Chapters The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry
Memory is a funny thing.
For some old codgers, all it takes is a few bars of some old song to get them reminiscing about their glory days. For others, it's less than that-- just a smell of freshly baked bread will get them bawling about their mothers.
And for me? It's maps.
In my doddering old age, there are days when I can barely remember what I've had for breakfast (if I've even eaten at all), much less what I did decades past, in my prime. Why, I've still got a couple of medals that I have no memory whatsoever of receiving. Impressive ones, too. Then again, it's entirely likely I was comatose when they were given to me. Pre-humously, if you will. Either that, or the awards ceremony had an open bar.
But for me, all it takes is a glance at a map, and the memories all come rushing back. Memories of pain, for the most part-- but that's life, is it not? Show me a map-- any map – and more often than not I'll be able to tell you about something horrible that happened to me. Dueling scars for that mad mission to Perchertaina. Flying-baboon bites in the Everfree Forest. A smattering of second degree burns in the Dragon Lands. A frostbitten nose in Yakyakistan. Heartbreak in Ponyville. Several stab wounds and a concussion in Kowloon. And so on, and so on, and so on. It's a depressingly long list.
To be honest, I've shed blood (however unwillingly) in just about every locale or kingdom most ponies can think of off the top of their heads, and a few more besides.
Of all those places, and of all those wounds, none of them were as bad as what happened to me in Appleoosa.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The train clattered westward.
As assignments went, this was a rather posh one. At least it was supposed to be. But in those days I was still young and naive and somehow convinced that the proverbial fates didn't enjoy watching me suffer. Though I suppose if you're still reading my rambings at this point, you probably enjoy watching (or, well, reading) me suffer too, you sadist.
The worst part was, I actually chose the assignment. Y'see, by then, my entirely undeserved status as a Hero of Equestria was fairly well cemented. And for once, there weren't any looming threats or impending prophecies or any other nonsense to deal with.I knew it couldn't last-- which is why I decided to get myself assigned as far away from Canterlot as possible. If I stayed in the capitol, it was only a matter of time before some new magic-mad fiend tried to take the place over again. That, or Fancy Pants and the other maniacs at the Equestrian Intelligence Office would decide the best way to solve some horrible new political imbroglio would be “Throw Sentry at it.” Which is something they kept on doing despite (or perhaps because of) the mayhem that invariably followed.
And so, when I learned about a 'advisory survey' mission out to Appleoosa, I pulled a few strings to put my name on the top of the list. It was rather easy, I must say-- all I had to do was puff out my chest and spout some nonsense about “trackless wilderness” and “looking for a new challenge” and it was the 3:10 to Appleoosa, with barely enough time to grab a toothbrush.
Of course, I also made it a point to pull a few more strings, which got me a first class cabin, and a certain orange-haired mare to share it with. Carrot Top (a.k.a. Special Agent Golden Harvest, master of hoof to hoof combat) leaned against my side, looking out the window. I could see her face reflected in the glass-- pensive and lovely. And quiet, to boot. Which should have been my first clue something was going to go terribly wrong, but that's hindsight for you.
“Alright, out with it.” I finally said.
“What?” Carrot Top shook herself out of her thoughtful reverie.
“You're getting that look again.”
“What look?”
“That look you get right before you start talking about missions and dossiers and all that other unpleasantry that usually tries to kill us.”
“I was just ... thinking, that's all.” She said.
“Whatever for?”
Carrot Top blinked, then twisted around to look at me from the corner of her eye, in what had by then become a rather familiar expression.
I kept talking anyway. “I mean, what's there to think about? All I've got to do is go out there, put on my dress uniform, and look official. Show the flag, so to speak. Just a little something to remind the bumpkins that Canterlot hasn't forgotten about them. I'll go in, shake a few hooves, toss out a toast or two to the Princesses, and we'll be homeward bound in a day or two. Honestly, the hardest part is going to be writing up the report for Princess Sparkle. She'll probably expect something with a bibliography. But even with that, it's still easy work.”
“Sentry.” Carrot Top said, flatly. “Did you really just say this would be easy? Do you not remember what happens every time you say something like that?”
“Ah.” My stomach lurched. I tried to hang onto a slimmer of optimism anyway. “But ... Appleoosa's just some insignificant dirtball, no? Surely there's nothing out there that'll be too much trouble.”
“Except for the sandstorms. And the outlaws. And the cholera. At least the Buffalo Folk have been quiet lately, so they probably won't try to level the town anytime soon.”
“You talk like you've been there before.”
“I have.”
“And you didn't think to mention any of this horrible lurking danger before I volunteered for the mission?”
Carrot Top shrugged, tilting her head back to look at me. “That's the thing, Sentry. There's always some kind of horrible lurking danger. Some monster. Some cult. Some conspiracy. The Princesses tend to handle the big stuff-- but for everything else? It comes down to ponies like you and me.”
“Which is why Fancy Pants sent us out here.” My voice may have cracked, but Carrot Top didn't seem to notice.
“If it helps, we don't have any active case files in Appleoosa right now. So any trouble we find will be ... extracurricular.”
“That's ... not exactly reassuring.”
“And that's what I've been thinking about.” Carrot Top sighed.
“In that case, I think you could do with a distraction.”
“What kind of distraction?” Carrot Top said.
I leaned in to gently tease my lips over the very tip of Carrot Top's ear.
“Ah.” she said.
I can be very distracting, when I put my mind to it.
The train slowed, brakes squealing as it rolled into Appleoosa station. 'Station' was something of a generous term for the rickety shack that served as the town's ticket office-- but then again 'town' was something of a generous term for Appleoosa.
Carrot Top and I had just enough time to get ourselves looking presentable before the train reached its destination. Not that it was necessary: Appleoosa was barely more than a row of ramshackle buildings built from cheap clapboard. The wide road through the center of town was dry, dusty, and surprisingly crowded, as scores of earth ponies in broad-brimmed hats went too and fro about their business.
“I'll get the luggage.” Carrot Top said, shouldering her heavy saddlebags without a grunt of effort. It might've been a bit ungentlemanly to let her do so, but she was easily the stronger (not to mention more stubborn) of the two of us. “You can go talk to Sheriff Silverstar.”
“Right-o.” I said. And with that, Carrot Top disappeared into the throng of ponies milling about the station. I went the other way, trotting down the steps and onto the station platform.
It was easy to spot Sheriff Silverstar, leaning against a post, waiting for me. He was a grim-looking fellow, all squints and mustache and oversized hat. He had a gleaming metal star pinned to his denim vest, matching his cutie mark. “You must be that Flash Sentry feller.”
“That obvious?” I said.
“Name's Sheriff Silverstar. I take care of things 'round here.” He sized me up, and by the narrowing of his eyes, likely found me wanting. Which meant he was a good judge of character. “Been doin' fine without any help from Canterlot.”
“And I hope you continue to do so.” I said, smiling. “As I am only visiting in an advisory capacity-- and even then, I don't expect I'll have to do much advising. Things seem nice and quiet around here.”
“And I reckon I'd like to keep it that way.” Silverstar said, still wary, as if he were afraid my mere presence would bring unspeakable calamity to his dirtball of a town. Which, again, meant he was a good judge of character. “Now c'mon, and I'll show you 'round town.”
Even at Silverstar's slow mosey, it didn't take long to see all Appleoosa had to offer. There was a town hall, a general store, a telegraph office, a jail, and a combination boarding house/saloon. The last of which, naturally, was where Carrot Top and I would stay. Hardly luxurious, but at least there was a semi-respectable collection of liquor bottles behind the bar. A crude chandelier fashioned from an old wagon wheel hung from the ceiling, lit candles illuminating the small stage at the opposite end of the room. Sadly, it was too early for fishnet and feather-clad dancing-mares to be prancing about, but that was probably for the best.
As Silverstar and I walked in, the plinking piano music stopped, and every grizzled-looking pony in the place (and just about everypony in Appleoosa was grizzled, to some degree) turned to gawk at the two of us. More specifically, they were gawking at me; with my wings and uniform, I stuck out like a champagne flute thrown in with the coffee mugs.
“Hey lookit!” One of the proverbial coffee-mugs said. “It's that fancy war hero feller from Canterlot!”
Beside me, Silverstar bristled. I suppose I couldn't blame him-- the pony no doubt had gotten used to his position of authority. And here came Flash Sentry, famed Hero of Equestria, here to steal his proverbial thunder. Hell, since I was a pegasus, I could steal his literal thunder, if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't, of course, but it's not like Silverstar knew that. Thankfully, I'd knew exactly what to say next.
“Hero? Me? Perish the thought.” I trotted over and sat on a barstool, making sure to slouch a little bit. “I'm sure the lot of you have dealt with far dicier things-- sandstorms, outlaws, cholera, what have you –you just didn't have a princess around to hand out medals when you did. Don't let all this--” I gestured to my uniform with one hoof. “--make you think I'm better than you, because I'm not. I'm just a simple stallion, trying to do his job. Though right now, I think I'm going to take myself off-duty for a bit. Travel is thirsty business, you know.” I rapped my hoof on the bar. “Barkeep! Let's have a round for these lads, ay? Courtesy of the Princesses.”
A raucous cheer rose up from the saloon's patrons. If my practiced humility hadn't won them over, then the free drinks did. I figured a bottle or two of frontier whiskey was well within the capacity of an E.I.O expense account.*
*Sentry is correct, here. In fact, certain declassified documents from the E.I.O.'s accounting departments have everything from potted ferns to party artillery written off as 'unforeseen expenses.' In comparison a round of drinks in a frontier bar is hardly worth noting.
The bartender, dapper in his bowtie and suspenders, made a show out of setting a row of glasses and filling them with amber-colored whiskey. The saloon's layabouts fell upon the free booze with enthusiastic hooting and hollering (as I've been told such is the proper term). And just like that, I was no longer the foppish interloper, but instead, 'one of the boys,' as it were. Somepony foisted one of those peasant-hats on me, the pressed felt still somehow white, despite the dust and sand that seemed to coat everything in Appleoosa. Even Sheriff Silverstar relaxed once he concluded that I wasn't there to tell him how to do his job.
Whiskey flowed, the piano played, and soon enough the saloon veritably rattled in celebration. I leaned against the bar, nursing my whiskey as the party went on around me. The train ride (not to mention the way Carrot Top and I had spent the last third or so) had tired me out. That, and playing the part of the unflappable war hero only made me look better in the eyes of the yokels.
“Looks like you're having a good time, Sentry.” That Carrot Top snuck up on me unnoticed wasn't surprising, given her profession. That Carrot Top snuck up on me wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats, however, was . Must have been some kind of camouflage.
“Nobody's tried to kill me yet.” I said with a shrug.
“Give it time.”
“I hate it when you say that.” I kicked back the last of the liquor in my glass, then waved the bartender over even as the whiskey singed the back of my throat. “A refill, if you would.” I said, and he poured out another glass in a matter of seconds. “And for the lady--”
“The usual?” The bartender looked past me, to Carrot Top.
“A cider, yeah.” Carrot Top said.
As the bartender trotted off to grab a mug, I arched a brow at my companion.
“I told you, I've been here before.” Carrot Top said.
“Long enough to have a 'usual?'”
“The bartender's good at his job.” Carrot Top said. The barkeep plunked a heavy mug down on the other end of the bar and whizzed it our way. Carrot Top caught the mug without looking and took a long pull.
“I see.” I said. “Anything else I should be aware of?”
“Not really.” Carrot Top wiped cider-foam from her lip.
“You're sure?” I said.
“Positive.”
“Because, you know, whenever you say something like that, more often than not, some tiny little bit of information comes back to bite me in the--”
“Carrot Top, issat you?”
A young, tousle-haired pony in a brown canvas vest trotted across the rapidly-crowding saloon, eyes fixed on Carrot Top.
“Evening, Braeburn.” Carrot Top raised her mug in greeting and forced a smile.
“And here I thought I'd never lay eyes on such a purdy pony ever again!” Braeburn plunked himself down on the empty barstool beside Carrot Top. “Especially after you left so sudden-like.”
“I'm sorry about that.” Carrot Top said. “Things were ... complicated.”
“You back for permanent-like, now?”
“I'm just visiting with Sent-- with Flash.” Carrot Top shook her head, ruefully, then cleared her throat-- at which point Braeburn finally took his eyes off of Carrot Top to notice me. “Flash, let me introduce you. This is Braeburn, he's ... a friend. And Braeburn, this is Flash. We're together.” To prove her point, Carrot Top leaned against my side, nestling in beneath my wing (which was something of an accomplishment, given the hat she wore).
“Oh.” Braeburn's expression fell, and I swear I could've heard a glass break somewhere. But an instant later, he had that dopey bumpkin smile on his face again as he shook my hoof hard enough to rattle my fillings. “Pleased to meetcha, Mister Flash! You're a lucky pony, y'know that?”
“So I've been told.” I said.
“Just be careful, huh? This li'l lady might look like a wiltin' daisy, but durin' that whole business with the buffaloes, I saw Carrot Top rassle a buffalo with nothin' but her bare hooves. And she won !”
“Did she, now?” I looked down at Carrot Top and grinned-- only to catch a none-too-gentle elbow to the ribs for my trouble.
“She done did!” Braeburn said.
“It was a ... spur of the moment thing.” Carrot Top said in her best 'innocent ingenue' voice. “I don't know what got into me.”
“Just 'bout everybody in town did somethin' crazy in that ruckus.” Braeburn shook his head. “We're just lucky things quieted down 'fore anypony got themselves killed. Or 'fore any buffalo did, either.”
“Yeah.” Carrot Top said. “Lucky.”
“I'll have to keep that in mind, Mister Braeburn.” I said. “But while you're here, I suppose it's only polite to offer you a drink.” With the Crown paying, my generosity knew no bounds.
“Aw no, I couldn't. I just stopped in to wet my whistle. Didn't expect to see Carr-- didn't expect to see all this commotion here, that's all. I'll just leave y'all two be, huh?”
“Pleasure to meet you?” I said, for politeness' sake.
“Pleasure's all mine.” Braeburn tipped his hat and, with one last, longing look at Carrot Top, slunk to the far end of the bar in order to start drowning his sorrows. It would've been one of those sad and somber moments, were it not for the jaunty piano music and bawdy singing coming from the other side of the room. I waited 'til he was well out of earshot.
“You?” I looked down at Carrot Top. “And him ? Really?”
“Jealousy doesn't suit you, Sentry.” Carrot Top wriggled out from under my wing.
“I'm not jealous . I mean, why would I be?”
Carrot Top narrowed her eyes.
“I mean, he just doesn't seem your type, that's all.”
“My type.” Carrot Top said, flatly.
“I mean, he seems ... nice.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that the last time I met one of your ex-boyfriends, he tried to kill me.*”
* See: Five Friendly Venoms
“Golden Sky was not an ex boyfriend.”
“He still tried to kill me.”
“A lot of ponies have.”
“Don't remind me.” Another swig of whiskey sent warmth flowing through my cheeks. “But anyway, if you've had past ... dalliances, it's none of my business. Pot, kettle, that sort of thing. So long as it's all in the past tense, it's fine. It ... is in the past tense, yes?”
“I was hoping he wouldn't be in town.” Carrot Top looked down into her mug of cider. “I ... probably broke his heart, leaving like I did.”
“Oh, definitely.” I said. “Did you see the way he looked at you? The lad's smitten. Justifiably so, I might add.”
“Not helping.” Carrot Top sighed. She glanced around to make sure nopony was in eavesdropping distance, then leaned in closer. “Last time I was in Appleoosa, it was on assignment. I had to get close to Braeburn, so I could convince him to ask his cousin to send him a tree from Ponyville.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Which means it's about par for the course in the life of a Special Agent.”
“Point.”
“I didn't mean to hurt him--”
“That'd be a first.”
“Sentry .”
“Sorry.”
Carrot Top drained her cider and set the empty mug on the bar with a thunk. “I shouldn't have--”
“You shouldn't get yourself all twisted up about it, that's what.” I said. “I mean, who cares if you broke his heart? I understand there's a whole genre of earth pony music about that sort of thing. Why, you're practically doing him a favor. All somepony has to do is give him a guitar, and by the end of the month he'll be touring with Coloratura or something. Just think-- you could be forever immortalized in song as the beautiful but mysterious mare who launched his career.”
“I'd rather not be immortalized at all.” Carrot Top blanched. “The more attention I get, the harder it is to do my job. Which is why I'd better stay low-- last thing I need right now is to get myself tangled up in some kind of small town soap opera.”
“Honestly, if that's the worst thing we have to worry about on this trip, I'll take it.”
“Goodnight, Sentry. Try not to get into any trouble.”
“I make no promises.”
“I figured you'd say that.” Despite herself, Carrot Top smiled and patted me on the cheek before turning to leave. I spent the next few pleasant moments admiring the sway of her tail-- until the saloon suddenly went quiet again, music and conversation both stopping as if somepony had thrown a switch.
At first, I thought it was something I'd done-- but for once, it wasn't. Instead, all eyes in the saloon went to the figure walking in through the door. Though he was dressed in Appleoosan fashion, the black-hatted figure obviously wasn't a pony. The bipedal reptile looked vaguely like a dragon-- if a wingless, malnourished one. He was covered in sand-colored scales, and the tips of ivory fangs jutted from his upper lip. Slitted yellow eyes scanned the silent saloon.
“Whatsssss all thisssss then?” The reptile-creature lisped as it spoke, because of course it did.
Sheriff Silverstar stepped forward, jutting out his chin. “We don't want no trouble.”
“Trouble? Who sssssaid anything about trouble?” The creature smiled, showing off its intimidating dentistry. “I jusssst wanted to sssssee what you poniessss were up to. That'sss not illegal, issss it?”
“S'pose it ain't.” Silverstar admitted, begrudgingly. The t wo began to chat, albeit warily, and the rest of the saloon relaxed, albeit slightly. I took the opportunity to wave the bartender over, since he seemed to be so well informed.
“What in blazes is that thing?”
“That's Kid Cobra. One of the Rattler Gang. Meanest buncha snakemen you'll ever meet. Usually, they stick to the wilderness, though.*”
*Originally hailing from Kludgetown, the Rattler Gang was one of the more notable outlaw gangs of the era. It's thought that their reptilian biology allowed them to thrive in the harsh conditions of the Equestrian frontier. Their exploits were most notably featured in a short-lived series of low-budget films such as 'A Fistful of Bits' or 'The Quick and the Deadly.' Ironically, given the parcity of snakemen in the Equestrian entertainment industry, many of the Rattler Gang were played by young dragons instead, leading to a particularly inaccurate stereotype.
“Then what's he doing here?”
The bartender shrugged. “You tell me.”
“--but it ain't just me you gotta worry 'bout.” Sheriff Silverstar raised his voice. “'cause we got us a bona fide Hero of Equestria in town. So don't you try anythin', 'cause I ain't sure what he gonna do.”
And with that, all eyes turned to yours truly.
“Ah. Hello?” I said, for lack of anything better. At least the bartender filled my whiskey glass again without my asking.
“Sssounds impresssive.” The Kid Cobra wove through the crowd, head bobbing with each step as he prowled over to peer at me with those mad yellow eyes of his. I smiled back, even as my guts started tying themselves in knots. Oh, sure, I'd faced actual dragons before,* but the Kid Cobra had the hard eyes of a killer, and I was well within claw's reach. The 'Kid' part of his name must have been ironic, as there was nothing juvenile about the creature.
*See: Octavia's Eleven
I forced myself to stay still, to keep playing the part of cool and casual hero, no matter how badly I wished I could just break and run right there. It wasn't so much that I had a reputation to uphold as much as I feared any sudden movements might trigger latent predatory instincts from Kid Cobra. If I tried to bolt, there was an entirely too likely chance I could wind up with those venomous fangs sunk into my arse. And naturally, Carrot Top was nowhere to be found. So I stood my ground, for lack of any other options.
“And how doesss one become a Hero of Equessstria?” Kid Cobra rasped, breath stinking of carrion. I had no idea what snakemen ate, and had no desire to find out.
“Fighting monsters, rescuing princesses. That sort of thing.” Somehow, my hoof didn't shake as I picked up my whiskey glass for a bracing sip.
Kid Cobra stared at me for a moment-- and then broke out laughing. Or, well, I at hoped the ensuing hacking noise was the reptilian equivalent of a hearty chuckle. “Isss that ssso? You make it sssound easssy! You are a creature of action, then?”
“I suppose that's one way to put it.”
“But do you play cardsss?”
“Oh, I dabble. What's your game?” I said.
“Poker.” Kid Cobra produced a deck of cards from inside his vest. “Fancy a hand?”
Now that I could deal with. Not that I fancied myself much of a card sharp, but I knew my way around a deck. If nothing else, having a card table between myself and Kid Cobra would keep me out of biting distance. And so, I just gave a nonchalant shrug. “Why not?”
And that's how I wound up playing cards with one of the most feared outlaws in all of Equestria. The two of us soon settled into a rhythm of shuffled cards and wagered coin. I took a lead early on, but soon enough, Kid Cobra built up a lead and kept it, steadily adding to the pile of money in front of him. Just a streak of bad luck, I figured--
Until I saw him cheat.
Sure enough, as Kid Cobra looked at his cards, he flicked his wrist just-so, and a sixth card materialized from the depths of his sleeve and slid into his hand. It was obvious. Blatant. Almost as if he was trying to get caught--
--which is when I realized he was.
He'd probably been fleecing me for the last hour, now that I thought of it. Kid Cobra must have been just getting more and more blatant with it, as a test to see just how far he could push me. Not that it mattered to me; I've never been a particularly greedy sort, and again, I figured I could always just write this off as a 'business expense' or something like that. The E.I.O certainly had the budget for it, at least. The more Kid Cobra robbed me, the less need he'd have to murder me, so that suited me just fine. It would've been easier to just hand him a bribe outright, but what can you do.
“Two pair.” I said, laying my cards out on the table.
“Ssstraight flush.” Kid Cobra's forked tongue flickered out from between his lips as he spoke. He smiled that serpent's smirk of his, then leaned forward to rake in his spoils.
“Ah well.” I said with a cheery, 'not my money' kind of grin. “I suppose I'm not as good a gambler as I thought I was.”
“Hold up.” Sheriff Silverstar growled. He shouldered his way through the throng of ponies around the table, and slammed a hoof down on Kid Cobra's shoulder-- hard enough to shake him ... and send a pair of aces tumbling out of his jacket. “This varmint's a cheat!”
Now, yelling 'cheat' in a poker game is something akin to yelling 'fire' in a crowded theater (which is also something I've done, for the record). Pandemonium broke out, as one would expect. Kid Cobra lunged for his winnings, only for Sheriff Silverstar to swing a heavy punch into the snakeman's jaw. The outlaw reeled, flinging cards and coins across the saloon.
Kid Cobra snapped one clawed hand to a pouch at his side. Someone cried out “He's got a sidewinder!” And then, faster than my eye could follow, Kid Cobra flicked his wrist, throwing a coiled snake across the room. The smaller serpent straightened out as it streaked through the air, hitting Silverstar in the neck, fangs-first. The sheriff choked out a wet gasp and collapsed to the ground.
As for me, I knew exactly what to do: I ran.
Or, flew, more accurately. I beat my wings and sprung straight upward, aiming to put as much distance as I could between myself and Kid Cobra. Unfortunately, I was so rushed in my retreat, I couldn't look where I was going-- and so I slammed my head into the wagon-wheel chandelier hanging directly above me. In my hurried retreat, I'd build up enough speed to send the rickety thing swinging on its chain-- and then, with a metallic 'plink,' the rusty chain snapped, and the chandelier plummeted downward.
Right on top of Kid Cobra.
The wheel hit him hard enough to break its spokes, knocking him senseless and trapping him within the outer wooden ring at the same time. Not that I saw it myself; the chandelier hard enough to make bright spots flare across my vision. By the time they cleared, it seemed the whole of Appleoosa was crowded into the saloon, staring up at me. To judge by their shocked and admiring expressions, I quickly realized that the lot of them thought I'd brought the chandelier down on purpose . And with Kid Cobra subdued, that made me the hero of the hour.
Great.
“Is everypony alright, then?” I eased myself down to the floor, albeit a good distance from the comatose snakeman.
“N-nope.” And there was Braeburn, tears in his eyes, hat in his hoof. “He ... he got Sheriff Silverstar.”
“You mean he's--” I looked over, and sure enough, the bartender and Carrot Top were already stretching an old tablecloth out over the Sheriff's body. Carrot Top's face was professionally grim. Would have been nice if she'd gotten there earlier, but I supposed everything happened so fast that even Special Agent Golden Harvest hadn't been able to get there in time.
Braeburn sniffled. “Kid Cobra hit 'im with that sidewinder so fast, weren't anythin' to do about it.”
“Well, ah. It's not your fault.” I offered, however awkwardly. “Just ... part of the job, I guess.”
“We're just lucky you were here to take down that snake as fast as ya did.” Braeburn said.
“Er, right. Again ... part of the job.” I looked over to where Silverstar was laid out, and fought down a shudder. If I hadn't taken to the air like I did, Kid Cobra could have been flinging those deadly weapon-snakes at me . Then again, nobody would be killing much of anybody if Silverstar hadn't decided he needed to intervene on my behalf.
“But you're gonna need to be careful, Mister Sentry. Now that y'all caught Kid Cobra, his big brother's gonna come callin', along with the rest of the Rattler gang, I bet.”
“Brother?” I said.
Braeburn nodded. “Fella by the name of Boss Hiss. He's even bigger, n' meaner, n' faster than the Kid here ... but don't worry, I'll be proud to back ya up, Mister Sentry.” He put his hat back on his head. “We all will, won't we, fellas?”
More hooting and hollering ensued, though now with a far more marital bent. And just like that, with Sheriff Silverstar dead, the whole damned town had a new hero to rally behind, and a whole gang of serpent-flinging outlaws to worry about.
And here I thought the assignment would be an easy one.
I should have known better.
The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry
“They seem to be taking this well.” I peered out the window of Appeloosa's only jail-- the front window, mind you. The back window (with its accompanying iron bars) was reserved for Kid Cobra, who was still sleeping off a chandelier-induced hangover. Outside, the ponies of Appleoosa went about their morning business, albeit with a sort of grim purpose to their step. I'd been on enough campaigns to recognize that look of ponies getting ready for an imminent battle (usually one that inevitably started once Yours Truly got thrown at the most dangerous part of it).
I turned away from the window. “The townsponies, that is. If somepony had gotten murdered like that in Ponyville, the whole town would be in a panic.”
“Don't remind me.” Carrot Top said from beneath the brim of her frankly ridiculous frontier-hat.
“Did they not ... like, Sheriff Silverstar, perhaps?”
“No, they loved him.” Carrot Top shook her head. “But life's harder out on the frontier. Seems like they lose somebody every month or two, from the cholera, or the sandstorms, or the--”
“--outlaws.” I said, and looked back at Kid Cobra, who kept snoring. The strange hiss-snort sounds he made were enough to make me wonder if he was faking it.
“Right. So when things get tough, Appleoosan ponies get ... fighty.”
“Which means they can fend for themselves, right?” I said.
“Which means they need somebody to keep an eye on them before they go off and do something stupid. Last time something like this happened, they nearly started a war.”
“And who usually keeps things under control?”
“Sheriff Silverstar.” Carrot Top said.
“Of course.” My stomach churned as an all too familiar feeling of impending doom set in. “And now that he's dead--”
“They're looking to you for leadership.”
“As per the usual.” I groaned and shook my head. “They're not ... they're not going to expect me to live out here, are they? I'm a pony of culture! I have to live someplace civilized, not some dusty backwater of a town where the bartender barely knows the difference between a dry red and a sweet white.”
“Either the ponies of Appleoosa will pick somepony for the job, or they might even hire somebody from back East. Of course, they won't do that until all of this has blown over. Or blown up to the point where they need to send in troops-- or worse yet, a Princess. But we won't let it come to that, will we, Sentry?”
“I--” whatever sarcastic reply I had ready was cut short as Braeburn burst in through the jail's swinging doors.
“Mister Sentry!” he said. “Come quick!”
And without s much as waiting for me to reply, he turned and galloped off again. Carrot Top sprang to her hooves and followed him-- at which point I followed her. Which, of course, meant I was dashing towards the danger instead of away from it-- but it's not as if I could have rabbited right then anyhow (as much as I wanted to). At least trailing behind Carrot Top offered some small modicum of safety, what, with her being one of the deadliest ponies alive and all. And since she'd apparently already roughed up a couple of buffalo in front of Appleoosa's populace, maybe she wouldn't be too shy about dispensing savage beatings as needed. Maybe Carrot Top could just apply some tactical violence right off the bat and we'd could catch the next train back to Canterlot.
Maybe.
The three of us charged out to the outskirts of town, where a small rabble of ponies had gathered. They paced and muttered amongst themselves, warily sizing up Appleoosa's newest 'visitors.' The crowd parted once they realized I was there, and practically shoved me up to the proverbial front line. Thankfully, it was too early in the morning for torches and pitchforks.
Nopony had to tell me which one was Boss Hiss. The snakeman stood head and stooped shoulders taller than his fellows, and had shoulders about twice as broad. His dark shirt was stitched with a serpent pattern in silver thread, and the broad belt around his waist had an ornate belt buckle the size of a serving platter. Boss Hiss' black tongue flickered out from between his scaled lips as he stared down the ponies. Behind him, the rest of the Rattler gang milled about, either on foot, or astride hulking, quadruped reptile-creatures fitted with tack and saddle.* There must have been a small squadron's worth of them. Nothing that could slow down a proper military expedition (or one properly motivated Princess), but still more than enough to raze a rural town like Appleoosa if they really put their minds to it.
* Based on Sentry's (admittedly brief) description, these were most likely a subspecies of sand-drake, a distant (and non-sapient) relative to dragonkind.
“Where's my brother?” Boss Hiss spoke surprisingly clearly for a creature with 'hiss' in his name. His voice was deep and resonant, enough that I could practically feel the vibrations in my chest as he spoke. Then again, that might've just been my own heart doing its damndest tro leap out of my ribcage.
“We got 'im in jail. He's gonna stand trial.” One idiotically brave pony (who was standing behind me, I might add) yelled out in reply. “For murder!”
“Murder? Guess that explains why Silverstar ain't here. So who's in charge of you grass-eaters now?” Boss Hiss' lips curled back in a fanged smile as he sighted in on me. Even if I wasn't still wearing a (somewhat rumpled) uniform, those damn yokels literally pointed to me, ensuring the horrible snake-creature was fixated on Yours Truly. “You got a name, pony?”
“Lieutenant Flash Sentry.” I faked a brave tone, which certainly is no substitute for the real thing, at least when you're the one speaking. “I'm ... just passing through, honestly. As I hope you are, too.”
“Passing through? Hah!” Boss Hiss slapped his denim-clad thigh. “I think we're on the same page there, pardner. So I'll tell you what-- you just set my brother loose, and then I'll forget any of this ever happened.”
Damn it all, I would have done it, if those Appleoosa idiots hadn't immediately launched into shouts and obscenities. Boss Hiss endured the booing with casual aplomb, even going so far as to roll his eyes. Once the angry mobbing died down, Boss Hiss shrugged, and pushed back the brim of his hat. “Figured you'd say that. But since you're new in town, city-slicker, I'll give you a chance to reconsider. You've got 'til twelve-o-clock noon tomorrow to let Kid Cobra go. And if you don't? We'll settle this, creature-to-creature. If you're not yellow, that is.”
My mouth went dry. Could he see through my facade? Did he have some kind of serpentine sense that let him smell fear? As if he did, I'd be positively pungent. I opened my mouth to spout some kind of trite, face-saving bit of bravado--but then Boss Hiss decided to show off.
Technically, he had to have moved. But as I saw it, it was like a film with a couple of frames missing. One moment he was standing with his thumbs in his belt, as casual as could be-- and the next, his clawed hand was splayed out in front of him, and there was a hissing, venomous snake writhing in the sand between my hooves.
My ensuing high-pitched squeal of terror was overshadowed by Boss Hiss' deep, basso laughter. “Noon tomorrow, city-slicker!” The snakeman grabbed the saddle-horn on one of the weird lizard-things and swung up into the saddle. “Next time, I won't miss!”
I took to the air by instinct, taking myself out of snake-striking distance, then a little further than that, just to be sure. The Rattler Gang cackled as they mounted up. The strange beasts they rode proved much faster than they looked, as soon left the assembled Appleoosans in a cloud of sandy dust.
I beat my wings a few times to clear the air, then settled down on the ground again, well away from the snake Boss Hiss had thrown at me. Not that I needed to; Carrot Top already done her work, striking the sidewinder so hard with a front hoof hard enough to separate its head from its body. She kept her hoof on the dead snake, holding it down as its body lashed back and forth in its death spasms. Beside her, Braeburn looked on with a shocked expression on his face. Which honestly was unwarranted-- compared to some of the other feats of mayhem Special Agent Golden Harvest was capable of, bisecting a venomous snake with the edge of her hoof was downright mundane.
Looking past Braeburn, I realized the rest of those ponies had their eyes on me. Again. Had they seen me flinch? Had they heard me squeal in terror? Did they get a glimpse into what a worthless coward I really was? There was part of me that hoped they did. That'd at least relieve me of any sort of responsibility for their well being, so when Boss Hiss came a calling once more, I'd be free to fly off in the opposite direction.
And then, one of the old codgers had to go and speak. “Damn, that were a dirty trick! Lousy polecat tried to get the drop on ya while you was doin' a par-lay!”
“Good thing Mister Sentry here was too quick! He dodged outta the way just in time!” Said a pony in a dusty top hat.
And it all came clicking together. Boss Hiss was so fast that the damn idiot peasant ponies of Appleoosa didn't see that he threw the sidewinder at my hooves-- they just registered that I was still alive and, therefore, I must have somehow dodged the sidewinder at the last moment. And since I was so distracting in my uniform and all, nopony other than Braeburn saw Carrot Top dispatch the sidewinder once it hit the ground.
“Next time, you'll be ready for 'em!” The bearded old pony said. “Don't you worry none, Mister Sentry! We'll whip up a coupla pies for y'all, and then that dang outlaw won't know what hit 'im!”
“Pies?” I said, blinking.
That just got the earth ponies laughing.
Never a good sign, that.
Take a cast-iron pie tin, one about two hoof-fulls across. Solid enough to hold together, but not so heavy that you can't hold it in one hoof. Then, fill the thing about a quarter full with dynamite-clay, and put in a couple of pressure-activated blasting caps. Then, the next time you see something you don't like, huck the whole damn thing at it. If you've laid out the dynamite evenly, the pan will fly straight, and then the heavy cast iron will direct the ensuing explosion to ensure that whatever the pan landed on has a bad day.
This is, of course, insane.
This is an Appleoosa Pie.*
* Sentry's account, while certainly outlandish, has some basis in fact. Given the prevalence of mining and prospectors in the first wave of Appleoosan settlers, it is entirely possible they would have a stockpile of explosive material. Additionally, there have been some accounts of 'battle pies' in other historical accounts. However, given the lack of detail otherwise, most interpretations of these accounts tends towards the literal, often for slapstick reasons. Sentry's description here certainly makes the Appleoosa Pie seem much more formidable as a weapon-- though this in turn raises certain concerns when one factors in the accounts that the Appleoosans started providing the local Buffalo tribes with 'pies' as part of their peace treaty. Whether or not Sentry's account is true, the matter certainly is ripe for further research.
I stared at the row of explosive 'pastries' with no small degree of trepidation. Normally, the prospect of a weapon offered at least some tiny degree of comfort to my cowardly self. I can't count the number of times something so simple as a kitchen knife or an empty wine bottle has saved my life, much less something more impressive like a crossbow or a spear. But I knew the 'Appleoosa Pie' was just as likely to blow me to bits. That they'd laid them out across Sheriff Silverstar's desk in the town jail just made sure I couldn't avoid them. Hell, I was afraid to rummage through the desk drawers in search of emergency whiskey, lest I set one of the damn things off. Then again, that might have been the point.
“Sssssso. You're making piessss?” Kid Cobra clutched the bars of his cell and leaned forward. “Then you mussssst have sssssspoken with my brother.”
“Quiet, you.” I huffed. Carrot Top had disappeared off on her typical cloak-and-dagger business, leaving me to keep an eye on the prisoner.
“If you don't want to lisssten, all you have to do isss let me go. I promissse I won't hurt you.”
“Or maybe I should just kill you now and have done with it.” I said in what I hoped was a convincingly merciless tone of voice. In truth, Kid Cobra was in no immediate danger. It wasn't that I had any moral qualms about it so much as practical ones; I couldn't think of a good way to off the outlaw without anypony else noticing. An Appleoosan Pie would be too loud (provided I didn't blow myself up in the process) and any sort of hoof-to-claw fracas was out of the question. That sort of thing was Carrot Top's purview, not mine.
Still, my glower must have been convincing enough, as Kid Cobra shut up, however temporarily. Which at least made Kid Cobra better company than the rest of Appleoosa's populace. It's one thing when ponies think you're a hero for some damnfool reason, and something else entirely when they expect you to do something about it. Since Boss Hiss had taunted me that morning, every pony in town greeted me with far-too-enthusiastic well-wishing, each compliment and bit of praise a new nail in my soon-to-be-filled coffin.
And then Carrot Top showed up, the shadow of her powerful figure looming in the jail's doorway.
“Sentry, we need to talk.” Carrot Top's green eyes flickered over to where Kid Cobra stood in his cell. “Alone.”
“Ah, right.” I got out of my chair and gave the desk full of explosive pies a wide berth. “But, uh, should we just leave him there?”
“I've got that handled.” Carrot Top put her hoof to her lips and whistled, at which point a pair of burly (even by earth pony standards) Appleoosans followed her into the jail. The two silently moved to take up positions on either side of the door, glowering at Kid Cobra.
“And just who are they?” I asked.
“Volunteers.” Carrot Top said. “Most of the town's eager to help out ... in their own way. I just found the two biggest guys in town to keep an eye on the prisoner while you ... survey the terrain.”
“Right-o, then.” I said, and followed Carrot Top out into the afternoon sun. We meandered along, casual, tipping our hats to various Appleoosans as we passed. Our path finally took us behind the general store, out of sight of the main thoroughfare. Carrot Top leaned in, murmur-close.
“I've got a plan.” She said.
“We let Kid Cobra escape, and pretend this never happened?”
Carrot Top shook her head. “If we do, the Appleoosans will still be out for blood-- they might even try chasing the gang down themselves.”
“Oh.” I said. “So what do we do?”
“This is what you do.” Carrot Top reached into her saddlebag and gave me a strip of paper.
“What's this?”
“A train schedule. At four-o-clock in the morning, an overnight mail express will be passing through Appleoosa station. You need to be on that train.”
“Right, I need to-- what?” I blinked. “Hold on, what's the catch?”
“What do you mean, what's the catch?”
“This has got to be the first time you've told me to do the sensible thing and run away. So there has to be a catch. Is somepony going to try to rob the train? Is it transporting some ancient and malicious magical artifact? Is the train ... I don't know, haunted or something?”
“This train's the fastest route back to Canterlot-- the only route back to Canterlot, if you're not carrying enough water. Because if you stay in town--” Carrot Top's stern, special agent voice faltered, just for a moment. “Boss Hiss will kill you.”
“Which is about par for the course--”
“Sentry, you idiot .” Carrot Top stepped out in front of me and poked me in the chest with a hoof. “I'm telling you, this is different. This isn't something you can just improvise your way out of. I saw how fast Boss Hiss is. He will kill you, and there's not a damn thing I--- not a damn thing you'll be able to do about it.”
“But--”
“Do you know how sidewinder venom works, Sentry?” Tears began to form in the corners of Carrot Top's eyes. “Once the snake bites you, your blood vessels will carry the venom through your body-- and wherever the venom goes, it'll attack your nervous system. It'll feel like you're being burned alive, from the inside . You'll keep on burning until the nerves controlling your lungs and heartbeat stop, at which point you'll basically suffocate and have a stroke at the same time. It's an awful way to die, Sentry, and I ... I can't--” And all of her special agent professionalism threatened to drop away.
“Ah.” I put a hesitant hoof around her shoulders and pulled Carrot Top closer. She buried her face in my neck and gave a short, shuddering sob. “Say no more. We'll just catch the train and--”
“No. No 'we.'” Carrot Top pushed away and wiped her face with the back of her hoof. “I can't go with you. I have work to do.”
“What? No-- that's stupid. After everything you just said, after as insanely dangerous as all this is, what could you possibly have to do?”
“I'm going to sneak into Boss Hiss' camp and kill him in his sleep.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “That ... is a rather direct way to handle things.”
“It's going to be a delicate operation. Last thing I need is you getting underhoof and bungling it. Which is why you're going to get on that train.”
“But it doesn't make any sense-- if you're going to just go ... dispose of this fellow, why do I need to get out of town?”
“So you can claim credit for it.” Carrot Top said. “Just tell the townsfolk you went off to face Boss Hiss alone, so they wouldn't get hurt. You're good at lying, you'll think of something.”
“The more you tell me about it, the more this seems like a bad plan.”
“Which is about par for the course.” Carrot Top sniffed, then forced out a short, mirthless laugh. “Now promise me you'll be on that train, or else I'll knock you out and stuff you in a mail sack.”
“But--”
“Promise .”
“Fine. I promise I'll get on that train-- but you have to promise you're not going to go off and get yourself killed for a bunch of uncouth, pie-flinging peasants.”
“You really don't get it, do you, Sentry?” Without warning, Carrot Top pulled me in for a kiss lengthy enough to set my head to spinning. After a short, blissful eternity, she pulled back, then reached up to cup my cheek with her left hoof. “I'm not doing it for them.”
Before I could get my breath back, she was off, slipping away on stealthy hooves.
It wasn't until she was out of sight I realized she hadn't promised me a damn thing.
That was a sobering thought, which was why I made it a priory to become not-sober. Which was harder than it should have been, to be honest. It wasn't as if I could slip off for a proper bender with the whole of Appleoosa looking to me for leadership. At least the two bravos Carrot Top had rounded up were doing a good job of watching Kid Cobra. Not that he needed much watching-- apparently he was content to just lay back and sleep more often than not, confident that his brother would break him out.
And so, I waited 'til sundown before I slipped off into the night. I “requisitioned” a bottle of halfway decent whiskey from the back room of the general store (Appleoosa being a quiet enough town that they didn't bother locking their doors) and then alighted to the top of the Appleoosa train station, taking refuge in the shadow a chimney.
And so, thusly equipped with a bottle, a train schedule, and a moonlit view of Appleoosa's clock tower, I settled in to wait.
And drink.
But mostly wait.
Over the span of my career, I have suffered nearly every injury and indignity a pony can think of, and several more besides. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten, burned, betrayed, defenestrated, and Discord'ed-- not to mention countless near-misses where I've nearly been decapitated, dismembered, or disemboweled. And yet, of all the myriad tortures and abuses that have been heaped upon me (only a fraction of which I actually deserved), one of the worst was sitting there, on that rooftop. I stared off into the dark wilderness, knowing full well that the bravest, deadliest, most beautiful pony I'd ever met was off doing Celestia-knows-what, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.
I may have cried, just a bit.
Appleoosan whiskey makes me maudlin.
For perhaps the first time in my life, I felt legitimately guilty. Normally, if somepony told me they were going to charge off into danger (as, say, Princess Twilight Sparkle and her ilk often did), I'd normally just snap off something like “good luck and godspeed” and discreetly make my way to the back of the room as soon as possible. But when it was Carrot Top doing it-- on behalf of my worthless hide, no less. If ever there was proof 'justice' or 'karma' were nothing more than fancy words, there you had it. And yet, I'd made a promise to get on that train-- and again, perhaps for the first time in my life, I meant to keep it.
Minute by minute, time ticked by. Swig by swig, the bottle emptied.
Eventually, I thought to compare the train schedule to the town clock-- and sure enough, the train was late.
Hours late.
Oh yes, I was drinking (and justifiably so), but I wasn't nearly to the point where I could have missed several hundred tons of steam-driven metal chugging down the track. And as the sun began to rise in the east, I realized the train wasn't coming. And neither was Carrot Top, for that matter.
Which meant I'd have to fight Boss Hiss after all.
Which meant I was going to die.
The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry
The astute reader (and I like to think that I have no other kind) may remember that, the old steamer trunk in which I discovered the Flash Sentry Papers also contained a large amount of other ephemera: train tickets, bar tabs, and a selection of salacious photography magazines that can best be described as 'comprehensive.' While of historical interest, these items have not been of any great import, save for the occasions in which an old train schedule or shipping manifest serves to corroborate Sentry's accounts.
In this case, I believe I have found an exception.
For the record, while the following fragment was marked 'classified,' it is also well past the statue of limitations in which it could retain such a category. Though this matter is somewhat muddled as the larger file (of which this fragment appears to be a part) does not technically exist-- or at least I was unable to find any trace of it during my thorough searches of the Canterlot archives.
Regardless, Princess Twilight Sparkle has only encouraged me to share the following fragment, once again proving herself to be a wise and benevolent patron of the academic arts. According to the Princess, the pursuit of knowledge and historical understanding is far more important than espionage efforts from so long ago. Additionally, she assured me that “it can't be any crazier than what happened with the mirror.” And so, I present the following, from the hoof of Special Agent Golden Harvest herself.
1730 – Informed asset Lt. S. of new operational plan. While reluctant, asset agreed to chosen course of action after considering all options.
1800 – Departed Appleoosa on hoof, following Rattler Gang's tracks left from earlier confrontation.
2030 (est) – Located Rattler Camp in at the following coordinates: REDACTED . Approached from southwest, under cover of darkness. Spotted less than a dozen Rattler gang members upon initial assessment, though there were tents & supplies for several times that number.
2045 – Spotted Appleoosan citizen (Apple, Braeburn) approaching same camp from southeast . Intercepted citizen before he could be spotted. Enganged citizen in conversation, using my own civilian identity (Top, Carrot) based on previous experience and for operational security. Citizen explained he was there “to keep an eye on them varmints,” due to “Boss Hiss gotta be plannin' somethin'.” Allowed citizen to believe I was there for same reason.
2100 – Continued southern approach, closing within eavesdropping distance. Observed target (Hiss, Boss) and several other members of Rattler Gang clustered around a campfire. During preliminary surveillance, overheard Target boasting about a plan to distract Lt. S and the rest of Appleoosa, while the rest of the Rattler Gang had already mobilized to attack the inbound mail train, originally scheduled to arrive in Appleoosa at 0400. Given the numbers (and temperments) of the Rattler Gang members involved, said attack would no doubt be a massacre.
Citizen Apple immediately set off towards the railroad tracks in order to warn the train before it arrived. Made command decision to pursue, so as to reduce potential civilian casualties (and also preserve my own cover, should he be discovered).
2145 – Located Rattler ambush point at following coordinates: REDACTED . Rattlers had constructed a simple rock-fall trap with which to block the tracks and/or damage train engine upon exiting mouth of canyon. Crude, but effective.
Feigned hoof injury, then sent Citizen Apple ahead to warn approaching train. Due to his first-hoof knowledge of the area, Citizen Apple knew of a way to circle around Rattler ambush point to avoid detection. Citizen Apple initially protested leaving me alone, but reminder of previous time in area (See: OPERATION: BUFFALO BARREL) convinced him to forge ahead, thus leaving me able to continue operation without witnesses.
2200 – Engaged enemy.
2205 – End of engagement.
All members of Rattler Gang incapacitated or routed. Rock-fall trap triggered in process. Front right hoof wounded (minor bone fracture) due to shovel injury. Ironically, said injury was to same hoof I'd feigned hurting earlier. Applied splint, improvised frontier antiseptic (rye whiskey), and anesthetic (rye whiskey).
0200 – Arrival of mail train. Thanks to Citizen Apple's warning, train was able to slow to a stop before catastrophic impact. Provided cover story to Citizen Apple & other civilians on train that Rattler Gang had started in-fighting amongst themselves, and thus set off trap prematurely.
Consulted with chief engineer of mail train (Pusher, Piston) as train crew began to clear tracks. Chief engineer estimated process would require at least half a day to complete. Due to wounded hoof (and protests from Citizen Apple), concluded I would not be able to return to Appleoosa & rendezvous with Lt. Sentry any sooner than that. Took refuge in caboose of mail train to wait out the interim.
Applied more anesthetic.
The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry
Were I a more poetic soul, I'd tell you that I spent the rest of that morning staring at the sunrise, reflecting over my misbegotten life, not to mention the impending end of it. In truth, however, all I did was chug down the rest of my bottle and pass out on top of the train station. I could've legged it, I suppose, but that would've just meant a lingering, thirsty death out in the Appleoosan desert, as opposed to the somewhat quick and certainly agonizing death Boss Hiss had to offer. And with Carrot Top (and the whole train besides) missing, there seemed little point to it.
Which is how I woke up the next morning with a dry mouth, a throbbing head, and the pattern of tarpaper shingles imprinted on my cheek. The harsh morning sone did nothing to help any of this, so I groggily glided down to ground level, taking refuge in the shadow of the train station.
“You noticed the mail train didn't come through, huh?” One of the passing Appleoosans apparently didn't notice my bleary-eyed hangover. “Hope them Rattlers ain't got anythin' to do with it.”
“I envy your optimism.” I grumbled. A quick glance over at the jail confirmed the two burly earth ponies were still standing guard-- considering the lack of screaming or fires, I presumed Kid Cobra was still in his cell. Carrot Top had picked well--
--a fresh, icy dagger lanced its way into my heart.
Breakfast was in order. Liquid breakfast.
A few shots of whiskey pushed back my hangover, and a few more after that pushed back anything else I was in danger of feeling. The bartender kept the rotgut coming, at least. “Nothin' like a hit o' the good stuff to get ya riled up 'fore a fight!”
I would've corrected him, but that might have meant he would have stopped pouring drinks. At least my wastrel career was of some use, as not only was I able to feign sobriety, but competency as well. And you know what the worst part was? There's all kinds of parables that say a pony's last meal or whatever is the most delicious thing they'll ever taste, but that Appleoosan whiskey tasted just as rough as it did the night before. Then again, maybe that was just one of the few times in my wicked life that I've actually gotten what I deserved.
“It's him!” Somepony said from outside. “It's Boss Hiss! He's comin'!”
My chest clenched up, as the gloomy miasma of inevitable dread coalesced into the chill-cold spike of immediate terror. Quite a familiar feeling, I might add. But I'd already used up my chance to escape-- and without an appropriate alibi from Special Agent Golden Harvest, what was the point? In the distance, a train whistle shrieked-- just enough to taunt me with the impossibility of escape.
And so, I stretched my wings out, slipped off of my stool, and went out to die. One of the burly guardsponies from the jail was already at the door to hand me an Appleoosa Pie, somehow managing not to explode the both of us in the process.
“Y'all get 'im!” The pony said with entirely too much enthusiasm. “Y'all get 'im good!”
And with that, I was left to trot out into the middle of the dusty Appleoosa street, just in time to meet Boss Hiss approaching from the other side of town. The snakeman carried himself with a bully's swagger, strutting this way and that. As he walked into town, the ponies of Appleoosa eyed him warily from second-story windows, or from behind makeshift barricades of crates and hay bales.
I, of course, was the only pony who wasn't allowed to take cover.
“Well, lookee here!” Boss Hiss stopped his mosey about half a block's distance from me and hooked his clawed thumbs into his belt. “Big-britches city slicker stuck around! I was hopin' you would. Ain't right that my li'l brother got to kill more lawponies than I did. Unless you wanna let 'im out, n' we can be on our way?”
Oh, I wished I could. But there was no way to do it. Not anymore, at least, as I realized I'd wasted the dark hours of the morning, well, getting wasted, and not springing Kid Cobra free. That's hindsight for you.
“You know I can't do that.” I puffed myself up as best I could. The copious amount of whiskey I'd pounded down hadn't given me courage so much as apathy. No damns left to give, as it were. “Though I suppose I should offer you the same courtesy-- you can just surrender now, and save yourself a damned lot of trouble.”
“Hah! That's a good'un. Tell me another.”
“It's true. In fact, look at what's happening right now. Your brother killed Sheriff Silverstar-- so now you've got to deal with an actual Hero of Equestria. I've got the medal for it and everything.” In truth, I was surely a downgrade from the late-but-brave Silverstar. But he wasn't the one with a cabinet full of medals and a puffed up reputation to match-- just goes to show you how unjust the world is, right there. “And you know what? If you kill me , then that's just going to cause you more trouble. Why, my untimely demise might even get the attention of one of the Princesses. And if it does, it's only a matter of time before you repent your wicked ways and/or get magically blasted into orbit.”
“That so?” Boss Hiss raised a hand to his face and wiped his nose off with his thumb. “Know what I think?”
“What's that?”
“If I kill you, you'll be dead.”
Boss Hiss struck.
As before, I didn't see him move-- though a part of my brain registered he had to. One moment he was standign there, glaring at me-- and the next, he had his clawed hand out in front of him, and I just barely glimpsed a blur of movement: the sidewinder, streaking through the air, fangs out.
Even though I knew it was too late, I threw my pie. Just a matter of principle, at that point. However, a cast-iron pie tin filled with explosives isn't exactly aerodynamic in the best of conditions-- the fact that I had a notable fraction of Appleoosa's whiskey supply coursing through my guts likely didn't help, either. I might have been able to fake a brave speech without slurring too badly, but hitting anything with a thrown pie was right out.
The Appleoosa Pie tumbled end over end through the air, landing well short of Boss Hiss. It hit the ground at roughly the midpoint between us, and went off with an eardrum-torturing boom. The shockwave from the blast was enough to send me reeling. I tumbled hooves-over-head and splayed my wings out for balance, when a sudden, crippling pain flared through my flank. For a moment, I thought a shard of errant shrapnel had hit me, but of course I wasn't that lucky.
I straightened myself out in midair, then chanced a look at my wound. And, sure enough, there was Boss Hiss' sidewinder clamped onto my rump, fangs pumping deadly venom into me.
And then, pain.
All of it.
Much as they say Princess Twilight Sparkle's entourage embody various virtues like Loyalty or Honesty or Sending Out Thank-You-Cards or what have you, I found myself turned into the philosophical embodiment of Whimpering In Pain. Only I could barely even do that; every single one of my muscles went taut, locking me jaws shut. I fell to the ground in a shuddering, convulsing heap as my nervous system attempted to slither out of my nostrils.
And even as sidewinder venom seared through my veins, I still had the wherewithal to register a boot nudging me in the shoulder, and a shadow passing over my field of vision. I cracked one eye open and looked up at Boss Hiss. He looked down at me in turn, utterly unphased by my feeble pie throw.
“Well, lookit this. I ain't never seen a pony that could take more n' one sidewinder.” He shrugged, then reached into the snake-pouch at his belt once more. “Easy way to fix that.”
“And I've never seen a snake that could take more than one shovel.”
The blade of the shovel rang like a bell as it struck the back of Boss Hiss' skull.
He toppled like a felled tree, hitting the ground hard enough to kick up a cloud of dust when he did. Even as I laid there, paralyzed by roiling, incessant agony, I took no small degree of satisfaction in seeing Boss Hiss in pain. Said satisfaction was short lived, fading away as a blur in a familiar shade of orange leaned into my already-blurring line of sight. Under normal circumstances, I would've been thrilled to see Carrot Top swinging in to dispense justice (and roundhouse kicks) at the last moment, as she'd made something of a habit of doing.
But as I laid there, my body doing its best to turn itself inside out, a pang of guilt (one of the few I've ever had, I should note) lanced through me. After all, perhaps the only thing I was good at, the only thing I was good for , was keeping myself alive through the most ridiculously dangerous of situations-- and here I'd even failed at that.
“I'm sorry.” I rasped out with a ragged, shuddering breath.
Carrot Top's lips moved, but I couldn't hear her reply.
Probably better that way.
Strangely enough, I woke up.
The agonizing pain torturing me before had faded to more of a generalized ache-- hardly pleasant, but at least I could, you know, move. I braved opening my eyes, and stared up at a white plaster ceiling. For the briefest of moments, I wondered if this was the afterlife's waiting room-- but the antiseptic smell (not to mention a distinct lack of demons punishing me for my many, many misdeeds) soon dispelled such a notion. The mattress beneath me creaked as I sat up-- at which point something hit me in the chest. Hard.
“Flash!” And, sure enough, there was Carrot Top. She looked terrible-- and not in the “terrible vengeance wrought upon the villainous” way she usually did. One of her legs was in a sling, her eyes were bloodshot from fatigue, and her frizzy mane was even wilder and more unkempt than usual.
I don't think I've ever been happier to see her.
“So ... I'm alive, then?” I said, just in case. I wouldn't have put it past Carrot Top to infiltrate the gates of Paradise if she had enough incentive.
“Barely. You've been out for nearly a week.”
“Are we still in Appleoosa?”
Carrot Top shook her head. “No, we're in Canterlot General Hospital.”
“I thought I recognized that ceiling.”
“The doctors were afraid you might not make it.”
“Ah.” I patted Carrot Top on her un-slung shoulder. “You ... didn't suck the sidewinder poison out, did you?”
“What? No.” The mare sniffed and wiped at her eye-- by the time the tears were gone, she was back to her familiar look of affectionate bafflement. “As best as anyone can figure, there was so much alcohol in your system that it acted as a kind of blood thinner, which diluted the effect of the venom. Certainly an ... unorthodox means to deal with the problem. One of the doctors says he's going to write a case study about it.*”
* See: Lovely Lancet's “On the Efficacy of Improvised Antivenoms.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I did it on purpose?” I said.
Carrot Top laid her head on my chest. “Probably not.”
“When the train didn't come, whenyou didn't come.I ... I thought the worst.”
“I know.” Carrot Top sighed, and pulled me closer with her good front leg. “The Rattler Gang were going to hijack the train, massacre the ponies onboard. I didn't have time to stop them and get Boss Hiss, so ... I made a decision.” She sniffled again, then pushed away from me. “I'm sorry, Flash. I--”
I started laughing.
It hurt.
It was worth it.
“What?” Carrot Top glared at me. I found it slightly reassuring.
“Oh, come off it.” I said. “You're going to go in some big teary speech about 'duty over love' or some other such nonsense, like you haven't nearly gotten me killed a half dozen times before this. I'm not exactly happy about it, mind you, but I'm not surprised. It's not like you specifically had the two of us go to Appleoosa for the sole purpose of dealing with those reptilian maniacs, right?” I paused, mulling the thought over. “Right ?”
“If it were a real op, I would've planned it better.”
“Ah.” I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. “That's better. I think. But what happened to the Rattler Gang? Wait, no-- let me guess. You gave 'em all the same treatment as Boss Hiss, didn't you?”
Carrot Top nodded.
“And ... that didn't blow your cover at all?”
“Ponies in Appleoosa have seen me fight before. And it's not unheard of for ponies to perform great feats of strength for--” and damn if Carrot Top didn't blush like a schoolgirl. “--for ponies they love.”
“Ah. Well. I suppose that's justification enough, there. Although, I can think of a more pleasant things ponies in love can do.” I brushed a frizz of orange hair away from Carrot Top's neck.
“Seriously?” Carrot Top murmured, even as she nuzzled in against my neck. “Here? Now?”
“It's for my health. Got to make sure everything's in working order.”
“Sentry, you-- oh .”
The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry
“Flash, you're awake!”
Thankfully, by the time Princess Twilight Sparkle stuck her head in the room, Carrot Top and I had concluded our dalliance. Since the hospital bed was too narrow for the both of us, Carrot Top had just pulled her chair in close enough for some hoof-holding. Which, to judge by the blush on the Princess' purple cheeks, was just as bad as if she'd caught us en flagrante delicto.
“Oh!” Princess Twilight said. “I'm not, uh ... interrupting anything, am I?” And, while she tried to hide it, there was just the faintest twinge of disappointment, of jealousy in her voice. I suppose she was somewhat justified in her heartbreak, to learn that the handsomest stallion in the land (and a Hero of Equestria, to boot), was spoken for. But there's something to be said for living and learning and moving on and all of that, which no doubt made Princess Twilight Sparkle a better pony in the long run, helping her become the benevolent ruler she is today. In fact, I'm halfway tempted to claim credit for subtly sculpting the Princess of Friendship's character, except that I'm sure if I did, somepony would use it as an excuse to send me somewhere horrible.
“It's alright, Princess.” Carrot Top said. “Flash hasn't been awake for long, but he's already recovering.”
“Right, right.” I said. “Just give me a glass of brandy and a sandwich, and I'll be right as rain.”
“I don't doubt that." The Princess shook her head, pushing past whatever embarrassment and/or heartbreak she no doubt felt. “But for now, I think you'd better rest. Especially since you seem to be really bad at it. I mean, I can't think of very many other ponies who go out on a routine survey mission, only to come back with a whole gang's worth of prisoners. If I didn't know any better, Flash, I'd say you were looking for trouble.”
“I can assure you that nothing is farther from the truth.” I said.
“I'm not quite sure if I believe you.” Princess Twilight Sparkle said with a wink. “But I'm glad you're awake, and even more glad you're feeling better. I, uh-- I won't take up too much of your time. I'd hate to impose.”
“You could never impose on us, Twilight.” Carrot Top just smiled a sunny smile, the very image of an innocent mare from Ponyville. Honestly, was as if the mare could just flip a switch between 'background pony' and 'deadly operative.'
“Thanks.” Princess Twilight smiled, and nodded. “But I'll still try to make this brief. We can worry about the ceremony once Flash's fully recovered.”
“Ceremony?” I said. To me, word didn't exactly have the most pleasant of connotations. It suggested business with cultists and chanting and the summoning of horrible monsters, or big fancy to-dos in which various Princesses would pin some medals onto my uniform (often for some kind of to-do involving aforementioned chanting cultists).
“Of course!” Princess Twilight beamed. “It's been a long time coming, honestly. Anypony can see just how much you've done for Equestria-- and it goes without saying you'll do something even bigger and more selfless in the future. But you still deserve recognition beyond just a silly medal, don't you think?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Of course, there will be added responsibilities that come with it-- but you've already proven yourself more than pony enough to handle them. Though in theory, you won't be out in the thick of it as much as you were before, but I'm sure you'll be leading from the front in no time--”
“Hold on.” Somehow, my voice didn't crack. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
“That's right.” Princess Twilight said, and drew herself up to some semblance of regal bearing. Her horn glowed, and an official-looking scroll snapped into glowy purple existence next to her head. “Normally, I'm not one for formality, but in this instance, it is my royal privilege to be the first to congratulate you on your promotion, Major Sentry.”
So ends the eighth volume of the Flash Sentry Papers.
The Good, the Bad, and the Sentry
The Equestrian Frontier, while a popular setting in many forms of entertainment, is not nearly as thoroughly researched as other locales of the same period, such as Canterlot or Manehattan. To some extent, this is understandable-- there are far more first-hand sources for information on the cities, due to their denser populations.
However, I fear the real reason the Frontier has gone relatively neglected so long is due to proponents of the “Great Pony” school of history. Quite often, “Great Pony” is something of a cipher for “Unicorns, or perhaps the occasional Pegasus,” which in turn means a locale populated primarily by Earth Ponies is unworthy of in-depth study. At least, such is the general sentiment amongst certain individuals at certain conferences who I shall refrain from naming not out of politeness' sake, but rather so to save the time of my readership from bothering with such nakedly biased views of history.
Ironically, the Flash Sentry Papers could be viewed as a prime example of the “Great Pony” theory, at least at a glance. However, as anyone who's studied the Flash Sentry Papers to any degree of detail can attest, while Sentry's actions may have changed the course of history, such influence was never intentional (as Sentry himself repeatedly attests in his memoir).
With this in mind, I am happy to present this latest installment of the Flash Sentry Papers, which not only present a hitherto unknown glimpse of life in Appleoosa, but also demonstrate the unpredictable cascade of events that defined his career-- and likely the career of just about any other “Great Pony” that certain academics could name.
As such, once again, I hope that you, dear reader, find the following account both entertaining and educational.
-G.M.F.
