Chapter One: The Austere Academic
The full moon had only begun to rise ominously through the trees that night, like the blind eye of a cyclopean god. And beneath its lunar gaze, a force of darkness and despair had returned after a lengthy absence. For a time, the grove and its denizens had known peace. But now, They had returned. And with them, inevitably came chaos, desolation, and woe.
Nocturnal birds flew carefully if they dared, wary that they might attract the attention of the Dark Trinity which haunted these woods. Birds of daylight, glad for the excuse, fled to their respective nests and feigned an early sleep. The voices of the Three were melodic, their countenances beguiling. But where they went, inevitably, havoc and desolation followed. And as they intoned their solemn rituals within their sanctum of light and shadow, creatures of the night withdrew on membranous wings, and even those who claimed rule over these imperiled lands hid their heads in slumber.
“…and so, with summer camp’s activities safely resolved,” Sweetie Belle read, “it is hereby moved that we can safely add rappelling, bungee jumping, improvised break fall maneuvers, insect collecting, insect sting ointment preparation, whittling, emergency stitching, tracking, trail finding, waiting for emergency rescue, campfire setting, firefighting, and long-distance sprinting to the list of things in which none of us have cutie marks. Is there a second?”
“Second,” Apple Bloom sighed.
“Point of order,” said Skootaloo, raising her hoof, “I think it requires at least two hundred meters to be a long-distance sprint. We made it maybe a hundred.”
Apple Bloom shook her head. “We made it twice that much, easy. ‘Specially if’n ya count us runnin’ aroun’ the prickle bushes.”
“Oh, yeah,” considered Skootaloo. “Never thought Gloriosa would just charge through that stuff to get at us…”
“…or that she’d get that second wind towards the end,” finished Sweetie Belle, nodding. “Yeah. So, okay, it has been moved and seconded. Any further points of order?”
The other two foals shook their heads.
“All in favor?”
“Aye,” said Skootaloo.
“Yeah,” said Apple Bloom.
“The ayes have it. Let the record thus show therefore,” said Sweetie Belle, marking x’s through various drawings, “that these activities are now added to the list of Not Cutie Marks. Let them therefore be added to the Walls of Fruitless Endeavors.”
There followed several minutes of taping pictures to the club house walls, broken occasionally by giggling struggles with particularly stubborn strands of tape.
“Any further business, before we call an end to tonight’s business?” Sweetie Belle yawned. It wasn’t that late, but camp had been exhausting and the trip back had been long. Bed was distinctly calling.
“Um, yeah, one,” sighed Apple Bloom. “I suggest we try cannin’ apples next.”
Sweetie Belle an Skootaloo looked at one another.
“Seconded,” said Skootaloo, as casually as she could.
“Carried,” intoned Sweetie Belle in a loud voice, banging her little gavel. “So be it. I hereby call this meeting of the Cutie Mark Crusaders to a close.”
Then, without another word, the three of them split up. Leaving the door closed, each one slipped out a different window with the grace of a liquid lizard. Exchanging hoof signals with practiced ease, they first established that no one was listening at the windows or the door, nor under the stairs. Then, they all but vanished into the lengthening shadows.
Silent as the dying words of a professional mime with laryngitis drowning in a bathtub of purest vibranium filled with lime gelatin, they moved to secure the area of their domain. With the precision of a clockwork pianist playing Chopsticks, they searched the tree house’s branches, roots, and the surrounding area outside. Under the door’s stairway, inside the podium, and even under their chairs, just in case. They were, despite their tender age, very, very thorough. A changeling disguised as a teacup would not have escaped their notice. The shards of various teacups which had seemed suspect across the previous months lay in silent witness to this, forgotten beneath the stronghold of these mistresses of shadows.
After several minutes of such care, they returned to their meeting room. Apple Bloom now stood at the podium, the other two sitting in a newfound solemnity. The lights were out, the door was barred. The windows were shuttered.
After a moment, the door opened for the barest of moments. Another teacup, smashed beyond repair, joined its unfortunate brethren in the porcelain graveyard beneath the stairs.
Then the door slammed closed again, locked and barred from within.
The way was sealed.
“I hereby call to order,” Apple Bloom whispered softly into the darkness, “this meeting of the Caped an’ Masked Crusaders. Till this secret gathering end, let none enter, and none leave.”
“So be it,” intoned the other two, their whispers joining as one.
“That being said,” added Sweetie Belle in the same whisper, “can we get this done? I’m falling asleep on my hooves.”
“Yeah, won’t take but a tic,” whispered Apple Bloom. “I jus’ found out afore tonight’s meetin’ that Applejack’s got plans for us tomarra mornin’. Dunno what they are yet, but figger then we’ll have our regular chores, on top.”
Sweetie Belle jerked her head up from where it had been drooping, while Skootaloo’s ears visibly perked up. “And…?” Skootaloo whispered.
“An’ tonight’s my turn as Sparrow!” Apple Bloom answered in a hoarse whisper. “If’n I’m too tired from tonight, Applejack may figger somethin’s up…!”
“I’ll go!” Skootaloo cried.
“Sssshhhhhhhhhhh!” hissed the other two, even louder.
“Sorry,” Skootaloo whispered. “But anyway, I’ll go.”
“You sure?” Sweetie Belle whisper-teased with a knowing smile. “I could just drink some cola, and—”
“No!”
“SSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“I mean… no,” Skootaloo whispered. “You’re tired. I got this.”
“But you covered for me last time I couldn’t go,” Sweetie Belle pointed out, still smiling sleepily. “And for Apple Bloom the time before that, when she had to make up that history test.”
Apple Bloom chimed in, “An’ the time afore that, you covered for—”
“That’s okay,” Skootaloo interrupted, remembering this time to whisper. “I don’t mind, honest.”
Sweetie Belle peered at her. “Well, if you’re sure…”
Skootaloo rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Well, okay then,” nodded Apple Bloom in a whisper. “With that resolved, I hereby move for an end to this here meetin’.”
“Agreed,” came the whispered chorus.
“So be it,” whispered Apple Bloom. “This circle is open, this meeting dissolved into the night from which it came. Let none speak of that which has transpired here in shadow with those who walk in day, lest they lose forever their right to the darkness.”
“C’mon, Sweets,” said Skootaloo in a normal voice, “I’ll walk you home. It’s on my way anyway.”
While the two of them headed for the road to Ponyville, Apple Bloom made her own way to the Apple ranch house. She found herself yawning a little, as well. Just home from camp, and right back to early mornings and early nights. Shoot, even without whatever Applejack was planning, it was just as well that Skootaloo was willing to cover for her tonight.
Then she chuckled a little to herself. Not that there was ever much doubt…
LATER, IN THE MANECAVE…
“I should point out that Sparrow will only today have returned home, suh,” Pennyworth pointed out. “She may therefore be too exhausted to attend your usual, er, nocturnal routines.”
“Your heart is in the right place, old friend,” Batmane replied in his usual gruff voice. “But I know she’ll be here.”
A small bow. “As you say, suh. Still,” he added thoughtfully, “it might be best if Miss Sparrow were to remain home tonight. After delivering the bat-photographs, of course.”
But Batmane shook his cowled head. “No, Pennyworth. I know you don’t completely approve of their involvement. But once they discovered my secret, I knew we were kindred spirits. And, so did they.”
Batmane stopped, turning majestically to face the ceiling. He seemed to be imagining his aunt’s moon and stars beyond as he said, “The night calls.” Placing a gloved hoof over his heart, he concluded, “And the bat-soul must answer.”
Pennyworth cocked an eyebrow. “And, should Miss Sparrow have better things to do this particular night?”
Batmane’s smile was enigmatic as he faced his old friend. “There is nothing better.”
The sound of small, high-speed wheels announced Sparrow’s arrival even as she raced into the room.
“Hey! Sorry if I’m late, there was a—” She stopped, seeing Batmane’s expression darken.
Career criminals had been known to change careers completely, merely at the sight of that frown. Professional safe-crackers had taken up accounting, pickpockets had taken up square-dance announcing. Even crooked politicians had confessed their crimes at the very sight of those narrowed eyes and downcast mouth, afterwards becoming house painters and jazz musicians.
(Of course, as Batmane had made clear to Sparrow at the time, almost all politicians could be counted on to be selfless and honest servants of their constituents. The dishonest ones were the exceptions.)
The CMC, however, were largely immune to his glower, one of the many things Batmane appreciated about them. That being said, Skootaloo knew that, unlike Fluttershy’s Stare, Batmane’s glower was not a supernatural power to be called upon when circumstances were dire.
It was, rather, a sign that Batmane was peeved.
And a peeved Batmane was never a good sign.
“I, um… I brought the bat-photos…” She offered uncertainly, holding them out to him.
Pennyworth glanced between them, and then made his way gracefully towards the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some dusting to do upstairs.” He paused by Skootaloo just long enough to accept the photographs, placing a gentle hoof on her withers as he did so.
“Good luck, child,” he whispered sincerely.
And then he was gone.
Skootaloo watched him go. She felt like a shipwrecked pirate, watching the ocean’s only buoy paddle away under its own power. Then, slowly, as a condemned mare turns to the gallows, she turned back to Batmane.
“I, um, just got home,” she pointed out in a quiet voice. “I haven’t had time to get into trouble yet.”
Silence.
She blinked, feeling even more uncertain, her voice even quieter.
“Have I?”
Finally, Batmane spoke. “I thought we’d have time to discuss this before we went on patrol again,” he growled. “You weren’t scheduled to be Sparrow until the night after tomorrow.”
“I know, but Apple Bloom was really tired, and her sister…” Her voice trailed off then, as she saw what he was holding out to her.
Her last report card.
“How…” she stammered. “How did you…”
His featureless eyes narrowed as he gazed down upon her.
“I am the night.”
She sighed in defeat, accepting the damning evidence from his gloved hoof. “Right,” she said sadly. “I know you are.”
ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, IN THE MANECAVE…
“Skootaloo, we made a deal!”
Skootaloo wiggled uncomfortably where she sat. “I know…”
“I said you could be Sparrow on several conditions,” Batmane went on, in a voice that was somehow both a snarl and an almost parental plea. “One of them was keeping your grades up. An education is the most valuable thing a young pony could ever be offered.”
“Yeah…”
“A good student’s studies come before any extra-curricular activities, and that includes crime fighting,” he growled.
“The thing is, though…”
“When the CMCs first approached me, you all had straight A’s,” he went on.
“Well, you see…”
Batmane gestured to the card beside her. “In the time you were Sparrow while school was still in session, your year’s grades went from A’s to straight B’s!”
“But—”
“B’s.” He shook his head. “My god.”
“Okay! I get it!”
The silence between them grew as the gravity of the moment truly sank into her mind.
“I’m…” She gulped. “Am I…” She closed her eyes, and managed in a tiny voice, “…fired?”
She heard him sigh, felt his hoof rest gently on her withers.
“No, Skootaloo,” the Dark Detective said. “You’re not fired.”
She looked up at him, huge eyes tear-filled and pitiable. “I’m not?”
The CMCs had their own gaze weapon, which they sometimes used to their own advantage. And, much like Batmane’s glower, it was devastatingly effective. Batmane’s immunity to it, however, was not one of their fondest aspects of his personality.
“No.” He took her hooves in his own, pulled her up to a standing position again. “But you are on bat-scholastic probation,” he went on.
She looked down again. “Oh,” she sighed.
“As soon as school starts, no more extra shifts,” he lectured. “I’ll patrol alone before I allow damage to your scholastic career.
“But,” he went on, “I expect your grades to be back up by your next report card.”
He put his hoof under her chin, gently moved her to face him again.
“Once you’ve got straight A’s again, you’re off probation,” he said. “Agreed?”
For an answer, Skootaloo jumped into his arms, hugging him fiercely. Then, with a grin, she ran over to the smaller wardrobe of the Manecave, and started suiting up for the night’s work. As she donned the dark red costume, her mane’s color began to deepen, her coat shifted to a shadowy green color, her eyes became blank and unfathomable. On her flank, a curved, lightning bolt-like “S” materialized.
There were three identical-looking Sparrow suits in the bat-wardrobe, each with thestral-like wings, black with yellow inner membranes. And like Batmane’s suits, each had been enchanted by one of the world’s most brilliant metaphysical minds in accordance with its wearer’s individual strengths and needs.
Apple Bloom’s suit, for example, was slightly heavier than the other two, allowing greater physical protection and for her to strike with greater force. It also harnessed her physical strength into its wings, allowing her to make controlled glides. Experience even allowed the filly to catch updrafts, arcing upwards through the nighttime air.
Sweetie Belle’s suit, on the other hand, hid her horn in much the same way as Batmane’s suit did. It also harnessed her magic to allow her a limited form of telekinetic flight, steering with its thought-responsive wings. She could also use her own magic to activate the suit’s Invisibility and Inaudibility spells, becoming almost as difficult to detect as Batmane himself.
But as Skootaloo donned her Sparrow attire, she slid her wings into those of the suit with practiced ease and narrowly contained excitement. Whereas the suit was enchanted for speed, and contained a set of concealed roller wheels in the hooves, the spell she loved the most was in the wing sleeves themselves. For they responded perfectly to her own wings’ motions, amplifying her own wings’ strength.
Allowing her to truly fly.
Of course, what she didn’t know was that the wings also had a secondary set of enchantments. Enchantments designed to indirectly strengthen her wings through her use of the suit’s prosthetics, like a kind of physical therapy. Helping to catalyze their growth, and hopefully allowing her to one day fly on her own.
Batmane had never told Sparrow of the additional magics he had woven into her suit. Their results were far from a guarantee, after all. But he did allow himself a slight smile as she finished sealing her suit, and, whinnying for joy, began doing ecstatic loop-the-loops in the air.
Am I fired, he thought.
As if he would ever take the skies away from her.
Just then, there was an alarm-like noise behind a nearby door. It sounded like a building’s alarm, only smaller, almost like a toy.
Without hesitation, Batmane flung open the door. It had an orange sign on it, no doubt clearly labeling the room’s true purpose. Beyond that portal, Sparrow knew, was the secret project Batmane had been working on for so long. But the sign had a black cloth hanging over it, making the room’s secrets completely and utterly impenetrable.
After a single glance, The Shadow Sleuth spun back to Sparrow, his galvanic energy returned in spades as he pulled the door closed again. She landed in front of the bat-wardrobe immediately, quickly and expertly donning her bat-utility belt.
“The Canterlot Museum!” he cried. “Quick, Sparrow, there’s not a moment to lose!”
The Dynamic Duo burst into action like flood of genius torrenting through a hole in the dam of a colony of brain beavers.
“To the Batcarriage!”
MEANWHILE, IN THE CANTERLOT MUSEUM…
The shadowy form slipped through the shadows like a shadowy slippy thing written by someone who was running out of metaphors.
The skylight lock was a complex mechanism, its keyhole on the inside. The glass and steel were carefully warded against transmutation or breakage. The intruder’s horn glowed a gentle blue, imperceptible from any distance while highlighting the surrounding stonework in the most tasteful fashion possible to any who might be close up.
Then, a single sewing needle, thin as a paramour’s hopes, detached itself from the intruder’s costume. It floated into the air even as the glass doors strained outward slightly, the space between them now just enough to allow the Size 10 Sharp to slip through.
Like many high-end security devices, the lock had more than thirty tumblers. Each one was made from diamond, warded against magical tampering and enchanted with both durability and alarm spells. The mechanism itself was stiff and almost impossible to break. Yet, with the grace of a serpent performing open-heart surgery on an injured swan, the needle moved with perfect precision. It used its leverage exquisitely to move each tumbler, its mistress uncannily sensing the exact position of each tiny gem as they slowly fell into line.
Finally, the lock opened with an almost inaudible click!, the intruder replaced her needle with her mind as she pulled the twin doors open.
The curtain cord was a deep crimson silk, thirty feet long, nearly invisible in the darkness and all but impossible to break. She shimmied down it with the grace of a ribbon floating through a summer sky, landing soundlessly on the polished floor.
From her monogrammed saddlebag the interloper produced an atomizer of Chanel Chance Eau de Toilette. She sprayed it into the air, the mist instantly revealing the beams of mystic light used by still more alarms and traps. They crisscrossed each other like a stick puzzle through the air, leaving almost no clear way through.
Almost.
Placing a length of luxuriously thick silk on the highly polished floor, the thief lay herself along it. Then, she moved herself across the floor with her hooves as if making a snow angel, carefully threading her arms between the beams of lights as needed. In some cases the beams were quite close to the floor, and she only made it through thanks to perfect breath control.
At last, she was in the center of the display room. Above her, in its crystal case atop a pedestal of gold and onyx, was the treasure she sought.
The Pink Panther Diamond. Worth a queen’s ransom, which was exactly what she intended to demand for its return.
Well, once she was ready to give it up, anyway.
But for now, the jewel gleamed, beckoning to her. Or, at least it would have, if there had been enough light to see it properly and if she hadn’t been beneath its display case. Smiling the self-satisfied smile of the wily criminal mind, the burglar steeled herself for the last part of her criminal plan…
WHAT’S THIS?
IS THE FATE OF THE PINK PANTHER DIAMOND SEALED??
DID THE MUSEUM’S ALARM MARK FELINE FATALE MAKING A FATAL BLUNDER, OR WILL THE QUEEN OF THIEVES ESCAPE WITH A QUEEN’S RANSOM???
DO THE DYNAMIC DUO DARE DISTRACT THE DASTARDLY DAMSEL OF DIABOLICAL DEEDS DURING HER DEFRAUDALENT DANCE OF DEFALCATION????
AND WHAT ABOUT… NAOMI?????
FIND OUT NEXT TIME, BAT BELIEVERS!
SAME BAT-TIME!!
SAME BAT-CHANNEL!!!
Chapter Two: The Ersatz Accoutrement
The city of Canterlot whizzed past them in a blur of architecture and nocturnal lighting, the mystic carriage rolling at speeds far greater than most any mortal pony could reach. Yet there were no neck yokers or bows on the arcane conveyance, nor even a tongue. For the night-prowling vehicle of justice no need for such contrivances, being propelled through the stygian streets due not to the efforts of pony strength but through the high art of permanent enchantment. Thus, there was only the carriage cab itself, cast from rare and enchanted metals.
And within, its occupants... cast from a rarer mettle still.
“Hey, Batmane?”
“Yes, Sparrow.”
“Can I ask you something?” The teen hero fidgeted in her seat before adding, “Um… it may be a little personal…”
Then, she looked away. “Okay, it’s really a lot personal. I probably shouldn’t ask. Never mind.”
Batmane nodded grimly to himself. He had always known that one day, the questions would be asked. The CMC were simply too alert, too inquisitive, to not realize his motivation had to be from something he kept deep within himself. It was part of what made them good detectives.
It was therefore inevitable that they would realize the dark truth, some dark night: that his becoming Batmane had come from a dark place within himself, an abyss of consuming, all-encompassing darkness.
A black, unfathomable nougat center of darkness, from which there could be no true escape.
And, he acknowledged, it only made sense that it would be Scootaloo who would be the first to make that realization. They had too much in common, the two of them, for it not to be. Not the least of which being loss.
Steeling himself for the revelations ahead, for the baring of souls now to be faced at last, Batmane nodded. “You can ask me anything, Sparrow. Always.”
“Well, okay. Um…” Sparrow seemed even more uncertain, and then finally asked:
“It seems like you’ve got this gravelly voice you use when you’re Batmane,” she said. “But when you’re Blueblood, you don’t. And that makes sense. But, even when we’re in the Manecave, and there’s nopony else around, you still use your Batmane voice. And sometimes it seems like, well, I mean…”
Her voice trailed off, and she said, “It seems sometimes like this is your real voice, like the Blueblood voice is just an act. Instead of the other way around?”
Batmane gave his protégé the barest of glances before returning his gaze to the streets before them.
“Don’t ever smoke.”
Sparrow’s eyes also snapped towards the front, even as they grew to the size of dinner plates.
“Got it,” she said.
The Batcarriage sped through the city streets like a five-mouthed demon from Tartarus fleeing a dental appointment. Soon, the Dynamic Duo leaped through a museum window and into the company of the only other two ponies in Canterlot as dedicated to crime fighting as they.
The commissioner, a light blue unicorn with white mane and tail, started at their sudden appearance: dark and terrifying as a kitten’s dreams of bloody conquest. Still, he recovered quickly.
“Thank goodness you’re here, Batmane!” Commissioner Spacious Fort exclaimed. “The Pink Panther Diamond is missing! Stolen!”
The orange-maned police chief beside him nodded sagely. “Sure, an’ it’s almost certainly the work of that criminal mastermind, Feline Fatale. Why, if I just had a nickel for every time she’s bamboozled us before!”
But the Dark Detective simply glanced around himself, his winged protégé by his side.
“Let’s not be too hasty, gentlecolts,” he said, his rough growl filling the museum’s antechamber. “Though the brilliance and mastery of the crime may point towards that particular criminal at the moment, we mustn’t allow ourselves the luxury of presumption.”
Commissioner Spacious Fort and Police Chief O’Bunny both nodded as the four of them walked towards the annex where the fabled diamond had been kept. Above the entrance archway, the black-on-orange sign proudly proclaimed, PINK PANTHER DIAMOND EXHIBIT.
“Fair enough, Caped Crusaders,” the Commissioner said. “But then, what do you make of all this?”
“Four-inch thick enchanted silver alloy, dropped instantly through a permanent telekinetic spell,” came the growled reply.
Sparrow glanced up at him. “What?”
Suddenly, a massive sheet of silver dropped down behind them with a deafening Boom!, sealing them in the annex.
“Holy—!” Sparrow started, then cut herself off at her mentor’s sharp look.
“…heart failure?” she finished.
Batmane nodded, satisfied, then returned to his observations. He knew all too well how the life of a crime fighter was a difficult one. But no amount of stress was an excuse for bad language. Especially from a minor.
While the security door slowly raised up again, Batmane went on, “It’s obviously activated through a motion sensitivity ward inlaid into the archway, hidden among the ornamental carvings of the walls themselves.”
He smiled, adding, “I would guess that in the chaos following the theft’s discovery, museum security forgot to deactivate the wards. A minor lapse, and certainly an understandable one.”
“Absolutely correct as always, Batmane,” Commissioner Fort said as he and the police chief entered. “Though they’re disarming it now, of course. But how did you know?”
“The carvings are early Saddle-Arabian,” Batmane explained. “But the rest of the exhibit is middle to modern Saddle-Arabian, with the exception of the diamond itself, of course. Therefore, the carvings were chosen by someone without experience in Saddle Arabian history, but who nonetheless had been chosen by the museum to place carvings into its most celebrated and secured wing.
“Of course, theoretically the carvings could have been added as part of the exhibition,” he admitted, “but in that case, there would have been a plaque describing their significance within the exhibit itself, and there wasn’t.”
“And the only reason why anypony would add artistic carvings to a museum archway that they didn’t want ponies to notice would be if it were for security!” Sparrow exclaimed. “And wards and glyphs are easily hidden among ornate, highly detailed engravings!”
Batmane whirled to face her. “Precisely, Sparrow! As for the door description itself, silver has long been the preferred metal for use in security systems, due to its adverse effects on creatures of darkness and evil.”
“And the narrowest point between the two sets carvings lining the archway was about four inches!” Sparrow realized.
Then, she sighed. “It all seems so simple when you explain it.”
Smiling, Batmane put a hoof on his protégé’s withers. “You’re learning faster than you realize, Sparrow. For example, with all this being said, how did the villain enter the annex to steal the Pink Panther Diamond?”
Sparrow was surprised to be thrust into the fore of detective work, though she hid it instantly. Nodding, she took to the air, circling the large room as she spoke.
Sparrow glided upwards with the grace of a feathered serpent dancing the Macarena, circling the ornate room as she examined everything around her. Ornate hoof-woven rugs, sculptures, and glass cases, each with its own orange sign to label the display in bold black lettering.
In the center of the room, one case, empty of its intended occupant. The sign on its base proclaimed, PINK PANTHER DIAMOND. But instead of that legendary jewel, a white silken glove, the calling card of Feline Fatale, rested gently on the small cushion within. Embroidered upon its center, a delicate FF could be plainly seen.
“There’s only one door,” the young crime fighter observed, still circling. “The wards are triggered by motion, and were intact when the theft was discovered. They haven’t been tampered with, at least as far as security was able to detect.”
“Good heavens!” the commissioner exclaimed. “How do you know that?”
“If they had been, you would have said so,” Sparrow said, still studying the room around her. “Which implies either the criminal overrode them in a way that security can’t detect, or bypassed them completely.
“The light crystals are still intact,” she went on, as the two elderly stallions exchanged glances, their eyebrows rising by the moment. “In a place like this, it’s standard to have the matrix within them fragile, so they’ll overload easily and shatter in the presence of powerful magic. Like what would be required to bypass the other alarms. Which means that whoever did this, they didn’t just power their way through the room’s defenses. They bypassed them somehow.
“Somepony with the magical power to force their way into a place like this is almost unheard-of. But somepony with the magical precision to control that power to such as extent as this is ever rarer,” Sparrow concluded. “We’re looking for a true master mage and master criminal. Somepony who’s dedicated their lives to…”
Her voice trailed off as she hovered beside the skylight, staring at the lock that held it in place.
“The thief had to have entered through the skylight,” she pronounced. “The spells that protect the lock from magical tampering probably aren’t as strong as the ones on the door. And even if they are, it’s far away enough away from the sconces that the right kind of shield could contain the opening spell, keeping the crystals from being affected. From there, it would be a simple matter for someone of that level of magical skill to levitate themselves down, between the invisible alarm beams, and to the jewel itself.”
“Stars preserve us,” the police chief marveled.
“Well done, old chum,” Batmane smiled.
“But what I don’t get is how they got the jewel,” Sparrow added. “The glass case was protected by spells cast by Princess Celestia herself, keyed only to open in the presence of royal magic. How could the thief have gotten past that kind of protection?”
“Well, there’s no underestimating the audacity of the criminal mind,” the commissioner admitted. “Feline Fatale has robbed a number of Canterlot treasures over the last few years, always ransoming them for her dastardly price a few months later.”
Then, with a wink to Batmane, he added, “But now that you’ve joined the Dark Detective, perhaps you’ll solve the case for us.”
Behind her mask, Sparrow’s eyes narrowed. In a voice both quiet and calm, she asked, “Boss, can I borrow the key to the skylight?”
Batmane’s eagle eyes cut to the other two stallions like a diamond in a mixed metaphor. “Commissioner?”
The commissioner blinked. “Hm? Oh, of course.”
When the old stallion fished out the key from his coat pocket, Sparrow swooped down to retrieve it and deftly undid the lock.
“Sure, and what’s she doing now?” O’Bunny wondered.
The Dark Detective’s answer was as enigmatic as it was confident.
“Watch.”
After a moment, Sparrow drifted back down, holding something carefully in her hoof.
“An’ just what’s that, then?” O’Bunny demanded, peering at her prize.
“Why, it’s a hair,” Commissioner Fort gasped.
“According to the briefing Batmane gave me on the way here, Feline Fatale occasionally alters their costume between crimes,” Sparrow said, holding the follicle aloft. “Mane-down is in this season, so it seemed likely the thief would have a new design with an at least partially exposed mane.”
Sparrow paused. She almost said, I have a friend who knows about fashion, but instead she continued with, “Especially if they’re female. And since I found this caught on one of the skylight hinges – combined with her choice of name, of course – Feline Fatale is almost certainly a mare.
“Anyway, the expunging spell on her costume turned the hair black as soon as it was separated from her, and of course any sympathetic link was lost, too. But with the right magic the original color can be restored…”
“…And help us identify the criminal’s secret identity!” Commissioner Fort exclaimed. “The girl’s a wonder!”
Batmane slipped the hair into a test tube from his bat-utility belt. Almost immediately it transformed, staining the liquid around it as well.
“Purple!” O’Bunny Exclaimed. “By my Aunt Moria, it’s purple!”
“Exactly!” the Shadow Sleuth exclaimed. “Well done, Sparrow!”
Sparrow happily did loop-the-loops in the air above them.
“But a mare who is a master mage, with that kind of both power and control,” the commissioner wondered, “and a purple mane… wait. You’re surely not suggesting royalty is involved in this crime, are you?”
“No, not royalty, commissioner ,” the crime fighter mused. “But, perhaps somepony close to royalty...”
“Sweet stars above!” Police Chief O’Bunny gasped. “Sure an’ you’re not saying Twilight Sparkle did it?”
“That answers all our old questions, only to ask so many more!” the commissioner cried.
“Indeed, gentlecolts,” Batmane said as he stroked his chin in thought. “Princess Celestia’s prize pupil Twilight Sparkle is certainly the obvious suspect.”
Then he gave them a calculating look, arching an eyebrow as he added, “Too obvious.”
Sparrow, meanwhile, had settled on a perch high above the other ponies. “Batmane, I have an idea,” she said.
“Out with it, old chum.”
“Well, all this time you and the commissioner and the police chief have been looking for a master magician. And sure, the clues point that way. But what if it’s not that? What if the thief picked the lock, rather than enchanting it?”
“Sure, an’ now you are pulling my leg!” O’Bunny exclaimed. “Why, how would anypony pick a lock from outside when the lock is in here?”
“Some ponies develop special senses that align with their cutie mark. It’s rare, but it does happen,” Sparrow pointed out, feeling a bit unsure as the stallion gazed up at her incredulously. “And unicorn surgeons perform surgery all the time, using telekinesis do work far too fine for hooves. Couldn’t Feline Fatale be a surgeon?”
“Well, now, that’s not impossible, I suppose,” the commissioner said. “But all other considerations aside, what about motive?”
“Feline Fatale always ransoms off her stolen treasures for huge amounts of wealth—”
“Yes, yes. But if a doctor had suddenly come into that kind of money, I think we’d have noticed. Eh, no offense, of course,” he added at her downcast expression.
Sparrow glanced over at her mentor, but the Dark Detective’s mind was already racing.
Looking upwards again, he said, “Sparrow, examine the outside of the skylight again. Look for any signs of scratches or scuffs around it.”
Without a word, Sparrow soared upwards again with the grace of a ballet-trained salmon. A moment later she returned, saying, “You’re right, Batmane. There’s three sets of scratches around the skylight.”
“Just as I suspected!” Batmane exclaimed. “The thief used some sinister device not unlike our own bat-grappling hooks. See here, Sparrow,” he added, picking up something almost invisible from the floor.
Sparrow frowned in perplexment. “A tiny piece of fuzz from red… yarn?”
“Not yarn, old friend. Silk.”
Pocketing the evidence, Batmane strode towards where the security beams of light had been circumvented by the nefarious nocturnal nightingale. “Silk from a one-inch tight-wound cord, unless I miss my guess. It must have rubbed against the skylight’s edge while Feline Fatale was making her getaway, sawing off this small fragment.
“And here,” he exclaimed, “Look at the floor. What do you see?”
“Well, it’s highly polished marble,” Sparrow acknowledged. “There are some hoofprints, but it looks like they’re all ours. What does that mean?”
“Think about it, Sparrow,” Batmane said. “If our malevolent mare is performing her criminal wiles through telekinetic precision alone, there’s only one way to get past the light traps and to the diamond itself!”
Sparrow nodded, understanding at last. “She’d have to make her way around... no, she’d go under the beams!”
Then she frowned. “But, wouldn’t there be scuff marks to show how she got across? Or traces of her coat? Assuming she could even see the beams at all?”
“No doubt a simple atomizer was used to fill her intended path with mist,” Batmane said. “As for the rest… Police Chief O’Bunny, How are the floors cleaned every night?”
“Er, well, they’re waxed an’ buffed, an’ then polished with a pad of…” His eyes widened in amazement. “Stars preserve us! They polish the floor with silk!”
“Precisely, O’Bunny!” Batmane cried, leaping into the area where the diamonds had once sat. “Our scurrilous nemesis has outsmarted herself at last! By leaving no trace of her method whatsoever, she has revealed exactly how she accomplished every step of her nefarious deed!”
Commissioner Fort raised a hoof. “I’m lost.”
“The silk!” Batmane exclaimed.
Whirling to face each of his allies in turn, he exclaimed with new energy, “Sparrow, you were on the right track! But consider, gentlecolts: not only members of the medical profession refine their telekinesis to such a keen edge.”
“You don’t mean—” Police Chief O’Bunny started.
“I do!”
“But Batmane—“
“Precisely, Sparrow!”
“Still lost,” Commissioner Fort pointed out, hoof upraised again.
“Sure an’ begorrah,” O’Bunny swore. “A seamstress.”
“Precisely, O’Bunny!” The Dark Defender of Canterlot proclaimed.
Then, in a softer tone, he added, “The only possible profession combining both precision and access to fine fabrics.”
While Sparrow watched from her perch high above, her eyes growing wider and wider in horror, the Shadow Sleuth continued his prestigious profile of the profane perpetrator.
“So it must be obvious, gentlecolts. Our fiendish fashionista is a purple-maned mare, of average build or perhaps on the slim side, with minimal magical power and yet an incredibly precise control over her telekinesis. She can use her magic to sew, even embroider. She would also have an ability to sense precious stones just as precisely, such as the tumblers in the skylight’s lock. More likely than not, her cutie mark reflects this trait, taking the form of some jewel or precious stone.”
Sparrow sunk further and further down where she crouched on her precarious perch, her ears becoming flatter against her skull with every word the Caped Crusader spoke.
“Additionally, we’re not dealing with any common seamstress. Our quarry is somepony who would have easy access to the materials used in last night’s heist. Consider: the fine quality crushed silk, used to simultaneously provide frictionless locomotion and polish away the evidence of her travel; the masterfully crafted silk cord. Now remember her predilection towards the latest fashion trends in her costuming! All these clues point conclusively to a fully-fledged and well established fashionista.
“And finally, whoever she is, she is obviously in possession of a powerful magical artifact. Something so ancient, so powerful, that the enchantments Princess Celestia had placed upon the glass around the Pink Panther Diamond reacted as though their rightful mistress was opening the display case… yet, an object so focused by its very nature that it didn’t set off the other alarms. And therefore, an artifact at least distantly associated with the diarchy itself!”
The Crusader against Canterlot Crime considered cautiously the capricious criminal characterization he had calculated so carefully. Finally, he spoke again.
“Nope,” he said. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Behind him, there was the sudden whap! of something hitting the floor. Frowning slightly, Batmane turned to see his student lying spread-eagled on the polished tile, thestral wings spread over her like a shroud. Instantly, his puzzlement sublimated into concern.
“Sparrow! Are you alright, old chum?”
Pulling her face from the marble floor, Sparrow managed a somewhat dizzy, “I’m fine…”
The Shadow Sleuth helped his stalwart friend to her hooves, his mind racing like a Naruto runner in a high wind. Then, his head snapped up.
“Curse me for a fool! Of course!” he exclaimed.
Turning to the other stallions’ stunned expressions, he explained, “It’s a school night.”
The commissioner nodded with understanding. “Oh. Yes, yes of course.”
“Sure, an’ she must be plumb tuckered out,” the police chief agreed.
“Gentlecolts, I trust you can conduct the next stage of the search without us,” Batmane said, aiding a suddenly wobbly Sparrow.
“Sure, an’ we’ll search every fashion boutique in Canterlot,” the chief assured him.
“How many are even in this great city of ours?” the commissioner wondered aloud.
“Exactly two hundred and seventy-nine,” Batmane answered promptly. “Plus two florists who do alterations for Hearts and Hooves Day, seven laundromats that offer fittings, and one tobacconist’s that offers a free pair of hot pants with every pack of Lucky Strikes.
“But for now, I fear we must leave that part of the investigation to you and your finely trained police force. And, of course, request any information the princesses might have on any magical artifacts that might have been stolen from the palace in the last few years. As cunning as Feline Fatale is, the theft might not have even been noticed.”
“Of course! You can count on us, Caped Crusaders,” the commissioner assured them both.
“I never doubted it for a second. And now... quickly, Sparrow-- to the Manecave!”
Yet, even as the Caped Crusaders turned to take their leave into the dark, inky, yet strangely sheltering heart of darkness from whence they had entered, the air conditioning happened to switch on. Air trapped in the vent system once again stirred lazily throughout the room like a well-fed python, bringing the sparse and misted remains of Feline Fatale’s atomizer scent to new life.
Batmane paused at the warded annex archway with Sparrow in tow, his highly-trained nostrils twitching with whiplike precision. Then, he spun, eyes wide.
“Great Scott!” he cried. “I know that perfume!”
CAN IT BE?
SPARROW, UNKNOWING, HARBORING A SECRET WAITING IN THE WINGS??
DOES THIS REVELATION MARK AN INEVITABLE COLLISION BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL, WITH THE FAITH AND GOOD INTENTIONS OF THE SPARROWS AS THE DIABOLICAL PRIZE???
AND WHAT OF FELINE FATALE -- WITH HER CRIMES REVEALED, WILL THE FELONIOUS FELINE CLAIM HER REVENGE AGAINST THE CAPED CRUSADERS, NO MATTER THE COST????
AND WHAT ABOUT… NAOMI?????
FIND OUT NEXT TIME, CAT BELIEVERS!
SAME CAT-TIME!!
SAME CAT-CHANEL!!!
