Ponyville Noire: Kriegspiel—Black, White, and Scarlet

by Leaf Whisper

Rating: teen
Tags: Narcotics, Other, Romance, Original Character, Mystery, Horror, Violence, Sex, Flash Sentry, Daring Do, Twilight Sparkle, Profanity, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Death, Alternate Universe
Length: 287027

War has come to Ponyville. As a criminal mastermind, a cruel pirate, and a mare with mysterious motives fight for control, Daring Do and Phillip Finder are put to the test with new cases and new foes.

When reformed thief Daring Do and private detective Phillip Finder took down Silvertongue, the reigning king of Ponyville's underworld, they hoped that things would get better for their city, and for each other. And with the dawn of a new year, and the honest if harsh Cold Case as the new chief of the Ponyville Police Department, that hope seems fruitful.

But nature abhors a vacuum. The throne that Silvertongue vacated has been taken by his former associate: Zugzwang, a cold, bloodthirsty sociopath who harbors a chilling obsession with Phillip Finder. But not all meet his rule willingly: the griffon Whitestone declares war on Zugzwang and his allies, and Phillip and Daring are caught in the center. Amidst the chaos, the mysterious Scarlet Letter manipulates all three sides as part of an unknown plan.

Ponyville is burning all around them. With a few friends at their side, Phillip Finder and Daring Do fight to restore order, but they and the city might not survive without a few scars.

Updates weekly. Proofread by Eagle—Paladin of Shadows

The second major story of the Noireverse.

Sex and Gore tags for suggestive content and graphic description.

Click here to check out the theme music by the L-Train!

Published 2018-10-30 23:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-11-20 18:17:45 UTC

Case Seven, Prologue: Hunted

His rapid breath burned in his lungs, even as every exhalation condensed into a cloud before his face that he could barely see. What little light that filtered down from the stars above through the thick tree canopy above him only allowed him to see a few feet in front of him. And all that he could see were the trees that jutted out of the thick snow that his hooves rapidly crunched through. Every massive trunk blocked his path, forming a twisting maze for him to run through; every one looked the same in his terrified eyes, denying him any landmarks, any ability to determine where he was or where he was going.

All he knew was that he must run. Run until he could not move anymore, run until the pain in his damned foreleg overwhelmed his senses, run until he reached safety, run…

He didn’t see the gnarled root that jutted out of the ground until it was too late. Like a bony hoof reaching out of its grave to seize him and drag him under, the thick wood entangled itself around his hoof and he tumbled into the snow, the impact driving all the breath from his lungs. Twisting around onto his side, he struggled to free his hoof, but the roots hung on determinedly, their grip as tight as a vise. Grunting in frustration and shivering in the cold wind that made the branches above him groan and creak, the stallion fought to free himself.

Suddenly, he stopped, his breath catching. A sound came to his frostbitten ears, carried on the wind.

No, not a sound. A voice. Singing.

“O-oh, death….whoa-oh, death...won’t you spare me over til another year?”

Panic gripped the stallion’s heart, and he redoubled his efforts to free himself. The root refused to let go of his hoof. With a desperate cry, the stallion seized his hind leg in his front hooves and violently wrenched as hard as he could, biting down on his lip to stifle his own cries. The root pulled back on his limb, stretching muscle and bone to the breaking point, then finally let go. Gasping in pain, he rolled over and tried to get back up; his injured leg trembled as he put his weight upon it, adding to the pain of his injured foreleg. Wincing with every movement, he forced himself to limp through the snow.

“Oh, what is this, that I can’t see, with ice-cold hooves taking hold of me?”

The voice was closer now, a song backed up by the whistling wind, the creaking of branches, and his own hoofsteps in the snow. “When Mother is gone, and the darkness takes hold, who will have mercy upon your soul?”

Panting, wincing with every movement that sent fresh waves of pain up his lame leg, the hunted pony trudged onwards through the snow. The distant song continued, coming closer and closer with every passing minute.

He had to hide somewhere. Looking up, he spotted a low-hanging branch on a nearby tree. Turning, he quickly used his long purple tail to obliterate his tracks in the snow behind him, sweeping them out of existence. Then he grasped the branch with his forelegs and hauled himself up with a grunt. The branch groaned in protest, but held his weight. Grunting and puffing with exertion, the stallion pulled himself higher into the tree. The wind bit at his bare body, ruffling through his wings, wings that had been violently plucked hours before, leaving behind tufts of feathers that barely clung to the bony patagium. The stallion shivered, biting back a whimper as the dull pain reignited itself, but forced himself to keep climbing.

“Oh, Death, oh, Death, consider my age, please don’t take me at this stage…”

He froze. The voice was very, very close now. Not daring to move, halted in the middle of climbing up a thicker branch, the stallion looked down.

Less than fifteen feet below him was the hunter. The figure beneath was dressed in a dark winter coat lined with white fur that rustled in the wind, the hood pulled up to shield his face. He was stalking slowly through the snow beneath him, head panning from side to side. In his hoof he held a double rifle, snowflakes melting on the polished barrels, the lacquered stock cuddled into his shoulder. From his position in the tree, the prey could see the hunter’s cutie mark: a bullet imprinted on a paw print. His voice, rough and slow, floated up to his ears.

The hunter stopped at the base of the tree; his singing ceased as well. Slowly, his head panned upwards, eyes slithering up the trunk. His gaze reached up to the little nook where his prey sat; the hidden pony’s heart thudded in his chest as the pale golden eyes fixed upon his position.

He couldn’t see him. He was too high up, too well hidden amongst the branches. The night was too dark. He couldn’t see him.

But the golden eyes were fixed on him. They seemed to shine in the dark, framed in the shadows of his hood, and the hunted stallion realized that the hunter was smiling. Slowly, the figure beneath shook his head from side to side. The stallion’s eyes darted to the double rifle.

But instead of raising the weapon, the hunter turned and walked away, his pace casual. Once more, he raised his voice in song: “Oh, I am Death, none can excel, I’ll open the door to Heaven or Hell…”

The prey remained where he was, barely daring to breathe until the song had long faded into the night. Only when he was sure that the hunter was gone did he slowly climb back down from the tree. Alighting back into the snow with a brief grunt, he turned and started walking back the way he’d come, still limping on his wounded leg.

Just keep moving. Just keep breathing. Never mind the pain. Never mind the cold.

Just survive.

Author's Note

And so begins the new adventures of Phillip Finder and Daring Do!

Case Seven, Chapter Two: Faint Trail

Deco Line lived in a small condo on Jetsam Street, near the border of the Dockside and Industrial Districts, to the south of Ponyville. The house was immediately recognizable from all of its other neighbors: the walls were painted in a loud purple color, complemented with splotches of yellow and green coloring spattered across the boards and accenting the windows.

“How do you think he got that job as a curator when he’s colorblind?” Daring commented as they descended to the street below.

“Maybe his coltfriend decorated it,” Phillip suggested, allowing Daring to drop him off in front of the curb. The two of them crunched through the snow-covered walkway and Phillip knocked at the door.

The door unlatched and Rough Sketch opened the door, eyeing them warily. His slightly glassy eyes were faintly red, the bags underneath indicating that he had suffered through a long, sleepless night. The ring around his horn, a simple golden band, was covered in streaks, as though he had repeatedly taken it off and turned it over and over in his hooves. “Yes?” he asked in a slightly scratchy voice.

“Rough Sketch, I’m Detective Finder, and my partner, Detective Do. We’re with the police,” Phillip introduced themselves. “May we come in?”

“Oh! Uh, yes. Yes, of course,” Rough Sketch nodded, stepping aside to allow them entry. They proceeded into the sitting room of the condo, which featured a set of purple and green sofas with overstuffed cushions. Charcoal and pencil sketches of nature scenes, street corners, and portraits were hung up on the walls; an easel stood next to the bay windows with a sheet of thick paper and a collection of pencils and erasers already set on it, ready to capture any scene outside.

“Um, coffee?” Rough Sketch offered, bustling into the attached kitchen.

“No, thanks,” Phillip said, sitting down.

“Black with three sugars, please,” Daring answered, sitting down as well.

Phillip flipped his notebook open. “Where were you last night?”

“Here all night, waiting for Deco to come home,” Rough Sketch replied, pouring both himself and Daring a cup from a steaming carafe. “When he hadn’t arrived come morning, I called the police.”

“He’s never been late before?” Phillip asked.

“Never,” Rough Sketch shook his head. “Maybe if I’d called sooner…”

“This is not your fault,” Phillip reassured him. “We learned that Deco was working on the new exhibit at the gallery.”

“Yes, the works of Artiste Fou,” Rough Sketch said, nodding. “Deco was obsessed with the paintings; could barely get him to talk about anything else. A couple days ago, he said he’d found something big. He wouldn’t say what: all he’d tell me was ‘the legends are true.’”

Phillip and Daring exchanged glances. “What legends?” Daring asked, blowing at her cup.

Sketch shrugged. “I dunno. Artists that have been dead for a hundred years aren’t that interesting to me. But like I said, he was obsessed with it.”

“What do you know about Scarlet Letter?” Daring asked, spitting the name out with barely-hidden venom in her voice.

“I know that she’s a pretty famous author, and she’s donated a lot of money to charities and stuff,” Sketch said, shrugging again. “I also know that she donated the paintings to the gallery. I’ve never met her, but Deco has.”

Daring looked like she wanted to say more, but gulped down some more coffee instead, scowling at the cup as though it had offended her.

“Does he have an office or a workroom here?” Phillip asked.

“Yes, it’s this way,” Sketch said, standing. He led them down a short hallway and opened up a doorway. Inside was a small room with a single window. A maple desk had been stuffed into the room, overflowing with papers, pencils, a mounted magnifying glass, paintbrushes, and books.

“Start in here,” Phillip instructed Daring, already stooping to check the drawers in the desk. “We’ll see if we can find anything useful.”

Daring took the opposite drawer and pulled it open. This drawer contained nothing but stencils and other drawing equipment, and she quickly moved on to the next one. This one just had slightly crumpled sketches inside. But in the third drawer, she found a small plastic bag with what looked like paint flakes inside it. Written on the bag in permanent marker was “Treachery of Images!!!” A set of jeweler’s glasses was in the drawer next to it.

The title of the book in Deco’s cubicle flashed into Daring’s mind. She plucked the bag out and showed it to Phillip. “Maybe this is what he was so excited about.”

Phillip nodded. “Treachery of Images is one of Fou’s paintings. Good thinking.” He pocketed the bag. They concluded their search without finding anything else of note.

“Does Deco usually take the trolley from the gallery?” Phillip asked.

“Yes, he gets off at the end of the road,” Sketch nodded, pointing towards the north.

“One other thing,” Phillip said. “He has a limp on his right foreleg, right?”

Sketch blinked in surprise. “Yes, he broke his foreleg taking a tumble down the stairs last moon and had to have surgery to put in a metal rod. How did you know?”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.” He pulled a business card out of his vest pocket and handed it to Sketch. Sketch grasped Phillip’s hoof as he took the card.

“Please find him,” Rough whispered, his eyes carrying the desperation of a pony lost in the woods at night. “He just proposed to me two weeks ago. He’s...he’s my world, detective.”

Phillip squeezed Rough’s hoof back, the smaller limb cold and trembling in his grip. “We will,” he promised and slowly let go.

“We’ll be back,” Daring reassured him as they exited. “Thanks for the coffee.” With a final nod, the two of them departed into the snow.

“What now?” Daring asked as they walked back to the sidewalk.

“We look for clues,” Phillip said, walking onto the street and turning to head northward, scanning the sidewalk next to him. “Good. There was a freeze last night and not much snowfall since. At least some tracks will be left behind.”

Taking flight a couple feet over the ground, Daring scanned the sidewalk, which was a mess of hoofprints and tracks, overlapping one another. “You serious?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Too right,” Phillip commented. “There’s not enough tracks that I can’t distinguish between each.” He looked up and down the street. “No surveillance crystals.” He grunted, then continued to walk north up the road.

“Okay, Daring,” he said. “We know that Deco got on the trolley south to home. That trolley stops at the end of this road. What does that tell us?”

Daring looked around. The snow-covered street was quiet, the houses on either side of them in various states of repair; a few small businesses, cafes and mom and pop stores, stood amongst the suburban homes. The midmorning street was quiet; every front door was locked and most of the lights were out. A middle-aged griffon, her feathers faded with age, sat on the porch of her home, watching two young chicks having a snowball fight in the front yard; across the street, a young stallion shoveled snow off his walkway. Both of them eyed the newcomers warily.

“It means that he was likely abducted while walking home,” Daring said.

“Good,” Phillip nodded. “Keep going.”

Daring thought some more. “Which means that whoever kidnapped him must’ve studied him, known that he’d be coming this way and at what time. And this is a small neighborhood; an outsider would be noticed, so he’s somepony who blends in easily, who looks like they belong there.”

“Maybe a mailpony or construction worker or something similar,” Phillip nodded, not looking up from the sidewalk. “Very good.”

The end of the street was about a half mile north. A trolley stop sign stood on the corner, still and silent. Lines of hoof and pawprints, overlapping one another in a frozen mess, marred the snow before them. Phillip bent down and studied the tracks in silence for several minutes.

“There it is,” he finally declared and pointed to a set of hoofprints, barely distinguishable from all of the other indistinct tracks atop it. His hoof slowly followed the trail back down the sidewalk. “Tracks for the right foreleg much shallower than left, right hoof twisted to the outside a bit,” Phillip muttered. “That’s him.”

“How’d you know he had a limp?” Daring asked, staring at the barely distinguishable trail.

“Photograph in his cubicle,” Phillip said, continuing to follow the trail. “The rings were both fresh, so he recently proposed. Probably that day. Surgical scars on Deco’s foreleg from getting the rod in and the foreleg was twisted a little. That, and the bottle of painkillers in his desk drawer. Reasonable to assume that he had a limp.”

“Didn’t see that,” Daring muttered.

“You’ll learn,” Phillip said, his voice curt but kind. “‘Til then, that’s what I’m here for.”

“Right,” Daring commented. “And I’m here to fuck up shit.”

“Which you do spectacularly,” Phillip grinned. “Wait here.” He paused next to the sidewalk, studying the tracks. Daring observed that here, the trail of hoofprints, which had before been in a straight line, began to weave back and forth in a drunken manner. A few feet onwards, there was a large depression in the snow, vaguely shaped like a pony.

“Something happened to him here,” Phillip said, his eyes panning back and forth over the snow.

An odd dark shape in the blanket of white attracted Daring’s gaze. She bent low and gently brushed away some snow to reveal an inch-long black thorn with small dark blue feathers attached to the end, its pointed tip discolored red.

“Careful with that,” Phillip warned, pulling a set of tweezers out of his vest. He plucked the dart off the ground and deposited it into a plastic bag that he extracted from his vest.

“Relax, I was only gonna test it on you,” Daring commented. “Just a little scratch.”

Phillip shot her an unamused glance before turning his attention back to the sidewalk. Lines scored into the snow led away from the patch of snow down an alleyway, where the snow turned into a gray slush. Phillip stopped at the mouth of the alleyway, bending down low. His eyes swept over the scene, taking in everything, and he proceeded inside, choosing every step with care.

“The abductor lay down here; his body heat melted the snow,” he said, pointing at a large patch of partially melted slush. “Tracks here.” He pulled out a small tape measure from his pocket and measured the distance between the slushy hoofprints. “Can’t get a good measure on his gait with the slush, but I’d guess...at least three and a half feet. After Deco went down, he dragged him into the alleyway…” His hoof followed the drag marks down the alleyway to a side door in the building to the south. The door was a solid gray construction, the handle and keyhole both tinged with rust. The building itself was a two-story brick building; the first floor was occupied by a small jewelry store while the top floors appeared to be apartments.

Phillip studied the door with the aid of his magnifying glass. “No sign of tampering,” he mused, examining the lock.

“That’s a good lock,” Daring commented, peering at the brand name. “Pickproof charm, and attached to a burglar alarm on the inside; you tamper with the charm or try to force the lock, the alarm goes off. I’d have trouble getting past this.”

“How would you get past this?” Phillip asked.

“I’d either get a key—an original key with the enchantments on it—or I’d get someone on the inside to open the door for me,” Daring replied. Phillip let out a contemplative grunt, studying the door.

“Take a butcher’s here,” he said, pointing. A small scrap of white, wispy fabric clung to the doorjamb two feet off the ground. Phillip extracted his tweezers and a fresh bag from his vest and plucked the cloth from its perch, tucking it into a bag.

“We’ll have to search this building,” Phillip commented. “Question everypony who lives or works here.”

The sound of tires splashing through the snow caused them to look up. A police cruiser was pulling up to the front of the building, with a police motorcycle bearing a familiar pegasus right behind. The vehicles halted and Prowl, Bumblebee, and Flash Sentry all disembarked.

“Hi!” Bumblebee chirped as they approached. “Detectives Herring and Evidence said they thought you could use some help.”

“We could,” Phillip nodded. “Everypony who lives or works in this building needs to be questioned.”

“All of them?” Flash asked, his eyes widening slightly as he looked up and down the edifice.

“All of them,” Phillip nodded, already proceeding towards the wooden door. He opened it up, a bell jingling over his head to announce his entry.

The jewelry store was a modest establishment, with only five glass cases to display the shop’s wares and a low counter towards the back of the room. A grey-haired burro stood behind the counter, helping the sole customer, a young female griffon, with a purchase of a pair of earrings. Two young stallions were in the back of the store, sweeping the floors. The griffon looked up and her eyes locked on Phillip and Daring. With a soft gasp, she hurriedly finished up her purchase and hastily exited the store.

“Can I help you?” the burro asked, eyeing the group nervously.

“Detectives Finder and—” Phillip started to say.

“I know who you are,” the burro interrupted. “You two have been pretty famous since you took down Silvertongue. You have this neighborhood’s thanks for that, by the way.”

“She’s got a funny way of showing it,” Daring muttered, jerking her head at the door.

The burro gave her a look over his eyeglasses. “You’ve also got a reputation,” he added. “And not a good one. So, how can I help you?”

“What’s your name, sir?” Phillip asked.

“Douglas Fancy,” the burro nodded. “I’ve owned and run this store for the past thirty years.”

“We need a list of your employees,” Phillip said. “Daring, you take Prowl and Bee and check the apartments.”

“Got it,” Daring nodded, walking over to a doorway to the side and opening it to reveal a set of stairs. She proceeded up these with Prowl and Bumblebee behind her.

“May I ask what this is about?” Fancy said, writing down a list of names on a pad of paper.

“We believe that somepony who lives or works here might have been involved in an abduction,” Phillip explained, giving the two young stallions in the back a glance; neither of them moved, still clinging slackly to their brooms. “Do you know Deco Line?”

“He lives in this neighborhood,” Douglas shrugged. “I don’t know him personally.”

“Where were you last night around nine PM?” Phillip asked.

“At home with my wife and son,” Fancy said. “If you wish to interview them, I know they’ll tell you the same.”

Phillip took the short list and looked it over with a grunt. “Flash, interview these mates here,” he said, nodding to the stallions in the back. “Do you mind if I look around?”

“I have nothing to hide,” Fancy shrugged.

Phillip proceeded to a back door, glancing over his shoulder as Flash pulled one of the two stallions aside to begin interviewing him. He opened the back door and found himself in a small storeroom. Boxes of jewelry were stacked up to his shoulders, with shelves of paint and cleaning supplies shoved into the back.

He scanned the room carefully before entering it: ceiling to eye level, eye level to knees, then knees to floor. Then he proceeded inside, moving slowly and deliberately, searching for anything that didn’t belong. The floor needed a good sweeping, his every step was marked by a faint trail of hoofprints in the thin layer of dust.

Apparently, those two blokes up front aren’t earning their pay, he thought to himself as he walked past a small stack of boxes that appeared to contain jewelry. He suddenly paused, his eyes snapping to a small discoloration on the ground. A small line of bright red dust stood out against the floor. A very familiar bright red slightly grainy dust that he quickly discovered smelt of flowers.

“Poppydust,” he whispered, bending down and looking around. Some of the dust clung to the stack of boxes next to him and he began to sort through them. One of the boxes near the top of the stack was slightly frayed, as though it had been opened and shut several times before. He opened it up to find a collection of bracelets on a foam layer. A faint scent of flowers clung to the box. He pulled the foam layer out.

Beneath lay several small clear plastic packets, each only about the size of a tea bag. All of them were stuffed full with red poppydust. Scowling, Phillip took the box back to the front room. Flash was standing near the door, speaking to Fancy while the other two stallions stood to the side.

“Flash, keep them all here,” Phillip said, sliding him the box with the poppydust. Flash’s eyes widened when he saw the contents, then he quickly moved to block the door as he half-drew his sidearm.

“What?” Fancy cried, staring at the drugs in shock. “How...how did those…?”

“Save it for the precinct,” Phillip advised him, rushing upstairs to get the others.

Author's Note

Things might be going slowly at the moment, but that's the price of detective work at times. But is this a good trail or a red herring?

"What?"

No, not you.

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Case Seven, Chapter Three: Revelations

“He’s still not talking,” Red commented, staring at Douglas through the one-way mirror of the interrogation room. The elder donkey sat sullenly at the table, forelegs folded across his chest, glaring back at the mirror.

“Don’t mean the drugs are his,” Phillip said, standing at Red’s side.

“He’s actually pretty smart,” Red commented gruffly, as though it slightly pained him to admit it. “He gets a good lawyer, he could turn it around and make it look like we’re framing him.” He snorted. “The establishment coming down on the head of the innocent, hardworking donkey. I can almost see the bits shining in his eyes.”

“And Twilight calls me cynical,” Phillip said.

Red sighed. “Fucking ponies like him will always see us as these corrupt jackbooted thugs,” he muttered. “Always watching us, always calling us out for everything we do wrong, accusing us of everything under the sun on evidence flimsier than cardboard. I’m fucking sick of it.” He huffed through his teeth. “We’re trying to protect them,” he continued. “We might’ve been a shithole of corruption before, but that’s changed. We’re the only reason most of these ponies get to sleep safely at night. What more do they want?”

“Red...” Phillip said softly, his tone as uncertain as a pony standing atop a twenty-foot high diving board over an inflatable foal’s pool.

Red let out a growl and huffed. “I’m fine,” he grunted.

Phillip shrugged it off. “Speaking of Twilight, I’m gonna go see her.”

“Sounds good,” Red nodded.

Phillip turned and started down the hallway, but a doorway to his left opened up and Trace Evidence stepped out, shaking his head and mopping his brow.

“No luck on either of the two workers,” Trace muttered. “And Prowl’s wrapping up checks on the ponies living in the apartments. A few of them have some red flags in their backgrounds, but nothing’s solid.”

“Bugger,” Phillip muttered. “Well, keep trying. That poppydust belongs to somepony there.”

Trace sighed. “Do you really think that this has anything to do with Deco going missing?”

“I don’t know,” Phillip shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He proceeded down the hallway to the staircase and descended to the basement. The sound of straining violins guided him to the laboratory. As always, every table of the large, open space was covered in scientific equipment of every description and type, and the shelves on the walls groaned beneath the weight of the textbooks and binders atop them. Doctor Suunkii and Twilight Sparkle stood at a table in the back, Suunkii bending over a microscope while Twilight gathered small test tubes filled with a rainbow of colors in a rack.

“Hello, Phillip,” Twilight greeted him as he entered, setting the test tubes in a careful order.

“G’day,” Phillip said. “What’ve you found out from the scene?”

“Well, I did check the doorway,” Twilight said, handing the rack of test tubes to Suunkii. “There was no sign of any magical tampering with the charm. That means that either somepony on the inside unlocked the door, or they had a key.”

“How hard would it be to copy a key for a lock like that?” Phillip asked.

“The physical key would be as simple as pickpocketing a key and clamming it,” Twilight stated. “But the enchantments on it would require somepony with years of practice in lock magic. This is not something that an average unicorn could do.”

Phillip nodded. “What else?”

“The traces of blood on the dart you recovered are a match for Deco Line’s blood type,” Doctor Suunkii said, carefully placing an eyedropper in a test tube of scarlet liquid and extracting some of it. “I am currently performing chemical tests upon the toxin on the dart to determine its composition.”

He carried the eyedropper over to a series of small vials in a row before him, each filled with a few drops of a clear liquid and what looked like wisps of cloud. “How’d you get enough toxin to fill all of those?” Phillip asked.

“A revolutionary technique for creating sufficient samples of liquid,” Suunkii explained as he dropped some of the red liquid into the first vial, causing the liquid and clouds inside to turn red. Suunkii threw the eyedropper into a trash bin and used a fresh one to extract a few drops of a yellow liquid from the next test tube. “The liquid sample is mixed with distilled water and heated to evaporation. Then it is condensed back into a liquid and mixed with a sampling of clouds, which then take on the sample’s chemical properties. The cloud is then heated and turned back into a semi-liquid sample.”

He pointed at a contraption on the table beside him. A flask sat on a Bunsen burner, attached to a long glass tube that ran in a spiral to a larger beaker filled with cloud.

“It’s ingenious, really!” Twilight exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as she watched Phillip examining the apparatus. “We studied the applications of Skywalker’s Absorption and Disbursement Principle in Weather Magic, but to see it made into a use like this is nothing short of incredible! I mean, it’s not how I would’ve done it, but still, I—”

“Twi,” Phillip interrupted gently. “Love to learn more, but this isn’t the moment.”

“Right, sorry,” Twilight nodded, looking a little put out.

“Anything else?” Phillip asked.

“There were traces on the scrap of cloth that you found in the doorway,” Suunkii replied, continuing to add colored chemicals to the samples of the toxin. “Specifically, sap from multiple different varieties of tree. Once we have separated the trace down to its individual components via centrifuge, we can begin making a more accurate identification.”

The door opened and Flash Sentry walked in, holding a sheaf of papers. “Oh, hey, Twilight,” he said, smiling and waving at Twilight.

“Hello, Flash,” Twilight smiled.

Flash started to say something, but then spotted Phillip and snapped himself back to attention. “Oh, hey, Phil. I went back to the art gallery to do some more investigating, and I found something odd.” He handed Phillip the sheaves of papers. “These are security reports for the past week,” he explained. “I noticed that every night at around one-thirty in the morning, an alarm goes off for a fire door in the back. I talked to one of the security guards: he said that they got a new security system installed last moon, and the alarm is a glitch that they haven’t gotten around to fixing.”

Phillip ran his eyes across the reports. Sure enough, each of them had an entry for 0130: Alarm activated, fire door north gallery. Security sweep completed, nothing unusual noted. The blue ink of the sentence carried a heavy weight of boredom and annoyance that could almost be felt on the paper it was written upon.

“I’ve already started working on tracking down who installed the system,” Flash said. “They gave me a description of the worker and the phone number for the company that they called. I left a message, still waiting for them to call back.”

“You’ve done aces, jackaroo,” Phillip said with an approving nod, prompting Flash to flush with pride.

“What company was it?” Twilight asked.

“Netitus Security,” Flash answered.

“We have records for them here; every security worker needs to get a license and registration to work,” Twilight stated, smiling shyly. “If you wanted, I could help you check workers’ records.”

“I’d like that,” Flash replied, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Hey, what’s this?” he asked, tapping the vat of clouds.

“A Skywalker Liquid Enhancement apparatus!” Twilight cried, looking ecstatic. “It uses Skywalker’s Absorption and Disbursement Principle to allow for examination of trace liquids. Here, I’ll show you how it works…”

She dove into an explanation of the process and the theories behind it, complete with projecting images with her magic into the air to enhance the presentation. Flash listened attentively, occasionally nodding slowly and making a brief comment.

“Look at him,” Phillip whispered to Suunkii, half-smiling. “At least half of what she’s saying is flying right over his head.”

“I do not think that he cares,” Suunkii commented, giving the couple a brief glance before returning to his work. “To see her happy is sufficient for him.”

“Oh, to be young,” Phillip mused. “Right, let me know if you find anything else.”

“We will,” Suunkii nodded as Phillip exited. He walked back out of the laboratory, climbed the stairs to the main floor, and exited the precinct. Daring Do was waiting outside, leaning against the wall and smoking.

“We need to head back to the gallery,” Phillip said.

“So let’s get this straight,” Phillip said, staring at the fire door. “You’ve come to expect the alarm for this door to go off at the same time every night.”

“That’s right,” nodded Tight Lock, the head of security for the Ponyville Gallery of Art. He was a tall, stout unicorn with a gray coat and light blue hair, including a thin mustache. He was wearing a dark blue uniform with a golden badge upon his chest. He had a cutie mark of a closed padlock imprinted on a badge. He, Phillip, and Daring were standing in the northernmost room of the museum, a room filled with sculptures.

Daring scanned the room. The fire door was a standard steel door with the precautionary “Not An Exit—Alarm Will Sound” sign on it. She’d already checked the outside and confirmed that there was no handle on the exterior; seemingly the only way to open the door was with the push bar on the inside. She looked around the room and spotted the sole surveillance crystal mounted on the wall opposite. The telescope-like tube slowly panned back and forth, sweeping over the room.

“So what happens when the alarm goes off?” Phillip asked.

“SOP demands that every time an alarm goes off, we send a guard down to check the door and ensure that all is well,” Lock explained.

“And what does that involve?” Daring asked.

“The guard comes down, checks to make sure that the door is still locked and secured and that there are no signs of intruders,” Lock explained.

“Show me how you’d do it,” Daring said, stepping back.

Lock looked at her for a moment, then shrugged and stepped forward. He hit the door a couple times to check that it was still shut tightly, then inspected the lock. “Secure, no sign of tampering,” he declared. He then turned and looked around the room, checking around as though looking for intruders amongst the few visitors roaming the exhibits.

“And let me guess,” Daring commented dryly. “You guys are so used to this thing going off that you come here not expecting any trouble.”

“I train my guards to take every security threat seriously,” Tight Lock said firmly.

Daring shook her head. “I’m thinking you’re right, Phil,” she said to her partner. “Whoever installed that lock tampered with the alarm. Having the alarm go off at the same time every night would condition the guards to not expect trouble.”

“How would you get past this door?” Phillip asked.

“It’s impossible to open from the outside,” Tight Lock insisted.

“Every door can be opened,” Daring replied. “Let me check the lock, I think I have an idea.”

Tight Lock frowned at her, but reached out and pushed the door open, waving at the security crystal. As soon as he opened the door, an alarm bell began ringing, but it quickly shut off. The ponies milling through the exhibits paused and looked around, then slowly resumed their business after deciding that nothing was amiss.

Daring leaned in close to the lock and frowned. “Magnifying glass,” she said to Phillip, holding out her hoof. Phillip pulled his magnifying glass out of his vest and handed it to her. She lifted it to her eye and squinted at the lock.

“Aha,” she muttered, taking out a pen and picking at the lock. A small white substance came away, clinging to the pen. “Putty,” she said. “You put that in the lock, just enough that the door will still shut and lock, but you can open it from the outside with a bit of leverage; crowbar or a screwdriver or something. And look at that.” She pointed to some small marks on the doorway.

Tight Lock’s eyes widened. “But...but the security crystal!” he protested. “No one could’ve—”

“Slide a mirror under the door, wait until the crystal was looking the other way, then get through the door and hide behind one of the sculptures. Probably that one there,” Daring said, nodding to a nearby marble sculpture of an eagle on a stand near the door. “Evading the one guard would be a cinch. Then...I’d probably just get out through the main door. It’d lock behind me, and no alarm.”

Tight Lock opened and closed his mouth a few times, then scowled. “I’m going to see who was on the last few nights,” he declared, quickly storming over to a door marked “Employees Only,” which he threw open and marched through, descending a flight of stairs.

“So what’s the goal here?” Phillip asked Daring, walking out after him.

“If it has anything to do with Deco Line being kidnapped, I’m willing to bet it’s got something to do with that exhibit,” Daring replied. “And with Scarlet,” she added in a snarl.

Phillip frowned. “Let’s see if the surveillance center is down there,” he said, following Lock through the Employees Only doorway. The two descended the stairs into the basement, walking past a set of boilers and sealed boxes to a door marked “Security” in white letters. They could see Tight Lock inside, shouting at another pony.

“I think we should wait here for a bit,” Phillip commented dryly. Daring nodded silently. They stood outside silently until Tight Lock was finished his rant, then he opened the door and stormed out, not even acknowledging them. Phillip then approached the door and opened it up.

Inside was a sizeable room with a counter that ran almost the length of the room. Projected images over the walls displayed live images from the gallery’s surveillance crystals; a board of buttons and lights sat at the head of the room. Sitting at the counter was a uniformed chubby blue unicorn with white hair and the cutie mark of an eye and a crescent moon. He looked around at their entry.

“Huh? You can’t be in here!” he protested.

“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phillip introduced themselves. “We’re looking into Deco Line’s disappearance.”

“Oh…” The guard’s jaw dropped as recognition spread across his face. “Yeah! Yeah, I know who you are!” He held out his hoof. “I’m Night Watch. How can I help you?”

“We need to check surveillance feed for the Artiste Fou exhibit for the past few days, every night around 1:30 to 2 AM,” Phillip said, shaking his hoof.

“Okay!” Watch nodded, sitting down at his chair. He started tapping crystals embedded into the walls, changing the projected images to an image of the gallery of surrealist paintings. Watch rewound the image to 1:30 AM the previous night, giving them a green-tinted view of the room in night vision.

“Advance the image slowly,” Phillip said, watching the image. Walker stroked a green crystal a quarter circle clockwise and the image began to fast forward at a steady pace. Phillip and Daring stared at the projection but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Okay, the night before that. Last Tuesday,” Daring said.

Watch rewound the image to the instructed time and once again proceeded through the night. Once again, neither detective noticed anything unusual.

Without being prompted, Watch then scrubbed the image back to Monday night and they began to watch the screens in silence. One-thirty passed without incident, then as one fifty-five rolled around, Daring raised a hoof. “Wait, I saw something there,” she muttered. “Back it up a couple minutes, then run it forward slowly.”

Watch fiddled with the crystals, then the image began to track forward minute by minute. Daring’s rosy eyes squinted at the image, moving in so close her nose was almost touching the projection.

“There,” she said, pointing. “That painting moved.”

Phillip and Watch squinted at the painting of the boat in the center wall of the gallery. At one-fifty-six and thirty seconds, the painting was leaning against the wall.

At one-fifty-six and fifty seconds, the painting suddenly shifted a bit to the right.

“What the?” Watch stammered. “How did…?”

“Someone got in the gallery and did something to that painting,” Daring concluded. “Probably used some kind of spell to freeze the image while they worked.”

“I don’t know how we didn’t notice that,” Watch said, sinking into his chair.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Daring replied. “Whoever this is, they’re very good.”

“As good as you were?” Watch asked innocently.

A flash of heat raced up Daring’s foreleg and she gritted her teeth, suppressing a grunt of pain. “Yeah,” she growled. “As good as I am.”

Watch’s eyes widened, but before he could stammer out an apology, Daring turned and stormed out of the room. Watch looked at Phillip and let out a breath. “Wow, I’m just pissing everypony off today,” he mused.

Phillip gave him a completely unamused glance and followed Daring out.

“So, now Twilight and Suunkii are studying samples from that painting,” Phillip said as they walked back down Jetsam Street. “Good instincts on that.”

“Scarlet’s at the head of this,” Daring growled, staring at the slush at their hooves. “I know it.”

“Proving it is another matter,” Phillip replied, looking up as they walked past the jewelry store. The lights were all out and Crime Scene: Do Not Cross tape was stretched across the doorway into the store. A young donkey police officer, barely old enough to start shaving, was standing sentry outside, blinking heavily as he fought off sleep.

“What do you think she’s after?” Daring asked, pausing and looking up at the building. “Fraud? Maybe she faked the paintings and Deco clued into it?”

“I don’t know,” Phillip said, staring at the side door in the alley. “But once we find out where Deco Line went and who took him, we might have more of an idea—”

The side door suddenly burst open and a pony stumbled out. The light gold pegasus was coated in snow, his long, damp purple hair hanging over his face. His wings were tattered, the feathers having been violently ripped out; blood from multiple scratches and cuts covered his body, and he was limping on two of his legs. The stallion’s cutie mark was a paintbrush and a red zigzag line. Panting and gasping, Deco Line looked up at them as the door slammed shut behind him.

“Help me,” he wheezed and collapsed into the snow. Blood leaked from a bullet hole in his side.

Phillip rushed forward and bent over Deco, taking off his vest and draping it over his body. “Officer, get an ambulance!” he barked to the dumbfounded officer, who jumped and ran off to find a gamewell.

Daring stared open-mouthed as Phillip opened a pocket on his vest marked with a cross in permanent marker, pulled out a set of dressings, and began to stuff them into the bullet wound on Deco’s heaving chest. She turned and looked at the closed alley door.

“What. The. Fuck,” she breathed.

Author's Note

Well, that's made things more interesting, hasn't it?

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Seven, Chapter Four: Trailhead

The steady beeping of the EKG machine provided a constant soundtrack to the scene. Deco Line lay on the hospital bed, wrapped in the white sheets, bandages snugly secured around his torso. His eyes were closed, and he breathed deeply through the nasal cannula; an IV drip in his foreleg was attached to a blood bag hanging next to him. Phillip, Daring, Trace Evidence, and a doctor all stood around the bed. Rough Sketch sat next to the bed, squeezing his fiancee’s hoof with a quiet desperation, as if he was afraid that his beloved would disappear again if he turned away or let go. The window outside was painted with snow; white dots flashed against the darkness of the cloudy night sky, illuminated momentarily by the passing headlights of cars in the street below.

“He’ll survive, but he has a long road ahead of him,” Doctor Hoof explained to the gathered ponies. “He’s hypothermic and severely dehydrated, his wings need to regrow their feathers, and he’s lost quite a bit of blood from that bullet wound. He was lucky, though: a couple more inches to the right, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“We’d like to question him,” Phillip said.

“You may, but not for too long,” Doctor Hoof nodded. “He needs to rest.” He exited the room, leaving the other ponies inside.

Phillip walked up to the bed and sat down on the side opposite Sketch. “Deco?” he asked. Deco Line weakly opened his eyes and focused on him. “My name is Phillip Finder.”

“I know,” Deco Line whispered, nodding.

“Is it all right if I ask you a few questions about what happened?” Phillip asked.

Deco Line nodded again.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Phillip asked.

Deco Line closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through the cannula. “I was walking home when I felt something sting my foreleg,” he began, speaking slowly. “The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a cabin. My wings...all of my feathers had been plucked out. Another pony was there. He...he had a rifle. He told me that…” He shivered and let out a faint whimper. “He pointed at a door that was open behind him and said, ‘You can get back that way. I’ll give you an hour head start.’ And then he pointed his rifle at me and shoved me out the front door.”

“Where were you?” Phillip asked.

Deco shook even harder. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Somewhere in a forest. I just ran and ran, but my stupid leg slowed me down. And no matter where I went, what I did, he was always behind me. Singing that song…”

“How’d you get away?” Phillip pressed.

“I…” Deco Line took a few more deep breaths before continuing. “Somehow, I managed to circle around again and found the cabin. I ran to get back inside, but just when I was opening the front door, there was this bang and I felt like I’d been punched. I looked over, and he was running after me. I slammed the door shut and shoved some furniture in front of it, then hurried over to the door he pointed at. I jumped through and slammed the door behind me. I was...for a moment, I thought I’d gotten turned around, because I was in this big forest, but there were doors standing up everywhere instead of trees, and the sky was red. I just opened the door in front of me and walked through it. I was back in the alleyway and saw you…” His shaking slowly abated as he breathed. “And that’s all I can remember.”

“Can you describe the pony?” Trace asked.

Deco Line had to take several deep breaths before answering. “He was an earth pony, I’m sure of it,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “And he had this very gravelly voice. I...I don’t really remember anything else. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Phillip nodded. His tone was still quiet and gentle, but Daring saw the subtle furrowing of his brow that indicated that he had something serious on his mind. “Just rest now. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.” He stood up and started to exit the room.

“The room!” Deco Line suddenly gasped, his eyes snapping open. He started to sit up, but Rough Sketch pushed him back down.

“Sweetie, you need to rest—” Rough started to protest.

“The room. In the cabin,” Deco panted, the beeping of the EKG monitor faster and louder. “It was...full of ponies. Dead ponies. They’d all been... stuffed. Like trophies.”

An image of a room filled with corpses, their bodies preserved as if frozen in time with open, howling mouths and glassy, unseeing eyes, flashed through Daring’s mind and she shuddered. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Trace’s face turning slightly pale.

“Just rest, Deco,” Phillip said gently, his brow furrowing even more. “We’ll find this guy. You’re safe here.”

Deco laid back down on the bed, his eyes closing and his breathing slow. Rough Sketch took Deco’s hoof in both of his own and began to rub gently. Phillip, Daring, and Trace exited the room. Officers Bumblebee and Wheellock, standing post at the doorway, nodded as they started down the hallway.

“You know who this is,” Daring said immediately.

“The Poacher,” Phillip and Trace said as one.

“Who?” Daring asked.

“The Poacher was a serial killer that was active in the Macintosh Hills for three years about a decade ago,” Phillip explained. “Real name’s Big Game. Hunter by trade.”

“Sick bastard,” Trace replied, opening his trenchcoat and extracting a couple of plastic bags from an interior pocket with his magic. Inside one was the bloody rifle bullet that had been extracted from Deco Line’s wound; inside the other were samples of soil, tree bark, and leaves that had been taken from Deco’s body. “He’d kidnap random ponies and take them up to the woods around the Macintosh Hills, and set them loose to hunt them. Got caught when police raided his home; they found... trophies of the ponies he’d killed in the attic.” He shuddered. “There were over two dozen of them.”

“He was sent to Clovenworth Island, sentenced to death,” Phillip concluded. “But he somehow escaped a holding cell during a hearing. Nopony’s seen him since.”

“You think Deco Line was just a random victim?” Daring scowled. “He gets kidnapped right after he figures out there’s something wrong with that painting? Too much of a coincidence for me to believe.”

“I’m with Daring,” Trace acceded. “What’s with that painting, anyway?”

“We can probably find out at the lab,” Phillip Finder stated as they descended the stairs into the lobby of the hospital. “We’ll—”

He halted, looking up. A tall snowy white unicorn mare in a trenchcoat was striding towards them. The eyes of nearly every pony in the lobby turned to follow the mare’s progress as she approached them.

“Chief,” Trace said, stiffening to attention.

“Detectives,” Cold Case nodded to them. Her gaze passed over Trace and Phillip with no emotion, but as soon as her sapphire irides settled on Daring, her gaze turned harsh and icy. Daring returned the glare with one of her own.

“Where do we stand, gentleponies?” Cold Case asked Phillip and Trace, ignoring Daring.

“Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here doing my chopped liver impression,” Daring grumbled, stepping back a few paces.

The two stallions filled the chief in on everything that they had found out so far. “The Poacher is behind this,” Trace told her.

Cold Case’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, then her cold mask slipped back on. “I see,” she nodded. “I want round-the-clock protection on Deco Line and Rough Sketch until we get to the bottom of this. Did you extract the bullet from his wound?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Trace said, taking the bag from his coat. “And other traces.”

“Good,” Cold nodded. “Trace, come with me back to the precinct. We’ll drop that off at the laboratory, and see if we have any other leads.” She turned to Phillip. “You two—”

“Go home, yeah, yeah,” Daring muttered.

“No,” Cold interrupted, her gaze flicking to her momentarily. “Stay here and protect Deco Line, and see if you can get anything else out of him. I’ll send you relief at midnight.”

With a final nod, Cold turned on her heels and exited. “See you later,” Trace nodded, following her.

Daring blinked. “She actually didn’t insult us. Do you think she’s sick or something?” she asked Phillip, who let out a quiet grunt of amusement.

“I’ll get some coffee,” Phillip said, striding off in search of a coffee machine.

Daring looked back up at the ceiling as if she could stare right through the solid construction into Deco Line’s room. Then she glanced down at her watch. It was 7:40 PM.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” she sighed.

Twelve hours later, Phillip and Daring walked into the laboratory, both of them yawning and wiping sleep from their eyes.

“It’s too fucking early for this,” Phillip grumbled.

“You and I are in agreement for once,” Red muttered as he and Trace entered after them, both of them clutching disposable cups of coffee.

“No food or drink in the laboratory!” Twilight shouted at them as she rushed past, carrying several plastic evidence bags in her magic. Without missing a beat, she snatched the coffee cups out of their hooves with her magic and sent them flying out of the room, setting them down outside the door. Both detectives glared at her.

“What, does she run off batteries?” Red growled.

“Oh, hey, by the way,” Trace said, rubbing his eyes. “One of the workers at the jewelry store confessed last night. The drugs are his; he’s been selling for a month now on the side.”

“Good morning, detectives,” Doctor Suunkii greeted them from his table. “Twilight Sparkle and I have been working through the night, and we have made some interesting discoveries.”

“Okay, first thing,” Trace grunted, shaking sleep from his eyes. “What is with that boat painting?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Twilight replied, brightening a bit. “Doctor Suunkii and I ran comparisons of the two painting samples, the one that Phillip and Daring collected from Deco Line’s office, and the one from the painting in the museum. The first thing we concluded is this: they are not the same!”

“What’s that mean?” Trace asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The sample of paint taken from Deco Line’s office had multiple layers,” Suunkii explained. “Clearly, these were layers from when the artist painted the original painting, followed by several restorations over the years. A chemical analysis confirmed that the deepest layers of paint were over a hundred years old, while the top layers were more recent.

“However, a sample taken from the painting that currently hangs in the gallery revealed that it has a single layer, and while it has undergone chemical alteration to make it appear older, it is no more than a year old.”

“So somepony did replace that with a fake,” Daring concluded. “Is that really what this is all about?”

“Seems a bit extreme to just hide a fraud,” Trace nodded.

“Deco Line said something about the legends,” Phillip pointed out.

“What legends?” Red asked.

“I did some research on Artiste Fou earlier, when we were examining the paint samples,” Twilight said, plucking a library book out from underneath the table. The title of the book read The Tales of the Mad Artist: Truth, Myth, and Lies of Artiste Fou.

“According to this book, it was rumored that Artiste Fou did a lot of experiments with magic,” Twilight explained, flipping the book open to a later chapter. “He was allegedly involved in cults that worshipped the Old Gods and performed rituals in dark magic. According to legends, he hid instructions to some secret rituals and spells in his paintings. Of course, the paintings have been examined dozens of times, and there has been no sign of any secret messages in any of them.”

Phillip let out a quiet grunt, filing that information away. “What about the bullet?”

“The bullet is a .45 caliber round designed for hunting rifles,” Suunkii stated. “There are no matches in the ballistic databases that we can find. We are looking into identifying the manufacturer.”

“Where are we on the sap and the dart?”

“The toxin on the dart is a fast-acting sleeping potion,” Doctor Suunkii explained, holding up a small test tube. “It is made from the berries of the Hades bush. A small amount is sufficient to put a fully grown pony in a coma-like sleep for an hour.”

“Easy to make?” Daring asked.

“Not really,” Twilight said. “Hades berries are very difficult to handle correctly, and they grow only in the Everfree forest.”

“Also, we have conclusively identified the sap as coming from several species of tree, including burning wormwood and stonebirch, both of which are native—”

“Only to the Everfree Forest,” Daring finished.

“You are correct,” Suunkii nodded. “It is possible—in fact, likely that the Poacher has his base in the Everfree itself. This is supported by the traces that were taken from Deco Line, all of which are samples of Everfree flora.”

“That’s still hundreds of square miles,” Red pointed out, scowling. “And there are timberwolves, manticores, cragadiles, and Mother knows what else in there. We gotta narrow it down somehow.”

“We’ll try,” Twilight said.

“Okay, so how did the Poacher get through that door and into the Everfree and how did Deco get back?” Daring cut in. “He mentioned a forest of doors.”

“I was thinking about that, and when I got home last night, I finally figured it out,” Twilight said. She extracted a book from a drawer beneath a table and opened it. Daring’s eyes widened when she saw the familiar worn cover and the title on the spine: Ancient Artifacts and Totems.

“Here,” Twilight said, pointing to an open page in the book, one that showed a picture of an old blue key on a rusty ring. “The Key of Shadow Walker. The key’s enchanted to open any door, and any door that it opens becomes connected to it; you’re able to travel between doors, across miles. You could open a door here in Ponyville and come out in Manehattan.”

“Explains how he got out of that cell,” Daring commented, scowling bitterly. “And I’ll bet my helmet that I know who gave him that key.”

“Silvertongue,” Phillip, Red, and Trace said as one.

“So where do we go from here?” Daring asked.

“First, we need to keep Deco Line under protection,” Phillip said. “Second, we should look for the Poacher’s hideout. Helicopter sweeps over the forest, search for any signs of habitation. Third, we need to try to track down who made the fake painting and what happened to the real one.”

“So, hunting dry leads. Great,” Red muttered.

“Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and the Poacher will try again,” Daring smirked.

“Why’d you have to say that?” Trace groaned as he and Red recollected their coffees. “That’s almost as bad as saying the q-word.”

A stallion with a reddish-brown coat and dark green hair that included a thin layer of a beard stepped through the back door of a seafood restaurant in the Dockside District and looked around. Nopony noticed his sudden appearance, their heads tilted down against the oncoming snow and wind. Frowning, he turned up the fur-lined collar of his coat and proceeded down the street to an old, battered payphone standing on the corner. He stepped into the booth and closed the door behind him. He could barely squeeze inside; his flank, marked by the paw print and bullet, pressed against the door.

Pulling a bit out of his pocket, he inserted it into the slot and grasped the receiver, holding it up to his ear as he spun the dial. The phone rang three times, then there was a click as the other receiver was picked up.

“Bosses aren’t happy,” the voice on the other end snarled.

The Poacher gritted his teeth. To have one of his prey escape him was insulting enough; to have it be some stupid artist was even worse. He could already hear the mocking comments and insults to his name echoing through the underworld.

“He was the only one who’s ever escaped from me, and he will be the last one,” he replied.

“He’d better,” the voice on the other end said. “It doesn’t matter if we get him anyway: he can’t do anything to stop us now.”

“I’ll get him the next time around,” the Poacher started to say. “No one escapes—”

“I told you, it doesn’t matter,” the other voice snapped. “The bosses have another job for you. And this time, they want you to do the job straight up: just kill these two fucks and get it over with. They’ll pay you triple apiece for this.”

Big Game’s ears pricked; the offer of two targets at six hundred thousand bits a head was more than enough to calm him. “Who are the targets?”

“Phillip Finder and Daring Do.”

“They replaced it with a fake?” Deco Line asked, sitting up in bed.

“And we think it’s because you found something in the original,” Phillip explained, sitting next to the bed. “You mentioned to Rough Sketch that you’d discovered something.”

Deco Line frowned, looking down in pensive contemplation. “Is this really the time?” Rough Sketch asked from the opposite side of the bed.

“This could be important,” Phillip replied patiently. “What did you find, Deco?”

Deco Line shrugged a bit. “In hindsight, I might have been a bit hasty,” he muttered. “I’m not entirely sure what I saw, but…” He looked up. “I was restoring The Treachery of Images, the painting of the boat. I was using a traditional pegasus manner for restoring paintings, liquid rainbow in cumulus water, for repainting a section. I had been working for a long time and dozed off partway through. When I woke up, I saw that a small section that I’d repainted had...changed. There were words written on it, words in...some kind of foreign language. I went to get more liquid rainbow, but by the time I got back, the words had disappeared. I tried making them reappear again, but nothing I did worked; I was starting to think that I had imagined it. I decided to write Scarlet Letter, who had acquired the painting, and the directors of the museum. Two days after, that was when…” He shivered and hugged himself, looking away.

Phillip nodded. “Do you really think this is connected somehow?” Rough Sketch asked.

“It’s a possibility,” Phillip commented, standing. “You need to rest.”

“Are you sure the Poacher won’t come back?” Deco whispered, as though saying his name would cause him to appear.

“If he does, that’s what my friends are for,” Phillip replied, exiting the room. “Don’t worry. He won’t lay a hoof on you again.” He partly closed the door behind him and turned to face the two officers standing outside.

“We can hope, at least,” Prowl commented, sitting against the wall opposite. Her pale yellow eyes cast themselves back and forth along the hallway, checking and double-checking everything and everyone present, including the table with the vase of lilies, the nurse walking past with her head shoved into her clipboard and the janitor sweeping the floor several meters away.

“There’s only one door into that room, and no windows; as long as it’s not fully shut, Big Game can’t get through there with his key,” Phillip pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean he can’t get in here,” Prowl pointed out. “We all need to stay sharp.”

“Right, ma’am,” Flash Sentry nodded, standing next to the doorway. He licked his lips and adjusted the microphone clipped to his collar, the wire leading down to the bulky walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. “I’ll be glad when they make smaller versions of these things,” he muttered.

“I’m just glad that the Chief purchased some,” Prowl replied. “Those bricks that we used to carry were too big and expensive to be any real use. These could save lives.”

“If I don’t strangle myself with the cord…” Flash muttered to himself. He took a slow, shaky breath and licked his lips again, his hoof adjusting the holsters for his revolver and pepper spray on his belt.

“You nervous, mate?” Phillip asked.

“Kinda shaky,” Flash admitted. His hooves and wingtip were indeed trembling.

“A little fear is a good thing,” Phillip told him. “Keeps you focused, mind sharp. Just can’t let it run away with you.”

“Easier said than done,” Flash admitted. “I keep imagining if the Poacher pops out from around the corner or something.”

“There’s a way to deal with that,” Prowl said. “Make a plan. Remember your training and think through each scenario that comes into your head.” She tilted her head down the hallway. “The Poacher comes around that corner with a rifle. He shoots me and I go down. What do you do?”

Flash tensed up, looking over in the indicated direction. He licked his lips, the gears audibly turning in his head as he thought.

“I’d... I’d take cover behind that alcove there and call for backup over the emergency frequency,” he replied.

“Your radio doesn’t work,” Prowl answered.

“Um…” Flash muttered, momentarily stymied. He looked around and spotted a fire alarm on the wall next to him. “I’ll pull the fire alarm. That’ll get civilians evacuating and summon backup.”

“Good,” Prowl nodded. “And what’s the most important thing?”

“Stop the threat as fast and as safely as possible,” Flash replied.

“That’s right,” Prowl nodded. “That’s a good plan: covers the most important stuff and you can adapt it if you need to.”

Flash managed a weak smile. “Still, I just hope he doesn’t show up.”

“Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, Sentry,” Prowl told him. “It’s how we stay alive.”

“Right, ma’am.”

Phil patted Flash on the shoulder. “You’re doing fine, jackaroo.” Flash’s smile broadened a bit and he nodded.

Prowl reached up for the microphone on her shoulder. “MacWillard, lobby clear?”

“Ten-four, all normal here,” MacWillard’s voice replied from four floors below, where he stood at his post.

“Daring, what’s your twenty?” Prowl asked.

“I’m out on the roof,” Daring’s voice answered. “Skies are still clear. How long do I have to stay out here? It’s fucking cold.”

Prowl rolled her eyes.

“I’ll go out and see her,” Phillip shrugged. He made sure that the walkie-talkie he was wearing was secure and walked up the hallway. He proceeded to a door marked “Roof Access” and pushed through it, emerging onto the snow-covered roof. The evening sky over his head was dominated by dark clouds, but here and there, a few stars managed to peek out from behind their cover.

Shrugging his shoulders and tilting the brim of his trilby down over his face, Phillip walked through a layer of snow that reached up past his ankles and approached Daring, who was standing at the edge of the southeast corner. The end of the cigarette clenched in her teeth glowed every time she inhaled, and she stamped her hooves and flapped her wings in an attempt to keep her blood flowing.

“I’m starting to see why you hate snow,” she grumbled.

Phil took his place next to her and they started a patrol around the rooftop. Phillip extracted a set of binoculars from his vest and scanned the rooftops of the surrounding buildings: the enchanted night-vision lenses provided a view as clear as day and showed him that there was no sign of anypony watching them.

“You really think that the Poacher will try again?” Daring asked, scanning the skies with a similarly enchanted monocular.

“I’ve read his psych profile from when he was first arrested,” Phillip said. “He’s driven by a need to hunt, the thrill of the chase. Having prey get away from him will anger him no end.”

“And what if he’s been hired by somepony?” Daring continued as they skirted a snowdrift gathered up against the side of a radiator. “This has to be connected to that painting.”

Frowning, Phillip told Daring what he had learned from Deco Line.

“So somepony stole the painting to get that spell?” Daring concluded. She scowled. “Any idea what that spell does?”

“Once we find who stole the original painting, we might learn more,” Phillip stated.

Daring sighed. “I thought things would get better after Silvertongue was gone,” she admitted. “But no, it’s the same shit, different day here in Ponyville. Just new players. Scarlet, Zugzwang, and all the rest.” She paused a beat. “You remember that present from Hearth’s Warming?”

A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold ran down Phillip’s spine. The image of a dozen eyeless corpses, mouths hanging open in silent screams, flashed before his eyes.

“That should’ve told us,” Daring said as they completed their circuit. “Things are gonna get worse before they get better.”

Phillip stared sidelong at Daring for a long moment, then wrapped a foreleg around her shoulders and squeezed her to his side. “It’s the nature of the beast,” he stated. “Isn’t gonna stop us from doing the right thing.”

Daring let out a scoff, unable to fight down a smile. “You are amazingly cheesy sometimes.”

“You like me this way,” Phillip pointed out.

“Yeah, I know,” Daring admitted, gently smacking his flank with her tail and making him nicker in surprise.

Daring reached inside her shirt and pulled out a carved boomerang, the edges still as smooth and fresh as when Phillip himself had first shaped them. Grasping it lightly by the end with her left hoof, she tossed the weapon out with a snap. The boomerang spun forward through the air and arced around towards her; she caught it by clapping it between her hooves.

“You’re getting better,” Phillip commented.

“Yeah, I’ve come a long way,” Daring admitted. “You think our neighbor is still mad at me about his window?”

“Probably,” Phillip half-smiled. “If you keep practicing, eventually you’ll get your magic to fuse with the living wood. It’ll obey you like mine obeys me.”

“How will it feel when that happens?” Daring asked.

“It’s not something I can describe,” Phillip answered. “But when it happens—when it’s ready to obey you—you’ll know.”

Daring gave him a look. “If you say so, O Wise Sensei.”

Phillip shrugged. “It’s what my mother told me, and what her father told her. It’s the truth.”

Daring repocketed the boomerang and turned. “I gotta take a leak and get some coffee.”

“I’ll wait out here,” Phillip said as Daring proceeded to the door and headed back inside.

He could do it now.

The Poacher lay crouched in his hide beneath the thick, warm blanket of manticore hide, the skin having belonged to a former specimen that he himself had spent the better part of a week tracking. His rifle was held in his hooves, both barrels primed. Neither of them had any idea that he was there, had been hiding there for hours in wait for his opportunity. Why would they bother checking a part of the landscape? Who would suspect a simple snowdrift gathered next to a radiator, especially when there were many others like it on the rooftop?

Two quick squeezes of the trigger would be all that it took. The pegasus first—couldn’t risk her flying away—then the earth pony. A high-powered .45 round right to the shoulder area would be a guaranteed kill, and if they somehow escaped instant death, his knife would finish the job. Two kills, quick and easy, and he’d be twelve hundred thousand bits richer.

And yet…

And yet there’d be no hunt. No test of his skill against the mind of desperate, cornered prey. No trails, no chase through the woods. No terror in his prey’s eyes as he closed in to finish them off. And above all, no trophy.

No. No, the hunt was everything. All the gold in the world could not replace the excitement, the thrill, the ecstatic release of the chase.

The pegasus turned and headed back inside, probably for a relief. Now was his chance! Slowly, inch by inch, the Poacher lowered his rifle and reached for the blowpipe and darts inside his coat. Loading a dart into the pipe, he brought the reed to his lips.

The stallion was looking over the skies instead of at him, his attention diverted. He had no idea of the threat. Shivering in the cold, he started towards the Poacher’s hide; the hunter could see the holster with the snub-nosed .38 hanging from his side.

The Poacher took in a breath, aimed, and puffed out hard. The dart flew true and struck the pony in the foreleg. He yelped in pain and plucked the dart out, staring at it in dawning horror.

The drug was already working its magic: the pony swayed and stumbled, falling onto his side. He reached for the microphone on his shoulder, but could not grasp it properly, could not make his lungs and vocal cords form a cry for help. His gray eyes flickered, then closed.

Standing up, the Poacher walked over to the unconscious pony and grasped him by a foreleg, dragging him over to the roof access door; his victim's hat fell off his head as he was dragged. The blue key jingled on his right wrist, attached to him by a simple rubber band. He grasped the key and inserted it into the lock, twisting it open. The door opened to reveal, instead of the hospital hallway, a dark open plain with doors standing in their frames like so many haphazardly placed gravestones and a pale crimson sky with no stars, sun, or moon.

His prey moaned faintly and muttered in his narcotic-induced sleep as the Poacher shut the door behind him. Grinning, he dragged his prey over to a wooden door marked with an X in bright red paint. Already he could feel electric tingles running up and down his spine, his heart thumping happily, every inch of him starting to dance with joy.

Soon the hunt would begin.

Mere minutes later, Daring reemerged back onto the rooftop, a coffee cup balanced on each wing. “Hey, I got you one,” she called. “Triple cream and two sug—”

She paused, looking around the empty rooftop. “Phil?” she shouted. “Hey, where’d you go?”

There was no answer. Daring felt her heart rate speed up. “Phil, where—?”

Her shout froze in her throat as her heart plummeted into her stomach. The two paper cups tumbled to the floor as she finally noticed and processed three very important details:

The snowbank against the radiator was now flattened. There were drag marks in the snow leading to the door. Phillip's trilby lay abandoned on the ground.

And there was an inch-long black dart laying on the ground in front of her.

Author's Note

Dramatic cut to black! What will our heroes do now? Tune in next week, same pony-time, same pony-channel!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Seven, Chapter Five: Hunting Horns

Phillip opened his eyes slowly, feeling as though his head was filled with a dense fog. Groaning and shaking his head, he cleared the clouds from his mind. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he quickly checked himself over for injuries. Aside from a dull ache in his right foreleg, he felt no pain or discomfort.

Then the memories came flooding back: Daring going back inside. Continuing his patrol. A stinging pain in his foreleg. The dart. Falling into the snow, blackness overtaking him.

His eyes jerked open and he sat up. Immediately, he found himself staring face to face with a unicorn stallion with a light green coat and black hair, staring back at him with an expression of horror, eyes wide and jaw wide open in a scream. Phillip instinctively jerked back, his heart rate spiking as adrenaline flooded his veins and washed out the last of his fatigue, but the stallion didn’t move, standing frozen as if petrified.

It was then that Phillip looked closer at the other and noticed the stump where his horn had been cut off, the plastic-like sheen to his coat, and the fact that his green eyes were far too glassy and shiny to be real.

He was looking at a corpse, morbidly stuffed and preserved as a trophy. And as Phillip’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he found himself surrounded by more trophies: over a dozen ponies, mares and stallions, all of them perpetually standing, staring, and screaming in horror. All for the amusement of their murderer.

Breathing heavily to restore his heart rate to normal, Phillip took in the whole of the room he found himself in. He was in some kind of cabin, with a rickety wooden floor. He had been lying on a rug made from the hide of a bear. Bare lightbulbs hung from the ceiling, providing him with light. He was completely nude, his vest, shirt, hat, and radio all removed.

Okay. Calm down, Finder. If you got here, there’s a way out.

He spotted a door at the end of the room and proceeded towards it. He paused to listen: hearing nothing on the other side, he tested the doorknob. It was unlocked. Pushing the door open, he beheld a larger room. At the center of the room was a large wooden table, adorned in dark red stains that smelled faintly of copper. Tools hung from the walls: a hacksaw, knives and scalpels of various shapes and sizes, pliers, clamps, scoops, and glue, all of them secured behind a locked metal grate. A plastic bin underneath the table was filled with white stuffing; another bin was filled with glass eyes of various colors, all of them staring outwards.

Phillip found a small box on the table and peeked inside. At the bottom of the cardboard lay a collection of wing feathers, the same shade of purple as Deco Line’s coat. A shudder ran down Phillip’s spine.

Another door waited at the other end of the room. Phillip opened this one and found himself on a landing, with a narrow set of stairs. He started down them, carefully placing his hooves on the edge of each step to minimize creaking.

“Come on down, Finder,” a voice called from below. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

His heart tapping a fearful tattoo against his ribs, Phillip proceeded to the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner. He entered a living room of sorts, a long room lined with several more carpets made from the hides of various wild animals. A hoofmade wooden table and a single chair stood at the opposite end of the room, with a cast iron fireplace and an open doorway that Phillip’s nose deduced led to a pantry. The two frost-coated windows showed little more than darkness; most of the light came from an oil lantern affixed to the ceiling.

Sitting at the table was Big Game, staring directly at him. In his hooves was a polished over-under hunting rifle; upon the table sat equipment for the care and cleaning of the weapon, and a box of .45 caliber rounds. Behind Big Game was a wooden doorway; its lighter color stood out against the darker logs that made up the cabin walls. Curiously, the door was partially open, and Phillip could see a faint reddish light coming from behind the door, casting Big Game in strange crimson shadow.

“The great Phillip Finder,” Big Game said, his golden eyes fixed upon Phillip’s gray irides. “You’re a lot less imposing close up.”

“I’m not playing your games,” Phillip declared coolly.

“You’re not the first pony who’s told me that,” Big Game replied, stroking the perfectly smoothed foregrip of his rifle. “And yet, every single one of them walks out that door behind you.”

An icy touch at the back of Phillip’s neck told him that the door to the outside was directly behind him. He kept his eyes on the Poacher, calculating distance, angles and trajectories. Was it possible…?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Big Game interrupted his thoughts, his voice low and heavy. “Don’t try it. I had a pony try to rush me from where you’re standing. I drilled a hole through the center of his forehead before he’d taken three steps.” A noise of disgust slithered out of the Poacher’s throat. “He wasn’t even worth making a trophy, so I just fed him to the timberwolves.”

He was right, Phillip realized: at this range, without a weapon, he stood no chance against an armed attacker who was ready for him. He instead turned his attention to the door with the strange red light behind it.

“I’m guessing that’s how you brought me here,” he commented.

Big Game smirked and raised his right hoof. A bracelet attached to his wrist jingled: a small blue key was attached to it.

“A little gift from Silvertongue, Holy Mother rest his soul,” he explained. “My freedom and the best base I could ask for, all in exchange for getting rid of a few enemies from time to time. Best deal I ever made in my life.” He nodded to the door. “It’s also your way out. Your only way out, I should mention: this entire square mile is fenced in with a nine-foot high wall, and even if you got past that, you’d find yourself in the Everfree Forest, with no idea where Ponyville is and no way to stay alive.”

“Why leave me an escape route?” Phillip asked.

Big Game simply raised an eyebrow. The answer occurred to Phillip after a moment of deliberation: “It’s no fun if the prey can’t escape. The thrill is what’s important.”

“Exactly,” Big Game nodded. The smirk suddenly erased itself from his face and the Poacher raised his weapon. “Now start the hunt, Phillip Finder. Or I’ll shoot you here and now.”

Phillip stared at the twin barrels aimed at him, like two black holes into oblivion, considering his options. There weren’t many. He turned around and faced the door, pushing it open wide. A whistling wind that bit into his bones greeted him instantly, and he found himself facing a line of trees, their branches laden with snow. He glanced back over his shoulder. The Poacher was still aiming his rifle at him.

Phillip took a breath and stepped forward, his hooves crunching into the snow beneath his hooves. Already beginning to shiver, he started forward at a fast pace, disappearing into the trees. As soon as the cabin was out of sight, he paused. How long a head start was the Poacher going to give him?

It didn’t matter. He had to get ready. Somehow, he had to incapacitate his hunter and get back to the cabin. He couldn’t afford to panic. He couldn’t afford to get lost in the snowy forest.

He spotted a low-hanging branch about half as thick as his foreleg and grabbed onto it, testing its weight. It felt fairly solid, but not too hard. With a grunt, he chopped the branch off near the base, the blow causing his hoof to momentarily sting with pain. He swung the branch a few times. Yes: heavy, but not too heavy, and solid.

Grasping his new weapon in a hoof, Phillip studied the trees over his head and the faint stars beyond them, a plan forming in his mind. His teeth chattered and the icy air stung his eyes, but he forced himself to ignore the cold. This would work. This had to work.

“O-Oh, Death...whoa-oh, Death…”

The Poacher was coming. Without looking back, Phillip ran forward, occasionally glancing upwards at the sky, allowing the stars to guide him forward.

Keep moving. Keep thinking. Keep surviving.

“Daring, calm down,” Flash Sentry pleaded. “We can—”

“There is no calming down about this!” Daring snapped at him, pushing through the doors of the police laboratory. “The Poacher has Phillip, and I’m going to find him. Twilight!” she yelled.

Twilight jumped and looked up from the book she was studying. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her eyes widening as she surveyed the group: Daring, Flash, Prowl, and Bumblebee.

Daring walked up to Twilight, her face tight and her rosy eyes blazing with fear, and placed Phillip’s trilby on the desk. “The Poacher’s got Phil,” she explained. “Help me find him.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “That means he’s in the Everfree Forest!”

“So?” Daring snapped.

“That means he’s in a dense, mostly unexplored forest that’s filled with hostile creatures,” Prowl explained. “Going in after him—

“I don’t give a fuck!” Daring shouted, slamming her hoof down on the table hard enough to crack the surface. Her eyes blazed with the fury of the sun. “He’s out there with that sick bastard hunting him, and I am going to find him if I have to search the entire forest and kill every single timberwolf in there by myself! Are you gonna help me or not?!”

Everypony stared at Daring in silent shock for a few seconds, then Prowl said calmly, “I was going to say, going in after him by yourself would be suicide.”

“Yeah, of course we’re coming with you,” Bumblebee chimed in. “Did you really think we’d abandon a friend?”

Daring blinked, the words like a bucket of cold water being tossed into her face, cooling the flames of her worry and rage. “Oh,” she murmured lamely. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Twilight reassured her. “I know you’re worried.” Twilight examined the interior of the hat. “Good, there’s some hairs in the brim here.” With her magic, she extracted some gray-tinged black hairs from the hat, while opening a drawer and extracting a map of the Everfree Forest. She laid the map, which was made of aerial photographs of the forest, across the table, then opened another drawer and pulled out a large jar of salt. She sprinkled some salt in a circle around the map, then placed the hairs in the center of the circle. She used more salt to add in a set of symbols around the map, then took a breath and closed her eyes, channeling magic into her horn.

“Quearite. Sequor. Indago.” Twilight chanted, tendrils of magic slithering out of her horn and touching the symbols with every exhalation. “Quearite. Sequor. Indago.”

The magical symbols began to glow, then the salt swirled upwards in a circle as if caught in a small tornado, circling the map. Twilight continued her chant, her words charged with an energy, though her brow seemed to furrow in confusion. The salt formed a single cloud and paused over the map as if confused, then dropped onto the map to form a two-inch wide pile near the southwest corner of the forest. An area that, according to the map’s scale, was equivalent to about six square miles.

“Can’t you narrow it down?” Daring asked.

“The magic of the Forest is interfering with mine,” Twilight shook her head. “If I tried to narrow it down more, it might backfire on me. Sorry.”

Daring stared at the map, then grunted. “It’ll have to be enough.”

“Wait!” Flash cut in. “Twi, you remember last week’s Ogres and Oubliette round? When Spike used that...dowsing thing?”

Twilight’s eyes brightened. “Yes, that might work!” she cried, looking around the lab. “I need…yes!” She opened a small drawer and extracted several small silver rods that were used for stirring potions and chemical samples. She dipped three of them into the salt, then began to stroke them in a single direction with her magic.

“These should lock on to Phillip’s magical signature,” she explained, pulling out a roll of thin string and tying a length of string around each of the rods. “They’ll act like compasses, pointing directly to him. Here.” She gave one rod to Daring, one to Flash, and one to Prowl, tying each around their wrist.

“Who knew being a nerd could be so helpful?” Bumblebee grinned at Flash, who blushed faintly. “Say, who’s Spike?”

“No one!” Twilight said very quickly.

“Thanks, Twilight,” Prowl nodded. “I’ll get Queen One fueled up—”

“You sure?” Flash cut in. “Chopper might take too long.”

“I could get there faster flying straight,” Daring said.

“And it doesn’t look like there’s any clearings nearby where you could land,” Twilight pointed out.

“I could drop them in by ladder and circle around until they sent up a flare,” Prowl suggested.

“There’s no telling how long this could take,” Flash pointed out. “What if you ran out of fuel and had to go back?”

“And rocs live near the Everfree,” Twilight added. “If there’s one nesting nearby, it might attack the helicopter.”

“Rocks?” Bumblebee asked, raising an eyebrow. “Since when can rocks fly?”

“No, r-o-c, roc,” Twilight explained. “They’re like giant eagles.”

“How giant?” Bumblebee asked.

“Big enough to eat a pony whole,” Twilight said, causing Bumblebee to blanch.

“Good point,” Prowl frowned. “But then what?”

“You could teleport us there,” Daring suggested to Twilight. “It’ll be faster and easier than trying to make it through the forest ourselves.”

Twilight stared at her like she had just told her to sprout wings and fly. “Are you kidding me?!” she cried. “A long-range teleportation into a completely unknown area?! Do you have any idea the kinds of factors that would go into that?! Did you ever think of the possibility that you could end up over a ten thousand foot drop, or stuck in a tree?!”

“Not until you mentioned it,” Daring replied. “But there’s no one I’d trust more for that than you.”

“I…” Twilight looked down, seemingly unsure what to say.

“Twi, you’re a valedictorian from the Royal Academy of Magic. You’re a fucking genius, for Faust’s sake,” Daring said. “You must’ve done a class or something on this.”

Twilight hesitated. “I don’t know…”

“Twi, you can do it,” Flash said, smiling at her.

Twilight looked around at them all, then nodded. “Okay...okay. This is going to take some time. First I need to do a scan of your magical energies.” She lit up her horn and what looked like four small lavender stars blossomed from the tip. Each of the little spheres of light floated over to Prowl, Bumblebee, Flash, and Daring and began to circle them, scanning them with focused beams of light. After a minute, the stars floated back to Twilight, who studied the small spheres.

“Okay, that’s a good start,” Twilight nodded, taking out a notebook and scrawling down notes from whatever information she was gleaning from the spheres. “I’ll have to put this into my formulas to account for your mass and energy.”

“You’ll have to account for them, too,” a voice said. Everypony turned to see Cold Case entering the laboratory, followed by Officer Wheellock and Sergeant MacWillard. “They’re going, too,” Cold Case said.

“Why?” Daring snapped back. “To keep an eye on me to make sure I’m hoofing the line?”

“No,” Cold Case replied, her voice gentle, none of her usual coldness present. “They’re there to help you. If you’re going into the Everfree Forest on a rescue mission, you’ll need all the help you can get, and these two are among my best.”

Daring blinked at Cold, then looked over at the two officers. Wheellock was shaking a little, but she gave Daring a firm nod; the unicorn mare had pulled a rosary necklace out from beneath her shirt and was touching each of the beads in turn, rubbing the embossed symbols that represented the alicorns. MacWillard returned her gaze steadily.

“I…” Daring looked over at Cold, who just looked at her, face impassive as ever. Daring sighed. “Thank you,” she muttered.

“Just come back safe,” Cold Case replied. “All of you.”

Twilight scanned MacWillard and Wheellock with two more magical spheres. “Okay...I can do this,” she said, licking her lips. “It’s going to take some time to finish my calculations.”

“We’ll stock up in the meantime,” MacWillard said. “Let’s head to the armory.”

Leaving the lab, the group proceeded up a single floor to the department’s armory. After inputting a brief code into the keypad on the steel door, Prowl opened the door to reveal a large room. Shelves loaded with guns lined the walls, with boxes of ammunition and magazines sitting in front of them. Racks were lined with body armor and helmets in various sizes; boxes held a multitude of grenades—tear gas, sting, flashbang, magothermal, and more. Most importantly, there were hangers carrying new thick winter coats, with spells woven into the furry fabric to retain heat. Each of the group quickly snatched one up. Everypony except Daring also selected a bulletproof vest.

“Why don’t you take one?” Flash asked as he strapped his vest on then put his coat on over it.

“Too heavy, it’ll just slow me down,” Daring answered.

Wheellock walked over to a rack carrying rifles and picked a Summerfield Rifle with a scope on it. She opened the bolt to check the chamber, then peered down the scope and manipulated a switch on the side with her magic.

“Night vision works...thermal vision works...great,” she nodded. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and selected an ammunition belt loaded with stripper clips.

Prowl and MacWillard both selected a Trotson from a rack and performed a quick check to ensure that they were in working order. Nodding in satisfaction, they started snatching up magazines of .45 ammunition. Bumblebee briefly hefted a bulletproof shield, then shook his head and swapped it for a Whinnychester pump-action 12-gauge. Flash took another of the same model.

Daring considered her choices, briefly pondered the snub-nosed revolver tucked against her side, then picked a nickel-plated Moon Model S. She slid her hoof into the holding strap on the side and adjusted it to fit, then held it up to check the sights and ensuring that the slide operated properly. Skills that had been ingrained to her in the Family guided her hooves, even as she scowled bitterly at her own appendages.

“Everypony ready?” Prowl asked, signing out their equipment in a thick binder.

“Hang on,” Daring replied, sliding her borrowed pistol into a holster. She reached inside her shirt and extracted a glass flask of Manticore Rare. Twisting the top off with a soft pop, she took a quick swig of the liquid. The bitter, dark red drink slid down her throat, leaving her tongue with a faint burning sensation that she savored for a moment before swallowing. Replacing the top, she shook her head. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

“Let’s go,” Prowl said, leading the way back out the door and back into the laboratory. Twilight had sketched out a large circle on the floor in chalk and was walking around it, muttering to herself. Three notebooks littered with tight shorthoof orbited her head like planets, and she checked and rechecked each one every few seconds. As she walked around the circle, she filled it in with arcane runes and symbols, then drew six smaller circles around it, connected to each other and the main circle with lines.

Cold Case stood off to the side, watching. As the group reentered the laboratory, she pulled something out of her pocket with her magic and examined it. Daring recognized it: a small purple coin with the number 10 emblazoned on it. Seeing Daring staring at her, Cold quickly replaced the coin in her pocket.

“Okay, this should get you close to where Phillip is,” Twilight announced, placing the notebooks down and drawing symbols within the smaller circles. “Hopefully without teleporting you all into a rock or something.”

“Yes, please,” Bumblebee said with a weak grin.

“Wait a minute,” Flash cut in. “How are we going to get back when we find Phil?”

“Use these,” Cold Case replied, pulling out several small glass spheres. Inside each sphere was a small pointed crystal, glowing with blue-white energy. A sharp angle indicated where each crystal had been cut cleanly in half.

“Teleportation crystals,” Cold Case explained, distributing one to each of the group. “They’re already charged with my magic and I have them here.” She indicated six other crystal halves, each of them also glowing with energy, sitting on a table behind her. “Just break the sphere to activate them.” She then pulled out a clipboard and passed it around. “Sign out for them.”

“Seriously?” Daring asked as the others each scratched down their signature on the clipboard.

“Magical crystals don’t grow on trees,” Cold Case replied icily as the board was passed around to her.

“They do in the Crystal Empire,” Daring pointed out.

Cold Case opened her mouth, blinked, then closed it again. “Just sign the damn thing,” she frowned, shoving the clipboard into Daring’s face. Daring scowled at her and signed at the bottom in a hurried hoof.

“Be careful,” Cold Case told them as Twilight directed each of the rescuers to stand in one of the smaller circles. Wheellock began to tremble slightly as she stepped into hers, fiddling with the rosary necklace around her neck and murmuring a prayer to Luna. MacWillard gave her a firm pat on the back as he walked past her. She managed to smile and nod at him, a gesture that he returned.

Twilight guided Flash onto his circle. The two paused, hovering next to each other, the air around them electric with words that they couldn’t form. Flash cleared his throat and shifted to adjust for the weight of the shotgun over his shoulder. “Uh, don’t worry,” he tried to smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got these guys to save me when I get into trouble.”

“Ha ha,” Daring said dryly. “Can we move this along? Phil’s gonna freeze to death before you two are done.”

Twilight started to say something, choked on her words, then leaned in and kissed Flash on the cheek. Both ponies blushed deeply as Twilight walked to the center of the large circle. Twilight took a breath and closed her eyes. Her horn began to glow and tendrils of magic snaked out of the tip. The chalk runes around her seemed to absorb them, beginning to glow. Twilight began a quiet, monotone chant, keeping her eyes shut. The glowing energy traveled through the runes, around the circumference of the large circle, then to the smaller ones. The air became thick with static electricity, causing everypony’s coats to stand up on end. Twilight stood, her chant becoming louder and more forceful as she poured more energy into the spell; a wind began to blow from out of nowhere, buffeting everypony’s manes and tails. Cold Case backed away, raising a hoof to shield her eyes.

The light became brighter and brighter, blinding the assembled group. Then there was a loud bang and the light faded away. When Twilight and Cold Case opened their eyes, the chalk circle was smoking slightly and the other six ponies had vanished.

“Did it work?” Cold Case asked tersely, subconsciously biting at her lip.

Twilight had to take a moment to catch her breath before answering. “I hope it did...but wherever they are, they have to rely on their own hooves.”

His muscles screamed at him. The effort it took to not shiver, to not allow his teeth to chatter, burned horribly. But he had to stay still; to move might give him away.

Phillip was crouched on the branch of a large maple tree that stood in a small grove, bracing himself against the trunk, gripping his staff in his teeth. Ten feet below him, his hoofprints marked out a trail that walked past the tree he was hiding in and to the edge of a steeply sloping rise about twenty yards away. Phillip had walked to the edge of the rise, then carefully backtracked, stepping in his own hoofprints to give the illusion that he had walked on. With any luck, Big Game would fall for the trick and move past his hiding place, giving him the chance to head back to the cabin.

Hopefully.

If he didn’t make a noise and give himself away. If the Poacher fell for the trick. If twenty yards was enough distance…

“Oh, I am Death, none can excel, I’ll open the door to Heaven or Hell…”

It didn’t matter anymore. The Poacher was coming. Phillip concentrated on breathing. In and out, every breath forming icicles in his lungs.

The Poacher stalked through the trees beneath him, his pace casual and slow. His gaze swept the ground in front of him, watching the trail that he followed. His rifle was held in his hoof, the grip loose, but ready to bring it up at a moment’s notice. The harrowing song rose from his lips into Phillip’s ears, a tone of joy in every syllable.

Phillip barely breathed as the Poacher passed beneath his tree. The figure beneath him paused in both his song and his walk, looking down at the hoofprints. He crouched down low to the ground to examine the tracks closer, then shook his head and stood up. The golden eyes, shining in the dark, looked up and began to scan the treetops.

“The fillies prayed, the preacher preached,” he continued to sing, lips parted in a smile. “Time and mercy are out of your reach. I’ll fix your hooves so you can’t walk, I’ll lock your jaw so you can’t talk…”

A thought stabbed Phillip’s mind, as hard and cold as an icicle in the skull: He knows I’m here. He forced himself to keep still, to try to think.

The golden eyes passed over his hiding place and continued on. He hadn’t seen him; he knew he was nearby, he just didn’t know where. Maybe he could get the drop on him…

Phillip shifted to prepare to jump. Instantly, the Poacher snapped his head towards him, rifle barrel rising in an instant. Phillip leaped to the side as a deafening gunshot roared out of the weapon, accompanied by an almost blinding flash of light. Searing pain raced across Phillip’s left side; he cried out and barely managed to twist to land on his hooves in the snow, scrambling to grab his weapon. He immediately ran for the nearest tree trunk as another gunshot roared, ducking just in time to avoid what would have been a final fatal bullet to the head.

He hugged the tree trunk, panting, every breath burning his lungs. Momentarily safe, he glanced down at himself. What little starlight filtered through the trees revealed that his side was covered in dark red blood, which felt like warm, thick syrup against his side. The wound was only a glancing one, not a direct hit, but it was bleeding heavily, and screamed with every inhalation. He heard the sound of the Poacher discarding his rifle, followed by the snick of a knife leaving its sheath and slow, careful hoofsteps approaching.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Wound aside, he was shivering even harder than before; it felt as though his blood had been replaced with ice water. His muscles were sluggish, his reflexes dull, his mind so foggy that thinking clearly was a struggle. He stood no chance in a fight against a trained attacker who held every advantage.

Which left one other option. Swallowing back the pain and fear, he put his stick back in his mouth and bolted from his cover and ran, following the trail that he had laid out before. He heard the hoofsteps behind him, but didn’t dare turn around; all he thought about was straight ahead, ducking branches and leaping over roots and fallen logs.

The rise was twenty yards away: it felt like twenty miles. Finally, he broke out of the copse, raced the last few feet up the slope, then dove over the side. The ground fell away and he tumbled into the snow, rolling over and over down the rise until his momentum petered out at the bottom. Barely pausing to figure out which way was up, he scrambled to his hooves and ran, drunkenly, staggering, into another copse of trees. A gunshot roared from somewhere behind him; splinters exploded outwards from a tree trunk mere feet from his head. Hiding in the dense trees, he paused to catch his breath. His heart was frantically trying to escape his ribcage and every nerve in his body was alive with pain.

“I’ll close your eyes so you can’t see, it’s very dark, come and go with me…”

The song, far off but coming closer, alerted him. He must keep moving, despite the temptation to simply stay and accept a quick end from a bullet rather than die slowly in the cold. The image of his stuffed corpse, his eyes replaced with lifeless glassy replicas, flashed before his mind and he shuddered. Gritting his teeth against the pain, forcing himself to fight the fatigue, Phillip pressed onwards, marking his progress with the stars and moon that he could barely see, struggling to remember which way he was going.

“Death I come to take the soul…” the Poacher taunted him, his voice far off but always seeming right behind him. “Leave the body and leave it cold…”

Author's Note

Will it be the cold or the bullets that end Phillip? Or will his friends brave the dangers of the Everfree to rescue him? Tune in next week!

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Case Seven, Chapter Six: The Forest

The bright light faded from Daring’s sight and she blinked. An icy wind was already biting into her face, frost assaulting her ears. She looked around to find herself in a dark forest, the groaning and shivering tree limbs seeming to reach out as if trying to grab her and her companions. The snow on the ground reached almost up to their knees.

“The Everfree Forest,” Flash Sentry whispered behind her. “Oh, Holy Mother. This is real.”

“Stay focused, Flash,” Prowl said. “We’re all here and we’re all gonna stay together and keep each other safe. Lights on, all of you.”

Each of the group donned and switched on a headlamp, the bright beams of light piercing the dark for several yards in front of them.

“Which way?” Bumblebee asked, tilting his hat down lower so that the brim would shield more of his face. He had his shotgun out, one hoof gripping the middle of the barrel.

Flash, Prowl, and Daring all looked down at their right hooves. The dowsing rods were still tied to their wrists, and they held them up. The little rods all pointed in the same direction, aiming in what Daring’s compass revealed was north-northwest of their position.

“Come on, let’s go,” Daring said, turning and following the trail, crunching through the snow. She spread her wings to take off, but the wind instantly made her feel as though icicles were forming on her feathers and she snapped them back to her sides, opting to gallop as quickly as she could.

“Wait up,” Prowl called. “We all need to stay together. And if you rush, you’ll just end up tired.”

Every instinct was screaming at Daring to just race ahead and find Phillip as fast as possible, but she forced herself to slow down and allow the others to keep pace with her. They kept a steady trot forward, hooves crunching in the snow. Their journey passed in silence; their heavy breathing was focused entirely on moving forward. The whistling wind and creaking of the trees was occasionally punctuated by some strange, distinctly animal noise—a warbling cry, a throaty cawing, and once a distant howl—that would cause the group to instantly halt, raise their weapons and scan the forest with their eyes and ears, searching for any sign of imminent attack. But not once did any strange animal lunge from the shadows for them, and they would continue on, one or two giving a nervous laugh as they lowered their gun, nerves still tingling and hearts still trembling. Every few minutes, they would pause while Daring, Prowl, and Flash checked the dowsing rods and ensured that they were still heading in the right direction.

They had traveled for almost fifteen minutes and covered at least a mile by Daring’s estimate when they heard it. A close, rumbling howl that erupted from the foliage.

“Timberwolf,” MacWillard growled, rising onto his hind legs and tucking the stock of his Trotson against his shoulder. “It’s close. Wheel and Daring, back to back. The rest of us circle up around them.”

The officers instantly obeyed his instruction. Wheellock dropped to one knee and raised her rifle to her shoulder, peering down the night vision scope towards where the howl had come from. Daring pressed her back against Wheellock, gripping the borrowed Moon Model S with both hooves, panning the forest with her headlamp. The other four ponies formed a loose circle around them, all of them raising their weapons.

“Luna, Guardian of the Night, watch over us,” Wheellock whispered, then took a breath and settled herself. Daring felt some of the tension leave the mare’s body, heard her breathing slow: this was just another day at the range for her, she realized. It just so happened that the moving targets could tear her throat out if she let any get too close.

Another howl sounded: louder, closer, and with a triumphant, vibrating echo at the end.

“That’s a rallying call,” MacWillard said, slowly scanning his sector back and forth. “Every timberwolf nearby knows we’re here now.”

“How many?” Flash asked, trying to hide his nervousness. His trembling hooves gripped the shotgun so tightly that they nearly turned white.

“We’ll know when they come,” MacWillard replied.

Tense seconds passed, each one feeling like hours. The light from their headlamps revealed nothing amidst the snow and shadows, but they could hear the timberwolves approaching: rhythmic creaking of wood mixed with the thudding of steps, the snapping of twigs beneath clawed appendages, and a low, hungry growling.

“Where are they?” Flash asked, his voice high-pitched from terror.

“There!” Wheellock shouted, snapping her rifle to the target. Before the word had fully left her mouth, she fired, the Summerfield rifle barking loudly. Several yards away, the timberwolf that had been stalking towards them staggered, stunned by the .30-03 round that had taken off most of its skull.

A loud snarl erupted from the darkness and two more timberwolves charged past their stunned comrade. Their glowing green eyes pierced the darkness, narrowed in hate and hunger; their snouts were open, growls rumbling from throats that were enchanted by the strange magic of the forest. Each of them was nearly a full head taller than the ponies, and they bounded through the snow with strangely graceful movements.

Prowl and MacWillard both opened fire with their Trotsons, hot brass flying past their shoulders as their weapons sang out into the night. Their bullets struck true, sending bark and thick tree sap flying from the timberwolves’ bodies with every score, chewing away at their heads; within moments, both of the beasts collapsed into heaps of wood, sap running like blood into the snow. Wheellock calmly fired a second round that obliterated the head of the third timberwolf, dissipating the magic holding its surprisingly fragile body together.

A rustle alerted Daring and she whirled around. Her eyes registered the glowing green eyes emerging from the foliage behind her a moment before her brain acknowledged the incoming threat. “Behind us!” she shouted, raising her pistol and opening fire. Her rounds stunned the timberwolf as it bounded out of the foliage, causing it to stagger mid-charge. Flash turned and fired, his shotgun roaring out a challenge, and the timberwolf’s head exploded into a shower of wood chips and sap, the body collapsing into pieces. Mottles of green smoke fluttered about the wood.

“They’re retreating!” Wheellock shouted, firing another round to destroy a final timberwolf. Indeed, the few wooden beasts left standing were already turning and disappearing into the woods, their steps crunching in the snow.

“Yeah! Take that!” Bumblebee cheered. “And don’t come back!”

“Come on, we’re wasting time,” Daring urged them, holstering her weapon.

They continued on their journey, prowling through the snow. Soon, they ducked underneath a set of arching tree branches to behold an unnatural sight: a nine-foot-high chain link fence, topped with barbed wire and humming faintly with an electric charge.

“Who the hell would live all the way out here?” Bumblebee wondered. “Make a hell of a commute to the grocery store.”

“The Poacher lives here,” Daring concluded. “Come on!” She spread her wings and bounded over the fence in a single leap. Landing on the other side, she quickly snapped her wings back to her sides: the feathered limbs felt as though she’d just dunked them in a bucket of ice water, the wind having cruelly dug into her bones. Okay, gonna have to limit flying.

Flash followed Daring and Prowl and MacWillard carried Bumblebee and Wheellock over after them, all of the winged creatures wincing as the frost bit at their wings. Prowl, Flash, and Daring paused to check the dowsing rods. All of them were pointed in the same direction, to the northwest.

“Let’s keep moving,” Daring urged, already turning to follow the trail, pushing aside some branches as she walked. The others started to follow, but Prowl abruptly stopped and turned around, looking back the way they’d come.

“What is it?” Bee asked.

Prowl was still for a moment, her tufted ears twitching. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Thought I heard a noise. Sounded like a growl.”

“Come on!” Daring shouted, already several meters ahead of them, pushing hard through the snow and trees.

“Wait up!” Flash called, hurrying after her. “We gotta stay together!”

Daring forced herself to slow down enough that the others could catch up, her pulse marking every second that Phillip was dying. She scanned the woods, but even with her enchanted night-vision contacts, she could barely see more than a few meters in front of her, so thick were the woods and the snow. They proceeded forward, following the path indicated by the dowsing rods, and eventually emerged into a clearing. They paused while Wheellock scanned the area with her scope.

“No heat signatures, and no sign of anypony,” she announced. “Let’s keep going—”

“Uh, not to interrupt,” Bee declared, looking down. “But is the ground shaking?”

Everypony turned their attention to their hooves. The ground beneath the snow was indeed shaking, but not a constant rumble: more of a series of rapid impacts against the earth, so hard they could feel it in their bones.

Prowl suddenly whirled around. She exhaled sharply and her ears wiggled. “Something’s coming,” she warned, raising her Trotson towards the trees that they had just left. “Something big.”

The trembling became heavier; crashing noises resounded through the air as something smashed its way through the trees. The group raised their weapons, hearts thudding in their ears.

Then a pair of trees were knocked aside and their attacker emerged from behind them. It was a timberwolf, but eight feet tall, its eyes huge and glowing a sickly green that pierced the dark like daggers. It opened a huge snout that dripped with sap-like saliva, revealing fangs that were each almost a foot long and let out a snarl that made the air shake, filling it with its noxious breath.

Within the split-second before ponies reacted, Daring noticed the bullet pockmarks and holes across its face, suddenly realizing that this giant beast was made of the corpses of the pack that had attacked them earlier.

Then Flash, Bumblebee, and Wheellock all screamed and dived out of the way. The timberwolf lunged and tried to snatch up Prowl in its snout, but she jumped away, firing her Trotson as she flew upwards. Bullets impacted against the timberwolf’s head, sending splinters flying. The beast shook its head, growling.

Flash, who had paused a few feet away, bellowed in rage and charged at the timberwolf, firing his shotgun. The beast brought up a foreleg to shield its head, then swatted Flash out of the air, sending him crashing into the snow. Prowl dived in and grabbed Flash, dragging him to safety as the others started firing on the timberwolf.

Bellowing in rage and pain, the giant monster lunged at MacWillard. MacWillard tried to dodge, but was too slow: the timberwolf’s jaws closed around his wing and his gun fell from his talons. Screeching in pain and fear, MacWillard tried to claw his way loose, but the beast shook him like a chew toy, then flung him at Bumblebee and Wheellock, knocking them both down. It then turned its glowing eyes upon Prowl, who was still trying to carry the unconscious Flash to safety. Prowl fumbled with the Trotson, one hoof still hanging onto Flash as the beast lumbered towards them with frightening speed.

Daring, who had leaped out of the way initially, dived in and kicked the timberwolf in the back of the head. “Hey! Pick on someone your own size, you walking pile of firewood!” she shouted.

The glowing green eyes glared at her, and the timberwolf roared, its stinking breath assaulting Daring. It lunged at her, and she swooped downwards, narrowly missing the wooden teeth.

“Come and get me!” she taunted, zigzagging through the air. The timberwolf roared and chased after her, hoofsteps pounding against the snow.

“Daring!” Prowl yelled after her.

“I’ll lead it away!” Daring called, zipping faster over the clearings. The timberwolf followed her, snapping at her tail. It followed her over a pair of hills, crashing through copses of trees. Here, Daring turned to face her foe, drawing the borrowed pistol from her holster.

The timberwolf lunged at her, jaws wide, and she dodged to one side, opening fire. The pistol barked loudly as she emptied the magazine into the side of the timberwolf’s head. It snarled in rage and swung its head at Daring, striking her in the side. She grunted and tumbled through the air, the Moon Model S falling from her grasp into the snow. Recovering, Daring quickly flapped her wings and pushed herself away from what would’ve been a finishing snap of the beast’s jaws.

Great. Now what? Daring thought frantically, dodging the beast’s jaws and claws. I need some way to beat this thing for good. She ran a quick mental inventory of her gear. Her revolver: that would probably just make it angrier. Boomerang: she could barely throw it. Smoke bombs: even if she blinded it, it could just smell her out again. Lock picks, razor blade, lighter, cigarettes…

The bottle. A grin crossed Daring’s face as a plan formed in her mind. Dodging a swipe from a gigantic paw, she pulled out the glass bottle of Manticore Rare that she had stored. Tearing off a section of her coat, she stuffed it into the neck of the bottle, then whipped out her lighter and lit the end of the fabric. The makeshift fuse caught instantly, the little flame dancing in the cold wind. Switching tactics, she charged right at the timberwolf, who paused, its eyes widening as though in confusion.

Daring alighted atop the timberwolf’s head and drew her revolver in her spare hoof. She pressed the barrel against the timberwolf’s left eye and opened fire, sending all six bullets directly into its head. The beast bellowed in agony, blinded in one eye, shaking its enormous head. Daring jumped off and flew over the timberwolf’s head, throwing her Dragon’s Breath cocktail into its open mouth with a shout of “Have a drink on me!”

The bottle shattered inside the beast, and the fire caught quickly, flames bursting through the timberwolf’s chest. It bellowed in agony, writhing and flailing as the fire spread across its body. A flailing paw struck Daring and she tumbled out of the sky, her breath exploding out of her. She crashed into the snow, pain flashing across her wings and her side and she cried out.

Looking up, she saw the flaming wolf, its body lit up against the darkness of the sky and forest, throw its head back and give one last long howl, then slowly start to fall. She quickly jumped out of the way as the mass of burning timber crashed to the ground, sending snow plumes flying ten feet into the air. The body dissolved into logs and misshapen wood that lay in the snow. Motes of faint green dust floated off the corpse into the air, mixing with the smoke; the flames hissed and sputtered as they slowly died.

Daring stared at her work for a moment, panting, then muttered to herself, “Holy shit, I am awesome.”

Shaking herself out of her daze and adjusting her pith helmet, she looked back down at her dowsing rod. It was pointing behind her. She turned around and spotted a figure stalking through the snow, leaning on a long stick, weaving slightly as though drunk. She squinted. “Phil?” she called.

The figure paused, then sprinted towards her, stumbling through the deep snow. “Daring!”

Daring sprinted up to him, ignoring the pain in her left leg that screamed at her with every step, and seized Phillip in a hug. “Shit, you’re freezing,” she said, tugging her coat off her shoulders and swinging it over Phillip’s body. He hugged it to him, managing to smile at her with his blue lips.

“Th-thanks,” he said through chattering teeth, shaking snow out of his mane. His eyes were slightly unfocused and dull with exhaustion, but as Daring watched, they began to shine a bit more brightly as he warmed up.

“We gotta find the others and get you out of here,” Daring said, grasping Phillip beneath the forelegs and spreading her wings. “C’mon—ow!” she cried out, wincing. Pain shot up her left side and her wing, and her muscles refused to respond to her commands. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” she snarled, glaring at her warped, useless limb and nearly lame, injured leg.

Phillip suddenly snapped his head up, his body tensing up. “Poacher’s coming,” he hissed.

Indeed, Daring heard a song, brought to her ears by the frosty wind, coming closer by the moment: “Oh, Death…”

“Shit.” She looked around and spotted a large lump of crackling wood that had formerly been part of the timberwolf’s jaw; it was under four feet tall and as long as a car, some misshapen teeth still hanging onto it. “I’ve got an idea,” she grinned.

Ponies had come. How? How had they found him?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the hunt. He knew this little piece of the forest like the back of his own hoof: he could hide, lead his pursuers around in circles and pick them off at his leisure. And when he was done, he could disappear, go anywhere he pleased: another city, perhaps. Maybe he’d even leave Equestria, take his services elsewhere. There’d be more prey.

But right now, his prey was close, so close he could almost smell his fear. He could already imagine his knife cutting into his flesh, extracting his innards and carving him out like a Nightmare Night pumpkin.

He climbed to the top of the hill and paused. Before him was the remnants of what must have been a great battle: the flaming remnants of a massive timberwolf lay scattered across the field, smoke still rising into the sky.

Phillip could not have done this on his own. One of his rescuers must have done this. Indeed, he spotted a set of six brass .38 cartridges lying in the snow. So, he had a friend with him now, one who was armed. But it was only one, he surmised, scanning the area: there was no sign of any others.

He crouched down to examine the tracks in the snow. Here was Phillip’s trail, where he met with his rescuer. This one looked like a pegasus, their tracks light in the snow because of their hollow bones: a female, if the width of their gait was to be believed. “Daring Do,” he murmured to himself with a grin. Both of his targets, together, wounded.

A small bit of color amidst the darkness and the white snow caught his eye. He looked up and spotted the top of a round hat—a certain infamous pith helmet—peeking over what had formerly been the giant timberwolf’s lower jaw, now a lump of wood coated in flickering flames. Hoofprints in the snow led around the cover. He cocked his head to the side, already partly raising his rifle; the key attached to his hoof jingled faintly. Could it really be so obvious…?

Voices behind him, to the south. He turned and raised his field glasses. There, cresting over the hills: the others. Police officers, headed this way. Damn! How’d they get here?!

It didn't matter. Right now, he had the prime chance to take care of one, if not perhaps both of his trophies. Raising the rifle to his shoulder, he began to stalk forward, years of practice making every snowy step silent. He slowly circled around the log, focusing on the front sight of his rifle. There were no more tracks: they had to still be there, crouching, waiting for him to come closer. Smirking, the Poacher lightly pressed his hoof against the trigger of his rifle, keeping a safe distance from the log in case they were readying an ambush—not that it mattered, he’d have emptied both barrels into their heads before they had a chance to react, but no sense in taking unnecessary risks—and burst forward to reveal himself. He took aim…

And stared in shock. There was nopony on the other side of the lumber, merely Daring’s pith helmet propped up on a stick. A lure! A trap!

He heard snow shifting behind him and whirled around. Daring Do was bursting from the snow, bringing her revolver around to bear. But she was slow, far too slow; already his rifle was coming up, iron sights settling on her chest. Just a single pull of his hoof on the trigger—

But then the snow at his hooves burst like an explosion and a heavy weight crashed down on the barrel of his rifle just as he pulled the trigger, sending the shot into the ground with a great retort. Phillip Finder swung the stick he'd taken with a bellow, striking Big Game across the jaw and sending a lightning jolt of pain through his body.

Releasing the rifle, Big Game rolled with the blow, tumbling through the snow. As he rolled, he seized the great knife from his belt, drawing it from his sheath. He returned to his hooves, knife in hoof, turning towards Phillip. He was crashing through the snow, teeth bared and eyes shining like a wild animal.

Daring Do was circling around behind him, trying to get a clear shot of him. Glancing behind him, Big Game spotted a fallen timberwolf tooth, as nearly as long as a pony's foreleg and almost twice as thick, still partially glowing with heat. With a single motion, he seized the tooth and hurled it at Daring's head.

With a satisfying thwack, the makeshift projectile struck her square in the forehead. She stumbled, eyes shifting comically out of focus, then crashed into the snow.

But then a great weight crashed into him and drove him into the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. The next thing Big Game knew, Phillip had seized his foreleg in both his ice-cold hooves and dug his teeth into the skin. With a snarl, Phillip tore away a chunk of skin. Big Game's howl of pain echoed through the snowy valley and he felt the knife instinctively slipping from his hoof. Phillip grabbed it and tossed it aside.

"Get off!" Big Game barked, punching at Phillip's head with his free hoof. Phillip grunted and tumbled off him, and Big Game pounced like a cougar, mounting Phillip and wrapping his hooves around his neck. His teeth bared in an animalistic grin, he squeezed, relishing the feeling of his prey choking and struggling beneath him, hooves clumsily trying to break his hold.

But then a knee jerked up and rammed into his crotch. His back arched and he let out a yelp, his hold loosening. In an instant, Phillip completely broke his chokehold and tossed him to the ground once more, switching positions with him. His first punch broke Big Game's nose with a crunch, sending blood flying from his nostrils and summoning cold tears from his eyes. His second punch struck him across the jaw, making the world seem to spin around him. And his third punch hammered into his chin, sending the Poacher sprawling back into the snow once more, groaning feebly, his limbs no longer wishing to respond.

Panting and shivering, spitting the last foul taste of blood and flesh from his mouth, Phillip got up and stumbled over to Daring. She was picking herself up off the ground, holding her head with her free hoof. "Ow," she grumbled. "Asshole."

"You okay?" Phillip asked, teeth still chattering.

"I'm good," Daring nodded, focusing on Big Game, who was groaning as he came around. "Don't move, shitheel," she barked at him, aiming at his head with her revolver.

Big Game looked around, then smiled up at Daring Do. “Well played. It’s been a long time since I’ve faced another hunter.”

“Be thankful I don’t stuff you and mount you on my wall, you sicko,” Daring snarled, her aim never wavering.

Big Game’s smile faded. “You might as well,” he said coolly, glancing to one side. “Even if Zugzwang could forgive me for failing him, I’m never going back in a cage.”

He rolled over and seized the object he'd seen on the ground beside him. The knife blazed orange, reflecting the light of the flames. “No, don’t!” Daring shouted, starting forward.

But even before she’d taken a step, Big Game drew the blade across his neck, digging deep into his skin. He fell to the ground, twitching and shuddering as his scarlet blood spurted into the snow. He rolled over onto his back, gurgling on his last breaths, his eyes focusing on nothing.

A moment later, the light faded from his eyes and the Poacher became as still and silent as one of his trophies, sprawled across the snow. Phillip and Daring stared down at his body in silence.

Seconds later, the other officers arrived, staring at the scene before them with awe. “Holy shit,” Bumblebee mused, walking around the remnants of a giant paw.

“You both okay?” Prowl asked.

“Fine,” Phillip muttered, staring at the corpse. “Sick wanker decided to off himself rather than let Zugzwang kill him.”

“Well,” MacWillard grunted. “At least that’s all over with.”

“Should we take him with us?” Flash asked, looking at the bloodied corpse with trepidation.

“No, leave it here for now,” Prowl said. “Crime scene crew can take care of it. Let’s just get out of here before we all freeze.”

“Hang on,” Daring said. She bent down over the Poacher’s corpse and snatched the blue key from his wrist. “There. Now we’ll be able to get back more easily.”

The group gathered close together and Prowl broke open the container with her teleportation crystal, tossing the little jewel up into the air. The crystal hovered over them and began to spin, beams of blue-white light firing around them. With a flash of blinding light, the officers, detectives and their catch vanished from the forest.

Twilight paced back and forth across the spell circle on the laboratory floor, occasionally bending over to check one of the runes that she’d marked. “I know it was right,” she muttered frantically to herself, nibbling on a hoof as she completed another circle. “I double-checked everything...but maybe I should’ve triple-checked! What if I got one number wrong and didn’t see it either time? I could’ve sent them miles off course! They might be in Manehattan right now! Or Yakyakistan! Or the middle of the ocean! What if they’re not even on this planet anymore?!”

Cold Case watched the mare in silence, wisps of smoke rising from the bowl of her pipe. She nibbled on the stem and turned her gaze to the teleportation crystals that lay on the floor. For the past hour, they had remained on the floor, stubbornly still and silent. She huffed out a breath that smelled of mint.

“Something’s gone wrong,” Twilight said, her eyes wide. “We have to send another team! No, wait, if this circle is wrong—”

“Calm down,” Cold Case admonished her. “We don’t know for sure if anything has gone wrong. Panicking over things you can’t control won’t help—”

Suddenly, one of the crystals jumped into the air and began to glow. Cold Case and Twilight both stepped back as beams of blue light shot out of the crystal. Then, with a great flash of light, seven ponies appeared before them.

“You’re all okay!” Twilight cried in relief, immediately hugging Flash.

“Ow!” Flash cried out as her tight embrace exacerbated his injuries. She quickly let go and began profusely apologizing, casting healing spells over the group.

Phillip, still tightly wrapped in Daring’s coat, stumbled over to Cold Case. “Big Game is dead,” he reported, his lips still faintly blue. “He—”

"Hold still," Cold Case interrupted, her horn lighting up. Her magic flowed about the wound in his side, repairing it; Phillip winced but did not protest. Once the wound had closed up into a scab, Cold retrieved a roll of gauze and tightly wrapped them around his torso.

“Rest,” Cold Case ordered him, laying a hoof on his shoulder. “Find a cot and get some sleep. You can report once you’re rested up and feeling better.” She turned to Daring. “That goes for you, too.”

“Thanks,” Daring said with a begrudging nod, supporting Phillip as they exited the lab. She tossed Cold Case the blue key as she walked off; Cold caught it in her magic and studied it briefly.

A cot was quickly brought up from the basement and prepared. Phillip collapsed onto it, with Daring tightly hugging him from behind, her warmth joining his.

“Thank you for coming for me,” Phillip whispered, sleep already pulling at him.

“Of course I did,” Daring whispered, drawing the thick blankets around them. They were both asleep in moments.

Author's Note

We've braved the forest...but there's still a few loose ends to clear up!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Seven, Chapter Seven: The Painter

The scent of coffee pulled Phillip from sleep like the song of sirens calling to a distant sailor. As consciousness returned, he repressed the urge to retreat back into the cocoon of warmth that surrounded him and blearily opened his eyes. Two familiar-looking blurs stood in front of him, and the tantalizing odor seemed to be coming from them.

“Finally,” the red blur on the right said. “I was starting to think he was gonna sleep all day.”

Phillip blinked and managed to focus enough to recognize the blurs as Trace Evidence and Red Herring, and spotted the steaming paper cup being held in Trace’s magic. He sat up and snatched at it, only to miss, prompting stifled laughter from both stallions. He scowled and managed to grab the coffee cup on his next try, guzzling down the contents.

“What time is it?” he asked, shaking his head to clear out the last of the cobwebs. He grunted and clutched at his side, where bandages covered the mostly healed bullet wound.

“Almost eleven,” Trace answered. “We figured we should let you rest.”

It suddenly occurred to Phillip that he was the only occupant of the cot. “Where’s Daring?”

“She woke up hours ago,” Trace explained. “She decided to let you sleep in and helped us search and clear out the Poacher’s hideout.” A shudder ran down his spine. “Those trophies are gonna haunt my dreams for months.”

“Least the little fuck’s in a box now where he belongs,” Red grunted. “Oh, by the way: you might need these.” He held up a box. Inside was a familiar green vest and gray trilby.

Phillip grinned and climbed off the cot. “Thanks, mates,” he said, donning his gear. The weight and jingling of the vest’s pockets told him that all of his gear was present and accounted for.

“Now that you’re awake, we do have one last thing to do,” Trace explained as Phillip strapped on the shoulder holster. “We’ve been looking into leads on finding out who made the fake painting. One thing we tried was checking the frame.”

“Suunkii took a look at it and figured out that it was actually just a regular frame from a shop, but it had been dunked in a potion to make it look older,” Red said. “We managed to track down a list of recent purchases and cross-referenced it with a list of museum employees. We think we’ve got a likely suspect.” He pulled out a folder and handed it to Phillip. Inside the folder was a small sheaf of papers—a rap sheet—with a mug shot of a dark purple unicorn stallion with mussy red and brown hair, staring surlily at the camera. A close-up of his flank showed a cutie mark of a paintbrush across a wheel of vibrant colors.

“Color Wheel,” Red Herring stated. “Independent artist, recently did a three-year stretch for counterfeiting and forgery. He’s been working at the Gallery as a custodian for a few moons now; we’ve been told he’s been hanging around Deco Line’s cubicle and the new exhibit a lot.”

“Just need to wait on Suunkii and we can check out his apartment,” Trace said.

As if on cue, Doctor Suunkii walked in carrying a clear flask with a slightly bubbling green liquid inside. “Phillip,” he breathed as soon as he saw Phil. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Phillip nodded. “Thanks, Suun.”

Suunkii swallowed, his eyes shining briefly, then nodded. “I am glad to hear that.” He turned to Trace and handed him the flask. “This potion contains the elements of the potion that was used to artificially age the frame. It will begin to glow and steam in the presence of those elements. It will confirm if your suspect is the perpetrator that you are looking for.”

“Thanks, doc,” Trace said, accepting the flask. “You coming, Phil?”

“Bloody right I am,” Phillip nodded.

“Right, he’s got an apartment in the Industrial District. Let’s go.”

Trace pulled his Commander to the curb and just barely managed to squeeze the car in between two other vans, allowing the trio of stallions to disembark from the vehicle. The sun was bright and warm, hanging in the clear blue sky, and the partially melted snow whispered beneath their hooves as they crossed the street and proceeded to their target. Red, Trace, and Phillip looked up at the five-story brick building before them, dripping icicles clinging to its windows.

“Wheel lives in 206,” Trace declared, heading towards the door. Finding the front door locked, he tried one of the buzzers set into the wall next to it. A small crystal over the rows of buttons began to glow, allowing the occupant of 101 to see the visitors.

Trace held his badge up to the crystal. “Police. Open up, please,” he said.

The crystal immediately switched off and the door unlocked with a sharp clack. Trace pushed the door open and the stallions proceeded inside, leaving wet hoofprints on the carpet as they headed upstairs. They reached the second landing and proceeded down the hallway to apartment 206.

Red rapped at the door. “Color Wheel! Police!” he barked. “We’ve got a warrant!”

There was no answer. A clicking caught Phillip’s attention; he turned to see an eye peeping out from behind the cracked-open door to 201 before disappearing. A figure with a blonde mane and tail wearing a long dark green trenchcoat and a dark gray derby clomped down the stairs and disappeared.

“Can’t say we didn’t warn him,” Red shrugged, stepping aside and drawing his service pistol. Trace lit up his horn and fired a concussive spell at the door, nearly blasting it off the hinges. Red and Trace proceeded inside, with Phillip following close behind.

The apartment was a small, single-bedroom ensemble. There was a small combination living and dining room with a wooden table, three chairs, and a sofa, a kitchen with a steaming kettle and a plate in the sink that carried the remnants of an egg salad breakfast, and a bedroom with a closet, a work table cluttered with art supplies, and an easel; there was no sign of Color Wheel, or anypony else.

Walking into the bedroom, Trace pulled the flask out of his pocket and held it near the work table. Instantly, the liquid inside began to glow faintly and started bubbling frantically, as if he had just placed it over an open flame.

“Well, that confirms our theory,” Trace commented, replacing the flask in his coat.

“But where the fuck did he go?” Red asked, scowling at the still steaming kettle on the stove as if it was deliberately hiding the truth from them. “He can’t have been gone long.”

Phillip walked over to a window, his eyes on the floor; atop the old brown throw rug was a dropped glass. Tea was spilled all over the floor. Phil looked out the window and easily spotted Trace’s Commander parked on the street outside.

“He saw us coming,” he mused. He began to circle around the apartment, scanning the walls, furniture, ceiling, and floor. He spotted an ashtray on the wooden table and leaned in to scrutinize the ashes, sniffing at them. “Emerald River brand. Chain smoker,” he muttered. He proceeded into the bathroom and quickly studied the bottles inside the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. “Blonde mane and tail dye,” he mused, studying the two bottles in the cabinet before setting them aside and moving on.

He then walked into the bedroom and started looking through the closet. Several coats, each a different color to form a miniature rainbow display, were hanging from the rack; a trilby, a flop hat, and a Ponyville Manticores baseball cap sat on the shelf above.

“Why does one pony need so many coats?” Red asked, staring at the display incredulously.

“Maybe they reflect his moods or something,” Trace commented.

Phillip’s focus was on the sole bare hangar in the closet. Pulling out his magnifying glass, he peered at the hangar, plucking at a lone fiber clinging to the wooden material. “Green,” he muttered, his eyes widening. He glanced at the shelf of hats, noticing a round space that was clear of any dust, then turned and sprinted out the door.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?!” Trace shouted as he and Red chased after him.

“We missed him,” Phillip explained, hurrying down the stairs. “He saw us coming. Put on coat and hat. Hid on third-floor landing, walked out when we were busy.” He shouldered his way through the front door and reemerged back onto the sidewalk. There were only a few ponies trotting up and down the sidewalk, but there was no sign of any blonde-maned ponies in green trenchcoats and derby hats.

Spotting a donkey with a salt and pepper beard manning a hot dog and hot chocolate cart, Phillip raced over. “Did you see a blonde unicorn with a derby and a green trenchcoat come out of that door a couple minutes ago?” he asked.

The vendor thought for a moment. “I did,” he nodded. “He went down that way, and turned up Oak Leaf Street.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded and hurried down the street, rounding the corner. Oak Leaf Street was a wide paved road with apartments and stores packed onto both sides of the street. Clusters of pedestrians walked up and down, but none wore the requisite green.

“Trace, can you get a tracking spell?” Red asked.

“There are too many tracks, and it doesn’t work very well in snow: something about the magic being dispersed too much in the water,” Trace said. “It wouldn’t work.”

“I’ll check from the skies,” Red grunted, taking off.

“He could’ve gotten a cab or something,” Trace pointed out as Phillip walked forward, his head panning from side to side. “He could be miles away by now.”

“Or he could still be here,” Phillip said. “Now quiet. Need to focus.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, then released it slowly. He forgot the sounds of the street, the voices and clopping of dozens of hooves. He forgot the feel of the slush beneath his hooves, the cold air kissing the back of his neck and his ears. He forgot the smells of car exhaust and cheap vendor food, the taste of winter and asphalt.

He forgot everything save for the faint taste of smoke that itched at the back of his tongue, accompanied by an artificial scent that was meant to imitate the heavy, wet, green, woodsy odor of a forest in the rain. His natural earth pony senses and connection to the world around him, honed by years of focus and practice, guided him forward step by step, following the breath of an Emerald River brand smoker, until he reached the door of a small cafe. He pushed the door open and he and Trace stepped inside.

The cafe was a small establishment, with a few ponies sitting atop stools at the raised counter and others lingering in the small booths. The two detectives paused in the doorway and scanned the room; both their gazes quickly fell upon a unicorn in the back of the cafe, face hidden behind a menu, a green trenchcoat clinging to his form and blonde hair parted around his dark purple horn.

Phillip and Trace both stepped forward, hoofsteps echoing in the suddenly silent diner, and the pony looked up. Even with the thick blonde beard, the face of Color Wheel was instantly recognizable.

Color Wheel leaped up from his seat as though launched by a spring and raced for the back door. Trace and Phillip sprinted after him, Trace pushing the door open with his magic. They emerged in a t-shaped alleyway, pausing momentarily to get their bearings.

“That way!” Phillip shouted, pointing at a retreating figure to their right. They set off in pursuit, closing the gap with every step. Panting and huffing, Color Wheel used his magic to push a dumpster into his pursuers’ path. In a flowing movement, Phillip vaulted onto the top of the dumpster and leaped off, performing a front flip in midair and landing in a tuck and roll to pop back to his hooves and keep running; Trace slowed briefly to push the dumpster aside with a concussion spell before resuming the chase.

Color Wheel turned a sharp corner, stumbling as he did so, but a red limb extended itself from around the corner and clotheslined him. Color Wheel’s legs shot out from under him and he sprawled onto his back with a grunt, all of the wind exploding from his lungs. Red Herring calmly cuffed the unicorn as Trace and Phillip caught up.

“Nice work, Red,” Trace panted, hauling Color Wheel to his hooves.

“You’re lucky I saw you two chasing this guy,” Red said. “Your slow asses would’ve never caught up with him.”

Phillip trotted up to glare at Color Wheel, who flinched away. “Who hired you to make the fake painting?” he growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Color Wheel cried, his words spilling out of his throat.

A lie. He could hear the lie in every syllable, and it made the already boiling anger beneath his skin flare white hot. This pony was part of it, part of the conspiracy that had hired the Poacher. Complicit in the near-murder of Deco Line. Connected to what had almost been his own death. The bullet wound in his side flared in agony, causing him to grit his teeth, and Color Wheel quailed, flinching in terror. Phillip’s right hoof trembled, almost reaching up for the pocket that held his baton, and he focused on the most vulnerable parts of the criminal’s body: the knees, the throat, the floating ribs, break him, crush him, make him bleed, make him pay…

He turned away and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply, in through his nostrils and out through his mouth. Slowly, the drumming beat of his heart against his ribs faded away and he turned back. “We’ll figure it out one way or another,” he stated, the anger still in his voice, but no longer with the same thunderous rumbling that covered every syllable. “Might as well make it easy on yourself and admit it.”

Color Wheel’s eyes darted about as Red and Trace dragged him out of the alley and onto the street, as if looking for a concealed threat or an escape route. “Okay,” he finally blurted out. “Okay, listen, maybe if we can make a deal—”

“We can talk deal after you tell us what you know,” Red grunted, not looking at his captive.

“All right, all right!” Color Wheel nodded rapidly. “I don’t know any of their names, but they contacted me: said they’d pay good coin if I could fake that painting with the ship. I painted it and helped them plan out getting into the museum, but I swear I didn’t have anything to do with—”

A sharp crack resounded through the city air and the back of Color Wheel’s head exploded outwards, sending blood and brain matter flying. Trace, Red, and Phillip all immediately ducked into the nearest cover behind parked cars and alley corners as ponies around them screamed and ran.

“Where are they?!” Red shouted, drawing his sidearm.

Phillip looked over at a rundown tenement building across the way, most of its windows broken or boarded up and the doors blocked by a chain and padlock. He spotted a flicker of movement and a glimmer of light reflecting off a scope in the third floor. “There, third floor!” he shouted, pointing.

Behind the broken window on the third floor, a scowling dark red unicorn mare folded up the bipod on her rifle, slung her weapon over her shoulder, and disappeared in a flash of orange light.

“You think they’re still there?!” Red shouted, peeping over the top of the car.

“Stay behind me, we’re gonna try and get in close,” Trace said. Taking a breath, he ignited his horn, creating a shield in front of himself and popped out from behind cover. Phillip drew his revolver and fell in step behind Trace, with Red bringing up the rear. They moved fast and low, their eyes on the building before them; civilians around them hid behind whatever cover was available.

No rounds were fired at them as they crossed the road. Trace blasted the locked door open with a concussive wave and they entered what had been a lobby, the floorboards having long rotted through and the only furniture remaining was a table with three legs and some mold-eaten chairs. They proceeded up a flight of stairs, every step creaking beneath their hooves, and reached the third floor. They swept through the floor, searching every room, but found nothing but dust bunnies and empty cider bottles.

“Damn,” Trace muttered, holstering his pistol. “We’d best get back down to the scene.”

They retreated back down the stairs and outside to where Color Wheel lay. A curious crowd had been drawn to the body and stood in a circle around it, staring in morbid fascination. Red quickly dispersed the crowd with his usual charm as approaching sirens sounded from afar.

Phillip crouched next to the thing that had once been a living pony. Color Wheel’s eyes were dim, staring at nothing, a red hole burrowed into his forehead. He sighed and shook his head. “You had no idea what you were getting into, did you?” he asked.

Phillip sat across from the modest desk in the center of the grand office. In front of him, Cold Case sat with her elbows on the desk, chin on her hooves, expression pensive. Behind her, the floor to ceiling windows, painted in frost and icicles, displayed the main square of Ponyville, dense droves of cars driving through the snow. The flags of Ponyville and Equestria hung limply from their flagpoles.

“Here’s what I figure,” Phillip stated. “Whoever was behind this wanted the original Artiste Fou painting. They commissioned Color Wheel to make a fake of it and help them plan the break-in. Once it was done being restored and ready to be put on display, they’d break in and replace it.

“But Deco Line saw the secret writing underneath the painting, and that threw their plans off. They had to get the fake in place early, and they had to keep Deco quiet. That’s where the Poacher came in.”

“And kidnapping you?” Cold Case asked.

“Once Deco escaped and told us everything, there was no point trying to kill him anymore,” Phillip stated. “I was a threat to be taken care of. Once the Poacher was done with me, he’d probably come after Daring.”

Cold nodded. “And now that Big Game and Color Wheel are dead, the only question left is, who hired them?”

“Most likely suspect is Scarlet Letter,” Phillip stated. “She’s the one that Deco wrote about the secret.”

Cold nodded. “We’ll bring her in for questioning. And we’ll speak to Deco Line again. In the meantime, I’ll have Trace and Red keep looking into the break-in. You and Daring need to go home and get some rest.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded. He started to stand up but grimaced and clutched his side. Cold Case stood up as well, concern flashing in her eyes.

“You should change your bandages when you get home,” she advised.

“I will. Thanks,” Phillip nodded. “AJ tells me you’ve been seeing her and Rara.”

Cold looked down for a moment, then made a very small nod. “Sober for two months now.”

“Aces,” Phillip smiled. “See you later.” He exited the office, proceeded down to the bottom floor via the elevator, and exited the precinct. Daring was waiting outside the front door, puffing on a cigarette. She turned and tossed the fag away.

“So?” she asked.

“They’ll bring Scarlet in for questioning,” Phillip stated. “For the moment, our work is done. They can handle it from here.”

“You sure?” Daring asked.

“I’m sure,” Phillip nodded. “‘Sides, the Apple Pie is waiting.”

A grin spread across Daring’s face. “You always know just what to say,” she purred. “Let’s skip the cab.”

Phillip’s eyes widened and he started to back away. “Wait! Wounded pony! You wouldn’t—”

With a swoop of wings, Daring snatched him up and rocketed up into the sky, leaving behind a fading scream of “Daaaarrrrrriiiiiiinnnnng!”

Author's Note

We all know that no criminal likes loose ends. But do you recognize our shooter?

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Case Seven, Chapter Eight: The Game is Afoot

The Apple Pie in Your Eye was in full swing that evening, especially with the promised entertainment of Rara and Steamed Carrot doing a series of country duets with local musical accompaniment. The eyes and ears of every patron was turned towards the stage and the four ponies: Rara at the piano, tossing her mane confidently with every bar, Steamed Carrot, her eyes tightly shut but a huge smile on her face as she stood behind the microphone, Caramel on guitar, stamping one hoof to the beat, and his wife Sassaflash playing fiddle sitting on a stool to support the additional weight of the foal she was carrying.

“It’s really good to see Carrot on stage,” Daring commented, leaning up against the bar, her stool squeaking beneath her.

“Yeah,” Phillip nodded from beside her, sipping at the glass of Kanga-Rum before him. “She’s doing real well.”

“Still can’t sing without her eyes closed, but by golly, can she sing,” Applejack agreed, washing a stein from behind the bar.

The swinging doors to the kitchen behind the bar burst open and Pinkie Pie emerged, balancing a stack of plates with her mane. “Here you go!” she chirped, sliding the plates down to Phillip and Daring. “Salmon on rice with lemon juice for Phil, and shrimp pasta with a side of steamed veggies for Daring! And for dessert…” She slid over two smaller plates, one with a thick brownie and the other with a slice of peach pie.

“Thanks, Pinkie,” Daring said, taking up a fork. She looked at the slice of pie and paused. “This one doesn’t have confetti in it, does it?”

“Nope! Pinkie Promise!” Pinkie Pie declared, going through the motions of her signature vow.

“Okay,” Daring said, shooting the slice a suspicious glance before digging into the pasta.

The phone behind the bar rang and Applejack answered it. “Apple Pie, this is Applejack,” she said. There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Yeah, they’re here.” She turned and handed the phone to Phillip. He held it up between himself and Daring so they could both hear.

“It’s Red,” the voice said over the phone. “Thought you should hear before anything else. Scarlet lawyered up as soon as we brought her in: we couldn’t even get her to give us the time of day. And on top of that, her lawyer called a bunch of reporters and turned the whole thing into a media circus. We had to let her go; she gave a statement right outside the precinct saying we were trying to railroad her.”

Daring growled and gripped the bar so tightly it nearly cracked as a low fire began to simmer beneath her branded hoof. “Dammit.”

“Even said that she’d be keeping that art exhibit up, even with the fake painting, which she had absolutely nothing to do with,” Red continued. He sighed.

“Nothing we can do,” Phillip said. “She’ll slip up eventually. And when she does, we’ll be there.”

“We’ll be keeping an eye on her,” Red said. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know. See you later.” And with a click, he hung up.

Phillip handed the phone back to Applejack and stood up. “I need to speak to Rara,” he said, walking over to the stage. Rara hopped down and the two engaged in conversation.

Daring turned back to her meal. Grasping the glass of Manticore Rare, she glared at the dark red liquid for a moment, then knocked the entire glass back in one go. “Another,” she demanded of Applejack, slamming the glass back down on the table.

Applejack poured her another round. “What’s gotten you down in the mud?”

“It’s this fucking city, AJ,” Daring grunted, trying to ignore the pain of her cursed brand. “Just when I thought it’d get better after we got rid of Silvertongue, along comes Scarlet Fucking Letter and it all starts again. More corruption. More crime. Same fucking shit, different day.” She knocked back the second glass in a single go and sighed.

Applejack looked at her for a moment, then leaned forward. “You know, I’ve been farming all my life,” she said. “And every year, it’s a whole lotta work right after Winter Wrap Up. We gotta plant the seeds, trim the trees, make sure they’re fertilized and watered. And the weeds.” She grimaced. “Every year, the weeds come in droves. It’s a chore just keeping the fields clear so the seeds can grow. Then we gotta deal with the birds and vampire fruit bats, getting the cows and the pigs and the chickens fed and taken care of…”

“Wait, let me guess,” Daring interrupted. “I’m you, the city is the farm, and scumbags like Silvertongue and Scarlet are the weeds.”

“You ain’t a detective for nothing,” Applejack grinned. “But anyway, yeah, I get where you’re coming from. It’s frustrating, having to put up with the same problems year after year. But I’ve learned from every year about what works and what doesn’t. Every year, I get better at it. And every year, after all the hard work, I make a heaping harvest of produce that I can be right proud of.”

She leaned back a bit. “There’s always gonna be bad guys, Daring. Nopony knows that better than the citizens of Ponyville. But the work you do does matter. You want proof, just look around here.” She gestured around the tavern, pointing at several patrons who were enjoying meals and company, smiling and chatting quietly.

“Caramel over there used to have thugs coming up to his home every other week for protection money. Nopony’s bothered him for months now,” Applejack pointed. “Side Saddle couldn’t get anypony to buy his home because of all the dealers in his neighborhood; now that they’ve all gone after Monopoly got taken down, he’s moved to a place closer to where he works and large enough for his two kids. Roseluck nearly lost her home to Tinderspark, but you saved it. And Steamed Carrot...every night, she thanks the Holy Mother for what you did for her.” She smiled at Daring. “The good you do might not seem like much, but it counts every day. You and Phil, you’ve given these ponies hope, Daring. And that means a lot.”

The pain slowly washed away. Daring smiled back at Applejack and raised her glass. “Well, here’s to pulling weeds.”

“What’s that?” Phillip asked, returning.

Daring finished off her sip before answering. “Ah, nothing.”

She speared off a part of the pie and lifted it to her lips, taking a bite. For a moment, the sweet, slightly tangy taste of peaches and cream flowed over her tongue. A second later, the warm, subtle flavors were replaced by an intense burning heat, as though her tongue was on fire. Gasping in shock and pain, she grabbed the glass of whiskey and downed all of it, then snatched Phil’s glass of rum and guzzled it down as well. Only then did the burning fade away, leaving her gasping for air.

“What happened?” Phillip asked in alarm.

Pinkie leaned back in through the kitchen doors. “I promised there wasn’t any confetti in there,” she smirked. “I didn’t say anything about hot sauce.”

“You asshole,” Daring wheezed, smiling despite herself.

“Whoo! I didn’t think I put in that much!” Pinkie sniggered. “You’re all red in the face!”

“I am not,” Daring protested. “I barely even felt that.”

“Really?” Pinkie said, a sly grin creeping up her face as she pulled a plastic crate filled with fiery red bottles out from behind her. “Because I have all these bottles of hot sauce that are about to expire, and I gotta do something with them…”

Daring and Pinkie both looked at the crate of bottles, then at each other.

“Daring…” Phil said bracingly.

“Pinkie…” Applejack said, her pupils shrinking slightly.

Their warnings went unheeded: with grins of abandon, Daring and Pinkie both snatched up one of the bottles and started to chug them down like machines.

“Oh, no,” their companions groaned in unison, lowering their faces onto their hooves.

“What. Was. I. Thinking?” Daring wheezed forty minutes later, clutching her throat as the trolley car swayed beneath her.

“I ask myself that frequently,” Phillip stated, sitting next to her.

“How did that pony manage to drink all of those?” Daring gasped. “What does Pinkie even eat?”

“Some questions are best left unanswered,” Phillip commented, pulling the signal cord over his head as they approached Honeybee Bakery Street. The trolley squealed to a halt and they disembarked, heading back home. The light dusting of snow that coated the sidewalk and street seemed to glow beneath the streetlamps.

“I still can’t feel my tongue,” Daring said, sticking her tongue out.

“It’s your own fault,” Phillip stated, unlocking the door to 221.

“I’m getting no sympathy from you, am I?” Daring grumbled as they stepped inside.

“No,” Phillip stated plainly. “I—”

He was interrupted by the phone ringing. The two stared at each other for a beat, then sighed. “Deja vu,” Daring grumbled as Phillip walked over to the phone on the sitting room table next to the chessboard and lifted the receiver.

“Finder and Do,” he spoke.

“Liebling,” the voice on the other end said. “Darling. How glad I am to see that you are home safely.”

He had never heard the Gerwhin-accented voice before, but he instantly knew who it was. “Zugzwang,” Phillip scowled. Daring’s ears immediately perked up and she paused to listen.

“Ja, it is I,” Zugzwang’s voice said in delight. “Did you like the Hearth’s Warming gift I left you?”

The image of a dozen eyeless corpses flashed before Phillip’s and Daring’s minds, sending an involuntary shudder down their spines. “What do you want?” Phillip growled.

“To speak to you, and to apologize,” Zugzwang answered, his tone absurdly light and casual. “When I learned that the Poacher had taken you, I feared I might never see you again. I do not exaggerate when I say I contemplated throwing myself into the Maresippi at the thought.”

“You’re awfully concerned for a pony who hired him to kill me,” Phillip replied.

There was a long pause. “Who told you that?” Zugzwang spoke at last, his tone having suddenly changed to a low, icy breath.

“The Poacher,” Phillip answered.

There was a muted hissing noise over the phone that might have been static and might have been an equine noise. “Then I have a traitor in my midst,” Zugzwang said. “I promise you, I gave no such order for you to be harmed.”

Phillip snorted derisively. “Like I’m supposed to believe a wanker like you.”

A soft, bubbling laugh sounded from the other end of the line. “Liebling, why would I ever want to kill you?” Zugzwang chuckled. “Nein, nein, I would never harm you. I need you.” His voice dropped to a sensuous whisper: “I love you.”

A sudden chill ran down Phillip’s legs, and he heard his heart thumping faintly in his ears. “What are you talking about?”

“It was exceedingly boring, to work for Silvertongue,” Zugzwang explained, speaking as though they were discussing this over drinks. “I had once loved my work, woke up every day excited to try new things, formulate new plans. But with him, the challenge that I craved, the thrill of being tested, of pitting my mind against a rival’s, had long ago faded away: there was nopony in Ponyville who could test me, no challenges to surmount. The chessboard was empty. Every day seemed agony, and I yearned for an escape. Scarlet Letter’s rebellion provided a suitable distraction, but then you…”

He let out a long, blissful sigh and spoke in a breathy, ecstatic tone. “You came along. You reminded me of what I had been missing: you aroused the cravings for challenge that I so longed for. You, liebling: you are my raison d’etre now, the reason why I get up in the morning. You are the rival I have waited for. You...are my love.”

The thumping of Phillip’s heartbeat grew louder, faster. “You’re insane,” he growled.

The silence that followed seemed to hit him like a sledgehammer. “I’d choose my words more carefully, liebling,” Zugzwang said, his tone one of matter-of-fact warning. “I do need you, but I do not need the ponies you surround yourself with. Not even the mare standing two feet to your left. Did you ever notice her wingtips twitch when she is worried? Ah, look, she’s doing it now.”

Phillip’s heart leaped into his throat. He turned and looked out the window. Across the snowy yard with the single dropping cherry tree, there was a single square of yellow light from a neighbor’s window. A light that should not have been on, for Phillip knew that the occupants were always in bed and asleep long past this hour. A light that had a figure standing inside of it.

From a dozen yards away, stormcloud gray irides met empty black.

A moment later, the figure disappeared with a flash of golden light, then reappeared in the sitting room right behind Phillip and Daring. His horn lit up and Phillip was pushed up against the wall, an iron grip crushing his throat. He choked and sputtered, pushing futilely against the force that held him back. Daring was lifted off the ground, bands of golden lights trapping her limbs and wings and constricting her neck.

“I could kill her right now,” Zugzwang said, no emotion evident in his tone. His empty black eyes were fixed on Phillip’s, ignoring Daring’s struggling to free herself and desperate choking. “I could skin her alive and carve out her still-beating heart. And if I thought it’d bring me an advantage, I would.”

Phillip tried to speak, but the pressure on his throat made it impossible to form words; he tried to reach for the boomerang in his vest, but more golden bands wrapped around his forelegs and pinned them to the wall.

“But no,” Zugzwang shook his head. “Cruelty for its own sake is a petty indulgence, and I would gain nothing from such an action. So you may have her...for now. But should you ever think of disrespecting me again, I would think of this night.”

He paused, then a smile crossed his face, a smile that did not reach his black irides. “You have beautiful eyes, liebling,” he whispered in a sensuous coo, striding over to the trapped Phillip. “I shall dream of them often.” He leaned down and kissed the helpless earth pony on the forehead. The touch of his hot, wet lips against his skin made shudders of revulsion run down Phillip’s spine.

“Bis zum nächsten Mal, liebling,” Zugzwang whispered, still smiling. And with another flash of light, he vanished. The spells paralyzing Phillip and Daring flickered out and they both dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping.

Phillip looked up at the spot where Zugzwang had stood, the sound of the dial tone from the dropped phone mixing with the pounding of his heartbeat against his skull, then turned and looked at Daring. She met his gaze with a wide-eyed stare of her own, her wingtips fluttering with nerves.

In a basement somewhere in the northwestern suburbs of Ponyville, a dark red unicorn lay on her side atop a set of pillows on the floor, studying the blueprints laid out before her. A marker held in an orange aura floated down and marked a note next to one of the hallways: simultaneously, a dill pickle floated out of a nearby jar, dipped itself into a jar of mayonnaise, and flew over to the mare’s mouth. She chomped down on the snack, shifting slightly to adjust for the weight of her rounded belly.

A flash of golden light lit up the darkened room. The mare sat up like a bolt, snatching for the pistol that lay nearby and aiming it at the source of the light.

“Ah, Fraulein Sparks,” Zugzwang said, adjusting his tie, seeming to barely notice the gun that was aimed at him. “Is Scarlet here yet?”

Bright Sparks held the pistol on him for a moment longer, then lowered the weapon and shook her head with a quiet grunt.

“I see. I will wait for her here, then,” Zugzwang said, lowering himself into a chair nearby and lighting up a new cigarette. Bright Sparks returned to her work with the blueprints, occasionally shooting the unicorn stallion a dirty look.

Only a couple moments passed before a tall floor-to-ceiling mirror mounted on the wall next to an open crate of rifles began to shimmer and ripple, like the glass was the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone. A moment later, Scarlet Letter stepped through, shaking her mane.

“Police,” she sighed. “Inconvenient even in the best of times.” She strode over to Bright Sparks, smiling maternally at her. “How are you feeling, mon ami?” she asked.

“Fine,” Bright Sparks said, looking up. “Thank you for these pillows, ma’am, they’re a big help.”

“Of course, mon ami,” Scarlet said. “Anything to ensure that you and your child are kept safe. I hear that our former associate met a rather sudden end?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bright Sparks nodded. She paused for a moment, then added, “Ma’am? What about Finder? I could’ve taken him right then, too.”

“Not yet,” Scarlet shook her head. “Killing him now would attract too much attention.” Seeing Sparks scowl, she added, “You will have your chance soon. Right now, you need to focus on your brothers and sisters. How is the plan coming along?”

“We’re almost ready,” Sparks replied, looking back down at the blueprints. “I just need a few more things and a bit more time.”

“Whatever you need, you shall have,” Scarlet promised her. “A moment, please.” She walked back over to Zugzwang. “Where have you been?”

“Taking care of personal business,” Zugzwang said.

“I see,” Scarlet nodded. “Time for us to see what Artiste Fou was hiding.”

The two unicorns walked over to the other end of the room. Underneath a heat lamp stood an easel; atop it was a painting of a single-masted sailboat on a white background with the words “Ceci n'est pas une bateau.”

“Three years of work to acquire this, and it was almost ruined at the last moment by a mistake,” Scarlet mused as she looked to the worktable next to the easel. Atop the table sat a plastic carton of light blue-white water and vials containing rainbow liquid, each one a different color. She filled a small bucket half full with water, then mixed in each of the other rainbow liquids, an equal amount of every color. She stirred the mixture until it had turned a pale white liquid that steamed faintly, then dipped a paintbrush into the bucket. Carefully, she drew the brush back and forth across the painting.

The heat and the potion reacted with the fading, cracked paint, undoing the concealment charms and revealing the secret of Artiste Fou. The sailboat and the perplexing message faded away, replaced by notes written in a strange language and sketches of eyes and silhouettes of ponies connected by waving lines. At the center of the piece was a drawing of four interlocking circles, each with what looked like a star inside them.

The two unicorns studied the message in silence for several moments, then Scarlet turned to Zugzwang. “What do you make of it?” she asked.

“Interesting,” Zugzwang mused. “These seem to be notes for experiments in gathering and focusing magic from multiple sources simultaneously.”

“Exactly what I hoped for,” Scarlet smiled. “Can you decipher them?”

“In time, yes,” Zugzwang nodded. “I will work on the Lazarus Ritual as well.”

“Forget Lazarus for now, focus on this,” Scarlet instructed him. “This is of higher priority.”

“Of course,” Zugzwang nodded. “However, I have some other business to attend to.”

He turned to a telephone mounted on the wall and plucked the receiver from the wall, dialing in a number. The phone rang five times, then the line clicked as the other receiver was picked up.

“I gave no instructions for Phillip Finder to be harmed,” Zugzwang spoke into the phone in an icy tone.

“That runt and his whore have been a thorn in our sides for way too long,” the other voice snarled back. “I saw a chance to get rid of him for good and took it. Shame it seems we both wasted our money.”

“Phillip Finder. Is. Mine,” Zugzwang hissed into the phone. “He is mine alone to deal with. I decide if he lives or dies. And it is my word that he lives!”

“You think that just because you brought me Matsuma’s eyes in a gift box that I’m going to heel for you?” the other voice snapped back. “Silvertongue was the last one to command me. I make my own decisions now. And I’ve decided two things: one, I’m going to run this city. Two, Phillip Finder and Daring Do must die.”

“Choose your words carefully, captain,” Zugzwang said. “You speak of treachery and war.”

“If it’s war you want, then Whitestone is more than willing to oblige you,” the griffon growled, the sneer audible in her speech. “I've got the gods back on my side, I've served my penance under Silvertongue. A moon from now, I’ll be dining on your heart. And then I’m going after those two snoops.” And with a click, the line hung up.

Zugzwang stared at the receiver for a beat, then hung up the phone as well. He turned to see Scarlet Letter staring at him with wide eyes.

“Zugzwang,” Scarlet said slowly. “What was that about?”

Zugzwang raised his right foreleg and tensed his arm. A blade sprung out from beneath the sleeve of his suit, extending past his hoof to a sharpened, gleaming tip.

“Kriegspiel,” he smiled. “War chess. The game is on.”

Author's Note

Well, well...a bit of dramatic irony for you, a title drop, and Zugzwang finally makes his move! What awaits our two heroes? Tune in again, same pony time, same pony channel!

Translation: "Bis zum nächsten Mal:" "Until next time."

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Case Eight, Prologue: Hit and Run

His target was just coming out of the club, leaving tracks in the mostly-melted slush and snow that faintly reflected the street lamps. He recognized him instantly: only a pony who had been living under a rock could fail to recognize the slicked-back blonde mane, the pearl white coat, and the cutie mark of a book with a stack of bits atop it. Best Seller, literary critic, socialite, and frequent subject of the tabloid magazines that were sold in grocery store aisles. Right now, the unicorn was stumbling his way down the sidewalk, a dopey grin from ear to ear as he turned to speak to the mare that was wrapped around his foreleg.

Scarlet Letter smiled back up at him, tossing her head to get her long mane out of her eyes and nuzzling his shoulder. She gently guided him down the sidewalk, keeping the drunken stallion on his hooves. She whispered something into his ear and he laughed giddily.

The donkey in the truck stared in silence, waiting in the shadowy alleyway in between the two brick apartments: though the headlights were switched off, the engine idled beneath him, grumbling as though in impatience. The hood ornament of a stallion dressed in the armor of a knight, lance extended, stood at attention, pointing the way forward with the shiny metal tip of his weapon. He patted the leather steering wheel with one hoof, extending one leg to press lightly against the gas pedal. All he had to do was press down a little harder and the great behemoth would surge forward, a mass of metal with enough power to crush nearly anything and anypony in his way.

Which is exactly what he was planning on doing.

“No, come now, you’re being ridiculous,” Scarlet giggled. “She actually called you a skunk’s brother?”

“Exact words,” Best Seller slurred, nodding with his entire upper body. “Of course I had to take points off her review for that. Such a shame, really: she got brains and body, the full combo. If only her mouth was a little bit smaller!”

Scarlet laughed loudly, hitting the notes perfectly like a pianist performing a difficult concerto. The sound was rich and full of life, a siren’s call of promise and sensuality, irresistible to so many. It was also fake, an act. The stallion repulsed her: his colossal ego seemed to make him reek, the arrogance in his every syllable grated on her ears, the continual bragging of his own charms tired her. Even the heavy cologne in his mane made her nose wrinkle, but she masked it all well, hiding behind traditional feminine fawning. He might think that he had conquered her, but in truth, he was the one that was eating out of her hoof.

She already knew what she needed. He hadn’t been particularly eager to talk about the four dusty statues that his parents owned, but she’d gently coaxed the information out of him.

And now he was useless to her.

“So, where are we going now?” Best Seller asked. “Back to your place? I really think I’d like to learn more about where an up and coming shining star in the literary world like yourself comes up with their ideas.”

Scarlet giggled and nuzzled his cheek. For all of the stallion’s faults, he knew how to tickle her ego. And he was...better than average in bed. Odoriferous as his company might be, she’d learned long ago that a mare had to take time to have fun.

“I do believe that we can discuss my new novels further,” she whispered. “Over a glass of champagne and some grapes.”

“With your taste in liquor? How could I refuse?” Best Seller grinned. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her in, and she allowed him to reel her into a sloppy wet kiss that tasted of beer and fried potatoes. She kissed him back, lazily peering out of one eye to spot the truck laying in wait in the alleyway

Was she looking at him? He thought he saw her eyes dart towards him.

No matter. They were currently enthralled in an embrace: now would be the proper time. The donkey pressed down on the gas pedal and the truck smoothly pulled forward onto the street. He turned to the right and started to drive right towards the couple. Keep the speed steady: this had to just look natural.

He was within ten feet when they separated, still holding hooves. He kept the pressure on the pedal even: he was just another driver out for an evening drive.

As he neared, Scarlet leaned in close to his target. He stumbled, falling drunkenly back; his hooves left the ground and he fell into the path of his vehicle.

The impact shuddered through the steel framework, but the growling behemoth barely slowed. The driver got a good look at Best Seller’s wide, terrified eyes as he bounced off of the hood and went spiraling through the air. Blood, black in the night, flew from his body, cascading down onto the asphalt. Best Seller hit the ground hard and rolled a few feet forward.

The truck continued onward, momentum barely affected: in fact, now was the time that the driver pressed down harder on the gas. The driver turned the wheel at a calculated angle at just the right time. To anypony who happened to be watching, it would look like he was trying to swerve around the victim, but had turned too late. In truth, he was aiming right where he wanted to.

With a sickening crunch, the right front wheel ran over Best Seller’s head. Tons of metal pressed down against his skull, crushing it like an ant beneath a boot. Jostled by the impact, the driver fought to get his vehicle back under control, jerking the wheel to narrowly avoid crossing into the other lane. A passing two-door coupe nearly had to mount the curb to avoid him.

The donkey pulled hard on the wheel and the vehicle responded too eagerly, jerking hard to the right. Slamming on the brakes, he tried to straighten out and succeeded almost too late: with a sharp ding, the right headlight of the vehicle struck a lamp post. He grimaced. Damn: he’d have to fix that and get the truck repainted right away.

In the distance, he could hear Scarlet Letter’s shrieks of horror. He turned a corner to get away from the scene, then slowed down to well below the speed limit, deliberately taking routes that would avoid surveillance crystals. As he passed beneath the light of a street lamp, he glanced at the hood ornament. The knight’s lance was now stained with the blood of his victim.

No matter. Once he got safely back to base, he’d clean it off and swap out the license plates, then get to work repainting his vehicle. While hit and runs weren’t the usual services his clients sought from him, this was far from his first. He had the routine down cold.

The wail of a responding siren came from behind him. Without a glance backward, the driver and his truck disappeared into the night with the low growl of an engine.

Author's Note

An early Christmas present for you all: the beginning of a new case! What diabolical twists and turns do I have in store for our heroes? You'll find out in the coming weeks! Happy Holidays from my family to yours!

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Case Eight, Chapter One: Groundbreaking

The light rain had stopped some time ago, but droplets still clung to the windows of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street. Daring glanced up from her book and found seven empty eyeholes staring back at her, each one accompanied by a wide grin. “So, what is this for again?” she asked, shifting her position on the couch.

“Suunkii’s working on a theory that the age and sex of a skeleton can be determined by examining the skull,” Phillip explained, bending his workshop table and studying another skull beneath the mounted magnifying glass. “He wanted me to give him a second opinion to test it.” He tilted the skull back slightly to study the teeth. “Wisdom teeth in. Sutures are mostly formed, except for the ones here...at least forty. Female.” He jotted down some notes and gently replaced the skull in the hardened glass container that it came in.

Daring glanced at the other skulls, each in its own glass container, standing in a row on the floor. She walked over and picked up the one marked with a number one tag. The skull inside grinned back at her, its teeth almost unnaturally white.

“Hey, Phil,” she said. When Phil turned around, she held the skull next to her head. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you about these living conditions,” she said in a deep voice, mumbling out of the corner of her mouth and shaking the skull as though it was speaking.

“Put that down, it's evidence,” Phillip scowled.

Daring stuck her tongue out at him but obeyed. “You are no fun,” she said, climbing back onto the couch and returning to the adventures of Hayana Pones. She glanced out the window, watching the water dripping down the glass and off the branches of the cherry tree, the same branches that had been laden with snow only two weeks ago.

Daring hummed, then began to sing beneath her breath. “Winter wrap up, winter wrap up, let’s finish our holiday cheer—”

“Please. Stop,” Phillip groaned.

“I’m trying to get it out of my head!” Daring replied.

“Well, don’t put it in mine, I just got it out a couple days ago!” Phillip replied.

“Maybe we can try putting it in one of their heads,” Daring commented, nodding at one of the skulls. “You know, if you asked nicely, you could probably get some great decorations for Nightmare Night.”

“Don’t think Suun would go for it,” Phillip stated.

“Has anypony ever told you that you’re exceptionally boring?” Daring said.

“You,” Phillip answered. “At least twice a week.”

“I can think of at least one other thing we can do today,” Daring added, a note of bitterness sliding into her voice. She glared at the copy of the Foal Free Press that lay on the table.

Splashed across the front page was a photograph of Scarlet Letter, smiling and waving at a crowd of ponies. “Construction for Rehabilitation Center Begins Today!” the headline proclaimed proudly. The story beneath went on to describe how the generosity of Scarlet Letter had led to the purchase of an empty warehouse in the Everfree District, which was to be officially refurbished into a drug rehabilitation center that would offer support and services to the many disadvantaged of the area. An official groundbreaking ceremony was taking place at that moment.

“And what exactly would you do?” Phillip stated, turning and raising an eyebrow at her. “Confront her in front of an adoring crowd?”

“I’d like to do something other than just sitting on my ass and wait for her to fuck up!” Daring snapped. “You hear about that critic or something that she was with getting run over last week?”

“Best Seller, yes,” Phillip nodded. “Funeral’s taking place today. Trace was looking into it; he says there is something fishy there.”

“Damn right: she was involved,” Daring growled.

“Making assumptions makes for sloppy detective work,” Phillip stated.

Daring just grunted. “I bet she’s got something in her home...maybe if I break in—”

“Daring,” Phillip interrupted. “Thinking like that’s just going to get you into trouble.”

“Only if we don’t get caught,” Daring huffed. “Breaking into Silvertongue’s mansion could’ve gotten us in trouble.”

“We knew what we were looking for then,” Phillip pointed out. “You don’t know if Scarlet even has anything. And with the public on her side, it could backfire badly on us. There’s just too much risk involved for likely no reward, especially when we could try something else.” He frowned for a moment, then added quietly, “Daring, you could go back to prison for trying that.”

Daring scowled, but lifted her right hoof. The cursed brand stared back at her, emotionless, a statement of fact. “Fuck,” she snarled to herself. “Fuck.”

Phillip walked over and sat down next to her. “I know it’s hard,” he whispered, running a hoof through her mane. “Sometimes I’m tempted to just try to pull her into an alley and squeeze something out of her, but it won’t get us anywhere in the long run.”

“I know,” Daring muttered. “I’ll keep saying it: being the good guy sucks sometimes.”

“Too right,” Phillip agreed, continuing to stroke her mane and back. “But there are other ways to get what we need. And we both know she’ll slip up sometime.”

Daring sighed. Phillip stood and started to walk back to his work table.

“Hey,” Daring called. “Did I say you could stop?”

Phillip smiled faintly and walked back over to massage Daring, who closed her eyes with a quiet sigh and relaxed into his touch.

As if on cue, the telephone interrupted with its cacophonous ring. Both ponies sighed and Phillip walked over to pick up the receiver. “Finder and Do.”

“It’s Trace,” said the familiar voice on the other end of the line. “You know about Best Seller’s parents, Classic and Modern Literature?”

“Heard of ‘em,” Phillip answered.

“Their place was robbed,” Trace said. “If you’re not busy, we could use you down here.”

Phil looked over at Daring. “Well, you wanted something to do,” he said.

Daring sighed. “Better than just sitting here with you and the boneheads.”

“We’ll be there,” Phillip said and hung up.

Gathering their equipment, Phillip and Daring stepped out the front door. Phillip turned and locked the door behind him. As the lock latched with a click, the doors and windows of the house momentarily glowed with a faint purple light.

“Guess that means Twilight’s wards work,” Phillip muttered.

“Yeah, it’s nice to not have to worry about somepony waiting in the living room for us when we get home,” Daring commented.

Noting the frown still clinging to Daring’s face and the way she tread lightly on her right foreleg, Phillip said, “Would it cheer you up if I let you carry me?”

Daring’s eyes lit up and a grin spread across her face as she slowly spread her wings. Phillip’s eyes widened and he stepped back a little. “I suddenly regret my decisi—AAAAAAAAA!”

“It is my sincere hope that this center will be a shining beacon of hope for the ponies of this city,” Scarlet Letter announced, her voice magnified by the microphones on the podium before her. “Too many of our fellow citizens—our neighbors, friends, and family—have had their lives ruined by drugs. This center, once rebuilt and refurbished with caring staff, will give us a chance to turn their lives around, and with them, this city. Ponyville will rise again, with all our hooves pulling each other out of the darkness!”

The crowd of ponies cheered, stamping their hooves and applauding; the rain had only stopped less than half an hour ago, and the stomping was accompanied by soft splashing. Scarlet stepped back and took a bow.

“Thank you, Miss Letter,” Mayor Mare smiled, shaking hooves with Scarlet. “Now, would you care to join me for the ceremonial groundbreaking?”

“Madame Mayor, it would be my pleasure,” Scarlet smiled as the two of them retrieved a pair of gilded shovels from a nearby assistant. The mares walked up to the ground in front of the abandoned warehouse, which was a two-story brick building, its windows smashed and the walls covered in graffiti. Both mares placed the shovels on the ground.

“To a new future!” Mayor Mare declared as they both dug their shovels into the ground. Applause broke out once more as the flashbulbs of cameras lit up the evening.

But amidst the celebration, two pegasi stood, muttering to one another. “She’s up to something, I know it,” Rainbow Dash scowled.

“Rainbow, she could just be being nice,” Fluttershy admonished her quietly. “She didn’t have to do any of this for this city.”

“Have you been reading the papers?” Rainbow hissed back. “First, that artist who worked on her gallery goes missing, then the stallion she was going out with gets hit by a truck? It’s just like all the other bosses that used to run this city.” She scowled at Scarlet, who was currently shaking hooves with the Mayor and the head contractor. “No, something’s up with her.”

“You don’t have any proof of that,” Fluttershy replied, turning towards her. “She—” Fluttershy paused, her eyes widening as she focused on the dark purple bruise on Rainbow’s jaw.

“You’ve been hurt!” she cried, reaching up to examine the injury.

“It’s fine,” Rainbow Dash muttered, pushing Fluttershy’s foreleg away with a callused hoof.

Fluttershy’s eyes widened even further, then narrowed. “You’ve been fighting again,” she said.

“Three drug dealers down near Charcoal Boulevard,” Rainbow Dash said, a grim smile crossing her face. “I taught them all a lesson.”

“A lesson in what?” Fluttershy said. “And they could’ve killed you!”

“He got in one lucky hit,” Rainbow snapped back.

“And what if that had been with a knife or a bullet?!” Fluttershy cried. “What...what are you trying to do with these fights?”

“The same thing that Daring Do does,” Rainbow replied. “Stand up to these thugs and tell them that we’re not going to just let them do what they want anymore!”

“All you’re doing is putting yourself at risk!” Fluttershy replied, her voice loud enough that it started to turn heads. “You could go to jail, or the hospital, or you could get killed! You…”

Rainbow turned and gripped Fluttershy’s shoulders, staring into her eyes with a steely gaze. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing,” she replied. “You know I can’t. I’ve had to watch while this city went to Tartarus for years; I’m done watching.” She glared at Scarlet Letter, who was posing for photographs with the Mayor. “I’m done watching,” she repeated.

“But…” Fluttershy protested, tears stinging in her eyes. “You could…”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Rainbow muttered and with a flap of her wings, flew off into the sky. Fluttershy remained on the ground, watching the blue dot disappearing over the horizon.

As far as houses in the Financial District went, there were three levels. Middle-class apartments and condos littered the interior layers of the district, those closest to the center of the city. Several layers of upper-class homes and gated communities surrounded them as if to pen the lower classes in and keep them from spreading any further northwest.

Finally, on the outermost edges of the city were the mansions, built by the richest of the city’s patrons and business leaders, those who had too much time and money ready at their polished hooves. Classic and Modern Literature resided in one of these, a blue and white affair that stood on its own block. The two-story building had a single tower in the center with a circular window like an eye staring out at the world. A group of police cruisers was gathered in front of the trimmed lawn; amidst them was a familiar Hayson Commander and a dark blue pickup truck with “Police CSU” painted on the sides.

Daring landed in the middle of the lawn, dropping off Phillip. They proceeded down the pathway to the grand front doors, which were obligingly opened by a pair of police officers. They entered a hallway that was almost larger than their entire house, with a wide set of marble stairs leading up to the second floor. A large painting depicted the Literature family; Classic, a tall blue unicorn with a bushy pale yellow mustache, and Modern, a smaller, rounder green unicorn with red and yellow hair, stared emotionlessly, while the late Best Seller grinned smugly at the visitors.

The real Literatures were standing in front of the stairway, speaking to Trace Evidence. Both of them were still wearing the black accouterments from the funeral, slightly damp from the rain. Other police officers wandered through the hallway, flowing in and out of rooms or standing and chatting with one another.

“I’m sorry, detective, but this is a bit much to handle,” Modern was sniffling, wiping at her green eyes. “We went out to bury our son, only for it to be interrupted by the police and witness his body being carted away, and then we come home to find that we have been robbed.”

“I know this is difficult, ma’am,” Trace said patiently, scribbling a note in his notepad. “But if we’re going to find out who did this, we do need to ask you some questions. Now, these two servants of yours: do you have any reason to suspect them?”

“Neither!” Classic replied, his mustache bristling and his gray-blue eyes flashing as though the question was a personal insult. “They have both been in our employ for years, and neither of them has given us the least cause for complaint!”

“Just need to ask,” Trace said placidly. “Now, tell me about this security system you installed.”

“We had it installed years ago, after we had a stalker prowling around,” Classic stated. “The doors can only be opened by one of five enchanted keys, each of which is owned by myself, my wife, our son, and our two servants. The windows are all made of shatterproof glass and can only be opened from the inside, and the doors and windows are linked to a silent alarm to the police station.”

“Wish we could afford all that,” Daring muttered to Phillip.

“Also, the case for the statues was made of shatterproof glass and was locked with a combination lock,” Classic continued. “Only I and my wife knew the combination.”

“I see,” Trace nodded. “We’re going to continue looking around the mansion. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

Closing his notebook, Trace looked up and greeted Phillip and Daring with a nod. “Glad you could make it,” he said. “The Literatures are one of the oldest families in the city, and they’ve got quite a bit of clout, so there’s pressure on us to solve this one fast.”

“Ain’t politics a wonderful thing?” Daring rolled her eyes.

“What was taken?” Phillip asked.

“These four golden statues that they got at an auction a few years ago,” Trace said, shrugging. “They’re pretty expensive, from what I’m told: lots of jewels embedded into them.”

Daring’s ears perked up slightly.

“They left for the funeral around noon, stayed about an hour, and came home. They didn't go up to the study for a few hours later, so they didn't notice the theft. We’re questioning the two servants, a cook and a butler,” Trace continued, not noticing Daring’s reaction. “And we’re searching the mansion for any sign of them. No signs of forced entry, and the silent alarm was never tripped. You’d best take a look at the room the statues were in: it’s up on the second floor, right in front of the stairs. Twilight and Suunkii are there already.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded. He and Daring started up the stairs to the second floor.

As they approached the landing, Phillip paused, his ears swiveling. He turned to see Red Herring speaking to a short, skinny, light blue earth pony with sandy hair.

“As I told you before, sir, I was here during the entire time that the masters were out,” the butler said. He was surprisingly young for his position, barely in his twenties. “I saw no one entering the house, and neither I nor Cobbler left.”

“Well, if there was no one else in the house, that puts you in a pretty thick bind,” Red commented dryly.

“I am telling you the truth, detective,” the butler replied. “I was here the entire hour that the masters were gone, and I saw no sign of any forced entry, nor did anypony enter or leave the mansion after they returned.”

“Hmph,” Red grunted, glancing down at his notepad. “Well, don’t leave town, Shoe Shine.”

Shoe Shine sniffed and walked away. Red flipped his notebook shut. Spotting Phil and Daring, he glided over to them.

“Trace and I knew there was something weird about Best Seller’s death,” he muttered to them. “The Lits have a reputation for never leaving their home. This is the first time in moons that they step outside, and this happens. We already had to interrupt the funeral to bring the body back to the morgue for another look.”

“If I were you, I’d start asking Scarlet some questions,” Daring growled.

“We’ll deal with her,” Red said. “You see what you can find out about this. I gotta go talk to Peach Cobbler again.” He walked off.

“Daring,” Phillip said quietly, laying a hoof on her shoulder. “Why do you hate her so much?”

For a moment, Scarlet’s taunt echoed in Daring’s ears: “So you aren’t that different from us after all.” The brand stabbed with pain and she lifted it off the ground with a soft hiss.

“She made it personal,” she growled. “Come on.”

“Wait,” Phillip said, raising a hoof. He and Daring peered over the banister of the stairs to see Red speaking to a plump brown earth pony with a brown mustache and the cutie mark of a pie plate.

“Well, of course I’m sure Shoe Shine was here while the masters were out,” Peach Cobbler said, wiping his hooves on his apron. “I know because I remember offering him some of my upside-down apple cake. He said it was delicious, but he seemed a bit distracted.”

“Distracted how?” Red asked.

“He was in a rush,” Peach explained. “Hurried off before I could ask if he wanted more. That’s not like him: he usually hangs around and chats more, especially when the masters are away.”

“Hmm,” Phillip muttered. He and Daring proceeded up the stairs and into a study. Shelves of books in gilded covers lined the walls, accentuated with paintings and stands with vases and sculptures atop them. In the center of the room was an empty glass case. Twilight Sparkle was currently crouched in front of the case, studying it with her magic.

“Ah, hello!” she chirped when they entered.

“These statues,” Daring said. “They were statues of the Old Gods, laden with jewels, right?”

“Yes, they were,” Twilight said, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “I have a photograph of them here.” She pulled a photograph out of her saddlebags and held it up.

The picture showed the two Literatures smiling proudly in front of the case. Inside the case were four statues. On the left was Daybreaker, wings aflame, snarling at the viewers with his red eyes. Next was his sister, Nightmare Moon, smirking in victory; the small sapphires in her mane glittered like stars. Next was Discord, his hodgepodge body coiled like a snake. His eyes—one orange, one yellow, each embedded into the palms of his paws—seemed to stare right at the viewers. Finally, Tirek stood on the right, raising a broadsword with one arm, mouth open in a bellow of rage.

“You know them,” Phillip stated.

“The Innsbeak Statues,” Daring commented. “Of course I know them; I stole them.”

Phillip and Twilight both stared at Daring, who sighed. “I stole them years ago, when I was still running with the Family. I was hired to find them by some private collector who figured out that they'd been stolen years ago; took me a month to track them down to some antique shop in Fillydelphia." She let out a breath. "Should have taken the payment up front and sold them to a museum instead; they belonged in there."

“Anyway,” Phillip interrupted. “Any clues on how the case was opened?”

“There’s no sign of forced entry, and I can’t detect any sign of magical tampering on this,” Twilight commented, scanning the case with her magic. “There’s a combination lock on this with five nine-digit tumblers: that’s 59,049 combinations. They’d probably have had to have known the combination beforehoof.”

“And no other signs of forced entry into the mansion?” Phillip asked.

“None,” Twilight shook her head. “I’ve already examined every door and window. The strengthening wards are in place, the silent alarm works, none of the locks were tampered with…” She scratched the back of her head. “We’re still working on how the thief got in, if it was an outsider.”

“Phillip Finder,” Doctor Suunkii called from the door. “Come, quickly. There is something I wish for you to see.”

“Daring, see if you can figure out another way in,” Phillip said, following Suunkii. Suunkii led Phillip back down to the first floor and around to a door in the back. They entered a kitchen that was larger than Phillip’s dining room and living room put together, outfitted with all the most modern kitchenware.

“Here,” Suunkii said, proceeding through a doorway in the back. There was a small hallway leading to a back door. Hanging from a hook in the wall was a rain jacket, still damp. In a puddle beneath it was a set of rain boots, mud clinging to the soles.

“Somepony went out in the rain earlier,” Phillip observed, picking up the boots and studying the soles. “Size twelve.”

“Both Peach Blossom and Shoe Shine completely deny ever going out while the Literatures were gone,” Suunkii explained as Phillip began to scrape some soil samples off the soles of the boots into a plastic bag. “They are both stating that the other must have gone out. The boots and coat could belong to either of them.”

“No hair or anything,” Phillip observed, studying the coat. “Rain must’ve washed it away.” He opened the back door and looked out. He crouched down close to the ground, scanning the wet grass and mud. “Tracks here,” he said, pointing at a line of very faint impressions.

"Twilight Sparkle attempted to perform a tracking spell earlier to identify and follow any hoofprints outside," Suunkii explained. "Unfortunately, it did not work; the tracks are too old, and the rain has left insufficient trace to be picked up by magic."

"Bugger," Phillip muttered. He stood up and started to walk back inside, then paused, his head turning towards a trash can. “What’s this?” he muttered, bending over and picking up several shredded pieces of paper. Parts of a message could be discerned on some of the pieces.

“That appears worth investigating,” Suunkii commented, taking a few photos of the note with a camera.

Phillip arranged the letter pieces on the kitchen table and began to piece them back together. It only took him a few minutes to piece the message back together. Written on the faint pink paper in swirling purple ink was: “We need to talk right away. Meet me at our usual spot when they’re gone.”

“Written by a female, if the little hearts are any indication,” Phillip muttered, studying the writing beneath a magnifying glass as Suunkii took another photograph. “Excellent cursive, so they’re well-educated. Not mouth-written...horn-written, maybe. Sheet was torn from a notepad...good quality paper, so they’re well-off. Suun, think we can get an impression off the top of the sheet?”

“We may try,” Suunkii nodded. “I will return in a moment.”

He walked outside and came back a minute later with a glass vial full of an orange liquid in his mouth and a plastic bag with a gray-black powder in his hoof. He spooned some of the powder into the vial, causing the liquid to turn a clear color, then used a dropper to apply it to the letter. The liquid faded into the paper, but nothing happened.

“So much for that plan,” Phillip muttered.

With a flap of wings, Daring entered the room. “I can’t find any other easy ways in here,” she admitted. “I even had Twilight check the vents for any sign of shrinking violets: nothing. There’s no actual sign of a break-in, but I did have an idea.” She lowered her voice slightly. “When Best Seller was killed, did he have his keys on him?”

“I do not know,” Suunkii frowned. “Doctor Mortis performed the autopsy.”

“We’ll have to ask her, then,” Daring sighed. “Fuck, I hate going into the morgue.”

Trace poked his head in. “We can’t find the statues anywhere here, or on the grounds,” he stated.

“We’ll head back to the precinct,” Phillip said. “We’ve got some evidence to look over.”

Author's Note

And so opens the next big case in the adventures of Phillip Finder and Daring Do! Four mysterious statues of ancient gods stolen, and few clues to go on. Just a typical day, right?

Bonus points to anyone who can figure out what "Innsbeak" is a reference to.

Oh, yeah. And happy 2019 and all that!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eight, Chapter Two: Follow the Evidence

Daring landed in front of the Ponyville Police Precinct, dropping Phillip off before the revolving doors. The precinct had changed much recently: the letters above the door were freshly painted and free of rust, and they entered the lobby to behold that the chairs were clean and in good repair, and the water cooler and coffee machine were both new. A few ponies sat in the lobby, awaiting service. As Phillip and Daring approached, a donkey officer approached an older stallion and beckoned him to follow into an office area with a slightly nervous but reassuring smile.

The detectives proceeded down the hallway past the desk sergeant’s desk to the end and descended down the stairs to the basement. They entered the laboratory, which was currently unoccupied, though the record player in the corner was still emitting the strains of violins. The various tables and counters were still covered in beakers, test tubes, microscopes, and other equipment, a portrait of organized chaos.

“I’m going to go over this soil sample,” Phillip said, taking the plastic bag out of his vest and placing it beneath a microscope. “Check with Mortis, see what you can find out about Best Seller.”

“Great,” Daring grumbled. She walked out of the lab and down the hallway to the door marked “Morgue.” She took a breath and stepped through.

It was just the same as she remembered: two metal slabs for examination, a wall adorned with freezer doors, desk in the corner. Vitae Mortis herself sat at the desk, scribbling at a sketchbook. She looked up at Daring’s entry, brushing a strand of her blonde mane out of her eyes.

“Hold it!” she cried, smiling broadly and snatching up the sketchbook. Several charcoal pencils floated up, captured in her magic, and began to dance across the sheet.

“Uh…” Daring started to say.

“Shhh!” Mortis urged, her eyes flicking between Daring and the sketchpad, tongue held between her teeth. “Don’t...move...a...muscle!”

Daring remained still as Mortis finished her sketch. With a flourish, the mare turned the sketchbook around to show her. “Ta-da!”

Daring blinked. The drawing before her was in impressive detail, right down to her feathers and the shadows beneath the brim of her helmet. “That’s great,” she said, nodding. “You really nailed the look of confusion on my face.” Does my nose really scrunch up like that?

“Thanks!” Mortis smiled, putting the sketchpad away. “It’s a little hobby of mine I like to indulge in during downtime. But you didn’t come down here to talk about art. Whatcha need?”

“Best Seller,” Daring asked. “Did he have his keys on him when he was brought in?”

Mortis tapped her chin in thought, then stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet. She opened up a drawer and flicked through the files within, plucking out a folder with her magic.

“Let’s see here,” she mused, studying the files within. “Personal contents...wallet, loose change...nope, no keys.”

Daring frowned and nodded. “Thanks. That tells me a lot.” She turned to go.

“Hold on a moment,” Mortis said. “If you’re interested in this hit and run, there must be something more here. I think you’d best let me give you the rundown of the autopsy.”

“I would also like to hear that, Doctor Mortis,” another voice said from the doorway. A tall donkey with silvery hair entered the room, dusting off the dark red suit and tie he wore. He peered at Daring and Mortis with small, squinty green eyes.

“Ah, I don’t think you two have met,” Mortis said. “Daring, this is Captain Hewn Oak. He took over Major Crimes after Cold Case became Chief.”

Oak smiled at Daring and stepped forward to shake hooves, the rosary necklace around his neck jingling as he moved. “It is an honor to finally meet the mare who brought down the heathen Silvertongue,” he announced, every syllable heavy with gravitas. “The wheels of Faust’s machinations might move so slowly that it is hard to perceive them, but their results are grand indeed.”

“Did you swallow an Apocrypha’s Testimony when you were a foal?” Daring asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oak laughed. “Well, it is what happens when you grow up with devoted Alicorn’s Witnesses,” he admitted. He turned back to Mortis. “Doctor, let us go through the last moments of Best Seller. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can lay him to rest.”

“Right,” Mortis nodded. She trotted over to one of the freezers and unlocked it with a key she extracted from a pocket. She pulled the tray open to reveal a body covered with a sheet, which she pulled back to expose the remains of Best Seller.

The head was nearly unrecognizable: the skull had been deformed, pressed by the weight of the car passing over it, leaving the features warped and twisted like some macabre impressionist painting.

“Oh, I was there at the intial scene last week,” Mortis stated. “Try to imagine him before I cleaned him up!”

“And there goes my appetite,” Daring muttered.

“Anyway,” Mortis continued. “When I was called down to the scene, I was able to get some tire imprints off the ground and Detective Herring found some paint scrapings on a lamp post down the street. After I examined Mister Seller’s wounds, I was able to make a reconstruction of how the accident happened.”

Mortis lit up her horn and a miniature three-dimensional projection made of light appeared on the floor in front of the group. The image showed a street, with a miniature version of Best Seller walking down the sidewalk.

“It looks like he tripped and fell into the path of an oncoming truck,” Mortis stated. A miniature truck began to drive up the road. Best suddenly stumbled and fell into the truck’s path; he bounced off the hood and flew down the street, rolling as he hit the asphalt. The truck swerved as though to try to dodge around him, but instead ran over his skull, squashing it into the ground. Daring winced.

“The driver lost control for a moment and hit the lamp post down the street,” Mortis narrated as the truck weaved down the street, ricocheting off a lamp before turning the corner, leaving Best Seller’s body sprawled across the pavement. “Now, here’s the interesting part. Based on the injuries, I’d guess that the truck was moving steadily when it hit: pretty well under the speed limit, in fact. And what’s more…” She rewound the playback so that the truck moved in reverse back down the street to its starting position off to the side. “The tracks that I found showed that it was waiting in an alley when it started moving towards Best.”

“So it appears that this was not an accident,” Captain Oak commented. He squinted at a jagged red tear in the corpse’s side. “What about this stab wound here?”

“He got that at the same time that the truck hit him,” Mortis explained. “I can tell by the way it aligns with the damaged ribs. My guess is he got impaled on the hood ornament.” She gave the body a forlorn look. “If it’s any comfort, he died instantly after the truck ran over his head. If he felt anything, it wouldn’t have been for long.”

“Still not how I want to go out,” Daring commented.

“Do you have any leads on the truck?” Oak asked.

“It’s a Chevroneigh model truck, with white paint,” Mortis stated. “Detective Herring has Detective Rubber from Traffic running them down.”

“Excellent,” Captain Oak nodded. “Now, Daring, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Here’s how I figure it,” Daring said. “Scarlet arranges for Best Seller to get run over, make it look like an accident. She probably pushed him in front of the truck. She steals his key, then hands it off to somepony else, who uses that to break into the Literature’s mansion during the funeral and steals the statues.”

“A sound theory,” Captain Oak nodded. “We shall bring Scarlet Letter in for further questioning regarding her possible involvement. As much political favor as she may curry, it is a well-known fact that the most treacherous snakes know how to disguise themselves amidst the flowers.”

Daring stared at him for a beat, then nodded slowly. “Right. I’m gonna check in with Phil.”

“Oh, wait!” Mortis interrupted. “I heard from Doctor Suunkii that Phil was doing some experiments for him. What’d you find out? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” she squealed, bouncing up and down like an excited schoolfilly.

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Daring said, exiting the morgue as quickly as she could without running. Is everypony in this city crazy?

She returned the laboratory, where Phillip was still bent over the microscope, occasionally looking up to consult a notebook and a geological map of the city. “What’d you find?”

“Soil from a riverbank, leaves from a trimmed hedge, and slate,” Phillip stated, pressing his eyes back to the scope. He frowned. “There’s something else here...feathers?” He used a set of tweezers to pluck a small white loose piece of fuzzy material from amidst the mud. “Stuck there in the mud,” he said. “They don’t look like any bird I recognize, and it’s too early for moulting season.”

“You have any idea where our friend went?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Phillip said, tracing a line on the map that ran from the Literature’s mansion over a small creek and past an upper-class neighborhood to a hilly area. “The samples are enough to tell me which way they went. There might be more clues if we follow their trail.”

“That letter was sent by a mare,” Daring commented, her eyes panning over the trail that Phillip had traced. “If I were a young mare who was romantic enough to write in cursive on pink paper, I’d pick a nice place to meet regularly. Someplace like...here.” She pointed to a short hill marked Sugar Hope Hill. “It’s out of the way, but close enough to the surrounding houses that you could get back before anypony missed you, and it’s got this big maple tree at the top. Very romantic,” she added dryly.

“Aces,” Phillip nodded. “Let’s go take a butcher’s.”

Sugar Hope Hill did indeed have a large maple tree standing atop its crest, its budding leaves dancing and shivering in the light wind. The hill was covered in green grass and budding flowers, and one could see the rooftops of other houses over the surrounding treetops. With the sun setting and painting the western skies in reds and purples, it provided quite the romantic setting. Evidently, many ponies thought this, for the maple tree’s trunk was marred with carvings of initials and cutie marks inside of hearts.

Phillip slowly walked around the circumference of the hill, his eyes panning the ground in front of him. He scowled and shook his head. “Damn. There’s too many tracks here. I can’t get any good evidence.”

Daring frowned in thought, hovering over his head. She lifted off the ground a little and pulled out a set of field binoculars, pressing them to her eyes as she looked around. The feathers that Phillip had collected from the horseshoes flickered in her mind: small, pale gray bits of fluff, looking almost like they’d been pulled from a pillow. Yet she could swear that there were tinges of baby blue within the white.

“This place isn’t too far from the mansion,” she mused, mainly to herself as she scanned the surrounding area. “We walked here in about ten minutes.” Indeed, she turned to the south to see the main tower of the Literature’s mansion well within reach.

“So the girl’s probably not far off either,” Daring continued. She focused on a nearby house, a white two-story home that included a large, open porch with a pair of wind chimes dangling from the ceiling. Daring focused on the chimes, noting that each one had a small figurine dangling from the string. One was a skeletal griffon wielding a sword and a shield, the other a female griffon with a blindfold over her eyes and small bells hanging from her wrists and tail.

Those are charms to Kriga and Fantisera, the two main griffon gods, she thought. A griffon family lives there. Maybe...

Spotting movement up the road, Daring focused her binoculars on the griffon that was walking up the street towards the house. A small female with pale gray and blue downing, her green eyes downcast, her belly rounded from too little exercise. She was greeted at the door by a withered dark blue male griffon who appeared to bark at her. The younger griffon shook her head and pushed past him.

“I’ll be right back,” she called to Phillip, flying over to the house. She coasted over the trees and landed in the branches of an oak that sat in the backyard of the griffon’s house. Spotting the young griffon in the upper window, she focused her binoculars on her.

The griffon paced around her room a few times, then sat down at a writing desk and pulled out a writing pad. A writing pad with pink paper, which she began to write upon with a purple pen.

Grinning, Daring flew back to Phillip. “Those feathers you found,” she said. “Might they belong to a griffon? A young female griffon who has a writing pad a lot like the one you found?”

Phillip’s eyes widened. “Yes, that’d make sense. And writing with claws looks a lot like hornwriting.”

“You took that from a front horseshoe, right?” Daring said. “He might’ve gotten those feathers when he hugged her.”

“You’re aces, Daring,” Phillip grinned. “See if you can get anything out of her.”

“Got it,” Daring nodded. She flew over to the house and landed on the porch. The charmed wind chimes rang quietly as if in greeting. She knocked at the door. The curtains in the door window parted and a dark brown eye glared at her.

“Hey,” she waved. “I’m with the police. We—”

“We don’t talk to ponies!” the griffon on the other side growled in a thick Griffonese accent, and the eye disappeared.

Daring frowned and pretended to retreat. As soon as she was sure she was out of sight, she banked around and landed in the oak tree again, watching the young griffon in the window. She was now sitting at her desk, holding her head in a claw despondently.

Daring pondered her options. Maybe she could just go up there and talk to her? But that might just scare her off, and it could get her in trouble with her parents. A better plan might be to try to talk to her while she was out doing something...but she hated the idea of having to wait. Maybe…

A flash of light in the corner of her eye grabbed her attention. She turned to see that Phillip was still standing at Sugar Hope Hill, flashing sunlight at her with his mirror to get her attention. She flew back over to him.

“Something’s happening at the Literature’s,” he said, pointing. Looking up, she could see a cruiser and a vaguely familiar bright red convertible parked in front of the mansion.

Snatching Phillip up in her forelegs, she rocketed towards the scene, eliciting a startled shout from her passenger. When they landed by the doors, they witnessed two officers leading Shoe Shine out of the house in hoofcuffs.

“I protest!” Shine declared, his face drawn and pale from shock. “On what grounds are you arresting me?”

“On the grounds of the jewels that you pawned,” another voice declared. A dark purple earth pony with silvery blue hair wearing a bright yellow suit and fedora approached, smirking and tossing the keys to his Pontifact convertible to himself.

“Night Waltz,” Daring Do growled. “What’re you doing here? Cold Case canned your ass.”

The former detective smirked at Daring. “There are other ways of serving this city,” he said coolly, brushing lint off his suit. “Actually, getting fired was a great opportunity for me to pursue my own career as a PI.” He plucked a small license out of his pocket and held it out. Phillip took it and glanced at it with a scowl.

“In any case,” Night Waltz continued, taking his license back, “I was hired by the Literatures to look into this case for them.” He glanced up at the doorway: Classic and Modern stood, their faces solemn as they watched their servant dragged away in hoofcuffs.

“I made some inquiries at a local pawnshop, and I happened to find some very interesting jewels that were dropped off by a blue earth pony,” Waltz said, pulling a bag out of his saddlebags. With his magic, he plucked a set of jewels from the bag. Amidst the gems were two eye-shaped jewels, one red and one orange.

“Are these the jewels from the statues that were stolen?” Waltz asked Modern Literature. She nodded silently.

Waltz smirked. “Officers, you know what to do,” he said, already turning back to his convertible.

“No, please!” Shoe Shine pleaded as the officers bundled him back into the cruiser. “It’s not true! I didn’t steal them!”

The car door slammed shut, silencing his cries. His desperate gaze fixed upon the Literatures, who only stared, eyes blank as the cruiser pulled away from the curb and headed back to the precinct. Night Waltz drove off, prompting the Literatures to close the door behind them. Daring and Phillip were left standing on the sidewalk, both silent and uncertain.

Author's Note

And the dramatic twist!

Sorry for this being almost late, I lost track of time. But I hope that this will whet your appetites for a while ~~and convice you to not lynch me~~!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eight, Chapter Three: The Griffon and the Butler

“I examined those jewels myself,” Twilight said, sitting in front of the coffee table in her home. “They do match the cuttings of the jewels on the statues, although they were missing four gems. This book gives very precise details.” She gestured at “Ancient Artifacts and Totems,” which sat on the coffee table in front of her. She, Spike, Flash Sentry, Daring Do, and Phillip Finder all sat around the table, having come together to discuss the evidence.

“So it might not be Shoe Shine that dropped them off,” Daring pointed out, scowling at the book. “Somepony else could’ve. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if Night Waltz is just straight up bullshi—”

“Language!” Twilight squawked, reaching over to cover the ears of the young dragon sitting on the couch next to her. Spike shot her an irritated glare.

“Straight up lying,” Daring rolled her eyes.

“Unfortunately, he’s not,” Flash grumbled, sitting on the star-spangled carpet to Daring’s left. He was curled up next to the constellation Capricorn, which had been completely restored to its former glory: there was no trace of any of the burns from a previous experiment involving Spike’s dragon fire. “I checked the pawnshop where those diamonds were dropped off. They had a surveillance crystal, and I did find an image of the pony who pawned them. They were wearing a rain jacket with the hood up, but it looked a lot like Shoe Shine.”

“You sure?” Phillip asked, sitting across from Daring, to Flash’s left.

“A unicorn with the same coat color and hair, from what you can see,” Flash commented. He frowned. “It could be somepony else…”

“Or an illusion spell,” Daring suggested.

“No, I thought of that," Flash shook his head. "Turns out it's one of the newer models; it's designed to see through illusion spells."

“It doesn’t look good for Shine,” Phillip stated. “Somepony was definitely out of the house while the Literatures were gone, and they could’ve taken the statues.”

“You didn’t say they went to that pawnshop,” Daring pointed out.

“But I can’t say that they didn’t,” Phillip replied. “I do know that our interloper went up onto that hill at some point. It’s possible they went somewhere else.”

“That griffon might be able to give us an alibi for them,” Daring said. “If we can get her to talk.”

“Who is she?” Spike asked.

“According to the PD’s records, her name is Dimmig Morgon,” Daring said. “She’s adopted; her parents are immigrants from Griffonia. She’s of legal age, but I doubt that we can get past her parents as long as she’s in the house.”

“Then we’ll have to get her when she’s outside,” Phillip said. “She might have something.”

“It’s still worth considering that somepony else might have taken the statues,” Twilight suggested.

“There’s no evidence of that,” Phillip shook his head.

“There’s something I’m still wondering,” Spike put in. “Why pry the jewels off and just sell those? Why not sell the statues wholesale?”

“They’d be too easily recognized,” Daring replied. “If it were me..." She frowned. "Well, if it were me, I'd be trying to sell the to a museum. If it were one of the others, they'd sell the gems at several separate locations, then melt the gold statues down and sell that separately.”

“Maybe our thief wanted the statues themselves,” Spike suggested. “What’s so special about those statues anyway?”

“The Innsbeak Statues are nearly as old as Equestria,” Daring said, taking the book and flipping through it to a chapter late in the book. A black and white photograph displayed the four statues, each standing on a folding table in what looked to be an archaeological dig.

"I remember reading about them when I first researching them years back, when the Family got hired to find 'em," Daring reminiscned briefly. “Innsbeak was a village in the southeast of modern Equestria. According to records, in circa 150 AE, the village was struck by a series of plagues and droughts. A sculptor received a vision from the Old Gods that the plagues would stop if he built a statue of each of the four main gods, inlaid with jewels.”

“Who exactly are the Old Gods?” Spike interrupted. “They’re monsters, right?”

“The Old Gods aren’t real, Spike,” Twilight said. “They’re just ancient legends of pagan gods that were worshipped in pre-Equestrian times.”

“No, they’re not,” Flash said defensively. “The Old Gods ruled the world until the Holy Mother was born. They forced ponies to worship them and were constantly fighting each other; that’s why life was so awful for ponies back then.”

“Well...yes, if you believe in the Covenant Journal,” Twilight admitted skeptically. “But the archeological evidence indicates that before ponies discovered magic and were able to control the weather and the movement of the sun and moon—”

Daring pointedly cleared her throat, scowling. “Anyway, Innsbeak was eventually destroyed in a huge earthquake around 1095 AE that buried the town," she continued. "When the site was excavated in 1876, the statues were found, still intact. In fact, they looked almost pristine. It’s rumored that the statues contain great power. Naturally, they’ve never demonstrated anything, but rumors abound. The ship carrying them hit a storm coming up the Maresippi and sank, and the statues were lost.” She closed the book.

"Least that's what everypony thought until a collector found a journal from a crewpony that revealed that he'd stolen the statues and swam to shore," Daring continued.

"Swum," Twilight corrected.

"Whatever," Daring rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the journal said that he'd sold them to a friend, so the collector hired me to find them. It took me a month of searching and following that trail, but I found the statues in the back of this little antique store in Fillydelphia. Bought 'em for a song and brought them to the client. Guess he might've sold 'em or something."

“So maybe Scarlet wanted the statues themselves,” Flash suggested.

“We’re at the same spot we were in when we first arrived here,” Phillip stated. “Lots of facts, some theories, but no proof.” He got up and stretched with a groan. “We can pick this up in the morning after Shoe Shine cools his heels at the precinct.”

“In the meantime,” Spike said, turning his gaze to Flash. “You promised Twilight a date.”

“I did?” Flash said slowly, then blinked. “Oh, right, I did! Last week!”

Twilight blushed. “But...but, Spike, we’ve got work to do and—”

“Uh-uh,” Spike shook his head. “We agreed you wouldn’t do this anymore. You always bury yourself in your work and start fretting over everything, and you drive yourself insane. Not this time. There’s nothing you can do right now, so what you’re gonna do is go out, have fun, and give your brain a break. Right?”

Twilight stared incredulously at Spike for several seconds, then sighed and rolled her eyes with a weary smile. “Okay, Spike, I guess you have a point.”

“Good,” Spike nodded, then glared at Flash. “I want her back by no later than 10:30. Clear?” he growled, baring his teeth.

“Clear!” Flash replied with a salute, his face blanching and eyes widening in terror.

“Spike, don’t scare him,” Twilight chided, half-laughing.

“I’m just teasing you, dude,” Spike grinned at Flash, who managed to nervously smile back after a moment. “When you bring her back, I’ve got that Whinny Mantle card waiting.”

Flash’s eyes lit up. “Great! You coming, Twi?”

“Oh, all right,” Twilight said, standing.

The two of them exited the house, with Phillip and Daring following. Flash guided Twilight to the blue motorcycle with the clumsily-painted yellow lightning bolt and gently guided her into the sidecar, handing her a helmet. He clambered onto the bike and turned the ignition, bringing the bike to life with a growl. He gave Twilight a small grin and revved the throttle, causing the bike to roar. Twilight rolled her eyes at him with an indulgent smile. Both of them laughed as he pulled the bike away from the curb and sped down Golden Oak Street.

“You just wanted her out of the house for a while, didn’t you?” Daring asked Spike, smirking.

“Hey, she needed some time out to do something fun,” Spike said. “I’m looking out for her.”

Daring raised an eyebrow and Spike sighed. “And the latest issue of Spider-Mare just came in and I’d rather read that than spend all night organizing notes, which is what she’d normally be doing, and would end with us both being too tired,” he admitted.

Daring let out a bark of a laugh. “Enjoy your comics, kid,” she said, snatching Phillip up and taking off into the sky, ignoring his cry of protest.

“Yeesh,” Daring scoffed as they flew through the chill night air. “If we ever start acting like those two lovebirds, just shoot me.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever—” Phillip paused, turning. “Hey, there’s Fluttershy. And she looks worried.”

Fluttershy was indeed flying towards Twilight’s house, distress clear on her face. When she spotted Daring and Phillip, she diverted towards them.

“You have to help!” she cried, her eyes wide. “Rainbow Dash is gone! I think she’s gone after Scarlet Letter!”

“She what?” Daring asked.

“She’s been acting like a vigilante,” Fluttershy explained, the words tumbling from her lips. “She’s been getting into fights with some of the criminals on the streets, and she’s been getting hurt. I’ve tried to tell her to stop, but—”

“What’s this about Scarlet?” Daring interrupted.

“She..she mentioned that she needed to do something to stop her,” Fluttershy stammered. “She said that if nopony else was going to do something, she would.”

“Fuck,” Daring muttered, then flew westward at her top speed, wind whistling past her ears.

“One of these days, you’re going to have to start carrying airsickness bags!” Phillip yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and holding onto his hat with one hoof.

It was a well-established fact that Scarlet Letter lived in a small cottage in the northwestern borders of Ponyville, not too far from the farmlands, but close enough to the city to still be a part of the richer part of the city. The single-story house was painted in faint reds and pinks, and a single lamppost stood post next to the walkway to the door, throwing a warm glow against the front of the building. The curtains were drawn and the lights were out, setting the building in a peaceful scene.

A figure dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt dove down from the clouds and alighted in the backyard. It crouched, fluttering its blue wings and panning its hooded head from side to side. Seeing nopony, it crept over to the backdoor, the boards of the porch creaking quietly beneath their weight. They reached for the doorknob with a hoof.

Without warning, a great weight dropped upon the intruder and wrestled them away from the door, clamping a hoof over their mouth. The would-be burglar struggled, letting out a string of muffled curses, but all in vain. The second interloper dragged them back to a low-hanging cloud and tossed them onto it, pinning them down.

“Are you fucking insane?!” Daring barked at Rainbow Dash.

“Let go!” Rainbow shouted, struggling beneath her. “Why are you stopping me?!”

“Because you were about to get yourself arrested or killed!” Daring said, getting off of Rainbow.

Rainbow Dash grunted and stood up, rubbing the foreleg that Daring had twisted behind her. “I’ve heard about what you said about Scarlet,” she stated, frowning at Daring. “And I know she’s been involved in that hit and run of that rich author or whatever. We both know she’s involved in something. This could be our chance to prove it!”

“By doing what?” Daring said. “Committing breaking and entering?”

“But—” Rainbow Dash started to protest, then her eyes lit up. “We could do it together! You and me, taking on the bad guys, fighting for just—”

“No,” Daring said firmly. “We are not doing this.”

“Why not?” Rainbow Dash asked, looking bewildered.

“Because it’s wrong, it’s stupid, it’s dangerous, and I said no,” Daring stated. “Go home, kid.”

Rainbow stared at Daring for a moment, then scowled. “What’s stopping you? She’s the bad guy, you’re the good guy! We have to stop her!”

Daring sighed and facehoofed. “Breaking and entering isn’t gonna solve anything. It’s just gonna get us in more trouble.”

Said the pony who broke into Silvertongue’s mansion, and was talking about doing this exact same thing, a little voice whispered in the back of her head. Hi, pot! I’m the kettle!

“But you’re Daring Do!” Rainbow Dash protested. “You’re an adventurer, a crimefighter! You’re not scared of her, are you?”

“I’m not, but…” Daring frowned at Rainbow. “Kid, you’re smarter than this,” she said, her tone one of heavy reproach. “What the hell were you thinking, trying something like this?”

Rainbow’s eyes widened as though she’d been stabbed, then her head lowered and her ears flattened against her head. Daring tilted her head slightly, a note of concern pushing its way into her anger and frustration.

“Look, kid, there’s something else going on here, isn’t there?” she asked.

Rainbow Dash sighed and sat down on the cloud. “I hear about you all the time,” she said. “So many stories about how adventurous and cool you are, how you never give up when things get hard. I mean, you stopped Tinderspark, you took down Monopoly and Silvertongue...remember when I helped you out with Monopoly?”

“Yeah,” Daring nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “That was pretty cool.”

“It was!” Dash said. “You charged right in there, knowing how dangerous it’d be, and you got everypony out safely! We worked together on that! It was...so awesome! And I…” She sighed and looked down. “I wanted more. I wanted to be more like you.”

Daring felt her jaw drop slightly; the cursed brand suddenly felt strangely cold, an odd numbness spreading up her arm. A cloud over their head moved aside to reveal the waxing crescent moon; in its glow, Daring suddenly noticed the purple bruises across Rainbow Dash’s jaw.

“Ever since I moved here from Cloudsdale with Fluttershy, I’ve had to get used to looking the other way, to nopony caring or doing anything about the crime, and I’m sick of it. I wanted to try to do something good, to fight back against the bad guys,” Rainbow continued, not looking up. “That’s why I came here: I thought maybe I could do something that would prove to everypony that she was a crook.”

Daring stared at Rainbow for a few moments of silence, then sighed. “I get it, kid,” she said quietly. “I can’t blame you for wanting to help, to try to clean up this city a little. But picking fights, sneaking into ponies’ homes: that’s the wrong way to do it. Looking for trouble isn’t brave, it’s stupid. And it’s going to get you arrested or killed. Get me?”

Rainbow Dash looked up, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. “But I can’t just stand by and do nothing,” she protested.

“Doing nothing is better than doing stupid shit like this,” Daring answered. “That’s gonna end with you in a cell at best, in the Maresippi with a concrete block tied around your neck at worst. Do you wanna do that to your friends?”

Rainbow scowled for a moment, then sighed and shook her head.

“Go home, kid,” Daring repeated. Rainbow morosely spread her wings and took off, flying south. Daring watched her fly off, then flew over to where she’d left Fluttershy and Phillip, a safe distance away so they wouldn’t be seen with her if things had gone badly.

“I think she needs a friend to talk to,” Daring said to Fluttershy. Fluttershy nodded, then flew after Rainbow Dash.

“Let’s go home,” Daring said to Phillip, gently picking him up in her forelegs. Her right fetlock was still numb and heavy, as though encased in ice; the cursed brand felt like a great weight tied to her hoof, pulling her down.

She flew low and slow over the ground until they reached 221 Honeybee Bakery. Phillip unlocked the door, prompting the windows and doors to briefly flash lavender as the wards deactivated. They stepped inside, and Phillip relocked the door, reactivating the wards.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her as they tossed their hats and vests onto the coat rack in the front hallway.

Daring stared down at her cursed brand, forever burned into her hoof, a reminder of her past, of who she was at her core. A single thought turned over and over in her mind, brought on the waves of cold pain that raced up her foreleg: Why would anypony ever want to be like me?

“Ugh, fuck it,” she muttered, wandering into the kitchen. She pulled out a bottle of Manticore Rare, unstoppered the top, and poured a healthy dose into a glass. “It’s too late for philosophical musing,” she muttered, downing the entire glass in one go.

“Daring…” Phillip started to say.

“I don’t—” Daring started to snap at him, but stopped herself when she saw him flinch. She took a breath, poured herself another shot and drank it down, and sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it now,” she said in a calmer tone. “I just want to go to bed.”

Phillip nodded. “Okay.”

They retreated up to their room and Daring crawled into bed, allowing the weight of the alcohol on her head to start to drag her down into the mattress. Phillip crawled in behind her and wrapped his forelegs about her barrel, gently pulling her into his chest. A small smile widened across Daring’s mouth as she felt his lips gently brush against her cheek.

“Be here if you need to talk,” he muttered sleepily.

“I know,” she murmured, snuggling into the warmth of his embrace and closing her eyes.

His soft breathing against the back of her neck soothed her, and bit by bit, the pain of the brand faded away. Before long, sleep stole up and claimed her.

“I’m not saying I trust Night Waltz, because I don’t,” Red Herring said the next morning. “Frankly, I don’t trust him any further than I could throw an oil tanker. I’m saying that the evidence doesn’t look good for Shoe Shine.”

“And I’m not disagreeing with you,” Phillip said tactfully. He glanced to his side, looking through the one-way mirror into the interview room. Shoe Shine sat at the desk, dark shadows beneath his eyes and his mane in disarray. He stared down at the plastic cup of water in front of him, his pupils glassy from lack of sleep. Trace Evidence sat across from him; Shoe Shine answered his questions mainly in monosyllables, never looking up. “I am saying that there might be more to this.”

“He is still denying that he stole the statues,” Red stated. “But when we ask him about that griffon you mentioned, he just kind of shuts down. He knows something, that’s for sure, but he won’t say what.”

“Daring’s watching Morgon,” Phillip reported. “If we can get her away from her parents, she might be more willing to talk.”

“Or we could try a direct route,” Red suggested. “I could get a subpoena and—”

Phillip glanced up at the sound of hoofsteps. “No need. She’s here.”

Red looked up to see Daring walking towards them. Behind her was the young griffon. Dimmig Morgon walked lightly on her paws, head lowered slightly and eyes flicking back and forth nervously. Phillip’s eyes went to five distinctive bruises on her foreleg.

“Where is Shoe Shine?” she asked, her voice carrying the light, slightly sing-song accent of Griffonia. “I saw in the newspaper that he was brought here. Where is he?”

“He’s in there,” Red said, nodding to the window. Dimmig moved to enter the interrogation room, but Red held out a hoof and stopped her. “First, we need to hear what you know,” he stated calmly.

“But—” Dimmig protested.

“Miss Morgon,” Red said, his voice firmer, his face harder. “Shoe Shine is currently a suspect in a robbery that may be connected to a murder. What you know or don’t know is important. So, please, let’s start with what you have to say, starting about Sugar Hope Hill.”

Dimmig stared at Red for a moment, fear flickering in her eyes as she took a single step back.

“Red, ease off,” Daring said coldly.

“This is me being nice,” Red replied, not taking his eyes off Dimmig.

Dimmig stared at him for a moment, then took a shaky breath and nodded. “I sent him a note asking him to meet me at Sugar Hope; it’s always been our favorite meeting spot. But I sent it four days before the funeral: I do not know why he didn't meet me until then."

“You two are together?” Red asked, his eyebrows raising.

Dimmig nodded. “For over a year now. We met in the market; from the moment we laid eyes on each other, we were in love. I needed to meet with him to tell him something important.”

“Which was?” Red pressed.

Dimmig looked down at the floor for a moment, her eyes flicking from side to side, then sighed and spoke. “I am pregnant. With his child.”

Everypony’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I know it is rare, almost unheard of, but it is true,” Dimmig admitted, her eyes glistening. “I did not know what to do; my parents do not trust ponies, and if they knew that I had a child with a pony, they would kick me out of my home. Shoe Shine assured me I had nothing to worry about; he would take care of the money and our living conditions.”

Red frowned a bit. “Did he steal the statues?”

“He would never!” Dimmig cried, looking up, her eyes wide with shock. “He considers the Literatures as close as family to him, and they look upon him the same! To steal from them would be unthinkable!”

Red’s brow furrowed in thought. “Wait here,” he muttered and entered the interrogation room. He walked over to Trace and bent down to whisper in his ear, using a wing to shield his muzzle. Trace looked up at Red, face lit up with surprise, then looked at the bemused Shoe Shine. The two whispered back and forth for several seconds, then seemed to come to an agreement.

“Mr. Shine, you’re free to go,” Trace said, standing up and tucking his files away. “But please don’t skip town for a while. We might need to talk to you again later.”

“I…” Shoe Shine stammered, looking slightly taken aback, then recomposed himself. “Thank you,” he nodded, standing and exiting. He spotted Dimmig in the hallway and paused.

“My love,” Dimmig breathed, striding forward. He embraced her and they shared a deep kiss.

Shoe Shine nuzzled the griffon, then turned to Phillip and Daring. “I would appreciate your discretion in this matter,” he said quietly, his eyes full of pleading. “For her sake, if not mine. I swear, once again, that I did not steal the statues, but if the Literatures learned that I had been keeping secrets from them, it would hurt us both.”

“I’m not paid enough to get mixed up in family drama,” Daring rolled her eyes.

“We won’t say anything,” Phillip said. “But you should come clean with them.”

Shoe Shine stared at him silently for a beat, then exited with Dimmig. Trace and Red both exited the interrogation room. Daring started to turn to Phillip to speak, but Phillip held up a hoof, his head cocked to listen to the departing suspects' conversation.

"My love, why didn't you meet me when I sent that note?" Dimmig asked quietly.

"I didn't receive that note until the morning of the funeral," Shoe Shine protested quietly. "It was at the hollow tree on the corner that morning, but not the day before."

Dimmig made a soft sound of pondering as they exited the building. "Hmm," Phillip muttered, quickly repeating the conversation back to the others.

"So if they're using that tree to drop off messages every day, why didn't he get that note until then?" Daring mused.

"Somepony could've intercepted it," Phillip stated.

“That doesn’t necessarily give him an alibi,” Trace noted as they walked to the window and watched the stallion and the griffon exit. “She could be covering for him.”

“But we still don’t have anything solid on either of them,” Red pointed out.

“You get anything about that truck?” Phillip asked.

“Detective Rubber is still working on it,” Red said. “Turns out there’s a surprising number of Chevroneigh trucks in this city, and a lot of them have white paint and hood ornaments.”

“And he’s got a big workload,” Trace added. “Traffic’s always been a difficult unit…”

Phillip had tuned Trace out. He was staring out the window, watching Shoe Shine and Dimmig standing at the curb, talking.

And then he spotted the Chevroneigh pickup truck idling on the side of the road, its windows tinted, its headlights dimmed, a tarp covering the contents of the back. A hood ornament of a knight with a spear stood at attention on the fresh, bright red coat.

Daring spotted it, too: he felt her tensing up as danger raced down her spine. “Guys, something’s going on!” she shouted, already flying out the window.

But even as she shouted it, the truck suddenly started forward with a roar, stopping in front of Dimmig and Shoe. The back doors opened and ponies in masks poured from them, seizing the griffon and the unicorn. Dimmig shrieked and clawed at one of her attackers, only to be seized in a chokehold from behind. Shoe Shine froze in horror, barely resisting as he was thrown into the back of the cab.

“No, you don’t!” Daring shouted, diving towards the cab.

But as she flew down, a tarp in the back of the cab was flung aside and the pony beneath revealed himself, a huge dark red earth pony with a massive yellow grin. He hefted a big Thrussian machine gun with a pan magazine, swinging the barrel around to aim at her. With a massive chattering like a humongous typewriter, bullets flew from the barrel, zipping past Daring. She was forced to dive and roll in midair to avoid the streaks of hot air that zipped inches away from her.

Gritting her teeth, Daring chased after the vehicle, flying high over the streets, cutting corners to keep up. The gunpony in the truck’s bed kept her at a distance with bursts of fire, which she tumbled and weaved in midair to dodge.

Daring reached for the pistol in her holster, but immediately reconsidered: one bad shot and she’d hit Dimmig or Shoe Shine. Instead, she pulled the boomerang out of her back pocket and cocked it back. If she could stun the gunpony long enough to close in…

With a grunt, she snapped the weapon out. The carved stick spun through the air, but her throw was too short, barely scraping the back of the truck. The boomerang arced back up, but missed her by a large distance. “Dammit!” Daring snarled, putting on speed to keep up with the truck.

The gunpony pulled a glass jar from his pocket, then threw it through the window of a house as they passed by. The crashing of glass was followed by the crackling of flames as smoke began to pour from the window; screams sounded from within.

"Celestia dammit!" Daring turned and bucked down the front door, rushing inside. The living room was already being overwhelmed by flames: a trio of ponies was crouched in the corner, pinned by the fires, the mother trying to shield her two children.

Coughing on the smoke, Daring flew over the line of flames and began to flap her wings forward, sending jets of wind that pushed a tunnel through the fire. “Follow me!” she shouted. The unicorn mare scooped her twin foals beneath her forelegs and followed Daring forward through the tunnel, their eyes burning. The fire roared at them, as though trying to block their progress. Gritting her teeth, every breath burning her throat, Daring pressed forward, continuing to blow a path forward. She flicked her tail back into the mother’s face. Taking the hint, the mare bit her tail and used that to stay close to her.

The door appeared in front of them, still hanging off the hinges. With a final lunge, Daring pushed forward and shoved the family ahead of her. All of them exited the house, hacking and coughing, tears stinging at their eyes. The sirens of approaching fire trucks and police sounded in the air.

Daring wiped her eyes with a wing and looked around. There was no sign of the Chevroneigh truck. She growled beneath her breath.

“You okay?” she asked the mare. The unicorn checked her two wailing charges and nodded, coughing as tears ran down her face.

“Good,” Daring sighed. “I gotta get back to the precinct.”

She took to the sky and headed back, eyes narrowed.

Author's Note

"When in doubt, have a man walk through the door with a gun." --Chandler's Law.

Or my variation, "Have a bunch of thugs with guns drive on scene in a truck."

Publishing this one a bit early as a special treat to my lovely readers, and because I've got a busy day tomorrow and didn't want to forget.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eight, Chapter Four: Bottgilia's Betrayal

“No, no, no, don’t tell me we lost them!” Hewn Oak shouted, pacing the dispatch room. “A truck full of armed heathens does not disappear!”

“Sir, I’m trying,” Stellar Lights said through gritted teeth, her neon green eyes flicking through the multiple projections displayed in front of her. The images displayed the abduction from various angles, captured by the unblinking eyes of surveillance crystals. In the top middle projection, the truck sped past, followed by Daring Do; a few moments later, the same truck turned the corner and raced towards the crystal lens, with Daring Do doing circles in midair to avoid the bursts of gunfire.

“We’ve got them heading down Daisy Street towards Five Corner Boulevard after Daring loses them,” Stellar Lights reported. “But the crystal at the Boulevard starts malfunctioning, look.” She pointed to an image that showed a crossroad of streets with a single concrete island in the middle of the intersection, bearing a pair of flagpoles and a fountain. The image froze and began to shiver in its projected frame, then jumped several seconds ahead.

“Somepony must’ve jammed the crystal. They could have taken any turn out of there,” she continued, lighting up her horn with a magenta glow. The projections changed to crystal views of the five streets that ran out of the Boulevard. “I can’t see that truck in any of these views.”

“Well, they can’t have disappeared, unless they possess some great magic,” Hewn Oak stated gruffly. “Keep looking! And somepony get in touch with Detective Evidence!”

“They won’t have gone that way,” another stallion declared, entering the room. The bright orange earth pony with a set of tire tracks on his flanks shook his black bangs out of his green eyes and approached the map, hobbling on a right hind leg that was unnaturally twisted inwards. “If I were them, I’d have turned off Daisy and cut through this alleyway here, gotten off onto Highdale. No security crystals there.”

“Detective Rubber, what of the truck itself?” Oak asked.

“It’s definitely the same one that hit Best Seller,” Burned Rubber replied. “Twilight Sparkle managed to get a tire track off the ground from there, and we compared it to the track that Doctor Mortis got from the Best Seller H&R scene. They matched. License plate’s already a dead end: it was stolen off a hatchback moons ago.”

“Then do you have anything at all?” Oak asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Rubber declared, puffing out his chest proudly. “I started looking at registrations for Chevroneigh pickups of that model with that type of hood ornament. I’ve managed to narrow down the suspect list considerably, but there is one pony who stands out. Or should I say, one donkey.”

He pulled a file out of an inner pocket in his suit. “Bentley Browndust, a part-time mechanic who lives in the Dockside District. He’s been suspected of a number of hit and runs and being a runner for various gangs, but nothing’s ever been proven. Not only is he the registered owner of a Chevroneigh pickup, but I also found out that he recently purchased a lot of red paint.”

Hewn Oak looked over the file, studying the accompanying photograph of a tall dusty brown donkey with green eyes and a sandy mane that stuck up everywhere as though he had a hedgehog sitting on his head. “Miss Lights?”

“This is the best image of the driver I can get,” Stellar Lights reported, zooming in on a fairly close shot of the front of the getaway truck. The windows were tinted, but enough light shone through to provide a faint image of a mane of sandy brown hair.

Oak grunted. “Send a—”

“Cruiser to his address and put out a BOLO, already done,” Rubber declared. “Trace and the others got any luck finding him?”

“None so far, they are still trying to pick up the trail,” Hewn Oak said. He looked back at the map. A single blinking red dot that slithered down the road indicated the position of Trace’s car. “I wish I could offer more assistance, but we are stretched thin as it is already.” He gently stroked the rosary necklace about his neck. “May the Alicorns watch over them,” he prayed. “If our quarry is fiendish enough to perform this abduction in broad daylight, there is no telling how low they may sink.”

“What I’m still working on is, why did they bother kidnapping Shoe Shine?” Daring pondered as she flew over the streets, following Trace’s Hayson Commander down the road. Phillip leaned out of the passenger window, his eyes scanning the sidewalks and the road ahead.

“Maybe he knew something he shouldn’t have,” Red suggested, flying alongside her.

“Nah,” Daring shook her head. “If they didn’t want him to talk, they’d have just shot him. And they took Dimmig, too. Why?”

“Maybe because she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Red shrugged. He thought for a moment, then muttered, “Or maybe they want to put pressure on him. Get him to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Daring asked.

“Maybe what he did with those statues,” Red suggested.

At that moment, Trace pulled his car over and waved up at the two of them. They both swooped down, landing on either side of the vehicle.

“Rubber pulled through,” Trace stated. “We’ve got a suspect for the truck: Bentley Browndust. He’s got an address in the Dockside District. Hop in.”

Daring and Red climbed into the back and Trace whirled the vehicle around in a tight and highly illegal U-turn, putting on his siren as he did so. Red and Trace both exchanged glances as they fastened their seat belts.

Bentley Browndust lived in an apartment on a single block that stood on a small boulevard road off of Flotsam Avenue. Trace switched off his siren as they approached and pulled the vehicle smoothly up to the curb. A cruiser was already waiting in front of them.

“Apartment nine, detectives,” a pegasus officer standing by the front door declared. “He’s not in there, but my partner’s canvassing the neighbors. We haven’t touched anything.”

“Good,” Trace nodded. They proceeded up to the second floor and found the door to apartment nine hanging open, a large chunk of the doorframe having been blasted off; the officer took position outside the door as the detectives entered. The apartment itself was almost spartan. The living room held only a desk with a single chair and a sofa, with a radio in the corner. The kitchen appeared to have been mostly unused, and the bedroom was almost equally vacant, save for a dresser, a closet, and a loose stack of library books in the corner.

“Well, this should be quick,” Red commented.

“Don’t bet on it,” Daring said dryly.

Phillip stood in the center of the living room, his eyes panning over the floor and walls. A single disturbance in a layer of dust over a ceiling tile immediately caught his attention. “Daring,” he pointed.

She flew up and lifted the tile away, extracting a gray lockbox from the space above. The box was secured with a small padlock.

“I can get past that,” Daring declared, reaching into her pocket and extracting her bit bag. She pretended to glance out the window. “Hey, guys, look. There’s a yak on a unicycle juggling chainsaws outside.”

Red and Trace both rolled their eyes but obligingly turned their backs as Daring extracted her trusty (and illegal) lock picks from the hidden pocket in the bag. It took her all of three seconds to defeat the lock and open the box, cueing the stallions to turn around.

“I swear he was there a second ago,” Daring shrugged, rifling through the box’s contents. There were a few files, each with notes and photographs inside. On top of the folders was a color photograph of a griffon, having apparently been plucked from its proper folder. The picture appeared to have been taken surreptitiously, for the griffon’s head was turned away, staring down at the newspaper folded open to the crossword puzzle on the table in front of him. The griffon was tall, but fairly skinny, almost underweight, and wore a dark blue suit. He had a golden-brown body and a creamy head, his downfeathers ruffled. His green eyes were focused on the newspaper. Phillip turned the photo over to reveal a note written on the back of the photo: Owes me a favor.

“So who’s this?” Phillip mused, setting the photo down on the desk and switching on the desk lamp. He bent over the picture, studying the griffon with his magnifying glass.

“Bloke works manual labor, judging by the scars and calluses on his claws; fishmonger, I’d guess,” he declared. “Recently came into money: that suit is brand new. The hat is a lot older, out of fashion. He’s attached to it. Family heirloom, most likely.” He peered closer. “Burns on the brim...pipe smoker, maybe.”

He turned the photograph upside-down and studied the open newspaper. “He’s left clawed,” he continued, noting the position of the pen on the paper, pointing downwards to the griffon’s right. “And well-read: he spelled ‘isthmi’ correctly, that’s not something the average pony would know.”

“And I’d recognize that bar anywhere,” Daring added. “That’s the Gold Griffon’s Head.”

“Well, looky here,” Trace announced, coming out of the bedroom. In his magic, he held a miniature camera with straps around it that appeared designed to be worn on the chest, and a remote trigger that led down to the hoof.

“Looks like this is supposed to be worn underneath a coat or something,” Trace said. “Interesting little toy. Probably used it for surveillance.”

“This griffon is important to him,” Phillip stated, holding up the photo. “He opened this box recently and took out this picture. That means something.”

“This guy have a name?” Red asked dryly.

Trace rifled through the folders in the lockbox. “No, no names,” he reported. “Bentley probably relied on memory.”

“We could still ask around at the Griffon’s Head,” Daring suggested.

“If that’s our only real lead right now,” Trace grunted. He called the officer standing post at the doorway inside. “Keep this scene secure until a plainclothes gets here to examine the scene properly. We’ll be following up on a lead.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer nodded.

The group exited the apartment building and piled back into Trace’s Commander. With a grumbling of an engine, they headed south for the river.

The Gold Griffon’s Head hadn’t changed since the last time that Phillip and Daring had arrived. It still sat on the side of a little street, with a flashing red neon sign in the window that advertised the fact that the bar stocked Manticore Rare. The construction site across the street was coming along nicely: the scaffolding was now mostly covered in walls and windows to form what would be an office building of some sort. The cacophony of construction equipment and vehicles could be heard from blocks away and the smell of gravel and smoke clung to the air, where it intermingled with the varying flavors of alcohol that hovered over the Griffon’s Head.

Daring confidently opened the door and entered the tavern proper. The place was still lit primarily with old-fashioned oil lanterns, harkening back to the days when the Dockside District was the focal point of Ponyville’s booming shipping industry. A few griffons sat around circular tables, talking in low voices, though the conversation abruptly halted when Daring entered the room. She led the three stallions to the bar, where a dusty griffon in a white vest and black bowtie stood waiting.

“Bottgilia,” Daring greeted the bartender with a grin.

“What’s up, amica?” the griffon asked with a faint grin. His eyes darted to a photograph hanging on the wall, behind which, Daring and Phillip knew, was a bullet hole.

“We’re here to ask if you’ve ever seen this griffon,” Daring said, pulling out the photograph of the suited griffon and placing it on the bar. “And to ask if you’ve got any Manticore Rare, dry.”

“The latter I can definitely give you,” Bottgilia replied, plucking a bottle of dark red liquid and a glass out from behind the bar. “As for that lad…” He frowned in thought as he studied the photograph, filling Daring’s glass without looking.

“Yeah, I think I know who he is,” he nodded. “Hang on a sec, I’ll give him a ring.” He disappeared through a doorway in the back of the bar.

“That was a little too easy,” Phillip muttered. Daring nodded with a frown as she knocked back most of her bourbon in one shot.

Bottgilia returned a moment later. “All right, he’s on his way down here now,” he announced. “Can I get you gents anything?”

“Not on the job,” Phillip grunted, looking around. Trace shook his head.

“Ah, maybe just a lager,” Red shrugged, stepping up to the bar. “Help me stay focused.”

Bottgilia nodded and started pouring out a tall glass for Red, handling the bottle with care in order to maintain the perfect foam and drink ratio. The ponies stood at the bar in contemplative silence.

Yet there was motion all around them. With furtive shuffling of chairs and the muted scrapes of claws on wood, the few griffons that were in the tavern were quickly and quietly pushing themselves away from their drinks and scurrying out the door, casting nervous glances at the intruders as they exited.

The four remained standing coolly at the bar, but the quiet exodus had not gone unnoticed. Muscles tensed, hearts beat faster, ears perked up, and hooves slid closer to holsters.

“He’ll be here soon,” Bottgilia said after a minute of quiet.

“This griffon,” Phillip stated. “What’s his name?”

A single bead of sweat, illuminated by the unforgiving light of the oil lanterns, slid down Bottgilia’s neck. “Tha-that doesn’t matter,” he stammered. “He’ll be here soon. Only a couple minutes away.”

“Bottgilia, is there something you’re not telling us?” Phillip said, his voice lower.

Bottgilia’s reply was wide-eyed silence, more sweat trickling down his brow.

“We’re going,” Trace declared, heading for the door.

But at that moment, there was the sound of tires screeching from outside as two low, black cars mounted the curb in front of the tavern. “Shit,” Trace muttered. He and Red quickly shoved over a couple of tables and they ducked behind them, both drawing their pistols.

A dark green griffon in a dark cloak and mask kicked the door open and began spraying fire from a .45 Trotson, the weapon roaring out its battle cry. Splinters of wood flew as the bullets struck the wooden walls and floor. Utilizing the provided cover, two other griffons, each wearing a trenchcoat and a bandana over their beaks, followed through the door and took cover beside two wooden support pillars. The griffon with the submachine gun stepped fully through the door.

Trace popped his head out from behind cover, his horn alight. The green griffon opened fire, this time a well-aimed burst from the shoulder. The bullets struck against Trace’s shield spell, the air rippling with golden energy, each impact sounding like a hammer against metal. Trace grunted and stumbled slightly, but fired three times. Each of his own rounds struck true: blood spurted from the griffon’s body and he fell with a grunt, the weapon clattering against the floor.

The two other griffons fired their pistols from around the pillars, forcing the group to stay hidden behind the makeshift cover. Red fired his hoofgun blindly over the top of the table, but hit nothing but air.

“Red, get ready,” Phillip ordered, pulling out his boomerang. “Daring, smoke the one on the left. Trace, keep them busy.”

Daring nodded, extracting a smoke bomb from her shirt. Red gripped his pistol in both hooves, letting out an exhalation through his mouth. Trace reloaded his pistol and began to blindly fire over cover. Daring chucked the smoke bomb out over the top of their cover. It detonated in a plume of smoke: coughing and hacking could be heard from behind the column as the griffon crouched down.

With a snap of his wrist, Phillip’s boomerang spun through the air, arcing around behind the column on the right. There was a solid thwack of wood against bone and the griffon hiding behind the column grunted in pain and shock, staggering out from behind cover to expose his head.

Red wasted no time, jumping up and opening fire. His first bullet whizzed just above the griffon’s yellow-crested head. The griffon regained his balance and tried to dive for cover, desperation shining in his green eyes, but Red’s next two shots both struck him in the chest. The griffon tumbled to the floor with a crash and a cry of pain and lay there, twitching and moaning as dark red blood ran onto the wooden floor.

A creaking behind them alerted Daring almost too late. She turned around, hoof darting into the narrow hoof grip and drawing the foreleg-mounted revolver as one of the doors to the back was kicked open. A short griffon with a bandana over his beak darted in, head lowered, bringing his sawn-off shotgun around to bear.

Daring’s first shot went wide over his head, striking the wall behind him. “Shit!” she cursed, flying forward as the griffon skidded to a halt, aiming his shotgun. Daring reached into her pocket and snapped out her wrist: her kusarifundo entangled the barrel of the shotgun and she yanked it to her left as she dodged to the right. The shotgun roared with a flash of fire and smoke and she felt a hot blade slice its way across her side. Her momentum sent her barreling into the griffon and they both tumbled over. She punched him in the jaw to daze him, but motion above her made her look up.

Another griffon was coming through the door, carrying a pistol and a stolen police shield, with the “POLICE” painted over and replaced with an image of a silver claw. His blue eyes glittered with sadistic glee as he aimed his oversized revolver down at her. The griffon beneath her seized her foreleg in the iron grip of his talon, preventing her from moving.

But the air whistled and a familiar boomerang sailed over the griffon’s shield and struck him in the forehead. He staggered with a grunt. Seizing upon the advantage, Daring struck the griffon beneath her again, forcing him to let go, then darted at the shield-bearer. Grasping the shield with both hooves, she rammed the griffon in the face with the metal, knocking him off balance and bloodying his face, then closed in and pressed the pistol against his throat.

She realized what she was doing right as she pushed the trigger, but was too slow to stop herself. The metal abomination kicked sharply, letting out a muffled cough. The bullet tore through the griffon’s throat and exited out the back of his neck. The blue eyes had just enough time to widen in shock before they dimmed, and the dead griffon fell back to the floor.

“Don’t move!” Trace barked. Forcing herself to turn away from the body of the griffon she’d just killed, Daring turned to see that Trace, Red, and Phillip were covering the other two griffons with their own pistols. She looked down at the revolver strapped to her foreleg, the lever trigger still pressing against her hoof. A faint trail of stinking smoke still rose from the shortened barrel; the cursed brand on her hoof burned as though the metal of the trigger was red-hot from the forge. She grunted and reholstered the weapon as Trace and Red cuffed the remaining griffons, her heart still thudding hard against her chest.

“Trace, call for backup,” Red instructed his partner. Trace nodded and stepped outside.

Phillip walked over to Daring and glanced down at her side, his eyes widening. “You’re hurt,” he observed, already extracting the first aid kit from his vest.

Daring glanced down. One of the buckshot pellets from the shotgun had grazed her side. Blood was trickling out of the small wound on her side, running down her leg.

“I’m fine,” she said, taking a small roll of gauze from the kit and applying it herself, ordering her hooves to stop shaking as she bandaged the injury. “He just grazed me.”

“You’re fucking lucky,” the griffon snarled from the floor. Daring noticed that he had a tattoo of a silver claw on the back of his neck. A glance around revealed that his companions all had one as well.

“Shut up,” Red spat at him.

Bottgilia peeked over the top of the bar, trembling. Phillip stalked over to him and seized him by his vest, yanking him up close to his face. “You called them,” he snarled.

Bottgilia shivered. “You...your names are mud with Whitestone these days,” he whimpered. “She threatened to burn this place down if you showed up and I didn’t…” He swallowed, quailing before the icy wind that blew from Phillip’s stormcloud gray eyes. “I didn’t have a choice!” he protested. “I didn’t have…”

A growl erupted from Phillip’s throat and he seized Bottgilia around the neck with both hooves. He slammed the griffon’s head against the bar hard enough to crack the wood. Bottgilia cried out in pain and tried to push Phillip off him, but the stallion held on, pinning his head down against the bar with a foreleg against his neck.

“You had a choice!” Phillip shouted, snapping his wrist out. With a rapid clicking, his baton appearing in his hoof. He raised the weapon over his head. “You had—!”

“Phillip, stop!” Red barked. Phillip froze, panting. He looked down at the trembling griffon beneath him, frightened tears leaking out of his eyes, then looked up at the baton in his shaking hoof. He collapsed the weapon and tucked it back into his pocket, then shoved Bottgilia back with a grunt and walked away.

“Go outside, get some air,” Red said. “I can handle this.”

Phillip and Daring both exited the tavern, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Trace walked back in, having already called in backup. The two sat on the sidewalk; the cold air of the river embraced them both, prompting them to huddle up against the wind.

“You okay?” Phillip asked, putting a foreleg over her.

“I…” Daring shuddered, massaging her right hoof, where the cursed brand still dug into her flesh. “I forgot how easy it was,” she admitted. “I had the guy right there, gun in hoof, and I...I pulled the trigger before I could think.”

“It’s not your fault,” Phillip reassured her. “You didn’t have time to think. If you stopped, he would’ve shot you.”

“It’s just…” Daring shuddered. “I’ve always criticized Trace and other cops for shooting first, but put in the same situation, I…”

“You don’t have to be okay with it,” Phillip said. “But it’s what happened. You stopped the bad guy, and you got out alive. Sometimes that’s the best outcome.”

Daring sighed. “What about you?”

“I…” Phillip retracted his hoof from her shoulder. “I…” He grimaced. “There’s no excuse. I just...you got hurt, you could’ve died, and he sold us out…” He shook his head and blinked heavily.

“At least I’ve got you guys to stop me,” he muttered.

“That wasn’t Lucky Bit, and you’re not that stallion,” Daring stated. “We’re not going to let you fall that low again.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded.

Daring smiled briefly at him, then grunted. “We’re wasting time here,” she muttered. “For all we know, Shoe Shine and Dimmig are dead by now. We gotta figure out where Bentley and this griffon are.”

Phillip frowned in thought for a moment, then an idea seemed to cross his mind. “Mavri.”

“You sure?” Daring asked. “We’ve already been bitten in the ass once.”

“He did help us out before,” Phillip pointed out. “And if he agrees to help, it’ll be a big risk to himself.”

Daring frowned, but gave a reluctant nod. “The problem is finding him. We can’t leave until we give a statement and clean up this mess, and even then...”

Something seemed to catch Daring’s attention. She looked up and her eyebrows shot up, then she stuck her hoof in her mouth and whistled shrilly. “Hey, kid!” she shouted.

With a blur of colors, Rainbow Dash flew down and landed in front of them, her yellow weather team vest flapping in the breeze. “What’s up?” she asked, practically glowing with eagerness.

“Dash, we need you to find a griffon,” Daring instructed her. “An older black griffon named Mavri. He wears a fishing vest and smokes Crystal Crown cigars. You’ll probably find him hanging around the river 'round this time. When you find him, tell him that Daring and Phil need to talk to him.”

“Got it!” Rainbow Dash saluted, and in another blur of colors, she shot back into the sky.

“She’ll find him faster than we could,” Daring said to Phillip.

Phillip nodded. “Remains to be seen if he’ll talk.”

Author's Note

It's a dark day when the ones you thought you could trust turn on you. Who can we trust now?

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Case Eight, Chapter Five: Wares, Wharves, and Warehouses

Responding officers arrived in fairly short order and led the surviving griffons away. The corpses of the dead shooters were nonchalantly placed in the back of an ambulance and carried off to the morgue as officers took statements from the detectives.

The four watched as Bottgilia was carried out of his tavern in hoofcuffs, his head bowed. The officers placed him into the back of a cruiser and slammed the doors shut.

“Whitestone’s got a lot to answer for when we find her,” Trace muttered.

“He had a choice to not rat us out,” Red grunted. “He’ll have to answer for that.” He turned to Phillip and Daring. “Tell me you’ve got something.”

“We do have an idea,” Phillip muttered. “But he might not talk to police.”

“Well, do what you need to,” Red grunted. “Long as we find this fuck. Trace and I are gonna head back to his apartment to search for more clues.” With a final nod, he and Trace climbed back into their car and drove off, following the paddy wagon and cruisers. Phillip and Daring were left standing in front of the tavern alone.

A streak of colors abruptly descended from the sky and landed in front of them. “Hey, I found that griffon you were looking for!” Rainbow Dash chirped, puffing out her chest. “He said he’ll meet up with you underneath the docks near the Old Fisher’s Grill.”

“Thanks, kid,” Daring nodded. “C’mon, Phil.”

She scooped Phillip up beneath his forelegs and took off, heading southeast. Rainbow Dash flew after them, eagerness and excitement shining in her eyes. “So what next?” she asked. “Do we get to grill ‘em? Teach ‘em a lesson?”

Daring sighed and rolled her eyes. “Kid, you—”

“Let her come,” Phillip urged. “Won’t hurt.”

Daring studied Rainbow Dash for a few silent moments. The younger pegasus clasped her front hooves together and gave what she evidently hoped was a game-winning smile. “I won’t get in the way!” she pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want me to, just ask! I’ll—”

Daring sighed. “Fine. Just stay out of the way.”

“Yes!” Rainbow Dash cheered, spinning around in midair.

“Come on, we’re wasting time,” Daring said, flying east once more, with Rainbow Dash close behind them.

The Old Fisher’s Grill was easily recognizable. The restaurant had an old wooden sign depicting a griffon with a pipe clenched in his beak holding onto a fishing pole affixed to the front of the building; the sign was worn down, the paint fading and peeling and the edges eaten away with mold, but the bright lights from inside the restaurant proper were very modern.

Across the street was a small boardwalk with docks that extended out like sharply angled limbs into the sun-kissed waters of the Maresippi river. The docks were crowded with boats, ranging from small open fishing boats near the shore to larger sailboats and houseboats farther out into the water. The air was filled with the music of a pier: creaking wood, flapping canvas, and softly dinging bells, the lapping of water, the cries of seagulls and constant chatter of voices all mixing into a strange, oddly comforting melody.

The trio alighted on the front of the docks. Phillip sniffed the air briefly, then turned and walked to the edge of the dock, jumping off onto the shore. Rainbow and Daring followed. Underneath the boardwalk, the dark sand of the shore angled sharply down into the water and small shafts of sunlight through the wooden slats breached the shadows. Garbage of every description littered the little beach, mostly broken bottles and cans and discarded cigarettes, and seaweed clung to the wooden pillars.

Phillip sniffed again, then proceeded forward confidently. It took a while before Rainbow and Daring picked up on the scent of Crystal Crown tobacco, concealed amidst the other odors of the water and garbage.

A golden brown griffon with dark brown feathers wearing a gray fishing vest sat on the edge of the beach, his fishing line cast out into the water. A cigar was clenched in his beak, making him look very similar to the sign on the Old Fisher’s Grill. Next to him was an open basket, with some fish already neatly stacked inside, and a smaller blue griffon with gold accents on his plumage. The blue griffon looked up as they approached, glaring suspiciously at the three of them.

"You sure about this, Mavri?" he asked, glaring at Phillip, who returned his gaze coolly.

"I'm sure, Gallus," Mavri replied, casting his line out again with a relaxed indifference. "Go make sure that no one else comes along."

"But—" Gallus started to protest.

"It's okay, son," Mavri replied. "I trust them."

"Well, I don't," Gallus replied, but he obeyed Mavri's command. He trotted past the three ponies, glaring at them every step of the way.

As he trotted past him, Phillip glanced down and noticed some red scars running along the inside of Gallus' forelegs. Gallus shifted away from him and climbed up to the surface.

Daring silently signaled Rainbow Dash to stay back; she pouted a bit but nodded.

"Don't mind him," Mavri explained to the trio. "He's had some bad experiences with police; can't say I blame him, really. He's a good lad; just needs some support."

"Good of you to take him in, then," Phillip said as he approached. “How they biting, Mavri?”

“Well enough to keep me fed and watered for a good few weeks,” Mavri said, lightly jiggling the line to tempt a large silvery salmon towards the hook.

Phillip sat down next to Mavri and pulled out a cigarette. “Good to see you again,” he said.

“Likewise,” Mavri nodded, pulling a lighter of a pocket and flicking it open to expose a small flame. Phillip gratefully lit his cigarette over the lighter and puffed on it.

“But you’re not here for a social call,” Mavri continued. “Your friend was pretty insistent that I meet you.”

“Need help finding a griffon,” Phillip said.

“You found two,” Mavri commented. “That’s a good start.”

Phillip looked sideways at Mavri. “Griffon might be involved with a suspect in a kidnapping,” he continued. “Took a stallion and a young hen.”

“I see,” Mavri nodded. He reeled his line back in and cast it out again with an expert flick of his wrist, sending the weighted line floating back out over the water and gently dipping beneath the surface. “Do you have any ideas as to who this griffon is?”

Phillip pulled the photograph of the suspect from his vest and showed it to Mavri. Mavri studied it for a moment, then nodded. “That’s Acqua Salata,” he said. “He works at a fishmonger’s next to the shooting gallery, to the west of here. I sell him my fish sometimes.” He studied the jacket. “He got into quite a bit of money pretty recently, but he wouldn’t talk about where. Makes me think he owed something to the wrong ponies, you ask me.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded. “Really ‘preciate you doing this, mate.”

“Don’t have to thank me,” Mavri replied, jiggling the line slightly to try to tempt a sizeable trout to the bait. “Last week, a pony I know from the market I buy food at was found in an alley with his head missing. He’d tried to talk about drug dealing in his neighborhood to the wrong ponies.” He looked sideways at Phillip. “Y’know what they said about him? He was a rat fink who sold out his family.”

Daring let out a hissing breath. “Bastards,” she grunted.

“It’s what griffons do, amica,” Mavri replied, casting the line out again with another artistic swish and flick. “Griffon rule number one: look out for you and yours first. And if that means looking the other way when a pirate wants to make some profit, so be it.”

“So what are you looking out for?” Daring asked.

Mavri gave a small, ironic smile. “I’m too old to really give a fuck,” he grunted. “And my daughter’s long moved away. When you’re as old as I am, you really have more time to think about how absurd some of the things we take for granted are. Like crime bosses. And kids giving up and cutting themselves in an alleyway.” He glanced up towards where Gallus had disappeared.

Phillip nodded and stood up, dropping his fag on the ground and grinding it beneath his hoof. “Take care of yourself. Hoo roo, mate.” He stood and started to leave.

“Phil,” Mavri called, looking up. “You and your friends be careful. Plenty of griffons around here would be more than willing to sell you out for some breathing room.”

“Yeah, we know,” Daring commented dryly. “Bottgilia tried that.”

Mavri flinched slightly and looked down, sighing bitterly. “Well...just look out for yourselves,” he added, turning back to his fishing pole. “And since no one else in this place is gonna say it: thank you.”

With a final nod, Phillip, Daring, and Rainbow Dash climbed out from beneath the boardwalk and reemerged into the sunlight. Gallus shot them a brief scowl, then retreated back down to Mavri.

“You heard him,” Phillip declared, stretching. “That gallery’s just west of here.”

Behind Phillip’s back, Rainbow and Daring glanced at each other. “Race you?” Rainbow offered with a grin.

“One of us has to carry him,” Daring pointed out. Phillip turned around, his eyes widening, then began to run.

“I’ll do it,” Rainbow shrugged and nudged Daring. “You need the handicap anyway.”

“I’m not that old!” Daring protested.

“Then prove it!” Rainbow dared. And with a swoosh of color and a startled cry of protest, she was off, Phillip hanging underneath her.

“Hey, no fair!” Daring shouted, chasing after them, though she couldn’t help a smile creeping up one side of her face.

The shooting gallery was a long, low building, with advertisements of targets and a grinning griffon holding a rifle. The fishery was right next door: its open display area loaded with shelves of stacked fish on ice. Their fresh smell tingled at the nostrils of the three ponies as they landed across the street from the store, Phillip dusting himself off and shooting Rainbow Dash a very dirty look.

“Hey, you need something?” a griffon wearing a trenchcoat leaning against the building behind them asked, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. “I got plenty of stuff that’ll fix you up. I can make you feel real good for…”

His eyes widened as Phillip and Daring both turned around, recognition swiftly followed by panic. He turned and flew out of sight, leaving behind a few of his feathers.

“It never ends,” Phillip sighed, turning back to survey the market. Several griffons were gathered around the counters, which appeared to be the makeshift stage of some sort of show.

“Hey-y-y-y...yah!” two of the fishery workers cheered as they tossed an enormous halibut back and forth, much to the delight of visitors.

Phillip approached, but Daring stuck out a foreleg and stopped him. “There’s no way he’s gonna want to talk to a cop,” she stated. “Let me try to talk to him.”

She pulled a small bag out of the inside of her shirt and stepped into an alleyway, ducking out of sight. From the bag, she extracted a dark purple dress, a gray sunhat, a set of red-rimmed reading glasses, and a small makeup kit.

“These new Bags of Holding are great,” Daring commented, doffing her helmet and handing it to Phillip. “Bigger on the inside and they never get that much heavier.”

“Pretty expensive, though,” Phillip commented.

Within seconds, Daring Do disappeared, and A.K. Yearling took her place.

“Cool!” Rainbow Dash said in awe as Daring completed her disguise by drawing a fake mole just above her lip and carefully adding in more wrinkles and crow’s feet.

“Okay, wish me luck,” Daring said, booping Phillip as she passed by. She strolled up to the fishery, studying the displays of fish with a critical eye. The varying scents of the available meats—tuna, salmon, halibut, even pike—made her mouth water in delight.

“What can I get you, little lady?” a tall blue griffon behind the counter called to her with a broad, welcoming smile.

“Three tuna,” Daring said, slapping down a sizeable collection of bits on the counter, far more than the listed price for the fish. “And a word with Acqua Salata.”

The griffon looked from the bits to her, then nodded. “Acqua!” he bellowed into the back of the store. “Pony here to see you!”

Acqua Salata emerged from behind a curtain and walked up to Daring, frowning at her suspiciously. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“Bentley sent me,” Daring said quietly.

Acqua’s eyes widened and he glanced around. “How about we discuss this somewhere a bit more private?” Daring offered.

Acqua grunted and led her over near the back of the store, near some sealed crates.

“What does he want?” Acqua grumbled. “We’ve made the deal fair and square, that’s the end of it.”

“See, he’s not sure,” Daring said through the mask that was her smirk, playing what she hoped was the correct hunch. “Bailing you out of your debt and giving you enough to buy fancy smoking jackets and top-end mead might not be enough for your end.”

“I say it is enough,” Acqua scowled and started to turn away.

“I’d be more careful if I were you,” Daring cautioned, not moving. “A fishmonger like yourself flashing that money around? Bound to raise some questions. Questions you wouldn’t like having to answer,” she added, glaring at him.

The defiance evaporated from Acqua’s expression and he swallowed. “I already gave you my father’s old warehouse. What more can I give you?” he whimpered.

Daring forced herself not to grin in triumph. “This warehouse,” she said. “Where’d you get it anyway?”

“I inherited it from my dad,” Acqua explained. “He used it for some business of his that went under, but he couldn’t sell it. It’s just an old rotten warehouse full of junk. Bentley said he could trade that off for the money I needed, so I gave him the keys. Just helping out a neighbor, he said.”

“Where is it?” Daring pressed.

Acqua blinked. “On...forty-seven Breakwater street. Why…?”

Daring leaned in close, removing her glasses to display her rosy eyes. “Listen to me carefully,” she whispered. “You’re in with ponies you don’t want to be indebted to, and once the dust settles from this, you’ll be marked. You need to run. Get your bits, get anyone you care about and run.”

“Daring Do…?” Acqua breathed, eyes wide with disbelief. “How…?”

“I’m sorry for tricking you, but I needed to get you to talk; lives are at stake.” Daring put her glasses back on and walked out. “Do what I said: run. And sell that smoking jacket. You’ll need the bits...and honestly, that color looks stupid on you.”

She proceeded to the front of the market when she was stopped by a loud whistle. She turned to see the tall blue griffon carrying three fresh tuna in a bundle.

“Hey-y-y-y-y-y-yah!” the griffons cheered as the tunas were tossed to Daring. She instinctively reached up and caught them. The three fish gave off a pleasant, mild odor, and their flesh was wonderfully moist.

“Thanks!” she nodded with a smile and exited. She walked back across the street to the alleyway where Phillip and Rainbow Dash waited.

“Well?” Phillip asked.

“Forty-seven Breakwater Street,” Daring stated, whipping off her disguise and stuffing everything back into the bag. “And we’re having tuna for dinner,” she added, putting on her helmet.

“Great,” Phillip nodded. “Let’s go. And can we please walk this—”

“Nope,” Daring said, snatching him up and carrying him into the air. Rainbow Dash followed after, grinning from ear to ear in excitement.

Forty-seven Breakwater Street proved to be a warehouse that sat by itself at the end of a dead end road that was mainly sided by rundown brick and wood storehouses and businesses. Like its neighbors, the warehouse that had once belonged to Acqua Salata’s father was long dilapidated, its white paint fading, its wooden boards rotting, and its windows boarded up. A sign that read “Salata Ice Water” in barely legible letters hung by a single nail over the door: next to the door, a metal sliding door was held shut with a padlock. The entire building was surrounded by a perimeter of chain-link fence.

“Something’s going on in there,” Phillip muttered from their hiding place atop the abandoned building across the street, studying the warehouse through his binoculars.

“You sure?” Daring asked, peering through her field glasses.

“I don’t see anything weird,” Rainbow said, squinting.

“All of the windows are boarded up; boards on some of the windows are a lot fresher than the rest of the building,” Phillip stated. “The padlock on the garage door is recent, and there are fresh tire tracks in front of it. Somepony’s been in there, somepony who doesn’t want anypony to see what’s going on inside.” He frowned.

“Daring, we need to find a way inside,” he said. “Dash, get a gamewell and call the police down here.”

“Will do,” Daring nodded. She flapped across the street to the roof of the warehouse as Rainbow Dash took off in search of a phone.

Daring walked across the roof of the warehouse. The only chimneys or vents atop the roof were all too small for her to fit in. There was a door providing access to the interior, but a closer inspection revealed that the door had been welded shut. Frowning in irritation, she took off and began a circuit of the building, with Phillip stealthily following her from the ground.

Near the back was a window that, like all its neighbors, had been boarded up. However, there was a small gap in the boards, only a little larger than her head. There was a black tarp behind the window, but as Daring passed, it flapped faintly. Curious, she leaned forward and carefully brushed the tarp aside.

She found herself looking in through the window onto a balcony that ran along the perimeter of the warehouse. There were only a few dusty cardboard boxes atop the balcony, but she could hear voices from below. The room was lit by the yellow-green glow of thermal lamps hung from the ceiling.

She frowned at the narrow space between the boards, lightly tapping one of them. It was wet and rotten, shifting in its position. She pressed against the board and pushed, carefully ramping up the pressure bit by bit. The board cracked and creaked, then snapped off. Daring pulled the board back inside, then hovered outside the window for a count of twenty, listening for any sign that somepony had heard the noise.

There was no response. She dropped the wood onto the ground, then dropped down and grabbed Phillip beneath his forelegs. "Got a way in," she said, flying up to the window.

Phillip grasped the edges of the window and slipped his head through, looking from side to side. "Clear," he whispered, then carefully slithered through and dropped to the floor. Daring doffed her hat and began to carefully squeeze her way through the gap. First her head, then her forelegs, and finally her hind legs, all pushed through one part at a time.

The two ponies crouched on top of the balcony, breathing slowly and evenly. The voices were louder now. They crept over to the railing and peeked over.

The warehouse was a large open area, with boxes of supplies—food and water, a field toilet, some guns and ammunition, and a bedroll—laid out to one side. The pickup truck was parked in the middle of the warehouse, in front of the garage doorway. A cluster of ponies stood in the middle of the warehouse, talking. A quick scan revealed Bentley himself standing in the midst of the baker’s dozen figures.

“Gotta say, these are some pretty sweet digs you got here,” a blue unicorn grinned, looking about the warehouse.

“You’d be amazed how far a little kindness towards your neighbors can go,” Bentley smirked. “I needed a secondary hideout, he needed to pay the rent. A win-win for us both.”

“And it’ll make a nice base for the NMD,” a thestral nodded approvingly. Daring’s eyes went to a tattoo on the batpony’s foreleg: the letters NMD in scrawling cursive.

"Nightmare Moon Disciples," she hissed bitterly.

"So whose side are they on now?" Phillip muttered.

“Yeah, you’ve been real generous to us,” another pony grunted, studying Bentley. The speaker was a turquoise unicorn with a bushy red mustache and narrow eyes. He had a cutie mark of three red stars and wore an expensive-looking yellow-white coat. "We made a good find with you, Browndust."

"Star Cluster," Phillip growled, glaring at Flash Sentry's former partner.

"I thought he got locked up," Daring replied, recognizing the mustached pony.

"Released on insufficient evidence while Tumbler was still chief," Phillip replied. "Cold fired him when she took over."

“But what I’m worried about right now is them,” Star continued, nodding towards something to the side. Daring and Phillip followed the gaze of the other ponies and gasped.

Dimmig and Shoe Shine were sitting off in a corner of the warehouse, tied back to back to a pillar and gagged with duct tape. They sat staring wide-eyed at their captors, shivering and whimpering faintly. The huge gunpony from the abduction circled the two like a hungry wolf, sneering with his nicotine-stained teeth and hefting the massive machine gun, occasionally slapping the pan magazine to make sure it was firmly set into place.

“Those two are gonna tell us where they hid the Innsbeak Statues,” Star Cluster declared with a nasty grin. “And once we get our hooves on them, we can get ourselves in good graces with Whitestone.”

“But I thought Zugzwang was our boss now,” one of the Disciples said.

“I’ve lived in this city for years; I was a cop for thirteen years before Cold Bitch fired me,” Star snarled. “I’ve seen lots of gangsters come and go. Whitestone’s been a boss for as long as I’ve been here. Zugzwang?” He scoffed. “Nopony gave a fuck who he was until last winter. He’s not gonna last, and when this war starts, I want to be on the winning side.”

Daring and Phillip both retreated back behind cover. "What's the plan?" Daring whispered, her hooves and wings beginning to itch with anticipation, with the urge to go.

"We gotta get those two out of here," Phillip hissed urgently, voice taut with tension. "If I can create a diversion, you—"

He never got to finish that sentence, because there was a startled shout from below and something grabbed both ponies by their necks and yanked them off the balcony, slamming them to the concrete floor. The breath was knocked from Daring's lungs, and she tasted blood, her tongue lighting up with pain where she'd bitten it. When she looked up, she found herself surrounded by the Disciples, all of whom were glaring down at her. Phillip was facedown, with a large stallion pinning him down with a hoof to the back of the neck.

“Hi,” Daring grinned nervously up at the group. “Somepony order a pizza?”

“Well, what do we have here?” Star Cluster sneered, his horn alight with an orange glow as he held Daring down with his magic. “Two sneaky little bitches, that’s what.”

He withdrew a large gold-plated pistol from within his coat and racked the slide with a menacing cli-click. “And they're about to get what’s coming to 'em.”

Author's Note

Will Daring Do escape with the hostages? One thing's for sure: something's fishy in the Dockside District!

Save your tomatoes and cabbages, please, I'll see myself out...

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Case Eight, Chapter Six: Cavalry

The barrel of Star Cluster’s gun stared down at her menacingly, a doorway into oblivion. The same doorway that Daring had stared at a hundred times before. This one was no different. Same strategy: make an opening, take the first opportunity to escape. And try not to think about the fact that a single twitch of his hoof will send you to the next life.

“Wait,” she said, keeping her breathing steady. “The police are surrounding this place. You’ve got no way out.”

“Impossible,” Star Cluster sneered.

“How do you think we found you, dumbass?” Daring snarled. “You think we wandered in here looking to borrow a cup of sugar?”

“She’s right,” Bentley commented, pushing Star’s gun down. “If they're here, the cops aren't far behind.”

A nervous murmur arose from the gathered thugs. “So what the hell do we do?!” one of them asked.

“Hold them,” Bentley instructed. “If we—”

“Hey, you’re not the boss here, jackass!” Star Cluster snapped at him, taking a threatening step towards him. “I’m the boss of the Nightmare Moon Disciples: I’m the one who killed the old bosses! You wanna be a part of this gang, you gotta get used to taking orders from me!”

Bentley held his ground, scowling. Daring started to lift herself to her hooves, but somepony behind her firmly held her down with a hoof on her back and she felt the cold touch of a gun barrel on the back of her head. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to go still.

“We waste time arguing,” Bentley pointed out. “They're no use to us dead. Alive, they make excellent hostages: the cops wouldn't dare come near us.”

There was a murmur of agreement around the room, which was abruptly silenced when Star Cluster shot them all a glare. “Fine,” he muttered, lighting up his horn. Daring’s pistol was plucked from her holster in an orange aura and deposited into an inner pocket in Star’s coat. “Tie 'em up and —”

The growing howl of police sirens outside arrested everypony’s attention; heads snapped upwards towards the door, cries of alarm rising from throats. One of the Disciples rushed to a peephole in the front wall and peered through it. “Cops!” he cried in alarm.

But underneath all the noise, Daring detected the creak of wood. She looked up. Rainbow Dash was peeking over the edge of the railing, looking down at them. Her eyes darted from thug to thug, as if calculating trajectories and distances.

Daring shook her head firmly, bringing Rainbow’s attention to her. She gestured firmly towards Shoe Shine and Dimmig. The two captives were both trembling in fear, desperate hope shining in their eyes. The huge earth pony aimed his gun at the hostages, teeth gritted.

Daring looked up at Rainbow and emphatically mouthed Wait. Rainbow Dash nodded and ducked down out of sight slightly. Outside, the sirens stopped as vehicles braked outside the warehouse.

“This is the Police!” a magically magnified voice that she recognized as Trace’s bellowed. “The building is surrounded! Come out with your hooves up!

“Crap, what do we do?” the pony holding Daring down muttered. She glanced up to see the gun barrel wavering, still pointed in her direction.

“Hold ground,” Star Cluster growled, edging slightly towards the back of the warehouse. “They won’t come in here while we still have hostages.”

Daring looked towards Shoe Shine and Dimmig; the two of them were looking at her, both of them still and quiet, as if knowing that she had something planned. She looked towards the gunpony, who was still focused on the door, considering distance and time. There was, she realized, little chance that she could just tackle him; even at her top speed, he’d have enough time to react, either counterattacking her or killing his captives. She had to stun him for at least a moment…

The boomerang. She felt its weight, tucked into a pocket on her lower left chest. She’d have to get up slightly to reach it, but it was her best option.

Daring turned to Phillip, who was looking at her. His eyes darted up to where Rainbow Dash was hiding, then back to her. She glanced down at the pocket where her boomerang was hidden, then tilted her head at Dimmig and Shoe. He frowned for a moment, hesitation in his eyes, then his face set into determination and he nodded.

"You have to know, with every fiber of your being, that you'll hit it," he whispered. "No doubt. No fear. Make it obey you, just like your own hoof."

Daring nodded and took a breath. She pictured the weapon flying through the air, striking the gunpony in the forehead, stunning him.

Daring felt the hoof holding her down shift slightly, noted the gun pointing away from her. Now! She pushed up with a sudden motion, using all four hooves and her wings. The pony on top of her grunted in surprise and fell off. In a single motion, one that she’d practiced a hundred times before, she reached into her pocket with her right hoof, extracting two items. One, a smoke bomb wrapped in tinfoil, went up into the air: a few eyes that had turned towards them focused on the shiny, moving object.

The second object was the flat carved wooden stick. She held this in her right hoof, gripping it like a pistol; for a strange second, she thought she felt a strange tingle run down her foreleg as she cocked it back, like a ripple of cold water down her skin. She focused on the gunpony: his eyes, pupils nearly eclipsing his purple irides, were narrowed at her, his weapon swinging around to bear.

Don’t fucking miss! she ordered herself and threw the weapon. An electric tingle seemed to leap from her hoof to the weapon as the boomerang left her hoof: even as it flew through the air, she could still feel the smooth, carved wood in her hoof, slightly warm from being in her pocket, and she directed all her will towards directing that spinning stick towards its target even as she dived aside.

With a satisfying thwack, the boomerang struck the stallion dead in the forehead, causing him to stagger; at the same moment, the smoke bomb detonated, causing a thick cloud of smoke to spread amongst herself and the goons. Daring closed her mouth and held her breath as the smoke passed her over, but the Disciples, having been caught off guard, were sent into fits of coughing and choking.

Phillip let out a bark and pushed himself up off the ground with all four hooves, one of his elbows rocketing upwards to meet the jaw of the stallion who had been holding him down; his teeth crashed together and blood flew from his mouth as he reeled away.

Seizing the shotgun that the pony had been holding and twisting it away, Phillip twisted around, swinging the weapon like a baseball bat. The stock crashed against the skull of a dark brown griffon, sending him spiraling to the floor.

With a rush of wind, a rainbow streak sailed down from the balcony and snatched up Dimmig and Shoe Shine, banking around to crash right through the boarded up window. Daring spread her wings and dove at Phillip, but a pegasus Disciple tackled her, trapping her wings. They scuffled, hooves shoving and grabbing, grunts and oaths tumbling from both their lips.

One of his hooves detached itself from her foreleg and went into the pocket of his jacket, drawing a pistol. She seized it in her hoof as she drove her forehead into his face. His nose exploded in a shower of crimson and he reeled away with a howl, his grip on his weapon failing.

Daring reached into her pack; her hoof closed around something cold and hard and she drew it out with a snap of her elbow. The weight struck the pony she was fighting in the jaw with a wet, loud smack and he staggered, jaw dropping and wide eyes staring as he brought a hoof up to his face. There was a pause as both ponies stared in confusion and disbelief at the fish in Daring's hoof.

"Eh, whatever," Daring grunted, and smacked the stallion again, sending him sprawling. Turning, she spotted another pony diving for the dropped pistol. She flung the fish at him, smacking him in the face and blinding him long enough to make him stumble over his own hooves. Guess I'll have to find something else for dinner, Daring thought as she dived for and snatched up the pistol.

"Phil, let's go!" she shouted, spiraling into the air. Phillip grunted in acknowledgment as he deflected a blind knife thrust with his baton, sending his attacker tumbling to the floor with a takedown. Turning, he sprinted at a unicorn stallion who was rubbing his eyes and lifting his gaze upwards, reaching for his weapon. Phillip's baton snapped out and cracked into the stallion's nose, bloodying it and sending him reeling. In a single motion, Phillip leaped onto the dazed unicorn's back and launched himself up off the ground.

Both his hooves grasped Daring's outstretched one. With a grunt, she heaved him up onto the balcony; he tumbled across the floor and sprinted for the open window.

Sensing movement behind her, Daring turned and fired twice as she flew for the exit, striking two Disciples who were drawing their weapons: both of them fell, crying out in pain and clutching their wounds. Thinking fast, Daring then fired two more bullets at the truck, hitting both the rear tires and flattening them.

Phillip dived right out the window, with Daring right behind him. As he fell towards the ground, Daring seized his hoof again, stopping his fall for a brief moment, then dropped him again. He grunted as he hit the ground, rolling to dissipate his momentum, then sprinted for the front of the warehouse, with Daring flying overhead.

A line of black and whites and a familiar Hayson Commander, their blue and red lights spinning, greeted her. Officers were crouched behind the line, as was Rainbow Dash, who Daring noted was untying the unharmed Dimmig and Shoe Shine. She flew down behind a cruiser and pressed her back against the side of the vehicle, suddenly aware of just how fast and hard her breathing was. Phillip vaulted over the top of the cruiser and landed behind her, panting.

"Phil! Daring! You guys okay?" a familiar voice asked. Turning, she saw Red Herring crouching behind another cruiser, with Trace Evidence and Flash Sentry beside him, their weapons drawn.

"We're okay," Phillip nodded.

“How many?” Trace Evidence asked tersely.

“Missed you too,” Daring replied. “A dozen plus. Think I got a couple of them on my way out.”

Trace turned towards the building and lit up his horn. “I REPEAT, YOU ARE SURROUNDED!” he bellowed in his magically magnified voice. “COME OUT WITH YOUR HOOVES UP!”

“Suck dick, pigs!” a voice yelled from within the warehouse, his taunt accompanied by the roaring of a Trotson .45. Bullets ricocheted off the cruisers and the asphalt. Flash yelped and covered his head with his foreleg.

Daring crouched behind her cover as sparks flew off the hood of the vehicle; out of the corner of her gaze, she noticed Rainbow Dash crouching in front of Dimmig and Shoe Shine, her wings spread like they were shields for the civilians to hide behind. Her shoulders trembled in shock, but she did not move from her position. A strange rush of pride flew up Daring’s spine; the kid might be young and inexperienced, but she had guts, and she knew what the priority was.

“They never take us up on that offer!” Red snarled.

“All right, we do this the hard way,” Trace commented. “Gas and smash operation, team.”

Two officers plucked silver tear gas grenades from the trunk of their cruiser as everyone else donned small gas masks that they retrieved from pockets on their duty belts. Red pulled two spare masks from the trunk of the Commander and tossed them to Phillip and Daring. She strapped hers on and tested the seal, recalling the simple government-issued mask that she’d taken for herself during the Crystal War. This one, she decided, was far more comfortable, didn’t smell as strongly of rubber, and offered a much better field of view. Phillip strapped his on snugly, then assisted Flash with his; the younger pegasus’ hooves were shaking.

Trace lit up his horn: a small sphere of light hovered at the tip of his appendage, sparkling and crackling with energy. “Stand by!” he shouted, his voice muffled by the mask.

With a chorus of clicks, officers readied their weapons. Phillip drew his own revolver and cocked the hammer, giving Daring a nod. She nodded back, then turned to Rainbow Dash. “Stay here,” she ordered.

Rainbow Dash nodded, continuing to shield Dimmig and Shoe Shine with her wings. The two captives huddled together, trembling.

The sphere of light grew to the size of a basketball. With a grunt, Trace threw it out into the street with a jerk of his head. The sphere struck the ground and exploded into a flare of blinding light directed towards the warehouse, which was suddenly awash with a bright golden light like the sun. Howls of surprise and pain sounded from inside.

“Pincer formation, move!” Trace barked. The officers moved in quickly in two lines, from the right and the left, winding around the wall of cars like ants in formation. Their weapons were trained on the wooden walls of the hideout; in front of each column marched an officer bearing a ballistic shield, the strengthening runes around the edges of the shields glowing faintly. Flash, Trace, and Phillip followed at the tail of the column on the left, while Red and Daring followed the one on the right. The groups stacked up at the garage door, the sphere of light still shining its blinding radiance.

“On three,” Trace announced, nodding to a bulky blue unicorn officer. He grunted and lit up his horn; the air in front of the garage door seemed to harden, and Daring got a strange feeling like she was about to watch a cockroach be squashed by an iron.

“One…”

Weapons were leveled.

“Two…”

The two officers carrying tear gas grenades pulled out the safety pins. A bead of sweat ran down Daring’s brow.

“Three!”

The bulky unicorn shouted and cast his spell. With a great crash, the doorway was smashed inwards as if by a great battering ram, splinters flying everywhere. The tear gas grenades followed up a moment later, filling the warehouse with choking gas. Trace doused the light as they moved in, shieldbearers in front.

The thugs stood in a shocked cluster, coughing and choking on the fumes. The three ponies that Daring had wounded were still lying on the floor, clutching their wounds. One Disciple was stumbling out of the cab of the truck, having obviously been trying to start it. One by one, each of them was shoved to the ground and cuffed. The gas slowly dissipated as the chaos of the arrest ended as quickly as it began.

“That everypony?” Red asked, taking his gas mask off and signaling another officer to head back to his cruiser to radio for an ambulance and a paddy wagon.

Daring cast her eyes about the warehouse, pulling her mask off. Something caught her eye: her boomerang, still laying on the floor where she’d dropped it. She walked over and picked it up: that same tingle of warmth ran down her hoof and she felt herself smiling faintly as she pocketed it.

She glanced around the room again, taking in the faces of the thugs. Everypony seemed to be present, but…

“Where’s Bentley?” she asked. “And Star?”

She glared at one of the Disciples, a green pegasus. He scowled at her, but his eyes darted to the far corner. She looked over into the corner and spotted a faint outline in the dust on the floor.

A trapdoor! She almost rolled her eyes; since when did she start battling villains from Hayana Pones?

“Down there,” an earth pony officer declared, spotting the trapdoor as well. He trotted over and yanked the trapdoor open, aiming his weapon down inside. The tunnel beneath seemed to lead directly into a storm drain, judging by the smell of grimy water and mold coming from within. The officer grunted and started to clamber down into the tunnel.

Daring’s mind was still on Hayana Pones; she was just remembering a chapter where the hero’s sidekick had discovered a similar secret passageway in the villain’s headquarters. And then she remembered another crucial detail from the story just as she noted a faint silver line across the trapdoor.

“Trap!” she shouted, diving forward and shoving the officer aside. She took a closer look at the trapdoor. A trio of very thin strings was strung across the trapdoor, so thin that they could just barely be seen from the right angle.

“Holy shit,” Red Herring breathed. “How’d you notice that?”

Daring smirked at Phillip. “See, Phil? Even cheesy adventure novels have their uses.”

Phillip just rolled his eyes.

With the aid of a flashlight, Daring carefully removed the tripwires from their mountings, clearing the pathway. Donning her night vision contacts, she slipped down into the hole. A short drop and she landed on the walkway of a storm drain about eight feet in diameter. Water roared and grumbled its way past mere inches from her hooves; the brick walls, nearly as old as the city itself, were slick with moss, the mortar crumbling away in many places. She looked up and spotted the trap that the tripwires had been attached to: a set of sawn-off shotguns mounted onto the ceiling of the tunnel, all aimed inwards. She winced to herself.

“Come on in!” she called up. “The water’s ice cold and there are no alligators!”

Phillip lowered himself into the hole, followed by Trace, who lit up his horn bright enough to illuminate the interior for the others. “Sentry! Windgust! Ironside! Jacket! Move it!” he called.

Officers Windgust, Ironside, and Jacket all climbed down the hole after them, clipping on headlamps and switching them on as they landed, but Flash hesitated at the trapdoor, looking down into the darkness nervously.

“Come on, jackaroo,” Phillip said, waiting for him.

Flash gulped and jumped down, gripping his service revolver tight in his hooves. Trace cast a tracking spell on the ground, causing sets of hoofprints to start glowing in the concrete.

“Let’s move,” Trace ordered, leading them all forward. They proceeded down the narrow pathway in single file, with Ironside in the lead, the broad-shouldered gray earth pony carrying his shield at the ready. Trace was behind him, keeping the tracking spell going, with Daring on his tail. Windgust, Jacket, and Flash followed behind, with Phillip bringing up the rear.

Phillip studied the young pegasus, noting his tense shoulders, the way he kept licking his lips and glancing around, double-checking every shadow and crevice, eying the water suspiciously as though he suspected some monster to be lurking beneath the surface. “You okay, mate?” he asked quietly.

Flash took in a shaky breath. “Just...just nervous,” he admitted.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Phillip reassured him. “There’s all of us here with you.”

Flash shot him a very stiff smile that did not come anywhere near his eyes and kept moving forward.

The trail of hoofprints led to a large storm drain, large enough for a pony to squeeze through. A makeshift ladder made of rebar crudely pressed into the stone wall led up to the drain, which a close examination revealed was not set into the concrete firmly.

“Sentry, check it,” Trace instructed.

Flash gulped but nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly, flying over the heads of the others. He flew up to the drain and pushed it up, easily moving it out of the way. He stuck his head out and looked around. “Looks clear—waaah!” he screamed as something grabbed him and yanked him all the way out through the grate.

“C’mere, partner!” a familiar voice snarled.

“Flash!” Daring and Phillip both shouted. Daring shot up the grate and spun around.

Star Cluster was dragging Flash down the alleyway, one foreleg wrapped around his throat, and the other hoof holding a gun to his forehead. “Not another move, Daring, or the kid paints the wall with his brains!” the leader of the Nightmare Moon Disciples sneered.

Daring glared, but held a warning hoof towards the grate, staying the others from following. Star Cluster continued to back down the alleyway towards a van with the passenger door already open. Bentley Browndust was sitting in the driver’s seat, aiming a pistol at her.

“Here’s how this is gonna work,” Star Cluster said, continuing to walk backward. “I’m gonna get into the back with lover boy here, and drive off. You are gonna stay where you are.” He sneered at Flash. “Maybe we should drop by your marefriend’s place and say hi to her.”

“F-fuck you,” Flash stammered.

The comment earned him a tighter foreleg around the neck, causing him to choke and splutter. “I’d be more careful about what I said if I were you, boy,” Star snarled. “I know where you and your mum live, remember.”

“You know this won’t end well for you, Cluster,” Daring said, taking a small step forward. If she could just keep his attention on her…

“I have a habit of surviving,” Star Cluster said. “You know how I got to the top of the Disciples? I killed all the other bosses. Myself. Me!”

“You think that impresses me?” Daring asks. Flash’s wing was slowly drifting towards his utility belt, but Cluster was only a few feet from the van…

“It should,” Cluster smirked. “How many ponies do you know who can pull that off?”

“Lots,” Daring said, adding a dangerous edge to her tone. “Myself included.” She smirked at him. “You know what I’m capable of, Cluster. I've killed ponies. A lot of them as bad as you. Some of them worse. You really want to cross me?”

A flicker of fear danced in Cluster’s eyes, but he quickly doused it. “You sure you want to see the inside of his skull?” he snarled, pressing the gun tighter against Flash’s head. He let out a yelp, but his wing had clasped around a pocket on his belt…

“You kill him, you die slow and painful, I promise you,” Daring snarled.

Star Cluster lifted the gun from Flash’s head and aimed it at her. “You take another step and--”

In a single movement, Flash lifted his wing up to Star Cluster’s face. The can of pepper spray that he’d managed to grab fired a stream of its liquid into Star’s face, coating the left side. Star Cluster howled and reeled back, clutching his face, releasing Flash, who instantly dived to the ground. Daring started to draw her own weapon, but Star began firing wildly, forcing her to duck.

“Daring!” Trace called from below.

Star Cluster dived into the van and slammed the door shut as the other officers climbed up the grate. With a screeching of tires, the vehicle pulled away as the officers opened fire. Phillip immediately dashed over to Flash, who was still laying on the ground with his head covered, and pulled him out of the line of fire.

“You wanna know how I killed the old bosses?!” Star Cluster yelled, leaning out of the window and lighting up his horn. “This is how!”

Orange spheres of light began to fly from his horn, flying towards the group. As soon as each one struck a solid object, it exploded in a burst of orange lightning, crackling violently. Brick and asphalt exploded into dust when struck, and the windows of the surrounding buildings shattered.

Phillip heaved Flash up onto his back and dived back into the hole, hiding underground. The other officers followed, with Trace keeping a makeshift shield up to protect them.

But Daring had taken off into the air and was chasing after the van. Bentley weaved the vehicle in and out of traffic with supreme confidence, hopping on and off the curb, shooting through stop signs and red lights, and performing slides through narrow gaps between obstacles that Daring wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen for herself. Cruisers joined the chase, but Star Cluster fended them off with more exploding spheres, while also using them to keep her at a distance. Again and again, Daring Do swooped down towards her prey but was always forced away by an arc of lightning or missed as Bentley pulled off an impossible dodge.

Suddenly, the van swerved and went through a narrow tunnel underneath a bridge. Daring started to follow, but the headlights of an approaching truck forced her to go over the tunnel instead. As she passed over the bridge, the van emerged from the tunnel, barreling straight forward. Daring dived and managed to seize the driver’s side door. With a jerk, she yanked the door open. “Gotcha!” she yelled, then paused and stared.

The car was empty; a brick sat on the gas pedal, holding it down. Looking up, Daring saw that the van was now headed right for a crosswalk, with several creatures flowing back and forth across the asphalt. Several ponies and griffons stopped and stared at the oncoming van.

“Shit!” Daring shouted, climbing into the van. Kicking the brick away from the gas pedal, she slammed on the brake, honking the horn wildly. Ponies scattered out of the way as the smell of burning rubber and the sound of howling tires filled the air. After skidding for several feet, the van came to a stop in the midst of the crosswalk. Daring breathed a sigh of relief and parked the vehicle, removing the key from the ignition.

“Anyone hurt?” she asked, climbing out of the vehicle. No one was. Daring flew back to the tunnel to look around. But there was no sign of Star Cluster or Bentley Browndust amidst the darkness of the narrow tunnel.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself, then took a breath. It wasn’t all bad: they’d caught several Disciples, and most importantly, rescued Dimmig Morgon and Shoe Shine with no casualties. She flew back out of the tunnel; she’d best head back to the others and regroup.

She paused in midair, frowning. Now, where exactly were they…?

Author's Note

Fun fact: the scene where Daring slaps the guy with a fish was a throw-it-in. I came up with it after publishing the last chapter.

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Case Eight, Chapter Seven: The Facts

Daring got back to the warehouse just in time to see a paddy wagon leave with the captured Disciples. An ambulance stood beside the road, with Shoe Shine and Dimmig Morgon sitting in the back, being debriefed by Trace, Red, and Phillip.

“You get lost?” Phillip asked dryly as Daring descended.

“Ha ha,” Daring deadpanned. “Anypony hurt?”

“Just Rainbow,” Phillip nodded.

Daring’s heart leaped into her throat. “What?!”

“Turns out she got nicked in the crossfire,” Red explained. “Didn’t even notice until somepony pointed out she was bleeding. She’s fine, they’re just heading to the precinct to get her patched up and let her give a statement. She’ll be okay.”

Daring let out a breath. “That’s good.”

“Thank you,” Dimmig said, tears of relief shining in her eyes as she looked up at Daring. “Thank you for saving us.”

“No worries,” Daring nodded with a smile. “I’m just glad you two are okay.”

“They wanted me to tell them where the statues were,” Shoe Shine said, hugging the blanket he wore about himself as a paramedic checked him. “But I told them, again and again, that I didn’t take it. They didn’t believe me…”

“I will testify that you were with me at the time,” Dimmig said, laying a claw over the stallion’s hoof.

He shook his head sadly. “Peach Cobbler will still testify that I was there, and somepony who looked like me sold the gems at the pawn shop. I’m afraid that they won’t believe you; a skillful lawyer might say that you have reason to lie for me…”

“That is skit!” Dimmig spat, her Griffonese accent slipping through, the violence of her voice momentarily startling the paramedic examining her. “Why would I lie?! You are a good stallion, and I wish for our child to have their father growing up!”

Trace sighed and mopped his brow. “We’ll have to bring Peach Cobbler in for questioning.”

“Why would he want to steal the statues?” Shoe Shine asked. “And I am certain that he would’ve been there all day.”

“Well, if he didn’t give you that apple cake, then who did he give it to?” Trace said in exasperation.

Shoe Shine’s ears perked up. “Apple cake?” he asked.

“He said he gave you an apple cake that he’d made while the Literatures were out,” Trace said.

Shoe Shine tilted his head, bewilderment spread all over his face. “But I am allergic to apples,” he said.

Everypony stared for a beat. “Does Peach Cobbler know that?” Trace asked.

Shoe Shine rolled his eyes. “He always forgets; I have to remind him at least once a week.”

Trace sighed and pinched his nose. “So, was he lying when he said that?”

“No,” Phillip said, an idea forming in his head. “Shoe, did Peach know about you and Dimmig?”

“I am certain that he didn’t,” Shoe Shine shook his head. “He--”

With a rumbling of tires, a Gray Ghost pulled up to the sidewalk and stopped. Modern and Classic Literature stepped out of the car, their eyes wide as they focused upon Shoe Shine.

“Uh-oh,” Daring muttered.

“Shoe!” Classic cried, running towards the ambulance. Modern followed behind her husband at a slower pace.

Shoe Shine hung his head and stood up. “Sir, I am sorry,” he said quietly.

“Yes, we were hoping for an explanation to your deception,” Modern said coolly. Classic had stopped and was hesitating, looking like he was being pulled towards his butler.

“I…” Shoe Shine swallowed. “When I met Dimmig, I instantly knew that she was the one I was going to love. I hid it from you because I was not sure you’d approve of a pony loving a griffon; her parents certainly did not.” He blinked and wiped his face. “I was...was going to leave your employ soon,” he confessed. “I had saved up enough to purchase a home for myself and Dimmig...someplace we could raise our child. I was afraid to tell you.”

He looked up. “I know that you will no longer want me in your employ,” he said. “And I...understand. All I can say is that I did not steal the statues...and that I am sorry.” He lowered his head and turned away.

Classic and Modern looked at one another and an unseen communication seemed to pass between them. “Shoe Shine,” Modern called. Shoe Shine paused.

“You will not be leaving our employ,” Classic said. “You will be staying with us...and so will Miss Morgon and the child.”

Shoe Shine slowly turned around, his eyes wide. “I...you mean it?”

“Shoe, you have been in our employ for years,” Classic continued, striding forward and placing a hoof on the younger unicorn’s shoulder. “We would never think of abandoning you. You’re a part of the family.” He nodded to Dimmig. “And so is she.”

A smile slowly split Shoe Shine’s face as grateful tears shone in his eyes. Dimmig Morgon walked over next to him, leaving the paramedic standing next to the now-empty ambulance.

Trace coughed pointedly. “Sorry to interrupt, but we still haven’t proven that Mr. Shine didn’t steal the Innsbeak statues,” he stated.

“We will fight the charges,” Modern Literature declared in a matter of fact tone. “I firmly believe now that Shoe Shine did not steal them.”

“So, who did?” Trace countered.

“Could’ve been Peach Cobbler,” Red said.

“Somepony who looked like him,” Phillip said. “Trace, you have that picture from the pawnshop?”

Trace blinked at him, then reached into his trenchcoat and rummaged around. “Yeah, here it is,” he said, pulling the picture out and handing it to Phillip.

“Why the hell were you carrying that around with you?” Red Herring asked.

“Never know when I might learn something relevant to the case,” Trace shrugged.

Phillip held the image of the unicorn in the hooded jacket, studying it through a magnifying glass. “Yeah, figured,” he nodded. “Look closely at the horn.”

Trace and Daring both squinted at the horn. “Looks like a normal horn to me,” Trace said.

“Wait,” Daring said. “There’s something at the base...it looks like a different color?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded. “A physical disguise, makeup. An illusion spell wouldn’t have fooled the surveillance crystal, but some of it washed off, looks like.”

Trace and Red both blinked. “Okay, you mind enlightening us plebeians?” Red asked.

“I didn’t know you knew big words like that,” Daring commented. Red gave her a Flying Feather without even looking at her.

“Somepony intercepted Dimmig’s letter, placed it in the tree morning of the funeral,” Phillip stated. “They waited until Shoe Shine left, then disguised themselves as him--probably used a glamour charm--snuck in with Best Seller’s key, had some apple cake, stole the statues, and left. Then he pried out the jewels and sold them at the pawnshop, using makeup to make himself look like Shoe Shine. If we found out about Shoe Shine leaving to see Dimmig, it’d make him look even more suspicious; break his alibi and lower his trustworthiness.”

“So who was it?” Red asked.

“It’d be a unicorn,” Phillip stated. “About the same height and build as Shoe Shine for the pawnshop scene, skilled enough in magic for a convincing glamour.”

Classic and Modern both looked at one another. “You don’t think…?” Classic asked.

“Schwarzer König,” Modern nodded.

Phillip and Daring both looked up. “Who?” Phillip asked.

“We met some moons ago,” Modern explained. “He was interested in the Innsbeak statues; we brought him into the home to inspect them. We met on and off a few times afterward; we did see him around the house a few times.”

“What’d he look like?” Phillip asked.

“A tan unicorn with dark brown hair, with some gray,” Classic stated. “I once told him he looked rather like that pony in the wanted posters, except that he had green eyes. We both laughed about it.”

“What pony?” Red asked.

“Zugzwang,” Classic and Phillip both said at the same time.

“How’d you know?” Trace asked.

Phillip had to take a breath before continuing; Daring noticed his tail twitch once. “In Gerwhin, Schwarzer König means ‘black king.’”

“A most fitting name, I think,” a familiar voice said.

Everypony turned towards the paramedic, who was suddenly wearing a smile that was far too wide. With a faint glow of golden light, the glamour spell faded away, revealing a stallion in a black suit and tie, his black eyes focused on Phillip. Everypony leaped away, officers fumbling for their guns, the Literatures backpedaling quickly, Classic placing himself between the stranger and the others.

“Liebling,” Zugzwang breathed in what sounded like an imitation of a lover’s coo, striding forward. “I knew that you’d figure it out.”

“Don’t fucking move,” Phillip snarled, aiming his revolver at Zugzwang’s forehead even as he forced himself to remain where he was, to not step back.

“Yes, it happened as you said,” Zugzwang continued, completely ignoring the guns aimed at him. “I had to get as many ponies out of the house as possible, and I knew that Best Seller and Shoe Shine were the weak points.” He smirked at the butler. “To see a plan that I’d put months of effort into executed flawlessly brought me a thrill.”

“And now you get to ride that thrill into a cell,” Red snarled, striding forward. “Trace, keep him covered. You, put your hooves—”

A bored expression crossed Zugzwang’s face and his horn lit up. Trace, Daring, and Phillip suddenly had their guns yanked from their hooves. A golden band surrounded Red’s hoof and his foreleg was forced around, aiming his sidearm at his own head. His eyes wide with shock, he tried to pull his foreleg away with his other hoof, but Zugzwang’s magic was too strong. “No! Geh—let go!” he cried.

“Do not speak again,” Zugzwang spoke in a cold monotone, refusing to even look at Red. “None of you speak. None of you move. This is about Phillip and myself.”

Nopony dared move or speak. He took a step forward and smiled down at Phillip. Phillip’s heart beat a staccato rhythm against his chest, but he found himself holding his breath as he stared into the darkness of Zugzwang’s eyes.

“A pity that Bentley Browndust was not as trustworthy as I hoped he was,” he continued, now speaking in a quieter, more matter of fact tone. “But you needn’t worry. I will deal with him.”

He smiled. Or tried to smile. The movement looked plastic, like the flapping jaw of a puppet: fake, artificial, and far more unnerving than it had any right to be. “But to see you solve the case, to watch you follow the trail that I laid out, was a thrill I have not had in a long time,” he whispered, stroking Phillip’s cheek with the back of his hoof. “A worthy opponent you are, indeed, mein leibling.”

The reflex to slap the offending hoof away raced down Phillip’s foreleg, but he had to still it, glancing to Red’s wide, terrified eyes as he continued to struggle against his own hoof holding his sidearm to his temple.

“You needn’t worry about the statues,” Zugzwang whispered into his ear; the touch of his breath, reeking of tobacco, made Phillip’s skin crawl. “I have big plans for them.” He kissed Phillip’s cheek. Phillip’s stomach turned.

“We will meet again, Phillip Finder,” Zugzwang cooed. With a final wink, he vanished in a flash of golden light.

The bark of a pistol made everypony jump, cries of terror leaping from everypony’s throat. Red’s .45 clattered to the floor. The stallion stumbled away, panting and shaking down to his tail, his wide eyes focused on the gun that had narrowly missed him.

“Red, Red, look at me,” Trace said, walking over and grasping his partner’s shoulders. “Red, you’re okay.”

“What?” Red asked, tilting his head. “I can’t hear anything out of this ear.”

Phillip bent over, panting. Daring trotted over and hugged him. “You okay?” she asked.

He had to take a few deep breaths before answering. “I’m fine.” He looked over to the Literatures, Shoe Shine, and Dimmig, who were all hugging each other.

Red Herring shook Trace off with a grunt and recovered his pistol, nearly fumbling with the weapon as he stuffed it into his holster. “We done here?” he asked the remaining paramedic, who had been crouching behind his ambulance during the entire scenario.

“Um...y-yes,” the paramedic nodded.

“Then we’ve got work to do,” Red said. “Congratulations on being innocent,” he nodded to Shoe Shine, who was still holding Dimmig Morgon. “Trace, c’mon.” He stalked over to the Hayson Commander and slid into the driver’s seat.

Trace nodded to Phillip and Daring. “We can handle clean-up. You did good, both of you.” A loud grinding of gears brought his attention back to his car. “Easy on the clutch! Sweetpea doesn’t like having it pressed so hard!” he cried, running to the car.

“Thank you for everything,” Shoe Shine said to Phillip and Daring, stroking his lover’s back. He joined the Literatures and headed back to the Phantom.

Daring wiped her brow. “So now what?”

“What do you want to do?” Phillip asked.

“I want to check on Rainbow,” Daring said. “The kid did great, and I want to talk to her.”

Rainbow Dash was sitting in the infirmary, scowling at the on-station nurse as she fussed over her. “I said, I’m fine,” she groused. “It’s just a scratch.”

“You could’ve gotten killed out there!” the nurse, a white-maned unicorn with a pinkish-red coat scolded her. “It’s bad enough when it’s trained police officers, but a civilian like—”

“Rainbow Dash!” Twilight cried, running into the room. She seized Rainbow in a hug. “You’re okay!”

“I’m better than okay!” Rainbow said, hugging Twilight back. “I got to go on a mission with Daring Do! You should’ve seen it, Twi! She snuck in there, and then I swooped in, zoom, and got the hostages out!”

“Yeah, you did good, kid,” Daring said, striding into the room.

“Oh, no! I’ve got enough to do already without visitors in the way!” the nurse declared. “Out! Out, out, out, out!”

“Okay, okay, geez,” Daring grumbled, leading Twilight and Rainbow out of the infirmary and into the hallway.

“Rainbow, listen,” Daring said, glancing down at her hooves. “You’ve done really well.”

Rainbow’s face lit up and she let out a noise that was definitely a repressed squeal.

“But you’re also raw as hell,” Daring continued, looking up. “You don’t think before you act, and you’ve got this bad habit of trying to pick fights you can’t win.”

Rainbow frowned and shuffled. “Daring, that’s—” Twilight started to say.

“I’m not finished,” Daring interrupted. “But you’ve got potential. I saw you when the shooting started; you stuck with Dimmig and Shine, where it mattered.” She strode forward and laid a hoof on Rainbow’s shoulder.

“That’s why I’m gonna take you on as a sidekick,” she announced. “If I need your help, I’ll call you.”

Rainbow’s face lit up like the sun. With an excited swoop, she flew up into the air and started doing loops up and down the hallway, dancing and singing joyously in midair. Everypony around stopped what they were doing to stare at her; papers and hats were sent flying in the wake of her flight.

“I’m gonna work with Daring Do!” she chanted. “I’m Daring Do’s sidekick! Oh, yeah! Uh-huh!”

Daring facehoofed. “Dash…”

“Let her have this,” Twilight said with an indulgent smile.

Rainbow Dash eventually noticed the stares of the others and floated back down to the floor. “Yeah, I’m Daring Do’s sidekick,” she announced, trying to hide an embarrassed blush.

Daring rolled her eyes. “But there are rules to this, kid,” she declared. “Rule one: you do exactly what I say, when I say it, without questioning it. And if I tell you not to do something, you don’t do it.”

“Got it,” Rainbow nodded.

“Two: no more vigilante acts,” Daring continued. “I’m not gonna have you getting stabbed to death in an alleyway.”

“But—” Rainbow started to protest.

Daring held up a hoof. “Kid, if we’re gonna do this, then it means that your safety is my responsibility. I can’t have you running around sticking your nose into manticore nests. Got it?”

Rainbow Dash sighed and nodded. “Fine.”

Daring nodded back and stuck out a hoof. Rainbow Dash grinned and shook it heartily. “So, where do we start?”

“I’ll call you,” Daring said. With a final nod, she turned and walked away.

“Did you see that?” Rainbow Dash said excitedly to Twilight.

“I did!” Twilight nodded. “This is so exciting!”

“I know!” Rainbow squealed.

“There’s so much you’ll have to learn!” Twilight said, looking ecstatic. “Crime scene investigation, first aid, survival scenarios, legal procedures...oh, the list is endless! We should get started on studying right away! You’ll be the best sidekick ever!”

“Oh. Great,” Rainbow said with markedly less enthusiasm.

Daring walked around a corner and found Phillip waiting for her, leaning against the wall. She sighed. “That went about as well as I thought it would,” she admitted.

“She does deserve that chance,” Phillip stated.

Daring managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, she does. So what now?”

“We keep working,” Phillip said. “We’ll get Zugzwang and Scarlet and Whitestone. All of them. It’s just a matter of time. And in the meantime,” he added as they exited. “We’ve got plans for tonight.”

Zugzwang descended down the steps into the basement, each wooden step creaking beneath his weight. At the bottom, he found himself confronted with the barrel of a .45 hoofgun, held by a scowling Bright Sparks.

“You could’ve killed four of our biggest enemies, and you let them all go,” Sparks spat. “Why?”

“Because it was not convenient for me,” Zugzwang answered calmly, giving the pistol only a brief glance. “I need Phillip Finder alive, and his friends will make excellent leverage. Now, put the gun down.”

Sparks scowled but lowered her weapon. “You’re asking me to trust you a lot,” she said.

“True,” Zugzwang conceded. “But I get results.” He looked over into the corner.

Four statues stood on the table next to the easel with The Treachery of Images. Even without the embedded gems, the Innsbeak Statues made an impressive display under the dim lights of the basement, the four ancient gods snarling at the guests with empty, eyeless holes.

“You sure that’s what we need?” Sparks asked.

“The plan requires four items of concentrated power,” Zugzwang explained, studying the statues. “The Innsbeak Statues were worshipped for generations: they have great latent power inside them. Once I unlock that power, they will be perfect for our plan.”

Sparks grunted and looked back down at the plans spread before her. “As long as your plan to get my friends out of Frostback succeeds. That’s what matters.”

“Indeed,” Zugzwang said coolly, glancing at the pair of scrolls in the corner. The faded script atop one of the scrolls read “Lazarus.”

Sparks sighed. “You’re gonna have to take on more of a load from now on,” she stated. “Scarlet’s being watched too closely by the police now.”

“I understand,” Zugzwang said. He took one of the scrolls and examined the ancient script written on it. “I will take this to my own safehouse for more translation.”

Sparks grunted. Zugzwang pocketed the scroll and started heading back up the stairs. Once he was about halfway up, he turned and paused.

Odd...the statue of Discord wasn’t facing him earlier, was it? It seemed to be staring right at him, empty eyeholes boring into…

“Hmph,” Zugzwang grunted to himself, turning away and heading up the stairs. But it was all he could do to not shudder.

Night fell over the city, bringing a cool breeze that smelled of flowers and grass, the promise of spring. Phillip and Daring walked up Golden Oaks Street, the sound of their hoofsteps clopping off the nearby houses. Phillip held a bag close to his side, lightly slapping against him with each step.

“You know, if we got stopped by an officer, there’d be a lot of awkward questions,” Daring smirked.

“I’m sure you’d have a lot of bonehead comments,” Phillip said dryly.

“You insult me,” Daring sniffed. “Such an obvious joke is beneath me. Instead, I’d tell him to get a spine and give us a hoof.”

Phillip quickly turned away. “Ah, I saw you smiling!” Daring laughed, punching his foreleg.

“Shush,” Phillip said.

They reached number ten-ten. The door opened and Twilight Sparkle trotted out, with Spike riding astride her shoulders. “Hi, guys!” she chirped. “Ooh, are those the skulls?”

“Yup,” Phillip nodded.

“So, what’d you find out?” Twilight asked, falling into step beside them. “I’ve been doing some research of my own into forensic hippology, and it’s made me realize just how little we know about what happens to bodies after death. I’ve been thinking about proposing a dedicated research facility where it can be studied.”

“What would you call it, the Body Ranch?” Daring commented.

“It has merit,” Phillip stated. “The trick would be finding the right place.”

“Yeesh, thanks for putting that idea into her head,” Spike rolled his eyes. “Now that’s all she’s going to talk about, on top of those lesson plans she has for Rainbow Dash.”

They reached a two-story blue cottage, the number 1273 painted in gold over the door and on the mailbox. As they turned up the walkway, the white-trimmed door burst open and a young zebra colt with green eyes raced out, his frizzy mane bouncing up and down.

“Uncle Phil!” Muziqaa cried, bounding into Phillip’s embrace.

“Hooley dooley, you’re getting big,” Phillip grinned, hefting his honorary nephew up onto his back.

“Uh-huh! I’ve been doing more exercises!” Muziqaa nodded. “Hi, cousin Twilight, cousin Spike!”

“Hey, kid,” Spike said, hoofbumping the colt.

They entered the home and strode into a hallway decorated with tribal Zebra masks on the wall and a framed photograph depicting Suunkii with his wife and son, all of them smiling at the camera. Sirba entered from the dining room, tossing her long mane from her eyes.

“It is good for you all to join us tonight,” she smiled, hugging each guest in turn. “Come out back and enjoy the twilight.”

They proceeded through the living room and through a set of glass doors out onto the back porch, which was lit by torches. Suunkii had set up a long picnic table and was currently working at a grill. The scent of grilled vegetables made the guests' mouths water. Doctor Mortis was sitting at the table already, humming to herself; her crystal coat sparkled beneath the light of the torches, making her shine every which way she turned.

“My friends,” Suunkii nodded to them with a small but genuine smile. “It is good to see you all here. Phillip.” He grasped Phillip’s hoof and pressed his forehead against his friend’s. “We have not done this in so long.”

“I know,” Phillip replied, gently rubbing against his friend. “Far too long.”

“And Daring,” Suunkii said, grasping Daring’s hoof and pressing his forehead against hers. “Welcome to my home.”

“Thanks, doc,” Daring replied.

“Are these the skulls you were studying?” Vitae Mortis asked eagerly, looking at the bag that Phillip had placed on the floor. “So, what’d you find out?” She hopped up and down excitedly, looking at Phillip like an eager puppy who thought that her owner was hiding a treat; Daring suspected that she saw her coat take on an even brighter sheen than before.

“Plenty,” Phillip said. “But Twilight had an interesting idea.”

“Yeah, the Body Ranch,” Daring added.

“It is not going to be called that!” Twilight sputtered as she sat down next to Mortis. Ignoring Daring’s sniggering, she started outlining her idea to the mortician, who listened with rapt attention and awe.

“Hey, Aunt Daring!” Muziqaa called. Daring looked up to see that Muziqaa had climbed up onto the branch of a great oak tree in the backyard with the aid of a ladder. “Watch this!” Muziqaa waved and jumped off the branch.

Daring squawked in shock and shot forward on her wings, snatching the little colt out of the air. “You trying to kill yourself?!”

“Aww, I was just gonna show you my double backflip!” Muziqaa protested.

“My son is well practiced in dance and tumbling,” Sirba laughed, taking her son from Daring’s forelegs. “You needn’t worry, he is not known for stumbling.”

“Yeah! Let’s show her, mama!” Muziqaa said.

Sirba set Muziqaa down on the ground and he ran a few feet away, then ran straight at her. Sirba lowered her head to the ground; when Muziqaa reached her, he jumped up onto her head, and she tossed her head, catapulting him into the air. He did a backflip, landed on his hooves, and ended his momentum with a backward hoofspring. “Ta-da!” he sang.

“Wow,” Daring said, genuine awe in her voice.

“Mama’s been teaching me since I could walk,” Muziqaa explained.

Daring walked back to the porch, with Muziqaa excitedly hopping after her. Suunkii was lifting the perfectly charred vegetables from the grill and placing them onto paper plates as he and Phillip discussed the findings of their respective experiments. Twilight and Mortis were eagerly examining the skulls in their glass jars, taking extensive notes, while Spike was already digging into a wrap that had steam rising from it. She looked up at the sky; the stars were just coming out, the constellations becoming visible. Her gaze panned from Scorpius’ tail to the Great Dipper to Polaris, fixed in the north. It seemed to wink at her as she looked up at it.

With a smile, she sat down at the picnic table to join her friends.

The sound of the typewriter's clacking mixed with the classical music crooning from the record player in the corner. Scarlet Letter hummed softly along with the string quartet's melody as she typed. The lights of the living room in which she sat were dimmed, with the only illumination coming from the star and moonlight through the window that overlooked an empty street, and the scented candles on the table at which she sat.

The typewriter dinged as she reached the end of her sentence. She slid the carriage back to the left, moved it down to the next row, and continued typing, detailing the flutter in Detective Sophia Snoop's heart as she came face to face, once again, with the dashing Red Robin, the brilliant and talented but honorable thief that she had pursued in more ways than one. Writing had long been a joy for her, ever since she had published her first mystery-romance novels under past pen names. For the moment, she could forget that she was a beloved charitable donor to the public, or a feared criminal mastermind amidst the underworld of this damned city. She could even forget, however briefly, the role that she held for her master. For the moment, all that mattered was the cinnamon scent of the candles, the calming music, and the way that Red Robin gently wrapped his forelegs about Sophia's neck and crooned into her ears as he led her towards the bed; tres grossier, she knew, but a little sex went a long way for attracting public attention.

She licked her lips as the words flowed from her imagination onto the paper. It had been a while since she'd satisfied her own needs...perhaps she could—

The sound of an engine outside caught her attention. The fact that she dwelled in this humble condo near the northern borders of Ponyville was not a secret, but she had made it clear long ago that visitors weren't exactly welcome. Who would be coming about at this hour?

She looked up to see a dark car, windows tinted and headlights out, trawling up the street at a moderate pace. Instantly, her every instinct went on high alert. The passenger window rolled down and something flew out of the car, sailing towards the window. Scarlet Letter dived to the floor, covering herself with a hasty magical shield.

The chorus of breaking glass was immediately followed by an explosion loud enough to rattle windows and doors for several blocks around. Even as the light pink walls of the house came crashing down in a smoking ruin, the dark car sped away into the night, vanishing amidst the echoes of the first open shots of war.

Author's Note

For the record, "skit" is Swedish/Griffonese for "shit."

And so concludes this case, with a heartwarming ending. I hope you enjoyed this case, and are looking forward to the next case!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter One: Ambushed

The smoke was still thick, stinging at the eyes and throats of everypony around. Ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers were parked in a wide arc around the wreckage, blocking off the street. An hour ago, this building had been a three-story tenement building, proud white walls reaching up to the skies, dozens of lower-class families living behind the tinted windows, raising their families in the petite but affordable rooms within.

Now, it was a burnt wreck of brick, wood, and shattered glass. The firefighters had only just managed to defeat the blaze, and the last of the dead was being carried out of the wreckage in stretchers. Police officers and survivors stood by amidst the watching crowd, every eye fixed on the warped doorframe, dreading the sight of who might come out next.

Daring watched in silence as a pair of firefighters, manes damp with sweat, carried a stretcher out the door and down the steps. Sprawled across it was the burned figure of a yellow-brown crystal pony, his blue mane and beard blackened with soot, the strange crystalline sheen of his skin dirtied and scuffed, and his eyes closed. A few feet behind her, a light pink mare, her yellow mane done up in elaborate curls, collapsed to her knees and clung to her son, sobbing. Flash Sentry broke away from his position holding back the staring crowd to try to comfort her, but she did not even acknowledge his presence.

Daring turned away, her stomach churning. A curse started to form in her lungs, but the harsh dryness of her throat sent her into a coughing fit instead.

“You okay?” Phillip said, approaching and rubbing the bandage over the burns on his forelegs.

“Fine,” Daring wheezed, swallowing with difficulty.

“You two ponies are insane,” a tall unicorn with an ash gray mane and a brown-black coat wearing a firefighter’s turnout jacket, boots, and helmet said, approaching with a couple of plastic cups of water held in his magic. “Running right into a burning building without any protective gear.”

Phillip took a long, grateful drink of the cold water before speaking. “Had to try to help, Embers.”

Lieutenant Burning Embers shook his head. “I can’t deny that you helped, but next time, leave the firefighting to the firefighters. You could’ve just wound up as two more ponies to save.”

Daring swallowed the water down and massaged her throat until some of the raw dryness evaporated. "You sure this was arson?" she asked.

"We're pretty sure," Embers confirmed, looking down at the small black box with a pair of golden wire attenaes extending from the top clipped to his belt. The glass dial was turned all the way into the red zone on the right. "If this gizmo is working right, the fire was started magically."

"Lot of power behind that," Phillip mused, looking over the burnt, crumbling facade. "Reminds me of Tinderspark and the Dragon's Spark."

"So why the hell would anypony want to burn down this place?" Daring mused.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Trace sighed, sighing as he trotted up, studying the wreckage as he and Red approached. He looked over to the stretcher bearing the body of the Crystal pony and closed his eyes for a moment. "It could've been any one of these families," he mused.

"This is gonna take days to solve," Red muttered, the smoke turning his eyes a dark red shade. "And what the hell kinda bomb could do this?"

"Detectives!"

The four detectives turned to see Flash waving them over to the mare, who was looking up at them, wide eyes shining with tears.

"Basement," the Crystal mare said as they approached, tucking her son's head against her chest as if trying to shield him from what was to come next. "Look in basement. That was why."

"What's in the basement?" Trace asked quietly, bending down next to her, but the mare just turned away and continued to cry silently, shaking her head.

"Well, we're not gonna find out standing here," Daring pointed out, turning and heading for the burned-out wreckage.

"Wait!" Red called after her, but she was already disappearing into the doorframe. "Oh, for fuck's sake. How do you stand her, Phil?" he grumbled.

"I ask myself that a lot," Phillip deadpanned back. "You mates coming?"

"Yeah, yeah," Red replied, following him to the house. Trace fell into step behind them. Flash hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the other officers, then gulped and hurried after the stallions.

Phillip stepped through the doorway and beheld a long, narrow hallway, the walls scorched and crumbling, a layer of water sloshing on the tiles. The overwhelming odor of the burnt and partially melted remnants of the carpet on the floorway assaulted his nostrils, and every step audibly splashed. "Daring?" he called, proceeding through clouds of steam and smoldering smoke so thick that the air almost felt like a solid wall he had to push through.

"Down here," Daring's voice called through a doorway on the right. Phillip looked down a darkened stairway, water still running down the warped wooden stairs. Daring was proceeding through the threshold at the bottom, steps sloshing through the deep layer of water, her flashlight leading the way. The splinters of the door floated around her hooves as she proceeded, bobbing up and down like boats in a stormy wake. Phillip carefully proceeded down the steps, clipping his own flashlight to his vest.

"Why do we do this?" Red asked, following him down, the stairs creaking beneath his steps. "You two are going to be the death of both of us one day."

"Ah, shut up and get down the stairs," Trace grunted, lighting up his horn.

"You guys sure about this?" Flash called from the top of the steps.

"I've been in worse places," Daring called from inside the basement. "This actually isn't that different from an old wrecked village in Greenwhinny where I found some cursed drachmas. Wonder what happened to those."

"You don't have to come," Phillip replied, pausing at the bottom of the steps.

Flash stared for a beat, hovering at the pinnacle of the steps, then swallowed and headed down the steps, taking every step like the stairs might collapse if he put his hoof down wrong, clipping his flashlight to his shirt and switching it on. Phillip watched in silence as the younger stallion entered the basement, then followed in after him.

The basement was a wreck, detritus floating about in the filthy water. The remnants of a lightbulb clung to the socket overhead: the only light came from their flashlights, panning over scorched brick walls and the burnt remnants of the boxes and furniture that were scattered around the narrow room.

"Odd," Phillip mumbled, studying the pattern of scorch marks on the walls, like black waves running along the brick. "Looks like the fire came down the basement stairs and went towards the corner there."

"That is weird; hot air does rise, after all," Trace agreed.

"Uh..." Flash asked, studying the red coloring in the water around their knees. "Is that blood?"

Daring frowned at the scarlet ripples around her knees. "All of you, hold still," she commanded, carefully lifting herself out of the water with her wings. She studied the pattern of red across the water's surface, like an ink splot, noting the way that it flowed slowly across the floor, towards the stairs. She turned, studying the small room that they all stood in.

"This basement is a lot smaller than the house's foundation," she mused, landing next to the far wall. She pressed her ear against the wall rapped against the bricks, listening closely.

"Aha!" she declared, noting the hollow knocking sound. "There's a secret door here. The blood is flowing out from beneath it."

"How did you find that?" Red asked.

"I've had a lot of experience finding hidden nooks and crannies," Daring replied, knocking against the wall and noting the outline of the door. "There's gotta be some way of opening it.."

"You might want to move," Trace stated, a yellow aura illuminating the entire room as he charged his horn. Daring quickly dodged to the side. Once she was clear, Trace fired a bowling ball-sized golden sphere at the doorway. It smashed into the false brick, dashing the painted wood into pieces to expose the dark room within.

Daring stuck her tongue out at him. "Showoff."

The detectives headed inside, their flashlights revealing the secret within.

The secret room was nearly twice as large as the false basement, the walls free of any burns, but instead painted in arcs of blood. However, it was just as cluttered as the basement outside, though the furniture within was of a greatly different nature. Tables and chests had been knocked aside and lay like rocks jutting out from the water: waterlogged notebooks, chemistry equipment, spent shells and bullets, and broken flasks floated amidst them like the wreckage of a great sea battle.

And nearly a dozen bodies lay beneath the surface of the flood water, which was a horrid red color and reeked of copper. The pale face of a unicorn laying next to the door stared up at them with ide blue eyes, his throat slit so deeply that his head was only hanging on by a few sinews.

"Holy Mother," Flash breathed, taking in the destruction.

Trace bent down next to a sealed plastic bag filled with white powder on the floor. "This was a drug lab," he concluded.

"And guess who runs it," Red grunted, holding up the stiff foreleg of a pegasus mare to reveal the stylized "NMD" tattoed on her arm. "Maybe there's something in here that connects that traitor Star Cluster to them."

"So whoever attacked this place also set the fire," Phillip concluded, studying the blood spatters sprayed across the wall. "Probably to kill any Disciples living in the tenement and chase the others down here."

"But who did this?" Flash asked.

Daring and Phillip both looked down at the bodies, noting the slashed throats, torn chests, and gouged-out eyes, and glanced at each other in silence, each confirming the other's suspicions with a look.

“Well, whoever they are, they're definitely long gone by now," Trace pointed out.

“Wrong,” another voice chuckled.

Everypony whirled around to see a stallion walking right through the wall, which shimmered with a faint golden light. The stallion’s impeccable suit was splattered and stained with blood, some of which still dripped off of him onto the floor. His face held a toothy smile that was far, far too wide for a normal pony, but his black eyes held no sign of any emotion or life as they focused on Phillip.

“Guten tag, liebling,” Zugzwang cooed to Phillip as the walls became coated in a solid barrier of golden light, trapping them within.

The five ponies started back in shock, then went to raise their pistols, but Zugzwang’s horn was already alight. With a simple tug, all of their firearms were yanked out of their hooves and tossed into the corner.

“I go to the trouble of destroying this drug house for you and killing all the Disciples who lived here, and this is how you repay me?” Zugzwang clucked, frowning and shaking his head in a display of disappointment. "A pity I couldn't get Star Cluster, I thought he'd be here."

Daring snarled, then charged right at him, drawing her kusarifundo from her pocket. Red charged in after her, roaring in fury. The snapping of a baton announced Phillip’s entry into the fight, quickly followed by a shout of summoned courage by Flash. Trace's horn crackled as he fired a salvo of stunning spells, the golden projectiles shrieking through the air.

Zugzwang shook his head and his horn flared. With a rush of heat and light, a golden aura bloomed outwards from his body, shoving all of his attackers away and deflecting all of Trace's spells.

Red snapped his wings out and caught himself in midair. With a growl, he dove back at Zugzwang like a torpedo. "Pathetic," the unicorn sneered, easily sidestepping the attack and giving the pegasus a magical shove. Red's own momentum propelled him into the wall with a great smash and he tumbled into the water with a grunt.

Trace gritted his teeth and let out a growl that failed to completely mask his fear. His horn crackled and fizzed as he charged up a powerful stun spell, and he fired it at Zugzwang.

A circular shield, its edges decorated with strange symbols and runes, appeared in midair in front of the scoffing Zugzwang. Trace’s stun spell struck the shield with a gonging sound and was deflected back at Trace. His eyes widened in shock, and a cry of “Oh, shi—!” had just enough time to fly from his throat before his own beam struck him in the forehead. Trace’s eyes rolled and he slumped to the floor, just barely managing to twist so that his mouth remained above the water.

“Hey!” Daring shouted, recovering and leaping at Zugzwang. Her kusarifundo whistled through the air as she attacked, sending the spinning weights at his head again and again with vicious efficiency, the water around her hooves splashing loudly and spraying them both. Zugzwang ducked and dodged every attack.

Growling, Phillip forced himself back up to his hooves. Coming up behind Zugzwang, he launched the baton at the back of his hind legs, only for his strike to bounce off a conjured shield: the impact shuddered down his bones as though he’d just struck a steel wall.

Grunting, he struck again, but another shield shoved him away like he’d been hit by a bulldozer, sending him flying into the wall. His vision blurred and his head spun with the impact as he splashed down to the floor, his trilby tumbling off his head; he tried to get up again, but a hot metal cuff was suddenly slapped down onto each of his hooves, pinning him to the floor. Panting and grunting, he struggled, grunting as he lifted his head above the water, but it felt like an elephant was sitting on each of his limbs.

Through blurred vision, he spotted three Flash Sentry’s trying to get up, scrambling for the guns on the floor. A golden band wrapped itself around the stallions’ necks and their heads were violently slammed against the wall, once, twice, three times, each impact resounding like a drum beat. The three Flash’s slumped into the water, bubbles issuing from his mouth as he breathed.

A blade snapped out from beneath Zugzwang’s sleeve and he lunged as he ducked another of Daring’s attacks, aiming at her neck. She dodged to the side, gritting her teeth as she felt the blade kiss her skin. But before she could retaliate, Zugzwang snapped his hoof back, drawing the blade across her cheek. A flash of hot pain spread across her face, accompanied by the electric tingle of magic; she cried out in surprise, staggering, momentarily blinded by the shock. She surged forward and lashed out with her kusarifundo again, but the weights went through empty air: Zugzwang had vanished.

She realized that he had teleported beside her a moment later when a stun spell slammed into her head. The ringing of her skull was mercifully short, and she was unconscious before she hit the floor.

Zugzwang stood in the middle of the room, his breath quivering with excitement. He licked his lips and swallowed, turning towards the pinned Phillip with a broad smile that still didn’t reach his eyes. He strode forward, step by step, his whole body tingling, trembling like an excited child.

Phillip’s heart jumped into his throat, constricting his breathing and forcing him to gasp for air; he fought violently against the cuffs, but they didn’t give one bit. Zugzwang stood over him, straddling him, and leaned down.

“Now, listen closely,” Zugzwang cooed into Phillip’s ear. “I sent a message to the mayor earlier today, while you were busy fighting this fire I set for you. I’m going to kill her, liebling. Unless you can save her.”

“This a challenge?” Phillip hissed.

“Think of it that way, liebling,” Zugzwang purred. He kissed Phillip on his forehead, then slowly drew his nose in a line down Phillip’s body, from his neck down to his crotch, taking deep, heavy sniffs. It took all Phillip’s willpower to not flinch at every caress of the hot breath.

“Schön, schön,” Zugzwang whispered, looking up at him with a predatory stare from between his legs. He winked. “The game begins now.”

He lit up his horn and vanished in a flash of light. The cuffs trapping Phillip to the ground vanished a moment later. Panting, he scrambled back to his hooves and rushed over to Daring. "Daring, Daring!" he shouted, shaking her shoulder. She coughed and sputtered as she woke up, shaking filthy water out her eyes.

The other stallions all woke up, choking on the bloody water. Phillip hissed out a sigh of relief. "You guys okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Trace grunted, pushing his damp mane out of his face.

"Not the worst place I've woken up," Red stated, his voice thick through a bloody nose as he retrieved his pistol. "Ah, damn, I just cleaned this."

Flash slowly pushed himself to his hooves, shaking violently, sucking in slow, heavy breaths. "Flash, you all right?" Phillip asked.

"I'm fine," Flash stated far too quickly, picking up his pistol and heading for the door with his head lowered. He headed up the stairs with a blur of color, leaving Phillip staring after him in silence.

Author's Note

The purpose of this chapter was primarily to show the devastation of the ongoing war between Zugzwang and Whitestone, but also to introduce the main conflict of this case. How are Phillip and Daring going to save the Mayor if they can barely protect themselves from Zugzwang?

Translation: "Schön, schön.”--"Beautiful, beautiful."

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

This chapter underwent a major rewrite on September 28, 2020.

Case Nine, Chapter Two: Return to Frostback

The colorful balloons that held the body up in the air only accentuated the gruesomeness of the crime, drawing an ever-growing crowd of spectators that stared at the horrific display.

"Uh, Phil, are you sure you and the others are good to work the scene?" Doctor Mortis asked, watching as the stallion paced around Stone Wall, looking him up and down in silence. "I mean, just after your fight with Zugzwang--"

"This needs to get done," Phillip cut her off, trying to suppress the shudder running down his spine. The memory of the unicorn bending over him, hot breath brushing against his chest, flashed unbidden through his mind, but he fought it back down, refocusing on the body of Stone Wall before him.

“Wounds are fresh,” he muttered as the corpse slowly spun towards him, displaying its baleful message. “Most of the blood is coagulated, but not all of it: time of death is no more than a couple hours ago. The carving is antemortem, based on blood loss and lack of lividity.”

“Rigor’s already set in with the forelegs, though,” Doctor Mortis observed, gently tugging on one of them. “My guess is he was struggling a lot before he was killed; the bruises and cuts on his forelegs seem to support that.” She sighed quietly. “Rest easy, Warden: Frostback is in good hooves now.”

A few feet away, Daring watched the examination in silence, fidgeting slightly in place. The spinning body suspended in midair made her stomach twist every time she looked at, yet beneath the bloodied and bruised face, she could see some trace of the Warden that she had known during her year at Frostback.

“You okay?” Red Herring asked from behind her.

Daring took a shaky breath. “Fine,” she nodded. “Just...I knew Stone Wall. He was a hardass, that’s for sure; comes with being a warden. But he was always reasonable: came down to talk to me a few times. He...was a good pony.”

“And you don’t like seeing him up there like that,” Red concluded. “I don’t either; it always stings more when it’s somepony you knew.” He stared for a beat. “So let me ask you: one day, you show up to a scene and it’s me laying in some alleyway. What do you do when you catch the guy?”

“Can I give him a medal?” Daring smirked.

Red gave her a Flying Feather, but couldn’t hide a small smile creeping up his face.

The flashing of camera bulbs like several simultaneous lightning strikes suddenly flared from behind them. Turning around, Red and Daring spotted several teams of reporters and photographers standing just behind the crime scene tape, snapping pictures of the scene and of them.

“Hey!” Red shouted, stomping towards them. “Show’s over! Fly off, you buzzards!”

The reporters scattered quickly from Red's baleful glare. "Buncha freaks," Red grumbled, returning to the scene.

Phillip examined the dead pony’s front hooves. “Dirt underneath the hooves,” he muttered, taking out a plastic bag and a pocket knife. He carefully scraped some of the dark brown dirt out from the frog of the hoof and into the bag.

“You done with initial examination, Phil?” Doctor Mortis asked. He nodded. “All right, let’s cut him down,” she said. “I’ll know more when I do the autopsy.”

Two officers carefully wheeled over a stretcher, with an open body bag already placed upon it. They then grasped the corpse and prepared to take its weight. Doctor Mortis used her magic to lift up a pair of scissors and carefully clipped the strings holding the balloons, being careful to not cut the knot. The officers gently guided the body into the body bag and zipped it up as Mortis grasped the balloons and pulled them down. She followed the two officers with the stretcher to the coroner’s van, looking bizarrely childish with the balloons in tow.

Trace walked up to Phillip, having hung up on the nearby gamewell. “Well, the surveillance crystal lead is a dud,” he reported. “Something froze the signal right before the body was dropped off.”

"Where's the Mayor?" Phillip asked.

"Cold Case escorted her to her apartment. She's staying there until this blows over." Trace paused. “You really think that Zugzwang is gonna try to kill the mayor?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded.

“Why?” Trace muttered. “What does he gain out of it?”

“A game with me,” Phillip grunted.

Trace studied him in silence for a few moments. “You think Sentry’s gonna be okay?” he asked. “Kid’s got a concussion for sure.”

“Prowl sent him home after we reported in, he’ll be fine,” Phillip said.

"Wish I could go back home," Red muttered. "We all need a shower after lying in that shit."

The radio in Trace’s Commander suddenly crackled. “Bishop Nine, Bishop Nine, 21 Dispatch.”

Trace glanced at the radio with a raised eyebrow and plucked the speaker with his magic. “10-4, will call from gamewell,” he reported.

He walked back over to the gamewell, opened it up, and held the phone to his ear. Phillip paced around the scene in a circle, studying the ground for anything of note, even though he didn’t expect to find anything.

“What?” Trace suddenly shouted, causing Phillip to pause and look up. Trace had tensed up and his eyes were wide as he listened to the phone. Red and Daring had both noticed Trace and were watching him in silence.

After a few more moments of listening in silence, Trace hissed out a curse and hung up the phone. He walked back over to the others.

“Bright Sparks’ friends, the ones that we captured,” he reported. “They’ve escaped from Frostback.”

The words struck them like a hammer. Phillip grimaced, Red spat out a curse, and Daring flinched.

“They want somepony down there to investigate,” Trace stated.

“I’ll go,” Daring said immediately.

Phillip turned to her, his eyebrows going up into his bangs. “You sure?”

“I’m the one that Bright Sparks hates; she is my responsibility,” she stated firmly, already walking over to Red’s Diplomat. “And so is everypony else associated with her. Red, you coming?”

Red opened and closed his mouth several times, then shrugged. “Okay then. See you guys later.” He walked over to the Diplomat and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine coughed to life and the car pulled away, speeding down the street to the west.

Trace and Phillip both watched the car drive off in silence. “You think you’re done here?” Trace asked Phillip.

Phillip was still staring after the car; his tail twitched twice and he pawed compulsively at the ground. “Hey, Phil!” Trace barked.

Phillip shook his head. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s head to the precinct.”

She felt the anti-flight spells wash over the car as they approached the one-mile boundary around Frostback: the static tingling of flight magic in her wings was so familiar that she barely noticed it most of the time, but the sudden loss of the sensation sent a stab of panic through her mind, which she quickly forced down.

Red shuddered. “I hate that damn thing,” he muttered, steering the car up the street. A sign next to the road read in bold text: “WARNING: Entering Restricted Area. Anti-Flight Spells Active. Area Patrolled by Armed Correctional Officers.”

Indeed, as they drove up the long dirt road, surrounded by thin grasslands and copses of trees, Daring spotted a gray Jeep running a circular track that ran the circumference of the facility. The road led up to a brick wall topped with spikes; a watchtower stood at each corner of the wall, with a pair of armed officers standing inside. Inside the walls was Frostback Prison, a complex of brick with barred windows just barely visible over the top of the wall.

Red pulled the Diplomat into the parking lot and slid it into an empty space, joining a pair of police cruisers. A set of large iron gates with a small shack next to it provided the only entrance into the facility. A stone sign that read “FROSTBACK PRISON” stood next to the gates.

Daring stared at the brick walls and felt her pulse speed up, her chest tightening as though her heart was being squeezed by a vise; her hooves began to tremble, and she clenched them together to try to hide the shaking.

“You okay?” Red asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Damn. “I’m fine,” Daring grunted, shouldering the door open. She started walking towards the guard box. The dirt road was cold beneath her hooves: her heart began pounding louder, faster, as though trying to escape from the crushing cage that had become her chest.

Red walked up to her. “Daring, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said softly.

“I can—!” Daring started to shout at Red, causing him to flinch slightly, his eyes widening in alarm. Daring turned away, took in a deep breath through her nostrils, and let it out slowly through her mouth. “Sorry,” she said in a quieter voice, turning back. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just get this done.”

They approached the iron gates. A correctional officer exited the small shack and approached them. “Identi—well, well. Look who’s back,” the blue pegasus mare smirked at Daring.

Daring scowled, acid bubbling up in her stomach. “Welkin,” she grunted.

“That’s Officer Welkin to you, convict,” the mare scowled, brushing some of her ash white mane out of her eyes.

“And I’m Detective Red Herring,” Red cut in. “And she’s with me. We’re here to investigate the prison escape.”

Welkin snorted. “Nice idea, bringing her in,” she said. “Expert advice.”

Daring growled in her throat as the cursed brand burned again, acidic heat crawling up her hoof, eating at her veins and chewing at the bones. Welkin entered the shack and spoke briefly into a radio. There was an electric buzz, and then the iron gates creaked open, revealing a paved pathway leading up to the main building of the facility. To the left stood an ordinary door that led to the reception area; to the right was a sally port that led to the booking area. The pathway was surrounded on both sides by a double perimeter of chain-link fences topped with barbed wires. Correctional officers patrolled the perimeter, all of them staring at the duo as they walked past.

They reached the doorway to the reception area and pushed their way into a small room with some cushioned chairs and a set of lockers for visitors to place possessions. A glass window showed an office area with a pair of receptionists typing away at typewriters. A Netitus security gate stood in front of a hallway, the metal glowing faintly with blue power; beyond was a locked door that led to locker rooms for the correctional officers, and a steel door with a number one painted on it that led into the facility proper.

As Red and Daring entered the room, a door in the office opened and a tall, stout blue unicorn with brown and gray hair and a full beard exited, stepping into the reception room. He adjusted his red and black striped tie. “Detectives,” he nodded.

“Blue Guardian,” Red nodded, shaking the stallion’s hoof. “I’m sorry about Stone.”

“We all are,” the formerly assistant warden of Frostback nodded. “But we’ve got work to do. We’ve already sealed off the prison until you can take a look at the scenes.”

“You got a list of who escaped?” Daring asked.

“Yes, here,” Guardian said, handing her a clipboard with several papers on it. Daring flipped through the files on the names, noting the familiar faces on the mug shots scowling at her.

“Sledgehammer, Gear Shift, Dusty Tail, the Licorice twins,” she read. “Boltstrike’s still here?”

“Yes, thankfully,” Guardian nodded. “He was moved to segregation two weeks ago after getting into a fight with another inmate.”

Daring let out a soft sigh of relief. “At least there’s that. Okay, let’s get a look at the cells.”

Guardian escorted them to the steel doorway down the hall, skipping around the Netitus Security gate. “One door!” the Warden barked into the speaker next to the door. With a buzz, the door opened and they stepped into a sally port. On the wall to their right was another door and a darkened window showing a control room. Two officers stood inside, manning the panels of door buttons and watching the feeds from the surveillance crystals.

One of the officers nodded to the group and pressed the button to open the door marked with a number two. Guardian pushed through the door, with Red and Daring following. They entered a large hallway, hooves clacking against cold stone. To the right was a pair of doorways that led to the visitors’ area: one door for the visitors and one door for the inmates. Daring could see the room through the window, a long table with several chairs, the room divided in half by a floor to ceiling plastic window, though she’d never been inside. Directly in front was the door for the supervisors’ office, currently closed and locked. The windowless walls and the floors were painted in cold grays and whites; the fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in an unforgiving white glow.

The sound came to Daring’s ears, all too familiar: dozens and dozens of overlapping voices, a chaotic symphony composed of notes of fear, stress, despair, exhaustion, and most of all, anger. An electric undercurrent of anger and hostility that she could feel in her bones, crawling underneath her skin. Her heartbeat accelerated, thudding in her ears, a tempo behind the screaming of her subconscious: Get me out! Get me out! Get me out!

She forced herself to breathe slowly. Five-second inhale, pause. Five-second exhale, pause. Five-second inhale, pause. Five-second exhale, pause. Breathe. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.

Guardian led them through another steel door on their right and they entered a hallway, proceeding through yet another door labeled ABC in black paint. The sound became louder; Daring continued to breathe, keeping herself steady. They reached a set of three doors, each one labeled A, B, or C.

“C Door,” Guardian grunted into the radio that he plucked from his belt. The door opened and they stepped inside.

The familiarity was nauseating to Daring; she felt as though she was witnessing a scene from one of her nightmares playing out in real life. In a way, she was. The open area was occupied by a set of four tables and stools, all of them bolted to the floor. The two floors, the top one accessible via a set of stairs leading to a landing, were both lined with barred doors. Inside, she could see inmates, some of them laying on their bunks resting, but most of them leaning against the bars of their cell doors.

Daring’s eyes went to the silver bracelets around the inmates’ forelegs, which were used to disable their magic and keep them under control. She could feel the cold grasp of her own bracelet on her foreleg and her hoof instinctually went up to rub at her skin. With a grunt, she forced the hoof down.

“Well, look who’s back!” one of them cheered. There was an instant uproar, the shouting and clamoring, the clapping and stomping of hooves, echoing off the walls. Catcalls, taunts, cheers, and wolf-whistles flew from the inmates’ lips. The sound hit Daring Do like a physical wall; she nearly flinched, had to force her hooves not to move, to propel herself backward out of the room.

Never let them see when they get to you…

“QUIET!” Warden Guardian roared. “The next pony who speaks out of turn goes to segregation!”

Instantly, the entire wing fell silent. “Thanks,” Red nodded.

“The cell that Sledgehammer occupied is here,” the Warden said, pointing at a cell that was currently guarded by a familiar thestral officer.

“Hey, Guide,” Daring managed to smile.

“Daring,” Gentle Guide nodded. “How are you and Phil?”

“Not bad,” Daring said. “How’s Honey?”

“Oh, I think he’s doing all right,” Guide said, smiling more broadly. He leaned in close and whispered into Daring’s ear. “He proposed two weeks ago. We’re getting married next moon.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Daring said, her stress momentarily forgotten.

Guide sighed and glanced behind him into the cell. “Wish we could meet under better conditions.”

Daring leaned to look around him and blinked in surprise. The cell had a single pony in it: a dark brown unicorn with the cutie mark of a large hammer, his head devoid of a mane. His massive bulk was sprawled across the bunk atop the covers, still in sleep.

“Um…” Red said, pointing at the stallion. “I think Sledgehammer’s right there.”

“Take a closer look,” a tall red unicorn officer grunted, brushing his sandy brown mane out of his eyes as he approached. Officer Sunburn unhooked his keys from his belt and unlocked the cell door, allowing them to enter.

Daring studied Sledgehammer as she approached. He was laying still: he hadn’t reacted at all to their approach. In fact, if she leaned in close and tilted her head to the side, it almost looked like she could see right through him…

She frowned, then reached down to touch him. Her hoof went right through his shoulder and onto the mattress.

“It’s an illusion,” Sunburn concluded. “You see the sheet of paper in the middle there?”

Daring did: a single sheet of plain white paper that she could just barely make out underneath the false image. She picked the paper up, and instantly, the illusory Sledgehammer vanished. Written on the paper was some kind of intricate symbol, several geometric shapes written over one another, with strange runes written around the perimeter. A few dried drops of blood stained the middle of the paper.

“I was the officer for this unit,” Sunburn reported, muttering through his teeth as though reluctant to admit his failure. “Sledgehammer got up for breakfast when our unit was called at 0625 and returned at 0640. He hung out in the dayroom for a while, then went back to his cell around quarter to eight. Near as I can figure out, he disappeared during the 0800 headcount.” He frowned. “Just can’t figure out how. He was in here with the door locked during headcount.”

Daring scanned the cell in a circle: floor to knees, then knees to eyes, then eyes to ceiling. Then she scanned the cell again. Her eyes went to the vent cover near the ceiling, where cool air flowed into the room. Something was tied around one of the vents. She climbed up on top of the bunk to take a closer look.

It turned out to be a coil of toilet paper, rolled up into a length of tiny rope that had been coiled inside the vent. She pulled the rope out through the narrow inch-wide gap and let it fall: it draped almost all the way down to the floor.

“What was that for?” Red wondered.

Something glimmered on the floor, amidst the dusty concrete. Daring bent down for a closer look, and her eyes picked out the small, faintly glowing motes of dust.

No, not dust. Pollen.

“Red, scoop these up, but be careful,” she instructed. “That’s shrinking violet pollen.”

“Again?” Red snorted. “That’s become pretty popular recently.” He started carefully scooping up the pollen into an evidence bag.

“It’s how he got out,” Daring stated. “He made a showing earlier so Sunburn wouldn’t be keeping too close an eye on him for the headcount; he already knew he was there. Then, during the headcount, he took the pollen, climbed up into the vent, and pulled the rope up behind him.”

“So where’d he go after that?” Red pondered.

“If it were me…” Daring thought. “I’d go up onto the roof. Then I could take a drainpipe down to the ground, probably near the southern yard. Then it’d be a quick jot to the drainage ditch under the fence and a sprint to the nearest copse just in time for the pollen to wear off. And the garbage truck comes in around eight o’clock, so the post truck outside would be busy with them.”

Red and Gentle Guide both stared at her. “I had a lot of free time to think up escape plans,” she muttered.

Guide chuckled. “Maybe we should’ve hired you to beef up security around here.”

“I’ll put that under consideration,” Warden Guardian nodded.

Daring then turned her attention to a plastic wastepaper bucket and peered inside, sorting through the trash within. There were some candy wrappers inside, a few torn sheets of lined paper with sketches on it (most of them of a decidedly lewd nature), and some broken pencils. But at the bottom of the trash, she spotted some cut up pieces of paper. She dumped the contents out onto the floor and began to sort through them, sorting out the puzzle pieces of torn paper.

“What’s that?” Red asked.

“Looks like a letter,” Daring said. “The writing on this one is different. Hand me another bag.”

Red tossed her another evidence bag, and she started placing the pieces into it. “Frostback keeps track of who sends and receives mail, right?” she asked.

“We do,” Sunburn nodded. “We destroy the envelopes, but keep a list of who they received mail from and who they sent it to.”

“I’m gonna need to see those,” Daring stated, looking at the paper with the bloodstained magical runes. “Okay, Red, let’s check the other cells.”

Warden Guardian escorted them to the other wings; everywhere they went, it was the same. The same cold concrete beneath her hooves, the same scent of dozens of ponies who didn’t consider hygiene a priority packed together. The same taunts and catcalls, the same hissing murmurs and dark chuckles in her ears. The same thumping of her heart jackhammering against her ribs, the same pattern of inhalation and exhalation to keep herself steady.

The cells that had been formerly occupied by Dusty Tail, Red and Black Licorice, and Gear Shift were repeats of Sledgehammer’s cell. The same illusory copies of themselves laying in the bunks, generated from a bloodstained paper decorated with runes. The same toilet paper rope in the vents, the same pollen on the floor. Daring checked their wastepaper baskets but didn’t find any other notes.

“If Boltstrike’s still here, he might know something,” Daring considered as they exited F Wing, the first of the two mare’s wings. “I want to talk to him.”

“He’s in segregation, like I said,” Guardian said, beckoning. “I believe you’re pretty familiar with that wing,” he added dryly.

“It’s not my fault I got into fights a lot,” Daring protested, fighting down another flood of bile.

The Warden led them down a longer hallway separate from the others to a door marked D. When this opened, they entered a darkened wing of the facility, consisting of a small office area where two officers lounged at a table, talking over the Foal Free Press. Three hallways blocked off by barred doors branched off the room. Somepony was shouting from down one of them: from what Daring could interpret, she was throwing a tantrum about getting carrots in her lunch.

The smell of dried urine accompanied by an intensified malodor of body odor assaulted Daring’s nostrils, sending her stomach into fresh convulsions. She swallowed it down and kept breathing: in for five seconds, pause. Out for five seconds, pause. In for five seconds...

“Warden,” the taller officer said, snapping to attention.

“Morning, Padlock,” Guardian said. “We’re here to see Boltstrike.”

“He’s in cell twelve,” Padlock said, unhooking a set of keys from his belt. He opened the door to one of the hallways and allowed them through.

The cells on either side of the hallway had numbers painted over their solid steel doors. Daring and Red approached the cell labeled 12 and looked through the double-paned window set into the door. A familiar light gray unicorn with a spiky white-blue mane lay on the bunk in the tiny cell, staring out the narrow double-paned barred window. The echo of thundering gunshots and crashing engines resounded in Daring’s ears as she laid eyes upon him.

Boltstrike looked up and scowled at them. “The hell are you doing here?” he snarled at Daring.

“Your friends have escaped,” Daring stated, biting back the retort that rushed up her throat. “Where’d they go?”

“Why would I tell you?” Boltstrike snapped back, turning his attention back to the window. “They’ve left me behind, how should I know?”

Daring snarled and hit the wall. “Dammit, Bolt, if you know—”

“Daring,” Red laid a hoof on her shoulder. “That’s not gonna help us.”

Daring glared at him but stepped back. Red walked up to the door and leaned against it.

“You were the one who did the heavy lifting among all of them,” Red said quietly. “You were the one who did all the fighting, who got your hooves dirty.”

Daring could hear the acid behind his words, the barely restrained venom as he forced himself to speak rationally to a pony who had murdered his fellow officers, but Boltstrike had looked up again.

“You were the big pony on the team, and they left you behind to rot,” Red continued. “Didn’t even tell you they were planning an escape, did they?” He leaned forward a bit. “So you’re gonna tell us, so you can show them that they made a big mistake leaving you behind. To show them that Boltstrike is not to be underestimated, ever again.”

Boltstrike stared at him for a few moments, then licked his lips and grunted. “I don’t know where they went,” he stated. “But I do know that Sparks had a cache set up at an old garage in the Industrial District. This old abandoned gas station near the Burger Princess. There was a car, weapons, and money in there.” He glared at Red. “You get that cowardly bitch for me.”

Red grunted and the two walked away from the cell, exiting the unit with Guardian.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” Red groaned.

“Okay, I need to check their mail lists now,” Daring said, feeling a small percent of the tension leaving her muscles as the door slammed shut and locked behind her.

“It’ll all be up front,” Guardian nodded, leading them back down the main hallway.

Red fell into step next to Daring, the filled evidence bags in his saddlebags marking each step with a soft shuffling noise. “I know you’re stressed out. Your wingtips haven’t stopped twitching since you got in here,” he muttered to her.

Daring glared at her appendages, the tips of which did indeed twitch like the legs of a dying insect. Damn traitors.

“I’m fine,” she grunted back.

“You’re not,” Red said. “If I spent a month in here, let alone a whole year, I wouldn’t want to come back either. So let’s get this done quick so you can get out of here.”

Daring swallowed down the bile that was threatening to bubble up her throat and nodded. “Right.”

Many steel doors later, they were back in the front office. As soon as the one door shut behind them, Daring felt her breathing slow. The battering ram against her chest began to slow, and her stomach stopped pretending that she was on the deck of a ship in the midst of a hurricane and instead started pretending she was on a motorboat in a particularly choppy lake.

“It’ll be in here,” Guardian said, unlocking the door to the office and guiding them inside. They proceeded to a storage room that had several filing cabinets stuffed into it. Guardian tugged open drawers and plucked out a few manila folders, which he levitated over to the detectives. “There. That’s our files on the escapees,” he explained. “It’ll have a list of their mail.”

Daring placed the folders on a table and began sorting through them, tossing rap sheets, disciplinary reports, and medical records aside in a mess.

“Yes, sure, go ahead and make more work for me,” one of the secretaries muttered in an acidic tone.

Ignoring her, Daring found the records for mail, long sheets of hoofwritten notes squeezed into columns indicating names and addresses. “Trace would be better for this,” she muttered to herself, drawing a hoof down the lists.

She studied them in silence for several minutes, with Red leaning over her shoulder. “Aha,” she finally declared. “They’ve all gotten mail from and sent mail to this address. A PO Box in the Everfree District.”

“We can check that out, but I doubt it’s gonna turn out to be anything,” Red grunted.

“And I can see about reassembling this,” Daring said, holding up the bag with the cut up pieces. “It might have a clue.”

“Okay, let’s get outta here,” Red said.

“Thank you for your help,” Warden said, shaking hooves with them both. “I hope we get them back soon, and I hope you find who killed Stone.”

“We will, Warden,” Red promised. With a final nod, the two exited.

Daring’s heart pattered in her chest as they walked back up the walkway to the gates, which creaked open at their approach. “See you later, convict,” Welkin sneered to Daring as they passed through the gates.

Ignoring her, Daring walked as quickly as she could to the passenger side of Red’s Diplomat and slid inside. Almost there, almost there…

The engine coughed to life and the car headed back down the dirt path, leaving Frostback Prison behind. Daring watched the brick walls in the rearview mirror until they vanished in the distance, and she felt the warm tingle of her magic return to her wings. Only then did she finally relax into the seat with a long sigh, her eyes closing in exhaustion.

Author's Note

That was how I felt after finishing writing this.

Some might give me flak for making Daring Do, badass adventurer extraordinaire, nervous and stressed out in this chapter, but having worked as a correctional officer, I can say with certainty that prison is an unpleasant place for anyone (and I was an officer; I didn't have to actually live in there!). Put bluntly, there is no way that going back to Frostback wouldn't have been a stressful experience for Daring. I just hope that I didn't go overboard with it.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Three: Weaving Paths

The first thing that Phillip noticed when he and Trace entered the inner offices of the precinct was a notice on the wall, pinned to a bulletin board:

FROM: Chief Cold Case
TO: All Officers

From now on, all officers are to wear bulletproof vests and walkie-talkies while on duty. With the increase in gang violence and activity, we need to take every precaution for not just our own safety, but the safety of our colleagues and the civilians we protect. All officers must receive training on the use of a walkie-talkie.

The memo was dated a full moon ago.

“I hear a lot of officers complaining about the weight of the vests,” Trace commented as they walked down the hallway. “Most of ‘em just haven’t trained with one since boot. I say at least Cold cares enough about us to get everypony vests and radios.”

“Plus, they keep you warm in the cold,” Phil pointed out, pushing open the door to the stairs.

Trace let out a soft chuckle. “True.” They descended the stairs to the basement laboratory, following the sound of classical music.

Doctor Suunkii and Twilight Sparkle were inside the lab. Twilight was currently sorting empty test tubes into a rack, placing them in and taking them out of the rack with a machine-like cycle of repetition. Suunkii was attempting to examine some traces underneath a comparison microscope, but he kept glancing up at Twilight with a small frown on his face.

“G’day, Twi, Suun,” Phillip greeted them.

“Hello, Phillip Finder, Detective Trace Evidence,” Suunkii nodded. “I assume that you are here to aid in the investigation of Stone Wall’s death. Doctor Mortis is currently examining the corpse in the morgue.”

“We’ve got some traces from the body that we think might help,” Trace said, lifting the evidence bags from his pack. “I want you to take a look at these soil samples first; we found them under his hooves, they might be from where he was abducted.”

“That is a fair assumption,” Suunkii nodded, taking the bag. He carefully scooped some of the sample onto a slide, placed a cover over it, and slid it into place beneath a microscope. “Twilight Sparkle, please retrieve the notebook on geological samples.”

Twilight didn’t seem to hear him, because she kept sorting test tubes and replacing them in racks, muttering to herself about organization and patterns.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Suunkii repeated, raising his voice. “Please retrieve the geology notebook.”

“What?” Twilight jumped. “Oh! Oh, right. Sorry, doctor.”

She retrieved the spiral-bound notebook from the shelf and levitated it over to Suunkii, who flipped it open and began to scan through it. “Twilight Sparkle, is there something that is diverting your attention?” he asked calmly.

Twilight flattened her ears against her head. “Sorry, doctor, I…” she stammered. “I’m just worried about Fla—er, Officer Sentry. I heard he was sent home with a concussion.”

“He’ll be fine,” Phillip reassured her.

“Are you sure?” Twilight asked quietly. “He’s been upset for a while, ever since he met Star Cluster again.” She bit on her lip and fidgeted in place. “Being sent home will tear him up inside; he’ll feel like he’s a failure.”

“Twilight,” Phillip cut in. “Worry about him later. He’ll be fine.”

Twilight frowned at him but sighed and nodded.

“Twilight,” Suunkii said to her. “Once we are done with our work here, I will permit you to go and see him.”

Twilight brightened noticeably at the prospect. “Thank you, doctor,” she smiled and set back to work.

“This is sediment from a forest,” Suunkii concluded, carefully prodding the soil sample with a scalpel. “I will know more in a few minutes. Phillip Finder, Detective Trace Evidence, perhaps your time would be better spent examining the body with Doctor Vitae Mortis.”

“Good plan,” Trace nodded. He exited the laboratory; Phillip followed him, feeling Twilight’s gaze on him for every step until the door shut behind him.

They proceeded down the hallway to the morgue and stepped inside. Vitae, who had donned a face mask and gloves, was currently bending over the body of Stone Wall, who laid on a stone slab, his chest already exposed via a Y-shaped incision. A tape recorder and a camera sat on a small table next to the slab.

“Don’t worry, Warden,” Vitae said, patting the corpse’s cheek. “We’ll find the guys.” She looked up as the stallions entered. “Masks and gloves, please!” she chirped.

“Yes, doctor,” Phillip said, retrieving some of said gear from the cardboard boxes next to the doorway and putting them on. As an extra thought, he also dabbed some peppermint-scented salve underneath his nostrils to block out the scent of death that hung over the body. “What’d you find?”

“Well, I can tell you this: Stone Wall did not go quietly,” Mortis said. “Look at all these defensive wounds.”

Indeed, Stone Wall’s forelegs were covered in minor cuts and bruises, and there were even red marks on his hooves, indicating that he had fought back against his attackers.

“He took quite a beating before he went down,” Mortis said. “The oldest wounds I noticed were these broken ribs.” She indicated some cracks amidst the exposed ribs in the body, spiraling from the fractured sternum and running underneath several other, larger cracks on the sides of his ribs. “These fractures, to me, look like a car crash; they’re from the steering wheel running into his chest.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Trace nodded.

“And there’s this,” Mortis added, pointing to a cut in between two ribs on the upper left chest. “It correlates to a stab wound on the chest. I’m willing to bet that was the finisher.

“I also found GSR on his right hoof,” Mortis continued, lighting up her horn. A dark grainy substance began to glow faintly on Stone Wall’s right hoof. “Looks like he tried to open fire to defend himself.

“Clearly, it didn’t work,” Trace commented dryly. He leaned in closer to the body’s mouth, his frown evident about his eyes. “Hang on, what’s that? There’s...blood on his teeth.”

Mortis leaned in and gently pulled Stone Wall’s lips back with her magic. There was indeed blood on the stallion’s teeth, and bits of flesh clung to the gaps.

“Looks like he bit somepony,” Mortis mused. “And he left behind some clues! Let’s get a sample.”

She took a cotton swab, gently wet it, and used it to carefully dab up some of the blood, then extracted some of the flesh with a pair of tweezers and placed it in a paper bag.

“Run those down to Doctor Suunkii, would you?” Mortis said, handing the samples to Trace. Trace nodded and exited the morgue.

“There might be more in his stomach,” Mortis mused. She plucked out a scalpel and set her eyes upon the small pink-red sac beneath the rib cage, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. “I’m going to have to cut him open. Now comes the fun part!”

Phillip took a step back and silently gave thanks that Daring wasn’t here. Mortis carefully cut the rib cage open with a set of bone pliers and removed the ribcage to expose more of the organs. Carefully, she extracted the lungs with her magic, examined them, and weighed them on a hanging scale, pausing to photograph each step. “Lungs have nothing of note,” Mortis stated into the microphone of the tape recorder. Carefully setting the lungs aside, she moved on to the heart.

“There is a stab wound in the heart, in the left ventricle,” Mortis stated into the microphone, examining the ragged cut into the heart. “It correlates to a knife wound on the exterior and the rib cage. Examination of the ragged wound indicates that it was done while he was struggling and conscious. There are signs of internal bleeding; this wound would have been fatal, causing unconsciousness within moments and death within three to five minutes.” She frowned for a moment. “My initial hypothesis that the message in his chest was carved while he was alive and conscious may need to be reevaluated: it is possible that he was fatally stabbed during the initial struggle, and the message was carved into his chest while he was unconscious, but still alive, which caused the bleeding I noted.”

“So somepony crashes his car, he puts up a fight and gets stabbed, and then the message is carved into his chest,” Phillip summarized.

“That, for the record, is consultant Phillip Finder,” Mortis added into the recorder. “And yes, it appears that way.”

The liver was then extracted and examined without comment, and then Mortis moved on to the stomach. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got in here,” she declared, taking out a scalpel. Carefully, she cut open the stomach; the stench of bile and partially digested meat filled the morgue, assaulting the noses of both observers. Phillip grunted, glad for the salve.

“Oh, hello,” Mortis said, reaching into the stomach with a pair of tweezers. She extracted a mass of flesh, bile still clinging to the strange, partially digested shape. Two small golden hoops pierced the meat.

“Is that...an ear?” Phillip asked, tilting his head to the side.

“The stomach does indeed contain a left ear,” Mortis reported. “Purple coloration; ragged edge indicates that Stone Wall bit this off somepony, likely an attacker.” She placed the ear in a bag. “I will perform an examination of this, but I think it’s safe to say if we find a purple pony missing their left ear, they probably are worth questioning.”

Trace leaned his head into the doorway. “Phil, Daring and Red are on the phone, and Suunkii’s finished up his examination of the soil.”

“Good,” Phillip nodded. “Keep working, doc.”

“Will do!” Mortis chirped as Phillip exited.

When Phillip returned to the lab, he found Twilight and Suunkii both still working at a microscope and Trace holding up a phone on the wall; as he approached, Trace held the phone out so that they could both hear and speak into the device. “Where are you guys?” Trace asked.

“An empty gas station in the Industrial District,” Red reported. “You know the one near the Burger Princess?”

“Yeah,” Trace nodded.

“Well, we talked to Boltstrike up at Frostback, and he said that Bright Sparks set up an emergency cache. It’s not far from Frostback; maybe they figured on getting caught one day and planned for it.”

“It’s exactly the kind of thing Sparks would’ve planned for,” Daring’s voice added.

“You just went there with no backup?” Trace asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“If Little Miss Explorer had her way, we would’ve,” Red grunted. “I had to tell her that if she wanted to get her head blown off in an ambush, she could do that when she wasn’t racking up a consultant fee.”

There was a quiet rustling of feathers in the background that sounded suspiciously like a certain pony giving another pony the Flying Feather. “It didn’t even matter; there was nopony here,” Daring added gruffly.

“What did you find out at Frostback?” Phillip asked.

Daring gave them a brief overview of how Bright Sparks’ associates had escaped. “Pretty sure that the stuff that they used came from that PO box,” she said. “We’ve already asked an officer to check out the post office.”

“We’ll dig up what we can from here,” Red said. “Once we get back, we’ll see if we can put together that puzzle Daring found.”

“Aces,” Phillip said. “We’ll keep looking into Stone Wall’s murder; he might’ve left something to identify one of his attackers. An ear he bit off and swallowed.”

“Yummy,” Daring said dryly. “All right, we’ll keep looking here. Good luck on your end.”

“You too,” Phillip nodded. Trace hung up the phone and they turned back to Suunkii and Twilight. “What’d you find?”

“We have examined the content of this soil sample, and we have concluded, based on the presence of certain sediment and pebbles, fragments of birch bark, and deer droppings, that it comes from the White Tail Woods,” Suunkii explained.

Twilight held up a map of Ponyville. She had circled Stone Wall’s home in the northwestern borders of the city. The White Tail Woods was represented by a patch of green coloring that ran through the northern part of the city, crossing through the Financial and Everfree Districts. “Personally, I’d check the western area. That’s where most of the deer population lives.”

Phillip took the map and carefully traced a pencil over a pathway to City Hall, a mostly straight line that passed through a wide throughway that went around the woods. “He must’ve been diverted somewhere,” he muttered. “But where?”

“Wait a minute,” Suunkii frowned. “I recall hearing some other officers complaining that there was construction on that road that morning. Here, I believe.” He pointed to a branching intersection, one road continuing towards the center of the city, the other heading into the woods proper.

“Hmm,” Phillip grunted. “Can you see if there’s any surveillance crystal footage of the construction?”

“I can speak to Stellar Lights,” Twilight nodded, exiting the lab.

“Trace, you’ve been saying you needed more exercise,” Phillip commented. “How about a nature walk? Could grab some tucker and check the post office on the way.”

“Can’t be worse than the gym,” Trace sighed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Phil, a moment,” Suunkii said.

Phillip studied Suunkii’s expression for a moment, then turned back to Trace. “This won’t take long.”

Trace shrugged and exited the lab.

“You should also check on Flash Sentry,” Suunkii stated.

“He’ll be fine,” Phillip stated.

“He may be physically fine, but his mind and spirit might require more assistance,” Suunkii said sternly. “He would benefit greatly from a heart-to-heart from you.”

Phillip blinked. “You sure?”

Suunkii sighed and shook his head. “I have always said this, Phil: for a pony of great intelligence, you can be incredibly dense at times. The boy looks up to you,” he stated. “It has been blatantly obvious to me, based on how he speaks to and of you. Twilight Sparkle is an excellent friend, and her visiting him would be of benefit to them both, but she is not an officer like you are. She has not seen or experienced many of the same things that you and Flash Sentry have, nor can she understand the perspective you have.” He laid a hoof on Phillip’s shoulder. “You, however, do understand. And understanding is what he needs.”

Phillip studied the floor for a few moments, then sighed. “You’ve got a point,” he acknowledged. “Maybe afterward. When I have time. Thanks, Suun.”

He exited the lab and climbed up the stairs. Never before had each step felt so heavy.

Daring looked around the empty garage that she and Red had found. The gas station had been abandoned for years, allowed to fall into decay: the two pumps outside had had their hoses removed long ago and were currently covered in graffiti, while the windows of the nearby convenience store had been smashed and the empty interior littered with cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, and other litter left behind by vagrants.

The attached garage, however, was free of this same litter. The open padlock and chain on the ground next to the opened door provided a clue as to how it had remained clean and unmolested. There were only a few items in the small room, dimly lit by a hanging lamp. A few barrels of oil with several sticks of dynamite attached to them stood along the back wall: a booby trap that had been thankfully disarmed when they arrived.

A few wooden crates were stacked against one side; two were still secured with chains and combination locks, but the rest were open. Red was currently bending over one crate, examining what few contents were left inside.

“Phony passports and IDs,” Red listed off. “Boxes of .30-06 ammo, most of them empty. Gun oil and other gun kit tools. Dragon’s Breath cocktails—I see they used the cheapest beer they could find.” He grunted and stood up fully. “None of that bodes well.”

Daring stared at the ground, tilting her head to the side. Amidst the dusty gray of the concrete were some faint dried droplets of dark green paint, most of them forming a perimeter around a large invisible rectangle in the ground. "Looks like they spray-painted it green," she stated, bending down lower and studying the thin layer of dust on the ground. “Red, did you bring a track wand?”

Red walked over to the crime scene kit that they’d set up at the entrance to the garage. Reaching far deeper into the small black box than should have been seemingly possible, he extracted a tape measure, a camera, and a wand that shone with faint purple energy. He bent down and slowly passed it over the ground. Faint tire tracks began to glow with the lavender light.

“Here, hold this,” Red instructed, passing her the wand. Daring held the wand up, tilting it to capture as much detail as possible for both the tracks. Red laid the tape measure out in between the tracks, then took some photographs of them both, providing wide, medium, and close-up shots.

“Okay, let’s see where they lead,” Red said, standing up. Daring followed him outside the garage, shining the wand at the ground. Hoofprints revealed themselves in a purple glow amidst the tire tracks, but all of them were in a tangled mess, indistinguishable from one another.

The tire tracks led to the asphalt outside the garage, where two police officers, a light tan jenny with a curly brown bob cut and an emerald green unicorn stallion, stood post to deter any onlookers. Cars rumbled up and down the street not far from them, some of them detouring into the Burger Princess mere yards away: the faint scent of melting cheese atop cooking hayburgers made Daring’s mouth water, reminding her how close it was to lunchtime, but she forced herself to stay focused.

The tire tracks were abruptly cut off near the road; the wand displayed a large patch of glowing light that looked rather like somepony had spilled a bucket of purple paint.

“They must’ve used some kinda spell to disrupt the tracks,” Daring concluded, turning the wand towards the street. The illumination revealed hundreds of tire tracks all overlapping one another, spread across the street to form a purple mass. Cars passing on the street braked suddenly, their drivers distracted by the strange glow. The result was a chorus of screeching brakes, honking horns and shouted curses and threats as traffic piled up.

“Whoops,” Daring muttered, quickly tucking the wand behind her back. Shaking their heads, the two police officers stepped forward to start directing traffic forward again.

“If nothing else, we can at least try to figure out what model of car they were using,” Red sighed. “Maybe we can ask Trace’s friend Lug Wrench; he’s forgotten more about cars than either of us will ever know.”

Daring let out a short laugh. “Probably take less time than asking Rubber—”

The rumble of an engine and the sound of tires on concrete made her look up, and she was treated to the sight of a blue pickup charging right at her, the headlights like the glowing eyes of a growling beast. “Holy shit!” she yelped, diving to the side and landing on her hooves. The metal beast rumbled past her, close enough that she felt the heat. The brakes screeched as the car halted and both the doors opened.

Ambush! An electric tingle ran up Daring’s spine and her hoof jerked towards the shoulder holster, sliding into the hoof strap and grasping the cold wooden grip of her revolver. Where’s Red? She glanced around and spotted him diving behind one of the gas pumps, his pistol already in hoof. With a flap of her wings, she huddled up against another pump, peering around the corner.

Out of the drivers’ side tumbled a snowy blue-white griffon, his eyes wide and his beak open as he panted. The Thrussian assault rifle in his claws chattered to life as soon as he hit the ground, sprinting towards the two police officers. The jenny dived behind a car while the unicorn instinctively threw a magical shield in front of him; the few bullets that struck the shield sang musically as the green field rippled. Ponies screamed as they abandoned their vehicles and fled in a terrified drove.

But the truck’s passenger calmly disembarked from the vehicle. This was a black griffon, his body adorned with scars, wearing a green headband. Three cutlasses rattled at his hip. His gaze locked onto Daring like a hawk’s and a grin crossed his beak.

“Oh, fuck,” Red breathed, terror in every letter. “It’s Roaring!”

The griffon’s claws went to the cutlasses, drawing a sword in each claw. He tossed one cutlass into the air: Daring watched the blade spinning upwards, the blade briefly catching the sunlight before he snatched it with his tail. With his free claw, he drew a boxy Griffonese pistol from a holster. All this was done in the time it took Red to pop out from behind cover and fire a single shot with his sidearm.

He missed. The griffon didn’t. The bark of the pirate’s pistol mixed with Red’s grunt of shock. Daring felt her heart suddenly leap into her throat as Red stumbled, his pistol tumbling from his hooves, then collapsed facedown, mouth open and eyes wide in horror. Blood ran from his chest and onto the concrete.

“No!” Daring screamed, standing up and opening fire. She felt every kick of the revolver rush down her foreleg and into her chest. Cackling, Roaring fired back at her as he charged in her direction; she barely noticed the hot kisses of the bullets sailing past as she zigzagged away.

Click.

Cursing beneath her breath, Daring fumbled for a speedloader as she opened the chamber of her gun, shaking the empty cartridges out.

Roaring flung the pistol at her face. She ducked and lunged forward, tilting the revolver back on the strap and drawing her kusarifundo with a snap. “Come on, motherfucker!” she roared.

Roaring let out a screech in response as the cutlass arced down towards her head. With a twitch of her wing, she dodged to her left, thrusting both her hooves up to meet the attack, her kusarifundo taut between her hooves. She caught his foreleg in the cord and corkscrewed it downwards, trapping his elbow against her chest. Textbook disarm and takedo—

Something flashed in the corner of her eye. Oh, fuck, the other sword!

She lurched away as the second sword, held in Roaring’s tail, stabbed at her. It missed by inches: the thick blade passed by so closely that she could see in detail the snaking runes and the twin black suns inscribed onto it. A bell rang faintly in the back of her mind, but the fact that this pirate was actively trying to kill her muted it.

Roaring tilted the blade with his tail and slashed it towards her neck. Releasing the kusarifundo, Daring threw herself backward, spreading her wings to catch the air. Roaring's claw snapped at her, but he only managed to seize the revolver; thinking quickly, Daring undid the hoof strap, freeing her from his grasp. With a flap, she flew away, the concrete scraping against her back. The chattering of the other griffon’s assault rifle echoed faintly in her ears.

With a hyena-like cackle, Roaring drew his third cutlass in his free claw and lunged at her, Daring’s kusarifundo flying off his wrist. Righting herself in midair with a twist, Daring spotted an abandoned crowbar laying on the ground. She dove for it, grasping the cold metal in her hoof, then spun around and swung it at her pursuer. The crowbar whistled through the air, a clean miss, and the blades of two cutlasses flashed towards her.

With a grunt, Daring spun away, narrowly evading the two blades. The third sword stabbed at her like the stinger of a scorpion, but she ducked beneath it, her hat tumbling from her head. Desperately, she seized Roaring’s tail and yanked back, trying to tug him off-balance.

Then a kick with the force of a sledgehammer rammed into her gut and all the breath was thrust from her lungs. Gasping, head spinning from shock, she barely noticed the blades slicing at her head again in time to duck.

Again a cutlass came down. Sucking in a gasp, Daring started to maneuver to the side, raising the crowbar to parry the blow.

The blade met the metal; then a thrill of horror ran down Daring’s spine as she witnessed the sword cleave the crowbar in half like it was made of paper! Daring threw herself to the side, but was too slow: the tip of the blade pierced her skin and carved a path down her body all the way to her pelvis.

The cold raced down her body as though she’d been dunked in ice water, quickly replaced by the horrible warmth of her blood running from the wound: the shock of the injury seemed to momentarily sever the connection between her brain and her body and she tumbled to the ground, the impact knocking her scream out of her lungs. She looked at the two halves of the crowbar on the ground next to her, severed cleanly in half, and suddenly remembered where she’d read about the three swords with the twin black suns carved into them.

“Asocrac,” she gasped out.

Roaring’s figure cast her in shadow; she looked up to see him grinning down at her.

“Aye, indeed,” Roaring hissed, drawing the cutlass in his right claw back to thrust into her heart. She tried to move, but the pain radiated from her chest to her forelegs, and they wouldn't move fast eno—

A crack of thunder pierced the air and Roaring stumbled with a grunt as a plume of red liquid suddenly erupted from his side. Turning, Daring saw that Red was standing up, clutching his bloody chest with one hoof and holding his Filly 1912 with the other shaking hoof.

Roaring looked up to see that the jenny officer was aiming her sidearm at him; the griffon who had driven the truck was now laying in the street in a pool of his own blood. “Drop the swords!” the officer barked, voice high-pitched with stress.

Daring drew a knee to her chest and kicked Roaring in the groin, crushing his family jewels beneath her hooves. The wheeze he let out and the slack-jawed look of pain on his face made her grin, despite everything. With a grunt, Roaring took off into the sky, quickly turning into a fading black dot in the sky, dodging the officer's fire.

Daring picked herself up off the ground, grunting as every movement sent shockwaves of pain up her spine; in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of the jenny, her voice trembling with shock, calling for an ambulance over the radio. Glancing up, she saw that the unicorn officer was lying in the street, staring sightlessly at the sky.

Standing slowly, gasping as every movement sent shockwaves of agony down her entire body, Daring forced herself over to Red, who had dropped his pistol and collapsed again. His chest was entirely painted with blood, and he gasped and wheezed with every breath.

“Red?” she said, leaning down over him. With a chill that felt like swallowing a gallon of ice water, she realized she could see right through his chest. Doffing her shirt, already red with her own blood, she pressed it against the bullet hole; her shirt quickly became entirely soaked. “Red, look at me. You’re gonna be okay," she panted.

“Holy shit, I’m tired,” Red mumbled.

“Red, keep your eyes open,” Daring urged, her throat going dry. She slapped his face lightly to try to keep him awake. “Come on, stay with us.”

Red’s eyes flickered. “Nah, I’m...I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute…”

“No, Red, stay awake! Red! RED!”

“Sing us a song, you’re the piano mare,” Trace sang quietly as he drove through the Whitetail Woods. “Sing us a song—”

“Trace, there,” Phillip pointed out the window. A disused pathway branched off the side of the road: even beneath the shade of the trees, the marks of recent tire tracks were clear on top of the heavy grass.

Trace pulled over and stopped, switching the engine off. Both stallions exited the car. A cool wind blew through the maple trees, making the few budding leaves on the tree shiver as though in excitement. The wind was accompanied by the melodies of songbirds. The sun shone down through gaps in the trees, providing strangely beautiful contrasts of shadow and light. A few stubborn patches of snow and ice clung to the ground.

Trace retrieved a tracking wand from the trunk of his car and handed it to Phillip. He bent down over the disused pathway and held up the wand. The glowing purple light revealed a set of small tire tracks.

“Hayson Wasp,” Trace observed. “I’d know that tread anywhere. It’s the same type of car Stone Wall drove.”

Phillip walked along the road, following the tracks. Before they reached the pathway, the Wasp tires jerked violently to the side, forced down the disused path by a second pair of larger tires. This larger set of tires trailed back to the side of the road.

“This is where it went down,” Phillip stated as Trace began taking photographs of the tracks. “He was driving up here; bogans were waiting in another car on the side of the road. When Stone Wall passed, they shoved him off the road; he went down the pathway.” He looked up at a tree next to the tracks. "Paint mark," he reported, leaning closer and peering through a magnifying glass. "Pale blue." He scraped some of the paint off into a plastic bag.

“Let’s see where that trail leads,” Trace commented.

They both walked up the dirt pathway, trotting alongside it to avoid stepping on the tracks. The birdsong continued but in a quieter tone. Something shifted in the maple trees beyond, prompting Phillip to look up. “What was that?”

“Probably a deer,” Trace muttered, not even bothering to look up. “Hey, there it is.”

A dark-gray Hayson Wasp was wrapped around a great oak tree. Phillip tilted the wand up to examine the ground. The pursuing truck stopped a few feet behind the car and three sets of hoofprints leaped from the vehicle, charging towards the car. Next to the wreckage was a mass of hoofprints amidst a pool of dried blood. Laying next to the scene were a few bullet cartridges.

“This is where it went down; they crashed his car, yanked him out, and stabbed him in the scuffle,” Phillip observed, bending down over the bloodstains. “Hell of a blue here. Think this is our bloke getting his ear bitten off.” He pointed to a conical spray of dark red blood on the ground. “Trace, get plenty of samples of that. Might get something out of it.”

“Right,” Trace nodded, taking several test tubes out of his saddlebags and bending down.

Phillip turned and noticed a trail of dark red droplets leading away from the site of the scuffle and back up the trail. “That's the one who got his ear bitten off," he mused, bending down to examine them. "Tall, about four foot. Around one-eighty, one-ninety pounds, judging by the depth of the impression. Looks like...yes, got a scar on his front left hoof. Knife wound? No, too ragged. Looks like a saw blade wound. Maybe construction..."

Another rustle in the trees made him pause. He looked up, scanning in between the trees, through the shadows and leaves.

“Just a deer,” Trace repeated, bending over the trail.

“Way too loud for a deer,” Phillip growled, one hoof going for his shoulder holster. The wind shifted, and he smelled them: mushrooms, rum, and too much gun oil.

And then he heard the clicks.

“Shield!” he barked, diving behind the wrecked car. Trace’s eyes widened, but he conjured up the shield just as the first volley came from the trees, rattling out of the assault rifles. The bullets pinged off of Trace’s shield but failed to penetrate.

Trace and Phillip both returned fire, aiming for the dark shapes behind the flashes of muzzle fire. The griffons, their bodies adorned in camo fatigues, sprinted away, continuing to fire at them. “Move up!” Trace shouted to Phillip, advancing behind his shield.

Something shifted behind Phillip. He turned around, but it was too late: claws dug into him and the ground was yanked away from his hooves. The air rushed past his ears, his heart rate accelerating as he watched the treetops spiraling away from him.

“Let go!” he shouted, instinctively flailing within the claws that had seized his shoulders. He felt blood running down his shoulders.

Dozens of feet above the ground, high enough that the cold air was biting into his skin, the griffon who had grabbed him spun around to face him, pulling his gun from his foreleg and flinging it to the ground before seizing his throat. He found himself looking into two yellow eyes that burned with hatred; the left one was adorned with a vicious red scar.

“Whitestone,” he choked out.

The pirate captain clenched her claw into a fist and drove it into Phillip’s gut like a pile driver. The pain of broken ribs flared across his chest and he doubled over, gasping, looking down at the ground so far beneath him.

“That was for Borea!” Whitestone snarled. “My crewmate that your whore shot in the throat!”

She drew her fist back and punched him again. “That’s for Grease Monkey, who died in prison because of you!” She bellowed and pumped her fist into his gut three more times. “And that’s for Satsuma! My bosun! My friend! Zugzwang slashed her throat and scooped her eyes out all for you!”

Coughing and wheezing, his chest on fire and his head spinning from the lack of air, Phillip looked up at Whitestone, who sneered.

“And this is for me. Adjö, Finder."

She let go, and gravity seized Phillip in its merciless grasp, pulling him down to where death awaited.

Author's Note

Quick, Phil! Flap your arms! Can't hurt, at least.

"Adjö" is goodbye in Swedish/Griffonese.

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Case Nine, Chapter Four: A Short Respite

The air whistled past his ears; his limbs flailed on their own power, desperately scrambling to grab something, anything, to slow his descent. He screamed, panic sending his voice rising as fast he was falling. He could see the tops of the trees racing up to meet him; a quick mental calculation gave him less than four seconds before he hit the ground.

An oak tree branch reached out to him. He snatched at it; the thin branch bent beneath his weight and he stopped for a heartbeat. The sudden halt in momentum wrenched at his left shoulder and he cried out, but despite the pain that radiated up his foreleg, he refused to let go of the branch.

But a moment later, the branch snapped and gravity seized him again. A cry tore itself out of his throat, and he turned to see the ground fifty feet below.

I’m dead. I’m sorry, Daring. He closed his eyes and prepared for the crash, briefly wondering if he would live long enough to feel it.

But then, he felt like a warm blanket had wrapped itself around his body, the static electricity making his coat stand on end, and his falling slowed down. He opened his eyes to see that a golden aura was surrounding his body, leaving him hanging upside-down a few feet off the ground.

Below him, Trace was crouching behind the wreckage of the car, his horn alight. His face was creased with effort, sweat trickling down his brow.

“I’ve got you!” he grunted, gasping with effort.

A whiff of rum brushed across Phillip’s nose. He turned to see that one of the pirate griffons, a husky, sweating brown griffon, was emerging from behind a tree. The barrel of the assault rifle was swinging around to bear. The other pirate was slumped against a trunk, one bronze claw clutching his gut as blood trickled between his talons.

Phillip’s left hoof flew to the pocket in his vest and drew his boomerang. The faint tingle of magic that flew between the wood and his hoof was so familiar he barely noticed it, but he knew even before he drew his foreleg back that the weapon would go where he commanded it. With a snap of his wrist, he flung the boomerang out.

True to his command, the weapon spun through the air with a high-pitched whistle. The griffon turned to track the object but was too slow to react: the wood smacked into his forearm with a satisfying crack that sounded of broken bones. The rifle fell from his claws and he bent over, clutching his forearm and screaming in pain.

At that moment, Trace grunted in pain and his horn doused itself with a harsh snap. The aura holding Phillip up disappeared and he fell headfirst towards the ground.

No big deal. Eight feet is better than a hundred. Stretching out his forelegs, he landed on his hooves, allowing his limbs to bend beneath his momentum as he tucked into a forwards roll. The impact shuddered through his bones and down his injured shoulder and back, but he gritted his teeth against it. A whistle sounded in his ear and he reached up just in time to catch the boomerang as it returned.

A screech resounded from above. Even before he looked up, Phillip was diving to one side, reaching for the pocket that held the smoke bombs. He caught the glowing yellow eyes aimed at him like spotlights, Whitestone diving down like a torpedo from the skies, claws extended.

He also saw the glimmer of his dropped revolver on the ground mere feet from him. His left hoof closed around the small sphere of tinfoil, and he chucked it upwards. The smoke bomb struck Whitestone in the eye and immediately detonated, created a thick cloud of foul-smelling smoke. Whitestone shrieked in pain and fury, spreading out her wings to halt her momentum.

“Trace, cover!” Phillip barked at the detective as he dived for the revolver. Trace shook his head, squinting, and fired his pistol at the other griffons. Both of them crouched behind the cover of trees, even though most of Trace’s shots went wild.

Phillip hit the ground and rolled. His hoof closed around the gun’s grip and he rolled onto his back, aiming upwards at the griffon. Whitestone was already wiping her face, eyes refocusing on him.

The iron sights settled over her snowy white chest. Shoot shoot shoot!

He fired, slapping the trigger hard. The gun kicked in his hooves as though enraged at the harsh touch.

Whitestone screamed and jerked in midair, wings fluttering in panic. A red liquid rained down upon Phillip as he fired again, the movement propelled by fury rather than calm precision.

The griffon captain spun in midair and banked away. Grunting, Phillip pushed himself back up to his hooves, continuing to fire, every shot missing.

Whitestone snatched up the griffon that Trace had wounded, heaving him onto her back and beating a retreat. “Covering fire!” she shrieked at the other griffon, blood bubbling from her beak.

The one with the broken forearm grabbed the assault rifle in his other limb and held the trigger down as he flew backward, retreating. Bullets zipped and sang as they flew past Phillip and Trace, who both crouched down behind the wrecked car. When the volley finally ended, both of them looked up to see the flying figures disappearing into the distance.

The empty revolver, smoke rising from the snub-nosed barrel, tumbled from Phillip’s grasp as he leaned against the car, panting. As adrenaline left him, exhaustion seeped deep into his bones; his heart pounded frantically against his heaving chest, and the shoulder that he’d nearly dislocated started screaming every time he moved it.

“You okay?” Trace asked, rubbing his head.

“Aces,” Phillip muttered. “Thanks for the save.”

“Yeah, what’re friends for?” Trace managed to grin. His smile very quickly turned into a grimace and he clutched his temple. “Motherfuck, my head! You gotta lose some weight, I burnt myself out lifting you up.”

Phillip picked up his sidearm and opened up the chamber, commanding his hooves to stop shaking. “We should go,” he said as he plucked a speedloader from an inside pocket and used it to reload. “We just scared them off; they’ll be back if we hang around.”

“Agreed,” Trace nodded, snapping a new clip into his sidearm. “I need to see a doctor anyway.”

The two of them trotted quickly back up the disused pathway, Phillip gritting his teeth with every step of his left foreleg that sent fresh fire and ice up into his shoulder, Trace groaning and clutching his head every few steps. When they reached the Commander, both of them climbed in and locked the doors as soon as they were shut. Trace fumbled for the key and turned it in the ignition. “C’mon, Sweetpea, let’s get outta here,” he muttered as the car roared to life.

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Phillip asked, noticing Trace wincing out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m okay,” Trace grunted, steering the car down the road. Phillip went back to staring out the window, watching the skies and the shaded trees for any sign of a griffon’s wings or a gun barrel.

Neither stallion breathed easy until the Whitetail Woods was behind them and they were back on the public, well-traveled highway that provided the main route in and out of the Financial District. Trace started heading eastward. “Ponyville General isn’t too far.”

The radio abruptly crackled to life. “Bishop Nine, Dispatch. Come in, Bishop Nine.”

Trace lit up his horn to try to grab the radio, then grunted in pain and immediately doused it, taking the microphone in his hoof instead. “Bishop Nine, go ahead.”

“Be advised, Red and Daring are both in hospital,” the dispatcher reported.

Phillip felt his heart drop into his stomach. “What?” he cried, head whipping around.

“What happened?” Trace asked, eyes wide.

“Both were ambushed by griffons,” the dispatcher continued. “Daring is wounded; Red is in surgery for a bullet wound.”

Both stallions barely heard the last words. Trace was already replacing the microphone, one hoof pressing the accelerator into the floor as he weaved through traffic.

Red was laying on the surgery table, surrounded by doctors in their sterile coats. A tube was jammed down his throat, allowing him to breathe. His eyes were closed, flickering occasionally in his anesthetic-induced sleep.

Trace watched through the observation window in silence. He could faintly hear the murmur of the doctors and the steady beeping of an EKG through the thick glass. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asked, clutching an ice pack to his forehead.

“He’s stable, but they’re still trying to repair the damage,” the doctor next to him explained patiently. “That bullet went all the way through him, there’s a lot to repair.” He turned to the unicorn and frowned. “Sir, I told you to stop messing with the restraint ring.”

Trace glared at the black metal ring that encircled the base of his horn. “It feels like my horn’s been lopped off,” he grunted.

“The strain of the magic you used was too much for you,” the doctor explained again. “That ring is for your own safety; if you try to use any magic before your horn has time to repair itself, you could make yourself worse. You have to keep it on for at least two days.”

Trace growled. “Just get my partner back on his hooves,” he grunted.

“We’re doing our best,” the doctor assured him, giving him a pat on the shoulder before walking away.

Trace pressed a hoof against the window. Red’s eyes flickered; the machine that breathed for him continued its slow rhythm of hisses, backed up by the beeping. The doctors continued their work calmly.

“Hang in there, buddy,” he whispered, slowly lowering his hoof. He turned and walked out the door of the observation room, then down the hallway, staring at the white tile floor that was far too shiny and clean beneath his hooves.

He made it into a small waiting area, which was little more than four rows of chairs and some tables with magazines in front of a wall of large windows that overlooked the city. Trace sat down at one of the windows and stared downwards, watching cars passing by on the roads below. Tree branches twitched and shivered outside, so close that he could reach out and touch them if he could open the window; the budding leaves flickered faintly in the wind. As he watched, an acorn fell from the closest branch.

"Detective?" a quavering voice asked. Trace turned to see Officer Esme, the jenny who'd accompanied Daring, walking up to him, head down. A recent graduate, not exemplary in her class, but she was smart, followed orders, and knew how to make ponies smile. She paused in front of him and gulped.

"I...Jade..."

Trace closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Esme's partner Jade River had graduated two years ago near the top of his class. A little shy, slow to accept praise and quick to accept correction. Bright. A good kid.

He'd found many good kids faceup on the sidewalk before.

"I'm sorry, Esme," Trace offered, the only thing he could.

Esme sniffled, swallowed, then reached up for the badge on her uniform. With a slow, careful movement, she unpinned the badge from her breast and handed it to Trace. Not once did she look up. "I'm sorry, sir," she muttered, voice flat with exhaustion.

Trace nodded and slowly took the badge. "I understand," he said, trying to force comprehension and sympathy into his voice, past the fatigue. "You're a good kid, Esme. You'll find something better for you."

Esme nodded, still unable to meet his gaze, then turned and walked away, head lowered with defeat. Trace stared at her shield in his hoof, trying to think of what to tell Jade's family.

A sudden shouting caught his attention, one hoof going for the holster beneath his coat as his head turned up the opposite hallway, towards the source.

“I said I’m fine!” a female voice protested.

“For the fifteenth time, you need to rest,” a male voice replied, every syllable strained by the failing support of limited patience.

Trace rolled his eyes. “Well, I wonder who that could be,” he muttered to himself, hauling himself back up onto his hooves. He trotted down the hall and entered the room from which the argument was emerging.

Phillip, his left foreleg wrapped in a sling and cast and an ice pack strapped to his shoulder, was currently trying to keep Daring Do in the bed.

“I am not just gonna lie here on my ass and wait!” Daring shouted, trying to get up again and failing, both because Phillip was firmly pushing her down and because she winced and clutched her side, which was heavily wrapped in bandages. He could see a light orange salve on her skin around the edges of the bandages. Her foreleg was also linked via an IV drip to a blood bag hanging from a stand next to the bed.

“You’re not just gonna lie on your ass,” Phillip said coolly. “You’re gonna stay here and rest and heal up while those potions repair the cut and then get back to work.”

“You okay?” Trace asked.

“I’m fine,” Daring growled through gritted teeth, then winced and clutched her side again. “Be better once the pain medicine kicks in.”

“Bollocks. You’ve got a slice down your entire body that’s healing, you’re not fine,” Phillip stated.

“What happened?” Trace asked. “Dispatch said you were ambushed.”

“Yeah,” Daring grunted, reluctantly climbing back onto the mattress. “By Roaring and another idiot who got himself shot.” She paused for a beat, her lip thinning. "He shot that kid," she muttered to herself, blinking slowly once.

Trace’s eyes widened. “Roaring?” he asked. “As in, a black griffon with a green headband and three swords? As in Whitestone’s first mate?”

“Yeah,” Daring nodded, shaking off the grief for the moment.

“And you fought him?” Trace continued. “You fought Roaring and lived?”

“I’d be shocked, too,” Daring nodded. “He’s got the Swords of Asocrac.”

“The what now?” Trace asked.

“Three mystical swords from the seventeenth century,” Daring explained. “I remember reading about them in a book on griffon history. Asocrac, also known as the Golden King, once made an alliance with a warlock. He had the warlock forge three swords, one each for him and his two sons. The swords took three weeks to forge; the warlock needed another month to finish his spell.”

She shifted on the mattress. “When he was done, he presented the swords to the King. He explained that the swords were enchanted so that the more blood they absorbed, the stronger and sharper they would become.”

“So how’d a pirate get his claws on them?” Trace asked.

“Asocrac was so pleased with the gift that he ordered the warlock to be executed so that no one could make a stronger weapon,” Daring continued the story. “With the warlock’s last breaths before he was beheaded, he hurled a death curse at the Golden King and his sons Ilah and Rutsah, declaring that each of them would die by the swords he’d made for them. Sure enough, Ilah and Rutsah teamed up to take the throne for themselves and killed their father. The kingdom had barely buried Asocrac when the princes killed each other in a duel. The swords were lost, passed down from claw to claw.”

She let out a breath. “Of course, I thought it was just a legend. And then I saw the twin black suns on the blades, and he cut that fucking crowbar in half like a breadstick.”

Phillip’s eyebrows widened. “You’re pulling our legs.”

“No bullshit,” Daring said. “Those swords have got over three hundred years of blood absorbed into them.”

“Fair suck of the sav,” Phillip breathed, sitting down and mopping his forehead.

“I have no idea what the fuck you just said, but I’m with you there,” Trace nodded.

“Trace!” a male voice called, accompanied by running hoofsteps. A dark gray unicorn with oily black hair and the cutie mark of a crossed wrench and tire iron sprinted into the room, his glasses nearly tumbling from his face. “You okay?” he asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“I’m fine, Lug,” Trace said, managing a small smile even as he continued clutching the ice pack to his head.

“What about Red?” Lug Wrench asked.

“He…” Trace blinked and swallowed. “He’s gonna be okay.”

Lug Wrench nodded. “Okay. Okay.” He looked at Phil and Daring. “And, uh, what about you two?”

“I’ll be fine if I can get out of here,” Daring said, trying to get up again.

“You are staying in that bed if I have to sit on you,” Phillip stated firmly, pushing her back down. Daring glared daggers at him but obeyed.

“There is something you can do for us, Lug,” Trace said. “We took photographs of some tire tracks at two scenes. You think you can try to figure out what models they are?”

Lug Wrench visibly brightened, his brown eyes shining slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that!”

Trace reached into his coat and handed him the photographs from the Whitetail Woods and from the garage cache. Lug Wrench walked over to the table and sat down. “Anypony got a magnifying glass?”

“Here,” Phillip said, extracting a magnifying glass from his pocket with some difficulty and handing it to Lug Wrench. The unicorn bent over the photographs, murmuring to himself.

“Okay, the one in the woods is a heavier SUV,” he reported. “The wide base, heavy weight on the dirt, height of that paint scratch, and biggest of all, the uneven way it passes over the edge of the road. With those measurements, I’d bet anything that it’s a Global C series van.”

“How sure are you?” Phillip asked.

“Stake my shop on it,” Lug Wrench nodded, his back straightening with confidence. “I’ve been around cars since I was old enough to carry pop’s wrench. I can recognize any tire tracks.”

“I trust him,” Trace said. “I’ve consulted with Lug on cases before. He’s never been wrong.”

“Works for me,” Daring shrugged. Phillip nodded.

“Now, this one,” Lug Wrench said, looking at the tire tracks from the garage. “Hmm. Based on the wheelbase, the turning diameter, and most importantly, the harsh acceleration on that turn based on the way the tires dug into the asphalt like that...Chevroneigh Sedan.”

“Good,” Daring nodded. “Now we can start working on finding Sparks.”

Trace blinked at her. “Do you have any idea how many dark green Chevroneigh Sedans are on the streets?”

“Well, there were about one hundred and thirty Sedans sold in the last year alone,” Lug Wrench chimed in. “If we're talking about all the ones out there now—”

“Do me a favor,” Daring interrupted. “Find a dictionary and look up ‘rhetorical.’”

“It’s somewhere to start,” Phillip stated. “We can get Detective Rubber to help out with that, get Cold to put out an announce—” He glared at Daring, who was trying to get out of bed. “The more time I waste making sure you stay here is less time I can work on this.”

Daring gave him a glare that could’ve killed a pony but settled back onto the mattress. “As soon as I can move without it hurting, I’m out of here,” she grumbled.

Phillip kissed her on the forehead, even though she didn’t react. “Doc said you’ll be apples tomorrow morning. You can get back on the case then.”

“Whatever,” Daring grumbled, rolling over onto her side and pulling the blankets over her head.

Phillip sighed and nodded to Lug. “Thanks. We should get back to the precinct.”

“I...I’d rather stay here and wait until I hear about Red,” Trace muttered. “I’ll call Rubber and have him start working.”

“I can stay with you,” Lug offered. “We can talk about those new rims I’ve gotten for you.”

Trace managed a weak smile. “Sounds good.”

“Right. I’ve got some other work to do.” He laid a hoof on Daring’s shoulder beneath the covers. “See you in the morning,” he whispered. Daring just growled at him.

Phillip, Lug, and Trace exited the room. With a final nod, Phillip started to walk off towards the stairs towards the exit.

Right, what now? he pondered as he carefully descended the stairs, trying not to jostle his injured foreleg. I could speak to Rubber, but Trace said he’d cover that...check in with Suunkii? Maybe—

Suunkii’s voice suddenly echoed in his ears: “The boy looks up to you.” He paused on the landing, leaning against the wall and silently thinking for a long time.

“Ahh,” he finally grunted. “He’s right.” He descended to the bottom of the stairs and exited through the front doors. It was just at the point where afternoon was starting to blend into evening; the sun was starting to kiss the western horizon, the air felt cooler, and the activity around seemed to be taking a more sluggish pace, as though the city itself was preparing for the day to end.

He hailed a cab and gave the griffon cabbie Joyful Sound’s address.

Back upstairs in her room, Daring threw the covers off her head and huffed angrily. “Stupid doctors,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Ow!” she added a moment later as a flash of pain ran down her torso, her muscles protesting at the sudden movements.

She sighed and looked down at the bandages. The memory of the sword cleaving the crowbar in half, the shudder of the impact running down her forelegs, then the horrible cold flash of pain and the scent of her own blood as the blade cut into her flesh.

He nearly killed you.

She shook the thought off with a small shudder. Part of the job. He wasn’t the only one who managed to get close to you.

She glanced at her saddlebag, which was laying in the chair next to her. A spark flew through her mind. The letter! I forgot all about it.

She sat up with some difficulty and reached into the bag, extracting the plastic bag with the scraps of paper from Sledgehammer’s cell. With a few winces and being careful not to knock the stand over, she walked over to a table and placed the puzzle pieces before her.

“At least I’ve got something to do now,” she muttered, setting to work.

It took her a little more than an hour, but she managed to assemble the letter, only to find herself staring at a new puzzle. The letter itself was hoofwritten but appeared to be completely innocent.

Dear Sledgehammer,

Today was a hard day. They had to tow
Old Whinny’s car. You know how much he loved that
hoary old thing! He kicked up quite a fuss, but I
racked my brains and managed to get
your old friend out of a jam. He’s
irked, of course, but sometimes life plays trix
like that! Anyway, I
loved that letter you sent me last week! A
correspondence from you is always
terrific! I really hope your
eating enough in there: I hear the food is terrible!
Tomorrow is another day. Keep your chin up, things will get better soon!
Your Loving Aunt

Daring stared at the letter for several seconds, rubbing her forehead in a futile attempt to alleviate the headache that had been building up for the past few hours. Sledgehammer wouldn’t have ripped the letter up if it wasn’t important...but what did this mean?

“Ugh,” she muttered, rubbing both her temples with her hooves. “Stupid headache.”

It was at this point that she suddenly realized how tired she was; her eyelids were growing heavier by the second and her limbs felt like she had lead weights tied to them. “Stupid blood loss. Stupid pain medicine,” she mumbled, her words slurring slightly. She glared at the blood bag hanging from the IV stand next to the bed.

One other thing before sleep claimed her. She leaned over and groped for the telephone next to the bed, grasping it and holding it up to her ear. Shaking off the growing cobwebs in her brain, she dialed in the number for the operator.

“Operator, I need Rainbow Dash,” she said into the hoofset. “Bell River one-one-one-two-one-zero.”

“Connecting you now,” the operator replied, followed by a series of clicks. The phone rang four times, then another voice spoke.

“You got the Dash, what’s up?”

“Kid, I need your help.”

Author's Note

Anyone who can figure out the eldritch abomination that Asocrac is a nod to gets a cookie.

This and the next chapter are just going to brief breather chapters to set up some other work. This has been a very action-focused case, and it'll be good to catch our breath.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Five: Family and History

“Cold, dear, really, you need to relax a little,” Margaret Mare sighed for the umpteenth time.

“We can’t take that chance, Madam Mayor,” Cold Case replied from the opposite end of the room. The two of them were standing in a living room that was the size of some apartments. The center of the room was dominated by a large, green felt game table, currently covered by a flat tabletop. Sofas of dark brown earth colors surrounded the perimeter, standing atop lush carpeting. Hanging on the wall were framed maps and photographs of Ponyville’s history, from its founding to modern day.

“Cold, how many times must I tell you?” Margaret Mare sighed from behind the small bar in the corner of the room, where she was fixing two strawberry daiquiris. “It’s Margaret.”

“I’m on duty, so it’s Madam Mayor,” Cold Case replied, staring out the large bulletproof glass window that filled the room with sunlight. Fifteen stories below, two flags, the Ponyville city flag, and the Equestrian flag, fluttered on small poles in front of the high-end apartment entrance. The parking lot before them was mostly filled with cars of every brand and color.

But today there were three black and white cruisers parked in the front of the doors. Today there was an officer in the front lobby, three officers standing in the hallway outside the door of the top floor suite, and two officers with rifles on the rooftop.

“Cold, do you know how many death threats I’ve received in my twenty years as Mayor?” Mayor Mare sighed, placing both drinks on a tray and carrying it over to the unicorn. “Granted, none of them were as theatrical, but--”

“None of them also involved killing another pony,” Cold Case interrupted, frowning at the daiquiris. “And I don’t drink on the job.”

Margaret Mare smirked. “You certainly drink when writing term papers,” she commented.

Cold Case turned away, but not fast enough to cover up the color rushing to her cheeks. “I thought we agreed to never speak of that,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, it was an excellent term paper!” Margaret laughed as she took a sip from her own drink. “Your history professor certainly thought so; he gave you an A on that paper!” She chuckled at Cold’s increasing blush. “I keep saying you should’ve taken my advice and done the rest of your papers drunk.”

“I’m sure that would’ve made an entertaining year,” a male voice said, entering the room. A tall dark gray donkey, his reddish mane streaked with silver, trotted into the room, adjusting his bow tie. “Hello, Cold.”

“Michael,” Cold Case nodded. “How’s work?”

“Well, can’t say it’s every day I get a police escort home,” Michael smiled, greeting his wife with a kiss. “But I think we’re doing all right. You know, the Foal Free Press’ numbers have been going up ever since you became Chief. You’re the best thing that ever happened to my paper!”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve been able to entertain your readers,” Cold deadpanned, turning back to the window.

“Still no sense of humor,” Michael sighed, shaking his head.

“She lost it when she dropped out of college in junior year and went to the police academy,” Margaret sighed, handing the second daiquiri to Michael. “Though, to be fair, it was pretty clear that college was boring you. You had a calling in the force, and you’ve answered it brilliantly.”

A small smile slipped through Cold Case’s mask. “Well, political science was clearly your calling,” she commented. “You certainly have a habit of never shutting up.”

Margaret stuck her tongue out at Cold. “Now, come, dear,” she gestured to her husband. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of ideas for that novel you’re working on.”

Michael followed his wife towards the doorway the next room. “Margaret,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you’re not worried?”

“Of course I’m worried,” Margaret Mare admitted, reaching for the door. “But not as worried as I would be if I didn’t have good ponies, good officers, surrounding me.”

The squeak of the door opening was punctuated by a startled yelp, and the mayoress turned to see the shaking barrel of a revolver aimed at her face. Cold Case whirled around, drawing her pistol from its shoulder holster as her magic seized the Mayor, flinging her to the ground. “Drop it!” she barked at the intruder.

The dark red mare screamed again and tossed the revolver to the floor, raising her hooves. “I’m sorry!” Nervous Nellie squeaked.

“Nellie, what were you doing?” Margaret scolded her assistant, picking the revolver up off the floor. “And how did you get into my gun safe?”

“I saw the combination over your shoulder once, ma’am,” Nellie admitted, still trembling and watching as Cold slowly lowered and holstered her weapon. “And I was patrolling the rooms. You know, just to make sure nopony was here.”

Mayor Mare smiled and patted Nellie’s shoulder. “Nellie, I appreciate it, but you should really go home and get some rest.”

“No can do, ma’am,” Nellie declared, straightening up. “If some assassin wants to get to you, they’ll have to go through me first. I’ve got a pot of extra-strength percolating already!” She tried to smile, but it came out looking like a grimace, complete with an eye twitch that spoke of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

Margaret sighed and shook her head. “All right, then. But no more prowling around, all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nellie nodded, taking her place at the mayor’s side. She shot a nervous, apologetic grin at Cold Case, who simply stared icily at her.

Cold Case turned and looked back out the window, scanning the area outside, awash in the golden and orange hues of sunset. A few cars came and went up the narrow drive that connected the apartment’s driveway to the main street. Neighboring the apartments to the south was an office building; to the north was a shopping mall with a high-end restaurant on the top floor. The great neon sign depicting the restaurant's logo, a baguette and a bowl of soup with a spoon in it, flickered on and off in golden light.

“Roof units, anything to report?” she spoke into the walkie-talkie strapped to her coat.

“Roof One, negative,” a voice replied. “Looks like the restaurant’s getting ready to close for the day.”

“Roof Two, negative,” another voice said. “They all closed for business a little over an hour ago.”

“Copy that. Keep watching the skies,” she stated and followed the trio into the dining room.

Flash Sentry and Joyful Sound lived in a humble apartment complex in the northern borders of the Everfree District, a four-story brick edifice that stood amidst a long line of similar buildings. Phillip could see the steeple of the Temple only a few blocks away, easily within walking distance.

Phillip approached the front door and examined the mailboxes, finding that number five was labeled “J. Sound and F. Sentry” in flowing letters. Stepping through the unlocked door, he ascended up the narrow, creaking staircase to the second floor and walked down the hallway to the door marked number 5.

He could hear faint voices from inside; three of them, two female, one male. He paused at the door.

“He’s probably fine,” he muttered to himself. “He doesn’t need me.”

His hooves, however, refused to turn and head back up the hallway to the stairs. He shifted his weight in place, frowning.

“Sounds like he’s got things in hoof,” he muttered to himself.

Still he couldn’t convince his hooves to move. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice urged him: Get your arse through that door, you bogan.

Phillip sighed and mopped his brow. He reached up and knocked at the door. Hoofsteps sounded from behind the oak door, accompanied by the tapping of a cane, and the door opened.

“Who is it?” Joyful Sound asked, her blue eyes staring at the center of his chest.

“It’s Phil,” he said quietly.

“Phillip!” Joy said, her eyes widening in happiness. “Come on inside.” She stepped to one side to allow him to enter.

Phillip stepped through, the sky blue carpet tickling his hooves. He followed behind Joyful and entered the living room. Flash was sitting on the couch, staring at his hooves, holding an ice pack in his lap. Twilight Sparkle was sitting next to him, one hoof on his back.

Flash looked up at Phillip as he entered. His face was haggard, his blue eyes dull and lifeless. “Hey, Phil,” he muttered.

“What happened to your arm?” Twilight asked, her eyes wide with shock and concern.

“Pulled the shoulder, it’s fine,” Phillip waved the question off. “You okay, Flash?” he asked, sitting down on a cushy couch on the opposite side of the coffee table.

Flash looked back down at the floor. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“No, you’re not fine,” Twilight replied. “You’ve barely spoken at all since I got here twenty minutes ago.”

“Maybe because I don’t have anything to say,” Flash grunted at her.

Twilight frowned in thought for a moment, then sighed. “Flash, I’m not going to give up on you,” she stated patiently. “But this would go so much easier if you opened up and talked to us.”

“I don’t—!” Flash started to snap at her but stopped himself when she flinched.

“Flash, they just want to help you,” Joyful chided gently as she trotted into the kitchen.

Flash sighed. “Look, I appreciate the help, but I...I don’t think this is something I can talk about.”

“Why not?” Twilight asked.

“It’s because you need somepony who understands to help,” Phillip said quietly.

Flash looked up at him, his eyes suddenly showing a hesitant hope, and nodded. The rattling of cups from the kitchen told them all that Joyful was preparing tea.

“When Zugzwang showed up and pounded you, it hurt,” Phillip said. “You’re supposed to be the shield of the ponies, the one who stands up to the bad guys. And he just took you down like you were some ankle-biter big-noting yourself.”

Flash blinked a couple of times as he tried to translate the slang, then nodded. “Yeah.” He gritted his teeth; his front hooves shook a little. “I’ve been in fights before: I’ve won more than I lost, and I’ve been training hard. But he…” He made a strange, choked noise in his throat and looked down, clenching his shaking hooves together.

“It scared you,” Twilight said quietly. “Being beaten down. Being helpless.”

Flash looked up, his eyes wet and blazing with quiet fury, and nodded. “Let me show you something.” He stood up and walked down a short hallway, with Twilight and Phillip following.

They reached a bedroom at the end of the hallway. The walls of the bedroom were decorated with posters of comic book superheroes, rock n’ roll bands, and motorcycles, covering up most of the yellow flower-print wallpaper. The bed was rumpled and littered with comic books. A stack of records and a record player sat in the corner of the room, along with a red and white acoustic guitar on a stand. A small bookcase stood next to the dresser and closet; the bottom shelf had books on sensational criminal cases, law, forensic sciences, and self-defense, while the entire top shelf held the entire collection of Ogres and Oubliettes guidebooks, though they were all out of order. Twilight stared at the shelf, her eye twitching.

Flash opened up the closet and took down a cardboard box, which he set on the bed. He opened this up and started removing the contents. First out of the box was a photograph of himself as a colt and Joyful with a tall orange stallion with a short white beard. The stallion wore an Army uniform, the double silver bars and sun-moon icon on his shoulders identifying him as a lieutenant colonel. His cutie mark was a storm cloud being pierced by a sword. He had his foreleg across the younger Flash’s shoulders, beaming down at him as Joyful kissed him on the cheek.

“Your father?” Twilight asked quietly. Flash nodded in silence and reverently put the photograph down on the bed. He removed a couple of boxes that held medals, then pulled out another, smaller, dust-covered velvet box. He gently blew some dust off this box and opened it.

Inside was a small, torn, faded piece of light golden-orange fabric. Flash gently unfolded this and held it up. Sewn into the fabric was a coat of arms: a shield with a winged, four-pointed star and olive branch embossed into it. Beneath it was a necklace of glowing jade.

Twilight’s eyes widened as she examined the coat of arms. “Is that… Flash Magnus’ and Somnambula’s ancestral mark?”

“It is,” Flash nodded solemnly. “Passed down directly through my father’s line.”

“You’re descended from two of the Pillars of Equestria?!” Twilight cried, standing up with an expression of amazement.

“I am,” Flash grunted, dropping the small banner onto the bed and flopping down onto the mattress. “And I’ve had that hanging over my head every day since I joined the force. Why do you think I never told anypony?”

“Why would you want to hide your ancestry?” Twilight asked, looking astounded. “This is amazing! Do you have any other artifacts of theirs? Journals? Anything that—?”

“Twilight,” Phillip interrupted, covering her mouth with a hoof. She froze for a moment, eventually realizing that both stallions were glaring at her. She deflated and sat down, composing herself. "Sorry," she apologized.

“I’ve never mentioned it because every pony in my family line was a hero,” Flash grunted, scowling. “My ten-something great-grandfather wielded a legendary shield and faced down dragons, my grandmother rescued a prince from a sphinx, and they helped Starswirl the Bearded and the other Pillars protect Equestria and taught Celestia and Luna. And all of their children grew up to be legends in their own right. My father was a big army hero: you know how many medals he won? A lot!”

He flung his hooves up in frustration and sighed. “And here’s me, a street cop who got his butt handed to him and whose hooves start shaking when he’s in a gunfight.” He laid fully down on the bed and mopped his face with his hooves.

“Flash, there's no shame in being scared,” Twilight said, taking his hoof.

“Yes, there is,” Flash grunted. “I’m the latest in a long line of heroes. I’m not supposed to get scared! And I’m not supposed to get sent home with a concussion!”

Twilight thought for a moment. "Flash, would you say that Phil and Daring are brave?" she asked.

Flash looked up at Phillip, shame casting dark shadows over his face. "Yeah," he admitted.

"When they get hurt, do they go to the hospital?" she continued.

Flash blinked, looking at Phil's cast. "...yeah," he said slowly.

"So what's wrong with you having to take time to rest if you get hurt?" Twilight replied. "You're a pony, Flash. A brave, smart, talented, good-hearted pony who's great at their job. But you still get hurt and need to heal, like everypony else. There's no shame in that."

Flash chewed his lip for a moment, then sighed. "I...I don't know," he mumbled.

Phillip walked over to Flash and sat down next to him. “Flash, I knew your father for a while,” he said. “He was a good stallion, a brave stallion.”

“He was,” Flash nodded quietly, looking at the photograph wistfully.

“And he told me once that he was terrified before every battle,” Phillip said.

Flash sat up, his eyebrows shooting up towards his mane. “Really?”

“He had nightmares every night after a battle or engagement,” Phillip continued. “He’d shake in his boots whenever he thought of getting his ponies into a fight.”

Flash stared at Phillip in quiet disbelief.

“And I get scared all the time,” Phillip continued. “So does Daring; seeing Zugzwang coming through the wall like that terrified us both.” He patted Flash’s head. “See, Flash, being a hero doesn’t mean being fearless. Anypony who says they’re never scared is either a liar or a bleeding idiot. Your father and your ancestors were neither. Hell, you’d have to have a brain the size of a gnat to not be scared of dragons or sphinxes.”

Flash sat up, his posture slightly bent over as he pondered.

“Flash, being brave isn’t the same as not being scared,” Phillip said. “Being brave is doing the right thing even when you’re scared. Earlier, when Zugzwang was fighting you, it was clear to anypony that you were outmatched, but you got up and tried. That’s brave. That’s what a hero does.”

“I still lost,” Flash mumbled.

Phillip let out a small chuckle and gestured to his foreleg, still trapped in a cast and sling. “You think I’ve never gotten my arse handed to me? You think your father won every fight? Or Flash Magnus or Somnambula?”

Flash shrugged. “I guess you’ve got a point…”

“It’s easy to be hard on yourself: you want to do better,” Phillip nodded. “Nopony’s perfect, Flash. It doesn’t matter if you get knocked down; happens to everypony. What matters is if you decide to get back up.”

Flash considered his words in silence for several seconds, his eyes drifting down to the photograph of his father. He lifted it up in his hooves and stared at it.

“You’re right,” Flash nodded, standing. “I gotta get back out there: ponies are depending on me, on every officer. I can’t let one bad guy dictate when I give up.”

Twilight applauded. “That’s the spirit, jackaroo,” Phillip nodded proudly.

“But maybe you should wait until tomorrow,” Twilight cautioned. “Just in case there are any lasting effects from the concussion.”

“Yes, mom,” Flash muttered dryly, rolling his eyes.

“Sweetheart, that’s my job,” Joyful Sound chided with a small laugh, entering the room with a tea tray balanced on her back.

“Mom, let me get that!” Flash cried, getting up and taking the tray in his hooves.

“Twilight, Phillip, will you be staying for a bit?” Joyful asked.

“I’d love to,” Twilight smiled, scooting over to sit closer to Flash. Both of their cheeks colored a bit.

“I should…” Phillip started to say but found himself unable to finish the sentence. He tried to stand up and head towards the exit, but his hooves seemed locked onto the floor. He stared at Joyful’s hooves, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form the words. “I have…”

“I was just about to start making my carrot and black bean tacos,” Joyful said in a small sing-song voice. “The same ones I use for the Hearth’s Warming dinner.”

Phillip’s eyes widened, and his stomach let out a growl as his mouth watered. Joyful chuckled.

“Little tip for you, dear,” she said, turning in Twilight’s general direction. “The fastest way to a stallion’s heart is through their stomach.”

“Well, good food does produce endorphins, which improves mood,” Twilight mused, sipping at the tea that she’d taken from the tray. “This is good! Jasmine?”

“My favorite,” Joyful nodded.

“This isn’t a date, mom,” Flash sighed, smiling in mild exasperation. “What’s next, you’ll pull out the baby pictures?”

Joyful’s blue eyes seemed to twinkle. “What a splendid idea, dear!” she said, turning and heading back up the hallway.

The color drained from Flash’s face. “Mom, I was joking!” He turned and looked at Twilight and Phillip, who were both smirking at him. “Me and my big mouth,” he groaned.

“Awww!” Twilight cooed, looking over Joyful’s shoulder at the book she was holding in her lap. Licking the last of the tacos from his lips as he entered the living room, Phillip glanced over Joy’s other shoulder and saw a photograph of what appeared to be an orange ball of fur with a shock of blue hair laying half-wrapped in a blue blanket. The photograph was labeled “Flash 5 months old.”

He glanced over to the other side of the couch and saw Flash hiding his reddening face behind his wings. “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered into Flash’s ear. “When you meet her parents, then you can get some payback.”

Flash just blushed harder. Twilight’s laughter brought their attention back to the photo album.

“What’s this one?” Joyful asked, tracing the photographs with a hoof.

“He’s wearing an Army uniform that’s too big for him and a tin pot on his head,” Twilight described the photo through giggles.

“Ah, yes, he loved playing dress-up and pretending to be a soldier,” Joyful smiled fondly. “Just like his father.”

The smile faded from Twilight’s face and her hoof drifted towards Flash’s. “Oh,” she mumbled. “I-I’m sorry about--”

“It’s okay,” Flash said, taking her hoof and squeezing it. “I miss my dad, but I’m happy to have known him, even if it was just for a little while.”

Twilight blinked and smiled at him.

Phillip felt a familiar itching tingle on his lips and cast his eyes around until he noticed a glass doorway leading to a balcony. Quietly, he exited through the doorway, exiting onto a small balcony with a pair of lawn chairs set up. The cool wind of the night kissed his skin. Beneath him, cars passed by, tires grinding against the asphalt; in the distance, sirens and horns sounded, the music of the city. He glanced up at the stars above him, slowly tracing the constellations. Cancer, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, and then up to Ursa Minor. Polaris winked down at him, warm and comforting.

“And that big, bright star there: that’s Sirius,” he heard Daring’s voice in his ear. “Really makes you wonder why they’d name a star after a dog. Or maybe it’s the other way around.”

Smiling, Phillip extracted a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his vest. Shaking out a fag, he placed it in his mouth and lit it. The mint-flavored smoke filled his mouth, and he sucked it down with a contented sigh.

“I heard those things are bad for you,” Joyful Sound said, exiting onto the balcony with him.

“You needed some time alone with the kids,” Phillip said, turning to blow the smoke away from her.

Joyful chuckled. “I think they’ll be good for a while.”

Phillip glanced inside the doorway and saw Flash and Twilight sitting on the bench, leaning towards each other and holding hooves. He smiled briefly and nodded. “Yeah, they’re good.”

“How have you been?” Joyful asked, her cane tapping against the floor as she strode up to stand beside him.

“Better,” Phillip nodded.

“I’ve seen,” Joyful said, leaning against the banister. “Daring’s been one of the best things that have happened to you.”

“She is,” Phillip nodded, taking another drag on the cigarette. “She…” He swallowed and looked at Joy. Joy turned to him and smiled in his general direction. For just one moment, in his eyes, all the white in her mane faded into bright, vibrant blue, and the dull shine vanished from her eyes, the irides focusing upon his with an expression of serene love.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

“I did, too,” Joyful nodded, her eyes drifting downwards. “I know your work was important to you, but when you stopped coming to the Hearth’s Warming dinners, and…” She sighed and looked up at him. “I’m glad she makes you happy.”

“You made me happy, too,” Phillip said quickly. She blinked, and he grunted in frustration, turning away. “And I’m glad that...that Storm Strike made you happy…”

“You and I, we weren’t right for each other, and we both knew it,” Joyful said calmly.

“Yeah,” Phillip nodded. “Yeah, I know. And Storm Strike was a good pony. Better than me.”

“But you are still important to me,” Joyful continued, leaning against the banister next to him. “And you are important to Flash. He needs you in his life.”

Phillip grunted and took another long drag on the fag.

“What’s wrong?” Joyful asked.

“He deserves better than me,” Phillip muttered. “And I can’t replace Storm. It’d be an insult to his memory.”

“I’m not asking you to replace him,” Joyful said. “But my son needs a pony in his life who he can turn to for problems that I can’t help him with. Somepony he can look up to, depend upon.”

“And you really think that’s me?” Phillip asked quietly.

Joyful extended a hoof and carefully guided it onto his shoulder. “I know it is,” she replied. “You’ve walked a hard path, and you’ve gone astray. But the Holy Mother gave us all the gifts we need to find our paths again if we need to. You just need to learn to see them, and use them.”

Phillip looked at Joy, who was smiling at him, eyes vaguely aimed at his mouth. Then he turned to look over his shoulder through the glass door. Twilight and Flash were still sitting on the couch, holding hooves and talking to each other, both blushing. They paused, neither of them seemingly able to meet each other's’ eyes for a moment, then they both leaned forward. Their lips met in a kiss, the gesture clearly inexperienced, but gentle and warm. The two ponies separated quickly, both of them blushing even harder, but their hooves remained attached to each other.

Phillip sighed and doused the cigarette on the banister. “Maybe,” he nodded. “Maybe.” He stood up and stretched. “I need to get home: work to do tomorrow.”

“Absolutely,” Joyful said. She draped her foreleg around his shoulders and gently squeezed him to her side. He stiffened up for a moment, but then placed a foreleg around her shoulder and hugged her back momentarily.

“Those tacos are still as good as I remember,” he nodded at her. He gently brushed his lips against her forehead, inhaling the scent of lilac in her hair. “Good night, Joy.”

“Good night, Phillip,” Joyful Sound said.

Phillip reentered the room, flicking the used cigarette into the trash can. Twilight and Flash both yelped in surprise and pulled away from each other as he entered.

“Night, you two,” he nodded to the two ponies.

“Good night,” Flash smiled, brushing the back of his mane with a hoof and smiling.

With a small smile, Phillip exited the apartment.

Author's Note

Art by Miyathegoldenflower! Please check her out, she's a great artist who's open for commissions at a fair price!

I'm not that great at emotional scenes, so I hope that this chapter captured the mood that I was going for. This might just be a breather chapter, but I took the opportunity to expand a bit on some of my favorite background characters.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Six: Seek and Ye Shall Find

Sleeping by himself shouldn’t have been a problem: he’d done it for his entire life, after all. But as the ringing of the alarm clock forced him out of sleep, Phillip realized that he desperately missed the familiar warmth and weight of Daring’s body in his forelegs, wished for the sound and smell of her breath brushing against his cheek.

He scrunched his nose. Okay, maybe not the smell.

With a grunt, he hauled himself out of bed and shut the 8:00 alarm off, shaking his mane from his eyes and shivering in the morning cold. He grunted and clutched the shoulder that was still in the sling as pain radiated across the limb. "Fucking griffon," he growled to himself as he climbed out of bed and heading downstairs.

First things first, he’d have to get the coffee machine started…he could already smell the aroma of thick black gold...

He paused, sniffing the air. He could smell coffee from the kitchen. Somepony was in his home. Somepony had gotten past the wards.

Phillip’s heart sped up, and he crouched down, his breath coming slow and steady. He thought of the pistol in the drawer of his bedside table, planned how to get back upstairs silently without alerting the intruder...

But then he heard the mare's voice inside, humming quietly to herself, heard the familiar sounds of her hoofteps on the tile floor, the way her tail flicked to the beat of the tune in her head. And all the tension left him as he recognized her. He pivoted around the threshold and faced the intruder.

“You always this paranoid in the morning?” Daring Do asked dryly, giving him a deadpan stare over her shoulder. “Also, you need more practice. Heard you coming from the top of the stairs.”

"Didn't expect you back this early," Phillip stated.

“Doc gave me a clean bill of health, and let me out,” Daring stated, gingerly touching her still bandaged chest.

Phillip raised an eyebrow, frowning at her. "Okay, so I snuck out," Daring rolled her eyes. "But I'm ready to get back to work."

“You sure that—?” Phillip started to say.

“I’m fine,” Daring interrupted sharply, tossing a fried egg onto a plate. “I’ve been through a lot worse. Did I ever tell you about that one time I got attacked by a shark while raiding a sunken ship off the coast of Manehattan?”

“Seriously?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah, one of my first big treasure-hunting jobs for the Family. We managed to get our hooves on the captain’s journal; it said that there was a pile of ancient gold coins hidden inside one of the barrels,” Daring commented with a small smile. “I found ‘em and got ‘em out; they were these beautiful coins from the Faustian era, I wish I could’ve kept some of them. I was only about twenty years old.” She slid the plate of eggs, bacon, and toast over to Phillip, quickly followed by a cup of hot black coffee.

Phillip ignored the food, staring at Daring for a few moments. She winced slightly as she gathered some more breakfast onto another plate and carried it over to her place.

“Phil, really, I’m fine,” she sighed in annoyance.

“If you’re sure,” Phillip stated quietly, taking a long draught of coffee.

“Still gotta take this potion,” Daring grumbled, taking a plastic pouch of blue powder from a paper bag and scowling at it. “Doctor said that it’s to help my muscles recover faster.”

She poured herself a glass of water and dropped the powder into the water. She stirred the mixture until it formed a solid, dark blue liquid that smelled faintly of rotten fruit. Daring sniffed at the glass, then grimaced.

“Cheers,” she grumbled. Plugging her nose with a wing, she tilted her head back and gulped down the concoction. She nearly gagged as soon as the liquid touched her tongue, her eyes bulging open, but she forced the liquid down, chugging until it was all gone.

“Gah,” she gasped, dropping the glass into the sink. “Why can’t they make medicine that tastes good?” She gulped down some coffee, swished it around her mouth and gargled it to try to get rid of the taste, then spat it into the sink.

Phillip managed to smile as Daring slid into her chair and dug into her breakfast. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’ve got a lead on Bright Sparks and her crew,” Daring replied. “I’m gonna be taking Dash out with me.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded. “Trace and I are going to keep working on the ponies who killed Stone Wall. We find them, we find who’s gonna kill the Mayor.”

“Sounds good,” Daring nodded, scarfing down an entire egg in one go. “Can’t be too many ponies with a scar on their hoof and missing an ear.”

“One would think,” Phillip replied, scarfing down his breakfast with one hoof. “I gotta get going.”

He disappeared upstairs and returned with his green vest and trilby. He strapped his holster on one-hoofed, then swung the vest on like a cape, with only his right hoof through the hole. “Be careful, Daring,” he said, trotting over to give her a kiss.

She embraced him back, returning the kiss with equal passion. “I’m always careful,” she smirked, gently nuzzling him. “You just be careful yourself.”

“I will be. Let’s try to touch base this arvo,” Phillip nodded. And with a final kiss on the nose, he turned and exited, hailing a cab.

Daring finished off her breakfast, then picked up another bag on the floor from an earlier shopping trip. From it, she withdrew an aluminum cigar case, a set of razor blades, a wooden dowel and a box of nails, a shim for opening padlocks, and a box of paperclips. Descending to the basement, she retrieved Phillip’s small toolbox from the closet and brought it back upstairs. From the box, she plucked out a saw, a set of pliers, a drill, and a file.

“Haven’t had to do this in a while,” she muttered to herself, bringing all the collected items into the living room and setting them on the coffee table, pushing the chessboard aside. First, she used the pliers and the file to construct a set of lockpicks and a hoofcuff key from three of the paperclips. These she placed inside the cigar tube, along with the shim and a pair of razor blades.

A knocking at the door interrupted Daring’s work. She walked up to the front door and peered through the window to see Rainbow Dash smiling at her from the other side. Daring unlatched the door and opened it wide.

“Hi, Daring!” Rainbow said, bounding in. “I did what you told me; asked around with the other ponies on the weather team night shift and we found some houses that had green Chevroneigh Sedans.” She handed over a list of addresses, puffing out her chest in pride.

Daring looked it over. “It’s a start. Good job, kid,” she nodded.

“So, what’re we waiting for? Let’s go find some bad guys!” Rainbow Dash shouted, turning to fly out the door.

“Hang on,” Daring Do interrupted, grabbing Rainbow’s tail and halting her. “I gotta get ready first.”

Rainbow balked for a moment, then sighed and lowered herself to the ground. “Okay,” she nodded.

Daring walked back into the kitchen where she’d set up her equipment. She extracted a long nail from the box, then took out the top of the cigar tube and drilled a narrow hole through it. Then she took the dowel and cut it down to the same length as the tube.

“What’s that for?” Rainbow asked.

Daring slid the dowel into the cigar tube, then placed the nail on top so that it was sticking out through the hole in the top. “Makes an effective weapon,” she stated, demonstrating with a few fake stabs.

“Cool,” Rainbow Dash said in awe. “You learned that in the Family?”

Daring scowled and unscrewed the top. “Yeah,” she grunted, placing the nail back inside the tube along with the other escape gear. “I had a bit of a wakeup call: I need to be more ready for shit to happen. Including possibly getting caught, like I might be today.”

She frowned at the tube, tilting it from side to side. “Hang on,” she muttered, trotting back upstairs to their bedroom. She knelt underneath the bed and extracted a hoof locker which she unlatched and opened. She rummaged through the contents, tossing aside a set of hoofcuffs, a coil of black rope, a rubber duck, and a red ball gag.

A soft “eep” of surprise sounded from the door and Daring looked up to see Rainbow Dash standing at the threshold, her face as red as a tomato and her wings spread open wide.

“Think clean thoughts, kid,” Daring scolded, digging into the bottom of the toy chest. She finally found what she was looking for: a light blue squeeze bottle.

“Turn around, kid,” Daring said, taking the bottle and the cigar tube.

“Why?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Because this is going where you think it’s going,” Daring deadpanned, squirting some of the bottle's contents onto the cigar tube.

Rainbow thought for a moment, then blushed even harder and quickly turned away. Daring looked at the makeshift cache and sighed, passing it over to her tail. “Well, it’s not that different from a dildo,” she muttered to herself and braced.

Thankfully, the procedure only took a couple of moments. Daring adjusted for the fit, then double-checked to make sure that her other razor and cuff key were still concealed in her tail, disguised as a tangle in a plastic coating.

“Okay, that’ll do it,” she sighed, returning downstairs. She swung her vest on, made sure her revolver was loaded and strapped on her holster, then placed her pith helmet atop her head.

“All right,” she nodded, giving herself a final patdown to make sure that everything was accounted for. “Let’s go, kid.”

With an excited whoop, Rainbow Dash shot out the door, taking off into the sky with a rush of wind and a blur of colors. Daring locked the door behind her and followed. The sky outside was mostly clear, the morning air cool and smelling faintly of rain and ozone. The rising sun warmed her wings, and she stretched them out wide, flexing the muscles with a contented sigh. The tingle of flight magic filled her up, all the way to the tips of her wings.

Then the muscles in her chest flared in protest and she bit back a wince, shaking her head. For fuck’s sake...I cannot be letting a little cut stop me. She gritted her teeth and ordered the pain to the back of her mind, where it belonged, taking slow, even breaths.

“First place we should hit is near the garage,” Daring said, examining the list of addresses that Rainbow had created and nodding in quiet approval.

“What do we do when we get there?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Taking a close look to see if they’re who we’re looking for,” Daring replied. “If they are, we get the police, and rain down hell on their heads.”

“Cool,” Rainbow nodded.

“All right, first place is down on Jetsam. C’mon.” Daring banked around and put on speed.

“Race ya!” Rainbow shouted, zipping past her.

“Hey!” Daring shouted and chased after the other mare, unable to hide a small grin even as the muscles in her chest protested.

“Well, that’s a bust,” Daring muttered, turning away from the twelfth house on the list, a two-story cottage occupied only by a grumpy, elderly stallion who evidently spent the majority of his days sitting in front of the television with a six-pack in reach. She scowled at the battered dark green Chevroneigh Sedan in the front yard, the bumper held on with duct tape and both the side windows cracked.

“How will you know what you’re looking for?” Rainbow Dash asked, scowling at the oblivious stallion through the window. “I mean, he could be in on it. The whole thing could be an act!”

“Nice idea, kid, but if it is an act, then that guy should be in the Royal Theater Troupe,” Daring replied, rubbing her bandaged chest to try to quell the fires of pain. “There’s no sign of anypony else in there, and judging by all the junk, this guy probably doesn’t leave his house more than once a month.”

Daring glanced down at the list. “Damn; that was all of them.” She crumpled the list up and shoved it in her pocket with a grimace.

"Sorry, Daring," Rainbow Dash said, hanging her head.

Daring sighed. "It's okay, kid: you did your best."

Both mare's stomachs suddenly grumbled. "Hey, I think better on a full stomach," Rainbow Dash smiled.

Daring rolled her eyes a bit. "Okay, but I'm not paying for both of us."

Sugarcube Corner was thankfully nearby, and the two of them both ordered paninis from a smiling Mr. Cake: a tuna mayo for Daring and a cheddar carrot for Rainbow. The two of them sat on the table outside, munching their lunch, musing silently as ponies passed by.

Daring spotted a poster on a nearby lamppost, the paper and ink still fresh. The top part of the poster was taken up by a photograph of Stone Wall (when he was alive, thankfully; the memory of the carved corpse made her wince).

She trotted up to the poster and read the blurb on the bottom. “‘A purple stallion...missing their left ear...ear was pierced with two golden earrings...drove a pale blue Global C series van…’” She nodded. “Well, hopefully somepony recognizes them.”

She returned to the table and finished off her panini, the gears of her mind still turning furiously as she considered the facts. As she licked the last of the tuna off her lips, the letter that she'd found in Sledgehammer's cell flashed into the forefront of her mind; she could still remember the contents exactly as they appeared. "Okay, Sledge, why did you cut that letter up?" Daring muttered. "What was so important...?"

She froze, her eyes widening, then she grimaced and slapped her forehead. "Stupid! Stupid!"

"What?" Rainbow asked.

"The letter!" Daring shouted. "It's a code; first and last letter of every line!" She closed her eyes, picturing the letter in her mind.

"Two...thirty...lilac street!" she cried. "That's not far from here! C'mon, kid!"

The two of them flew westward, hopping over clouds and crossing streets; the air smelled faintly of river water, fish, and car exhaust. They finally reached the address, a two-story light blue cottage that stood near the bottom of a roughly U-shaped side road, with a dense copse of trees on the inside of the U, a stone’s throw away from the target house. A dark green Chevroneigh Sedan, the paint glossy, stood at the top of the sloped driveway. A set of wind chimes that dangled from the porch roof sang out as the two ponies flew overhead. The small backyard, which featured a picnic table and a small flower garden, was hemmed in by a recently constructed picket fence. Daring glanced around at the other houses, all of which were fairly far apart from each other; most of the windows were dark, either covered with curtains or boarded up.

“Okay, I’m gonna take a closer look,” Daring stated, circling around. “If you see somepony coming, caw like a crow.”

Rainbow Dash cleared her throat and made a reasonable impersonation of a crow cawing. “Like that?”

“Close enough,” Daring nodded. She swooped back down and landed behind the picket fence. Crouching down low, she used a mirror to peek over the top of the fence, examining the back windows. There was no sign of any movement from within. She vaulted over the fence and stole up to the back door, climbing up onto the back porch. She reached for the doorknob.

As soon as her hoof touched the knob, the entire door glowed with a bright orange light and a flash of pain not unlike that time she accidentally shocked herself with a storm cloud raced up Daring’s arm, throwing her back.

“Ow!” she grimaced, rubbing her suddenly numb foreleg to try to regain some of the feeling in the limb. She glared at the door, which was still glowing with a shimmering orange light. Faint symbols and arcane letters appeared momentarily amidst the glowing walls, only to disappear a moment later.

“A ward,” she grumbled. “No way I’m getting past that.”

Feeling eyes upon her, she glanced up to see Rainbow Dash peering down at her from an overhanging cloud, head cocked and eyes shining with concern. She gave a wave with her still-numb foreleg to show that she was unhurt. Rainbow Dash ducked back down to hide.

Daring glared at the door, thinking. She’d know that shade of orange magic anywhere. She’d seen those wards years ago: attached to the door of an old, creaky, mostly abandoned mansion on the northern outskirts of the city, the first place that she had truly identified as home. The first hideout of the Family.

“Sparks,” she stated to herself. “You live here now.”

Some of the feeling finally began to return to her foreleg. Daring crept up to a nearby window and peeked into the curtains with her mirror, but found nothing of note; nor, to her mild surprise, any ponies. The recently washed dishes in the kitchen, the scattered books and empty soda cans in the living room, and the rumpled sheets on the couches indicated that ponies did live there, but she didn’t see anypony amidst the dark rooms.

“Where is everypony?” Daring muttered to herself. She looked down at the basement window, which was partially below ground and surrounded by a hole to allow the ponies inside to look out. The curtain was drawn, but there was a narrow gap between the curtain and the edge of the window.

Daring reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a small scrap of black construction paper that had been wrapped and taped into a narrow tube and a clear glass marble. She placed the marble into the end of the tube, then peered through the opposite end of the tube into the gap.

The marble served as a crude but effective fisheye lens, giving her a wide view of the room, the edges of her gaze curved round. With the aid of the enchanted night-vision contacts, she could see that most of the room was taken up by several crates, all closed and locked. A tall mirror stood in the corner, the edges decorated with jewels. Along one wall was a clothes rack with several uniforms and costumes hanging from it, including a reflective jacket, a postal worker's uniform, and a white shirt and apron with a baguette and a bowl of soup stitched onto it. And in the corner sat three shovels, a pickax, and a small stack of wooden beams.

“Hmmm,” Daring muttered, squinting at the tools. The edges of the shovels and the head of the pickaxe were all marked with dark reddish-brown dirt. A color that looked oddly familiar...

She turned around and studied the flower gardens that surrounded most of the perimeter of the inner yard. The dirt was a similar color to that on the tools. That plus the wooden beams…

Daring crouched down low to the ground, examining the dirt. There: a narrow line in the dirt, only about two feet across, where the ground had been turned over, leaving it slightly higher than the rest.

A tunnel; Just like in Hayana Pones and the Caves of Horror, Daring smirked. Nightingale Star really knows her stuff. She lifted her gaze, mentally following the tunnel’s path to a small shed inside the copse of oak trees.

The entrance must be in there, Daring concluded. Now what? She began to pace in a small circle, the wheels turning furiously in her head.

I could go back and just tell Phil and the others that I found them...but that wouldn’t be proof enough to bring in the cops for a raid. I didn’t see Sparks or any of the others here...and, admittedly, she can’t be the only unicorn with orange magic in the world who knows how to make a ward. So it’d take more time to see if Sparks really is here, and even more time to get a raid ready. Time we might not have; if they know we’re onto them, they’ll run. Sparks will have somewhere else to go to, and we’d lose them again. Plus, there’s no way past these wards without a key.

She shook her head. Conclusion: I need hard, definitive proof that Sparks and the others are here, and some more information would always be helpful. And if I’m gonna get that, I need to get inside somehow.

She paused, and looked up at the cloud that Rainbow Dash was using for cover.

And yet, I told the kid off for trying the same thing on Scarlet. She looked back at the door, then down at her right hoof. The cursed scar was still there, the lingering pain beginning to flicker and burn underneath her skin.

Thief. Criminal. Hypocrite. Always and forever.

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, mastering herself, mastering the pain, forcing it down. I have to find and stop Sparks and the others. If I can do that, I’m one step closer to stopping Scarlet Letter for good. I don’t have a choice: one illegal act to stop them from hurting more ponies.

It took three seconds for her to convince herself that the justification wasn’t so hollow she could hear her own words echoing inside herself. Then she flew up towards the cloud, glancing around to make sure that nopony else was watching. Rainbow poked her head out of the cloud as she approached.

“I found them,” Daring replied.

Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened in excitement. “You sure?"

“About ninety percent,” Daring nodded. “Kid, find a phone. Call the police and ask for Officer Prowl or Bumblebee or Flash Sentry. Tell them that Daring Do needs them and to come here. Wait for them there, then bring them over here.”

“Got it!” Rainbow Dash said with a sharp salute, and zipped off in a blur of colors.

Okay. She won’t be involved in this. The image of Officer Jade's sightless eyes staring up at the sky flashed across Daring's vision for a moment. Shaking it off with a grunt, she flew over to the shed and examined the door. There shouldn’t be a ward like that on this one: according to Twilight, a ward like that only works on a building that’s considered a home.

The door was secured only with a steel padlock, which Daring easily picked open. The door opened with a creak, revealing a small shed with only a few loose, rusty tools scattered around. Daring stepped inside, sharply stamping her hoof against the floor. Towards the back of the shed, the thud of her hoof against the floor became hollow and echoed faintly. Brushing aside some dust, she spotted a small handle made out of a short length of coarse rope screwed into the floor.

She pulled on the rope with her mouth a bit, just enough to open a narrow door disguised amidst the floorboards. Beneath was a tunnel, yawning open like a three-foot wide mouth of darkness. Peering inside, Daring saw that the tunnel sloped downwards sharply. There was no sign of any tripwires or traps. The scent of mud filled her nose.

“Nothing for it,” she decided and slithered inside the tunnel.

The cramped dirt walls were close, pressing against her sides in a cold, uncomfortable embrace: she felt like a bug looking up at a flyswatter hanging over her head. She had to crawl along, only able to lift her belly a few inches above the ground. Every few feet, thick wooden beams supported the tunnel: glow-in-the-dark paint marked the walls, providing minor illumination that she did not need; with the night vision contacts, she could see the tunnel in perfect lighting.

Including the shafts of dirt that trickled down from the ceiling. Gulping back her nervousness, Daring continued forwards.

Eventually, the tunnel sloped upwards and she reached another trapdoor. She carefully pushed this open a crack and slid her fisheye lens out through the narrow gap. Seeing nopony, Daring pushed the trapdoor all the way open and crawled out, using her tail to gently close the trapdoor behind her.

And then an anvil fell out of the sky and landed on her head. Her entire head lit up with a crushing pain, as though her skull was an egg that had just been cracked; her vision went completely white and she felt herself sprawling onto the floor, her hat tumbling off her head. She tried to roll over and raise her forelegs to defend herself from the attack, but her limbs were slow to respond, as sluggish as though she was trying to wade through a pool full of molasses.

Her vision slowly cleared, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. What looked like a blurry, transparent outline of a pony stood over her. Then, before Daring’s eyes, the figure solidified into Dusty Tail, scowling down at her. The pistol that he’d just used to strike her with was aimed right between her eyes, the black barrel covered with a crude silencer made of a plastic bottle filled with steel wool.

Other figures appeared, their camouflage spells dissolving away: the Licorice Twins and Gear Shift. All of them wore a necklace of silver chain with dog tags engraved with runes that glowed with a faint orange light. And all of them were aiming guns equipped with crude silencers at her.

“Aw, fuck,” Daring slurred.

“Hey, Daring,” a familiar, icy voice growled. Daring looked up to see Bright Sparks glaring at her from the head of the room, shifting from hoof to hoof to adjust for the weight of her pregnant belly.

“Hiya, sis,” Daring managed to grin, shaking off the last of the pain. “I just dropped by to check on you and your kid, but--”

She started to roll over back onto her hooves, preparing to charge her attacker, but Dusty Tail stamped down onto her wing, pinning her to the floor. She bit back a yelp of pain and glared at Dusty. “Nice to see that your nose healed up,” she growled at him. The mustachioed unicorn just scowled at her.

“I like those necklaces you made,” Daring commented to Sparks. “Any chance I could get one?”

“I’ve improved a lot of my magic since we last met,” Sparks growled. “Including a new feature to my wards. If somepony tries to sneak inside, I know about it. And that’s when we hide.”

“Look, the cops are already on their way,” Daring said. “You--”

“I doubt that,” another voice growled from the stairway. Daring looked up and her heart plummeted into her stomach.

Sledgehammer, a huge, bald unicorn that served as Sparks’ muscle, was descending the stairs with a vicious grin on his face. And sprawled over his shoulders was Rainbow Dash’s unconscious form, the victim of a powerful stun spell.

Daring’s stomach churned, then a fire ignited in her gut, racing up her veins and filling up her entire body. “You son of a bitch!” she roared, scrabbling to get up.

Dusty’s hoof remained on her wing, pinning her down, and he emphasized the point by sharply jabbing her in the back of the head with his pistol muzzle, knocking her down again. Her head spun and the fire in her gut was extinguished immediately.

“No point worrying about her now,” Bright Sparks grunted, rubbing her belly. She looked down at Daring, scowling heavily, though for a brief moment, Daring saw something flickering behind her hardened eyes.

"You shouldn't have come here, little sis," Sparks said quietly, then closed her eyes and turned away. “Kill them both.”

Daring’s eyes widened and she watched as Sledgehammer tossed Rainbow’s limp form to the floor. He drew a knife from his belt, the blade flashing in the light.

“Wait!” Daring cried, her mouth racing ahead of her mind. “You’re supposed to be the good guys!”

There was a pause while everypony stared at her.

“We are,” Bright Sparks growled at her. “We’re the ones who are going to finally destroy all the corrupt thugs and gangs in this city; tear them apart from within. Do what you can’t!”

“So why are you gonna kill her?” Daring asked.

Bright Sparks paused; Daring saw her right hoof slowly lift off the ground slightly, catching a glimpse of the branded mark.

“Getting rid of the witness?” Daring continued. “Did Mojo teach you that?”

An expression of utter rage crossed Sparks’ face and her horn lit up; a powerful strike like getting punched by a full-grown dragon rammed into Daring’s face, sending her head whiplashing back.

“Don’t you mention him! Don’t you ever compare me to him!” Sparks screamed shrilly. “I am nothing like him! Nothing!”

“Doesn’t look that different from where I’m lying,” Daring replied, her voice thick with a bloodied nose.

Bright Sparks turned to see that Sledgehammer was still bending over Rainbow Dash, his knife held to her throat, looking to her as though awaiting instruction. “She…” Sparks scowled and shook her head, but did not lower her hoof. “We can’t let you go.”

“Look,” Daring said, looking around at all the other ponies. “You all joined up with her because you got cheated by the mob or gangs. You joined because you wanted to make sure that nopony would ever have to go through what you did: like you two losing your shop,” she stated to Black and Red Licorice. “Or you having your home shot up in a gang fight,” she stated to Dusty Tail.

The ponies around her all stared at one another in pensive silence, uncertainty on their faces, though they kept their weapons level. Sledgehammer’s knife slowly fell away from Rainbow’s neck. Bright Sparks’ right front hoof began to twitch slightly; she bit down on her lower lip, hissing quietly in pain.

“You all wanted to try to do right,” Daring Do continued. “So you’re gonna tell me that you’re gonna slit the throat of a nineteen year old kid, dump her body in the river, and then go to bed at night, telling yourselves that you’re still the good guys?”

The silence continued for a few seconds more, the gang ponies all turning towards Sparks. Sparks stared at Daring in silence, then grunted and scowled.

“Tie them up,” she ordered the crew, her jaw clenched. “I’ll decide what to do with them later.”

The other ponies nodded as though satisfied. Sledgehammer put his knife away and used his magic to pull a thick coil of rope out of a crate.

Dusty Tail rolled Daring over onto her back again. “Say good night,” he growled, raising a hoof.

For the fourth time in a row, a heavy blow struck Daring in the head and her vision went white.

Author's Note

You can learn more about how to create a rectal cache from a cigar tube, a silencer from a bottle and steel wool, and many more techniques used by real-life special forces in 100 Deadly Skills by former US Navy Seal Clint Emerson! Find it in your local or digital bookstore today!

This is not an official advertisement: if it was, Mr. Emerson and Touchstone Publishing would owe me money.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Seven: Water and Fire

She had half a second to react. It was just enough.

Daring clenched her jaw tight shut and tightened her neck muscles, leaning into the incoming blow so that the top of her forehead would take the brunt of the it. Her eyes instinctively closed in a wince. This is gonna hurt…

It did. Dusty Tail’s hoof rammed against her head, and she learned what a nail feels when a hammer pounds it into a wall; the pain doubled when the back of her head smacked against the floor. The pain filled her head, seemingly magnified as it echoed off the interior of her skull, so much so that she was aware of nothing else.

Ow. Seriously, ow.

The real world slowly reasserted its presence, vision blurred and every sound slow and thick like molasses trickling down her ears; the pain reduced itself to a heavy, thumping ache, like a steady bass drum inside her skull. She realized that she had been forced onto her chest, and her forelegs and wings were being tied with strong rope; her tail had even been pinned beneath coils of rope. A rag had been stuffed into her mouth, which was then sealed with a strip of duct tape, and a black hood had been placed over her head. Her shirt and hat had both been taken off, and she felt a hoof running down her tail, removing her concealed razor and cuff key.

Keep still, Daring told herself. Trying to fight back at this point would just get you and Dash hurt. Plus, if they think you’re unconscious, they might be more willing to talk out loud.

“What are we gonna do with them?” she heard Sledgehammer grunting, along with the sound of ripping duct tape and the hiss of uncoiling rope: no doubt him tying up Rainbow. Daring felt her blood starting to boil, but forced herself to keep still.

“I don’t know yet,” Bright Sparks replied. Her voice was muted, as though she had her head turned away. Daring could hear her fidgeting, a sound like one hoof rubbing against the other.

“We can’t just let them go,” Sledgehammer pointed out. “And keeping them here is a bad idea.”

“If they’re here, they could easily lead the cops to us,” Dusty pointed out, grunting as he tightened the knots binding Daring’s hind legs, harsh enough to make her wince.

“We’re not gonna have to abandon this place, are we?” Black Licorice protested, sounding like a disappointed kid being told that they were moving. “We just got here, and I liked this place.”

“I did, too,” Sparks sighed. “And I put so much work into it...but they’ve endangered us. We’re gonna have to move. Better safe than sorry.”

“How ‘bout this?” Red Licorice suggested. “We take ‘em somewhere outside of town and leave ‘em tied up there. By the time they get loose and find help, we’ll be long gone.”

There was a murmur of consent around the room.

“Okay, sounds good,” Sparks nodded. “Sledge, stick ‘em in that crate there, then take ‘em somewhere and ditch the box. We’ll have to ditch the car, too. Here; take this teleportation crystal so you can get back when you’re done. Gear, you’d best get ready for tonight.”

“Gotcha, boss,” Gear replied. Daring heard a rattling like clothes hangers.

By now, the ponies binding Daring had finished tying her forelegs behind her back and securing her hind legs. She was roughly grabbed and lifted up, a muffled grunt of surprise escaping her as she left the ground.

The pony carrying her dropped her down onto a wooden surface with all the care and consideration that one might give to a sack of potatoes. She felt and heard something else being dropped beside her, something which let out a muffled grunt and a cry of alarm. Rainbow Dash.

Dash began struggling against her ropes, letting out a muffled stream of curses and cries for help. Daring grasped Rainbow’s hoof and squeezed it gently. Rainbow stopped struggling and calmed down, though Daring could still feel her trembling slightly. It’s okay, kid. I’m gonna get us out of here.

She heard a distinct cli-click of a gun being cocked and gulped. I hope.

“Hold on,” she heard Bright Sparks say, her voice surprisingly soft. “I wanna talk to her.”

Daring heard heavy hoofsteps approach, Sparks grunting quietly with every other step. She felt hot breath on the side of her head, a soft sigh into her ear.

“You remember the good old days, little sis?” Bright Sparks whispered quietly. “Back when we could just do the job—steal from a drug baron’s safe, photograph some city councilpony in bed with the whore of the week, or go spelunking in the Macintosh Hills for some silver relics…” Sparks let out a little laugh. “That was a fun trip, you remember that?”

Daring did: that winter had been cold, and the snow had piled around the bases of the hills, making the climb up to the caves hard and long. But they’d been promised a hefty sum for the ancient buffalo totems that had been lost in the caves long ago, and the Family always came through, especially when treasure was involved. After three days of spelunking in the echoing darkness, they’d found the dropped relics hidden in a small side cave.

“The good old days,” Sparks continued, audibly smiling. “Back when we could just do the job, get paid, and go home.” She sighed. “But those days are over,” she said, her voice heavy.

“I wish you could see things my way, Daring,” Bright Sparks continued. “We both want the same thing: we want the end of all the corruption and crime in this city. We want Zugzwang and Whitestone and Coin Toss and the rest of them gone.”

Daring let out a soft growl. Sparks sighed. “Look, I hate working with Zugzwang, too; Gerwhin bastard creeps me out.”

The other ponies all let out noises of agreement. “But it’s all part of something I should’ve learned from you: the best way to destroy your enemy is from within,” Sparks stated.

Daring was silent. “If you hadn’t been part of the first Family, you wouldn’t have been in a position to stop Mojo and the rest of them,” Sparks continued. “Same with me: once we get rid of Whitestone, then Zugzwang’s next. We’ll have an army, Daring. An army that we can use to make sure that no one else needs to suffer as we did. No more gangsters. No more petty thieves cutting throats in back alleys. No more rich ponies lining their pockets on the lives of ponies beneath them. We’ll make sure of it.”

Daring growled at her again. Sparks sighed. “I should’ve known you’d say no,” she muttered, disappointment in every syllable.

Then she leaned in even closer, so close that Daring could feel the static electricity dancing between Sparks’ snout and her cheek. “Now, listen, Daring,” she hissed. “This is my family now. And I will do anything to protect them. Anything. I’m only letting you off this time because you’ve got the kid with you, and cause of our history. Cross me again, and I’ll bury you alive. Clear?”

Daring would’ve spat at her if it wasn’t for the tape, so she just settled for glaring through the black hood in Sparks’ general direction.

Sparks moved away and Daring heard her bend down next to Rainbow Dash. “Count yourself lucky, kid,” she hissed. “Anypony else would’ve slashed your throat and dumped you in the river.”

Rainbow Dash resumed her stream of curses, fighting futilely against the ropes.

“Word of advice: when we’re done with you, get away from her,” Sparks continued. “She’s going to get you killed one day.” She moved away. “Okay, Sledge, get ‘em out of here. The rest of you, start carting stuff out the mirror.”

“Right,” Sledge nodded. “I know a good place. Hey, Dusty, give us a hoof.”

Daring heard something lift up and slam down over her; the top of the box. Then the box was lifted up and she felt herself being jostled about as the box was carried up a flight of stairs.

“You sure about this plan?” she heard Dusty Tail whispering, his voice muffled by the top of the box. “It might be better to just get rid of them.”

“I didn’t join up for this to hurt kids,” Sledgehammer agreed. “But if the explorer bitch hangs around much longer, she’s gonna ruin everything for us.”

“What are you saying?” Dusty asked, his voice tense.

There was the sound of a door opening, and Daring felt the box shifting downwards as they were carried onto a porch.

“I’m saying, no matter what Bright says, I gotta get rid of her,” Sledgehammer growled quietly. “Right now.”

Daring gulped again. Uh-oh.

“Sparks’ll be mad,” Dusty pointed out.

“You gonna tell her?” Sledgehammer asked. The box slammed down hard, prompting a grunt from both mares.

“No, you’re right; we gotta get rid of her,” Dusty agreed. “But I’m just saying, she might not be real happy with you for disobeying her.”

“Scarlet will understand, and Sparks will listen to her,” Sledgehammer stated. “You’d best get going, partner. Got a lot to do.”

“Right. Good luck,” Dusty said, and Daring heard his hoofsteps trotting away, followed by a car trunk slamming shut. A moment later, the car beneath her shifted, and an engine rumbled to life. Tires scratched against the pavement as the car began to move.

Time to get out of here. Daring let out a deep exhalation, relaxing all her muscles and retracting her chest. This gave her a bit of wiggle room inside her ropes, and she started trying to free her tail, sliding it out from beneath the layers of rope binding her.

The car suddenly veered around a tight corner and she was tossed within the box, slamming into Rainbow Dash. Both mares let out a grunt of shock.

Come on...just a little farther…

With a final effort, Daring managed to free her tail. She shifted, her attention shifting to the cigar tube hidden inside her. With a grunt, she started pushing it out of her. Rainbow Dash let out a confused grunt at the noise.

Finally, Daring felt it coming out. Grasping it with her tail, she slid it all the way out and deposited it into her bound hooves (Ew, ew, ew…). Carefully, she unscrewed the tube and extracted the two razor blades. She pressed one into Rainbow’s hooves; the other mare fumbled with it for a moment, then started cutting at the ropes around her hooves, hacking and sawing blindly. Daring started sawing at her ropes as well, her attempts smoother from practice.

The car stopped at an intersection, and a faint scent wafted up into Daring’s nostrils; the scent of river water and fog. The river! Her heart rate sped up, and she doubled her efforts to get loose.

Bit by bit, the fibers started to part, the rope creaking and snapping as it broke. Soon, she could just snap them off, and she could help Rainbow with—

The vehicle suddenly ran over a bump, jolting her around inside the trunk. The razor tumbled from her grasp.

Daring’s racing heart leaped into her throat and she started fumbling around desperately for the blade. Shitshitshitshit! Where’d it go?!

The car descended a hill and stopped, but the engine kept running. Daring heard hoofsteps approach and the trunk open. Then the top of the box creaked open; Daring saw some light behind the black hood, then a shadow crossing her face. There was the sound of water languidly lapping against the shore, creaking wood, a whispering of wind through the trees, and the distant growl of a boat motor. Daring’s heart started beating so fast that she thought it might burst inside her, every beat making her head pound even harder. She started fighting the ropes as hard as she could.

“All right, up you go,” Sledgehammer grunted, and Daring heard him lifting Rainbow Dash out of the trunk. Rainbow grunted loudly and Sledgehammer let out a wheeze as a heavy blow rammed into his chest.

“You little—!” he snarled, scrabbling to grab Rainbow. Rainbow started struggling fiercely, trying to scream for help. It was all in vain, for Sledgehammer lifted her up like a sack of potatoes and carried her away. Daring continued feeling around for the razor blade.

In the distance, she heard what sounded like a dumpster opening, then something crash down inside the dumpster; Rainbow’s shouts became more muffled as the top of the dumpster crashed shut. Sledgehammer’s hoofsteps approached her once more, and his shadow fell over Daring’s face. She doubled her efforts to free herself, but the ropes refused to give.

“What’s this?” she heard Sledgehammer say and heard him lifting up the cigar tube. He chuckled and tossed it back down next to her. “Should’ve checked you more closely. Well, you can take it and the rest of your gear with you.”

This was it. With her hooves still bound and nopony around to help or hear her scream, Daring Do was dead. Any moment now, she’d feel his hooves around her neck or his blade in her chest…

But instead, the trunk slammed shut. Daring paused in confusion, wondering. Had her execution been reprieved?

But then she felt the car rev and start forward, tires crashing over wood slats. And Daring realized what he was doing and screamed, her helplessness emphasizing the terror, her cries muted by the gag.

A moment later, the car was flying…

And then it crashed down with a massive splash that rattled her bones. It bobbed for a moment, then started to sink. Cold water seeped in, bathing her hooves, embracing her wings with its chill. She panted frantically through her nostrils, struggling to keep her head above the rising tide, still fighting against the ropes that might as well have been iron chains.

Nononono...no, Faust, please...not like this...

“You sure this is the guy?” Trace asked, turning right at an intersection, the siren of his Commander wailing.

“It has to be,” Phillip replied from the passenger seat. “Unless the caller was lying, their neighbor matches the description. Former construction worker, purple earth pony, ear was missing.”

“The guy will be running by now,” Trace stated, speeding through another stop sign. A police cruiser fell into line next to them. Phillip turned to see Bumblebee waving at them from the passenger seat, with Prowl at the wheel. A police motorcycle joined the chase.

“Even if he is, we can find him,” Phillip stated.

The car turned up another road and screeched to a halt. The house before them was a simple white single-story establishment that stood next to the road, with a short, inclining driveway leading up to the garage door. A pale blue Global C series van stood in the driveway, parked in haste before the doors.

Trace and Phillip both disembarked, with Prowl and Bumblebee climbing out of the cruiser. The motorcycle driver swung his legs off the bike and removed his helmet, revealing Flash Sentry.

“How you doing, jackaroo?” Phillip asked him, drawing his revolver from his holster with his free hoof.

“I’m okay,” Flash nodded with a smile, drawing the shotgun from the bike’s holster and loading a breaching round directly into the chamber. “How’s your arm?”

“Better,” Phillip nodded, shrugging his shoulder. “Doesn’t hurt as bad; maybe one more day with the sling.”

Flash nodded and settled his face into a determined expression, licking his lips. “Let’s go get this guy.”

“Hey, don’t worry, Flash,” Bumblebee declared with a broad smile, retrieving his shield from the trunk of the cruiser. “They’ll be shooting at the biggest target; that’s me. Just stay behind me and you should be okay.”

“We’re all gonna be okay,” Prowl declared. “Because we’re trained for this.”

“All right, team, standard breach and clear,” Trace stated, checking his Filly M1912 and racking the slide to bring a round into the chamber. “This guy filleted Stone Wall, so he’s definitely dangerous, but we want him alive if we can.”

They proceeded up the driveway and clambered onto the porch, stacking up by the door. Trace’s horn lit up, sparks dancing from the tip as he prepared the flash spell.

“Hobnail!” he barked. “This is the police, open up!”

There was no response from inside. Trace jiggled the doorknob, but the door didn’t open. “Okay, do it,” Trace nodded to Flash.

Flash stepped forward and fired the breaching round into the door lock, the specialized round destroying the wooden frame. Then he kicked the door in. Trace followed up by firing a sphere of light into the room, which detonated with a blinding flare.

Bumblebee and his shield led the way in, with Prowl aiming her sidearm right over his shoulder. Flash followed up; his hooves trembled slightly as he swept his shotgun from side to side, but he moved as quickly and assuredly as the other officers. Trace followed behind, with Phillip bringing up the rear, walking on his hind legs with his pistol up.

The living room was a clutter of gear and boxes, nearly covering the couches and coffee table. The combined kitchen and dining room was equally messy, the sink filled with dirty dishes, the trash can filled with takeout wrappers and the remnants of many meals. The sheets of the bed were rumpled and tossed aside, many pornographic magazines littering the mattress and floor. There was no sign of anypony within the house.

“See?” Trace said, holstering his gun. “I told you that he was gonna run.”

Bumblebee dropped his shield next to the bedroom door with a heavy clatter, sighing and massaging his shoulder. “Well, a pony with one ear can’t get very far.” He thought for a moment. “Though, that pony with one leg did get pretty far on his own…”

“That was a silly radio show, Bee,” Prowl rolled her eyes. “We’re not characters in some ridiculous story that runs on dramatic cliches.”

Phillip paused, sniffing the air. “What is that?” he muttered. “Anypony else smell that?”

“What, Bumblebee’s hair gel?” Prowl asked, drawing a snicker from Flash and a raspberry from Bumblebee.

“I already knew Arc Light was coming over later,” Phillip stated flatly. “Saw the condoms in his pocket.”

Prowl and Flash both laughed while Bumblebee turned a furious shade of scarlet.

“But no,” Phillip continued, sniffing the air as he walked slowly towards a closet door. “I smell rot.” Drawing his pistol again, he opened the door.

The closet was nearly stuffed full with gym bags: an open one revealed that it contained two shotguns, their barrels sawn down, a dark blue jumpsuit, and some stolen grenades, including frag, stun, and smoke. But sprawled across the floor of the closet was a unicorn with a boot and a nail for a cutie mark, green eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. The stallion’s left ear was torn away, the remaining flesh red and ragged, and his throat had been sliced open. The body used to have a light purple coloration, but now the left half was pale, veins visible beneath the thin layer; the right half was a map of dark purple and bleached white lividity.

“Hobnail,” Trace grunted. “Guess he didn’t run after all.”

“Minimal blood on the floor,” Phillip observed. “Based on lividity, he was lying on his right side at first, but somepony moved him in here six-plus hours after death.”

“They killed Hobnail because he was a liability,” Flash concluded. “But somepony else moved him...why?”

“He’s been dead since at least last night, judging by rigor and lividity,” Phillip muttered, testing the limbs.

“But if that’s true,” Trace frowned. “Then who called in—?”

Trace's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a revving engine outside.

A dark blue four-door van sat parked beside the road, the passenger staring at the window of the bungalow through binoculars.

"They haven't found the body yet," Star Cluster grunted, adjusting the focus on the binoculars. A BAR sat sprawled across his lap. "But when they do, they're mine."

"How'd you know they'd come here?" asked one of the ponies in the backseat.

"When I saw that posting they made, I knew who it was," Star replied. "I met Hobnail a few times back before Cold Bitch fired us. Just wish I'd had a chance to kill the sumbitch myself."

“I wonder why you only brought two ponies with you,” the driver commented dryly.

Star Cluster turned and shot a glare over his shoulder at Bentley Browndust, who was scanning the roads for any signs of other police.

“That supposed to mean something?” he growled. Both the ponies in the back shifted slightly, also glaring at the donkey.

“Just saying, usually when you go to a fight, you bring a bunch of other ponies to hide behind,” Bentley stated bluntly. “Like your ambush at Peach Orchard.”

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting Zugzwang to show up!” Star Cluster snapped at him. “And I wasn’t hiding; I needed the advantage!”

“And yet, you ran away,” Bentley pointed out.

"Watch your tongue, jackass," the bulky green earth pony in the back snarled. The pegasus with the brass-colored coat hissed and slid his hoof into the circular foregrip on the pump-action shotgun.

Star Cluster gritted his teeth, his horn sparking with barely concealed fury. “You think I wanted to run? To abandon Red Sun, and Desert Wind, and Monsoon and the rest?! My old partners?! You think I liked leaving them behind for Zugzwang to kill?!” He squeezed the binoculars so tight the plastic almost cracked. “If I didn’t run when Zugzwang showed up, I’d have died, too; but I couldn’t save my partners. And he’s going to die for that.”

Bentley looked at him, his eyebrows rising up towards his brow, then sighed and nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he admitted. “I...didn’t think of it that way.”

Star Cluster grunted and turned away the binoculars back up to his eyes. "Okay, they've found the body. Emerald, Cartridge, we're up. Bentley, kick it."

Bentley grunted and hit the accelerator. The van responded immediately with a growl like a dragon awoken from their nap, pulling away from the curb and down the street.

Star Cluster leaned out the window, a sparking and trembling sphere blossoming from the tip of his horn. As the car drew level with the bungalow, he launched the crackling sphere right at the window, behind which were the shadows of the gathered ponies.

The sphere struck the wall and exploded with a crash of lightning and thunder. Glass shattered and the dust of pulverized walls flew up into the air, glistening in the sunlight.

Even before the shrapnel struck the ground, Star Cluster and his two cohorts were diving out of the van and charging towards the front door of the house, guns in hoof, hearts thudding to the rapid rhythm of revenge.

Author's Note

Got that sinking feeling, Daring?

Yes, that was bad, and I feel bad.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Eight: Stepping Up

The sound of a revving engine made everypony look up just in time to see a dark blue van with tinted windows driving up the street towards them. The passenger window rolled down and a familiar mustached unicorn leaned out, his horn sparking.

“Star Cluster!” Flash gasped.

A sphere, crackling like orange lightning, launched itself from Star Cluster’s horn, racing towards the window.

“Down!” Prowl shouted, grabbing Trace and Bumblebee and diving for the floor. Phillip turned and tackled Flash, shoving him to the ground.

The sphere struck the wall and exploded with a crash of thunder. The window shattered, glass raining down upon the ponies like sharp hail, mixing with the dust of the fracturing wall. A wave of heat and pressure crushed down upon Flash, pushing the air from his lungs; a white light washed over his gaze, and he felt icicles stabbing him through the ears, rupturing his eardrums.

The white light slowly faded away, revealing the world, blurred and shaking before him. The only sound he could hear was a faint, distant ringing; he felt himself gasping, struggling to remember how to breathe.

Phillip was still sprawled across him, eyes closed; was he unconscious? Was he dead?! Flash looked around; Prowl was lying on her side, one wing tucked close to her, cringing in pain. Bumblebee was trying to get up, but his legs didn’t seem to want to work; he wobbled and stumbled like a drunkard, eyes rolling. Trace wasn’t moving, partially covered by wreckage from the tumbling wall.

Flash saw the ceiling start to sag over his head, then quickly rolled out of the way as a shower of plaster and wood rained down upon where he had just been, pulling Phillip’s still form out of the way as well.

As he rolled, he saw movement down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. The front door crashed open—the fact that he could still hear nothing disturbed him deeply—and a pony rushed in, a brass-colored pegasus wearing a bulletproof vest, brown eyes blazing furiously with vengeance, wings spread to carry his weight as he stood on his hind legs. A pump action shotgun was clutched in his hooves. Flash could see two other ponies behind him.

A stab of panic raced up Flash’s spine, his heart rate speeding up. All of his muscles contracted, his mind shuddering to a halt. All he could think about was the flash of a shotgun muzzle, what it would feel like when those metal pellets pierced his skin. He looked around; the others were still unconscious or pinned down. It was just him. Him against three gunponies.

I’m going to die. The thought flashed through Flash’s brain like a bolt of lightning, evaporating his will. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. The barrel of the shotgun emerged from around the corner, and he gasped, knowing that it would be one of his last breaths...

“Being brave isn’t the same as never being scared.”

The pegasus rounded the corner, shotgun leading the way. And Flash Sentry, terrified, breath heavy, heart pounding, drew his sidearm in a trained motion, raising it up to his eyes.

The pegasus turned towards him, shotgun swinging around to bear, but Flash felt like it was moving in slow motion. The iron sights of his .38 Special settled on the target’s chest.

Flash pressed down on the trigger twice; he saw the flashes of the gunshots, felt the .38 kick against his foreleg, but all he heard was a pair of distant thuds. The brass-colored pegasus stumbled, face twisting into pain, stunned by the shots ramming into his vest.

Flash raised the gun slightly, setting the sights over his target’s forehead and squeezed the trigger again: the Failure ‘Three-Claw Touch’ Drill, a movement that he had practiced hundreds of times in the range. Blood blossomed from underneath the gunpony’s left eye and he fell to the ground.

About this moment, Flash suddenly realized that he was moving forward, gun still raised. The bulky green earth pony behind the pegasus was coming around to bear; Flash saw his lips move, bellowing out a word: a name? Vengeance in the stallion’s eyes, he swung the BAR around to aim at Flash.

Move!

Flash ducked, his left foreleg snapping up and pushing the barrel aside right as his foe opened fire. He felt more than heard the BAR firing, like the rapid, heavy clicks of a giant typewriter pounding the sky, and the heat of the bullets zipping past inches from his head.

The barrel of his .38 pressed against the flesh of the gunpony’s gut, just beneath his vest, and he fired twice again. Flesh and blood, hot and sticky and wet, flooded over his hooves, and the green pony collapsed against him, his stinking breath whooshing out of him.

And then Flash saw him. Right behind the green earth pony, BAR leading the way through the door. Star Cluster.

“No!” he heard his former tormentor scream, a fire lighting in his eyes at the sight of his dead cohorts. Flash shoved the massive weight off him, raising the .38 to aim, but Star Cluster was already opening fire. Flash dived backward, but an anvil punched him in the gut and he tumbled to the ground with a wheeze, his last shot going into the ceiling.

“You killed them!” Star Cluster bellowed, stalking forward with his weapon out; his voice seemed distant and muted, as though Flash had cotton stuffed into his ears. “You killed two of my buddies!” He sneered and aimed the gun at Flash’s gut. “So now, after I kill you, I’m gonna kill everypony you love. Say goodnight, punk.”

Gasping for air, staring death right in the face, Flash looked around for something, anything that would get him out alive. His hoof touched something cold and metal; Bumblebee’s shield! In a desperate scramble, he seized the handle and swung the shield up.

The BAR opened up again, and bullets hammered against the shield like a jackhammer, pinging musically off the magically-enhanced steel. Flash scrambled to try to get up, panting. Reload, reload! He fumbled for the gun, trying to pull out the ejection rod with shaking hooves.

Star Cluster ceased firing and Flash felt the electric tingle of magic as he tried to yank the shield aside; looking through the viewport, he could see the BAR staring down at him.

And then something charged over Flash’s head and rammed into Star. A baton appeared with a rapid clicking sound and smashed down onto Star’s foreleg; bone cracked, the gun clattered to the floor, and the unicorn’s scream of pain was cut off by a heavy blow crashing into his jaw.

Phillip Finder, one foreleg still in a sling, covered in dust, blood trickling from several cuts, was pinning the taller unicorn to the wall, slamming into him with his baton, shoulders, head, and elbows, bellowing like a lion. The unicorn was holding his forelegs across his face, desperately trying to block, but the blows were raining down from every direction.

Flash quickly got back to his hooves, grasping the ejector rod to swing out the cylinder, and his heart lifted at the sight of Prowl and Bumblebee both getting up, eyes focusing on their foe.

Star managed to shove Phillip back, then fired off a magical shield that pushed them all away. Phillip rolled as he hit the ground, popping back to his hooves; Flash managed to block most of the shove with the shield, but still stumbled enough to drop his speedloader. Bumblebee was tossed back onto his rear, while Prowl dug her hooves in and skidded back a few feet.

“Thish ishin ovah!” he slurred through a broken jaw, stumbling for the door. He sprinted out across the lawn.

Phillip, Prowl, and Bumblebee all leaped to pursue him, but were forced to fall back when shotgun blasts roared from the window of the dark blue van. Star Cluster dived through the open passenger door, allowing the ponies to catch a brief glimpse of the donkey in the driver’s seat aiming a shotgun out the passenger window. Even before the door shut, the van was peeling away in a screech of tires and smoke, vanishing from sight in moments.

Forgoing pursuit, Phillip leaned against the door’s threshold, panting and rubbing his left shoulder. “Everypony okay?” he asked.

Prowl winced, glancing at her right wing, which was bent at a slightly unnatural angle. “Wing’s broken,” she grunted. “I should be okay.”

“I FEEL FINE!” Bumblebee shouted, shaking his head and coughing. “JUST A HEADACHE!”

“Bee, don’t yell, my head hurts,” Prowl winced.

“I’M NOT YELLING! AM I YELLING?!” Bumblebee asked Phillip. Phillip just nodded. “OH, SORRY!”

Phillip proceeded inside, glancing at the bodies of the two gunponies. The brass pegasus lay on the floor faceup, his cheekbone torn open; the bulky green earth pony was sprawled across the floor, laying in a puddle of his still-wet blood. Flash’s shots had penetrated the abdominal aorta. The thought of what it would’ve been like to bleed out like that made Phillip wince slightly. Behind him, he heard Prowl radioing for an ambulance.

He walked over to Flash, who was now shoving the wreckage off of Trace. Flash bent down next to Trace and felt his neck, then sighed. “He’s alive,” he murmured, more to himself than Phillip, and sat down.

Phillip’s eyes traveled over to the shield, which was covered in dents and ricochets, dented and flattened bullets laying on the floor around it. He walked over to Flash, having to walk around to his left side, and placed his foreleg around the younger stallion’s shoulders. The colt was trembling slightly as the adrenaline washed itself out, breath coming fast and short.

“You did aces, jackaroo,” Phillip said, squeezing Flash to his side, giving him a rock for shelter against the storm of emotions that battered him. “We’re all alive because of you.”

Flash nodded, swallowing, still seemingly overwhelmed.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Phillip stated, giving Flash another gentle squeeze.

Flash looked up at him, eyes wide, then smiled and stood up fully. Trace groaned and his eyes flickered open, scanning the room.

“Oh, hey,” he murmured. “We’re not dead.”

“Ambulance is on the way,” Prowl called from the hallway.

Phillip nodded and leaned against the wall. “Wonder where Daring is…”

Grunting furiously, Rainbow Dash fought against the ropes that still bound her. Every movement made the garbage around her rattle and shift; the smell of rotten food, oil, and a dozen other reeking flavors filled her nostrils as she huffed through the black bag still covering her head. She gripped the razor blade tightly, still sawing at the ropes around her wrists, but her clumsy movements were too slow.

Anger and desperation mixed in her mind, burning like a gasoline fire. She repeatedly kicked the side of the dumpster, every bang echoing loudly and making her already aching head pound; she tried to yell for help through the tape, trying to ignore the crushing realization that it was unlikely anypony was within hearing range. A sharp jab of pain cut into Dash’s foreleg and she grunted in pain. It felt as though a broken bottle had jabbed her.

An idea crossed Rainbow’s mind. She managed to shift over onto her side, the garbage bags she was laying across crinkling and rustling. After some blind fumbling, she managed to grasp the neck of the shattered bottle. She twisted it around and started hacking at her bindings with the broken glass.

Already she could feel the ropes parting, creaking as they strained to hold together. Grinning behind the gag, Rainbow cut once, twice, three more times. Finally, with a snap, the ropes binding her hooves broke.

A shout of victory broke from Rainbow’s throat. After some wriggling around, she managed to untie the ropes around her wings and upper forelegs, then yanked the black hood from her head, tore the tape off her mouth with a soft yelp, then spat out the rag that had been stuffed into her jaws. A moment later, she had freed her hind legs.

She scrambled out of the dumpster, breathing in the sweet, salty air of the river, infinitely preferable to that of the garbage. Panting, she looked around. Where was Daring—?

Her eyes spotted a set of tire tracks, tracing the lines of burnt rubber across the wood of the dock all the way down to the edge. And then she saw the bubbles floating on the languidly lapping water.

Rainbow Dash gasped in horror, freezing for a moment of shock before springing into action. Jumping into the air, she took in a deep breath and dived straight into the water.

The Maresippi embraced her in a cold, crushing embrace, ice chilling her down to the bone. The water was a dark green color, obscuring her vision through a dark haze. Squinting, Rainbow managed to make out the dark shape of a car sinking beneath her. Propelling herself with limbs and wings, she managed to swim down to the car. Grasping the handle of the trunk, she yanked back as hard as she could, but the door refused to budge.

Why won’t it move?! Rainbow thought, using her wings to aid in her attempt to open the door. The hatch still remained determinedly shut, as though something was pushing it down.

Oh, right: the water, Rainbow realized. I can’t open it until the pressure’s equalized.

She continued to tug lightly on the trunk door; with each pull, she begged for the pressure to lessen, to release. Darkness was starting to creep around the edges of her vision, and her lungs burned with the urge to breathe.

Finally, the trunk opened with a creak. Rainbow reached inside and grasped an ice cold foreleg. Daring emerged from the trunk, freed of her bonds. Already she was blue in the face, her mane and tail waving about everywhere.

Rainbow turned and started swimming back up to the surface, struggling towards that distant glimmer of sunlight, dragging Daring behind her. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, her head spinning. Determinedly clamping her jaws shut, Rainbow pushed herself upwards so hard that her already sore muscles screamed in protest. Daring tried to follow her upwards, but Rainbow felt her slipping from her grasp; a stream of bubbles issued past her as Daring’s lungs failed her.

Then a dark shape broke the surface, propelling downward towards them. Rainbow froze in alarm, squinting at the strange object as it swam closer.

Then as it came closer, Rainbow recognized the golden-brown feathered griffon with dark brown eyes. Quickly, Rainbow handed Daring up to the griffon; Daring was holding her throat, convulsing as she fought the instinct to breathe. Mavri seized Daring from behind and started swimming up towards the surface; Daring clung to him in desperation, but he didn’t slow.

Rainbow followed after them both; a buzzing was growing in her ears, head spinning even more. Her mouth opened against her will and her screaming lungs, begging for relief, inhaled a great amount of the river water. She choked and retched, clamping her mouth shut again and pushed one last time…

And finally, she broke the surface of the river. Rainbow gasped in a great lungful of the warm, wonderfully smelling air, then gulped down more of the oxygen, her head slowly ceasing its spinning as she treaded water.

Looking around, Rainbow spotted Mavri a few feet off, trying to backstroke with one foreleg as he held Daring to his chest with the other; Daring was laying on his chest, eyes closed, not moving. The alarmed, desperate look on his face rejuvenated Rainbow’s aching limbs and she swam over.

“I don’t think she’s breathing!” Mavri grunted, struggling towards the shore, so close and yet so far away.

“Wait, hold on!” Rainbow cried. She floated next to the two, bending her ear next to Daring’s mouth. A chill ran down her spine as she realized that she couldn’t feel her breath.

CPR! She’d learned CPR as part of weather pony training! She could save her! Her own breath erratic, Rainbow tilted Daring’s neck back. That was the first step, right? Clear the airways? Right! And now she bent in close to Daring’s open mouth. Right before their lips touched, Rainbow took in a breath…

And was rewarded with a mouthful of vomit and river water. Daring spasmed, coughing and retching up the contents of her lungs and stomach. Recognizing that she was being held, she struggled feebly against Mavri’s hold.

“Easy, now, it’s just me,” Mavri grunted, swimming back towards shore.

“I think she’s breathing,” Rainbow grinned breathlessly, following them to the dock.

As the two of them reached the shallows, they heaved Daring, who was still coughing and gasping, onto the shore. She sprawled across the ground, shivering.

“H-how?” she managed to stutter to Mavri.

“I was fishing down the river from here, saw the car go over the dock,” Mavri explained. “I was just gonna call the police, but then I saw your friend dive in. Thought she might need some help.”

Daring sat up and managed to smile through chattering teeth at her rescuers. “Th-th-thank you.”

“See, nothing to worry about,” Rainbow puffed her chest out, pride dispelling any cold she felt. Daring rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t waver.

Mavri limped a short distance away to shake himself off. “I’m calling an ambulance, you two wait here,” he grunted, limping up the hill in search for a gamewell.

“I don’t need an am—” Daring’s protest was cut off by a massive dizzy spell that sent her stumbling to the ground, retching again. She forced herself to breathe deeply until her head’s spinning slowed again. “Okay, fine,” she mumbled to Mavri’s retreating back.

Rainbow looked back at the water’s surface, head cocked slightly. “I’ll be right back,” she told Daring, then flew up into the air.

“Dash!” Daring cried in alarm as the pegasus dived back beneath the surface of the river. Daring ran down to the shore, stumbling as she splashed into the shallow regions, then stared at the rippling water, mouth open as she panted.

But a moment later, the surface of the river burst and Rainbow flew back up, clutching several wet items in her forelegs. She landed next to Daring and tossed them down with a grin; Daring’s shirt, her pith helmet, and the aluminum cigar tube.

“You just can’t be Daring Do without your gear,” Rainbow declared. “It’d be like Batmare without her utility belt.”

Daring stared at the clothes for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. “You’re something, kid,” she admitted, walking back to shore. She sat down in a sunny spot. “Okay, kid, we need to find a phone. Tell the police the address of the hideout. You remember it?”

“Two-thirty Lilac Street,” Rainbow stated.

Daring had to think for a moment, then nodded. “Right, right. Go! There might still be some evidence left.”

“Got it!” Rainbow saluted and zipped off. Daring tried to fly after her, but as soon as her hooves left the ground, the entire world seemed to flip on its side and she tumbled to the ground.

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna wait here for the ambulance,” she muttered, laying down in a warm spot. The sun gently beat down upon her, drying her coat as she shivered.

“I hope Phil’s having better luck than me,” she said to herself.

A river of thoughts ran through her mind: Bright Sparks snarling into her ear. The close tunnel. The orange ward over the house. The crates of equipment—guns? Explosives? Plans? The rack of clothes…

The clothes…

The white shirt and apron. With the baguette and bowl of soup. She’d seen that before. Where, where…?

“Gear, you’d best get ready for tonight,” Bright Sparks’ voice echoed in her ear, followed by a rattling of a clothes hanger…

“The Mayor!” Daring gasped. She scrambled back to her hooves and raced back up to the curb, her vision blurring.

“Whoa, whoa,” a voice she barely recognized as Mavri’s cried and she felt strong arms grasping her shoulders, steadying her. She turned to look at Mavri, trying to force her eyes to work right.

“Take it easy,” Mavri said, trying to force her to sit down. “Your friend’s already calling for an ambulance.”

Daring squinted across the street and spotted Rainbow Dash standing at a curb, talking into a payphone.

“No, no,” Daring grunted, trying to stumble towards her. “I have to tell them!”

“Tell them what?” Mavri protested.

“He’s going to kill the Mayor!” Daring shouted, shoving Mavri off her and racing towards the phone booth.

Author's Note

Relieved now? You glad I made you wait two weeks for this?

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Case Nine, Chapter Nine: The Best Laid Plans

The scent of cordite and the static tingling of magical traces still hung in the air around the partially wrecked home of Hobnail. More cruisers and an ambulance now stood at the top of the short driveway, red and blue lights spinning.

Phillip leaned against the hood of Trace’s car, shrugging his left shoulder. “Doesn’t hurt now,” he muttered to the paramedic.

“Really?” the orange-maned mare asked, raising an eyebrow.

In actuality, every square centimeter of his shoulder was screaming in agony after his fight, but he bit back the pain. “Okay, maybe it hurts a little,” he admitted through gritted teeth.

The paramedic gently felt his shoulder. “Well, you didn’t dislocate it again,” she observed with some relief. “Here.” She pulled a small paper packet of painkillers and an enchanted forever-ice pack out of her saddlebags and handed them to him. “These will help with the pain. No more exerting yourself for the rest of the day.”

“Right,” Phillip grunted, taking the items. He placed the ice pack on his shoulder, sighing as the magical chill soothed the pain, then tore the packet open with his teeth and swallowed both of the pills dry. The paramedic walked back towards the ambulance. Phillip’s eyes followed her as she bent over Prowl, who was laying on her side on a stretcher.

“What do you think?” he heard the medic ask her partner.

“Her wing’s definitely sprained, bad,” the blue-maned unicorn answered, gently setting Prowl’s wing in bandages. “We should take a look at it at the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Prowl growled at them.

“Sergeant, all due respect, it’s a damn miracle that you lot got out of this with only some relatively minor injuries,” the unicorn replied coolly. “Somepony up there must really like you. But I must insist on having your wing checked at the hospital. There could be some muscle damage that I’m missing.”

Prowl fumed silently, but Bumblebee walked up and laid a hoof on her shoulder. “Hey, partner, you really should let ‘em look,” he said, still speaking a little louder than normal. “Wouldn’t want your wing falling off later.”

Prowl looked up at him for a couple of beats, then sighed. “Fine. But unless it needs surgery, you’re just gonna patch me up and get me out.”

“Deal,” the unicorn nodded. He and his partner then gently hefted the stretcher, carrying her into the back of the ambulance. The gray-maned earth pony inside helped them in, setting Prowl down next to the stretcher with Trace laying atop it.

“Still with us, Detective?” the unicorn paramedic asked, hopping up into the back of the ambulance.

“I’d like to not be,” Trace groaned, turning his head towards the speaker and adjusting the cold pack on his forehead.

Phillip walked up to the ambulance, holding up a hoof to stop the medics from closing the doors. “You’re gonna be fine, Trace,” he said to the other stallion.

Trace looked up to fix him with an upside-down gaze. “Phil, of course I’m gonna be fine,” he stated. “I can’t just leave Sweetpea in your hooves. She wouldn’t last a week.”

Phillip managed to smile briefly. “Say hi to Red for me.”

What little humor there was in Trace’s eyes instantly vanished and he stared back up at the ceiling of the ambulance. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Listen, take it easy on the clutch. Sweetpea doesn’t like it if you force it. And if she doesn’t start on the first turn of the key, just gently pump the gas a bit. I've been meaning to get the intake valve replaced.”

“Right, will do,” Phillip nodded, stepping back. The paramedics slammed the doors shut and the ambulance sped down the street, siren blaring.

Phillip stared after it for several moments of silence, then slowly walked back to the Commander. He patted the pale golden brown hood, letting out a breath. “He’ll be fine,” he muttered.

“Are you talking to a car?” Flash asked, walking up to him.

“No,” Phillip grunted, withdrawing his hoof. “Okay, you need to get a report in at the precinct, and I need—”

“Bishop Nine, Bishop Nine, 21 for Finder,” the radio in the Commander buzzed.

Phillip stared for a beat, then opened the door and grasped the hoofset, clicking the microphone. “This is Finder,” he stated.

“Finder, 21 Dispatch ASAP,” the radio replied. “Daring on line for you, urgent.”

Phillip felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Copy,” he stated into the microphone and dropped it, not even bothering to place it back on the stand. He sprinted back into the house, pushing through the front door. There’d been a phone in the living room...there! He snatched it up and sighed with relief when he heard a dial tone.

Phillip spun the dial to 0. The line rang once, then clicked. “Operator, PPD Dispatch,” he grunted.

“Stand by,” the female operator stated in a bored tone. There was a series of clicks as the line was reconnected, then another voice picked up.

“Ponyville Poli—”

“This is Finder. Put me through to Daring,” he barked into the phone, his heart tapping against his chest.

“Hold on,” the voice stated. There was one last click, then he finally heard her voice.

“Phil?”

“Where are you? Are you okay?” he burst out, suddenly noticing that he was pacing in a small circle.

“Well, I haven’t been eaten by a shark,” Daring chuckled, then winced. “I did get whacked in the head a couple times, but I’m fine. Listen…”

Phillip listened as she gave him a reiteration of her and Rainbow’s adventures of the morning, his heart continuing its frantic dance inside in his chest. When she finally concluded with their rescue from the sinking car, the pressure that had been curdling in his gut finally burst.

“What were you thinking?!” he shouted.

“We do not have time for this,” Daring cut him off. “Listen, I already told Dispatch their address, they’ve got some officers on their way. But more importantly, Gear Shift is gonna try to kill the Mayor.”

“You sure?” Phillip asked.

“I saw an apron in their hideout,” Daring stated. “It had the same logo as that restaurant that’s across the street from the Mayor’s apartment. Some Prench place. No other reason they’d want to get in there.”

Phillip nodded, his heart rate slowing; he had a mission before him, a goal, and now a plan needed to be formed. “So he’s headed there,” he nodded. “I’ll get over there ASAP. And you need to go to a hospital.”

“Ugh, you too?” Daring groaned.

“Daring…” Phillip scolded.

Daring sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Ambulance is here anyway, I gotta go.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself,” Phillip stated.

“Phil, wait,” Daring interrupted, her voice suddenly quiet. “You’ve got to save the mayor, but…” She sighed. “They’re not evil. They’re like I was, once. So, if you can...just don’t kill him.”

Phillip nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Okay,” Daring nodded, then groaned in pain. “I’m gonna go now.”

“Wait,” Phillip said. “I love you.”

He heard her smile in the brief pause, the soft exhalation through her nostrils. “Love you, too.” And then, with a click, she was gone.

Phillip hung up, feeling like a stone had been inserted in his chest. He took in a deep breath, then exited the house, moving at a quick trot back to the car.

“What’s up?” Flash asked.

“Change of plans,” Phillip stated, pulling the keys that he’d taken from Trace out of the pocket of his vest. “Gotta get to the Mayor’s apartment right quick.”

“Right!” Flash snapped off a salute, then ran back to his motorcycle. Bumblebee trotted back to his cruiser, diving into the driver’s seat.

Phillip climbed into the driver’s seat of the Commander, inserting the key into the ignition and turning it. The engine coughed and rumbled, but didn’t seem to want to turn.

“Come on, Sweetpea,” he muttered, gently pumping the gas and turning the key again. This time, the engine turned over with a roar. Shifting into reverse, Phillip backed out onto the road, then shifted forward, being careful to lightly push the clutch as he did so. Flipping on the siren, he led the group northward to the Mayor’s apartment.

Le Goût de la Maison was nearing the start of the dinner rush. The waiters in their fine black suits and dresses calmly but quickly served the customers that sat at the circular tables, the whole room lit only by the white candles atop the tables and the faint, rainbow-tinted rays from the crystal chandelier that hung from the grand ceiling. Busponies, each of them wearing a white apron with an imprinted soup bowl and baguette, hurried to collect any leftover cutlery and plates and carry them off through the swinging doors into the kitchen. The live orchestra sat atop the small stage in the corner, preparing their instruments.

Amidst all the movement, a gray pegasus, his slicked dark blue mane and beard shiny with hair grease, walked into the restaurant, dusting off the front of his apron. Gear Shift quickly spotted a wheeled cart with a bin of soapy water atop it standing abandoned in a corner, the buspony currently busy speaking to another customer. On soft, silent hooves, he zipped in and took the cart, carrying it off towards the swinging doors labeled “Employees Only.”

As he bumped through the doors, he entered a world that was completely different than the one he had just left. A thin haze of smoke and steam hung in the air, a dozen different odors mingling within: cooked hay, fresh fruit, grilled vegetables, fish and eggs, and so many more. Dozens of overlapping voices mixed with the clattering of dishes and the sizzling of food being cooked. Chefs bustled back and forth, bending over their stations and shouting instructions and requests to one another. Towards the back of the kitchen was a set of swinging doors with a punch-clock next to it.

Gear Shift continued onwards, his head held high, eyes set on the conveyor for the dishwasher in the back. First rule of making a disguise work: sell it. If you act like you belong, everypony else will assume that you do.

He glanced up briefly at the security crystal in the wall, the narrow blue eye seeming to watch him out of the corner of its gaze. He felt a shiver run down his spine, but he kept moving forward. Showing signs of nervousness would just attract attention to him later if they checked the image. Besides, he’d combed his mane to differentiate himself from his mug shots, and his cutie marks of a wrench and a tire were both covered by the false cutie mark stickers of a deliberately generic image of the flowers. He was invisible, so long as he didn’t draw attention to himself.

And sure enough, nopony bothered the stallion in the apron striding confidently towards the dishwasher. Gear Shift dropped the dishes onto the rolling conveyor, where they journeyed towards the steaming washer. Gear then glanced around. Nopony was paying any attention to him.

With a smirk, Gear walked towards the door in the back, giving a brief nod to an incoming sous-chef. The portly mare barely glanced at him, already barking orders at another worker.

Passing through the door, he found himself in a hallway, with only a black carpet and pale off-white walls, a sharp contrast from the dining room that he’d just left. A door to his left allowed access to the stairs. cross from him was a window.

Just under twenty feet away through the window, a bulletproof pane of glass set in a brick wall stared back at him. Behind, the Mayoral Suite, and his target.

Gear Shift felt the weight of the weapon in his shirt pocket and checked his wing pouch for the little glass vial. Inside, he knew, was a Thanatan Potion, with a single hair inside. A hair from the head of Margaret Mare. If he were to imbibe the potion, it wouldn’t affect him at all (though Bright Sparks warned him that serious indigestion and diarrhea weren't unheard of). But when Margaret Mare imbibed it, her organs would shut down one at a time over a period of agonizing hours until the dark magic of the potion reached her heart. And there was nothing that anypony could do to save her.

He didn’t know how Black Licorice had gotten it, and he didn’t want to know. All he was certain of, he was going to be the one to kill the Mayor and cut the head off of the beast of injustice that was Ponyville.

He breathed deep and remembered the soft smell of spices in her blonde mane. For you, Rosemary.

Gear Shift proceeded through the door to the stairs and headed upstairs. Another door opened up onto roof access. Cigarette butts and black stains from chew were scattered across the tiles, telling the tale of smoke breaks of long past.

Gear glanced around as he took a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket. There was nopony on the roof, but across the way, he spotted two police officers on the roof of the apartment building. His eyes went to the rifles slung across their backs; his heart trembled in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm as he inserted a cigarette into his mouth. One of the cops glanced at him, then leaned over the edge of the roof to study the alley beneath.

Deep breaths, Gear Shift told himself as he walked around the edge of the roof access, hiding from the officers' view. Deep breaths.

Reaching beneath the collar of his shirt, Gear Shift grasped the magic dog tags and whispered, “Latito.” A feeling like a wet blanket draped itself over him, sliding from his head all the way down to his tail. He glanced at his hoof and smirked as he saw that he could see right through the limb, which seemed to now be made of a faint mist, just barely distinguishable from the carpet behind it.

No time to waste; the spell didn't last very long, which was why they had to resort to this plan instead of just flying straight in.

Gear glanced around the corner of the roof access, ensuring that neither of the officers were facing his direction, then headed for the edge of the roof. Spreading his wings, he glided across the alleyway to perch atop the concrete ledges outside the Mayor’s window; from here, he could see what he already knew, that this window opened into the wide kitchen of the suite, with its marble countertops and a kitchen island that was the size of a dining room table. He waited in silence for a full minute, but there was no sign of anypony inside.

Taking a small putty knife out of his apron, he inserted it into the sash and carefully pried the lock open. Inch by inch, moving as slow as the minute hoof of a clock, he opened up the window just enough to allow him room and slipped inside. One hoof came down on the countertop with a catlike step, then the other. Breathing slowly and deeply, he slithered through the window and onto the floor.

The kitchen appliances were all top of the line and shone in the light through the window. Panning his gaze around, Gear Shift spotted his target: the coffee machine in the corner. He strode forward, step by silent step: all he had to do was pour the potion into the reservoir, close the window behind him, and let the officers see him head back downstairs.

The only sound was his own steps, slowly bringing him closer to his target…

When he was about two feet away from the machine, he realized that it was too quiet.

And that’s when the door burst open and a tall unicorn mare in a trenchcoat strode through, her icy blue eyes sweeping the room. The Chief!

Gear Shift’s heart froze and so did his limbs. A moment later, her eyes locked onto the vague outline of his body and narrowed. Her horn lit up, and then a cold wind grasped Gear’s limbs like claws.

He turned to run, but his movements were slowed by the cold sensation that bit down deep into his bones. He glanced down and was shocked to note that frost and snow were forming on his limbs and on his wings. He tried to dive for the window, but his hooves had frozen to the ground and his wings flapped uselessly against the dry air.

“You can cut the invisibility spell,” Cold Case instructed as more ponies arrived in the kitchen: police officers, and that damned detective himself, eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat, arm still in a sling. Gear Shift scowled but could do nothing as the mare’s magic tugged the dog tags from his neck, removing the spell and the blanket-like feeling that came with it.

“Thanks for the call, Finder,” Cold Case declared, striding forward and extracting a set of hoofcuffs from her pocket as two officers covered Gear.

Gear Shift shot a glare at Phillip, who just smirked at him. How had he…?

Daring. The traitorous bitch must’ve gotten away somehow and warned him!

His eyes went back towards the hoofcuffs. The chains. If he went back to Frostback, he’d never get out again. That hell would swallow him up forever, and if he didn’t die from a razor blade between the ribs, it’d be as a decrepit shell in the infirmary.

No! No, he wasn’t going back! He was taking all of these bastards to Tartarus with him!

Gear Shift reached one wing into his pocket and extracted the backup plan, all one and a half pineapple-shaped pounds of it. Raising the stolen frag grenade high, he plucked out the pin with a primary feather, grinning as he felt it drop to the ground.

But just as he let go of the explosive, Phillip Finder dived forward and seized the grenade in both hooves, grasping the safety lever tightly. Gear Shift wrapped his wing around the weapon, refusing to let it go, glaring at Phillip.

Phillip glanced down at the grenade. The fuse wasn’t lit, but if he let go, they were all dead. “Let go!” he ordered the pegasus.

“No,” Gear Shift growled, voice low and heavy.

“You don’t want to do this,” Phillip said, his gray eyes meeting Gear’s.

“Of course I do!” Gear Shift snapped back, eyes narrowed. Out of the corner of his gaze, he saw Cold Case trying to move around him to get a clear shot at the grenade, gesturing for the other officers to run and save themselves. “I came here to kill the Mayor, and if I can’t get her, then I’ll take you both!”

Phillip tried to gently tug the grenade away from Gear’s wing, the chill from Cold Case’s frost spell nipping painfully at his hooves, but he couldn’t yank it away without risk of dropping it. His mind raced frantically, and from the back dredges of his mind, he recalled Gear Shift’s file. Facts slid into place, and a desperate plan formed.

“I know about Rosemary,” he said quietly in spite of his frantically pounding heart, meeting Gear’s gaze gently, calmly. The pegasus flinched a bit at the name but didn’t speak. “I know about the shootout between the two gangs. I know that she got caught in the middle,” Phillip continued.

“She died because of this city!” Gear Shift spat, a single tear forming in the corner of his eye. “She died because Mayor Bitch let the cops turn a blind eye, because she bowed and capitulated to the gangs!”

Cold Case’s eyes narrowed. “Margaret Mare only ever had this city’s—”

“Cold, let me do this,” Phillip interrupted, fixing her with a steady glare. Cold stared at him for a beat, then stepped back.

“Rosemary was a sweet girl,” Phillip continued to Gear, trying to ignore the sweat on his hooves that was already freezing against his wing, chilling the grenade. “She didn’t deserve to die. But Margaret Mare is not to blame for it: the scum who shot her is.”

“She’s the one who let it happen!” Gear Shift spat, though Phillip could feel his wing starting to tremble. “All of you, you’re all part of the scum that have run loose in this city! Standing by and letting it happen, and…” He glanced down at the grenade, his shaking more pronounced. More tears leaked from his eyes.

“Gear,” Phillip said quietly. “Look at what you’re doing. You’re trying to kill yourself and two other ponies.” He paused for a moment. “Rosemary wouldn’t have wanted this.”

Gear Shift trembled: a few more tears marked a path down his face. Cold Case had her jaw clenched, eyes still searching for a clear shot at the grenade, desperate fragments of a plan rushing past her irides.

“No one was ever punished for it,” Gear Shift breathed, his voice shaking as hard as his hooves. He took a breath, and his voice rose to a near-hysterical scream. “I want justice!”

“You’ll get it,” Phillip replied. “I will find out who did it.”

Cold Case and Gear Shift both blinked at him. “I…” Gear breathed, a faint glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. “You will?”

“I promise,” Phillip stated, nodding.

Gear Shift’s eyes darted everywhere: to Phillip, to Cold, to the grenade, to the window. Then they closed, more tears flowing from beneath the lid. He took a slow, shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Rosemary,” he choked out. Cold’s horn lit up, trying to tug Phillip away from the explosive…

And then Gear Shift slowly let go of the grenade, pulling his wing away. Phillip yanked the grenade back with a gasp and held it out to Cold Case, who quickly encased the grenade’s mechanism in ice, preventing it from triggering. Both ponies sighed as Phillip gently placed the weapon on the counter.

“You promised, Finder!” Gear Shift declared as Cold Case approached with hoofcuffs.

“And I meant it,” Phillip said, shrugging his wounded shoulder.

Not long after, a paddy wagon arrived and the defeated Gear Shift, his head hanging low, was carried into the back. He gave Phillip one last forlorn look as he sat down on the bench. Phillip gave him a nod just before the doors shut.

“There was a time when you wouldn’t have bothered trying to talk them down,” Cold Case remarked to Phillip as the wagon trundled away.

“I was different,” Phillip replied, watching the wagon turn the corner.

Cold Case stared at him for a long time, then grunted. “You’re a good stallion, Finder,” she admitted.

“The Mayor all right?” Phillip asked, turning to face her.

“Yes, we got her out of there as soon as you called,” Cold Case answered, turning and heading back. “I need to get back to her. Where are you going?”

“The hospital,” Phillip said to her retreating back. “I need to check on Daring, Trace, and Red.”

Cold paused but didn’t turn around. “They’ll be fine,” she said quietly after a moment, still not turning around.

“I know,” Phillip muttered to her and started back towards the Commander.

Author's Note

The end...or is it?

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Case Nine, Chapter Ten: Cold Case, Cold Comfort

Phillip had never liked hospitals. Despite the number of ponies wandering around, doctors and nurses bustling up and down hallways from one emergency to another, anxious visitors loitering in waiting areas for news, and emergency responders bringing in one sick or blooded patient after another, the place was clean and white. A hundred different odors lingered beneath his nose, but one scent overwhelmed them all: the stench of bleach and cleaning fluids. An indistinct message sounded over the PA and a doctor raced past him, white coat flapping in his wake.

Forcing himself to ignore the smells and sounds, Phillip shifted the weight of the saddlebag on his side and proceeded down the hallway to where he’d been directed. Stopping at the doorway, he peered inside.

Daring Do was laying on the bed in light green scrubs, covers pushed down to her waist. A golden metal band inscribed with runes adorned her head; her clothes and pith helmet lay on a table next to her. Rainbow Dash was sitting on a chair next to her, apparently regaling her with a tale. A light rain was pattering against the window, falling from the dull gray clouds that had moved in within the last few minutes.

“Phillip, please,” Daring groaned as he entered, her voice coming out dry and slightly raspy. “There’s nothing to do in here. I’m dying of boredom! Rainbow Dash is barely keeping me alive at this point.”

“Don’t worry, I brought what you need,” Phillip smiled. He proceeded to the bed and leaned down to kiss Daring on the lips. After this greeting, he took the saddlebag from his side and dumped the contents onto the bed: a notepad and two pens, the crossword and puzzle sections of the last four Foal Free Press editions, and three books.

“What, no Manticore Rare?” Daring asked.

“I’m not a bootlegger,” Phillip stated, sitting down opposite Rainbow Dash. “But I did bring you a special gift.” He nodded to one of the books.

Daring checked the title of the book and her eyes widened. “Hayana Pones and the Curse of the Scarlet Queen?! But that doesn’t come out for a month…” she said, caressing the detailed cover of the book depicting the fedora-wearing protagonist looking up at a step pyramid set against a dark red sky with a partial lunar eclipse behind the summit of the pyramid.

“Check the inside cover,” Phillip smirked.

Daring opened up the book and stared at the inscription inside the cover in swirling light purple ink. “To a fan who’s nearly as awesome as Hayana Pones himself. Love, Nightingale Star.”

Daring’s jaw dropped and she stared at the book in disbelief, faint squeaky noises emerging from the back of her throat.

“I was talking with Pinkie Pie about getting you a birthday present a week ago, and she mentioned that Twilight knew Nightingale Star,” Phillip explained. “So she put in a good word and—”

Phillip’s sentence was interrupted by Daring seizing him around the neck and pulling him down to mash her lips against his. He let out a muffled grunt of surprise and momentarily struggled, but then melted into the kiss, embracing her in reply (and ignoring Rainbow Dash sticking her tongue out and gagging).

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Daring said, hugging the book tight to her chest.

“Once or twice,” Phillip smiled, enjoying the warm wash of endorphins rushing through his body. “So what’s this?” he asked, nodding to the golden band around Daring’s head.

“They crowned me the queen of the hospital,” Daring smirked. “They’re arranging for a parade in my honor.”

Phillip rolled his eyes. “Okay, actually, this is for my multiple concussions and minor skull fracture,” Daring explained. “It’s for repairing brain damage.”

“We couldn’t have gotten you one sooner?” Phillip smirked.

Daring gave him a Flying Feather, but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “So I’m guessing you saved the Mayor,” she said, settling back into the bed.

Phillip gave her and Rainbow Dash a brief recount of his adventure. When he’d finished, Daring sighed and closed her eyes.

“Why would you promise to help him?” Rainbow asked, befuddlement written across her face. “He tried to kill us!”

“Because this job isn’t about revenge, kid,” Daring replied, giving her a stern look. “Revenge blinds you. Revenge will get you killed. This job is about doing the right thing for the right reasons. A kid’s been killed. Even if her father isn’t on our side, somepony’s gotta pay for that. Right?”

Rainbow frowned. “I guess…”

“Yup,” Phillip agreed and stood up. “I’m gonna check on Trace and Red, and you need to get some rest. Hopefully, you won’t die of boredom before you’re healed up.”

“Oh, I think I’m good,” Daring said, turning to the Curse of the Scarlet Queen and eagerly scooping it up. “So does this mean I’m not getting a birthday present?”

“We’ll see,” Phillip smiled. He kissed Daring on the forehead. “See you sheilas later.” He exited the room and trotted down the hallway.

“Are those books really that good?” Rainbow Dash asked, tilting her head as she studied the cover of Hayana Pones’ latest adventure.

“The best,” Daring replied, her eyes panning across the page as she devoured the story.

“Twilight’s been trying to get me to try them for ages,” Rainbow shrugged. “Personally, I say that they can’t be as good as your stories.”

Daring raised her eyebrows at Rainbow over the top of the book. “My life’s complicated enough without having to deal with rabid book fans. Those guys are more likely to kill me than any gangster.”

“Yeah, but has Hayana Pones ever taken down a big-time mobster?” Rainbow asked with a smirk.

Daring blinked a couple of times, then shrugged. “You got a point, kid,” she admitted, returning to the book.

Phillip walked down the hallway to his next target. Reaching the room he’d been directed towards, he peered through the doorway.

Red Herring was laying on the bed faceup, eyes closed, though Phillip could tell by his quick, steady breathing that he was awake. His chest was wrapped in bandages and an IV was injected into his foreleg. Trace Evidence was sitting beside him, the metal ring still around his horn, his head wrapped in bandages.

“Hey, Phil,” Trace muttered as he entered.

“You okay?” Phillip asked.

“Dandy,” Trace muttered. “Good news, they’re telling me that I should be out of here tomorrow. They say I’m lucky.”

“Red?” Phillip asked as he sat down on the opposite chair.

Red took a slow breath. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he nodded, opening his eyes and looking at Phillip wearily. “Just woke up this morning, and then I find out you almost got my partner killed. You really are the worst thing that happened to me.”

“Yeah, Daring and I love you, too,” Phillip muttered with a small smile. “How long are you gonna be here?”

“At least another week,” Red muttered, closing his eyes again. “The surgery went off without complications, but they want to make sure that everything’s healed up right.”

He sighed deeply and seemed to try to sink back into the bed. “You know what I kept thinking about while I was under?” he mumbled.

“Lion?” Trace asked.

Red nodded. “The last time I saw him and Honeydew, he was only six. He’d be...fuck, it’s his birthday in two months. He’ll be eleven now.” He opened his eyes again and looked at Trace, face sagging in exhaustion. “I fucked it up with her, Trace,” he admitted. “Came home one night and she and my son were both gone. Just...poof.”

Something in Red’s eyes glimmered. He wiped at his face with a wing, letting out an annoyed grunt. “I miss them,” he muttered.

“You could try again,” Trace offered.

Red looked at him. “You know, I kinda got the impression that she didn’t want that much to do with me when she sent me the divorce papers in the mail,” he deadpanned. “Told me that I could barely make time for them with my job.”

“If she did, she wouldn’t be sending you letters, letting you make phone calls on Lion’s birthday,” Trace pointed out. “Red, you fucked up. So does everypony. Doesn’t mean you can’t try again.”

When Red didn’t answer, Trace smirked. “Remember pepper spray day at academy?”

“Oh, Faust, you had to remind me,” Red groaned.

Phillip winced. “I can still feel the spray on my face. DI used the fogger on me instead of the spray; wanker said he’d run out.”

Red chuckled. “You just have a knack for pissing everypony off, don’t you?”

“Like I was saying,” Trace cut back in. “I’m sure you remember how much it hurt. I know I just wanted to lie down and wait for it to stop.”

“So did I,” Red muttered. “And let me guess: this is some kind of metaphor about how no matter how badly something hurts, what matters is getting up and working through it.”

“Hey, the cliches have their place,” Trace shrugged.

Red pondered it for a bit, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe it’s worth a shot. Not like she can divorce me twice.”

“That’s the spirit,” Trace smiled.

Phillip allowed the tender moment to linger, then grunted to bring them back to seriousness. “The Mayor’s safe for the moment; stopped the assassin,” Phillip nodded.

“You think that’s the end of it?” Trace asked.

“Doubt it,” Phillip muttered. “Zugzwang wouldn’t make it this easy.”

“Why the hell did he even announce it to you?” Red wondered. “Doesn’t make any sense, unless he thinks he’s some kind of comic book supervillain. And last I checked, you don’t go running around dressed like a bat.” He blinked. “Do you?”

“No,” Phillip deadpanned. “But I can guess. Two possible reasons: one, he’s arrogant.”

“And the other?” Red asked.

Phillip let out a breath. “He’s got something else planned,” he stated. “That’s the one that scares me.”

“Well, we’ve set him back, at least,” Trace commented. “Detectives are sweeping Hobnail’s place for any clues.”

“Right,” Phillip stood up. “They can call me if they find anything important. Meanwhile, I’ve got something else to take care of.” He extended his hoof towards Trace, who bumped it with his own.

“You mates stay healthy,” Phillip said, bumping Red’s hoof.

“Same,” Red called as Phillip exited. A distant rumble of thunder resounded from the sky outside and the rain began to fall in earnest, rapping hard against the window.

By the time Phillip walked into the laboratory, the pain in his shoulder was fading fast and he could move it normally. He was tempted to remove the sling but decided to make sure that it had ample time to heal.

Dripping wet from the rain, he entered to find Twilight and Suunkii bending over a plastic pan with several indentations, each little bubble filled with a white powder. Weaving her magic with great proficiency, Twilight placed an eyedropper in each of four jars of liquid, each one a different color--blue, orange, pink, and yellow--then started placing drops into each indentation, a different color for every row.

“If this works, we’ll have a better method for identifying poppydust,” Twilight commented, screwing the jars closed with her magic.

“I have every confidence in you, mwanafunzi wangu,” Suunkii smiled at his student, patting her on the back.

“Thank you, doctor,” Twilight said, practically glowing. It was then that she noticed Phillip entering.

“I see somepony forgot their umbrella,” Twilight commented.

“Suun, Twi,” Phillip nodded. “I need to pull a cold case.”

“Which one?” Suunkii asked.

“The death of Rosemary Harvest,” Phillip replied. “It was in a gang shooting in the Industrial District, in ‘47.”

Suunkii nodded. “I believe I recall that case. Come with me.”

Suunkii led Phillip down the hallway, the earth pony leaving a trail of small puddles behind him. Suunkii regarded the puddles with a raised eyebrow. “I believe your mother would state that the wandjina were angry,” he commented.

“She would,” Phillip nodded, hanging back a bit so that he could shake himself off without getting Suunkii wet. “Though I’m pretty sure that the Aborigineigh rain guardians wouldn’t come this far north.”

“How is she?” Suunkii asked as they reached a doorway.

“Good,” Phillip said. “She and dad will be coming up this summer like usual.”

“I believe we shall attend the concert,” Suunkii smiled briefly as he unlocked the door with a key extracted from his lab coat pocket.

They entered a room roughly the size of three broom closets, packed so full with filing cabinets and cardboard boxes with papers spilling out of them that there was barely enough space to move inside.

Suunkii managed to squeeze his way inside, grunting with effort as he forced himself in between two cabinets. “Perhaps with that better budget Cold Case has been promising, we can hire some interns to clean this up,” he muttered as he paused before a cabinet and pulled the drawer open. He flicked through the folders within, and finally settled upon one. “Yes, here it is.”

He started to back out, but the cabinets blocked him in. Frowning, Suunkii pushed harder, but he could not force himself through. He looked back at Phillip, who was grinning broadly, and sighed. “Help?” he muttered.

Grasping Suunkii’s tail with his teeth, Phillip tugged backward, trying to yank him loose. Suunkii pushed as hard as he could into him, his cheeks already starting to glow with red. But unfortunately, the friction still proved too great for the two of them to defeat.

“Okay, one more try,” Phillip muttered through Suunkii’s tail, bracing himself. “On three. One, two...three!”

Phillip yanked on Suunkii’s tail as the zebra pushed backward, both of them straining as the cabinets groaned in protest. Suunkii’s flanks slid through the last couple inches, then with a sudden pop, he was freed from his prison.

Unfortunately, his momentum caused him to fly back into Phillip, who was knocked off-balance by the sudden impact. Before either of them knew what had happened, a panting, red-faced and slightly sweaty Suunkii was sitting on Phillip’s face. Phillip grunted in shock and started writhing beneath his flanks, trying to free himself.

And, of course, it was right at that moment that the door opened. The doctor turned to see an officer standing in the doorway, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

Suunkii cleared his throat, feeling his blush spreading across his face even further and silently pleading for Phillip to stop wriggling beneath him. “Officer, I assure you, this is not what it—”

That was as far as he got before the officer stepped back and closed the door. Suunkii stared, his jaw slack. “Oh, dear.”

“Geroff!”

Suunkii scrambled awkwardly within the confined space and after some struggling, managed to get off Phillip, who was also red and sweaty-faced. Phillip glared at him as he retrieved his trilby.

“We shall never speak of this,” Suunkii stated, ordering his face to return to its normal color.

“Agreed,” Phillip grunted.

The two exited the file room and walked back down the hallway to the laboratory to find Twilight bending over the pan, her face practically glowing with excitement. “Doctor Suunkii, it’s working!” she cried, dancing in place.

Dropping the folder on the table, Suunkii trotted over and bent over the pan. “Indeed. I was absolutely certain that your experiment would work, Twilight Sparkle.” He smiled and patted her on the back.

While the two of them were busy talking, Phillip opened up the folder and began to pan through the files, thinking. He ran a hoof down the first officers’ reports.

“Shootout between two rival gangs...warehouse on docks...police called for shots fired at 1513…” he muttered to himself. “Five deceased: two from each gang, and Rosemary Harvest, on her way home from school…”

He paused at a picture showing a young earth pony filly sprawled across the sidewalk. She would’ve been a beautiful little girl, her sunshine yellow mane tied neatly into pigtails and her long tail braided. Her flanks were blank; she couldn’t have been more than six years old.

And yet the image was totally ruined by the dark red blood that was splashed across her light green coat. A bullet had ripped through her body, just below her shoulder: Phillip could see the concrete of the sidewalk through the hole. More blood was painted across the sidewalk on either side of her.

“It’s horrible,” Twilight breathed, looking over his shoulder. “How could a little girl get killed in the street like that and nopony care about it?”

“Case went unsolved; cops couldn’t get enough evidence to convict anypony,” Phillip stated, sorting out more photographs and a sketch depicting a birds-eye view of the entire scene. “Doesn’t mean they didn’t try.”

“In no small part because of enormous pressure put on them by the Foal Free Press,” Suunkii muttered.

“The city’s changed a lot,” Phillip stated. “And now we’re on the case.”

He pulled out the autopsy report and scowled. “Bollocks. Doctor Dust Bowl did the autopsy.”

“Yes; as I recall, Doctor Mortis was out with the flu at the time,” Suunkii said dryly.

“Bogan can’t tell a bullet wound from a broken bone,” Phillip growled, looking through the report. “And the body will be too rotted by now…” He sighed.

“Okay. COD listed as bullet wound, passing from her left shoulder and out through her right at a downward angle,” he muttered. “Poor sheila went into shock and bled out.”

Twilight winced. “That poor girl…”

“Need to figure out where the shooter was.” Phillip looked at the photographs of the girl’s body, pulling out a magnifying glass and studying the bloodstains.

Twilight cleared her throat quietly. “Phillip, have you been thinking about Zugzwang?” she asked.

Phillip’s hoof paused over a photograph, then continued tracing a bloodstain. “No,” he admitted. “Think about him when I see him again.”

“Phillip, according to Flash, you’ve lost every fight you had with him,” Twilight stated.

Phillip scowled deeply, then grunted. “He’s not the first unicorn I’ve fought. Not the first fight I’ve lost. I can handle it.”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “Is it really so hard for you to admit that you need some help?” she sighed.

Phillip paused, then took a deep breath. “Twilight, did you have an idea?” he asked dryly.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Twilight said, puffing her chest out. “My brother Shining Armor and I were sending letters--”

Phillip suddenly looked up. “Shining Armor?” he repeated. “As in General Shining Armor?”

Twilight puffed up a bit more, her proud smile broadening. “Yes,” she replied. “He and I both graduated from the Royal Academy of Magic. Anyway, he and I were discussing a ward that was designed to reflect offensive magic that could be applied to plainclothes, and I remembered something. You remember the wards I put on yours and Daring’s vests when we fought Tinderspark?”

Phillip nodded, unzipping his vest and looking on the interior. Burned into the fabric was a geometric shape in faint purple lines, looking like a decagon, an eight-pointed star, and a raindrop all artistically intertwined with one another. This, a ward of Twilight’s design, was designed to make the vest fireproof, even against cursed dragonfire.

“Well, a part of that ward involves making the vest somewhat magic-repellant to prevent the Dragon’s Spark from working on it,” Twilight lectured. “Shining theorized that if I tinkered with it a bit, I should be able to make a ward that’s almost completely magic-proof. Ordinarily, a reinforcing ward like that wouldn't work on fabric because the material isn't strong enough, but according to Starswirl’s Seventh Law of Magic, if I can rework Stygian’s Theorem and--”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Suunkii interrupted, giving her a deadpan stare. Twilight paused, then grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry. Anyway, I’m confident that I can create a new ward in the vest that should create a shield that will repel any offensive magic,” she explained. “He was hoping I could do a test run on it and send him the results.”

“And you want me to be the guinea pig?” Phillip asked. “You sure it’d work?”

“Absolutely!” Twilight declared.

“And you’re sure that it won’t backfire?” Phillip asked.

Twilight’s smile flickered a bit. “Well...I’m fairly confident that it won’t…”

“Will I at least not turn into a pineapple this time?” Phillip deadpanned.

“I’m sure. And it was one time!” Twilight protested, ignoring Suunkii’s stifled snickering.

“Then let’s have a go,” Phillip said, taking off his vest and handing it to her. Twilight’s grin grew even broader as she grasped his vest in her magic and set to work. With a faint buzzing noise, the former ward disappeared, the purple lines disappearing into dust.

Her eyes narrowed in concentration, Twilight began to draw a new ward on the fabric, the purple aura around the vest glowing so brightly that it seemed to dim the other lights in the room. First, she placed down the shape of a diamond, which she decorated with some runes constructed of harsh, angular lines scratched along the perimeter. To this, she added a four-pointed star, then a crescent moon at each corner of the diamond and each point of the star. Finally, she finished off the whole thing by drawing a circle of runes around the entire ward.

The light faded away and Twilight sagged, panting. “That...took more effort...than I thought,” she said, handing the vest back to Phillip and leaning against the table.

“You okay?” Phillip asked, swinging the vest back on.

“I’m fine,” Twilight said, wiping off her brow. “Okay, that ward is for a temporary shield spell that'll deflect magic. Now, I should mention, this ward isn’t constant like the other one is: it’d burn out all of its energy very quickly if I tried that. This ward is effectively like a bullet in a loaded gun. It will only work when it’s triggered.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded. “So what’s the trigger?”

“That’s up to you,” Twilight said. “I won’t be able to trigger it for you, unless you want me to follow you around everywhere.”

Phillip stared at his vest, then at her. “How do I trigger it?” he stated.

“For non-unicorns, a spell like this can be triggered by saying a special word, or phrase. Something meaningful to you,” Twilight explained. “The most important thing is that you have to believe, wholly and completely, that it will work. Otherwise, it won’t.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I suppose it’s like your boomerang. You have to be sure that it’ll hit the target.”

Phillip frowned. “I had a few years to practice with the boomerang, though,” he pointed out.

“I’m sure it’ll work,” Twilight smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

Phillip stared for a beat, then shrugged and turned back to the photographs. He studied the bloodstains for a moment longer, then growled. “That bloody moron.”

“What?” Twilight asked, looking over his shoulder.

“The bloodstains,” Phillip said. “Dust Bowl got it wrong. She wasn’t shot at a downward angle, she was shot at an upward angle. See the blood here?”

Twilight and Suunkii both squinted at the red coloring painted on the sidewalk. “I concur,” Suunkii nodded. “The blood on Rosemary Harvest’s right is back spatter from an entrance wound.”

“And if it was from an upward angle, then she was shot by somepony lying on the ground,” Phillip continued, drawing a hoof down to another, larger red stain painted onto the ground a few feet away from where Rosemary lay. “Somepony who was wounded.”

“But who?” Twilight asked. “Witnesses stated that about a dozen ponies were involved in the gunfight: two were killed, and only three others were caught.”

Phillip studied the photographs for a few moments more, then closed his eyes and let out a slow breath; just before the rest of the world slipped away, he faintly heard a telephone ringing.

And then everything else vanished from his awareness. He opened his mind’s eye, and found that he was standing on a sidewalk on a street, surrounded by warehouses and dilapidated shops and pubs; a thick fog surrounded everything except for a few yards around him; all was still and silent as the grave.

Before him was Rosemary Harvest, frozen in mid-step, a look of pain and horror on her face. Blood blossomed from her shoulders, and a red line traveled through her, going up from below her right shoulder and out the top of her left shoulder.

Turning to his left, Phillip saw the shadowy silhouette of a pony lying on their side on the ground, a revolver in one extended hoof. Smoke and sparks ran from the muzzle of the weapon, and the beginning of the red line blossomed from the muzzle as well.

Phillip’s mental eye tracked the line as it passed from the barrel through the filly and out her other shoulder. He followed the path of the bullet across the street, and it was there that he saw what he was hoping to see.

And then he heard somepony calling his name. Opening his physical eyes, Phillip turned to face, Suunkii, whose own eyes were wide.

“It is Detective Matchstick at Hobnail’s house,” he stated. “They have found something.”

Phillip took the phone from Suunkii’s hoof and held it up to his ear. “Finder.”

“Finder, it’s Matchstick,” a mare’s voice said over the phone. “We got something real bad here. We found several empty canisters for oil and gasoline, and empty boxes that had been filled with styrofoam. You know what you can make with that?”

Phillip’s heart leaped into his throat. “Napalm,” he breathed.

“And a fucking lot of it,” Matchstick agreed. “And then we found something else. Clock parts and wires, and then blueprints and part of an ID badge for a worker. You wanna guess what they're for?”

“Fuck,” Phillip breathed, dropping the phone and sprinting for the door.

“Where are you going?” Twilight cried.

“City Hall, there’s a bomb!” Phillip shouted, bursting through the door and racing up the stairs.

Author's Note

Well, there's a twist!

Is it me, or has this story gone on for too long...?

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Eleven: Rainfall

Thunder roared, shaking a sky that was now blanketed in dark gray clouds. A flicker of lightning dashed across the sky, causing all the ponies standing outside City Hall to flinch. The street had been cordoned off by police barricades, and like flies attracted by the malodor of carrion, reporters and curious bystanders were now flocking to the outside of the perimeter, watching as officers gathered at the bottom of the great marble steps. Amidst the gathered cruisers, a large gray truck with spinning red lights stood parked across both lanes of the street. Painted on the sides of the vehicle was “POLICE BOMB DISPOSAL UNIT.”

Pushing through the crowds gathered outside the barricades, Phillip raced up to the concrete steps, joining the assembly of officers. All of the officers, clutching their rainjackets against the rain and wind, looked up at Captain Hewn Oak, who was pacing atop the steps. Next to him stood a light reddish-orange unicorn mare with a long blonde mane, shivering in the rain and clutching her fedora down onto her head. Behind him, more officers were escorting a stream of ponies out of the doors, the civilians’ eyes wide with confusion as they saw the assembly of officers.

“The bomb we are searching for will be fairly large,” the captain was saying, looking them over like a general overseeing his troops. “Detective Matchstick estimates that based on the amount of napalm and explosives that must have been in the bomb, the device is approximately the size of a large book. Clearly, it’s not going to be too difficult to find, but we still need to work quickly.”

“Which is why we need to get in there, Captain, all due respect!” Matchstick shouted, squinting against the rain.

“Right,” Hewn Oak nodded. “We shall start in the basement and work our way up, searching from floor to ceiling. Leave no stone unturned! Let us move!”

The entire team moved forward, charging up the stairs to the doors of City Hall. Phillip followed the flow of officers up the stairs into City Hall. As he reached the top of the steps, another flicker of lightning raced across the sky, accompanied by a roar of thunder that sounded like the bellowing of some bygone deity. The rain increased, hammering down on the ponies beneath like bullets from hundreds of guns.

A gust of wind nearly blew Phillip’s trilby from his head and he jammed it back down with a hoof. Suunkii’s right. If mom were here, she’d say that the wandjina are pissed about something.

Phillip tested his injured foreleg and nodded grimly when he felt no pain across his shoulder. Grasping the knot of the sling in his teeth, he undid it, freeing his limb. The foreleg functioned perfectly, and he smiled briefly at being able to walk with all four legs again.

Hewn Oak shoved open the massive doors and they surged into the main hall like a single living organism, hoofsteps clopping loudly against the stone replica of the city seal: the only sound in the strangely, disturbingly empty building. “Doors to the basement are in the back, move!” the captain shouted, pointing.

The first officers to reach the doors in the very back pushed them open and they headed downstairs in single file, heading down a narrow set of wooden stairs that creaked in protest beneath their weight. Somepony slapped a light switch as they descended, allowing them to see.

When they reached the bottom floor, the officers found themselves in a massive storeroom. Hanging lamps illuminated shelves stuffed with cardboard boxes, sagging and groaning under the weight. Dust clung to nearly every surface, and the floor had not been waxed in years. Doors led to more storerooms.

“Aw, we gotta search all these?” one hippogriff officer groaned.

“Remind yourself what oath you took when you put on that badge, son,” Hewn Oak commented. “Sergeants, divide everypony up into teams and take up sectors.”

MacWillard pointed to several different officers, including Phillip. “All right, you lot, with me!” He led them through a side door into another storage room. This one was littered with cardboard boxes, so many that they covered the floor, leaving little room to walk around.

Phillip sighed. “This is gonna take a while.”

The rain continued to pour down as the hours passed, never relenting for a moment; the constant hammering of droplets against the rooftop and windows marked the movement of seconds.

The officers cleared the basement, and the first, second, third and fourth floors, with no sign of the bomb. The energy that had permeated the group had dissipated long ago and the officers trudged up to the fourth floor with slumped shoulders and heavy breaths.

“Almost to the end, brave warriors,” Captain Oak declared as he reached the top of the great stairs that wound up to the top floor.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and the bomb’s not here,” Matchstick commented, massaging the knees of her forelegs as she completed the climb.

“We still need to be sure,” Oak stated.

Phillip sighed and mopped some sweat from his brow. The gears turned slowly in his tired mind. If the bomb is here, then why hasn’t it gone off already? It’d have to have been here since yesterday at the latest; why’d he wait so long?

They reached the long marble hallway with the elevator next to them and the doorway to the Mayor’s office at the other end. Matchstick started scanning the wall and floor with her magic, casting a bright red beam like a spotlight across the stone. MacWillard and two other officers forced open the elevator doors and began searching the elevator shaft.

Phillip followed a few more officers into the reception area. A few officers peeled off from the group to start searching the receptionist room, turning over the desk and pulling back the carpet to get access to the floor. Phillip proceeded into the office with Hewn Oak and two other unicorn officers.

The office was bare, a thin layer of dust already forming on the desk. Rain streaked down the window; as soon as Phillip entered, another lightning strike lit up the sky and cast the room in strange shadows for a moment.

Phillip glanced up at the gray sky. Okay, wandjina, you’ve made your point.

“Right, you two lads start with the carpet,” Hewn Oak declared, proceeding to the desk. “Finder, start checking the ceiling.”

Taking a chair, Phillip started in the corner, lifting up the ceiling tile and peering inside with the aid of a flashlight and his hoof mirror. There was nothing within the ceiling compartment except dust bunnies and some wires.

The group proceeded to search the office, with other officers filtering in to aid them, but they found no trace of the bomb. Not in the desks, not beneath the floorboards or behind the portraits of past mayors, and not in the ceiling.

Matchstick shrugged her shoulders and wiped her brow. “Well, maybe he didn’t get a chance to plant it,” she sighed in relief.

“Indeed, the alicorns were looking down upon us favorably this day,” Hewn Oak nodded. “Come, let us return and give the all clear.”

The ponies started to trudge out the door. Phillip paused to cast his eyes over the room. The desk with its scattered items spilling out of the open drawers stood in one corner; the carpet was overturned and cut up to expose the floor. The door to the personal bathroom was partially cracked open.

Something made his stomach twist inside him, but he ignored it; exhaustion from the past hours overruled the strange warning he was getting. Shrugging with a sigh, he turned and headed for the door.

But as he reached the door, another crash of thunder roared against the window, and for some reason, this bade him turn around. And that’s when he saw a short golden tail inside the bathroom.

Ignoring Hewn Oak’s tail retreating out the main door, Phillip proceeded to the bathroom and pushed the door open with a creak. The blonde-maned unicorn officer inside looked up from the sink he was examining.

“Finder,” the officer nodded.

Phillip looked him over. The polished nametag on his shirt read “Goldenrod.” He was around thirty years old, with the cutie mark of a bouquet of golden flowers, and his uniform was firmly pressed and clean, uniform belt tightly buckled around his waist.

“You doing here, mate?” Phillip asked, his eyes panning up and down the officer’s body.

“Just making one last check of the bathroom,” Goldenrod said, walking around Finder. “Can’t ever be too sure, right? Nothing in there, though. C’mon, let’s just get outta here.”

“You buggered?” Phillip asked.

“Been working since shift change,” Goldenrod grumbled, heading for the door of the office. “I need a big, cold lager.”

But as Goldenrod reached the door, he heard a click behind him and froze. Slowly turning, he saw Phillip aiming a revolver at his head.

“Nice try, Zugzwang,” Phillip grunted, his eyes narrowed.

Goldenrod stared for a moment, then a smile lit up his face. His horn lit up with a golden glow and the illusion spell faded away; the blonde mane turned to dark brown, the coat lightened into a tan, and the pupils seemed to grow to cover the blue until all was black. The sight of Zugzwang in a police uniform made Phillip’s stomach curdle.

“Liebling,” Zugzwang purred, his tail swishing from side to side like a contented cat. “What gave me away?”

“Your shoes,” Phillip answered, keeping the gun trained on him. “Said you were on since shift change at one-thirty. Shoes are perfectly polished, still shiny. They’d be scuffed by now, it’s almost five.”

Zugzwang giggled; it sounded like bones rattling in the wind. “Oh, I should’ve known you’d notice something like that, Phillip,” he breathed. “You solved my little puzzle.” He giggled again, doing a little dance in place like an excited foal. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me, to have an equal!”

“Ride that all the way to prison,” Phillip snarled. “Oak, get in here!”

But as the shout left his throat, a spell fired from Zugzwang’s horn, the time between preparation and casting a mere half of an eyeblink. Phillip’s pistol was yanked to one side, tugged from his grasp. At the same moment, a golden shield blossomed around the door, blocking any entrance.

His smile broadening, Zugzwang fired another spell at Phillip. The golden light of the projectile reflected in the black irides of his gaze as it streaked towards its target.

Time seemed to slow for Phillip; he focused upon the beam headed towards his chest, thoughts racing across his mind between the beats of his heart. No room to dodge, no time to duck. He was going to get hit.

The ward. The image of the magical symbol that Twilight had burned into his vest flashed before Phillip’s mind.

“A special word or phrase,” Twilight’s words echoed inside his skull. “Something meaningful to you….you have to believe, wholly and completely, that it will work.”

The rain tapped against the window, and his mind went once again to the wandjina. He’d grown up on the stories of his mother’s native ancestors, and chief among her legends, the ones that had stayed with him, were the stories of the wandjina, creator spirits who brought the rain to ensure that the crops would grow, and thunder and lightning to scare away wicked spirits.

This will work, he told himself, a spark of will, of fury, growing in his chest. Twilight made this spell; it definitely will work.

The castfire was mere inches away now. He glared at Zugzwang and drew in air. The spark inside him grew into a fire, blazing its way up from his gut to his throat, and he let out the air in a roar like thunder.

“WANDJINA!”

The destructive spell raced towards him; but just an inch away from his flesh, the golden light seemed to strike an invisible wall, splashing around a bubble in the air before him.

A thrill of excitement rushed down Phillip’s spine at the success, and he charged towards the unicorn, his right hoof going to a pocket in his vest and drawing his baton with a snap of his wrist. Zugzwang had frozen in disbelief, the smile replaced by slack-jawed confusion. Phillip could read his thoughts in his wide black eyes: “Oh, scheisse.”

And then his baton was crashing into Zugzwang’s jaw, and Phillip was smiling as he followed up with an elbow strike, relishing the sound and sensation of bones fracturing and teeth grinding beneath his blows. Zugzwang reeled away, trying to escape, and Phillip moved with him. Locking his baton around the back of Zugzwang’s neck, he drove his knees into the unicorn’s stomach and ribs, shouting with every blow that knocked the wind from his foe’s lungs. The golden aura blocking the door flickered as Zugzwang’s concentration on his spell wavered; hooves hammered against the wood, muffled voices shouting from outside.

Suddenly, Zugzwang braced off the back wall and charged into Phillip, his shoulder driving into his chest. Phillip grunted and planted his hooves, but a blow hammered into his kidney and he cried out as agony raced up his side.

Zugzwang slipped from his grasp and looped his forelegs around the back of Phillip’s knees. Before he could react, Phillip was toppling backward and he slammed into the carpeted floor.

Exhale, roll with it. Just like he’d practiced a thousand times before. Kicking his leg loose, Phillip tumbled away from Zugzwang, popping back to his hooves. A flurry of offensive spells rocketed towards him, each golden sphere giving off a deep, angry hum like enormous bees.

“Wandjina!” he shouted again, and the spells hammered into his shield like punches from a minotaur, pushing him back a few inches.

Zugzwang backed away, his eyes still wide, and his horn glowed with a golden aura, sparks and lightning bursting from the tip.

“No!” Phillip shouted, charging forward just as Zugzwang’s horn flared. He dived into the midst of the golden light and his hooves found flesh just as the light surrounded them both.

A moment later, both stallions had disappeared from the room.

“They’re both gone!” Hewn Oak cried, peering through the doorknob. “We must get through this door!”

Matchstick fired another spell at the golden aura, but her scarlet beam only bounced off. “Ugh, no fucking use!” she grunted. “You think somepony could go get Twilight?”

“There’s no time!” Hewn Oak cried. He peered into the keyhole again. “Wait...there’s a window that’s not covered! MacWillard!”

“On it, sir!” MacWillard shouted, grasping Matchstick from underneath the forelegs and shooting out of the hallway with a blur of feathers.

“Hey!” Matchstick cried in protest as MacWillard flew into the stair landing, wriggling within his grasp. “Put me down!”

“You planning on getting a ladder?” MacWillard deadpanned.

“It had crossed my mind!” Matchstick snapped. “It’d be preferable to your claws digging into my skin! And seriously, get a mint!”

“Just open the damn window,” MacWillard grunted, nodding at the rain-streaked window before them.

Scowling, Matchstick opened the window with a flicker of her horn and MacWillard carried her outside, where the wind and rain assaulted them both.

“You know, this was the one day I forgot to pack my umbrella,” Matchstick grumbled as they flew around to the other side of the building. Reaching the window that led into the Mayoral office, Matchstick opened it up with another spell and they swung inside.

“Okay,” Matchstick nodded, lighting up her horn. The crimson spotlight once again painted the walls as she searched the area. As her horn passed over the bathroom, a golden glow shone from within the room.

“There it is,” she declared, proceeding into the bathroom. The glow was coming from the tank of the toilet. Frowning in thought, Matchstick tilted her head from side to side for a moment, then slowly lifted the top of the tank off.

Inside, sitting inside the water, was the bomb, planted by the disguised Zugzwang once the others had their backs turned. It was a crude construction, consisting of a couple of quarter sticks of dynamite bundled together and bound to a cheap silver pocketwatch. Attached to the dynamite via a pair of wires was a pair of glass jars filled with a thick black liquid. More wires rigged it to the flapper valve.

“Looks like this is set to go off after the Mayor flushes,” Matchstick observed. “That’s genius. Also horrifying, and kinda darkly funny.”

“Can you disarm it?” MacWillard asked, shifting nervously as he stood in the doorway.

“Please,” Matchstick rolled her eyes. “A kid could take this apart. It’ll be easy--”

Suddenly, the pocketwatch attached to the bomb glowed, and the hands began to move on their own, rotating around to stop at three minutes to twelve. A muffled ticking sounded from within.

“Uh-oh,” Matchstick muttered and grabbed a multitool from her pocket. “This would be a good time for y’all to run.”

MacWillard didn’t need to be told twice.

Phillip had teleported before, with other unicorn officers. It had never been a comfortable experience: being teleported felt like being forced down a narrow tunnel that twisted and turned violently, filled with steam and crackling lightning. He was vaguely aware of golden light blurring across his face, but he was clutching Zugzwang, forelegs tight around his barrel, and he refused to let go.

He heard Zugzwang scream in frustration, felt him wrench against his grasp, and then they were both falling, spinning downwards. The golden light vanished, and he crashed down onto wet stone with a grunt, forcing himself to roll away.

Gasping for air, Phillip looked around. The first thing that arrested his vision was a massive bronze bell, hanging from a great belfry. Rain and wind kissed his skin, and the stone was slick beneath his hooves. It took a moment, but he realized that he was standing at the top of City Hall’s clocktower, four stone arches exposing the great bell, a short wall a token attempt to prevent workers from falling off.

Hearing movement behind him, Phillip turned to see Zugzwang laying on the ground. In his hoof was a silver stopwatch, which was glowing with a faint golden power. Zugzwang was turning the crown of the watch, the hands turning rapidly towards twelve.

Something told Phillip he didn’t want that to happen and he charged. With an instinctive gesture, he seized his boomerang out of his pocket and tossed it at Zugzwang’s foreleg. The weapon struck Zugzwang’s wrist, knocking the watch from his grasp and sending it skittering across the stone, faceup: it was stuck at three minutes to twelve.

A moment later, his hoof crashed into Zugzwang’s jaw and the unicorn was rolling over, limbs flopping like dead fish. Phillip lunged for the foreleg, trying to grasp the limb to pin him down.

A metallic snick sounded in his ears and he jumped back just as the spring-loaded blade beneath Zugzwang’s sleeve lunged at his leg.

Grunting, Zugzwang rolled away, tumbling beneath the bell, and popped back to his hooves, horn already glowing gold. Phillip leaped to the side, tumbling head over tail as the heat and static of the spell missed him by inches.

“Stay still!” Zugzwang snapped, firing another spell at him. Phillip ducked, the spell missing by several inches, and sprinted forward, sliding beneath the bell.

And then he heard the spell bounce off the arch behind him with a hissing sound and felt it streaking towards him. He ducked just in time; the ricocheting spell burnt off the mane on the back of his neck and then struck the inside of the bell, causing the entire bell to resound with a low rumble.

The sound of hoofsteps alerted him and he raised a foreleg. Bone smashed against bone as his block deflected Zugzwang's punch and he thrust forward. Phillip's forehead crashed into Zugzwang’s nose, and he relished the feeling of warm blood running down his face, the sharp bark of Zugzwang’s cry.

Striking Zugzwang’s side with the baton, Phillip lunged back, dodging another wild swing of the blade that seemed to cleave the raindrops in half. He seized Zugzwang’s wrist with an iron grip, then stuck out his left hind leg and pivoted around on his right hoof.

Zugzwang grunted in surprise as he tripped over Phillip’s leg and his eyes widened as he realized he was hurtling helplessly towards the bell. He crashed into the metal and the entire bell let out a reverberation that echoed in both stallions’ heads.

Pushing through the pain, Zugzwang jerked his elbow back. Phillip ducked to avoid the blow, stumbling over his hooves, shaking his head, and Zugzwang bucked him in the gut. Phillip’s baton smacked down onto Zugzwang’s limb, but his hoof still rammed into Phillip's flesh, and Phillip grunted in pain, stumbling back.

With a shout, Zugzwang fired a golden cannonball from his horn. “Wandji--!” Phillip cried again, but the spell slammed into his half-formed shield, sending him rolling across the slick concrete, wheezing.

Turning, Zugzwang spotted the watch again. Grinning, he seized it in his magic and pulled it towards his extended hoof. Just a simple turn and he’d be able to get something out of this escapade…

And then something whistled past his ear and struck the watch, sending it flying over the edge of the clocktower and down to the ground below. The boomerang arced around towards his head, and Zugzwang shot it out of the sky in a burst of golden fire.

But then a baton smashed into the crown of his head again and a hoof impacted against his jaw, sending him tumbling.

Phillip fell onto Zugzwang in a rain of blows, his baton, hooves, elbows, knees, and head all ramming into the bastard’s flesh. The unicorn tried to defend himself, but Phillip blocked most of his attacks, and the few that slipped past his defenses, he barely noticed, adrenaline and rage blocking out what little pain he should have registered. Whenever Zugzwang tried to pull away, he moved with him; letting his foe get an ounce of breathing room could mean his end.

He hit Zugzwang with a hook to the jaw and his target reeled away. Phillip lunged forward, raising his baton for the finishing blow, but then his hoof skidded on a puddle and he cried out as his balance was yanked away from him, arms flailing.

The knife blade lunged at his face, and he tried to pull away, but too slow; fire spread across his face as the blade pierced his cheek. Sneering, Zugzwang drove a body blow into Phillip’s gut and the wind rushed out of his lungs as his balance failed completely. Phillip tucked into a backward roll, tumbling over the wet concrete and seizing the wall to haul himself back up. He looked up to see black eyes glaring at him from three feet away, golden light reflecting in the pools.

Dodge!

Flinging his forelegs upward, Phillip jumped back into the air, tucking his hind knees up to his chest and spinning into a backflip as a wave of scorching heat passed by inches beneath him. His hat tumbled off his head, flopping on the stone. As he whirled through the air, his hoof snatched an interior pocket of his vest, seizing a small ball of tinfoil.

The unicorn came into view, spinning down from the top of his vision, horn glowing as he charged up another spell. Phillip threw the smoke bomb he’d snatched. The bomb struck Zugzwang in the chest, detonating in a cloud of smoke. Zugzwang reeled back with a roar of fury and confusion, coughing on the fumes.

Phillip landed on the wall, caught his balance as the winds threatened to yank him off the tower, then leaped, soaring towards his blinded target. As he reached the apex of his jump, Zugzwang looked up and his eyes met Phillip’s.

Time seemed to pause for just a moment around him. Lightning flashed behind Phillip and a thunderclap sounded like the roar of a dozen enraged beasts. Phillip looked down at the bastard who’d threatened his friends, who’d murdered good ponies and taunted him for a laugh, and saw a beautiful sight: an expression of wide-eyed fear frozen on the unicorn’s face.

An ecstatic yell rushed out of his grinning mouth and Phillip swung the baton down with both hooves towards Zugzwang’s skull.

But just before the impact, there was a flash of golden light and Zugzwang vanished. Phillip crashed down onto the stone with a grunt, looking around in fury. Through the rain, he caught a brief glimpse of a flash of golden light on a nearby rooftop, but it vanished a moment later.

“Fuck!” he shouted, stamping his hind hoof. Growling, he closed the baton and replaced it in his pocket. He paused, breathing heavily until his heart rate slowed; the rain pattering against his skin seemed to calm the fires within him, washing away the blood on his face.

Stooping, Phillip retrieved his trilby and replaced it on his head. He glanced down at the vest and smiled briefly. “Thanks, Twilight,” he said quietly. A low rumble of thunder from the sky seemed to answer him.

Finding the trapdoor that led back inside, Phillip kicked it open, then grasped the ladder and slid back down inside.

Panting and huffing through their helmets, a pair of stallions adorned in heavy body armor jogged up the stairs of City Hall. The mass of tools and equipment they had strapped to their belts and chest webs jangled and rang with every step.

Sweat streaking down their faces, the bomb disposal ponies finally reached the top floor. A final jog brought them to the door, which no longer had the golden aura blocking it. The lead pony shoved through it with his shoulder. The stallions entered the office and paused.

Matchstick stood in front of them, grinning broadly and carrying a stopwatch and a stick of dynamite bundled together with wires in her magic.

“I’d be careful with the napalm,” she remarked, plucking the blasting cap from the stick of dynamite and dropping the disarmed explosive on the floor as she walked past her colleagues. “Water won’t stop that stuff from going off if you’re not careful. Neither of you are smokers, right? Good. I need a cig.”

And with that, she trotted down the stairs, leaving her dumbfounded colleagues staring after her.

Author's Note

And so, Zugzwang demonstrates that he's all washed up.

One more chapter, and we'll have this case wrapped up in a bow!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Nine, Chapter Twelve: All's Well

The thunder rumbled over Scarlet Letter’s house, but she hardly noticed; she was too busy focusing on the mare beside her, gently wrapped in her embrace.

“Must you go, mon cher?” she cooed, nuzzling the mare’s neck.

“I really have to get home,” the pale blue unicorn protested, shifting in Scarlet’s grasp halfheartedly; the warm, soft bed and the embrace all conspired to keep her here.

“Oh, I’m sure your husband will barely miss you,” Scarlet smirked, nuzzling the mare’s neck right at the tickle spot that she’d discovered less than an hour prior.

Her target squirmed, giggling helplessly, but eventually managed to push her away. “No, he’ll miss me,” Silver Fortune said, sitting up and shaking her long argent mane out of her face. “He knows I’ve been staying late at the office, but this is pushing it.”

Scarlet let out a heavy sigh and sprawled out on the mattress, shaking her head so that her sweaty mane draped coquettishly over her face, covering one eye. “I suppose that this is one upside to your financial problems, oui?” she smirked.

Silver smiled, her pale gray eyes glittering with humor as she retrieved her light gold dress from the floor and carefully put it on. “I...really have to thank you, Scarlet,” she admitted. “You’re one of the few bright things in my life right now.”

“And you are one of the brightest things in my life,” Scarlet smiled back at her, beckoning her closer. Silver climbed up onto the bed and obliged her with a long, sweet kiss that tasted of raspberry lipstick.

“I’m glad that I’ve been able to cheer you up,” Scarlet nuzzled her as they parted. “I just wish that I could help you with other parts of your life.”

Silver sighed. “Well, the fact that we used to be owned by a mob boss isn’t helping our reputation any,” she admitted. “Even after we rebranded to North Star, ponies know it’s Monopoly Investments at its core.”

“Perhaps I might be able to help,” Scarlet mused, head tilted to the side.

“If you have any ideas, I’d love to hear them before we go under completely,” Silver sighed, strapping her dress back on. “Now, I’ve really got to get home.”

“Are you sure one of my guards can’t drive you back?” Scarlet asked, glancing outside at the pouring rain. A flash of lightning revealed a stallion in a Cerberus uniform and rain jacket walking past the window, patrolling the grounds of the simple cottage on the outskirts of Ponyville.

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Silver shook her head, smoothing out her dress. She leaned over and gave Scarlet a final, swift kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

And with that, she walked out the door. Scarlet watched her smooth flanks as she exited and laid in bed, listening to the sound of the front door opening and shutting.

As soon as she was gone, Scarlet got up and walked over to a jewelry box sitting on top of the grand dresser in the corner. Opening up the box, Scarlet extracted the small silver camera from within, its lens lined up with the keyhole in the box. As she extracted it, the camera emitted another small clicking sound as the timer went off, taking another picture.

Scarlet sighed and switched the camera off. It was always good to have a backup plan, but she really hoped that Silver would be amenable to reason. This might be just another job, but the mare was quite fun to play with.

The alarm clock on the bedside table suddenly rang once. Scarlet whirled around to stare at the clock, then frowned. She glanced outside; the Cerberus guard was standing beneath a canopy, futilely trying to light a cigarette. She could also faintly hear the other guards from the basement, clearly in the middle of their poker game.

Good. No one that might notice her absence for a while; all of her guards were aware of her “nightly activities” and understood that she was to be left alone for as long as she wished.

Scarlet turned to the large standing mirror in the corner of the room and walked towards it, stroking the gold gilded frame and touching the embedded gems in the right order: blue, green, blue, and red. Her own reflection faded away, replaced by the image of a dark orange mare with a green mane, wincing with the weight of her pregnant belly as she slowly walked back from the glass.

Scarlet stepped forward through the glass and reappeared in a basement. All around them were stacked crates, a few of them stamped with “Equestrian Army” in bold letters. Cots were arranged in rows on the floor; ponies lay on them, snoring softly.

“Ma’am,” Bright Sparks grunted, staggering back to one of the cots. Scarlet dashed to her side and carried her over to the bed, gently laying her down.

“Are you all right?” she asked, stroking Bright Sparks’ mane.

“The baby’s getting impatient,” Sparks replied with a pained grin. “But I’ve got some bad news.”

“You had to abandon the safe house?” Scarlet asked, looking around at the rest of her team sleeping on the cots.

Sparks nodded. “Daring found us,” she growled. “I tried to have Sledgehammer get rid of her, but…” She scowled at the snoring unicorn, curled up in the cot furthest from them.

Scarlet looked around once more, doing a mental headcount. “Scarlet...where is Gear Shift?” she asked slowly, dreading the answer.

Sparks closed her eyes. “He…” Sparks took a deep breath. “I sent him in to kill the Mayor, but...he didn’t come back. He got caught.”

Scarlet gasped. “No! How?!”

“Finder,” Sparks growled, tears leaking from behind her eyelids. “Somehow, he..” She growled and pounded the mattress with her hoof. “I should’ve killed that bastard when I had the chance!” she shouted, causing a few of her comrades to wake up.

“There, there,” Scarlet cooed, stroking Sparks’ mane. “We’ll get our revenge on him and Daring soon.”

“When?!” Sparks yelled. “When are they no longer going to be ‘useful’ to us?! When is that Gerwhin fuck gonna stop playing around and suck his dick so he can get it over with?! When—”

She suddenly cried out in pain and clutched her stomach, gasping in surprise. “Sparks?” Scarlet cried, bending over her, aware of the other ponies scrambling out of bed.

Bright Sparks cried out again, curling into a ball as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Liquid leaked out from between her tightly clenched hind legs. “Th-the baby!” she cried, then screamed again.

Black Licorice was immediately by her side, grasping Bright Sparks’ hoof in both of hers. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered, barely even wincing when Sparks’ grip crushed into her bones. “It’s all right, we’re here. Take deep breaths now.” She glared around at the others, who stood around them in a circle, staring. “Don’t just stand there! We need water! Towels! Move it!” she barked.

The others scrambled to retrieve the requested items. Black Licorice gently shooed Scarlet back so that she could work. Scarlet Letter backed up, an amused smile tingeing her lips at the prospect of being ordered by another pony.

And then she felt eyes on her. Turning, she saw the stallion standing next to the easel with The Treachery of Images staring at her with those empty eyes. He nodded to her and turned to walk up a flight of stairs.

Scowling, Scarlet followed at a discrete distance, following the stallion up the stairs, through a modest but well-stocked kitchen, and out a set of glass doors onto a balcony. The rain pattered hard against the awning over their heads; before them, ripples spread out across the surface of the Maresippi, distorting the reflection of the lights of Ponyville, five miles away.

“Did you get the job done?” Scarlet asked. “Is the statue--?”

“He was there,” Zugzwang breathed. He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze instead focused northward, but Scarlet saw a sliver of a smile creeping up his face. It almost made her shiver.

Zugzwang gave her a rundown of what had happened; his infiltration of the police search, making it up to the Mayor’s office, placing the bomb constructed by Hobnail in the toilet tank, then his encounter with Phillip. As he reached the part of their duel in the clocktower, his voice went from cold monotone to a soft, excited tingle, the smile widening.

When the story was concluded, Scarlet stared at him in silence for several seconds, the gears turning over and over in her head. “So,” she finally said. “You had a chance to kill Phillip Finder and the Mayor. And you failed at both.”

“The same can be said of you,” Zugzwang stated. “I have to say, I was not pleased to learn that you had been plotting to kill Frau Mare yourself, without my knowledge or intervention.” He snorted quietly. “And your plan was scheisse; infiltrating the restaurant was a pathetic idea. If you’d trusted me, your friend might still be here.”

Scarlet glared at him. “Put simply, I don’t trust you,” she stated. “And your goal was the statue. Mine was killing the Mayor.”

“And was leaving Daring Do alive your goal?” Zugzwang commented dryly.

Scarlet growled in her throat, the acid in her stomach boiling beneath the great pressure on her chest. “A mistake that I will correct Bright Sparks for,” she stated. “Yet it remains that Phillip Finder and the Mayor are both still alive, because of you.”

“What of it?” Zugzwang scoffed, gesturing dismissively with his hoof as he extracted a cigarette from inside his coat.

“What of it?!” Scarlet snapped and stamped her hoof, her voice rising so loudly she almost thought that she could be heard from the other bank of the river. “Tête de noeud! Sans-couilles! Blaireau! Roi de cons! You concoct your elaborate scheme to rope Finder in, promise me you’re going to take care of him, and then as soon as things turn against you, you run away with your sous-merde tail between your legs! And you’re happy he’s still alive!”

Zugzwang, who hadn’t reacted at all to her tirade except to take a few puffs on his cigarette, turned towards her. “Phillip Finder is the one pony who has given me an actual challenge,” he said slowly, still not looking at her. “For years after my…” His face twisted slightly, as though in pain. “After I left my original position and started working for Herr Silvertongue,” he finally proceeded. “I was incredibly bored. There was a point in my life when I woke up every day, excited to try new ideas, formulate new plans. But not long after I fell in with Silvertongue, the world seemed to me a promontory. There was nothing new, no spark in my life. To be perfectly honest, I was contemplating suicide less than a year ago; life was barren and dull for me.”

Scarlet said nothing, though the bubbling acid was now burning her throat.

“But then he came into my life,” Zugzwang continued, his smile widening. “And I knew what I needed. All I needed. Him.”

As suddenly as though a switch had been thrown, Zugzwang rounded on Scarlet, the hidden blade snapping out from behind his sleeve and darting up at her face.

Scarlet’s body was suddenly coated in a maroon aura, and she slid back several feet. A pair of Neighretta Modello 1935 pistols, the red aura of the charging crystals inside visible through the barrels, materialized in her hooves and she aimed them both at Zugzwang.

“You will not deny me my one pleasure,” Zugzwang hissed, anger sparking distantly in his black eyes.

“You are not my master,” Scarlet spat back, the pistols not wavering a bit. “My master—”

“Your master is nothing without you,” Zugzwang replied, taking a step forward. “And you are nothing without me.”

Scarlet did not step back. “Is that so?” she sneered. “I could kill you now, and we would—”

“Would what?” Zugzwang interrupted, his voice still a cold monotone. “You can’t survive with your little army on your own, and none of the other gangs in this city trust or respect you. Coin Toss? He wouldn’t even give you the time of day. Star Cluster? He’d just laugh at you. Whitestone? She’d tear your heart from your chest and devour it before you said two words.”

He stared blankly at her, but the distant sparks of rage in his eyes remained. “You need me,” he hissed. “And I need Phillip Finder.”

“You think my master will let this go unpunished?” Scarlet spat at him.

“I think that the mare you have grown to see as a reliable friend is having a baby in the next room,” Zugzwang said quietly. “And I think it would be very unfortunate for them both if you were to inform him of this.”

Scarlet stared for a moment, then a growl erupted from her chest, her hooves nearly squeezing down on the triggers of her weapons. “You are no longer welcome here,” she spat.

Zugzwang just smiled and nodded. “Fair enough. Let me know when you need my help again.”

And with a flash of golden light, he vanished. Scarlet remained frozen for a moment, pistols still aimed at empty space, then slowly stood down, the weapons dematerializing again. “Connard,” she muttered to herself, telling herself that her hooves weren’t shaking.

A scream of pain from inside brought her back to the moment, and she turned and headed back inside. Trotting back down the stairs, she rejoined the group in a circle around Bright Sparks, whose mane was already damp with sweat. Taking some of the wet towels, she knelt beside her lieutenant’s head and mopped her forehead.

"That's it, honey," Black Licorice reassured her. "In...out...in...out..."

It seemed to take hours of screams, sweat, and tears of pain, but then, just as the last raindrops were hitting the ground, a new sound filled the cabin: the wails of a newborn foal.

“It’s a boy!” Black cried as she wrapped the little bundle of flesh in a warm blanket. Bright Sparks, panting, face red, covered her sweat and tears, sat up and feebly reached out her forelegs. Black gently deposited her son into her grasp as they all gathered around to look.

The little unicorn had a pale gold coat and a shock of blue hair. His crying ceased as his mother held him close, and he blinked curiously up at her with bright, silvery eyes like valuable coins.

Sparks sniffled, a wide smile creasing her face. “He looks like his daddy,” she whispered, fresh tears falling from her eyes.

A smile as broad as the crescent moon crossing her own face, Scarlet hugged Sparks and the baby gently. “Congratulations!” she cried, kissing the sweaty mare on both cheeks. “What will you name him?”

Sparks gently rocked the baby, who gurgled and cooed up at her. “Endeavor,” she whispered. “His name is Endeavor.”

The next morning, Phillip strolled into the police laboratory, shrugging his shoulders. “G’day,” he greeted the two ponies within.

“Good morning,” Doctor Suunkii greeted him from the table. “Congratulations on your success, Phillip Finder.”

“Your ward worked aces, Twi,” Phillip added to Twilight.

Twilight clapped her hooves. “Great! I can’t wait to write to Shining! How well did it work? How long did it last? Did you—?”

“Not now,” Phillip said. “Need to get back on Rosemary’s case. And I know how to find out who did it.”

“How can we help?” Twilight asked.

“Need to know who was there,” Phillip stated, pulling out lists of suspects and witness testimonies. “Need to know who was wounded. And I need the bullets from the scene. I know which one killed Rosemary.”

“How?” Twilight asked.

Spotting the case folder still sitting on the desk, Phillip flipped it open and removed the photographs of the scene. He pointed to one wide view of the scene. “This lamppost,” he declared. “Bullet went through Rosemary and ricocheted off this. It’ll have paint on it.”

“It’ll be in storage,” Twilight declared brightly. “I’ll go find it! Doctor, make sure the comparison microscope is polished!” She zipped off in a blur.

Suunkii smiled after his pupil, then bent over the comparison microscope. “Let us get to work, Phillip Finder,” he grinned.

The fat green unicorn stallion sprinted across the street, horns blaring in protest as cars screeched to a halt. Panting, he whirled around in place clumsily, pale gold eyes scanning the ponies that stared.

No sign of him. Maybe he’d shaken him off?

Best to be safe. The prey ducked into an alleyway, rounding a corner and stumbling over some discarded bottles. From the ground, he looked up and stared in horror. There was a wall of solid brick before him. No way out.

Breathing heavily, the old injury in his shoulder burning with every beat of his heart, the unicorn pressed his back against a dumpster and drew the black Badlands Minotaur revolver from beneath his vest. He gripped the weapon tightly, forcing his breathing to slow. No way was he getting him.

But there was nothing. Nothing but his own breaths, the distant sound of cars and mixed voices. Had he really lost him? What was he even after him for?

Slowly, the unicorn peeked around the corner…

A moment later, there was a loud whistling sound and something struck him in the forehead. The next thing the stallion knew, he was lying flat on his back, his aching head spinning. Then a heavy weight slammed down onto his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs like bellows and sending his revolver tumbling from his grasp, skittering across the asphalt. When he looked up, he saw a pair of stormcloud gray eyes glaring at him.

“Clover Leaf,” Phillip Finder snarled. “Your luck’s run out, mate.”

“What are you after me for?!” Clover Leaf cried, a faint Mareish accent still audible around the edges of every syllable. “If it was for that robbery in ‘48, I did my time for it!”

“It’s not,” Phillip growled, snatching up the revolver as two police officers sprinted up. “It’s about that girl you killed. The day you got that bullet wound.” He nodded to the faint scar still visible on his prey’s upper shoulder.

Clover Leaf’s jaw dropped in horror as Phillip shook the bullets out of the pistol. “At court, they’ll find that the bullet that killed Rosemary Harvest was a .442 Webneigh from your gun. It’ll match a bullet that you fired at that convenience store robbery. And you will go to prison for a long time.”

“It was an accident!” Clover cried as his hooves were snapped in cuffs.

“And this is justice,” Phillip replied coolly.

One week later, a Hayson Commander pulled into the parking lot of the Apple Pie in Your Eye and all four doors opened.

“See?” Phillip said, climbing out of the passenger seat. “I told you that you could trust me with Sweetpea.”

“You at least didn’t wreck her. I’ll give you that,” Trace stated, climbing out the driver’s door.

Red Herring and Daring Do both exited from the backseats. Red’s badge bounced off his chest, and though he smiled dimly, he walked with a faint stiffness, wincing slightly with every step. Daring smiled broadly from underneath the brim of her pith helmet, walking with a confident stride. She had a saddlebag strapped tight to her side.

“I’ve been dying for this since my first dinner at the hospital,” Daring declared, stretching her wings as they walked up towards the door, flanked by the yellow and blue lanterns. “Just hope Pinkie doesn’t put hot sauce in anything again.”

“She wouldn’t,” Phillip answered with a small grin. “That’d be too predictable.”

Daring snorted as she opened up the door, allowing them all to enter. “Y’know, sometimes, I think that my life could use a few fewer surprises.”

No sooner had she completed her sentence then there was the loud blast of a party horn and a rain of glittering confetti spilled onto their heads. All four ponies jumped back, hooves instinctively going for their weapons before recognizing that there was no threat from the great pink blur that was currently dancing around them.

“Welcome to your You-Saved-The-Mayor party!” Pinkie Pie declared, placing party hats atop each of their heads. “I set it up especially for you! C’mon in!”

There were fortunately only a relatively few ponies inside, including Cold Case, Captain Hewn Oak, Doctors Mortis and Suunkii, Twilight, Flash, Rainbow, Spike, and their friends, and all of them applauded as the group entered. A massive blue-frosted cake with the Ponyville Police Department logo painted in gold was placed at the center of a massive buffet table, which was populated by a variety of foods that made the mouths of the guests of honor water; peach pie, anzac biscuits, fish tacos, and macaroni and apple salad. Rara was up on stage with Steamed Carrot, the two of them performing a jazz duo on piano and harp respectively; Steamed opened one eye briefly to shoot Phillip and Daring a glowing smile before closing them again to block out the sight of other ponies.

Red puffed up his chest in response to the applause and trotted over to the bar, where Applejack waited with four massive tankards of foaming apple cider. “For the ponies of the hour,” Applejack said proudly, pushing a tankard forward for his consumption.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Phillip stated to Pinkie Pie, removing the party hat from his head.

“Yeah, you really didn’t,” Daring grumbled, taking off her party hat as well and giving it a contemptuous look.

“Aw, of course I didn’t!” Pinkie declared. “But you’re heroes! You saved the Mayor, you stopped Silvertongue, and you’re going to stop Zugzwang and Whitestone, and anypony else like them! You deserve to have a party in your name and give ponies a chance to say thank you!”

“You’re welcome!” Rainbow Dash declared from the bar, guzzling down a tankard of cider and leaving a foam mustache on her grinning lips. Daring rolled her eyes at her.

“So, thank you!” Pinkie Pie declared, pulling them both into a hug.

“And plus, this is a secret birthday party inside of another party!” she whispered into their ears. “I know how much you like secrets and mysteries, so I made this special for you!” She winked at Daring. “Don’t worry, I won’t spoil the surprise! Have fun!” And with that, she bounced off to Flash Sentry and began to urge him over to Twilight, ignoring their blushes and stammering.

Daring glared at Phillip. “You told her?!” she hissed.

“Of course not; you know Pinkie just knows things like that,” Phillip replied. “Calls it 'Pinkie sense' or summat. I know you didn’t want anypony big-noting you, so when Pinkie brought it up, I told her that, and she agreed.” He looked around at the party and let out a small laugh. “Should’ve figured she’d find a loophole. Still...it’s nice of her, right?”

Daring looked over at Pinkie, who had just “accidentally” nudged Flash in the back so that he stumbled forward and his nose wound up pressed against Twilight’s. The two ponies froze, blushing furiously, then Flash smiled and kissed Twilight on the lips. She relaxed and began to kiss him back. Smirking in satisfaction, Pinkie then bounced over to Bumblebee, who was speaking to Arc Light, the widely smiling Royal Guard looking very different without a bulletproof vest on.

“Yeah,” Daring admitted. “Yeah, it is.”

“Well, it’s our party,” Phillip stated. “We gonna join?”

“So what did you get me for my birthday?” Daring asked as they proceeded towards the bar. “Besides the book, which was amazing.”

“What else do you want?” Phillip asked.

Daring thought for a moment, then said, “To get drunk. With you, and all my friends. And then go home and have some really fucking amazing sex with you.”

Phillip smiled and grasped a tankard, clinking it against her’s. “Well, cheers,” he declared, and the two ponies proceeded to down the entire drink in one go.

“Mind if an old mare joins you?” a voice asked. Both of them turned to see Mayor Mare trotting up to the bar. Nervous Nellie could be seen a few feet behind her, devouring snacks and cake from the buffet table.

“Not at all,” Phillip declared, nodding to the stool next to him.

The Mayor sat herself down and was immediately served another tankard of cider by Applejack. “I cannot express how grateful I am to you both,” she declared, sipping at the drink. “You sent Silvertongue away, and now I owe you my life.”

“Just doing our jobs, Mayor,” Phillip stated.

Daring stared into her empty tankard for a moment, then added, “You wanna know who you really owe your lives to? Rainbow Dash and Mavri. They saved my life; if it wasn’t for them both, I might not be here.”

Mayor Mare nodded in contemplation. “Then I will make sure that they are both commended for their bravery.”

“Are they here now?” Mayor Mare asked.

“Rainbow’s over there,” Daring jerked her head towards Rainbow Dash. “Mavri...I invited him, but he wasn’t interested. He doesn’t like crowds.”

“I understand,” the Mayor nodded.

Daring took a breath. “There is one thing, though,” she added. “Mavri wanted me to talk to you about…” She paused again, her face contorting. “Bottgilia.”

Phillip cocked his head to one side. “The bartender?” Mayor Mare asked.

“Yeah,” Daring grunted. “He said that...he said that he’s a good guy, really, he just was forced to give us up to Whitestone, otherwise they were going to burn down his bar.” She grimaced. “Look, I don’t like saying this--I’m painfully reminded of the fact that he nearly got us both killed--but he’s got a point.” She took another long sip of cider. “He wanted me to ask if you could give Bottgilia a break,” she muttered.

“I will speak to the district attorney,” the Mayor nodded. She smiled at Daring and patted her on the back. “I’m even prouder of you now. You’re doing the right thing.”

“Just hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass,” Daring commented, more to herself than the Mayor.

“Nellie! We agreed, no coffee!” the Mayor suddenly cried, hurrying off to her assistant’s side.

Daring glanced around, then opened up the pack at her side and pulled out a pad of paper littered with tight hoofwritten notes. She scanned the bottom of the notes, then pulled out a pencil and started writing.

“What’s that?” Phillip asked.

“Nothing!” Daring cried, slapping the pad down on the bar.

Phillip gave her a deadpan stare. “Daring, I’m going to find out eventually. You might as well tell me.”

Daring sighed and handed him the pad. “It’s a story,” she mumbled. “When I was in the hospital, Rainbow Dash mentioned that I could write a story based on my life. And I was reading Hayana Pones, and…” She gestured at the pad. “That happened.”

Phillip scanned the page. “Compass Rose?” he asked.

“Y’know, ‘cause…” Daring glanced down at her cutie marks.

Phillip continued to read, his eyes scanning the writing. “Look, it’s not that great, I--” Daring protested, her face reddening.

“Shh!” Phillip stated, turning the page. He continued reading, seemingly devouring the words from the page. Daring watched in silence as he read.

“This is great!” he declared upon completing.

“You...think so?” Daring said slowly.

“Fair dinkum!” Phillip nodded. “You should finish this, get a publisher.”

Daring snorted. “And have to deal with adoring fans and shit? No thanks.”

“Could use a pen name,” Phillip suggested.

Daring paused for a moment. “That...actually sounds like a good idea.” She glanced at the pad, then placed it back in her pack. “Work on finishing it first, then we’ll think about a publisher.”

“Deal,” Phillip smiled.

“In the meantime...hey, Trace!” Daring called. “Bet I can put away more whiskey than you!”

“You must like losing,” Trace smirked, slapping his glass down on the bar.

Phillip sighed and signaled to Applejack to refill his tankard. He was going to need it.

In the corner, away from everypony else, Red Herring slowly shuffled up to a phone placed on the wall. He stared at the phone for a moment, then grunted and plucked a bit from the wallet tucked beneath his wing. He inserted the coin into the slot and plucked the receiver off the hook, dialing in a number.

The line rang. And rang again. Maybe she wasn't home. Red was about to hang up the phone when he heard it click.

"Hello?" a mare's voice asked.

Red was frozen for a moment, not daring to breathe, part of him still debating whether or not he should just hang up. Then he sighed and placed the receiver next to his ear.

"Hey," he said, a small smile spreading across his face. "It's Red."

"Red?"

There was a beat of silence, and then she spoke again, and he could hear her smile through the receiver. "Hey."

City Hall was closed for the night, the last employees filing out the door, a few carrying briefcases of work to take home, exchanging friendly good nights and final comments and plans.

The gray-plumed hippogriff janitor emptied the bin next to the mayor's desk into her large garbage can, grunting and sighing as her aged joints creaked. Morning Mist had worked at the City Hall for years, seen many mayors come and go, but she liked Margaret. Out of all the mayors who had served in that office, she was the only one who remembered her name and actually talked to her. She even remembered her grandson's birthday!

Margaret wasn't perfect, but she was a good one. Thank the spirits that had been watching over her that night.

Mist replaced the garbage can and wheeled her janitor's cart and trash can to the door. She paused at the threshold and looked over the entire office, smiling at what she saw. All the framed pictures perfectly aligned on the walls, the trash bins emptied, the desks neatly organized, and the coffee machine ready in the morning with a fresh filter and water. Even the ceiling tiles were dusted and set in place. Outside the freshly cleaned windows, the lights of Ponyville pierced the darkness, their assault supported by the stars up above.

"Good night," she whispered to the mayors past and future and switched out the light. The door closed and locked with a click that echoed through the empty room.

It's too bad that Morning Mist couldn't have seen through the ceiling tiles. If she had, she might have seen amidst the wiring and pipes that ran along the crawlspace, there was something anomalous tucked away behind a trio of steam pipes. A golden statue of Nightmare Moon, her three empty eyeholes staring, smirking into the darkness in victory.

Author's Note

French profanity with Scarlet Letter:
"Tête de noeud:" "Dickhead."
"Sans-couilles:" "without balls."
"blaireau:" "badger."
"Roi de cons:" "king of fools."
"sous-merde:" literally, "below shit." So low that they're not worthy of being called a little shit.
"Connard:" "bastard."

And with that, we have at last closed this case! I hope that you enjoyed this long adventure and are looking forward to the next one. See you next week!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Ten, Prologue: In the Vault

The night was quiet, the water of the Maresippi lapping at the northern shore. The black and white two-story house stood a few yards back from the beach; its shadow, cast by the light of the full moon, stretched out to almost touch the water. The trees that surrounded it on three sides whispered in the wind, fresh green leaves dancing beneath the stars. All the lights were out; there was no sign of anypony within.

A single griffon circled the house, glaring down at the structure. His lime green headband flapping in the breeze, the figure alighted on a balcony and squinted through the glass door. His yellow eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, scanned the interior, then he pressed his ear against the glass.

Not a sound. He frowned slightly; he was kind of hoping that he’d be there. He’d been longing to feel the bastard’s flesh against his blade, to watch the life fade from those black eyes. But no such pleasures tonight.

Roaring drew one of his cutlasses, the black suns carved into the blade briefly catching a glimmer of moonlight, then stabbed it into the window. Instantly, the entire window glowed with golden energy, arcane symbols swirling in the yellow mist that resisted his blade like a brick wall halting a wooden pole. Growling, Roaring pressed harder. The black suns on the sword shone with a smokey aura and dark red liquid leaked from the cursed metal, hissing as it dripped onto the wards. The yellow glow faded slightly, and he forced his blade through, carving it around inch by inch against the weakening resistance.

Finally, he had managed to cut a wide circle through the window. Panting, Roaring sheathed the sword, making a mental note to recharge it with some fresh blood later, and slid through.

Plucking a flashlight from his belt, Roaring switched it on and looked around the room. Everywhere he looked, there were tables with gameboards set upon them; chess, ludo, go, mancala, and many more, all of the boards and pieces made from fine marble and stone, jewels, and other expensive materials, and all of them in the midst of a game.

He picked up a black king chess piece made of beautifully carved alabaster that shone beneath his flashlight beam. Maybe some of these would be worth something.

But not now. He was here for one thing specifically; he could grab the rest later.

Luck had led them to this home: one of their scouting boats returning to the Talon had spotted him, standing on the balcony with one of those putrid cigarettes in his hoof. If this was where that Gerwhin bastard hung his hat, then this was probably where he was hiding his treasures. Including tonight's goal.

Flashlight leading the way, Roaring proceeded down the stairs and found himself facing a heavy door, padlocked shut with a combination lock. Sneering, Roaring sliced the padlock in half with one clean stroke and pushed the door open with a creak.

On the other side of the door was a room lined with brick, just big enough for the griffon to stand inside and walk around. Shelves lined two of the walls and scattered across them were various dusty spellbooks, potion materials and vials of bubbling liquids, guns and ammunition, and strange artifacts from small jewels set into strange winding gold backings to skulls with ritualistic lines carved into the bone and daggers lined with symbols in an unrecognizable language.

Tacked onto the wall in front of them were photographs and newspaper clippings, all of them so overlapping each other that the stone behind them could not be seen. Almost all of them were of Phillip Finder: shots of him walking down the street, speaking to officers, enjoying drinks at the Apple Pie, even some photos of him in his house, taken through the window. Scrawled over most of the pictures were phrases like “Liebling” and “Meine.” There were some other pictures of Daring Do (adjectives like “Hure” and “Schlampe” were scrawled over them), Flash Sentry, Twilight Sparkle, and some of Phil’s other companions. All of the ones that weren’t Phillip were slightly separated from his photos and set beneath a single world in bold letters: “TÖTEN.”

Acid bubbled in Roaring’s stomach at the sight of his enemy, and his claw twitched towards the swords, an instinct to slice through the photographs and tear them to pieces racing down his arm, but he stilled the urge. Stay focused on the objective.

Roaring scanned the room. He’d heard the rumors about it, back when Silvertongue and Monopoly still ran the city, but he hadn’t been sure that those scrolls were real. Not until Night Waltz had contacted them and told them about Zugzwang’s interest in the professor.

Then he spotted them. Two scrolls, the parchment dry and cracking faintly, the endcaps decorated with black skulls. The Lazarus Ritual. With a grin, Roaring snatched up the scrolls and tucked them into his belt.

And then he saw the smaller photographs, collected in a small booklet. A familiar face. Her face.

Roaring felt his heart stop in his chest and he seized the booklet, flipping through the pictures. All of them were of her. At her home, with her parents. With her coltfriend. Moving into her new home. At her job. Every aspect of her life, plainly documented for him to see, each picture freezing his blood even more.

Taped to the second to last page was a feather, pale gray. It was her color, Roaring knew; his rapid breathing rustled the vane.

On the final page was a note, the capital letters written in the sharp, precise lettering of a learned pony: “DON’T FUCK WITH ME, OR I’LL FUCK YOURS.”

Roaring heard himself scream, rage and terror blending into the noise, and bolted from the room. He flew out of the basement, back up the stairs, and soared back out the window into the night sky, his curses still resounding up to the stars so loud that he was sure that Fantisera was roused from her tours of the Dreamlands to see what the fuss was about.

He flew back to the cloud where Whitestone waited, her eyes wide with shock. “The fuck’s all the yelling about, Roaring?” she snarled, slapping him across the face. “You’re gonna wake up the whole fucking city.”

Roaring handed her the book in response. She stared at it in silent query, then opened it up. With every turn of the page, her eyes widened.

“How does he know about her?!” she hissed.

“Silvertongue,” Roaring growled. “He was his lackey for years, of course he’d have figured it out.”

Whitestone spat and pulled out a matchbook. Striking one of the long matches, she set the flame to the book, her talons clutching the paper until it was all aflame and slowly falling to ashes.

"Why?" she snarled quietly, closing her eyes as the ashes fell through the clouds that she gripped in her talons as though trying to choke the life from the vapor. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Cap'n..." Roaring started to say, reaching a hoof towards her.

“We need to double the guard on her,” Whitestone declared, raising her head, eyes blazing with determination.

Roaring frowned. “You think the crew will go for it? We’re already stretched thin…”

“She might not be crew, but she’s one of us,” Whitestone replied. “We take care of our own. And he’s definitely going to hit back after this.”

Roaring glanced down at the scrolls tucked into his belt. “You think this is worth it?” he asked quietly. “Worth her?”

Whitestone was silent for several seconds, watching the ashes of the former photos fall to the ground far below. “Making sure that that bastard is in the ground as soon as possible is worth her,” she finally declared, meeting her first mate’s gaze with a hard glare. “And this is one more nail in his coffin. The gods willing, I’d prefer that I be the one raising an undead army.”

Roaring glanced at the scrolls again, then nodded. “Right. Let’s get back to the Talon; we’ve still got that professor to worry about.”

Spreading their wings, both griffons flew eastward, dropping down low over the river water.

As they headed home, neither griffon noticed a pair of eyes, as black as the night sky, watching them. Slowly, a smile spread beneath the empty eyes.

“Oh, this could be fun,” Zugzwang whispered.

Author's Note

Maybe not for us, though.

Oh, also: progress on the next chapter has been slower than I anticipated. I might have to delay the next chapter.

Looking forward to our newest case? Leave a like and a case to show your support!

Case Ten, Chapter One: Abnormal Studies

Rain cascaded from the gray sky, pelting the ponies below as they sprinted for cover. The water pattered musically against the roofs of the police cruisers and plainclothes vehicles parked outside the two-story home that stood in the midst of an overgrown lawn boxed in by a faded white picket fence, one of many on the long, wide street.

Trace Evidence walked out of the house, turning up the collar of his trenchcoat against the rain as he trotted down the concrete pathway to the sidewalk. He looked up at the gray blanket that smothered the sky, then glanced at his watch with a frown.

“Where the hell are they?” he muttered to himself as the watch hands ticked past 9:20.

At that moment, some of the clouds above him burst open and a golden angel descended from the skies, a stallion in a green vest clinging tight to her.

“See?” Daring commented as she alighted on the ground, with Phillip clambering off her. “Flying above the clouds means we don’t get as wet.”

“And I keep saying, a trolley doesn’t do sharp turns or dives,” Phillip grunted, pulling his hat down over his face to try to ward off the rain.

Daring just scoffed and gave the clouds a disdainful look. “I’ll be glad when the Moon of Rain is over next week,” she muttered.

“One good thing about it,” Trace stated, glancing around at the abandoned sidewalk. “Keeps the crowds away. C’mon, let’s go.”

He led the two up the pathway towards the door. “What’s the story?” Phillip stated. “You told us that there was a kidnapping.”

“Doctor Dusty Tome,” Trace stated, stepping over a potted plant that had been knocked down and lay across the pathway, soil and trampled tulips scattered across the concrete like roadkill. “Professor of ancient languages. His live-in student apprentice, Granite Tablet, called us and said he was missing about an hour ago. I attempted a location spell with a sample of his hair, but no luck. We thought you might want to take a look.”

“Because you’re stumped,” Daring translated. “There’s a reason you were so fidgety waiting for us.”

“Okay, fine, yes,” Trace grumbled as he climbed up onto the front step and paused in front of the blue door marred with Crime Scene: Do Not Cross tape. “Mind what you touch,” he commented and pushed the door open with his magic.

The group proceeded into a foyer. Directly in front of them was a wide staircase that led up to the second floor; passageways to their left and right led into a sitting room and a kitchen respectively. The entire room was lit by a crystal chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. A coatstand with an umbrella bucket stood next to them, a small puddle still clinging to the floor beneath them.

Phillip bent down, noting the faint dirty tracks that marred the white carpet going up the stairs. “Kidnappers?” he asked.

“They lead from the back door up to the study, so probably,” Trace commented.

“Two of them,” Phillip stated, slowly following the trail up the stairs. “Dirt, not mud: came in before rain started at around 10 PM.” He continued to follow them to the second floor, rounding the corner.

Daring proceeded down the other way, trotting behind Trace towards the back door. The door was locked tight, but Daring was immediately interested in the panel of numbered switches on the wall next to it.

“Silent alarm?” she noted.

“Yup; apparently, the professor regularly deals in expensive artifacts,” Trace nodded. “It switches on from nine PM until eight AM: anytime somepony opens a door, they have to punch in the code. It didn’t go off last night. We’ve already checked it for oil traces and it looks like only the combination numbers have been touched.”

A quick glance at the panel indicated that there was indeed light gray powder clinging to the 1, 3, and 6 buttons. “And no sign of forced entry on the door. So they knew the combination,” Daring mused.

Opening up the door, she proceeded into the backyard. The small yard, boxed in by another section of pale white picket fencing, was bare, except for some leaves that had apparently blown in from other yards. On the other side of the fence was another road.

“We tried a tracing wand, but the rain’s washed away all the magical traces from their tracks,” Trace explained.

“There’s something I noticed,” Daring stated, starting to walk along the edge of the fence, scanning the ground. “There were tracks going in, but none coming back out. How’d they get out?”

“We’re still working on that,” Trace stated.

Daring proceeded to the back of the fence and started to walk along it, eyes panning over the mud and the fence. She paused and crouched down. “Some tracks here,” she commented. “Deep ones.” She glanced at the fence, then pulled a pair of tweezers from her vest. “Got a piece of fabric here,” she added, plucking a small sample of dark clinging to a splinter in the fence and placing it into a paper bag.

“My guess: a car drove them up, they vaulted the fence, got in through the back door, and grabbed the professor,” Daring said. “You’re slipping, Trace. I’d have thought that you could’ve figured it out yourself.”

“Yeah, we figured that part, too,” Trace nodded.

Daring rolled her eyes. “Then why bother bringing us here? Wasn’t Cold Case bitching about the budget a couple of weeks ago?” She paused for a beat. “Granted, she’s always bitching, but still.”

Trace was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Because of what Doctor Tome was working on,” he admitted. “He’s been working on some ancient artifacts that were dedicated to the Old Gods. He’s even got a translation of the Kyaltratek in his study.”

Daring blinked. “As in, the Big Book of the Old Gods?”

“Yeah,” Trace nodded slowly. “I don’t know how he got his hooves on one; they say that anypony who reads it goes crazy.”

Daring laughed loudly. “You actually believe those old mares tales?” she snorted. “I read it, and I was fine.”

Trace’s jaw dropped. “You read it?! How’d you get one?”

“Don’t ask,” Daring replied, returning to her search. “And don’t ask me why I needed it. It was…” She shifted slightly. “Creepy, but those stories about it are just a bunch of superstition and hokum, like all the rest of this Old God nonsense. The Kyaltratek is just a hyped-up spellbook, nothing more.”

Trace watched her silently walking back and forth across the yard for a few moments of silence, then stated, “You know, if you were crazy, you’d say you weren’t crazy anyway.”

Daring rolled her eyes at him again. “Do I act like a crazy pony?”

A smirk crawled up Trace’s face. “Shut up,” Daring cut him off preemptively with a scowl, returning to her search.

Unfortunately, if there were any traces besides the ghosts of some hoofprints, the rain had long washed them away. Daring then returned her attention to the doorway, bending down to examine the lock with a magnifying glass.

“I don’t see any sign that it was picked,” she concluded. “No scratches around the keyhole.” She frowned. “Knew the combination, had keys. They had somepony on the inside for this. Where’s that student?”

“He’s inside, in his room,” Trace stated. “Officer Wheellock is watching him.”

“I’m gonna consult with Phil,” Daring said, pushing the door open. Pausing in the back hallway to briefly shake herself off, she proceeded up the steps, being careful to avoid the dirty hoofsteps. Reaching the second floor, she followed the trail to the study, with Trace following behind her.

She and Trace paused at the doorway, her eyes widening. It seemed that every inch of the study was covered in strange artifacts, images, and strange tomes. A trio of masks from zebra tribes hung on the wall, their abnormally wide eyes staring balefully at her. Yellowed scrolls were stacked on a shelf, covered in plastic wrap. A glass cabinet held several carved pearl and shell artwork from the hippogriff lands; another held gold and silver ceremonial griffon weapons from Griffonia and Thrussia.

And in every corner, there were idols. Griffon, hippogriff, and yak gods, zebra spirits, the six alicorns, and the Old Gods, carved in stone, metal, jewels, pearl, and more, all of them turned to face inward.

Phillip was currently doing a final walkaround of the room, studying the rooftop. He nodded to a desk on the opposite side of the room from the door. An ancient book lay open on the desk, with a pad covered in notes on its left and a stack of dictionaries of ancient languages on the other. The chair was pulled slightly away and turned towards the door; an expensive fountain pen and a glass lay on the floor, ink and milk staining the red carpet.

“Professor was sitting here,” Phillip stated, gesturing to the chair. “Working. Heard the abductors come in and started to turn around. Guess they used a stunning spell, because he instantly fell over.” He nodded to the dropped pen and glass. “No other signs of struggle. Hoofsteps lead up to the desk, then vanish.”

“Any idea how they got out?” Daring asked.

“Did notice something,” Phillip said, bending down. He pointed to a small pile of crushed glass that was laying underneath one of the tables. “That doesn’t belong to anything in this room far as I can tell,” he stated, scooping some of the glass into a bag.

“Teleportation crystal, you think?” Daring suggested.

“Probably,” Phillip nodded. “Was anything taken?”

“I allowed Granite Tablet to take a brief look from outside the room,” Trace replied. “He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think anything was gone. Professor Tome’s safe is in his bedroom, but there’s no sign anypony went in there.”

Phillip nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s talk to Granite.”

They descended down the stairs and into a guest bedroom at the end of the first floor hallway. The room was comfortable, if a tad spartan, featuring a small bed, a dresser, and a desk facing a window. The desk was littered with notes, pens, and stacks of books on ancient cultures and languages. A small Alicorn’s Witness shrine dedicated to Faust and Speranza was placed atop the dresser, next to a framed photo of a unicorn mare with a luscious blonde mane and aquamarine eyes. A poster on the wall depicted a pony standing atop a desert dune with ghostly images of the four Old Gods grinning down at them, the mortal looking as tiny as an ant next to the gargantuan deities.

Granite Tablet himself was seated on the bed, staring at his hooves. He was a short unicorn stallion with a coat the color of granite, a heavily matted brown mane, and a cutie mark of a cracked tablet. Officer Wheellock stood to one side of the door; her emerald eyes kept darting to the poster as her hoof played at the rosary necklace that she’d pulled out from beneath her uniform shirt, lips faintly forming a prayer.

“Mister Tablet, this is Detective Finder and Detective Do,” Trace introduced his partners. “They’re going to ask you some questions.”

Granite Tablet looked up, trying to blink the red out of his hazel eyes. “Oh. Okay, yeah,” he nodded, his voice coming out raspy and dry.

“You live here?” Phillip stated.

“Yup,” Tablet nodded, grasping a bottle of water from the bed next to him and guzzling half of it in one go. “I’m doing my Masters in History under the professor.”

“Talk us through what happened,” Phillip said.

Granite Tablet took a breath. “It’s like I told Detective Evidence there,” he started, nodding to Trace. “I went out last night around seven PM, had dinner at Sweetcream Scoops, and came back around nine-thirty. I didn’t see the professor, but he had a habit of working late, so I just went to bed. When I woke up this morning, I came into the kitchen to find the professor gone. I looked all over the house for him, and then I called the police around eight.” He shrugged and lowered his head. “I didn’t see or hear anything weird, and I’m a light sleeper.”

Phillip stared at him for a few beats, then scanned the room again. His eyes lingered on the dirt-stained horseshoes that sat on the carpet next to the dresser for a few moments, then he said, “Your jacket. It’s the light green one?”

Granite blinked at him. “Uh...yeah. Yeah, it is,” he nodded.

Phillip scowled at him. “Lying to the police is a crime,” he growled.

Granite looked up with a jerk. “What?! I-I’m not lying!”

“You didn’t come home at nine,” Phillip stated. “Your jacket was wet, there’s still a puddle on the floor. You came well after ten, when it was raining. Potting soil on your hooves matches pot from outside from when you stumbled into it, horseshoes are also wet. There’s a receipt from a taxi in the trash can; mileage is too close for Sweetcream Scoops'. That, and your red eyes and shaking hooves tell me you’re hungover.”

Granite opened and closed his mouth several times, attempting to come up with a counter or explanation, but the four suspicious glares bearing down on him forced the truth from a vise. “Okay...every other night, I’ve been going down to the Midnight Oil to drink and shoot pool. The professor caught me once and told me that if he caught me coming back drunk again, he'd kick me out.”

“Go on,” Phillip stated.

“And, well…” Granite shifted. His eyes darted to the framed photo on the dresser. It was then that Daring noticed that the photo was turned away slightly so that it wasn’t facing the bed.

Granite swallowed and licked his lips. “Look...you can’t tell Pond Jewel, okay?” He took a breath, then sighed.

“Last night, I stayed out really late, because...I was sleeping with another mare,” he finally spat out. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have done it! But I hadn’t seen Pond in months, and well...I had needs, you know?”

Daring rolled her eyes. “Stallions: two heads and only enough blood to think with one of them,” she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Wheellock trying to hide a smile.

“When did you actually get back?” Phillip stated.

“Closer to...midnight, I think,” Granite muttered. “Look, she approached me first, okay?”

Phillip’s eyebrows raised a bit. “She approached you in the bar?”

“Yes,” Granite nodded.

“Who was she?” Phillip pressed.

Granite thought for a few moments, then shook his head. “I don’t remember her name...I don’t even remember if she gave it. It was a white unicorn with blue hair and green eyes. Cutie mark was…” He shook his head again. “I don’t remember. All I know is, she approached me, we had a couple drinks, she took me upstairs, we had sex, and then I came back here and went straight to bed.”

“You didn’t notice anything odd then?” Phillip asked.

Granite shook his head. “I didn’t even turn the lights on. Just put my coat on the rack, punched in the code, and went straight to bed.”

"I bet they snuck the key out and made a clay duplicate while they were fucking," Daring whispered to Phillip.

Phillip grunted. “One other thing. Did you talk about the code to anypony?”

“No…” Granite started to say, then sighed. “Okay, fine, there was this one time a week ago I was out drinking with some pool buddies at the Midnight Oil. We were all talking about Scarlet Letter, that writer, and how she hired all those security guards for her house. So I was talking about our security, mentioned that the Professor used his own birthday for the code.”

This time, all four officers rolled their eyes. "In my defense, I was drunk, and I didn't think that any of them were really listening," Granite cut in, scowling.

"Who were you at the bar with?" Phillip asked.

Granite rubbed the back of his head. "I, uh...don't know 'em that well. They're just dudes I usually hang out with."

"And anypony could've been listening," Daring pointed out. "That's probably how they got the code."

“Give Trace a list of names and descriptions. The mare you slept with, did she hug you?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah, she, uh…” Granite blushed and rubbed his mane again. “She got pretty close to me on the way upstairs.”

“Good,” Phillip stated and exited the room. Daring followed him as he walked back into the front hall and proceeded to scan the coat hanging on the rack with a magnifying glass.

“There,” he finally declared, plucking a long silky blue-green hair from the collar of the jacket. He sniffed it. “Hmm. Saint Megan number 4.”

“What are you two thinking?” Trace asked, entering the room.

“Some strange mare offers to sleep with him the night the professor is kidnapped? That’s too much of a coincidence,” Daring replied. “That mare had some stake in this.”

“It’s not much,” Phillip declared. “But Suun might be able to make something of this.”

Phillip stared at the photograph of Dusty Tome on the bulletin, studying the photograph of a gray unicorn with a light brown mane and pointed beard, green eyes peering out at him from behind a pair of pince-nez. A sketch of his cutie mark, an open book with an inkwell sitting atop it, accompanied the photograph.

“Why kidnap him?” Daring pondered from over his shoulder, her voice mixing with the classical music emanating from the laboratory’s radio. “Can’t be a ransom; he doesn’t have that much.”

“He has something that somepony wants,” Phillip stated.

Daring scoffed. “What, some old scrolls with superstition written all over them? You can’t actually believe in any of that bullshit.”

“I don’t. But somepony might,” Phillip said. “Or it might be something more material.”

“Ah,” the zebra at the other end of the table declared, prompting them to look up.

“Phillip Finder,” Suunkii declared, looking up from the microscope. “This is not a hair.”

“It’s not?” Phillip asked.

“It is setae; it appears like ordinary hair, but is actually made of chitin,” Suunkii declared. “I have only seen this once before.” He gave Phillip and Daring both a steady look. “This is from a changeling.”

Phillip and Daring both looked at one another. “Suun, I need to know everything about that setae,” Phillip stated. “Please,” he added upon detection of a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” Suunkii said, returning to the scope.

Both detectives retreated to a corner of the room. “We need to talk to Buzz,” Phillip whispered.

“You can’t think he was part of this,” Daring glared.

“I don’t," Phillip said. "His seta is a different color. But do you know any other changelings? He might know who this is.”

Daring nodded. “Good point. Sugar Loaf’s farm isn’t far from here.”

“Then let’s pay her a visit,” Phillip nodded.

A flash of flame made both of them jump and they turned to see that Suunkii was jerking a section of setae away from a burner. The setae burnt bright orange for a moment, then flared out.

“An old-fashioned and crude method, but effective,” the zebra commented, now bending over another sample of chitin that was sitting in a test tube full of blue liquid. Suunkii extracted an eyedropper full of the liquid and dispensed a bit into several smaller test tubes, each with a different colored liquid inside. Four of these turned a rusty brown color, while the last became milky white.

Suunkii briefly considered an open notebook, then nodded. “The sample contains geological samples from the Everfree District, including fresh tobacco. It is likely that your target lives or works near the Tobacco Refinery on Burro Street.”

“Thanks, Suun,” Phillip called as they exited.

“May your search be fruitful,” Suunkii waved.

The land to the north of Ponyville had been called the birth of the city before. It was those fertile lands, spreading westward from the Everfree Forest and south towards the Maresippi, that had been first settled by the Apples and Pears and the other farmers. The houses, silos, and barns that stood upon those rolling hills and watched over waving plains of crops were often as old as the city.

What was now Sugar Loaf’s farm had once been a small patch of flat grassland, tossed aside after too many crops had rendered it infertile. However, it had proven perfect for a few acres of white artificial beehives, with a small stone cottage. The smoke that blossomed from the chimney mixed with the clouds that still poured rain down over the whole farm. A wooden sign that read “Sugar Loaf’s All-Natural Honey Products” hung next to the pathway leading up to the door, creaking as it slowly swung in the wind.

Daring swooped from the skies and landed in front of the cottage, dropping Phil off next to her. Grunting in irritation, he strode up to the door and rang the doorbell.

“Just a moment!” a female voice called from inside.

“Not like we can get any wetter,” Daring muttered, glaring at the sky.

After a minute, the door opened and a golden-white unicorn mare, her long yellow and black curls bouncing with every step, poked her head out.

“Oh, hello!” Sugar Loaf declared, briefly glancing around. “Are you two here for some honey?”

“We need to talk, Buzz,” Phillip said quietly.

The smile disappeared from the mare’s face. “Come inside, quick,” she declared, ushering them in.

They entered a cozy sitting room that featured a wide wooden table stocked with salads and cheeses, a trio of chairs, and a crackling fireplace, over which a quintet of honey-glazed loaves was baking. Daring sniffed appreciatively, a smile crossing her face despite herself.

The unicorn walked over to the window and drew the curtains over them all, casting the room into darkness save for the fire and the hanging lamp. Then, she turned towards her visitors and closed her eyes.

A moment later, Sugar Loaf, humble beekeeper, was shrouded in green flames. When they cleared, in her place stood a strange creature, a cross between an insect and a pony with a honey yellow body, iridescent white wings, and a crest-like blue fin for a "mane."

Daring stepped back, eyes narrowed in suspicion, one hoof slowly rising towards her holster. “Buzz?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m Buzz,” the creature said, its voice now a low, androgynous buzz. “This is what we changelings look like when we’re well-fed. Last time you saw me in my natural form, I hadn’t had a decent feeding in weeks. But since everypony loves honey and Sugar Loaf, I’ve been getting enough love. So, what’d you need?”

“Buzz, you’re the only changeling we know, and we need your help,” Phillip explained. “We’re looking for a changeling. They wear Saint Megan number 4, have a blue-green crest, and live or work near the tobacco refinery on Burro Street.”

Buzz thought for a moment, then nodded. “I know who you mean,” they confirmed. “There’s a changeling who works as a prostitute in the refineries there; they call them Blue Rose. I met them a few times when I was investigating the mobs; gangs would use 'her' for blackmail and other small favors, but there was never any proof for a conviction.”

“We can find ‘em there?” Daring asked.

“Yes, but be careful,” Buzz warned. “Blue Rose survived by being smart and devious. That’s never a good combination.”

“Well, we are, too,” Daring smirked. “Thanks for the help.”

"Can I do anything else?" Buzz asked eagerly, eyes perking up slightly.

"You've helped plenty," Phillip nodded.

Buzz's face fell slightly like a balloon with a slow leak, but they shrugged. "Okay. Good luck with your search," they said, waving goodbye as the detectives exited.

As soon as they were back into the rain, Daring snatched up Phillip beneath the forelegs and rocketed up into the air, heading southeast.

“What’s wrong with the bloody trolley?” Phillip protested feebly, trying not to look at the ground shooting past beneath him.

“Who needs it?” Daring smirked. “The game is afoot.”

Phillip stopped wiggling in her grasp. “Once more unto the breach, then?”

“Follow your spirit,” Daring quoted, banking around a cloud. “And upon this charge, cry,”

“‘Our Mother for the Princesses, Equestria, and Saint Faust!’” both ponies declared.

Author's Note

Fun fact: I threw in the Henry V reference because I was watching Robert Downey Jr.'s Sherlock Holmes movie while writing this chapter, and it just kind of fell in there.

And "Kyaltratek" is a bastardization of the pronunciation for "singing sands" in Khmer. Took me a while to figure out what I wanted for the pony version of the Necronomicon.

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Case Ten, Chapter Three: Nightmare Moon's Temple

Daring leaned out the back window of Prowl and Bumblebee’s cruiser, blowing smoke from her cigarette into the air. The rain was lessening, going from a downpour to a mild sprinkle, but the retreating clouds were still filtering out what little sunlight was left. She took another drag on the cigarette and closed her eyes, listening to the news broadcast over the radio.

“—spite of the recent accusations levied against her by an unidentified source, rumored to be the stallion who attempted to assassinate Mayor Mare, Scarlet Letter promised that a sequel to her bestseller would be coming soon, and Ponyville book stores would have first pick,” the anchor read off. The mention of the name prompted a bubbling of acid in Daring’s stomach, but she swallowed it back with a scowl.

“In other news, the failing North Star Capital Management company, formerly known as Monopoly Investments, was recently bought out by Crystal businesspony Alba Dorata. Mister Dorata met with the board of directors this morning and promised that he would bring the company in new directions. Board member Silver Fortune stated that they had every confidence in Mister Dorata…”

Tuning out the radio, Daring glanced in the rearview mirror. She could just see Flash’s motorcycle prowling behind them, Flash himself bent over the handlebars, face adorned with a bright blue helmet crudely decorated with hoof-painted golden lightning bolts. Twilight was sitting behind him, hooves wrapped tight around his waist, wearing a purple helmet; Phillip was sitting in the sidecar, one hoof holding his trilby down onto his head.

“How much farther?” she asked Prowl.

“Not much longer,” Prowl replied, turning onto a potholed road that led away from the suburbs they were currently driving through. “You sure about this, Daring?”

“I’m sure that I’m not gonna sit on my ass and just wait for things to happen,” Daring replied. “And I’m sure that this is the only lead we’ve got, so I’m pretty sure about this.”

“So what do you think this temple’s gonna be like?” Bumblebee asked, bouncing in his seat excitedly. “Are there gonna be lots of traps and secret passageways and stuff?”

“You’ve been reading too much Hayana Pones,” Daring snorted, smiling to herself. “I've raided hidden temples and tombs like this before, retrieving treasures for museums and collectors and shit. Most temples don’t have stuff like that.”

“But some do have traps?” Bumblebee asked.

“Yeah,” Daring scoffed. “Things like boulders propped up on rotten woodwork and fake walls that lead into dead ends and pitfalls. No flying buzzsaws or pressure-trigger darts or hidden doors or anything like that.”

“Awww,” Bumblebee pouted. “I was hoping to have some awesome stories for Arc when he comes home this weekend.”

“Don’t you think you two are moving a bit fast?” Prowl asked, turning left at a t-intersection and heading into a darker, wooded area. “You’ve only been dating for a few months, and he’s already living with you on his weekends.”

“Maple Leaf proposed to you on the day he met,” Bumblebee smirked. “Four times.”

Prowl blushed faintly. “He had a concussion and was on heavy painkillers, and I’d just yanked him out of a river,” she muttered, turning onto a dirt path.

“A match made in Elysium if I ever heard one,” Bumblebee grinned, nudging Prowl. "I mean, you two were exchanging letters every week for two years."

“Okay, fine, maybe I don’t have an argument,” Prowl muttered. “We’re here.”

They had paused before a gate that blocked the one-way dirt road. Beyond the section of chainlink fence, the gates yawning open towards them, a path had been carved through the woods, leaves and branches shoved aside and trunks cut down. Grooves from several different tires were worn heavily into the ground.

“Okay, let’s go!” Bumblebee said eagerly.

“Wait,” Prowl said, her narrow eyes focused on the guard booth beside the gates. “There should be somepony in there.”

Behind them, Phillip got off the bike and jogged over to the booth, peering inside. He crouched down, examining the narrow interior with a stool, a small table built into the wall, a stack of books and a set of playing cards in the middle of a game of solitaire, and a newspaper turned to an article about the temple’s excavation. A cigarette sat in a half-full ashtray, a faint wisp of smoke still rising from the tip.

And then he spotted the dark red stain on the wall. Most of it had been wiped away, but there was one small spot left. Blood. Glancing up, he then noticed that the chain on the gate was broken, the padlock dangling from one gate.

Phillip trotted back to the cruiser as Flash and Twilight walked up. “There’s blood,” he reported. “And that gate’s been broken open.”

Prowl scowled. “I’m calling for backup,” she stated.

“We’ve got to get in there,” Daring retorted. “They might be after the High Priest’s ring.”

“Hold on,” Prowl ordered. “We don’t know how many intruders might be in there.”

“And we’d need more help to secure the crime scene,” Twilight said. “That temple is large, too large for us to secure and search on our own.”

“But there might be ponies hurt and needing help,” Flash pointed out. “We can’t just stay here and wait.”

“Agreed,” Phillip grunted. “We’re going in.”

Prowl scowled, but sighed. “Fine. But I’m calling backup anyway.”

Daring got out of the cruiser and took flight as Flash, Twilight, and Phillip clambered back onto the bike and Flash revved the engine. The motorcycle passed the cruiser as Prowl spoke into the radio hoofset, calling in a break-in and warning that the suspects were possibly armed and dangerous. Flicking on the emergency lights, she pressed the accelerator and followed the dirt path into the woods.

A few twists and turns later, they entered a clearing, the trees and brush burnt away by magic. A small mound of dirt stood before them, about the size of a single-story cottage, constructed of mud packed atop stone. An arch constructed of stone was set into the side, some traces of the ancient foliage that had once concealed it still clinging to it. Carvings of eyes and other strange symbols marred the stone, still faintly visible.

A few tents had been set up around the clearing, providing protection from the elements that would allow archeologists to examine artifacts in safety. Daring trotted up to the closest tent and pulled the flap open. Inside were a couple of folding tables. On one were several ancient parchments and carved stone tablets, one of them marked with a symbol of two crescent moons facing each other; on the other were shards of pottery and a few ancient coins set carefully inside wooden cases. Curiosity compelled Daring to step forward and study the coins.

“Hmm,” she mused to herself, studying the faint image of an alicorn embossed on a large silver coin, surrounded by markings in an ancient runic tongue. “Third century, southern Equestria. This cult must’ve called quite a few ponies up here. I wonder how they got them to all come up this far north…”

“It’s not impossible that they had messengers and members even that far south,” Twilight said.

“True, but what I wonder most is how they didn’t stand out when they came up here for worship,” Daring commented. “Maybe they had some kind of convention or something…”

“Can we focus?” Prowl replied, sticking her head into the tent. “Something’s wrong: there’s no sign of anypony around here, but there are traces of blood.”

Phillip walked to the stone entrance and crouched down, examining the mud beneath a flashlight. “Multiple tracks leading inside,” he reported. “More blood, too.” He squinted at the ground, studying the tracks.

“Any idea how many?” Prowl asked.

“At least...six,” Phillip said. “Griffon tracks, too.”

“Uh-oh,” Bumblebee muttered.

Flash turned to Twilight. “Twi, I think it’d be best if you waited out here,” he stated.

“But…” Twilight started to protest.

“Twi, please,” Flash pleaded.

“He’s right,” Prowl added. “If they’re still in there, it could get hairy, and you’d just be in the way.”

Twilight hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Just be careful.”

Flash gave Twilight a quick kiss on the lips. “I will.”

Drawing their flashlights and strapping them to their shoulders, the group entered the stone arch. The darkness of the narrow hallway closed in on them, and Daring suddenly knew what it felt like to be a cockroach looking up at a hoof hanging overhead. The scent of rot and ancient must filled their nostrils, the wet mud squishing faintly beneath their hooves as they descended into the ground.

Their flashlights fell on a hoof-drawn map posted on the wall in front of them, marking out the explored area. The entrance hallway led around a couple of corners to a massive room that was labeled “Sanctuary,” and had two small branching rooms coming off it, marked “Changing rooms” and “Offering room?”

“Okay, let’s go,” Daring said. “And be careful what you guys touch. There are hundreds of years of history in there; any of it could be destroyed by so much as sneezing on it.”

Bumblebee shivered a bit. “Does anypony else have a bad feeling about this?” he whispered as they descended.

“Bee, it’s just superstition,” Prowl stated. “There’s no—”

She suddenly froze and whirled around, eyes wide and shining in the dark. “What?” she breathed.

“What is it?” Daring asked.

Prowl stared into the darkness behind her for a moment more, her eyes swiveling from side to side, then shook her head. “Nothing. I just...thought I heard voices,” she mumbled, pushing past Phillip. “Let’s keep moving.”

They proceeded down the hallway, each step taking them further beneath the ground. The squish of the mud beneath their hooves eventually silenced as they moved onto solid clay. The beams of their flashlights barely seemed to penetrate the shadows; in fact, Daring swore that the further they went, the more the flashlights dimmed.

They passed a side room that was illuminated by a trio of standing lamps. There were several hooks set into the walls of the room, with black hooded cloaks decorated with faint images of constellations hanging off of them and silver-laid wooden masks laying haphazardly on shelves. Small rooms with faded curtains that would have once allowed ponies to change into their ritual clothing in private stood along the back wall.

“What’s with the masks?” Flash mused.

“Nightmare Moon wasn’t just the goddess of the night, she was the goddess of secrets,” Daring explained, studying a mask lying askew on a nearby shelf. It was designed to look like a sleeping face, eyes shut peacefully, with a decoration of stars on the forehead. “The cultists probably thought that keeping their identities secret from the others pleased her or something. Plus, if they didn’t know each other, or only knew a few members, they couldn’t betray each other.”

“Couldn’t the rings identify each other?” Flash pointed out.

Daring frowned. “Maybe they kept them hidden from each other. It’d certainly help with the paranoia…”

“Yeah, fascinating,” Prowl rolled her eyes. “Can we move—”

Suddenly, the flashlights and the lamps flickered and went out, plunging the group into darkness so thick, it felt like a pillow clamped over Daring’s face; she found herself instinctively gasping for air. An icy wind rattled down the hallway, rustling through their manes, echoing in their ears, first coming from behind them, then rushing back into their faces; for one moment, Daring could’ve sworn that it sounded like breathing.

A moment later, the lights snapped back on, revealing the group standing frozen, wide eyes blinking from the sudden change in light. “Um…” Phillip said, shaking his head and refocusing. “Okay. That was kind of scary. Let’s go.”

Daring let out an annoyed grunt, ordering her heart to slow down. It was just a little darkness caused by an electrical fault. The odds that all of those lights could’ve glitched out all at once might be long, but it could happen. “Maybe I’ve been reading too much Hayana Pones,” she muttered, walking on.

They proceeded further down the hallway, silent save for their own hoofsteps and their breaths echoing off the walls. As they approached a corner, their flashlight beams fell upon the face of Nightmare Moon etched into the wall, fanged mouth open wide. The mare’s three eyes were all decorated with inlaid gems that made them appear horribly real, as though the stone facade of the goddess was watching them pass.

“Something I don’t get,” Flash stated, studying the face and trying not to shiver in the growing cold. “Why would anypony worship the Old Gods? There are dozens of stories about how monstrous they are.”

“A lot of those stories were written after Navahism became the dominant religion; of course they’d want to make themselves look good by making the pagans look bad,” Daring pointed out as they passed a side room with several shelves. “Also, keep in mind where the original worshippers were coming from. Without magic, they had no control over the weather, crops, the movement of the sun and moon, and so on. It probably gave them some comfort to think that they could influence their lives by trying to appease some gods. Their lives were harsh and brutal, so that’s what their gods became. All gods are just reflections of their worshippers.”

“Quiet!” Phillip stopped and held up a hoof, ears twitching. “I hear voices up ahead,” he stated.

“I hear them, too,” Prowl said, her ears swiveling back and forth. She exhaled sharply, then paused to listen. “I think...they’re down in the Sanctuary. Sounds like a mix between intruders and civilians. At least five hostiles.” Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment and she exhaled again, her ears wiggling. “Okay, none of them are facing the door, and there should be some cover right next to it.

“Guns out,” Daring hissed, drawing her revolver from her holster and tightening the hoof strap. The others drew their own weapons and proceeded forward, every step light.

Two more corners and they were faced with an entrance into a grandiose circular room, well-lit by electric lamps. Several stone pews circled the room, all of them facing towards a massive statue of Nightmare Moon made of obsidian, carved so that she glared down at her worshippers, mouth open in a vicious smile and reptilian wings spread wide. The stars in her mane were made of argent gems that glittered with horrid beauty in the light. A stone balcony decorated with two crescent moons facing each other was set twenty feet up in the back wall, with a modern metal ladder leading up to it.

Four archeologists wearing hard hats and long-sleeved cargo shirts loaded with tools and gear were sitting in front of the statue, tied back to back with thick coils of rope and shivering in terror. Five intruders circled them; three griffons with machetes and pistols, an earth pony with a sawn-off shotgun leaning against a pew, and a thestral with a Type 88 carbine equipped with a bayonet hovering over them all. The bodies of several other workers lay around the room, coagulated blood clinging to their wounds. Every single one of the armed intruders had a tattoo of a silver claw on their neck.

Daring’s eyes went to a pair of large sacks that lay on the ground near the entrance, filled to bursting with gold, silver, and other valuables. It took her a moment to realize what they were: stolen offerings from the offering room.

Is that a Griffonese crown from King Silverren’s era? she pondered, studying the tiara that poked out of one sack. That belongs in a museum and they’re just going to sell it?! The greed of these—

She shook herself out of it. Focus on stopping them, Daring!

“I think we’ve made it pretty clear what’s gonna happen to you if you don’t help us,” one of the griffons snarled to the captives, walking past a corpse that lay on the stone floor, chest carved open and entrails spilling out of a wide slice in the belly. The griffon glanced down, dug a claw into the open slice and yanked out a clawful of offal, blood dripping from his talons, then stuffed the meat into his beak, swallowing the meal whole.

Bumblebee shuddered as the group quickly hid behind a pew. “Eww!” he whispered.

“One more time,” the griffon growled. “Where’s the High Priest’s bracelet?”

“We don’t know!” a single archeologist, a tall golden-brown unicorn with a bushy white mustache, cried, trembling in his bonds. “We’ve searched the entire temple and haven’t found it!”

The griffon glared at him as he seized another bunch of meat from the body and swallowed it down. “Bullshit. It’s got to be here. And once the first mate gets here, you—”

“I’m not waiting anymore,” Prowl grunted. She stood up, pistol raised. “Police! Drop your weapons!” she barked as the group proceeded down the hallway towards the intruders.

The pirates all whirled around, frozen in shock. “What?!” the leader cried, dropping the bloody meat. “How did you—?!”

“Weapons down, hooves and claws up,” Prowl repeated, aiming her sidearm at him.

The thestral dropped his carbine and raised his hooves...but as the officers proceeded forward down the pitted hallway, his wing snapped out and grasped a small lever on the base of the idol, snapping it down.

A great rumbling sounded from above them, accompanied by a cascade of dust. Daring looked up and her eyes widened in shock as she beheld a mass of stone spikes descending towards them.

“Look out!” she cried, grabbing Flash and Bumblebee and diving to the side. Phillip and Prowl both jumped aside just in time; the trap slammed down onto the floor with a massive boom and a cloud of dust, narrowly missing them.

“Get ‘em!” the thestral yelled, diving at Flash. The bayonet darted towards his face, and Flash jumped back with a flap of his wings, letting out a yelp that might’ve been mistaken for a little filly. His hoof caught on the top of a pew and he tumbled in midair, gasping in shock.

Ground! Ground! Where’s the ground?!

He spotted the floor beneath him and let gravity guide him back down. Momentary relief at being back on the ground was washed away when he heard a high-pitched bellow and looked up to see a bayonet racing towards him. Flash brought his pistol up to bear, but the thestral flicked the bayonet and drew a cruel red line across his foreleg, slicing through the hoof strap and disarming him.

Yelling in pain and terror, Flash jumped back from another attack, the pain transforming into a knot of panic in the pit of his stomach; a quick glance around showed that all of the others were engaged with one of the other pirates. No help was coming.

A black barrel raised up between his eyes, and a hoof squeezed at the trigger. With another cry, Flash ducked; the sound of the gunshot hit him like a punch, the heat of the passing bullet burning his ringing ears. Drawing his nightstick, he retreated once more, terror increasing with every shallow breath.

The thestral took to the air and thrust forward repeatedly, every stab aimed to kill; Flash backed up more, his nightstick batting the barrel aside with a rhythm of clacks. But for every step he took back, his foe took two flaps forward; a glance behind him revealed that the wall was mere feet away.

Gotta close the distance…

The thestral backed up in midair with a flap, hoof grasping the bolt action of his rifle with a heavy clicking. Flash’s heart jumped in his chest; this had to be his moment!

Forgetting the terror, forgetting everything but the adrenaline in his legs and his wings, he charged forward, gripping the nightstick so tight his hoof went white.

Gritting his fangs, the thestral stabbed at him once more. Expecting the move, Flash turned, wings flapping once to guide him to one side. The attack missed him by inches; his free hoof seized the barrel, still hot from the shot, and his knee drove itself deep into his enemy’s gut. Breath whooshed out of the batpony, his golden eyes widening in shock, and Flash crashed the nightstick down onto his hooves, knocking the Type 88 from his grasp.

In a move he’d drilled many times before, he thrust the baton back, driving the end into the thestral’s nose. Bone cracked, blood flew, and the thestral howled in pain, falling from the sky as his wings failed him. Throwing the carbine aside, Flash followed him down, sending the nightstick crashing into the pirate’s jaw. The thestral hit the stone ground with a heavy thud and did not move again, letting out a feeble groan.

Panting, Flash looked around. The griffon that Bumblebee was grappling with was suddenly stunned by a boomerang to the back of the head, allowing Bee to send him to the floor with a takedown and finish him off with three quick punches to the face. Prowl and Phillip both finished off the earth pony pirate with a double punch to the jaw as Daring wrapped her kusarifundo around the hungry griffon’s paw, yanking him to the ground where she finished him with a final strike to the temple.

“That all of them?” Phillip grunted, looking around.

“That’s all of them,” Daring confirmed, stepping over the unconscious pirate’s form. She looked up at Flash and nodded. “Nice job, everypony.”

Bumblebee looked at the massive stone that had lowered down over where they’d been standing and whistled. “No traps, huh?” he asked Daring.

“Okay, I can be wrong once in a while,” Daring rolled her eyes as she untied the imprisoned archeologists. “You guys okay?”

“Y-yes,” the mustachioed archeologist nodded, trembling. “But…” He looked over the bodies that lay around the sanctuary. “Oh, Luna, they killed all of them…”

“They’ll pay,” Daring growled, glaring at an unconscious griffon as Prowl cuffed him.

“Flash! Flash!” a voice screamed, accompanied by the sound of hoofsteps rushing from the hallway. Prowl instinctively raised her pistol towards the incoming intruder, but lowered it when Twilight turned the corner, panting as she ran, wide eyes taking in the scene.

“Are you okay?!” Twilight cried, running up to Flash. She gasped when she spotted the blood trickling down his foreleg. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s just a little cut, I’m fine,” Flash tried to reassure her with a smile.

“It could get infected, especially down here!” Twilight cried, using her magic to heal the injury in moments.

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Daring deadpanned, clicking the lever on the base of the statue. With a series of clicks and groans, the trap slowly retracted itself back into the ceiling.

“I told you to wait outside anyway,” Flash scolded Twilight.

“I heard gunshots and…” Twilight swallowed as she started looking the imprisoned archeologists over for any injuries. “I couldn’t stand waiting out there, imagining you hurt, or taken hostage, or...or de…” She swallowed and glanced at the corpse of the assistant that the griffon lieutenant had been feasting on.

“I can handle myself, Twilight,” Flash replied. “You can’t just rush in here without thinking, you could’ve gotten yourself hurt!”

“I was just trying to help!” Twilight replied. “I thought—"

“Enough,” Phillip interrupted. He walked over to the thestral, who was groaning feebly, eyes flickering as they tried to stir. Scowling, he nudged the stallion sharply. “Eyes open, wanker.”

The thestral grunted and shook his head, glaring and baring his fangs at Phillip. “Why do you want the High Priest’s ring?” Phillip growled at him, pitching his voice as low as a thunderclap.

“The crew of the Silver Talon don’t talk to pigs,” the thestral snapped, punctuating his taunt by spitting into Phillip’s face.

The cold touch of saliva dripped down Phillip’s cheek, and a hot rush like swallowing lava rushed down his spine, boiling in his stomach. A dark voice whispered in his ear that he could take this stallion out into the offering room by himself, see how long that vow lasted. Already he was focusing on the wing joints, the knees, the nose, the floating ribs that were all so easy to break, and would cause enough pain to make anypony talk…

A thrill of horror spread from his heart, and he shook himself out of these dark thoughts, turning away. Use your brain, Finder.

He glanced at the bag of stolen goods, gears already turning. “You didn’t want it for money,” he concluded. “You’d have just taken this and left. You know what it’s for. Which means...you’re looking for the professor.”

He scowled. “Who told you that the Professor had a Ring of H’eylr?”

The thestral scowled at him, then turned away, refusing to speak again. Phillip let out a quiet growl, and a dark urge rose up in him once more, like a snake rearing back in its coils to strike, but he forced it down.

With a clinking noise, some silver coins fell out of the thestral’s jacket pocket as he shifted. Phillip studied them, noting the Griffonese markings surrounding the embossed head of a griffon king. He recognized it: denarii from the North Griffon Kingdom.

Something clicked in his mind, and he snatched a coin up, holding it up for Daring to see. “Look familiar?”

Daring studied the coin, and then her eyes widened as she also remembered a stack of those same coins deposited on the countertop of McNeighly’s. “Night Waltz,” she growled.

“We’re going to have to have a chat with him,” Phillip agreed.

Prowl’s ears swiveled towards the hallway. “Sirens. Just in time,” she sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”

They carried the captured pirates and the shaken but thankfully mostly unhurt archeologists back up to the surface and into the waiting arms of responding officers. The pirates were carted into a paddy wagon, while the survivors were wrapped up in shock blankets and calmly interviewed for statements.

Daring studied the temple for a moment, then walked up to the mustachioed archeologist. “Hey, you okay?” she asked.

The unicorn nodded numbly, tightly clutching the blanket he had wrapped around him.

“What’s your name?” Daring asked.

“Doctor Fossil Record,” the unicorn mumbled.

“Doctor Record,” Daring continued. “Are you sure you haven’t found the High Priest’s ring? It’s kind of important.”

“No,” Doctor Record shook his head. “We’ve searched all of the temple, and haven’t found it.”

“Damn,” Daring muttered. “There’s no telling where it is.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s here,” Flash said, head lowered in thought.

“Why?” Daring asked.

“Let me...let me see if this makes sense…” Flash said, tapping his head. “Now, the book said that the High Priest was supposed to keep his identity secret. So they’d have to come here and change in private…so they had to have their own room...and they’d have to keep the ring here because it’d give them away in public...” He pondered for a moment. “On that map, it said that there was a tunnel in the back.”

“That leads to a dead end,” Doctor Record stated. “Nothing there but a carved face of Nightmare Moon. We're not sure what it's for.”

“No, but it had a symbol on it,” Daring said, recalling the image of the map in her mind. “Two crescents again…”

“We think that’s the high priest’s symbol,” Doctor Record stated. “It’s carved over the pathway, very faintly.”

“Yeah, it was on the balcony, too,” Daring said. “Where does that lead?”

“Also to a dead end,” Doctor Record shrugged.

“But how did they get up there?” Flash pondered. “Not all the High Priest’s could be pegasi…”

“There’s a lot of open space inside the temple behind the sanctuary, that’s got to be where the High Priest’s room is…” Daring mused for a few moments, then nodded. “There was a tablet with that symbol on it in one of the tents.”

“We recovered that from a village to the north of the forest,” Doctor Record explained. “It has some instructions on finding the temple, and some notes on temple rituals.”

“Is there anything on moving into the temple?” Daring asked.

Doctor Record pondered for a moment. “There is one passage we couldn’t make heads or tails out of,” he finally nodded. “‘The High Priest must let the mistress drink of her blood and make adorations to the waning crescent to enter her secrets.’ We think it has something to do with a sacrifice at the crescent moon.”

Daring frowned in thought, then took to the sky, flying around to the back of the massive mound. Phillip jogged after her, rounding the temple to find a tunnel carved into the back of the hill, vines and leaves still hanging from the top of the roughly-hewn entrance.

The tunnel only extended a couple of yards and ended at a solid wall. Daring was currently staring at a carved icon of Nightmare Moon placed at about head height on the wall. Beneath the forked tongue was a small basin; above was the twin crescent moons. Daring tilted her flashlight into the basin, studying the dark, faded stains in the middle of it.

“What’re you thinking?” Phillip asked as Flash and Prowl joined them.

“Well, it’s a crazy idea,” Daring mused. “And something that Nightingale Star would come up with in Hayana Pones, but...I’m thinking that this tunnel isn’t just here for show. I’m thinking that if you want to pop in early, unseen, this might be a perfect place.”

She looked at the basin, then grimaced and pulled a pocketknife from her vest, flicking the blade open. “And I think I know what at least part of that passage meant,” she added.

“Daring, wait,” Flash said, raising a hoof. “You sure about this?”

Daring shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a good idea.” She raised her foreleg over the stone basin and pressed the tip of the knife against her flesh.

“I’ll do it,” Phillip offered, stepping forward.

“No,” Daring shook her head and gave him a thin, nervous grin. “I came up with the idea. I should do it.”

And with that, Daring drew a line across her foreleg with the blade, wincing slightly at the pain. Red blood dribbled from the wound and slowly trickled into the basin.

As soon as the basin was half-full, the three jeweled eyes glowed. With a crack and a rumbling, the wall to their right shifted and began to slide back into the ground.

“Well, holy shit, it worked,” Daring muttered, pulling out a roll of gauze and wrapping up her wound. She proceeded carefully down the hallway, flashlight leading the way. The tunnel led downwards, winding deeper and deeper into the ground. Phillip, Flash, and Prowl followed her, rocks and dust crunching faintly beneath their hooves.

The hallway soon branched off into several different pathways, each of them marked with a different phase of the moon carved above them: new moon to crescent to gibbous to full, and then back to new.

As Daring turned in place, pondering her options, her hoof impacted against something on the floor. She looked down and gasped. A pony’s skull stared up at her, empty eyes wide and jaw hanging open as if in surprise.

“Whoa,” Prowl gasped, staring at the head.

Daring scanned the ground and spotted a blood trail leading from a hallway marked with a full moon. A pony’s skeleton, its legs below the knees laying a couple of feet away from the ribs and spine and a stump all that remained of the neck, lay a few feet down the hallway. The remnants of a faded cloak and a rusted oil lantern lay next to the body.

“How’d he die?” Flash asked.

Phillip swept his flashlight along the sides of the full moon hallway, noticing several horizontal lines carved into the walls. Each of the hallways had similar lines along the walls. “Trap,” he grunted.

“I keep telling you, Phil; Hayana Pones isn’t totally ridiculous,” Daring commented, studying the moon icons over the pathways. “'Make adorations to the waning crescent…'” She aimed her flashlight at the carved silver symbol of a waning crescent over a narrow hallway to her left. She studied the carved lines along the hallways. “Make adorations,” she muttered. “As in kneel down. Close to the ground.”

She walked up to the mouth of the hallway, her flashlight beam only reaching a few feet down the dark pathway. The shadows ahead seemed like a cold void; anything could be hiding in there. She gulped and then crouched down low to the ground, so low that her belly was scratching against the gravel.

“I’ll try not to lose my head,” Daring declared, shooting a tight grin back at the others. Turning back to the hallway, she proceeded to crawl forward. One hoof at a time. One foot became two, then a yard, then three yards. So far, so good—

And then there was a click and something heavy whooshed past inches over her head, drawing a gasp from Daring. She glanced up to discover that two circular blades had emerged from the walls and passed by over her head. The spinning blades were rusted and dusty, but the diamond edges glowed beneath her flashlight.

“Yikes,” Daring whispered, and kept going forward.

“You okay, Daring?” Phillip called from the end of the hallway.

“I’m fine!” she shouted back. “I think I’m almost at the end!”

Indeed, she turned a corner and found herself looking into a large room. The beam from her flashlight caught several golden and silver plates and idols placed on a table. She crawled forward the last few feet and stood up, looking around.

The room she was standing in was massive, and all around her were treasures that would’ve made any museum director’s mouth water. Carved gold and jade idols, jewel-encrusted chalices, surreal paintings of constellations in bizarre colors, framed in valuable metals. In the center of the room was a marble stand; atop the stand was a set of sweeping dark blue robes decorated with several stars and eyes. A silvery mask with three eyes was on another stand next to it, the eyes staring right at her. The High Priest’s mask.

“It’s okay, guys!” Daring called back up the hallway. “Just keep low, you’ll be fine!”

She started to walk around in a circle, sweeping her flashlight low across the ground. By the time that she’d finished her first circuit, Phillip had joined her.

“Hooley dooley,” he breathed, staring at the treasures around the room.

“Hey, check this out,” Daring said, proceeding to the back of the room where a smaller arched pathway waited. She walked down it until she reached a stone wall. Looking around, she spotted a lever on the wall next to it.

“This is probably a bad idea,” she muttered to herself and pulled the lever. The wall shifted aside with a groan of ancient gears and she found herself on the balcony overlooking the sanctuary.

“So that explains it,” she nodded, turning back inside and proceeding back into the High Priest’s chambers as Flash and Prowl entered, both of them staring around in awe. “Nice instincts, kid,” she smiled to Flash.

“What’s this?” Phillip muttered, bending down to study the foot of the stand. Blowing aside some dust, he revealed a faint square outline in the stone. Plucking out a pocket knife, he dug the blade into the square and gently started to pry at it. It took a few seconds of work, but then the little door popped open.

Inside was a golden bracelet adorned with jeweled eyes, the precious metal faded but still shining beneath their flashlight beams. The High Priest’s Ring of H’eylr.

“Yes!” Daring cheered, punching the air with a hoof as Flash let out an excited whoop, rising up onto his hind legs and kicking his forelegs.

Phillip carefully pulled the ring out of the cubby and placed it in a plastic bag that he plucked from his vest. He considered the ring for a moment, then gave it to Daring. “You should have the honors,” he smiled.

Daring grinned and pocketed the bracelet, noting its surprising weight. “Okay, let’s get out of here. The rest of this stuff belongs in a museum.”

“You should’ve been an archeologist,” Flash commented as they headed back up the hallway, crawling low to avoid the blades.

Daring chuckled as they crawled back. “I had a dream of being a treasure hunter when I was a kid, reading about ancient civilizations and treasures,” she recounted. “Kinda became that at one point.” She glanced at the pocket holding the ring. “This...was kinda like old times again.”

“Even the traps?” Flash asked.

Daring instinctively ducked as a saw blade passed by over her head. “Okay, except for that.”

Author's Note

I hope this chapter works: I really wanted Daring Do to have a real temple-raiding chapter, and while I'm proud of this chapter, I'm also kind of worried that it seems a bit out of place. I'm hoping to use this as a platform to start introducing more fantastical elements to what's previously been a pretty down to earth, realistic series. I hope you enjoyed it regardless!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Ten, Chapter Four: Revelations

The archeologists stared in awe as Daring displayed the High Priest’s ring to Twilight. “Incredible!” Doctor Record gasped.

“Sorry, we’ve got to borrow this for a while,” Daring said. “But we’ll give it to you as soon as we’re done, and there are a bunch more treasures in the chamber.” She gave them a brief overview of how to get into the chambers.

“A blood charm on the fountain?” Twilight asked as she placed the golden ring on her foreleg, studying the intricate jewel work, the eyes gently cut into the gem faces. “And it’s still working after all these centuries? Amazing! I wonder how they constructed it; they could’ve anchored it to—”

“Twilight. Focus,” Phillip interrupted.

“Right, sorry,” Twilight nodded. “Come on, I need someplace to write down the runes.”

She, Flash, Phillip, and Daring walked over to a patch of flat dirt. Taking three sharpened sticks from the ground, Twilight began to draw the magic circle from before in the dirt, scratching out a large central circle for her to stand in and connecting it to three other smaller circles, which Phillip, Daring, and Flash entered.

"Will this work even if he's behind a circle?" Phillip asked.

"It should, as long as it's just a basic circle," Twilight mused as she finished the details. "Even a bit of dirt and dust over a circle will degrade its effectiveness, and the link between the rings should be strong enough to focus the spell enough that it'll go through." Twilight closed her eyes and took a breath, her horn glowing. Purple light began to spread from her hooves, tracing across the trenches she had carved out until the entire circle glowed, shining out into the growing darkness of the encroaching eve.

Daring closed her eyes, picturing Professor Tome clearly in her mind, remembering the faint ghost image that they’d called earlier. She remembered the distress in his face, the fear in every movement. They were going to find him.

“Hic sumus, hic es,” Twilight murmured, her eyes glowing with power. “Te video, te video, te video…”

And suddenly, the entire magic circle flared with energy, blinding them all. Daring cried out, then opened her eyes.

But instead of a clearing in the Everfree Forest, she was pacing a bedroom, a single lamp on the plain bed stand providing a faint glow. A single window in the wall showed a gray sky; a lumpy bed covered in blue sheets was the only furniture in the room. Daring glanced down and realized that her forelegs were gray, the coat poorly groomed; a silver bracelet adorned her right foreleg, a faint unnatural glow running up and down the circumference.

“What the…?” she asked, and though part of her felt her mouth moving, her voice echoed in her mind rather than her ears. “What is this?”

“This...this is incredible!” she heard Twilight’s voice echoing inside her brain. “The Geminugus spell worked! We’re seeing through Professor Tome’s eyes!”

“Where are we?” Phillip’s voice said as the professor completed another turn of the room, passing by a shut door.

“Get him to look out the window,” Daring said, trying to squint out the window as he passed by.

“I can’t,” Twilight’s voice replied. “We can’t control his actions, we can just see what he sees, hear what he hears.”

“Shh,” Phillip whispered. “I hear voices.”

As the professor trotted past the door, they did indeed hear voices coming faintly through the door.

“—circle working?” a mare’s voice asked.

“I’m sure...myself,” a stallion snapped back. “Don’t get...geezer, not paid to foalsit--”

“—shit about Lazarus?” the mare spoke quietly.

“—stitous bullshit,” the stallion snorted.

“Lazarus?” Daring whispered as Doctor Tome walked past the window again.

“Hey, he’s passing the window again,” Flash pointed out. “I can almost...I think I see a sign.”

It was only visible for a brief second, but they all saw it. Across the street was the feebly flickering neon sign for a House of Tong’s restaurant, backlit by the setting sun. In the distance, a bell dinged lightly.

But it was only a glimpse before Professor Tome moved on. “Dammit, go back!” Flash grunted. “Look out the window again!”

“Somepony’s coming,” Phillip stated.

Hoofsteps sounded from behind the door, prompting Professor Tome to stop and face the doorway as floorboards creaked. A moment later, the door unlocked and unlatched with a pair of clicks before opening with a creak. A pony wearing a dark blue shirt and a ski mask over their head entered the room, holding a takeout bag.

“Okay, professor,” the pony declared. “Time for dinn—” His voice trailed off as his blue eyes focused upon the ring. “What is that? Why is it glowing?!” the guard snapped, dropping the bag and starting forward.

“No, wait!” Professor Tome cried, backing up, but the masked pony seized his foreleg, yanking the bracelet off. Instantly, the vision vanished in a flood of blinding light. Daring cried out, flinging the forelegs that she suddenly remembered she had before her eyes as she stumbled, falling onto soft grass and dirt, the scent of smoke filling her nostrils.

Slowly, her vision returned. She realized that she was lying on her side, the other ponies all sprawled across the ground, shaking their heads and blinking. Smoke that smelled of salt rose from the scorched ground that had once been the magic circle.

“Are you okay?” Bumblebee asked, helping Daring up. “All of you just went still for a minute. Your eyes were glowing, and then suddenly, the magic circle flared up and you all fell down.”

“We saw him,” Twilight gasped. “We saw the professor, but one of his captors took off the bracelet and the spell broke.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! What are they going to do to him?! Are they going to kill him?! If they knew what the Ring of H’eylr is for, and that we used it—!”

“Twilight, they’re not gonna kill him,” Phillip interrupted, retrieving his hat from the ground and putting it on. “They’re being paid to protect him. They’re taking care of him.”

Twilight let out a slow breath. “Right. Right.”

“But we don’t even know where he is,” Flash stated.

“Wrong,” Phillip stated. “There are clues there.”

“There are dozens of House of Tongs in this city,” Flash pointed out. “We can’t check all of them.”

“It was to the east of the Tongs,” Phillip stated. “Sun was behind the restaurant.”

“And they mentioned a magic circle,” Twilight recalled. “If they set one up around the house, that probably explains why Trace’s tracking spell didn’t work; the circle blocked his magic. It wasn’t strong enough for the High Priest’s ring, though.”

“And I heard a bell,” Daring added. “That means that a trolley stop is nearby.”

“Good, good,” Phillip nodded approvingly. “That pony that we saw before the bracelet was taken off. Describe him.”

“Male, earth pony, green coat, blue eyes,” Daring rattled off. “Some stubble around his chin, looked like. Darker green. Didn’t see the cutie mark.”

“Did he have a tattoo?” Flash asked, eyes closed in concentration. “I saw a tattoo on his foreleg, right beneath his sleeve.”

Daring closed her eyes and rewound the images in her mind, recalling the moment that the kidnapper entered through the doorway. She focused upon the left foreleg. There was a shape beneath the sleeve...was that a dog? A big black dog with three heads?

“Cerberus,” she growled.

“How are they even still active?” Flash groaned.

“You know what Cerberus’ legal team’s motto is,” Prowl stated, rolling her eyes. “‘If you can’t prove it, it didn’t happen.’”

“Could be an ex-member,” Phillip suggested. “Tat was faded, looked like he’d tried to remove it.”

“So, a house to the east of a House of Tongs, near a trolley stop, guarded by Cerberus with a magic circle around it,” Daring concluded. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Flash stated.

“And I know who can help us,” Phillip stated grimly. “Daring, c’mon. Got work to do.”

“Right,” Daring nodded, spreading her wings and taking flight, scooping Phillip up.

“Good luck!” Twilight called as they flew westward towards the city.

As they soared over the flattened pathway, leaves rustling in Daring’s wake, Phillip shifted and looked up at his pilot. “Lazarus,” he repeated.

Daring scowled, the cursed brand itching beneath her skin. “That’s why they wanted the professor,” she grunted. “They need him to translate it.”

“And what is the Lazarus Ritual?” Phillip asked.

“Well, I did some research in the library a few moons ago,” Daring stated, breaking free from the surrounding trees and heading up the dirt roads towards the city proper. “Lazarus was a dark wizard who lived in the Crystal Empire in the ninth century, and apparently, he was so bad that after he was hanged, Empress Speranza ordered that all records of his research were destroyed so that nopony else could attempt it. But of course, some bits and pieces allegedly survived.”

“Can’t be good, then,” Phillip replied. “Faster, need to get to Night Waltz’s office quick.”

Night Waltz’s office was located in the Apex office building, which stood on the border of the Industrial and Financial Districts, just to the west of the center of Ponyville. The fifteen-story glass and steel edifice stretched imperiously over the other buildings, the setting sun reflecting off the windows in a burnished orange glow.

Daring set Phillip down on the concrete in front of the entrance and landed with a heavy flop, panting and rubbing her back. “Okay, I think I’m done flying for today,” she groaned, stretching out a kink in her spine with a chorus of pops and cracks.

“Good,” Phillip stated, proceeding through the revolving door. They entered a small but simple lobby, with a pale red carpet and matching couches, with a potted plant placed in the corner as an afterthought. A receptionist sat behind the desk, hidden behind a newspaper. A sign on the wall listed what offices and businesses were on each floor. Phillip ran a hoof down the list.

“Waltz is on the twelfth floor,” he reported, heading for the elevator. The two entered the elevator and Daring hit the button for the twelfth floor with a wing. The doors slid shut and the box trundled upwards.

“You clear on the plan?” Phillip asked over the light jazz music playing over the speakers.

“Yeah,” Daring nodded, scowling. “We lay out what we know, then get hard if he still resists.” She took a breath. “I’m kinda hoping he does.”

“He probably will,” Phillip muttered as the elevator stopped at the twelfth floor.

The doors opened onto a long hallway with pale green carpet and doors on either side. Phillip trotted forward and knocked at the door on the left, labeled Night Waltz.

“C’mon in!” a voice called from inside. Exchanging scowls, Daring and Phillip entered.

Night Waltz’s office was surprisingly humble. Waltz himself was sitting behind a large oak desk, his hooves propped up on it as he smoked a cigar, eyes closed as he presumably pondered life’s persistent questions. Three largely cushioned couches stood in front of the desk for visitors, and a small but well-stocked liquor cabinet stood within easy reach. An expensive painting of a snowy mountain landscape was placed on the opposite wall.

“Well, well,” Waltz grinned broadly, sitting up straight and dropping his cigar into a crystal ashtray. “Look who’s here. And how can I help the great detectives?”

“Denarii,” Phillip stated, standing before the desk.

“What about ‘em?” Waltz asked.

“Earlier in the bar, you paid for those drinks with denarii from the North Griffon Empire,” Phillip stated. “Coins you got from Whitestone.”

Waltz just smirked. “You wanna prove that?”

“Because somehow, Whitestone’s crew knew about Professor Tome and what he’d been working on,” Daring cut in, glaring down at the smirking little worm. “They murdered good ponies, all because somepony was feeding them info.”

The other detective blinked and his eyes darted down to the side for a half second, but the crack in the mask quickly vanished. “I could’ve gotten those denarii from somewhere else. What makes you think it was me?” Waltz asked.

“Because your car was spotted outside Professor Tome’s house,” Phillip stated. “A dark blue Custom Coupe 1939, license plate CD3 68A.”

Waltz scoffed. “You’ve seen my car. It’s a Pontifact. I wouldn’t be--”

“You rented it,” Phillip interrupted, voice dropping slowly lower. “I called the rental agency that owns it. An earth pony with a mustache rented it a few days ago.”

Waltz faltered for a moment, then grunted, his smirk fading. “And if I did? It’s not a crime to watch somepony; in fact, it’s kinda my job. I can show you my PI license if you show me yours.”

“Who hired you?” Phillip asked.

“Ah-ah,” Waltz said, scoldingly wagging a hoof at them. “Client privilege.” His smirk returned and he leaned back in his chair again. “What do you have? Nothing. Nothing that can be pushed on. So what are you here for?”

Daring’s stomach turned, heat and tension spreading across her chest. The images of the corpses in the temple flashed across her mind, the scent of blood, the disgusting, slimy sounds of the griffon swallowing the young pony’s entrails echoing in her ears. She nearly launched herself at the smirking snake and seized him about his scrawny neck, but forced herself to stay back. Not yet. Not yet.

“We have enough to get ponies to take a closer look at you,” Phillip answered coolly. “It’d make your job a lot harder. Make you less useful to the ponies who’re paying you.” He glanced at the cigar and the liquor cabinet. “None of this comes cheap, I note.”

Waltz’s eyes glanced at the cabinet, his lips thinning. There, a crack. Now to push on it harder.

“There’s something I don’t get,” Phillip continued, his voice like the low rumbling of distant thunder. “You were following the professor, but Whitestone’s crew needed the High Priest’s ring for something. Whitestone doesn’t know where he is, but she hired you to follow him.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Playing both sides is a dangerous game, mate.”

Beads of sweat trickled down Waltz’s forehead and he swallowed.

“Especially if both sides don’t think that they can trust you,” Daring cut in with a smirk, placing her forehooves on the table and leaning in. “Because we could always put the word out that we got our next lead from you. Wonder how much Whitestone would like to know that you’re a stool pigeon.”

“You wouldn’t,” Waltz breathed, leaning back, eyes going wide.

“Better yet,” Phillip growled, reaching up for the pocket that he carried his baton in. “Daring, lock the door. There are other ways to get what we want.”

Daring shot Waltz an evil grin and turned, striding towards the door.

“What—no, wait! Okay, I’ll talk!” Waltz cried out.

Daring paused and turned back, a small, sour flavor of disappointment curdling in her stomach. They hadn’t ever planned on actually hurting him—the ramifications were far too deep for either of them—but a part of her was hoping that he’d call their bluff...

But Phillip was still glaring down at Night Waltz, chest heaving with slow, heavy breaths like the winds of an oncoming cold front. His hoof hovered over the pocket of his baton, refusing to lower.

“Phil?” Daring called, trotting towards him.

The knees, the jaw, the ribs, the dark voice whispered in Phillip’s ear. Knock the teeth out, one at a time...break him, smell his blood, teach him fear, show the scum what he deserves…

“Earth to Phil! Hey!” Daring shouted, shaking his shoulder. He blinked and started slightly, the dark glow that had enveloped his eyes disappearing to be replaced with a faint glimmer of shock. He shook himself and glared at Night Waltz.

“Talk. Who hired you?” he grunted, lowering his hoof.

“I don’t know,” Waltz replied, dusting off his coat. “Honestly. I just got a note telling me to investigate Professor Tome, a phone number to report back everything I learned, and payment in advance. And I’ll tell you this,” he added, stabbing the air with a hoof. “When you get a note from Whitestone, you don’t ask questions, you say ‘aye, captain.’”

He paused to take a brief drag on the cigar, filling the room with more foul-smelling smoke. Daring fought down a cough. Why do ponies pay so much for that shit?

“Anyway, I started following him, doing research on him and the kid he lived with, and then another group started paying me to check into him too, and I mentioned that to my first employer,” Waltz stated. “That was the day before he was kidnapped. I don’t know who took him.”

“What do you know about Cerberus operations?” Phillip asked.

Waltz shrugged. “I could find out…”

“Cerberus is guarding a two-story house in Ponyville,” Phillip said. “It’s to the east of a House of Tongs, near a trolley stop. One of the guards there is a green earth pony with blue eyes, Cerberus tattoo on left foreleg.”

Waltz glared at him for a moment, then sighed. “I guess I could find out what you want,” he muttered. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Appreciate the help,” Phillip growled, turning around. Daring followed him out, giving Night Waltz the Flying Feather over her shoulder as they left, slamming the door shut behind them.

As they entered the elevator, Daring glanced down at her revolver. “You think he’ll pull through?” she asked.

“He will,” Phillip stated, staring straight ahead as the elevator trundled down.

Daring was silent for a few seconds, watching the hand of the display ticking down past six. “So, what was that in the office?” she asked. “You were out of it for a couple seconds.”

Phillip shifted a bit. “Lost focus for a moment,” he muttered in a tone that made it clear that they weren’t going to discuss it further.

Daring watched him out of the corner of her eye for a moment, standing and staring stonily at the door, then let out a breath and continued to watch the display. The elevator shuddered as they stopped at the ground floor and the doors opened with a ding, allowing them to exit the lobby.

The sun was dipping lower and lower to the western horizon, a few clouds still stubbornly clinging to what territory they had claimed. “Apple Pie?” Phillip offered as they started walking down the sidewalk. “Been a while since I played a set.”

“Sounds good to me,” Daring replied.

They hailed a trolley that carried them to the northeast district of the city, dropping them off at a twisted four-way intersection with a fountain. Fewer ponies were left on the streets as darkness approached, most of the remaining ponies roaming with their heads down or loitering on street corners and against buildings, smoking cigarettes and speaking in low voices. Phillip and Daring walked briskly towards Honeybee Bakery Street.

“Psst,” a voice called. Both ponies paused and turned around to see Blue Rose trotting up behind them, eyes darting around.

“You’re still looking for that professor, right?” they asked in a low whisper. “I...I’ve got some more info, I can help you. Come with me.” They beckoned into a nearby alleyway.

Phillip and Daring exchanged glances. “This feels fishy,” Daring growled, hackles rising.

“Need info,” Phillip replied, already following the changeling into the alleyway. Daring sighed and followed him.

The alley was close and narrow, smelling of garbage. Trash cans stood in rows along one wall, opposite a brick section with graffiti splashed over it in bright, gaudy colors. Blue Rose was trotting further down the alley, proceeding towards the dead-end wall. Phillip proceeded forward, with Daring following, glancing at every shadow and behind every obstacle.

“What is it?” Phillip asked as he approached Rose. Rose frowned and looked around, eyebrows creased in confusion.

Phillip and Daring should’ve anticipated the attack, but it was still a shock to them both when two orange spheres suddenly crashed into their heads. Daring staggered, blinded with pain, ears ringing and head spinning.

Hooves seized her forelegs and tossed her to the ground; the taste of blood and concrete filled her mouth. A heavy blow rammed into her stomach and knocked the wind from her lungs. She gasped and gulped like a fish, trying to shout, to scream, something, but all in vain. A rough cloth was secured over her mouth and tied tightly; she tried to struggle, but the hooves holding her forelegs closed down like a vise and she was rendered immobile.

Her vision returned through a haze of pain and she found that she was laying on her chest on the ground; looking up, she could see the very faint outlines of the ponies holding her down. Phillip was laying a few feet away from her, similarly gagged and pinned by ghostly silhouettes, shaking his head as he tried to refocus.

One by one, each of their attackers faded back into visibility, the dog tags they wore glowing faintly with orange power. Daring glared up at the mare who was currently holding onto her right foreleg. Bright Sparks, her trench coat flapping slightly in the cold wind. The Licorice twins, Sledgehammer, and Dusty Tail were with her, pinning Phillip and Daring down.

“Thanks, Rose,” Sparks grunted at the changeling, not taking her eyes off of Daring. Daring glanced up to see Rose stepping back, head hung low and face turned away.

“Don’t struggle,” Sparks growled to Daring, her horn sparking. “We’re not here to hurt you; we just want to talk.”

“Speak for yourself,” Daring heard Sledgehammer growl as he held Phillip’s foreleg down. Bright Sparks shot him a brief glare before turning back to Daring.

“Listen, we know you’re looking for Professor Tome,” Bright Sparks said. “We’re gonna warn you once: don’t. You don’t want him found.”

Daring let out a muffled growl.

“Yes, we have him,” Sparks continued. “We only kidnapped him because Whitestone was going to get her claws on him first.” She paused for a beat, then leaned closer. “She wants him because she needs somepony to translate the Lazarus Ritual. Roaring stole it for her last week from Zugzwang; he told us about it.”

“Sparks, you sure we should be telling them?” Dusty Tail asked, one eyebrow cocked as he held down Daring’s other foreleg. “This is—”

“They need to understand what’s at risk here,” Sparks replied. Turning back to Daring, she continued.

“You remember Lazarus, Daring?” she asked. Daring glared but nodded. “Zugzwang told us what it was,” Sparks explained. “It’s a ritual to…” She paused and licked her lips, then sighed. “It’s a ritual to raise the dead and turn them into an army.”

Silence fell over the alleyway as everypony stared at Bright Sparks. Daring blinked up at the orange mare for a few seconds of silence, then let out a series of muffled exhalations, quivering in the grip of her captors. It took the ponies a few seconds to realize that she was laughing behind her gag.

“This is serious!” Sparks shouted. “I don’t care if you think it’s something out of a dimestore novel, this is real, and it’s serious.”

Daring stopped laughing and mumbled a question, cocking an eyebrow up at Sparks. Sparks stared down at her for a moment, then lit up her horn and undid Daring’s gag.

“Sparks!” Sledgehammer shouted.

“She won’t try anything,” Sparks snapped at him.

Sledgehammer just growled. “If she does, I’m ripping her coltfriend’s arm out,” he grunted, glaring at Daring.

Daring spat and licked her lips before speaking. “You know, you could’ve just told us,” she commented, rolling her eyes at Sparks.

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop her,” Sparks replied. “While we’re holding him, we’re trying to negotiate with Whitestone to get her to stand down. But you…”

“What, you’re gonna kill us if we don’t back off?” Daring snarled. “If you were going to, you would have already.”

Sparks’ green eyes met hers for a moment, wide and faintly shimmering, then closed. “No,” she replied. “We just want to make a deal with you.” Her eyes reopened and she gazed down at Daring with a cold intensity in her irides. “You back off, we give you Zugzwang,” she said.

Daring’s eyebrows rose. Sparks lifted a small brown paper envelope out of her trench coat pocket and held it up in front of her, bait before a fish.

“This is one of Zugzwang’s packets of cigarettes,” Sparks explained. “Freshly made. He left this tin at our headquarters some time ago; I swapped it out with a magical duplicate while his back was turned.” She smirked proudly. “We figured maybe you could do something with it.”

“You figured,” Sledgehammer muttered.

“Sledge, shut it,” Sparks snapped at him. Sledgehammer glared at her but fell silent.

“So here’s the deal,” Sparks explained. “You back off from Professor Tome, and we let you have that.”

“Why d’you want us to go after Zugzwang?” Daring asked.

“You know what he did when Scarlet yelled at him over Roaring stealing the Lazarus Ritual?” Dusty Tail growled. “Laughed. The son of a bitch just laughed. Like it was the funniest thing in the world.” He snorted. “Working with him was about as smart as trying to pet a rattlesnake.”

“We need him gone,” Sparks added. “But we don’t know where he lives. But this,” she added, shaking the envelope and producing a soft rattling from its contents. “He’s having these delivered. We’re not sure where, but if anypony can figure it out, it’s you two.”

Sledgehammer snorted and rolled his eyes.

“And…” Sparks paused, and Daring took the opportunity to overlook her former sister. It was then that she noticed something she should have already noticed: the lump in Sparks’ belly was gone.

“He’s threatening your kid,” she concluded.

Flames flashed in Sparks’ eyes. “As long as that fuck is out there, my son is in danger,” she spat, pocketing the envelope. “He’s an insane self-obsessed lunatic and a threat to all of us.”

“Took you that long to figure it out?” Daring snarked. “Ow!” she added a moment later when Dusty gave her a harsh kick in the ribs. She took in a breath, then added, "And if you could take his cigs, why not just poison them?"

"We tried that already," Scarlet replied. "He tasted the poison and spat it out. Then he chuckled. Seemed to think it was funny. And then he..."

She looked up at Red Licorice. Daring looked up at Red, who frowned, then lowered his head. His right ear was gone, the remaining flesh jagged and torn, a bright, ugly red. Daring drew in a breath in a hiss.

“We can’t move against him directly ourselves,” Sparks continued. “But you…” She glanced at Phillip. “For some reason, he’s obsessed with you. We figure it’s less likely that he’ll hurt you.”

“Which is the only reason you’re still alive,” Sledgehammer grumbled.

“Sledge, take a breather,” Black Licorice scolded him.

“This is not the time,” her brother agreed. Sledge frowned but fell silent.

“So here’s the deal,” Sparks stated. “You back off from Professor Tome until we can return him unharmed, and we’ll give you this clue to find Zugzwang and take him out. Deal?”

Daring stared up at Bright Sparks for a few moments in silent contemplation, then asked, “How’s the foal?”

She blinked, green irides shining, and for a brief moment, Daring knew that Bright Sparks was not looking down at her enemy, but at her little sister, the one that she’d taken in, mentored, shared her life with.

Then the eyes hardened, and the moment passed. “He’s fine,” Sparks said quietly, looking away. “Healthy.” She paused. “He looks like his father,” she added in a whisper.

“I’m…” Daring swallowed. “I’m sorry, Sparks.”

Sparks just growled. “We’re done here,” she announced, releasing Daring’s foreleg. The others holding Daring followed suit and Daring stood up, stumbling against Sparks as she hauled herself to her hooves; Sparks shoved her back with a grunt, causing Daring to stumble onto her hindquarters.

The others released Phillip and quickly gathered around Sparks as she lifted a small glass tube containing a crystal out of an inner pocket. Breaking the glass with her magic, she tossed the crystal up into the air, where it hovered, sparking and flashing. A moment later, there was a blinding flash of light, and the crew disappeared.

Daring got to her hooves and rushed over to Phillip, ignoring the pain spreading across her abdomen from where she’d been struck. She helped him to his hooves as he pulled the gag out of his mouth.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine. You?” he nodded.

“I’m all right,” she lied, though most of the pain she felt was not physical.

“I’m sorry,” Blue Rose apologized, hovering from behind them. “They paid me and let me have a large serving of love to lure you in...they just told me they wanted to talk to you, but…”

“Go,” Phillip growled at her, refusing to even look at her. Blue Rose flinched as though struck, then retreated. A brief flash of flame and she swapped her horn for a pair of wings, flying off into the evening.

“Right,” Phillip muttered. “We’re obviously not backing off from Tome. If we knew where they were, we could get those cigs…”

A crinkling noise interrupted him. He looked up to see Daring smirking broadly, holding up a brown paper envelope.

“You were saying?” she grinned.

A broad grin spread across Phillip’s face. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

“Maybe once or twice,” Daring replied, pocketing the stolen envelope and turning, drawing her tail across his chin as she did so. “Let’s get home; we’ve got work to do.”

Author's Note

From temple hunting back to the noire gray morality that we had at the start of the series. It's called Ponyville Noire for a reason, after all.

A cookie to the reader who recognizes the radio show nodded to in this chapter!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Ten, Chapter Five: Professor Tome, I Presume

Phillip opened up the envelope and shook the contents out onto his experiment table. A single metal tin of breath mints, the label torn off long ago, tumbled onto the table.

“Now, let’s see,” he breathed, reaching over and placing the needle of the phonograph into the spinning record. The record hissed and crackled, then a slow clarinet began to play. Phillip swung the standing magnifying glass over and adjusted the focus to study the tin.

“Looks like some of the label is still there,” he muttered, leaning down closer. “Bit of a red border...Neightoids breath mints, possibly.” He turned the tin over. “Tag on bottom...price tag. Most of it’s gone...red marker, two and something bits. Could try to find out where it was bought.”

“You really plan on...what, checking every store and comparing price tags?” Daring commented, sitting at the smaller writing table opposite him.

“Will have to narrow it down,” Phillip commented, opening the tin up and studying the dozen cigarettes placed neatly inside.

Daring snorted. “Kind of a crazy plan,” she commented, turning back to the typewriter and placing her hooves on the keys, tapping away rhythmically.

“As crazy as cutting your foreleg based on an ancient legend?” Phillip commented with a small smile.

Daring glanced down at her foreleg, any sign of the injury long erased by Twilight, and allowed herself to grin. “Fair point.”

“Hoof rolled,” Phillip noted as he carefully undid one of the cigarettes and unrolled it, exposing the silverleaf paper and wads of heavily perfumed tobacco. He gently scraped the tobacco into a plastic dish so he could study the paper.

“Manufacturer’s markings in the paper,” he commented, turning and walking over to the bookshelf. He pulled out an encyclopedia and started flipping through it, eyes darting back and forth between the book and the alpha, omega, and star symbols embossed into the paper.

“Here,” he finally declared, hoof settling on a single page. “A&O Printing in Trottingham. Will send them a letter later, ask for deliveries. G’day, what’s that?”

He adjusted the magnifying glass, focusing on a small discoloration on the outside of the rolling paper. Placing the paper on a microscope slide, Phillip bent over and pressed his eye to the scope.

“That’s a bit of brown paper,” he commented, plucking at the tiny scrap of paper with a pair of tweezers.

“Could be from the original package,” Daring commented as the typewriter dinged. She moved the paper up a line and reset the carriage.

“No, they come in cardboard,” Phillip stated, studying the tiny scrap, barely larger than an ant, under close magnification. “Somepony wrapped it in brown paper after collecting it.”

“Why would they do that?” Daring asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“A disguise, I suppose,” Phillip stated. “If a pony figured out that Zugzwang was using this paper in his cigs, they could track and follow the package. Ah, aces, there’s some dirt on it.” He filled a small plastic tub with distilled water and dropped the paper sample inside it.

“Still working on your story?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Daring replied, pausing to consider the sentence she’d just typed down. “Hmm...should Compass Rose rescue the stallion in distress from piranhas or jaguars?”

Phillip raised an eyebrow with a small smirk. “Jaguars. And you sure about not publishing this?”

“Well…” Daring hesitated, her hooves hovering over the keys. “I haven’t really been looking for a publisher, but I’ve been...kinda thinking about it. I only really started writing it when I was laid up in the hospital out of boredom, but now...” She looked down upon the sizeable stack of typed papers next to her. “I have to admit, it’s kind of fun.”

“I really think you should,” Phillip said, turning back to his work. He ran the water through a sieve and started scraping the soil and mineral samples onto another dish, which he then replaced under the microscope. He rummaged around in a drawer and produced a thick green notebook; flipping it open revealed that every page was filled with scrawling hoofwriting, notes crammed into the margins, and shorthoof markings next to sections of a city road map.

For half an hour, he worked in silence, the music of the phonograph mixing with the clacking, clicking and dinging of the typewriter as Daring typed away.

“Okay,” Phillip nodded. “Soil’s from the Industrial District, near the southwest border. Must’ve dropped it on the ground at some point. That should narrow it down.”

He then turned to the tobacco and began sifting through it with a long metal scoop, sniffing at the mix of scents and herbs.

“Saddle Arabian tobacco...with vanilla, chocolate, and…” He sniffed deeply. “What is that?” He separated a few small clumps of pale white-yellow particles from the tobacco and placed them in a rack of test tubes. He then started to add chemicals and potions from various containers and jars to the test tubes, the jars clinking musically as he picked each up one at a time.

The reactions were wide and varied. One tube, originally filled with a watery blue liquid, turned a dark orange within moments. Another started bubbling and turned the color of urine, and a third crystallized into snowy white powder.

“Ah. Honeysap drops,” Phillip nodded. “That’s a rare ingredient; bloody expensive.” He took out a brown notebook and started flipping through it; each page had a small plastic bag with a little pinch of tobacco in it, accompanied by notes on composition, flavor, and scent.

“Aha,” Phillip finally declared, stopping at a page towards the back. “Dhahabi tobacco.” He let out a snort. “Fifteen bits per gram, crikey. Helps that Zugzwang has expensive tastes.”

He continued examining the cigarettes, his remarks trickling down only to occasional grunts or one-word comments and questions. The record ended and he paused briefly to flip it to the other side; Daring ran out of paper, paused to take a smoke break and watch the stars from the back porch, and got a new sheaf of paper while he remained at the experiment table, hunched over the evidence.

“G’day,” Phillip suddenly muttered, adjusting the magnification of the microscope as he studied the contents of the second to last cigarette. “Is that... hair?”

After some careful sifting and prodding, he finally separated the tiny fiber from the tobacco. “Yup, that’s a hair,” he nodded. “Definitely pony...light blue. Looks like stubble, so from a male. Probably fell in the tobacco when he transferred it from the original package. Suunkii should be able to find out more.”

He paused, then yawned loudly. “What time is it?” he wondered out loud.

Daring looked over at the clock on the wall and blinked. “Holy shit, it’s almost midnight.”

“Crikey, no wonder I’m stuffed,” Phillip said, rubbing his face. “Right, I'll write some letters for Dhahabi and A&O, then it’s bedtime.”

“One more page?” Daring asked, pouting and giving him wide eyes.

Phillip stared at her for a bit, then rolled his eyes with an indulgent smile. “One more page.”

The morning dawned with a cool gray spreading across the morning sky, a thin layer of clouds refracting the sunlight.

Phillip and Daring were laying in bed, Phil’s arms wrapped loosely around Daring’s barrel; their soft snores mixed together in quiet music.

The music was suddenly interrupted by a murmur from Daring as she twitched in her sleep, face creasing in a deep frown. She was still for a few moments, then twitched again. Soft mumbles, the distress clear in every syllable, began to flow out of her mouth in a stuttering river.

Roused by her movements, Phillip blearily opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, looking down at the mare. “Daring?” he groaned.

“Sparks…” Daring whispered, shivering and clutching the pillow. “Sparks...don’t go…”

Phil firmly grasped Daring’s shoulder and shook her. “Daring, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

A moment later, an elbow crashed into his cheek as Daring woke up with a gasp and a jolt like she’d just been shocked, instinctively lashing out at his touch. He yelped and jerked backward, tumbling off of the bed in a heap of tangled sheets and limbs.

“Phil?” Daring cried, leaning over the bed. “I’m so sorry, I was—”

“It’s—ow—okay,” Phillip grunted, untangling himself and rubbing his jaw. “You were having a dream. You alright?”

Daring looked down and blinked, her eyes glittering faintly with tears. “I shouldn’t have left her…” she muttered, staring down at her right hoof, the hoof marked with the cursed brand shaped roughly like a ring of keys that marked her and Bright Sparks as a member of the Family, as a thief and killer. “None of this would’ve happened if I’d taken her with me…”

Phillip sat up and grasped her hoof with both of his. “It’s not your fault, Daring,” he reassured her, gently rubbing her limb. “She made her own choices; Scarlet tricked and corrupted her.”

“There has to be some good left in her,” Daring stood up and climbed off the bed.

“Are you sure?” Phillip asked. “I can’t ask anypony else to put themselves at risk for her.”

“You can’t,” Daring replied, scowling at him. “But you don’t have to. She’s my sister; I’ll take that risk. Besides, you took that risk for me,” she snapped, thrusting her right hoof at him, forcing him to look at the rough burns.

Phillip closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment, silently pondering his words, before finally looking up with a sigh. “I understand,” he nodded. “And whatever you choose, I’m right there with you.”

She smiled feebly and pressed her forehead against his. “Thanks.”

He nuzzled her and gently kissed her on the lips, holding her hoof. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Their growling stomachs quickly forced them downstairs to begin breakfast. As they were preparing toast and hash browns, the telephone rang.

“Finder and Do,” Phillip said into the phone.

“Hey, hey, yeah. It’s Vinny, how you doing?” a voice said from the other end.

It took Phillip a couple of seconds to recognize the voice of Vinny Gamble, the attorney who had helped him last winter. “G’day, Vinny. What’s up?”

“I, uh, I got some bad news for you,” Vinny sighed. “I assume you remember Gear Shift?”

“Yeah,” Phillip said, his stomach clenching slightly as a shiver of premonition washed down his spine. Daring looked up from her hash browns.

“Well, I was hired as his defense attorney while he was making a deal. See, he was gonna talk about his gang and everything, but, um…” Vinny sighed. “He was killed last night. Somepony stuck a razor in his throat while he was sleeping.”

Phillip sighed, deflating like a balloon that somepony had untied. “Dammit. Do they know who?”

“Your buddy Red is working on it now,” Vinny explained. “I’m gonna be meeting with the DA to see what we can do with what information he gave before he, uh, kicked the can. It’s not that much: I’m guessing that he didn’t want to talk too much before he had a deal made. But he did mention Scarlet Letter a couple times. We might be able to build something off of that, so, hey, not a total loss.”

“It’ll have to be good to get past her lawyers,” Phillip replied. “Keep us posted.”

“Hey, I will. Vinny keeps his word,” Vinny said. “Talk later!”

Phillip hung up with a sigh, mopping his face with a hoof. “What happened?” Daring asked.

“Gear Shift is dead,” Phillip reported.

A scowl crossed Daring’s face and she slammed a hoof down on the table with a crash. “Dammit!”

“He’s given us something to go on,” Phillip assured her. “We build up the case against Scarlet, bit by bit. Her days are numbered, just like Silvertongue and Monopoly.”

Daring scowled even more, letting out a huff through her nostrils. “Maybe I should go out and…”

“Daring,” Phillip interrupted. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. It’ll just get you into trouble.”

Daring looked down at the cursed brand and sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Dammit,” she muttered again.

The telephone rang again and Phillip raised the receiver to his ear. “Finder and Do.”

“One-fifty-nine Oak Tree Road,” Night Waltz’s voice whispered from the other end. “This better not come back to me.” And with that, he hung up with a sharp click.

Phillip hung up as well, his face settling into a neutral mask. “We have an address.”

One-fifty-nine Oak Tree Road stood near the end of a long, winding street that was covered in so many potholes, it looked like the no-pony’s-land between two trenches following a vicious artillery battle. Trees that gave the street its name lined both sides of the road, the leaves on the groaning branches so thick that parts of the sidewalk were covered in night-like darkness.

The house itself stood in the shadow of a trio of massive trees that cast the brown two-story cottage in darkness. The flickering neon lights of a House of Tongs stood to the west across from a tall brown fence and a side street, a few ponies wandering in and out the glass door. From the north came the dinging of a trolley bell and a clattering of heavy wheels as it pulled into the stop.

Dressed in her floppy sun hat and dress, Daring wandered past the house, studying it from out of the corner of her eye. The front door was shadowed beneath the roof of an enclosed porch. A unicorn mare sat on a wicker-back chair on the porch; her eyes were shaded beneath the Ponyville Manticores cap she wore, but Daring could feel her gaze following her. Even from this far away, Daring could see the stock of a shotgun poking out from the bag laying on the floor next to the mare, and the walkie-talkie on the table next to her, standing up next to the mostly empty cup and saucer.

As Daring watched, a jack trotted out the front door with a steaming cup and saucer gently held in his mouth; Daring’s eyes went right to the distinctive bulge beneath the coat he wore even in the approaching summer haze. He placed it on the table next to the mare with a shy smile, which she returned with an appreciative look. He said something quietly, and the unicorn laughed softly.

Daring turned her attention to the other windows, every one covered by a curtain. In each one, she spotted a snake-like wire reaching up to a small circular knob. Repeller alarms in each window; they’ll shock us if we try to break the window or open it from the outside, she mentally noted as she passed.

She pulled out her hoof mirror as she walked by and pretended to check her makeup, studying the reflection of the western side of the house. The oak trees stood sentinel along the perimeter of the neighbor’s house (which, judging by the newspapers scattered across the lawn, was empty), another section of fencing standing between the trees and the target cottage. Could use that for cover, Daring considered.

She paused and waited for a minute, then walked back at the same pace, keeping her eyes forward. As she walked past again, Daring’s eyes spotted a faint circular outline etched into the ground around the house; a few sections of sand were brushed away to reveal a thin metal layer poured into a trench. Extending a wing out slightly from beneath her dress, she realized that she could feel a faint, tingling numbness across her feather as she passed.

Anti-flight charms, she scowled. Okay, that makes things harder.

The mare on the porch frowned at her as she walked past. Catching her eye, Daring gave her a friendly smile and a nod, but the guard did not acknowledge the gesture.

Daring walked around the corner to the western side of the house, pressing her back against the privacy fence. Phillip was waiting for her, crouching against the wall and using his own hoof mirror to look over the top of the fence.

“That’s the window where Professor Tome was,” he stated, studying the reflection in the mirror. Daring studied the reflection as well, eyes on the top left window.

“I don’t see any sign of Tome in there,” Phillip stated.

“Even if he was moved, there might be some clues in there,” Daring said.

“Question is how to get inside,” Phillip muttered.

As she watched, a figure moved from within. A moment later, the window opened and a young earth stallion with a messy red mane leaned out of the window, mopping his face.

“Stupid fucking air conditioner,” the two ponies heard him muttering as he turned away. “We’ve got budget for all that gear, and can’t fix that thing?’

“That could be our way in,” Daring whispered.

“We should get police first,” Phillip stated. “Keep this above board.”

Daring scowled. “I’m going to keep saying it: times like this, being good sucks. I could just get in there and snoop around for a bit…”

“Do you know how many ponies are in there?” Phillip replied. “It could go arseways in an instant, and they could just as easily call the police on you. You wanna go back to a cell?”

Daring growled. “And I hate when you’re right,” she muttered.

Phillip’s ear twitched. “Hang on, there’s a phone ringing in there.”

He stood up straight and closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. He forgot the concrete beneath his hooves, forgot the warm air that ran through his tail and the weight of his vest pressing down on his back. He forgot everything except for the sound of the speech filtering through the open window.

“Yeah, we’ve still got him,” the male’s voice was saying. “He still says he knows nothing about Lazarus…” There was a long pause. “Are you sure?” the stallion asked in a quieter tone. A longer pause, then a quiet grunt of resolution.

“Okay. We’ll get him cleaned up.” There was the click of a receiver and then a sound that made Phillip’s eyes fly wide open. The distinctive cli-click of a slide being racked.

“Change of plan!” Phillip declared, jumping up and vaulting the fence. “They’re going to kill Tome!”

In a single gesture, Daring swept off her disguise, revealing her cargo shirt and pith helmet. “Boost me up to the window!” she shouted, surmounting the fence in a single bound.

The two sprinted up to the western wall, Daring flinching slightly as the cold numbness of the anti-flight spell washed over her wings; nopony seemed to notice or attempt to stop their approach. Phillip stopped beneath the window and crouched down, tightening his muscles. Daring leaped onto his back, then pressed off against his head and sprang for the window, grasping the ledge. She hoisted herself up and pushed her head through the curtains.

The room inside was the same as when they’d seen it through Tome’s eyes, the same bed and bed stand, but there was nopony inside. Daring pulled herself through the window, panting in the sudden heat of the enclosed room.

Outside, Phillip took a few paces back from the wall, then sprinted at it, climbing up the wall in a couple of steps. He seized the window ledge and hauled himself through, landing softly.

Daring trotted over to the door and shoved it open. They found themselves standing in a narrow hallway. In front of them was a table with a telephone sitting atop it; to their left was a stairway landing. The red-haired pony from before was leaning against the railing of the landing, mopping his sweaty face.

He looked up as they entered the hallway, and his blue eyes widened in shock and fear. “Oh, shit, it’s Find—!”

His cry was cut off as Daring crashed into him as fast as lightning, hoof impacting against his jaw. He stumbled, grasping at the railing to try to keep himself up, but Daring’s elbow crashed down on the back of his head, knocking him out.

The front door burst open and the jack and the unicorn mare burst inside, guns drawn, but Daring had already thrown a smoke bomb towards the door. The little sphere impacted against the ground and detonated in a burst of fire and smoke; the guards staggered, coughing and choking. Phillip pounced from the second floor, landing atop the mare’s back; she was crushed to the floor with a wheeze of pain, eyes bulging as she gasped for air.

Roaring with fury, the jack smashed into Phillip, ramming into his stomach. Grunting in shock, Phillip rolled backward across the floor and popped back to his hooves as he flicked his wrist. A shrill whistle pierced the air and his boomerang crashed into his target’s wrist. A snap of bone mixed with a cry of pain and the clattering of the pistol tumbling to the floor.

Closing the distance with a forward somersault and catching the boomerang as it returned, Phillip swung his baton upward, the impact of his trademark weapon crashing into the guard’s chin shuddering down his foreleg. The jack spun away, teeth and blood flying, and crashed to the floor, landing atop the mare and pinning her to the floor again. She coughed and wheezed, trying and failing to push the jack off her.

Phillip dashed over and pinned her head to the floor with a hoof, where she squirmed helplessly like a bug on a tack.

“Where’s Tome?” Phillip growled.

“Go to hell!” the mare snarled, her horn sparking like a lighter.

Before she could cast her spell, Phillip brought his hoof down like a jackhammer next to the mare’s skull, the impact crashing like a thunderbolt and sending a small splinter of wood flying off the ground. The mare yelped, flinching away from the strike. “Downstairs!” she cried, eyes clenched shut. “In the basement! There are two guards!”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded and knocked her out with a single blow to the temple.

He and Daring quickly located the basement stairs in the back of the house and descended the narrow stairway to the second landing, dimly lit by a flickering bulb. Pausing at the landing, they pressed their backs against the wall and paused to listen.

“I know you’re there!” a male voice called from below, every syllable marked by heavy pants; the same voice that Phillip had heard on the phone. “You come any closer and I’ll blow your brains out!”

Smirking, Daring readied a smoke bomb, watching the lightbulb’s flickering. As the light flickered out, Daring tossed the bomb around the corner of the wall. It impacted with a sharp crack like a muffled musket shot, and then there came the sound of startled coughing and hacking.

Rounding the corner with a flap of wings, Daring charged forward. The bottom of the stairs led to another hallway, bordered by walls on both sides. A pegasus stallion stood in the smoke-shrouded hallway, staggering and wiping his eyes. A large revolver was clutched in his hoof, aimed down towards the stairway.

“Watch it, Phil!” Daring warned as she dived, chest scraping against the concrete as she flew, wings tucked in tight to allow her to glide across the narrow pathway. The gun barked and a bullet zipped over her head in a blind shot; a moment later, her forelegs crashed against the pegasus’ knees and he sprawled over her in a tumble of limbs, grunting and cursing in surprise. Bracing against the cold concrete floor, Daring bucked backward, her hooves hammering into his chest; ribs crushed and broke beneath her blow, and the breath whooshed out of her foe, leaving him lying stunned on the ground as Phillip rushed up.

The doorway to the left was slightly ajar and light came from within, along with scuffling and muffled struggling. “Help!” a male voice called from within. “Help me!”

“Shut up!” another voice barked; Daring and Phil both recognized the grunting of the green earth pony that they’d seen using the Ring. “I know it’s you, Finder and Do!” the voice called, high pitched with terror. “You come in here and this old bastard is dead! You hear me?!”

“You think this is gonna end well for you?” Daring shouted through the door as Phillip crouched down by the doorjamb, extracting his hoof mirror and carefully pushing it through the cracked door.

The room inside was small and bare save for a cot in the corner and a bucket. Two ponies were backed up against a side wall, just barely in his view. One was Professor Tome, his coat filthy and pale, sweat dripping down his face. The green earth pony with the Cerberus tattoo had seized him in a chokehold, his back pressed against the wall. A .50 Filly M1912 was pressed against the professor’s head.

Phillip looked up and noticed another padlocked door further down the hallway, leading to a room that would be right behind the wall that the hostage taker was using for cover. He pointed to the padlock. Daring nodded and extracted her lockpicks from the hidden pocket, selecting the finest tipped picks and inserting them into the lock.

“There’s no way out of this, bogan,” Phillip called through the doorway, continuing to watch the hostage-taker through his hoof mirror. “You’re trapped, and police are on their way by now. Just give up!”

“Not a fucking chance, flathoof!” the Cerberus mercenary barked, the tip of his gun shivering as he tightened his chokehold on the professor. The unicorn gasped and flailed helplessly, tears leaking from his eyes.

There was a click as Daring opened the padlock. “Keep him busy,” Phillip growled to Daring as he proceeded to the second door. Inside was a storage room with stacks of boxes, a couple of which appeared to be full of guns. Phillip proceeded along the wall on silent hooves, breathing slowly and evenly.

“Hey, asshole, you think one gun’s gonna stop all of us?” Daring shouted as Phillip entered the second room. “We just carved through four of your buddies; how long do you think you’re gonna last?”

“Fuck off!” the stallion cried, his voice rising another half-octave in terror. “Just fuck off or I’ll blow—!”

On the other side of the wall, Phillip heard his voice and lined up his shot. He inhaled, winding up, and then lunged forward. His hooves crashed through the thin drywall, dust billowing from the fresh holes, and his body followed through the wall as he seized the stallion’s hooves, yanking hard. The stallion cried out in terror, the gun barking loudly and bullets thudding into the ceiling; Professor Tome dived to the ground and curled up into a ball, covering his head.

Phillip squeezed hard and the Cerberus mercenary screeched in agony as his wrist was crushed like a soda can. Yanking the gun off of his enemy’s foreleg, Phillip spun him around by the shoulders and grabbed his throat, slamming the kidnapper against the wall.

“No, no!” the stallion cried, hooves scrabbling as he desperately and futilely tried to shove Phillip off him, spittle and sweat spilling off his mouth. “No, please—!”

Phillip growled and drove his elbow into the pony’s temple. He went still as fast as a switch being thrown and slowly slid down the wall and spilled into a heap on the floor, groaning. Panting, Phillip glared down at the scum before him for a moment, then turned away with a grunt.

Daring entered and crouched down over Professor Tome, laying a hoof on his trembling shoulder. The stallion looked up at her, his green eyes shining.

“It’s okay, professor,” Daring reassured him. “We’re going to get you home.”

“The Ring…” the professor gasped. “It worked?”

Daring nodded with a smile and took the High Priest’s Ring of H’eylr out from her pocket, holding it close for him to examine. His eyes widened in awe as he studied the eye-shaped jewels.

“And some ponies say learning history is pointless,” Daring chuckled.

Author's Note

I've noticed this story's got a much bigger focus on action than the previous volume. I'm sure none of you are complaining, though.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Ten, Chapter Six: Pursuit

Cold Case scratched a few notes down on the notepad before her on the desk, keeping her head low so that she wouldn’t have to acknowledge Phillip and Daring’s presence. Scowling and shifting in place, Daring cast her gaze across the room, studying the rack of trench coats in the corner (All black? Jeez, lady, we all know you're miserable), the shooting trophies atop it, and finally, the growing clouds in the sky, visible in the floor to ceiling windows that made up the back wall of the police chief’s office.

Cold finally looked up and cleared her throat, her face impassive. “So, Professor Tome is safe, and we’ll be moving him to a safe house for his protection,” she stated. “The Rings are in our possession, and it seems that the ponies holding him were recently dismissed by Cerberus security.”

“You get anything out of them?” Phillip asked.

“Only that they were hired by an unknown benefactor to keep Professor Tome at the house until otherwise instructed,” Cold Case declared. “I doubt that we will be getting out more.” She scowled and placed her chin atop her steepled hooves. “However, that is not what I called you up here to discuss.”

“Here we go,” Daring rolled her eyes. “You’re going to ream into us about how we should’ve called you first and gotten a warrant. You wanna know something, Cold?” she snapped, thrusting her face forward over the desk like a stab from a knife, her nose stopping mere inches from the police chief’s. Cold, to her credit, did not so much as blink.

“If we’d waited, Tome would be dead by now,” Daring growled. “If we did things by the book, we’d have a body on our hooves. So either take the stick out of your ass or push it further up. I don’t need another one of your lectures.”

And with that, she turned and started to storm out of the office, ignoring Phillip’s attempt to grab at her. But as she reached the door, the doorknob suddenly became icy cold to the touch, the metal frosting over with a crackling.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Cold Case said, her horn glowing with white power. “Come back here.”

Daring glared at her over her shoulder. “Please,” Cold added through her teeth, as though the effort of speaking pained her.

Daring grunted and trotted back over to stand in front of the desk. Phillip’s reproachful gaze bored into the side of her head.

“I can make...allowances at times,” Cold explained, blinking slowly as she spoke. “But I want you to understand the gravity of your actions. As consultants to the police, your actions reflect upon this department, and this city. If you’d broken into the wrong house, we’d be swamped in lawsuits right now.” She grunted. “I already went through one PR nightmare when I took this position, trying to prove that this department could be trusted. I cannot go through another with two vigilantes on the payroll.”

Her eyes slid to Daring’s right hoof. Daring gritted her teeth, but the pain raced up her limb just the same, the cursed brand burning and acid seeping through her veins, her heavily beating heart sending it coursing through her entire body. Thief. Killer. Criminal. Always.

“Just because you—” Daring started to say, but Phillip cut her off by clapping a hoof down on her shoulder.

“We know what we’re doing,” Phillip stated. “And all due respect, Cold, if the law in this city was perfect, Daring and I wouldn’t be necessary.” His eyes focused on a purple coin with a ten embossed upon it on the desk. “And we both know that we’re necessary,” he added quietly.

Cold stared at him silently for several beats, then let out a huff through her nostrils. “You mentioned you had a lead on Zugzwang.”

“We do,” Phillip nodded. “Once I get some more evidence, we should be able to narrow down the area where he might be staying.”

“Good,” Cold nodded. “Keep me posted, and make sure it’s aboveboard. If Zugzwang’s lawyers are anything like Scarlet’s, we’ll need an airtight case.”

“We’ll do that,” Phillip nodded as Daring turned to leave. He hesitated for a moment, then asked quietly, “You’ve almost earned that.”

Cold blinked and looked down at the purple coin, then nodded. “Six moons,” she agreed.

“You’re doing aces,” Phillip nodded. Cold just let out a quiet grunt and made a small dismissive gesture. Phillip exited the office, closing the door behind him.

“You could try being nice to her,” he grunted to Daring as they proceeded towards the stairs.

“When she stops being a bitch, maybe I’ll consider it,” Daring growled, breathing heavily through her teeth as she tried to force the pain down.

“I can accept you not liking each other,” Phillip sighed as they descended down the winding steps. “But we’re on the same team. Gotta try to keep in good graces.” He paused a beat as he rounded a landing. “Should’ve learned that lesson long ago.”

“If we’re on the same team, she could at least act like it,” Daring grunted, striking the door for the second floor like it had offended her so that it burst open. A couple of police officers looked up in shock as she stalked out, shooting them both a glare as she passed.

Phillip followed her in silence, watching as Daring pulled a flask out of an inner pocket in her vest and chugged down a swig of the strong-smelling contents. “Ugh,” she finally muttered, capping the flask and repocketing it, the scent of vanilla and honey clinging to her breath. “Fuck her.”

They proceeded down the hallway until they reached a large window. Peering inside, they saw Trace sitting across from Professor Tome. Tome was wrapped up in a spare trench coat and clutching a paper cup of steaming coffee.

“You sure you’re all right?” Trace asked, gently tapping the pen held in his magic against the notepad on the table. “We can take a break if you need.”

“No, no,” Tome said, shaking his head. “I am alright. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Right,” Trace nodded, looking back down at his notes. “So, tell me more about...the Lazarus Ritual. Some of your abductors had talked about it, right?”

“Yes,” Tome nodded. “I had been contacted about this by an anonymous benefactor a few days before my abduction, and some of my captors were also interrogating me about it. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told them.”

The professor took a breath and a long sip of coffee and spoke. “The Lazarus Ritual is a legend amidst those who study the pagan religions. It’s rumored to be the epitome of necromantic magics; the pony who uses the Ritual properly will be able to raise the dead, and turn them into their servants.”

“Do you really think that it’s true?” Trace asked.

“Of course not,” Tome scoffed. “Necromancy is a legend; the dead remain dead, and no magic can raise them again. But as I am a recorded expert in ancient languages and pagan magic, I can see how ponies who believed that it was real would probably be interested in...” He swallowed. “My assistance.”

“And how would the Ritual work?” Trace asked.

“The details are unknown,” Tome stated. “But I was given a section of an ancient text by my anonymous benefactor. It did state that the Ritual would require the power of several unicorns to complete, largely just focusing the necessary energy into the area of effect.”

“I see,” Trace nodded, scratching some notes down on the pad. “We’ll continue trying to find out who was behind this; in the meantime, we’ll be moving you to a police safehouse for your own protection.”

“I understand,” Tome nodded. “Could somepony just please remind Granite Table to continue studying the Umurqa Cipher? I think we’re near a breakthrough on translation.”

“Whatever you say, professor,” Trace nodded with a small smile, standing. “I’ll be back.” He exited the interview room and approached Phil and Daring; as soon as the door shut behind him, his face sagged as though he’d suddenly aged ten years.

“I swear, this shit just gets more and more bizarre every day,” he sighed, mopping his brow.

“Agreed,” Phillip nodded. “But let’s focus on finding Zugzwang.”

Ten days later, the morning sun hung high over Ponyville, focusing its heat down upon the city’s inhabitants as a thick haze hung in the air, chasing most ponies inside to where their air conditioners and fans awaited.

The haze hung particularly low over the Industrial District, trapped by the ever-present smog. Double Apex Road stood in the southeast part of the city, carving a straight path towards a bend in the Maresippi River. Most of this street consisted of low-end housing originally constructed for the wave of industrial workers, but there was one standout: a large brick building with a perfectly polished front window and a flashing neon billboard depicting two crossed pistols. The Boom Boom Bar was nearly as old as most of the factories that had turned Ponyville from a small farming village into a booming city, and to this day it was recommended near the top of every list of tourist attractions.

Daring didn’t really see what the appeal was. The bar was crowded and stank with the coalescing odors of alcohol, burgers, and sweat. The overlapping murmur of voices provided a constant, irritating background noise that drowned out the radio hanging over the bar, and the creaking wooden floor was covered in stains of indeterminate origin.

At the very least, they made a hell of a Manticore Rare vanilla milkshake. She sipped the concoction before her from a straw, smiling despite herself as the coolness flowed down her throat and into her veins, spreading across her body with a relieving touch. Clearing her throat, she reached up and adjusted the thick red-tinted spectacles and floppy sunhat, and smoothed out the long blue dress. It was a good thing that most of the ponies who were gathered at the eatery were also clothed—in coveralls, oiled jackets, windbreakers, and uniforms. It made her stand out less.

It also made the stallion in the back corner stand out less. The orange pegasus was slumped with his back against the wall, nursing a tumbler of cheap whiskey and a small basket of Prench fries, fedora drawn down low over his face to make it appear like he was sleeping. His body was adorned in a loose-fitting secondhoof light blue suit jacket, the seams visible from where it had been badly resized, and the whole thing, like the pegasus’ body, was covered in a layer of dust; but beneath the jacket, Daring could see the strap of his shoulder holster.

“You really think that this is gonna work?” Flash asked, pacing back and forth in front of Phillip. Phillip stood in the backyard, tossing a ball to himself. Every catch thumped rhythmically against his black, freshly-oiled glove. Daring watched from the back porch, swirling a mug of coffee laced with two sweeteners and a dash of bourbon.

“We put a lot of work into this, jackaroo,” Phillip stated, throwing the ball to him in a lazy overhoof loop. Flash caught it easily. It had become a ritual in the past couple of months; taking the time to toss the baseball back and forth in the yard and talk was soothing for both of them.

“Took two days for A&O Printing and Dhahabi Tobacco to both get back to me,” Phillip explained, opening up his glove to receive Flash’s returning throw. “Thankfully, they only had a few addresses they deliver to in this city.” He snorted. “Again, good thing Zugzwang has expensive tastes. Took Daring and me five days to cross off the names on the list to narrow down who's delivering the stuff to him.

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve had to sneak into a church and steal somepony’s horseshoes to get a soil sample,” Daring commented, taking a long sip of the Manticore Rare. Flash glanced over briefly but decided to ignore her, instead diving to catch a fastball.

“Zugzwang has two delivery ponies working for him: Sandy Winds and Rust Bucket,” Phillip continued. “One gets the tobacco, the other gets the rolling paper, both picked up from PO boxes in separate parts of the city every other week. Both of them are the kinds of ponies nopony would think twice about, especially the police. No criminal records, families, poor but honest. They’re completely separate individuals. Their lives only cross in one way.” He wound up and threw a sharp curveball at Flash, who jumped to catch it. “Nice catch. Told you you should try out for the PD’s baseball team.”

“So what’s the link?” Flash asked, winding up and throwing. The ball sailed clumsily through the air, rising a bit and then dropping low so quickly that Phillip had to dive to catch it, sliding across the grass.

“Careful, old stallion, don’t want to throw out that hip,” Daring chuckled as Phil stood up, brushing off his sweat-stained shirt. Phillip glared at her and walked back a few feet.

“Getting better, Flash,” Phillip nodded. “You’ve got the grip almost down pat, just need to learn to aim. Put your shoulder right into the catcher’s glove.”

“It’s not easy,” Flash shrugged.

“Nopony gets a curveball right the first time,” Phillip reassured him. “Or even the tenth time. Now, watch.” He drew his arm back, hoof gripping the ball lightly by the seams, and threw the ball with a harsh snap. The ball curved high and landed right in Flash’s glove.

“The link is, both of them, for some reason, have recently gone to the same southeast area of the Industrial District,” Phillip stated. “Confirmed it with soil samples from their shoes, and then asked around in the neighborhood to find out where they’d gone. Both of them, once every other week, visit the same bar. The Boom Boom Bar on Double Apex Road. And that’s where we’re going to go.”

“Any point in trying to question these guys?” Flash asked, winding up and throwing out a sharp line drive that slammed into Phillip’s glove like a cannonball, prompting a yelp of pain.

“No,” Phillip replied, taking his glove off and shaking his hoof out. “They won’t know anything, they’re just getting paid to drop off the packages. Not even illegal.” He wound up and threw a returning line drive.

Flash caught the ball and tossed it to himself a few times, his face creased in thought. “Mate, you don’t have to join us if you don’t want to,” Phillip said. “It’s your day off; you’re not even on duty.”

“I…” Flash sighed and tossed the ball into his glove one last time. “I’m going to be honest, part of me says I should stay out of this. That’s…that’s why I came here earlier. To talk, not just to try to calm down beforehoof. I mean...it’s Zugzwang.” He shivered a bit and looked down.

“Nothing wrong with being scared,” Phillip stated, striding forward. “Scared means you’re more alert. Faster. Stronger. Tougher.” He placed a hoof on Flash’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean the fear has to rule you.”

Flash nodded grimly. “If I back off from this, I might as well turn in my badge,” he said.

Phillip smiled and nodded, patting Flash on the shoulder. “Good on you, mate. Proud of you.”

Flash smiled thinly. “You’ll be there with me, right?” he asked.

“Every step of the way,” Phillip reassured him. “And the rest of the team will be nearby.”

“We’d best get going, guys,” Daring said, glancing at her watch and noting the time as being near 8:30. “Our delivery ponies will be on their way by now.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded, tossing the ball and glove back onto the porch. “C’mon, mate.”

“You sure we gotta mess up my best suit?” Flash asked, frowning in concern.

“That’s your best suit?” Daring asked beneath her breath, prompting glares from both stallions.

Sandy and Rust had already come and gone, and they had both left behind their packages. Daring took another sip of her drink and adjusted the glasses, studying the reflection of the trash can in front of the restrooms in the tiny mirror glued to the inside of the lens. She could just see the two envelopes placed atop the pile of garbage inside.

“You planning on staying here all day?” the bartender, a tall light brown griffon female asked, wiping off the bar. “You been here for almost three hours now.”

“Until you run out of these, I ain’t got anywhere else to be,” Daring replied, licking her lips.

The bartender shrugged. “Long as you got the bits.”

The door to the stallion’s bathroom swung open, catching Daring’s attention. She watched in the mirror as a tall earth pony stallion, his lean green body adorned in a short-sleeved shirt and his long brown mane tangled with sweat, exited the bathroom, pausing to adjust his mane. His blue eyes darted around to make sure nopony was watching him too closely, then his hoof dove into the trash can, seizing both packages and tucking them beneath his shirt in a movement so quick, Daring wouldn’t have seen it if she wasn’t watching for it.

The stallion proceeded towards the door, weaving through the crowd of ponies. Daring coughed into her hoof and reached up to scratch her left ear.

Back in the corner, Flash lowered his mouth to the walkie-talkie concealed beneath his coat. “Daring has the target,” he whispered into it.

Across from the Boom Boom Bar, hidden behind the curtained windows of an apartment building, Red Herring lifted a pair of field binoculars, the lenses replaced with purple crystals, to his eyes. Through the enchanted vision, he saw the green stallion exit the bar, his hooves appearing to glow with glittering blue light.

“I see the glitter dust,” he reported, grinning. “Damn, that stuff’s cool; totally invisible unless you see it through these. Nice job putting all that on, Daring.”

“Bishop Nine to Dispatch, we have a visual on the target,” Trace stated into his walkie-talkie, keeping his eyes on their target. “He’s heading east on Double Apex Road.”

“Copy that, Bishop Nine,” the dispatcher’s voice replied, tinny through the earpieces that all of them were wearing. “There’re not many surveillance crystals in that area, but we’ll do what we can.”

“10-4, dispatch,” Trace confirmed. “We’ve got eyes on. Pawn Three, stand by; keep back until we call for you.”

“Roger, standing by,” Prowl’s voice replied.

As the green stallion trotted up to the curb and paused, Daring exited the Boom Boom Bar and started walking in the opposite direction. As soon as Daring rounded the corner of the bar, she spread her wings and flew up into the air, stripping off the hat, glasses, and dress and stuffing them into her enchanted bag as she flew up and over the building.

Flash exited the bar and started to follow the stallion down the road just as the light turned green. The green stallion stepped onto the crosswalk and crossed the street. Flash followed behind him as a dark brown earth pony stallion wearing a ball cap and a blue vest fell into step behind him.

“And here we go,” Red declared, exiting the apartment building.

“Bishop Nine is pursuing target,” Trace stated into the radio as he followed Red out.

“Stick to the plan, everypony,” Phillip’s voice grunted over their earpieces.

The five ponies pursued the stallion while Daring kept overhead, following from behind rooftops. Two or three stallions kept behind the target on the ground, switching in and out every few blocks, changing their clothes and putting on false cutie mark stickers to conceal themselves amidst the crowd. The green pony in the white t-shirt wandered up and down the Industrial District, frequently doubling back, wandering in circles around blocks, and making sudden turns to cross the street.

“You sure he’s not on to us?” Flash whispered to Red Herring as the two passed each other in midair over a cannery fifteen minutes after they had first picked up the tail. A cool wind blew in from the river to the south, chilling in the partially cloudy sky.

“If he did, he’d be trying harder to shake us,” Red grunted. “These are just ways to try to spot us.”

“Whoa, he just ducked into that alley!” Trace’s voice cried over the earpiece.

Red groaned and rolled his eyes. “I always speak too soon. Maybe that should be my special talent.”

“Everypony hang back,” Phillip ordered. “He’s trying to flush us out. I’m going around to intercept him. Daring, you see him?”

“No, there’s an awning over the alley,” Daring replied. “No, wait, there he is. He just exited the north end of the alley. Phil’s got him.”

Phillip, now dressed in a blue short-sleeved shirt and a dusty Pranceton Chimaeras baseball cap, spotted the green stallion turning away from him out of the corner of his eye. His target shifted slightly, and Phillip spotted the bulge of the packages beneath his shirt. Crossing the street, Phillip turned and followed from a block behind, pretending to study the contents of the shop windows, his eyes instead on the target’s reflection. He caught a glimpse of Red falling into step behind him on the opposite side of the street.

The sun suddenly came out from behind a cloud, shining down upon the street, and Phillip suddenly froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. He looked from the windows to the suspect, and his eyes showed him that he had not been tricked: the suspect cast no shadow on the sidewalk, unlike every other pony that he passed by.

Furthermore, Phillip noted, he was moving straight forward at a steady pace, never looking around. His motion looked...unnatural, somehow. Like watching a film on a loop…

His heart leaping into his throat, Phillip sprinted across the street, ignoring the blaring of car horns and screeching tires, barely acknowledging Red’s bark of shock in his ear. He ran right up to the messenger pony, who didn’t turn around or acknowledge him and reached out to grab his shoulder.

His hoof went right through the stallion’s skin. A moment later, before everypony’s shocked eyes, the green earth pony faded away and vanished.

“The fuck?!” Red cried.

“Illusion spell,” Phillip growled, grabbing his walkie-talkie. “Dispatch, there was a surveillance crystal on Concrete and Hound Street. Check that for anypony who came out of that alley.”

“Stand by,” the dispatcher’s voice replied. Several tense seconds passed by as Phillip paced in a small circle and Red fidgeted in place, wings flapping slightly as he prepared to take flight.

“Got ‘em,” Dispatch finally declared. “I’ve got a female unicorn exiting the alleyway and heading back west. Blue coat, silver mane, bobby pin cutie mark, pink dress.”

Almost before the dispatcher finished talking, Red took off into the air, headed southwest. Phillip sprinted after him, then jumped into the air as a familiar whistle sounded faintly in his ears. Daring seized him at the apex of his jump, arcing up into the air and following Red. An orange streak shot into the air after them.

“Hey, wait for me!” Trace yelled, sprinting after them down the street.

“Dispatch to Bishop Nine, I’ve got the suspect,” Dispatch reported. “They’re waiting at the trolley stop on Hound and Triple Clover.”

“Drop me off behind the building,” Phillip said to Daring, who nodded, sweat staining her brow.

They soon closed in on the trolley stop, a small white cabin-like structure on the street. As the pegasi passed overhead, they did indeed see a blue unicorn with a long, silvery mane sitting on the bench, reading a small paperback. They also saw the trolley trundling up the street, brakes squealing and clattering.

“Hang on,” Red suggested as they banked around towards the back of the bicycle shop behind the stop. “Let’s just get eyes on her and—Flash, what the hell are you doing?!”

Flash had dived out of the sky and swooped down on the trolley stop like a hawk attacking a field mouse. He landed in front of the trolley stop, one hoof going to his holster and one wing snapping open to reveal a badge.

“Police, don’t move!” he barked to the startled unicorn, his cry prompting her to drop her book.

“Sentry, you idiot,” Red growled, following him down along with Phillip and Daring.

“I have done nothing!” the unicorn protested, sitting statue-still in her seat, eyes darting around as though searching for an escape.

Flash hesitated in uncertainty, suddenly aware that he may have made a mistake. “I…” He shook his head and refocused, removing his hoof from his holster. “We just need to check something, ma’am.”

“This is police brutality!” the mare protested, scooting away from them. “I do not—”

Red took out the binoculars and briefly held them up to his eyes as Trace sprinted up, calling for backup between gasps for air. Through the enchanted vision, he observed the bright blue glitters around the mare’s hooves.

“Okay, Flash, take her in,” Red nodded.

But as Flash approached the mare, her horn flared with a golden glow and a channel of force rushed out of her, sending Red, Flash, and Daring flying back.

“Wandjina!” Phillip shouted, flinching in anticipation. The magic rammed into him like a battering ram, shoving him back a couple of feet and knocking the air from his lungs, but the majority of the force washed over him like a tidal wave. Instantly, he surged forward, tackling the mare against the wall. She bellowed in fury, her voice suddenly deepening to a snarl.

But as his hooves clutched at her skin, he felt a strange electrical tingling beneath the frogs, and then he was suddenly hit with the scent of Saddle Arabian tobacco from her breath.

And then he heard the snick of a blade and pulled away just in time; the hidden blade that had seemingly appeared from thin air beneath the mare’s hoof cut through his vest and scraped against his ribs with a cold embrace.

He tightened his grip on the suspect’s foreleg and twisted, clumsily throwing her to the ground in an impromptu armbar. She tripped over his leg and fell to the concrete with a crash.

“Scheisse!” the suspect cried again in their uncannily deep, familiar, voice as the illusion spell melted away completely. The dress was replaced with a black suit and tie; the blue coat became tan, the silvery hair darkened into walnut, and the furious blue eyes became black as holes.

Phillip nearly released his captive in shock, his heart freezing in his chest for half a moment. It was long enough for Zugzwang to light up his horn, the appendage flashing gold briefly.

Heart racing, breath catching, Phillip’s hoof raced for his baton as Zugzwang started to push himself up; but then, a yellow aura surrounded the unicorn’s body and he was pulled to the ground as though gravity had increased its merciless hold on him, drawing another surprised curse as his jaw crashed against the concrete, blood flying from his split lip.

Trace finally reached them, panting and gasping. He paused in front of Zugzwang, who glared up at him in cold fury.

“We got you, you son of a bitch,” Trace said with a grin, drawing hoofcuffs from his belt as the others regained their hooves, snapping them on Zugzwang’s wrists.

Sirens filled the air as responding officers closed in. Zugzwang went still in defeat, his eyes turning up and focusing on Phillip, as though he were the only other pony there. The fury had faded from his eyes, leaving behind only cold, empty neutrality.

And then, just as the first cruiser’s tires were bouncing against the curb, a small smile slowly, almost imperceptibly, crept up his face.

Author's Note

We got him! Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Find out next week!

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Case Ten, Chapter Seven: Interrogation

“What you did was an incredibly brave thing, lad,” Captain Oak declared, staring at Flash from across his desk. “You stuck close to your target, caught up to them after they evaded you, and you managed to capture a highly-wanted criminal.”

Flash’s chest puffed up with pride at the praise, but he failed to note Phillip and Trace frowning on either side of him. “Thank you, sir,” he declared.

Hewn Oak nodded and adjusted his tie briefly. “All that being said, I do have one question.” He paused briefly, his face a mask of neutrality, then suddenly stood up as though he’d been shocked, slamming his hooves down on the table with a crash like a gunshot.

“What in the name of Celestia’s beard were you thinking, boy?!” he roared at the stallion who had already half-jumped out of his own uniform. “You put yourself and your team at risk by breaking cover and confronting a pony that you weren’t even sure was your target!”

“I…” Flash stammered. “No, we knew it was her, we—”

“Silence!” Oak barked. Flash’s jaw snapped shut and he audibly swallowed, clutching his tail in close.

“You didn’t know anything!” Oak continued. “You should’ve just let the target lead you to the end of their trail. Instead, you nearly got yourself and your colleagues killed by openly confronting them in a crowded area filled with civilians! Were it not for the grace of the alicorns, we might be dealing with bodies. Perhaps even yours! Do you think I want to inform your mother that you were killed in the line of duty because you were stupid?!”

“N-no, sir,” Flash stammered, one wing twitching as he fought the instinct to bring it to his mouth and start chewing on it.

“You will receive a citation for this,” Oak stated as he sat down, staring down at Flash like a stern principal informing a naughty student that they were going to be sent home with a note to their parents. “Along with your commendation for participating in this arrest. Now, go; it is time for you to punch out for the day. And on your way home, I want you to reflect upon your actions and the many, many ways that it could have gone horribly wrong. Understood, officer?”

“Yes, sir,” Flash nodded, his eyes lowering to the floor. He trudged out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“Harsh, captain,” Trace commented.

“The lad needs a firm hoof to guide him,” Hewn Oak sighed, mopping his brow. “If he makes stupid mistakes like this, he won’t make it very far in this department. He’ll either lose his badge or his life.” He looked up at Phillip, shaking one hoof slightly so that the rosary bracelet he had hidden beneath his suit jacket rattled out down towards his hoof. “I understand that you have taken the lad under your metaphorical wing?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded.

“I do believe that Faust and Celestia are smiling down on you both now,” Oak nodded, gently touching the beads of the rosary marked with an inkwell and quill and a sun. “I’ve seen the boy’s reports. He’s shown a marked improvement in every aspect in the past few months and has one of the highest arrest rates in the force. Not to mention I have heard that the brilliant lass in the crime laboratory is mentoring him for his detective examination.”

“Also true,” Phillip nodded.

“If he does well enough, I will be petitioning to Chief Case to have him transferred under me,” Hewn Oak continued. “Major Crimes always needs the best of the best, and the lad is the new shining star of the force. But even stars need to be polished before they rise. Make sure that this lad sticks to the narrow path, and keep him swayed from temptation.”

“No worries, captain,” Phillip said. “I have no intention of letting Flash ever be like me.”

Both Trace and Oak stared at Phillip for a moment, then nodded in silence. “Right. We have our rat in his cage, and he is not going anywhere for a while. Let us continue to search for his den while we try to run down his tracks. Get out there and find me some evidence, boys.”

“Yes, sir,” Trace nodded, standing. The two stallions exited the office, passing beneath the set of charms hanging over the door; the metal discs, each one decorated with the cutie mark of one of the six alicorns, jangled slightly as they passed under and closed the door behind them.

“He’s been a cop longer than some of our youngest boys have been alive, but I’ve never gotten used to all those similes,” Trace grumbled, looking back at the frosted glass window marked “Captain—Major Crimes.”

“Metaphors,” Phillip corrected, already heading for the stairway.

“Whatever you say, Mister Pranceton U grad,” Trace rolled his eyes, following him.

As they descended the stairwell, they found Flash sitting on the landing, staring at his cap and chewing on his wing. “You all right, mate?” Phillip asked, pausing next to him.

“I’m sorry I messed up,” Flash muttered, forcing his wing back down. “I guess…” He sighed. “I thought if they got on the trolley, we’d lose them, and I didn’t want to take that risk. Plus, I wanted...wanted to prove that I…”

His voice trailed off and he half-raised his wing towards his mouth again. Phillip gave Trace a meaningful look over his shoulder; Trace nodded and walked around them, taking a sudden intense interest in the imperfections and dents in the wooden steps as he descended.

“Flash, nopony thinks you’re a coward, or useless,” Phillip stated quietly. “But you gotta be smarter than that. You’re not going to prove anything to yourself, your ancestors, or anypony by being stupid and getting yourself killed.”

“I know,” Flash nodded numbly.

Phillip patted Flash on the shoulder. “You’re young, jackaroo. Don’t rush to get experience; it’ll come with time. Just remember you’re not invulnerable.”

“Right,” Flash nodded, putting his cap back on. “I’m going to clock out. I’ve got to do some grocery shopping for mom.”

“Right. Hoo roo, Flash,” Phillip said, patting the younger stallion on the back. Flash nodded and gave him a brief smile before descending the stairs. Phillip trotted down behind him; Flash stopped at the ground floor landing, while Phillip descended all the way down to the bottom floor.

When he reached the crime laboratory, he was greeted with the sound of frustrated growls and muttering mixing in disharmony with the string quartet on the radio. Entering, he spotted Twilight sitting at a table in the back which was currently stacked high with folders, notes, and mugshots. Daring was standing at the opposite end of the table, sorting through files, tossing them aside one after another with a shake of her head. Doctor Suunkii was currently studying a familiar black suit and tie on the examination table, going over the sleeves with a head-mounted magnifier and a fine comb for traces.

“What’s going on?” Phillip asked as he entered. He noted a collection of photographs hanging on the bulletin board behind Twilight and paused as he recognized the subject. Zugzwang, nude, standing before a height chart. Full-facing, side, and back pictures were lined up on the top, and there were close-ups of his cutie mark, a white looping v-shaped scar running down his jaw and to his neck, and of several swirling tattoos of runes across his chest and back.

“I’m trying to find background information on Zugzwang,” Twilight replied tersely, opening up a large folder stuffed with notes that Phillip immediately noticed were written in Gerwhin.

“We're,” Daring corrected beneath her breath.

“Yes, sorry, you’ve been very helpful,” Twilight replied, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been trying to find out more about his background for months now.”

“And what have you found?” Phillip asked.

“Nothing!” Twilight shouted, flinging her forelegs up in frustration and sending papers flying everywhere. “I’ve sent requests to police forces in Gerwhinny, Prance, the Gritish Isles, everywhere! Nothing! No birth certificates, no photographs, no cutie mark registries, not even a flipping signature on a bank check! As far as the official records are concerned, Zugzwang does not exist!”

“And yet, the stallion is sitting in a holding cell one floor above us,” Suunkii commented, plucking at a hair on the sleeve.

“Exactly,” Twilight let out an annoyed nicker.

“These tattoos,” Phillip asked, pointing to the photographs of the runes marked in black and red ink. “What are they?”

“I have no idea!” Twilight cried, flinging her forelegs up again in frustration. “I don’t recognize that language or those symbols! I don’t know what they mean!” She buried her head into her hooves and growled in frustration.

“Hey, calm down,” Daring said. “Getting mad isn’t gonna solve anything.”

Twilight took a slow breath and stood up, returning to her work. “There’s got to be something here. Something about the stallion he was before he came here five years ago.”

“And we’ll find it,” Phillip said, diving into the pile of papers.

Time ticked passed far too quickly as they hacked away at the pile, file by file, folder by folder. Phillip alternated between helping the two mares study and assisting with Suunkii’s examination of Zugzwang’s clothing. But both searches proved fruitless: the few trace samples on the suit were too small and generic to be very helpful, having been picked up from every corner of Ponyville. There were also no files to be found that named Zugzwang, and the few mentions of a stallion with a black king cutie mark, a taste for expensive clothing and Saddle Arabian tobacco, and black eyes that they could find were unhelpful.

“Even those are custom-made, looks like,” Daring commented, studying the black cloth gauntlets that Zugzwang had worn beneath his sleeves. She slipped the sleeve on, turning her limb over to study all angles of it, then tightened her foreleg muscles. With a loud snick, a three-inch blade sprang out from the end of the gauntlet.

“Be careful,” Suunkii cautioned her, a wary eye on the blade.

“Relax,” Daring replied, relaxing her foreleg and allowing the blade to snap back inside its sheath. “I know not to play with knives.”

“Okay,” Phillip finally declared, wiping off his face. “He’s been to Gerwhinny, Mareland, Manehattan, Seaddle...he was even seen in Vanhoover a few moons before Sombra’s Starbomb destroyed it in ‘43. The stallion’s been all around the world.”

“So why’d he come to Ponyville?” Daring pondered, one hoof going towards the pocket that contained her pack of cigarettes.

Twilight smacked her hoof away with her magic. “No smoking inside the lab,” she scolded.

“Maybe there was something here he wanted,” Daring suggested, glaring at Twilight.

Yeah. Me, Phillip thought, trying to ignore the fact that his hoof twitched as the thought crossed his mind. “The sightings only go back to about twenty years ago, and he’s at least my age. He didn’t drop out of the bloody sky.”

“Perhaps it is time to take a short break,” Doctor Suunkii suggested, rubbing his eyes. “We have all been working very hard; some time to recoup would do us well.”

“Agreed,” Daring replied, stretching her wings and back with a low groan. “I need a cig anyway.”

“Wait a minute,” Twilight interrupted her. “I’ve been meaning to take another look at your ward.”

Daring scowled and opened up her vest to study the ward burned into the interior of the fabric in purple lines. A diamond surrounded by runes and containing a four-pointed star composed the basis of the ward, with crescent moons at every point of the star and the diamond and a circle of runes surrounding the entire construction.

“I don’t think it works for me,” she grunted. “You’ve been over to test it a half dozen times: I just can’t get it to activate.”

Twilight frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s that: it’s the same as Phillip’s ward, and I know I performed it correctly. It works for him.”

Daring gave Phillip a brief scowl, envy glittering in her eyes. “Maybe he’s just got the talent for it and I don’t,” she grumbled.

“Everypony can use magic,” Twilight assured her. “You probably just haven’t found the right trigger yet.”

“I feel kind of silly shouting ‘wandjina’ when you throw a spell at me,” Daring admitted.

“It’s not the word that’s important, it’s the feeling,” Twilight lectured. “Magic is tied to emotions; ‘wandjina’ works for Phillip because he associates it with great power and protection, so it’s enough to activate the ward. You just need to find something that works for you.”

Daring scowled and looked down at the ward. “If I were five, maybe I’d be more open to the idea of calling on some mythical guardian spirits for help.”

Twilight sighed. “Could we maybe take the time to consider some alternatives?”

“I’ve got more important things to worry about,” Daring replied, patting the pocket with the cigarettes. “Coming, Phil?”

“Not now,” Phillip shook his head. “I’m going to the cafeteria to get some tucker.”

“I believe I will join you,” Suunkii said, rising.

“Isn’t Sirba on your case about losing some weight?” Phillip smirked as he exited.

“What my wife does not know will not hurt me,” Suunkii said with an evasive glance downward. Chuckling, Phillip led Suunkii up the stairs to the second floor and trotted down the hallway to a cafeteria and break room near the back of the office.

The modestly-sized room with white tiled floors was mostly empty, save for the long white tables with attached stools and the vending machines in the back. The long counter along one wall was blocked off by a steel shutter. There were only two officers inside the chow hall.

Sergeant MacWillard was sitting at one table, smiling as he watched Officer Wheellock juggle two pistols. Wheellock, who was standing with her back to the door, was holding two revolvers; instead of using the integrated slide-on straps that jutted out from the back, she was spinning them around the trigger guards, her hooves slipping easily into the larger holes. As Phillip and Suunkii watched, Wheellock tossed both guns into the air, clapped her hooves, then caught them behind her back. She holstered one pistol in a shoulder holster whole continuing to spin the other, grinning as she accepted the griffon’s applause.

“Officer Wheellock, I hope that those pistols are not loaded,” Suunkii scolded as they entered.

MacWillard looked up at their approach, but Wheellock did not seem to notice them coming until they were within a few feet of her, upon which she jumped with a high-pitched yelp and spun around, sending the revolver flying.

“Oh, doctor, Detective Finder,” she sighed, catching the falling sidearm with her magic. “I thought you were the captain.”

“Your fear is probably an indication that you should not be doing what you were doing,” Suunkii stated coolly.

“Yes, doctor,” Wheellock replied, hanging her head as she holstered the second weapon.

“It’s my fault, doc,” MacWillard said, standing. “Wheellock just got her personal pistols approved, and she was showing them off for me with a few tricks her uncle Flintlock taught her.” He glanced at his partner. “And don’t worry, I made sure that they were empty first. Can’t call myself a rangemaster if I don’t preach gun safety.”

“Flintlock the circus trick shooter?” Phillip asked as Suunkii nodded and walked off towards the vending machine.

“Yes, sir,” Wheellock replied, puffing out her chest a bit. “Did you ever see him?”

“No,” Phillip said, studying the pistols. “Steel and Eastson Model 27s, .45 caliber. Good choice. Expect a smart choice from a mare who grew up around guns.”

Wheellock blinked. “How did you…?”

“Scars on the inside of your hoof from the hammer of a gun striking your flesh, and a few small burns on your cheek from cartridges hitting you in the face,” Phillip explained. “All from different time periods, several years old. You’ve been shooting guns almost since you could hold them. Parent’s trade, I’m guessing, judging by the initials SB on the older gun cleaning kit I can see poking out of your back pocket.”

“My father, Silver Bullet,” Wheellock nodded. “My parents owned a gun shop in Manehattan. My father gave me his kit when I became a police officer.” She smiled at Phillip and let out a chuckle. “You know, before now, I thought all those stories about you being able to figure out anything about a pony were all hyperbole. I mean, nopony’s that good.”

Phillip frowned at her and Wheellock wilted. “I...I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean…”

“You planning on asking out that pony at the shooting range?” Phillip asked.

Wheellock’s eyes widened and a blush colored her yellow cheeks. “H-how did…?”

“You have a few traces of foam in your ears and some gunpowder traces on your hooves and the side of your face: I can smell it from over here,” Phillip explained. “But there’s also mascara and eyeliner on your face, traces of perfume. Unusual for you. You visited the range for shotgun practice this morning before shift, and prettied yourself up to impress some stallion.”

Wheellock blushed even harder and looked down at her hooves, shuffling in place. MacWillard coughed.

“Actually, it’s a mare,” he corrected Phillip, frowning at him.

“Oh,” Phillip said slowly, sucking on his lower lip briefly. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Wheellock, I...that was out of line. I’m sorry,” he admitted.

Wheellock looked back up, her cheeks slowly returning to their proper color. “It’s okay,” she nodded.

“Wheellock, MacWillard,” Cold Case called, entering the cafeteria with a crisp stride and a scowl that could’ve frozen a flaming tequila shot. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing, ma’am!” Wheellock cried, snapping to attention.

“Then find something productive to do,” Cold Case ordered them. “You’re not paid to gossip.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Wheellock saluted and quickly trotted out of the room. MacWillard followed her with a brief nod.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Cold Case stated to Phillip. “Zugzwang wants to talk to you.”

Phillip took a slow breath and tried to ignore the icy chill that went down his spine.

Zugzwang was sitting alone in the interview room, nude and encased in heavy shackles, a silver magical restraint bracelet clasped to his foreleg. He sat completely still at the table, forelegs resting on the table, staring straight blankly ahead at the one-way mirror. Phillip, Cold, and Red Herring stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, studying the strange tattoos that marred his skin.

“Creepy motherfucker,” Red muttered. “Dancer, our officer in booking, told me that he just sat in the holding cell and stared at him. Didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Just sat and stared like that. Didn’t even fucking blink.”

“What have you found out about him?” Cold Case asked Phillip, looking at the other stallion, who was silently staring at the pony within the interview room.

“Nothing,” Phillip replied, not even turning away from the window. “No names, no records, no anything.”

“That isn’t possible,” Cold Case snapped. “Everypony leaves a trace.”

“He doesn’t,” Phillip replied, looking back at her. “He hasn’t left anything. Or he’s cleaned up.”

“I became a police officer because I cannot abide mysteries, Phillip,” Cold Case replied. “And I know you can’t either. I want to know who that stallion is. And he’ll only talk to you.”

Phillip turned back to the window and froze. Zugzwang had turned to face him through the window, black eyes boring into his. And he was smiling, white teeth shining in a mask-like expression.

He could feel the magic pinning him down, tingling and warm, like electricity that had somehow come alive. The lips touched his forehead, cool, soft, and disgustingly wet, and he felt like the saliva was burrowing into his skin, permanently marking him; and then he felt the hot breath traveling down his body, every sniff making his flesh crawl as though trying to wriggle off his bones…

“Phil? You okay?” Red asked.

Phillip shook his head. “Yeah,” he grunted.

“I could go in there with you if you wanted,” Red offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Phillip replied, walking towards the door to the interview room, trying to ignore that Zugzwang’s eyes followed him the entire time. He opened the door and entered, skin still crawling.

“Guten abend, liebling,” Zugzwang purred as he entered.

“One thing I can’t figure out,” Phillip declared, electing to stand at the table instead of sitting. “You’re so smart and everything, but we caught you because you’re arrogant enough to go out in the open to collect your bloody cigarettes. Why is that?”

Zugzwang let out a soft chuckle. “The risk, liebling. The risk is everything. It’s why I came here, it’s why I turned against Herr Silvertongue, it’s why I let Frau Sparks steal my cigarettes, it's why I let one of Whitestone's brainless arschgeigen see me from the river, and that’s why I am who I am.” He leaned forward, still smirking. “Judging by the marks on your forelegs where you leaned them against the table and the saliva marks on your right hoof—you lick your hoof sometimes when you turn the page, did you know that?—you and your friends are wondering who I am.”

“And I’m sure you get a kick out of knowing something that we don’t,” Phillip grunted.

“I do,” Zugzwang nodded, settling back in his seat.

“We can and we will find out who you are,” Phillip stated.

“I am Zugzwang,” Zugzwang answered. “But...I think you’ve earned a taste.” He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, as though inhaling a cigarette, then spoke.

“I wasn’t born Zugzwang,” he narrated. “Nor did I have this mark upon my flanks, nor were my eyes originally this color. I…” He swallowed and licked his lips, blinking once slowly. “I don’t remember who I was or what I did. Sometimes the memories come back in one shape, sometimes another.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What I do remember is this: I craved a challenge.”

Phillip remained silent, eyes tracing over the tattoos on Zugzwang’s body and the white scar on his neck. His lips twitched downwards as a thought crossed his mind: that scar looked oddly like somepony had slit his throat.

“So many ponies go through existence in a dream,” Zugzwang continued. “Never testing themselves, never knowing the feeling of having the sword caress your neck as you nearly lose everything. But I know that feeling...and I wanted it. More of it.

“At some point, I know I made...enemies,” he continued. “Ponies who wanted me dead. They managed to pin me in a corner. I had nowhere to go...but then I found a way out. In the Kyaltratek.”

He leaned forward, shackles rattling. “I needed to become a different pony, and I needed power. And I got both. It came at a cost, however.” He gestured at his neck, a small grin crossing his face. The cut, Phillip now realized, was no mere accidental slice: it was deep. Very deep.

“The pony that I was died, truly died,” Zugzwang stated. “And I was born in their grave.”

“So,” Phillip stated. “You’re claiming that you performed a dark ritual, died, and came back to life as a completely different pony.”

“Ja,” Zugzwang shrugged, gesturing to some of the circular swirls on his body. “What do you think these are for?"

“Bull dust,” Phillip grunted.

Zugzwang chuckled once again, the sound coming out as though forced from a bellows. “Of course you’d say that. But it doesn’t matter what you think; it happened.” He leaned back in the chair again, the plastic groaning beneath his weight. “I found myself wandering, trying out many new things, new places. Crime became my chessboard, all the pieces spread out before me, so many new challenges…” He closed his eyes and drew in another long breath. “It was beautiful. It became my drug, my food and drink.

“Five years ago, I wandered into Ponyville, and felt…” He frowned. “I don’t know how to describe it. This sense of...belonging. Like I’d found someplace that held something I didn’t even know I lacked. And so I stayed here and waited. I allied with Herr Silvertongue, and that provided a challenge for a time; but once he consolidated Ponyville under his rule, it became extremely boring. And yet, I couldn’t make myself leave like I had so many times before.

“So I stayed, and I waited. At first, I thought the rebellion was what I needed, but then…” He licked his lips slowly, a strange glimmer entering his eyes. “Then you appeared,” he cooed. “You, the first pony in years who could challenge me. The first pony in years who could put the sword to my neck, who made me feel...alive.” His breath came in and out slowly, shivering with excitement.

Phillip stayed silent for a few moments, maintaining the mask he wore over the crawling repulsion, silently ordering his nerves to stop trying to wriggle out of his skin, then spoke. “Why are you giving me this fable?”

“To tell you what I am,” Zugzwang declared, his grin growing slightly larger. “And to distract you.”

Phillip felt cold claws grip his heart. “Distract me from what?”

“I made several plans on how best to abduct you and your friends long ago, and took the habit of keeping them on my person at all times,” Zugzwang stated smugly. “When you captured me, I sent one of those plans out to Herr Star Cluster.” His smile broadened even more, teeth suddenly gleaming like a shark’s. “It regards the little orange flachwichser that follows you around like a lapdog.”

Phillip’s heart dropped into his stomach, snow and ice spreading across his limbs. Denial rushed to his side: He’s lying, he’s bluffing, it’s just a trick…

“I considered Frau Sparks or Captain Whitestone,” Zugzwang added, a lilting giggle behind his voice. “But no, they’d just kill him: droll of them, really. Oh, but Star Cluster, he’ll make the boy suffer. I wonder what he’s doing to him now?”

He was lying. He had to be.

And yet, as Phillip bolted from the room, slamming and locking the door behind him, his heart began to pound frantically in his ears. Ignoring Cold and Red calling after him, he made a beeline for the phone on the wall and frantically entered Joyful Sound’s number. Each ring seemed to make his heart beat faster.

Finally, the line clicked midway through the fifth ring. “Hello?” Joyful’s voice asked.

“Joy, is Flash there?” Phillip asked, dread burning a hole in his chest.

“No, I was just about to call you,” Joyful replied, concern at the edges of her voice. “He was going to pick up groceries on the way home, but he should’ve been here hours ago. Is he with Twilight?”

No, Phillip screamed silently to the rhythm of his heart. No. No. No. No. No.

And somewhere inside him came a clap of thunder. He hung up and stormed back over to interview room, pushing past Cold, not even hearing the words she was shouting, and threw open the door.

“Believe me now?” Zugzwang smirked, still sitting at the table as Phillip slammed the door shut. Seizing the chair, Phillip dragged it over to the door and jammed it against the doorknob, then advanced on Zugzwang. Seizing the unicorn by the throat, he lifted him up and slammed him against the wall.

“Where is he?!” he bellowed.

Zugzwang just smiled at him, black eyes glittering with delight. “Now, that would hardly be fair,” he scolded.

Phillip drove his hoof into Zugzwang’s gut, his strike crushing into yielding flesh. “Where is he?!” he repeated, ignoring the rattling of the door and the voices behind it.

Zugzwang just laughed once: a horrid sound, like bones rattling in the wind. “You just need this, don’t you?” he purred. “You like the way this feels; it’s why you do this, isn’t it?”

The thunder inside Phillip roared, and he punched him again, and again, and again, every strike cracking ribs and smashing into organs. “Where! Is! He?!”

Zugzwang’s laughter tumbled into his ears, loud and cold and sharp like icicles. “You! Have! Nothing!” he crowed. “Nothing you can threaten me with! Nothing you can use against me! And it kills you, doesn’t it?!”

Growling, the storm inside him ripping and tearing at his innards, Phillip drew his hoof back again, but then a blast of cold wind struck him and he stumbled, dropping Zugzwang and crying out in surprise. He turned around to see that Cold Case had managed to force open the door and was now firing a spell at his back.

“Step away from him,” she ordered. “Now.”

Phillip growled at her, the two momentarily frozen in a standoff. “Finder, we have an officer to save,” Cold stated.

Phillip grunted and retreated out of the room, the storms cooled but still raging inside of him.

Author's Note

We going Dark Knight now. And we got a Sentry to save! (again)

Wheellock's revolvers are based on this design by Baron Engel.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed!

Case Ten, Chapter Eight: Bait...

The pain pulled Flash from unconsciousness and he stirred with a moan. Darkness met his gaze; the metal surface pressing against his side was cold and unforgiving.

Flash started to sit up, only to grunt in pain as his already aching head smacked against something hard. It was then that he felt the harsh cord wrapped around his hooves and the duct tape over his mouth.

The memories came flooding back: driving home from work. A motorist flagging him down, saying he needed help getting the engine to start. Bending over the open hood. Something striking him in the back of the head...

Panic flooded through his heart and he began struggling fiercely, trying to scream through his gag, kicking the roof of the trunk he was locked in.

It refused to give. Flash was trapped. No one was coming. No one knew where he was.

He tried to stem the tide of the memories, but they flooded forward, overwhelming him: the sight, the smell, the feeling of the fire against his skin…

“Scream for me, pig,” Tinderspark snarled, the lighter dancing across his chest. She giggled out of her horribly deformed mouth as he flinched away from the heat, chest heaving as he panted through his nostrils, mumbling in terror through the tape across his mouth.

Flash tried to pull away, but the ropes securing his hooves to the overhead plank refused to yield, creaking and groaning as he struggled. His wings strained against the ropes, desperate to give him escape but failing. Tinderspark laughed; the lighter flame cast her burns and melted skin into horrible light and shadow.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she grinned, licking her chops. “We’re gonna be having bacon and pork tonight.” And she thrust the lighter forward into his chest, right over his heart.

Pain radiated across his muscles and skin, burrowing down into the bone, tunneling to his frantically beating heart. He closed his eyes, a scream racing up from his lungs through his throat, and he let it out, hoping, begging that somepony would hear, would help him, but the tape muffled it. No one was coming. No one would come.

The lighter was removed, but the pain remained, as strong as before, and he sagged in the bonds, panting and gasping through his gag, fighting a desperate battle against tears.

“There it is,” Tinderspark giggled like a schoolfilly, circling around him. “It’s okay, pig, let it out…”

Flash shook his head, grasping control of his runaway breathing and heart, forcing them to slow. Panic would not save him. He had to slow down and think.

He closed his eyes and began to pray. The same prayer that had carried him through his father’s death, through his mother struggling with her blindness after the accident, through the academy and his early months on the force, and through the abduction.

Mother, you are my shepherd; I shall not want, he thought to himself, blocking out everything but his words, but the light in his chest that he pictured growing with every word. You lay me down in green pastures, and guide me to the still waters. You lead me down the path of Your righteousness and strength and restore my soul. Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death…

“I shall fear no evil,” he whispered, the words muffled by the gag, weakened by the pain as he dangled in the ropes, but he kept the prayer going. “For You are with me; Your hoof in mine comforts me…”

“Praying?” Tinderspark snorted. “None of your gods can save you now, pig.”

She thrust the lighter into his back again, and once more pain raced across his nerves, skin and bones screaming in agony. He shuddered and shook in his bonds, breath catching, but kept the prayer going.

“You lay...for me...a table in...the presence...of my enemies,” he gasped out, slamming his eyes shut to block the tears.

“Scream, dammit!” Tinderspark snarled, pressing the lighter against his back.

The pain intensified and his muscles shook and convulsed in a desperate bid to escape the fires, and he gasped out the rest of the prayer even as the agony tore at his consciousness. “You...crown...my head...with...oil...my...cup...runneth...over…”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Tinderspark snarled, throwing the lighter down like a child flinging down a broken toy. She stormed off down the dark hallway, grumbling to herself.

The pain continued to radiate across his body, but Flash forced himself to breathe slowly, steadily. Inhale slow, pray on the exhale. “Surely mercy and goodness...shall flow over me...all the days of my life...and I shall dwell...with my Mother...forever and ever…”

“Amen,” Flash whispered, taking a deep breath and opening his eyes.

Right. Make a plan.

Flash tested his bonds. Coarse rope, tightly bound. He wasn't getting those loose any time soon.

Maybe he could open the trunk. He reached out, running his hoof along the metal surface. He followed the curve down towards the bottom of the lid; maybe if he could find the trunk release cable, he could pull it and open the trunk.

No dice. A growl escaped his gag.

His hooves found the locking mechanism, but without any tools, he had no chance of opening it himself.

Flash's eyes were starting to adjust to the dark of the trunk. He spotted the brake lights, wires running to the metal contacts. Getting an idea, Flash squirmed around and grabbed the wires of the closest light, yanking them out with a brief flash. After some more wriggling and grunting, he lined up his hind hooves with the brake light.

He lashed out with a sharp kick at the light. Pain ran up his legs at the impact; the thump made his pounding head ring with pain. But the light was nearly pushed out of the frame.

Flash wound up and kicked the light again. With a crack, the brake light tumbled out of the frame, crashing against the concrete floor.

Huffing and sweating from exertion, Flash wriggled around to peek out the hole. Outside, the world was shades of gray, lit by flickering orange lights. The scent of oil and exhaust assailed his nostrils. A parking garage.

Flash stuck a bound hoof out of the hole and began to wave. His heart throbbed in his chest, every beat exacerbating the pain echoing through his skull.

It was okay. Somepony would see him. Phil and Daring were coming...they'd find him...they'd find him...

"And once they go inside to get him out of there, we follow them," Star Cluster said, staring out the grime-streaked windows at the parking garage. "Swarm the entance, mow 'em down, and beat it before backup arrives."

He grinned around at his fellow Disciples standing in the empty, mold-eaten room of the abandoned tenement building across from their target building, yellowed windows looking down on the street beneath them. Among the ten other Disciples, he counted two sniper rifles, a cluster of assault rifles and a pair of shotguns, accompanied by his own Thrussian-made machine gun.

"You sure that this is enough guns, boss?" one of the snipers, a blue-gray thestral, asked, studying his weapon.

"Well, you can never be too sure," Star Cluster admitted.

Every head turned towards the door at the sound of hoofsteps.

No, not hoofsteps. Claws scratching on wood. And the rattle of metal.

"Which is why I called for help," Star smiled.

The door burst open and a black griffon with a green headband stormed through, glaring at Star cluster with shining yellow eyes. A single griffon with tattoos running down both arms wielding an assault rifle of his own accompanied him.

“The fuck did you do, Shit Cluster?” Roaring snarled, striding up to the unicorn and seizing him by the neck with a claw, eliciting a startled sputter.

There came a chorus of clicking gun mechanisms as barrels were raised and triggers prepared. “Claws off the boss!” one of the watching Disciples, a tall pegasus wearing aviator sunglasses, barked, holding his Desert Griffon sideways at Roaring’s head.

Roaring barely looked up, but his tail darted to one of his cutlasses. There was a blur of silvery motion, then the snick of a sword returning to its sheath. The pegasus in the sunglasses stumbled back.

A moment later, his glasses snapped in half and fell to the ground. The Disciple stared down in shock, his surprise increasing when he noticed a few drops of blood falling down atop his ruined accessory. Several of the surrounding thugs backed up like ripples in the pond.

Cluster swallowed. “Listen, this is how we’re gonna kill Finder and Do,” he explained. “We got the plan from Zugzwang and—”

“You got the plan from Zugzwang?!” Roaring bellowed, squeezing tighter. “Din jävla idiot!”

“It just appeared in front of me this morning!” Cluster cried. “I couldn’t resist, I just thought…” He swallowed. “Look, Finder and Do are gonna be on their way. When they get here, we need you and your guys to help us kill them! They—”

“You had to call us,” Roaring said slowly, undoing his grip. “To take care of two ponies. Because that Gerwhin horunge told you to kidnap that fittnylle.” He scowled around at all of them; every Disciple in the room stared silently back. “And you already have these morons with you.” He took in a breath.

“You’re scared of them,” he snorted. “You’re scared of two ponies who are older than most of you.”

“We’ve tried to kill them before. You’ve tried to kill them before,” Cluster snapped back, rubbing his neck. “And they always come out of it unscathed.”

“Because of dumb luck!” Roaring shouted, one claw going for the pistol on his holster. “Luck, that’s all it was!”

“So let’s make sure that we get lucky this time,” Star Cluster replied. “The more of us, the more likely that one of us gets ‘em.”

Roaring growled at him, but his companion strode up and laid a claw on the first mate's shoulder. Roaring glanced at his companion, then took a breath and relaxed.

"Fine," he growled. "Let's see how this works."

"Okay, boys and girls," Star grinned. "Let's get into position!"

Every Disciple crouched down next to the windows, drawing back bolts and clicking off safeties. The pirate started to take up position next to them, but Roaring pulled him back aside to whisper.

“You make sure that the security crew is watching her?” Roaring hissed to him.

“Yes, sir,” the other griffon replied. “That’s what the ring’s for: if they’re in trouble, they’ll activate theirs and it’ll start to get hot.”

Roaring let out a low rumble in his throat, lifting his right foreleg. The small ring with the orange gem winked back at him. “We’re risking everything for this,” he said quietly, barely audible over the other noise. “Even if we kill Finder and Do, if I lose her…”

“We won’t, sir,” the other griffon replied. “They’ll keep her safe. She’s one of us, after all.”

“No, she’s not,” Roaring replied. “That was the whole point of sending her away.”

Roaring shook his head and sighed. "Take your position, son. Let me know when they're coming." His talon went to the hilt of his sword, pulling the blade from the scabbard slightly. "Tonight, Daring Do dies by my claws."

It took Daring twenty minutes to find Flash’s motorcycle, parked by the side of a bend in Blacktail Street. It sat in the shade of a copse of oak trees, bags of groceries still sitting untouched in the sidecar, the helmet hanging from the handlebars.

"Twilight, need you to focus," Phillip said to the unicorn mare that was currently pacing in a circle next to him. Traffic passed by on the street behind them, directed around them by Sergeant MacWillard and Officer Wheellock.

"I am focused!" Twilight snapped back. "The more time we waste, the more time Star Cluster has to hurt Flash! He might be being tortured right now! Or he might already be dead and in the Maresippi with a concrete block around his ne--"

Her rant was cut off when a stream of cold water spilled onto her head. Twilight sputtered and shook her damp mane out, looking up to glare at Daring Do, who was holding a cloud over her.

"Are we calm now?" Daring deadpanned, discarding the cloud.

Twilight glared at her, but the water dripping off her mane didn't hide the tears running from her eyes. Phillip placed a hoof on her shoulder and pulled her closer.

"We're gonna find him," he reassured her.

Twilight stared up at him, then sniffled and nodded, using a spell to dry out her mane. The three turned to the other detectives examining the scene.

Trace and Red were standing next to Flash's bike, crouching down and holding a tracking wand over the ground. Tracks shone in a golden glow on the asphalt, several different tire marks overlapping with one another.

“Okay, here we go,” Trace said, pointing to a set of motorcycle tracks leading up the road then pulling over to the side. “Flash is coming up the road and pulls over to the side for some reason.” He indicated some hoofprints walking off the bike towards another set of hoofprints that stood next to a pair of tire tracks parked along the side of the road.

“Looks like he was tricked into pulling over by somepony feigning car trouble,” Trace stated, pointing to a silhouette of a pony on the ground next to the tracks. “The other pony hit him over the head and pulled him into the car

“The kid always had a bigger heart than a brain,” Red commented quietly, shaking his head.

Phillip crouched down next to the tracks, glaring at the ground where Flash had fallen, then observing the hoofprints of the pony who had taken Flash, the scum who had—he shook his head. Had to be impersonal, no matter how hard it hurt. It was just another case.

“Close to three-foot eleven, judging by gait,” he grunted, then turned his attention to the tire tracks. “Greasedust brand tires. Going by the wheelbase, turning diameter…”

“Skymouth D7, I’d guess,” Trace replied.

"Trace, over here," Red called, standing next to a light pole that the abductor's car had bumped into. "Green paint on this scrape here."

"A green Skymouth D7," Trace nodded. "That might be good enough to call it in."

Trace trotted back to his waiting Commander and grasped the radio in his hoof, calling in a BOLO.

Twilight hustled forward and grasped Flash's helmet in her magic, turning it over. "What are you doing?" Daring asked.

"Yes!" Twilight cheered, pulling some strands of blue hair from inside the helmet. "I can use these!"

With a flash of her magic, she summoned a street map of Ponyville and a packet of salt. She laid the map down on the ground and formed a circle with the salt, drawing runes around it. She placed the hairs in the circle, then closed her eyes and took in a slow breath, her horn pulsing rhythmically as she cast the tracking spell. The salt began to glow with the same purple light and slowly lifted off the map of Ponyville.

“Quearite. Sequor. Indago,” Twilight chanted, a tremble in her voice. “Quearite. Sequor. Indago..."

The salt glowed the same purple color as Twilight's horn, lifting off the map and swirling in a small circle...then settling down on a spot on the map.

"Yes! Yes!" Twilight cheered. "He's at the parking garage on Seventeeth!"

No sooner had those words left her mouth than Daring snatched up Phillip, who barely managed to slam his trilby down onto his head as he was carried through the air. Beneath him, he saw Trace and Red diving into the Commander, with Twilight leaping into their backseat. The car peeled out with a blaring of sirens and lights, with Wheellock and MacWillard's cruiser speeding after them.

"Seventeeth Street?" Phillip said out loud. "Not far from here."

"Good for us!" Daring replied as she swooped around an office building.

The parking garage appeared before them, a three-story concrete block that sat in the midst of a shopping district. Daring circled the building, then landed atop the roof.

Phillip scanned the few cars parked atop the roof, but there were no green Skymouth D7s parked there. With a nod to Daring, he sprinted to the ramp and headed down. Beneath them, they heard the sirens and screeching tires as the Commander and the cruiser entered the garage from the bottom floor.

The two ran through the second floor, but there was no sign of their target vehicle. As they reached the ramp to the first floor, they heard a shout from beneath.

"We found him!" Trace called up. "He's okay!"

Relief flooded Phillip's veins and he hurried down the ramp, turning the corner to spot the green Skymouth D7 parked in a darkened corner of the garage, the trunk open and a brake lamp laying broken on the ground next to it. The others were gathered around the vehicle.

Flash was being pulled from the trunk by Twilight, who was quickly undoing his bonds with her magic. "Ow!" Flash yelped as the duct tape covering his mouth was yanked away.

"Are you okay?!" Twilight cried, looking him over frantically. "Did they hurt you?!"

"Just bumped me on the head," Flash said, being his head to allow Twilight to study the wound. "Honestly, I think my ego's hurt more."

Daring frowned at the scene before her. The abduction car had been taken from the site and taken to a parking garage mere minutes away. Parked in a corner of a dark, enclosed place, with the hostage left unharmed within.

Hoofsteps echoed off the concrete walls. Daring whirled around just in time to see the frag grenade streaking through the air towards them.

Author's Note

Dramatic cliffhanger that's not actually a cliffhanger!

Translations from Griffonese/Swedish:
"Din jävla idiot!:" You damn idiot!
"horunge:" son of a whore
"fittnylle:" cuntface.

This chapter underwent a total rewrite on November 20, 2021; I'm much happier with this version. If you want to see the original chapter, click this link here. The password is "checkmate." And if you liked this one, be sure to leave a comment!

Case Ten, Chapter Nine: ...and Switch

A golden shimmer flashed through the air, smacking the grenade like it was a tennis ball. The metal sphere bounced off the concrete floor; the incoming gunponies scattered before it like a wave, diving for cover.

"Move!" Trace barked, pulling Red behind his Commander. Flash shoved Twilight behind the car that he'd been abducted in as the others all dove for cover. Daring flew over a parked blue Chevroneigh and crouched down next to Phillip, both of them covering their ears.

The grenade exploded with a roar that seemed to shake the building down to its foundations, dust falling from the ceiling. The light tore through the darkness of the garage in a blinding flash; as the echoes of the explosion faded away, the sound was replaced by screams of pain from a couple of the gunponies laying on the ground.

Daring's hoof snapped to her holster as she looked to Phil. His face stony, he drew his own pistol with a nod.

As one, they popped up from behind cover, weapons snapping up to their eyes as they opened fire. The attacking Disciples were forced to retreat, sending wild shots back at them as they ran for cover.

A purple and a golden wall blossomed before Phillip and Daring, bullets pinging off the shield. Turning, Daring saw Trace and Twilight's horns alight, Trace opening fire with his own weapon while Twilight remained crouched behind the car.

The trunks of the Commander and the cruiser popped open. A purple aura pulled two Trotsons, two shotguns, and a Summerfield rifle out of the trunks, placing them into Trace's, Red's, Flash's, MacWillard's, and Wheellock's hooves.

"Good to have you on our side, Sparkle!" MacWillard grinned, adding his weapon's voice to the chorus of gunfire. "Now keep your head down!"

"Stay down, Twilight," Flash repeated, pushing Twilight's head down.

"Don't need to tell me--" Twilight's protest was cut off by a scream that blended with Trace's, both unicorns falling to their knees.

A gash had been torn through the dual shields, like a rip in a cut of fabric. Bullets tore through the gap, pinging against the concrete floors and sending everypony ducking back behind cover.

A black blur swirled through the air; a trio of swords glimmered in the low light, the black suns etched into the blades balefully glaring at its victims.

Trace and Twilight screamed again as the Swords of Asocrac cleaved through the shield as easily as if it were paper. A grin spread across Roaring's beak as he sped for Phillip, his swords ready to cleave his head from his shoulders.

A golden streak slammed into the pirate, sending both Daring Do and Roaring tumbling through the air. They crashed into a steel pillar, both of them splitting apart with grunts and curses.

Daring drew back with a gasp, narrowly avoiding the tip of the blade as it cleaved through the air. Her gun snapped up to the target, along with every other gun.

"Skit!" Roaring snarled, retreating from an onslaught of bullets. He vanished into the darkness of the garage.

A salvo of bullets forced the detectives back into cover, diving back behind the cars. Twilight gritted her teeth, straining with effort, but her horn only shot out a few impotent sparks.

"My magic!" she gasped. "I-I'm out of magic!"

"Then stay down!" Red barked at her, slapping the trigger of his shotgun with a bark. A Disciple grunted in pain and tumbled to the ground, their weapon skidding across the ground.

"Flank 'em!" Trace barked, rising from behind the front of his vehicle.

The distinctive bark of a rifle mixed with a clanging of metal as a bullet ricocheted off his hood. Trace ducked down with a gasp.

"Sniper, left side!" Wheellock warned, pointing at the thestral crouching next to another pillar, working the bolt of his weapon. She knelt next to Flash behind the Skymouth, raising her rifle to her shoulder.

Another round zipped past her ear and she dropped with a gasp. "I can't get a shot!" she reported.

Phillip started to lean out from behind cover, only to duck just as another bullet smacked into the wall behind him. "Right side!" he shouted, pointing at another shape half-hidden behind a parked truck.

"Move up! Cut 'em in half!" Star Cluster barked, urging his remaining four Disciples forward. They marched forward in a line, shouldering their weapons with venomous grins.

The metal singing of blades clashing together came from the darkness. Roaring emerged, a sword in each talon and a third in his tail. "No one escapes Roaring twice!" he declared and shot for the blue Chevroneigh. Phillip and Daring's eyes widened as the pirate charged towards them, bellowing all the way.

His heart racing, Flash glared around at the battleground; in his panic, the scene seemed to slow down, every movement seemed to slow to a crawl.

Five gunponies closing in.

Roaring with his swords, torpedoing for Phil and Daring.

Two snipers covering them all, rifles at the ready.

And a flickering lamp over the sniper on the left side.

Desperation bid his hooves to move. Flash raised the shotgun, the bead sweeping over the lamp, and he pulled the trigger. The shotgun barked, kicking back into his shoulder.

The bulb shattered in a shower of sparks. The thestral beneath howled in surprise and pain, flinching.

Wheellock rose up, her rifle smoothly flowing to her shoulder. The scope went up to her eye, crosshairs gliding over the target's forehead; her lungs automatically took in a deep breath, then exhaled smoothly, forcing all the air from her chest.

Thud. Wheellock's heartbeat sounded in her ears.

The thestral looked up, shock registering in his yellow eyes.

Thump.

Wheellock's hoof squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked in her hooves and a .30-03 round pierced the enemy's skull. He sprawled to the ground, the surprise on his face remaining in death even as blood ran down his cheeks from the hole in his forehead.

A whistling pierced the air as two boomerangs arced through the air. The second sniper grunted in pain as one struck her head, the other knocking the rifle from her hooves.

Her comrades froze at the sudden counterattack, eyes turning to track the spinning weapons. They paid for it when a hail of bullets and buckshot cut them all down, falling with screams as their blood pooled out onto the concrete.

"Die!" Roaring snarled, swinging his cutlasses down at Phillip and Daring's heads. Both detectives leaped away at the last moment, the cursed blades slicing through the metal of the car. The pirate leaped after them with a roar, blades whirling like a dervish.

"Phil! Daring!" Flash cried, raising his weapon. But the trio were all moving too fast for any of the officers to get a good bead on any of them, brown and gold and black blurring together in a deadly dance. Flash's heart leaped to his throat as one of the Swords of Asocrac missed Phillip's neck by less than an inch.

Phillip tossed his trilby into Roaring's face; the griffon snarled as he was momentarily blinded, swiping with both talons but striking nothing but air as Phillip vaulted over the hood of the Chevroneigh. He grabbed the two dropped boomerangs, panting as he did so.

"Skitstövel!" Roaring spat, stabbing with his tail. Daring dodged to one side, gasping as the cutlass sank into the concrete wall next to her neck all the way up to the hilt.

Roaring twisted the blade. Daring flung herself to the ground as the blade sliced through the wall, leaving a deep scar where her neck had been a moment before.

"Fuck off!" she barked, snapping her leg out. Her hoof sunk into the first mate's family jewels and she grinned at the snarl of pain that escaped his throat. She quickly rolled out of the way to avoid a pair of blades coming down like a guillotine.

Snarling in rage, Roaring looked up at the sound of a whistle, his cutlass snapping up. The boomerang clattered to the ground, cleaved in half, and Roaring sneered at the surprise flickering across the stallion's face.

A gun click behind him. He turned to see the griffon police officer raising a Trotson towards his head.

Roaring ducked, snarling as a burst of hot lead soared over his head.

His tail snapped forward, cleaving through flesh like butter. Blood flew and the traitor screamed.

"Mac!" Wheellock wailed in horror as the griffon sergeant fell, his weapon tumbling away from his grasp. Blood spewed from the tunnel carved through his waist, pooling around his body.

Wheellock and Trace's horns lit up and a pair of golden auras tugged MacWillard out of reach of the whirling blades, pulling him to the safety of Trace's Commander.

"Stay with us, Mac," Trace said through gritted teeth as Red hauled a first aid kit out of the trunk. The pegasus gritted his teeth as he handed Trace rolls of gauze, staring helplessly up at the ongoing battle.

Roaring spat out a curse as he slashed with both cutlasses, missing Phillip as the detective backflipped out of reach, taking cover behind the car once more. "Stay still!" he barked, whirling and stabbing with the sword in his tail like a scorpion's stinger as he swung the swords in both talons again; the crunch of the sword piercing the car's chassis mixed with a startled yelp from both detectives as they both narrowly dodged his attacks.

Roaring threw himself into the air, arcing over the car. Beneath him, he saw Phillip's .38 Filly Detective Special rising, trying to track his form.

The sword in his tail stabbed down at Phillip. Phillip threw himself aside, tumbling across the concrete back to his hooves.

His wrist flicked and pain spread across Roaring's tail. He roared as he involuntarily released the sword in his tail, his eyes instinctively tracking the boomerang as it returned to Phillip's hoof.

Two bullets zipped past Roaring's head. A glance aside revealed the wrong end of another .38 revolver staring down at Roaring, Daring Do scowling at him as she adjusted her aim.

Completing his flip, he landed, bracing off his back paws to launch himself at her--

A warmth grew across his right arm. The gem on the ring began to glow red.

Roaring's heart sunk into his stomach. Juvel!

The two pegasi and the gold unicorn were raising their weapons towards him; the mare's face was alight with rage, burning through the scope of her rifle. This many guns on him...it wasn't supposed to go like this. Those Disciple idiots! It was all their fault!

The red light flared in his view. Roaring growled, forcing the wave of desperation and fear back into itself, converting it into determination.

A way out appeared before him. He kicked off the ground, wings pushing him forward. He seized his key around the neck, pulling her around in front of him. The small purple unicorn screamed as two of his swords leaped to her throat.

"Twilight!" Flash cried, horror splashing across his face even as he aimed his shotgun at Roaring.

The first mate of the Silver Talon glared around him. Trace was crouching down next to the wounded MacWillard; the griffon was fading in and out of consciousness, feebly trying to press down on the bloodied bandages around his waist. The other five were all aiming their weapons at him, varying degrees of fear on their faces. His shield shuddered and whimpered in his grasp; he felt her rapid breath against his chest.

"Move, sköka," Roaring spat, tugging Twilight along the wall, past the scar that he'd dug into the stone. The barrels of the weapons swiveled to track him, but he felt no fear; none of them would dare fire as long as he had the mare as a shield.

"Let her go!" Flash demanded, sweat running down his hooves as he tightened his grip around his weapon. His hoof hovered over the trigger but he dared not touch it. Twilight stared back at him, frightened tears in her eyes.

"I will," Roaring growled. "As long as you don't do anything stupid."

"Got somewhere else to be?" Daring taunted as he passed by her, keeping her weapon on him even as she backed out of his range. "That jewelry looks real nice on you, by the way."

Roaring spat at her, lifting the blade in his left claw from Twilight's neck to point it at Daring's face. "You'll get yours, Daring Do. You and your partner--"

The kusarifundo whipped through the air, wrapping around Roaring's right wrist. Daring dropped her weight and sidestepped with a grunt, pulling the sword from Twilight's neck; Twilight immediately threw herself to the ground, covering her head and rolling out of the way.

The distinctive crack of a Summerfield rifle echoed through the parking garage. A hot lance stabbed through Roaring's left shoulder and he screamed as the sword flew up into the air.

His cry turned into a roar as he pulled his right wrist free from Daring Do's grasp, the cord tumbling to the ground. His shoulder burned with pain as he slammed the left claw onto her shoulder, claws digging into her flesh and drawing a gasp of pain.

Roaring's right wrist whirled for his target's neck, the metal whistling through the air.

A hoof caught the second sword as it spun towards the ground.

"No!" Phillip screamed.

Blades whipped towards their targets. Blood flew through the air, soaking into the black suns.

Something cold grasped Roaring’s upper left arm, the icy touch seeping up his limb to his chest. He stumbled, blinking in confusion as he tried to process the sight before him.

His left forelimb had been sliced off midway up the upper limb, blood spurting from the stump. He glanced down to see his arm laying pitifully on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

His own sword was held at his neck, his own blood already soaking into the blade like the metal was a sponge. He looked up to meet Daring Do's glare, his heart sinking into his chest when he saw that she was unharmed.

The other officers spread out, covering him with their weapons from every angle. The red glow of the ring on his right finger remained in the corner of his gaze, mocking his helplessness.

"Nice shot, Wheellock," Daring said to the young unicorn mare, not taking her eyes off of Roaring's yellow irides.

"You're out, aren't you?" Phillip said, his voice as even as his aim despite the flickers of fear and concern in his stormcloud gray eyes.

"Yeah," Daring admitted. "Least I got a sword out of the--"

An orange light cut through the dark like a rising sun. The ponies had just enough time to see a sphere of orange magic rushing towards them before it exploded with a crackling roar. Howls of pain sounded off the concrete walls as ponies and griffon were sent flying, tumbling across the cold concrete.

Panting and gasping from pain, Phillip looked up to see Star Cluster stalking towards them. The traitorous unicorn was hunched over, stained with the blood of his comrades. Hate burned in his eyes, which also shone with tears.

Motion blurred in the corner of his eye. Phillip looked up just in time to see Roaring flying away, tying his green headband around the stump of his limb. The glowing gem on his talon winked as he flew out of sight.

“Wandj—!” Phillip started to cry, but the call only made it partway out of his mouth before another surge of orange lighting attacked him. Every nerve in his body became alive with agony, the pain so great he couldn’t even scream. He collapsed to the concrete floor, muscles convulsing as he fought for control. A turn of his head revealed that the others were all laying sprawled around him, dazed and groaning, smoke rising from their singed bodies.

“You ruined everything!” Star howled, increasing the power of his lightning spell. “You ruined all of our lives, mine and my friends! We had good jobs, we had power, we had fucking respect! And now we have to ally with these scumbags and dig for every scrap we get! And you just fucking killed them all!” He stood over Phillip, snarling in hate.

“It’s all your fault, Finder,” he snapped, giving the helpless stallion a harsh kick in the ribs. “You and this little fuck. And you’re gonna die for it now. Painfully.”

His horn flared again and Phillip was forced down to his knees by the crushing pain, howling out his pain.

Daring groaned as she tried to rouse herself. MacWillard and Wheellock weren't moving; MacWillard's talon had slipped from his bandages. Twilight and Trace were trying to ignite their horns, but could only form impotent sparks.

Phillip turned and met Flash's eyes. Flash was sprawled across Red, trying to force himself to move, but his limbs moved as slowly as though gravity had increased its hold upon him a thousandfold.

Flash looked back at Phillip, desperation and fear glowing in his blue irides.

And once more, deep inside Phillip's chest, thunder roared. Snarling, glaring up at Star, Phillip pressed his hooves on the ground and pushed himself up. Every inch of his muscles screamed in protest, but the thunder inside him drowned out their cries. Panting and growling with every breath, he forced himself forward. One step, then two, then three.

Star Cluster took a slow step back, his eyes widening slightly. “The hell…?” he muttered, his horn glowing brighter as he forced more energy into the spell. The agony redoubled itself and Phillip nearly buckled beneath the weight of the magic lightning, knees buckling and collapsing.

Get. Up!

Inch by inch, he pushed himself harder, shoving the pain into his gut and letting it mix with his rage, turning into fuel. His gaze bored into Star Cluster as he staggered forward step by step.

His eyes widening in disbelief, Star Cluster retreated, crouching down as he poured what little remained of his magic into the spell. “Stay back!” he cried. “Stay the fuck back!”

He took another step back, but his hoof fell upon a pool of still-warm blood and he slipped; his spell wavered as his concentration was broken and his foe lurched forward. With a desperate gasp, he launched a punch at Phillip.

His hoof slammed into Phillip's own hoof. The crackling of bones mixed with Star's cry of pain as he fell to his knees, his spell cutting off like a switch being thrown.

A punch slammed into his jaw, sending pain exploding across his head. Something seized him by the throat, cutting off his air and lifting him fully off the ground; choking, flailing in desperation, he looked up at a pair of stormcloud gray irides full of fury.

A moment later, another blow struck him in the face like a train and Star Cluster was sent flying back, blood flowing from his freshly shattered nose to fill his mask and a howl of pain rising from his throat as he skidded back. Looking up through tears of pain, his eyes instantly focused upon Phillip Finder. The earth pony's chest was heaving with breath and shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and pain, but he was standing fully tall, gray eyes full of fury. Finder let out a growl like the winds of an approaching cold front and started to approach him again, his steps slowed by pain but as sure and unstoppable as a storm.

"No!" Star Cluster wailed in despair, closing his eyes and channeling his magic just as Phillip's hoof reached for his throat. His hoof found the twitching foreleg of one of his comrades, who returned his grasp with as much strength as he could muster.

With a burst of orange light, he vanished, leaving Phillip grasping nothing but air.

Phillip snarled, glaring around but spotting nothing but dead and dying Disciples. Adrenaline faded away, allowing exhaustion to seep into his bones.

The sound of approaching sirens allowed a small seed of relief to blossom in his chest. He turned and limped back to the others.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Daring reassured him as he approached, groaning as she forced herself back up. "Ow."

"Flash?" Phillip called.

"I'm good," Flash said, feebly raising a foreleg as Twilight bent over him, grasping his other hoof and shivering despite the relieved smile on her face. "Just gonna lay here for a bit."

Phillip scanned the others, the blossom of relief growing when he saw Twilight, Trace, and Red nodding back at him. A visual check confirmed that the worst that any of them had were some magical burns and scrapes; no bullet wounds.

His gaze then turned to MacWillard. The griffon was laying on the floor, his eyes closed, completely still; Wheellock was kneeling next to him, gently shaking him. Phillip's heart dropped, nearly crushing his relief.

"Is he--?" he called out, fearing the answer.

The gold griffon cracked open an eye. "Can't get rid of me that easily," he said weakly, a feeble grin spreading across his beak.

The relief in Phillip's head rose once more and he sat down with a long sigh.

"Just hang on, Mac," Wheellock said, squeezing her talon as the approaching sirens increased in volume. "You're gonna be okay."

Author's Note

L3+R3: Spartan Rage available.

A nice, close-in gunfight with some swords as a bonus: just what the doctor ordered, eh? Important thing is, we got Flash out of there in one piece!

Translations:
"Skitstövel:" generic insult that equates to "douchebag" or "asshole."
"sköka:" slut. My apologies to Twilight.

This chapter underwent a total rewrite on November 20, 2021. If you want to see the original chapter, click this link here. Chapter is "checkmate." And if you liked this chapter, be sure to leave a comment!

Case Ten, Chapter Ten: Beyond the Veil

They’d cut the power to the Literature’s mansion. The phone lines, the silent alarm, even the lights, all shut down and leaving them vulnerable to attack. The bodyguards that Whitestone had sitting on the house had proven to be of little threat, though one of the griffons in the van parked down the road had managed to cry out before being silenced by a suppressed gunshot to the throat, alerting the staff inside the mansion before they could park their van up in front of the massive doors.

Said staff, the butler and the chef, were currently pushing their shoulders up against the hastily-erected barricade in front of the door of the study even as heavy weights smashed against it like massive sledgehammers. The Literatures themselves were pressed up against the back wall, both of them trembling even as they tried to shield Dimmig Morgon. Morgon herself had curled her wings softly around a small, pale cream-colored egg, which she tucked up against her heaving breast.

“Kriga, Fantisera, please,” she begged, tears leaking from her eyes. “Please, look down upon this child, and protect them. Please, please…”

Outside the door, a trio of gunponies, their reddening faces adorned in sweat, battered against the door; two pegasi rammed into it again and again with their shoulders, grunting in determination and frustration as the wood splintered. A unicorn hurled concussion spells at the door in between his comrades’ charges, every spell making the entire wall shake and crack.

“Damn, they’re determined,” one pegasus muttered, rubbing his shoulder as he wound up for another charge.

“You’re fucking dead, you little whore!” the unicorn taunted, firing another spell at the door. The doorjamb broke, a large splinter of wood flying off; a frightened eye peeked out at them. “You and all your family! Zugzwang’s orders!”

“Shtan ack, oys!” a dark brown jenny shouted, rushing up the hallway to the door. A gas can was clenched tight in her mouth, liquid sloshing out of the spout as she ran. She jogged up to the door and started splashing gas onto the doorway.

“Hey…” the unicorn said slowly as the jenny started giggling. “Is that from our truck?”

“No,” the jenny replied, drawing a trail of gasoline back from the doorway. “It’s from their car.”

The three stallions watched in silence as their comrade continued to walk back down the hallway, shaking the can to get the last drops of gas out, giggling the entire time.

“Yikes,” the pegasus with the bruised shoulder asked. “You sure you aren’t a Scorcher?”

“I tried out for ‘em,” the jenny stated, throwing the gas can aside. “But there was too much travel involved. Plus, those flamethrowers are fucking heavy.”

Her giggles growing to a high-pitched frenzy, she whipped a lighter out of her coat pocket and flicked it open. She flicked the lighter, producing a spark, but no flame. Her laughter pausing immediately, she flicked the lighter three more times, producing more sparks, but no flames. Sighing, she pocketed the lighter and looked around at her staring comrades.

“Anypony got a match?”

Before any of her comrades could answer, the window smashed open in an explosion of glass and feathers and rage. The jenny whirled around just in time to see a blade marked with twin black suns whip around and cleave through her neck like it was made of paper.

The stallions all jumped back, all of them scrabbling to grab their guns, but the black whirlwind charged forward in an unstoppable fury. Claws dug into the unicorn’s throat, ripping and tearing at the flesh and leaving the victim to stagger away, gurgling on their blood.

A .50 hoofgun, clumsily drawn from a coat pocket, roared in defiance and Roaring stumbled with a bellow of mingled rage and pain, blood flying from his wing as he dove aside. Ducking underneath the next salvo, Roaring spun and whipped his sword around.

Two bodies slumped to the floor; their heads rolled away, eyes wide and jaws slack.

Panting, Roaring turned to study his injured wing. Attempting to flex it only produced shockwaves of pain, muscles spasming and convulsing. “Jävla pony,” he cursed, limping on his three limbs.

“Stay back!” a voice called from the other side of the door. “Just stay the fuck back!”

“We’ll pay anything!” Modern begged. “Just leave us alone!”

Roaring stabbed into the wall with his sword, carving a circle in the wood and climbing through, entering the study to be greeted by the terrified gazes of the five occupants. The butler and the cook both jumped at him, but he swatted them both aside with a stumped claw, his eyes fixed on the small griffon chick that stood trembling behind the two elders.

Juvel had grown into a beautiful girl, tall and strong, with eyes full of life, and...there was an egg in her claws, held as tenderly as he’d held her own egg so many years back.

Her eyes were wide with fear as she looked up at him, the shining green irides locking onto his. For a moment, Roaring saw not the grown griffon that she was, but the little chick that he’d held in his claws, the forbidden baby that he and Whitestone had made, given away before she could even speak so that she’d have a chance at a normal life, a chance at happiness.

Her green eyes flickered. For a moment, for one fleeting moment, he thought she recognized him.

“Who…” she stammered. “Who are you?”

“Please just leave,” Classic stated to the intruder, pressing his daughter closer to his back, shielding her. “Please, we’ll pay what you want…”

“I don’t want your money,” Roaring growled, keeping his eyes on his daughter, forcing himself not to sway from exhaustion. “I just want you to get out of town. All of you. Just pack your bags and go. Long as you’re here, you’re a target.”

He gave Juvel one last longing look, then turned and climbed back out of the hole.

“What? Why?” Modern cried. “What do they want with us?!”

Roaring didn’t answer. He just jogged back out of the mansion and ran up to the van that Zugzwang’s hired mooks had left. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he started up the engine and roared away. As he rumbled down the street, he glanced at the mansion in his rearview mirror.

Goodbye, Juvel. I love you.

Stifling a sigh with a growl, he turned at the intersection and headed south towards their nearest safehouse.

The metal deck of the Silver Talon thunked loudly beneath Whitestone’s claws as she paced back and forth. The evening air was cool and crisp on her tongue as she breathed slowly, staring towards the west. The ship groaned beneath her, the waters of Horseshoe Bay splashing against the steel hull; the water glowed burnt orange beneath the setting sun as it kissed the mouth of the Maresippi River. From the north came the hissing of leaves in the wind as it passed through the Everfree Forest’s massive trees that ran along the coastline.

Whitestone pressed a pair of binoculars to her eyes; five miles off, she could just see the docks of Ponyville, as tiny as toys in the glasses. No sign of any ships.

She growled to herself and continued pacing. “Where is he?”

“Easy, cap’n,” a tall blue griffon female said, watching her pace. “They told us he got to the safe house fine. They’re just patching him up.”

“How are those two still alive?!” Whitestone snapped at her, her voice rising high. “I sent Roaring, a half-dozen of our best crew...and they’re. Still. Alive!”

The second mate frowned, a thought spinning in her mind. “Cap’n...you don’t suppose that…maybe the gods are testing us?”

Whitestone grunted. “If they are…I’ll know about it,” she stated. “They’ll show me. Bluewater, how long have you been my junior lieutenant?”

“Ten years, captain,” Bluewater stated, rising up to her full height.

“When the Emperor declared war on Equestria along with Sombra, you followed me. When I received that vision to defect, you and the crew followed me.”

“And I’ll follow you to the edges of the Dreaming Sea and back, captain,” Bluewater replied. “We all will. The gods are on your side, and we’re on yours.”

“Good soldier,” Whitestone nodded, patting the younger griffon on the shoulder.

“Captain!” a voice called from overhead. Whitestone and Bluewater looked up to the bridge, where a lookout, a brown thestral holding a telescope, pointed to the west. “Boat's coming, flying our colors!”

Whitestone ran to the deck rail and pressed her binoculars to her eyes once again. Even if that familiar fishing vessel wasn’t flying the black and red rags at the prow, she’d have recognized it anywhere. That was their ship.

It took far too long for the boat to cross the five miles of the Maresippi River and start trundling in their direction. As they approached, Whitestone kept her eyes on the bridge, watching the griffon at the wheel; the pilot held course steady, his yellow eyes staring straight ahead, right through the ship he could not see. As he came closer, he placed a cigarette in his beak, then pulled out a lighter and flicked it on and off twice.

Good. He wasn’t being hijacked by the cops.

“Lower the amulet,” she ordered.

Above her, a black flag crudely decorated with a griffon claw holding a skull flapped lazily in the breeze. The amulet was attached to the halyard, the eye shining faintly in the evening light. At Whitestone’s command, one of her crew lowered the amulet.

The pilot’s eyes widened in surprise, as they always did when the ship appeared before him, but the shock faded quickly. He piloted the fishing boat up to the hull and paused. A ladder was dropped over the rail, followed by a pulley system dropped from a crane. As soon as the ladder was attached to the visitor's deck, the amulet was run up the mast again.

Whitestone watched, talons tapping against the rail in a rapid rhythm, as a stretcher was lowered from the crane. A trio of griffons emerged on deck, carrying a black body between them, and Whitestone’s heart missed a beat.

It was only when she saw Roaring stir, heard him groan, that she allowed herself to breathe again.

The stretcher was lifted up and Roaring was pulled into the crew’s waiting talons. Whitestone trotted over to his side without making it look like she was rushing.

“Whitestone,” Roaring breathed, a faint smile crossing his pale face. “We’re grandparents.”

Despite everything, Whitestone felt herself smile, but the expression rapidly faded when she examined her first mate. The left forelimb had been sliced off cleanly, though it was now tied off with a tourniquet and covered with several bandages. And his wing was horribly mangled; even beneath the tight bandages, Whitestone could tell that it was permanently damaged.

And worst of all, only one of his sheaths had a sword in it.

“We did the best we could, cap’n,” one of the other griffons said as he climbed aboard. “But he’d already lost a lot of blood.”

“Take him to the infirmary,” Whitestone ordered, and the stretcher was immediately carted off.

The ladder rattled as somepony climbed up it. As Whitestone turned around, her face was immediately crossed with a scowl.

“Hey, captain,” Star Cluster declared with a salute as he climbed aboard. Bentley Browndust and a wounded stallion followed him.

“Who gave you permission to board my ship?” Whitestone snarled.

“Easy, captain,” Star said, stepping back and raising his hooves. “I just came here to talk.”

“You do a lot of that,” Whitestone grunted. “I don’t hear much sense coming out of that huge mouth of yours.”

“Seeing as we’ve known each other for a while now, I’m gonna ignore that,” Star frowned.

“You wanna explain why my first mate is missing a claw and two of the Swords of Asocrac?!” Whitestone barked.

Star gave the griffon a brief rundown of what had happened. “Our plan nearly worked; we almost lured 'em in, we had ‘em both dead to rights!” he declared.

“Yes, you did,” Whitestone growled slowly. “You had Finder and Do right there in front of you, and you let them get away!”

The expression on Star’s face flickered briefly to fear before the embers of spite began to glow in his eyes. “You know, I could say the same about you,” he pointed out. “You dropped Phillip from thirty feet and he shot you and made you run off with your tail between your legs. And that bitch with the hat? Yeah, she faced down your guy there. Twice now. And sliced off his arm. So much for being a great swordsgriff, eh?”

“Do not speak to me that way on my own ship, boy!” Whitestone shouted, pretending that the shaking of her forelimbs was due solely to rage.

“Sorry, sorry,” Star nodded placidly. “Listen: it’s pretty clear that by ourselves, we can’t take ‘em down. But if we all worked together, we’d have a better chance.” He paused for a beat. “I know you don’t like talking about this...but we both know we’re at a stalemate with Zugzwang and Scarlet. If anything, they’re winning.”

Whitestone’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Boss, shut up...” the wounded unicorn hissed. Bentley just watched in silence.

“I know: as long as they can’t find the Silver Talon, they have no chance of actually beating you,” Star continued. “But I’ve been keeping score. They’ve taken a lot of your territory, your resources. Most of the low-level thugs left in this city have jumped ship like the rats they are. But the Nightmare Moon Disciples...we know who’s really in charge of this city. And we’re gonna stick with you.”

Whitestone remained silent. “So, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Star continued. “We are gonna hop on here. We’re gonna take some time to regroup, and then, we’re gonna kill Zugzwang, Scarlet, Finder, and Daring. Together.” And he extended his hoof to Whitestone.

Whitestone stared at the offered hoof for several moments of silence. Star maintained his calm smile; the wounded comrade stared with a cringe half-formed on his face, while Bentley just studied the scene like it was a movie.

“Together,” Whitestone said slowly, extending a claw and clasping Star’s hoof. “The Disciples and my crew with yours.”

“I just want what’s best for my boys,” Star said, glancing at his two comrades as Whitestone shook. “I know you understand that.”

“I do,” Whitestone nodded. “And I’m going to take very good care of your crew. Starting,” she suddenly growled, her grip on Star’s hoof tightening even as he tried to pull away, his eyes widening, “By teaching them some discipline, and what happens to cowards.”

In a blur of motion, Whitestone yanked Star Cluster to the deck next to her and pounced on him, her beak closing around his neck. Star’s screams were cut off by a horrid squelching sound, followed by a gurgling as blood gushed from the torn flesh. Star slammed his hooves into Whitestone’s side and back with the desperation of a trapped animal, but she refused to relinquish her grip, beak tearing at his neck.

“Boss!” the unicorn Disciple cried, lunging at the griffon, but Bentley held him back, firmly shaking his head; the crew of the Silver Talon watched them closely with hungry eyes.

Star’s gurgling screams faded away in moments as his blood pooled around his neck; his struggles faded into twitches and eventually stilled completely. Whitestone tore at his flesh, horrid squelching and ripping sounds filling the suddenly still air as she feasted. By the time she finally looked up, there was nothing left of Star Cluster’s neck but bone, the head slowly rolling away from the shoulders and shuddering to a stop a foot away.

Whitestone glared at Bentley and the other Disciple, blood dripping from her beak. “Go back and tell your fellows this: you’re coming to my ship, and you’re going to do what I say. Only what I say. No more taking orders from this cowardly idiot who could barely find his way out of a closed room. And when you’re part of my crew, the most important rule is this: you do not ever, ever insult or question me.” She stepped in close to the unicorn, who quailed in terror, yellow liquid trickling from between his hind legs.

“Clear?” she growled.

“Clear, captain!” the unicorn whimpered

“Now get the fuck off my ship!” Whitestone snapped.

Both intruders scrambled back down the ladder and jumped back to the smaller boat, which was quickly freed of the Silver Talon as soon as the lookout gave an all-clear signal. Whitestone watched the motor chugging back towards Ponyville, licking blood off her beak.

“Dinnertime, boys,” she declared, nodding to the corpse as she walked back to the hatchway. Licking their chops, the crew stepped forward and collected the fresh body.

Descending the stairs, Whitestone entered her cabin. Being the largest cabin in the ship, it was outfitted with a single bunk, a large desk, and a rack of books, all of them in her native language. Her old dark blue uniform was hung up on a hanger in the corner, the single gold star and bar on the sleeves faded but still recognizable.

Disregarding all of this, she proceeded to the next set of doors and opened them wide. The secondary chamber was small and featured only three items. An old, faded dark green rug, a golden bowl filled with a dark red-gray powder, and an altar with two silver statues.

Skeletal Kriga, the god of war and travelers, greeted as always with raised sword and shield ready to strike, his jaw open wide in a challenging scream. His sister Fantisera, goddess of the afterlife and home, had a pensive expression even beneath the blindfold she wore in her travels of the Dreaming Sea, one claw raised to shake the bells tied around her limbs to guide lost spirits to her.

Closing the door behind her, Whitestone kneeled down on the rug. Pulling out a match, she lit the powder in the golden bowl, summoning wisps of smoke. The scent of red poppydust, morphine, and mushrooms filled her nostrils as she bowed down, inhaling the holy mixture deeply. Already, she could feel the familiar, pleasant drowsiness filling her, a sensation like floating overtaking her body.

“Kriga, Fantisera, my lords,” she whispered, keeping her head bowed. “Thank you for protecting my daughter. Thank you for the gift of her children, for allowing her a chance at a normal life. And thank you for bringing my husband back.”

The gods remained silent. Vague shapes flickered in the corners of her eyes, but they were gone as soon as she looked around.

“But these two, Finder and Daring,” she continued. “They’re still alive. No matter what we do, no matter how hard we try...they’re still alive. Them and Zugzwang and Scarlet,” she snarled, clenching her claws so tight that they dug marks into the carpet. “What is keeping them alive? How do I stop them? How?”

She was silent and still for seconds, seconds that stretched out into a full two minutes. Nothing came. No voices. No sudden visions like before. Nothing.

“Am I being punished?” she asked. “Are the crew? What must we do?”

Still nothing. Nothing at all but the silence.

A growl of frustration rose into a cry of rage and Whitestone knocked the bowl aside, where it smashed against the wall in a heap of embers.

“Why are you doing this to us?!” she bellowed at the idols. “Why?! We’ve done everything you asked! That first time, when I took this powder when I was injured, you showed me the path forward, and I followed! I took the crew with me! They chose this! We did what you wanted! Why are you abandoning us now?!”

But Kriga and Fantisera said nothing. Kriga continued to scream out his war cry, and Fantisera remained silent and contemplative. Letting out a shuddering breath, Whitestone sagged against the floor, ordering the tears not to fall.

“Why?” she pleaded quietly, quivering on the floor. “What did I do wrong?”

“So Dimmig Morgon is Roaring’s daughter,” Daring remarked, staring into the glass of apple cider in front of her on the bar.

“That’s the theory we’re running off,” Trace nodded, sitting next to her and chewing on his turnip salad. “Dimmig was apparently given up to an orphanage as a baby, but Twilight ran a sample of her blood against a known sample of Roaring’s. The types matched up.”

“Of course, she couldn’t have just said that in those few words,” Red grunted from Trace’s other side. “Had to go into this long-winded explanation on blood markers or whatever.”

“It does explain why he came to her rescue, why there were members of Whitestone’s crew following them, and why he left them alone,” Trace commented.

“You know, she told me that the Literatures were planning on leaving Ponyville anyway,” Red stated. “I told ‘em, good. The farther away you can get from this city, especially knowing that she’s the daughter of a multiple murderer, the better.”

Daring glanced up at the stage, where Phillip was currently providing a saxophone counterpoint to Rara’s piano melody, her voice weaving through the rapid river of music to form a familiar love song.

Her eyes drifted to the small dance floor in front of the stage, where Flash and Twilight, both fully recovered after a night at the hospital, slowly orbited one another in a stiff interpretation of a Whinny Hop; stumbling, tripping over their own and each other’s hooves, but neither of them caring if the massive grins on their faces were any indication. Flash attempted to guide Twilight around in a spin, but she wound up falling against him and nearly knocking them both down, causing them to burst into laughter.

“Actually, that reminds me,” Red said, knocking back the rest of his cider and standing up. “I gotta go. Lion Mane’s in a school play, and Honeydew...had an extra ticket. She said a friend canceled last-minute and she didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“What’s he playing?” Trace asked.

“Elf number two,” Red replied, standing up.

Daring snorted into her drink. “You must be proud.”

“Damn straight. That’s my kid up there.” With a final nod to them both, Red turned and exited the Apple Pie.

As he exited, the bell over the door jingling to signal his departure, another figure walked in. The light green unicorn looked around in uncertainty and was immediately pounced upon by Pinkie Pie. After some initial shock, the mare managed to ask a brief question. Pinkie nodded towards the bar and gave a cheerful extended goodbye before zipping off, leaving the mare staring in bewilderment at the small, chilled bowl of yellow pudding that she was inexplicably holding.

“I’ve never met her before today,” Wheellock stated in bewilderment as she walked up to Daring. “How did she know banana pudding is my favorite?”

“Rule number one about Pinkie Pie,” Daring said, nodding to the free stool next to her. “Never question her.”

Wheellock reluctantly climbed up onto the stool, her rosary beads rattling quietly with every move she made, and looked around, head lowered. Daring waved to Big Mac behind the bar. “Buy a drink for the mare who saved my ass?” she offered.

“Oh! Uh, thank you,” Wheellock jumped slightly as it seemingly took a moment for her to realize that Daring was talking to her.

Big Mac slammed down a glass of apple cider, foam dripping off the top of the glass. Wheellock lifted it up with her magic and took a brief sip. Her eyes widened in surprise and she wound up chugging down the entire glass in one go.

“That’s good!” she cried, dropping the glass down.

“Least I can do,” Daring commented. “That was a hell of a shot.”

Wheellock frowned a bit. “It wasn’t that great,” she muttered.

“The hell are you talking about?” Daring asked. “You nailed him right in the shoulder!”

“I was aiming at his head,” Wheellock grumbled.

Daring stared for a beat, then laughed loudly. “I’m serious!” Wheellock cried, glaring at her. "I might've gotten him if I wasn't worried about hitting you."

Daring cut her laughter short. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” she said, patting Wheellock on the shoulder. “You still hit the guy and you saved my life. I call that a good shot.”

Wheellock managed to smile after a moment, then returned to the second glass that Big Mac had poured for her, sipping it slowly to savor the taste.

“How’s MacWillard?” Daring asked.

Wheellock was silent for a moment before blinking and glancing up. “He, uh...he’ll live, but the doctors say that he’s probably never gonna be able to walk properly again. His spine and pelvis got, er...really messed up.”

“Oh,” Daring said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Wheellock forced a smile on her face. “Well, he said that he was thinking about taking a desk job anyway.”

“Silver lining,” Daring nodded, raising a genuine, albeit small, smile from Wheellock.

“In all seriousness,” Daring said, taking another sip of cider. “We got most of the bad guys, saved Flash, captured two of the three Swords of Asocrac, and none of our guys died. That, to me, is a hell of a mission accomplished.”

“Yeah,” Wheellock said. “I just keep thinking about if I’d missed…”

“Wheel, I learned something about life a long time ago,” Daring advised. “You can let the shoulda-coulda-woulda tear you apart, or you can learn from it and move on.”

“It’s that easy?” Wheellock asked dryly.

“Well, no,” Daring admitted. “But it’s a skill worth learning. Can’t spend your life worrying over everything.” She nodded at her glass. “But I found that alcohol helps you learn the basics.”

Wheellock chuckled once and returned to her cider.

The phone behind the bar rang. Big Mac plucked the receiver up and listened to the caller briefly before responding with an “Eeyup.” He turned and handed the receiver to Daring, who took it with a familiar sense of foreboding stirring in her belly.

“Hello?” she asked.

It was Cold Case’s voice who answered, and she said two words, probably the last thing Daring was expecting to hear.

“Zugzwang’s dead.”

The empty black eyes stared up at Cold Case, Phillip, and Daring from the metal slab. Zugzwang lay prostrate across the examination table in the morgue, the Y-shaped incision across his chest freshly stitched closed.

“Near as I can tell, he had a heart attack,” Doctor Mortis explained, tossing her balled-up gloves, face mask, and mane net into a nearby trash can. “Honestly, that's the only thing I can think of: I legitimately have no idea what killed him,” she shrugged.

“Officer Dancer was manning booking,” Cold Case explained. “He was doing random checks per protocol. When he did a check at 1826, he saw Zugzwang on the floor. He called for medics—”

“Abbreviated version, please,” Daring interrupted.

Cold gave her a harsh stare. “Apparently, sometime within a seven-minute period, Zugzwang dropped dead of unknown causes.”

“There’s no poison in his stomach or bloodstream, no sign of any trauma, and he’s in excellent shape for a forty-plus-year-old,” Doctor Mortis stated, scrubbing off her hooves in a deep sink.

Phillip stepped closer to the naked body, eyes scanning up and down the flesh, noting the mark on his foreleg where the restraint bracelet had been. It took a moment, but his conscious mind finally interpreted what that itch in his subconscious meant.

“One of the tattoos,” he stated, tracing a circle around a section of bare flesh. “One of his tattoos is gone.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” Mortis remarked. “The tattoos seem to be nothing more than normal ink, and before you ask, Twilight still has no idea what they’re for. Now, that’s a surprise to me, because that mare’s probably forgotten more about magic than I’ll ever know in my life. Granted, I’m a pathologist, and she literally went to school for magic—”

“Doctor,” Cold interrupted.

“Sorry,” Mortis simpered. “Point is, he’s dead. Twilight thinks he tried to use some kind of spell and it was too much for his body.”

Phillip strode forward, raising a hoof. “Phillip, what are you doing?” Cold asked.

He knew that what he was doing was ridiculous, absurd, but he had to do it. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he got proof for himself. And so, he placed his hoof on Zugzwang’s neck.

The flesh was cold to the touch, dry, feeling almost more like cardboard than skin. And there was no pulse. He waited for a count of five. Nothing.

“He’s gone,” he confirmed, turning and walking away. Something in him that had been cold for so long he no longer remembered otherwise began to warm; a weight that he had forgotten he’d been carrying lifted off his shoulders.

“Ha!” Daring barked, relief evident in her tone. “If I’d known that this is what you’d called us for, I’d have gotten another drink.”

“I’m gonna take you up on that!” Mortis called as all four of them exited, grabbing her sketchbook and case of charcoal pencils in her magic. “How do iced margaritas sound? They make that at the Apple Pie?”

The lights clicked off and the door shut, closing with a click. For a few moments, all was silent and still in the morgue, save for the blinking of the blue surveillance crystal in the corner as it stared down into the dark.

And then Zugzwang’s eyes snapped open, his irides growing to swallow his entire eyes in pitch blackness.

Phillip and Daring breathed in the cool air of the summer evening as they stepped out through the revolving doors of the precinct, the near-full moon shining down at them. Mortis paused with an admiring coo and whipped out her sketchpad, starting to sketch a cityscape with the moon hanging overhead.

“The air is crisp, the moon is beautiful, we saved the good guys, and Zugzwang’s dead,” Daring declared, stretching out her wings. “Extra round of drinks, and then go home and fuck?”

Phillip’s ears turned slightly red, but he managed to smile as he nodded. “Too right. This deserves celebra—”

Suddenly, an alarm started ringing from inside the precinct. The trio of ponies whirled around and looked through the glass door in time to see the sergeant at the desk look down at his radio, confusion turning into fear plastered on his face. Phillip’s ears picked up a radio transmission; while he couldn’t make out the words, the tone had panic in every syllable.

The sergeant whirled around and raced through the doorway behind him that led to the stairs, whipping his pistol out from his holster as he sprinted.

“Something’s going on,” Phillip declared, pushing back through the doors. Daring followed right on his tail, with Mortis stumbling in after them.

As they pushed through the door to the interior of the precinct and ran down the hallway, they heard sounds beneath them. Alarms. Smashing doors and furniture. Gunshots. Screams: of fear, of pain, of death.

Phillip and Daring both drew their pistols as Daring shouldered the stairway door open and they began to wind their way down to the basement, every step bringing them closer to the sounds. Daring shoved the basement door open and they burst through, their weapons up.

A body lay at their hooves: a mare officer, lying face up against the wall. Her jaw hung open in an expression of horror and pain. Her eyes had been popped like overripe grapes, vitreous humor dripping down her face, which was now coated in an oily black substance that smelled of rotten fish.

“What the fuck?” Daring whispered as they took in more of the scene. Mortis ran up, panting and huffing, and immediately crouched down to study the body.

Two more bodies of officers lay sprawled across the hallway, one next to the doorway to the morgue, which both ponies noticed had been ripped open from the inside. Further down the hall, the door to the evidence room had also been forced open. Two more officers, one of them the desk sergeant from upstairs, were just entering the room.

A moment later, they both heard a voice, high-pitched with disbelief and terror from within: “Mother of Faust! What is that thing?!”

Gunshots roared, both of them cut off quickly by screams of pain and a horrid squelching sound, then the thuds of bodies dropping, all in the span of the few seconds that it took Phillip and Daring to sprint down the hallway and enter the evidence room.

The bodies of the desk sergeant and his partner lay on the floor, eyes popped, faces frozen in agony, coated in black slime. Boxes of evidence lay scattered about, their contents spilling out like guts strewn across a battlefield. Two steel lockboxes had been pried open. Phillip recognized them both: one had contained the Key of Shadow Walker, the other the two Swords of Asocrac.

“Up there!” Daring shouted, pointing at a ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

They only caught a glimpse of a shape slithering between the slits in the shaft cover, but Phillip heard a faint, strange chuckle beneath the slimy slithering, caught the scent it left behind.

Saddle Arabian tobacco.

Author's Note

Bound in chains they may be, but they cannot die, for they do not truly live; sleeping beneath all flesh, they wait, ever patient, ever hungry, ever watching and listening for the proper signs. And when their time has come, they reach out and bind the worthy with the blessing of servitude to them. Ehi! Ehi! The True Masters, sleeping beneath all flesh!

—Extract from the Kyaltratek

That changes things, doesn't it? Enjoy your nightmares, dear readers!

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Case Eleven, Prologue: In Motion

Horseshoe Bay was twenty-three thousand square miles of dark sea, an inlet where the Lunar Sea funneled in towards the mouth of the Maresippi. The city of Ponyville lay a further twelve miles west downriver. To the north of the bay lay the Everfree Forest; to the south was a Navy depot, built over the ruins of the one that had been destroyed by the North Griffon Navy early during the Crystal War.

Tonight, this far out from any land beneath a cloud-choked sky, the water was still and dark. Tendrils of fog clung to the water’s surface, reducing visibility to only a few yards in any direction, motionless amidst the windless night. A small, rust-coated sailboat slowly cruised along the water, its chugging motor sounding disproportionately loud in the silence of the bay. Four figures stood atop the deck, all of them armed with rifles and shotguns.

“You sure we shouldn’t have gotten a Navy escort?” the small blue earth pony whispered to his companion, head panning back and forth across the water, searching for any sign of another ship bearing down on them from the fog.

“You know they would’ve searched us,” the zebra pilot grunted from the wheel, tossing his head to shake his long, beaded dreadlocks out of his eyes and adjusting the strap on his imitation Thrussian assault rifle. His southern Sereneighti accent bit into every syllable with an almost contemptuous tone as he spoke. “How do you plan on explaining the bags of fresh whoonga in the hold? That we just found them?”

“But you know who patrols these waters,” the pony whimpered, flinching at the mere thought. “And we haven’t paid her fees! If she catches us—”

“The ‘Ghost Ship of Horseshoe Bay’ is one ship,” the zebra replied, placing a sneering emphasis on the title. “It can’t cover the entire bay by itself...if it even exists. I mean, c’mon.” He snorted. “An invisible Navy warship? It’s just a legend she came up with to scare off rivals on the drug scene. We’ll be fine.” He glared at his companion. “Besides, you wanna go back and explain to the boss that we stole some of his best drugs to sell for ourselves?”

The earth pony’s green-gold eyes darted back towards the east and he swallowed. “No…” he said slowly.

“Then shut up and keep a lookout, or I’ll give you something to be really scared of,” the zebra snarled. The pony swallowed and turned away, his head still scanning back and forth. He saw nothing but walls of fog around and silent water beneath. Neither the bow nor the stern lookouts registered anything, standing calmly at their positions with their weapons ready, rocking steadily with the boat. His thoughts went to below, not to the boxes of packed drugs, but to the rest of their crew waiting beneath and the pair of rocket launchers stored in the secret deck compartment.

For a minute, there was only the sound of the motor pushing the ship along its westward journey.

Then, a great explosion of fire and noise cut the sailboat in two, sending splinters and wreckage flying from an erupting plume of water. Even before the water settled back onto the surface, the two halves of the boat had sunk beneath the surface, taking their passengers and illicit cargo with them. Within mere moments, the only sign that there had ever been a ship was the smell of gunpowder and a few planks idly floating in the bay, smoke still rising from them. No survivors bobbed back up to the surface.

Lowering her binoculars, Captain Whitestone clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she stood on the bridge of the Talon. Smoke rose from the barrel of the massive 5-inch Mark VI cannon on the foredeck. “Disrespect, Bluewater,” she growled. “That’s what it is. Wasn’t so long ago that no ship dared come into the Bay without either a Navy escort or paying the fee.”

“Captain, was using the cannon wise?” Bluewater frowned. “We’re short on ammo as it is, and that ship couldn’t have had more than a dozen of them on there.”

“I didn’t want to risk a gunfight,” Whitestone stated curtly, glancing up at the amulet on the mast, the precious metal tapping against the pole rhythmically. The red eye glinted at her, promising them protection from any who would oppose them. “And besides,” she grinned at the still-smoking cannon. “I love hearing that, even if no one else can.”

Bluewater shrugged after a beat. “If you say so, captain.”

“Any word on Roaring?” Whitestone asked, one claw reaching down to the pouch on her side. The two scrolls were still safely tucked inside.

“Yes, cap’n,” Bluewater nodded. “He thinks he and the crew can move on Twilight and the lizard tomorrow night.”

“Good,” Whitestone smirked, nodding as she patted the pouch. “I was starting to think the gods had forsaken us, but their vision made sense. Once we have her and her parents, we can get Lazarus translated. And then we’ll be on top again.” Her grin widened with elation. “Oh, I can’t wait to have Phillip and Daring on the team.”

“They have to be dead first,” Bluewater pointed out.

“In time,” Whitestone replied, waving down her second mate’s concerns. “In time.”

“Au revoir, mon cherie,” Scarlet Letter cooed, kissing Silver Fortune on the lips as her lover departed out the front door of her little cottage. “I shall count the minutes until our next rendezvous.”

“I shall as well,” Silver smiled, giving her lover one last nuzzle. “And thank you again for hooking us up with Mister Dorata. You saved my company.”

“The least I could do in exchange for a few wonderful nights,” Scarlet winked. “Now, run along to your husband.”

Silver trotted off, blowing one last kiss at her as she hurried up to the cab that Scarlet had called for her, climbing into the back seat. Scarlet stood and watched as the taxi disappeared down the lamp-lit street, vanishing into the night.

“Nice piece of ass there, ma’am,” the Cerberus security guard standing post on the porch grinned.

Scarlet just scowled and rolled her eyes as she walked back inside, locking the door behind her. She proceeded down to the bedroom, smiling to herself as she studied the mussed sheets, still smelling of roses and cherry blossoms.

She glanced out the window and satisfied herself that the guard in the backyard was occupied in a crossword puzzle, then turned to the tall mirror in the corner, touching the gems embedded in the border: blue, green, blue, and red. The mirror glowed with a faint light and she stepped through the glass, reemerging in their armory.

“Where are we now?” she asked, striding towards the group of ponies standing around the table, staring down at a map of Ponyville.

“We’re starting to make headway into the Dockside District,” Bright Sparks reported, cradling Endeavor in her foreleg as she studied the maps, moving the colored pawns back and forth. “We've got intelligence on a few more of the Disciples' drug caches and we'll be planning a hit on them soon; destroy the drugs, and the Disciples and Whitestone lose money and can't pay their underlings.”

“Our contact is keeping the statue of Tirek safe where you want it,” Dusty Tail nodded. “Though, if you don’t mind me saying, ma’am, this dark magic stuff seems a bit…” He frowned. “Like we’re tampering with things we don’t fully understand. It's high-risk; you sure it'll pay off?”

“Fret not, mon ami; my master knows whereof he speaks,” Scarlet replied, pulling a cigarette and her personal holder out of her tail pouch and lighting the tip of the cigarette with her magic. The delicate scent of Prench tobacco, chocolate, and roses soon filled the room, tickling at everypony’s nostrils. “What about Zugzwang?”

“Nopony’s seen or heard from him since the…” Black Licorice paused to adjust the rosary beads around her neck. “Incident at the police station two weeks ago.”

“Good riddance, I say,” Red Licorice grunted. “We didn’t need him anyway.”

Scarlet frowned at the map, every exhalation smelling of perfumed Prench tobacco, then turned and looked at the painting on the easel in the corner. The Treachery of Images stared back at her, the boat and perplexing image hiding its true message.

“I’m still working on Artiste Fou’s notes,” she stated, striding towards the painting and looking down at the mass of journals and scrap paper stacked high on the table next to it. “But there’s a problem: I’m stuck on one section. My master has tried to help, but we require another reference.” She paused. “I need a copy of the Kyaltratek.”

“Shame that Professor Tome left town two weeks ago,” Dusty Tail shrugged.

“There’s a copy in the Royal Library in Canterlot,” Scarlet mused.

“It’s connected to the palace,” Sparks pointed out. “Getting in there won’t be easy—”

There was a sudden flash of golden light over the table, prompting the entire crew to jump back with a shout. A scroll had landed right on top of the map, scattering pieces everywhere.

Sledgehammer slowly leaned forward and picked up the scroll in his magic, unfurling it. He studied the writing on it for a moment, then scowled.

“A note?” Scarlet asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I know that writing,” Sledgehammer snarled, balling the scroll up. “We don’t need anything more from him.” He threw the paper towards a nearby trash can.

But before the paper could fall in, a scarlet aura grasped it and pulled it back. Scarlet reopened the paper and studied the message upon it, brow furrowed in intense thought.

“You can’t seriously be thinking about—” Sledgehammer started to protest.

“Hush,” Scarlet interrupted, her eyes still on the note. After a few more moments of silence, she nodded.

“I believe I have a contact in Canterlot I should reacquaint myself with.”

Author's Note

Nothing really special about this one: I just wanted to give the new case a proper start-up this time.

And yes, I did copy and paste a large section of the original onto here. Saved me some time.

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Case Eleven, Chapter One: The Attempt

Not even the gentle rhythms of Phillip’s saxophone and Rara’s voice and piano combining their talents to form You Know I'm Guilty could settle Daring’s racing mind. She sat at the bar in the Apple Pie In Your Eye, staring at the mostly-empty glass of apple cider before her next to the half-eaten slice of peach pie on a plate.

She glanced to her left and studied the edition of the Foal Free Press in front of her with a frown. Splashed across the front page was a bold headline: “Carnage at Drug Houses!” Beneath the headline was a black and white photograph depicting a few exhausted-looking officers carrying a set of stretchers loaded with body bags out of a doorway, the splintered door hanging off the frame by a single hinge. A familiar pith helmet and gray trilby could be seen amidst the crowd outside.

“Rough day?” AJ asked, refilling the glass.

“You have no idea,” Daring replied, taking the glass and knocking back half of it in one go. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many dead bodies in one day in my life.”

“From what I heard, the lot of them were Nightmare Moon Disciples and goons like them,” AJ replied.

“At least a third of them were kids,” Daring grunted. “Dumb kids who made a stupid decision that cost ‘em their lives.” She took another sip of the cider: the warm sweetness fizzled and buzzed down her throat, but she found that she could not truly appreciate the taste. The image of a pair of eighteen-year-old colts, their torsos riddled with bullet holes like swiss cheese, the blood still warm and wet.

Next to the body were .30-06 cartridges. From a BAR.

Sparks, Daring thought, lowering the glass to the bar. Did you do this? Did you shoot kids?

“Sick of this war,” she muttered.

AJ placed a hoof on Daring’s shoulder. “You’ll see the end of it soon, partner,” she smiled. “It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

Daring just grunted and knocked back the rest of her drink. “I’ll see the end of that bottle soon,” she said.

AJ sighed and left the bottle on the table.

A familiar voice made Daring turn around. She spotted the source of the voice behind her: Twilight was sitting at a table a few feet away, face alive and bright with laughter. Sitting next to her was Spike, who was currently munching on what looked like a hay steak with a side of gems, and Flash, who was grinning brightly with her.

Sitting across from them was a pair of middle-aged unicorns. The stallion was shades of blue in color, with the cutie mark of a pair of crescent moons, his wrinkled yellow eyes affixed on Twilight with glowing affection. The mare had a gray coat and a pink and white striped mane and three purple stars for a cutie mark; she was currently laughing loudly along with her daughter, apparently having just told a joke.

Twilight noticed Daring sitting at the bar and waved her over. “Daring! Come meet my parents!”

Daring studied the other ponies at the table, pondered for a few seconds, then shrugged and trotted over, taking her glass and bottle with her.

“Hey, Daring,” Spike greeted her through a mouthful of gems.

“Spike, were you raised in a barn?” Twilight scolded him as Daring sat down.

Spike swallowed. “Sorry.”

“So this is Daring Do?” the white mare asked, leaning forward with an intrigued sparkle in her eyes. “Hi! Twilight Velvet, author, publisher, and mother to two of the most amazing unicorns in the world! Pleased to meet you!” She thrust a hoof at Daring.

“Eh...nice to meet you, too,” Daring said, shaking the offered appendage. Velvet proceeded to shake her entire limb so hard that Daring felt like her bones might rattle right out of her skin.

“Sorry about her,” the blue stallion said, placing a hoof on his wife’s shoulder. “She gets a little excited.” He chuckled and planted a kiss on Velvet’s cheek, causing her face to glow happily. “She was talking about meeting you and Detective Finder all the way here. I’m Night Light, by the way. Good to meet you,” he nodded.

“I could get so many ideas from you two!” Velvet cried. “Is that him on the stage?” She waved at Phillip, who blinked at her in puzzlement.

“Mom, don’t distract him,” Twilight chided, her face flushed with embarrassment.

Velvet giggled. “Sorry, Sparky.”

“Sparky?” Flash asked.

“It’s what we called her when she was young,” Velvet explained. “Or Sparky Frog.”

“Mom!” Twilight cried, her voice going up a half octave.

“Why Sparky Frog?” Daring asked, brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“Because when she tried to do magic, she’d puff her cheeks out so she’d look like a frog!” Spike giggled, puffing out his cheeks to do an impression.

“Say, that reminds me,” Velvet said with a sly grin. “Dear, did you—?”

“Of course I did,” Night Light said, pulling a photo album out of the saddlebag hanging over his chair. A photo album labeled “Twilight” in marker.

Twilight’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as her entire face turned red. “Mom, Dad! No!” she squeaked in horror.

“Would you like to see?” Velvet asked Flash.

“Oh, would I!” Flash said as he and Daring both shot Twilight wide smirks. Twilight hid her reddening face in her hooves, whimpering quietly.

By the time Phillip finished his set and descended from the stage, the group had advanced into Twilight’s first-grade year at the Royal Academy of Magic. As soon as he approached the table, Velvet pounced on him with introductions and energetic hoofshakes.

“A writer?” Phillip commented after recovering from the ambush. “Daring’s writing a novel herself.”

“Oh, really?” Velvet asked, turning on Daring with bright eyes. “What’s it about?”

Daring shot Phillip a brief glare. “Just something I’m doing in my free time. It’s an adventure story. I guess it’s kind of inspired by Hayana Pones.”

Night Light and Velvet traded looks. “You don’t say,” Night Light smiled.

“What’s this?” Phillip asked, his focus turning towards the photo album.

“Nothing!” the still blushing Twilight cried, snatching the book and slamming it shut. “Uh, mom, dad, this has been really lovely, but I’ve got to get home and get to bed. Big day tomorrow!”

“Twi, it’s just barely nine o’clock,” Spike protested.

“The night’s still young!” Velvet cried.

“No, no, sorry, I’ve really got to be going,” Twilight said, gathering up her things and slapping some bits on the table. “You’re in town for a week, we can catch up later.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Night Light said, placing the album back in his bag and following his daughter out. Velvet, Spike, Flash, Phil, and Daring left as well.

The group exited the tavern and into the warm evening air outside. The city was quiet this late at night, and the pink and blue lights from the lanterns next to the door revealed that the street outside was practically empty, with only a few cars passing languidly by. The skies overhead were half-overcast, large patches of dark clouds mixing with the twinkling stars and the waning crescent moon that heralded the coming end of the Moon of Sun.

“Twi, you go on, I need to talk to Phil and Daring for a moment,” Flash said to Twilight, drawing his coat closer to himself. Twilight nodded and continued on with her parents, Spike still riding atop her shoulders. They started heading towards a currently bare taxicab stand, passing a green unicorn in a brown jacket who was leaning on a streetlamp and smoking a cigarette, staring up at the moon.

Flash turned back to the detectives, his smile fading in a moment. “You guys got anything on those drug house shootings?” he asked quietly, glancing back to make sure that Twilight and her family were far enough away not to hear him.

“Not much,” Phillip admitted, leading them back a bit, outside of the light of the nearest street lamp. “Clearly an enemy hit, but…”

Flash looked down, raising his wing up to his mouth. He gnawed at the appendage for a moment, then swallowed. “I responded to the one on Flotsam,” he said. “I remember...the bodies…” He looked up again, his eyes wide and full of fear, like a child who has been awakened by a nightmare.

“They had their eyes pulled out,” he continued, in a softer tone. “Just like in—”

“We know,” Phillip cut him off, trying to stop the images, but they spilled across his mind all the same.

Eyeless corpses, mouths open in eternal silent screams, vitreous humor and black ooze across their faces. A mass of slime slithering up the air vent with a terrible shlicking noise. Cold skin beneath his hoof, no sign of a pulse. Reviewing the surveillance crystal.

That thing. Faust above, that thing.

He shook his head to clear it. “If Zugzwang was there, he’ll pay for it anyway,” he stated. Glancing up, he spotted Twilight and Spike climbing into a waiting taxi, while her parents were climbing into another one.

Flash nodded, swallowing. Phillip strode forward and placed a hoof on Flash’s shoulder. “Chin up, jackaroo,” he reassured him. “You’re a little battler, like us. This—”

The taxi that Twilight and Spike had gotten into turned and started driving up the street towards them. All three ponies stopped, looking up. “That’s not the way to Twilight’s house,” Flash muttered.

The taxi pulled up towards them, driving just above the speed limit. The interior was dark, but in the light of a street lamp, they could see some details of the front of the car.

There was a green unicorn sitting in the front passenger seat of the taxi, turned around to face the rear seat; one hoof was held close to his brown jacket and his horn was alight with a green glow. The taxi driver was a donkey. In the faint light of the unicorn’s magic, the trio of ponies could see the spiky, sandy mane and the calm green eyes.

“Bentley!” Flash gasped, one hoof going for the holster beneath his jacket.

Bentley glanced to the side towards them and his eyes widened in shock as his lips moved to bark an order. The unicorn looked up towards them and his horn brightened.

A moment later, a green sun crested over the horizon in front of them, emerald light burning into their eyes. The ponies shouted in pain and fury, staggering in blind confusion. The sound of the tires peeling across asphalt sounded in their ears as the vehicle passed them.

Blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, Phillip turned and ran blindly after the car. Sight returned in washed-out colors, blurring together into solid shapes. A dark yellow square turned left at the four-way intersection up ahead, then quickly disappeared around another corner. Phillip skidded to a halt at the intersection as the lights changed and the flow of traffic blocked him off.

Flash and Daring ran up after him, furiously wiping their eyes. “Which way?” Daring snapped.

“That way, up Evergreen!” Phillip barked, pointing. Daring took off into the air and shot after them.

“I got the taxi number,” Flash reported, grabbing Phil beneath his forelegs. "Forty-seven."

“That’ll help,” Phillip grunted as he was pulled up into the air and carried over Evergreen, past rows of small mom and pop shops that still stood proud in the face of incoming larger businesses. They paused at a four-way intersection, looking about for any sign of their prey.

“There!” Flash cried, nodding towards a golden blur that was shooting down Alyssum. As they watched, a green firework streaked up into the air and detonated mere feet away from Daring’s face, forcing her to momentarily retreat. Flash started to chase after her.

“Wait!” Phillip said and closed his eyes. After briefly panning through his mental library, he called up a map of Ponyville’s streets. Following Evergreen south, he began to study the surrounding streets.

T-intersection, pedestrian crossing, traffic light, bridge construction on Buttercup, traffic light…

“Southwest, pass over the construction site, then head towards Larkspur and Delphinium!” he ordered.

“But—” Flash protested, staring after Daring as she turned east at the end of the road.

“You won’t catch up to them carrying me! Trust me!” Phillip said.

Flash hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded and turned, flying straight southwest, away from Daring. They flew over houses, over stores, over barely populated cratered streets.

Soon, they reached the old, rot-eaten wooden bridge on Buttercup Road that spanned a wider tributary of the Maresippi that ran north through the eastern outskirts on its way into the Everfree Forest. Teams of construction ponies were currently working at the bridge, removing older boards and planting down newer planks, replacing the old wooden supports with metal buttresses.

Phillip spotted what he needed and directed Flash’s attention towards a small group of workers standing around a pair of tables with toolboxes. Flash swooped down and Phillip snatched up the required items as shocked workers dove out of the way.

“Sorry!” Flash called as they continued on. “Police business! Just borrowing them!”

Within a couple of minutes, they arrived at Larkspur and Delphinium, landing in front of the darkened windows of The Flower Trio’s Flower Shop. Phillip and Flash both set to work with their borrowed materials, hooves frantically constructing the tools.

“Here they come!” Phillip shouted, pointing. A taxi was indeed speeding up the road, pursued by Daring. The unicorn leaned out of the passenger window, a Crystal-made Neighretta Modello 1935 strapped to the side of his hoof. A green beam of energy streaked out of the weapon and exploded in another firework, forcing Daring to swerve out of the way. The unicorn broke open the action on his pistol to reveal the hotly glowing charging crystal, steam jetting from the action with a hiss as he removed the crystal and replaced it with a fresh one.

The two stallions pressed their backs to the wall, keeping hidden from the driver’s view, clutching their makeshift equipment. As the taxi approached, Phillip barked, “Now!” and they threw their items.

Two crude spike strips made of tar paper with several nails pierced through them flew through the air and landed in the street right in front of the taxi, points facing up. Bentley saw them too late: with a pair of loud bangs, the tires burst. Sparks began to shoot from the rims as the vehicle slowed dramatically, the street suddenly filled with the sound of metal grinding against stone.

Swooping down like a hawk, Daring snapped her kusarifundo down. Bones snapped, a voice yelped in pain, and the Neighretta clattered to the street as the unicorn clutched his now-broken wrist. Daring seized the unicorn by the nape of his neck and, with a grunt and a flap of her wings, pulled him from the vehicle and threw him onto the asphalt.

Placing a hoof through the mounting strap and drawing his .38 revolver from beneath his coat, Flash flew up to the taxi, catching up in moments. Landing on the driver’s side running board, he aimed his weapon at Bentley. “Stop!” he ordered, pressing down on the lever trigger slightly.

Bentley glanced at him with an almost contemptuous look, one hoof on the steering wheel, the other carrying a walkie-talkie. A moment later, he braked and pulled over.

A brief glance assured Phillip that Daring had the unicorn pinned down as he sprinted up to the taxi. Flash was backing up with his weapon still trained on Bentley, ordering him out of the car. The donkey obeyed, moving slowly and keeping his hooves in plain sight at all times.

"I got him," Phillip stated, running up and covering Bentley with his pistol. "Go get them out."

Flash ran over to the rear doors and yanked it open. Twilight and Spike sat inside: both of them had police-issue hoofcuffs securing their forelimbs behind their backs and duct tape over their mouths and hind legs, having been applied by the unicorn henchpony’s magic. Twilight was shaking and whimpering behind her gag; Spike was furiously trying to work out of his bonds.

“Hold still,” Flash reassured them, pulling out his pocket knife and flicking the blade open. He cut the tape around Twilight’s legs and helped her walk out of the taxi, gently helping her sit on the ground, then undid the tape around Spike’s legs and helped him out.

Daring extracted a hoofcuff key from her hat lining and tossed it to Flash. He quickly uncuffed the two captives.

“Are you okay?” Flash asked, pulling the tape off Twilight’s mouth.

“Uh-huh,” Twilight whimpered. Flash hugged her and Spike tightly, stroking Twilight’s back as she buried her face into his neck.

“It’s over now,” Flash reassured her. “We got ‘em—”

“Daring Do!” a voice screeched. Daring looked up and dove aside almost too late: two machete blades cleaved through the air where she’d been standing a moment ago.

The black griffon paused for a heartbeat, yellow eyes gleaming with hatred as he studied his enemies. Moonlight reflected off the metal left foreleg, claws tight around the handle of his machete; the prosthetic right wing flexed and bent in perfect mirror of his organic left wing, the artificial joints whirring as they moved. The tail flexed and curled like a serpent, the twin black suns on the cursed blade like holes in the gleaming metal.

Three hooves immediately raised their sidearms as Flash shoved Twilight and Spike out of the way. Snarling, Roaring lunged at Phillip, blades flashing. The Sword of Asocrac struck and Phillip’s .38 revolver clattered to the ground, broken pieces falling amidst droplets of blood that oozed from Phillip’s foreleg.

A backward hoofspring brought Phillip out of range of a double machete slice, the tips of the blades kissing the back of his vest; as he settled back on his hooves, he glanced up to see that Daring was now wrestling with the unicorn henchpony, rolling over and over on the ground as her .38 clattered away, the Neighretta flying towards them in a green glow. Bentley was already running off into the darkness.

A moment later, he paid for his momentary lapse in concentration as a hind paw crashed into his jaw like a baseball bat. He tumbled to the ground, head spinning.

Three blades raised to finish Phillip, but a gun barked and a bullet whistled past Roaring, interrupting the strike. Again, Roaring lunged, this time at Flash. Again the blade flashed, and again a pistol was shattered into pieces as flesh was sliced open in a shower of crimson.

Bellowing in pain and rage, Flash tackled Roaring to the ground, sending the machetes clattering away across the sidewalk. The two figures rolled together in a mess of limbs, the scuffle ending with Flash on top, blood-covered foreleg pressed against Roaring’s throat as his other hoof jackhammered into his face.

The cursed blade arced towards Flash’s vulnerable back. Twilight screamed a warning, too late.

A boomerang whistled through the air and struck the tail, nearly knocking the blade from the limb. Flash dove off Roaring with a gasp, scuttling out of range of the cutlass.

Roaring spread his wings to lift off the ground, the prosthetic whirring, and his narrow gaze locked onto Twilight. Screeching in hate, he lunged at her, organic and metal claws extended to grab her.

That screech turned into a cry of shock as a jet of green flame surged into his path, forcing him to veer away suddenly to avoid it and fly back up into the air out of range of the angry dragon that now stood between him and Twilight.

“Don’t come any closer!” Spike snarled, spreading his arms wide.

Roaring paused, looking around. Flash was flying up to face him; beneath him, Daring was aiming both her .38 revolver and the Neighretta at him, a few green sparkles that floated to the ground behind her all that remained of Bentley’s henchpony. Phillip had his boomerang in his uninjured hoof, glaring up at him. Even Twilight had her horn lit and ready to attack, her body still shaking in fright but her eyes narrowed and blazing with defiance.

And worst of all, with a wail of sirens, a pair of cruisers were already pulling up, the officers inside tumbling out of their cars and aiming their pistols and shotguns up at him.

His eyes darting around, Roaring spotted his escape: a set of power lines behind him. With a sneer, he lashed out with his tail. The Sword of Asocrac sliced through the cables and they fell to the ground, sparks flying with a chorus of hisses.

“Get back!” Daring shouted, snatching Phillip up and carrying him away. The arriving officers jumped away as Twilight, Spike and Flash vanished in a flash of purple light, reappearing several feet away.

The cables landed on the ground, twitching and convulsing like snakes as more sparks shot from the ends. By the time the collected ponies looked up, Roaring was already vanishing behind a cloud.

“Damn!” Daring snarled.

“Forget it,” Phillip grunted, looking at the two machetes lying discarded on the ground. “Important thing is Twilight’s okay.”

Flash wrapped his wing around Twilight and nuzzled her head. “You want me to take you home?” he asked.

“After I give my statement,” Twilight said bravely, nodding to the responding officers.

Author's Note

Art once again by Miyathegoldenflower!

I'm much more satisfied with this opening, TBH. And I'm sure Spike appreciated not being injured here!

Though, that's three times now that Roaring's come face to face with the heroes and has been forced to retreat. I'm honestly really disappointed in myself: hyping him up like that and he just keeps running away.

"Sparky Frog" came from this, all credit to Silfoe.

If you want to read the original Case Eleven, click this link here.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eleven, Chapter Two: The Leads

“But why would they want to kidnap my little filly?!” Twilight Velvet cried in a mixture of terrified worry and vindictive anger, hugging her daughter tight to her chest, as if to shield her from the dangers of the world.

“Mom, let go, I’m fine,” Twilight protested, trying and failing to squirm out of her mother’s grasp as she and her parents both sat on the sofa of her home. As soon as Twilight had called them, they had both immediately rushed over from their hotel and were now sticking as close to Twilight as possible.

“I do have one theory,” Phillip said, studying the constellations on the woven rug beneath his hooves. He, Daring, and Flash were sitting across from the sofa on supplied cushions; Spike had taken up sentinel at the living room window and was glaring at anything that moved outside.

“Whitestone recently got her claws on a spell called the Lazarus Ritual,” Phillip explained, giving Daring a brief sideways glance. “From what I understand, it’s in an ancient language, and complex; she probably wants Twilight to do it for them. Think it’ll give them an advantage in this gang war.”

“What does the Ritual do?” Night Light asked.

“Apparently, it can raise an army of zombies,” Daring snorted. “Whitestone must be desperate if she thinks myths like this are real.”

“What I’m more concerned about is finding the Silver Talon,” Flash grunted, double-checking his revolver, magically repaired by Twilight. “If the damn thing wasn’t invisible, we could end this right here and now.”

“How do you make an entire warship invisible?” Daring asked.

“Invisibility is a tricky spell to use,” Twilight stated. “Bending light around an object requires constant energy into the spell, and you also have to consider visibility for the subjects: if no light’s going into their eyes, they can’t see. And putting a ward onto a moving object is tricky. I doubt that it’s a spell on the ship itself.”

“Maybe an artifact?” Night Light suggested.

Velvet suddenly brightened with an idea. “Maybe that Amulet thing that I researched for my next book!” she cried. “The Amulet of In…” She closed her eyes, tapping her forehead in thought. “Inyak...Intap…”

“Ina’yk,” Daring stated.

“Yes, that’s it!” Velvet said.

Twilight pulled Ancient Artifacts and Totems from her bookshelf and began flipping through it. “Ah, here it is,” she declared, opening the book wide and placing it on the table so that everypony could see.

The page displayed an illustration of a circular amulet, runes written around the circumference. Inscribed into the golden surface was a tangled mess of tentacles, claws, and wings; eyes and mouths were placed amidst the twisted limbs, with seemingly no rhyme or reason to their placement. In the center was a large ruby carved into the shape of an eye.

“The Amulet of Ina’yk was made by a cult serving Discord in around 350 AE,” Twilight read out loud. “It uses chaos-based magic to interfere with the sight and hearing of anypony who looks at it or whatever it’s attached to. The cult used it to hide their temples from the sight of their enemies, but it was believed lost for centuries.”

“It’s not lost anymore,” Daring stated. “I stole it.”

Everypony blinked at her.

“It was way back in ‘39, when I was still running with the Family,” Daring narrated, looking down at the floor; she started pawing at the carpet with her right hoof, scratching at the cursed brand as it began to itch and tingle. “We’d heard through our contacts in the treasure-hunting world that this professor at Trottingham U was after this amulet that could turn things invisible, so naturally, we wanted a slice of that. We got in touch with him; he planned on selling the Amulet on the black market and needed some...less-than-legal help, so he agreed to give us a cut.

“He figured out from his research that the Amulet was being hidden in some temple in the San Palomino desert, so Sparks, two more of my ‘siblings,’ and I trekked out. Took us four days to get out there, and then he led us out into the desert: used some kind of spell that let him see the Amulet, I guess. It made his eyes glow every time he used it.

"When we got to where he said it might be, a couple of miles northwest of Nowhere—no, seriously, that’s where it was,” she stated in response to everypony’s quizzical expressions. “He took out a spell that he’d copied from the Kyaltratek and performed it, sent out a wave of energy in front of it. And the temple just...appeared in front of us. It was this huge stone obelisk smack in the middle of the desert. We climbed up there through this old, crumbling temple, found the Amulet hanging from the rafters on the top room, and took it down.”

Velvet blinked and tilted her head a bit to the side, frowning. “What?” Daring asked.

“That’s it?” Velvet asked. “From everything I heard about you, I thought that what you did was a bit more exciting than that.”

“I didn’t mention the tatzlwurm attack, or the bandits in Nowhere who jumped us, or the professor going completely cuckoo as soon as we got down from the temple and trying to eat me,” Daring deadpanned.

“...Oh,” Night Light said, eyes wide with surprise.

“Cool!” Velvet gasped, her eyes even wider with awe.

“Mom!” Twilight scolded.

“Anyway, we left him in the desert, got back to the city, and sold the Amulet through our black market contacts.” Daring scowled at the floor, folding her right foreleg into her chest as the burning increased. “Wouldn’t surprise me if it fell into Silvertongue’s hooves,” she added, mainly to herself. “He had a lot of the same contacts as us, even back then, when he was just a small-timer…”

Phillip reached out and took her hoof, squeezing it gently. Daring took a slow breath and closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle warmth of his touch. Slowly, the burning faded away and she gave Phil a grateful nod.

“This is speculation,” Phillip stated flatly, releasing her hoof. “What we need right now are facts.”

“I’d like to know where the Talon is getting its supplies,” Flash scowled. “It has to stop somewhere to refuel and take on more food and things. And that’s without mentioning the shells for their cannon that they use, or the prosthetics that Roaring had. Where do they get those?”

Twilight and Night Light’s eyes brightened. “Does that sound like what I think it sounds like?” Night Light asked.

“Research party!” Twilight cheered.

“Not tonight,” Daring scolded. “It’s late, you just went through a big shock, and I polished off an entire bottle of AJ’s cider by myself and I’m gonna be feeling that pretty soon. We all need some rest.”

“Guys?” Spike said from the window. “There’s a red car out there that’s passed by the house three times.”

Phillip and Daring both stood up, snatching their guns, and stomped towards the door, bursting through it and out onto the lawn. As soon as they stepped into the light of a street lamp, the red Hayson Superior Seven raced away with a screech of tires. Daring started to take off after them, but Phillip pushed her back down to the ground.

“Not worth it. Got the license,” Phillip confirmed as they headed back inside, locking the door behind them. As the door shut, the purple wards surrounding the house flashed briefly.

Inside, Twilight had started shaking again, hugging herself as she sat on the couch. Her parents were both hugging her tight, with Flash holding one hoof.

“I’ll stay the night with you,” Flash was saying. “We’ll keep you safe, Twilight.”

Twilight looked up at Flash, then at Phil and Daring; the vulnerable fear in her eyes made her seem almost like a child again, and Daring was suddenly struck by the realization of how young Twilight was, despite her intelligence and skill. Young enough to be her own daughter, at that.

“Yeah, of course we will,” Phil nodded.

Twilight managed to smile. “Thank you,” she nodded, suddenly looking very tired. Concern flashed across her face. “Oh, no! The Swords of Asocrac can cut through my wards! And maybe they won’t need it: if my wards are vulnerable in any one place—!”

“Twilight,” Flash interrupted, squeezing her hoof sharply. “They won’t get past the wards: I’ve seen you cover every inch of this house with wards, just like you did with Phil and Daring. And you added that extra charm, the, uh...that alarm spell.”

“The Caterwauling Charm, right,” Twilight nodded. “If anypony tampers with it, it’ll sound an alarm.”

“And we’ll be here all night: they won’t come near if we’re here,” Flash reassured her. He kissed her on the forehead. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Twilight frowned. “But—”

“No, Twilight,” Velvet cut her off, lifting her daughter up in an aura of reddish-purple magic and carrying her upstairs. “Time for bed.”

Twilight grumbled a bit, but her protests soon died as she was carried out of sight. Night Light hugged Flash gratefully, then trotted upstairs after his family.

“I’ll put a pot on,” Flash stated, headed for the kitchen. Spike resumed his post at the window, glaring at anything outside.

Daring looked down at the still-open book on the table. The Amulet of Ina’yk stared back up at her with its single ruby eye. The memory of scorching sand stinging at her eyes and burning her hooves rushed at her from the past; the image of a black obelisk, ten stories tall, flickered before her gaze. Her ears were suddenly filled with the echo of the professor’s voice speaking words that made no sense, sounded like no language she had ever heard before or since, but rattled her bones like marbles in a jar.

“If you’re thinking about that, you know it’s a long shot,” Phillip scowled.

“I know,” Daring replied curtly. “But I’ve seen that thing, I know what it can do. It makes sense to me that it’s what the Talon uses: I doubt they’ve got any Royal Academy of Magic graduates in their crew.”

Phillip sighed. “I still say you’ve got ‘roos loose in the top paddock to try a long shot like this, but we’ll give it a burl. You have any ideas on how to confirm that?”

Daring took out her hip flask and took a brief chug of the Manticore Rare inside, ignoring Phillip’s unimpressed glare. She allowed the gears in her mind to turn for a moment, then grinned as an idea sparked through her synapses.

“I might have one idea…”

The taxi trundled up the road; the dust that flew up from the tires glowed in the early morning sun. Up ahead, Daring spotted the sign. Even from this far away, she knew what the black letters said.

“WARNING: Entering Restricted Area. Anti-Flight Spells Active. Area Patrolled by Armed Correctional Officers.”

She braced herself, but there was simply no preparing for the inherent wrongness that came with the wash of anti-flight spells passing over her, the sudden halt of the familiar, comforting tingle in her wings. She let out a breath as they passed the boundary.

“You sure you want to do this?” Phillip asked from beside her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“I’m fine,” Daring grunted, scowling at the brick walls that loomed over them as they approached. The taxi halted at the very mouth of the parking lot, as if the toothpick-chewing hippogriff driver was unwilling to get any closer to Frostback Prison than she absolutely had to. The two exited, and Phil tossed the driver a few bits. As soon as they were clear of the vehicle, the taxi turned around and flew back up the road, kicking up dust that the two detectives coughed and choked on as they approached the massive gates.

“Look, I know you think that this is a waste of time,” Daring replied, shooting Phil a sideways glare and trying to force her frantically pounding heart to slow down; with every step she took towards the brick and steel edifice, her blood seemed to grow colder. “But I want to try this. Flash has got his angle covered, and I…” She grunted. “Okay, fine, it’s just a gut feeling. But I still want to follow it.”

Phillip still said nothing. Daring scowled at him as they approached the guard hut in front of the doors. “If you don’t even think this is worth following up on, why did you even come?” she asked.

Phillip stared ahead for a few moments more, then sighed and spoke softly. “Didn’t want you to do this alone.”

Daring paused for a moment; some of the tension that had been building in her stomach evaporated into a pleasant warmth. She half-smiled and kissed Phillip on the cheek. “Thanks.”

Phillip smiled back at her for a moment as an officer emerged from the hut, carrying a clipboard.

“Morning, detectives,” the silver-haired green unicorn nodded, stretching out his back. “The warden told us that you’d be coming in.” He glanced at Daring. “Guardian’s still ticked at you for calling that damn early in the morning.”

“Tell him that ideas don’t come on a schedule,” Daring replied with a small smirk as the two signed in.

The officer returned to the hut and spoke into a radio. A moment later, the massive iron gates opened wide with an electronic buzz, revealing the paved pathway surrounded by the double perimeter of chain-link fences leading up to the reception door and bay doors. “Officer Greenwing will meet you inside,” the unicorn told them.

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded as they headed inside. Pushing through the door, they entered the reception area. The receptionists nodded to them on the other side of the glass and gestured for them to wait.

“Better tuck these in here,” Phillip stated, shrugging off his vest and trilby and placing them inside one of the guest lockers with the keypads. Daring placed her pith helmet and the contents of most of her pockets in another locker, and they locked them both with a three-number combination.

After a minute of waiting, the steel “One” door opened and a younger grass-colored pegasus officer with a sandy brown mane stepped through. As he passed through the Netitus security gate, the gate flashed red and let out a warning blare. Ignoring it, Officer Greenwing approached the detectives.

“Morning, detectives,” he said in a chipper tone, shaking their hooves. “I’ll be taking you inside to the conference room we use. First, please take off your shoes and step through the gate here.”

Phillip stepped through the gate: the metal construction remained blue and silent. Daring passed into the gate, but once she was halfway through, the gate turned red and buzzed loudly.

“Oh, yeah,” Daring muttered, giving an embarrassed grin. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the bathroom and came out a moment later with a cuff key, razor blade, and a cigar tube covered in a heavily lubed condom.

“You just carry that with you all the time now?” Phillip asked, giving the tube a raised eyebrow.

“Never know, right?” Daring smirked, stashing her gear in her locker.

Greenwing blinked at Daring for several seconds, then shook his head and closed his jaw. “Uh, okay. Let’s try that again.”

Daring passed through the gate again, this time with no trouble. Once they got their shoes back on, Greenwing led them up to the steel door.

“One door!” he called into the intercom and the door buzzed open. The trio entered the small hallway outside of the control room and the two door buzzed open to allow them entry to the main lobby.

Immediately, the same, dreadful cloud pressed down on Daring. The mixing malodor of sweat, body odors, and drugs. The low, constant buzz of the fluorescent lights assaulting her ears, mixing with the faint, muted shouts from the inmates. The almost palpable waves of anger and hostility that tingled beneath her skin, slithering through her frantically pounding heart. The coldness of the too-close walls, making her feel like a cockroach with an iron hanging overhead, every instinct screaming at her to run away.

Five-count inhale. Pause. Five-count exhale. Pause. In. Out. Breathe. Breathe, Daring. You’re okay.

Greenwing led them straight ahead and through a thick steel and glass door that led into a small room with a table and a set of chairs. He unlocked the door with a set of keys and gestured them inside. “I’ll call down the inmate you wanted, and I’ll be waiting outside,” he informed them, shutting the door.

Daring and Phillip both sat down at the table. Daring reached into a pocket and extracted a set of notes that she had made up the previous night. “You got the plan down?” Phillip asked.

“I got it,” Daring nodded. “I’m just hoping that this guy will want to talk to us.”

“Me too,” Phillip nodded, glancing at Greenwing as he spoke into his radio.

A minute passed. Then two. Greenwing stood outside the door, looking from side to side. He spoke into the radio again, then glanced at Phil and Daring.

“He’s not coming,” Phillip grunted, standing.

“Wait,” Daring said, pulling him back down.

At that moment, there came the sound of steps up the hallway: the soft padding of paws mixed with the clicking of talons. A dark brown griffon appeared, trotting up the hallway with his head held high, green eyes staring at Greenwing with a mixture of contempt and hunger, clearly imagining slicing his belly open and feasting on his entrails. The tattoo mark of the silver talon on his neck burned argent against his flesh.

Giving Greenwing a contemptuous sneer as he opened the door, Ashtail entered the room. He paused and glared at the detectives. “What’s this about?” he growled.

Daring scowled as she examined the griffon pirate, biting back a comment on how he was clearly still eating well after his capture at the temple, even if she doubted that they were feeding him pony’s offals. Instead, she took a slow breath and ordered herself to calm down.

“Morning, Ashtail,” Phillip nodded. “Hoped you’d be willing to talk.”

Ashtail remained standing at the door, scowling thoughtfully, thinking over his options.

“We were hoping you could help clear something up for us,” Daring said with a small smirk. “Namely, how to find the Talon.”

Ashtail snorted, striding forward to stand on the opposite side of the table to them. “You never will,” he sneered. “You know the Talon’s invisible. Your Navy’s been trying to find it for years and has always failed.”

“Except they didn’t know how you did it,” Daring replied, allowing her smirk to grow a tinge wider.

Ashtail’s sneer flickered for a moment, a cloud of confusion and concern passing across his eyes briefly. This is why they’d picked him as their target: he lacked a poker face, and his interrogation had displayed that he tended to speak a little more than more experienced criminals would consider wise.

“You’re bluffing,” Ashtrail snarled, simple curiosity compelling him to stay, to hear what they had to say.

“They’ve tried searching for invisibility spells, camouflage paints, the normal shit,” Daring listed off. “But they didn’t think of an amulet.”

Ashtail’s eyebrows went up a few inches, then immediately snapped back down. “What amulet?” he asked.

Daring grinned and held up an illustration of the Amulet of Ina’yk that she’d drawn earlier. The drawing was thoroughly detailed, with the red eye especially realistic.

Ashtail’s eyes widened in horror, and Daring let out a victorious laugh. “Thanks for the help,” she declared as she and Phil stood up.

Ashtail’s expression shifted into rage and he dove at Daring with a shriek of hatred, claws extended to tear at her face.

His claws never made it into her flesh, for even before Daring ducked, Phillip’s shoulder crashed into Ashtail’s side, driving the breath from his lungs as he was flung into the cinderblock wall. Grunted and spitting through the pain, Ashtail tried to scramble back to his claws, only for two great weights to pin him to the carpeted floors. “No! Fuckers! Fuckers!” he howled, trying to get up.

“Thirty-three, thirty-three, conference room!” Greenwing howled into his radio as he charged into the room. His wing snapped open a pouch on his duty belt and extracted his pepper spray bottle, which he immediately fired into Ashtail’s face. The griffon shrieked in furious pain as the stinging scent of capsaicin filled the room, scratching at eyes and throats and flesh. More officers charged into the room, wrestling Ashtail into shackles and dragging him out of the room, orange spray dripping off his face.

“You won’t find the Talon!” Ashtail shrieked as he was carried down the hall towards the solitary wing. “Whitestone will be waiting for you, motherfuckers!”

Phillip coughed, trying to keep his eyes open so that the air would start to degrade the spray in his face. “We’re betting on it,” he replied as he led Daring outside. He smiled and nodded, patting Daring on the back. “You were right,” he admitted.

“See?” Daring grinned through a cough. “Sometimes hunches play out.” She coughed again and spat into a trash can. “Shit, I forgot how much that burned. Let’s get back to the others.”

“So you were right about the Amulet,” Daring reported to Velvet and Night Light at Twilight’s home later. “I gotta give you credit for that.”

Velvet grinned and raised a hoof towards Night Light. He smiled in reply and bumped his hoof against hers.

“So what now?” Phillip asked.

“I told you, there’s a spell in the Kyaltratek that tells how to find and reveal it,” Daring said. “Too bad that Professor Tome went back to Manehattan.”

“But there’s an original copy in the Royal Archives in Canterlot,” Night Light reported. “I’ve been a member of the Archives long enough to access the Restricted Section.”

“That’s a nice offer, but we’d need somepony who can read it,” Daring said. “The Kyaltratek is written in a dead language.”

“I may know a pony,” Night said slyly.

Daring blinked. "You? How?"

"I needed a history credit in university," Night Light shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much can be gleaned from older texts."

“What about Flash and Twilight?” Phillip asked. “And where’s Spike?”

“He decided to accompany Twilight to work today,” Velvet said. “Something about keeping her safe.” She giggled. “Not many kids get to say they have a dragon for a bodyguard.”

“Cute,” Daring nodded. “Are we going to Canterlot or not?”

“Patience,” Phillip said. “The next train to Canterlot isn’t until this afternoon, and it’ll take all night to get there. First, I want to see what Twilight’s up to. Then we need to get some packing done.”

“You’re coming?” Daring asked.

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” Phillip replied.

Velvet squealed in delight and clapped her hooves. “I’ll go reserve tickets!” she cried, bouncing out of the house. Night Light sighed and followed her.

“The family resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Daring shook her head as they exited.

“She might’ve actually made a good partner to you once,” Phillip smirked, allowing Daring to scoop him up beneath the forelegs.

“What, as a temple raider or something?” Daring snorted as they headed towards the precinct. “Have you been reading Hayana Pones?”

“You think you’ve got enough files here?” Daring commented, staring at the stacks of boxes and files on the tables of the forensic lab.

“That is what I am telling Twilight Sparkle,” Doctor Suunkii deadpanned, frowning from over his microscope. “Before you is any and every evidence relating to thefts involving the crew of the Silver Talon, particularly those near the waterfront. Officer Flash Sentry believes that there is a common link in these thefts that will demonstrate by what method they ferry their bounties to the ship.”

“And here we are,” Twilight stated, entering with another box of files carried in her magic, with a decidedly unenthusiastic Spike following. “Dock records for boats that were docked along the Maresippi River. If we cross-reference the robberies…”

Phillip stared at the duo with a pensive frown. “You have no bloody idea where to start, do you?” he deadpanned.

“That’s what I’ve been telling her,” Spike muttered, scowling at the boxes of files.

“Well, we...Flash and I thought that we might as well try to cover all of our bases, so we’d just cast a very wide net, so to speak, and…” Twilight cringed a bit, looking over her massive collection of boxes. “I guess I may have gotten a bit carried away…” she admitted with a blush.

“Your enthusiasm is admirable, Twilight Sparkle,” Suunkii stated. “But perhaps it is time you learned to recognize your limits and place more reasonable expectations upon yourself. And your colleagues,” he added, giving Spike a sympathetically weary smile.

“I suppose you’re right,” Twilight nodded. “I’m just...I’m not sure where to start.”

“Perhaps we can focus upon the vehicle that was used in your abduction?” Suunkii offered. “Detective Rubber has reported that the taxi was stolen seven months ago and has been tentatively connected to a number of abductions since. I am currently examining forensic evidence taken from the taxi.”

“If we can figure out what abductions the taxi was used in, we might be able to connect it to a ship that traveled down the Maresippi!” Twilight cried, brightening. “Of course! C’mon, guys, let’s get to work!” She snatched up a microscope slide and started setting some fibers onto the plastic.

Spike and Daring caught each other’s eyes and sighed in unison.

“Ponyville tower to Flash. Ponyville tower to Flash. You are cleared to land back in reality.”

Flash blinked and looked up, realizing that Bumblebee was waving a chocolate bar in front of his nose. “Sorry, Bee,” he muttered, accepting the snack and taking a slow munch on it.

“Your head is on another planet this morning, Flash,” Bumblebee said, crunching down on the bag of mini-cookies that he’d gotten out of the deli that they’d stopped at on their beat through the Industrial District. “You’re still worried about Twilight getting almost kidnapped?”

“Yeah,” Flash nodded, barely tasting the chocolate he was chewing on. The freshly-healed wound on his foreleg started to burn again, the still partially-repaired muscles complaining about having to bear his weight.

“Don’t worry too much, Flash,” Prowl reassured him, leaning against a streetlamp on the corner. “Whitestone isn’t known for her brains, but no one’s dumb enough to attack the precinct when it’s full of cops.”

“And that’s when they don’t have a dragon for a bodyguard,” Bumblebee added. “How’d she even get a pet dragon? I could’ve used one as a kid.”

“What, having a ‘vampire’ for a best friend wasn’t enough?” Prowl replied with a smirk that showed off her fangs.

“Well, it scared off most of the bullies,” Bumblebee agreed.

“Spike isn’t a pet,” Flash replied. “He’s like her little brother. She apparently hatched him as part of her entry test into the Royal Academy of Magic.”

“Some test,” Prowl commented.

Flash shook his head. “I just wish that there was some clue I had to help find the Talon,” he said. “Twilight and Phil and Daring all have ideas, but I’m her coltfriend and…” He sighed angrily, shoulders slumping.

“Flash, we all have our duties,” Prowl said. “One of the things I learned early on in the Air Force was to worry about your own duties and do your job. Wasting your time worrying about things that are out of your control is just going to drive you insane.” She gave him an even look and patted him on the shoulder. “There are other ponies that need you right now, Sentry. I need your head in the game.”

“Sorry, sarge,” Sentry nodded. “I’ll stay focused.”

But even as they continued on their beat, passing in the shadows of the great industrial chimneys and brick walls that made up the center of the Industrial District, Flash kept turning over the images in his mind. The taxi going the wrong way down the road. Seeing Bentley in the driver’s seat. The chase. Twilight whimpering and shaking in his grasp.

Roaring dropping out of the sky. Pain across his forearm. A cursed blade with twin black suns streaking towards his back. Moonlight glinting off a metal wing…

The three officers’ walkie-talkies crackled to life. “Any units near Steel Boulevard, a 10-10 reported at Adamantium Prosthetics, 47 Steel Boulevard. Three ponies involved. Any units to respond.”

Prosthetics!

“Of course!” Flash cried, already taking off for Steel Boulevard, dropping the unfinished candy and fumbling for his radio. “Officer Sentry responding, 10-76!” he cried.

“What a waste of candy,” Bumblebee commented sadly, staring at the already-melting candy on the sidewalk.

“C’mon,” Prowl rolled her eyes, scooping Bumblebee up and chasing after Flash. "Sentry, slow down! Wait for us!"

Author's Note

Not much happens here, but it's all to set up the later events of this case. Hope you enjoyed regardless!

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Case Eleven, Chapter Three: Struggle

Adamantium Prosthetics proved to be a great brick warehouse with two massive chimneys, one of a number of factories that lined the wide circle of asphalt that was Steel Boulevard. The one thing that made it stand out from all the others was the giant moving model of a metal wing mounted to the side of the great sign that announced the company’s name.

As Flash and Prowl passed over the parking lot and landed in front of the door, a young, overweight security pony in a gray uniform that was far too small for him raced out, his cap flying off and his tie flapping everywhere as he ran. Huffing and puffing, he paused in front of them, red in the face.

“Where’s the fight?” Prowl asked impatiently.

“This way,” the guard gasped, turning back to the door. He led them back inside through the door, down a hallway with a locker room, a time clock, and a rack of punch cards, and then through another door into the main work floor.

Everywhere there were work tables with artificial limbs atop them, metal skeletons with some plastic flesh clinging to them. Hooves, legs, talons, wings for pegasi, thestrals, and griffons, and even horns lined the racks on the walls. Carts of materials and other tools stood on both sides of a painted yellow walkway that marked the floor.

Normally, there would be the sounds of machinery all around the floor. Right now, there was a raucous clamor of shouts and blows that announced the reason for the 10-10 call. Rounding a corner, the three officers spotted a ring of ponies surrounding a melee of flailing limbs, angry shouts, and sounding blows.

Two equines, a large donkey and a lanky blue unicorn, were rolling around on the floor, snarling and spitting curses at each other as they rained down blows on each other’s forms. An older pegasus was laying on the ground a few feet away, holding his bruised head and groaning. Some of the spectators were shouting for the two to stop fighting; a number watched in silence, while many egged the pair on with chants of “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

A few sharp blasts on Prowl’s whistle scattered the crowd and slowed the fight. “Break it up, break it up!” Bumblebee ordered as he, Flash, and Prowl forced the combatants away from one another.

“I didn’t do anything, Circuit!” the blonde bearded donkey in a lab coat snarled through a bloody nose as Flash dragged him away. “Where’s your Celestia-damned proof?!”

“I always knew you were a piece of shit, Nate!” the electric blue unicorn with the cutie mark of a gear and a lightning bolt shot back, glaring through a swollen eye as Prowl pushed him back. “And now everypony knows that you’re a liar and a thief, too!”

“Enough!” Prowl barked. “We’re taking you to separate rooms, and you’ll explain what happened. Either of you causes any trouble with us, we’ll be taking you downtown, and you’ll cool your heels in a holding cell until you’re calm enough to talk. Clear?”

Both stallions glared at each other, but nodded and allowed themselves to be escorted away.

“You okay?” Bumblebee asked as he helped up the gray-maned janitor.

“I’m okay,” the wrinkly-skinned pegasus groaned as he stood up, shaking his bruised head. “I suppose I could do with an icepack. I was just trying to break ‘em up.”

“Okay, let’s go over here,” Bumblebee said, guiding the janitor over to his cart and having him sit down.

“All right, the rest of you, back to work!” a short, portly gold unicorn with a copper mustache barked at the crowd of witnesses, who reluctantly returned to their stations. The sounds of grinding, sparking, and growling machinery soon started up again.

“You sure you’re alright?” Bumblebee asked, gently coaxing him to tilt his head back and shining a light into his eyes to check his pupils. “Any nausea, confusion, dizziness? Anything like that?”

“No, officer,” the janitor replied, his eyes tracking the light without any difficulty. “Just hurts.”

“You were involved in this fight?” Bumblebee asked, pulling a small vial out of the first aid kid that all officers kept on their belts. He gently applied the painkiller gel onto the janitor’s bruises, drawing a relieved sigh as the fast-acting potion dulled his nerves.

“I guess you could say that,” the janitor nodded.

“What’s your name, bud?”

“Soap Streak,” the pegasus answered. “Been working here for the past five years. Those two have been working here for nearly as long,” he stated, jerking his head towards the departing fighters. “And they’ve been at each other’s throats almost the whole time.”

“Who are they?” Bumblebee asked.

“The unicorn is Short Circuit,” Soap explained, taking out a packet of apple-orange chewing gum and chewing on a piece. “The donkey is Nathan Clay. They both work here: Nathan’s a sculptor, he helps shape the plastic and metal for the limbs into the proper shape. Short Circuit does the electronic do-dads that make the things move.” He waved a wing idly. “It’s all a bit beyond me.”

“So what started the fight?” Bumblebee asked.

“I’m not sure,” Soap shrugged. “I was over here collecting trash—they really need to hire more than one janitor around here—when I heard Circuit shouting at Nate. Apparently, Circuit was accusing him of stealing his key and taking some of the limbs from the vault. Nate shouted back and Circuit decked him.”

“Wow,” Bumblebee said. “They should call him Short Fuse.”

Soap snickered. “Yeah, true. Anyway, they start rolling around. I tried to separate them and wound up getting clobbered over the head by one of them.”

Guiding Short Circuit into a small conference room, Prowl sat him down in one of the dozen wooden chairs surrounding a table and faced him down. “Explain,” she stated.

Circuit gave her a resentful look and blew some of his cloud white mane out of his face. “My colleague is a thief who’s trying to frame me for theft, that’s what the problem is,” he growled.

“All right, start from the beginning,” Prowl said coolly.

“When I came into work, the manager called me into his office,” Circuit explained, rubbing his black eye. “He told me that two prosthetics were missing from the vault of completed limbs.”

“Two prosthetics?” Flash asked, looking up from his notebook as his heart did a sudden pitter-pat hammering against his chest. “Were they a griffon right wing and left forelimb?”

Nate, who was currently seated in a break room chair, leaning forward and pinching his nostrils shut with a provided hoofkerchief, blinked at him. “How did you know?” he asked.

“A lucky guess,” Flash nodded, forcing the mask of stoicism to remain affixed to his face even as his heart started doing backflips in his chest. “Please continue.”

“Well, anyway, he’d found that they’d gone missing in a routine monthly inventory,” Nate continued. “He was going through security and it turned out that somepony had used Circuit’s key to access the vault a couple of weeks ago.”

“How do they know that?” Flash asked.

“The keys are enchanted so that every time somepony opens the vault door, it records the time and date and which key it was in some kinda magical record off-site,” Nate explained.

“Except at the time my key was used, I had already clocked out for the night,” Circuit stated, folding his forelegs across his chest.

“Where are the keys kept?” Prowl asked.

“We’re responsible for the keys, so we keep them on ourselves,” Circuit replied. “I actually did lose my key a couple weeks ago for a bit; didn’t notice until I’d gotten home and was checking my stuff. I found it in my locker the next day, though, so I figured I must’ve just dropped it somewhere and somepony else put it in my locker to cover for me.”

“You didn’t report that to your manager?” Prowl frowned.

“Not at the time,” Circuit admitted. “I didn’t want to get written up for it...again. I’ve already lost a couple keys and had to pay for new ones. And believe me, enchanted keys are fucking expensive.”

Prowl glanced down at her notebook, where she’d jotted down some shorthoof scribbles regarding Circuit’s testimony. “And what made you think that Nate stole it?”

“Because I’d already used it earlier that day, and right after that, I had to talk to Nate,” Circuit growled. “Dumbass set me back in my work because he hadn’t gotten some artificial feathers polished off in time. He’s had it out for me ever since he started working here.” He crossed his eyes and affected a high-pitched whining voice. “‘I need this job for my kids that I shouldn’t have had, it’s all I can do, no one appreciates art, especially not from a poor donkey, wah, wah.’” He snorted. “Anyway, I knew it had to have been him who stole it and ran off to confront him. He denied it, of course, so I decked him. And it felt good to clock that little minority leech.”

Prowl scowled and resisted the urge to not-so-subtly flutter her thestral wings. “Is it possible he got your key mixed up with his?” she stated, her voice retaining its impassive tone.

“No way,” Circuit shook his head. “Nate’s just responsible for shaping the materials before they get assembled. He’s not allowed in the vault and doesn’t have a key, so he wouldn’t take one. Unless he was a thief!”

“Of course I didn’t take it,” Nate said, checking the hoofkerchief for fresh blood. Satisfied that he was no longer bleeding, he allowed his hooves to drop into his lap. “Circuit’s a specist asshole who’s hated me from the moment I started working here, but I’m not a thief, and I wouldn’t set him up to fail. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he took them.”

“We’ll have to check for ourselves,” Flash replied. “Is there a security crystal watching the vault?”

“There is, but it wasn’t working a couple weeks ago,” Nate frowned. “Some jerk knocked it out of the mounting and broke it as a joke. Penny Pincher, the manager, was beside himself for having to pay to fix it, and he still doesn’t know who did it.”

Flash frowned and glanced at his notes. “Okay, I’m going to need to talk to my sergeant about what to do next. Wait here.”

“Whatever you say, officer,” Nate nodded, not looking up. Flash exited the room and rejoined Prowl and Bumblebee to compare notes.

“What now?” Bumblebee asked.

“We need to speak to the manager about the theft and start an official investigation,” Prowl replied. “We should also cite Circuit for assault. If he acts up, bring him in. Maybe that’ll get him to talk more about the theft.”

“Roger, sarge,” Bumblebee nodded. He pulled a citation book out of his pocket and walked over to where Circuit was sitting, grumbling to himself.

“Where’s Penny Pincher?” Prowl asked a watching worker.

“He’ll be up in his office,” the pegasus nodded towards the shaded windows on the factory office that hung from the ceiling.

“Thanks. Sentry, stay with Bee, back him up,” Prowl ordered, taking off and flying over the stairs to the door. She knocked at the door.

“Enter,” a voice called. Prowl entered the small office to find Penny Pincher, the short gold unicorn from before, sitting behind a desk. He looked up at her, copper mustache bristling.

“Tell me you’re not going to arrest two of my best workers for a damn scuffle,” he grunted. “I know those two hate each other for whatever reason, but I do need them here.”

“That depends,” Prowl replied. “We’re going to be investigating the theft of the prosthetic wings. I’m going to ask for your complete cooperation in this matter.”

“You’ve got it,” Penny nodded. “That wing and foreleg cost me twenty-five grand apiece. I want this thief found, no matter who it is.”

“You have reason to suspect either Circuit or Nate?” Prowl asked.

Penny shook his head. “They might not be able to exist in the same room without fighting, but they’re both good, reliable workers. They’ve never given me reason to be suspicious of them before. Not even him having his key used—”

Both of them were suddenly interrupted by shouting from downstairs. Rushing to the window, they looked back down onto the work floor.

Short Circuit was lying facedown on the ground, a torn citation on the floor next to him. He writhed and twisted in an apoplectic dance beneath Flash and Bumblebee as they cuffed his forelegs, spitting curses at the two officers. Bumblebee finished securing Circuit’s forelegs, then spoke to Flash, checking the already-forming bruise on Flash’s jaw.

Prowl glanced at Penny, who chewed on his mustache in a silent fury. “Well, there goes the next few days of work,” he grumbled.

Sunlight streamed through the window of the second story of the precinct and into Red Herring’s cubicle. The walls of the little cube were bare of any decorations, and the desk itself was littered in paperwork, the in-tray stacked several inches high.

But at that moment, Red Herring cared for none of that. He was currently leaning back in the rickety chair, staring at a photo frame that he held tenderly in his hooves.

The picture itself was faded from many years of direct exposure to the sun. If a casual observer were to look at the photo, it might take them a few moments to recognize Red on the right side of the photograph: not only was he much younger and wearing a well-pressed dress uniform, but he was also smiling. He was accompanied by a pale yellow pegasus mare with a wavy light green mane, and a small red pegasus colt with a frizzy, lion-like blonde mane. Red and the mare both had a hoof placed on the colt’s head, and each had a wing wrapped around the other’s shoulders.

Red sighed, slowly lowering the picture to the desktop. “You’ve got no chance of getting her back, Red,” he muttered to himself.

Somepony rapped at the cubicle wall. Red looked up to see Twilight Sparkle standing at the doorway, with a purple figure riding atop her shoulders. Red blinked at the scaly little creature.

“Well, holy shit. You do have a dragon,” he commented.

“Language!” Twilight cried in a rebuking tone, not noticing Spike rolling his eyes at her.

“Sorry,” Red nodded. “Whatcha need?”

“We’re going over the evidence from the taxi that was…” Twilight paused for a moment to collect herself. “Used in my abduction,” she finished. “But Fla—er, Officer Sentry just returned with his partners. He’s got a case that I think Major Crimes might be interested in. Trace is speaking to them now, he sent me to find you.”

“Why’s that?” Red asked. “Trace and I have a lot to deal with recently.”

“This may be a lead to the Talon,” Twilight replied. “A theft of a prosthetic griffon wing and foreleg. We’re almost certain that they were stolen for Roaring.”

Red’s eyebrows perked up. “Huh. How is it that you guys just keep stumbling onto these things?”

“Trust me, detective. We don’t go looking for trouble,” Twilight deadpanned. “Trouble finds us.”

Red stretched and stood up, following Twilight back downstairs. “I’ll go find Trace. Speaking of which, where’s the dynamic duo?”

“Downstairs helping with Doctor Suunkii and I,” Twilight reported. “But they’ll be leaving soon. They have to get ready to head to Canterlot.”

“What’re they headed up there for?” Red asked.

Twilight briefly explained what they had discovered about the Amulet of Ina’yk. Red stared at her for a beat, then let out a loud snort.

“You know, I remember years back, the most complicated magic you’d see on the job would be some glamours and minor thaumaturgical curses. You didn’t see high-powered magic like this on a regular basis. And all of a sudden, we’ve got stuff from legends pouring out of our ears around here.” He gave Twilight a skeptical stare. “You really think that this spell thing will find the Talon?”

“If Daring’s story is accurate,” Twilight nodded.

Red frowned for a moment. “You know, normally I’d make a comment about her past being useful, but now...I don’t feel like making it at all.”

Twilight smiled at him. “Because she’s your friend, detective,” she replied.

Red was silent for a moment, then let out a brief grunt of a chuckle. “Or maybe I’m just tired,” he muttered with a small grin.

They descended to the basement laboratory and proceeded down a hallway, then through a door that Twilight unlocked and up a set of narrow stairs. A sudden wall of cold air greeted them as they entered the underground garage where impounded vehicles were kept. The harsh glow of fluorescent lights guided them forward across concrete floors towards the lot where the taxi was sitting.

Doctor Suunkii, who had donned plastic gloves and a facemask and tied his mane back into a short bun, was currently combing across the floor of the front seat of the cab with a lint roller, slowly dragging it across the carpet. Every so often, he’d pause and peel a layer off the roller, then place it into a waiting paper bag. Phillip watched over Suunkii’s shoulder, occasionally making a quiet comment about a particularly large piece of trace; Daring was leaning against a concrete pillar, staring at nothing in particular.

“So what’s the story, doc?” Red asked.

“I am currently collecting trace from this taxicab,” Suunkii explained.

“Wow,” Spike commented, glancing over the bags of collected trace. “That guy does not know how to clean.”

“Be grateful that few criminals are as thorough and clean as you are, Spike,” Doctor Suunkii replied. “They might be harder to catch. Spike, could you please fetch another lint roller and more paper bags?”

“But—” Spike said, looking at Twilight.

“I’ll be fine, Spike,” Twilight smiled reassuringly. “I’ve got all of these ponies with me.”

“Okay,” Spike said, sliding off of Twilight’s back and scuttling off towards the lab.

“And what does this have to do with the prosthetic theft?” Red asked.

“Twilight Sparkle reviewed city surveillance crystal footage, and this taxi was spotted around Adamantium Prosthetics at the time of the theft,” Suunkii explained, passing Red a small recording crystal. “Seeing as the models stolen are similar to the type that Roaring is now using, I believe that this case is important enough for Major Crimes.”

“Damn straight,” Red nodded. He tapped the faintly glowing crystal, but nothing happened. Frowning, he tapped it a few more times, all with the same negative result.

“Like this, detective,” Twilight said gently, taking the stone for herself and gently stroking the stone. It glowed and an image was projected up into the air above the stone.

“Thanks,” Red muttered, taking the crystal for himself. He and Daring, who had seemingly regained consciousness, studied the moving image.

The date and time placed the image on Steel Boulevard, ten nights ago. The image stared down onto the darkened entrance of the street. As they watched, a taxicab with familiar numbering on the back, 47, entered the mouth of the boulevard. It swung around to the back of Adamantium Prosthetics, which was seemingly abandoned and silent at this hour of the night, and slowed briefly. A figure exited the back seat of the cab and dashed out briefly, then dove back into the back of the cab; one could faintly see them throwing a large wrapped package into the back seat. It drove back up the boulevard and disappeared up the road.

“Can we get a better look at that passenger?” Daring asked.

“Unfortunately no, I’ve already tried,” Twilight replied as Spike ran up carrying more of the required materials, which he happily passed to Doctor Suunkii. “Flash is working on getting better footage from the factory, they might have something.”

Daring frowned. “It does tell us a few things, though. Whoever they were, they’re either an employee, or were working with somepony inside. Looks like whoever stole the prosthetics wrapped them up and tucked them somewhere in the alley, where they knew they wouldn’t be disturbed, so they could be picked up later.”

“So it was probably stolen during the day, when somepony might notice a worker running off,” Red nodded, closing the projection. “Doc, you got anything solid?”

“Only trace evidence so far,” Suunkii replied. “I believe that Detective Burned Rubber is currently taking another look at the original theft of this taxicab, and Detective Trace Evidence is currently interrogating a suspect that Officers Flash Sentry and Bumblebee and Sergeant Prowl arrested. I suggest you coordinate with them.”

“You’re the doc, doc,” Red shrugged. “Let me know when you get anything solid.”

“We will,” Suunkii nodded.

Daring glanced at her watch. “Phil, we’d best get a move-on if we’re gonna meet up with Vel and Night Light and get the train.”

“Oh, yeah,” Red commented with a roll of his eyes. “Have fun chasing legends.”

“It’s what we do,” Daring replied as they started to exit.

“Good luck!” Twilight called.

Phillip clapped a hoof on her shoulder as he passed, then patted Spike on the back. “Keep her safe, mate,” he said quietly.

“You got it!” Spike declared with a salute as the detectives left.

The train to Canterlot clattered up the tracks to the platform, steam hissing from the engine as its brakes engaged with a squeal.

“I already sent a telegram ahead, so the Princesses know we’re coming,” Velvet stated as she, Night Light, Daring, and Phillip stood on the platform, saddlebags strapped to their sides. “They’ll get the Kyaltratek out of the Royal Archive’s Restricted Section for us and Nighty can translate it for you.”

“You can translate it? I didn’t think an astronomer would know much about languages,” Daring stated.

“You’d be amazed how many old astronomical texts are in older languages,” Night replied with a smile. “When ponies first learned to move the celestial bodies, including the stars and the moon, their movements became intertwined with our culture, so it’s changed throughout history; it’s truly fascinating stuff to see how the skies have changed throughout our history, and to speculate on how they might change in the future!”

“Oh, here he goes,” Velvet sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Thought you’d want to stay here,” Phillip commented as the train hissed to a halt in front of them with a great hiss, the carriage doors opening so that ponies could disembark.

“We’ll be back soon, and she’ll be protected. Besides, how could I miss an adventure with Detectives Finder and Do?” Velvet replied with a wide grin, though her mask of exuberance failed to completely hide the nervousness in her eyes as she glanced back east. The shadows were lengthening in Ponyville, facades of offices and edifices cast in darkness even as windows reflected the dark orange of the slowly setting sun.

Night Light laid a hoof on her shoulder with a reassuring smile. “I know you wish you could just put her in a box and keep her there so she’d be safe, but that won’t help,” he said quietly. “She’s smart, and she has good friends keeping her safe. She’ll be fine.”

Velvet swallowed and nodded, following her husband onto the train. Daring started to follow, but paused when she realized that Phillip wasn’t at her side. Turning, she saw him standing on the platform, head turned back towards Ponyville and a pensive frown on his face.

“Phil, you coming?” she called.

He hesitated for a moment longer, then clambered onto the steps with a grunt. “Yeah. Just thinking...Whitestone’s not the only one she needs to worry about,” he muttered.

“The faster we get this done, the sooner we can deal with her, and then Zugzwang and Scarlet are next,” Daring grimly replied as they proceeded down the carriage to a waiting compartment.

Phillip nodded and glanced at the platform as the train started to pull away, casting a glance over the creatures that mingled beneath the curved glass roof, greeting family and friends or checking their maps. As his gaze panned over the ponies, he suddenly froze, one hoof darting to his holster and half-sliding into the .38’s sleeve.

“What is it?” Daring asked, automatically tensing and half-reaching for her own weapon.

Phillip remained frozen for a moment, then lowered his hoof. “Nothing,” he muttered, throwing the compartment door open and taking a seat next to Night Light. Daring frowned at him for a few moments, then reluctantly shrugged it off and entered, closing the compartment door behind them and settling down onto the bench, pulling her helmet down over her eyes to take a nap.

It had to have been nothing, Phillip told himself, staring at nothing. A brief flicker of his imagination crossing across his mind, that’s all it was.

For a moment, he could’ve sworn that one of the ponies on the platform was staring back at him. With cold, empty black eyes.

Author's Note

Flash takes the lead, and Daring and Phil are headed to Canterlot with their new friends!

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Case Eleven, Chapter Four: Archival

The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon and the stars were being painted across the sky by the time the train arrived in Canterlot. The four ponies disembarked onto the gilded platform, Night Light casting an enraptured glance up at the waning moon overhead that hailed the passing of the Moon of Grain, and the upcoming end of summer. A distant clock chimed out the hour of nine-thirty.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he mused as they passed beneath a gilded glass roof. “Doesn’t it make you wonder, where did the stars and moon first come from? And what rules did they first operate under before we unicorns took control of them?”

His soliloquy was interrupted by Phillip yanking him to one side so that he wouldn’t wander face-first into a pillar. “It makes me wonder how some ponies manage to look where they’re going,” he replied, shaking his head. Night Light just smiled sheepishly at him.

“Hey, I think I see our ride,” Daring said, pointing. A unicorn stallion in a pristine blue uniform and cap was standing on the street side of the platform, holding up a sign with a trio of purple stars and a pair of crescent moons on it.

“Lady Velvet, Sir Night Light,” the uniformed stallion nodded as they approached. “I am to bring you and your companions to the palace. Please follow me.”

He led them up to a waiting black Haysler Windstream limousine with the flags of Equestria on the hood, lightly flapping in the wind. Opening up the back door, he gestured them inside.

“You gotta be kidding,” Daring said, scowling at the small entrance to the tiny compartment of the vehicle.

“Magic, remember?” Velvet smirked, casually sliding into the seat along with her husband and settling into the chair with a contented sigh. “Ooh, teak leaf leather.”

Daring and Phillip exchanged glances, shrugged, and slipped inside.

As soon as they did so, their eyes widened. The back of the limousine proved to be much larger on the inside, with a pair of benches facing each other, both of them easily wide enough for four or five ponies. A small bar was set into the door, featuring trays of small cakes and other hors d'oeuvres and bottles of expensive-looking wines and champagnes set in buckets of enchanted unmelting ice.

“I love magic,” Daring said, sliding into the seat and immediately scooting over to the bar. She started digging into the hors d’oeuvres, munching down carrot sticks and mini-doughnuts like a starving mare.

“You ate on the train,” Phillip muttered, closing the door behind him as he entered. The driver climbed into the front seat and started up the engine, which roared affirmatively in an instant and pulled away from the platform, smoothly inserting itself into traffic.

“Did you even taste that shit?” Daring muttered through a mouthful of dough. “No train in the world serves an actual honest-to-Luna meal anymore. Least, not a train that we can afford.”

Velvet chuckled heartily and took a set of apple slices for herself. “A mare after my own heart,” she said, glancing over the bar’s contents. “Rats, no eclairs.”

“Weren’t you on a diet?” Night Light asked wearily, earning a raspberry in reply.

The limo cruised up and down the wide, cobbled streets; even this late at night, the traffic was almost bumper to bumper, headlights glaring out through the darkness like multitudes of yellow eyes. Yet, somehow, the cars glided smoothly across traffic like blood flowing through the veins of the city, the traffic lights representing the beating heart of Canterlot.

“Here it comes,” Velvet said with a smile, staring expectantly out the window.

They rounded a corner and the Palace appeared before them. The entire edifice shone with implanted magic, ivory and golden towers stretching up towards the darkened star-spangled sky. The entire building dominated the city beneath, separated slightly from the rest of Canterlot by an artificial river that ran down from the mountain that the structure was placed against.

“Crikey,” Phillip breathed, tilting his trilby back so that he could admire the structure.

Daring stared at the strangely asymmetrical building with an unimpressed frown, then commented, “Did the architect have epilepsy or something?”

“Daring!” Phillip hissed, though Velvet let out a loud snort of laughter.

“At least some ponies think I’m funny,” Daring stated.

The limo pulled up a driveway and paused before a set of ivory gates. A thestral Royal Guard in a ceremonial gold and blue uniform exited a security booth in front of the gates and trotted up to the driver’s side door as the chauffeur rolled down the window.

“Evening, Sundown,” the chauffeur nodded. “They still got you working here?”

“Overtime’s at a rare slump; this is all I could get for the moment,” Sundown replied. “What’s your business tonight, Slick?”

“Escorting four visitors to Princess Luna to see the Royal Archive,” Slick replied, nodding to the four passengers in the back.

The Royal Guard stepped over to the back seat as Slick rolled the window down. “Evening, ladies and gentlecolts,” Sundown greeted them. “Identifications, please.”

All four ponies handed over their identifications, which were subjected to a brief but thorough scrutiny. “Be right back,” Sundown nodded, trotting back to his booth. His silhouette appeared into the window, speaking into a phone briefly, then he reemerged.

“You’re all set,” he nodded, handing the IDs back. “Princess Luna will be waiting for you in the main hall.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded as the gates opened wide and the limousine cruised inside. They wound up a long driveway and into a grand parking lot in front of a wide drawbridge over a moat of crystalline water. Two Royal Guards, assault rifles slung across their chests, stood post in front of the large golden doors that led into the palace proper.

As they exited, Phillip tilted his head back to study the massive ivory towers that they were now in the shadow of. “Hooley dooley,” he whistled.

“Admire the architecture later,” Daring called, proceeding to the drawbridge. “We got business.” She trotted onto the drawbridge, which creaked beneath her hooves, and frowned down at the flowing moat.

“Are there at least crocodiles or something in there?” she asked one of the Guards standing post in front of the bridge. “Because that’s not gonna stop anypony otherwise.”

The Guard didn’t react in the slightest. “Whatever,” Daring shrugged.

“I think that’s what the rifles are for,” Phillip commented, following her. The doors opened wide with a creak, allowing the four ponies entry.

The main hall was larger than some houses, featuring huge vaulted walls that reached up to a massive chandelier that hung overhead, casting the room in warm light. A grand set of golden-carpeted stairs, almost as wide as a lane of traffic, led up into the palace proper. A set of Royal Guards was manning a security checkpoint in front of the door; the group was immediately halted while their bags were passed through an X-ray scanner and a detecting wand passed over their bodies.

"Relax, I left the cache at home," Daring reported in response to Phillip's questioning glance.

Once Night Light was given the green light to proceed, one of the Guards spoke into a radio. At once, a door at the top of the stairs opened and a dark blue figure stepped out.

Princess Luna was nearly as tall as her sister, and like Celestia, her mane and tail spilled gracefully down almost to the floor; the dark blue hair seemed to contain many twinkling stars that flickered and danced in the light. Her hoofsteps clacked imperiously against the floor as she proceeded to the top of the landing, frowning down at the four visitors with eyes as deep and distant as the night sky itself.

Phillip, Daring, Night Light, and Velvet knelt down at the foot of the stairs as the Guards all simultaneously snapped to attention in perfect unison, producing a loud stomp. Princess Luna paused at the landing, then started trotting down the steps, one at a time, every step echoing disproportionately loudly.

“Sir Night Light, Dame Twilight Velvet,” she declared, her voice rolling low. “That is not the proper way to greet us, and thou knowest it.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and paused, staring down at her visitors. Velvet and Night Light both hesitantly looked up at the Princess, and Phillip and Daring followed suit. Luna scowled down at them for a moment longer, then her face creased into a wide smile and she raised a hoof invitingly.

Velvet immediately ran up and hugged the Princess tight, ramming into her hard enough to almost knock the alicorn off her hooves. Night Light joined the embrace as well as Phillip and Daring both rose.

“How are you, my students? And how is Twilight?” Luna asked, nuzzling Velvet’s head.

“Great!” Velvet replied. “Did you hear that Twilight has a coltfriend?”

“Celestia told us about him,” Luna chuckled, then turned her attention to the two detectives, her face returning to a stoic mask. “Detective Finder, Detective Do,” she nodded. “Our gratitude for your assistance to our sister last year. Would circumstances be otherwise, we would have thee both knighted for your services to the nation.”

“Um…” Daring said.

Luna blinked, then coughed and cleared her throat. “Our...er, my apologies. Nine hundred years of habit are difficult to break.” She turned and beckoned them with a wing. “Come. I will bring you to the Royal Archives and allow you access to the Restricted Section.”

The group ascended the staircase, with two Royal Guards breaking off and taking up position behind them, and into a long hallway with stone walls. Absconces decorated with fresh lavenders provided illumination, along with the moon and starlight that shone through the stained glass windows. Each of the massive windows depicted a scene from Equestria’s history: the first Hearth’s Warming, the magical accident that transformed Faust and Speranza into alicorns, Faust being crowned the Queen of Equestria, and the birth of Celestia and Luna at the turn of the millennium were all within sight as they trotted down the red carpet.

“Is Twilight being guarded?” Luna asked as they proceeded. “Celestia was beside herself with worry when she learned that these fiends who haunt Horseshoe Bay attempted to abduct her. I had to remind her that burning every criminal in Ponyville would not have been an effective way to keep her safe.”

“She’s got the entire police force and a dragon to hide behind,” Daring reassured the Princess. “She’ll be fine.”

“We hope that you are right,” Luna sighed. “Tell me, do you have any theories as to why these pirates wished to abduct her?”

Daring paused for a moment. “I do have one idea,” she admitted. “Whitestone recently got a copy of a spell called the Lazarus Ritual. I guess that they need somepony to translate it for them—”

“WHAT FOOL ALLOWED THEM TO GAIN A COPY OF THAT RITUAL?!” Luna thundered, her voice causing the windows to shake in their casements and sending everypony scampering backward, flinching away from the utter fury on the Princess’ face. “IF WE EVER FIND THE PONY WHO GAVE THEM THAT SPELL, WE SHALL SEE THEM HANG!” Luna declared, gnashing her teeth in rage.

Daring gulped and shifted slightly to take cover behind Phillip. “Your Highness...it’s a fake. Necromancy isn’t real,” she protested in a voice that just barely managed to not be a terrified squeak.

Luna took a slow breath, the anger on her countenance slowly evaporating. “Were it so, Daring Do,” she replied gravely, gesturing for them to continue following her.

“The Lazarus Ritual was designed as a weapon centuries ago, in a war between two small nations that have been largely forgotten by history,” Luna explained. “Copies of the spell trickled across Equestria over the years. The spell is indeed intended to be used to raise an army of the dead that is completely under the caster’s thrall. However, the spell itself had many flaws: first of all, the power required to perform the spell was impractically great. Even five unicorns would find the strain of raising a mere dozen ponies difficult to bear, let alone an entire army.

“And this is beside the point that necromancy falls very deep into dark magic,” she continued, turning down another hallway, this one featuring floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto a topiary garden. “That kind of power is extremely corruptive and addictive, far more than any drug. Once a pony has a taste of that power, all they can ever think of is getting another, stronger taste. And with every taste, they give up a little bit more of their soul until they are a mere shadow of their former selves, obsessed with gaining more power by any means necessary, with no care at all to morality.” She sighed. “The Lazarus Ritual represents the worst that dark magic has to offer. If Whitestone truly has it, it is a grave concern.”

Daring tried to wince with only the half of her face that Luna couldn’t see.

“Here we are,” Luna declared, pausing before an arched oak doorway inscribed with carved scrolls and constellations. Plucking a key from her belt, Luna unlocked the door and opened it with a creak.

Daring’s jaw dropped in astonishment as they strode into the humongous circular room. In every direction, there were books, placed with great care on massive, gold-trimmed bookshelves, each of which had a small placard that described their contents. The shelves formed long hallways that branched off into other rooms. Soft cushions and chairs were placed around oak tables with reading lamps and well-stocked kits of notepads, pens, and magnifiers. The smell of parchment lingered patiently in the air, filling her nostrils with its gentle aroma with every breath.

“Did I die and go to Elysium?” she wondered aloud.

Night Light giggled. “That’s what I thought when I first came here,” he stated. “Sometimes that’s how I feel when I come back here after a while.”

“The Archive is open to the public, but the Restricted Section is available only to those with the permission of the curator, or my sister and I,” Luna explained as she led them out of the wing that they were in and into the public entrance hallway with its white marble walls and granite busts of the Seven Pillars. She guided them into another wing and up to a thick sealed door with a sign on it: “Restricted Section. Authorized Visitors Only.”

Luna paused and looked around, frowning. “Odd. Where is the guard on duty?” she wondered out loud. “He should’ve been here to open the door for us.”

Something squirmed in Phillip’s stomach. “I’ll check on him. Where’s the security room?”

“Down that hallway,” Luna pointed, taking out her set of keys again and inserting one of them into the door.

Phillip started off down the indicated hallway, quickly reaching a door that had “Security: Employees Only” painted on it in white letters. He rapped sharply at the door.

No answer.

“Hello?” he called, knocking harder. Still nothing. Trying the door, Phillip found to his surprise that it was unlocked and opened it wide.

The security room was a small office with a long table and a set of security crystal projectors implanted in the wall, each of them projecting a view of the various wings of the Archives. A coffee machine, currently switched off, sat on one end of the table next to an open logbook. A satchel lay on the ground beneath the table.

A starry white pegasus stallion with indigo and black hair and the cutie mark of a moon and a padlock lay slumped in the seat, his closed eyes facing up towards the ceiling, snoring loudly; thick lines of drool trickled out of the corner of his gaping mouth. His once-pristine uniform and lap were drenched in an only partially dry coffee stain; the thermos lay on its side on the floor next to the chair, the remaining contents spilled out into a sticky stain on the floor.

“Hey, wake up,” Phillip called, shaking the stallion’s shoulder. All he received in reply was an even louder snore. He leaned in to try to shout louder, but an odor mixed into the stallion’s reeking breath made him pause. He sniffed deeply, trying to identify that strange, sickly sweet scent that resembled slightly rotten oranges mixed with honey and rose petals.

It took a few moments of panning through his mental annals and records, but Phillip identified the scent as Nightdraft, a powerful sleeping potion. He bent down towards the coffee stain on the floor and sniffed again. Yes, the coffee was tainted with the drug.

“Bugger,” he grunted and rushed out of the room.

At the same time, Luna had led Daring, Velvet, and Night Light into the Restricted Section. This wing consisted only of a couple reading tables with cushions and a few bookshelves that lined the walls. The books here were mostly old tomes, their covers and binding eaten by rot and time; skulls, serpents, and similar icons were a prevalent theme on the bindings.

“Wow,” Daring commented, studying a particularly large book that had an image of a dagger piercing a fox skull. “I guess this is where all those cliches come from.”

Luna proceeded to a vaulted door at the end of the windowless room and inserted another key into the door, turning the combination tumbler as she did so. With a great clicking and groaning of gears, the vault door opened wide, revealing a single metal bookshelf with a few books set faceup upon it, all of them faded and yellowed with age.

But Luna’s eyes widened in horror as she focused upon an empty space in the middle of the top shelf, the dust on the shelf revealing a large rectangular outline where something had once lain. “The Kyaltratek!” she gasped. “It’s gone!”

That was when Phillip re-entered the room. “Princess, the guard’s been drugged,” he reported, spotting the empty section on the shelf and realizing what had happened in a moment.

Luna’s shock lasted only a moment. Turning around, she barked at one of the Royal Guards, “Sound the intruder alarm! Lock the palace down, summon the police, and start searching!”

The Guard immediately sounded the alarm into his radio. Within moments, a blaring alarm began sounding across the palace grounds and there came the sound of clattering hooves and shouts in the distance as winged Guards took to the skies, forming a perimeter around the entire palace grounds.

“Do not touch anything!” Luna ordered her companions as she exited the room, following Phillip back to the security room. Entering the small office, she examined the Guard, then lit up her horn. After a few moments, the sleeping Guard started with a shout and nearly leaped out of his chair. Spotting the Princess, he scrambled to his hooves and knelt down.

“Corporal Crescent Lock,” Luna declared coldly. “Explain yourself.”

The corporal looked up slowly and swallowed. “I don’t know what happened, Your Highness,” he stated in a soft, quavering voice. “I took on my shift at twenty-hundred, as ordered. I was doing my regular patrols and having my coffee, and then I just got overwhelmingly tired. I thought I could just...close my eyes for a moment, and…” He gulped and flinched beneath Luna’s piercing stare.

“You will remain here until the police arrive, and you will cooperate with their investigation fully,” Luna ordered coldly. Corporal Lock swallowed and nodded.

It took mere minutes for police officers to arrive and start searching the area for any evidence. Officers and other Guards started combing the Archives and grounds for any sign of the ancient tome. The shame-faced corporal was patted down and his pack turned out, but the only thing that they found was a few cups of maple walnut coffee flavor and a thick, red-covered romance novel ("It gets boring on shift, I didn't think anypony would notice," Crescent Lock confessed to the scowling sergeant).

“You have any idea who could’ve drugged your coffee?” the lead detective, a gray unicorn in a dusty trench coat with a cutie mark of a deck of cards with the ace of clubs faceup on top of it, asked Crescent Lock.

“Well, I keep my flavor cups in my hoof locker, so it’s possible one of the other Guards got to them,” Crescent admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I can’t think of anypony who would want to do this.”

“Detective Stacked Deck, please,” Princess Luna interrupted. “It is unlikely that the culprit has made it out of the palace. Our focus should be on finding the Kyaltratek.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Detective Deck replied, not looking up from his notebook. “I’m pretty sure that a nine-hundred-thirty-seven-page dark green book with a sun, moon, dagger, and serpent on the cover doesn’t have a lot of places to hide.”

A single Guard trotted up, snapping off a salute to the Princess. “Detective, we went over the surveillance crystal footage for the Archive. For a few minutes, from 2105 to 2112, it appears that the footage froze. We don’t have any image of the theft.”

“There are a few things that can freeze surveillance crystal footage,” Detective Deck mused. He looked around briefly. “Hey, where’s that detective and his friends?”

Phillip and Daring slowly walked across the ground outside the archives, flashlights panning across the grass and dirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want some help?” Velvet asked again in a hopeful tone, waiting by the exit door with her husband.

“No, thanks,” Daring called back, briefly making sure that her back was turned to the mare before rolling her eyes. “Just leave this to us, alright?”

“They’re right, hon,” Night Light said, laying a hoof on her shoulder. “Best leave this to the professionals.”

Velvet pouted a bit but did not complain further.

“Where the hell are the rest of the cops?” Daring wondered out loud. “They still working inside?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Phillip answered.

The duo reached an outside window and bent down to study the ground in front of it. “Here, hoofprint,” Phillip said, pointing to a mark amidst the trampled flowers that bordered the entire building. Daring tilted her flashlight to provide better lighting while Phillip took his magnifying glass out and studied the hoofprint.

“Cloudwalker brand, size eleven,” Phillip muttered. “No sign of wear, all nails in.” He frowned for a moment, then stood up straight.

“Either of you know how to do a tracking spell?” he called to the unicorns.

Velvet perked up. “I do!” she said. “Came in handy when dealing with two kids and a dragon.”

“Walk over here slowly,” Phillip called. “Follow our steps.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Velvet trotted over to them; Night Light watching with a half-cringe, as if afraid that a single misstep on her part would crush an important clue. Velvet walked up to the window and without prompting, cast a tracking spell over the hoofprint. A long line of dark red hoofprints immediately began to glow, one set leading away from the window and another set leading to it.

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded, bending down to study the trail. “Okay, gait length suggests...Daring?”

“Little over four feet tall,” Daring replied after a brief mental calculation.

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded approvingly, following the trail to its end, about twenty feet away from the window. “Okay, the trail starts and stops here.” He looked around. “No good surveillance crystal angles over here. They could’ve teleported.”

“No,” Daring replied, bending down and tilting her flashlight to study the ground. “You see the way the grass is bent down in a circle around here? That’s from a pegasus taking off.”

“Hey! What are you guys doing?!” a voice barked. Everypony looked up to see Detective Stacked Deck stomping towards them.

“When did I deputize any of you lot for this investigation?” he snapped, carefully stepping over the line of hoofprints.

“We’re here, you need us,” Phillip stated plainly. “Theft from the palace is a serious crime, and—”

“Damn suspicious, you two showing up the same night this happens,” Stacked Deck hissed, getting up into Phillip’s face.

“You wanna step out of this crime scene and say that again, asshole?” Daring snarled, her wings splaying wide.

“Detective!” Luna called from the doorway. “They arrived long after the theft. They had nothing to do with this! You will cease harassing my guests and return to your real work!”

Stacked Deck scowled, but nodded. “Alright, but you need to get off my crime scene,” he snapped.

Phillip, Daring, Night Light, and Velvet scowled but did not argue, slowly walking back inside.

“How does he get off on that?” Velvet groused, glaring at the detective’s back.

“Yobbo’s up himself, never mind him,” Phillip grunted.

“Come,” Luna beckoned them with a wing, guiding them out of the Archive and into the palace proper. “We have guest rooms selected for you to stay the night. We shall pick this up in the morning.”

“He really stayed here all night?” Trace said, staring down at the snoring figure sprawled across the desk in the spare office, papers and notes scattered across him.

“Apparently,” Red commented, studying the styrofoam coffee cups in the trash can next to the desk, with the duty belt laying on the floor next to it. “Gotta give the kid credit, he’s determined.”

“Should we wake him up?” Trace asked.

“Well, Cold’ll have a fit if she sees an officer sleeping on the job,” Red said. He reached out and shook the snoring pegasus’ shoulder. “Hey, Flash, wake up.”

Flash grunted and sat up, blinking blearily up at the detectives. “Huh? What time is it?” he mumbled, yawning loudly.

“Almost nine in the morning,” Trace smiled thinly. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Twilight and I were going over the evidence from the Adamantium robbery,” Flash said, passing a hoof through the papers on the desk: stills from surveillance crystals, witness testimonies, forensic reports from Suunkii, and other notes. “We’re still working on who might’ve taken the prosthetics out of the vault.”

“Well, you’re not going to be doing much thinking if you’ve just woken up,” Trace commented. “Go get some coffee and something from the cafeteria, son.”

“And dust your uniform off,” Red added, looking at Flash’s rumpled, partially unbuttoned uniform. “You look like a What Not to Do picture.”

“Right, sorry,” Flash said, hurriedly clipping his belt back on and trotting out of the room on a quest for sustenance.

Trace looked over the log of the vault unlocks from Adamantium. The log for Short Circuit’s key being used to unlock the vault at 1426 hours fourteen days ago. “Why didn’t they notice the theft earlier?” he asked out loud.

“That manager did mention that he’d gotten a little slack on doing inventory,” Red shrugged. “Greedy bastard just couldn’t be put to the trouble.”

“Where’s Short Circuit anyway?” Trace asked.

“He’s still in a holding cell,” Red replied. “He was howling up a storm last night after you were finished with him: I thought he was going to get sprayed for sure. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he calmed down after a while. Still insists he didn’t do it.”

Trace rubbed his face, trying to force the last vestiges of tiredness off his countenance. “Okay. So we figure that the prosthetics were taken from the vault and hidden in the dumpster behind the factory.” He took out a photograph of the back alley of Adamantium Prosthetics, showing a large dumpster with peeling green paint standing next to a back door, one wheel standing in a pothole of clay. The ground was littered with empty soda cans and squashed, wet cigarette butts.

“Then, later that night, the thief, or an ally of theirs, came back with Bentley in the stolen taxi and retrieved the wing and the limb,” Trace said. “So the question is, who was it?”

“Good morning, detectives!” a chipper voice sounded from the door. Twilight hopped into the room, with a snoring Spike sprawled across her withers.

“I still say you run off of batteries, not sleep,” Red muttered darkly, fighting down a yawn. “Just seeing you like that makes me tired again.”

“I note from the chalk and the deep lines from the edge of a table on your coat sleeves that you were out at a bar playing pool and drinking last night,” Twilight advised. “You should probably get more sleep.” She pulled out a manila folder and opened it up, ignoring Red’s grumbles.

“Doctor Suunkii and I were going over the trace evidence from the robbery,” she declared as Flash reentered the room, hastily munching down a scrambled egg burrito. “We found that the clay in the back alley matches a clay that was found in the taxi; I’m hoping that if we find a suspect that they’ll still have traces of that clay on them.”

Flash looked over one of the papers in the folder, finding that it was a list of traces collected and identified from the stolen taxi. Hairs, food crumbs, tobacco ashes, various drugs.

And found beneath the rear passenger seat, a clump of dried chewing gum, reddish-orange in color.

Something in the back of Flash’s mind clicked and he dove back into the pile of papers on his desk. After some rummaging, he found what he was looking for: a collection of stills from the surveillance crystals from the factory. He started tossing pictures aside, muttering to himself.

“What are you doing?” Trace asked, calmly ducking as a photograph flew past his face.

Flash didn’t answer, instead pausing as he studied a pair of photographs, bringing them both up close to his face one at a time. “Aha!” he cried with a bright smile, dropping the pictures and running out of the room. After a moment, he ran back in and wolfed down another few bites of his burrito.

“Flash, what is it?” Twilight asked.

“Sorry, no time, I got an idea, gotta go!” Flash cried, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before running out again.

“He’s taking after Phil already,” Red muttered, bending over the dropped stills. “What did he see here?”

Trace and Twilight leaned in close and studied the pictures, a pair of stills of the hallway leading towards the back of the alley from the vault where the completed prosthetics were kept. “Okay, this one’s from soon after the vault was opened,” Trace said, pointing to one. “And this one is from a bit later. What’d he see—?”

He paused, leaning in closer. “Well, holy shit. That kid’s a genius.”

“I see it, too,” Red nodded. “C’mon, let’s go catch up with him.”

The two sprinted out of the room after Flash, leaving a bewildered Twilight standing alone in the room. Spike stretched across her back and woke up with a yawn, blinking his eyes.

“Oh, sweet,” he declared, snatching up the remaining burrito with his long tongue and swallowing it in one go. “What’d I miss?”

Author's Note

And here comes the twist!

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Case Eleven, Chapter Five: Eliminate the Impossible

“No, sir,” Soap Streak replied, leaning back in the chair of the conference room that Flash had pulled him into. “Like I said the last time, I didn’t see anypony suspicious near the vault when those prosthetics were stolen.”

“Yes, that’s what you said,” Flash nodded, glancing down at his notepad. “So who would go out to the alleyway in the back of the warehouse?”

Soap gave him a strange look, removing another stick of apple-orange gum from his mouth and flicking it into a trash can. “Employees go out back there all the time for smoke breaks,” he stated. “I’ve been known to head outside from time to time for a breath of fresh air. I don’t smoke, you know, but I find getting outside for a bit helps me keep my head on straight.”

Flash paused to think for a moment. “That dumpster in the alleyway,” he continued. “How often is the trash collected?”

“Once every morning,” Soap replied. “Garbage usually comes around nine-thirty.”

“And the vault was opened around five PM,” Flash mused. “When you were here and Circuit wasn’t.”

Soap frowned at him. “Are you accusing me of something, officer?” he asked, an added edge to his voice.

Flash paused for a moment and glanced up at Trace and Red, who were both standing at the opposite end of the room, watching in silence. Trace gave Flash a small nod.

“No, sir,” Flash recovered. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Smooth,” Red muttered under his breath, only loud enough for his partner to hear. “Trace, you really think we should let him do this alone? He’s fumbling already.”

“I wanna see how the kid does,” Trace replied.

“So, our current theory is that the thief stole the prosthetics and hid them in the dumpster, knowing that the trash wouldn’t be taken out until the next morning,” Flash continued. “Then, later that night, they came back and took the prosthetics out.”

Soap briefly paused in unrolling another stick of gum. “Oh, is that so?” he said nonchalantly, straightening up in his chair.

Trace suppressed a smirk. “Got his attention, good,” he nodded quietly.

“And we did find the car they used,” Flash continued, maintaining eye contact. “And we found plenty of trace evidence in there. Hairs, hoofprints, dirt…” He paused for a moment, deliberately shifting his gaze towards the trash can. “Gum.”

Soap slowly raised a hoof towards his chin and stared down at the floor. His chewing slowed for a moment.

“Apple-orange flavor, and we got a good saliva sample,” Flash said. “That, plus the clay in there that matched the clay in the alleyway. I’m sure if we ever find the culprit, there’ll be traces of clay on them, too.” He slowly stood up. “But right now, we’re focusing on the driver. This is just some mercenary driver, so he’ll probably flip as soon as we catch him for a better deal. You can never trust ponies who are only in it for the money, you know.” He started to walk towards the door. “Well, my partners and I have to go do another look around. We might find something else this time. Thanks for your time, Soap.”

Trace and Red started to follow Flash, both of them shooting the janitor brief, cold stares. Soap Streak continued chewing on his gum frantically, eyes darting around everywhere. Trace let Red go first, then started to close the door behind them.

“How’d you know it was me?” Soap cried.

Trace opened up the door and the three officers reentered. “Security crystal footage for one of the hallways,” Flash explained, closing the door behind him. “There was a shot of you walking down that hallway soon after the vault was opened, then walking back. I spotted clay on the tire of your cart; you swiped Circuit’s key, hid the wing and foreleg in the trash can, and carried them out back, didn’t you?”

Soap frowned and nodded. “I figured that Circuit would be an easy scapegoat,” he grunted.

“So how’d Whitestone get in contact with you?” Red asked.

“One of their crew approached me in a bar a couple of weeks ago; they knew I used to run with a gang that supported them, so I guess that’s why they sought me out,” Soap explained. “They offered me a couple thousand bits to swipe a griffon wing and foreleg for them; I guess they needed one. This donkey—Bentley, I think his name was—helped me plan the theft out, then, the night of the theft, he drove me over, then drove me down to the docks. We handed them off to some pilot on a boat, and he drove me home and paid me.”

“The boat. Describe it,” Trace commanded.

Soap rubbed the back of his head. “It was at night, so I didn’t get many details, but it was being piloted by a dark green griffon. The ship was a fishing vessel, I think—there were nets and stuff hanging from cranes on the sides. It was a dark blue color, I think…” He chewed his gum for a bit longer. “Wait, I vaguely remember the name. Uh...Nacho!”

All three officers blinked. “Nacho,” Red repeated. “A fishing boat named Nacho.”

Soap shrugged. “I didn’t name it.”

“There anything else?” Trace asked.

Soap shook his head. “I didn’t take long looks. Kinda got the impression that I wasn’t supposed to look too closely at any of these guys, you know?” He sighed and stood up, holding out his forelegs. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

He didn’t struggle at all as Red slapped cuffs onto his forelegs and started to drag him out of the room. As they walked down the factory floor, workers stopped and stared, the sounds of machinery fading away to be replaced with shocked murmurs. Soap hung his head in shame, muttering to himself. Up above, Penny Pincher stared from the window of his office, his mouth hanging open.

“Saliva?” Trace asked Flash, walking a few paces behind them.

“I remembered Twilight saying something about this DNA thing that can be found in blood and saliva,” Flash shrugged. “I figured I could bluff my way through there; somepony like him doesn’t strike me as knowing that much about forensic science.” He grinned nervously up at the senior detective. “I did okay, right?”

“You did pretty well,” Trace nodded. “Got a little tense at the beginning, and you fumbled a little when he got edgy, but you recovered nicely. And you figured out how to get his attention and push him towards confessing. Nice job.”

Flash beamed with pride, strutting proudly and drawing some critical stares from the workers as they headed for the exit doors. “Celebrate in private, son,” Trace admonished. “We’ve still got work to do.”

“I don’t care what Detective Deck says,” Phillip stated to his audience of two that morning. “We need to be investigating this.”

“You need not argue with us, detective,” Princess Celestia replied, raising a hoof placidly. She and Luna were both sitting upon their thrones in the throne room, looking down upon Phillip and Daring.

“The Kyaltratek is a dangerous relic,” Luna declared, her voice grave. “The knowledge contained therein could do devastating damage in the wrong hooves; were it not for the wisdom of knowing your enemies, we would have had it destroyed centuries ago.” She pointed a commanding hoof down at them. “We shall ensure that you have the full cooperation of the Canterlot Police. You must find the Kyaltratek and bring the culprit to justice!”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Phillip said, bowing in gratitude.

“Keep us informed of your progress,” Celestia requested. “The Archive’s curator, Hidden Hieroglyph, is in today briefly, but he will be returning home soon. He may be of some assistance.”

“And what about the guard, Crescent Lock?” Daring asked.

“He is currently confined to the barracks,” Celestia explained. “You will find the barracks in the back of the Palace. Raven?” she called to her assistant.

“Yes, Your Highness?” the raven-maned unicorn said, sliding her glasses back up her nose as she stepped forward.

“Please grant the detectives high-level passes so that they may pass through the palace and grounds unmolested,” Celestia commanded.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Raven nodded. “Detectives, please come with me.”

“Good luck, detectives,” Luna called as they exited the throne room.

Raven led them into a small office, where they were photographed and granted two green passes with their pictures and signatures upon them.

“Right, back to the Archive,” Daring declared, pinning her pass to her shirt and exiting the office. Raven opened her mouth to speak, but Phillip raised a hoof to stop her. A moment later, Daring sheepishly poked her head back into the room.

“Where are the Archives?” she asked.

“I’ll show you to them,” Raven said wryly, trotting out. As Daring fell into step behind them, she noticed Phillip giving her a smirk out of the corner of her eye.

“In my defense, this place is fucking huge,” she muttered.

The Archives were still closed to the public while the Canterlot police continued their investigation, but the curator’s office was accessible. Daring rapped at the door.

“Enter,” a voice called from within. Daring opened the door and the two entered.

There was a surprising dearth of books in the curator’s office, with only one slightly filled shelf present: most of the walls were occupied by filing cabinets and files. Hanging up on one wall was a long dark blue hooded cloak that was still in vogue with some of the older Canterlotians.

The curator himself, a four-foot light golden brown pegasus with a mop of reddish-brown hair, bright green eyes hidden behind thick glasses, and the cutie mark of an open scroll with several hieroglyphs written upon it, sat behind the wide desk, studying a large-scale photograph of what appeared to be the crumbling wall of some ancient edifice, the surface etched with cuneiform.

Hidden Hieroglyph dropped the magnifying glass that he was using and stood up, dusting off the front of his clay brown suit and clearing his throat. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Curator Hieroglyph, I’m Detective Finder, this is Detective Do,” Phillip introduced himself, extending a hoof to shake. “We’re looking into the theft of the Kyaltratek last night.”

“Is that ancient Hayrabian?” Daring asked, looking at the photograph in curiosity.

“It is!” Hieroglyph nodded, enthusiasm shining in his wide eyes. “This was found on the wall of a tomb in Al-Jahwar, in the northern part of Saddle Arabia. I was asked to do some translation work. I just dropped by here to finish up on this and to help with the investigation. I'll be finishing up and going home soon.”

Phillip cleared his throat. “Who would have access to the Kyaltratek?” he asked pointedly.

Hieroglyph frowned for a moment in thought. “Well, the restricted section’s vaults can only be opened by myself and the Princesses,” he explained. “In order to get a book out of the vault, one must be a member of the archive for at least five years and complete a form ahead of time explaining which book they want and why.”

Hieroglyph suddenly blinked and scowled heavily, as though a thought had just occurred to him. “Honestly, I would strongly suspect Lord Whisper Wind of taking it. He’s been after the Kyaltratek for years: the archive hosts one of the few complete editions that can still be found. He was actually here at the Archive that morning; he’d signed the Kyaltratek out to take a look at a particular section. As always, he made an offer to buy it from us, but I flatly declined.”

"And the Kyaltratek was still there after he left?" Phillip asked.

"Of course!" Hieroglyph replied. "I checked it in and out myself, and I also do an inventory of the restricted books every night. It was there when I left."

Phillip nodded and made a brief mental note. “Does anypony else have a copy of the key, or know the combination?”

“No,” Hieroglyph shook his head, tracing a hoof across his desktop. “But I do not imagine that it’d be impossible to forge a copy of the keys. They are enchanted, but even enchantments can be outsmarted.”

Daring nudged Phillip. “Excuse us,” Phillip said, stepping back.

“You saw his horseshoes, right?” Daring whispered. “Cloudwalker brand, size elevens. And he is a pegasus.”

“I did see,” Phillip confirmed. “But I can’t just ask for his horseshoes.” He thought for a moment. “Canterlot PD was getting casts of the prints. Might need to take a look at those.”

At that moment, there was another rap at the door. The visitor stepped through without waiting for an answer. Detective Stacked Deck strode in, his own visitor's badge bouncing off of his chest; as soon as the Canterlot detective spotted Phil and Daring, his face creased into a deep scowl, which Daring happily returned.

"Ah, Detective Deck," Hieroglyph greeted him. "Is your crew finishing up?"

"Yes," Deck nodded curtly.

"I shall be headed back home soon," Hieroglyph said, placing the photographs into a briefcase. "I have the rest of these translations to finish. These carvings on the tomb walls provide an incredible amount of information as to the burial practices of ancient cultures!"

“Fascinating,” Detective Deck interrupted, not taking his eyes off of Daring. “Detectives, could you step outside for a moment.”

His tone made it clear that it was not a question. Phillip and Daring followed him out of the room and into the hallway. Deck shut the office door behind him, then took a deep breath.

“I’ve been ordered by the Princesses to allow you to assist me,” he grunted. “I don’t have to be happy about it.”

“We’re not real enthused about it, either,” Daring snapped back.

“Daring,” Phillip ordered her down. Turning to Detective Deck, he extended a hoof. “Let’s bury the hatchet, mate. We’re both after the same thing.”

Deck grunted, but shook the proffered hoof briefly. “Agreed. Just stay out of my way and don’t give me shit.”

“Agreed,” Phillip nodded. “We’d like to speak to Crescent Lock now.”

“I was just going to interrogate him myself,” Deck grunted. “We might as well go together. Barracks are this way.”

"How are you on figuring out how the crystal's image was frozen?" Phillip asked.

"One of the crime scene guys has a theory on a jammer made out of a frequency crystal and a set of copper wire," Deck grunted as they started to trot towards the exit. "He thinks that the thief could've smuggled that in."

The trio exited the Archives and left the Palace interior, striding across a wide field with a wide running track encircling a parade ground with the grass trimmed down like the buzz cut on a new recruit’s mane, decorated by a single flagpole with Equestria’s flag flying atop it. The Royal Guard barracks sat on the opposite end of the field, a single four-story brick building with pure white paint, surrounded by a tall concrete fence with only one gate.

A Royal Guard in full uniform stood in front of the gate. As the detectives approached, he held out a hoof. “Halt! Identify yourselves!”

“Detectives Stacked Deck, Phillip Finder, and Daring Do, here to speak to Corporal Crescent Lock,” Deck announced.

“Wait there,” the Guard ordered. He opened up a gamewell in the wall next to him and spoke briefly into the phone inside. After a few moments, he nodded and hung up. “The deck watch officer will be out momentarily to escort you inside,” he reported.

They only had to wait a short while before the barracks door opened and a blue unicorn with a blonde mane trotted out, his Royal Guard uniform free of wrinkles and perfectly straight. A trio of golden chevrons with two bars was proudly displayed on both sleeves.

“Hey, Phil, Daring,” Sergeant Arc Light smiled and waved as he strode up to them. “Detective Deck. I’m to escort you around the barracks.”

“We’re here to speak to Crescent Lock,” Deck stated. “I understand he’s confined to barracks?”

“Until this gets cleared up, yes,” Arc nodded, leading them through the gate. “Crescent’s not one of the best guys here—honestly, if I wanted to steal from the Palace, I’d pick him as a weak point, too—but I can’t see him as a thief.”

“How well do you know him?” Deck asked.

“Not that well,” Arc admitted, opening the doors for them. “He talks about his sister a lot—poor kid came down with cancer a while back—and he’s really good at drawing, but not many of us know him well. He does his work, takes criticism, and follows orders.”

They proceeded into the barracks with their guide, trotting through an entrance lobby and up two flights of stairs. The hallway extended down to the left, past a common room where several off-duty Guards were chatting around a billiard table. Beyond that were dorm rooms, each with only a simple number to identify them.

The sergeant proceeded to rap at door number forty-three. “Corporal Lock,” he called.

No answer. Frowning, Sergeant Light rapped again. “Corporal Lock!”

Still nothing. Light scowled, then tried the door, finding it was unlocked.

The room inside was small and simple. There was a metal cot in the back wall, a single chair, and a desk with a few drawers. Intricate sketches on colored paper were taped up on the wall, many of them depicting landscapes, night skies, and rough sketches of other ponies. Crescent Lock was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe he went to the shower or the common room,” Arc Light scowled, trotting off. “I’ll go find him.”

The three detectives silently began to sweep the room. Daring started at the desk. Briefly examining the countertop and finding nothing more interesting than a framed photograph of Crescent with his parents and a younger mare that was probably his sister, she started opening drawers, starting from the bottom. There was nothing in the bottom drawer, but the middle drawer had some art materials: paper of every color imaginable, colored pencils, glue, erasers, and a sketchbook. She started flipping through the sketchbook, noting several half-formed sketches within.

“What do you two think?” Deck asked, patting down the mattress and finding nothing. “He involved in this?”

“Not sure yet,” Phillip replied, picking at the padlock on a hoof locker that he’d pulled out from underneath the bed. “Mistake to make theories before you have evidence.”

Deck frowned. “Speaking of which, I got a call back from the crime lab. They identified the sleeping potion in Lock’s coffee, and in the flavor cup. It’s potent stuff, but it could be easily made using over-the-counter medicines and potion supplies. No real leads there.”

Phillip paused as he unlocked the padlock (twenty seconds, Daring noted. Gotta give him more practice. Maybe next time we get the hoofcuffs out…). “Just the flavor cup?” he asked.

“They didn’t find any traces in the water in the machine, no,” Deck admitted, opening up the locker.

Inside the locker were spare uniforms, all of them folded as crisply as paper, a few loose candy bars, a couple of thick novels—a blue-bound historical fiction novel, and a large gold book on the history of Equestria’s military—and more coffee flavor cups.

“Maple walnut, coconut, pecan...butterscotch?” Stacked Deck commented, studying each of the sealed cups in turn. He shrugged disdainfully. “Guess some like ‘em weird.”

“Odd,” Phillip muttered, studying the two books.

“What?” Daring asked, looking up from her perusal of the trash can, having found little but some candy wrappers, red sketch paper scraps, and broken pencils inside. She glanced over the coffee flavor cups and locked eyes with Phillip, the same thought clearly passing between them.

“Deck, you have a picture of the hoofprints from last night on you?” Phillip asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Deck nodded, patting down his saddlebags. He extracted a few photographs, each depicting a set of plaster hoofprints, the Cloudwalker brand hoofprints cast in clear detail.

Phillip set the pictures down on the desk and proceeded to pass a magnifying glass over them. After a few moments of study, he nodded in satisfaction.

There was a rap at the door. “Detectives,” Arc Light announced, gesturing for Crescent Lock to enter. The corporal swallowed and glanced through the room before stiffening to attention.

Phillip stood up slowly and trotted over, a deep scowl settling across his features. “Why don’t you stop mucking us all about and be honest?”

Crescent Lock swallowed even louder and stepped back a pace. “I, uh...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You faked the theft,” Daring accused. “You were the one who stole the Kyaltratek, and you drugged yourself to make yourself look good.”

“Y-you can’t prove that!” Lock protested.

“The potion was in your flavor cup, which you keep locked up,” Phillip continued. “There’s no sign of picking on the lock, and none of the other flavor cups are tampered with. The thief would’ve had to know the exact flavor cup you were going to pick that night. Not possible.”

“But what about the horseshoe prints outside?” Lock protested. “I don’t wear Cloudwalkers, size eleven!”

“How’d you know what size they were?” Deck asked, frowning. Crescent made a choking sound in his throat and froze, his pupils dilating.

“And no, Hieroglyph didn’t leave those tracks,” Phillip said. “The tracks outside were brand-new horseshoes. Hidden’s horseshoes are too old and faded, and his front left shoe has the wrong size nails. Nice try on the red herring, though.”

“How much you want to bet that if I drag the moat, we’ll find the horseshoes in there?” Deck added. "Or the jammer you snuck in?"

“And I know how you got the Kyaltratek out,” Daring added, holding up the scraps of paper from the trash can. “That romance novel that suddenly vanished from your room today? You made a fake cover and put it over the spellbook. No one thought to look at it twice.”

“Wasn’t a bad plan,” Phillip admitted. “Your flaw was you tried to be too clever about it.”

Lock glanced behind him at the doorway, as if considering escape, but Arc Light’s glare forced him to halt. With a defeated sigh, he hung his head and turned.

“My sister needed the money for her operation,” he admitted. “Some black market seller contacted me, told me that some spellbooks would fetch a heavy price. We worked out the plan to steal it together, and I put it all together tonight. Just my luck that somepony showed up looking for it..."

“If you have any sense of honor left, you’ll cooperate fully,” Arc Light said coldly as Detective Deck pulled out a set of hoofcuffs.

“I will,” Lock mumbled, unable to look at anypony.

“It’s not Nacho, it’s Näckros,” Spike had announced as they poured over lists of shipping boats.

And so, two hours after Soap Streak’s confession, Flash found himself standing on one of the many docks over the Maresippi, staring at a squat fishing boat with peeling dark blue paint and ratty nets hanging over the sides. The Griffonese name was barely visible on the bow, the white paint faded with age and exposure.

“Nopony onboard,” Prowl reported as she trotted back down the gangplank. “You have the owner’s picture?”

Flash pulled a photograph copied from the department’s files out of his pocket and held it up. Tangsoppa was a tall, dark green griffon with piercing brown eyes and dark blue plumage; like his ship, he himself was faded with age, white invading around the edges of his coat and wrinkles spreading from his eyes. His record was still nothing to sneeze at: he had served a lengthy sentence for smuggling, piracy, and aggravated assault in Griffonia before moving to Equestria six years ago.

“There’s a matchbook from a bar near here, the Iceberg,” Prowl told him. “Let’s see if we can get anything out of that while Trace and Red search for more clues.”

“What about me?” Bumblebee protested.

“You’re going to stay here and make sure the scene’s secure,” Prowl replied. “Sorry, Bee, but…” She extended her wings silently.

“Oh, okay,” Bee shrugged. “Today’s not my cardio day anyway.”

Rolling her eyes, Prowl took off, with Flash following her up north to the Iceberg, which turned out to be a ramshackle hole-in-the-wall establishment that sat in the center of a strip mall. They landed and entered to find the interior was a dark, close room that smelled of illicit drugs, alcohol, and body odor. Dockworkers and sailors, most of them griffons, were gathered so closely inside the place that there was hardly room to maneuver around the tables and small bar, and the overlapping voices made conversation nearly impossible unless the two officers were standing right next to each other.

Flash approached the bartender, a gray burro with a long white beard who was currently wiping down the bar. “Excuse me, do you recognize this griffon?” he asked, holding out the photograph.

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the bartender replied without even looking at the picture.

Frowning, Flash turned to a group of griffons sitting around a table, their tattoos all speaking of a naval theme. “Any of you know this griffon?” he asked.

“No speak Equestrian,” one of the griffons growled at him.

Flash and Prowl exchanged scowls and were about to continue when somepony approached and tapped Prowl on the shoulder. “You’re Finder’s friends, right?” the white unicorn whispered, shaking her blue mane out of her emerald eyes.

“Yes,” Flash said warily.

The mare glanced around and leaned in. “Not here. Let’s go outside.”

She led them both back out onto the sidewalk, where the harsh, hot wind battered against them, even in the shade of the alleyway that they then proceeded into. “What is it?” Prowl asked.

“My name is Blue Rose,” the mare declared. "I might be able to help you, but..." She shifted in place a bit, glancing around. "You need to know something about me first."

"Yes?" Flash asked.

Blue Rose hesitated for a moment, then took a breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they had turned into the solid green orbs of a changeling.

Prowl stiffened, then glared, baring her fangs with a low growl. Rose sniffed, then gave her a cold look. "Ease off, officer. I didn't fight in the war. I have my prostitution license, and I'm not using this disguise to steal anything or hurt anypony. Your Supreme Court ruled in '46 that I can live here like this."

Prowl didn't speak, but nor did she relax her posture or gaze. Flash remained impassive, holding out the photograph. “Do you know this guy?”

“Tang,” Blue confirmed, blinking as her eyes returned to normal. “He’s a frequent...client of mine. You looking for him?”

“Yes,” Flash nodded.

“I can find him for you,” Blue offered. “No offense, but I think I can find him faster than you can. Tang tends to hide out in areas where cops aren’t welcome, and I have a lighter hoofstep than you.”

“And what’s in it for you?” Prowl asked suspiciously.

“Sarge,” Flash chided.

Blue Rose glanced around, frowning. “I...kinda hurt your friends, Phil and Daring, a while back. You came in there, and I thought that...maybe I could make up for it. You know, make reparations in a way.”

Prowl raised an eyebrow. Blue sighed in disgust and rolled her eyes. “Okay, and I was hoping for a little taste of your love, too,” she admitted. “You two have got a lot more love than any of those horny bastards in there...especially you.” She turned to Flash and leaned in a bit, sniffing. “You’re freshly in love, so much that you’d do anything for her...and the mare you love is in trouble.”

Flash stepped back a bit, eyes widening in surprise as Prowl growled softly. “How did you…?” he gasped.

“I eat emotions, kid,” Rose replied. “I’m something of a connoisseur when it comes to love.” She sniffed deeply and let out an appreciative sigh, then cleared her throat. “Sorry. Look, I’ll help you find Tang. In return, will you let me have a taste of your love, Officer Sentry? Just a small taste, I promise it won’t hurt.”

“No,” Prowl snapped back, turning to leave.

“Sarge,” Flash replied, giving her a cold look. “I can make my own decisions.” He turned back to Blue Rose. “Do you really need my love?”

“We changelings need emotion to be healthy, especially love,” Blue Rose confirmed. “For us to try to go without it would be like if you tried to live off of only bread and water; it’d make us sick.” She paused for a moment, then added, “And it’s not just for me.” She plucked a photograph from her saddlebag and held it up for Flash to study.

The picture showed Blue Rose in her disguise, grinning at the camera. Next to her was a small blue-green pegasus filly with a short pink mane and a ladybug cutie mark, smiling shyly up at him with pale green eyes.

"My daughter, Ocellus," Blue Rose said. "I can't get much more than scraps in this position, but I feed every spare bit of love I have to her." She smiled at the picture warmly. "She was the valedictorian of her class this year. She wants to be a librarian one day. Loves books."

Flash thought for a moment, then nodded. “All right,” he agreed.

Blue Rose smiled brightly in delight. “Thank you!” she cried. “Hold still a moment; this’ll feel weird, but it won’t hurt.”

Blue Rose leaned in close and gently bit Flash on the neck. Flash shuddered, then let out a low moan, blushing faintly as Rose began to suck gently at the wound. No blood trickled out of the injury, but the more she sucked, the more Flash's blush increased. His knees shivered and gave out as his rump hit the ground.

Prowl growled and placed a hoof atop the nightstick on her belt, taking one authoritative step forward. Rose glared at her and let go quickly, if a tad reluctantly. Flash shook his head as his cheeks returned to their normal color, standing up slowly as the dizziness wore off.

“Good stuff,” she sighed, licking her lips appreciatively. “Strong stuff: young, pure love is always the best taste.” She gave Flash a grateful nod. “This’ll tide us both over for weeks. Thank you.”

“A deal is a deal,” Prowl said as Flash’s cheeks returned to their normal color. “You’ll find Tangsoppa for us.”

“Relax,” Blue Rose said with a wink as she trotted off, a gentle bounce in her hips. “Blue Rose can get any stallion or mare to cooperate with her.”

Author's Note

Moving things along at a rapid clip, but it looks like our investigators are stalled for a moment.

It felt good to bring Rose back: I do want to try to do more with her in the future to develop her a bit more, as well as a chance to develop changeling lore in the Noireverse. And introduce Ocellus ~~to Sandbar~~, of course!

I briefly thought about using Ocellus' pony disguise in School Daze, but for my own reasons, decided to use a design that was closer to her normal colors, like this design.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eleven, Chapter Six: Whatever Remains

Daring and Phillip trotted up to the mouth of the cobblestone pathway that branched off of Generosity Avenue and paused, staring at the mansion before them. Lord Trade Wind’s home was a great bluestone edifice, the purple curtains in every window drawn despite the pleasant early afternoon sunshine.

What attracted their attention, however, was the topiary bushes placed around the lawn. Each of them was carved in the shape of a monster, real or mythical: cockatrices, manticores, and chimeras stood amongst sirens, sphinxes, cipactli, and worse. Every single bush was trimmed to a surprising level of detail that made them look like they were ready to pounce upon them if they took another step forward.

“It’s a wonder anypony visits this place,” Daring commented, passing by a snarling ahuizotl that reached out to grab at her with its forepaws and the claw on its tail. She studied the bush for a moment, then flew up to face the leafy reconstruction of one of the fabled priests of the Old Gods. Sniggering to herself, she booped the beast upon its snarling snout.

“Admire the scenery later,” Phillip said, striding up to the door. Shooting a glance up at three large branches shaped like the heads of a hydra glaring down at him from over the roof, he rang the doorbell.

“Still think we should be working with Deck on Lock’s phone records,” he grumbled.

“He can do it himself, he said so,” Daring replied. “I just want to check this guy out: don’t you think it’s a bit too much of a coincidence that he takes the Kyaltratek out to read the day before it’s stolen?”

Phillip let out a grunt of reluctant agreement.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, the grand doors opened and a butler with a pristine uniform and a light brown mustache that looked like it had been trimmed with a slide rule opened the door. “Yes?” he asked, managing to look down his snout at Finder despite being a full head shorter than him.

“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phillip introduced them, holding out his PI license. “Is Lord Wind at home?”

The butler sniffled. “This no doubt has to do with the theft of that ghastly book. I can assure you, Lord Wind was not involved. Goodbye.” He started to close the door.

Phillip calmly stopped the door with a hoof. “Lord Wind can talk to us, or he can talk to the police. His choice,” he grunted.

The butler scowled at him for a few seconds, then sniffed disdainfully again. “Very well.” He opened the door wider to allow them entry.

The main hall was almost large enough to contain the entire first floor of 221 Honeybee. A line of portraits along one wall depicted the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Wind family, dating all the way back to the reign of Faust. Trade Wind’s portrait was near the end, with some room left on the wall for his descendants; the painting depicted a young unicorn stallion with a cloud white coat, curly blue mane, and light blue eyes lit up in a faint, welcoming smile.

On the opposite wall was the Wind family coat of arms: a quartered blue shield with clouds in the top left and bottom right quarters, a sun on the top-right quarter, and a crescent moon in the bottom left.

“Please wait here while I inform Lord Wind of your visit,” the butler sniffed, glaring at them like they were a pair of dust bunnies as he exited.

“Well, at least the help is accommodating,” Daring commented, studying the coat of arms on the wall. “‘Ex Ventis, Progressus.’ ‘From winds, progress.’ You know, we should get a coat of arms. Something with a cool motto.”

“And hang it where?” Phillip commented with a roll of his eyes.

The door opened and the butler reentered, looking even less pleased to see them. “Lord Wind will see you in the living room,” he declared with an icy reluctance in his tone. “Please follow me.”

He guided them through a foyer and through another set of double doors into a grandiose sitting room. The place looked like the wing of a museum: everywhere there were bookcases stocked to bursting with bound books, glass cases displaying rare tomes so old and ragged that looked like they’d fall apart if somepony so much as breathed on them, and strange artifacts like twisted daggers, necklaces with strange symbols, and idols of various gods and spirits. Hanging from one wall was a massive painting depicting the Seven Pillars of Equestria facing down three serpentine sirens, the valley between them consumed by a terrible battlefield.

Lord Wind himself was sprawled across one of the two large blue sofas that sat in the middle of the room. An ornate oak coffee table with a marble ashtray and a vase of blue flowers sat between them. As the visitors entered, he raised a cigar to his mouth and took a long, slow puff, smoke curling around his face in a strangely artful manner.

“Thank you, Michael,” the unicorn nodded to the butler, dismissing him with an idle wave. The butler let out a final sniff and trotted off.

“Milord,” Phillip greeted their host with a small bow that Daring mimicked.

“Detectives,” Lord Wind nodded back, gesturing to the other sofa. “Please, take a seat.”

“You have quite a collection,” Daring commented, passing her gaze across the exhibits as she sat down on the couch. Her eyes settled on what looked like a bronze dagger with a pair of metal wings winding around the blade. “Is that a Shambler’s Dagger?”

“It is,” Lord Wind nodded. “And I assure you, it’s real: I had it checked by three different experts. I’ve always had a taste for the strange and bizarre. When I learned that this dagger was on the market, I had to have it. Of course, fakes are very common, so I had to be certain that it was the true article.” He took another puff on his cigar (Queen of Neighmark, three thousand bits a cigar, Phillip identified the odor). “But you didn’t come here to admire my collection of the arcane. What brings you to my home?”

“I’m sure you heard the Kyaltratek was stolen from the Royal Archives last night,” Phillip stated.

“Yes, and I was very upset when I heard,” Lord Wind nodded. “I have been attempting to purchase it for years.”

“Why?” Daring asked, unable to resist her curiosity. “You know its reputation.”

“Of course,” Lord Wind said. “The spellbook is legendary: equally as legendary are the stories surrounding it of ponies driven to madness, unlocking the secrets to untold power but paying horrible prices for it…” An excited tingle ran through his body and he had to suppress a smile. “How could I resist it? But no, I would not steal it from the archives. I get all of my goods fairly.”

“If you just want it as a collector’s item, why did you take it out yesterday?” Phillip asked, standing up and striding over to a bookshelf. He began to peruse the shelves as if idly curious.

“I’d have imagined that a pair of your reputed erudition could figure it for yourselves,” Wind sniffed. “The Kyaltratek is a spellbook. Ergo, I read it to learn about spells.”

“What spell?” Daring asked.

“A theory regarding magical foci,” Lord Wind replied. “I’m sure it’s beyond your comprehension, but I assure you, it’s not anything of any real danger.”

“Uh-huh,” Daring commented. “So what did Scarlet Letter want with it?”

Lord Wind started, his eyes widening. “How did you—?”

“Those cigarettes are Prench brand, the same kind she smokes,” Daring nodded to the burnt cigarette butts lying in the ashtray. “I noticed in this morning’s paper that there was a rumor that she’d been spotted in Canterlot yesterday. And there’s a dark red hair on this couch that smells like her perfume.” She plucked the offending strand of mane from the back of the sofa cushion and held it up for examination.

“So the real question is, why are you covering for her?” she asked coldly.

Lord Wind swallowed and slowly placed the cigar into the ashtray. “Well, you see…” he stammered, then cleared his throat. “She came to me the night before: she knew that I was a fan of her novels, especially her most recent story, The Mistletoe Masquerade.”

Sure enough, Phillip spotted the mystery novel on the shelf that he was perusing. Taking it from the shelf, he opened it up and read the inscription on the inner cover: To a wonderful fan and friend. XOXO, Scarlet Letter.

“So she wanted you to read a specific section of the Kyaltratek for her,” Daring filled in. “What for?”

“She claimed it was research for her next novel, another mystery,” Wind said. “She could not access the Restricted Section herself, not having a membership, but I could. I got the section she wanted and transcribed it for her. She requested that I not tell anypony that she was here, due to harassment from the police and paparazzi...and you two.” He frowned at Daring. “I do not know what grudge you have against her, but you will not drag me into your feud with a fine young lady like her.”

Daring’s scowl burned deep into her face and she had to bite down a scathing explanation of what exactly her problem with a murderer and thief like Scarlet was. “And the sex was just a bonus?” she commented with a scowl. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that hickey on your neck.”

Lord Wind scowled. “What did you think to gain coming here?” he snarled, standing up.

“Information,” Phillip replied. “Needed to be sure if you were or were not involved in this, what your motive was for taking the Kyaltratek out yesterday.”

Wind took in a deep breath. “I see. You weren’t sure if it was a coincidence that I took it out the day before it was stolen.”

“Still not,” Phillip replied, taking a book from one of the shelves. He turned the large red volume over in his hooves to study the simple cover. “Anneigh Kareneigh. Isn’t that the book Lock had last night, Daring?”

“It was,” Daring confirmed, her heartbeat increasing a few paces. Was it really so easy?

Phillip gently pulled the cover off of the book and immediately frowned. The cover of the book was a simple dark reddish-brown color with no decorations except for the title and author’s name printed on the spine in golden lettering. He flipped the book open and read an excerpt. “‘He stepped down, trying not to look long after her, as though she were the sun…’” He shook his head and placed the cover back on it, replacing it on the shelf. “Not it.”

“I am cleared of suspicion, then?” Lord Wind asked.

“That depends. Where’s Scarlet?” Daring pressed, her scowl deepening

“She left hours ago,” Lord Wind shrugged. “I imagine that she is on her way back to Ponyville as we speak.”

“Damn,” Daring growled.

Lord Wind stood. “I think that it is time for you to take your leave, detectives.”

Phillip grunted in agreement and nodded to Daring. She looked like she might protest for a moment, but then let out a low snarl and rose. Michael reappeared as if summoned and led them outside, firmly shutting the door behind them.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Daring mumbled, grabbing Phillip beneath the forelegs and taking off.

“If he had the Kyaltratek, he’d be showing it off,” Phillip stated, wriggling in her grasp. “He sees that eldritch stuff as collector's items to show off. And he wouldn’t have bought a copy from some black market dealer who was lucky enough to hear a rumor.”

“Okay, you were right,” Daring rolled her eyes. “Feel free to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Daring, your hunches are often worth following up on,” Phillip comforted her. “And even I’m wrong from time to time: the Amulet is proof of that. You were just off the mark on this one. I’m not gonna knock you for making a mistake.”

“What do you think Scarlet wanted that section for?” Daring pondered.

“Nothing good,” Phillip replied, watching the colorful parade of ponies clad in expensive suits passing beneath them in the concrete and asphalt river that was Canterlot’s too-pristine streets. “Head back to the precinct, let’s see what Deck has come up with.”

Canterlot Precinct on One Guard Plaza was a grand marble twelve-story edifice, its cube-shaped design speaking of its pragmatism. However, the eye was brought instantly to the two-story-tall Canterlot Police shield in gold alloy that hung off the side of the building.

Daring and Phillip proceeded inside the lobby and stepped up to a free desk sergeant that sat behind a large marble desk. “Is Detective Stacked Deck here?” Phillip asked.

“You just missed him, detectives,” the sergeant replied. “He headed out, but his office is down that way.” He pointed down a separate hall.

Phillip and Daring proceeded down the hall, past several doors with names painted onto frosted glass windows. It took them a few minutes, but they eventually found the door with “Stacked Deck” painted on it. This door was slightly open.

“Well, if we’re working with him, then he should be sharing info with us,” Daring reasoned, pushing the door open. Phillip sighed and followed her.

Deck’s office was fairly small, with most of the room taken up by a wide desk. A single shelf up on the wall had three framed photographs set upon it. One showed Deck amidst his police academy graduation class, while another had him shaking hooves with the police commissioner, a detective’s shield around his neck. The final photograph showed Deck kissing a male griffon on the cheek, a smiling colt sprawled across their laps.

Scattered across the desk were several photographs and notes, spread out from inside a manila folder. Phillip strode up and started studying them.

“Notes from the Kyaltratek case,” he noted. He studied one photograph of a phone booth sitting on a street corner, then drawing a hoof down a list of phone records. One line on the records was circled in red.

“Looks like Lock was called by his contact from this phone booth on Kindness and Hope,” he said. "On the night of the fourteenth, four days ago, around five PM."

“Here's a surveillance crystal pic from Kindness,” Daring reported. "

Daring muttered, going through the notes. “Okay, transcript of Lock’s interrogation...he dropped the book off in a trash can just before it was collected by custodians. Definitely means that whoever hired him knew a lot about the Palace workings."

"And of course, there're no surveillance crystals nearby," Daring commented, searching through the notes. "Okay, do have some testimonies from taxi drivers. This one says that they picked up some dude in a dark blue hooded cloak from near Bluechapel and brought them to Kindness Street. And this other guy says that they picked up a unicorn in a hooded cloak on Kindness Street."

Phillip glanced over her shoulder at the testimony report. "Says that the pony had a gift bag with them. Interesting." Finding a map of Canterlot's streets on the desk, he started running a hoof across the street names.

"Wait, what’s this?” Daring held up a set of forensic reports for Phillip to read.

“Looks like Deck took trace evidence from the staff at the Archive,” Phillip said. “Including samples from their horseshoes. Smart.”

“And hey…” Daring added, looking at a forensic report attached to the phone booth picture. “Look at this. There’s a note about the phone booth; looks like some coal-tar creosote spilled on the ground near the booth from a truck a couple days ago.”

Phillip looked between the notes, then nodded. “I see. It was him.”

“I guess I owe Deck an apology,” Daring admitted. “He’s not as dumb as he looks.”

“Does he have an address here?” Phillip muttered, scanning through the notes. “Yeah, here it is. Let’s go!”

“Yeah, here it is. Let’s go!”

Many miles away, Zugzwang looked up, his horn aglow and his ears still buzzing as the voice sounded in his ears. He sat in the midst of a chalk circle written on the creaking wooden floor of the empty condo that he’d borrowed; the arcane pattern stretched around him for several feet, chalk lines twisting and turning like a spiderweb. Currently, the strands that pointed towards the northwest, towards Guard Plaza, were glowing with a faint golden aura that seemed to shimmer like silk in the wind as the eavesdropping spell worked its magic.

“So he took it,” he nodded, smiling down at the small bundle of black hairs that he’d surreptitiously collected many weeks ago: the smell of his liebling’s flesh, the softness of his forehead against his lips still brought an excited tingle to his spine. “An intriguing plan: I wish I’d thought of it.”

He paused for a moment as if listening to some distant voice, then scowled. "No, I agree, Bruder. I should've tried harder to actually get the Kyaltratek out of the Palace and away from that damned hallowed ground, especially if I'd known about the Amulet of Ina'yk sooner."

A longer pause, then he let out a hiss through his clenched teeth. "Of course we don't need her. We don't need any of them!" He glared down at his hooves: with a pair of clicks, the hidden spring-loaded blades snapped out from beneath the sleeves.

"Of course that's why she wants it: of course she's trying to circumvent me." He let out a dry laugh. "It's ironic, I suppose: I, the turncoat, get backstabbed in turn. But no." He smiled, turning the blades so that he could admire the burnished edges, the knives so sharp that looking at them almost seemed to cut his eyes.

"You're right. No more rivals. No more pretenders on the board." Zugzwang smiled broadly, breathing deep through his nostrils as he recalled his liebling’s scent and called up the tracking spell. “This game was only meant for two players."

“I found him for you,” Blue Rose had called. “And Ocellus says thank you.”

The call had interrupted Flash’s lunch break and sent him, Bumblebee, and Prowl off through the light afternoon rain to the Gold Griffon’s Head. The trio of officers paused outside the doors of the bar, staring at the entrance. Flash traced a hoof over one of the bullet pockmarks that still remained in the old, badly stained threshold.

“You sure about this?” Prowl growled, pulling her cap down lower so that the water would drip off the brim. “I doubt that they’ll be happy to see police in here again.”

“We gotta try,” Flash said, listening to the music of multiple voices and clinking cutlery that was audible through the door. “Rose said that Tang would be here.”

“I’m willing to wait for him to come out,” Bumblebee offered.

“Hey, Flash! What’s up?” a blue pegasus called, descending from the sky to land in front of the group.

“Dash, stay out of this,” Flash replied, gently pushing her back. “This is gonna be dangerous.’

“Hey, taking on Monopoly was dangerous!” Rainbow Dash snapped back. “If this is about keeping Twilight safe, then I’m going to help!”

“But—” Flash started to protest, then cut himself off when he looked into her hard violet eyes and realized that no argument would persuade her. Turning back to Prowl, he shrugged helplessly.

“C’mon,” Prowl sighed, opening the door.

The Head was packed pretty full for the lunch rush, dockworkers and construction griffons crowded around the bar and tables. The scent of body odor and cigarette smoke clashed with alcohol and undercooked meat. The clamor that they’d heard from outside silenced as soon as they entered; the head of every creature inside turned towards them. Three dozen shining griffon eyes locked onto them.

Prowl scowled and raised a hoof towards her holsters, but Flash raised a hoof, stopping her. Nopony moved for a moment as Flash slowly scanned the room. Not spotting his target, he slowly approached the bar. Bumblebee and Prowl entered behind him, instinctively spreading out to cover more of the room with their eyes and give any attackers multiple targets. Rainbow Dash followed Flash closely. As they trotted further into the room, there came the sound of scuffing chairs and stools in their wake as patrons scuttled towards the door like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Bottgilia stood waiting behind the bar, having paused in his wiping down the bar. Sitting atop one of the creaky stools was Mavri, who was currently nursing a bottle of spiced mead and speaking quietly to a younger blue griffon. The blue griffon scowled heavily at Flash as he approached the bar.

“We’re looking for Tangsoppa,” Flash said to Bottgilia.

There was a brief silence where the bartender studied Flash’s face for several seconds, then slowly turned to the wall behind him. Flash and Dash both followed Bottgilia’s gaze and identified his object of interest as a framed black and white photograph of the Head’s opening, with a penciled notation that it was taken in 1903.

Just visible behind it was a bullet hole, the wood around the circumference of the hole cracked and worn with time.

Bottgilia slowly turned around and faced Flash, sighing deeply.

“Bottgilia, don’t,” the blue griffon urged him. “You know what Whitestone will do to you if—”

“Gallus,” Bottgilia interrupted, turning to face Mavri. The older brown griffon stared evenly back at him over his glass.

“We’re all tired of being scared,” Bottgilia nodded, then turned to Flash and nodded towards the stairs in the back. “He’s upstairs. Room three.”

“Thank you,” Flash said, nodding to his partners. “Dash, you wait here at the bottom of the stairs,” he instructed. “Don’t let anyone else come up—”

But his instructions proved pointless a moment later, for a figure descended the stairs and stopped a few steps short of the ground floor. The dark green griffon in the faded rain jacket stared back at the three officers, the wrinkles around his sharp brown eyes deepening with surprise.

“Tangsoppa?” Prowl asked, stepping forward.

The griffon hesitated for a moment, then turned and started to run back up the stairs.

He didn’t make it two steps before a blur of colors streaked across the room and tackled him to the ground. Tangsoppa bellowed out a curse and started to wrestle with Rainbow Dash, his talons digging at her flesh. Flash sprinted up to help.

A griffon suddenly leaped from his stool and tackled Prowl, dragging her to the floor. “Stop them!” the griffon howled, trying to press Prowl’s head down. “If Whitestone learns we let them get away, she’ll have all our heads!”

Flash hesitated in a moment of confusion and paid for it when a pool cue cracked itself over his skull. His head ringing with pain, he turned and drew his nightstick in one motion, driving the short end into his attacker’s gut and drawing a grunt of surprise. A twist of his hips sent the other end snapping into his foe’s jaw and the thin griffon tumbled to the floor, out cold.

A glance over Flash’s shoulder revealed that Bumblebee was currently brawling with a donkey, the dockworker’s heavily tattooed arms bashing against Bee’s blocks like battering rams against a castle wall. The griffon that had tackled Prowl reeled away with a screech of pain, clutching his bloody foreleg; spitting blood, Prowl knocked him off with a back elbow strike.

Mavri threw Gallus over the bar, where Bottgilia grabbed him and pulled him down, covering him with a wing. The elder griffon then threw himself with a grunt of effort at the donkey fighting Bumblebee, sending them both to the floor. Another griffon hesitated, then threw himself at Bumblebee whilst most of the rest of the patrons streamed out the door in a retreating tide.

Refocusing, Flash turned back to Dash and Tangsoppa and gasped as the shining silver blade of a long knife stabbed towards Rainbow Dash. Dash, with a smoothness that indicated many repetitions of practice, sidestepped and slapped the attack aside with a wing. Seizing his wrist, Dash countered with an elbow to the face, but her followup knee strike was absorbed as Tang ducked and plowed into her. Dash grunted in pain as she was smashed against the wall, collapsing atop her foe in a pile of limbs.

The knife slashed again, narrowly missing flesh, and Flash brought his nightstick down with a bark of “Drop it!” Wrist bones smashed and the blade clattering to the floor mixed with Tang’s screech of pain. Diving atop the mess, Flash scrabbled and managed to seize Tang’s unbroken limb, locking it down with an arm bar. Rainbow Dash slithered atop Tang, her head facing towards his tail, and wrapped her forelegs around his neck in a guillotine choke. The griffon choked and sputtered, clawing and flailing and flapping his wings in a desperate bid to escape: it took Rainbow and Flash’s combined strength to keep him on the floor.

Finally, his struggling slowed, then ceased as he sagged in their grasp. Flash seized Rainbow’s shoulder and shook her; Dash’s violet eyes were blazing with fury, focused on Tang’s body, breathing through gritted teeth. “Dash, he’s tapped out,” Flash said, shaking her roughly. “That’s enough.”

Dash shook her head and released Tang, crawling off him. “Sorry,” she muttered, checking her bruised wing.

There was a sudden familiar crack of a .22 and Flash whirled around, drawing his own weapon and shoving Dash down with a wing.

“I got him!” Prowl declared, slamming the pistol-wielding griffon to the ground and kicking the pistol out of his reach as her own pistol snapped into his face. The griffon gulped and raised his forelegs in surrender. The donkey and griffon that Bumblebee had been fighting were now sitting hoofcuffed on the floor; Mavri was standing a few feet back, panting, while a battered and panting Bee trotted over to help Prowl cuff the pirate sympathizer. Gallus and Bottgilia tentatively peeked up over the bar.

“Did that hit anypony?” Prowl asked, not taking her eyes off of the disarmed griffon.

“I’m fine,” Bumblebee reported, pulling out a spare set of hoofcuffs.

Flash patted himself down, then quickly scanned Rainbow Dash for any bullet wounds. “We’re good,” he nodded. “Mavri, you—?”

He froze. Mavri was standing still, chest heaving, eyes unfocused. Slowly, he reached up and touched his chest. When he pulled his claw away, it was slick with dark blood that was now leaking earnestly from the .22 hole in his chest.

“Minchia,” Mavri grunted, and collapsed.

“Mavri!” Bottgilia cried in horror. Gallus vaulted over the bar and hurried to the elder griffon’s side, seizing a tablecloth and pressing it against his wound.

“Mavri?” Gallus pleaded as Mavri began sucking for air. “Mavri, stay with us.”

“This is Prowl, 10-52 at Gold Griffon’s Head,” Prowl reported into her radio as others began to gather around the wounded griffon. “One GSW and four perps cuffed. Hurry!”

Mavri hissed in a breath, closing his eyes and sucking in the air. “Gallus?” he winced.

“Don’t speak, Mavri,” Gallus replied, pressing down harder on the wound. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“You remember what I told you, when I met you in that alley?” Mavri grunted. “You with the blade to your wrist?”

Gallus gulped and nodded. “It’s okay to be afraid,” he whispered.

“But living in fear isn’t living,” Mavri added, reaching out feebly towards the younger griffon. Gallus gripped Mavri’s claw in his own and squeezed.

“You’re a strong lad, Gallus,” Mavri continued. “And there’s strength in numbers. There are good creatures out there: they’ll look out for you. Just look out for them, and yourself.”

“Don’t talk like that, Mavri,” Bottgilia urged, wrapping ripped bandages around Mavri’s slowly heaving chest. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Bottgilia,” Mavri wheezed. “Take care of Gallus.”

“I will,” Bottgilia nodded. “He’ll be safe here.”

Mavri sighed and closed his eyes. “Tired,” he groaned.

“Mavri, stay with us,” Bottgilia called, lightly slapping his cheeks.

But the elder griffon didn't respond.

Author's Note

A good portion of this is reused from the old draft, but there were a few changes, including one notable change in fates.

I'm aware Gallus' introduction was a bit sudden, I'd like to try and go back and fix that a bit later, once we're done with this.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eleven, Chapter Seven: Darkness Rising

Hidden Hieroglyph lived in the Platinum Complex, a small village of expensive houses a few miles to the southwest of the Palace. This circular enclave was composed of some two dozen white and gold houses placed in an artful asymmetry, with a winding cobbled road leading in and out of the gated community.

When Daring and Phillip landed in front of house number twelve, a light red Neighzer Manehattan was parked in the street just in front of the cottage; as they trotted past, they could faintly hear a radio transmission from the radio set concealed between the front seats. Striding up to the door, Daring rapped loudly at it.

A few moments later, the door opened wide and Night Light poked his head out. “Oh, hello!” he chirped, standing back to let them in. “Detective Deck said you’d be by soon.”

“What’re you doing here?” Daring asked as they entered, trotting past a bare coat rack.

“Velvet knows Hieroglyph: he’s helped her with her book research in the past, and he and I have compared astronomical works in the past,” Night Light explained as they entered the sitting room. “We just came here for a talk after he left for home; Velvet had a few things she wanted to check up on.”

The living room was surprisingly sparse. There was a low coffee table with a few old but still springy sofas and cushions surrounding it, a television with a set of rabbit ears that waved faintly in the air, and a table in the corner with a shrine to the alicorns composed a bowl of incense, a set of framed portraits of the six alicorns, and a well-worn Apocrypha’s Testimony.

Hidden was sitting on one of the blue cushions, his eyes focused on an open book that he held in his magic. Stacked Deck was sitting on the pale gold sofa, with Velvet perched on the light purple cushion. Velvet smiled and waved enthusiastically as the detectives entered.

“I was wondering where you were,” Deck nodded. He glanced down at his notebook. “So, Hieroglyph, where were you on the night of the fourteenth?”

“Four days ago?” Hieroglyph asked, hardly glancing up from his book on ancient Hayrabian. “I worked at the Palace until four o’clock, and then I went home to finish repairing a book from the Archives.”

“I don’t suppose anypony could verify that for you,” Deck commented.

“No, but I do not feel I need to justify myself for that,” Hieroglyph said coolly.

“Have you ever been to the Leaky Goblet?” Phillip asked, earning a sidelong look from Deck.

“No,” Hidden sniffed. “I have never been down that way.”

“I have!” Velvet chirped. “That’s the bar on Kindness Street. They serve this great pineapple twister.”

Deck frowned for a moment, then gave Daring a meaningful look. “Detective Do, I think it’d be best if Finder and I questioned Hieroglyph myself for a bit. Do you think you and the visitors here could wait in the study?”

Hieroglyph rolled his eyes. “If they must.”

“Oh, do you still have Pyramids of Southern Equestria?” Velvet asked. “I want to read that again!”

“Certainly,” Hidden nodded pleasantly. “You’ll find it on the shelf there, but please don’t touch anything on my work table.”

“Great!” Velvet chirped, standing up. “Study’s down this way.”

Phillip sat down on the sofa next to Deck and promptly started whispering into his ear. Velvet led Night and Daring down a hallway and into a smaller side room.

In stark contrast to the living room, the study was about full to bursting, even with an impressive amount of space. The two enormous bookshelves creaked and groaned beneath the weight of the many books that had been crammed into them; a section of the carpet in the center had been removed with some kind of basic magic circle etched into the hardwood floor in iron bands. The table in the back was covered in papers, all of them neatly stacked atop the workplace. A set of tools for rebinding and repairing books, including vice grips, thread and needles, bottles of ink, and brushes for glue. A phone sat on the corner of the desk.

“Ah, here it is,” Velvet said, plucking a thick book that featured a step pyramid on the cover from the shelf and opening it up to the middle of the book.

“So, what exactly brought you here?” Night Light asked Daring, who had begun looking around the study, slowly walking in a small circle as her eyes panned over the walls from floor to knees, then knees to eyes, and eyes to ceiling.

“A suspicion,” Daring replied, looking over the desk. Something here was nagging at her mind. She closely studied the carefully organized desk, glancing over the stacks of transcriptions and notes that covered the table except for an empty space right in the front.

“A suspicion?” Night Light asked, his eyes widening slightly. “You don’t think Hidden was involved in this theft?”

“You know I can’t say anything,” Daring replied, looking over the desk again. It finally occurred to her what her subconscious was trying to tell her: the desk was perfectly organized, a testament of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

And yet, there were some papers laying on the floor. Daring bent down to study one of the notes, written in a scrawling hornwriting.

“Must find way to control summoners: they keep calling to me from the other side, singing through the ink. If they ca”

A pen lay on the floor next to the note. A few more notes led in a trail towards the right wall, next to the shelf. He was interrupted and tried to stuff his notes away, Daring thought, following the trail to the wall. Daring squinted at the dark redwood panel as if trying to convince the walls to speak their secrets.

“What is it?” Night Light asked as Daring started tapping the wall.

“Aha!” Daring declared, drawing a hoof along a thin square line faintly etched into the wall, just barely visible unless viewed from the proper angle.

“A secret cabinet!” Velvet gasped, leaning in closer to the wall. She turned back to the bookshelf and started tugging books off them. “I bet that there’s a secret switch in these books here!”

“Velvet, calm down,” Night Light said, scooping up the books in his magic and carefully placing them back in the same places on the shelf. “We shouldn’t be messing with Hidden’s stuff. And besides, you don’t even know how to open that. A bookshelf switch is like something from—”

“My books?” Velvet asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Well...yes,” Night Light admitted. “But you can’t really think that—”

“Hey, Velvet,” Daring said, pointing at a single large book on the shelf behind the unicorn with History of Steganography stamped onto the spine in black letters. “Could you hand me that one?”

“Sure,” Velvet said, plucking at the book.

But instead of the book coming off of the shelf, there was a click as the hidden lever-activated and the panel in the wall cracked open.

“Oopsie,” Daring said with a very insincere smile as Velvet stared, starstruck.

“How did you—?” Night Light gasped.

“Take another look at that book,” Daring pointed. “It looks like leather, but if you take another look at the pages…”

“Hey, it’s wood,” Velvet pointed out, tapping the false bundle of pages.

“Daring, we shouldn’t open that panel,” Night Light started to protest. “It’s priv—”

“Double oopsie,” Daring smirked, pulling the panel open with a wing to reveal an iron safe with a combination lock. “Shucks, Velvet, it sure was a big coincidence, you pulling that book. It’s lucky that Constitutional rights protect from police officials, which we aren’t, and not civilians, which we are.” Both mares smirked and winked at each other.

Night Light stared, mouth agape for several moments, then managed to ask, “Is this how you normally operate?”

“Yup,” Daring smirked.

“Wow,” Velvet said.

“So the Kyaltratek has been in the Archives since before you started as the curator?” Deck asked.

“Yes,” Hieroglyph answered, leaning forward in his seat to indicate his interest in the subject change. “That is one of the few surviving original copies: other versions translated into various languages can be found in various markets—some legitimate, some not—across the world. Of course, if one is interested in legitimate study, only the original will do.”

“And what would one need the Kyaltratek for?” Deck asked. “From everything I’ve been told, there’s all kinds of dark magic stuff in there.”

“It’s true that there are many spells in the Great Work that some consider to be...unnatural,” Hieroglyph admitted. “But it’s also an in-depth guide to more difficult magical theories that still have uses today, and descriptions of rare animals and beings that most regard as mere myth.”

“Some would say that the Kyaltratek is dangerous,” Deck said.

“Ponies are known to say foolish things,” Hieroglyph snorted. “The Great Work has been persecuted and hunted for years by blind, fearful ponies, on the claim that it is a danger. But all knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hooves.”

Deck let out a thoughtful hum, looking down at his notes.

“This is a new frame,” Phillip observed from behind Hidden, picking up the framed portrait of Speranza, the Founder of the Crystal Empire, from the alicorn shrine. The frame for the smiling crystal blue alicorn was composed of fine silver, many threads joining together into intricate bands that were decorated with sapphire hearts. “Where’d you get it from?”

“Sterling Eye,” Hidden answered, turning to face him. “It’s a small craft shop in Canterlot. I bought it a few days ago on a whim, wandering into their shop.”

“See, that’s interesting,” Phillip said, picking up the frame to reveal the logo on the bottom: a single silver eye with the words Sterling Silver set around its circumference in tiny letters. “Because Sterling Eye is on Kindness Street, and you said you’d never been down there.”

Hidden Hieroglyph suddenly seemed to turn into a statue, his eyes widening and his breath seeming to halt in his chest.

“Where’s your cloak, Hidden?” Deck asked, swooping in like a predator pouncing upon a startled and weakened animal.

“My...what?” Hidden sputtered, swaying as though physically struck, trying to keep his balance on the rolling ship that he suddenly found himself upon.

“The hooded cloak that you had earlier,” Deck pressed. “The one that you wore four days ago when you went down to that phone booth on Kindness and Hope and called Crescent Lock, having picked him out as your lackey for the theft. The one that you got coal-tar creosote on, just like your horseshoes. The one that you probably threw out when you realized that it had trace evidence on it that could be used to tie you to the phone booth.”

Hidden looked back and forth between the two detectives, then his eyes widened even more when Daring, Velvet and Night Light entered.

“Hidden, tell me it’s not true,” Night Light said.

“So, you got two choices,” Daring growled. “You can open that safe for us now, or we can get a warrant and break it open.”

“This is...this…” Hidden sputtered for a moment but fell silent underneath their collective glares. He was silent for a moment, then his face twisted in hatred.

“Nzzklya!” he howled.

Three spheres of blue light blossomed from his horn, twisting in midair to form into bizarre creatures composed of magic, each of them looking like a cross between a crab and a scorpion, with massive pincers and barbed tails. Each one pounced towards one of the detectives.

Daring threw herself back, shoving both the civilians to the floor as the beast slashed down at her with its massive tail, sparks dancing from the tip. Drawing her kusarifundo, she snapped it down and grinned briefly as she felt the weight smashing into the solid flesh of her target. The creature paused, seemingly stunned, and Daring followed up with a stomp: it felt like a soft shell, cracking and splitting beneath her hoof with a sound like a firecracker.

Her grin disappeared when a long polearm composed of more blue magic slashed at her head. She ducked and countered, but Hidden blocked her strike and shoved her back.

“You ruined everything!” he shrieked, insanity shining in his eyes as he swung at her again. Dodging the blow, Daring snapped her wrist to ensnare the weapon and pulled, twisting her entire body back. Pulled towards her helplessly, Hidden could only yell in rage; his cry was cut off by Daring’s elbow crashing into his jaw.

Too late, Daring remembered the beast. A lightning bolt of pain raced up the left side of her body and she fell, screaming. The crab-thing, its shell split and cracked, had crawled on top of her and was now stabbing its stinger into her side. Snarling, she grasped the thing’s stinger, but its pincers dug into her flesh, doubling her pain. A glance around showed that Phillip was now dueling with Hidden, his baton frantically parrying his polearm strikes as they danced around the overturned sofa, and Deck was currently dealing with both of the crab things, throwing up shields to block their leaping attacks.

Suddenly, two magical auras, brilliant purple and light blue, seized all three of the summoned crab things and pulled them away from the combatants. They floated away from the fight, all of them fighting furiously against the auras.

“Hurry, Night!” Velvet cried, straining to keep the beasts under control.

Grunting with effort, his horn sputtering, Night Light held up a pack of salt stolen from the kitchen and sprinkled it out into a circle on the carpet in front of them, carefully ensuring that it formed a full circumference. Husband and wife threw the three constructs into the circle, then touched their hooves to the circle’s edge.

There was a soft snap and Daring felt a crackle of magical energy tingle through her wings as the circle closed. Cut off from the magic that controlled them, the three constructs vanished, turning into mottles of pale light that sank into the carpet.

Deflecting a staff strike, Phillip spun into Hieroglyph and dropped his hips, tossing him over his shoulder and onto the floor in a single motion; the magical spear tumbled away and disappeared as well. Hidden cried out in pain as he crashed onto the carpet, but his scramble to get up was interrupted when he found two guns staring down at him.

“Let’s see if your gods can stop a bullet,” Deck smirked at the defeated unicorn.

Hidden snarled and raised his hooves. “If you hadn’t discovered me, I would’ve become more powerful than you could ever imagine!” he snarled as Deck hoofcuffed him. “The Great Work, it has been calling to me for years. It whispered to me that it could be all mine, that I alone would unlock its secrets! All foiled because of you two—”

“Oh, shut up,” Phillip rolled his eyes, holstering his weapon once he was sure the thief was securely cuffed. He trotted over to Daring, his eyes turning concerned. “Daring? You okay?”

Everything on Daring’s left side still ached and burned: when she tried to get up, every muscle screamed in protest and she fell back with a grunt. “Can’t move,” she groaned, glancing down at her side. There was a hole in her vest where the crab-thing had stung her, the skin beneath red and swollen.

“Take her to the study, I can help her,” Night Light offered, panting as he leaned against the wall.

Phillip gently bent down and, with Velvet’s help, scooped Daring up and slowly carried her into the study. Daring winced with every movement that jostled her shrieking body, focusing on taking slow breaths.

“Lay her down in the circle there,” Night Light instructed, following them in. “Velvet, there’s a phone there. Call the police.”

Phillip tenderly set Daring down in the circle: she lay on her right side, sucking in air. Night Light walked into the circle next to her and touched a hoof to the iron circumference.

There was another snap and tingle of magic that danced across Daring’s wings. She tentatively extended her unhurt wing, studying the sensation: the static electricity-like buzzing of flight magic was still present, but it felt...cleaner somehow. All of the magic was inside her wings, not tickling at the outside of her feathers.

“What happened to her?” Phillip pressed, his thin mouth betraying his anxiety.

Night Light winced a bit. “Venom spell: harmful energy that leaks into the skin and muscles, causing damage to every cell it touches. It’s not serious—the dose was small, thankfully—but she’ll definitely need a doctor, and a few days to rest and recover. Now, hold still…”

He charged up his horn and began to chant in a low monotone, thin clouds of blue energy swirling around the two ponies. The clouds gathered around his horn, then he released them with a single word, the spell soaring into Daring’s body.

She hissed as the energy seeped into her like ice water slithering into her pores, then let out a low sigh of relief as the cool sensation eased the pain. She slowly stood up: the muscles protested, slow and stiff to respond, but the pain was tolerable. “Thanks,” she nodded to Night Light with a stiff grin as she stood up.

“You still need to have a doctor look at that: all I did was stop the venom from spreading and repair some of the damage,” Night Light advised, breaking the circle.

“I’ll live,” Daring grunted, nonetheless allowing Phillip to support her. “Let’s take a look at that safe.”

Phillip guided her over to the safe and Daring leaned in close to study the lock. “Hmm…” Daring mused, tapping the center of the door. “If I had a drill, this would be easier. Okay, forty-digit combination lock.” She placed her ear against the door. “Been a while since I had to do it the old-fashioned way. Quiet, everypony, I need to concentrate.”

She slowly rotated the dial back and forth a few times, listening to the faint clicks of the lock as it knocked against the inner wheels. It took her a few minutes of work, but she finally grinned and started spinning the dial with confidence.

“Seven...thirty-three...twenty-two,” she declared, punching each number in. With a click, the latch opened and Daring swung the door open.

Inside was an assortment of notes, messily crammed into the interior, each one covered in thick scrawls. And at the bottom of it all was a large, dark green book with a serpent winding around a dagger piercing the sun and moon embossed onto the cover.

“The Kyaltratek,” Night Light whispered, his tone a mixture of awe and fear as Daring carefully removed the book from the safe.

There came a loud howl from the living room and the sound of struggling as Hidden fought against his captor. “No! You must not touch it, heathens!” he screeched. A moment later, his protests were cut off by a crackle of magical energy.

“Relax, they’re not gonna break it,” Deck replied sarcastically, his eye roll almost audible.

Daring laid the book on the table and carefully opened it. The faded pages inside were covered in sprawling cuneiform and hieroglyphs, occasionally interspersed with illustrations of bizarre creatures, blasphemous rituals, and strange shapes that twisted the stomach to look upon.

Finally, Daring found an illustration of the Amulet of Ina’yk, the red eye staring at her from the page. Every time she looked back at it, it seemed that the twisting tentacles behind the eye changed.

“Here,” she said, pointing. “This is what we need.”

“Paper, pen!” Night Light cried, rummaging through his saddlebags. He laid a pad of paper on the table and lifted up a pen in his magic, placing it on the paper. His eyes on the book, he started copying the pages, his pen flying across the paper as he captured every detail.

“Wow,” Daring commented.

“Could’ve used you in college, mate,” Phillip said.

“I make it look easy,” Night Light smirked. “Comes with years of practice.”

“Yes, Twilight taught you her method very well,” Velvet smirked, rolling her eyes. Night Light let out a soft grumble, frowning and flattening his ears.

“Okay, almost done,” he announced after a few more minutes. He scratched out a few more notes, added some final details, then nodded and started to close the book. “There! I can translate this for you later. Now we can--”

“Stop,” Phillip suddenly ordered, grabbing the book. He held the page open, pointing to an illustration of a set of circular runes.

“These symbols were what Zugzwang had tattooed onto him,” Phillip said. “Copy this page.”

“Who’s Zugzwang?” Night Light asked.

“Just do it,” Phillip grunted.

“All right,” Night Light nodded, pulling out another sheet and starting to copy the writing on the pages, scribbling away with blurring speed.

Before he had even completed one paragraph, there came a dreadful howl from outside. “No! No!” Hidden screeched, thumping and kicking furiously as he struggled. “You cannot! They will not—!"

“You gonna shut up?” Deck asked.

Night Light paused, looking up. “Keep working,” Phillip ordered, drawing his baton with a snap of his wrist and placing himself near the door, gesturing for Velvet to get behind him.

“Hey! Hey, stop!” Deck suddenly shouted. “Those cuffs block your ma—”

“Gluch’ni!” Hidden shouted, then there was a flash of silver light from down the hall, accompanied by a snap of metal.

“Shi—!” Deck’s curse was cut off by the crashing of a pony tumbling over a sofa. Rapid hoofsteps approached.

“Down, all of you!” Phillip ordered, moving to intercept. With a leap, he rammed his shoulder into Hidden, driving the pony into the wall with a pair of grunts and smashes.

Hidden snarled and locked eyes with Phillip, his irides flashing a vicious scarlet. Phillip froze, his eyes widening in an expression of horror as he fell to his knees, his baton slipping from his grasp. Whirling, Hidden reached out with a tendril of silver magic, snatching the Kyaltratek into his hooves before anypony else could react.

Kicking Phillip over and shoving a charging Daring aside, Hidden sprinted down the hallway and dove through a window in a chorus of shattering glass.

Phillip sat up, shaking his head and grunting as the spell wore off. Deck reentered the room, drawing his pistol, and Daring picked herself back up, hissing and limping as fresh pain rippled across her side.

“After him!” Daring barked, sprinting down the hall with difficulty and leaping out the window in a flap of wings, yelping as some of the remaining glass scratched her skin. Deck cleared the remaining glass out of the window and he and Phillip climbed out after her.

A trail of blood led across the immaculate grass and to the back of a neighboring house. Daring took to the sky, then immediately grunted and fell to the ground again as her entire body screamed in protest. “Motherfucking fuck shit bastard shitfuck!” she snarled, running down the trail after Hidden with difficulty. Phillip and Deck both overtook her, following the trail around the corner of the house. The back door had been kicked in, splinters hanging from the frame. The trio stacked up at the doorway, pistols strapped tight to their hooves. With a nod, they entered, weapons raised.

Immediately, everything went black. “Hey, who turned out the lights?” Daring called in the pitch darkness that seemed to swallow them. The darkness pressed down on them like a thick, wet blanket.

Deck’s horn sparked and fizzled as he tried to light it. “Something’s wrong with my magic,” he grunted. “You feel that?”

Daring did feel it, now that she thought about it: a strange, unpleasant scratching and itching beneath her feathers, clashing with the familiar flight magic that she normally felt. She winced, but pressed forward, pulling out a flashlight and clipping it to her vest as the two stallions both did the same. The beams of light were feeble, the shadows almost seeming to attack the light as it left their bulbs, but they provided enough illumination to faintly see a long hallway, the flowery wallpaper decorated with a few landscape and family photographs.

“I hear you,” Hidden’s voice said from the second floor, the sound traveling down the wooden stairs. “I am coming to you.”

“Hidden!” Deck called. The trio proceeded up the stairs, every step creaking beneath their weight. The sound almost made Daring wince as she proceeded behind the other two.

They rounded the landing and found themselves on a carpeted floor, at the bottom of a U-shaped hallway. Phillip paused to listen in the unnatural darkness, then pointed to the left.

“What...what are you?” Hidden’s voice came through an open doorway.

Then came a low hissing, growling noise, a sound that made everypony’s coat hair stand on end.

“No! No! Get away!” Hidden screamed. There was a scrabbling sound, then a howl of agony and fear.

Forgoing caution, the trio dashed forward and rounded the corner, bursting through an open doorway into a bedroom. And as one, they froze.

Hidden Hieroglyph was sprawled on the carpeted floor, his body still, face forever frozen in an expression of pain and terror: where his eyes had once been, there were now only two ragged holes, black slime and vitreous humor running down his face like tears.

But it was the thing standing over him that made them all freeze and stare in shock. The golden unicorn stood near the window, horn alight with swirling gold and black energy, the Kyaltratek in his hooves. He looked up at them with his cold, empty black eyes that locked onto Phillip’s.

He smiled at him.

It smiled at him, slimy tongues slithering back into its mouth like serpents retreating into their den.

“Dankeschön, Liebling,” Zugzwang said with a mocking bow.

Three revolvers rose and fired in a cacophony of panicked shooting, the muzzle flashes swallowed by the darkness, but Zugzwang vanished in a blink of golden light and the bullets thwacked harmlessly into the back wall. The darkness vanished with the pony’s departure, allowing sunlight to flood the room once more, illuminating the corpse in all its horror.

Deck dropped to the floor, clutching his head. “What the fuck,” he muttered, eyes unfocused. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”

Phillip and Daring both looked at Hidden’s body, then at each other. Both saw the same thought in each other’s pale, sweaty faces.

Tangsoppa was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, staring down at his cuffed hooves. An older white griffon sat on his other side, relaying his murmurs to the clover green unicorn with the graying brown hair perched on the other side of the table. The unicorn glanced down at his notes, then asked a question that the translator relayed to Tangsoppa. The captured pirate was silent for a few moments, then grunted a one-word answer. The unicorn scowled and protested, but the translator held up a placating hoof.

“This has been going on for a while,” Trace commented, staring at the scene through the one-way window.

“Guy was at least smart enough to ask for a lawyer as soon as we brought him in,” Red grunted, glaring at the pilot. He glanced at the unicorn. “I will admit, Vinny’s doing pretty well for himself recently. Look at him now: from personal injury and comp cases to defending crooks.”

“Well, getting to brag about defending the great Phillip Finder will do things to your reputation, I guess,” Trace shrugged, glancing down at the folder of evidence and photographs from the Näckros.

“Defended him for a grand total of twenty minutes,” Red rolled his eyes. “But yeah, you’ve got a point.”

The unicorn sighed and gestured to excuse himself, then walked up to the door and exited the interrogation room. Vinny Gamble looked drained and tired, the gray at his temples rather pronounced today, but his green eyes were still bright and alert.

“My client has said that he’s not willing to make a deal yet,” he reported.

“Tell him that we will bring this to trial if we have to,” Red snapped back. “And when we find Whitestone, he—”

Vinny held up a hoof, stopping Red’s tirade. “Detectives, this ain’t personal, all right?” he said. “My job is to do right by my client, and my client has told me that he might not have any love for Whitestone, but he knows better than to try to backstab her.”

“If we’re going to take her down, we need his help!” Red shouted. “We are this fucking close, and I am not gonna—”

“Red, hold it,” Trace interrupted. He plucked a photograph from the manila folder and held it out to his partner. “You see what I see?”

Red glared at the picture for a moment, then his eyebrows shot up as he realized what he was looking at. “Wait here, I’m gonna call the Griffon’s Head,” he replied, dashing down the hall.

“Eh, what? What is it?” a bewildered Vinny asked.

“Something that might help your client trust us,” Trace replied, holding up the picture.

It was a snapshot of the interior of the fishing vessel, a narrow room with a table and a bench squeezed into the passageway. On the wall were a few photographs of seascapes, shots of the river at dawn and dusk.

But on the left wall, partially hidden behind a picture of a tugboat cruising down the Maresippi at dawn, was a drawing in crayon. One could faintly see a childish depiction of a dark green griffon standing next to a smaller light brown griffon.

A few minutes later, Red returned, a triumphant grin on his face. “Bottgilia pulled through,” he reported. “And he knows his name: Ankare.”

Trace turned to Vinny and held up the photo. “Show him this and tell him that we can find Ankare and protect him,” he said. “Whitestone won’t be able to touch him, no matter what.”

“Now wait—” Vinny started to protest.

“Vinny, we both have our duties,” Trace interrupted gently. “But we’re both after the same thing here: justice.”

Vinny thought for a moment, then nodded and reentered the interrogation room. Trace and Red watched as Vinny slowly took his seat; Tangsoppa did not look back up at him.

Vinny sighed, then slid the picture forward and began to speak: without the speakers on, neither Trace nor Red could hear him, but Tang’s slowly widening eyes as he looked up at Vinny with a pleading crease in his face told them everything.

The griffon sat silently for a few moments, then seemed to ask a question. The translator relayed the message to Vinny. Vinny leaned forward and patted Tang on the shoulder with a silent, gentle smile.

Tangsoppa seemed to think for a moment, then slowly nodded, a single tear shining in one eye.

“Gotcha,” Trace grinned.

Author's Note

We're making progress, slow and steady! But there's dark magic afoot...or is it ahoof?

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eleven, Chapter Nine: The Storm Strikes

The light faded from Phillip’s vision and he landed on solid metal, nearly collapsing to his knees. Instinctively, he drew his pistol, forcing his head to stop spinning so that he could aim properly. He sucked in a few breaths, commanding himself to breathe slowly to calm his racing heart.

He was inside some kind of cabin, with a bunk set into the metal wall. There was a wooden bookshelf set into one wall, the books within written in Griffonese. The shredded remains of a blue naval uniform were hanging up in the corner, the rags barely hanging onto the hanger. A safe was embedded in the wall, the door open wide: a cursory examination told Phillip that the keyhole had not been jimmied open.

“Cold?” Phillip asked, turning around to face the unicorn mare in the black trench coat behind him.

“I’m fine,” Cold said, her own weapon raised, her eyes wide and alert. “You?”

“I’m good,” Phillip nodded as he lowered his weapon. “We’re on the Talon. Captain’s cabin, looks like.”

“Agreed,” Cold said, and Phillip realized that they were both whispering. Deep in his former partner’s eyes, he could see the faint tinges of fear.

“Can you teleport back?” Phillip asked.

“No, not unless I can see the destroyer,” Cold replied. “We need to get back to the main deck.”

“Right.” Phillip was about to turn around when a familiar scent that was lurking in his nostrils suddenly jumped up and seized his attention. He hadn’t met that odor in a long time, but he recognized it instantly and followed it towards a door in the back of the room that was slightly cracked open. His insatiable curiosity led him to pull the door open.

“Finder, we need to go!” Cold urged.

But the sight in the small room was enough to grab Phillip’s full attention. The altar, woven green rug, and the golden serving bowl indicated that it had once been a room for worship. But the entire room was now in upheaval: the rug had been flung to one side, the altar overturned with the idols of Kriga and Fantisera thrown onto the ground and broken into pieces, and the bowl was lying facedown next to them. What looked like melted lumps of gold and silver and bits of burnt meat and bone were scattered around: sacrifices to the gods, he guessed. And across the floor were burnt remnants of red powder...mixed with morphine, if Phil didn’t mistake that second flavor. And there were recent, mostly dry puddles on the carpeted floor that smelled of water and salt. Sweat and tears, Phillip concluded.

Casting his gaze around, Phillip noticed that there were words violently etched into the wooden walls with claws. “Övergiven. Vilse. Varför? Vad gjorde jag för fel?” And over the far wall, where the altar had once stood, was a particularly large message, the sawdust from the recent scratches still on the floor: “GUDARNA ÄR TYSTA.”

‘Abandoned.’ ‘Lost.’ ‘Why?’ ‘What did I do wrong?’ ‘The gods are silent,’ Phillip mentally translated. Whitestone’s off her bloody rocker.

“Finder, let’s move!” Cold barked.

Phillip nodded and turned away, following Cold to the door. She opened it and they quickly cleared the dark, narrow hallway outside. The two proceeded up towards the bow with great trepidation, weapons raised, listening carefully for any sound beneath the soft echoes of their own hoofsteps against the metal. The cruiser, which was intended for a complement of 75, was completely, eerily silent.

“You know where the nearest stairs are?” Cold asked.

“Thirty meters ahead to the left,” Phillip replied, recalling the map of the Sparv-class cruiser that the crew had studied on the way to the coves.

A tapping at the wall made them both look up. There was a hippogriff at the porthole, tapping at the window to get their attention. The sailor pulled out a notepad and scribbled a note that he held up to the window.

“Trying to get into hatch: door magically sealed. Keep moving, will get you out soon!”

Cold and Phillip nodded and continued forward as the hippogriff flew off again. As they approached a corner, another scent assaulted Phillip’s nostrils: the coppery odor of blood, mixed with the harsh sting of cordite and the stomach-twisting miasma of burnt flesh.

The bodies were around the corner. Griffons lay sprawled across the hall: the blood that had oozed from the various wounds was only barely coagulating, still lukewarm beneath their hooves. Bullet cartridges and discarded weapons littered the floor, and the walls were stained with shrapnel and scorch marks from a frag grenade, along with the remnants of a few pirates that had been standing a little too close to the blast.

“They were trying to retreat,” Phillip concluded, noting that many of the pirates were laying facedown, with bullet holes in their backs.

The body of one pony lay amidst the carnage. Phillip bent down to study the light orange unicorn who was sprawled faceup across the bloodstained metal, a sizeable hole having been blown through his chest with a close-range shotgun blast. The pony was staring at the ceiling, a few remnants of rage and pain left on his face. There was a trio of dog paws tattooed on his neck.

“Cerberus merc,” he concluded.

“Fascinating. We need to move,” Cold said icily, continuing on.

Phillip followed her further down the hall. More bodies, blood, and scars of battle were scattered across the passageway, telling of the terrible attack that had fallen upon the Talon. Dismembered limbs, severed heads, and torsos that had been cut in half lay amidst the carnage. Some of the guns looked like they’d been seized and twisted or broken with monstrous strength, and tossed haphazardly about were squashed and deformed bullets.

“There,” Cold said, pointing to an open hatchway up ahead. Through it was a narrow ladder that led up to another hatch upon the main deck. They could hear muffled voices from above and hammering upon the steel as the responding Marines tried to cut through the door; the sound of other voices, other presences so close by, was a comforting sound to them both.

But as they approached, the lower hatch suddenly slammed shut with a deafening crash that made them both instinctively flinch. Black and gold energy snaked around the edges of the doorway, sealing it shut with a low crackling sound as the energy solidified into a tar-like substance.

Panic turned to rage in Phillip’s stomach. He seized the handle to try to pull it open, despite knowing that it would be a futile effort. Sure enough, the door was unnaturally cold to his touch, so cold that he had to bite down a yelp of pain as he pulled at the circular handle. The handle didn’t give in the least, even when Cold Case added her magic to the effort. He finally pulled away with a grunt, shaking out his numb, frostbitten hooves.

“Cover me,” Cold stated, lighting up her horn. She started to cast her ice magic on the oil that sealed the door shut, solidifying a section of the ooze into ice. With a grunt, she punched the ice and shattered a small section. “Ha,” she grunted in satisfaction, continuing her work.

And then she cried out in shock as something started to pull her through the floor. Both ponies looked down to see that a puddle of black ooze had formed beneath her hooves and was currently sucking her down.

Phillip grabbed her forelegs and tugged, bracing his own hooves against the terrible suction that was pulling her down. Cold gasped in shock as she slid in: the slime was freezing cold to the touch and it writhed and squirmed against her flesh like a living thing. Grunting desperately, Cold began to blast magic into the puddle, trying to get the unnatural ooze to let go of her even as she was pulled down past her waist.

But instead of releasing her, ropy tentacles slithered out of the puddle and snaked around her limbs and neck, pulling harder. She choked and spluttered, letting out a desperate cry as she felt her hooves slipping from Phillip’s grasp, sinking to her chest.

“Cold, hang on!” Phillip cried, tugging with all his might.

But with a final jerk, one of her hooves was yanked from his grasp and Cold sank down to her armpits, yelling in panic as she futilely scrambled to grab something, anything. Then, with a final yank and a cry of terror, Cold Case vanished beneath the surface of the puddle, which instantly disappeared. Phillip Finder was left alone in the hallway, breath shallow, heart pounding, staring at the now-dry patch of the floor as he desperately tried to think of what to do next.

From somewhere down below, he heard a familiar scream, then a laugh. A familiar, forced laugh with no humor behind it. He turned towards the sound, which had filtered up through an open hatchway: one that he knew led down into the deeper bowels of the Talon. He glanced back at the door behind him and saw that the section that Cold had damaged had already repaired itself. He could not hear any sound from above.

Phillip’s heart rate slowed with resolution, though his hooves still shook as he raised his pistol and descended the steps to find his partner.

“Dispatch, come in,” Prowl repeated into her radio, staring up at the ceiling of the living room. “Dispatch, do you copy? This is Rook Three-One.”

Her only answer was static. Hissing out a curse, Prowl dropped the radio back into her coat. “Dammit,” she snarled. “I can’t get through.”

Outside the window, a blinding flash of lightning and deafening blare of thunder caused all eight ponies and one dragon to flinch.

“Maybe it’s just a rogue storm,” Flash offered, looking into the near-pitch darkness outside and squeezing Twilight’s hoof reassuringly with his left hoof; his right had his .38 strapped to it.

Twilight was pale, her nostrils flaring as she breathed slowly and deeply, sniffling with every other inhalation. “Right,” she nodded with a slight cough. “Just a rogue storm...nothing to worry about.”

“I could get rid of it,” Rainbow Dash offered, buzzing her wings with irritation as she paced around the room.

“It’s too big for one pony, kid,” Daring pointed out, still staring out the window. Like the three officers, she had her pistol secured to her forelimb, her left hoof lightly pressing against the trigger. Through her night-vision contacts, she could see the back yard, the trees that lined the perimeter convulsing in the howling wind that rattled the windows. Nopony was out there.

Nopony that she could see.

“What are we just standing around for, anyway?” Rainbow protested, still pacing. “We should be doing something about this! If this is an attack—”

“Charging headlong into it won’t help any of us,” Daring pointed out as another flash of lightning rumbled outside. “Until we know what’s going on, it’s best—”

At that moment, the lights all went out with a snap, drawing screams from Twilight and Night Light. “What happened?” Night Light asked.

“Velvet, check the phone line,” Daring ordered, raising her pistol slightly.

Velvet snatched up the phone, then slammed it down with a noise that was part irritation and part fear. “It’s dead,” she reported.

At that moment, the purple wards in the walls all flashed brightly and a loud noise like a sharp whistle pierced the air. The whistle began sounding again and again on a loop, and beneath it, they detected another sound: a blade cutting through wood, coming from the ceiling above.

“They’re here,” Flash announced needlessly as four guns were aimed upwards, their owners encircling their principals. “Sarge, what’s the call?”

“The charm will probably be summoning help by now,” Prowl said, her slit pupils darting everywhere as she thought.

“Basement?” Bumblebee suggested.

“No, we’ll be trapped down there,” Flash pointed out.

“We need to get them out of here,” Prowl said, nodding towards the shivering family. “But if we run now, they’ll catch up to us.” She glanced around. “Twilight, can you teleport us out?”

“I can’t,” Twilight said. “Not past the circle.”

“Then we’ll have to get you past it,” Prowl nodded as the whistling alarm continued. “Rainbow, once they’re inside, your job is to get Twilight and her family outside and past the circle so they can teleport out. Get as far away from here as you can.”

“What about you?” Rainbow asked, her eyes wide.

“We’ll hold them off,” Prowl said curtly. “We’ll follow you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bumblebee said with a nervous chuckle. “You’re not the only one who can’t fly.”

There was a snap and a clatter: it sounded like a section of the ceiling had just been cut out and fell to the floor. “Here they come,” Daring hissed.

There was the sound of hooves on the floor above, floorboards creaking under the intruders’ weight. Rainbow grabbed Twilight’s hoof and Twilight placed Spike upon her back. For a few moments, all was quiet.

Prowl exhaled sharply and her ears twitched once. “Four of them up there,” she reported. “They’re stacking up. Rainbow, get ready—”

The attack came from the window. With a great shattering that coincided with another roar of thunder, a blade with twin black suns sliced through the glass, causing everypony to turn around with a gasp. Roaring was outside the window, his thick cloak flapping in the wind, ripping his blade through the warded window. Oily blood ran down the blade as he forced it through the magical constructs.

Prowl turned and raised her pistol, but a thumping down the steps made Daring turn around. Her eyes widened when she recognized the black cylinder crashing down the stairs.

“Flash grenade!” she yelled, ducking and covering her eyes.

The grenade went off with a roar as soon as she had shouted the warning. The flare was as bright as the rising sun, so bright that Daring could see it through her shut eyelids. The concussion wave hit her like a baseball bat to the head. Her head spun and her ears felt like they’d been plugged with cotton. Every sound was muffled—cries of pain, thumps of hoofsteps down the stairs, and the crash of Roaring reaching inside and yanking the window open to allow himself entry.

She raised her pistol towards the sound and squeezed down on the trigger, but metal claws dug into her foreleg and she felt more than heard herself scream in pain as her weapon was ripped from her grasp. The wind from a rushing blade slashed towards her neck and she ducked, the machete blade glancing off her pith. Daring snapped her head forward, grimacing as her helmet met a beak. Daring’s vision slowly returned as she rapidly blinked: the blurry apparition of Roaring was before her, eyes narrowed in hate, the Sword of Asocrac in his tail already snapping down towards her head.

And then something slammed hard into Daring’s back, nearly knocking her off-balance. A purple wave of energy rushed past her and shoved Roaring back out the window that he’d come in through with a crashing of glass. The four other griffons that had been charging down the stairs were shoved against the landing wall and tumbled down the stairs in a heap of tangled limbs and weapons. Before any of them could get up, purple lines of magic snaked through the air and turned themselves into chains, wrapping tightly around the pirates. They struggled and thrashed, cursing in a mixture of Griffonese and Equestrian, but the magical bindings held.

For a moment, everypony stared in confusion, then turned to Twilight. The young unicorn was standing in the center of their little group, her horn flaring with purple magic. Her face was drawn with sudden exhaustion, and she panted and huffed, sweat running down her mane and brow, but her back was straight.

Daring grinned. “Good job, Twil—”

With a bellow, Roaring flew back in through the window. Daring jumped aside, narrowly avoiding a machete blade that would’ve taken her head off, then ducking just as the Sword of Asocrac whistled over her head.

Moving past her with blinding speed, Roaring pushed aside the other ponies and made a grab at Twilight, who screamed and dove out of the way.

“No!” Flash cried, jumping on top of Roaring’s back. With a furious shout, the pirate threw him off and sent him crashing into Prowl, knocking them both over. Night Light and Velvet both backpedaled, throwing up hasty shields to protect themselves and their daughter as the others jumped into the fracas of whipping blades and flapping wings.

A clinking of glass made Spike look up and his eyes widened in horror when he saw two other griffons trying to climb in through the shattered window to join the fray. Instinct bade him draw in a breath, and then expel it in a rush of green flame.

But both griffons merely hunched their heads and drew up the heavy cloaks that they wore. Spike’s flames struck them, but no matter how hard he blew, he failed to set the cloaks aflame. Before long, Spike ran out of air and fell, puffing and gasping in exhaustion.

And so he was unable to react when the taller blue griffon whipped a sawn-off shotgun out from beneath his cloak and centered the bead over his forehead.

“Spike!” Night Light cried, but his shout came too late: the shotgun barked out flame and fury, and Spike fell with a grunt as the buckshot hammered into him. Blood flew from his head and chest.

“NO!” Twilight screamed in horror. Her shriek coincided with the challenging shout of a .38 revolver as Prowl fired from the floor. The griffon who had shot Spike collapsed like a broken puppet as his head snapped back and his partner was forced to retreat from Prowl’s suppressive rounds.

A mule kick from Roaring sent Rainbow tumbling back, teeth and blood flying from her mouth, then he sent Flash spinning to the floor with a feinted machete strike that led him to duck right into his rising fist. Seizing Daring’s kusarifundo as it snapped towards his head, he yanked her close and rammed his head into her face, letting out an exhilarated laugh as he felt her nose break, her blood streaming down his face. His machete cleaved toward her head, but Bumblebee rammed his shoulder into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and making his swing miss.

Snarling, he snapped his tail down at the annoying pest, who dodged too late, his own laziness and bulk proving his undoing. The Sword of Asocrac cut through flesh, fat, and tissue like a hot knife through butter and he relished in the pain and fear in the green eyes as the yellow earth pony gasped and wheezed. Yanking the blade out, Roaring shoved his foe aside, leaving him to curl up on the ground and choke on his last, bloodied breaths.

He turned back towards his target, who was cowering with her parents inside her magic bubble. The fabled weapon proved more than a match for the shield, bursting the little bubble with a loud crack: Twilight screamed in pain and stumbled, her head ringing from the magical feedback. His free claw darted forward and clamped down around a skinny foreleg.

The foreleg of her mother, who had instinctively thrown herself in front of her daughter and was now trying to push him away with a combination of her own strength and magic. Ignoring her sparking horn for a moment, Roaring glanced behind him: the dragon and one of the other ponies were down, but the others were all recollecting themselves, preparing to attack again, guns coming up to aim at his back.

Releasing Velvet’s foreleg for a moment, Roaring instead grabbed her around the throat and squeezed tight enough to cut off her air: she gasped and choked, her horn fizzing out. Spinning her around and hugging her to his chest with one foreleg, Roaring flew backwards, carrying his hostage out the window before anypony could stop him.

“Velvet! No!” Night Light cried, trying to grab his wife’s tail but missing completely.

Roaring exited out into the pouring rain, ascending several yards into the air, then deftly grabbed Velvet by the tail and held her upside-down, drawing a startled cry. His tail snaked around and he placed the cutlass at her neck, close enough that she could feel the blade against her vulnerable flesh. Velvet went completely still, every shuddering breath a stifled whimper; her tears mixed with the rain, running down into her mane.

“TWILIGHT SPARKLE!” Roaring shouted to the house as his last two remaining cohorts descended next to him. “You have until the count of five to come out and surrender, or I’ll cut off your mother’s head and have her corpse for dinner!”

No response from inside, though he could imagine the panic, the desperate race to think of a plan. A race that he intended to win.

“ONE!” he shouted. “TWO!...THREE!...”

Phillip descended to the bottom deck of the cruiser, pausing before the final hatchway. Through the small window, he could see nothing but darkness. He paused, checking to ensure that his snub-nosed .38 was still strapped tightly to his foreleg.

I must be insane, he thought.

Another scream from behind the door, louder and closer this time. His partner was close by and needed help. Help that only he could provide as long as the doors remained shut by Zugzwang’s power.

And so he took in a slow breath, attached his flashlight to the strap on his vest and switched it on, then pushed the door open before he had a chance to think.

The corridor outside was dark, all the lights smashed. Like the rest of the ship, this place was eerily quiet save for the creaking and groaning of the metal as the Talon bobbed in the water.

The bodies were sprawled across the walkway, every corpse covered in blood and slime. The Marines that they had sent in had died hard, falling over themselves as they rushed to retreat towards the stern. Their slime-stained faces were all frozen in horrid expressions of pain and fear, and Phillip noted with a small shudder that all of their eyes had been burst like wet balloons, leaving behind ragged holes that still dripped vitreous humor and brain matter. Spent cartridges and shattered weapons lay in the viscous pools around them, and the odor of cordite and bodily fluids was so nauseating that Phillip had to hold his breath as he proceeded forward, carefully stepping over the corpses.

Another familiar scream came from an open hatchway ahead, followed by another cold laugh. Phillip’s heart thudded in his chest and he moved as quickly and quietly as he could to the door: not easy when the puddles on the floor were so thick that every step splashed audibly. He paused outside the door and winced: a horrid smell of rotting meat emanated from the open doorway, so thick that it almost formed an invisible wall. Grunting, he pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside.

What he saw made his stomach twist into knots. The smell of meat was coming from racks and racks of corpses: ponies, griffons, and other species, stripped of skin to show bloodied muscle, hung from hooks in the long, narrow room, the chains groaning as they swayed. Enchanted refrigerated buckets and totes were filled with offal: intestines neatly coiled around stomachs, hearts carefully stacked and brains sliced into hemispheres to reveal pink-gray meat.

Phillip staggered for a moment, struggling to swallow down several waves of bile. Taking slow breaths through his nostrils, he banished the smells and sights and nausea from his mind and proceeded forward into the larder, trying to move as quietly as possible. The light from his flashlight revealed the stripped carcasses, but there was no sign of Cold, nor of Zugzwang. The only noise was the groaning, creaking melody.

Then his ears picked up another strange noise: soft, high-pitched, irregular breathing interspersed with faint murmurs and whimpers. He frowned: that was definitely not Cold’s voice. He turned towards the sound and rounded the corner, weapon up.

Whitestone was laying on the floor, her back against the wall, and a sword in her talon. As Phillip’s light fell upon her, she snapped around to face him, pointing the sword at him. He recognized the twin black suns on the bloodstained blade: she must’ve stolen it back from Zugzwang. Her eyes were wide and streaked with red; the myokymia of her shuddering orbits was so severe that it was impossible for her to keep eye contact with him. That, and the faint powdery marks around the nostrils of her beak and the sickly sweet odor that he picked up from her breath, confirmed that she was high on red poppydust.

Phillip’s eyes went to the object that Whitestone was clutching to her side. It took a moment for him to recognize the severed head for what it was. A blue griffon female’s head, the eyes ripped out and jaw hanging open.

“Are you here to kill me, too?” Whitestone hissed at Phillip. There was hate in her voice, but it was partially cloaked by the quavering of exhaustion and terror.

Looking at her, Phillip was suddenly reminded of a Royal Guard toy that he’d owned as a foal. His convictions of the brave soldier’s invincibility were crushed one day when he accidentally stepped on it, breaking off the wooden head and one wing and leg. Grief-stricken, he had attempted to fix it with far too much paste and too little care. The result was that the toy had lopsided limbs and a deformed head.

That’s what the once-proud pirate looked like. A broken toy that had been badly put back together.

A broken toy that was still holding a cursed sword in his direction. “Put it down, Whitestone,” he commanded, holding his weapon steady.

“I don’t understand,” Whitestone whispered, continuing to hold the tip of the cutlass out at him. “I followed the visions, did what the gods commanded. Why have they abandoned me now?”

A bitter comment about her “visions” being no more than drug-induced hallucinations had to be forced down. “Drop it!” Phillip repeated.

There came a low, liquid sound of something sliding across metal from behind and Phillip whirled around.

He realized his mistake when he heard the flapping of wings behind him. He dived out of the way as the Sword of Asocrac cleaved through the air where he’d been standing, rolling across the cold metal and turning to fire at Whitestone. The griffon flapped into the shadows with a snarl.

And then he heard a hoofstep behind him, detected the odor of Saddle Arabian tobacco. He whirled around and instinctively fired, but only caught a glimpse of Zugzwang before he ducked behind cover.

“Where’s Cold, you bastard?!” Phillip shouted, chasing after him.

“Liebling, I brought you over here to play and you’re only concerned about her?” Zugzwang taunted from up ahead.

Phillip turned the corner and his flashlight fell upon Cold Case, stripped of her coat and gear, hanging upside down from a hook that was embedded into her hind leg. Her front hooves were cuffed behind her back and sweat ran down into her mane as she struggled; distinct spider web-like marks of magical burns were sliced across her belly and chest.

“Cold,” Phillip breathed, rushing forward.

A screech of hatred heralded Whitestone flying at him again, cutlass brought back for a swing. Phillip snapped the revolver up, but the blade struck at him and he dodged too late: the enchanted sword sliced through his weapon and he had to dive into a roll to avoid what would’ve been a final cut at his head.

Not again, he growled to himself, shaking the ruined sidearm off his foreleg as he tumbled. Hope Twilight can repair it again.

As soon as he came back to his hooves, he snatched up the boomerang from his back pocket and tossed it at the banking form with a snap of his wrist. Whitestone spat out a curse as she sliced the weapon in half in midair, already swinging around to attack him again.

“Shit,” Phillip hissed to himself, snapping his baton open. Cold’s eyes widened as she watched death approach her partner on swift wings. Time seemed to slow in Phillip’s mind as he considered vulnerable targets on his griffon foe: his baton suddenly felt as fragile as a twig, but it was the only weapon he had left.

The blade swung. Metal clashed against metal.

Whitestone was hurled back against the wall with a screech of pain, staring up in horror as both Phillip and Cold gaped in shock.

Zugzwang had appeared in front of Phillip in a flash of golden light, parrying Whitestone’s strike with the cutlass in his hoof and shoving her away with a telekinetic strike. He twirled the second Sword of Asocrac in his hoof, a smile stretching across his face. Pleasure glittered in his black eyes, but his once-pristine suit was now ripped to shreds: wounds that had been hastily closed with magic lined his body and crisscrossed the circular runic tattoos...which, Phillip noted, seemed even less complete than before.

“No, Whitestone,” he declared, stepping slowly forward. “He is mine. And so are you.”

The fear in Whitetone’s eyes turned into rage and she let out a shriek that seemed to make the hull shake as she launched as herself at Zugzwang. Their blades clashed together in a cacophony of metal, with Zugzwang’s laughter and Whitestone’s cries of rage providing a horrid counterpoint. They danced around each other to the deadly music, moving away from the other two ponies.

Phillip wasn’t about to bemoan his turn of fortune. He hurried over to Cold, keeping an eye on the two combatants, and pulled a set of hoofcuff keys from one of his pockets, unlocking the cuffs. Then he reached up and, with some difficulty, managed to undo the hook from the chain. Cold fell to the ground with a grunt and rolled to her hooves. Gritting her teeth, she grasped the hook in her magic, then backed it out of her flesh with a tug, gasping in agony.

Phillip quickly wrapped the bleeding wound in some gauze, then stooped down and lifted Cold up, wrapping one of her forelegs around his shoulders. “Where’s your gun?” Phillip asked as he started to carry her away.

“Don’t know,” Cold grunted, using a cold spell to numb her limb. “We need to retreat.”

A howl of pain made them both turn around. Zugzwang was kneeling on the ground, parrying Whitestone’s downward cut with his right hoof. His left foreleg was lying on the ground next to him, severed just ahead of the knee.

A golden light rammed into the griffon’s chest and sent her skidding along her back, but the effort of the spell seemed to be more than Zugzwang could handle, for he simply sat back on his haunches, panting and sweating.

Whitestone sat up, shaking her head and grunting, and her golden irides locked onto Phillip and Cold. She shrieked again and charged at them. “Die!” she screamed, thrusting the sword at Phillip.

Shoving Cold to the floor beneath the captain’s charge, Phillip lunged inside her swing and locked his forelegs around her sword leg in a python-like grip as his elbow crashed into her jaw, cracking her beak like an egg. With a grunt, he twisted his entire body and slammed Whitestone to the floor. A beam of white energy whooshed past him and struck the gray-plumed wing, encasing it in ice.

Whitestone’s beak drilled into Phillip’s shoulder, drawing a grunt of pain and a spurt of blood as she kicked him away. Phillip had to fling himself down onto the floor to avoid another cutlass swing as Whitestone rolled back to her paws, snarling.

Her snarls turned into a yelp of shock as her hind paws shot out from beneath her, skidding across a patch of ice that had suddenly appeared beneath her. Cold grinned to herself as Phillip lunged, knocking the Sword of Asocrac from her grasp with a baton strike and ramming her to the ground.

A sound made Cold turn around and she blinked in surprise. Zugzwang had grasped his severed foreleg and was holding it before the bleeding stump. Black tendrils slithered from both stumps and joined together, pulling the limb back together. Zugzwang grunted and stood up slowly, massaging the wound: some of the runic tattoos faded away into wisps of smoke as he rose.

Cold snarled and stood up as well, her horn lighting up. Ice formed around her forelegs and chest, shaping themselves into armor, and then a pair of knives appeared in her hooves with a crackling sound. She stood in a combat stance, gritting her teeth against the protests of her wounded leg.

Zugzwang stared at her for a moment, head tilted to one side, then shook his head before vanishing in a flash of golden light.

Turning around, Cold spotted Whitestone shoving Phillip away and scrambling for the dropped Sword of Asocrac. Yanking the sword away with her magic, Cold charged forward, stumbling on her wounded leg, and stabbed down with the ice dagger. Whitestone ducked beneath the attack and slashed at her: Cold grunted as the talons dug into her ice armor, sending shards of snow flying and a wave of fresh pain rushing across her body.

Blocking a followup strike with her frozen gauntlets, Cold pushed the griffon away with a blast of cold air: Whitestone tumbled across a table, knocking over buckets of stomachs and entrails. Cold snapped her wrist, sending one of her ice knives tumbling through the air. Whitestone grabbed a hanging carcass and blocked the knife with it: ice spread from the stab wound over the rotting flesh.

A spinning blur whistled through the air and struck Whitestone in the head, staggering her as Phillip charged in. He caught his backup boomerang in his mouth as he vaulted the table, his hind hooves smashing into Whitestone’s chest. Ribs cracked like splintering wood as she yelled in pain, but managed to duck another ice spell from Cold Case.

“I’ll kill you both!” Whitestone shrieked, yanking the ice knife from the carcass and lunging at Phillip. Phillip rolled out of the way and struck back with his baton, a vicious duel beginning once more. Cold pulled herself over the table with a grunt and jumped into the fray, stumbling on her wounded leg.

An elbow crashed into Cold’s jaw and the second knife tumbled from her grasp. Blinded, head ringing in pain, she raised her armored gauntlets to block a knife strike, but talons seized purchase against her head, digging into her mane. Grunting, Cold rammed her knee into Whitestone’s gut and managed to seize the foreleg that clutched the knife, but Whitestone let out a screech of fury and shoved hard as she kicked Cold’s wounded leg out from beneath her. The last thing Cold felt was a ringing thud as her skull rang against the metal table: she slid to the floor, unconscious.

Huffing and snarling, Whitestone turned back to Phillip, who was picking himself back up from a slip. Howling, she threw herself at him, the ice knife raised to finish him off.

His boomerang spun through the air with a flick of the wrist. She spat angrily and slapped it out of the air and then she was on him, slashing at him from every angle. With every parry, more ice spread across Phillip’s baton, and she heard him hissing as the cold bit into his hoof.

She feinted with the knife, then slapped at his foreleg when he went for it, smacking the baton from his grasp with a clatter. Shrieking in victory, she tackled Phillip to the floor and they slid amongst the spilled offal. Mounting him, she pressed down with the ice dagger: he pushed back as hard as he could, trying to squirm out from beneath her, eyes wide in desperation as the enchanted blade inched closer to his face. Panting excitedly, she pressed down with her entire weight.

Something cold and squishy nudged Phillip’s cheek as he wriggled beneath Whitestone: a glance told him that the object in question was a dropped stomach, the ends both tied off to contain the ground meat inside.

Desperation pulling him forward, he seized the stomach in his mouth, cringing at the dry, sour taste, then flung it at Whitestone’s face. Meat exploded everywhere and she flinched with a grunt, her grip on the weapon loosening.

Seizing her wrists, Phillip wrenched them apart as he sat up, driving his head into her chest and knocking the breath from her lungs. The ice knife fell from her clutches; he seized it and drove it forward, letting out a yell that tore at his dry throat. The impact of blade against flesh and bone shuddered up his foreleg and she fell off him with a scream as ice spread from the wound. Her claws dug into his flesh, his face, but he relentlessly drove himself atop her, foreleg pumping maniacally, both of them screaming and yelling.

Her desperate clawing weakened, slowed, then she fell back with a final, feeble swipe at his face, eyes rolling back.

Panting, wiping blood from his eyes, Phillip pulled himself off her, crawling a safe distance away. Whitestone’s heaving chest was covered in red and white, the blood from her many wounds crackling as it froze against the enchanted ice. Her breath came in low gasps and Phillip realized that she was dryly sobbing as she lay dying.

“Kriga...Fantisera...where are you?” she whimpered, tears leaking from her fearful eyes. “What did I do wrong?”

Whatever was in her departed with a final rustling noise and her body went still.

A groan told Phillip that Cold Case was waking up, her ice armor breaking apart as she sat up, holding her head. Up above came the sound of hoofsteps pounding down the ladders: Marines arriving to back them up.

Sighing in relief, Phillip leaned back against the metal table and allowed himself to relax. “It’s over, Cold,” he declared, the weight of exhaustion dragging at his eyelids.

“FOUR!” Roaring shouted, pressing the blade tight enough against Velvet’s trembling throat enough that it drew blood that the rain pulled down into her mane. “FI—!”

“STOP!”

Roaring and his two companions grinned in victory as Twilight Sparkle exited the house, her head lowered in defeat and her steps slow. She looked up demurely at the pirates.

“I’ll do what you want,” she declared over the wind and rain. “Just don’t hurt my mom!”

“Oh, you’re done giving instructions, tik,” Roaring sneered and dropped Velvet. She screamed helplessly as she fell, and Roaring and his companions dove towards their target, claws reaching out to grab her.

And then many things happened all at once. First, a rainbow blur rocketed out of the house and snatched Velvet before she struck the ground, bringing her safely back inside.

Second, Twilight’s posture suddenly snapped up to the confident stance of a trained shooter, advancing forward. The .38 pistol that had suddenly appeared on her foreleg fired twice and the two pirates who were with Roaring plummeted out of the sky, their craniums split open by a pair of rounds. Roaring narrowly adjusted his trajectory to avoid a pair of shots that zipped past his belly, his jaw dropping in shock as the illusion spell faded away, destroyed by the gunpony below crossing the magic circle.

Daring Do grinned at Roaring and adjusted her aim, firing another volley that he had to spin in midair to avoid.

Snarling in rage, Roaring dived at her like a hawk swooping towards prey, closing the distance before she had a chance to reload. His machetes scissored through the air, forcing her to retreat: he saw pain appear across her face and she stumbled, her wings slow to respond. With a grin, he stabbed with the cursed sword in his tail.

Daring’s screech of pain as the blade drilled into her shoulder brought an even larger grin to his face and he advanced, his blades whirling like the winds of a cyclone, aiming at her weak side. Daring reeled away, panting and wincing, the blades coming closer and closer to her flesh. A machete kissed her foreleg and drew off another chunk of flesh, drawing another cry. The scent of her blood in the rain drew Roaring on: already he could taste her flesh—

And then a cannonball rammed into his side, nearly bowling him over. He tumbled over and swung with his blades, but missed the blue pegasus as she looped through the air to come around again.

Daring quickly retreated a bit so that she could reload safely. Unfortunately, her plans for that were quickly dashed when the Sword of Asocrac once more cleaved her pistol in half with a strike. Not again! she thought with a growl, ducking a followup strike.

"Rainbow, get back inside!" she ordered, throwing off the ruined pistol.

“Nah, you need my help!” Rainbow replied, flying circles around Roaring. “Hey, come and get me, fugly!” she taunted.

Roaring screeched and launched himself at her, and Rainbow flew back, tossing something at him. With a crackle and a roar, the storm cloud that she’d been hiding fired off a bolt of lightning at Roaring, who was momentarily frozen in midair, his coat standing on end and an almost comical expression of pain and shock on his face.

And then he bellowed in rage and threw himself at Rainbow once more, blades whirling like a living mower. Rainbow yelped in terror and spun in midair, the blades kissing her flesh and wings.

Meanwhile, Daring pulled a pocketknife out of her coat and snapped it open. The four-inch blade clicked as it locked into place.

“Hey, salt for brains!” Daring taunted as she threw herself at Roaring, gritting her teeth against the dull pain of her injuries, ordering her bleeding shoulder to work. Roaring turned and just barely managed to avoid the deadly strike at his neck, yelling in pain as the knife dug into his shoulder instead. Eye for an eye, Daring thought with a bitter grin.

Roaring tried to throw Daring off, but she clung to him, stabbing into his wounded foreleg. One machete tumbled from his grasp, spinning to the ground.

The Sword of Asocrac whooshed at Daring’s head and she ducked, but a cold shock of pain ran down the side of her head, followed by the warm rush of flowing blood; as she spun away with a grunt, she caught a glimpse of her left ear falling to the ground.

She also caught a glimpse of the other machete ready to cleave her head off.

Suddenly, a pair of blue limbs wrapped themselves around Roaring’s foreleg, halting the killing strike. Rainbow pummeled Roaring’s sides with her knees, grunting with every blow that fractured ribs and bones.

Roaring growled, then flung his head back and Rainbow broke off with a muffled shout of pain as blood shot out of her broken nose. The machete blade whistled through the air and Rainbow ducked with a gasp.

The cutlass came down. Rainbow threw herself aside too late.

A terrible scream of pain and horror rent the air at the same time as another clap of thunder. Rainbow began to fall, her eyes and mouth open wide. Her left wing fell beside her, severed at the joint.

“DASH!” Daring cried out, momentarily frozen in horror.

To her relief, a purple aura of magic grabbed Rainbow Dash, halting her fall as Twilight emerged from the house. Roaring yelled and dived at his target once more.

Daring lunged and wrapped herself python-like around Roaring’s body, stabbing maniacally with her knife, every strike sending more blood flying into the rain: the other machete fell from his grasp and Twilight gasped as the blade clattered onto the porch next to her.

“Get off!” Roaring snarled, grabbing her weapon and jerking it from her hoof. Spotting movement out of the corner of her eye, Daring reached back and grabbed Roaring’s tail: the Sword of Asocrac writhed like an angry serpent, the blade missing her by inches as the two tumbled in the rain and wind. Roaring bucked like a flying bull, trying to toss Daring off: she felt her grip slipping off him, the blood that ran down his chest hindering her hold.

A flicker of lightning rumbled through the clouds above, and an idea sparked in Daring’s mind. Grabbing Roaring’s tail in both of her hooves, she yanked him up towards the clouds, yelling aloud as her wings protested against the weight. Roaring shrieked and struggled, flailing as he tried futilely to grab Twilight.

They reached the low clouds and Daring reached out and grabbed a tuft, yanking it free from the larger mass. Focusing her pain and rage, she channeled her will up from her gut, mixed it with the magic that buzzed and tingled beneath her aching wings, and sent it through her foreleg into the cloud, stroking it with a wing in between desperate beats to keep herself aloft. It began to crackle and quiver in her hoof as the energy built up.

Roaring turned upon her, his eyes burning as hot as the lightning above him. "Die!" he snarled, turning towards Daring.

Please, please, please work! Daring thought and threw the cloud at the struggling griffon beneath her.

Lightning streaked out of the makeshift weapon, the light burning into her cornea. The electricity struck her in the belly and her every nerve cried out in pain, but she felt the static buzzing of her flight magic cover her like armor. She screamed, and she realized that Roaring was screaming as well.

Her wings failed her and gravity took hold. Her vision recovered in a blur of colors and she saw Roaring falling from below her, stunned by the lightning strike. She also saw the Sword of Asocrac spinning past her.

Instinct bade her seize the sword and dive down towards her foe, sending one last effort through her wings. Roaring flared his wings, but they both knew he was too late: his eyes widened in horror as she brought the sword back in both hooves.

Daring swung hard. Blade cut through flesh and bone like paper. Gore and blood showered over Daring’s face and chest as she fell through Roaring, streaking right into the ground with an exhausted flop. With a pair of wet smacks, the two halves of Roaring landed on either side of her, guts spilling out onto the lawn: beneath the rain, she heard him give a final wet, shuddering gasp, and then he was still.

Grunting, fighting through the pain and fatigue, shaking off the blood and flesh that coated her, Daring forced herself up and dropped the sword, staggering over to the porch. “Rainbow,” she gasped, hauling herself up the steps. “Rainbow.”

Twilight and her parents were now outside, standing over the blue pegasus’ still form. They’d wrapped a blanket around Rainbow’s body and projected a shield over them all to block the rain, and Night Light was now wrapping her red-stained torso with makeshift bandages that were already soaking through, but Rainbow still shivered, gasping and whimpering in pain and fear. As Daring approached, Rainbow’s eyes, wide and full of panic and tears, locked onto her.

“Stay with us, Rainbow,” Daring said, collapsing next to her. Rainbow reached a hoof out from beneath the blanket and Daring seized it, gripping it tightly.

“D-Daring…” Rainbow whimpered, tears in her eyes. “I don’t...I don’t want to die—”

“Shh, shh, just stay still,” Daring whispered, stroking Rainbow’s mane as the sound of sirens approached. “It’s okay...you’re gonna be okay…”

Author's Note

Big action setpieces are a weakness of mine, I'll admit: the fact that this is officially the longest single chapter I've ever written should testify to my inability to cut it down. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this battle, and will forgive me for my tardiness!

Hopefully that ambulance arrives soon...

Case Eleven, Chapter Ten: Flying, and Falling

Daring paced up and down the line of chairs in the waiting room, her pace as rapid as her own pounding heartbeat, wincing with every step that sent fresh pain up her wounded shoulder. Twilight, Velvet, Night, and Flash all sat in chairs on either side, eyes unfocused as they considered their own thoughts: all of them were holding hooves, and Twilight was resting her head on Flash’s shoulder. Prowl was standing at the hospital window, looking down at the city below them, but Daring could see the stony mask that she had placed over her face in her reflection. No one spoke. No one met her eyes as she passed. The tortuous silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, mercifully, a doctor approached from the hallway. Velvet instantly sat up and pounced on the unicorn. “Well? Well?!” she cried.

The doctor raised a hoof. “First of all, Officer Bumblebee is completely fine; nothing vital was cut and while he lost a lot of blood, he should be on his hooves in a few days,” he reassured them. Prowl sighed audibly. “Secondly, Spike is all right: the buckshot didn’t penetrate his scales all the way, but he still suffered internal injuries and a serious concussion. We’re currently repairing the damage and will need to keep him in the hospital for a couple of days for observation, but he should be okay.”

“And Rainbow?” Daring asked.

The doctor sighed, his face falling a bit. “She’s alive, but she lost a lot of blood and will need to be in bed for quite a while,” he explained. “And...I’m truly sorry. We were too late to save her wing.”

Daring felt her heart sink into her stomach and she had to sit down, all thought and sound falling away except for one thing.

I was too slow.

She shook herself out of her reverie just enough to realize that the doctor was offering to let them see the patients and the others were agreeing. They trotted back up the hallway and the doctor pointed them into a couple rooms.

Bumblebee was sitting on one mattress, his torso stitched up and wrapped up in bandages. He smiled when he saw Prowl, who trotted quickly over to him and pressed her forehead against his with a relieved smile. Spike was on the opposite bed, adorned in a foal’s scrubs and a golden metal band over his head, bandages over the wounds on his scales. Twilight immediately pounced on him and hugged him tight, planting kisses all over his face.

“Twi, getoff, I’m fine,” Spike grumbled, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. “And my head hurts.”

But Daring made her way over to the third bed, where Rainbow Dash lay. The little pegasus was lying faceup on the bed, staring at her left side. Her body was still wrapped in bandages, but the two pegasi could both imagine the ragged tear, the tiny little stump beneath the wrappings, all that remained of her left wing.

“You okay?” Daring asked, sitting down beside her. Internally, she cringed. Stupid, stupid question: of course she wasn’t okay. Her dreams were over.

Rainbow looked up at her, eyes dull and unshining. “Is there any chance that…?” she started to ask, clearly afraid of the answer.

“They lost the wing, Rainbow,” Daring replied, unable to meet the younger mare’s gaze.

“What about a prosthetic?” Rainbow asked, her voice rising to an almost hysterical pitch. “There’s still some left, right?! I could make a payment plan—!”

“Rainbow, that’s gonna be expensive,” Daring explained quietly. “Really expensive. I can try to help, but with you on a weather pony’s budget…”

“But...but...but…” Rainbow protested, her voice devolving into whimpers.

Daring looked around in an attempt to look at anything but the tears forming in Rainbow’s eyes and saw Velvet and Night Light looking over at them. The two unicorns put their heads together and began whispering together: Night was frowning, but Velvet made an emphatic plea. They considered together in silence, then Night turned to the observing doctor.

“How much would a prosthetic cost?” he asked.

The doctor thought for a moment. “For a complete wing replacement? Upwards of three thousand bits. And she’ll need weeks, possibly months of physical therapy for her to get used to it.”

Velvet and Night Light both looked at each other and smiled. “We might be able to help with that,” Velvet nodded.

“Really?” Rainbow Dash asked, instantly perking up. A weight raised slightly off of Daring's shoulders.

“You helped save our lives,” Velvet smiled. “It’s the least we can do to help you get back on your feathers: turns out being a popular author and being related to the Princesses can help with the bills at times.”

“Thank you!” Rainbow cried, a joyous smile breaking through the tears. “Thank you so much! I’ll pay you back however I can!”

“You already have,” Night Light reassured her, clapping her on the shoulder.

Rainbow settled back onto her sheets with a relieved sigh. “So,” she said to Daring. “When can we get back to work?”

“What?” Daring said, her eyebrows raising. “Kid, you can’t be serious.”

“Would you let losing your wing stop you?” Rainbow asked in complete seriousness.

Daring had to concede that the kid had a point, so she quickly switched the subject. “You still disobeyed me,” she replied, frowning severely. “I told you to go back inside and you didn’t.”

“Because you needed help with him,” Rainbow replied, folding her forelegs across her chest. “Admit it, I saved your life. You’re lucky you only lost an ear...and that they could just stitch it back on.”

Daring scratched idly at the magically reconstructed ear, which had been itching nonstop since the stitches came out, while she thought of an answer. None came up.

“Look, as soon as I get out of here, I’m going to go back to doing what I can to help this city, to fight the bad guys and make sure the good guys can sleep peacefully,” Rainbow stated plainly. “And you can’t stop me, so you might as well let me help.”

Daring scowled. “You’re getting to be a real pain in my ass, kid,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, but I’m the pain in your ass that saved your life twice now,” Rainbow pointed out, sticking her tongue out with a grin.

“That doesn’t mean I owe you: I saved your skin on both occasions,” Daring pointed out. After a pause, she sighed. “You do have a point, though, Rainbow. And…” She smiled thinly. “You’ve got guts. I’m proud of you.”

Rainbow’s face lit up and she flung her forelegs around Daring’s neck with a squeal of delight. Daring stiffened for a bit, then briefly smiled and patted Rainbow on the back, allowing the embrace to last a few minutes. She felt warm tears trickling onto her shoulder.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she finally said, wriggling out of the embrace with a small stab of reluctance. “Get some rest, kid.”

Daring turned away and started to exit. Velvet and Night Light were tiredly nuzzling on a chair next to Spike, who was currently sticking his tongue out in disgust at the sight of Flash and Twilight cuddling and kissing on another chair. Prowl was sitting next to Bumblebee, who was playfully pouting as Prowl, a weary smile on her face, discussed getting him back to work.

A sudden weight pressed down on Daring’s back, and she exited with a long sigh. She wandered out of the hospital and hailed a passing streetcar. She slumped down in the back of the trolley, lighting a cigarette and sucking on it halfheartedly, not tasting the mint and smoke.

When the trolley finally reached the city center, she got off and trotted down Honeybee Bakery, head low, the pain of her wounds and damaged muscles having now faded to a low ache. She reached 221 and inserted her key into the lock, the purple wards around the home flashing briefly as she entered.

The exhaustion that was sweeping over her was so great that she wasn’t even hungry, despite not having eaten anything in hours. She dragged herself upstairs and collapsed onto the bed, pulling the sheets over herself. It was no substitute for his arms around her, but it would have to do for tonight.

The police launch pulled into the docks with a low rumbling of engines. Blinking blearily, Phillip looked up from the back as the towers and streets and smells of his hometown stretched before him. With a weary groan, he pulled himself up from his seat. Cold Case stood up as well, tapping the ashes from her pipe and gently shaking the other two unicorns awake.

“You should go home,” Phillip advised Cold as he stepped onto the docks, rolling his bandaged shoulder.

“We still have a lot of evidence to categorize and reports to summarize,” Cold said, attempting to hide a wince as she followed him onto the dock. She touched her chest for a moment, massaging the faded scars beneath the trenchcoat.

“Cold, it’s not going anywhere,” Phillip pointed out. “And with Whitestone and most of her crew cactus, I think we can move her down on the priority list. Besides, it’s almost bloody noon and we’ve been going since last night. We’re all buggered: call it a day and leave it for tomorrow.”

Cold frowned in thought for a few moments, staring at the boxes of evidence in the back of the boat, then shook her head. “I have to keep busy,” she said quietly, licking her lips.

Phillip noticed her reach a hoof into a pocket, a pocket that he knew contained a purple coin with a ten embossed on it. Glancing up to ensure that the other officers were otherwise occupied with loading the boxes into a waiting truck, he trotted over and patted her on the shoulder.

“You can say no,” he whispered. “It doesn’t control you: you control it. Go home and get some rest.”

Cold was silent for a few moments longer, rubbing the coin in her pocket in silent contemplation, then looked up at him and nodded. Phillip smiled briefly at her, then helped load the boxes of evidence into the truck.

“You need a ride home?” Cold asked as she climbed into the cab.

Phillip was about to reply when movement caught his attention and he turned. The next moment, a golden torpedo crashed into him lips first, knocking him flat on his back with a surprised grunt.

“I think I’m good,” he replied, his voice muffled through Daring’s hungry kisses.

Cold stared for a beat, then grunted and closed the door. The truck started up and pulled away as Phillip embraced his partner and kissed her back.

“I deduce that you missed me,” he smiled up at her.

“A lot,” Daring said, nuzzling him for a long moment before letting him up. “What happened?” she asked, her face creasing in concern as she noticed the bandages.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Phillip frowned, his eyes going to the faint scar along Daring’s left earlobe where it had been restitched.

“You first,” Daring offered.

Phillip related his story aboard the Talon, with Daring letting out a low breath when he told her of Zugzwang’s appearance. “That’s why he wanted the Kyaltratek; to find the Talon,” she deduced. “You think he was behind the theft all along?”

“If he was, he sure as hell picked a roundabout way to do it,” Phillip frowned. “Now, what happened here?”

Daring narrated the adventure of the pirates’ final attack and her defeat of Roaring. Phillip frowned as she told how she’d lost her ear and when she explained how Rainbow had lost her wing, Phillip hissed in shock.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “You two were both damn lucky.”

“Don’t I know it,” Daring nodded. “You bring the other two swords back?”

“Just one; Zugzwang took his with him. Why?”

“When the Princesses got a letter about what happened last night, they decided not to take chances: they sent a Royal Guard envoy over this morning in a car to take the swords back to Canterlot for safekeeping,” Daring said, then added with a smile, “And they said they’d be more than happy to have a word with Adamantium Prosthetics about getting Rainbow set up with a new wing.”

“That’s aces,” Phillip nodded, lowering his head. “Right...we’d best get home.”

“Hang on,” Daring said, her face falling. “There’s something we gotta do first.”

Phillip looked up and realized that they were standing in front of a cemetery that stood on a hill overlooking the Maresippi. The gate was guarded by two marble statues: Kriga on the left, his sword and shield lowered in a gesture of relaxed vigilance, and Fantisera on the right, her blindfolded gaze turned and one belled wrist raised to welcome the guests.

A small group of griffons was gathered around a fresh gravestone. At their head was Bottgilia, who had his arm draped across a younger blue griffon’s shoulders, both of their heads bowed. A griffon priestess with small bells around her paws and talons and thin cloth over her eyes was standing next to the grave, shaking the bells on her limbs.

As Daring and Phillip quietly entered, the Fantisera priestess began to sing in strange, ethereal music, wordless calls that rose and fell in a soulful melody that seemingly could not come from any mortal throat.

“What’s she doing?” Phillip whispered.

“It’s called a kulning, a herding call,” Daring explained quietly. “See, griffons believe that Fantisera’s duty is to guide dead souls through the Dreaming Sea: that’s what the blindfold’s for, she has to stay asleep, and the bells are so the souls following her don’t get lost in the sea. This kulning song is supposed to call the wandering soul back to the grave, and call Fantisera so she can find the soul and start guiding them to the other side.”

They stood and listened as the priestess continued her song, which slowly died away into a sad, but dignified farewell. She patted the gravestone, then stepped back.

“Farewell, Mavri,” Bottgilia declared, raising a flask from his side. “Who showed us we didn’t have to be afraid.”

At that moment, he looked over and spotted Phillip and Daring standing at the periphery. Every other griffon looked up at them as well.

There was silence for a few moments, then Phillip announced, “It’s over. Whitestone and Roaring are dead.”

There was no cheering. There were no smiles. The griffons merely nodded silently and slowly began to disperse. Bottgilia patted them both on the shoulder as he passed: Gallus nodded, but couldn’t quite make eye contact.

Once everygriffon was gone, Phillip and Daring approached the headstone. It was a small, simple memorial, with only this carved onto the granite slab: “Mavri. Fourth of the Moon of Hunters, 1903—Twenty-Ninth of the Moon of Sun, 1950.”

Phillip sighed and slowly patted the stone. Daring pulled out her flask, raised it to the grave, and took a long swig before handing it to Phillip.

“Goodbye, Mavri,” Phillip whispered and drank to a brave griffon’s memory.

“You sure you can’t stay?” Twilight asked that evening, lifting up some of her parents' luggage from the train platform and carrying it into the waiting carriage.

“Sorry, Twilight, but our vacation time is up,” Night Light said, ruffling his daughter’s mane. “Time to get back to Canterlot.”

“And I’ve still got to finish up my deadline,” Velvet added, hugging Spike goodbye and planting a kiss atop his head. She trotted over to Flash, who extended a hoof to shake. Instead, she pulled him into a tight embrace, eliciting a surprised squeak.

“Thank you for taking care of my girl,” Velvet said, kissing him on the cheek.

“Heh...uh, just doing my duty,” Flash nodded, awkwardly hugging her back. “Wow, you know, I was expecting a lecture right about now.”

“Oh, don’t worry: I trust Twilight to make her own decisions, and I think you’ve more than proven yourself,” Velvet smiled at him. “Besides,” she added with a grin. “I’m pretty sure that you’ll be hearing plenty of that from Twilight’s brother, who just so happens to have an entire army at his beck and call.”

Flash went pale and gulped audibly, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

“Mom, don’t scare him!” Twilight chided.

“Hold up!”

Daring alighted on the platform, panting slightly and mopping her brow. She turned just in time to shoot a grin at Phillip as he vaulted over an iron fence and did a dive roll over a trolley of luggage, skidding to a halt next to her.

“I win again, old stallion,” Daring smirked, booping Phillip.

“You really shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this yet,” Phillip muttered, flattening his ears against his head.

“You’re just mad ‘cause I still beat you,” Daring grinned, spreading her wings wide and promptly failing to hide a wince.

Phillip rolled his eyes and turned to Velvet and Night Light. “Wanted to see you off,” he said, extending a hoof. “Was ripper to meet you both.”

“You, too,” Night Light said, shaking his hoof. “I’m glad to see that my daughter is in good hooves here.”

“Call us next time you have a case that involves strange magic!” Velvet grinned as she pumped Daring’s hoof vigorously.

“There is one other thing,” Phillip said. He leaned in close to Velvet and whispered into her ear. Her eyes widened in surprise, then she grinned and nodded. Phillip reached into his vest and pulled out a book featuring a step pyramid against a red-tinted full moon, with a stallion in a fedora staring up at the top.

Daring quirked an eyebrow as Velvet took the book in her hooves. “What are you doing with my copy of Curse of the Scarlet Queen?”

Phillip just smiled at her as Velvet pulled out a pen and scribbled something into the inside cover. Night Light also added something with the pen, then handed it back to Daring. Eyebrow still raised, she read their inscription and her eyes widened.

“Dear Do Dare: when you get that book finished, get in touch. I might know a publisher and an experienced author who can give you a few pointers! Love, Vel.”

“And I might know an editor.” —N.L.”

Daring’s eyes went from Velvet’s dedication to the earlier note from Nightingale Star. The same swirl at the end of the f’s. The same tall, narrow loops on the h’s. And Velvet’s and Nightingale’s “Love” were both mirror images of each other.

Her jaw gaping open, Daring looked up at Velvet. Velvet winked at her, then raised a hoof to her lips. Daring nodded and hugged the book to her chest.

The train whistle blew to signal final boarding. With a few final goodbyes and waves, Velvet and Night Light climbed onto the train, which soon began to trundle up the rails with increasing speed and hissing clouds of steam and smoke. Twilight and Spike stood on the platform and waved until the train was out of sight, then nodded good night to Phillip and Daring and walked off, Twilight with her hoof wrapped around a blushing Flash’s foreleg.

“How did you know?” Daring asked Phillip as they turned and headed for home.

“I saw Velvet’s signature when we signed into the Palace,” Phillip explained. “It was a match for Nightingale’s. That, and the fact that she’s an author that Twilight knew, and the fact that Velvet was rich from her writings but we’ve never heard her name, made it pretty obvious.”

Daring rolled her eyes. “Okay, yes, you’re the master and I’m still the student,” she said, then kissed Phillip on the cheek. “But thanks.”

Phillip just nodded and smiled. Daring looked down at the signed book before her as excitement bubbled up inside her chest like bubbles in a shaken can of soda. It rushed up her shaking limbs and into her throat, exiting her with a long, loud, delighted squeal as she hugged the book tight to her chest.

She abruptly froze when she realized what she’d done and looked over to Phillip, who was now smirking at her. She cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders, turning away to hide her intense blush. They continued on home just as the distant clocktower of City Hall started to ring out nine PM.

Bright Sparks glanced down at her watch, noting the time as nine o’clock. They had been preparing for hours, but something was still digging at the back of her mind. She stared out the window of the hideout into the darkness, looking for any sign of intruders, anything that seemed out of place.

Magic circle around the house...check. Doors and windows locked...check. Wards triple-checked for any weaknesses...check. She shrugged her shoulders, adjusting for the weight of the BAR that she had slung over her torso. What am I forgetting?

“Am I the only one who isn’t really okay with this?” Dusty Tail muttered to her left.

Bright Sparks glanced at her partner’s drawn face and frowned. “I’m...sure that Scarlet knows what she’s doing,” she stated, trying to ignore the stabbing pain of the cursed brand.

Dusty just grunted. “If it’s gonna help us get all the thieving bastards in this city in our corral, so much the better. All this stuff about gods and stuff is a bit over my head, though.”

Sparks nodded. “I’m gonna go check on Endeavor,” she said, trotting off.

She carried herself up the stairs, carrying the weight of the weapon over her back, and into the room that she’d set aside for herself and her son. A changing table stood in one corner, with some diapers and powder neatly stacked atop it. Jars of Smilin' Day baby food were stacked next to the table, along with a few baby toys that she'd managed to snatch.

Endeavor was asleep in the little crib, wrapped up in bright blue blankets. He sucked on one drool-coated hoof, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Bright smiled and gently reached down to stroke the strands of curly blue hair atop his mane.

“What did I do to deserve you?” she asked the little foal with a wan smile.

As she stroked the baby’s warm, soft cheek, she caught sight of the burned mark in her flesh, a crude shape of a ring of keys. The mark of the Family, mercenary thieves, spies, treasure hunters...and killers.

Spark’s entire hoof went numb and cold as a lead weight settled in her stomach. She slowly sat down on her haunches, staring at the brand as faces blurred before her eyes in a slideshow of death and murder. The scent of blood and cordite rankled in her nostrils. For a moment, the face of a nineteen-year-old drug dealer interposed itself over Endeavor’s face and she gasped, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest.

The next thing she knew, somepony was rapping at the door. She bolted up from the sea of memories, one hoof instinctively going for the trigger of her machine gun.

“Scarlet’s getting ready to start,” Sledgehammer stated. “She wants you downstairs to help.”

“Okay,” Sparks nodded, standing up. Endeavor rolled over in his sleep and let out a little whine: Sparks lingered long enough to make sure that he went safely back to sleep, then exited the room. “Keep your eyes open for anything,” she commanded her second as she descended the stairs.

“You think that Gerwhin’s gonna show up?” Sledge asked with a grunt, hefting the BAR that he carried around his own shoulders.

“There’s a chance,” Sparks nodded grimly, passing through the living room. The other members of her team—her brothers and sisters—were gathered around the room, weapons close at hoof. Red and Black were both fidgeting on the couch, while Dusty was doing another round of the perimeter. A couple of the new guys were double-checking their weapons. Sparks tried not to think about Gear Shift: his absence was like a dark pit in the middle of the room.

Taking a breath, Sparks descended downstairs into the basement. Even before she rounded the landing, she could feel the power emanating from beneath, crackling around her horn like lightning buzzing around a lightning rod. Swallowing down her fear, she descended.

All of the furniture and boxes of ammunition, supplies, and weapons had been shoved to one side, allowing access to the floor. The entire floor had been scrawled over with chalk and salt lines, woven into complex webs of patterns that made Sparks dizzy just to look at. Four lines reached out of the central complex to form into four circles: each one contained a number of strange runes that appeared to have been made from salt mixed with blood, and in the center of each was a gem. In the center of the entire construction was a jade necklace.

Sparks looked up at The Treachery of Images in the corner. A lamp had been cast on the painting to reveal the hidden sketches etched into the canvas: though the details eluded her, Sparks understood that it involved taking power from various totems and concentrating them all into a single object.

In this case, focusing the latent power that had long laid dormant in the four Innsbeak statues—which were now scattered around the city, their positions carefully chosen by the mad artist’s designs—and concentrating them through four gems, one taken from each statue, into the jade fox lucky necklace that had been stolen from Silvertongue’s museum so many moons ago.

Sparks stared at the innocuous-looking jewelry sitting in the center of the configuration, her mind traveling to Shifting Tone. The mare had risked everything for the cause when she stole that necklace. It had cost her the lives of her coworkers. It had cost her two years of her freedom, serving probation: she was lucky it hadn't involved prison. It had nearly cost her her life.

And it took Daring and Phillip to save her. Not you. Them. Her.

“Sparks? What’s on your mind?” Scarlet asked.

Sparks shook her head. “Sorry, Scarlet. My mind wandered off.” She made a brief show of checking to ensure that the back door in the corner of the room was locked tight. “What do you need?”

“I need you,” the stallion in the mask stated plainly.

Sparks turned towards the stranger. Scarlet had brought him in earlier, introducing him as her master. The figure wore a ski mask and a long cloak and pants that covered his entire body, including his cutie marks. What little coat that Sparks could see was black in color, but what struck her the most was his eyes: were they green? Were they red? Either way, they were piercing, the eyes of a pony who was used to having others follow their commands.

“I require additional power for this,” he stated. “Do you know how to channel energy into another’s spell?”

“Yes,” Sparks nodded.

“Good. Begin now. Scarlet, we are ready.”

Sparks lit up her horn, shuddering as she felt her energy being leached from her appendage, swirling and twisting as the stranger shaped it into his spell. The chalk lines and runes began to glow with dark red energy, the glow spreading slowly across the construction.

Scarlet and the stranger began to walk around the circle: the stranger’s eyes were impassive, while Scarlet’s face was a mask of concentration, barely hiding the fire in her eyes.

“Nyaglath, ger’uh angfah...the True Masters, sleeping beneath all flesh...hear our prayer,” Scarlet hissed out in a throaty whisper. “Your servants are here, awaiting your command. Grant them your gifts so that they may complete your will.”

They paused at the first gemstone, a circular ruby. “Gol’fmyog, Daybreaker, hear us,” Scarlet said, kneeling. “Grant your servant your power and strength: light a fire in his soul for you.”

The ruby began to glow with a fiery yellow aura, the blood markings around it taking on the same color. The smell invaded Sparks’ nostrils and she had to repress a groan as her stomach writhed like a snake.

Scarlet then proceeded to the next one, a topaz diamond. “Gol’shuyog, Nightmare Moon, hear us,” she breathed. “Hide your servant in your shadows and guide him with your stars.”

The diamond shone with a dark purple aura, and once more, the blood around it began to glow with the same color. Sparks’ stomach made another protest at the odor and she had to swallow it down.

“Thalafn, Discord, hear us. Teach your servant your cunning, let his tongue be gilded by your silver.” The square emerald and the blood around it shone with a strange orange-yellow aura.

“Rayng’fay, Tirek, hear us. Fill your servant with your rage, and let his hooves guide the unworthy to you.” Finally, the harshly-cut amber began to burn with a blood-red light. The smell of burning blood and salt became sickening and Sparks had to take slow breaths to keep her lunch down.

The varying colors ran along the ritual circles, snaking along the spiderweb lines of chalk. The entire thing seemed to vibrate with a strange, unearthly tone that vibrated in Sparks’ bones, making her feel like a living tuning fork.

Scarlet and her master began to chant together, blasphemous sounds that no pony throat should be able to make. The jade fox necklace started to shake and spasm as the glowing lines of energy rushed into it, slithering into the stone. The voices, the humming, and the smell all reached up and up into a crescendo, then there was a loud crash of thunder and lightning that sent everypony reeling back with cries of shock and pain.

Slowly, vision and hearing returned. Bright Sparks looked up, rubbing her eyes to see that the salt and blood circle had been burned away, leaving scorch marks seared into the concrete floor. The four gems were still where they had been, smoke rising from their cracked surfaces. The jade fox necklace was still lying in the center of the room, faintly glowing a sickly green color.

Scarlet Letter slowly approached the necklace, tentatively reaching out a hoof towards her prize. She cautiously touched it, then slowly picked it up upon deciding that there was no danger. The necklace seemed to glow brighter at her touch. Her face replete with awe, Scarlet lifted the necklace up and raised it over her head as she knelt, presenting it to her master.

“My lord,” she breathed.

The masked stallion cocked his head for a moment, then started to reach out to take the necklace.

And then the back door opened. Everypony whirled around to see a tan unicorn with black eyes, a grin stretched across his haggard face, emerging through the door, backlit by a red glow from the strange void behind him. Hanging from a cord around his neck was a dark blue key, and there was a single circle of black and red runes on his naked chest.

That was all she saw before a golden sphere of light struck her in the chest and sent her crashing back into the wall. The wind was knocked out of her and she lay on the ground, gulping for air and fumbling for her weapon.

The necklace and the four gem were yanked from Scarlet’s hooves and into Zugzwang’s grasp. “Danke,” he chirped and started to back out the door.

“No!” Scarlet screamed, trying to grab the necklace back in her magic. A pair of Modello 1935s appeared in her hooves and she opened fire, the barking of the pistols mixing with the gong-like ringing of her shots bouncing off of Zugzwang’s shield.

Black tendrils shot out of the air and ensnared Zugzwang, yanking him back into the room. His struggling form was pulled before the masked stallion: Sparks observed that a curved black horn had blossomed from beneath his ski mask, glowing with a dark red aura as he glared at the intruder.

“You have threatened me for the last time, Zugzwang,” the master snarled as Sparks climbed back to her hooves: the sound of pounding hoofsteps from above made her grin. They were coming to finally kill this fuck, who writhed and struggled, choking and gasping. “Execute this worthless—”

“RELEASE US, FALLEN ONE!”

Sparks froze. That gurgling, bubbling voice, which sounded like something that did not have vocal cords attempting to mimic equine speech, roared out of Zugzwang’s throat—not his mouth, his throat—and suddenly, she found herself completely petrified, as though her muscles had turned to stone. Scarlet and the unicorn were both frozen as well, but the sound of hoofsteps still grew louder by the moment.

Zugzwang dropped from the frozen unicorn’s grasp, coughing and massaging his throat: with a slow sizzling sound, half of the runes on his chest faded away into smoke that smelled of ink. Seizing the jade necklace, he dashed back to the door before anypony could move again, slamming it shut behind him just as Sledgehammer burst in, gun already raised.

“Non! Non!” Scarlet wailed, racing to the door and opening it, only to find that behind was merely the staircase leading back to the surface. Her mouth agape with horror, she turned back to her glaring master.

“Master, forgive me,” Scarlet pleaded, kneeling. “I didn’t...I didn’t know he—”

“The statues,” the unicorn snapped. “Does he know where they are?”

“Only one, my lord,” Scarlet breathed quickly. “The statue of Nightmare Moon in City Hall. The others I placed myself, but he could easily figure out where they are.”

The red eyes snapped around to focus on the others. “Move out! Find the statues before he has a chance to take them back! Destroy them if you have to!”

There was a moment of hesitation, then at a nod from Scarlet, Sledgehammer led the others back upstairs. Snatching up teleportation crystals, the team poured out into the night, jumping into waiting motorboats that roared up the river.

Scarlet bustled over to a phone and started to dial in a number, aware of the vicious glare burning into the back of her skull with every moment. She’d failed her master.

And his mercy was limited.

Author's Note

Well, that's a twist, isn't it?

This is what a kulning sounds like.

As we set up the rising climax of Kriegpsiel, I want to thank all of you for sticking with me thus far. Your support keeps this story and channel going! I hope you enjoyed and are looking forward to more: if you are, let me know with a like and a comment!

Case Twelve, Prologue: Grave Matters

The humidity hung over the sleeping city like an unwanted guest: the few ponies who were still awake at this time of night could taste it on their tongues with every breath. The bells of the City Hall clocktower rang out once, their peals echoing across the streets. Far to the north, away from the few lights that were still on, a single pony in an expensive suit, masticating quietly on a silverleaf cigarette, trotted up a pathway strewn with weeds and bordered by tall oak trees.

“No, I understand, Bruder,” Zugzwang sighed, trotting up to a waist-high iron gate. A chill wind ran down from the east, ruffling his mane. The smoke from his cigarette was pulled to one side by the wind as he lit up his horn, the only lights in that cloud-blanketed night. A blue key floated up to the padlock securing the rusty chain around the gate and inserted itself into the keyhole. With a simple click, the padlock snapped open and fell to the ground, the chain following with a rattle. Replacing the key beneath his suit, Zugzwang pushed the gate open: the decrepit hinges protested with a loud squeak as he passed through. As he passed through, he used his magic to replace the lock and chain: to be foiled because of a simple incongruity would be an embarrassment.

“Using your power so often was...reckless,” Zugzwang agreed as he started to slowly amble along the flattened grass, casting glances at the markers he passed. “We barely survived all of that.” He paused for a moment, then grinned in a vulpine manner, the faint glow of his cigarette casting his face into shifting shadows. “But then again, it was fun, wasn’t it?” he admitted. “And if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have gotten this.” He looked down at the jade jewelry that was now dangling around his neck. The fox bounced against his chest: as Zugzwang watched, a faint emerald light shimmered in the little stone creature’s eyes.

A moment later, Zugzwang’s grin transformed into a frown. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “I’ll be more careful.” He was silent for a moment, looking around the wide, hilly field that he had entered, then started off down a gravel path. An owl screeched from somewhere within a shivering tree overhead and flew off into the darkness: far off to the north, a cannon burst of thunder rolled across the sky.

“No, I don’t want to lose you either,” he admitted as he started to climb a winding slope. “You are...my friend. You’ve always been with me, guiding me, helping me. I would not be alive were it not for you.” Another pause, then a low chuckle. “Yes, in every sense.”

He took a long drag on his fag as he reached the top of the hill and looked around, reorienting himself amidst the monuments that stuck out of the hill like jagged teeth. “Bruder, I am confident that this will work,” he stated plainly. “Did you not say yourself that I am the best host you have ever had, greater than even Stygian?” He snorted. “Surely you need not worry about my friends trying to ‘free me from your corruption.’ Nein, this is our path. Besides, where else are we to go? No one living will help us.”

He paused in front of his target and smirked. “So we must turn to the dead.” He studied the mausoleum before him with an admonishing tilt of the head, taking note of the swirling calligraphy inscribed into the doors and the silver and gold engravings etched into the stone, depicting the Reaper with his hooded cloak, scythe, and empty hourglass. “As ostentatious in death as you were in life, mein freund,” he sardonically commented, using the key to open the locked door. The mausoleum doors groaned into the night as they reluctantly parted.

“And now, we begin,” Zugzwang declared, undoing his tie and jacket and removing his clothes with his magic, neatly folding them and placing them into a plastic bag that he carefully placed to one side. His nude flesh was marked by swirling black and red runes, the wounds from a solid two weeks of work long healed.

A leather bag appeared in Zugzwang’s hooves and he pulled out several bags of salt, a box of candles, a small jar containing mercury, a trowel, chalk line, a plumb bob, string compass, and a pair of ancient, crumbling scrolls. He carefully unrolled the scrolls, studying the contents beneath the light of his horn.

Drawing the overlapping circles and runes into the ground took him almost an hour: ensuring that the thirteen candles were in just the right place took him another twenty minutes of work. Adding the salt and mercury was comparatively easier, though ensuring that the constantly writhing, squirming liquid remained where it was meant to be proved relatively daunting. But finally, he was ready. Zugzwang stood in the center of the largest circle, surrounded by five of the flickering candles: they shivered before him, as if cowed by his power, by the knowledge of what he was going to do.

Zugzwang stared at the scrolls for a moment, ensuring that he had the spell properly memorized, then closed his eyes, summoning his will. The words slithered out from his lips, syllables snaking into the air. The flames from the candles began to twist and flicker in unison, like choreographed dancers. The tips of the strangely dark fires reached into the air and twisted together like ropes, swirling around Zugzwang. He continued his low monotone, his own magic twirling into the air and joining into the dance.

The wind rushed in, first from the north, then the south, the west, and the east, buffeting the candle lights in a vain attempt to extinguish their flames, but the spell continued on. The wax of the candles melted at an accelerated rate, dripping into the channels of salt and mercury: the noxious liquid began to run along the channels, pulsing as though with a heartbeat. The tempo of Zugzwang’s chant increased: with every moment, the swirling tendrils of light and heat grew brighter and hotter, the liquid running faster and faster.

And finally, Zugzwang gave a shout, a single, blasphemous word that echoed through the graveyard, and the flames all went out at once, not even leaving any smoke behind. Breathing slowly and deeply, Zugzwang stood and carefully rubbed out the circle.

“Hmm,” he mused, staring into the open doorway before him. Lighting up his horn, he fired a beam of dark golden energy into the doorway, briefly lighting up Death as the spell passed him by.

From within, there came the shattering of ceramic, then a low moaning of the wind. A small tornado comprised of dark ashes rushed out of the doors, swirling and coalescing into solid forms. First, the bones were shaped, then muscles atop them: the body stretched and contorted within the whirlwind, jaw flapping as though trying to cry out.

Organs soon followed, then skin began to blanket itself over the entire frame. Hair sprouted unevenly, forming in randomly growing patches as the wind slowly died out. But finally, it was done.

Before Zugzwang stood a tall, portly blue unicorn. His gossamer tail and mane were in disarray, spilling over his face and down to the ground. He had a cutie mark of a silver statue of a pony rearing up on its hind legs. The figure stood before Zugzwang, silent and unmoving. He wasn’t even breathing.

Zugzwang slowly approached, musingly bringing a fresh cigarette to his lips and lighting it. He trotted around the figure, who remained statue-still, then approached his face, brushing some of the mane aside.

One silvery-blue eye stared back at him, with no emotion or soul behind the iris. Where the left eye should have been was merely a ragged hole. And upon closer inspection, Zugzwang noted that the left ear was missing, as well as a significant part of his left cheek, revealing an entire row of white teeth.

“Hmm. Looks like they didn’t collect all of your ashes,” Zugzwang mused. “But you’ll still do.” He stepped back and smiled. “Herr Silvertongue, will you obey?”

Charlie August Silvertongue stared back at him with his one dead eye, then nodded. Zugzwang’s smile widened and he slowly turned, looking over the field of graves before him. “Now, who else can we recruit…?”

Author's Note

Bad pun is bad, I'm already flagellating myself for it.

Still, this can't be good. You ready for this? If you are, leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Twelve, Chapter One: Swingin' Start

The crowd around Daring was noisy, like crowds naturally are, but she’d managed to tune most of the noise out. She was being carried by the slow but steady current of the thick river of bodies, her head lowered and covered with a floppy sunhat: a welcome relief from the heat of the setting sun.

The crowd carried her towards the wide gilded glass doors of Ponyville Theater, a white domed brick building that sat near the border of the Industrial and Dockside districts: blinking red and yellow lights surrounded by the massive sign over the door, illuminating the golden tragedy and comedy masks. As she passed the door, she glanced up at a poster plastered up on the wall next to her. The logo on the dark blue background was a saxophone, a trumpet, and what looked like a long stick with tribal painting running around the circumference, all overlapping one another.

“THE OUTBACKERS!” the poster announced in bright red letters. “Aushaylian Swing Band. Open dance floor. 7:30 PM, 8-12 Moon of Grain, 1950.”

As Daring entered the theater, she presented her ticket to one of the ushers, who nodded and allowed her entry. She proceeded with the rest of the crowd into the brightly lit lobby, sighing as the air conditioning kissed her skin and made her light dress ripple slightly. She managed to break away from the crowd as it began to disperse, walking towards a snack stand.

Her eye caught a familiar pair of unicorns, one of whom had a familiar purple dragon sitting atop her withers. “Hey, Twi, Spike, Rarity,” she greeted them as she approached. “How’s the head, kid?”

“Much better, thanks,” Spike smiled, briefly rubbing at the red spot on his forehead. “I haven’t had a headache in days now.”

“Good to hear,” Daring nodded.

“Oh, Daring, Twilight and I were just discussing our latest project for you and your beau,” Rarity stated, smirking a bit at Daring’s frown at her choice of adjective. “We should have it all ready by tomorrow morning.” She patted Spike’s head gently with a fond smile. “Spikey-boo here has been most helpful.”

“Anything for you, Rarity,” Spike said: Daring could almost see the hearts floating around his head as he stared vaguely at the alabaster unicorn, who giggled as she stroked his scales.

“Thanks,” Daring nodded. “It’ll be good to have some extra protection.”

“I also did some touch-ups on your wards,” Twilight announced. “Your shields should be easier to activate and last longer now.”

“If I can ever activate it,” Daring muttered.

“You’re still practicing with circles, right?” Twilight asked.

“Yeah, but it’s still hard,” Daring grumbled.

“All it takes is practice,” Twilight reassured her.

“Tell that to Phil,” Daring grumbled. “He can throw that thing up no problem.”

“Well, if he suddenly grew wings, I doubt that he’d know how to use them right off the bat,” Twilight said with a smile, cueing a round of laughter from the group.

“True, true,” Daring acknowledged.

“We can see if it works better next time I come over for practice,” Twilight said.

“Ladies and gentleponies, the show is about to start. Please take your seats,” a voice announced over the PA. At the signal, the few attendants that were still milling about the lobby started to head into the larger doors into the theater.

“See you inside!” Rarity chirped, following the crowd. Daring followed after Twilight and Spike through the doors.

Ponyville Theater might not have been too outstanding from the outside, but the interior more than made up for it. The grandiose ceiling stretched overhead, almost seeming to stretch to the limits of the horizon: the entire thing was decorated with frescoes depicting scenes from classic plays. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling; the light from it made the glow from the recessed lamps around the theater seem like matchsticks next to the sunrise.

The massive stage was covered by a great red curtain, which was currently shaking slightly from movement behind it. The polished walnut of the dance floor in front of the stage gleamed beneath the lights, large enough to carry maybe thirty couples.

Daring took a seat near the front, keeping her head lowered. The crowd filed in around her, some of them heading to the dance floor already. After a few minutes of chatter, the lights started to dim. With a chorus of shushing, the attendees fell silent.

After a few moments, a noise floated into the quiet: a low droning sound that slowly grew in volume. The sound began to rise and fall, the notes vibrating in Daring’s bones.

The curtain rose and the droning noise was interrupted by the crash of cymbals that announced a drum solo. The crowd’s cheering mixed with the arrival of piano, brass, and guitar as the lights came up, and the Outbackers were revealed in their full glory.

Hours earlier:

“I haven’t seen you this excited since I brought home that belly dancer outfit,” Daring smirked at Phillip as the two stood on the pier.

“That wasn’t excitement,” Phillip muttered, his ears turning faintly red even though his wide smile never faded; his eyes remained locked on the incoming blue sailboat that was slowly riding the current towards them. “And can you blame me? I haven’t seen my parents or the band in a year.”

“I guess,” Daring nodded, taking one final drag on her cigarette and flicking it down to the ground where it joined the rest of the burnt joints. She plucked her flask from her side and flicked the cap open to take a long drink of the bourbon inside, keeping her eyes on the sailboat. The boat, she noted, was a double-deck sailboat, its cloud white sails fluttering in the wind: as it came within the last few yards, dodging around a buoy, she could hear them flapping.

“You’re nervous,” Phillip observed.

Daring rolled her eyes. “You really are the greatest detective in this city,” she deadpanned.

“You’ll see,” Phillip said with a comforting smile, draping a foreleg over her shoulders. “They’ll like you, all of them will.” He looked up as the ship made its final approach. “There’s one now.”

A light gold pegasus emerged onto the bow, a white Akubra hat atop his long gray mane, which had been drawn back into a ponytail. His cutie mark was what looked like a yellow circle with a slice removed and a feather. He grinned and waved at Phillip, then grabbed a pair of ropes off of the bow and flew down onto the dock.

“Give us a hoof, Phil,” he said in an Equestrian accent, tossing him one of the ropes. The two stallions pulled the boat—the Billabong Melody, declared the white letters painted across the hull—up to the pier and tied it off.

“Good to see you, Bitz,” Phillip said, slapping the pegasus on the back.

“You too, Phil,” Bitz nodded back as a gangplank was lowered from the ship. “You been practicing?”

“Every night,” Phillip replied as other ponies began to disembark from the ship. “Hope you’ve been doing the same.”

“Phillip!” a joyful voice called, and Phillip looked up with a broad grin as two ponies hurried down the gangplank.

The tall, robust red earth pony with the curly blue and white ponytail, blue eyes that were still bright despite the encroaching wrinkles, and cutie mark of a trumpet reached him first, the two seizing each other in a tight embrace.

Daring raised her eyebrows in surprise at the mare that quickly joined their hug. She was striped like a zebra, with a long black and white striped mane and tail, but her coat was colored in shades of gray. Her eyes, alive with joy and love, were a grassy green and she had a cutie mark of a rain cloud with a long, intricately decorated wooden tube—a didgeridoo, Daring recalled from a faintly recollected book.

“How you been, son?” the stallion asked, ruffling Phillip’s mane as he playfully tried to squirm out of his grasp. His voice, every syllable gruff with an Aushaylian accent, was even deeper than his son’s, and much louder.

“Aces now that you’re here, dad,” Phillip replied as the mare kissed him on the cheek.

Daring fidgeted in place, then started to back up slightly. None of them had noticed her, maybe…

The zebra mare turned towards her, fixing with her a welcoming gaze that made her pause. “You must be Daring Do,” she said in a soft Aushaylian accent, striding forward with a calm grace. “I’m Phillip’s mother, Rain Rhythm.”

Some of the nerves that had been shivering in Daring’s gut returned. Forcing a smile to her face, she stepped forward and extended her hoof. “Hi,” she said. “It’s an honor to meet—”

Rain grasped Daring’s hoof—Daring instantly took note of the confident strength behind her grip—then, before Daring could react or protest, pulled her into a tight hug. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!” Rain cried, kissing her on both cheeks.

Some of the butterflies in Daring’s stomach flew away at her warm response. A moment later, the rest of them were squeezed out, along with her breath, when Phillip’s father seized her in an iron grip that was somewhere on the border between “warm embrace” and “murder attempt.”

“G’day!” the stallion declared right into her ear. “I’m Bobby Baseline, and it’s ripper to meet the mare that my son finally settled on!”

“Dad, ease off,” Phillip said, prompting Bobby to release a gasping Daring.

Daring considered Rain for a moment, then turned to Phillip. “You never mentioned you were part Aborigineigh,” she said. “You certainly don’t look it.”

“Who do you think taught me how to carve and throw boomerangs?” Phillip said. “I was born with stripes, but they faded out when I got older. Don’t know why.” He gestured around at the rest of the ponies, who were now waiting for introductions.

“You’ve met my parents: Dad’s the leader and trumpeter, mom plays didgeridoo and clarinet. This is Playbitz, bass guitar (the tan pegasus saluted with a large wing); Siren Bliss, Bitz’s wife and lead vocals (a petite brown unicorn mare with a cutie mark of a purple heart and an eighth note, her chestnut mane and tail drawn into loose ponytails, waved from next to Bitz); Sax City, saxophonist (a green unicorn with scruffy red hair and the cutie mark of a saxophone made into an eighth note winked from behind his thick glasses); Charlie Ivory, pianist (a charcoal pegasus with a white beard and sunglasses nodded in her general direction); Giana Krupa, drummer (the bright orange griffon with reddish plumage waved enthusiastically); Rock String—”

“I’m Roll, you silly bugger,” said one of the two bright blue-coated, red-maned hippogriff mares. The only difference between them that Daring could see was that the speaker had her mane parted on the left and the other had her mane parted to the right.

“Sorry: Roll String, upright bass, and her sister Rock, lead guitar,” Phillip rolled his eyes. “And finally, Slide Fortissimo, trombonist, borrowed from the Ponyville Jazz Ensemble,” he indicated the red pegasus with the mussy brown mane and bright smile.

“Nice to meet you all,” Daring nodded, allowing the band members to walk up and shake her hoof.

“We were really starting to wonder when Phil was gonna stallion up and get a mare,” Sax City said with a wink as he pumped Daring’s hoof.

“Rack off, Sax,” Phillip stated.

“So how’d you meet?” Slide asked eagerly, his voice carrying a Ponyville accent.

“Was it romantic?” Rock prodded.

“Was he a complete dork?” Roll smirked.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a given with him!” Bliss giggled, prompting a brief glare from Phillip.

“No, Charlie, to your left,” Phillip said to the pianist, who was currently trotting towards him with a hoof extended. Charlie quickly corrected himself and trotted up to Daring, managing to take her hoof on his third try.

“Yes, they’re always like this,” Charlie said to Daring, his gaze floating a few inches over her head. “You get used to it after a few years.”

“That flask will probably help,” Giana commented, nodding at the canteen attached to Daring’s hip.

“Great minds do think alike,” Daring nodded, stepping back and unhooking her flask.

“Sorry about this,” Phillip said, glancing around at the smirking band. “They’re just taking the piss out of me because of you.”

“It’s fine: I take the piss out of you every day,” Daring smirked. “And a little more than that at least once a week.”

A round of giggling rose from the band as Phillip’s ears turned scarlet. Chuckling to herself, Daring lifted the flask to her lips and started to drink. Focused on the heady, smoky flavor of Manticore Rare, she didn’t notice a sly grin sliding up Rain’s face.

“So,” Rain asked with a wink, “When are you two gonna give me some grandfoals?”

Daring choked, then spat out her drink in a fountain of shock, her wings snapping open as all her blood rushed up to her face.

“Mom!” Phillip cried in horror, his face turning stop-light red as the rest of the group howled with laughter. Rain gave him an unrepenting grin.

“Ah, she’s just joking, my ankle-biters,” Bobby said, heartily slapping Phillip and Daring on the back. “We know it’ll come along naturally.” He leaned in a bit closer. “Though, if it could naturally come a bit sooner rather than later, that’d be ripper. We’re not getting any younger, Phil,” he stage-whispered.

Phillip and Daring both exchanged reflecting looks from heavily blushing faces. “Okay, dad, I think it’s time for you and the mates to head to the Hall and get set up,” Phillip said quickly, pulling his father away.

“Oh, hold on, I didn’t give you your gifts!” Rain cried.

“I’ll go get ‘em,” Slide announced, flapping back onto the Billabong Melody. He came back a moment later with a small wooden box with Aborigineigh carvings decorating the top.

“Thanks, Slide,” Rain smiled as she took the box. She opened it up and revealed two necklaces. Hanging from each cord was a simple wooden carving of what looked like a zebra, but all dark gray and black with wide white eyes that seemed to shine faintly, wings, and no mouths or cutie marks. Elaborate headdresses apparently made of lightning and clouds adorned their heads.

“Oh, crikey,” Phillip said in happy surprise, taking the one that appeared to be a stallion with a bushy beard, his mane pulled into a short ponytail.

“That’s, er...interesting,” Daring commented, taking the other one. This one appeared to be a mare, judging by her long, flowing mane that swept down past her knees like a waterfall. Judging by the weight, the little idol was hollow; strangely, she felt a very faint buzzing of energy inside it.

“It’s a wandjina,” Phillip explained.

“Oh, that’s what they look like?” Daring asked, studying the mouthless face. “I’m guessing they’re not big on talking.”

“Heh, no,” Rain chuckled. “Wandjina are amongst the most powerful spirits in the Dreaming: during the creation, they carved the lands with the rains, but their voices are so powerful that making an image of them with their mouths can carry too much power. Still today they bring the rain and thunder to protect us, nourishing the land and frightening away evil spirits. I carved these figures of Angkakert and Awely-Awely, the king and queen of the wandjina: I even placed some storm clouds inside them to add a bit of magical power to them. I hope that these might bring you some protection.”

“Thanks, mom,” Phillip said, placing the necklace over his head and tucking the wandjina carving beneath his shirt.

Daring frowned at the carving. A little wooden trinket wouldn’t stop a bullet...but it was a gift from Phillip’s mother. It was worth that much, at least. Forcing a smile, she placed it over her head. The wooden facsimile bounced against her chest, and for a moment, she thought she felt it tingle slightly.

“Thanks, Rain,” she nodded.

“Right then,” Bobby chuckled. “We’ll see you later, Daring Do!”

Gathering up their instruments, the rest of the Outbackers bid their goodbyes to Daring and departed eastwards. Daring was left standing on the pier, a flask in her hoof and a broad smile on her face.

Phillip had talked often about the band’s talent, the palpable energy that exuded from their music. And now, Daring could feel it for herself. The rising and falling of the brass instruments sent electric tingles up and down her spine and she found herself suddenly itching to stand up, to move, to let the music guide her.

Each of the Outbackers was dressed in a black vest and a red bowtie, the clothes flapping as they moved in time to the rhythm. Rock and Roll flanked the stage, plucking at their respective instruments. Charlie was manipulating the keys of the piano with supreme confidence, an ivory smile splitting his face: Giana was pounding at the drumset with barely restrained energy, striking the drums and cymbals so hard that it seemed like her drumsticks would snap. Siren Bliss and Playbitz were currently dancing across the forefront of the stage, the microphone floating alongside Siren. The others had formed a line, Rain having set aside her didgeridoo on a stand and taken up her clarinet. Phillip was standing in between his father and Sax City: he gave Daring a brief wink as he swung into the next measure.

Bliss twirled away from her husband and brought the microphone to her lips to sing: “When you feel your bones a-shaking!”

“Feel your bones a-shaking!” the rest of the band echoed.

“And the desert winds are rising!”

“Desert winds are rising!”

“And the groove begins to move you!”

“Groove beings to move you!”

“It’s Outback Swing!” Siren Bliss declared.

“Outback Swing!” the others repeated, intentionally emphasizing their accents.

“When you see those fires burning!”

“See those fires burning!”

“The coolibah start swaying!”

“Coolibah start swaying!”

“And the dingoes start a-howling!”

“Dingoes start a-howling!”

“It’s Outback Swing!” the entire crew declared as one and the music whirled back into a tempest once more, drawing cheers from the crowd.

Ponies had already started to move towards the dance floor. The first ones there were Sirba, Muziqaa, and a collection of zebras from their dance troupe, stamping and jumping in an impromptu but elegant performance: as Daring watched, Muziqaa sprinted up to his mother, who tossed him up into a double backflip that carried him up before the stage. He landed in a backward hoofspring, then dashed over to his father and started to eagerly urge him towards the troupe.

Others began to join the dancers: Twilight allowed Flash to guide her onto the floor and they began a two-step, their steps slow with awkwardness and inexperience at first but becoming faster and more fluid as inhibition gave way to youthful joy. Rara was laughing as Applejack attempted to lead her in a square dance in time to the rushing beat, whilst Fluttershy was dancing with a green earth pony with red dreadlocks. Looking around, Daring briefly spotted Red Herring sitting with a smiling pegasus mare, a young colt with a lion-like mane bouncing energetically in the seat next to theirs.

So many familiar faces stuck out from the crowd around Daring as she turned. Pinkie Pie, Rarity with what she assumed was her family, Pastor Sound tapping her cane against the floor, Sugar Loaf, Maple Leaf, Prowl happily bouncing a giggling Skysong, Silvertongue, Bumblebee and Arc—

Wait, what?!

Daring whirled back around and scanned the crowds again, eyes darting around for any sign of the silvery mane and blue eyes that she’d caught a glimpse of. But the apparition, much like Neighquo’s ghost, had vanished. She frowned, reviewing her mental playback.

Okay, that pony did look kind of like Silvertongue, with their silver mane and bluish coat, but she couldn’t imagine Silvertongue wearing sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt, or showing up in a commoner’s entertainment venue for a commoner’s show.

And besides. Silvertongue had been dead for over half a year now.

It had to have been a trick of the light.

The music swelled, triggering a surge of energy through Daring and she forgot all about the hallucination. Getting up, she let out a cheer that was echoed by many others around her as Phillip and his mother launched into a didgeridoo and sax duet.

Forget the rest of the city. For a little while, this was all that mattered.

The crimson unicorn shoved the door open with his magic, dragging Rosey behind him. Panting and gasping, he tossed the wounded mare into the room, then slammed the door shut behind them, ramming the latch shut and ensuring the locks were all secure.

It took a few moments of heaving breath for him to realize that he was gripping the revolver so tightly that the hoofgrip was cracking. Sucking in air to calm himself, he tucked the large pistol into his shoulder holster and bustled over to his partner. “You okay?” Red Clover asked breathlessly, shaking his green and brown mane from his eyes.

“Fucking shite, my leg!” Rosey Turn grunted, the unicorn grasping her injured limb. Blood seeped from where the bullet had tunneled into her flesh: a glance revealed to Clover that the round had carved into her bone.

He sucked in a breath. “It’s bad. You’re gonna need to see a doctor,” he confirmed, tearing a strip from his trenchcoat and dressing the injury as best as he could.

Rosey laughed, a low, rusty noise like glass splintering. “We need more than a doctor,” she said through a grin that was too wide for her face. “Did you see what he did to Diamond Jack? He ripped his fucking heart out! And then did you see what Jack did?”

“I saw what Jack did,” Clover replied, looking around to get his bearings as he tried to push the images out of his head. The packets of poppydust and their other merchandise lay on plastic tables, ready to be stuffed into the false bottoms of the barrels of tar, which stood in a line in the corner. There was the exit in the back: if they could get out there, they could leg it to the van and get out of here…

“He just bloody got back up!” Rosey hissed through her teeth, seizing him and pulling him down to stare into her eyes, each of them as wide as platters. “He got back up! With a fucking hole where his heart should be!”

There came the sound of hoofsteps from behind the latched door and both ponies froze, staring. The doorknob rattled: Clover held his breath, while Rosey squeaked out what she could remember of a prayer.

The doorknob ceased moving. The hoofsteps moved away. Both ponies sighed in relief.

And then the door crashed open, turning into a shower of wooden shrapnel that stabbed into the two ponies, the concussion wave knocking them flat. Clover looked up in horror to see a red earth pony trotting through the doorway, his long blue mane hanging over his emotionless face. Black ooze ran the circumference of the baseball-sized hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

“Jack?” Clover pleaded, crawling away. “Jack? It’s me, Red Clover!”

Jack gave no sign that he had even heard him, instead simply striding into the room and pulling out a knife. Clover recognized the large, black hunting knife: how many times had he and Jack laughed about him getting it to compensate for his other shortcomings?

The barking of a .38 snapped Clover back to the moment and he whirled around to see that Rosey had whipped out her sidearm and was advancing on the intruder, firing with every step. Every round struck flesh, but no blood flowed from the wounds; the thing that had been Jack merely turned towards the screaming mare, face as expressionless as ever.

The gun clicked on empty. “Fucking die!” Rosey screeched, tossing the weapon aside and lunging for Jack’s neck.

The knife flashed. A scream became a wet, choking gasp. Clover lay still and watched in silent, helpless horror as Rosey staggered, clutching at her throat in a vain attempt to stem the flowing crimson tide. She stumbled, then fell to the floor, choking. Her pupils focused on his, begging for help, but he could only stare helplessly as the light faded from them. She twitched a couple of times, then was still.

Clover slowly realized that he wasn’t breathing, and he started sucking in air once again, staring up at what had been Jack. He was standing over Rosey’s body, her blood still dripping from his knife. Slowly, he turned and stared at Clover, head quizzically tilted to one side.

Then came the hoofsteps. Clover forgot how to breathe once again as he entered the room. The black eyes focused on Clover’s, cold and empty despite the wide smile on his face. Adjusting his tie and the glowing jade necklace around his neck, he turned and stared at the corpse on the ground. His golden horn lit up and swirled with red and black magic.

Rosey blinked. Then blinked again. Her jaw opened and closed, then she stood up, her joints cracking faintly as she moved with a stiff slowness. Clover stared in silent, quaking terror as what had been Rosey Turn turned to stare at him with a cold, blank gaze. A last few drops of blood fell from her slit throat: the thudding as they hit the ground roared like gunshots in the silence.

“Live and serve,” Zugzwang declared coldly. “Or die and serve.”

There came the sound of other hoofsteps approaching, and Clover gasped as the others appeared, marching into the room. Flying Ace, Loaded Dice, East Wind...their bodies. But not them. Staring at him with their cold dead eyes.

Tears blurring his vision, breathing in short gasps and choked sobs, Red Clover prostrated himself before his king.

“This should be sufficient,” Zugzwang mused to himself, having already forgotten his new employee. “You’re right, bruder: it will take all of them to get back at die rote Hure and her crew.” He scowled for a moment. “Yes, I’ve felt them trying to find the statues. If we don’t get the gems, they’ll succeed eventually.”

He abruptly shuddered. “We...we need to get moving. They’re looking again. You. Come with us.”

Zugzwang galloped over to the door in the back and inserted a blue key into the lock. The door unlatched and opened to reveal a dark red glow. The corpses began to shuffle their way through the threshold. Clover stared in numb horror at the impossible space, his hooves refusing to take another step towards the door. Maybe he could run now...

“Come,” Zugzwang ordered, his empty black orbs flashing dangerously.

His choices were cold black and cold red. He chose red. With a gulp, he followed the line of the dead through the doorway.

Author's Note

Art by Anxiousshadowpetals and Miyathegoldenflower! Check them both out for commissions!

Outback Swing is sung to the tune of King of Swing, but you'll have to put in the didgeridoo parts for yourself.

Playbitz and Siren Bliss are the ponysonas of Playbitz and Siren Bliss. Slide Fortissimo is the OC of Trombone2015: their characters belong to them. All the other members of the Outbackers are my own creation.

And now we begin in earnest! If you like what you read, leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Twelve, Chapter Two: House of the Dead

“See, I told you my parents would like you,” Phillip said the next morning, massaging Daring’s back.

“Okay, you were right,” she groaned contentedly, sprawling further out on the couch as he dug into a particularly tight knot; the soreness from their workout was slowly giving way to a contented tiredness that seeped into her muscles, his hooves slowly spreading it across her body with his touch. “I was silly for being worried. Little lower and to the left, please.”

Phillip smiled as he obeyed, rubbing in circles. “Mom and dad invited us to lunch later today.”

“Not having to make food myself always sounds good,” Daring sighed, extending a wing as he rubbed the kinks out of her back. “You know, I wouldn’t expect you to be so eager to spend time with another pony. Little lower, please.”

“I only get to see my parents once a year,” Phillip stated, accepting the invitation to preen Daring’s wings: the gentle warmth of his breath over her pinions as he softly nuzzled and tugged the feathers back into place elicited another contented sigh from Daring. “And it’s important to me that you be a part of this.” He paused in his preening to plant a kiss on the back of her head: the smell of her sweaty mane was a price he was more than willing to pay for this. “You’re part of my family now, too.”

“You are such a dork,” Daring sniggered, playfully swatting Phillip with her tail. She remained silent while he continued to massage and preen her, then let out another sigh, this one not of contentment, but of contemplation.

“You’re thinking about the last time you had a family,” Phillip said solemnly. “About how they changed. Turned you into something you didn’t want to be.”

Daring let out a huff. “You sure you’re not psychic or something?”

“I am the greatest detective in Ponyville,” Phillip said. “And that’s not bragging, it’s a statement of fact. I still have the highest clearance rate in the PPD.”

She shot him a quirked eyebrow over her shoulder. “Right,” Phillip caught himself. “In any case, this family has about as much chance as hurting you as we would of...demanding you wear bananas on your nose.”

Daring blinked. “What?”

“You’re being silly,” Phillip replied. “I care about you, my parents care about you. And none of us are ever going to hurt you or abandon you or anything like that.”

Daring allowed herself to smile and laid her head back down. “Lower, you sappy dork,” she said.

“Whatever you say,” Phillip said, continuing his circular rubbing.

“Lower,” Daring commanded, her smile growing wider and her eyes twinkling beneath lidded lashes. “Lower…”

“Uh…” Phillip paused, his hooves on her flanks.

Daring gave him a half-lidded look over her shoulder, slowly drawing her tail up his perfectly sculpted, still slightly sweaty chest and playfully tickling his chin. “You heard me,” she purred, slowly turning over so she was laying on her back. “Lower. And deeper.”

Phillip’s slightly hanging jaw closed up into a smile, and he leaned down to kiss her. She moaned back into his mouth, wrapping her wings around his torso and running a hoof through his damp mane…

And then, of course, the doorbell rang. Both ponies paused, then groaned in annoyance. Phillip climbed off Daring with great reluctance and went to the door.

“Hello!” Rarity chirped, carrying two medium gift boxes in her magic as she bounced into the house. Twilight followed her inside.

“Sorry, were we interrupting something?” Twilight asked as she passed Phillip. Her eyes drifted down, then quickly darted away as her face turned red and a yelp escaped her throat.

“Does that answer your question?” Daring grunted from the couch as Phillip clenched his hind legs together and thought of cold water and desert plains.

Rarity coughed, blushing as well. “I, uh, do apologize for our timing, but as I promised, I come bearing gifts.” She opened up the boxes to reveal their contents: a green fishing vest and a dark olive cargo shirt. Both of them were slightly bulkier than before, and there was not a single sign of any wear or tear on the fabric.

“Ta-da!” she declared, handing both detectives their clothes. “Twilight and I were just putting the finishing touches on them. Behold!” She pulled out what looked like a swatch of purple material made of overlapping ovoid circles.

“These are a lot lighter than I thought they’d be,” Daring commented, swinging her cargo shirt onto her body and fitting her wings through the holes.

“Dragon scales are a lot lighter than you’d think,” Twilight explained.

“Did Spike shed enough for these?” Daring asked, running a hoof down the firm but flexible and surprisingly thin layer of armor that had been woven into the fabric.

“No, I made enough with a duplication spell,” Twilight explained. “It’s slightly weaker than normal scales, but still pretty tough. It doesn’t cover everything—Rarity and I designed it to protect the vital areas while still being flexible and light enough for easy movement—but it’ll stop most knives and anything short of a point-blank .45 round; it even has some protection against magic. It’ll still sting quite a bit, though.”

“So not quite as good as a bulletproof vest, but lighter and more flexible,” Phillip summed up. He stepped back a bit to give himself some room, then jumped and did a standing backflip into a forward roll. “Works great. Thanks, sheilas.”

“You are quite welcome!” Rarity smiled. “This project has given me so many ideas on a new market for armored clothing!”

“Now, about your payment,” Phillip started to say, frowning a bit.

“Tut-tut! I won’t hear a word of it!” Rarity declared, waving a hoof. “It’s a gift to two friends who just so happen to be amongst this city’s biggest heroes. It’s the least I can do to help you out.”

“Thank you,” Phillip nodded, not without some relief in his tone.

“Now, I must get back to work. Toodles!” Rarity waved and exited.

“I did do some touch-ups on your shield wards,” Twilight added as Rarity left. “The dragon scales might help them last longer, but I still want to check the trigger mechanism.”

“Here we go again,” Daring muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Phillip, would you like to go first?” Twilight asked. Phillip grunted and stepped forward. He took a breath to focus himself, then nodded.

Twilight lit up her horn, then fired a relatively slow-moving spell at Phillip. “Wandjina!” Phillip shouted, and the spell bounced harmlessly off of the invisible shield, fizzling out in midair.

“Excellent!” Twilight clapped her hooves. “Daring, your turn.”

Sighing, Daring stepped forward. “You’ll get it this time,” Twilight encouraged her with a wide smile. “Just remember: gather energy, focus your emotions, and channel that energy into the spell.”

“Right, right,” Daring nodded. She closed her eyes and focused, trying to gather up her emotions. But after her workout and the annoyance of being interrupted, she didn’t have much energy to draw upon: even her low simmering frustration was recalcitrant, slow to be restrained and focused as she tried to mix it with her tingling flight magic drawn in through her wings.

You can do it. You’ve done magic before: you can do one simple ward. Even if you’ve failed a couple dozen times before…

Finally, she managed to get herself to a point where she thought she was ready. Opening her eyes, she nodded at Twilight. Twilight charged up her horn, and a spark of magic streaked towards Daring.

“Wandjina!” Daring shouted, trying to force the word to work, the trigger to activate. She could feel the energy squeeze itself out of her gut, like the last bit of toothpaste being forced from the nearly empty tube, and a sudden warmth spread across her body as the ward woven into the cloth flickered like a dying neon sign.

The magical spell struck her foreleg, and she felt a sharp sting like that of a bumblebee, instinctively flinching away from the unexpected pain, but most of the energy bounced off her and fizzled out in midair. The ward instantly died out again.

“Yes!” Twilight cried in delight, rearing up into the air and kicking her forelegs in excitement as Phillip smiled and nodded approvingly.

“Well, that was better than the last few times,” Daring admitted, managing a weak grin: the little expenditure of energy had cost her more than she thought.

“That was brilliant! Not many ponies who aren’t classically trained in magical theory can pull this off, especially not on their first few tries,” Twilight encouraged her. “I had a feeling you two would be able to pull it off. Now, there are a few things I want to test—”

Twilight was thankfully interrupted by another ring at the doorbell. Phillip trotted down the hallway and looked out the window of the door.

A familiar Hayson Commander was parked outside on the street, and Trace and Red were standing before the door. “Hey, Finder, you busy in there?” Red called.

“We were,” Phillip opened the door. “But now I’m guessing we’re busier.”

“We got something you need to take a look at,” Trace replied. “All three of you.”

The house on the southern bank of the Maresippi with a pair of boats docked near the porch would’ve been completely innocuous on any other day. On this day, it looked like the site of a battlefield. Part of the white trim had been burned, smoke still rising from the rafters that were pockmarked with bullet holes.

Police surrounded the entire building: Doctor Suunkii had already set up a tracking wand and was marking out paths of hoofprints. Dozens of trails of hoofprints lead into and out of the house, many of them overlapping each other.

“Somepony called in the fire around sunrise,” Trace explained as he pulled up. “Fire department called us when they noticed the bullet marks.”

“And after destroying much of the evidence from the outside,” Suunkii grumbled, following a group of hoofprints that led first towards, then away from the house. “From my best estimate, there were approximately a dozen intruders, though less than half a dozen survived, and they were teleported in and out. Most likely with a teleportation crystal.” He leaned closer, tilting the tracking wand to illuminate different tracks. “That’s interesting…”

Phillip leaned in as well, studying the tracks. “Odd. One of the tracks coming away from the house is different than the ones coming in.”

“And look here,” Red said, pointing at a small trench dug into the ground. Inside was a thin length of silver; the metal had been snapped in half and pulled from the ground, each of the two ends jutting from the dirt like the rib bones of some ancient fossil. The silver band had been cleanly sliced through.

“Silver magic circle around the house, broken in half,” Red stated. “Whoever put it there had money. And whoever broke it knew it was there and needed to break it for some reason.”

“Is there anypony inside?” Twilight asked, examining the tracks herself.

“There are a few bodies,” Trace reported, exchanging glances with Red. “That’s...partially why we called you. You’re gonna want to take a look.”

Daring, Phillip and Twilight proceeded indoors through a doorway that had been forced open, ducking underneath the “CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS” tape; the splinters that remained of the door were scattered all across the hallway. The glowing trails of hoofprints led up to the door, becoming a dense tangle that were impossible to distinguish from one another, then stopped. The inside of the house was still littered with the signs of a battle: the walls were marked with blood spatters and bullet marks. Deformed bullets and cartridges littered the floor: Daring bent to pick one up and studied it.

“Thirty-aught-six,” she confirmed her suspicion, putting the cartridge down.

“Detectives, down here,” Doctor Mortis called from down the stairs. “Have I got a doozy today!”

Retreating down the stairs, they found themselves in a basement. Everywhere there were crates, many of them stamped “Equestrian Army.” In the corner was a pile of burnt scraps of paper, the writing now illegible, though they looked like they might once have been a map of Ponyville with some markings on it. A shattered full-length mirror, its bejeweled frame laying faceup amidst the glass shards, lay in one corner of the room: an empty easel stood next to it. On the floor was a large map of Ponyville, with a small mound of salt in the center: four small circles, each connected by a line, were drawn around the map in chalk that emanated a faint burning odor.

Six corpses were scattered around the room, limbs sprawled as if simply lying down in exhaustion. Doctor Mortis was bent over a corpse that lay spread out across the floor, her eyes carrying a dull sheen of befuddlement over her face mask. The cream-colored earth pony mare had multiple bullet wounds puncturing her body and one in her head, the hole in her forehead partially covered by her chocolate brown hair; her crystal blue eyes were dull, set deep in an expressionless face. The dark red streaks on her hooves, gunshot residue that had reacted to Mortis’ potion, confirmed that she had fired a gun recently.

But Daring’s eyes were immediately drawn to her flank, to her cutie mark. A familiar mark on a familiar mare: a notebook with a dark brown quill. Her eyes then went to the body’s neck.

It was there: the red marks from the rope that she had hanged herself with.

“That’s…” she stammered out, her mind shuddering to a halt like a car stalling. “That’s Scribbled Note.”

“It is,” Phillip confirmed, his eyes wide.

“But she’s dead,” Daring protested. She remembered it well: the corpse hanging from the ceiling of her bedroom, legs discolored with lividity, tongue hanging out of her purple face. Her very first case.

“She is now,” Mortis confirmed. “Suunkii already matched her hoofprints to one of the tracks coming in.” She glanced up at Phillip and Daring. “No offense, but when you discovered her, you’re sure she was actually dead and not just holding her breath?”

“She was dead, doctor,” Phillip said, bending down next to the body.

“Well, there goes that theory,” Mortis shrugged. “So, the question is, how did a pony who has been dead for almost a year now walk into a house? How did any of them?” She gestured around at the other bodies.

Daring slowly turned and her eyes got larger and larger with every face she recognized. “Twisted Root...Silent Step...Charcoal...Chilled Tumbler…” she breathed aloud. “These ponies have been dead for months!”

“Can you establish a time of death?” Phillip asked, giving a brief shake of his head as he forced himself to focus on the here and now. It didn’t matter that these ponies had been killed so long ago. What mattered now was that they had died here...again.

“I got nothing,” Mortis shrugged. “It’s been several hours since they were discovered, but there’s no sign of any livor mortis or rigor mortis. All of their core temps are below room temperature. And did you notice the wounds?” She pointed to the bullet injuries on Scribbled’s torso, all of them with only a few thin slivers of red having leaked from the holes, staining the coat like sap marking a tap into a tree. “There’s hardly any bleeding: not nearly as much as there should be. It’s like the blood was already coagulated inside them.” She threw her hooves up. “I am completely stumped! Twilight, you got any ideas?”

Twilight scanned the corpse with her magic, sweeping her purple aura from tail to head. She frowned in concentration, then swept again at a slower pace. She abruptly shuddered and withdrew from the corpse.

“That...didn’t feel right,” she breathed, shaking her head and stumbling. “Whatever was done to that...it was dark magic.”

Phillip and Daring both looked at each other. “Lazarus,” they breathed as one.

Twilight gasped. “Didn’t you say that Whitestone had that?”

“Yes,” Phillip confirmed. “And then Zugzwang stole it, since it wasn’t anywhere on the Talon.” He recalled the open safe in the captain's cabin.

“Wait,” Mortis said slowly, sitting down. “So...you’re saying that we’re dealing with an actual zombie invasion?” She let out a breath and ran her gloved hooves through her mane. “I...whoa. I, wow. I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified!”

“If anything, this at least demonstrates that they can die,” Daring pointed out, looking around at the bodies. “Hmph. All of them were shot in the head.”

“Nothing beats the classics,” Mortis chirped, returning to her work.

“So,” Phillip summated. “We have several dead bodies and we don’t know where they came from. We have a battleground, but we don’t know who was shooting, or where they went.” He looked around at the army crates. “And we have a house that was once full of illegal weapons, and no one to claim them.”

Daring frowned and looked up, then proceeded upstairs. As she trotted up the stairwell, she passed a large stain of dark red blood splashed across the wall; the conical pattern told her it was castoff from a swing, and a long line with smaller drip trails dangling from it was from an arterial spray. Somepony here had had their throat slashed.

“That might explain the extra hoofprints out front,” Phillip commented, coming to the same conclusion as her.

Repressing a shudder, Daring continued upstairs to the bedrooms on the second floor, passing some officers that were busily photographing and cataloging the rooms’ contents.

Two featured a set of cots and a small, motley collection of personal items that would no doubt be thoroughly studied for clues. But one had an empty crib next to the cot, the blankets on which had been roughly tossed aside, and a few jars of Smilin’ Day baby food on the floor next to it. On the cot were some loose receipts and hastily and scribbled notes, but Daring's eyes were drawn to a letter, the quick hornwriting upon it familiar to Daring’s eyes.

“Sparks,” Daring said, striding over to pick up the letter. She sat down on the cot and read the message upon it, covered in scrawled-over letters and hastily erased words.

Daring,

I know the others would hate me if they knew I was writing this, but for the sake of everything, you have to understand what’s going on.

When we stole the Innsbeak Statues, we placed them in four positions around the city, according to a design in The Treachery of Images (including one in City Hall; that whole stunt with Zugzwang trying to blow up the mayor? His way of getting in there. The others were in the addiction treatment center Scarlet opened in the Everfree District and two factories in the Industrial District). The idea was that we could use them in a ritual to concentrate the magical power that lay dormant inside the statues into a single object: the jade fox necklace that Shifting Tone stole from Silvertongue.

It went wrong. Zugzwang broke in here and stole the necklace, and the four gems that we were using in the ritual. Then he stole back the statues, too.

That’s bad for all of us. That necklace is empowered with a lot of ancient magic; as long as he’s got it and the statues, he’s going to have what is essentially a huge battery of magic to draw upon.

We’re trying to find him by tracking the statues with the gems, but I thought that if you knew what was going on, you could try to find him: after all, how many ancient treasures did we find in the Family? If we can destroy the statues, the necklace will start to run out of power; of course, destroying the necklace and killing him is ideal.

I don’t know how, but you’ve got to find him. We’ve managed to narrow down his hiding place to

“Dammit,” Daring growled to herself. Sparks must’ve been cut off by the attack.

Taking the letter, she descended back down to the basement to find the others in discussion. “But where did the ponies who were here go?” Mortis was saying. “You think they all got turned into zombies?”

“No, there’d be more hoofprints coming out,” Phillip stated.

Daring looked around and her eyes fell on the shattered mirror in the corner. Something clicked in her mind. “That mirror,” she said, pointing. “There was one like it in Sparks’ other hideout in the city, the one Rainbow and I found.”

Twilight walked over and panned her horn back and forth across the glass shards. Each of them lit up bright gold and red beneath her examination.

“A transport mirror!” Twilight cried. “That’s a tricky spell, but it would explain how they got out.”

“So where does it come out?” Phillip asked.

“I can’t tell, unfortunately,” Twilight sighed. “Not with this mirror smashed: the last one out probably broke it while they were retreating.”

“It was Sparks and her friends,” Daring said, handing the letter to Phillip. He studied it, his frown deepening with every line.

“Twilight,” he said. “When we recovered the gems that had been taken off of the Innsbeak statues, you said that four were missing, right?”

“Right,” Twilight nodded slowly, her head tilted back as she recalled the information from her memory. “One from each of the four statues.”

Phillip looked around. “So where are they now?”

“The letter said that they were tracking the statues,” Twilight mused, turning to the map of Ponyville lying on the floor. “I’m willing to bet that they used to be in that circle there.”

“That must be why the zombies attacked,” Mortis concluded. “Zugzwang the puppetmaster didn’t want these ponies to find the statues.”

“If he grabbed them…” Daring said, allowing the weight of the silence to finish her sentence for her.

“There has to be a way to find them,” Twilight said, her face creased with worry.

“Wait a minute,” Phillip said, looking up towards the back of the room. The back door had been forced open and there was a pair of glowing hoofprints leading outside, beginning at the threshold of the door.

“Why did only two ponies leave out the back?” he wondered, trotting over to examine the trail. “G’day.” He plucked a set of dark brown hairs tinged with green from the doorjamb. “Twilight, can you use this to—?”

“Smile!” Mortis said, holding up a camera and snapping a pic of the hairs, triggering a blinding flash of light. Phillip grunted in pain and blinked rapidly, shaking his head and glaring at Mortis. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin.

“Twilight, can you use this to narrow down just this bloke’s hoofprints?” Phillip asked.

“It’s got his magical signature on it, so yes,” Twilight said. She scanned the hairs for a moment, then cast a spell over the hoofprints. A single trail of prints glowed bright purple, standing out from the others.

Phillip bent down to examine the trail. “He came down the stairs, paused at the bottom, then ran out the back, with somepony else following him.”

They followed the trail up the back stairs and down to the docks where one boat remained tied to a rusty cleat. The trail led up to a second cleat, which had some coarse rope still loosely wrapped around it, and halted.

“He got on a boat,” Phillip concluded.

“Look at these,” Daring said, pointing to some shotgun shells that were laying on the wet slats. “Looks like whoever was following him was firing at him as he drove away.”

“Why?” Twilight pondered.

“Because…” Daring thought for a moment, then the obvious answer clicked in her head. “It was a still-living goon and he stole the gems for himself!”

“It makes sense,” Phillip nodded, already studying the edge of the dock with a magnifying glass. “And if he’s taken them for himself, then we’ve got a chance of finding them again. We just need to find that boat he stole. Ah, white paint, that’s a clue.” He studied the rope left behind on the cleat, noting the smooth cut on the end of the rope. “He had a sharp knife.” He started measuring the distance between hoofprints. “Around four feet. And since he didn’t go near the gems before stealing them, he’s probably a unicorn…”

“Hey, Sherlock Hooves,” Daring pointed out. “You do know that we have a unicorn who can do a tracking spell and some of their hair, right?”

Phillip opened his mouth, then closed it, his ears turning faintly pink. “Just gathering more evidence,” he mumbled.

“What are you up to?” Trace asked, trotting up with Red.

Twilight gave them a brief rundown of what they’d found. “Do either of you have a map of Ponyville?” she asked.

“I got one in my trunk, hang on,” Trace nodded, zipping off.

Red shook his head and let out a breath. “Magic statues, necromancy...whatever happened to just bank robbers and backstreet thugs?”

“Whole city’s gone bloody mad,” Phillip agreed, continuing to scan the docks for any clues.

Trace returned a bit later with a map of Ponyville. Twilight set it down on the ground a distance off and crushed a bit of chalk with her magic, pouring it into a mound over the center of the map. Taking the hairs, she closed her eyes and began to focus her magic.

“Quearite. Sequor. Indago,” she intoned in a low voice. “Quearite. Sequor. Indago…”

Nothing happened. The chalk didn’t even twitch. Twilight frowned and began her chant anew, but still nothing.

“I can’t find his trail,” she reported. “Which means one of two things: one, he’s dead…”

“Or two, he’s hiding somewhere,” Daring stated. “Hopefully the latter.”

“Well, whoever this pony is, we need to find him before Zugzwang does,” Trace stated, looking towards the northern banks of the Maresippi, the skyline of Ponyville small enough to look like a model from this far away. “And until we do, we’re all in big trouble.”

Safe. He was safe here. He couldn’t find him, down here in the cold and the damp. Few knew about this place, not that many ever dared venture down into the dark tunnels beneath the city.

Looking around by the light of his horn, Red Clover briefly allowed his mind to go back to his days with the Mob. He’d walked the walk and talked the talk, him and the rest of his crew, all to keep Coin Toss happy: free Mareland from Equestrian tyranny, money and guns for a righteous cause. But at the end of the day, it was all about the money for them. Drugs brought in money, but the Mareish Mob strictly prohibited the sale and manufacture of narcotics. So they’d left, struck out on their own. It had been harsh, clawing out their own corner of the city underneath everything else, but it was worth it once the bits started rolling in.

And now, all of that was gone. At least this place was still here, even though all that was left were some empty bottles and snubbed cigarettes.

He shook his head and refocused on the four gems on the ground in front of him. He sucked in a long, grateful breath of the cigarettes he’d managed to snatch. The gems—red, blue, green, and yellow-orange—stared back pitilessly at him.

Clover didn’t know why Zugzwang specifically wanted those gems, but what he cared about was that they’d pay for him to get out of this city and start over again.

All he needed was a pony who could help him get out. He started wracking his brains. Now, what was that ex-cop’s name…?

Author's Note

I know this chapter's kind of fast-paced, but there's a lot of info here that I needed to set up later. Hoping that it'll still tickle your fancies, dear readers! If you have any comments or critiques, please let me know in the comments!

Case Twelve, Chapter Four: Regroup and Reexamine

“The situation is grave indeed,” Luna agreed moments later at the precinct, pacing at the head of the commandeered meeting room that they’d acquired.

Phillip looked around at the gathered ponies. Rainbow Dash was standing nearby with Daring Do. Cold Case stood on his opposite side, chewing on her unlit pipe: Twilight stood next to the chief, holding the battered tome before her. Princess Celestia had indeed arrived in a chopper, along with several more Royal Guards and a squadron of Wonderbolts in lightly armored flight suits: she was currently sitting next to Luna, adorned in her own gold cuirass with her halberd by her side, the four Royal Guards standing at attention close to their charges. The walls were currently faintly glowing with a yellow aura, a symptom of Celestia’s protective charms that prevented any magical eavesdropping.

“Our priority must be to find the Innsbeak Statues and destroy them and, if possible, destroy the necklace that Zugzwang bears,” Luna declared, her eyes blazing with passion. “This pony who took them, who is he?”

“We believe his name is Red Clover,” Cold Case stated, holding up a mugshot of a red unicorn, his face sullen beneath his mussy green and brown mane. A snapshot of his cutie mark revealed it to be a green circle with the shape of a four-leaved clover cut out of the center. “A former member of the Mareish Mob until he and some friends of his split away from Coin Toss and started smuggling and selling drugs on their own a couple months ago. We’re checking on his known hideouts, but I doubt we’ll find anything there.”

“So use the diamond that Phil found and track the statues,” Daring stated.

“Would that it were so simple, Daring Do,” Celestia shook her head. “Unfortunately, the Statues are clouded by dark magic: the one gem is not enough to find them. We will likely need the other three that this thief possesses. And before you ask, we cannot track the other diamonds for the same reason.”

“I can figure out where he is,” Phillip stated. “He’s in the Under.”

“What’s the Under?” Twilight asked as Cold Case bit down harder on the pipe stem with a loud crunch.

Daring glanced at Twilight in confusion. “Right, I keep forgetting you’re not a native,” she muttered. “The Under is what we call a network of underground ruins of Ponyville. Buried houses and tunnels, most of it blocked off from the upper city: criminals have been using sections of those tunnels for hideouts and smuggling for years. The Family used to use parts of it for temporary hideouts and shortcuts, but we never went down there deep: there are some things down there that are best left alone.”

“How do you bury a city?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Fires, earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, the odd monster attack or bombing, and just the flow of progress,” Daring explained. “Parts of the city crumble and fall, and they decide to rebuild on top of the ruins.”

“If he’s underground, that would explain why my tracking spell didn’t work,” Twilight mused. “The ground would be blocking my magic.”

“We have maps of the Under; they're not complete by a long shot, but they'll help,” Cold Case announced. “But we still need more information.”

“I have other clues,” Phillip stated. “We’ll need time, but we can run him to ground.”

“Where do we begin?” Cold asked.

“Our mate’s name is Clover, Mareish,” Phillip said. “The dead pony, he was somepony that Clover knew. And we need to track Clover’s movements after he got onshore. Any clue we can find is helpful.”

“I will subpoena Night Waltz’s phone records, and have Detectives Herring and Evidence scouring for any clues on the dockside,” Cold Case stated, already heading for the door.

“Chief Case,” Luna called after her. “I strongly suggest that you advise everypony here to keep as many doors open as possible. It is unlikely that Zugzwang used the key on any doors here, but we do not want to take risks.”

“Good idea,” Cold nodded, then turned to the gray-maned donkey that was running his hoof up and down his rosary necklace. "Captain Oak, I need you to hold down operations here. If anything happens to--"

"Nothing will happen to you, chief," Hewn Oak cut her off. "You have the holy might of two alicorns with us. We cannot fail."

"Wish we all had your faith," Cold replied softly as she exited.

“I’ll try to do more research on the statues and the Key of Shadow Walker,” Twilight stated, opening the book. “There might be some weaknesses we can exploit, maybe a way to find him.”

“I can summon any books from the Royal Archives that will help you,” Luna stated.

“Commander Spitfire, you have the list of ponies that might be used as leverage. The Wonderbolts are to bring them here to the precinct,” Princess Luna commanded. “Once curfew is announced, you will patrol the cities to help the police maintain the peace.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the yellow pegasus mare saluted. A quick wave signaled the other Wonderbolts to exit in a rush of blue.

A thought crossed Phillip’s mind. “Princesses, something you might want to know,” he stated. “Based on reading from the Kyaltratek, we think that Zugzwang might be...or be connected with something called a Ngluwi.”

Both Luna and Celestia froze, snapping their narrowed gazes towards him. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Black eyes,” Phillip said. “Cold as death. And the markings on his skin, I’ve seen them. I’ve seen…” He paused, swallowing and glancing to one side, and Daring suppressed a flinch as the memories flooded her mind as well, the still images from the security crystals.

“I’ve seen what he is now,” Phillip stated quietly.

Celestia and Luna both glared at each other. “‘Tis good that we both came, then,” Luna said grimly.

At that moment, the door opened and a blue unicorn sprinted in, panting and mopping sweat from his blonde mane. “Sergeant Arc Light, reporting for duty!” he cried, snapping a salute at the broad-shouldered brown earth pony Guard.

Captain Eagle saluted Arc back briefly with a wry smile. “Nice of you to join us, Arc,” he deadpanned. “Sorry to take you away from your coltfriend, but we kind of need you more at the moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Arc nodded, catching his breath. He touched the green gem that hung from around his neck: in a flash of light, his armor and gear were summoned to him, fitted perfectly to his form. He strapped the helmet in tight and checked his N4 submachine gun.

“Let’s get to work,” Phillip said. “Start with Doctor Mortis.”

“I’ll go with,” Daring added. “No way you’re leaving my sight now.”

“I’ll come too!” Rainbow Dash offered.

“No way in hell,” Daring snapped. “It’s bad enough that Phil brought you into this already—”

“Daring,” Phillip interrupted. “We might as well let her help. If we can keep her with us, we can keep an eye on her. You know she’ll just wander off on her own if we leave her.”

Rainbow nodded in confirmation. Daring fumed for a few seconds, then sighed and gave a brief nod of defeated assent. Rainbow beamed with pride.

As the trio descended the stairs, Phillip glanced over Daring’s shoulder. “You find anything at Scarlet’s?”

“I did,” Daring confirmed. “She had a mirror there, too. Just like at the hideout, and what I saw at Spark’s first base. I’m thinking we can track that...but later. The zombie apocalypse kind of takes priority, after all.”

“Good,” Phillip nodded. He was silent as they rounded a landing, then sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Well, I wasn’t chasing yowies, was I?” Daring smirked a bit. Phillip paused and shot her a shadowed look over his shoulder. “Sorry,” Daring apologized, her smirk deflating. “But you were kinda right. I’m lucky it wasn’t a complete waste of time, and you needed to get to Waltz. If you’d arrived later, we might have lost this completely.”

Phillip nodded. They reached the bottom step and pushed through the doorway, following the sound of classical music down the hall.

Inside the laboratory, Doctor Suunkii was bending over a table, his eye pressed to a microscope lens. Doctor Mortis was standing on the opposite side of the table, speaking quietly to him.

“Aren’t you in the wrong room, doc?” Daring asked Mortis.

“I, uh, didn’t want to be in the morgue alone with our new friend,” Mortis admitted sheepishly. “You sure he’s not gonna get up and bite me?”

“One, this isn’t a zombie infection, doctor,” Phillip stated. “Not transferred by bites. Second, he has a hole in his brain. Not worried about that.” Noting Mortis’ continued reluctance, he sighed. “I’ll go with you and make sure he doesn’t wake up.”

“Yay!” Mortis chirped, bouncing towards the morgue. Phillip and Daring exchanged eye rolls as he followed her.

“What have we got here?” Daring asked, approaching Suunkii.

“Despite Doctor Vitae Mortis’ reluctance to be alone with the body, she and I were able to collect evidence from his clothing,” Suunkii reported, nodding to a faded dark hooded sweatshirt on the table. “I am currently examining dirt trace from the clothing. I believe you may be able to glean some information from the contents of his pockets.”

He pointed to a small packet on the other table. Daring carefully opened it and shook the contents out onto the table to study.

“A generic matchbook, a stub from a taxi, some loose cigarettes, safe deposit key, loose change, phone number written on napkin with logo on it,” Daring recounted.

“Maybe the phone number is a clue!” Rainbow said, snatching at the napkin. It was imprinted with a triskelion in green and orange; the phone number was written in blue ink, with a part of it rewritten in black ink where it had been smudged by a light stain.

Daring caught Rainbow’s hoof. “One thing at a time, kid,” she said. She studied the taxi receipt. “Thirty-eight bits, Windfall Cab...timestamp at 11:18. That’s...about the same time he would’ve arrived at Night Waltz’s place. Twenty-eight bits, so that’s…”

“A journey of approximately eighteen miles,” Suunkii reported, not looking up from the microscope.

“I’d have figured it out eventually,” Daring grumbled.

“I thought it would be prudent to save as many minutes as possible,” Suunkii replied with a small smirk, still not looking up. Daring stuck her tongue out at him as she pulled out a map of Ponyville. Locating the Apex Building, she used a compass to draw a circle around the building that encompassed several blocks. “Okay, so he took the taxi to Waltz's place from somewhere in here.”

“That’s still a big search area,” Rainbow mused. “There’s gotta be some way to narrow it down…”

At that moment, they all heard it from outside: the growing wail of klaxons, howling from the speakers placed every few blocks. At the same time, the classical music from the radio was interrupted by a blare of static, then the buzzing tones of the emergency broadcast alert. They froze, looking up at the ceiling. Though the basement laboratory had no windows, Daring could imagine the civilians outside freezing at the sound, looking around and clutching loved ones close, some perhaps instinctively gazing up at the skies in search of the Griffonese or Crystal Air Force bombers that were rushing in from the east.

“ATTENTION, CITIZENS,” a magnified voice boomed from the loudspeakers, audible across the entire city: a quieter echo sounded from the radio. “BY ORDER OF THE CITY OF PONYVILLE, AN EMERGENCY CURFEW IS IN EFFECT. ALL CITIZENS ARE TO RETURN INDOORS IMMEDIATELY. PLEASE REMAIN CALM: THE SITUATION IS BEING HANDLED. YOU ARE NOT IN IMMINENT DANGER. REPEAT: AN EMERGENCY CURFEW IS IN EFFECT…”

At that same moment, there came a great crackling noise of electricity, and the air suddenly became heavier. “What’s that noise?” Rainbow asked.

“That is the emergency barricade activating over the precinct,” Suunkii reported; he had looked up from his microscope and was now staring at the ceiling as though he could see through it. “As of now, no one can come in or go out without our knowledge and permission.”

Even without seeing it with her own eyes, Daring could picture it clearly: the flickering, semi-transparent dome of purple energy, powered by several emergency magic generators buried around the perimeter of the building, having sprung up to encompass the precinct like a giant snow globe. Similar ones would no doubt be springing up around City Hall, Ponyville General Hospital, the major fire stations, and other important structures. None of these had gone up since the last bombing raids of the Crystal War in 1944. A sick feeling settled into her stomach, and her shoulders were suddenly bowed beneath the weight of the city’s growing confusion and terror.

Daring sighed. “We’re in it now, ponies.” She turned back to the scant clues before them. “I hope Phil can find something…”

Mortis waited for the sound of the klaxons to fade before leaning back to the microphone on the desk next to the examination table.

“The subject has already been identified by cutie mark and tattoo records as Black Dust, a member of the Mareish Mob,” she stated, the spinning reels of the tape recorder marking down her words for posterity. “The first thing to note on the exterior examination is the bullet hole in the subject’s forehead: this was from Detective Phillip Finder during his initial, ah, confrontation with the subject.”

Adjusting her glasses and facemask, Mortis started to slowly scan down the body of the gray earth pony from the head. “I think I found the…” She paused to think. “First fatal wound. A stab wound in the victim’s left side, just over the kidney. Death would’ve been from exsanguination, within thirty seconds.”

Phillip studied the wound with a magnifying glass. “Downward angle and longer length of the stab wound. Likely caused by a taller pony, walking past Dust,” he deduced, his own voice slightly muffled by his own facemask.

“That, for the record, is Detective Finder himself,” Mortis said aloud, examining the wound herself. “And I tend to agree. The victim would’ve bled out within seconds, and then, uh…” She paused. “Would’ve been resurrected.”

“Doctor, I need to learn more about where he was before he died,” Phillip said.

“Right,” Mortis said, continuing her examination. She scraped off soil samples from the stallion’s hooves into plastic dishes for later examination, snipped off some hairs from his mane and tail, then gently pulled his jaw open with her magic and started to examine his mouth with a flashlight.

“Huh. Recent food bits in his teeth,” she stated. “The subject was probably eating right before he met with ‘Clover.’” She paused the recorder and pulled out a scalpel. “Let’s see what was for lunch!” she declared with a little too much eagerness.

Phillip’s stomach abruptly growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Oh, well. I’m about to lose my appetite anyway.

He watched as Mortis efficiently sliced a Y-shaped incision into the body’s torso, then started to peel away the skin. The sound of a buzzing hoofsaw sounded as Phillip studied the soil samples in the dishes beneath a nearby microscope.

“Concrete,” he mused. He sniffed the sample, then quickly drew away with a grimace. “Beer, cigarettes, and hydraulic fluid.”

“There we go,” Mortis announced, removing the carefully cut ribcage to access Dust’s internal organs. “We’ll start with the stomach.”

The sound of torn flesh and pouring liquid released a horrid scent that did indeed banish Phillip’s appetite. “Let’s see…” Mortis said, poking through the half-digested mess in the dish. “The stomach is mostly full, and there’s some chyme in the duodenum, but the jejunum is empty. I believe that the victim had eaten approximately one to two hours before death.” She turned over the chunks of food. “Looks like...potatoes, eggs...peppers, onions, cabbage, kale...smells like oregano and black pepper...some kind of meat…”

“Corned beef,” Phillip said, sniffing briefly at the pinkish wedges. “Colcannon and corned beef hash.”

“Mareish down to the bone; or stomach, in this case,” Mortis nodded.

“Hey, Phil?” a voice called from the door. Phillip looked up to see Flash and Trace standing at the doorway. Flash kept glancing sideways at the dissected corpse on the table, shifting in place as he fought the urge to retreat.

“Go on, I’ve got it from here,” Mortis said. “If he hasn’t woken up by now, he’s not going to...hopefully.”

Phillip gratefully exited the morgue and stepped into the hallway, making sure to keep the door open behind him. He tried not to think about the security images from that night.

Flash spoke first. “I was thinking about ways to track the guy after he got onshore, and I had an idea,” he said. “I started looking for reported car thefts from the Dockside from around that time, and I think I found something.” He passed over a folder. Phillip scanned over the report within: a night shift worker at a local factory had left work at 6:30 AM to find that his car, a dark blue Chevroneigh Luxury, was missing from the parking lot; the only sign that the car had ever been there were some broken glass shards in the parking space and some drops of blood leading up to the now-empty space.

“The car was found in an alleyway in the northern part of the Industrial District, near Wintersteel road,” Flash said, turning the page to reveal photographs of the car in a dead-end alleyway, the driver’s side window broken and the steering column busted open to reveal the hotwired interior. Spots of blood bedecked the driver’s seat. “I checked security crystals for the street, and found this.”

A set of stills revealed a tall red unicorn stallion, his green and brown mane in a sweaty mess, clutching his gray trench coat around him, exiting the alleyway at 4:58 AM. Red Clover.

“There's an entrance to the Under near that alley,” Flash nodded.

“Good work, jackaroo,” Phillip nodded approvingly. Flash had to suppress a glow of pride.

“Also, the subpoena came back,” Trace said, handing over some papers. “That call that Clover made to Night Waltz before he died was from a phone booth on Seventeenth and Cooper.”

“Hmm,” Phillip mused, turning over the facts in his head. “Let’s see where Suunkii and the others are.”

As they proceeded to the laboratory, Phillip glanced over at Flash. “Your mom here?” he asked.

“Yeah, and Spike, Suunkii’s family, Red’s ex-wife and son, your parents, and the band,” Flash confirmed. He tried to keep his tone flat, but the worry leaked into his syllables. It echoed in Phillip’s own heart.

“They’ll be safe here,” Phillip said, not sure who he was trying to reassure. Flash nodded and tried to smile, but looked like he was trying not to be sick.

“Boys, think of it this way,” Trace said. “The faster we find that creep, the faster they’ll all be safe.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded, entering the lab.

“You got anything to narrow this down?” Daring asked as he approached, displaying the map with its circled search area.

"Clover entered the Under here," Phillip stated, drawing a dot on the alleyway where he'd been spotted, just outside the circle. "Called Night Waltz here," he added, placing another dot at the phone booth.

"Stands to reason that wherever he's hiding is somewhere near there," Daring nodded, drawing a smaller circle that enclosed those two dots.

Phillip looked at the napkin with the phone number written upon it. “That triskelion...that’s a Mareish symbol, isn’t it? That stain’s fresh, and he was eating Mareish food before he died.”

“There is a Mareish restaurant right...here,” Daring said, placing a dot on Fifteenth Street.

Phillip thought for a moment, his mind going back to the concrete that reeked of oil and hydraulic fluid. “There any construction sites near there?”

“Yeah, here,” Rainbow reported, adding another dot further down the street from the restaurant. “I think it’s an old parking garage that’s getting torn down and turned into apartments.”

“Seems Dust walked past it from there,” Phillip said, tracing a line between the two dots, a line which was heading parallel to Seventeeth. “Clover must've met him somewhere along his route...but where?”

Suunkii was still bent over the microscope, frowning in thought. “That is fascinating,” he mused.

“Whatcha got?” Phillip asked.

“This is trace from the back of Black Dust’s sweatshirt,” Suunkii said. “There appear to be some chips from some kind of...fresco in there. They are almost microscopic in size. Come and look at this.”

Phillip pressed his eyes to the scope and was greeted with the incredibly tiny but impossibly detailed painted face of a hooded pony sitting amidst what looked like brick dust and tiny splinters. More tiny fragments of the painting, each on a thin piece of plaster—the largest of which was, by a quick mental calculation, no more than half a centimeter wide—were scattered along the slide.

“What’s the rest of it?” Phillip asked, looking up.

“Brick dust and walnut wood,” Suunkii reported, turning to a line of test tubes that were set up in a rack on the desk. His gaze swept over the tubes, studying the colors of each reagent, and he frowned. “Odd. These chemical tests indicate that the bricks are using a composite of materials that have not been used in...hundreds of years.”

Daring pressed her eyes to the scope as well, humming in thought as she studied the fresco pieces. “You said that this is from the back of the hoodie?”

“Correct,” Suunkii nodded.

“Then this might’ve been transferred from Clover when he patted Dust on the back,” Daring mused, staring at the map. She tapped her head in thought, then her face suddenly brightened with an idea. “I think I know where he’s hiding!”

“What? Where?” Phillip asked.

“The Church of Sainted Skies,” Daring said. “I remember reading about it in a book on the history of Ponyville. It was located right...here,” she said, pointing to a spot in the Industrial District within the smaller circle. “It had a huge frescoed ceiling that it was famous for, but it was partially destroyed and buried in the Tatzlwurm Quakes of 1764 and never excavated. That whole neighborhood eventually got paved over. And if I recall, there’s an entrance to the Under right near...there,” she pointed to a single spot right near the construction site that Dust had passed.

“It makes sense,” Suunkii mused. “That would explain this brick dust and the paint chips.”

“We’ll have to go down there after him,” Phillip said grimly. “Flash, get Cold Case and the Princesses.”

“Right!” Flash saluted and ran off.

“I’m going to go down there and scout out the entrance, make sure it’s open,” Daring said. “I’m going to need you two with me.”

“Cool! We’re going to the Under!” Rainbow whooped, headed out the door.

“Ripper,” Phillip muttered, but his eyes drifted up towards the ceiling.

“I will check on your parents,” Suunkii reassured Phillip, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Suun,” Phillip said, managing a small smile. He exited and followed Rainbow and Daring up the stairs and into the lobby. Several citizens were now packed into the small room, pedestrians and passerby who had rushed into the police department at the first sign of trouble. The din was practically a living thing on its own, dozens of worried parents and family trying to soothe frightened and crying children, demanding answers, seeking solace in each others hollow words. Outside, the purple dome of energy that encircled the building buzzed and crackled, letting out a low, constant hum like a pitch pipe.

As Daring, Phillip, and Rainbow watched, a trio of officers approached the barrier to let in a pony that was frantically pounding against the wall. Sergeant Macwillard passed a glowing purple wand over the wall, opening up a hole just large enough for the pony to enter, then limped back as the hole closed, covering the quivering civilian with his shotgun. One of the other officers, trying to keep his sidearm from shaking, stepped forward and grasped the visitor’s foreleg, feeling a pulse. He sighed in relief a moment later and proceeded to quickly pat the pony down before allowing them entry.

“Hey, it’s Phillip Finder and Daring Do!” one of the citizens cried. Instantly, there was a mob around them, begging for answers, begging for relief, aid, comfort. The sound threatened to drown them.

“We don’t have the answers yet,” Phillip said through gritted teeth, trying to push through the crowd. “We’re working on it. Let us work…”

“OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY! WE’VE GOT BAD GUYS TO FIND!” Rainbow Dash bellowed, flaring her wings, flesh and metal, in a display of aggression. The crowd parted before them, allowing a clear path to the door.

“Thanks, kid,” Daring nodded as they proceeded through the revolving doors.

Captain Hewn Oak was standing at the door, clearly preparing to address the frightened civilians. He gave each of them a grave look as they passed. "Smoke the heretics out of their hiding places and let them burn," he growled to them.

"Will do," Phillip said, feeling like a rock had settled into his gut.

MacWillard and the other two nonplussed officers watched as they approached. “You got a plan, detectives?” the griffon asked.

“We do,” Daring nodded, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

MacWillard nodded and waved the wand again, allowing a hole to open in the barrier. “Good luck!” he called as Daring scooped Phillip up and flew out, Rainbow Dash right at her tail.

Daring wasn’t a firm believer in luck. But as they flew southwest, and the sharp snapping and crackling sound of the barrier closing resounded in her hollow gut like the great iron doors of Tartarus slamming shut behind them, she thought that now might be a good time to start having faith.

Author's Note

Just a quick setup chapter. More action next week, I promise!

Case Twelve, Chapter Five: Under

The trio trotted up the unevenly paved surface of Boiler Street, eyes sweeping the ground. The street was dead silent around them. On a warm summer Saturday afternoon such as this, with the sun cooled by a thin layer of clouds, there should’ve been foals and fillies out playing in their yards, pedestrians filtering leisurely out of the small shops that sat on the sidewalks, a few cars driving past slowly, drivers looking around for a good place to stop for lunch or an ice cream. But instead, the entire neighborhood was dead silent: the businesses were shuttered, the windows of the apartments and houses dark and curtained. No voices were to be heard, no cars passed by. The only sign of life that they saw beside themselves was a Wonderbolt streaking past overhead, a submachine gun held loosely in her hooves.

“There it is,” Daring said, pointing to a storm drain in the corner. She hurried over and grasped the grate. With a grunt, she heaved the metal construction out of the ground: the concrete setting around it was cracked and broken, revealing a hole around the removed grate just barely large enough for a pony.

“You know, I was worried that they’d have closed this,” she said, setting the grate aside. “They’re always talking about fixing the roads in this neighborhood.”

“City’s never had the budget for it,” Phillip replied, crouching down and shining his flashlight into the hole. A few feet beneath him was a narrow drainage tunnel of moss-coated brick, a six-inch-deep channel full of slimy water and litter bordered by two walkways each not much bigger than a balance beam. “Tight fit.”

“Relax, you haven’t gained that much weight,” Daring replied. “If you get stuck, I’ll push you.”

Phillip rolled his eyes, then sat down on the edge of the hole and slowly slid through, hind hooves first. He landed in the water with a splash and a grunt, swinging his flashlight to and fro. “Looks clear,” he called, moving aside for the others.

Rainbow Dash followed him down, keeping her wings tucked close to avoid snagging, then Daring landed behind them. “That way,” she called, pointing behind Phillip as she clipped her flashlight onto her shirt and snapped it on. “You’re looking for a sheet of plywood up against the wall to your left.”

Phillip followed the tunnel for several yards, the group silent save for the splashing that echoed off the tunnel walls. They passed underneath a few more storm drains, faint sunlight filtering through the grates along with dripping water; in a few sections, the tunnel narrowed so much that they had to push their way through, shoulders scraping against rough brick.

Finally, they reached an old, rotten sheet of plywood that was leaning against the left wall. Phillip pushed it aside to reveal a narrow opening in the wall, chiseled out through a combination of time and hooves, jagged pipes and edges along the perimeter. The light from his flashlight barely extended into the shadows.

Spotting something in the ground, Phillip bent down and picked up a small scrap of gray cloth that clung to a jutting iron bar. He studied it for a moment, then sniffed. Blood, sweat, and tobacco. “He came down this way,” he muttered.

“This is the closest entrance to the Under to the church,” Daring said.

“Even tighter fit,” Phillip grunted, trying to sidle through. The walls were tight around him, grinding against his back and chest, pulling at his vest, but he pushed through. Rainbow and Daring followed close behind, both of them grunting as they struggled through.

The ground sloped downwards and then, finally, they reemerged in a wide, dark room of wooden walls that, like the creaking, potholed floor, was covered in dust. This place looked like it had once been someone’s basement: there were still the ruins of a table and a collection of chairs in the center of the room, and a shattered picture frame lay in the corner next to the dusty remnants of a coal furnace, the rusting pipes scattered around it like bones. The sight and smell of the recent coal dust around the furnace made the hairs on the back of Phillip’s neck stand up and his hoof reach towards his holster.

“Welcome to the Under, ladies and gentleponies,” Daring said, casting her flashlight around and drawing her own pistol, securing the hoofstraps. “I’ll be your tour guide today. No flash photography and stay with your group: there are things down here that are best left alone.” She proceeded to a door in the back of the room that clung to a crooked frame by a single rusty hinge and pushed it open with a creak, clearing the ragged, lopsided hallway outside.

They proceeded down into the darkness, passing through fragmented sections of ancient buildings and rooms that had been semi-absorbed by the ground that they’d fallen into. Wood gave way to fragmented concrete to cobblestone to dirt. They trotted through large chambers and slithered through narrow gaps in rubble as they descended ever downwards.

Finally, they emerged from an opening in a forgotten hallway and beheld a wide-open space before them from the top of a rise of dirt and rubble. They studied the terrain with the beam of their flashlights, every sweep revealing new details. This space had once been a city square, judging by the cobblestone circle in the center of the cleared out area. There were a few skeletal remnants of brick and mortar buildings marking the perimeter, all of them bent and warped like toys that had been stepped upon and kicked. Large, roughly circular tunnels were carved into the dirt around them, leading away into darkness: clearly, these were left behind by the tatzlwurms in their ravenous rampage. The reek of years of rot and decay mixed with the scent of clay and stone, the heavy air assaulting their nostrils and tongues with every breath. The trio shivered; the air was so cold that Daring was surprised that they couldn’t see their breath frosting. The ceiling high above them was of packed earth: as they watched, a faint rumble sounded from overhead, slowly traversing the ceiling and sending cascades of dirt down onto the ground beneath.

“Trolley,” Phillip said.

“This was Bank Street Square,” Daring exposited as they carefully slid down the slope to the ground. “We’re right underneath the Twelfth Line. The church is a little less than a mile from here.”

“Look! Over there!” Rainbow Dash suddenly called, pointing.

Her hoof indicated a figure in one of the wrecked storefronts. The skinny blue pegasus was standing in the warped door jamb. In his wing was a crude club with a nail shoved through the end: he slapped this against the doorjamb rhythmically, the sound of each slap echoing across the square.

“Should Sticky, or should Sticky not?” they faintly heard him muttering to himself, voice carrying through the silence. “They come to the dark and cold with Sticky, but there’s three of them, and Sticky has no gun…”

“Keep your ears open,” Daring hissed, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. “Where there’s one, there’s usually more.”

They proceeded down one of the giant tunnels: Sticky’s eyes followed them every step of the way until they rounded the corner. There were a few rustles of movement in the shadows around them, glimpses of figures and muck-smeared faces, but they retreated from their gazes.

“Just like wild cats,” Daring whispered to Rainbow. “Don’t show fear and they’ll back off.”

Rainbow grinned and glared at a smaller silhouette watching them from a flat rooftop. The figure glared back, but retreated out of sight. “This is just like a Hayana Pones adventure!” she said in an excited squeak.

“Stay focused, kid: this isn’t a storybook,” Daring replied. “But yeah, this is pretty cool,” she added a moment later, mainly to herself.

They left the square behind and proceeded down the tunnel. There were only a few more buildings down here that had been pulled down in the earthquakes, but no sign of anypony else.

“Almost there,” Daring muttered as they reached a fork in the tunnel. She pointed down the left tunnel, the entrance of which was guarded by the leaning, crumbling remnants of a brick tower.

Suddenly, Phillip held up a hoof and signaled for silence. His ears twitched and wiggled back and forth.

“Voices ahead,” he hissed, nodding down the left passage.

“This way,” Daring called, beckoning for them to take cover in the shadows of the tower. Snapping off their flashlights, they peeked around the corner and spotted a faint cluster of shifting light and shadow up ahead, with voices filtering back towards them. The trio snuck closer, sticking to the shadows until they were close enough to hear more clearly.

Phillip took his night vision binoculars out from his vest and pressed them to his eyes as Daring pulled out her monocular, both of them focusing on the figures ahead. A dozen ponies were standing in a loose circle in the middle of the channel, all of them surrounding a red unicorn with mussed green and brown hair adorned in a bloodstained gray trench coat. Clover was laying in the midst of the group, his breath slow and his eyes closed; blood dripped from his bruised face.

“You have got to be codding me,” sighed the green unicorn with the bushy red beard that was currently pacing behind Clover. Coin Toss ran a hoof over the slide of his FNeigh Forty-Seven and took a deep breath through his nostrils. “You stole from the Mob. You disrespected what we stand for by selling drugs, corrupting children, all for fecking money. You get Black Dust killed running an errand for you. You piss off Zugzwang, who starts killing my boys to force me to find you and these fecking gems for him.”

He suddenly whirled and smashed the butt of his pistol against Clover’s ribs, eliciting a flinch and a yelp. “My boys! Your brothers! Killed because of you being an eejit! And now you want to deal?!” Coin roared.

“Boss, please,” Clover whimpered. “We can all come out of this richer. Just—”

The Mareish boss snarled, then started mercilessly pistol-whipping the other unicorn, bringing the metal down onto flesh again and again, with a wince-inducing crack and a pitiful cry of pain every time.

“Where! Did! You! Put! The! Fucking! Gems!” he shouted, punctuating each word with a blow.

Clover didn’t answer except with broken sobs and whimpers, quivering on the ground.

“We know you have a base down here somewhere,” Coin continued, starting to pace again. “I remember when you first mentioned that you’d settled a base down there and suggested we use it as a safehouse, I thought you were crazy. Should’ve realized then you were just stupid. So, where is it?”

“Coin, I’m begging you,” Clover whimpered. “Just...just promise me safe passage out and you can have them…”

Daring signaled for them to retreat and they backed up to the intersection: none of the Mareish mobsters saw them.

“Looks like they don’t know where Clover’s base is,” Daring whispered. “If we can sneak around them and get to the church before them, we might find them there.”

“Should we do something about them?” Rainbow asked, jerking her head down the side tunnel, her wings flexing.

“There’s too many of them,” Daring shook her head. “Clover’s gonna have to be on his—”

“Well, looky what we got here,” a voice sneered from the darkness. All three turned to see a figure emerging from the tower. The unicorn was adorned in a tattered rain jacket, from which he withdrew a rusty knife that was almost as long as his foreleg. Just barely visible through his scraggly beard was a mouth full of cracked and rotten teeth. His sunken eyes, set deep in flesh that had clearly not seen the sun in many years, gleamed with greed as they focused on Rainbow Dash.

Seven more ponies emerged from the shadows, all of them drawing weapons ranging from spiked clubs and knives to a makeshift blunderbuss. They sneered at the trio, more than one licking their lips as they approached, surrounding the group.

“Boy, did you wannabes take a wrong turn,” a zebra mare rasped, balancing the tip of her knife on her hoof.

“Meat and blood, meat and blood, meat and blood,” a bone-thin pegasus chanted, ending his incantation with a high pitched giggle.

Daring pushed Rainbow behind her with a wing, raising her pistol. “You don’t want this, old stallion,” she growled, taking aim at the bearded stallion in the rain jacket. Phillip snapped his baton open with a harsh click.

The bearded pony just grinned. “I think we do,” he hissed, drawing a slimy black tongue over his disgusting teeth, still staring at Rainbow. “It’s been so long since we had any pussy. Especially pussy as young and fresh as her.”

“Pussy,” the skinny pegasus leered at Rainbow in a sing-song voice. “Puss-puss-puss-pussy.” Rainbow growled in a bid to summon her bravery even as her knees trembled.

“You can’t take all of us, suckers,” the zebra hissed, tossing her knife to herself. “There’s three of you and—”

There was a sudden rush of wind and everypony looked up to see a gray pegasus in Royal Guard armor, a master sergeant’s chevrons and bars on his pauldrons, hovering over them. He aimed the LMG strapped to his side at the bearded unicorn, drawing back the bolt with a sharp click.

“Mine are bigger than yours,” he grinned.

The bandits all glanced at each other, then ran off into the darkness.

“Nice timing, sarge,” Phillip said in relief as the Royal Guard landed.

“The others were worried about you,” the sergeant said, reaching to the mouthpiece of his radio. “This is Sergeant Tempest. I found them.”

A moment later, a golden portal opened up behind the Guard and a fifteen-strong squadron of Royal Guards exited, clearing the area with their weapons. The Princesses followed through a moment later, both of them in full armor; Cold Case and a detachment of police officers followed, surrounding Twilight. The young unicorn had her horn lit up to cast light before her; her face was pale and drawn, eyes darting around to check every shadow twice, but her countenance was set and determined, posture straight despite the obviously uncomfortable weight of the bulletproof vest she was wearing. Flash Sentry was sticking close to her, holding his shotgun close and adjusting the bandolier of shells that he had over his bulletproof vest. Bumblebee and two other earth ponies led the group, shrugging to adjust for the weight of the bulletproof shields upon their backs.

“Are you two insane?” Cold Case snapped at Phillip. “Going into the Under on your own is practically suicide.”

“Mareish Mob here,” Phillip reported, cutting off Daring’s retort, pointing to the side tunnel. “Down there, blocking the church. They have Clover, but not the gems.”

“Then let us deal with them,” Luna nodded grimly. “Forward, quietly.”

“Dash, stick with Twilight. If things go to shit, your job is to get her out of here,” Daring ordered Rainbow. Rainbow didn’t protest, taking up the rear of the group and sticking close to Twilight. Twilight swallowed, her mane slightly damp with sweat despite the near-freezing temperatures of the thick, stinking air, but gave Rainbow a brief smile. Daring and Phillip joined them at the rear.

They proceeded stealthily down the tunnel to behold the group still surrounding the shaking, bloodied hostage. The officers all took position in the tunnel, readying their weapons; seven of the Royal Guards formed a phalanx in front of the Princesses, who regarded the opposition with almost disdainful expressions.

“We need to find those gems to stop this madness, and you won't stop us. You’re going to die, Clover, that much is clear,” Coin Toss was saying. “How much pain you endure before you’re sent to your maker is up to you.”

“Okay, listen, listen,” Clover exhaled, raising his hooves. “There’s a church down there. I—”

“Police! Drop your weapons!” Cold Case barked as the entire army raised their guns, snapping sights to targets. The phalanx of Guards all snapped their left forelegs up and pale blue energy shields blossomed from their gauntlets, blocking their charges from any harm. The mobsters whirled around in shock, frozen in disbelief for a moment before recognizing the gun barrels aimed at them. They did not drop their own guns, but did not raise them, either, glancing at one another.

“Detective Finder, Do,” Coin Toss said, nodding at the two PIs. “Should’ve realized you were close behind.” He glanced down at Clover. “These gems that this gobdaw stole, I’m guessing they’re important if both Zugzwang and you want them.”

“I said drop them!” Cold ordered, her horn glowing white.

“Lower them, lads,” Coin ordered, dropping his own pistol. “Better to fight another day.”

“I disagree,” one of the mobsters snarled, glaring at Coin with his cold black eyes.

A knife snapped out from beneath a sleeve and slashed through the air: Red Clover fell, trying to scream through the blood that was now running down his throat. The blue unicorn fired an arc of golden energy at the ceiling of the tunnel over the Princesses’ heads. With a great cracking and rumbling, dirt started to cascade from the ceiling, rocks fracturing to rain down from above. The ponies beneath scrambled for cover, panicked yelps rising from their throats.

But the boulders were halted by gold and blue auras, thrust back into place and the dirt resealed. Celestia and Luna, faces still impassive, returned their attention to Zugzwang just in time to see him rising up into the air, surrounded by a golden shield spell, his glamour fading away. The Mareish mobsters were futilely trying to fire at him with their hexed, useless weapons. Clover was slowly rising to his hooves, a blank expression on his face as he turned and stared at the now pale and sweaty Coin; blood ran in rivulets from the traitorous unicorn’s slit throat. Three more of the mobsters were staring at their former comrades, faces blank and necks running red.

“You followed me?!” Coin shouted at Zugzwang, his eyes darting between his foe and the undead ponies. “You played me like a fiddle!”

“A fiddle requires skill,” Zugzwang sneered coldly at Coin Toss. “I played you like a kazoo.” He then turned to the Princesses. Weapons were raised as the hexes around them dissipated into golden sparks of light, but Celestia’s hoof signaled her entourage to not waste their ammunition.

“Die Sonne und der Mond,” Zugzwang snarled at the Princesses from within his golden bubble. “Mein Bruder has thought long of you. We suppose daddy told you about us?”

“Father did indeed tell us much about you, foul beast,” Luna snarled, pointing her broadsword at him. “Including how he and the other Pillars freed Stygian from your corruption!”

Zugzwang laughed.

No, he didn’t. Its voice rumbled out from within him, a horrible gurgling imitation of laughter that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it.

“Things are very different now,” they snarled, the jade fox necklace glowing in aurate and emerald lights, lighting up the entire tunnel. With a long hiss of metal, he drew the Sword of Asocrac from its sheath, the black suns on the blade reflecting the magical light. “And we are overdue some revenge.”

“Detectives, Twilight!” Celestia ordered, not taking her eyes off the abomination as she summoned her golden halberd to her side. “We will handle this beast. Go on and retrieve the gems!”

Phillip took a breath, settling himself. He looked over at Daring: she nodded at him, mouth held in a thin, resolute line. Flash, Twilight, and Dash nodded as well, expressions mirroring each other.

“Guards, open fire!” Celestia ordered.

“ARMOR PIERCING!” sixteen voices roared as one. Runes on the barrels of the Royal Guards’ weapons glowed red and they opened fire as one, their bursts joined by beams of magic from the alicorns’ horns, then the officers’ weapons: the cacophony was deafening in the close quarters, the noise slamming down on the ponies’ heads. Cracks spread across Zugzwang’s shields beneath the barrage and he strained behind his barrier. The mobsters beneath him began to break off and run, pursued by their former comrades.

A golden portal appeared before Phillip and his friends, and they leaped into it, emerging on the other side of the chaos. “Come on!” Daring shouted, waving them on.

But as they ran down the tunnel, they heard it. A sound of flesh rending and bones cracking like dry tinder. A peal of mad laughter, then a roar of pain and triumph, all in that voice that was not a voice. Screams of terror suddenly joined the gunfire. A shadow was cast across the tunnel before them, the shape equine and yet...not.

“What the fuck is that thing?!” Trace shrieked.

Rainbow Dash glanced back and all the color drained from her face. Her jaw dropped open as her wings failed. Her hooves barely caught her as she fell, seemingly glued to the ground. “Wha..what…”

“Dash, come on!” Daring ordered her, grabbing her foreleg and pulling her along, being careful not to look back at the thing. Recovering herself, Rainbow ran alongside her, but it was long before her face resumed its normal color.

They rounded the corner, and there it was: the Church of Sainted Skies. Years ago, it had been a grand cathedral constructed of red brick, with a steepled clocktower in the front and two wings extending off to the sides. Now, trapped in this underground chamber for years, it had decomposed to a skeleton of its former self. The wings had all collapsed into piles of rubble, and the tower itself was an empty shell, a massive hole where the clock mechanism had once been. It lay crooked in the ground, like an old, tired stallion.

The entire thing sat on top of a large concrete box, partially buried beneath the dirt but sticking out at an angle: apparently, the foundations had fallen into the Under along with the church.

The wide doorway yawned open, both of the doors having been long ripped away. Phil, Daring, Flash, Twilight, and Rainbow Dash paused before the doorways, listening for any sign of hostiles waiting within. All was quiet, save for the distant sounds of combat from further down the tunnel. Flash sent a nervous, regretful glance back down.

“Focus on the here and now, Flash,” Phillip said sternly, pointing his flashlight within the hallway. All the light revealed was a small foyer, bare of any decoration. The interior doors and the door to the stairway up to the clocktower had been torn down as well, and the beams from their flashlights revealed an empty nave, the carpet and pews having been long removed to reveal the worn stone floor.

“Revelare anima,” Twilight murmured, and a wave of purple energy blossomed from her horn, passing ahead of her through the walls of the cathedral. Nothing happened.

“Nopony hiding in there,” she reported.

“Then let’s get moving,” Phillip grunted, entering.

They passed from the nave to the main body of the cathedral. The raised sanctuary in the center of the room still had the altar atop it, covered in the dust of years. Only a few of the original furnishings remained. Most of the windows had been broken, and the windows in the rear all revealed the darkness of the dirt that had piled atop the church. Strangely, the devastation and rot that infected most of the Under seemed to have left most of the sanctuary alone, content to halt at the threshold.

But Daring’s gaze went up, towards the ceiling. The vaulted ceilings were covered in massive frescoes, depicting important scenes from the Friendship Covenant; right above the sanctuary was the story of the Holy Mother’s appearance to Tiqvah, Chesed, and Emunah, gifting them with knowledge of magic, and the three mares preaching the word of friendship and love to the villagers of Navah. The paint had long faded, but one could still appreciate the masterful craftwork that went into every detail. Daring studied the faces of the three mares, their colors dull but still lifelike.

“Wow,” she said, taking a moment to breathe in the ethereal beauty of the image, the masterful craft of the historical work.

“Imagine what it looked like when the Church was still being maintained,” Twilight gasped, stars in her eyes.

“Focus,” Phillip snapped at them, already searching the altar for any sign of the gems. “All of you, spread out. Find the gems.”

They searched the eaves, the pillars, every remaining piece of furniture. But there was no sign of the three precious jewels that they were searching for.

Flash looked around the room. “This doesn’t make sense,” he mused. “If this was his base, then where’s all his stuff?”

“Good point,” Phillip muttered. He crouched down and studied the ground, angling his flashlight to examine the marks in the dust. “Twilight, tracking spell.”

Twilight lit up her horn and glowing images of their own hoofprints appeared, glowing purple on the ground. A moment later, another trail of hoofprints, bare and light, appeared, running across the room and to the doors. They followed the trail back to what had been the south transept, a wing branching off from the choir and altar. A barred metal door blocked a dark hallway, a door that was not nearly as rusty as it should’ve been.

“The crypt,” Flash muttered. “Of course he’s in the dark, narrow, underground space full of dead bodies.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Daring scolded, extracting her set of lockpicks from her pocket and trotting up to the door. She knelt down at the doorway and inserted the picks into the lock. It took her a few moments of work, but the lock finally disengaged with a click. Daring grasped the door and swung it open. The creak of metal echoed across the sanctuary. She swept the narrow spiraled stone stairway with her flashlight, revealing nothing but cracking bricks and steps that had been heavily worn down by time.

“Shall we?” she asked the others.

Twilight gulped, her face even paler now than it ever was, but nodded resolutely. Flash stuck close by her side, gripping his shotgun tightly. Rainbow Dash grinned eagerly, eyes narrowed and ready. Phillip’s expression remained as placid as ever, but his nod was firm.

Daring proceeded down the stairs, every step echoing off the narrow walls, the others following close behind. As they rounded the corner, Daring spotted the narrow archway that led into the crypt proper. Water dripped from somewhere ahead, a constant, rhythmic sound that echoed up to their ears.

Daring stepped up to the entrance, but then she felt something brush against her hoof. And then she heard something whooshing down from above.

She ducked almost too late. A long board with several long nails punched through it, each metal tip covered in feces to cause infection, swung down from above the arch on a hinge attached to the tripwire that she’d just accidentally triggered. The potentially deadly spikes narrowly missed her as the contraption slammed into the stonework. Three of the ponies behind her yelped in shock.

“Booby traps, too?!” Rainbow Dash cried, her expression a cross between delight and disbelief.

“This really is like a Hayana Pones adventure,” Phillip muttered, almost rolling his eyes.

“That explains how he was able to keep ponies out of here,” Daring mused, ducking beneath the trap.

They entered the crypt proper, a claustrophobic chamber of stone and brick. A few stone sarcophagi were placed on the floor, their stone tops long sealed shut. The metal doors of vaults lined the walls, the names belonging to the cremated remains inside having long rusted away.

“Uh…” Flash gulped, casting his eyes over the vaults and briefly chewing on his wing. “These guys aren’t going to wake up, are they?”

“They’re too old,” Twilight reassured him as they cautiously entered the crypt. “From what I understand of the Lazarus Ritual, it requires access to the original body.”

“Keep an eye out for other traps,” Daring warned as she walked around one of the sarcophagi. She studied the almost inch-deep layer of dust on the floor, following the tracks that were marked in the ground.

They proceeded further into the crypt, weaving through a maze-like web of narrow hallways, squeezing past more stone tombs and ducking cobwebs. A few more booby traps lined the walls—spikes on hinges and strips of nails covered in more feces hidden amidst rocks—but Daring carefully avoided them all.

Finally, they reached the mouth of a passageway, five stone tiles wide, that led to a narrow archway. At the end of the hall, about fifteen yards away, was a small room containing four ancient sarcophaguses, a few modern boxes of ammunition and a makeshift cot with a shotgun and the remnants of an MRE lain atop the thin sheets. Glittering in the beams of their flashlights, placed atop one of the sarcophagi, were three gems: a diamond, a square emerald, and an amberstone.

Twilight lit up her horn, extending her reach into the chamber, but the gems refused to budge. Her brow furrowed in confusion, Twilight swept a spotlight beam from her horn into the room, only for her magic to be halted by an orange barrier at the end of the hallway.

“He has a magical barrier placed on the threshold,” she reported with a frown. “Looks like it won’t stop us from walking through it, but I can’t teleport through it, or just grab the gems.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Daring grumbled.

“Does this feel like a trap to anypony else?” Rainbow asked, using her own flashlight to study the walls and floor of the passageway. There were large stains spread over the stone, all of them a suspicious rusty color and emanating the faint scent of copper, overwritten with odd scorch marks.

Daring tentatively placed a hoof forward into the room. As soon as she did, there was an earsplitting crack of thunder as a purple arc of plasma streaked across the hallway, passing so close that she felt her coat hairs being burnt off by the heat; the energy struck the wall and placed a new layer on the scorch mark next to the entrance. Looking up, Daring spotted what looked like a small curved mirror planted in the eaves of the hallway, a rough angular rune carved into the glassy surface. More mirrors were planted in the eaves of the passageway, all angled down to face the stone.

“Shockcast glass,” Phillip scowled. "Haven't seen one of those in years."

“Yeah,” Daring nodded, bending down. She carefully brushed aside the dust on the floor to reveal a square with an arcane symbol written in chalk, just barely legible. “Step in one of these traps, zap.”

“I thought shockcast glass was outlawed back in 1922 after a massive civil suit from ponies who’d been injured by them,” Twilight mused.

“Gee, a criminal who doesn’t follow the law. Shocking,” Daring rolled her eyes. She spread her wings and found that the hallway was too narrow for her to just fly down. Sighing, she crouched down and started casting her flashlight at an angle, looking for any sign of tracks. “There’s got to be a safe way past this…”

“I can try to disarm the glasses, but it’ll take a while for each one,” Twilight offered. “Your ward might be able to block it…”

“I’m not confident enough in that,” Daring replied. “Best to try to avoid—”

Flash suddenly whirled around with a gasp, aiming his shotgun up at the passageway behind them. “What was that?!” he cried, his voice going up a half octave.

“What was what?” Rainbow scoffed. “A rat, most likely, you jumpy—”

“No,” Phillip muttered, drawing his pistol and stepping forward to place himself behind the others. “I hear it, too.”

A moment later, the three mares heard it as well: the slow dragging of stone on stone. Then the grating creak of rusty hinges.

And then a hissing noise like many serpents...no, like sand pouring down onto the ground. A rattling of bones, a crackling of joints and sinews.

And then a dragging, shuffling of hooves. Getting closer. Louder.

“Uh-oh,” Rainbow Dash muttered.

“Can you shoot?” Flash said quickly, glancing at Rainbow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow nodded. “I got my license a couple of months ago.”

Flash unholstered his .38 Filly Police revolver and passed it to her. She strapped it tight to her hoof, being careful not to point it at any of the others.

“Daring, might want to hurry,” Phillip urged.

“Working on it,” Daring said through gritted teeth, spotting what looked like a faded out track in the ground. With a gulp, she gently placed a hoof on the middle stone.

Nothing happened. With a sigh of relief, Daring stepped onto the small stone and started looking for the next safe spot.

And then Flash yelped. Daring whirled around just in time to see the source of his terror.

Four figures were shambling towards them from around the corner, and the sight made Daring’s heart momentarily freeze. All of them were barely more than skin and bones, seemingly composed of compacted ash and dust, shambling towards them. They were all composed of mismatched body parts, like a bunch of dolls that had been randomly slapped together by a blind drunkard: the lead undead had one wing lopsidedly hanging from his right side, all of his bony limbs were different sizes, and his head was hanging at an angle from his shoulders, eyeless, toothless face twisted as though in agony. All of the others were the same, worse.

And they were shambling towards them with vengeful purpose, joints cracking loudly.

In the span of a heartbeat, Flash’s shotgun roared out thrice, every blast pounding onto the ponies’ heads like hammers upon their skulls: their cries of pain mixed with the echoes. The shambling, haphazardly constructed golems exploded into dust that spilled onto the floor.

Flash held the barrel on the final falling motes of dust for a few moments, then quickly started reloading, fumbling the shells that he plucked from his bandolier.

“You said Zugzwang couldn’t revive them!” he cried at Twilight, voice still raised in terror.

“He...he’s stronger than I thought…” a pale, sweaty Twilight muttered.

More shuffling. More constructs approached. The dust that Flash had just blasted into powder began to swirl into the air under its own power, reforming into bones, flesh.

“Daring, hurry!” Phillip urged, firing his revolver at the approaching corpses. Every shot turned another undead form into dust, only for it to reform moments later even as the approaching masses trampled over their comrades’ remnants.

Daring turned around and forced herself to focus, attempting to tune out the roaring of the gunshots behind her, the crackling of Twilight’s shield. She looked back down at the stone beneath her, trying to figure out the safe spaces to step. Wherever the traps were, the markings were so faded that she could just barely see them.

Use your head, Daring. He wouldn’t have made it complicated…

There: a gap in the second tile from the left, three rows down. She hopped onto it, sighing in relief when nothing happened.

And there: fifth tile, two rows down. She hopped onto that one, then the middle tile one row down.

A pattern quickly emerged. Middle tile, second from left three down, fifth down two rows down, then start again. Daring proceeded with confidence down the hallway, crossing yards in moments.

Dash suddenly cried out in pain, her voice carrying over the battle behind her. Daring whirled around in midjump to see Rainbow punching one of the zombies, knocking it into a cloud of ashes. Phillip, having run out of ammunition, was now smashing the approaching mob with his baton, while Flash brought the stock of his shotgun down again and again like a hammer. Twilight fired spell after spell into the advancing attackers, every beam disintegrating another foe, but still they came, relentless and eternally reforming, their numbers growing past a dozen. Daring caught Twilight’s eye in midair, saw the growing panic in her eyes.

And then Daring landed and her hoof slipped. She gasped and pulled back, ducking, but one of the mirrors had already fired an arc of plasma right at her, preparing to slice her in half. It was too late to dodge—

Suddenly, a beam of purple light shot out and wrapped itself around the attacking beam of energy, wrapping it into a ball. Twilight strained under the weight of her spell, grunting in exertion, but the light around her horn never faltered. With a yell, she turned and fired the plasma in an arc in front of her as she pulled Dash, Phillip, and Flash behind her. The destructive energy passed down the hallway in a crackle and a roar. The ashes and shambling imitations of corpses that it touched turned into smoke, then vanished, leaving behind only the pungent odor of a thousand campfires.

Daring stared at Twilight, then grinned. “You’re learning fast.”

“Spur of the moment,” Twilight managed to smile back, looking tired. “I had to save you, and saw an opportunity to get rid of those monsters at the same time.”

“That was awesome!” Rainbow cheered, slapping Twilight on the back.

“Daring, quick,” Phillip said, taking the opportunity to reload.

Daring proceeded down the hallway, hopping past every trap until she finally reached the threshold at the end. She stretched a hoof forward and was relieved to find that the barrier did not prevent her entry. She jumped into the tomb (casting a nervous glance over the sarcophagi, which fortunately remained closed), then snatched up the three gems on the stone lid, placing them into her pocket. She quickly hopped her way back to the others, smiling in relief when she saw that the ashes were no longer reforming into attackers.

“Got ‘em,” she declared. “Now let’s get out of here before we have to outrun a rock or someth—”

Hoofsteps rounding the corner. Flash whipped the shotgun up with a cry of terror.

“Friendly! Watch where you’re pointing that!” Prowl snapped, ducking beneath his aim.

“Sorry, sarge,” Flash apologized, lowering his gun. “What’s happened?”

“Glad you’re all okay,” Prowl said, panting as she approached. She winced and briefly clutched her side, where scorch marks clung to her bulletproof vest. “Zugzwang and Coin Toss have both retreated. Did you get what you need?”

Daring held up the three gems.

“Good,” Prowl nodded. “We need you back with the others. We have to end this now.”

Author's Note

I originally wanted to have a Scorcher be amongst Coin's crew and for him to chase Phil and Daring into the church, but the chapter was long enough as is, and I really didn't have the energy to try to choreograph that fight.

You can read about the story of Chesed, Tiqvah, Emunah and the Holy Mother in Covenant Journal: Genesis from my short story collection, Alleys!

I hope that this sequence really did feel like a good Daring Do action scene! That's what I was going for here.

But what's left for our friends? Find out next week!

Case Twelve, Chapter Six: History Repeats

Prowl led them back to the tunnel, where the others were gathered. Shells littered the ground and the scent of cordite and blood hung heavy in the cold, stale air. A few bodies lay amongst the wreckage, every one with a hole drilled through their craniums. Celestia and Luna walked amongst the survivors, tending to the wounded, voices quiet and reassuring. Their cuirasses were dented, scratched, and spattered with blood and ooze: Celestia’s golden halberd lay snapped in half on the floor, and Luna had a long, freshly healed cut on her face.

Captain Eagle had just emerged from a golden archway, pulling a crate of ammunition behind him which he tossed open, allowing the other Royal Guards to line up and start resupplying their ammunition. Their armor was scuffed and covered in black slime; Phillip did a brief headcount and his heart fell into his stomach when he realized that there were only eleven left.

Four of the corpses wore armor.

Phillip’s heart sank even more when he realized that three of the bodies were police officers. The dozen surviving officers sat in a small cluster, every one of them trembling, sweat clinging to pale faces. Their hollow eyes shone in the darkness. Even the sight of Bumblebee, Trace, Red, and Cold amongst the survivors did nothing to alleviate the crushing pressure.

Prowl let out a long breath like air whooshing out of a balloon now that they were safely back; her posture slumped, wings falling loose and her head drooping beneath the weight. “The swings at St. Megan’s,” Daring and Phillip heard her muttering as she stumbled over to the others. “Uncle Honeydew’s candy shop...Song Stream reservoir…”

She made her way over to Bumblebee, who was whimpering faintly as Arc stroked his mane and whispered soothingly in his ear, and hugged them both, breathing slowly and evenly.

“Holy shit,” Flash breathed, sitting down and dropping the shotgun. He stared at one of the bodies: a young blue earth pony, the same age as Flash. The empty green eyes stared up at the ceiling, a bloody hole drilled into his left temple. His jaw hung open as if in surprise. Flash stared at the corpse, every inhalation trembling. Twilight hugged him tightly, refusing to look at the body.

“Zugzwang escaped,” Cold Case explained to Phillip, taking some bullets from the ammunition crate and putting them back into a magazine. Phillip saw one round tremble in her magical grip, but Cold grunted in irritation and forced the round into the clip, compressing the spring with an audible click. “So did Coin Toss, and I think three of his thugs.” She took a slow breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

“He killed Creek Dancer,” she continued, her voice strained, like a suspension bridge that was struggling underneath the weight of too many trucks driving across it. “And then Creek killed Red Rover and Tire Track.” She swallowed and took another breath before turning to glare at him. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Yes,” Phillip nodded, also replenishing his ammunition from the crate. Daring pulled out the three gems, and Phillip added the ruby that he’d taken from Dust to the pile.

“Then let’s find and kill that son of a bitch,” Cold snarled.

“I...I can do it,” Twilight announced, reluctantly pulling away from Flash and fixing her gaze on the jewels so as to avoid the sight of the battlefield around her. “Just give me some time to draw a circle…”

“No, Twilight, I shall do it,” Luna stated, striding forward and placing a comforting hoof on Twilight’s withers. “You are quite brave, my dear student, but you need not be exposed to this.”

Luna plucked the four jewels from Daring and placed them in a loose circle around herself as she sat down in the dirt. Taking a slow breath, Luna closed her eyes and lit up her horn in an indigo aura. The same aura surrounded the ruby, then the emerald, the amberstone, and the diamond, each of them letting out a small, vibrating hum that joined in a tranquil harmony that echoed through the Under. Everypony that listened became stilled and turned towards the noise, tense muscles relaxing, hearts slowing.

A moment later, Luna flopped onto the ground and the ethereal music was halted and replaced by loud snoring. Tranquility was quickly chased away by confusion and disbelief.

“...what,” Daring said.

“She is the Princess of Dreams,” Celestia explained with a wry smile, repairing her polearm with a snap of her magic. “Fear not: she’s using an astral projection method to track the location of the statues.”

Indeed, as Celestia spoke, what looked like a transparent image of Princess Luna lifted out of Luna’s sleeping body and disappeared through the ceiling of the tunnel.

“She should be back soon,” Celestia said placidly.

About a minute later, the image returned and floated back into Luna, who woke up immediately and stood up. “I found the statues,” she reported as though nothing had happened, her face grim. “However, there is a problem. Twilight, Celestia.”

The three mares gathered close together as Luna projected an image with some complicated magical formulae before them. The trio murmured back and forth for several minutes, all of them scowling seriously. Luna seemed to propose something, but Celestia shook her head firmly, hissing out a countermand. Twilight cut in with a proposition, which prompted a round of whispering between Celestia and Luna. The others all stood outside the group, heads tilted to try to listen in.

Finally, the trio seemed to reach a consensus and turned back to the others. “All right, listen closely,” Luna announced, making eye contact with every survivor. “I know we are all shaken by the deaths of our comrades, but we need to keep moving. The sooner that we can find and disable the Statues, the sooner we can end this madness.”

She projected an image before them all: the four Innsbeak Statues, the small idols of the Old Gods snarling at the survivors.

“Originally, our plan was to track down and destroy the Statues,” Luna continued. “As we’ve all told you, the statues are channeling the energy within them from years of worship into the jade necklace that Zugzwang wears.”

A jade necklace appeared amidst the statues and lines of energy began to slither from the statues into the necklace.

“However, I found the statues and sensed the energy of the spell that they are part of. That same energy is also extremely unstable,” Luna continued. “If we were to simply destroy the statues, it would likely cause a magical backfire and chain reaction amongst the necklace and the other statues.”

The statue of Daybreaker suddenly had its head cut off, then exploded. The other statues and necklace all exploded in reaction. “The explosions would be devastating,” Luna said grimly. “If they exploded within the city limits, hundreds could be killed.”

“So here’s the new plan,” Celestia announced, weaving several golden lines of energy into the air. These lines formed into net-like constructs, which she passed out to the officers. “These nets will cut off the statues from the necklace: trapping them in the net will disrupt the spell and prevent Zugzwang from drawing upon their power, which should allow us to destroy the necklace. We can then transport the statues to a safe area where Luna and I can safely drain the statues of their energy and destroy them.”

“In the meantime, we need to refocus upon trying to get Zugzwang away from the jade necklace,” Luna continued. “We all saw: that power makes the monster quite resilient and able to heal quickly. If we can destroy the necklace, or just get it off of him, that should prevent it from drawing upon that energy.”

“Got it,” Daring said impatiently. “So where are the statues?”

“A mansion in the northwest outskirts of the city,” Luna replied. “It rests upon a hill, with a gate around it: I saw construction scaffolding and work within. The Statues are in a red room with black curtains at the end of a long hallway, behind a powerful shield. I saw a coat of arms upon the wall: a hoof crushing a serpent.”

Daring and Phillip looked at each other. “Silvertongue’s mansion,” Phillip grunted.

“Kinda poetic, I guess,” Daring shrugged.

“I remember it well,” Celestia said, opening a golden portal before them. She paused, then carefully looked over the entire group. The ponies all stared back at her, hard eyes peering out from dirty, pale, sweaty faces.

“If anypony does not wish to come, I will understand,” she said softly.

“There’s no shame in it, officers,” Cold Case told her officers.

Phillip’s heart trembled in his chest; his breath came heavy, his lungs feeling as though gravity was trying to pull them out through his chest. He thought briefly of his parents, imagining a solemn-faced officer walking up to tell them that their son was not coming home.

But his hooves refused to move. He looked at Daring: her wingtips were shaking in a manner that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature, but she gave him a thin smile. Trace racked the slide of his pistol, while Red swallowed, shuffling in place. Flash took Twilight’s hoof, while Rainbow draped a foreleg over Twilight’s withers. Bumblebee looked like he was going to be sick, but nodded at Arc and Prowl. Nopony said anything.

Cold Case nodded and racked the slide of her own pistol. Celestia beamed at them in pride.

“Then once more unto the breach, friends,” she declared and stepped through the portal.

Daring emerged with the group through the portal, her hoofsteps clopping against pavement. Looking around, she saw that they were now standing upon Baroque Street, a road that led northwest towards the border of Ponyville.

Her mind went back to a cold night last winter, when she and Phillip had ascended this road themselves with Princess Celestia, headed to Silvertongue’s mansion in hopes of stopping the rat bastard once and for all. And now they were headed back up through the night, with two Princesses and an equally half-baked plan, into the same mansion that was now filled with hostiles...

She frowned, realizing that it was dark: the lights in the streetlights penetrated the blackness, sending long shadows across the silent, empty streets. A glance at her watch showed her it was barely four o’clock, and yet she looked up to behold a pitch-black sky. The sun had apparently long set, and not even the moon was up.

The only light that penetrated the black blanket was the twinkling stars: where once she would’ve taken comfort from the sight of Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra looking down on her, with Altair, Deneb, and Vega immediately drawing her gaze, now they seemed cold and distant, like the audience at an execution. Waiting for the ax to fall.

“Uh...Princess?” Flash asked as he, along with most of the other ponies, stared up at the anomalous night sky.

“I had to lower the sun, and Luna cannot afford to raise the moon,” Celestia explained. “Zugzwang is a dangerous foe, we need our full focus to deal with him.”

“We must press on,” Luna declared, pointing her broadsword towards a distant hill. The shadow of a massive mansion sat atop it, backlit against the stars, looking down upon them like a king upon his throne.

As they proceeded, several shadows passed over them as the Wonderbolts arrived, faces grim behind their goggles and flight masks. “Ready for duty, Your Highnesses,” Spitfire declared, saluting the Princesses as she flew above their heads. The Wonderbolt commander reached back and unholstered what looked like a cross between a submachine gun and a tuning fork attached by a thick black cable to a backpack strapped to her back. Sparks danced between the two prongs of the fork-like appendage on the end. Two other Wonderbolts unstrapped similar weapons.

"Cool," Rainbow Dash breathed.

“Zugzwang won’t give up the statues without a fight,” Sergeant Tempest pointed out.

“It would be wise to draw him out from the mansion,” Luna declared. “We need to distract him from the statues, leave them unguarded.”

“I think we can help with that,” Lieutenant Soarin grinned.

“Your Highness, bringing him out into the open carries its own risks,” Eagle pointed out. “It’ll put civilians at risk, and he could make more zombies from them.”

“We’ll have to try to move him to the edges of the city, to the northwest,” Celestia declared. “Cold Case, I trust your officers will clear the mansion and recover the statues?”

“Absolutely, Your Highness,” Cold Case nodded.

“No argument from me,” Bumblebee mumbled. “I really like not having to fight that thing again.”

“But how are we going to draw him out of the mansion?” Eagle asked.

“Leave that to me,” Luna said with a cold smile.

Too soon, they reached the stone wall that surrounded the old mansion. The iron gates had been removed and replaced with only a trio of wooden construction sawhorses to barricade the path up. Even from so far below, Daring could see that the once ostentatious structure was suffering from over half a year of disuse. Several of the windows had been smashed, part of the ceiling had collapsed, and graffiti was spray-painted across the door: “JUSTIC” said the white paint. Scaffolding surrounded part of the walls, and construction equipment was scattered across the formerly manicured lawns. Vaguely, Daring remembered that there had been much discussion amongst the city council about what to do with the mansion after Silvertongue died. Some had proposed tearing it down, but those plans had been paused with the proposition that the mansion be converted into a museum or some other charitable office.

“At least they got rid of the antiflight wards,” she mumbled to herself, stretching her wings out.

A chill zephyr ran up from the south, and Daring glanced up with several others to note that dark storm clouds were rolling in on harsh winds, covering the stars above. Rain began to fall lightly from above, dripping into manes and clothes.

"Was there rain in the forecast today?" Prowl asked with a frown.

"No," Rainbow Dash muttered in puzzlement.

"Bah. Ignore it," Prowl muttered.

Luna pushed the barriers aside and stepped forward boldly, with Celestia at her side and a phalanx of Royal Guards before them both, weapons up and shields primed. The Wonderbolts formed up behind them.

“Officers, remain behind cover,” Celestia ordered.

Daring, Phillip, and the other officers took cover behind the brick walls, watching from around the corner as the Princesses and their entourage stopped before the dark edifice.

“ZUGZWANG!” Luna bellowed, drawing her broadsword and pointing the tip at the doors. “We call you out, coward!”

There was no response from within. The rain began to fall in earnest now, coming down in a light barrage that pattered loudly against the ground.

“If you’re powerful as you claim, then you should have no trouble with the two of us and our guards!” Luna continued. “And yet you hide in there, behind your walls and your armed thugs!” She laughed. “Are you scared, weakling? Do you need a wet nurse?”

Still there was no answer, but the air itself seemed to go colder and heavier around them. Luna laughed again. “Stygian would not be cowering from us behind his shields!” she crowed. “Are you so spineless that you will let yourself by outmatched by somepony as small and meek as he?! Coward, I call thee! COWARD!”

A roar shook the sky, and then a large section of the roof was smashed outwards. Lightning flashed in the sky with an answering bellow of thunder, and the cold rain began to pour down in sheets. For a second, they all saw it, backlit against the sky: its tongues waved like a den of serpents, its wings were spread wide. It drew the Sword of Asocrac with a metallic shing, blood seeping into the black suns.

But no sooner had it appeared than the Wonderbolts snapped their wings back, then pushed them forward as one. A great gust of wind charged forward like a solid wall at Zugzwang, slamming into him midflap; at the same moment, Spitfire and her two companions opened fire with their portable lightning cannons. Lightning streaked through the air, crackling and roaring like a living thing, slamming into the beast. It was sent tumbling away, spinning almost comically over the mansion and crash-landing in the fields behind.

“Attack! Push him away from the city!” Celestia declared, taking flight along with her sister. The Wonderbolts followed, along with the Royal Guards on wings, both flesh and mechanical.

“Come on!” Trace called, beckoning the officers forward to the doors of the mansion. “You scared of some zombies, officers?” He considered for a moment. “You know what, don’t answer that. Let’s just get this over with.”

As the officers crashed through the doors, Celestia and Luna dove down at Zugzwang, who had recovered and glared up at them as the alicorns descended like meteors.

There was an echoing clash of steel and a blinding flash like a firework, blue, gold, and black. Three ponies were sent rocketing away from each other, wings flaring out and hooves digging out trenches in the mud as they fought their own momentum. They paused, glaring at one another.

Zugzwang snapped the cutlass up in a salute. “Give us your best, spawn of Starswirl!” it growled.

Luna laughed as the Guards and Wonderbolts formed up around the alicorns, rain dripping off their wings. “You wish for our best?” she taunted. “We, who command the sun and moon? We, who have leveled cities and sunk armadas? We, who must spend every moment taking great care to not destroy everything we touch?!”

She and Celestia both grinned and raised their blades in guarding position as another flash of sound and fury lit up the sky. “You shall have it,” Luna declared.

“Stack up!” Cold Case ordered as they charged for the doors of the mansion. The officers instinctively split into two teams, stacking up at either door, weapons drawn: Bumblebee and another shieldbearer took the front, raising their shields. Rainbow and Twilight both instinctively took the rear of the group, Rainbow covering the unicorn with a wing.

“Trace,” Cold ordered, charging up her horn.

A sphere of light blossomed at the tip of Trace’s horn and he nodded.

With a rush of wind, the doors were smashed open and Trace fired his light spell. A blinding nova burst from within the hallway, but there was no response from inside.

The group entered to see that the hallway was empty, Trace’s light spell rapidly fading away to leave them in darkness. The crystalline chandelier that had once hung from the ceiling was gone, as were the great paintings that had been boastfully placed along the walls. The only other way out of the hallway were the doors at the end.

“Matchstick, check the door for traps,” Red instructed.

“Why me?” Matchstick grumbled.

“Because you’re the one who specializes in explosives,” Red pointed out. “Just do it.”

Matchstick sighed and swept the doorframes with a spotlight-like beam of scarlet energy, detecting nothing. “Zilch. Let’s go,” she declared.

They opened the door and entered a large room that was painted all in blue. The periwinkle curtains in the window had been removed, the statues, pottery, and other artifacts had been largely replaced with worktables, sawhorses, and tools, and some of the paintings had been taken down, but a few of the blue-themed portraits remained. The scent of paint thinner hung in the air.

Daring glanced at a painting in a golden frame and smirked. “Good times,” she mumbled to Phillip. “At least the golems are gone.” He just grunted in reply.

They proceeded through the yellow room, then the green, orange, and white rooms. While some paintings still hung stubbornly to the walls, the rooms were empty save for the remnants of the halted restoration and destruction efforts.

“It’s quiet,” Rainbow Dash commented as they proceeded to the door at the end of the white room. “Too quiet.”

Almost everypony else groaned and rolled their eyes as they entered the purple room. This room was just like all of the others, save for one detail: at the opposite end of the room, a hole had been carved into the wall, tearing away a large section where the door should’ve been. This hole was covered by a gold-green magical barrier, arcane symbols dancing along the semi-transparent surface.

“That looks interesting,” Daring commented, proceeding forward.

“Block the doorway,” Cold ordered, turning and casting pools of ice over the floor of the white room. Small, sharp stalagmites of ice blossomed from the sheets.

Bumblebee hit a button on the handle of his shield: an additional metal plate unfurled from the bottom of the shield and he slammed down the larger shield with a thud, aiming his revolver over the side. The other shieldbearers did the same, forming a solid wall of metal before the doorway.

“No one’s getting past,” Bumblebee declared firmly as Prowl took position behind him, aiming her Trotson submachine gun over his head. Behind them both, Flash checked to make sure that there was a shell in the chamber before clearing his throat and cuddling the stock to his shoulder.

At that moment, there was a great crashing from outside and a flash of blue light outside the windows temporarily turned the night into day. Everypony paused for a moment, staring outside and wondering how the other, greater battle was going.

“Hang on, Princess!” Captain Eagle cried, urging his armor’s wings to carry him faster to the wreckage that had been an electrical substation. The steel girders and columns now lay in a twisted heap, arcs of electricity dancing amongst exposed wires, sparking and fizzing in the rain. Already a pair of unicorn Royal Guards were telekinetically pulling at the wreckage, trying to get at their charge beneath.

Landing amidst the debris, Eagle heaved up a girder when the entire mess shifted, then was tossed aside. Celestia emerged from beneath, panting and leaning upon her halberd; her helmet had been knocked off and her golden armor was heavily dented and scorched to the point where the entire ensemble might need to be replaced, but she still stood up on her own power. Steam rose off her armor where the rain struck the superheated metal with a constant hissing like a den of vipers.

“Ow,” Celestia grunted, looking up at the house across the street, which now had a tunnel carved through it from her journey down the block. A few terrified eyes stared at them through the enormous gap. “Looks like moving him out of the city won’t work.”

“Are you all right, Highness?” Eagle asked, quickly scanning her over and noticing that there was a shard of metal sticking out of a gap in Celestia’s left hind leg armor, blood running down the sabaton.

“I’m fine, Captain,” Celestia said, shaking herself off and yanking the debris out of her leg without even wincing. “Back to battle!”

The four flew back towards the fight, towards the block-sized clearing where Luna now dueled with the beast, sword clashing against sword with a sound like hammers striking the air. The emerald glow of the cursed necklace could be seen from blocks away. Guards and Wonderbolts circled the duo, firing their weapons in a constant cacophony, but if their target was affected by their bullets, it wasn’t showing it.

A trio of Wonderbolts swooped in, one right after the other, each of them dropping a softball-sized grenade upon Zugzwang’s back that shattered upon contact. The multicolored jelly within spread over its body, over its back and legs and wings: where the refined liquid rainbow fell, it clung to the flesh and burned. The thing’s screeches of agony echoed down the streets as it staggered, forced on the defensive by Luna’s renewed onslaught.

Maneuvering for a clear line of fire, Spitfire fired her lightning gun once more, only for a shield to deflect the arc of light away. Misty Fly, already wounded by a ricocheted round, was too slow to avoid it: with a terrible scream, the Wonderbolt fell from the air and crashed into the ground in a charred, smoking heap.

“No! Fucker!” Soarin bellowed, opening fire with a tri-barreled Gatling gun with a tank full of cloud material where the magazine should’ve been. Daggers of ice and hail rocketed from the barrels, digging into whatever they hit; the volley hit the thing in its hind leg, encasing part of its fetlock in ice.

With a sneer, the thing conjured another shield that deflected the ice bullets at Luna, who grunted and spat curses as she was forced away. A moment later, her curses became a cry of shock as the smoking form of Misty Fly leaped upon the alicorn’s back, driving her survival knife into the joints of her armor in a cold frenzy. Throwing off the dead Wonderbolt, she retreated from Zugwang, firing a rifle burst from the hip that her foe easily blocked.

“That was your last kill, beast!” Celestia declared, diving back into the fray.

“How the fuck did this hole get here?” Red commented, tracing an eye over the circumference of the tunnel that had been carved into the wall.

“Looks like it was magically carved,” Twilight commented.

“Maybe Zugzwang made it,” Phillip stated. “Just focus on getting in there.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be in here any longer than I have to,” Trace commented, standing next to the smaller group. He glanced over at the other officers, who were still blocking the other door. Cold Case paced behind the line: she shot the detectives a glance, then continued looking out into the room, watching for any sign of intruders.

Daring poked at the shield: it buzzed and tingled beneath her hoof, like static electricity. She studied the strange barrier, squinting into the black room with the red curtains and accents. Through the magical window, Daring could see the four statues of the Old Gods sitting on the long black table, all of them faintly glowing the same emerald color as the jade fox necklace. The coat of arms mounted on the back wall was rusty and dirty: the motto “Nemo Me Impune Lacessit,” was faded out.

“Looks like this shield is powered by the statues,” Twilight commented, scanning over the shield with her magic. “Not that complicated, though. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get past…” She started sending tendrils of magic out of her horn, snaking them over the barrier, probing for weaknesses.

Rainbow Dash looked around. “Again, does this feel like a trap to anypon—?”

The door to the room suddenly glowed bright yellow, then crashed shut with an abnormally loud reverberation.

“The hell?” Trace shouted, rushing over to the door and trying to open it. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t open. From the other side, the others could hear pounding and shouting.

And then they heard the gunshots.

At that moment, the golden shield burst in a dazzling array of color. A hole tore itself out through the midst of the aurate field with a roaring sound like a giant vacuum cleaner, the edges constantly churning and shifting. Daring’s helmet was yanked through the hole and into the black and red room, flopping down onto the floor.

Daring shoved Twilight and Phillip out of the way, then cried out in alarm as the sucking wind pulled her towards the hole. Rainbow jumped in and grabbed her foreleg, but the two mares could only helplessly scream as they were yanked into the hole. Both of them crashed into the room; they lay upon the floor, still as stone. The hole closed with a sudden snap.

“Daring!” Phillip cried, pounding at the shield. He squinted through, trying to see if the mares’ chests were rising and falling with breath. “What happened?” he cried.

“A trap,” Twilight gasped. “Dash was right.”

“Get us in there!” Phillip snapped at her.

“I’m trying!” Twilight cried, casting her magic at the shield once more. “I don’t—”

She looked over Phillip’s shoulder and gasped. He whirled around to see a stallion climbing out of a painting of a night sky through a clearing of trees, clambering over the golden frame. More ponies climbed out of the paintings, turning to face them with dead eyes.

“Shit,” Trace muttered as he and Red raised their pistols and opened fire. The attackers charged, zigzagging to avoid their gunshots. Red nailed one headshot, Trace another, but the rest closed the distance, engaging them in hoof to hoof.

Pushing Twilight into the corner, Phillip moved forward to help, but Twilight’s warning cry reached his ears too late. A jackhammer pounded against his back. Grunting in pain, he tucked and rolled, turning about and throwing out his boomerang. The wooden weapon struck the hoof carrying the crowbar, knocking the weapon away. Phillip caught his returning projectile and paused, staring up at his opponent.

Charlie August Silvertongue stared at him for a moment, head cocked to one side. One eye blinked at him: where the other should’ve been was an empty hole. The flesh was pulled away from the cheek, revealing two long rows of teeth in a sneer. From beneath his vest, the dead stallion withdrew a long knife.

A purple aura seized the weapon and tried to jerk it away, but Silvertongue merely bent down and grabbed the crowbar up off the floor. Twisting about, he threw the metal bar at Twilight: it spun through the air and smacked Twilight on the forehead with a loud crack. She stumbled, her eyes rolling, and crashed to the floor like a sack of bricks, eyes closed.

Phillip growled and cracked his neck, forcing any worry, every thought of Daring, into his gut, where it boiled and festered into rage. “Guess I get to kick your arse after all,” he snarled.

The dead pony almost smiled. And then the two lunged at each other.

Author's Note

Boy, this chapter was a long crawl. It felt kind of befitting to bring us back to Silvertongue's mansion one last time.

Fun fact: Luna's little speech came to me while I was at work one day. Anyone who can guess what cartoon inspired it gets a cookie!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Twelve, Chapter Seven: Faith and Monsters

All was darkness. The first thing that Daring Do felt was the shifting sand beneath her hooves, burning at her flesh. The wind howled all around her, first hot and scalding as it tried to rip the flesh from her bones, then sharp and cold, like being stabbed with thousands of icicles.

When the light finally returned to her eyes, she realized with a thrill of bewilderment that she was standing in a desert. Rolling hills of volcanic black sand stretched around her as far as the eye could see. Above, half of the sky was cast in a harsh, bloody red, the sun a blinding white dot in the center of it; the other half was black as pitch, spattered with stars that blinked and winked like eyes, with a silver crescent in the center.

“Rainbow?!” Daring called, looking around, tilting her pith helmet down in a futile attempt to block the wind, which seemed to change direction at random intervals.

A familiar multi-hued mane emerged from behind a nearby dune and Rainbow ran up, sand clinging to her wings and coat. “Where are we?” she called, shivering as the icy wind bit at her.

“I don’t know!” Daring replied, pulling her counterpart closer to her and draping a wing over her back as they both turned and looked back up at the sky. She looked around for any landmarks and spotted an unnatural angular structure in the distance. “Over there!” she pointed.

The two mares started across the rolling dunes, slipping and skidding in loose patches of the sand. As they ran towards the target, alternately shivering and sweating beneath the attacking wind, Daring’s mind raced furiously over what had happened. The shield bursting open, the sucking hole, being yanked inside, and then crushing blackness…

Okay. Okay. Don’t freak out. There’s a way in. There’s a way out. Twilight and Phil will figure it out if you don’t.

They crested the dune to behold the anomalous object: a fractured stone wall made of a strange yellow-orange material, partially buried in the sand beneath the bizarre night. Stange, daedal art and cuneiform writing covered every inch of the stone, faded from exposure and time. More Cyclopean structures, all of them constructed of the same aberrantly colored rock, lay around them, like fossils sticking out from the desert.

“What the hell is all this?” Daring asked out loud.

“Who cares right now?” Rainbow replied, trying fruitlessly to shelter against the stone block from the hostile weather. “We need to get out of this wind before we either roast or freeze!”

Daring looked around and spotted a partially-buried doorway sticking out of a larger dune. “There,” she pointed.

The two hurried over to the doorway and hid inside the archway. The cool stone beneath their hooves was a welcome change from the sand, as was the relief from the harsh winds.

“Okay,” Rainbow panted. “We have no idea where we are, how we got here, or how to get back. That the gist of it?”

“Pretty much,” Daring nodded, glancing out to look up at the sky. The sun and moon both stared down at her and an uncomfortable feeling of being watched settled in Daring’s stomach. “But we can’t be on Earth anymore. Not with the sun and moon like that.”

“Do you think we’re on another planet?” Rainbow asked. "This definitely isn't Equestria."

"I don't know," Daring said. "I think it’s more likely we’re in some kind of alternate reality, like the forest that the Key of Shadow Walker is connected to. Or maybe we’re just hallucinating the whole thing.”

Casting her eyes around for more clues, Daring spotted some of the cuneiform on the wall of the archway that they were standing in. Turning on her flashlight, she bent in closer to study the ancient writing and hieroglyphs, casting her mind over every ancient history book that she’d ever read, recalling as much as she could of dead languages. However, to her frustration, the strange angular symbols and hieroglyphs of strange creatures refused to be categorized and identified...even though, for some bizarre reason, she could’ve sworn that she’d seen them before.

“Mmm,” she grumbled, her eyes hovering over a small hieroglyph of a dog-like creature with a paw on its long tail.

“Can you read any of that?” Rainbow asked.

“I think…” Something in Daring’s mind suddenly clicked as she recognized the creature: an ahuizotl. “Yeah. I think this is the same language that was in the Kyaltratek.”

Rainbow’s eyes widened. “Uh...that’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think this can get much worse,” Daring pointed out, looking down the dark steps that stretched into the subterranean darkness behind them. The shadows seemed to gobble up the light of her torch after only a few steps.

“Maybe there’s a way out down there,” Rainbow muttered, making no attempt to head down the steps.

“Maybe,” Daring agreed. “And maybe Twilight and Phil will figure out a way to get us out of here.”

“You have any other plans?” Rainbow asked, shivering as another gust of icy wind rushed in through the entrance.

“Besides praying, no,” Daring shrugged.

And so, the two started down the stairs, every hoofstep echoing off of the close stone walls, every heartbeat pounding loudly in their own ears. The darkness welcomed them into its midst, enveloping and surrounding them: the light from Daring’s torch only extended a few feet ahead.

A sudden rustle of movement. Both mares froze instantly, ears twitching about to try to track the sound. Daring cast her flashlight about, but all she saw were the carved creatures in the off-yellow walls. Every single one of them had far too many eyes, and all of them in places that they didn’t belong.

“We’re not alone down here,” Daring hissed. “Keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Got it,” Rainbow nodded. “You think it’s some kind of horrible monster? Because...that’d be kind of cool. Also terrifying. Kinda. But mostly—”

“Mouth shut, eyes and ears open,” Daring scolded, pressing forward. As she continued down into the buried structure, she suppressed the urge to look back, to study the eyes etched into the walls. That squirming sensation in her stomach of being watched had only intensified.

A few more steps and the ground leveled out. Daring’s flashlight revealed a large doorway before them, made of the same abnormally colored stone. Jewel-studded bas-reliefs of the four Old Gods—Daybreaker, Nightmare Moon, Discord, and Tirek—were placed in four quarters around a circular handle. The shape and pose of each figure was instantly familiar to Daring’s eyes.

“The Innsbeak Statues,” she said. “Maybe...maybe they’re somehow inside here. Maybe they’re our way out.”

“You sure about that?” Rainbow asked.

“The statues pulled us in here, maybe the statues can get us out,” Daring replied, studying the door. The deities all stared down at her, daring her to come closer. A breath of scalding wind slithered down the steps behind them, tugging at her tail and wings.

“On the upside: if we get out of this, I’ll get to tell ponies that I survived a real Hayana Pones adventure!” Rainbow said next to her, trying to hide a nervous laugh and a gulp behind her speech. “So, uh...shall we?”

Daring took a slow breath and nodded. Reaching up, she pulled at the handle. With a massive groaning of ancient hinges, the door opened to reveal a narrow, dark hallway. Tentatively, the two mares proceeded inside, Daring’s flashlight leading the way for what little good it did.

A great crash sounded from behind them, prompting them both to whirl around with barely stifled screams. The door had slammed shut behind them, forming a solid slab of stone.

“Okay,” Daring said, commanding her voice and hooves to not shake. “No way back. Gotta go forward.”

They proceeded forward into the darkness, Rainbow placing one hoof on the wall to guide them forward down the winding tunnel. The faded designs on the wall, all blasphemous icons and strange creatures, gave no indication of which way to go. They proceeded in silence, down and down, seeing no sign of any other creature within these tombs as the minutes passed. Occasionally, the tunnels would branch off, and Daring would mark their passage with arrows made of pebbles.

They came to a T-intersection. Daring chose the right path and marched on after marking their path. The ground suddenly gave away from beneath Daring’s hoof. She withdrew with a gasp of shock, using a wing to push Rainbow back. Sweeping the ground, she saw that before them was a chasm that fell away into infinite, inky darkness. A narrow stone bridge provided the only method of movement across the wide gap. Daring lifted a wing, but a gust of hot, dry, stinking wind rushed up from the canyon, nearly knocking her pith helmet off. The stench sent her into a coughing fit, grimacing as the acrid flavor clung to her tongue.

“Too dangerous to try to fly across,” she reported, carefully stepping onto the bridge. The stone held up her weight and she proceeded forward. Rainbow followed close behind, holding her wings out for balance.

The wind rushed up again, and both mares had to pause, crouching down and folding their wings in to stay atop the narrow passageway, holding their breath against the smell. Daring’s sweaty hooves clung to the stone as hard as she could, heart dancing in terror as the thought of slipping and falling off hissed in her ear.

The wind paused, and then Daring felt a cold downdraft pushing down on her back, much gentler than before. Rising, she started forward once more.

“Daring,” Rainbow called, looking over the edge. “Something’s moving down there.”

Daring peered over the edge as well, squinting. She could see movement below, dark against dark.

And then a massive eye, glowing green with a slit pupil three times as long as a grown pony, opened beneath them, blinking as it focused on them. The wind growled up from beneath them in a low, rhythmic rumble of language.

Both mares yelped and scurried across the bridge to the other side. They paused, panting. Another gust of hot wind huffed up from the canyon, and then all was still.

“Okay. Keep moving,” Daring said, guiding Rainbow down the passageway.

But as soon as they turned the corner, they were faced with a dead end. A wall with a scrawling of Discord halted their progress. The serpentine god, his body a motley assembly of random creatures, sneered down at them. The eyes in the palms of his front paws seemed to focus upon them, his barbed tail raised as if to strike.

“Dammit,” Daring muttered, sitting down to rest: she was suddenly aware of how abnormally tired she was, bones and muscles aching dully. She pulled out a small canteen of water and took a few sips, then passed it to Rainbow.

“Daring?” Rainbow asked, taking a few tentative gulps. “How long have we been down here?”

Daring checked her watch and frowned to find that the arms weren’t moving. She held it up to her ear and tapped it a few times, but it didn’t tick.

“Maybe an hour,” she replied with a sigh. “Guess we’ll have to go back up.”

Rainbow nodded and stood up to leave, then paused in bewilderment. “Uh...where’d the hallway go?”

Daring looked up and her mouth dropped open in shock. The tunnel that led back to the chasm had vanished, replaced only with a solid wall of stone. Turning around, she saw that the wall with Discord was now a tunnel leading to some kind of circular chamber, with several other doorways carved into the circumference. Etched into every inch of the walls, ceiling, and floor was a phrase, repeated over and over in every language she knew and many she didn’t:

“Sleeping beneath all flesh.”

“Okay,” Rainbow muttered. “Changing hallways. Kinda cool. Also kinda scary now that we really can’t go back.”

Daring’s flashlight flickered and she unclipped it, cranking the recharging handle with a sweaty, dully throbbing hoof. “Eenie meenie minie...fuck it,” she grumbled, choosing the middle passageway. Grabbing some loose pebbles, she placed them in a line in front of the door. “C’mon, Dash,” she called. Rainbow fell in line behind her, leaving the chamber behind.

But no sooner had they left the chamber behind then they heard it...no, they felt it. A skittering like many legs, like something stirring from sleep that they heard in their bones, felt slithering beneath their flesh. Both of them froze for a moment, some instinct warning them: Don’t turn around.

“Run,” Daring said and they sprinted down the tunnel. The skittering echoed behind them, within them, the sound writhing in their racing blood. The tunnel twisted and writhed as they ran, half-blind, gasping for air. More than once, Daring’s flashlight flickered out, only to turn back on a moment later to reveal half-glimpsed idols and blasphemous faces etched into stone. And ever closer did their pursuers come, closing in on their tails, rising up from their marrow to rake against their skin.

The two rounded a final corner and paused, staring in disbelief. It wasn’t possible, they’d been running away the entire time.

But yet they were back inside the circular room that they’d started in. Daring glanced down and her stomach grew cold at the sight of the pebbles that she’d used to mark their passage at her hooves.

“But...but...how…?” Rainbow stammered, standing frozen, mouth and eyes agape.

The slithering, skittering of unseen things came closer behind them, and the sound, the sensation, came louder, stronger, from every direction. A peal of low, rumbling laughter echoed from out of the stone, mixing with Daring’s pounding heart.

There’s no way out. We’re going to die.

Daring’s knees gave out as the realization hit her like ice water rising up to encompass her. She trembled helplessly beneath the noise, the cold, the crushing weight, gasping for the last few precious moments of air. Rainbow Dash fell next to her, hyperventilating and trembling, covering her head with her hooves.

The laughter grew louder, deeper, throbbing through the air. Daring closed her eyes and waited for death. “Someone,” she whispered. “Please. Help.”

She felt the cold stone beneath her hooves, the heavy air pressing down on her tongue and pushing against the inside of her lungs, her heart hammering against her ribs. And then she felt a strange, comforting coolness against her chest, underneath her shirt. Reaching beneath the vest, she pulled out the wandjina necklace that Rain had given her...was it really only yesterday? It felt like years ago. The little totem seemed unchanged, the white eyes staring up at her from the dark gray mouthless face, but the wood felt strangely cool in her hoof, like a light rain upon her back.

As she stared at Awely-Awely, Daring heard the skittering noise fade away rapidly, as if the things were retreating. The crushing sensation suddenly lifted and the two gasped down the lighter air, sucking in the precious oxygen until their hearts calmed.

Still holding the idol in one hoof, Daring stood up and looked around, then pointed down a single hallway. “That way,” she declared.

“Are you sure?” Rainbow asked, her voice just barely not a whimper. “How do you know?”

Daring paused to think and realized that she didn’t know why that particular pathway was the correct one: only that she knew, or perhaps just felt, that it was the right way. There was no logic behind it, but she was convinced it was right as surely as she was convinced of anything.

“Rainbow,” she said, crouching down next to the other mare. Rainbow looked like she’d aged ten years since they entered the temple: her coat and wings were dirty, bags were set deep in her face and her eyes were red and bloodshot, terrified tears shining in her corneas.

“I know you’re scared right now...and to be honest, I’m pretty freaked out, too,” she admitted. “But if we stay here, we’re going to die. We have to keep going and get out of here. And I…” She sighed. “I don’t know why, but I think I know where to go. Just stick with me: I’ll get you out of here.”

Rainbow hesitated. Daring held out her hoof. “Trust me,” she whispered.

Rainbow blinked back her tears, took in a deep breath, then took Daring’s hoof and let her help her up. Daring draped a wing over Rainbow’s back and led her forward down the narrow hallway, placing the wandjina necklace beneath her shirt so that the cool wood sat next to her still pounding heart.

As they proceeded forward, they felt more than heard the slithering and hissing around them, but they did not turn around. “Just keep moving, don’t show fear,” Daring whispered to Rainbow, who nodded.

They turned one corner, then another, and finally, they beheld a grand chamber. The domed ceiling stretched high above them, adorned with fantastical constellations. The room fell away into a deep circular chasm; several pillars reached up from the abyss, all different heights and circumferences. In the center was a larger pillar, upon which stood four altars. Upon each altar was a familiar statue, the gold bodies and embedded gems shining beneath the light of Daring’s flashlight.

“There!” Rainbow cried, springing up into the air and flying straight at the Innsbeak Statues.

But as soon as she came close, a gust of hot, dry, stinking wind rushed up from the chasm and Rainbow yelped as she was thrown out of the air, tumbling across the sky. She managed to right herself and landed upon a stone pillar.

But then the same wind suddenly shifted to the side and Rainbow was yanked off the pillar with a cry of panic. She grabbed onto the stone and clung on for dear life, her hind legs scrabbling for purchase on the stone.

“Dash!” Daring screamed, jumping over the edge to try to reach her, but the wind forced her back. With a nauseated grimace and a growl, she tilted her hat down and pushed harder, harder, until her wings screamed in agony. But the wind formed a solid wall, refusing to let her back.

She felt it again, heard it in her blood: the crawling of unseen things around her, inside of her, coming closer. They pulled and ripped at her innards, gnawing at her will, her energy. Every breath came harder than the last, her heart ached with every heavy beat.

“Daring, help!” Rainbow cried, her hoof slipping. She clung on by one hoof, wings still flapping for purchase.

The prosthetic let out a warning chirp, a light set in the joint blinking red. The metal muscles slowed as the power began to drain away.

Panic raced through Daring’s veins...and then she gritted her teeth and forced the fear down into her gut. She poured in her rage, every last ounce of will she could summon, stirred it all together into one purpose, one last desperate, burning hope. And then she let it out with a shout.

“WANDJINA!”

There came a clap of thunder; the comforting coolness of misty rain ran across Daring’s entire body, banishing the heat and fear and fatigue. The crawling things retreated: she felt them screaming in terror, in pain.

Daring streaked down and grabbed Rainbow’s hoof, pulling her up onto the pillar. The wind tore furiously at them both, refusing to let them go any further.

“Throw me at the statues!” Rainbow shouted. “I just need one good push!”

Daring nodded and braced herself, swinging her protege back. With a grunt, she threw Rainbow at the altars. Rainbow gave one great flap and glided forward, her body straight as an arrow, eyes narrowed as she carved through the air.

She stuck the landing with a shout of victory.

“Smash them!” Daring shouted.

Rainbow snapped her hooves out and all four idols tumbled off the altars, smashing to pieces on the ground with great crashes. The crashes echoed across the chamber as the walls began to fracture and tear. Light poured in from every crevice, the wind howled and screamed. Daring leaped to the altar and grabbed Rainbow Dash tight, wrapping her wings around the younger pegasus as the light and sound came to a horrid crescendo.

And then, once more, all was black.

His hoof smashed into the foreleg, deflecting the downward strike; the bloodstained knife kissed the air just past his shoulder as Phillip tucked and rolled. A grunt and a snap of the elbow brought the baton onto the side of Silvertongue’s knee. The bone snapped and the limb twisted like a fractured tree trunk.

Silvertongue somersaulted out of Phillip’s range, hobbling on the crippled knee. He scowled bitterly, exposed teeth clenching together in an expression of hate.

Phillip paused, catching his breath. His eye went to his pistol, laying in the shadowy corner where it had been kicked away, the holding straps cleanly sliced through; blood seeped from the wound that had been carved into Phillip’s foreleg by the same strike.

Twilight was groaning feebly on the floor, eyelids flickering as she tried to wake up; Trace and Red had both been disarmed and were fighting hoof to hoof with their attackers, each battling two at once. The sound of gunshots and shouting still came from behind the sealed door: rain assaulted the windows like so many drum beats. Daring and Rainbow still lay behind the shield: he thought he saw Rainbow twitch.

Silvertongue lumbered towards Phillip once more, shuffling on the wounded leg. Phillip growled and lunged at him again, baton snapping down for his front left kneecap. Forget the pain compliance, go for the bone breaking.

He heard Silvertongue take in a breath, the bared teeth parting slightly to reveal some kind of liquid held in his mouth. Phillip had just enough time to close his eyes before a gust of stinging liquid rushed into his face. Phillip yelled in pain, turning his lunge into a roll as the liquid, which he now identified as paint thinner based on the smell, burned at his eyes; he clenched the lids shut as tight as he could, feeling as though his eyes were melting in their sockets as flaming claws dug into his face.

Something slammed into his side and he twisted away as he felt the blade ripping at his vest, failing to penetrate the layer of dragon-scale armor. Phillip retreated, swinging his baton blindly.

His weapon was jerked from his grasp and flung aside, clattering into the corner. Wind kissed his cheek and he pulled away. The blade that had been aimed at his neck instead cut into his cheek; the pain atop the agony of the burning of the thinner made him scream as hot blood ran down his face. He stumbled, bumping into a display stand. Something standing upon it rattled loudly: Phillip recalled it to be a wooden statue of a tree.

A hoof slammed into his shoulder, pushing him against the stand. He felt the weight of hoofsteps through the creaking floorboards, the wind of a foreleg drawing back for a fatal strike.

No. Not dying today.

Time stopped. He forgot the pain and the burning darkness. He forgot the bitter rush of fear in his gut. He forgot the sounds and shouts and grunts and oaths of combat. He forgot everything but himself, the knife that was now flashing for his neck, and his own surroundings.

He reached back, grabbed the statue behind him on pure memory and instinct, and swung. The wooden construction smashed into the oncoming foreleg. Bone snapped like a gunshot. The knife clattered as it hit the floor. A clap of thunder roared from outside and a flash assaulted the backs of eyelids.

Phillip smashed Silvertongue in the chest with the sculpture, hard enough to push him back a step and break the sculpture into pieces, then seized the hoof pinning him to the stand and pivoted around outside it. Silvertongue might no longer feel pain, but he still had to go where his body pulled him, and he was yanked helplessly off his hooves, crashing into the stand.

Phillip lunged for where he’d heard and felt the knife land. His hoof came down on the blade and he hissed in renewed pain as it was cut, but he spun it about and grasped the handle.

Silvertongue struggled and kicked, but with two legs broken, there was nothing he could do. Phillip groped and seized the argent mane, thick and tangled in his hoof, and pulled his head back.

The knife plunged forward, into the soft flesh of the back of the neck and up into the brainstem. The body shuddered, jerking violently, then was still.

Panting, gasping through the agony of his burns, Phillip forced his eyes open a crack, looking through blurred, tear-streaked vision. Red was grappling with one zombie, while Trace attempted to fend off two more; every blow that rained down on his magical shields drove him further down to his knees, and Phillip heard him gasping in desperation and pain.

Another of the undead was now lunging at Phillip himself. He only had time for a glimpse of the cold green eyes and the hatchet before the burning forced his eyes closed.

He ducked, then threw himself into a backflip to avoid the followup attack that would’ve sliced through his knees. Landing, he paused for a moment, recentering himself.

Crash of hoofsteps through the floor. Phillip sidestepped, feeling the weapon pass within inches of his skull, and lunged with his left hoof. He felt teeth, hard and dry. He seized his enemy’s throat and drove the knife home.

A nasty squelching, a feeling like digging a spoon into a bowl of gelatin. The hatchet crashed to the ground, followed by the corpse.

By now, Phillip’s vision was starting to return, albeit with terrible burning and itching. He looked down to see the body of a red pegasus mare at his hooves, face blank, pink and white ooze running from one eye.

He also saw Twilight sitting up, clutching her head. She spotted the crowbar next to her and grabbed it in a magic aura. “Phil, catch!” she called, sliding the tool across the floor.

He seized it in his mouth, cringing briefly at the acrid metallic taste, and turned about to face the rest of his foes. Raising his right hoof, he snapped his wrist like he was throwing a boomerang. One of the undead fighting Trace collapsed, the knife sticking out of the side of her skull.

The other one turned just in time to see Phillip, his red face streaked with sweat and blood and tears and twisted in rage, charge in and swing the crowbar like it was the 3-2 pitch at the bottom of the ninth. Metal met bone with an ear-splitting crack and the undead spun to the ground, never to rise again.

Without pausing, Trace turned and projected his will with a grunt of effort, pinning the final attacker against the wall. Red zipped over to where his Filly M1912 lay, rolling onto his back as he slipped his hoof through the sleeve, curling his hoof around the grip and trigger.

The undead flailed helplessly: for one brief moment, desperation flickered in the lightless eyes. And then Red squeezed the trigger and a hole appeared in the center of his target’s head. It crashed to the floor as Trace released his magic.

The threat over, Phillip let out a breath. A moment later, he let out a snarl of pain. “Motherfucking wombat shit, that hurts!” he screamed, shaking his head and trying to resist the temptation to claw his own burning eyes out.

Wincing as fresh waves of pain ran down her skull, Twilight staggered over to them, already casting healing spells over the stallions’ wounds. “Hold still, tilt your head back,” she instructed Phillip, conjuring up a small cloud over them.

Phillip obliged and Twilight began to pour rain from the little cloud into his eyes. Phillip sighed in relief as the water flushed away the turpentine. Once the burning faded away just enough that he could see, he pushed Twilight away. “Daring, Rainbow,” he gasped, running back over to the shield.

His heart leaped inside his chest. Daring and Rainbow had both woken up and were rising to their hooves, blinking blearily.

“What happened?” he asked through the shield.

“I...think we had some kind of weird dream,” Daring reported, checking Rainbow over for injuries and nodding when she found nothing.

“You know how I said this is just like a Hayana Pones adventure?” Rainbow muttered, shaking her head. “I’m starting to see why that QP guy complains about the newer stories so much in the fan newsletters.”

Turning back to the statues, Daring unfurled the magical net from beneath her shirt. She paused before the idols, considering them, then placed the net over them.

The shields over the hole and the door both winked away with a small pop. Everypony waited for a few moments, but all was quiet save for the ongoing rain against the windows, mixed with the occasional distant sound of battle.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Daring grumbled, climbing out of the hole with her prize.

The door burst open and Flash burst in, his eyes wide and desperate, sunk into his sweaty, haggard face. The scent of blood and cordite clung to his stained uniform. “Twilight!” he gasped, sprinting to the mare and hugging her tight for a moment before quickly letting go in a shock of self-awareness.

“I’m fine,” Twilight mumbled, hugging him as well, burying her face into his neck so she wouldn’t have to look at the corpses around them all.

Phillip looked into the other room. The gunpowder was so thick that it hovered in a cloud of burnt metal over corpses, flesh, and gore. Phil made a quick headcount of the battered, bloodied, exhausted officers that sat amidst the shattered remnants of the art. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that all ten were still present.

“Hey!” Daring cried in shock, rushing over to the dropped tree statue that Phillip had used, laying in fractured pieces next to Silvertongue’s body. “Who broke that?! That was a Marwari 2nd-century sculpture!”

Phillip just stared at her. “I was a bit more worried about the 20th-century Equestrian knife—”

A terrible noise pierced the air, a shriek of indescribable rage and pain that tore from an inequine throat, stabbing into the ears of all who heard it. The windows shattered all at once, allowing the rain and icy wind inside: everypony was sent down to their knees, clutching their ears.

And just as suddenly as it came, the sound stopped. Phillip ran up to the window and stared out.

“I don’t see the lights anymore,” he reported. “I think Zugzwang’s gone.”

To command the sun and moon on one’s own is no small feat. And Faust, hardened by centuries of bitter experience, had been teaching her daughters to fight almost since they could walk. And naturally, the armor helped, even if both Princesses had lost their helmets.

But the beast was millennia old, possibly as old as the planet as itself. And it had chosen an excellent host, blessed with intelligence, power, and talent: proof of that came as a wave of golden fire and energy blossomed from the burned and bloodied Zugzwang, sending the Royal Guards and Wonderbolts around him tumbling like leaves before a windstorm.

Celestia and Luna stumbled from the blow but turned their momentum into a double rush at Zugzwang. Hatred gleaming in her eyes, hair flowing freely in the wind and rain, Luna reached him first, her broadsword strike deflected by the Sword of Asocrac.

Celestia’s halberd sliced through the air, her strike halted by the cutlass. Luna snarled as she turned around for another strike.

A golden aura seized her throat, holding her in place. A blade snapped out from beneath a sleeve and struck like a scorpion’s stinger.

Luna screamed and reeled away, clutching her face as blood ran out from where her right eye used to be.

Celestia gasped in horror. Her distraction earned her a bolt of golden light to the face that sent her sprawling, her halberd falling away. A burst of lightning cracked through the sky, backlighting the cutlass as it was drawn back for the killing blow. The black suns shone in the emerald glow of the jade necklace.

Then came the distinctive crack of a rifle, mixing with the rumble of thunder. Blood burst from the monster’s head as it stumbled.

Two massive wings snapped forward. The beast was hurled up into the air, tumbling over and over as it fought for control. The Wonderbolts surged up into the air, forming a ring of blue around it.

On a hill far away, Coin Toss nodded in satisfaction as he lowered the Summerfield rifle.

Luna squinted with her one remaining eye and fired a spell that marked the monster’s chest with a glowing blue rune. “Marked!” she declared.

“Tracking!” Tempest barked, hefting his machine gun. A rune on the barrel glowed bright orange and he fired a roaring salvo. Orange lights streaked from his weapon, arcing impossibly in midair to follow the monster as it tried to recover. It twisted to avoid the incoming rounds, but they all followed it, striking his back with small, colorful explosions like fireworks. It’s howls of agony were delicious to the Guard’s ears.

The Wonderbolts began to fly around it in ever-faster circles. A tornado formed around the monster, tamed by the elite pegasi. The beast flapped its wings, trying to regain control in the screaming wind, only to be assaulted from all sides. Hail and ice coated its wings as lightning burned its body. Blue forms streaked through the air, striking and stabbing.

“This is for Misty, you bastard!” Spitfire snarled, rising above the funneled clouds. “Bolts, downdraft!”

The Wonderbolts formed up around Spitfire and with a single roar of vengeance, snapped their wings down. The air slammed down onto Zugzwang like a giant hammer, sending it rocketing to the ground.

Eleven firearms snapped up. “INCENDIARY!” eleven voices roared. Eleven runes glowed reddish-yellow.

The cacophony of the simultaneous firing was deafening as fire sliced through the air. Flames wrapped around the falling figure, covering its entire body. It screeched terribly as it crashed to the ground, the impact shaking the earth and sending dirt flying.

Gold and blue streaks of light raced back and forth across their target, cutting into it again and again. Blood and black ooze blossomed from the thing, soaking the cratered ground as it shrieked with every blow.

With a snap, the Sword of Asocrac fell to the ground, blade shattered. Thick, tarry liquid ran from the broken metal.

Another snap, and the jade necklace fell, the fox decapitated. The coins with their arcane symbols sank into the mud, their glow fading away.

Celestia and Luna both paused, turning and raising their weapons, panting. Blood and ooze dripped off the blades, washed off by the rain. Another crackle of lightning flashed across the sky with a grumble of thunder.

The thing staggered in its crater, its fancy suit sliced to ribbons. Black blood ran in rivulets all down its body; its head hung onto its neck by a few sinews, its limbs barely hanging on.

The thing’s eyes rolled, glaring at the sisters in hate. Then its tongues started to wag and beat the air, producing a horrendous, deafening howl of rage and pain that burned through the air. Celestia and Luna both staggered before the wave of sound; the Royal Guards and Wonderbolts fell before the attack, clutching their bleeding ears.

Before the Princesses’ eyes, Zugzwang dissolved into a puddle of black slime that seeped into the dirt in moments. The sound vanished with him.

“Damn it,” Luna grumbled, casting healing magic over her bleeding eye.

“Let me see,” Celestia said softly, lighting up her horn so she could more clearly see the gouged out wound. Extracting gauze from a saddlebag, she started to pack it into the empty socket. “We have to get you back to the hospital. We might be able to repair the eye—”

“It’s fine, sister,” Luna reassured her. “I am more angered that the abomination escaped us.”

Celestia glanced over to see Soarin tenderly pick up Misty’s body, gently placing her across his withers. Fleetfoot walked up and closed her comrade’s eyes; Celestia was quite certain that not all of the water on her face was rain.

“We must get the others and return to the precinct,” she declared. “We still have much to do.”

Author's Note

Wow, this chapter was hard to write. I hope I got the right tone with Daring and Rainbow's little adventure!

Lots of eyes being gouged out in this story...

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Twelve, Chapter Eight: Restless

The rain continued to pour down on the shield covering the precinct, making a constant background sound of reverberating drum beats. MacWillard limped his way across the inside perimeter, ensuring that the dome was fully secure.

“I heard over the radio that there was some kinda big gunfight going on up in the Financial District, not far from ol’ Silvertongue’s mansion,” a thestral officer commented, flapping behind him with his Trotson tucked beneath his armpit. “Lots of ponies calling in panic.”

“That’s probably our guys,” MacWillard nodded, wincing as a fresh wave of pain raced up his leg. Once more, he cursed the asshole who had been manning that damn mounted machine gun.

“You know, when the Princesses showed up with a whole group of Guards, I thought it was overkill,” the other officer commented. “But if what I heard is any kind of indication, I might be wrong about that.”

“I hear you,” MacWillard nodded. “This is almost like the Crystal War all over again, with the Griffon Navy in the Bay sending the bombers overhead every other week—”

Their reverie was interrupted by a golden archway opening just outside the dome. Ponies began to stumble out of it, bodies slumped in exhaustion. Celestia and Luna emerged last, their cuirasses heavily stained and battered; Luna winced with every other step, her head lowered to keep the rain out of the bandages packed into her eye.

“Mother of Fantisera,” MacWillard breathed, momentarily frozen in disbelief.

“The gate, officer,” Luna commanded, scowling at him with her remaining indigo eye.

Scrambling to attention, MacWillard limped forward and used the wand to open up a passageway in the shield, allowing his comrades entry. “What the hell happened?” he asked, staring as the entourage trudged past.

“Shit that I thought only happened in books,” Daring commented, tossing the net filled with the statues over her shoulder as she passed.

The group proceeded inside past the lobby of civilians without a word, Luna waving off a medic, and headed upstairs. Celestia guided them into a conference room and gestured for Daring to place the Innsbeak Statues on the table.

Daring carefully lifted each of the artifacts out of the net and placed them on the table as Luna gently spread the recovered fragments of the jade fox necklace alongside them. “Real shame we have to destroy these,” she commented, studying the masterful crafting of each sculpture with an admiring whistle. “Treasures like these belong in a museum, not being sold for bits or turned into weapons.”

“You’ll find that throughout history, the most beautiful things are most often the ones corrupted,” Celestia commented sadly.

“We will handle the disarming of the statues,” Luna announced. “Tend to your wounds and be with your loved ones.”

“Are you sure?” Twilight asked. “I can—”

“No, Twilight: you have done more than enough,” Celestia said with a motherly smile. “Go.”

The group exited gratefully, with two of the least-injured Guards standing by to keep watch over the Princesses, and headed for the stairs.

As they passed the infirmary, Phillip glanced inside. Nearly every stretcher was occupied, with medical staff bustling to and fro between wounded ponies, tending to them as best as they could. Tempest was currently sitting up, grimacing as a medic wrapped bandages around a mangled wing; two Wonderbolts were laying side by side on cots, hissing in pain as their bullet wounds and burns were treated with antiseptic. Captain Hewn Oak was walking through the infirmary, speaking quietly to the wounded, offering words of comfort and prayers.

Bumblebee and Arc were sitting against the wall of the hallway: Bee was looking at his ballistic shield, then at the gem-embedded gauntlet in Arc’s armor. “So why do I have to lug this damn thing around?” he complained.

Arc laughed and laid his head on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “No offense, hon, but you need the exercise,” he said.

“Why must there be monsters and criminals and lunatics with dark magic?” Doctor Mortis was bemoaning as she cast Eagle’s arm in a sling, using her magic to mend the bones as best as she could.

“Because I like being a Guard more than being a blacksmith,” Eagle commented, smiling through the pain.

Mortis chuckled once. “I still hate the fact that good-looking stallions like you have to keep putting themselves in trouble for stupid reasons like this.” She paused, a blush racing across her face. “Oh, sweet ancestors, did I just—?”

“You, uh, you did,” Eagle grinned, blushing as well and finding it hard to meet the doctor’s eyes. He paused for a moment, then added, “I mean, I don’t mind being called good-looking by a beautiful mare such as yourself…”

Mortis giggled, her coat taking on a brighter, crystalline sheen. “So, you think we can compliment each other’s looks later?”

“I’d like that,” Eagle smiled.

With a faint smile, Phillip continued up a flight of stairs and followed the familiar, hushed voices into a break room. Ponies were scattered across the room, most of them hovering in small clusters around tables, half-eaten snacks and drinks within their reach. All of them looked up as he entered.

“Phil,” his father breathed as he and his mother rushed in, hugging him tightly. He embraced his parents, taking in the rest of the room over their shoulders.

The rest of the Outbackers were all gathered in one cluster in the corner, their eyes relieved as they focused upon him; the lever-action Whinnychester from the ship was leaning against the wall next to them. Muziqaa and Sirba were gathered close to Suunkii, whose exhausted, shadowed eyes showed a faint glimmer of hope as they focused on Phillip; he had the Neighringer with its four small barrels strapped to his foreleg, the safety engaged. Twilight hurried over to Spike, who had been sitting near the zebras, and hugged him, the two of them sagging against the wall: Flash entered, pausing to give his mother a kiss on the cheek before joining Twilight and Spike, draping his wings around them both.

Red Herring wandered over to a red pegasus colt with the cutie mark of a winged lion; Lionheart bounded up to his father, his shoulder ramming into Red’s knees as he hugged him. Red patted him on the head. “I’m all right, kid,” he said, glancing up at the pale yellow pegasus with the flower cutie mark. Honeydew blinked at him, shaking her wavy sea green mane out of her eyes, then jumped forward and hugged him as well.

“Isn’t this kind of cliche? A zombie apocalypse bringing the two exes back together?” Red said with a dry smile, hugging her back.

“And I’m suddenly reminded of why I divorced you,” Honeydew mumbled into his shoulder, though the corner of her mouth was lifted up a bit.

Trace sighed and shook his head, collapsing into a nearby chair. "That's it. I'm using those vacation hours I saved up," he muttered.

Bobby and Rain finally released Phillip as Daring and Rainbow Dash entered, both of them finding a seat near the door. They tilted their heads back and closed their eyes, breathing slow and deep, their wings hanging off of them like tattered flags. Phil sat down next to Daring and put his arm around her shoulders; she placed her head upon his shoulder as she drew her flask out of her pocket and drained it all in one go, dropping her pith helmet onto the floor.

“What happened when you were pulled in by that shield?” he asked, noticing that Twilight looked up at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t know,” Daring mumbled, not opening her eyes. “The two of us were in some kinda...dream? Hallucination? Whatever. We explored this weird temple in another world.” She shuddered a bit. “I really don’t wanna talk about it. I’m probably going to be having nightmares about it tonight.”

“I'm gonna be lucky if I can even get to sleep now,” Rainbow mumbled as she fiddled with her prosthetic wing. With a grunt, she unplugged the metal limb from the plug where her wing joint used to be and placed it next to a wall socket. Unrolling a small wire from the side of the wing, she plugged it into the wall socket, recharging the limb. “I think I’m going to have to take a break from Hayana Pones for a bit,” Rainbow admitted, scowling at the semi-organic stump that was all that remained of her original wing.

“Be here if you're ready to talk,” Phillip nodded, nuzzling Daring’s sweat-soaked mane.

Daring pulled the wandjina token out from beneath her shirt and studied it. It no longer felt strangely cool like it had in the dream world, and the white eyes were clearly painted and did not return her gaze. Yet, as she studied the little, expertly carved totem, she found herself vaguely, tiredly wondering.

“It sounds to me like a Dream Trap incorporated into the shield, blended with a Vacuum Snare, all connected to and powered by the statues,” Twilight commented. “That’s all very complex magic—no ordinary unicorn could’ve pulled it off. I wonder where Zugzwang learned to interweave the shield with the snare—”

“Twi,” Flash hushed her, gently nuzzling her ears. “Don’t worry about that now.”

“Right, right,” Twilight murmured, resting her head against his chest.

“Leave it to you to nerd out when there are zombies running around,” Spike muttered with an audible eye roll.

“Actually, I don’t think he’ll be able to use Lazarus anymore, not now that the statues have been recovered,” Twilight pointed out.

“What matters is that you’re all back here safely,” Rain said, pulling Daring Do into a hug before her sluggish reflexes could pull her away. She tucked Daring’s head against her shoulder and gently rubbed her back, running another hoof through her mane and letting out a soft hum. Bobby embraced them both as well, wrapping his still-strong forelegs around their forms like a protective shell.

Daring Do remembered little of her own parents: only a few years with the Family had been enough to erase her mother’s face from her memory, and her father had become a phantom to her after seven months in prison and not a single word or visit. She did not remember either of them hugging her.

But this—being held and comforted in warm arms, a silent reassurance that all would be well—this felt like a family. For a moment, Daring was tempted to just bury her muzzle into the warmth of Rain’s hug and let herself drift off to sleep.

The next moment, she shook off the exhaustion that was no doubt allowing her to get emotional and returned the embrace with a brief hug of her own before wriggling out. “Zugzwang is still out there,” she commented.

“We’ll get him in time,” Phillip said. “He’s weaker now, and definitely hurt. No worries.”

Daring sighed and leaned her head against the wall. “I hate just sitting around and waiting,” she grunted.

“Me too,” Rainbow agreed, glaring at the blinking lights on her prosthetic, trying to force it to recharge faster. “We should be out there looking for him, not waiting for him to heal up and make another plan!”

“We’re in no state to be fighting him again, not until we get some rest and resupply,” Trace commented, disappearing into a small closet in the back of the room and retrieving a coffeemaker. He wheeled it out into the room and plugged it into the wall, turning it on with a gurgle. “Whoa, don’t close that,” he warned Spike, who was reaching for the door. “He’s got that key, remember?”

“Sorry,” Spike nodded, retreating.

“I at least need some coffee before facing terrible monsters,” Trace said, percolating the liquid gold.

“Count me bloody in,” Phillip said.

“I’ll third that motion,” Red added.

Soarin retrieved a pair of large chocolate bars from a vending machine and carried them over to where Fleetfoot sat, both of their helmets laying on the floor next to them.

“One of these days, Soarin, you’re gonna be too big to fit in your uniform,” Fleetfoot commented, cracking open one eye to examine him.

Soarin just handed her one of the wrapped bars. Fleetfoot let out a low, irritated groan and took it, biting into the chocolate.

Hoofsteps announced the approach of Spitfire, her head hanging low as she collapsed into the chair between her lieutenants. “You okay, boss?” Soarin asked.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Spitfire grunted, taking off her helmet and dropping it next to them.

Fleetfoot frowned and draped a wing over the commander. “You’re not fine, Spitty. You’re shaking.”

“I just—” Spitfire started to protest, but Soarin’s wing wrapped itself around her as well and she knew she would not be able to lie. Her head sagged, her sweaty mane falling around her damp eyes, and she dropped her face into a hoof.

“What are we gonna tell Misty’s wife and kids?” she muttered.

Fleetfoot wrapped her forelegs around Spitfire and hugged her tight. “We tell her that she died bravely, doing what was right. And that we got the fucker who killed her.”

“You should know by now as well as I do, Fleet,” Soarin mumbled, breaking off half of his candy bar and handing it to Spitfire, watching as she nibbled at it listlessly. “The freak’s not dead until we find the body.”

“As soon as the Princesses can get those statues taken care of, we’re moving out and finding him,” Spitfire growled, glancing over at the closed door next to them. The two Royal Guards standing post remained ready, staring straight ahead to take in any sign of danger to their charges within.

Luna’s face twisted in concentration as she fired a beam of blue energy at the Nightmare Moon statue. The golden material cracked and splintered, then suddenly started to faintly glow an unnatural shade of dark orange, letting out a strange thrumming sound as it did so.

“Damnation!” Luna snarled, turning off her magic. She cast her eye over the other three statues, all of which showed various degrees of destruction and decay but remained whole. The empty eye sockets seemed to jeeringly mock their futile efforts.

“Sister, perhaps we ought to just bring these to the Palace and deal with them later,” Luna commented, huffing in frustration.

“I’m worried that the teleportation might destabilize them,” Celestia frowned. “Do you feel that energy leaking from them?”

Luna did feel it, like a swarm of gnats constantly buzzing around her horn. She scowled at the Innsbeak Statues. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “But none of our efforts are having much effect. We shall have to load them into the helicopter—”

She paused, flinching. She drew in a gasp and stared down at her left side, where the cuirass covered her.

“Luna? What’s wrong?” Celestia asked.

The sensation came again: like something wriggling against her skin, underneath the armor. Luna flinched again, then gasped in horror as she felt it crawling up towards her collar.

A moment later, a serpentine figure of black slime pulled itself out of Luna’s cuirass and flopped to the ground, squirming across the floor. A blue key dangled from its mouth.

“Get it!” Celestia cried, trying to zap the magical construct, but it dodged every single one of her attacks, writhing under the door. The alicorns burst through the door, heads darting around amidst the sudden clamor.

“There! Destroy it!” Celestia shouted, pointing at the serpentine construct as it darted for the open door of the infirmary.

The Wonderbolts all dived for it, but missed by inches, leaving the two Royal Guards unable to fire for fear of hitting the pegasi. The eel reached the infirmary door and before anypony could stop it, it slammed the door shut with its tail and inserted the key into the lock.

An arc of golden light struck the eel, disintegrating it into ashes, but it was too late. With a crash, the door to the infirmary burst open. A dark red light spilled from the threshold as he emerged, nude except for a pair of gauntlets, black eyes blazing.

The Royal Guards opened fire as one, bullets screaming through the air, but Zugzwang dissolved into black ooze, racing along the floor in a disgusting torrent. He flowed over the Wonderbolts, who screamed and writhed as the acidic slime bit into their exposed skin. The Royal Guards and the princesses attacked with bullets and fire, but the slime absorbed their attacks as it ran along the wall and ceiling. It dodged around the attackers and inside the conference room, reassembling into Zugzwang. He raised a hoof and the Key of Shadow Walker flew to his grasp.

A golden falchion formed in his hoof and he sliced the head off of Daybreaker. The statue began to crack and vibrate, gold and orange light leaking out through the splinters as a great humming filled the air.

Zugzwang returned to the doorway to find that his way back was blocked by a blue and golden shield. The alicorns, guards, Wonderbolts, and officers stood behind it, weapons up and rage in their eyes, with more pouring from the infirmary door.

With a growl, Zugzwang turned into a golden sphere and zipped up the stairs in retreat.

Celestia started to give chase, but gasped when she saw what had happened. “The statues!” she cried, jumping back into the conference room.

The Daybreaker statue was glowing brightly, and the other three statues were all cracking and glowing as well, adding their humming tones to the ominous harmony.

Celestia and Luna glanced at each other, then grimly nodded. “Guards, give chase!” Luna ordered, joining her sister as the two lit up their horns. A sphere of blue and golden light formed around the two Princesses and the statues.

“Princesses!” Eagle cried, lunging for his charges, but his injuries slowed him. With a final flash and a crackle of energy, they disappeared.

“What was that?” Twilight asked, looking up.

Rainbow Dash quickly unplugged her prosthetic and hurriedly reattached it as Phillip, Daring, Trace, and Red all stood up, drawing their sidearms. Daring placed her helmet back on her head, pushing Rainbow behind her with a wing.

“Red,” Honeydew whispered, gripping the pegasus’ foreleg. He squeezed her hoof for a moment and patted his son on the head reassuringly, but kept his eyes on the door.

Bobby took up the Whinnychester, ushering the rest of the Outbackers and the other unarmed civilians into the corner. Suunkii took up post next to him; he swallowed and licked his lips, tail flicking from side to side in agitation, but his foreleg did not shake as he clicked off the Neighringer’s safety and raised the weapon. Joyful Sound took the hooves of those next to her, prompting the others to do the same.

Phillip proceeded to the door and looked down the empty hallway just as the first gunshots roared up from below. “Bugger,” he muttered, slamming the door shut. Trace and Twilight began to move the table and other furniture in front of the door, barricading it.

It was all proven in vain, for a moment later, a cannon burst of golden light and sound rammed the door open and sent furniture flying. Ponies cried out in shock and pain as they were sent to the ground.

Fighting through the pain, adjusting the trilby that had somehow remained on his head, Phillip looked up to see a golden blur enter the room, reforming into Zugzwang as he closed the door behind him, dark ooze sealing the jamb.

No, not Zugzwang. The Ngluwi. For the first time, he saw the thing that had once been called the Pony of Shadows in its true glory, not shadowed or silhouetted or on a projection, and what he saw made his blood freeze in his veins even as a few ponies around him screamed in mindless terror.

Its eyes were solid black, like holes into the depths of Tartarus carved into its face. Veins of ink slithered out of the corners of its eyes, pulsing and oozing in an irregular rhythm. They snaked down its entire body, splitting into new branches; at random intervals along the terrible streams, a new eye had torn itself through its skin, each of them just as black as the others. The jaw was locked impossibly wide, mouth filled with black filth; dozens of tongues like writhing eels dangled out of the pitch, lamprey-like mouths with many teeth sucking and slurping at the ends. The horn had become long and curved, constantly seeping the same inky slime. Two wings blossomed from its shoulders; a close examination revealed that the reptilian appendages were made of rib bones and marrow, with black cartilage and more black slime haphazardly holding them together. The circular runes on its torso seemed to move on their own, twisting in small orbits.

Zugzwang looked down at Phillip and spoke in a gurgling imitation of a voice that bubbled out from its throat. “There you are,” it cooed, a tongue shooting out and wrapping around Phillip’s legs, pulling him along; another tongue yanked his revolver from his foreleg. Phillip cried out in terror and pain as the appendages bit into him, his cry echoed by Daring as she was also ensnared, inky ropes winding around her hind legs and wings and disarming her. The two of them instinctively scrabbled to grab onto something as they were dragged towards the closet door.

Zugzwang closed it with his magic, then inserted the key into the lock and opened it again. A red mouth opened wide, preparing to swallow both of them whole.

Daring screamed as she was thrown inside. Phillip managed to grab the threshold, hanging on as the impossible strength tugged at him.

“Phil!” Trace cried, running forward. He slid forward and seized Phillip’s forelegs with both of his hooves, firing his gun at the abomination with his magic. Over the barking of the Filly M1912, Phillip heard the impact of bullets against flesh and an inequine snarl of pain.

Black tongues rocketed over Phillip’s head and Trace let out a terrible scream of pain as the tentacles dug into his eyes with a squelching sound that turned the stomachs of all who heard it. Phillip stared up helplessly as Trace’s mouth dropped open into a mask of pain and fear, his entire body shivering violently in its death throes; the tongues writhed in his eye sockets, and Phillip could hear them ripping and blending Trace’s brain.

Trace’s grip on his hooves slackened and released, allowing Phillip to be dragged through the door. The last thing Phillip saw before the door swung closed was Trace, face frozen forever in a visage of pain and fear, blood, vitreous humor, brain matter, and slime dribbling from his sockets as he fell to the floor.

A blue-gold light appeared over Horseshoe Bay, reflecting off of the waters that churned beneath the light rain and wind. A great humming made of four separate thrumming tones filled the air, cutting through the cold, crisp air even as it was muffled by a shimmering bubble that floated over the water.

A moment later, a great explosion rent the air; the sound carried for miles, accompanied by a flash of multi-colored light that burned the sky like a falling star.

Beneath the sound and light, nopony could have noticed two great splashes as two figures crashed into the bay, sinking beneath the surface in an eyeblink.

Author's Note

I really don't think there's anything I can add to this, other than I hope you enjoyed, and are looking forward to next week.

Case Twelve, Chapter Nine: When One Door Closes

Phillip dug his hooves into the ground, but the reddish clay offered no purchase as he dragged marks into the cold surface. Grunting, he rolled around onto his back. The coal-colored tongues were still wrapped around his hind legs and the middle of his torso, tight as an anaconda’s coils and cold as ice. Daring was being dragged alongside him, her legs and wings still pinned, fighting to uncoil the tongues. The Ngluwi was walking backwards as it dragged them along the ground, a noise that sounded like an imitation of laughter bubbling out from its chest.

Phillip realized that the coils were wrapped around his chest. The panic that had been roiling in his mind suddenly yielded as a plan was formed, rushing through the fog of fear.

He took in a breath and barked, “WANDJINA!”

He felt the power of the spell rush along his vest, like the cool embrace of mist, and the Ngluwi released them both with a pained hiss. Scrambling back to his hooves, Phillip grabbed Daring and hauled her back up as he looked around for an exit.

He recalled how, so many moons ago, Deco Line had described the forest of doors accessed through the Key of Shadow Walker. Looking around, he beheld it for himself. The sky overhead was a glowing crimson color and featureless, with no visible sun, stars, or clouds to explain the red-tinted light. All around them, as far as the eye could see, were doors of every type, material, and description that had seemingly sprung up from the clay, ranging from closet doors to residential doors that looked decades old to sealed metal portals. Aside from their own panting and the pained growling of the beast, everything was silent.

“Fuck outta here!” Daring yelled, diving towards the nearest door, a faded blue wooden door that looked like some grandmother’s front door. She seized the battered bronze handle and turned it.

But the door refused to open. A quick glance revealed to them both that the frame was glued shut with more black sludge, as were all of the other nearby doors.

“Fuck,” Daring breathed, turning around. The thing had recovered, its tongues retreating back to their normal length, and was now glaring at them with its many inky pits. With a terrible snarl that rattled the still air, it spread its wings to their full twenty-foot span, the eyes upon the thin membranes blinking rapidly, and dove at them.

Daring gestured violently and a cloud of thick black smoke enveloped the two ponies, blocking them from its sight. It landed amidst the smoke, flapping its wings to clear the choking cloud.

A distinct whistle pierced the air and Zugzwang bellowed in rage as pain rocketed up its left wing. One of those damned boomerangs fell to his hooves, and it smashed it into splinters with a snarl.

It lightly flapped the damaged wing, blinking as the smoke cleared away. The muscles responded slowly, pain rocketing up the artificial limb. It rumbled in confusion: it shouldn’t have hurt that much…

Forget it. Find the two kotzbrocken. It looked all around, but there was no sign.

“You can’t hide, liebling,” it cooed, tongues flickering and twitching as it tasted the air for the scent of its target. It slowly walked around the door, scanning for any sign of movement. “There’s no escape for you here. No help is coming. You are all alone.”

A shift of movement, a taste of sweat in the air. Two thudding heartbeats, the sound so loud in the stillness.

“We will break you down,” Zugzwang declared, stalking towards the oak-paneled door. “Shatter you. Then pick up the pieces and put you together in our image. We will make you join us. We will make you beg to join us.”

That was all the warning Phillip got before it lunged, darting around to the other side. He swung the baton, but a tentacle jerked his weapon out of his grasp as another one wrapped itself around his throat. His hooves left the ground as the Ngluwi lifted him up, wrapping more of its filthy appendages around his limbs, then slammed him into the ground hard enough to blow the wind from his sails. Phillip struggled and kicked, futilely trying to gasp for air: already his lungs were burning and screaming, a buzzing growing in his ears that mixed with the rapid tattoo of his heart.

He heard Daring scream, saw her charge from her hiding place, but more limbs burst from the eyes on the thing's side and wrapped themselves around her neck and limbs, pinning her to the ground, where she struggled helplessly.

Zugzwang leaned down close to Phillip, loosening the tentacle around his neck to allow him to gasp for air. The slithering appendages that dangled from its too-large jaw softly stroked his face and neck, every gentle touch bringing him biting pain.

"Here, we are king," Zugzwang declared as its tentacles traveled lower and lower, snaking past Phillip's heaving chest and stroking his belly and flanks. "Here, we are God."

A roar of thunder and the smell of cordite suddenly assaulted his nostrils. Murky blood spewed from the beast’s side, and it howled in shock and agony, releasing Phillip. He quickly rolled out of reach and grabbing his dropped baton as Daring scrambled to her hooves as well. Every head turned towards the sound of the noise.

“G’day, god,” the red stallion snarled, his once-calm blue eyes now blazing with righteous fury as he cranked the lever of the Whinnychester. “I’m Dad.”

Rain Rhythm emerged from behind her husband; her entire body was quivering, but she lifted up the foreleg that now held Suunkii’s Neighringer and aimed it at the beast. Flash Sentry and Red Herring both took position overhead, aiming their own sidearms; behind them all, Rainbow Dash was growling at the Ngluwi, her wings spread to shield Twilight, who had her horn alight and a furious Spike riding atop her shoulders.

“Now get the hell away from our kids,” Bobby growled, centering the bead on the beast’s forehead.

The curved, seeping horn lit up gold, but Phillip snapped his baton up, hitting the sensitive appendage with a snap like a tree limb breaking. At the same moment, Daring’s kusarifundo whipped out, the weights smashing into the side of its rear knee joint before coiling around its shin. With a grunt and a flap of her wings, Daring yanked Zugzwang’s leg out from under it. With a yell, Phillip brought his baton down onto the joint of its right wing, metal crashing against flesh.

It snarled, then turned into a golden sphere of light and zipped away, zigzagging out of sight amidst the doors.

“C’mon, quick!” Red barked, beckoning them on. Daring and Phillip joined the herd as they ran along a trail of purple lights back to the closet door, which was now being held open by a purple glow. Trace’s body still lay in the threshold, chillingly staring eyelessly; the other ponies stood in the room, desperately beckoning them to safety.

But as Red was about to dive for the threshold, the door slammed shut and Twilight stumbled, crying out in pain as her magic was overwhelmed. The golden sphere appeared before them and reformed into Zugzwang.

“No one leaves,” it growled, lighting up its horn. A rush of wind came in from nowhere, scattering the screaming ponies like bowling pins. With a flap of its injured wings, it pounced upon Red. The detective howled in fear as he unloaded his Filly M1912 into the thing. The .45 caliber rounds tore into its chest, neck, and torso, sending oily blood everywhere and eliciting screeches of pain, but the Ngluwi continued to pin Red down, generating a golden bubble around the two to prevent further interference.

“Watch, Finder; another one you can’t save,” it sneered. It trapped Red’s head with its tentacles and raised two of its appendages, aiming for Red’s wide, terrified eyes as he continued to scream out terrified curses. Phillip willed himself to move, to get up and run at the shield, but his hooves didn’t budge, as if trapped by the knowledge of his futility...

But then a jet of green flame roared over his head, striking the shield in a rush of color and heat. The Ngluwi staggered and howled as purple coils of magic mixed with the jet of fire, adding a high-pitched shriek of energy to the noise.

Spike was standing atop Twilight, his eyes reflecting the jade glow of his fire breath. Twilight had a determined grin on her face as she added her own magic to Spike’s flames.

The golden shield cracked and splintered like an egg and the Ngluwi flinched, letting out another shriek. Red ripped himself from the monster’s grip and smashed the grip of his pistol against its head, bringing the weapon down onto its skull again and again with desperate shouts.

The shield broke and the magically-enhanced fire struck the beast in the face. It cried out in agony, reeling away from Red, then threw out a wave of golden energy that deflected the fire, forcing Twilight and Spike to dive beneath the reflected attack. It vanished while everypony was distracted.

“To me, all of you!” Twilight ordered. Everypony gathered around the closet door, facing outwards as Twilight burned a circle into the clay around them. A dome of purple-white energy formed around them, protecting them from harm.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Phillip said, glaring around into the reddish haze, watching for any sign of the monster.

“We couldn’t stand by and let that thing kill you,” Bobby answered, reloading another shell into the shotgun.

“The Princesses, the Wonderbolts, and a team of Royal Guards couldn’t kill that thing,” Red pointed out, slapping a new magazine into his gun with trembling hooves. “How the fuck are we going to?”

“They didn’t have a dragon on their side!” Spike declared, glaring around.

“Dash, here,” Daring said, clicking open her pocket knife and tossing it to the younger mare. She pulled her emergency cache out of her pocket and unscrewed the top with her wing, placing the nail through the hole that she’d drilled into the cap to assemble the shiv.

“We just need to get out of here,” Twilight said through gritted teeth, already trying to burn through the black slime that had reglued the door shut. “Darn it! He’s doubled the enchantment!”

“Twi, hurry,” Flash urged, hovering over the group, whipping his head back and forth.

“I’m working on it!” Twilight snapped. “Maybe you should come down here and—!”

A roar rattled the air, shaking the ponies’ bones in their bodies. The thing dove down like a cannonball, a glowing falchion in its hoof. It stabbed into the shield with a resounding crash that sent Twilight to the ground, howling in pain.

“Twi, drop the shield!” Rainbow ordered, rubbing her wings together as the beast banked around.

“But—”

“Do it!” Rainbow ordered.

Closing her eyes, Twilight dropped the shield. With a grunt, Rainbow gestured with her wing.

The trio of small, dark, round clouds that Rainbow had hastily formed from her own pegasus magic hit the oncoming sphere and detonated, lightning bolts dancing violently across its exterior. The Ngluwi crashed with a screech of pain, limbs writhing.

“ENOUGH!” it bellowed. Black vines shot from its many eyes like solid battering rams. Ponies dived out of the way, but Spike was sent flying and both Rain and Bobby were knocked to the ground. A tentacle wrapped itself around Bobby’s Whinnychester and yanked it from his grasp, throwing it away as the golden sword was raised over Daring’s prone head.

Twilight screamed, the sound loud and piercing. The Ngluwi stumbled with a grunt of confusion.

Twilight drew in a breath, then let out another magically-enhanced, banshee-like howl, quickly adjusting the pitch until she hit the right note; the sound waves of her cry, visible as purple rings, ripped into the Ngluwi’s body, making its liquid exterior pulsate and writhe. It buckled beneath her attack, bellowing in rage and pain, wings flapping futilely to escape from the sucking wind.

Red and Flash both opened fire, every gunshot loud as a cannon blast even beneath Twilight's enchanted scream. Black blood spewed from the beast's body as it stumbled beneath its injuries, falling to its knees.

"Die! Die! Die!" Red shouted desperately, slamming the trigger of his weapon so hard that several of his shots missed the writhing head even as he rushed in close for a better shot.

The things horn lit up gold and it fired out a sphere of energy that reflected Twilight’s scream back at her and sent many of its attackers flying beneath the concussive blast. Twilight was thrown back by her own magical waves and crashed into a closet door, where she lay unmoving; Red cracked his head against a tall brown door that might’ve belonged to a mansion and tumbled into the red clay in a heap.

Phillip crumbled beneath the passing weight, then quickly threw himself back into a jump as the golden blade rushed at him. Too slow: the tip of the blade caught his vest, dragging along the embedded layer of scales. It ripped at the open neck, cutting open the fabric of his undershirt; the necklace of Angkakert spilled out from beneath, the cord narrowly missing the sword. The white eyes fixed themselves upon the beast.

Zugzwang hissed angrily and fired a bolt of golden energy from its horn. It crashed into Phillip’s chest like a cannonball, sending him hurtling through the air with a pained wheeze, ribs fracturing beneath the mighty blow. He tumbled across the ground, finally ending up in a pained heap.

“Twilight!” Flash gasped, rushing in to help a groaning Twilight and a dazed Spike.

As its skull reformed through the rippling of bone and muck, mixed with the hissing of half of one of its runic tattoos burning away, Zugzwang turned its focus to Daring. A tentacle shot through the air like a bullet and ensnared the pegasus’ limb, eliciting a startled yelp as the acid bit into her flesh, yanking her in like a fish on a reel.

A cracking pop like a small firecracker. A .22 round cut the offending appendage in two.

“Nice shot, Rain!” Daring righted herself in midair, shiv flashing forward and digging into the flesh of Zugzwang’s foreleg. The sword fell from its grasp, fizzling out of existence.

Rain fired the Neighringer again, catching the beast in the side of the head with a small burst of blood. The thing wasn’t slowed; with a click, the spring-loaded blades snapped out of its gauntlets and swiped at Daring. Slow to parry the blow, Daring received a slice across her inner foreleg, dropping the shiv.

“Gah, fuck!” she cried as the two began to exchange blows. “What, the tentacles aren’t enough?!”

A rainbow-colored blur streaked down from the sky and the Ngluwi shrieked as its left wing flopped to the ground, dissolving into a puddle of muck. Without turning from Daring, Zugzwang fired a trio of golden bolts that tracked the younger pegasus. Rainbow weaved and dove, but only dodged one of them: two of the projectiles cracked into her body and she tumbled to the ground like a crashing plane.

“Oi, wombat!” Bobby roared, charging forward.

“Bob, no!” Rain screamed, but a tentacle shot out of an eye like a bullet, right at the earth pony’s head. Bobby weaved beneath it, not even slowing a step, then launched a mighty cross that crashed against the wounded flesh of the Ngluwi’s skull. It stumbled and Bobby followed up with two hooks, puffing like a steam engine as his blows impacted against two of the exposed eyes, both of which swelled and darkened like overripe grapes. Hissing out a curse, Zugzwang mule-kicked him in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

A knife flashed crimson in the unnatural light. Off-balance, Daring twisted to the side, grunting as she felt the scraping of the knife against her armor; she countered with a jab to the eye, eliciting a momentary flinch.

Daring’s kusarifundo whipped out like a serpent’s tail. Sidestepping a knife thrust, she entangled the limb with the rope and pulled Zugzwang forward, driving the weighted end into his nose. The bone cracked like a dry twig, drawing a grunt of pain. Daring retreated, her weapon whistling as she spun it, the weights cracking loudly against the beast’s temples and jaw; as she did so, she snatched the shiv up with her tail, tossing it into her free hoof.

“See how you like it!” she snarled, driving the nail into the Ngluwi’s neck. It let out a gurgling cry, blood and slime pouring from the puncture like water from a broken faucet. The serpents that spilled from its mouth waved around in an agonized dance; two of them caught Daring on the side of the head, knocking her helmet askew and sending her stumbling away.

“Einzeller!” Zugzwang snarled, wrapping its coils around her neck and lifting her up. Daring struggled, but more serpents ensnared her limbs, trapping her as she was suspended off the ground. She choked, futilely kicking as much as she could as she was pulled in. The bloodstained blade was raised up to her neck.

A .38 Filly Police Special roared six times in challenge. The Ngluwi’s head splintered and it nearly dropped Daring, turning to glare at Flash as the younger pegasus desperately pressed down on the lever trigger, barely registering the clicking of the empty chambers.

“Shit shit shit shit!” Flash cursed, fumbling to reload.

Zugzwang roared and lit up his horn, preparing to cast at Flash as it raised its blade back to Daring’s throat.

With a desperate yell, Rain and Bobby both charged in and tackled the beast. The three ponies and one beast rolled together in a tumble of limbs and bodies, all of them yelling and cursing, blows landing in a cacophony of violence.

Daring and Bobby both managed to wriggle loose and rolled to one side. Rain tried to crawl out, but the Ngluwi pounced on her, the sucking fangs of its tongues latching onto her back. The blade was raised like a scorpion’s stinger and driven down.

Rain let out a terrible howl of agony that echoed across the reddened plains.

Bobby screeched in pained fury and dove at the beast, knocking it aside, but Rain did not move. She screamed again, hot tears running down her face as blood trickled from the hole in her back.

Daring dragged Rain aside, but Bobby suddenly flew through the air and crashed into her; there was a crack and a howl as she landed atop her wing, pain shooting across the now fractured appendage.

The Ngluwi staggered to its hooves, panting and choking. Its head was slowly reshaping itself, bits of exposed brain pulsing beneath the mess of blood and slime, and black tar still spilled from the rip in its throat. Its one wing flapped pitifully and its horn was now sparking constantly, the appendage cracked like dried wood. Several of its eyes had burst like sores, sticky fluid staining its body. The three remaining runic circles continued to shift and swirl around the wounds.

It turned its furious gaze upon Daring, who was still pinned beneath Bobby’s unconscious form. Her wide scarlet eyes met the empty voids.

“Oh, shit,” Daring mumbled.

With a roar, the Ngluwi drew its knife back and stalked forward.

And then there came that blessed, distinct whistling sound. Something smashed against the beast’s skull and it fell to the ground, hissing in bewildered agony.

Every eye tracked the boomerang as it arced through the air and returned to Phillip’s hoof. The stallion stalked forward, grimacing in pain with every breath that aggravated his cracked ribs. He glared furiously at the Ngluwi, teeth gritted, eyes burning with rage. His grip on his baton was so tight that his hoof turned white. The idol of Angkakert bounced against his chest with every step.

Flash advanced behind him, cocking the hammer of his weapon. “Is there a plan?” he asked quietly.

Words floated back to Phillip’s mind: Bear in mind their weakness: their markings...

“Follow my lead,” he growled, not slowing his advance.

The Ngluwi scrambled back to its hooves, exhausted growls bubbling from its throat as it charged up its horn.

Daring Do took a breath, pushed Bobby off her, and closed her eyes, focusing, pushing past the pain and the fear. She felt the tingle of flight magic in her wing and brought her uninjured appendage to her broken one. She began to rub the feathers together, feeling the magic swirling together, combining, cooling, forming condensation. Small tufts of cloud began to form between her feathers. "Come on, come on," she whispered desperately, molding them together like clay, trying to channel her writhing desperation and fear into her work.

The air screamed as the Ngluwi fired its spell, dark gold and black light lancing through the air at Phillip. Flash ducked behind Phillip as the earth pony drew in a breath and screamed to the heavens.

“WANDJINA!”

The attack struck Phillip’s vest and was immediately halted by the ward, but the strength of the attack alone was enough to send him skidding back. Planting his hooves, Phillip began to push forward, noting the cool embrace of the ward around his body like a shield of mist and rain; the magical attack shoved at him like a hot riptide that screamed and crackled, but he pressed on. A step for his parents. A step for Daring. A step for Twilight and Spike. One step at a time, each one for one of Zugzwang’s victims, one of those ponies whom it had tried to hurt.

Sparks began to dance along the sphere of cloud between Daring's wings. She glanced down at the little wandjina queen that lay against her chest.

Let’s both hope this works! Daring thought and threw the clouds at Zugzwang with a grunt.

The sphere struck him with a crackle of lightning and thunder that the sky suddenly echoed, the red sky darkening and flashing like a switch had been thrown. The clouds swirled around the monster's form like a swarm of ants, dancing around it and attacking every inch of its flesh with more crackles of lightning and thunder, the anomalously dark sky repeating every thunderclap. Zugzwang screeched in fury, its magical beam screaming louder in response.

Bobby, Red, Twilight, Spike, and Rainbow Dash were all coming to, turning to watch as Phillip and Flash reached the Ngluwi, straining with every step. Zugzwang tried to retreat, but a crackle of lightning struck its left hind leg, buckling the knee and forcing it to kneel.

"Stay back!" it howled at Phillip, its eyes focused upon him.

With a final effort, Phillip closed the distance and swung. Just as he’d done a thousand times before, he put his whole body behind the blow, twisting his hips and shoulder, snapping his elbow. And he put his whole heart into it as well, pouring every ounce of his fear and pain and rage out from his gut down his forelimb and into the metal.

“BASTARD!” he screamed as the blow cut through the clouds and landed right on target: one of the swirling black runic circles.

Lightning crackled and thunder roared in response to his blow, both from the sky and from the assaulting clouds. The Ngluwi let out a terrible howl as the circle was burned away, leaving the scent of burnt flesh in the air. The golden lance of energy vanished.

Daring grabbed the semiconscious Bobby and still whimpering Rain and dragged them out of range as Flash shoved his pistol into the midst of the tongues and opened fire, emptying his weapon into the beast’s head; the back of its head exploded in a mess of gore, its screams choked out by thick gurgling.

Phillip swung again, then again. Each time, the clouds that hung around Zugzwang flashed and roared. Each time, the Ngluwi screamed and stumbled as one of its tattoos was burned away, leaving its flesh unmarked.

In desperation, Zugzwang stamped its hoof onto the ground: the clay began to crack and glow like a layer of cooled magma. Reacting instantly, Flash grabbed Phillip and flapped up into the air as the earth where they had just been standing ruptured in a hissing gust of heat and light, narrowly missing the two ponies.

Flash dropped Phillip, who streaked down towards his prone target. As he fell, he drew his baton back, gripping it in both hooves like a baseball bat.

Time seemed to slow for every eye that beheld the vision. The clouds that were slowly dissipating around Zugzwang’s form let out an unbidden roar of thunder once more, the sky lighting up and bellowing in response once again. Phillip dropped down like the fury of some vengeful deity, ecstatic violence etched into his smiling teeth and wide eyes. It had to have been a trick of the light, but a few of the witnesses would later swear that his stormcloud gray irides were faintly glowing white, as were the eyes on the totem of Angkakert that bounced on his chest.

But what every witness would agree on was the look on Zugzwang’s gore-smeared face, evident despite the emptiness of its eyes as it stared up at Phillip, cowering helplessly like an ant looking up at the boot about to squash it: fear.

And then, with a final bellow, Phillip smashed his weapon down onto Zugzwang’s skull. There was a long shriek of terrified agony that sounded like it came from two voices, then an explosion of dark light and a blast of rushing wind that cut into everypony's flesh, forcing them to turn away.

When they looked back, Phillip was standing, his trembling, panting body stained with blood and inky muck, over the prone form of a tan unicorn. Brain matter and blood were smeared over its brown mane, which clung feebly to the shattered remnants of its skull, like the pieces of a broken porcelain doll. The eyes, now a pale blue color, stared sightlessly up at the clearing sky, the jaw hanging open as if still screaming.

Phillip blinked and looked around, as if suddenly aware of the others. “Mom?!” he cried, rushing over to his mother. “Mom, stay still!”

“I can’t feel my legs,” Rain whimpered, glancing down at her still-bleeding wound.

“Oh gosh, oh gosh,” Twilight fretted, rushing over and sealing the puncture with some healing magic. “Okay, just stay there and don’t move! No, we need to move you, we have to get out of here! The door, where’s the door?! Over there!” She magically yanked the now unblocked closet door open.

Instantly, officers began to flood into the red arena, quickly clearing the area with their pistols. Cold Case rushed forward, her gaunt face drawn tight with worry, and glanced over Phillip and the dead body. “Holy shit,” she breathed as Captain Oak entered, gaping in shock at the slime-covered corpse with the bashed skull laying on the ground, one trembling hoof clutching the wing and horn emblem of his rosary necklace.

“Hey! Paralyzed mare over here!” Daring called. The ashen-faced Suunkii and Mortis hurried over and signaled for a stretcher, tending to the wounded.

Red slowly got up and stumbled over to the open door. He stared down at the corpse of Trace, who lay discarded next to the doorway, his head covered with his coat. Honeydew trotted over and gently draped her forelegs around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder; he barely responded to her presence.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Bobby asked as Mortis scanned his wife over with her horn. Rain whimpered once more, fresh tears leaking from her eyes, pain mixed with smoldering fear.

“I...I don’t know,” Mortis answered. “She’s stable for now, but we need to get her to a hospital.”

Phillip started to say something, tried to form some question or maybe some pretense of reassurance, but he suddenly doubled over, coughing as a stabbing pain invaded his chest.

“Phil?!” Daring cried, rushing over.

Phillip tried to say something, but all he managed to gasp out was “Hurts” before another rack of coughing struck him. He tasted copper. Blood, the color of ground coffee, spewed from his mouth. His legs suddenly gave out, as if all communication between them and his brain was severed, and he tumbled over; he did not feel himself hitting the ground, only knew that he was lying down because the world had suddenly tilted onto its side.

The last thing he heard was Daring screaming his name, and then he knew no more.

All was quiet beneath the water’s surface. Celestia and Luna slowly sank deeper into the darkness, bubbles issuing from their mouths and nostrils as their manes and tails floated about everywhere, gently pulled by the deep currents. In the midst of the darkness, a small blue and a small gold light slowly pulsated, issuing from a small collar wrapped around each princesses’ neck.

There were several golden flashes of teleportation from above the darkness. The sound of several bodies crashing into the water resounded through the abyss as ponies in armor dove into the bay, both organic and artificial limbs pulling them towards their charges, guided by the emergency trackers. They grabbed the Princesses’ cold, feeble limbs, pulled oxygen masks from saddlebags and wrapped them around their faces, and started to kick for the surface.

In moments, the entire group broke the surface of the bay, bobbing in the water. Celestia and Luna both came around in a fit of coughing, spreading their wings out to help themselves float.

“I ought to kill you both myself!” Captain Eagle snapped as he quickly swam around Celestia, checking her over for any injuries.

Celestia managed a feeble grin. “If all this doesn’t kill us, I don’t think you could, captain.”

“Don’t test me,” Eagle replied.

“What has happened?” Luna asked, trying to fly out of the bay despite her guards’ protests.

“Don’t know. We just teleported here when we got the distress signal,” Tempest replied.

“We must return at once!” Luna declared, shaking off her guards and taking to the skies. The others had no choice but to follow.

Author's Note

This was a difficult fight to choreograph: one thing I really struggled with was indicating that even if the crew was hurting Zugzwang, they didn't have enough to really put it down. Not on their own, at least.

But there are still a few loose ends to tie up. You'll see more next week!

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Thirteen, Chapter One: Waiting

The slow, steady beeping of the EKG machine had long ago ceased to be grating; now Daring barely noticed it, just like she barely noticed how heavy her head was, how dry her throat was, and that her growling stomach felt like an empty pit had been carved into her belly. All she was really aware of was the shallow rising and falling of Phillip’s chest, marked by the slow motion of the wandjina necklace that lay atop the sheets, the cord still wrapped around his neck. The sound of his breathing was muffled by the tubes that had been stuffed into his mouth and nostrils; more tubes ran into his forelegs, injecting saline, glucose, and potions that Daring had no name for.

It had been three days since the doctors first attempted to explain to her why, despite the best efforts of the weakened and exhausted Princesses, Phillip was still barely alive. All the words had washed past her except for “internal damage.” They’d told her that he was stable, but all they could really do was wait for him to wake up.

The implied “if” in that sentence had stabbed like an icicle through her heart.

Daring reached out and took Phillip’s hoof, squeezing the cold limb. He didn’t respond in the slightest.

“Come on, Phil,” she croaked out of her dry throat. “Please.”

If he heard her, he gave no indication. Daring slammed her eyes shut and bowed her head, taking in shaking breaths through her nostrils. The aching in her chest was terrible, muscles begging her to get up and do something...but what?

The sound of approaching hoofsteps, accompanied by the purring of an electric motor, made her look up, quickly blinking to try to alleviate the burning of her eyes.

The first in was Bobby, his blue eyes haggard and dull, though he favored Daring with a faint smile as he entered, shouldering his saddlebag. Twilight entered a moment later, scanning over some notes; her face was pale, her mane a tangled mess, and there were dark shadows of fatigue set deep beneath her eyes.

Then came Rain. It always stung to see her trapped in the powered wheelchair, her useless hind legs dangling from her waist, which was gilded with the humiliating diaper (at least it had a host of self-cleaning charms woven into it). She looked over the two ponies as she entered, pushing the joystick of the wheelchair forward. There was a warmth in her green eyes behind the dulling of stress and fatigue, like the light of a fireplace seen through a dirty window.

“Sweetie, you look terrible,” she said, stroking Daring’s cheek. The soft warmth of her touch, the gentle music of her voice like a night rain on the window was like ice water for a mare who had gone three days in the desert. “Did you get any sleep recently?”

Daring didn’t remember the last time that she’d actually gotten a full night of sleep. Her body and mind ached for it, but every time she closed her eyes, she…

The burning sands. The sky, first red, then freezing and burning her beneath sun and moon. A hissing and stirring that she felt in her bones. Sucking tongues and cold black eyes…

“I’m fine,” Daring mumbled, reluctantly pushing the comforting limb away.

“You at least need some tucker,” Bobby said, reaching into the saddlebag and pulling out a dark cube wrapped in plastic. “Here. Slice of lamington for you,” he said, tossing it over to Daring.

Daring unwrapped the little package and found that it contained a slice of chocolate sponge cake. She bit into it and the sweet flavors of chocolate, coconut, and jam flowed over her tongue. Her stomach let out a loud snarl at the prospect of food and she devoured the cake in moments, barely allowing herself any time to even enjoy the flavor.

“I’ve got the rest waiting for when he wakes up,” Bobby said, stroking his son’s forehead with a thin smile. “My boy’s tough as they come. He’ll wake up.” He kissed Phillip’s forehead.

“He will,” Rain agreed, taking Phillip’s other hoof. “He has to.”

Daring turned her attention back to the other mare, who was hovering in the back of the room, comparing her notes to Phillip’s charts from the foot of his bed. “You’re awfully quiet,” she commented.

Twilight jumped a bit, snapped back to reality. “I, um...was working with the doctors and the Princesses to try to research Phillip’s injuries and come up with treatments,” she explained.

Daring frowned a bit. While she intellectually understood that the Princesses had to go back to Canterlot and continue running the nation, an acidic note of bitterness still hovered in her stomach when she thought of how they’d just left.

“And what did you find out?” Rain asked, turning the wheelchair around to face her fully. "What exactly happened to him?"

“Well...it's a bit complicated,” Twilight swallowed. She projected an image made of magic up before them all, displaying Phillip wearing his vest.

“See, the ward I put into the vests was designed to passively gather magic from the surrounding area to charge it,” she explained, demonstrating by drawing little squiggly lines of energy going into the vest. “Whenever Phillip activated the ward, the energy would blossom into a shield around his entire body that would block any magical attacks. The ward is more stable and portable than shield generators, and recharges faster even though it runs out of power faster.” She drew a bubble around Phillip.

“Now, when Phillip blocked that energy beam from Zugzwang, he overused the ward: it ran out of energy, but he forced the shield to stay up.”

“Just on willpower? How?” Bobby asked.

“He knows how to cast magic through a conduit, like his boomerang; this is similar, even if he was only doing it on a subconscious level,” Twilight explained. “Anyway, the shield was out of power, so the ward had to draw magic from somewhere else. So it chose the closest source of magic: Phillip himself.”

She drew some squiggly lines going from Phillip out into the bubble, and some more lines crisscrossing Phil's body. “Effectively, he channeled his own magic into the ward, just like how I channel my own magic through my horn. The problem is...I don't think he knew that he was doing it and if he did, he didn’t know how to do it properly, and earth ponies like him aren’t really suited to using magic like that, not without a proper conduit,” she explained. “So he wound up burning out all of his magic far too quickly, and it caused internal damage.”

There was a long, thick silence as everypony absorbed this information. “So what can be done?” Bobby asked.

“I’ve already spoken to the head doctor about this, and Celestia and Luna are working on treatments,” Twilight explained, dissipating the image. She swallowed again, looking down and shuffling her hooves.

“Is something wrong?” Rain asked, bending down to study Twilight’s drawn, heavily shadowed face.

Twilight shivered, then suddenly collapsed in a sobbing heap against Daring, hugging her so tight that all the breath was crushed from her neck.

“It’s my fault!” Twilight bawled. “I designed the ward improperly! I should have anticipated this, and I didn’t! I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“Stop it!” Daring shouted, grabbing Twilight by the shoulders and forcing her off of her. Twilight flinched away from her, tears still running hot from her eyes.

“I’m sick of sorry!” Daring bellowed, standing. “I’ve had everypony telling me how sorry they are, how tragic this is! I’m sick of it! So don’t give me your tears and bullshit, I don’t need it! Just get out!”

Twilight swallowed, then ran out, sobbing. Daring remained, panting, eyes burning. The rage and pain that she had used to forge those words faded away, leaving behind the stinging coolness of regret. She sat back down in the chair, turning away so that nopony else could see that her eyes were burning.

Bobby and Rain were silent for a long few moments, then Rain wheeled herself over to Daring and placed a hoof on her shoulder. Daring shrugged her off and turned away further. “Leave me alone,” she grunted.

Rain withdrew. “Okay, ampa,” she said quietly. “But we can both tell that you’re in pain. Hiding it won’t solve anything. We'll be here when you're ready.” She paused to give her son a kiss on the cheek, then turned and exited the room with a whirring sound.

“I’ll save the rest of the lamington for when he wakes up,” Bobby added with a quiet smile, giving Daring a nod that she didn’t see before following his wife out the door.

Daring continued to stare at the blank white wall as the anger that had been festering inside of her slowly cooled into a bubbling stew of guilt and self-loathing that settled over everything else. She growled and punched the wall, sending a fresh wave of physical pain down her hoof. "Ow," she muttered, massaging her limb.

She glared down at the brand on her hoof, the brand that she only now realized had been burning her all along: she was so used to the ache that it had faded to the background, hidden beneath the rest of her pain. "Fuck," Daring mumbled, wiping her face and ordering the tears not to fall.

More hoofsteps approached, then paused at the door. Daring looked up to see a white unicorn in a black trench coat standing at the threshold, her eyes on Phillip.

“Oh, wonderful, it’s you,” she growled at Cold Case. “The fuck do you want?”

Cold looked up at Daring as if just realizing that she was there, and Daring was struck by how heavy and dull the blue eyes seemed; even more surprisingly, there were also streaks of red beneath her eyes.

“How is he?” she asked Daring in a quiet, throaty voice.

The bile in Daring’s stomach quickly settled and she took in a breath. “Stable,” she replied. “They’re...working on fixing him.”

Cold nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, the irides once more held the faintly sparkling coolness that Daring knew so well.

“I actually came to speak to you,” she reported. “I need your help. It’s about Scarlet.” She gestured with her head for Daring to follow and stepped back into the hallway.

The mention of that name instantly grabbed Daring’s attention: in all the insanity, she’d nearly forgotten about the unicorn mare. Standing, she exited the room, briefly running a hoof over Phillip’s cold limb.

She joined Cold in the hallway. The chief glanced around to make sure nopony nearby was listening to them and continued.

“We finally finished fully processing evidence from the riverside hideout and Scarlet Letter’s home,” Cold stated. “Doctor Suunkii found hairs, blood, and tobacco ashes from both locations that match, and he believes that they all belong to Scarlet. And I found records of a mare matching Scarlet’s description purchasing several mirrors like the one we found in both locations from a shop last year.” She took a breath. “Based on this, I have asked for and received a warrant for Scarlet Letter’s arrest.”

Something stirred in Daring’s gut, growling in triumphant anger. She looked up at Cold Case, her fatigue vanishing like mist in the wind.

“The problem is, she’s gone to ground,” Cold continued. “We can’t find her, and I've still got most of my officers handling damage control after all this...the ones that can still work, anyway. I can't spare anypony to track her down, and if we lose her, it might be forever.” She fixed Daring with a cool gaze. “But I’m betting that you can find her. Do you have any ideas?”

An idea sparked in Daring’s mind. “I do have one,” she said. “But I’m going to need you to trust me on this.”

Cold considered Daring for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Do what you need to do,” she said quietly.

“I always do,” Daring replied and headed out, feeling lighter than she had in a week. So focused was she on moving forward that she did not notice a trio of unicorn doctors entering Phillip’s room.

Author's Note

Going immediately into the next case! I said we have some loose ends to wrap up, and we will very soon.

(And in case anyone's worried: yes, Zugzwang really is dead. Scout's honor.)

Hope I didn't cause too many tears with this chapter. If your eyes are still dry enough to see, leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Thirteen, Chapter Two: Honey and Vinegar

Daring sat on the bus stop bench, adjusting the fake reading glasses as she peered at her target over the top of her newspaper.

A brief stop at the police station had allowed Daring to look over the receipts that she’d found on Bright Spark’s cot, and she’d quickly found what she was looking for: purchases for baby food from a small store in the Industrial District. Your Foal And You sat across the street from Daring, its cheery blue and pink sign one of many amidst the long shopping mall that wound around the sparse parking lot.

Daring pondered her strategy. The receipts had noted an extra price for delivery but hadn’t said where they were delivered to. She could present herself as being with the police, but that might just put them on the defensive. And if they asked for a subpoena, that would just set her back.

“Okay, then,” Daring muttered, brushing the dress of her disguise and ensuring it covered the pillows that she’d wrapped around her tummy, enlarging her build to make her appear pregnant. “You get more flies with honey than vinegar.”

Tucking the paper under her foreleg and tilting her sunhat back, Daring got up and trotted across the street to the store, feigning a slow, waddling gait appropriate for the weight she was pretending to carry. She paused at the door to settle her twisting, squirming nerves, then opened the glass door and proceeded inside, her entrance heralded by the jingling of bells over her head.

Her eyes were assaulted by bright colors, mostly vivid shades of pink and blue, and posters displaying happy foals enjoying some of the items that were on sale. Every aisle of the store was loaded up with baby supplies, from diapers and onesies and toys to changing tables and cribs. She wandered up to the aisle labeled food and scanned the shelves.

It was impossible to miss the Smilin’ Day baby food. The stacks of jars took up a large portion of the shelf, the bright yellow-green contents stretching for several feet. She trotted up to the shelf and took one of the jars, pretending to closely examine the label.

Within seconds, she heard the hoofsteps of an approaching employee. A middle-aged jenny, her chocolate mane streaked with silver, greeted Daring with a glowing smile. She was wearing a baby blue vest; the nametag clipped to the front read “Madeline.”

Daring felt her heart speed up: Madeline was the name on the receipts. Jackpot.

“Can I help you with anything, ma’am?” she asked.

“Hi,” Daring replied with a smile. “I came in here looking for some stuff for the little one.” She patted her false belly and shifted a bit to adjust for the faux weight.

“I see they’re taking up a lot of your time, hon,” Madeline said with an understanding smile. “You look like I did when I had my first.”

“I know a friend who recommended this stuff: she gets it delivered from here,” Daring nodded to the Smilin’ Day.

“Oh, your friend made a great choice!” Madeline beamed. “Smilin’ Day is one of our most popular brands for a good reason…”

Daring forced herself to listen patiently, a smile fixed to her face, as Madeline launched into what was most definitely a well-rehearsed speech about the benefits of the brand, occasionally interjecting with a simple question or comment. When she sensed that Madeline was finally winding her lecture down, she thrust with her main question.

“So, my friend mentioned that she gets her stuff delivered from you,” she asked. “Is that something that you can do for me?”

“Our delivery service is a recent addition,” Madeline explained. “We can only deliver to houses that are within a couple of miles of here, but we’re hoping to be expanding our services soon.”

“She mentioned that you’d been delivering for her,” Daring said. “She spoke very highly of you.”

Madeline practically glowed at the compliment. “Oh, well, thank her for me,” she chirped.

“Actually, that reminds me,” Daring said, feigning an embarrassed grin. “See, I just got back from a trip down south, and my friend moved recently. And I, er…” She chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her mane. “I kinda lost their address…”

“Oh, no worries, hun,” Madeline smiled. “Who’s your friend?”

“I call her Sparks,” Daring said. “Tall unicorn mare, reddish coat, green hair, cutie mark of three stars.”

“Oh, yes, I remember her,” Madeline nodded. “She’s had her stuff delivered to a blue one-story house on Oil Slick Boulevard, number forty-three.” She paused for a bit. “You said she recently moved? She’s been having me drop stuff off there since spring. You know, I thought that house was empty for years, that’s why I remembered her so easily.”

“Thank you,” Daring nodded and glanced at her watch. “Oh, heck, look at the time! I’m sorry, I really gotta get going.”

“I understand! I hope you come back soon. And good luck with the little one!” Madeline waved Daring out as she waddled out the door, departing with a wave and a jingle of bells.

Daring trotted out of the store and around the building to the back, maintaining her false heavy gait until she reached the alleyway where the dumpsters sat amidst the litter and graffiti. She stripped off the costume, undid the belts holding the pillows in place, and stuffed them all into the enchanted bag, retrieving her pith helmet and placing it on her head. The necklace of Awely-Awely swung out of her shirt, bouncing against her chest with every movement.

“I’m coming for you, Sparks,” she declared as she took to the air and headed west.

The heat hung heavy in the air; Daring could feel the increased humidity pushing down on her flapping wings like soaked blankets. She tasted static in the air and glanced up to see gray clouds forming overhead.

Odd. The forecast hadn’t called for rain.

Whatever. She circled over Oil Slick Boulevard, a wide circle of small houses around a teardrop-shaped vein of asphalt with a small circle of greenery in the center. The vivid green leaves of the small oak tree in the little patch danced quietly in the southern wind that smelled of river water.

Number forty-three, at first glance, looked just like all of the other houses in the boulevard, sharing the same shades of white and sky blue paint. However, upon closer examination, there were signs that the house was not being lived in. The lawn was unkempt, the grass sticking far above the debris-strewn walkway, and the mailbox had been nailed shut.

There were few ponies out and about, most of them seemingly sheltering from the oppressive heat, and the few ponies that she saw were paying no attention to any stray pegasi. Daring circled a few more times, watching for any sign of activity. Seeing none, she dropped down and landed in a grand maple tree in the backyard of her target house.

No lights or motion through the windows could be seen. She stole up closer and perched next to a window. Plucking out her mirror, she held it up with a hoof to peer inside.

She was looking into what appeared to be a living room, though it was sparsely decorated, featuring only a coffee table, one sofa, and two floor cushions. What Daring’s eye was drawn to, however, was the large mirror in the corner. It stood over a head taller than most ponies and set in its gilded frame were several brightly-colored gems: blue, green, and red.

Daring grinned. “Gotcha,” she declared and took back off into the air.

Daring spotted a telephone booth at the mouth of the Boulevard and landed before it. Snatching up the hoofset, she punched in the number for the police operator. The line rang once, then clicked as it picked up.

“Ponyville Police,” a male voice reported.

“This is Daring Do. Put me through to Cold Case,” Daring reported.

There were a couple of clicks, then the line picked up again. “Cold, I—”

But then an orange aura yanked the hoofset from Daring’s grasp and slammed it down onto the cradle. Whirling around, Daring found herself facing a dark red mare wearing a light summer jacket and carrying a shopping bag. A floppy hat covered her emerald mane, but her eyes still glowed venomously as she glowered at Daring.

“There’s a gun in my bag,” she hissed, adjusting the bag in her magic. “If you so much as twitch, I will empty the magazine into you.”

Daring froze, her mind whirling furiously as she considered her options. Upon closer examination, she realized that Bright Sparks looked terrible: her eyes were heavily shadowed, her dirty coat stuck up everywhere, and she was breathing heavily. Her right hoof shuffled against the ground, and she occasionally let out a soft wince as the brand burned her.

She could go for the disarm...no. Sparks was careful to stand far enough away that it’d take a second for her to reach her. More than enough time for her to react, even in her fatigued state.

Sparks, in the meantime, had apparently frozen, unsure what to do with her. “Why are you doing this, sis?” Daring asked quietly.

“I am not your sister,” Sparks snapped. “Walk to the house. Slowly.”

Daring obeyed, slowly walking towards forty-three. The taste of water in the air became heavier upon her tongue as she walked up the boulevard, with Sparks walking close behind her.

“You told me once you were trying to protect this city,” Daring said coldly, her words sliding off her tongue with the flavor of vinegar. “That you were in a war. A war for what, big sis?”

“A war between the mobsters and us, for control of this city,” Sparks snapped. “Keep walking.”

Her tone grated on Daring’s ears: she sounded like a machine, repeating back the words in a hollow, dead tone. It sounded to Daring like Sparks was talking to herself more than her.

“And yet Scarlet and your crew have you dealing with those same mobsters,” Daring pointed out, slowing her trot. The queen of the wandjina settled over her pounding heart.

“Shut up,” Sparks hissed, stumbling slightly on her right foreleg.

“Shooting kids,” Daring continued, her heart hammering harder against her ribs; she could almost feel the vibrations traveling up the string around her neck. “Trying to murder the mayor. Kidnapping professors. Dealing with dark artifacts. Resurrecting zombies, for Faust’s sake!”

“Shut up!” Sparks snapped, a feeble spark of pain flickering in her eyes.

“And you’re telling yourself that it’s all for our safety,” Daring stopped and glared over her shoulder. “Tell me, sis: how many of us do you have to kill to keep us safe?”

Sparks froze, her eyes widening as she hissed in a breath of pain, shuffling her branded hoof against the ground. The bag holding the gun wavered in her grasp.

“Sparks, you know this is wrong,” Daring said quietly, taking a careful step towards her. “This is just like what Mojo did to us.” She held up her own brand, the crude image of a set of keys marked forever into her flesh. “We should have been a family, and they both twisted that. Twisted us. It has to stop, Sparks, you know it does.”

Sparks hesitated, her eyes fixed on Daring’s brand. Tears welled in those emerald irides, and the foreleg slowly dropped down; Daring heard the gun rattling inside, clacking against whatever groceries she had packed in the bag.

And then they all heard the sharp click of a Filly M1912’s hammer sliding back. Sparks froze and turned her eyes sideways to catch sight of a white unicorn mare in a black trench coat, panting slightly and aiming her pistol at her head.

“Drop the bag,” Cold Case commanded, moving to get Daring out of her line of fire.

Defeat settled into Sparks’ posture, what little light was left in her eyes fading away as the tears began to fall in earnest. Sparks slowly allowed the bag to slide to the ground, where it fell onto its side; cans of baby food, a few groceries, and a small pistol with a plastic bottle and steel wool silencer tumbled out onto the ground.

“How’d you get here?” Daring asked.

“We traced your call, and Twilight isn’t the only pony capable of teleporting,” Cold explained, ignoring a few droplets of sweat running down her mane as she held her weapon steady. “You. Where are the others?”

“The mirror inside the house,” Sparks replied, looking up at her captor. “I can open it for you.”

“Cold, let her help,” Daring urged.

“She’s a criminal just like the others,” Cold replied icily. “She deserves to go to prison.”

“Maybe,” Daring admitted, feeling a shock of pain through her gut as if her words were a knife that she’d just stabbed herself with. “But she can also help us. No more ponies need to die.”

“I just want this over with,” Sparks said, turning her exhausted, penitent gaze on Cold. “I’m tired, chief. I’m so damn tired. Let me end this. Please. Let me help.”

Cold looked back and forth between Sparks and Daring, face impassive as always even though her weapon never wavered. “Do you trust her?” she finally asked Daring.

Daring looked at Bright Sparks. Her sister looked back at her; there was no pleading in her shadowed, watery eyes, only a tired resolution.

“Yes,” Daring nodded.

Cold took in a breath through her nostrils, then closed her eyes. “Damn you, Daring,” she muttered and holstered her gun. “What’s the plan, then?”

Author's Note

Another one to the feels!

We'll have this wrapped up in a couple weeks, folks. Hope that you enjoy the finale of this series!

Case Thirteen, Chapter Three: The Mighty Fall

The three-floor turreted apartment building was nestled cozily in the shade of rows of tall pines and oaks that were planted along Rich Avenue, the polished cobblestone street marking the boundary between the Financial District and the northern farmlands. The windows in the pale red frames were all dimmed, curtains drawn to block the light.

There was a flicker of motion in the window of the turret’s top floor and a black muzzle poked out, the earth pony tugging her dark purple mane out of her haggard eyes. Black Licorice watched a few cars passing by in the street; no ponies were out on the sidewalks, the threat of the unforeseen overhanging gray clouds seemingly enough to chase everypony back inside. She sighed and pulled the curtain back over the window, looking back over the room.

The small circular room was mostly bare, save for a crate and the bejeweled mirror in the corner. Red Licorice was currently sitting in front of the crate, staring at the assortment of shotguns and shells inside.

“She’s been gone quite a while,” Red commented, glancing up at the mirror.

“You don’t think she got caught, do you?” Black mumbled, shuddering at the thought.

“If she did, we’d know about it,” Red said, sitting down.

Black Licorice trotted over to her brother and sat down beside him, laying her head on his shoulder. “Red...do you even remember why we’re doing this?” she asked quietly.

Red was silent for several seconds, then glanced up at the slightly cracked door to make sure that they were alone. “I thought we’d be getting payback on the mobs that took our store, took our lives away,” he admitted. “But now...now I don’t know what we’re doing.”

“I want mom,” Black sniffled, bowing her head. “She’d know what to do.”

“If she were still alive. And was still willing to talk to us after everything we did,” Red muttered, staring balefully at their reflection in the mirror in the corner.

He saw motion in the reflection, a shadow passing through the cracked door. Red whirled around with a hiss of breath, both siblings freezing for a moment. Nothing happened.

“We should be more careful,” Red hissed. “You remember Gear Shift?”

Black swallowed and nodded numbly.

The mirror’s gems suddenly started glowing and the reflection in the glass swirled, dissolving into the image of Bright Sparks standing in the boulevard hideout, carrying her bag of groceries.

“You’re back,” Black smiled in relief as Sparks stepped through the mirror.

“What took you so long?” Red asked.

“Line was terrible,” Sparks replied, crossing the room. “But I got what I needed.”

She started to open the door, then paused, shrugging to adjust her jacket’s loose fit over her shoulders. “You two tired?” she asked.

Red and Black stared at each other for a few moments, then numbly nodded.

Sparks hesitated at the threshold, her hoof on the doorjamb, then quietly said, “It’ll be over soon.” She proceeded through the door, leaving the two siblings staring at each other in confusion.

Sparks continued down the winding stairs to the bottom floor. The rest of the crew were all gathered around the living room, sitting in idle contemplation. A radio was quietly playing a news broadcast in the corner. Sledgehammer and Dusty Tail were leading a game of poker around the coffee table. Everypony playing looked up as Sparks entered.

“You’ve been gone a while,” Dusty Tail drawled.

“Too long,” Sledgehammer grunted. “How long does it take to get some damn baby food?”

“As long as it takes, Sledge,” Sparks replied with an eye roll, proceeding into the next room.

This makeshift nursery featured a cot loaded with blue blankets and a few toys, a changing table well-stocked with diapers and other materials, and a cot where Sparks herself slept. Scarlet Letter was sitting on the cot, cradling a softly gurgling Endeavor in gentle forelegs as she crooned a Crystalline lullaby.

“Fa la ninna, fa la nanna,
Nella braccia della zia.
Fa la ninna bel bambin,
Fa la ninna bambin bel…”

Scarlet looked up as Sparks entered. “You are lucky, mon cher,” Scarlet said, standing and gently carrying the sleeping baby to the crib. “A child is a great blessing, especially one as beautiful as this.”

Sparks had to repress a shudder at the sight of the murderer carrying her son. “Yeah,” she admitted with a soft smile. “Yeah, he’s a blessing.” She bent down and kissed the little pale gold forehead, stroking the tussled blue mane. Endeavor smiled and cooed in his sleep, a little gold spark blossoming from his little horn.

Sparks placed her bag of groceries on the table, shrugging to adjust her jacket. “What’s the plan now?” she asked Scarlet.

“Come. I’ll tell everypony,” Scarlet stated, nodding to the door.

The two mares went back into the living room to see that the Licorice twins had entered the living room. Every eye turned to face the leader.

“Mes amis, I know we are in difficult times,” she announced. “We’ve had to run and hide for far too long. The city has seemingly changed overnight, with many old faces being replaced. The good news is, Zugzwang and Whitestone are both dead now, and we are posed to take the throne, as we always intended.

“However, one thing is very clear now: the two detectives cannot be allowed to interfere anymore. As long as they live, they are a threat to us, to our goal of establishing true order.”

There was a rumbling of agreement from most of the others in the room, ponies exchanging bitter scowls and hissing curses.

“So,” Scarlet asked, looking around the room. “Who here will do the deed? Who will kill Phillip Finder and Daring Do for us?”

“I’ll do it myself,” Sledgehammer stated, standing up. “It’s long past time those two got out of our way. I’ll go into the hospital room and slit Finder's fucking throat myself.”

“Mon ami, your enthusiasm is appreciated, but I think this requires a more delicate touch,” Scarlet smiled.

“Then Sparks should do it,” Sledgehammer grunted, turning to glare at her.

Sparks blinked and stepped back a bit, tugging at the collar of her jacket. Outside, the storm finally broke: rain began to hammer against the windows of the apartment, providing a quiet, percussive soundtrack to the scene.

“I think you’ve gone a bit soft recently,” Sledgehammer snarled, stepping forward imposingly. “Trying to let Daring off, making nice with her.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Dusty Tail scowled from the couch. “If Daring Do is such a distraction, maybe it’d be best if you got rid of her.”

“Do I need to remind you which one of us is in charge?” Sparks stated coldly to Sledgehammer, refusing to back down even as he got in her face.

“Enough, both of you,” Scarlet cut in, firmly pushing Sledgehammer away. The bald unicorn scowled venomously but did not protest.

Scarlet turned to face Sparks. “Sparks, I trust you. You know I do,” she said slowly. “But you have made some...questionable decisions regarding Madame Do and Monsieur Finder. I need to know your loyalty is absolute.”

“It is,” Sparks stated.

“Then you need to prove it,” Scarlet said patiently. “Daring Do needs to die; she and Finder can no longer interfere with our work if we are going to finally take control. And since you know her the best out of all of us, and considering your skills and experience, you—”

She suddenly paused, her eyes going down to Sparks’ collar. She paused for a moment, then lunged forward and seized the strange object that she’d spotted tucked inside the coat.

Every eye fell upon the strange device: a small black box marked with runes with a thin cable snaking out of it. At the end of the cable was the carved blue crystal that Scarlet had spotted nestled within the collar of Sparks’ jacket.

“No,” Scarlet breathed.

That was when the door crashed open and a tide of blue rushed in, covering the room. “Everypony down on the floor! Nopony move!” Cold Case barked at the head of the rush, aiming her pistol at Sledgehammer’s face.

Scarlet stared open-mouthed at the mare at the back of the tide, blocking the doorway: Daring Do, grinning at her in smug victory over the sights of the .38 Filly Detective Special strapped to her foreleg.

“Just surrender,” Sparks said, already sitting down and placing her hooves atop her head. “No one else needs to—”

“TRAITOR!” Sledgehammer bellowed and charged right at her. Sparks dove out of the way as Sledgehammer barreled past where she’d been and tackled an earth pony police officer. The little body flailed helplessly beneath him as he brought his hooves down like his namesake, battering at the figure’s forelegs.

Chaos erupted. Some of the guerrillas dove at the officers, forcing them into hoof to hoof with the symphony of impacting bones that clashed with the growing percussion of the rain, interspersed with occasional gunshots. Sledgehammer seized the dazed officer’s revolver and charged out a nearby door, telekinetically placing the weapon upon his own foreleg as he ran.

Dusty Tail pounced upon Bumblebee, the earth pony grunting in fury as he was sent tumbling to the floor. Climbing on top of his foe, Dusty attempted to seize the officer’s revolver in his magic, but Bumblebee grasped his weapon with his free hoof and tugged against him.

Dusty began to punch at every inch of Bumblebee’s flesh that he could reach, hooves hammering against his bulletproof vest and bare head. Bumblebee tucked his head against the blows, then jerked his body up. His forehead rammed into Dusty’s jaw with a crack, sending him reeling and breaking his concentration.

The momentary lapse in the telekinetic pulling was enough. Bumblebee pressed his weapon against the criminal’s side, the barrel stabbing up at his ribs, and pressed down on the trigger. The gunshot let out a single statement, loud and sharp amidst the chaos.

Dusty gasped in shock: he felt as though a hot knife had cleaved right into his body, the heat quickly settling into a terrible cold that spread across his entire body. All the strength left his muscles and he fell to the floor like a rag doll. He tried to breathe, but his lungs just didn’t seem to be working anymore; he could feel a strange pressure building in his chest, and every noise he tried to make came out as a gurgle.

The last thing that he noticed before the lights went out was the crimson aura of Scarlet teleporting away, followed by the familiar orange light of Bright Sparks.

Sledgehammer sprinted down the hallway, firing spells over his shoulder as he ran. The chief was right behind him, throwing up shields to block his attacks.

“Stop!” a brown pegasus officer yelled, half-running, half-gliding towards him.

Snarling, Sledgehammer pushed himself harder. The door was mere feet away now: once he got out of here, he was going to finally teach himself how to teleport--

A jet of icy wind raced past him. The white-blue beam hit the door in front of him and ice spread across it with a great crackling, sealing it shut.

“Fucking bitch!” Sledgehammer snarled, skidding to a halt and turning around. The pegasus officer closed in on him, forelegs wide as if ironically attempting an embrace despite the look of focused rage on his face.

But all he met was a wall of magic, crashing comically into Sledgehammer’s shield. Sledgehammer pounced, crushing the officer in his forelegs and dodging into a side room.

Shit. He’d picked the basement stairs landing, a small side room of solid wood paneling featuring only the basement stairs and a few brooms and other cleaning materials stuffed into the corner. There was nowhere he could go from here, not even a window he could dive out of. He pressed his back up against the wall, jamming his pistol up against the officer’s jaw. The smaller pegasus went completely still: he even started to hold his breath.

He heard Cold Case stop at the hallway, the thump of her pressing her body against the wall and metal clicking as she drew her sidearm. “I’m getting out of here, bitch!” Sledgehammer yelled. “And you’re going to let me, or I’ll blow your pig’s head off!”

“No. You’re not,” Cold Case said in a perfectly calm tone.

“I’ll kill him, you hear me?!” Sledgehammer bellowed at the doorway, clinging to the trembling ragdoll, shoving the gun so forcefully up under the officer’s sweaty chin that it forced his teeth together with a click. “I’ll fucking kill—!”

Cold reached into a pocket and extracted a small plastic vial filled with a frosty blue liquid that bubbled and frothed gently within its container. As she magically plucked out the stopper with a pop, the liquid began to immediately evaporate into a cloud of white gas that hung in the air; icy wind emanated from the gas like the breath of a frost dragon.

Cold lit up her horn and the gas swirled forward, rushing around the corner like a guided missile. The gas flew up Sledgehammer’s mouth and nose. He choked and gasped, releasing his hostage, who dived out of the way. Sledgehammer fell to his knees, coughing and gasping: scarlet blood dribbled from his mouth and nose, spraying with every wheezing exhalation.

Cold Case quickly entered, yanking her foe’s pistol away with her magic as she checked on the officer. “What…” Sledgehammer coughed out more blood and wheezed in breathless pain. “What did you do to me?”

“I killed you,” Cold Case said icily, keeping her weapon on him as he gasped for what little air he could gather. “Your body’s just starting to figure that out. That potion you inhaled: it flash-froze all of the water in your lungs and throat. Your body heat’s melting it, but the damage is already done: all those ice crystals are like thousands of tiny knives, carving up your blood vessels, your alveoli, your cells. Every time you take in a breath, you’re sucking more blood into your lungs. You’ll die choking and hurting. Unless you surrender.”

Sledgehammer glared defiantly up at her, then his horn ignited and his pistol flew to his hoof, snapping up towards her head.

She was faster. The Filly M1912 passed its judgement with a loud, final bark and Sledgehammer fell to the floor, laying facedown in a puddle of his own blood. Cold sighed and closed her eyes, holstering her gun.

“You all right, Clay?” she asked the young officer laying on the ground.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Clay nodded, wiping his sweat-stained red mane as he stood up.

Cold followed the sound of a wailing infant to the living room, where the other officers were tending to the wounded. To her great relief, none of her officers were critically injured. A unicorn was attempting to revive Dusty Tail, but he gave Cold a hopeless shake of his head as she approached.

Cold glanced over at the Licorice twins: the two siblings were sitting cuffed in the corner, heads lowered, shooting brief glances at one another.

Turning, she saw Prowl gently bouncing the baby colt, who was crying in distress at the noise. As Prowl softly stroked the infant’s back and mane, his wails slowly subsided into soft whimpers. “Shh, shh, it’s okay now,” Prowl whispered.

“Where are Daring and Sparks?” Cold asked.

“They chased after Scarlet!” Bumblebee reported, pointing. “They teleported away before we had a chance to catch them.”

Cold Case dashed to a window and caught a single glimpse of a red light in the distance. “You, you, and you, after them!” she pointed to three pegasi officers, who immediately soared out the door. Cold watched them take off in pursuit, her teeth clenched tightly.

Scarlet vanished in a burst of crimson light, like a small firework, then reappeared in another flash over the roof across the street. She sprinted across the rooftop, tiles falling from her path like the wake of a ship, rain pelting down on her coat.

She caught a glimpse of orange light out of the corner of her eye, felt a rush of wind on the back of her neck. A glance back confirmed that Bright Sparks had teleported up onto the roof and was chasing after her, with Daring Do swooping down like an eagle diving at a field mouse.

“Merde!” Scarlet cried, charging up her horn to teleport again as she leaped off the edge of the roof. Sparks and Daring slammed into Scarlet at the height of her jump, an orange bubble forming around them as they fell towards the third-floor window before them. The three tumbled through the window like wild lovers, the glass shattering into shards in a cacophony but failing to penetrate Sparks’ shield. They rolled across the barewood floor of the empty study, managing to disentangle themselves from each other as the shield faded away; rain began to pelt at them through the shattered window.

Daring sprang back to her hooves. Snapping her .38 up to her eyes, she placed the sights over Scarlet’s forehead as her target scrambled up, shoving Sparks away with a magical wave. The mare’s eyes widened in shock and her horn lit up in preparation to cast.

“Shoot her!” Sparks yelled from the floor.

Daring pressed down on the trigger, but a red aura seeped into her weapon’s mechanism and the gun clicked uselessly. “Fuck,” Daring snarled, tossing the hexed weapon aside and drawing her kusarifundo as Sparks climbed back to her hooves.

Suddenly, the other three officers dove in through the broken window, piling atop of Scarlet before anypony could react. “Get her forelegs!” one of them shouted, grabbing at his cuffs.

Before Daring and Sparks could jump in, Scarlet's pulled off one of her earrings and crushed it in her hoof. Crimson mist suddenly began to spread from the crushed stones, spreading through the pony pile. The three officers all froze as the mist seeped into their eyes and nostrils. Their pupils widened to cover their irises, the sclera beginning to take on a reddish tint.

The mist spread towards Daring and Scarlet, surrounding them like a mouth, pinning them in. An orange shield appeared before the two mares, but the mist just seeped right through it, like water through a screen, barely slowed. The option of retreat flickered through Daring's mind, but she dismissed it, knowing that whatever spell this was would merely chase them.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath her. A desperate idea flashed through her mind.

"Circle!" she shouted to Sparks, plucking some feathers from her wing with a small wince and clutching them tightly in her hoof. Sparks hesitated for only half a second, then her horn lit up and burned a circle into the hardwood floor around them, just wide enough to encompass them both.

The mist touched the edge of the burned circle. As one, Sparks and Daring pressed their hooves against the still-smoking mark, the tips of Daring's feathers right on the perimeter, and commanded the circle to close.

There was a brief snap in the air, a flicker that Daring felt in her wings, and the mist halted, slithering up the invisible walls of the circle like mist pressing against a window, demanding to be let in. A moment later, it faded away into nothing. Daring sighed in relief.

Her relief evaporated when she saw the officers, their eyes still tinted red, clambering off of Scarlet, who got up with a grunt. All four of them faced the other mares, eyes narrowing.

“Not good,” Sparks muttered, taking a step back.

“Take Scarlet!” Daring growled, and launched herself at the largest officer, sending him bowling into one of his partners.

A pair of Neighretta Modello 1935s appeared in Scarlet’s hooves and she opened fire at Sparks, crimson bullets shrieking at her. Sparks threw up a shield, the magical shots reflecting back at Scarlet with musical pings. Scarlet tucked and rolled beneath her own shots and the two mares clashed like opposing storm fronts.

Sparks slammed her hoof down once, twice, like the beats of a drum, and both pistols tumbled from Scarlet’s hooves. “Sous-merde traîtresse!” Scarlet snarled, clinching the other mare and driving her knee into her gut.

They pounded at each other like rams, stumbling and grunting as they both fought for balance. Gritting her teeth as she felt her ribs cracking beneath the sledgehammer blows, Sparks rammed her head into Scarlet’s jaw. Teeth cracked and flew from Scarlet’s mouth and she spat out a curse through a mouthful of blood.

Like a snake, Scarlet slithered down out of Sparks’ grasp and Sparks gasped in shock as she felt a vise clench around her hind knees. The world spun and she just managed to lock her hooves about her enemy’s neck as she fell. She caught a glimpse of Daring parrying two officers’ batons, blood running from her nostrils.

Fall relaxed, breathe out, just like she’d trained. Sparks hit the floor hard, the impact shuddering across her bones, and she rolled with it. Except that Scarlet rolled with her, towards the open door. They tumbled across the floor, and Sparks didn’t see the stairs until it was too late.

Both mares cried out as gravity seized them. Sparks tucked herself into a ball as she fell down the stairs, every step rattling her organs like dice inside her bones as she slid downwards.

She hit the floor and rolled away, wincing as every movement sent pain across her entire body. Her head darted around, searching for her target.

She spotted Scarlet sprawled across the bottom steps, glaring and grimacing in pain.

Unfortunately, she did not see the sphere of red magic rushing right at her.

Scarlet’s spell hit her like a cannonball, sending Sparks flying into the wall, the impact knocking all the wind from her lungs. Her vision whited out for a moment; when it cleared, she squinted through the pain to see Scarlet approaching her, horn alight with red. Sparks tried to get up, but the weight of Scarlet’s magic kept her pinned like a great boulder.

“Je suis desole, mon cher,” Scarlet whispered.

She punctuated her sentence by tightening her grasp around her former lieutenant’s throat. Sparks choked, flailing helplessly in her magical imprisonment. She tried to scream; she could feel a crackling in her neck like splitting wood as the metal vise tightened. Darkness began to creep up the edges of her vision; the last thing she saw was Scarlet staring down at her, a few tears leaking from her eyes.

Scarlet took a slow breath as she watched Sparks’ struggling slow, then stop as her head sagged. With a swallow, she tightened the grip around Sparks' neck, blinking away the tears as she felt her throbbing pulse in her grasp.

And then she felt a gust of wind from behind her and knew it was too late. Daring Do pounced upon her back, pinning Scarlet to the ground. The spell broken, Sparks slid to the floor, unconscious.

“Pompe à chiasse!” Scarlet shouted, flinging Daring off of her with her magic. Daring tumbled through the air, flipping over to land on her hooves in the living room, ducking under a scythe of red magic. Daring turned around to face her, her heartbeat pounding in her chest as fast as the rain pattering against the picture window behind her. Blood dripped from the nostrils of her broken nose, bruises covered her forelegs, and her right wing was bent at an awkward angle, but she still stood strong, glaring at Scarlet.

Scarlet charged at her like a runaway train, firing more spells at her as she ran. “Wandjina!” Daring cried, bracing herself for the impact. The spells hit her shield harmlessly like snowballs, but Scarlet closed the distance, a pair of red crystal knives appearing in her hooves.

Daring whipped her kusarifundo out with a whistle and the weight narrowly missed Scarlet’s foreleg. One blade darted at Daring’s torso, the edge slicing through the fabric of her vest to expose a swatch of dragonscale armor; the other blade slashed at her head, knocking her pith helmet to the floor with a clatter.

The two mares twisted and danced around one another in a deadly tango, snarling and spitting curses, a melody of hatred punctuated by grunts of pain and the crunch of landing blows. Drops of blood painted the hardwood floor.

Sidestepping a double-slash, Daring drove her elbow into Scarlet’s side, grinning at the sound of her foe wheezing in pain. Snapping her kusarifundo out, she ensnared Scarlet’s hind leg and braced, preparing to pull.

But Scarlet’s telekinetic shove hit her like a bowling ball to the chest. Daring was sent flying back with a grunt, slamming into the wall. The picture window that she slammed into was cold to the touch, the light filtered through the rain that ran in streaks down the glass.

A flash of red raced at her. Daring ducked, but a searing pain rocketed up her arm as one of the knives dug hilt-deep into her foreleg, the agony momentarily blinding her. When her head cleared, she was greeted with the barrel of a Modello 1935 aimed directly at her face, Scarlet’s hoof curling around the trigger.

Daring tucked and rolled, one hoof flying towards her pocket as a shot screamed over her head. The window shattered, rain and glass pelting down upon her as she rolled, snatching her boomerang from her pocket and threw it out with a snap of the wrist. The weapon struck home, Scarlet’s wrist bone snapping like a dead tree limb and sending the gun skittering across the floor.

Returning to her hooves, Daring fired off a punch to the stumbling mare, her hoof crashing against Scarlet’s forelegs. Scarlet charged forward like a bull, plowing into Daring’s hips. “Get off!” Daring snarled, pivoting around and pushing Scarlet past her. Her own momentum carried Scarlet into a stumble and she fell, right on top of the sea of glass shards.

A terrible shriek of agony and rage split the air as Scarlet flailed on the floor, clutching her face as blood poured through her hooves. Daring pounced and pinned her down to the floor, bringing her hooves down twice like jackhammers. Scarlet shrieked again, writhing helplessly beneath her.

Daring paused to catch her breath and stared down at her foe, placing her bloodstained hooves around the fragile neck. Scarlet’s face was coated in a layer of red, glass shards embedded into her flesh. She trembled, panting and half-sobbing as hot tears ran rivulets across the blood.

Scarlet glared up at her, drawing in pained breaths. “Do it, then!” she snarled. “Kill me!”

Daring glared down at her in silence, the rage curdling in her stomach beneath the aching pain, hissing at her to push down harder, to give her what she deserved so thoroughly, to crush and break and kill…

“No,” she said. “Much as I want to, I’m not that mare anymore.”

Scarlet tried to sit up, only to receive another punch to the face. “You’re going to go to court,” Daring snarled, punching her again. “You’re going to be punished for what you did. And when you sit in your cell at Clovenworth—when you look in the scratched-up mirror at your ugly, mangled face—you’re going to think about what you did. To all of us!”

Scarlet drew in a slow, wheezing breath and made one last bid to fight back, only to be knocked back down with another blow. “And you’re going to remember this moment,” Daring growled, leaning in closer to hiss into her ear. “Me, my hooves on your neck. You’re going to remember that I beat you!”

And with a final roar, she brought both her hooves down onto Scarlet’s face. Scarlet grunted once and was still, blood bubbling from her open mouth. Daring remained sitting atop her foe, panting as adrenaline gave way to exhaustion and pain. She grimaced and clutched her bleeding foreleg, the muscles inside screaming at her with every movement.

The door crashed open and Cold Case entered, followed by the rest of the officers. Cold gave Sparks a glance, then trotted over to Daring, scanning her wounds. “Hold still,” she commanded, gently pulling her off of Scarlet and casting healing spells over her injuries. The cold spread over her body, numbing the pain.

Before the pain vanished entirely, Daring noted that there was one part of her that did not hurt. Her brand was completely painless; for the first time in so long, she had almost forgotten it was there.

As Cold wrapped gauze around the knife still stuck in her foreleg, the three pegasus officers stumbled down the steps, groaning and holding their wounds as they blinked away the last traces of the red dust. “What happened?” Cold asked, continuing her work.

“Scarlet tried to teleport in here, but we grabbed her,” Daring narrated in a monotone as Cold carefully repaired her broken nose. “Those—ow—three came in, but Scarlet hypnotized them and had them attack me. I fought them off while Sparks took on Scarlet, then finished her off here. Sorry about the bruises, guys,” she added to the three officers.

“That’s what happened, chief,” one of the pegasi nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Sorry about the wing. And the nose.”

A fit of raspy coughing announced that Sparks was waking up, just in time for officers to put cuffs on her and the still-unconscious Scarlet.

Sparks’ eyes met Daring’s through the crowd of other ponies. There was no light in those green eyes anymore, only the cold dimness of defeat. Sparks hung her head as an officer checked her throat, then allowed herself to be hauled up and marched outside. Daring watched out the window as she was tucked into the back of a cruiser.

“Come on,” Cold said, finishing up her bandages and gently guiding her up. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Daring just numbly nodded as she allowed Cold to carry her outside into the rain. The soft, wet wind embraced her like a hug, soothing the remnants of the pain as Cold carried her over to her black Chevroneigh Fleetracer and put her in the passenger seat. A glance out the window gave her the sight of Scarlet, her face wrapped in gauze, being carried out on a hospital stretcher.

Cold spoke to a few of the surrounding officers, including Prowl, who was carrying the now-sleeping baby colt, before returning to the car and starting up the engine. “Prowl’s going to take the baby home,” she told Daring as she pulled away. “She’ll take care of him until we can find him a good home.”

Daring just nodded, watching the gray-streaked city pass by outside the window. Exhaustion made her slump down in the pleather seat, eyelids flickering as she struggled to keep them open.

The next thing Daring knew, she was laying on a hospital bed with a cast around her wing and her foreleg and the doctor was informing her that she’d need to spend a day to make sure that the muscles repaired properly. And then she was alone again, staring out the window as the rain ran slowly down the glass.

She could feel something twisting and churning inside her, the motion traveling through her bones, but it couldn’t quite reach the surface. Dim faces—Scarlet, Sparks, Zugzwang, Trace, Phil—flickered past the window like a projection, fast enough that she only barely registered the images.

A knock sounded at the door. Daring turned to see Rain and Bobby entering, Rain wheeling herself around to Daring’s side. Bobby sat down on the mattress with a groan.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching out to take her hoof.

The twisting thing inside Daring suddenly rushed up to the surface, breaking through the walls. Daring tried to draw in air, but her head spun, eyes blurring with tears, and she felt herself falling.

Rain and Bobby caught her, pulled her into their arms, Rain tucking Daring’s head against her chest. Daring clung to them both and started bawling, every ounce of pain and fear and grief and loss that had been hiding below spilling out of her at once. Her family just held her close, gently stroking her mane as she sobbed until her throat ached and her eyes were red and puffy.

It took several minutes for Daring's sobs to fade away, and she became still, resting in the comfort of Rain and Bobby's arms. She sniffled and blinked, swallowing. “Thank you,” she managed to croak out.

“One step at a time, honey,” Rain whispered, kissing her on the head. “That’s the only trick to this. We’ll all get through it.”

There was another knock at the door and all three of them looked up to see a smiling doctor at the threshold.

“Daring?” the white-haired unicorn asked. “Phillip woke up. He’s going to be fine. He’s asking for you.”

Author's Note

We're gonna run out of tissues at this point.

Translations:
Scarlet's lullaby is an Italian lullaby, "Fa la ninna." I made one change, altering "mama" to "zia," or "aunt."

"traîtresse:" Traitor

“Je suis desole, mon cher:" I'm sorry, my dear

“Pompe à chiasse:" literally, "diarrhea pump." French insult for someone who's really full of shit.

Read on, reader!

Case Thirteen, Chapter Four: Hurt, But Healing

“And so we lay these brave heroes to rest,” Mayor Mare declared solemnly as she stepped down from the podium. Slowly, she trotted past the line of four flag-draped coffins that lay on the grass, laying a gentle hoof atop each of them as she passed. Chief Cold Case followed her, looking overburdened in her decorated uniform as she gave Officer Creek Dancer, Officer Red Rover, Sergeant Tire Track, and Detective Sergeant Trace Evidence each a final salute.

The weather felt all wrong for a funeral. The sun was high in the sky, with only a few white clouds passing through the sea of blue. A light wind carried the aroma of dewy grass up to the attendants' nostrils, mixing with the perfume of the carefully arranged flowers around the coffins and the photographs of the fallen officers and soldiers placed in front of the assembly.

Misty and the Royal Guards who had died at Zugzwang’s hooves were not here: Misty’s ashes would be placed in the Sky Garden at Cloudsdale per pegasus tradition, while the six Royal Guards were to be interred at the Royal Cemetery in Canterlot alongside their brother soldiers, the seven Pillars, and Faust herself. It had been decided that the primary memorial would be here in Ponyville.

Fidgeting in her seat, Daring glanced around at the gathered crowd that was clustered in the small arena, surrounded on all sides by gravestones. Red was sitting nearby, forcing himself to keep his back straight even as his eyes shimmered with dampness. Honeydew sat next to him; each had a wing draped around the other’s withers and a hoof on Lionmane’s shoulders as he nestled between them.

Suunkii, Sirba, and Muziqaa were next in the row; Daring noted that Sirba and Muziqaa had only black beads woven into their manes and tails today. Doctor Mortis sat next to her colleague, dabbing at her eyes with a hoofkerchief; the white of her coat looked flat and dull today, like an unrefined gem.

Twilight was a little further down, blinking back tears as she hugged Spike to her side. Flash sat next to her, his uniform free of creases or wrinkles, his hoof wrapped around hers. He kept his eyes on Pastor Sound, who was still sitting on her seat on the stage, head bowed over her cane in silent contemplation.

Near the back of the assembled mourners were Princesses Celestia and Luna, their crowns and gorgets glittering in the sun. A contingent of Royal Guards and Wonderbolts in blue and yellow uniforms surrounded them; Daring recognized Spitfire, Soarin, Fleetfoot, Arc Light, Tempest, and Captain Eagle giving a final salute to the officers.

Princess Luna had a patch over her eye, which seemed comical when combined with her expression of quiet grief. For a moment, a vision of Luna wearing a pirate ensemble danced before Daring’s eyes and she had to stifle a laugh.

Finally, the Outbackers were clustered around her, their vests adorned with black armbands as a sign of respect. Bobby was sitting to Daring’s left in her wheelchair, holding hooves with Rain, who was sitting in her wheelchair in the aisle, her head laying on her husband’s shoulder.

Phillip was sitting to Daring’s right, his eyes on one of the photographs placed on the easels before the stage, each of them framed with flowers. A younger Trace Evidence, adorned in his crisp formal blue uniform, smiled faintly back at them from his place in the middle of the line of photographs. To his right was Misty Fly, a confident smile on her face, her flight goggles dangling around her neck.

Behind the stage, four freshly-dug graves waited, granite headstones already placed behind them.

Cold Case marched over to where a squadron waited—four police officers, two Royal Guards, and a Wonderbolt, all standing at attention with their highly polished Summerfield rifles held at their sides. Cold glanced over at Captain Eagle and Commander Spitfire and received a nod from both.

“Squad…present arms!” Cold Case barked.

Like automatons, the seven ponies rose up onto their hind legs, raising their rifles to the ready position with the applause of wood against hooves.

“Aim!”

Seven hooves stepped to the side, seven heads turned. Seven rifle barrels were aimed up at the sky.

“Fire!”

The seven rifles roared out in one voice, smoke and fire spat into the air. Phillip flinched and lowered his head, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Aim! Fire!”

Again the rifles gave their report. Again Phillip flinched.

“Aim! Fire!”

“Phil?” Bobby asked as the thunder of the final volley rolled over them.

“I want to go,” Phillip muttered, trying to force himself to take slow, even breaths.

“Okay,” Bobby nodded. “C’mon.”

Daring stood up along with Phil and his father, Rain quietly pushing her wheelchair out of the way to allow them to slither out of the row. They slowly retreated from the funeral, heads down as if in shame; Phillip winced with every other breath, feeling as though an anvil was pressing down on his chest, crushing over his heart, where shame and fear squirmed together like a den of snakes.

As they passed the Outbackers, Sax City looked up at Bobby with a question in his bespectacled eyes. “Just head back to the ship,” Bobby replied quietly. “We need some time alone. Meet up at the wake later.”

“Right-o,” Sax nodded.

And with that, the family left the graveyard, trotting past rows and rows of marble headstones to the iron gate.

As soon as they got home, Phillip tore his trilby and vest from his body, flinging them in the vague direction of the coat hanger as he rushed inside. Grabbing the door to the basement, he flung it open and hurried down the steps.

Daring paused at the front door, turning back as Bobby and Rain approached the front step. Bobby started to try to pick up Rain’s wheelchair, but she gently shooed him back and flicked a switch on the side of the control handle. The entire contraption glowed faintly yellow with a soft humming and levitated a few inches off the ground, allowing her to propel herself up onto the landing.

“Hover charm,” she explained with a smile. “Amazing how fast technology comes.”

Daring’s comment was arrested by an envelope waiting on the floor of the hallway, having fallen through the mail slot. Her own name and address was written in pencil on the envelope, but the return address was typewritten: “Frostback Prison, 3369 Penitentiary Road, Ponyville.”

Daring scooped up the envelope and tore it open as she headed into the living room, unfolding the lined paper within.

Daring:

Honestly, Frostback isn’t that bad. Sure, it’s crowded and smelly and my cellmate is rude, but I’ve at least got a roof over my head, three squares a day, and I can sleep almost as much as I want.

Scarlet’s still in the infirmary: personally, I think she’s hiding in there because she’s scared to join gen pop. She’s got quite a few enemies in here. I hear she’s putting in a guilty plea on everything. Not what I expected: she does know with everything she’s done, she’s buying herself a one-way ticket to Clovenworth, right?

The Licorice’s are both still adjusting, but Black’s sticking close to me for the time being. We’re working with that lawyer Officer Sentry recommended, coming up with a defense strategy for the upcoming sentencing. Honestly, though, whatever they give us, we deserve worse for everything we’ve done.

Anyway, enough of the pity party. How’re you and Phil? I’m glad he woke up, I hope he’s healing. Physically, at least.

I imagine that the two of you are pretty shaken up. I wish I had some better words of advice for that, but all I can really say is, I hope you two are getting some help. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I think you really need to. I know you try to bottle up pain, but we both know that won’t help. Seriously, reach out to your friends and get some help. You can reach out to me if you think it’ll help.

There’s one other thing I want to talk about: Endeavor. I understand that that officer is taking care of him for now? I appreciate that, but that’s not what I want for him. What I really want for him—what he needs—is a normal life.

I want you to promise me something, Daring. Promise me that you’ll find Endeavor a good home. Find him a family that will love him, raise him right. Raise him away from all of this. Give him the chance that we never had.

I know it sounds hollow, but I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done, to you, to this city, and to your friends. I should’ve stuck with you, Daring. You should’ve been my real family.

I love you, little sister.

Bright Sparks.

Daring read the last sentence again a few times, blinking as the dust started to scratch at her eyes. She sniffled and wiped at her face with a wing. “I promise, Sparks,” she whispered.

There came a drumming sound from down below, a rhythmic pounding. “He’s hitting the bag,” Daring concluded, dropping the letter onto the table and heading down the basement stairs. Bobby followed on her tail, with Rain using her hover charm to descend after them, following the pounding percussion.

They reached the basement gymnasium. Phillip was standing in the corner, his back to the others, punching the heavy bag that dangled from the roof.

“Phil?” Rain called.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. Phillip continued pounding at the bag as if he hadn’t heard, every blow denting the canvas. He panted through gritted teeth as he punched.

“Phil,” Daring said, taking a step forward.

Phil just started pounding harder, faster, thump-thump-thump-thump. He lowered his head, his swings becoming wilder as he flailed at the bag. Water started to drip onto the floor; not all of it, the witnesses realized, was sweat.

“Phil,” Daring repeated.

Phil just grunted, then seized the bag and yanked it off the chain, slamming it to the ground. He straddled the bag and started pounding at it in blind fury, whamwhamwhamwham. He panted and grunted, half-snarled curses leaking out through his clenched jaw.

“Phil, stop,” Daring said firmly, striding forward and taking his shoulder.

He stopped punching the bag, his entire body heaving as he gasped for air, then threw his head back and let out a terrible noise. To call it a scream was inadequate: it was agony and grief so great that it could not be put into words, tearing itself out of Phillip in the only way it could.

Daring hugged him tight as Bobby and Rain hurried over. Phillip screamed again and again, shaking inside the cocoon of family as hot tears ran from his eyes like faucets. His cries eventually dissolved into choking sobs as he buried his face in his mother’s chest, clinging to his parents and partner like a drowning stallion clings to a life preserver.

“Shh, shh,” Rain whispered, stroking her son’s mane as his tears soaked into her coat. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

Phillip took several long breaths to recover, blinking away the last of the tears. “They’re dead,” he whispered, as if afraid that if he spoke it out loud, it would become finalized, absolutely true.

“Yes,” Daring nodded. “But we’re not.”

Phillip took another shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he mastered the pain, allowing it to settle down into dormancy in his bones. “Now what?” he mumbled.

“We take it one step at a time,” Daring replied, wiping her own eyes with her wing. “All together.”

“We’re staying with you two for the time being,” Bobby said. “We’re going to get you both some help.”

“But Dad,” Phillip protested. “What about the Outbackers? You’ve still got a tour—”

“Eh, they can survive without us for a bit,” Bobby shrugged. “You two need us more.”

Phillip sniffled and nodded. “Thank you,” he said, mopping his face with his shirt.

The four lay in the gentle embrace for a while longer. “Do you want to go to the wake?” Rain finally asked.

Phillip was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Not really,” he admitted. “But I think we need to.”

Daring nodded; what she really wanted to do was crawl into bed, hide beneath the covers, and hope that the beast currently eating her innards would go away. But consciously, she knew that that wouldn’t solve anything.

“Yeah. Give us some time to clean up and then we’ll go.”

The blue and yellow lanterns astride the door of the Apple Pie in Your Eye were dim. “Closed for Private Event” read the sign in the window. The faint sound of voices could be heard through the door.

Phillip paused at the doorway, one hoof on the handle. Daring laid her hoof atop his and looked up at him. He took a breath and nodded, and together they pulled the door open and entered, with Bobby and Rain right behind them.

The Apple Pie was only half full, officers, family, and friends gathered around tables where food and drink waited. Pictures of Trace and his fallen comrades were placed on the tables and the walls; every single picture had its subject smiling at the crowd. Almost every head looked up as they entered, many greeting them with small smiles.

Looking around, Daring saw Captain Hewn Oak in deep conversation with Flash Sentry, who was holding hooves with Twilight as Pastor Sound listened from a few chairs down, smiling quietly. Spike was showing off a comic to Muziqaa, whose parents were watching with faint smiles. Doctor Mortis was sitting next to Captain Eagle, both of them stealing glances at each other occasionally. Bumblebee and Arc had their heads on each other’s shoulders, not speaking. Rainbow Dash was sitting in the midst of the Wonderbolts; as Daring watched, Rainbow extended her prosthetic wing for the others to examine. Soarin studied it for a moment, then smiled and nodded, making a comment that Daring did not hear, but made Rainbow’s face light up in delight.

In the corner, Daring saw Cold Case sitting alone, staring at a foaming mug of cider. The unicorn looked up as she entered and their eyes met. After a moment, Cold nodded and gave Daring a quiet smile, the kind which said much without speaking aloud. Daring returned the gesture, saying the same things in silence, and Cold returned to her contemplation of her drink.

Pinkie Pie trotted up to Daring. Her body seemed to be a darker shade of pink, and her mane and tail were noticeably less poofy than normal, but she still put on a small, brave smile as she approached.

“Howdy,” she said, giving Daring a brief but warm hug. “We’re all glad you’re here. I’ve got peach pie and anzac biscuits waiting.”

“Thanks, Pinkie,” Daring nodded, following the scent of peach pie to the bar. The dessert was waiting for her on the countertop, with a sign next to it: “For Daring.” Bobby and Rain both broke off to speak to the other Outbackers, who were all gathered around one table.

Applejack was waiting for her. “Glad you showed up,” she said, giving Daring a brief hug over the bar as she sat down. “I know it’s hard to open up like this, but it’ll help. Trust me, I know.”

Daring glanced over at Phillip to see him receiving an embrace from Rara. It was at this moment that Daring noted the matching golden rings dangling from both Applejack and Rara’s necks.

“Oh, when did that happen?” she asked, nodding to the engagement ring.

“After the first concert,” Applejack said, smiling at her ring. “Rara took me out to Ma and Pa’s grove in the orchard and popped it out.” She sighed happily. “Happiest night of my life.”

“And you totally did not cry, didn’t you?” Rara asked with a smirk.

“Not as far as anypony else knows,” AJ replied.

“Congrats,” Phillip nodded with a small smile.

The door opened again and Prowl entered, looking surprisingly strange without her uniform, a baby carrier holding Endeavor strapped to her chest. Maple Leaf followed, with Skysong flapping along behind him, attached to her father by a harness.

“Sorry we’re a bit late,” Prowl said, striding up to the bar and sitting down. “This fella was being a bit fussy.”

Daring looked at the little pale gold colt that blinked back at her, lifting a hoof to clumsily bat a shock of blue mane out of his eyes. “What are we gonna do with you, little guy?” she asked.

“Oh, he’s adorable!” Rara squeed, kneeling down to tickle the colt’s chin with a hoof. Endeavor giggled happily and wrapped his forelegs around her hoof. “Can I—?” Rara asked.

“Go ahead,” Prowl nodded, unbuckling the straps. Rara gently lifted the colt out of the harness and cradled him as she sat down on a barstool, allowing Applejack and Pinkie to herd in to admire the infant.

“I’m still looking for a family to take him in,” Prowl admitted. “Maple and I would like to keep him ourselves, but we don’t really have the money and honestly…” She glanced over at her husband, who was currently trying to get Skysong to stop nibbling on his ears, and smiled wearily. “One is enough,” she stated.

“Her mother wanted me to make sure he had a good family,” Daring mused out loud, watching Endeavor, who had begun fussing again.

“Fella sounds hungry,” Applejack said, reaching into the small fridge beneath the bar and pulling out a glass bottle of milk.

Pinkie rummaged around in her mane for a bit, then pulled out a clean baby bottle. “Ever since the Cakes made me their official foalsitter, I’ve taken to being prepared,” she explained in response to Prowl’s raised eyebrow as Applejack filled up the bottle with milk, then added some warm tap water and shook it vigorously.

“Here you go, little fella,” Applejack said, offering the colt the bottle, smiling as he suckled down the drink. Endeavor cooed happily at her, milk dribbling down his smiling chin. Rara giggled and gently wiped away the excess.

The same idea sparked in both Daring and Phillip’s minds. “Seems to me he’s found a good family here,” Phillip said quietly.

“Oh, AJ, can we?” Rara asked, her eyes lighting up in joy.

“Well…” AJ said, rubbing the back of her mane. “I know the two of us were talking about adopting, but…” She looked back and forth between her pouting fiancee and the cooing infant, then let out a resigned sigh as a broad smile crossed her face. “Ah, shucks, you know I can’t say no to that. Guess we’ve got ourselves a kid, sugarcube!”

“Yay!” Pinkie cheered, flinging confetti over the new family and making silly faces at Endeavor to make him giggle. “Aunt Pinkie’s gonna give you a New Family Party first thing tomorrow!”

Everypony around chuckled a bit, then Daring started digging into the pie, closing her eyes to enjoy the flavor. As she listened to the quiet chatter around her, she heard Red Herring chuckling as he spoke to Honeydew, Lion, and Lug Wrench.

“So yeah, it turned out that Trace couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket if he tried,” Red chuckled into his drink. “Didn’t stop him from singing his heart out on Piano Mare at karaoke.”

The chuckles faded away into awkward silence, smiles fading and postures slumping as gazes lowered, as if searching for something in their drinks. Daring slowly panned her gaze across the room, identifying several ponies from the funeral sitting close to one another. She listened to the rhythm of the conversation, the awkward starts like sputtering engines, followed by silences that ponies attempted to fill with bites and sips.

She looked up at the stage in the back, occupied only by a microphone stand and piano, and once again, an idea floated across her mind. She took a contemplative bite of pie, then shrugged. “Fuck it,” she muttered.

Daring whispered a request into Rara’s ear. The younger mare blinked at her, then smiled and nodded, passing Endeavor to Applejack. Rara and Daring then climbed up onto the stage. Rara took her seat at the piano as Daring tapped the microphone. The feedback squealed out across the room, drawing every head.

Daring took a deep breath, then glanced over at Rara. Rara smiled and nodded and began playing a piano intro. Daring waited, then at the cue, took in a breath.

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday,” she sang into the microphone, hoping that nopony would see her wings fluttering nervously. “Regular crowd shuffles in...there’s an old mare sittin’ next to me, making love to her tonic and gin…”

She paused to take a few breaths, staring back at everypony. Confusion was plastered across their faces, though a few countenances were slowly melting away into smiles. Steamed Carrot had poked her head out from the kitchen to listen, eyes wide in surprise and happiness.

“She said, ‘Friend, can you play a memory?’” two voices sang out, and Daring looked over with relief as Pinkie Pie climbed up onto the stage and joined into the song, her encouraging smile glowing. “‘I’m not really sure how it goes, but it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger mare’s clothes.’”

More voices joined them, Phillip shrugging as he climbed up onto the stage, followed by Twilight, Flash, Spike, Rainbow Dash, and Pastor Sound. Harmonicas began to harmonize with their voices, and Daring saw that Red and Muziqaa had both pulled out the small instruments and were playing along.

Mortis started singing along, with Eagle blushing as he joined in with the rest of his squad. The Outbackers raised their voices into the chorus as Giana started performing percussion on the table. Hewn Oak began to conduct the impromptu concert, his own voice distinctly off-key. Cold Case looked at the singing officers, Wonderbolts, and Guards around her, then shrugged and started singing as well, a few beats behind everypony else.

All of them sang through the entire song, some of them stumbling over words or lagging behind the others, a number off-key and out of harmony with the main group, but none of them caring. For a while, there was nothing in the world but each other and this moment, their voices singing and laughing even as tears ran down their faces.

When the song finally ended, everypony in the room reached out to hug those next to them, smiles and tears coming in equal measure. Daring wrapped a wing around Rainbow Dash and squeezed her to her side for a moment, then turned to Phillip.

His eyes were damp, but the smile on his face was as warm as a sunset. He pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. She kissed him back, the embrace tasting of salt and peach pie, wishing this moment would never end.

Trace and Mavri were still dead, resting alongside many more brave and innocent ponies. Sparks and Scarlet were awaiting sentencing. Nothing they could do would change that.

Nopony in that room, at the moment, wasn’t hurt.

But they would heal.

Author's Note

Maybe a tad corny, but it works for me.

We did it, readers! We have reached the end of this story! I hope that you enjoyed Volume Two of Phillip Finder and Daring Do's adventures! There will be more to come in the future, so keep your eyes open and ears to the ground. I will be in touch with news soon!

Be sure to leave a like and a comment to let me know what you thought. Thanks for sticking with us!

Epilogue: Loose Threads

The little house on the northern bank of the Maresippi sat silent, the wind that rustled the surrounding trees whistling through the wide circle cut through a second-floor window. A thick layer of dust, a sign of months of disuse, covered the interior of the room, clinging to the collection of game boards, covering the floor.

But etched into the dust was a series of hoofprints, leading down the stairs to the basement, up to a heavy steel door that was sealed shut with a trio of fresh padlocks. Two of them were already open. A single stallion crouched before the door, working in silence as he picked at the final lock beneath the light of his headlamp. A small gem was affixed to the lock, glowing faintly gold. On the ground next to him sat a silver coin embossed with eyes with a string woven through the center; the intricate craftwork stained with fresh blood; even now, it faintly twitched towards the door as if drawn by a magnetic pull.

"There, perfecto!" the brown stallion with the salt and pepper hair declared as the padlock snapped open. Removing the jamming gem, the stallion pulled the door open with a great creaking, casting his flashlight over the treasures within. He lifted the coin on a string to the threshold with a bandaged hoof; it swung into the room as if pulled by a silent rushing wind, then suddenly flashed with a silver light and went still, dangling from the string as the blood dripped onto the floor. An examination of the coin revealed that the eyes carved into it were closed.

The intruder sighed. "A pity that these Wishing Coins are only good for one wish. Ah, well; I won't need wishing anymore," he said, tossing the coin into a corner.

Ignoring the photographs of the detective and his friends tacked up in front of him and the small pots of red and black ink on the floor in front of him, the stallion went straight to the shelves lining the brick walls. He cast a critical eye over the spellbooks, the potion materials, the various artifacts and exotic tools.

"So little care put into any of them, ay," the stallion muttered, briefly holding up a bronze dagger with a set of jewels shaped like a constellation embedded into the blade. "One would think that if el maestro de ajedrez were planning on using these, he would've been more careful to keep them maintained." He shrugged. "Ah, well. I've always enjoyed restoring artifacts."

He looked over the spellbooks one more time and gasped as his gaze fell upon a dark green book. Embossed onto the cover was a dagger stabbing through the sun and moon, a serpent winding around the entire construction.

"The Kyaltratek," he breathed, reverently lifting the book up for study. "After so many years..."

A black shape swooped in and snatched the book from his grasp. The stallion gasped, his head twisting to follow the raven's path as it circled around the small room and returned to the doorway, the book clasped in its claws. The bird dropped the book into the waiting hoof of the pegasus standing at the threshold before landing atop the masked intruder's back with a soft caw. The masked pegasus glared at the thief with crimson eyes that reflected the light from his headlamp.

"Relajate, doctor," the thief scoffed, tugging at his ascot and trying not to look at the distinctive, unusual mask that hung from his partner's belt. "I was going to give it to your master myself."

The red eyes narrowed. The thief scoffed. "Of course you don't trust me," he said. "But have I not delivered as promised?"

The pegasus said nothing. "Come, then," the thief said, opening a Bag of Holding and stuffing every artifact he could reach into the enchanted fabric. "We have more work to do."

"Hey, freak! I'm talking to you!"

Ignoring the catcalls and insults from the veteran inmates, Scarlet strode forward with the same unshakeable calm, dragging her tray along the metal shelf to allow the other inmates of Clovenworth to slap food onto it. As she neared the end of the line, she caught sight of her reflection in the sneeze guard blocking the alleged meals from the inmates' germs.

It wasn't the orange, itchy jumpsuit that disturbed her, nor the silver band locked around her foreleg that disabled her magic, making her horn feel like it was missing; she had to look in the reflection to remind herself it was still there. What made her stomach twist in revulsion was the scars covered her face, turning her countenance into a jigsaw puzzle. The beauty that she had once prided herself on was forever ruined. Scarlet gritted her teeth as she remembered her hooves on her neck, her blows crushing the glass into her face, her voice snarling in her—

Scarlet shook herself out of her reverie. Enough. She had a job to do, and disgraced or not, she had to do it. She would not fail her master again. True, this wasn't quite what they had in mind regarding this long-anticipated meeting, but you had to play with the cards that fate dealt you.

Taking her tray, she turned to face the mess hall of Clovenworth Prison, an enclosed box of thick concrete, lit by a few small windows several yards above all their heads. A dozen steel tables were bolted to the concrete floor, more female inmates in orange jumpsuits huddled over the trays, muttering to one another. Officers in gray uniforms patrolled in between the tables, narrow eyes stabbing daggers into their charges. Two more guards stood watch on a metal balcony running around the circumference of the room, rifles in hoof.

Ignoring the guards, Scarlet strode directly to her targets; a motley collection of mares sitting at the farthest table, backs turned on everypony else. Looking at them, one got the impression that there was some kind of shield that protected them from the other inmates, blocking out everything else.

Scarlet stepped over this intangible barrier of silence and sat down in the only available seat. The mares surrounding her all turned around to glare at her.

"Who the fuck are you?" snarled the largest of the group, a broad-shouldered yellow earth pony.

"Wait, I know you," an aquamarine griffon grunted from Scarlet's left. "Scarlet Letter, isn't it?"

"Enchante, madames," Scarlet smiled, taking a bite of the mashed potatoes. She chewed silently, glancing around at the officers. One officer gave her a suspicious look, but his attention was quickly arrested by an argument rising over at another table, two inmates shouting at each other, questions over rumors quickly turning into fresh insults. Officers quickly began to descend on the mares as the offenders both stood up and started to grapple.

Scarlet smirked. Dear departed Charlie wasn't the only silvertongue. She lowered her head and spoke to her tablemates.

"We have a mutual enemy," she whispered, pointing to her scars. "The mare who gave me this. And the mare who betrayed you all, sent you here."

Every mare around her narrowed their eyes, right forelimbs twitching. Scarlet glanced down at the right claw of the griffon next to her, noticing the brand marked into her claw; the crude shape of a ring of keys.

"I'm here on behalf of my master," Scarlet continued. "Who has a proposal for you all."

The sisters of the Family glanced at each other, ignoring the clamor of the fight behind them. After a few moments, the large yellow mare leaned down.

"We're listening."

Author's Note

Surprise! Thought we were done, didn't you?

No, I've got a few more surprises waiting for you. Hope this whets your appetite for more!

And that you won't kill me if you have to wait for a few months for Volume 3 to come out...

(This chapter underwent a minor change 2/11/22: the Wishing Coin is based off of The Magic Coins from G1)

Case Seven, Chapter One: Familiar Grounds

Consciousness returned to Daring Do, pulling her back into the waking world. The first thing she felt was the sunlight streaming through the window, warming her face. Then she felt the soft mattress she laid upon, the thick quilts and sheets that snugly covered her body.

Then she felt his strong arms wrapped around her chest, felt his slow breath stroking the back of her head and heard his soft snores in her ear, and a smile crossed her face. She opened one eye and looked over her shoulder.

Phillip Finder lay behind her, still fast asleep, mouth hanging open. Strands of his graying mane hung over his face, blowing back and forth as he breathed. He wore a long-sleeved light blue shirt. Sensing her movement, he gave a quiet groan and opened his eyes.

“Hi,” Daring said.

“G’day,” Phillip smiled and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

Daring turned to look out the window of the bedroom. The ground outside was covered in a white blanket, glimmering like a field of jewels beneath what sunlight could filter through the clouds. The branches of the cherry tree in the backyard were bent beneath the weight of the snow.

“Damn, how long is this snow gonna last? It's almost the Moon of Robins,” she commented.

Phillip yawned and lay back down. “Never knew what the point of snow was,” he muttered. “It’s cold and wet and gets everywhere.”

“Maybe we could just stay in bed,” Daring suggested, rolling over to face Phillip.

Phillip sighed. “Got bills to pay,” he muttered.

“Hey, we haven’t had a big case for an entire moon. Pretty sure one’s not coming for a while. We can wait a bit,” Daring said, a smirk crossing her face. Phillip suddenly let out a startled whinny, his eyes widening.

“Your friend wants to stay in for a bit, too,” Daring purred.

“My friend never agrees with me,” Phillip replied, one hoof instinctively wrapping around Daring's waist.

“Maybe we can convince you,” Daring grinned, climbing up on top of him and kissing him passionately. Phillip moaned quietly as he kissed her back, squeezing her tight to his body and stroking a hoof through her mane…

And then the phone rang downstairs. Both ponies paused, then groaned in disappointment. Daring grudgingly climbed off of Phillip and allowed him to climb out of bed and head downstairs. Reaching the telephone on the fourth ring, Phillip snatched it up to his ear. “Finder and Do,” he grunted.

“Get your butts over to the art museum,” a familiar voice said over the receiver.

Phillip rolled his eyes. “A please wouldn’t go amiss, Red.”

“Much as I hate to interrupt you two fucking like rabbits, we need you down here,” Red Herring said. “A curator from the museum vanished last night. That important enough for you?”

Phillip rubbed his face. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be there.” He hung up and turned.

Daring was already headed into the kitchen. “Case?”

“Yup,” Phillip nodded. “At the art gallery.”

Daring’s eyes widened briefly. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was just thinking…” Daring said. “Our first case was from there, too.”

Phillip nodded. “We need to get moving.”

Daring huffed out a breath. “So, breakfast on the trolley?”

“Looks like,” Phillip said, grasping his vest from the coat rack in the hallway. He quickly checked the contents, ensuring that everything was in place. Satisfied, he swung the vest up over his shoulders and zipped it up, placing his trilby onto his head. He then took Daring’s vest and pith helmet from the rack and tossed them to Daring. She caught and donned them, then added her neck warmer.

Phillip turned towards the door, but Daring stopped him with a pointed cough. “Forgetting something?”

Phillip turned and saw Daring sliding on a shoulder holster, tightening the straps with her mouth. His eyes went to the .38 Filly Detective Special sticking out of the holster.

“I hate wearing that,” he grumbled.

“You think I don’t?” Daring scowled. “We both agreed to get one. We both agreed it’d be a good idea. We both know that it’s better to have it and not need it than the other way around. Put the fucking thing on.”

Phillip sighed and turned back to the coat rack. He lifted his own holster off the rack and placed it over his head, tightening the straps. He and Daring had chosen the snub-nosed revolvers because of their lightweight construction and small size, but the holster felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Sighing, he tightened the straps to secure it to his body.

“Right, let’s go,” he said, opening the door to expose them both to the soft chill of winter.

“Hope Sugarcube Corner still has those banana muffins,” Daring said, flying through the door after Phillip and locking it behind them.

The trolley rang its bell as it trundled up the street, the plow attached to the front pushing aside what snow had not been cleared from the tracks. It rounded the corner and the Gallery of Art came into view. Once again, Daring’s impression of the massive red-brown edifice of slate was that it more closely resembled some royal mausoleum or a small fortress rather than a museum. The three stories of barred windows and the massive columns atop the steps leading up to the front were imposing, as were the glaring faces carved into the rooftops. As if to add to the threatening posture, a cluster of cruisers and plainclothes vehicles were parked in front of the museum steps, lights still spinning.

There was one glaring difference from her memory, however: the golden letters above the doorway now read “Ponyville Gallery of Art,” with the freshly polished “Ponyville” having replaced the “August.” The Gallery belonged to the city now, acquired when the assets of the late and unlamented Charles August Silvertongue were auctioned off. She smiled to herself, remembering the look of complete hopelessness on Chuck’s face the last time she’d seen him, a little over a moon ago.

Phillip reached up and pulled the cord to signal the trolley to stop. With a squealing of brakes, the cart came to a halt in front of the museum. Finishing the last of her muffin, Daring stood and followed Phillip off of the trolley. They stepped onto the sidewalk and began to maneuver their way through the usual crowd of sightseers hoping to catch a glimpse of the proceedings inside. Daring scanned the cars parked in front of the museum and smiled softly at the sight of a familiar golden brown Hayson Commander.

A small collection of reporters hovering amongst the crowd like buzzards turned at their approach and instantly, the two ponies were surrounded, reporters shouting questions and shoving microphones into their faces as camera flashbulbs snapped like rapid fire lightning strikes.

“Detective Finder, Detective Do!” one stallion shouted, walking alongside them. “Do the police—”

“No comment,” Phillip and Daring said in unison, pushing past the line of cars and beginning their ascent up the steps.

The glass doors at the top of the steps were blocked off by a yellow strip of “CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS” tape. A single officer, a light yellow unicorn with a cerulean mane, green eyes, and the cutie mark of an old-fashioned pistol, stood post, sipping from a cup of still-steaming coffee and stamping her hooves to stave off the cold.

“Officer Wheellock,” Phillip nodded to her.

“Detectives,” Wheellock said, lifting up the tape to allow them entry. They pushed through the glass doors and entered.

The lobby had changed little since their last visit; the portraits on the white walls were still the same, as was the granite floor to ceiling water feature, and the same strawberry blonde mare was standing behind the counter, though she was wringing her hooves and staring around as though searching for her absent patrons, clearly having no idea what to do. She started as Daring and Phillip entered.

“Oh! Uh...welcome to the Ponyville Gallery of Art!” she chirped, putting on a false smile. She blinked. “Hey...didn’t you come in a few moons ago?”

“Maybe,” Daring shrugged, giving the receptionist a smirk. “Depends on whether or not there was something involving a stink bomb that day.”

The mare’s brow furrowed in confusion for a bit, then comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh! In that case, I’ve never seen you before.”

“Exactly,” Daring winked.

“Where’s the scene?” Phillip asked.

“They’re in the first-floor office,” the receptionist said, pointing down the hallway.

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded and led the way down the hallway.

Phillip and Daring entered the main lobby of the museum, a grand round room with a vaulted ceiling that their hoofsteps echoed off of, the only sound in the room. Sunlight streamed down through the skylight over their heads to illuminate the centerpiece of the Gallery: the Three Princesses, seven-foot marble statues of Faust, Celestia, and Luna, smiling down upon them as they walked past.

“Think that food court still has that onion burger?” Daring asked as they circled around the statue.

“I hope not,” Phillip muttered. “I could smell it on your breath for three days afterward.”

They walked down a hallway with prehistoric artwork of berry dyes on papyrus decorating the walls and approached a doorway with a tall brown griffon officer standing guard in front of it. Sergeant MacWillard looked up at their approach.

“Good morning,” he greeted them politely, nodding as he opened the door for them. “Detectives Evidence and Herring are waiting for you inside.”

“Thank you, sergeant,” Phillip nodded, entering with Daring.

“Feels a bit weird being welcomed to a scene like this,” Daring muttered as they entered the office area. Phillip let out a quiet grunt of agreement.

A short walk down a carpeted hallway led them to a large open room with work tables and easels cluttered with paintbrushes, spatulas, lamps, and a multitude of other tools. A grouping of cubicles stood off to one side.

Two ponies were standing in the center of the room, conversing quietly. Detective Sergeant Trace Evidence looked up as they approached, adjusting his trenchcoat.

“Nice of you to show up,” he commented.

“Far be it from me to turn down a consultant fee,” Phillip replied.

“Yes, and far be it from us to fawn at the hooves of the great Phillip Finder and Daring Do,” Detective Red Herring added in a tone drier than the San Palomino desert, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you too,” Daring scoffed at him.

“You sure Phil would be okay with that?” Red grinned.

“If we could focus,” Phillip interrupted. “Who’s the missing pony?” he asked Trace, ignoring Daring sticking her tongue out at him.

“A curator named Deco Line,” Trace said, gesturing with his head. He led them over to a cubicle near the back of the room. “He’s been a curator and restorer at this museum for the past five years. No shady history that we can find; has a fiancee who lives in the Dockside District, we’re following up on him.”

The walls of Deco Line’s cubicle were decorated with photographs of paintings, most of them depicting bizarre scenes; one image showed a stallion in a suit and bowler hat with a green apple floating in front of their face, another showed a city street with dozens of small suited ponies falling from the sky like rain, and a third had a tall mare with her back to the viewer standing in front of a mirror, though her reflection showed her back as well. A large book sat on the worktable: a glance at the title revealed it to be Treachery of Images: The Life of Artiste Fou. A framed photograph on the table showed a light gold pegasus stallion with long purple hair and the cutie mark of a paintbrush and a red zigzagged line of paint standing on the snow-covered Ponyville Boardwalk, next to an aquamarine unicorn stallion with reddish hair and glasses and the cutie mark of an easel and a pencil. The pegasus had a golden ring around the primary feather of his left wing, while the unicorn had a similar ring on his horn.

“Deco’s the pegasus,” Trace explained as Phillip picked up the photograph and examined it. “The fiance's name is Rough Sketch.”

“Last known location?” Phillip asked, setting the picture down.

“He was seen leaving the museum just after nine last night,” Trace continued. “We’re still working on figuring out where he went, but we do know that he never made it home. None of his coworkers or friends noticed anything unusual.”

Phillip panned his gaze around the cubicle a couple more times in silence, then he turned to Trace. “Okay, so what’s the dinky-di here?”

Trace and Red both stared at him in puzzlement.

“Ponies vanish every other week. You don’t call me in for all of them,” Phillip elaborated. “There’s something else here.”

Trace and Red both looked at each other, then Red sighed. “Of course you’d figure it out,” he grumbled. “It has to do with what he was working on. Come with us.”

Red and Trace led Phillip and Daring out of the offices and up a set of stairs to the third floor of the Gallery. They walked up to an archway that led into a roped-off gallery. A sign next to the arch read in bold letters, “Coming Soon: The Contemplative Works of Artiste Fou!”

Stepping beneath the velvet rope, the group entered a wide gallery with a polished wooden floor and cream-colored walls. Surreal paintings like those that had lined Deco’s cubicle were hung upon the walls and sitting on the floors, their paint freshly touched up and glossy, all of them placed in new frames. Daring paused in front of one painting leaning against a wall, tilting her head in confusion. The painting was of a small one-masted sailboat on a white background with the words “Ceci n'est pas une bateau” written beneath it.

“Deco was working on this new exhibit,” Trace explained. “Works by some Prench artist from a hundred years ago or so. Supposed to be insane.”

Daring looked back at the sign in front of the gallery and read a smaller note at the bottom: “This exhibit made possible by a generous donation.”

“What kind of pony would collect paintings made by a mushroom user?” she asked.

“I would,” a mare said, stepping into view. The petite light pink unicorn with long red and black hair and the cutie mark of a letter and quill adjusted her dress and smiled at the group, her chocolate brown eyes twinkling.

“Madame, messieurs,” Scarlet Letter nodded.

A fire ignited in Daring Do’s stomach and her eyes narrowed, focusing on the mare. She stomped forward, her wings almost flaring open in a primal display of aggression. “The fuck are you doing here?” she snarled.

Scarlet Letter stepped back, her eyes widening in surprise, just a hint of fear behind her irides. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked.

The fire in Daring’s stomach blazed even hotter. “Oh, I know you,” she sneered. “We met a few moons ago. When you pulled me into your car and threatened my friends to my face. Still got that jade fox necklace that you bought with innocent ponies’ blood?”

Scarlet Letter took two steps back. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protested, looking around as though for an escape route.

“Maybe I should—”

“Daring, enough,” Phillip said, placing a hoof on her shoulder. She glared at him, but he firmly pushed her back. Daring retreated, still glaring daggers at Scarlet.

“Merci,” Scarlet nodded to Phillip, ignoring Daring. “To answer her question, I am here to ensure that my collection is still intact and in good hooves. I was called down here when I heard that Monsieur Line was missing. He had written to me recently stating that there was something wrong with one of these paintings, which he was restoring for the exhibit.”

“What exactly was wrong with it?” Trace asked.

Scarlet traced a hoof along the frame of the painting of the boat. “He did not say,” she replied. “Only that he wished to discuss the particulars face to face. Monsieur Line was devoted to this project; it is why I asked him to authenticate and restore the paintings for this exhibit.”

“So how did you get your hooves on these paintings, anyway?” Red asked. Judging by his expression as he studied the painting of the pony with the floating apple in front of their face, the unspoken question was, And how the hell are they so expensive?

“I bought them from auction, one by one,” Scarlet explained. “I have always loved the art of Monsieur Fou, and I thought it would be a generous act for the city if I allowed others to enjoy his works. Not to mention the charity money that will be raised by the grand opening of the exhibit next week.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes. “This city does deserve a helping hoof.”

The false modesty like poisoned honey in Scarlet’s voice made Daring’s stomach turn, bile flooding her mouth. A snarl rose in her throat and she had to fight down the urge to tackle Scarlet to the ground and start strangling her. As if sensing the increased heat of the flames within her, Phillip moved closer to Daring, preemptively cutting off any attack.

“Do you still have that letter from Line?” Trace asked.

“Non, désolé,” Scarlet shrugged. “I threw it away.”

Trace frowned. “All right, if we’re done here, you can leave. But don’t skip town.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Scarlet purred. She sauntered in between Red and Trace, flicking her tail from side to side enticingly. “You’ll know where to find me, of course,” she smiled over her shoulder at them, batting her eyelashes. With a final wave, she exited the gallery.

As soon as her hoofsteps had faded away, Daring turned on Trace and Red. “She’s up to something,” she growled.

“And your proof of that is?” Red commented.

“You know what she is!” Daring snapped. “You know that she’s just another gang boss! I told you about what she said to me—”

“Daring,” Phillip cut her off, placing a hoof on her shoulder. She glared at him, but fell silent, recognizing the futility of her anger.

“I’m not saying we don’t believe you,” Trace told her. “But you don’t have any proof. It boils down to your word against hers. On the one hoof, you’ve got her. Yeah, some of her past is a bit shady, but most of it checks out. She’s a published author, rich and popular, already donating to a lot of charities in the city. And on the other hoof, you might be a hero, but…” His voice trailed away and his eyes, seemingly unwillingly, went to Daring’s right hoof.

Understanding struck Daring at the same moment the curse mark on her hoof began to burn; pain flooded up Daring’s foreleg, rushing up to her heart, and she had to grit her teeth to fight back a gasp of agony. The brand burned hot, forever reminding her: Thief. Killer. Criminal.

Phillip immediately was beside her side, grasping her branded hoof. “You okay?” he asked.

“Get off,” Daring grunted, shoving him back and glaring at Trace.

“Sorry, I...I didn’t mean it that way,” Trace said, his tone and expression awkward. “I just meant…”

“I know what you meant,” Daring growled, breathing deeply and burying the pain in her gut. She stood up straighter and took a breath, settling herself. “It’s fine, I know it wasn’t an insult.”

“We need to focus on the missing pony here,” Red said. “Look, we’ll see if we can find out anything else here. You two head down to Deco’s place; try to figure out where he disappeared.”

“Will do,” Phillip nodded. “C’mon, Daring.”

Daring followed Phillip out of the gallery. As she exited through the archway, she glanced back at the painting of the boat, frowning at the perplexing message beneath.

If it’s not a boat, then what is it?

Author's Note

The more artistically-inclined among you might recognise that the paintings in this chapter is based off of the work of Belgian surrealist painter Rene Magritte.

Scarlet seems to be up to something, but what? More will be revealed in time.

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Case Nine, Prologue: The Message

The wet, heavy air of the first day of the Moon of Rain greeted Cold Case as she stepped out onto the curb of the Precinct. She paused briefly to light up the pipe clenched in her teeth, cinnamon-scented smoke rising from the bowl as she puffed. She turned and walked north up the street, pausing at the crosswalk for the town circle while she waited for the lights to change. She glanced around casually, her mind passing down to the shoulder holster with the .44 underneath her trenchcoat, then to the .22 in the ankle holster. There were only a few other ponies out on the streets at this time of day, and none of them seemed to be paying much attention to her.

She wondered briefly if she should have put on her dress uniform, which was currently hanging up in her office in all its pressed and pristine glory, but discarded the idea. She didn’t need to be putting on a public appearance right now: this was just a private meeting. And besides, too much attention was never a good thing. Not to mention, the damn thing itched like hell when it was cold.

The lights changed with a ding and she stepped onto the crosswalk, but before she had taken more than a step, the wailing of sirens made her pause. She looked up to see a trio of cruisers pulling out of the lot of the precinct, blue and red lights spinning. They tore up the street and rounded the corner in front of her in a squealing of tires. Cold Case couldn’t see inside the tinted windows of the cruisers, but she could imagine the stoic, grim expressions on her officers' faces; she had seen that expression many times before in these past few weeks.

The new gang war had exploded with sudden violence like a volcanic eruption, the first shots announced with several bombings, including Scarlet Letter’s home. Cold could still see the scene in her mind: the lovely cottage that the writer and charitable socialite had occupied reduced to smoking matchsticks, the mare herself being carried into an ambulance, covered in soot. She had survived narrowly and promptly moved to another home that was guarded 24/7 by Cerberus security guards, but it was only the opening volley. Every day seemed to bring more news of death and destruction, guilty and innocent alike caught in the crossfire.

She crossed the street and trotted confidently down the sidewalk, walking around the circumference of the town circle towards the great marble edifice to the north. City Hall was a grand structure, its pure white walls visible for miles around, especially at night when the facade was lit up by the spotlights placed amidst the small garden plots that separated it from the sidewalk. The massive hands of the clocktower face clicked forward to ten o’clock, prompting a chorus of brazen bells to ring out.

Pausing long enough to finish off the pinch of tobacco in her pipe, Cold Case proceeded up the stairs to the doors of City Hall, which were guarded by two police officers in uniform; she could see the bulk of the bulletproof vests beneath their shirts. Both of them stood straighter at her approach, hooves snapping to salute. She gave a brief salute back and entered the main hallway.

The sound of her hoofsteps clopped loudly off the round marble floor, which was decorated with the Ponyville coat of arms: an apple tree flanked by a unicorn, earth pony, and pegasus, the sky above half night and half day. Beneath the shield was the motto Domus Pro Omnibus. She walked up to the law wooden desk at the end, behind which sat a middle-aged mare reading the newspaper.

“Good morning, Chief Case,” the receptionist greeted her. “The Mayor is waiting for you in her office.”

“Thank you,” Cold Case nodded, proceeding to the elevator at the back of the room. She pressed the button to call the elevator. With a ding, the doors opened, and Cold Case entered the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. The doors closed and the box traveled upwards, shuddering slightly as a jazzy piano tune played through the tinny speaker overhead.

The elevator reached the fifth floor and halted with a clunking noise. The doors opened to reveal a hallway stretching before her. The only feature besides the tiled hallway was a set of stairs next to her and a doorway at the end, also guarded by two more police officers, both of whom saluted at her entrance. Snapping back a salute, Cold Case strode down the hallway, the only sound her own hoofsteps, and pushed through the door.

The room on the other side of the door was fairly small, the floor coated in a lush blue carpet. A desk sat to one side, with a young dark red earth pony mare with the cutie mark of a paint palette sitting behind it taking a long draught from a large cup of steaming coffee.

“Good morning, Chief,” Nervous Nellie said, hopping up to her hooves and attempting to restore the tangled sea blue hairs in her mane back into her more conservative hairstyle. “The Mayor is waiting for you.” She gestured to the door opposite.

“Thank you,” Cold nodded. She proceeded through the door and entered a large office. The carpet was the color of fresh grass, and the chairs and tables were all in warm colors, the cushions soft and inviting. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, accentuating the light from the small crystal chandelier. The wooden walls were decorated with photographs of past mayors, with a framed image of a warmly smiling Margaret Mare directly in front of the door. The mare herself was sitting at an antique oak desk, writing down her signature on some papers with a golden fountain pen. She looked up and smiled as Cold entered.

“CC,” Margaret Mare said, standing up and walking around the desk to clasp Cold’s hoof. “How are you?”

“Tired, Maggie,” Cold Case said, managing a stiff smile.

“I’ve got the best solution for that,” the mayor said, walking back around the desk. She stooped to open a drawer and retrieved a bottle filled with an amber liquid and three glasses.

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Cold Case asked dryly.

“Being mayor for twenty years has taught me a number of things,” Margaret said, pouring a moderate dose into two of the glasses. “One of the most important is that some things are best discussed over alcohol.”

“I distinctly remember you criticizing Nellie for drinking too much coffee,” Cold Case added, accepting one of the glasses despite her words.

“Nellie’s doctor specifically told her to cut back on the caffeine for her heart health,” Mayor Mare replied in a matter of fact tone. “I am under no such instructions, and neither are you.” She sipped at the glass appreciatively.

“How’s Michael?” Cold asked.

“Michael’s doing well,” Margaret smiled glowingly. “And we recently got a call from Matilda. I’m about to be a grandmother!”

“That’s wonderful,” Cold smiled. She then frowned and glanced at her watch. “Where’s Stone Wall? He’s running late.”

“Oh, you know him,” Mayor Mare sighed. “The Commissioner of the DOC hasn’t been on time for anything since he retired as Warden of Frostback.”

“We called this meeting to figure out a response to the rise in violence,” Cold Case said. “He has an important role to play in this—”

The door opened and Nervous Nellie peered inside, her dark green eyes as wide as her pupils were shrunken. Her entire body was trembling violently down to her tail.

“Nellie, I told you, no more than one pot before noon,” Mayor Mare sighed.

“I...it’s not th-that, ma’am,” Nellie said. She pointed out the window. “I think you should see this.”

The Mayor and the Chief of Police both stood and walked over to the window. They peered outside onto the street below and felt their hearts grow cold at the sight beneath them.

A set of brightly colored balloons like those that might be handed out to foals in the park were hovering several feet above the street. The weight that kept the balloons from floating away was the body of a stallion with a coat the dark gray of cinderblocks and the cutie mark of a brick wall. The stallion hung by his hind legs, slowly spinning around to reveal a face with a muddy brown full beard and mane, the hair stained with blood.

The body of Stone Wall hung from its bizarrely gruesome, eye-catching display; pedestrians on the street and drivers of cars stopped and stared, eyes wide and jaws hanging open. From up above, Cold Case and Margaret Mare focused upon the message that had been carved into Stone Wall’s chest, every letter accentuated by the blood that had run from the wounds:

“YOU’RE NEXT.”

Author's Note

Nervous Nellie is a minor character who appeared for all of three panels in the Election arc in the MLP comics (issues #46-47). For some reason, she just left an impression on me.

Oh, yeah, and we've got a problem on our hooves.

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Case Ten, Chaper Two: An Ancient Lead

“Did Shakesmare write anything about being bored?” Daring groaned as they exited the bar and trotted down the street.

Phillip scowled. The rain had not let up in the slightest over the past hours, and the poorer roads of the Everfree District were now covered in thick puddles. A van cruised down the street past them, tires hissing in the water.

Turning, Phillip glared at the smoking chimneys of the tobacco refinery a few blocks behind them, water dripping from the slanted roofs. “Couldn’t get any of them to say anything,” he muttered darkly.

“You think they know why we’re looking for her?” Daring asked.

“Probably not,” Phillip said. “But they know the cops are looking for her, and that’s making them nervous.”

“We need to rethink our strategy,” Daring said.

“Or maybe you need to ask for some help,” a voice said behind them.

Both detectives turned to see a dark purple earth pony clad in a yellow-gray suit and fedora trotting towards them, grinning beneath his silvery-blue mustache.

“Night Waltz,” Daring scowled, already turning back. “Nice to see you. Fuck off.”

“You’re looking for Blue Rose,” Night Waltz smirked.

Phillip paused. “How do you know that?”

“Word travels faster down some grapevines than others,” Waltz said. “Listen, I can take you to her, and I can guarantee that she’ll talk to you.”

Phillip and Daring both stopped and looked back at him. His smirk seemed to broaden; it made Daring feel like she was having slimy water poured down her back.

“Why are you helping us?” Phillip asked warily.

The smirk faded a bit and Waltz shrugged. “Because I’m getting paid by the same pony who’s paying Rose to talk to you. Look, you gonna take this offer or not? I’m not getting paid to stand around in the rain waiting for you to make up your minds.”

Phillip and Daring both looked at each other, then pressed their heads together. “You know we can’t trust him,” Daring hissed.

“I know,” Phillip whispered. “But we’re not getting anywhere like this. We have to find her fast. This could be our best chance.”

Daring scowled at Waltz, who was cringing at the water soaking into his suit. “Fine,” she grunted. “But let’s keep one hoof on our holsters.”

“Agreed,” Phillip nodded.

They separated and turned to Waltz. “Right. Take us to Rose,” Phillip said.

Waltz’s smile broadened again. “Great. Come with me.”

He led them back up the street a few feet to a bright red freshly waxed Pontifact Series 26 convertible, the canvas top shielding the seats from the rain.

“How about you climb into the back seat there?” Waltz offered, opening up the back door. “Premium leather, keep you warm, dry and comfortable.”

“How about you stick your dick in the tailpipe?” Daring snapped back. “We’ll fly, thanks.”

“Suit yourselves,” Waltz shrugged, climbing into the driver’s seat. The convertible grumbled to life at the first turn of the key and smoothly pulled into traffic. Daring grasped Phillip beneath his forelegs and took off, following the convertible from a discreet distance.

“You know, maybe we should have trusted him a bit more,” Phillip muttered, blinking as raindrops fell directly into his eyes.

“Fuck that,” Daring grumbled, following Waltz’s convertible around a corner.

Waltz stopped in front of a bar that squatted on the end of a single block. The loudly humming neon sign over the door displayed a glowing green four-leafed clover, with the name “McNeighley’s” beneath it in flickering gold.

Phillip and Daring both exchanged glances as she hovered in midair, then slowly descended to land upon the sidewalk.

“This is the place,” Waltz declared, exiting his vehicle and trotting up to the door. “C’mon in; you’ve got to try their chocolate s’mores float.”

He opened up a door with a bell that jingled loudly and trotted inside. As one, Phillip and Daring plucked the revolvers from their shoulder holsters and flicked open the chambers, visually confirming that their weapons were loaded and ready. Satisfied, they reholstered the guns and trotted inside, trying to ignore the sweat that was now running down their cold necks.

McNeighley’s proved to be a large tavern with several round tables set beneath green and gold colored lanterns dangling from the ceiling. A large bar with three bartenders stood in the corner with racks of liquor behind it, a weaving set of lights illuminating bottles that spanned every color of the rainbow and beyond. A sign over the door depicted a stallion bedecked in the green, orange, and white Mareish colors trampling a cartoonish rendition of Princess Celestia, with the caption “Join Up, Rebels! A Free Mareland for Mareish Ponies!” A band of two griffons and two ponies was set up in the corner, performing a rendition of The Pony from the Daily Mail on guitar, banjo, and accordion. Only a few ponies were milling about at the tables, with a trio shooting pool in the corner. All of them looked up as Daring and Phillip entered, eyes narrowing suspiciously as the song abruptly halted.

“It’s all right, everypony,” Night Waltz declared, trotting up to the bar and gesturing to one of the bartenders. “They’re with me. Here: have a round on me.” He slapped some silver coins down onto the bar. The bartender studied them for a moment, then nodded and started filling mugs and tankards.

This seemed to satisfy at least some of the bar’s attendees, for they returned to their business, though Daring and Phillip both could sense their furtive gazes on the backs of their heads; the resultant sensation was akin to a pair of lame deer walking through a dark forest, hearing the wolves growling from behind shadowy trees. Keeping their heads high and not looking around at anypony, the two proceeded to the bar and sat down on the stools; to show any weakness would invite an attack.

One bartender had slid what appeared to be a chocolate milkshake drizzled with caramel into Waltz’s hoof at his gesture, though Daring could smell the alcoholic cream within the drink. Waltz took a long sip of the drink with a satisfied sigh.

“Want one?” Waltz offered. “It’s damn good. And, I assure you, not poisoned.”

A raging thirst had been building in Daring’s throat for the past hour and a half, and she would have been lying if she said that the smell of the confectionary wasn’t tempting, but anything from Coin Toss and the Mareish Mob was not something she wanted in her stomach. “No, thanks,” she growled, turning away and facing the band.

“Oh, every bird upon my word is singing treble—I’m a rebel!” the quartet sang the chorus.
“Every hen and jay is laying hoof grenades over there, sir, I do declare sir,
“And every old cock in the barnyard stock sings triumph for Sinn Féin,
“And it wouldn’t be surprising if there’d be another rising, said the pony from the Daily Mail.”

A chorus of laughter and hoots rose from the other attendants. At that moment, a tall, pale blue griffon trotted out of a back room up to Phillip and Daring.

“The boss will see you now,” he grunted to them. “Sorry for the wait; he had some business to finish up.”

Phillip and Daring stepped off the stools and followed the griffon towards a back door.

“Hey, Finder,” Night Waltz called, not looking up from his drink. He stirred the shake for a moment, then added, “Coin’s not as bad as you think; he’s a damn sight better than Silvertongue, or Whitestone. Give him a chance, all right?”

Phillip grunted in response and he and Daring followed the griffon through the back door. They proceeded through a narrow hallway and the griffon gestured them through another door.

The two entered a small room with a long table and several chairs. A Mareish flag in bright orange, green, and white was tacked up on the wall.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table from them were two ponies. One was a white unicorn with long, luscious blue hair, fidgeting on the seat and blinking suspiciously at them; she wore a black dress that hugged her curves and her cutie mark was a blue rose.

The other was a green unicorn with a bushy red beard, sitting straight-backed in the chair and tossing a coin to himself in his magic. The cutie mark of a pair of gold coins, each embossed with a four-leafed clover, made him instantly recognizable.

“Still lashin’ out there, I see,” Coin Toss nodded.

“What do you want?” Daring snapped.

“All lured to meet you, too,” the local boss of the Mareish Mob declared dryly. “Take a seat? Want a drink?”

“We want to know why you’re helping us,” Phillip stated flatly, keeping his eyes on Blue Rose, who continued to fidget like a filly that had been sent to the principal’s office.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Daring scoffed before Coin Toss could reply. “He wants us to help deal with Whitestone and Zugzwang so he can take over.” She glared at the smaller unicorn. “And I promise you that when that happens, you’ll be next,” she growled.

Coin Toss didn’t move except to blink, continuing to toss the bit to himself, then grunted. “I’ve known you were never eejits, but you’re off the mark, here, lass,” he finally stated. “I’m helping you because I want this war to stop.”

He leaned forward and placed his forelegs on the table. “Ponies are dying. Innocent ponies. All because two wankers think their metaphorical dicks are bigger.” He sighed. “I’ve fought for Mareland and her independence all my life; I know what it means to do anything necessary for causes bigger than yourself,” he stated, eyes on Phillip. Phillip didn’t react in the slightest, while Daring’s scowl deepened.

"Duty," he continued. "It means something. It's why I respect you and the cops helping you; you know what duty means. And sometimes, duty calls us to war."

As in, your secret, illegal "resistance" to get Mareish independence? Daring wanted to say, but somehow held her tongue.

“But this...this fight between Whitestone and Zugzwang, with all the innocent ponies getting caught up in the middle of their shit...this isn’t a war,” Coin shook his head. “This is insanity. And it’s got to stop.” He nodded to Blue Rose. “So when I heard that you were looking for her, I thought I could offer this as a wee olive branch of sorts, just so you know where I stand on things.”

“Bullshit,” Daring snarled. “You want us to owe you a favor.”

“Daring,” Phillip cut her off flatly, his eyes now focused on the mare, his expression one of somepony who has decided on their course of action. She scowled at him but retreated.

Phillip approached Blue Rose, who straightened up in her chair. “Let’s start by being honest with each other,” he nodded to her.

Blue frowned at him, then her body was surrounded by green flames. When they faded a moment later, the unicorn mare had been replaced by a changeling. It had a white coat and blue wings that shone like Buzz’s, but its body was shaped more closely like the heavily armored chitinous monsters that, a mere seven years ago, had been posted on every billboard across the country.

“Better,” Phillip nodded. “Now, tell me what happened last night. Tell me about Granite Tablet.”

Blue Rose licked their lips, then shrugged. “I should’ve known it wasn’t just another score when that mare approached me in the bar with the payment,” the changeling admitted, its voice a high-pitched buzzing hum. “She told me the kid was a friend of hers, that he deserved a surprise after working so hard.” They sighed. “I mean, that’s the usual fare; a few hours of my time, I get some money and some love.”

“Who hired you?” Phillip asked.

“I don’t ask for names in my line of work,” Rose replied. “An earth pony mare. Black coat, with twisted purple hair. Cutie mark of a bowl of candy, or something like that.”

“Black Licorice,” Daring muttered, her shoulders tightening.

“So anyway, we chat for a bit about his job, the professor he works for, then I take him up to the top floor of the Midnight Oil, and we fucked,” Rose continued. They snorted and appeared to roll their eyes, though the lack of distinct pupils made it difficult to be sure. “Lot of talking and not much action; didn’t get paid nearly enough for it. He was so small, that I had to fake an orgasm to keep him—”

“Did not need to know that,” Daring interrupted.

“Sorry,” Rose shrugged. “So, after all that, I headed home and went to bed. Next thing I know, that unicorn with the mustache is offering me three times my normal fee just to come in and talk.” She frowned at the mob boss. “Can I go now? Changelings aren’t meant to stand out too much.”

“Is there anything else you can remember?” Phillip asked. “What car did the mare drive? Who was she with? Anything like that?”

Rose just shrugged. “Didn’t see her come in or leave, didn’t see her with anypony. I was just having a drink when she approached me and handed me the coins.”

Phillip sighed and thought for a moment. “Did you and Granite talk about Professor Tome?”

“Yeah, we talked about him a bit: sometimes clients just wanna talk a bit, helps ‘em to loosen up,” Rose said, resting their chin on their hoof in thought. “He talked about these rings he was studying; apparently they were taken from some archeological dig in the Everfree Forest. I think it was a temple to Nightmare Moon?” They shrugged. “Anyway, the professor told him that he’d managed to figure out how these rings worked and he was wearing one all the time; also said that he’d gotten paranoid as fuck for some reason, was worried about cultists or some shit coming after him for it, said he was being followed and watched. Said that if anything ever happened to him, all he’d have to do is find the High Priest’s ring.”

“Wait, what rings?” a clearly confused Phillip asked, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, how they worked?”

“They were used by some kind of cult,” Rose explained. “I guess they let you read their minds or something? They were called the Braces of…” They frowned in thought. “Fuck, it’s some weird-ass ancient name...Hayler?”

Daring’s eyes brightened. “H’eylr?” she asked.

“Yeah, that,” Rose nodded. “Apparently, the professor never took that thing off. Kept going on and on about finding the High Priest’s ring.”

Daring grinned. “We’ve got a shot,” she said to Phillip.

“Glad I could help,” Rose commented. They looked at the two detectives, nostrils flaring. “Wow…” they murmured.

“What?” Phillip asked.

“The love between you two...that’s some tasty stuff,” Rose commented. They shook their head, blinking. "Sorry; I was just thinking I could feed the youngling and myself for a moon or two for a few minutes with you two." Rose tilted their head to the side a bit and batted their eyelashes, lip thrusting out in a small pout. "What do you say? Help a hungry changeling?"

“Not interested,” Phillip deadpanned.

“You sure?” Rose purred sensually, standing up and striding towards them with a practiced sway in their hips. “Changelings can have both parts, you know; I could do things to you that—”

“Tempting. But no,” Daring replied. “Thanks for the tip, don’t leave town. C’mon, Phil.”

“I hope that you find him,” Coin Toss called after them as they exited. The two proceeded down the hallway and through the bar, ignoring the glares of the other patrons and Waltz’s smirk, and exited into the rain.

“These rings,” Phillip stated, lowering his head. “What are they?”

“H’eylr was a cult that worshipped Nightmare Moon; they were based in this area around 300 AE,” Daring explained. “I remember reading about them some years ago, when I was doing research into ancient treasures on another treasure hunt. Their members wore rings as identifiers; it was said that the rings allowed the cult leader to read their thoughts and dreams, to see through their eyes. It ensured that there’d be no traitors; that, and something about inviting Nightmare Moon into their souls or some shit.”

“And you think that if the professor’s wearing one, we can see where he is,” Phillip stated.

“If we find the High Priest’s ring,” Daring explained.

“You know this is a long shot,” Phillip said.

“Do you have any other clues?” Daring replied. “I’m working this lead. You gonna help me or not?”

Phillip stared at her for a beat, then grunted. “This’ll keep until we find something better.”

“Great,” Daring nodded. “You mentioned earlier that Twilight’s on a date.”

“Yeah,” Phillip replied. “She and Flash are at Sweetcream Scoo—GAAAAAH! DARING, SLOW DOWN!”

When Phillip and Daring entered Sweetcream Scoop’s Ice Cream Parlor and Arcade, they were instantly greeted by a flood of noise and scents, many different voices overlapping with the rock n’ roll music from the jukebox in the corner. The smell of chocolate milkshakes and cooking burgers and Prench fries filled their nostrils, reminding them both that it was almost lunchtime.

A sherbert green unicorn mare with an orange and strawberry mane rushed over to them on rollerskates. “Table for two, sweeties?” she asked with a wink.

“No, thanks,” Phillip stated, ignoring his stomach’s gurgling protests. “We’re looking for Flash Sentry and Twilight Sparkle.”

“Over this way,” the mare announced, skating over towards the back corner of the restaurant.

Twilight Sparkle was currently sitting at a booth near the arcade. Across from her was Flash Sentry, and sitting in the booth next to her was a stuffed cat toy that was nearly as large as her. Only a few feet away stood a table with an attendant and several trinkets and stuffed animals on display, and a row of pinball, skeeball, and other arcade machines. A small group of teenage ponies was currently playing air hockey, the clacking of the puck mixing with their shouts and laughter.

Flash looked up in surprise as they approached. “Phil, Daring! What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Phillip replied. “You two know about Professor Tome?”

“No,” Flash shook his head.

Phillip and Daring gave them a brief overview of what they had found out. When they finished, both ponies were frowning pensively.

“Are you sure that you can trust Rose?” Flash asked.

“Her, maybe,” Daring acknowledged. “Waltz and Coin, fuck no; I couldn’t trust them any further than I could throw an oil tanker. But, then again, H’eylr isn’t very well known, so I doubt she just came up with it off the top of her head. And again, this is the only lead we’ve got so far.”

“Would prefer if we had something more solid,” Phillip replied.

“The Rings of H’eylr…” Twilight mused, lighting up her horn. With a flash of purple light, a familiar book appeared in the air in front of her, entitled “Ancient Artifacts and Totems” in dark red letters. Daring scowled at the book as Twilight flipped through it.

“Yes, here it is,” she announced after a moment, holding the book open on the table. On one page was a drawing of two bracelets, each large enough to fit around a fetlock. One had a plain metal exterior, but there were runes embossed on the interior. The other was solid gold and had several jewels carved to look like eyes placed onto the exterior. On the other page was a drawing of several ponies, adorned in hoods and pallid masks with closed eyes drawn on them, worshipping a large statue of Nightmare Moon. Standing in the midst of the crowd was a pony in sweeping robes decorated with stars and eyes, their face covered by a mask with three eyes. Adorning one raised foreleg was a solid gold bracelet.

“The Cult was founded around its first High Priestess, who declared that she was a gateway to Nightmare Moon’s favor,” she read from the paragraphs. “The cultists believed that letting Nightmare Moon into their minds and souls would grant them her favor, and help her wake up from her sleep in Tartarus. The plain exteriors were meant as a disguise to protect cult members, even from each other; the High Priest's identity was kept secret as part of the cult's traditions.” She frowned, her hoof scanning the rest of the page. “Ah: it was eventually found that the rings were linked to a mind reading and control spell with the High Priest’s band as the center. The current priest was chased out of town before they had time to go to the temple.” She thought for a few moments, then closed the book.

“I’d need to see the professor’s notes on the rings,” Twilight mused. “Depending on how they work, I might be able to establish a connection to his without the High Priest’s ring.”

“And we should search the crime scene again,” Flash stated, rising. “Maybe there’s something we missed.”

“Don’t mean to interrupt your date,” Phillip stated, raising a hoof.

“Forget it,” Twilight brushed it off. “There’s a stallion who needs our help. Let’s go.”

She and Flash both stood up as Flash reached into a saddlebag and started placing some bits on the table.

“No, Flash, let me pay,” Twilight protested.

“It’s no issue,” Flash replied.

“You paid for our last date, and you spent so much winning me this,” Twilight said, gesturing to the stuffed cat that was now riding atop her shoulders. “I should pay, I’ve got a budget for it.”

“No, I—”

“Just split the bill and come on!” Daring snapped at them. “Faust, you’re already acting like a married couple.”

Blushing deeply, Flash and Twilight both placed some bits on the counter and followed Phillip and Daring out the door. Flash waved at Sweetcream as they exited, who gave him a wink in reply.

“Trolley,” Phillip stated, dashing towards the approaching vehicle that was trundling up the street.

“Oh, fine,” Daring sighed, following reluctantly. “C’mon, you two.”

“We’re coming!” Flash called, grasping Twilight’s hoof so that she wouldn’t fall behind and sprinting after them.

Twilight had retrieved Professor Tome’s notes from his home, but another search of the scene revealed only some minor trace evidence.

“Yeah, he wore that thing all the time now,” Granite Tablet confirmed for them under questioning. “As soon as he figured out how it worked, he was sure that some cultists would be after him for it. I called him every synonym for paranoid I could think of, but he insisted on it; kept telling me that if the cultists took him, it’d be a way to find him.”

He paused for a beat, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening, then admitted, “I did...actually think I saw somepony hanging around the home a couple of times. The night before last, I saw a dark car parked in front of the house for an hour, but it vanished when I left for dinner.”

“Did you see the plate?” Phillip asked.

“I think it was C-D-3...something. I didn’t get the whole plate,” Granite shrugged. “I think it was a dark blue or purple color. I just told myself I was being silly.” He sighed and his ears flattened against his head. “Maybe if I’d taken it seriously…”

“This isn’t your fault,” Phillip reassured him.

“Kind of is,” Daring muttered. “Ow!” she added a moment later when Twilight, Flash, and Phillip all jabbed her at once.

After a brief stop at the police lab and the DMV headquarters, and a drive-through for lunch, the group had now settled at 221 Honeybee Bakery. Phillip was at his experiment table, studying the evidence from the crime scene and checking DMV records, occasionally speaking into the telephone that he'd dragged over. Twilight was sitting on the sofa, surrounded with books from her home, with several journals and notebooks floating around her like seagulls circling a garbage tow.

Down in the basement, Daring and Flash were currently working on the heavy bag hanging in the corner.

“You really think that these rings are useful?” Flash asked, holding the bag as Daring pummeled it.

Daring shot into the air, spreading her wings and twisting in midair as her hooves snapped out thrice, pummeling the bag hard and nearly knocking Flash onto his backside. “I’ve seen enough to know that a lot of these old legends have some grains of truth to them,” she panted, holding the bag for him. “And the professor seemed to think that it worked. If nothing else, if we find the ring, we’ll find him.”

Flash took a step back and settled into a stance, raising both hooves. He started out with a simple jab-cross-hook combo, his hooves ramming into the bag with efficient power. Daring shoved the bag at him to simulate a charging attacker and Flash jumped back, stumbling slightly.

“Use your wings to dash, like I showed you last week,” Daring suggested, resetting. “And remember, move to the side. If you move back, they’re just going to follow you.”

Flash nodded and returned to his stance. He performed the three punch combo again, and again Daring shoved the bag at him. This time, as Flash dodged to one side, he snapped his wings out to keep his balance and propel himself faster. As soon as he landed, he lashed out with a roundhouse knee strike that drove into the bag like a jackhammer.

“There you go,” Daring nodded, grinning even as the power of the blow rippled across her chest.

“One thing I don’t get,” Flash said, grasping the bag to practice knee strikes. “How come we can’t just arrest Scarlet or Whitestone? I mean,” he paused for a moment, then performed a roundhouse kick that went into a driving elbow strike. “Scarlet’s out in public, and everypony seems to know that Whitestone’s on the Silver Talon, so…”

“Concentrate on breathing with your hits,” Daring interrupted, scowling. “And it’s not that simple,” she replied as Flash started attacking the bag in earnest. “Ultimately, there’s no solid proof against Scarlet: with lawyers as good as hers, my word won’t count for much. And even if we know Whitestone is on the Silver Talon, the trick is finding the ship. I mean, you’d think that the corvette that she took with her when she defected from the North Griffon Royal Navy would be pretty obvious, right?” She shook her head. “But no. She’s got it disguised somehow. Our Navy’s been prowling the Maresippi and Horseshoe Bay for years, and nothing.”

“Huh,” Flash grunted, pausing briefly to catch his breath before returning to his barrage of attacks. “How do you hide a ship?”

“One thing at a time, kid,” Daring said, bracing herself against the bag.

“I think I’ve got something!” Twilight called from upstairs.

Flash and Daring both paused in their exercise and returned upstairs to find Twilight standing in the center of the sitting room, having pushed most of the furniture back to create a wide space. She was currently drawing a circle in white chalk around herself as Phillip watched.

"I might have a lead," Phillip said. "But this is more important."

“I’ve reviewed Professor Tome’s notes on his experiments,” Twilight explained as she drew runes and intricate designs within and around the circle. “He was very thorough; he could’ve written an entire research paper on it! I think I can create a connection to the ring from here; it should let us see where he is. All of you, quick, stand around the circle, here, here, and here.” She pointed to three smaller circles that were connected to the larger spell circle.

Phillip, Flash, and Daring took the assigned positions around the circle as Twilight stood in the center. She took a breath, then lit up her horn.

“I need your mental power and some of your magic to make this work. Focus on the professor,” Twilight said as the rune circle began to glow a faint purple light. “Picture him clearly in your mind.”

Daring shut her eyes, emptying her thoughts until all that remained was the picture of Dusty Tome that she had seen. She could perfectly imagine his gray coat, the point of his brown beard, the indistinct lines on the book that was his cutie mark.

“Hic sumus, hic es,” she heard Twilight chanting, a low hum behind her syllables; Daring could see the purple light behind her eyes increasing. “Te video, te video…”

“It’s working!” Flash cried.

Daring opened her eyes and stared in amazement. A faint image of Dusty Tome was appearing in front of them, flickering and shimmering; the professor’s face was creased in fear, eyes darting back and forth. Twilight’s horn was alight was power, her eyes glowing as well, gritting her teeth as she fought to keep the spell going.

“Keep the image,” Phillip ordered, his eyes wide with disbelief. He stepped closer, leaning in towards the professor’s foreleg. An iron bracelet adorned his fetlock.

But even as he stepped forward, Twilight suddenly cried out in pain and collapsed. The magic rune faded and the illusory professor disappeared.

“Twilight!” Flash cried, dashing to her side and helping her up.

“I’m okay,” Twilight panted, shaking her head. “It works, but...I need something to focus the spell. Something specific.”

Daring frowned. “We need to find the High Priest’s ring.”

"And we need some help," Flash replied.

“So let me get this straight,” Prowl said, rubbing her forehead with a hoof. “You think that this professor is wearing an ancient ring, and you think that in order to find him, you have to find an artifact that may or may not be in a dig site in the Everfree Forest.”

Flash blinked slowly, looking around the cafe where Prowl and Bumblebee had been having dinner before being interrupted. “Um...well, when you say it like that…”

Prowl let out a long sigh, her wings stretching in agitation. “Do you have any proof of this?” she asked.

“I managed to work with Professor Tome’s notes and performed a variation of the Geminugus Invocation to connect to it,” Twilight explained. “The mental projection did indeed prove that Professor Tome is alive, and he’s wearing one of the bands; it wouldn’t have worked otherwise, if my understanding is correct.”

“But you’re saying the only way we can see where he is is if we have the High Priest’s ring,” Bumblebee said slowly, going over his notes.

“Yes,” Twilight nodded. “The Ring will act as an energy conductor that will amplify the power of the Geminugus Invocation, bridging the normal thaumaturgic disruption that comes with distance between mental energies--”

“Wait, wait…” Bumblebee said, his eyes wide as he stared at the scrawled notes. “Go back to that part about thermogenic…”

Twilight sighed and rolled her eyes. “The point is, I have proof, seen with my own eyes, that Professor Tome is alive, and he is wearing a Ring of H’eylr, and that the best way to find his location is to find the High Priest’s ring.”

“This is an incredibly long shot,” Prowl stated.

“I keep saying that,” Phillip muttered, rolling his eyes.

“That temple’s been abandoned for centuries; there’s no way to tell if that ring is still there, and if it still works,” Prowl pointed out.

“Look,” Daring snapped. “I’m following up on this, whether you help me or not.”

“What about Trace and Red?” Bumblebee asked.

“Trace is working on other leads,” Phillip explained. “And I’m pretty sure Red is still laughing at you,” he added to Daring, who gave him a Flying Feather without turning around.

“Hey, I’m up for it,” Bumblebee cheerfully declared. “It’ll be like Hayana Pones!”

Prowl rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Okay, fine. But if Captain Oak catches us, I’m pinning everything on you,” she declared, nodding to Daring.

“Works for me,” Daring shrugged. “Now, come on: rain’s finally letting up, but we’re losing daylight.”

She turned and exited the diner, with Phillip, Twilight, and Flash following. Prowl got up with a sigh. “This is not what I had in mind when I took the oath,” she muttered, putting some bits on the table and following

Bumblebee started to get up, then quickly dived back onto the table and wolfed down the last few bits of his hayburger. “Way frmeh!” he called as he hurried after the others.

Author's Note

Sorry for the late hour, I was at work all day today.

And if you're curious about how to sing that chorus, click here.

But we are now on our way! This case is gonna move at a fast clip, so I hope you can keep up.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Eleven, Chapter Eight: Dark Clouds Gathering

Daring stood with her eyes closed, one hoof touching one of her own feathers that had been plucked and placed atop the circle of salt that had been placed around her on the lush carpeting. The private train car that Celestia had arranged for them rattled around her, the floor shifting and swaying beneath her hooves. Outside, she knew, the skies were dark and scattered with Luna’s stars, with Altair and Aquila guiding the train on to the south.

This is ridiculous, Daring thought to herself. With a sigh, she imagined that the circle around her was growing into a wall that would block all magic around her. She took in a deep breath, then let it out with a sharp blow. Circle, close!

Nothing happened. Just like the last ten times.

“This is pointless. It won't work,” Daring snapped to Velvet, who was sitting and watching from the fine dining table, munching on an eclair. Daring grunted and rubbed at her side, which was still sore even after several doses of healing spells and potions that tasted like pure cinnamon mixed with sour milk.

Velvet swallowed her sweet, then sat up straight and crossed her hind legs into a lotus position. “It won't work because you are convinced that it won’t,” she said in a sage voice, taking the role of a great master teaching the young student. “All forms of magic rely on belief that the spell will work: if you do not believe it will work, it won’t.”

“You’re asking me to do the impossible,” Daring protested. “I’m not a unicorn, and I don’t have any magic education. I can’t do magic spells like this.”

“You can fly, can’t you?” Velvet asked. “Isn’t that magic? And doesn’t it rely at least partially on you believing that you can fly? Those wings aren’t big enough to hold you up on their own, you know.”

Daring paused for a moment. “True…”

“And I can use this ward,” Phillip pointed out from his chair on the other side of the car, opening up his vest to reveal the diamond and star shape burned into the interior of the fabric. “You’ve got one, too, you know.”

“Ooh!” Night Light cried, looking up from the desk where he was busily quadruple-checking the translations that he’d started while Daring was getting the venom curse treated. He bent down and scanned the ward with his horn. The runes surrounding the brand glimmered with Twilight’s purple magic. “Yup, that’s my kids’ work,” he said proudly.

“If I have that, then why do I need to learn this?” Daring grumbled.

“Because that ward is only good for a one-time shield, really: it has to recharge in between uses,” Velvet said patiently. “The circle is stagnant, but if you can put one up, it’ll screen out any magic. It won’t stop them from hopping over the circle, but it’ll definitely help. Plus, it's just useful to know.”

Daring frowned at the salt circle around her. “Well...it’s not the kind of magic I’m used to,” she admitted. “I mean…” She sighed. “I guess I’m just not sure I can do this.”

Velvet smiled and patted Daring on the shoulder. “We’re all at the same place when we first start something,” she reassured her. “I can’t tell you the number of times I came close to a nervous breakdown in Magic Academy! All it takes is a bit of belief and practice. Try it again.”

Daring looked down at the circle, then at her wings. She could feel the buzzing of the flight magic in her pinions as she flexed them. Velvet was right: she could do magic. And she’d faced murderers...really, how hard was one silly salt circle?

I can do it.

Daring closed her eyes and reached down deep into herself, deep into her gut. In the back of her mind, the echoes of Twilight’s voice sounded:

“It’s kind of like firing a gun: the bullet is the energy and the gun is the conduit. Loading the gun is gathering the energy, aiming it is focusing your will and emotions, and firing the gun is channeling the energy as a spell.”

Daring took in a slow breath, focusing on the tingling of energy in her wings: she drew it in along with the breath, relishing the feeling as it buzzed down her bones, and she felt it trickling down her spine and into her gut, forming into a ball of static energy that she held down with her breath. Gather energy.

She focused on a single image in her mind: the energy traveling down her hoof, through the feather that still contained and conducted her magic, and into the salt, which would form a solid wall all around her, blocking any magic that tried to go in or out. She put her hope, her determination into the vision until it became real and tangible before her, until she could feel and see the wall of energy around her. Focus will.

And then, with a sharp exhalation, Daring released the energy outwards. It soared up her gut, traveled down her foreleg, and through the feather, which she felt flash hot in her grip.

With a snap, the circle closed around her in a wall of invisible, tingling magic. Daring’s eyes flew open to behold her companions’ admiring gazes.

“Yay!” Velvet cheered, clapping enthusiastically. “Good job, Daring!”

Daring grinned and spread her wings in a display of pride. A moment later, her expression and mood both deflated as the circle fizzled and broke.

“Hey, that’s okay,” Velvet reassured her. “That was great for your first try! It just takes a few tries. We can try it again.”

“Later,” Phillip observed, his expression turning to seriousness as he glanced out the window. “We’re home.”

With a squeal of brakes and a smooth shuddering, the train car halted. The door was opened before anypony inside could reach it, revealing the platform with a single mare in a black trenchcoat standing on it.

“I received your message, Finder,” Cold Case stated, dousing her horn and stepping back to allow the ponies to depart the train car.

“Nice to see you again, too,” Daring said coolly as she stepped onto the platform.

Cold elected to ignore her. “You have the spell to reveal the Talon?”

“Here, here,” Night Light said, showing her the thick packet of translations and notes that he’d made.

Cold took the papers and scanned through them, lighting her pipe and inserting the stem into her mouth with her magic as she did so. After a few moments, she nodded. “I see. Good work.”

“That’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to anypony,” Daring grunted.

“Daring, quiet,” Phillip hissed.

“What’s this?” Cold asked, turning to the last page.

“That might be related to Zugzwang,” Phillip stated. “To what he is.”

Cold read the translation out loud:

Of the Ngluwi (no direct translation), little is known. If it is a creation of the True Masters, or if it came out of the same primordial chaos that they were born in, is still a matter of debate. What is known is this: it is a spirit of vengeance and hate that can only exist in our world if it inhabits a living body. When the Ngluwi takes a willing host’s body, it shares their flesh, their thoughts, their hopes, and most of all, their hate and pain. You will know the bearer of the Ngluwi by these marks upon their flesh, which harness and contain its power, and by their black eyes. When dealing with the Ngluwi, be very cautious: the Ngluwi prefers hosts that are naturally powerful and cunning, and it adds its own experience and power atop theirs. Bear in mind their weakness: the markings are

“Where’s the rest of it?” Cold asked, looking through the small packet of papers again.

“Bugger,” Phillip scowled. “Hidden stole it before Night could write down all of it.”

Cold frowned. “Well, if Zugzwang is this...Nig-glue-wi thing, we at least know what it is.” She chewed on the stem of her pipe for a moment, then tucked it away with a grunt. “Right. We captured the pilot of the ship that Whitestone has been using to ferry supplies to the Talon. He’s agreed to guide a strike team of Marines and our officers towards the cove where they normally dock. I and a few other unicorns will perform the spell to reveal it. Finder, you may come if you wish.”

“What about me?” Daring asked.

“You are injured and need rest,” Cold replied. “You will be helping to protect Twilight: she recently came down with a bad cold and is staying home.”

Indignation flared in Daring’s stomach. “Hey, I—!” But even as she said it, pain flared across her side once more, and she stumbled with a wince.

“Daring,” Cold interrupted in a calmer tone, finally turning to face her with those icy, but calm blue eyes. “Twilight is still being watched: Flash accompanied her all day yesterday, and he reported that he spotted no less than four pursuers following them. If you’re hurt, you’ll be a liability on this mission: but you can still help protect her.”

Daring started to protest again, but Phillip laid a hoof on her shoulder and gave her a placating look. She sighed and began to massage the tender muscles. “Fine,” she grumbled.

Phillip kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll get ‘em all for you, Daring,” he reassured her, receiving a grunt in reply.

“We have a lot of work to do, Finder,” Cold declared, gesturing towards the waiting black Chevroneigh Fleetracer on the street. “Let’s get moving.”

The group climbed into the car, with Phillip sliding into the passenger seat, and the others climbing into the back, and Cold started the engine up, pulling it into the lazy evening traffic. As she paused at an intersection, she cleared her throat, then was silent in contemplation.

“Phillip. Daring. There’s something you should know,” she announced, keeping her eyes forward. “Mavri, the griffon…” She paused for a moment longer, then let out a sigh that smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “He’s dead.”

Daring felt as though she’d been punched in the gut: her head snapped up to meet Cold’s blue irides in the rearview mirror. “How?”

“He was shot during an altercation at the Gold Griffon’s Head,” Cold explained. “He died en route to the hospital.” She was silent for a moment longer. “I’m sorry,” she added in a quieter tone.

Daring and Phillip both exchanged glances of the same pain as Velvet placed a comforting hoof on Daring's shoulder. Phillip sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Did they get the guy?” he asked, an icy, hard tone behind his voice like a distant storm front.

“Yes,” Cold nodded. “The shooter was arrested along with the Talon’s smuggler.”

“Good,” Phillip grunted. “Now, let’s get back to Twilight’s home. We have work to do.”

Hawkdive Base was placed right on the mouth of the Maresippi River, on the southern bank. The dark trees of the Everfree Forest were a mere seven miles north across the still waters that were just now reflecting the warm golds and oranges of the morning sun.

The land base sprawled across twenty-five square miles, composed of ammunition depots, dry docks, barracks, and headquarters. The main headquarters sat in the center, a three-story marble edifice with a well-tended garden in the front.

Commodore Mortar was a tall, dusty white griffon with brick-red plumage. His uniform was so crisp that its creases could be used to cut steak, and his light brown eyes, weathered with years of spray and wind, were as calm and hard as a rock in a tempest. He stared down at the map of Horseshoe Bay spread across the table before him, a map that was covered in red dots.

“And you’re certain that this pilot is telling the truth?” he asked, tapping a section of southeastern banks that had been circled in red pen.

“We trust but verify,” Cold Case replied from across the desk. “You did say that you had narrowed down possibilities to the Talon’s hiding place to near those coves. Our suspect indicates that the Talon usually docks there to refuel, perform repairs, and stock up on supplies: apparently, they even have a forge there for making shells.”

“That’s where most of the wreckages of the ships they sink are centered,” Mortar nodded, indicating the largest cluster of red dots centered around the small cluster of islands. “But if it really is invisible like you say, we’ve tried a dozen different methods of detection. What makes you sure that this spell of yours will work?”

“It’s from a reliable source,” Cold said, glancing sideways at Phillip, who was leaning against the back wall, smoking a cigarette.

“And why exactly is he here?” Mortar asked, glancing at Phillip.

“You think of the Talon as an enemy ship, but to me, it’s a crime scene,” Cold explained. “And Detective Finder is my best crime scene pony. There could be a wealth of evidence and information on that ship, and I don’t intend for it to go to waste.”

Mortar thought for a few moments, then grunted. “Well, hell, it’s not like we got any other ideas. I’ll get a pair of destroyers and some of my best marines and spellcasters ready.”

“Excellent,” Cold Case nodded, pulling out the notes with the Amulet of Ina’yk’s revelation spell on it. “How soon can we be wheels up?”

“Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes,” Mortar explained.

“We will be joining you,” Cold Case declared.

Mortar studied her for a beat of silence. “Whitestone is our case,” Cold Case continued: her voice was still the same volume and tone as before, but there was now a colder whisper around the edges that blew away any arguments. “She and her crew have been terrorizing Ponyville for years. They’ve targeted my officers and crew. They’re our collar, Commodore.”

Mortar stared for a moment longer, then nodded. “We all have our duties. I can respect that,” he said. He grabbed a phone off of the desk and held it up to his ear. “Get my XOs in here,” he said into the phone before hanging up.

A group of junior officers soon tramped into the room. Mortar gathered them around and explained the situation, gesturing to the map and started planning out resources. Quickly realizing that he was not needed, Phillip quietly excused himself and headed outside.

The sun was higher, but the warmth was not quite enough to block out the cool wind that blew in from the east. Walking out in front of the base, he paused in front of a large marble obelisk with an eagle perched on the top, facing towards the rising sun. He read the plaque in front of the monument.

On the 24th of the Moon of Robins, 1941, the North Griffonese Navy, under treaty with King Sombra, invaded Horseshoe Bay. Their attempts to progress further inland up the Maresippi River were stopped here, but it was not until the Moon of Cold, 1942, that Equestria was able to chase the invaders out of our waters with the aid of Lord Torch’s Army. This monument is inscribed with the names of all those on this base who gave their lives to protect our lands.

Phillip studied the obelisk, which was about five feet tall, each side almost a foot wide. There were a lot of names inscribed into the stone in inch-high letters.

He looked back down at the plaque. ‘Gave their lives,’ he thought ruefully. Sounds better than ‘died,’ I suppose.

Sucking down another long drag on his cigarette, he looked over the ships that bobbed in the water. A trio of destroyers, a cruiser, a medical frigate, and a collection of patrol boats. Sailors—more than half of them hippogriffs and griffons—moved on and off the ships, carrying equipment and weapons. Barked orders and replies were carried to him on the wind.

The Talon is just one ship, he told himself. We can handle it.

And yet his intuition continued squirming in his stomach, underneath the slow buzzing of his sleep-deprived mind and the grumbling of his stomach, and he was reminded that he had only managed a couple hours of sleep on the way to the base. Grunting, he sucked down another long drag on his cigarette, allowing his mind to flow freely.

He must’ve fallen asleep standing up, because the next thing he knew, Cold was shaking his shoulder. “We’re ready,” she announced as the other officers started trotting towards the docks. “We’re taking the second ship, the Medicin.”

Phillip followed her up one of the gangplanks onto the leftmost destroyer. The Medicin, with its five heavy cannons and four anti-air guns, was an ugly, angular mass of metal; it was built only to destroy, and this was evident in every angle. The black metal behemoth was cold beneath his hooves as he stepped on: he could feel the water shuddering beneath him, seemingly struggling to hold up the heavy mass of creatures, guns, ammunition, and supplies.

Cold and Phillip trotted up narrow stairways and corridors to the bridge, where Captain Agatha, a bright blue hippogriff with a cap pulled down low over her eyes, greeted them curtly, ordered them both to extinguish their smokes, and gave the command for anchors aweigh. With a roaring of engines and low rumble that rippled through the metal, the Medicin was soon following its sister ship, the Mimosa, westward towards the Bay.

From beneath, Phillip could hear voices: the griffon crew, chanting, praying to Kriga for victory:

“Mörkret det faller över vårt land,
Vindarna viner, marken skakar,
Fienden samlas runt vårt rike,
Redo att kuva oss nu.

"Krigare samlas vid helig grav
Kallar på Kriga, vår far, vår kung:
Hjälp vi behöver vid denna strid!
Fräls oss, fräls oss, mäktiga gud!”

And yet, despite the trained soldiers around him, despite all the heavy weaponry that was surely more than enough for a single Griffonese cruiser, all Phillip could think about was the message that his intuition was whispering in the back of his skull, deep in his gut: Turn back.

“I should be back at work,” Twilight hoarsely grumbled once more and sniffled. She groaned and blew her nose loudly, wincing as her inflamed nostrils protested.

“Relax, Twilight,” Spike reassured her for the dozenth time, sitting next to her on the couch. “You’ll be safe here. I mean, we’ve got the wards all over, Daring and Dash and your parents and Flash and the other officers are here…”

“I’d be safe at the precinct, too,” Twilight snapped back, keeping her narrowed eyes on the science textbook in front of her. Her protest quickly turned into a fit of coughing.

“Doctor Suunkii can handle the work for a day,” Night Light pointed out, placing a tea tray with steaming tea and fresh cookies on the table in front of Twilight and Spike. “What’s most important is keeping you safe. And that includes making sure you’re kept behind warded walls and not out on the street.”

“But—”

“No buts, young lady,” Velvet said sternly. “Don’t make me send you to your room!”

“Mom, I’m twenty-one years old!” Twilight protested through another cough.

“You’re still my daughter,” Velvet replied with a raised eyebrow, earning a grumble in reply.

A yellow earth pony wandered in after his nose, sniffing the air. His eyes locked onto the tray of cookies and his pupils widened in delight. “Thanks, Mrs. V!” Bumblebee cried, pouncing on the snack.

“You know I’m not always going to be around to chase perps for you,” Prowl called from the front window, adjusting the straps on her shoulder holster.

“Officers, you really don’t have to do this on your off days,” Twilight protested.

Bumblebee swallowed before speaking. “Hey, I was just going to sit in bed and eat junk food all day anyway! At least now I can do something with my time.”

“And it frees up the officers on duty,” Prowl pointed out. “Where’s Sentry, Daring, and Rainbow?”

“Flash’s doing a quick patrol outside again, and Daring and Dash are on the back porch,” Bumblebee replied through another mouthful, joining Prowl at the window. “You see anything?”

“Nothing suspicious so far,” Prowl replied, accepting a single cookie. “Keep your eyes open.”

Outside, Daring and Rainbow Dash sat on the back porch, leaning against the banister and watching the skies. Daring took another draw on her cigarette and puffed out the smoke, being careful to blow it away from Rainbow.

“You’re awful quiet, kid,” Daring observed. Rainbow had hardly spoken a word since she arrived earlier that morning, instead focusing on conjuring clouds between her wings.

“I…” Rainbow started to say, then sighed and lowered her face onto her hoof, flicking her wing to make the little clouds that she'd created dissipate into vapor. “I just…”

“Spit it out, kid,” Daring said.

Dash was silent for a moment, then growled and slammed her hoof against the wood. “I could’ve saved Mavri!” she shouted.

Daring turned to face Rainbow, then leaned in closer. “Tell me what happened,” she said in a soft voice.

Rainbow related the entire story as well as she could: she paused once when she mentioned hearing the gunshot and her voice quavered when she got to the part where she realized that Mavri had been wounded.

“If I’d been faster...if I’d been smarter…” Rainbow said, rubbing her face furiously. “He’d still be alive…”

Daring placed a hoof on Rainbow’s withers. “Dash, it was not your fault,” she reassured her protege. “Blaming yourself is natural, but it’ll eat you up inside.” She paused for a moment, the cursed brand burning with fresh pain. “Believe me, I know,” she added.

Dash let out a little sniffle. Daring turned Dash’s head around and forced her to look in her eyes.

“This was not your fault,” she repeated, enunciating every word. “It was the fault of the bastard who shot him, not you. Now, you can beat yourself up with shoulda, coulda, woulda, or you can learn from this and move on, as hard as it is.”

Rainbow took in a deep breath and nodded. “Right.” She looked around at the low clouds that hung over their heads. An idea sparked in her eyes.

“You know how to make lightning strikes from a cloud?” she asked, flying up and grasping a couple bundles of cloud and clasping them between her wings.

“No,” Daring admitted, raising an eyebrow as Rainbow rubbed her wings together. When she pulled her feathered appendages apart, the little tufts of cloud had magically combined and grown to a single sphere slightly larger than a coconut.

Rainbow raised an eyebrow at her. "It's a thing that most pegasi learn when they're kids. Where did you go to--?"

Daring raised an eyebrow at Rainbow. "Oh, right," Rainbow mumbled. "Sorry."

"'S fine," Daring replied.

Rainbow started spinning the sphere in her hooves, causing the edges to start crackling and buzzing. “Basically, you put some of your weather magic in there, and it gets the ions all lined up, like this. Twilight would probably give you some eggheaded explanation, but that's all you really need to know." Rainbow gathered up another bundle of clouds and passed them over to Daring. "Here, you try it."

Daring carefully clasped the little sphere in her wings and began to rub them together. The little bundle of vapor was wet in her hooves, the tufts slow to respond to her commands.

“Focus your magic,” Rainbow explained. “You have to concentrate your will through it.”

“Been a while since I’ve used clouds,” Daring muttered, holding the cloud for a moment so that she could feel the tingling of the electricity and the buzzing of her flight magic around her wings joining together, becoming one in her mind and will.

“Yeah, it takes a bit of practice,” Rainbow admitted. “Just take it slow at first. Not everypony can be as fast as me."

“Nopony likes an egotist,” Daring replied, turning the cloud over in her hooves at a slower pace, feeling a slight chill around her feathers as water vapor in the air chilled, swirled together, and formed condensation, clinging to the cloud. A warmth then began to grow beneath her pinions that made the barbs tingle; electricity slowly began to build up within the cloud. She could feel it dancing within the construct, a faint vibration like something trying to get free from within.

It took a bit of time, but Daring Do eventually managed to get her little sphere buzzing and crackling as lightning danced over the tufted edge. "Now what?" she asked.

"Stand back," Rainbow warned, flying up into the sky with her own armed weapon. She hovered over the backyard, shot Daring a grin, then slammed her hoof against the cloud.

With a flash of light and fury, a jagged bolt of lightning instantly streaked from the sphere and struck the ground beneath Rainbow, leaving a patch of scorched, smoking grass.

Daring whistled and looked down at her own dark cloud. "I see why weather working can be so dangerous," she admitted.

Twilight leaned out the window. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Just teaching Daring how to zap ponies with lightning," Rainbow grinned. "As kids, we'd zap each other with these all the time."

"And you considered that a good use of your time?" Twilight asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey, everypony does dumb things when they were kids!" Rainbow protested. "'Sides, we only used little ones, and it's not like it hurt that much, not when you have pegasus magic protecting you!"

As Twilight shook her head. Flash trotted up to them both from the perimeter of the yard, carefully stepping over the circular line that marked the buried silver circle that was around the house; Daring saw him flinch slightly as he passed through the buzzing wall of energy that she herself could feel through her wings.

“Nothing suspicious around the neighborhood,” he reported. He frowned at the scorching grass. "Uh, what happened?"

"Lightning practice," Daring replied.

Flash grunted and looked around. “I hate this damn waiting,” he admitted. “Honestly, I think it’s worse than actually getting attacked...not that I want to be!” he quickly added.

“I know how you feel,” Daring nodded, lighting a fresh fag. She took a long drag on the stick, studying the gray clouds overhead. Though she kept up the facade of being calm for the sake of her colleagues, on the inside, she felt like the spring to an alarm clock that had been wound too tightly. Anything might set her alarm off: the merest touch, the odd sound...

Like that distant rumble of thunder in the distance. All three pegasi turned around to see a dark barrier of thunderheads charging in towards them from the west. Sheets of rain poured down from beneath the ugly black mass, so thick that all that could be seen of the houses beneath were faint silhouettes. Ponies on the streets quickly ran for cover to avoid the oncoming juggernaut.

“That wasn’t on the weather schedule, was it?” Flash asked.

“Definitely not,” Rainbow frowned. “Maybe it’s a rogue storm out of the Everfree Forest.”

“I don’t think so,” Daring muttered, flicking her cigarette away as she studied the cloud with narrowed eyes. “Both of you, get back inside.”

“But—” Rainbow started to protest.

“Inside. Now!” Daring barked, not taking her eyes off of the storm clouds.

Flash and Rainbow both headed back inside. Daring entered after them and locked the door securely behind her, causing the wards around the house to glow purple once more. From inside, she glared up at the storm as it intruded upon Twilight’s home, rain and wind pelting the shielded windows.

From within those dark clouds, eyes that Daring could not see glared back at her. A clawed talon gripped the cursed sword tightly, its master already thinking of drawing it through his foe's flesh and becoming stronger with her blood.

Roaring looked around at his claw-picked crew, their fireproof cloaks flapping in the wind, the clouds tossing and turning beneath their paws and talons. Even if he could be heard over the wind and the thunder, nothing needed to be said.

They were ready.

“I’m...uncomfortable with this,” Captain Agatha admitted, frowning at the scene before her.

Cold Case and the two unicorns that she’d brought with her, a blue stallion and a dark orange mare, were now standing on the bow of the Medicin, each of them sitting at one corner of the asymmetrical triangle that Cold had formed in chalk mixed with their blood. Arcane symbols, all of them seemingly random inscriptions, were drawn inside the triangle. Cold and the two unicorns were now casting colored lines of energy into their construction, traces of white, gold, and purple magic flickering and dancing along the chalk lines. The trios voices rose and fell in unison, speaking in words that did not sound like they were meant to come out of a normal pony’s throat, every syllable like ice water trickling down the listener’s ears.

“This is what we have,” Phillip explained, looking away from the ritual and turning up towards the sky. The clouds had lowered themselves over the bay as they approached the cove: now, they blanketed the sky as far as he could see, casting the entire area in unnatural darkness for the midday. The Medicin and the Mimosa had had to snap on spotlights to provide enough illumination to navigate. Light waves crashed against the metal hull and the humongous rocks that now lurked around them like the towers of some partially sunken Cyclopean city. There were a hundred different shadows and caverns that the Talon might be hiding in, waiting for them to pass by.

“I don’t put stake in superstitions, detective,” Agatha stated, pacing around the ritual. “This had better pan out.”

“I don’t believe in legends, either,” Phillip replied.

Didn’t, taunted the black-eyed specter that lurked in the back of his mind.

Shut up, he ordered the memory.

Cold covered her eyes with her hooves and spoke a single word in that dead language. The blue stallion covered his ears and spoke a different word, then the orange mare placed her hooves before her mouth and spoke another word. As one, the trio of unicorns knelt and placed their foreheads to the decks, intoning the same words and releasing one final burst of magic. As they did so, a distant rumble of thunder rolled overhead, causing nearly everycreature on deck to instinctively look up at the black blankets.

The tri-colored energy coalesced into a single sphere that swirled in the middle of the construction, then suddenly burst in an explosion of color, energy swirling through the chalk lines and runes and covering the three ponies. The unicorns all shuddered and convulsed, then threw their heads back and howled to the darkened skies just as an icy wind rushed down from the north, blowing aside the chalk. The watching sailors yelped in surprise and astonishment as the gusts buffeted their coats and tore at their hats, salt stinging at their eyes and throats. Phillip jammed his trilby down onto his head before it could be blown away, squinting as the three unicorns swayed to music that only they could hear.

“EHI! EHI! EHI!” the trio shouted as one, their eyes wide and unfocused, the colors flickering in their eyes. “NYAGLATH, GER’UH ANGFAH!”

And just as suddenly as it started, the wind stopped and the three unicorns fell to the deck, panting. Phillip rushed to Cold’s side and gently helped her sit up.

“Get off, I’m fine,” she grunted, blinking and rubbing her eyes. She opened her eyes, shaking her head: flickers of white, gold, and purple shone in her irides for a moment before fading. She slowly turned around in a circle, then her head snapped to the southwest.

“I see the Talon,” she declared, pointing.

“I see it, too,” the younger mare confirmed, looking in the same direction.

“Same,” the stallion added, squinting. “I can see it...glowing, through those rocks over there. It looks kind of like I’m seeing it through a fuzzy mirror.”

Agatha frowned for a moment, then grunted. “All right. Helmspony, southwest!” she commanded, pointing.

The Medicin rumbled to life and proceeded southwest, carefully trawling past the towers of stone. The Mimosa followed a few yards to their port, spotlights sweeping across the water.

Cold kept her eyes focused over the bow, staring ahead at the invisible ship. Phillip stood at her side, breathing in the cold sea air. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Fine,” Cold nodded, not looking at him.

Phil studied her out of the corner of his eye. It was difficult to tell, but she actually appeared to be slightly paler than before, and the rhythm of her breathing was too regular, like she was forcing herself to breathe slowly. A glance at the other two unicorns confirmed that they were both white-faced and shivering slightly, their pupils too wide, even for the dark.

“At the end there—” he started to say.

“It’s fine,” Cold grunted, still not looking at him. “It...it was necessary.” She squinted, then pointed. “The Talon is behind that column over there."

The two destroyers split up, each sailing around one side of the tower. Agatha raised a talon in silent command. Every sailor on the deck took cover as hooves and claws grasped small arms: cannons swiveled around with groans and anti-air guns were manned and cocked.

They rounded the corner and the spotlight snapped to find a rust-coated Griffonese cruiser floating in the churning water. The Amulet of Ina’yk was hanging off the front mast, the red eye almost seeming to blink at them as it slowly revolved in the wind.

But no one opened fire. The ship, everyone quickly realized, was sitting unmoving in the water, and there was no sign of anyone on the deck.

“What’s that?” the orange mare asked, pointing at a small shape hidden in the shadow of one of the stone columns.

Phillip pulled out his field binoculars and turned on the night vision enchantment for better vision. “It’s...a motorboat,” he announced, squinting at the low, bobbing shape. “Looks like it’s tied to the Talon with a ladder.” He lowered the binoculars. “Somepony beat us here.”

Agatha stared for a moment, then grunted and raised a hoof. “Boarding party!” she barked.

A squadron of griffons took off from the decks of both destroyers and landed on the bow and stern of the Talon, weapons raised to clear the area. Encountering no resistance, one griffon set up a circle of metal wire with what looked like a mirror in the center on the deck. As he finished, the construction started to glow brightly, then formed into a portal. Another portal opened on the decks of the Medicin and the Mimosa, with more Marines trooping through to join the team on the Talon. The thirty soldiers proceeded inside, disappearing into the interior of the enemy cruiser.

Agatha clicked on her radio. “Squad, report. What’s in there?”

“Captain, we’ve got bodies here,” a squadron leader reported through the radio, his voice tinny and hissing through the static. “Talon crew, looks like. Shot to death. Hang on, got another body here...not a Talon crew. He’s got prison tattoos on him.”

“An enemy crew,” Cold deduced with a frown. “But how did they get ahead of us…?”

“Proceeding to bottom deck,” the squad leader reported. “All the lights are off...wait, what’s that? Did you hear that?”

There was silence on both ends of the line for several seconds, every listener holding their breaths.

And then they all heard it: a low, slimy noise of something slithering across metal. A sound that made Phillip’s heart skip a beat.

“What the he—oh, fuck! Shoot it, SHOOT IT!”

Gunshots roared out of the radio, accompanied by shouts of command and calls for backup. Then the screaming started, cries of pain accompanied by blades meeting flesh.

"Move, move!" Agatha commanded, but no sooner was the command out of her mouth than sparks shot out of the portal construct and the portal vanished with a snap of purple light, the mirror-like device shattering into fragments.

Many shouts turned into a few screams of horror. More and more guns fell silent and the remaining ones roared out, not the disciplined short bursts of trained soldiers, but the long, magazine-emptying bursts of desperation.

A few screams then turned into a single chorus of pleas that was cut off by the horrible howl of the dying.

And then there was silence save for the hissing of static. “Squad? Squad, report!” an ashen-faced Agatha cried.

“Your friends are dead, liebling.”

Phillip's heart spasmed and his breath caught as his ribs seemed to tighten in a python's grip: a moment later, he realized that his hair was standing on end. Looking down, he gasped in horror to see golden motes of light dancing around his limb. More lights began to dance around his vision and every instinct screamed at him to run, but it was already too late.

“Phillip!” Cold cried, rushing in and grasping his foreleg, trying to pull him away just as his entire vision was washed out in a rush of gold. Both of them were sucked through a thin tube and they screamed as one as the world was yanked away.

Author's Note

Long chapter with a lot of set-up. Not really satisfied with this (especially the final part), but it's all important for the next chapter!

As before, the prayer to Kriga is based on Spinal's theme from Killer Instinct 2013. Translation is as follows:

"Darkness has fallen over the land
"The wind sings, the earth trembles
"The enemy is at our gates,
"Ready to subjugate us now.

"Warriors gather at the holy grave
"Calling on Kriga, our father, our king:
"Give us the help we need for this battle!
"Save us, save us, mighty god!"

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Case Twelve, Chapter Three: Dead Trail

“Here’s the boat,” Phillip said, noting the sliced rope that hung from the bow on the low white wooden-hulled motorboat that had run aground beneath a creaky, slime-streaked pier in the Dockside district. He wandered around to the stern of the boat, which was peppered with buckshot holes; his every step splashed in the shallow water. His eyes went to some distinct red marks on the seat of the boat and the handle of the motor.

“That should make him easier to track,” Trace commented, sweeping the wet, sandy grounds with his horn. “Tracking spell’s no good: the river water’s washing away any magical traces. Daring?”

“Looking for blood trails, got it,” Daring declared, taking off and starting to circle the air.

“Wait, not around here,” Phillip stated, scanning the propeller of the boat’s motor. “If it was driven up here, the rocks would’ve torn the propeller apart, but it’s fine. Must’ve drifted down the current.” He looked up and down the Maresippi, frowning deep in thought. “Would’ve come from farther up west.”

“But how far?” Daring asked. “We didn’t get a good timeframe on when the attack happened, and I can’t just go up and down the coast looking for bloodstains.”

“There’ll be other clues,” Phillip said placidly, turning back to examine the boat. He plucked a scrap of red-stained gray cloth from the bottom of the boat. “This is from a trenchcoat,” he mused. “He tore strips to make bandages.” He studied the material and sniffed it. “Tobacco...can't tell what brand. Red coat hairs…”

He scanned the boat up and down but found nothing else significant. “Okay. Trace?”

“APB on a red unicorn stallion, about four foot tall, green and brown hair, wearing a gray trench coat and wounded was sent out a couple of hours ago,” Trace recited. He hissed out a breath as he started to head back up the sandy slopes towards the concrete wall that truly separated land and water. “I ought to start thinking about retirement.”

Phillip and Daring followed, Phillip still sweeping his gaze across the beach for any clues. “Why would he steal the gems?” he mused. “What does he gain out of disobeying Zugzwang?”

“I doubt that he understands what they are or what they’re for,” Daring stated. “So that leaves the only other reason why somepony would take a diamond: money. If I were in his shoes, I’d be trying to buy my way out of this city.”

Phillip nodded. “Should’ve thought of that,” he muttered as he hauled himself up onto the street. “So those gems are going to pop up somewhere. Probably somewhere the police don’t know about.”

“Which means we need help from somepony who has their ears to the ground in those circles,” Daring frowned. “Somepony who’s less likely to dick us over.”

Phillip looked up at her. “You can’t be thinking of Night Waltz.”

“He’s a dick, but he knows the right ponies,” Daring said. “And if there’s something in it for him, he’ll pull through. Maybe we can play bad cop-insane cop again.”

Phillip paused, his head turning towards a nearby dock. The Billabong Melody was docked there, bobbing in the water, the sails rolled up. The two could faintly hear music coming from it.

“I should warn them,” Phillip said, striding towards the boat.

“We should,” Daring agreed, following.

As they approached the boat, they could hear the music more clearly coming from the open doorway into the cabin:

“You remind me of a stallion!” Siren was half-singing, half-shouting in a throaty voice that carried over pounding drums.

“What stallion?” the others called back.

“Oh, the stallion with the power!”

“What power?”

“Oh, the power of voodoo!”

“Who do?”

“Yeah, you do, you do!”

“You what?” the entire cast called, cueing a blare of brass and the loud buzzing of a didgeridoo.

Daring carried Phillip up onto the rocking deck and they proceeded down the stairs into the cabin. The wide-open space was decorated with many relics of the groups' history, framed pictures of past iterations and notable performances hanging from the walls. In one corner was a heavily worn punching bag, next to some old boxing trophies and a black and white picture of a younger Bobby standing in a boxing ring, gloved hooves raised in triumph, grinning through the bruises on his face.

The Outbackers were gathered in a makeshift practice stage, all of them swaying in time to the harmonies of their respective instruments.

“Phil! Daring!” Bobby called, stopping practice and dropping his trumpet to give them both a warm hug. “You drop by for practice?”

“Sorry, dad, we’ve got work,” Phillip said, reluctantly pulling himself out of the hug.

Bobby’s face instantly fell, as did everypony else’s in the room. “Oh. I see,” he nodded.

“We came by to warn you,” Phillip said. “It might be best...if you mates stay here. Cancel the show tonight.”

“But—!” Rock and Roll both protested in one voice.

“Just trust me,” Phillip interrupted. “The wanker we’re dealing with right now...dangerous. And he’s more than willing to use my friends against me.”

The Outbackers all looked at each other. “I see,” Rain said slowly. “Should we...should we leave?”

“No!” Phillip cried. “No, no. It…” He took a breath. “We’ll handle this. Just...stay here. Stay safe. You still got that shotgun?”

“It’s locked in the main cabin,” Bobby replied.

“Keep it close by, just in case,” Phillip said. “We’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Okay,” Bobby nodded.

An awkward silence solidified in the air. Phillip looked at his shuffling hooves, biting his lip.

“I wish…” he started to say, then stopped himself, unable to meet his parents’ gaze. He sighed and turned to head towards the stairs. “Love you, mom and dad,” he said.

“We love you too, son,” Bobby called softly.

"Be careful, ampa," Rain called. Phillip paused and glanced back; there was still something in his eyes, something he wanted to say, but all he did was nod quietly before leaving.

Daring left with Phillip, eager to escape the heavy silence. As she passed out of the room, she felt like she was climbing out of a hole, a hole that had always been there but had become a normal part of the room, solely because no one knew how to fill it.

She emerged onto the deck to find Phillip standing there, wiping his face. “Dammit,” he muttered, tilting his trilby down so that the brim hid his eyes.

“You okay?” Daring asked, laying a hoof on his shoulder.

“Fine,” he grunted, still refusing to look up. “Let’s just go talk to Night Waltz. Actually, wait,” he caught himself as a sudden thought crossed his mind. “Let’s drop by Twilight’s place first. Her book on artifacts might be a help, it has the statues and the key in it.”

“Good idea.” Scooping him up beneath his forelegs, Daring took off and headed northwest. "Um...what's ampa?" she asked, hating her own curiosity for its ill-conceived timing.

"Child," Phillip translated, voice still flat. "A mother's child."

Daring nodded in understanding. As she flew away, she heard the music beneath her start up again, again heard Siren’s voice singing with what she instinctually knew was forced enthusiasm:

“Oh, hokum-pokum, alakazan, save us from that evil stallion,
“Save us from his evil curse...it’s gonna get bad, yeah, it’s gonna get worse!”

She gritted her teeth. Yeah, that’s not an omen or anything.

Daring landed in front of 1010 Golden Oaks, looking up and down the street for any sign of pursuers. The street was empty and the skies mostly clear, but she didn’t relax.

Retrieving the spare key from the lockbox underneath the steps, Phillip entered Twilight’s home, heading into the living room. A few seconds of scanning the bookshelves identified his target: the battered black book with Ancient Artifacts and Totems scrawled along the spine. He tucked this into a Bag of Holding that he retrieved from a pocket.

As he exited and locked the door behind him, Phillip glanced up to see a trio of weather ponies in their yellow vests flying past, pushing a set of clouds aside. “Dash’d be at therapy, right?” he asked Daring.

“Leave her out of this,” Daring snapped. “She’ll only be putting herself in danger. Let’s get to Night Waltz.”

“Hang on, there’s something else we should do,” Phillip said, looking north up the road.

A short jog brought them to 1273 Golden Oaks. Daring hung back while Phillip trotted up to the door and knocked.

The door opened within moments and he just barely had enough time to brace himself before a small car rammed into his chest. “Uncle Phil! Aunt Daring!” Muziqaa cried, hugging him tightly.

“Hey, ankle-biter,” Phillip smiled briefly, patting his nephew on the head. “Your mom home?”

“I am indeed, what did you need?” Sirba said as she entered the hallway. She smiled at Phillip, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes: he could see the confusion and worry behind the thin mask.

“Come see my new trick!” Muziqaa cried, trying to pull Phillip inside. “Mama and her troupe were helping me with it last night, and I was going to do it at the concert, but we weren’t quite ready—”

“Not now, Muzi,” Phillip replied, gently pushing Muziqaa off.

Muziqaa pouted up at him. “But—”

“We’re only here for a few minutes: we need to talk to your mom real quick,” Phillip stated. “You can show us your trick later.”

Muziqaa started to protest, but Sirba placed a hoof on his back. “Fine,” he mumbled, retreating. “I guess I could use more practice.”

Sirba waited until her son was out of earshot, then turned to Phillip, dropping the tranquil mask. “My husband called and told us to stay home. What’s happening, Phillip? What evil is out to roam?”

“Somepony very powerful,” Phillip replied. “You still have that Neighringer?”

Sirba frowned. “I don’t like having that weapon displayed. It’s unsettling and makes Muziqaa afraid.”

“You might need it,” Phillip stated. “Just...stay home and keep Muziqaa safe, all right? We’re working on solving this.”

Sirba nodded grimly, then pulled Phillip close and pressed her forehead against his, shaking her head so that the beads in her mane let out a slow, soft jingle like gentle rain on a tin rooftop. She prayed briefly in her native tongue, a soothing musical chant almost like a lullaby. Releasing Phillip, Sirba beckoned Daring over.

Daring hesitated, then mentally shrugged. Can’t hurt. She trotted over and allowed Sirba to press her forehead against hers in a warm embrace, instinctively closing her eyes. Sirba’s mane smelled of fresh grass and jasmine. The sound of the softly rattling beads was like sinking into a warm bath; the soft syllables of her prayer wrapped around her like a blanket. For a moment, time stopped around her, and when the prayer ended, Daring pulled away with a strange sense of reluctance.

“May the spirits keep watch and bless, so that we all can get out of this mess,” she blessed him in a quiet tone.

“We’ll all go home at the end of this, Sirba,” Phillip said, hating himself as he made a promise that he knew he couldn’t keep. “We’ll let you know what’s happening soon.”

So saying, Daring and Phillip turned and headed away, hearing the door close and lock behind them. Taking Phillip beneath the forelegs, Daring took off and headed west for the Financial District.

“So what’s the game plan for dealing with Night Waltz?” she asked, already focusing on the distant glass and steel spire that was the Apex building.

“Start with logic: he listens to that,” Phillip stated. “Bring up the reward: thirty thousand bits for Zugzwang should get his attention. If that doesn’t work—”

He was cut off by a siren. Looking down, both ponies noticed a fleet of ambulances and fire trucks speeding past beneath them. They looked at each other, then chased after the line of vehicles.

The small cottage on the western outskirts of Ponyville had been a picturesque home, a small blue single-story house that sat a little distance off from its neighbors.

Now it looked like a battleground. Most of the cottage had been burned down, smoke still rising from the cinders. The door had been yanked off the hinges and lay in the middle of the lawn; bullet holes pockmarked the threshold.

The scene was surrounded by a fleet of fire trucks and cruisers, which formed a wall that blocked the regular crowd of pedestrians, all craning to get a better view of the carnage with blended horror and interest.

Daring spotted an ashen-faced Officer Wheellock manning the boundary and landed in front of her. “What happened?” she asked.

“Somepony attacked the house,” Wheellock explained. “They retreated by the time that we arrived; there’s only one survivor.” She nodded towards a nearby ambulance, where a single unicorn sat, shivering despite the magically warmed blanket that he had wrapped around him.

“Guards?” Daring asked. “Who lives here?”

“You don’t know?” Wheellock asked. “This is Scarlet Letter’s house. She’d been living here incognito for months.”

Daring blinked and stared at the house in shock. “Is...is she dead?” she asked.

Wheellock glanced around, then lowered her voice. “We...don’t know,” she admitted. “Because we can’t find her. Or any of the others.”

“What?” Daring asked.

“I can’t explain it, but…” Wheellock ran a hoof through her rosary necklace, rubbing all six different markings in turn. “All of the other guards are gone. Just...gone.”

Phillip and Daring exchanged looks, then started to head towards the ambulance. The pony in the back looked up at their approach; the triple paws tattoo on his neck identified him as a Cerberus mercenary.

“I’m not crazy,” he mumbled. “I’m not crazy.”

“What’s your name?” Phillip greeted him.

The guard took a moment to react. “Key Ring,” he mumbled.

“What did you see?” Phillip asked.

Key blinked heavily, his shaking becoming more pronounced by the moment. “It was a normal day…Ms. Letter was writing in her bedroom, I was doing my rounds outside...and then I heard gunshots coming from inside. I ran to get the front door, but it didn’t open...I couldn’t open it...wasn’t my fault...” He shuddered and clung to the blanket like a child that had had a nightmare.

“All of a sudden, there was an explosion. The door was blasted off the hinges and it hit me, sent me flying. When I woke up...the house was on fire, magic fire, orange fire...I saw Yellow and Iron...they were staring at me, just staring. And they...they…” He shivered and slammed his eyes shut.

“Key?” Phillip asked, stepping forward.

“They were dead!” Key Ring managed to cry in a strangled voice, his eyes wide and glowing with desperation as he fixed them upon Phillip. “Their throats were slit! I looked into their eyes! They were standing up and walking, but they were dead!” His face fell as the energy left him and his head wilted like a dead flower. “I know it sounds crazy…”

Phillip patted his shoulder. “We believe you,” he said calmly. “What happened then?”

“I thought I was dead,” Key Ring admitted. “But they turned around and headed back inside. I caught a glimpse of somepony inside: a tan unicorn in an expensive suit. He unlocked a closet door: I saw a lot of red light and they all disappeared inside.” He paused a moment and sniffled again. “It’s just me left...I looked and looked, but there were no bodies, I don’t know what happened to the others, or to Ms. Letter…”

“It’s not your fault,” Phillip said, patting his shoulder. “See a doctor and get some help. The police will handle this.”

“Damn right we will,” Daring said, already heading for the cottage.

“No,” Phillip cut her off, grabbing her tail. “There’s nothing we can gain here that’ll be useful.”

“You don't know that!” Daring snapped.

“I know you hate her, but this is a waste of time,” Phillip hissed. “Zugzwang attacked her because he’s trying to get rid of his rival. We need to focus on finding our survivor and the statues. That’s the only way we can stop this.”

Daring glared at him and glared at the house. “This could be our one chance for finding whatever illegal shit she’s got in there. Our one chance to nail her to the wall!”

“If you want to waste your bloody time here chasing yowies, fine,” Phillip snapped back. “I’m going to head for Night Waltz’s office.”

“Fine!” Daring spat back. Phillip stalked off, hailing a cab. Daring glared at him walking off, then sighed and turned towards the house; the anger hissed out of her like air leaving a balloon.

“Jeez,” Wheellock commented. “And I thought Jessie and I had rough arguments.”

Daring shot her a dark look. Wheellock swallowed and took a sudden interest in a low-hanging cloud.

Daring proceeded into the house, ducking beneath the crime scene tape. The inner hallway was scorched to ruins, stinking of soot and gunpowder. The scorch patterns showed her that the explosion had started in here at about head height, with flames radiating outwards from the impact point.

Her hoof brushed against something hard and she just barely managed to stop herself from stepping on the scorched remnants of a pony’s skeleton that lay in a pile on the floor. A few rags were all that remained of its bulletproof vest, and the exploded remnants of a pistol lay on the ground next to it. Daring’s eyes went to a cluster of bullet holes in the opposite wall. “Fire was so hot, it cooked the ammunition in the gun,” she mused to herself.

“Scarlet’s room’s down here, detective,” Doctor Mortis called from further down the hallway, beckoning her through a doorway. “But there’s not much left.”

“You running this scene?” Daring asked as she proceeded forward.

“Suunkii and Twilight are still busy with the waterfront house, and since there’s technically a body, I was called in,” Mortis replied cheerfully. “Don’t let the Ph.D. fool you, Daring. I started on the ground with the Cuore PD in the Crystal Empire. CSI by day, college student by night.”

Daring entered the room and took a long look around. To her complete lack of surprise, the bedroom was ostentatiously decorated. The centerpiece was a massive bed covered with the burnt remnants of silk sheets. A large dresser made of golden oakwood stood against one wall: a once-ornate jewelry box sat on the top, overturned with the top open and the box empty. A small desk was set against a wall with an intact window, with a partially-melted typewriter and some papers laying atop it. A glance told Daring that they had once been half-formed chapter drafts for Scarlet’s novel.

“There’s very little left,” Mortis reported. “Notice that the window’s closed and locked, and there’s no trace of any teleportation magic. The fire made finding magical traces difficult, but I didn’t find any hoofprints in here. None at all. So either Scarlet Letter is the world’s greatest hide and seek champion, or she got out of here some other way and someone wiped her hoofprints after.”

But Daring’s eyes went to one piece of furniture. An overturned standing mirror lay facedown on the floor in the corner. Glass shards lay everywhere.

An idea sparked in her mind. Daring strode forward and carefully lifted the frame up. The mirror was broken, but the gilded frame was still intact. And there were several gems set into it: blue, green, and red.

She grinned. “Chasing yowies, eh, Phil?”

The taxi dropped Phillip off right in front of the Apex Building. Phillip trotted quickly up to the door, glancing around for anything that caught his attention. His gaze swept over the griffon manning a hot dog cart on the corner, the skinny earth pony raising a left hoof to call the cab he’d just vacated, the pony exiting the building squeezing a purple exercise ball imprinted with a logo from the physical therapy clinic on the sixth floor. None seemed to be paying any attention to him.

He proceeded to the doors and pushed through, making his way directly to the elevator in the back. The doors opened as soon as he hit the button, and he proceeded up to the twelfth floor. A short walk later and he was standing in front of Night Waltz’s office door.

Even before he tried the knob, he knew something was wrong: the coppery scent of blood was stinging his nostrils and he heard a strange, constant noise from inside. He drew his baton with a snap of his wrist as he entered.

The office was still an audacious display of waste and wealth, but the centerpiece of the room was the dead stallion that lay facedown on the desk in a crimson pool that encircled the bottom of a small potted plant. The wall behind him had a conical spray of cast-off blood, going to Phillip’s left. A quick scan of the room revealed a pair of bloody hoofprints on the carpeted floor: more faint bloodstains led to the door. The phone on the desk was dangling off the hook; the dial tone was the strange noise Phillip had identified from outside.

“Shit,” Phillip grumbled.

He heard hoofsteps behind him and looked up to see a cleaning stallion approaching with a cart. The stallion paused in front of the door and gasped as he looked inside.

“Call the police. Now,” Phillip snapped at him, sending the stallion scampering away.

Phillip proceeded inside, carefully sweeping over everything with his eyes. He paused to study the bloody hoofprints. The imprints were faint and only partial, but there was still enough to recognize a Blue Crescent brand horseshoe. Relatively new, judging by the tread.

He looked over Night Waltz’s body; Night had died with his eyes open, blood sprayed across his ridiculously expensive yellow suit and his jaw slack. Even with his head down, Phillip could see that the fatal blow was an efficient slice across the throat. Blood spray says the attacker was left-hooved, he noted. A single hair lay atop the still wet and warm pool of blood on the desk: long and black. It was then that Phillip also noticed short drag marks in the pool, streaking across the desk.

The attacker grabbed something off the desk, Phillip concluded.

An out-of-place shadow in the potted rhododendron caught Phillip’s attention. Carefully parting the leaves, he spotted a small microphone embedded into the dirt. A quick examination revealed a wire running through a hole in the pot into one of the drawers in Night Waltz’s desk. Opening it, Phillip discovered a tape recorder that was still running. He paused the recorder, then rewound the tape and hit play.

“—heard from you in some time, Clover,” Night Waltz’s voice scratched out of the speaker. “So now you’re calling me up because you’re in trouble? What kind of shit is big enough to make you remember me?”

“Shit bigger than you can imagine,” a shaky Mareish voice replied in a tinny tone: Phillip realized that it must have been coming from the speakerphone. “You got the gem I sent you?”

“I did; gotta say, that’s one of the finest looking gems I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Waltz purred in answer. “It’s a wonder that your messenger didn’t steal it for himself.”

“I’ve got three more just like it,” the mysterious Clover answered. “And I need to get out of this city; Zugzwang’s going to be after me.”

There was a long pause. “You say Zugzwang?” Waltz asked quietly.

“Did I fucking stutter? I said Zugzwang!” Clover snapped back. “I’m willing to bet that you can get me out of here. And I’m willing to bet that those jewels can help pay the fees.”

Waltz made a low sound of contemplation: Phillip could hear something being rolled around on the desk, presumably the proffered jewel. “It’s a tempting offer...but I might need some time to think about it. Where are you?”

“In the Under; I've got a base down here. I’ll call again later tonight. If you—”

He was cut off by the faint sound of the door opening and padded hoofsteps. “What are you doing back here? I thought Clover paid you,” Waltz said.

The intruder didn’t answer. “Wait, what the fuck are—?”

The unmistakable sound of a knife piercing flesh. A gurgling cry of surprise, then choking gasps and shouts accompanied by liquid dribbling down onto the desk. There was a click as the phone hung up, followed by the dial tone. It seemed to take forever for the horrible noises of death to fade away, punctuated by the slump of a body striking the desk. There was a brief sound of something dragging on the table, then retreating hoofsteps.

There was at most a couple of minutes left on the tape. “Bugger,” Phillip muttered, scowling in thought. The killer couldn’t have gotten far. He quickly began to review his mental playback of his entry to the Apex building, reviewing every detail of the crime scene that he had seen, recalling every face that he had passed.

Only one possibility came to mind: the skinny earth pony that had hailed the taxi that Phillip had arrived in, with the long black hair and out of place hoodie, who had called the cab with his left hoof.

Sprinting out of the room, Phillip shoved past a responding security guard, ignoring the guard’s calls for him to stop and explain. Charging down the stairs, Phillip reached the sixth floor just as the door of Mountainview Therapy Clinic opened and a pegasus mare exited, slowly flexing both wings. The left one whirred faintly with every movement of the tiny motors, the metal construction catching the light as it slowly flapped.

“Dash!” he called to the exiting mare, who turned around at the mention of her name. Rainbow grinned happily at his approach.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Need you to carry me out,” Phillip said, opening one of the large windows on the floor. “We’re chasing a killer.”

“Sweet!” Rainbow declared, and in a rainbow blur, snatched Phillip beneath the forelegs and carried him out the window into the warm, wet air.

“Phonebooth, there,” Phillip said, pointing. Rainbow dove towards the ground at a speed that seemed to crush Phillip’s heart into his chest, the sudden deceleration as she neared the ground making his stomach plummet. Shaking off the nausea, he snatched the phone off the cradle and inserted a bit, dialing a number at full speed. The phone rang twice before answering.

“Cloud Nine taxi,” a bored dispatcher mumbled into his ear.

“I need to know the location of cab number 275,” Phillip reported.

“Cab 275, what’s your location?” the dispatcher asked into his radio set. There was a garbled reply, then the dispatcher reported, “It’s headed up Rich Street. Just passed Doubletree.”

“Thanks,” Phillip said, hanging up. “You sure you’re up for a long flight?” he asked Daring.

“Course I am!” Rainbow said, spreading both of her wings. The prosthetic responded nearly as quickly as her organic muscles, moving in almost perfect sync with its partner.

“Good. Head northwest, up Rich Street,” Phillip ordered, allowing her to pick him up again.

She accelerated into the air so fast that Phillip thought that he had left his stomach behind on the sidewalk for a moment. She sped north at nausea-inducing speed, the colors around him becoming indistinguishable blurs, but Rainbow soon had to slow down. Phillip could hear her forcing herself to take steady breaths, flapping her wings with great, broad strokes that he knew were forced to be in tandem with one another. Frustration emanated from her like heat from a furnace.

But they had already reached Rich and Doubletree. Phillip directed her to keep flying north, scanning the cars beneath for any yellow-domed taxicabs.

“There,” he declared a minute later, pointing. A taxi had just pulled over at a clubhouse and a gray earth pony in a hoodie had exited, darting into the club.

Rainbow tucked her wings back and dove towards the sidewalk at an accelerating speed: Phillip jammed his trilby onto his head and tried not to think about if and how much it would hurt if he hit the concrete facefirst at terminal velocity. Thankfully, Rainbow expertly pulled up into a smooth landing well before they hit the ground.

I suddenly miss Daring. Shaking off the dizziness, Phillip studied the front of the small clubhouse. The curtains in the window were drawn and the room beyond the glass doors was dark: a sign in the doorway revealed that the clubhouse was not scheduled for any events today.

Phillip checked the weight of his baton in his vest and the pistol in his shoulder holster. “Dash, you—”

“We’ve caught you now, you crook!” Rainbow Dash declared, barging through the glass doors like a wrecking ball. “Surrender now and we’ll go easy on you!”

Phillip sighed and shook his head as he entered. Note to self: have Daring teach her the importance of surprise.

They entered a dim lobby with photographs on the wall of previous club members and events, silent eyes watching their progress. A couple of doors led into small dining rooms, both of which were completely empty. The two proceeded through a set of double doors.

On the other side was a larger room with round tables, the tablecloths atop them rustling faintly in the breeze of their entry. A raised stage stood at the end of the room, vacant except for a lone microphone. The only lights came in through the partially curtained window. Phillip snapped his flashlight onto his vest and switched it on, sweeping the room with it.

“You think maybe he got into a secret passageway or something?” Rainbow asked, looking around for any sign of hidden levers or trapdoors.

Phillip knelt down and studied a thin layer of dust on the ground. Tracks here: their quarry had passed by—

Wait. There were more of them. Several thin trails imprinted into the dust.

“Dash, get out of here,” he ordered, standing up and reaching for his pistol. “Now.”

Too late. The door slammed shut behind them and both ponies watched as black ooze slithered across the locks.

Kill the mare. Bring Finder to us.

They emerged from the darkness, the hooded earth pony and six others, swarming them like a single body with a single mind. Three had silenced guns. All of them were aiming at Rainbow.

“Rainbow, move!” Phillip shouted, grabbing a small sphere from a pocket and tossing it onto the floor. Smoke billowed from the bomb, obscuring them from sight momentarily.

Phillip charged at the closest pony, seizing the pistol and smashing it against the unicorn’s face. Blood gushed from the broken nostrils, but the pony didn’t react in the slightest. Yanking the weapon off his foe’s foreleg, Phillip bounded onto a table, then threw himself into a sideways flip, rolling as he landed several feet behind the crowd; as he tumbled across the floor, he placed his foreleg through the pistol's holding sleeve, curling his hoof around the trigger. A glance upwards told him that Rainbow had already flown up out of reach and had tackled one of the gunponies to the ground, yanking the weapon free and throwing it aside.

Phillip fired the Filly Commander twice, one right after the other: the remaining gunpony and the one that he’d stolen the weapon from both dropped, holes in their heads. He snapped the sights to the earth pony, but a golden aura briefly flickered around the gun and the weapon clicked.

Hex, he concluded, tossing the weapon aside. He went to draw his own pistol, but it too only clicked uselessly as the earth pony reached him. Sidestepping a grab at his throat, Phillip countered with a roundhouse to the gut. He felt organs being crushed beneath his hoof, but the dead pony did not exhale, did not wince, and Phillip had to throw himself into a dive roll to avoid another attacker’s grab.

“Back off, dammit!” Rainbow snarled, grunting with every blow that she rained down on the pony she was retreating from. Every punch and elbow strike that she landed against the mare’s chest and torso was powerful enough to shatter bones, but the mare might’ve been made of stone for all she reacted, advancing like an oncoming tide.

A knife lunged at Rainbow’s face, a mere glimmer of light; she twisted aside and seized the limb. Her foreleg smashed like a hammer, snapping the elbow like a dead tree branch. She chopped at her foe’s chest in the same motion; the sternum split with a crack, but the mare just tossed the knife to her other hoof and slashed across Rainbow’s face, drawing blood.

Phillip tossed his boomerang and knocked the blade out of the mare’s hoof. He sprinted forward, catching the returning projectile in his teeth as he ran, drawing his baton. He stood next to Rainbow, glaring as the remaining five ponies regrouped to attack again, surrounding them.

“Got any ideas?” Rainbow asked through gritted teeth.

“Running low on ‘em,” Phillip responded, trying to decide which of the five was the biggest target...but how could you hurt something that didn’t feel pain?

As if to drive home his point, the mare that Rainbow had disarmed, who was now staring at Phillip, placed her knife in her teeth and reached up to her broken foreleg, massaging the distended joint. With a snap, she forced the bones back into place. Not once did she take her empty blue eyes off of Phillip.

“I've dreamed about zombie invasions before,” Rainbow muttered. "It's never been like this."

The ceiling suddenly exploded in a shower of splinters and blue energy: Phillip instinctively threw his foreleg around Rainbow and forced her head down, shielding her with his own body. The five ponies around them were suddenly frozen in place, each held by an indigo aura.

Something rushed in from above in a torrent of wind that tore Phillip’s trilby from his head. A streak of color circled them, then formed into a dark blue and silver shape in front of them that they stared up at in awe.

Princess Luna was adorned in silver armor that covered nearly all of her body, her mane tied into a ponytail that spilled out of the back of her visored helmet. She bore a silver broadsword in one hoof; with a flick, she shook off a little blood that stained the blade, then ceremoniously sheathed the weapon next to a tightly strapped assault rifle.

As soon as the sword was sheathed, the paralysis spell faded and all five zombies crumbled like puppets that had had their strings cut. Their heads tumbled off their shoulders and onto the ground.

“Whoa,” Rainbow gasped, staring up at the Princess with stars in her eyes as two Royal Guards in full armor descended from the hole in the ceiling, mechanical wings folding back into their backplates as they landed.

“Greetings, Detective Finder, Rainbow Dash,” Princess Luna nodded to Phillip, her armor folding back into her cuirass as she spoke. “Twilight informed us of what is happening: my sister is not far behind with further reinforcements, while I decided to fly ahead and find you.”

“Good thing you did,” Phillip nodded, retrieving his hat. He trotted over to the now-headless body of the gray earth pony. He noted the cutie mark of the two crossed bronze keys and a tattoo of a green and gold phoenix on the neck, partially obscured by the hood, then patted down the hoodie. From the pocket he retrieved a ruby that glinted bright red even in the shadowy room.

“Let us be off to the precinct,” Princess Luna declared, spreading her wings and kneeling slightly to invite him to climb onto her back. “You can inform us of what you have found on the way.”

Author's Note

If Bobby was an Aborigineigh, he'd call Phil "aler," in case you were curious.

Yowie is basically the Australian Bigfoot.

Some of you might have recognized those lyrics from Scooby-Doo, but just in case you didn't know the tune, here it is.

But in any case, we're making some progress on this case. With some royal help, we might actually be able to turn this around...hopefully!

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