turned to look at her.

“And what’s that?” Rarity asked.

“I never actually poisoned Blueblood.”

The Fourth Chapter

Dead silence.

“You…” Rarity said. “You what?”

“I never actually poisoned Blueblood,” Mrs. Orange repeated.

“I’m, I’m very sorry, darling,” Rarity said, “could you please repeat that, just one more time? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”

“I didn’t poison him!” she said. “I never got the chance; the butler found me on my way to the kitchens and insisted on bringing me to the dining room. I never actually got the chance to put the poison into his bottle. The vial of poison disappeared from my purse sometime after that.”

“But, but he’s poisoned!” Rarity said, gesturing frantically at the corpse. “His body is right there!”

“Well, it wasn’t me who did it!”

Rarity’s mouth hung open. For the first time that evening, she had been rendered completely speechless.

The others were, thankfully, not so totally afflicted. “Then who did!?” they chorused.

It was then that a groan came from the end of the table.

Once, on one far, far too successful night at the bar, Rarity had asked Twilight if she thought there could be life after death.

Twilight's response?

“Let's find out!”

The ensuing night of mad science, grave robbing, and drunken dark magic had forever engraved in Rarity the importance of not playing god. It had also taught her that ponies did not, did not, come back from the other side.

Needless to say, it had been a good while since last they’d gone drinking.

And so, when she saw Blueblood's corpse start to get to its hooves, she was understandably shocked.

Prince Blueblood pulled himself up by the edge of the table. His movement was uneasy, but he recovered remarkably quickly for one had moments ago been deceased. He shook his head back and forth, then flipped it back so that his hair landed properly.

Then, he grimaced.

“Ech. I have the worst taste in my mouth. No one warned me of this. Why did no one warn me of this? I would have made sure to slip myself a luxury breath mint before I drank the poison.”

Rarity’s well-thought out, considered, and above all lady-like response to this?

“Buh.”

“I see I’ve rendered you all speechless.” Blueblood waggled his eyebrows. “I do have that effect on ponies.”

“See!” Mr. Orange exclaimed. “I told you! He wasn’t dead at all! If you all had just listened to me—”

“Shut up, Mosely,” Mrs. Orange said, then to Blueblood: “You were dead! Your heart had stopped, several of us checked!”

“Have you ever heard of the Promiscuran Giant Pufferfish, found off the coast of the Trottish isles? It’s a delicacy in some areas, very rare, very expensive,” Blueblood said. “Its liver contains a powerful magical poison, one that can put someone in a death-like state. I had my chefs prepare a concentrated dose of it, enough to kill me, but only for an hour or so. The fish itself made for a truly scrumptious dinner last night, too.”

“So you poisoned yourself… on purpose,” Stalwart said.

“Well, I didn’t do it accidentally! I’m far too intelligent for that.”

“What the heck?” Rainbow said. “Why?”

Blueblood clicked his tongue. “For the same reason I gathered all of you for this dinner. You see, some nights ago, it occurred to me that there might be some small group within the populace that might—just might—not appreciate me.”

“That only just occurred to you then!?” Rarity blurted out, the memories of ghastly things from beyond having finally been driven from her brain.

“It’s quite an outlandish proposition, I know,” he said. “But the thought consumed my mind. What if these ponies existed? What if they thought these things, but wouldn’t say them to me because of my status? What if they were using me for my prestige?”

“Heaven forbid,” Mrs. Orange said.

“Certainly there have been people who believed, at one time, that I had wronged them,” he said, “but surely, they must have realized the error of their ways, realized that they, not I, were in the wrong?”

“Error of their ways!?” Stalwart exclaimed, rising from her seat. “I’ll show you the error of your—” But the major placed a hoof on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

Blueblood looked at her oddly. “Who are you?” he asked. “Ah, no matter. So, I decided to do something about it.”

“By… killing yourself?” Fancy said.

“Precisely! If I wanted to know what ponies actually thought of me, well, I’d have to remove myself from the equation!”

“No need, you were already a zero,” Rarity muttered.

“So, I selected a group of ponies, some of whom were once my enemies, and some of whom may have been pretending to be my friends, and brought them together.”

“And then you killed yourself,” Rainbow said.

“Indeed! And I think I gave a rather wonderful performance. In my absence, all of you would be free to speak freely of me, and the truth would come out. My faithful butler would tell me how you all felt after I revived, and then my fears would be assuaged!”

Fleur flung her head towards the butler. “You knew about this!?”

“I had no idea!” the butler said, backing away until he hit the wall. “I was just as in the dark as you were!”

“This has to be one of the most idiotic plans I’ve ever heard!” Rarity said. “And I’m friends with Rainbow Dash!”

“Yeah!” Rainbow said. “I’m, like, the queen of bad plans! How the heck did you top me?”

Blueblood huffed. “I read it in a book.”

“You read a book?” Rarity said.

“Of course not; I have servants for that.”

“And now,” he said, turning towards the butler. “Tell me: how repentant were they?”

The butler was visibly sweating. He tugged at his collar. “Erm… Your Highness, you may not actually wish to hear—”

“No, please, tell me,” Blueblood said. “I need to get rid of this cloud over my head once and for all. How hard did they cry at my passing? What regrets did they voice? Did any of them feel deeply empty from my absence?”

The butler winced. “Nearly every pony here was plotting to kill you,” he said. “Your Highness.”

Blueblood blinked, and the smile drained from his face.

“What—all of them?”

“Nearly all of them, Your Highness.”

“What, they were planning on murdering me?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What, even—” he turned to look at Fleur “—even you, mademoiselle?”

Fleur turned away, back into the waiting embrace of her husband.

Blueblood turned to someone else. “Even you, Mosely?”

Mr. Orange coughed.

“Wait a moment,” Mrs. Orange said; she was scowling. “Before we entered the dining room—before Rarity and the others arrived, even—you wanted to get something out of my purse, Mosely!”

“Erm—”

“Right when the poison went missing from my bag!”

“Poison!?” Blueblood cried. Mrs. Orange, meanwhile, got up, strode over to her husband, pulled back the lapel of his suit, and from a pocket on the inside extracted a little glass vial. She spat this onto the table.

“You’re the one who took it!” she said. “You sniveling little—”

“You were going to poison me, Mosely!?” Blueblood said. “You, of all ponies!?”

“But why?” Rarity asked. “I thought you were having an affair?”

“We were!” Mr. Orange cried. “But our love—it was never going to be accepted!”

He brought a hoof over his forehead, and in a tone most dramatic, he uttered the following:

“We could never be together—society wouldn’t have allowed it, not to mention Valencia! But I had this idea—”

“Oh no,” Valencia said.

“—that we could be together, in death! A crime of passion, a crime of romance, a crime of love! A crime straight from the pages of Romeoat and Juniper, the greatest romance ever put to page!”

“But Romeoat and Juniper is a tragedy!” Rarity said.

Mr. Orange blinked. In a much less dramatic fashion: “It is?”

“Have you even read Romeoat and Juniper?”

“Well, I’ve… skimmed it once or twice…”

“Celestia, they’re perfect for each other,” Mrs. Orange said. “Neither of them can read!”

“I—I can’t believe this!” Blueblood cried. He took a stumbling step backwards. “How could all of you turn on me so easily? What have I ever done—”

His eyes landed on Rarity. “You! You never got over the Gala! This was your doing, you selfish, arrogant—”

“Actually,” Rarity said, taking a step forwards (and causing Blueblood to take another step backwards, so that his body was right up against the window), “I was one of the only ones who wasn’t. I was the one who uncovered the others’ attempts! I solved your murder!”

Blueblood’s scowl turned to a smile, nervous but full of hope. “Then you are the only one in this room who actually cared about me?” he asked.

“Celestia, no,” Rarity said, scoffing. “I hate your guts!”

Blueblood took one more step back—and it was his last. He tripped over the shallow windowsill, fell backwards, and with an enormous crash shattered the rear window and fell screaming through it.

Mr. Orange tried to run after him, but Mrs. Orange grabbed him by the tail. “No more books for you,” she grunted around the hair. “They give you ideas.”

The rest of them rushed forwards to the edge of the window and peered down over the edge.

Rarity winced.

“Ooh, I don’t think he’s recovering from that.”

“Necks aren’t supposed to bend that way,” the Major agreed.

“He landed on my squirrel…” Rainbow said.

After everyone had had their fill of looking, they straightened up and moved back into the room. No one said anything for a few moments.

“Well,” Fancy said, straightening his suit. “It seems the only murder committed here tonight was a suicide.”

“He’s right,” the Major said. “None of us actually murdered him; it looks like we’ll all be leaving here tonight uncuffed.”

“Actually,” Lieutenant Cuffs said, reminding everyone suddenly of her presence, “conspiracy to murder is a crime, as is conspiracy against the crown. I suspect you’ll all get treason.”

“Well,” Fancy said. “Drat.”

An hour of questioning later, Rarity and Rainbow walked alone out of the garden of Blueblood’s mansion. The house was swarming with police, and some royal guard, as well; Rarity greeted a group of them just arriving as they passed in the road.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Rarity said. “I hadn’t expected everything to get so convoluted. It’s ended up being quite late, despite my efforts.”

“You’re fine,” Rainbow said, flapping along beside her, the sword case strapped across her back. “That was awesome, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t say so; I failed to solve the case.”

“You solved six different potential murders,” Rainbow said. “That’s pretty dang awesome in my book.”

“Well, thank you darling.” In the low light of the unlit path, it almost looked like she was blushing.

“I was right about one thing, though,” Rainbow said.

“About what, darling?”

“About how every time I think someone is cool, you find out they’re evil.”

“Oh, pish-posh,” Rarity said. “Fancy was hardly evil. He was doing it out of love.”

“Murder is still murder, Rares.”

“I suppose.”

They continued on down the path.

“It is a shame our carriage left us behind.”

“Yep.”

More walking.

“You know, it’s kind of funny.”

“Life is, sometimes,” Rarity said. “What specifically?”

“Out of everyone who Blueblood invited, out of everyone who showed up, the only ones who didn’t want to kill him were me and—”

Rainbow stopped suddenly in mid-flight, her face growing suddenly paler. Rarity continued on a few more steps before she realized and turned around.

“Yes, darling? Is something the matter?”

“Rares, I know you’d never use your teeth to chew through anything that wasn’t food,” Rainbow said.

“Of course not. I’d never do something so barbaric. No offense.”

“None taken, hornhead,” Rainbow said. “So if you didn’t use your teeth…”

“Yes?”

“How did you cut that twine earlier?”

Rarity smiled a demure little smile. A passing breeze caught the edge of her dress, pushing it aside just enough to reveal the stiletto strapped to her hip.

“Well, darling,” she said, “it never hurt a lady to be prepared.”

Fin