The Ghost: Assorted Adventures

True to Pish Posh’s words, the Canter Commons Hotel was an extravagant establishment. Silver stood at the balcony of his top-floor suite, nursing his satisfied belly with a hoof as he took in the twinkling sky above him. The stars shined unhindered by city lights and cast their gentle glow across the impressive treeline beyond the city. A loud belch rang out behind Silver, breaking his trance, as Rusty flopped onto one of the plush beds and began to curl up.

“Pony food good…” he droned, half asleep.

No chuckle rose from Silver at his friend’s antics. His mind was focused on Gilda’s testimony from earlier, uncomfortable with the idea of persecution in another Equestrian city. It was a buzzing, almost painful emotion that poked at his mind like needles, and threatened to open wounds long-thought closed. Rusty stirred.

“Are you doing hero stuff, now?”

“Not yet, just mulling over the day.”

“‘Mulling’?”

“Thinking hard about it,” Silver clarified, earning a confirmatory grunt from Rusty. “Gilda said gryphons in the city were being targeted and forced out of their businesses. The question, though, is why?”

“Maybe mean ponies. Ponies like old enemies. Like Shield Wall.”

“I hope not. I’d hate to think his evil had reached this far from Canterlot.” Visions of Coltistrano, once run-down and bleek, filled his mind before being shunted away. “There may be something else. Bronze Hoof said the death of King Guto was enough to force the governor at the time to open trade negotiations with Equestria. There’s a lot of bits to be made in a place like this.”

“Bits how?”

“Thick forests, silver mines to the west, an intermediary between Equestria and the eastern continent? Do you know how strategic the Griffish Isles are for trade?”

Rusty’s face began to contort in confusion, looking to Silver as if he were speaking a different language, entirely. Silver sighed.

“I suppose you don’t, huh?”

“Rusty no good with e-co-no-mics, but Rusty smell pony city good before seeing it.” He scooted himself from the bed and stood. “Big shop street nice, pretty, and very bright. Pony stuff. But then we move on and smells only get worse. Could barely smell Gilda over other gryphons. Gilda easy, though, she smell rude.”

Silver mouthed the words to himself, almost in disbelief, before Rusty continued.

“This gryphon city, but no gryphon live at center market. No gryphon live in center at all. Gryphons all live outside, away. Gryphons not usually smell great, but they smell different here. Less rude more, uh… big word for sad. Bug pony tell me once.”

“You can… smell emotions?” Silver asked, earning a firm nod from Rusty, flapping his jowls. “Do you think you could do that on Pish Posh?”

“Tried earlier, never got chance. Could if Rusty was close enough. Ponies smell weird, tingly magic smells mostly. Got to be really close.”

Silver added this to the ever-growing list of revelations he had about his canine friend. With a short laugh, he stripped his tailcoat from his body and reached into his dark saddlebag. He drew pieces of dark clothing from within as Rusty looked on with a grimace, large yellow eyes tracing Silver’s form.

“Back marks look… look better.” He stammered, trying to add a smile with the forced compliment.

“They look terrible, Rusty,” Silver deadpanned, slipping into the black uniform. “But thank you for trying, at least. I will be out doing recon of the city. If there’s any trouble it’ll be good to know who exactly is to blame.”

“Can Rusty come?!”

“I’m sorry, Rusty, recon is delicate work. I’m going to be up on buildings, staying out of sight. Darrox trained me in the ways of stealth and you… well, you’re very large.”

“But… but Rusty want to be hero!”

“And you can be, once I learn more about who we’re fighting. I’ll be back soon.”

Silver patted Rusty’s head, trying to put a smile on his dejected face, before pulling the cloak over his body and leaping from the balcony in a single motion. The ends of the cloak stretched out past his hooves, fluttering in the night breeze as the Ghost glided over the city streets. Lamplight was scarce in Trottingham and guards patrolled the streets with personal lanterns tied to their armor. None noticed the fluttering of fabric as the Ghost perched himself atop the buildings of Mane Street. The late hour seemed cause enough for the working ponies to begin making their way home for the evening, chatting with each other about the visit from Lord Aristo and upcoming projects for the city. True to Gilda’s words, the Ghost could see the stark difference between the two areas of town, as if they were separate cities. He could spy a gryphon family sneering from the top floor of a worn apartment building. The Ghost leapt from his perch and soared toward the window, unseen by the family inside as he landed on the windowsill.

“Evening,” he announced, earning a jolt from the family within.

“Hey, hey! Who are you and what do you want, you masked weirdo?!”

“Back off, dad, look at him. It’s the Ghost!”

The Ghost waved an approving hoof at the young hatchling, who was practically bouncing as he closed the distance.

“I can’t believe it’s you! I heard all about the battle of Manehatten, how you clobbered that crazy pony and saved the entire city! Is it true you can fly? I can fly, but not as good as you, I bet!”

“It’s good to have a fan,” the Ghost said through a deep chuckle. “I’m sorry to cause a stir, everyone, but I heard there was some trouble here in Trottingham. Are you able to share anything?”

“Are you… are you Gilda’s friend?” A gryphon, sitting at the small table piped up, brushing her dark feathers from her face. “I spoke with her about it just a week ago. When she said she had friends, I-I didn’t think she meant you. I’m Gwyndolin, I work… worked at the tannery here.”

“She mentioned you, yes,” the Ghost nodded. “She’s also told me you’ve been forced out of your business. Is that true?”

“Gwynny, I told you not to cause trouble about it!” Hissed the other gryphon, a hulking white and grey mass with owl-like eyes.

“Don’t squawk at me like that! I worked hard for my business, and he seems to be the only pony who gives a guff. Yes, Mr. Ghost, I was forced out of my business, and if I knew by who then I can assure you they would not be long for this world.”

“You must have received a letter, yes? May I see it?”

Gwyndolin leaned toward a cabinet behind her and pulled a paper from between two books. Once it was passed to the Ghost’s gloved hoof he could tell it was identical to the one Gilda received. To his dismay, much like the previous one, the letter bore no signature.

“I thank you for your self-control, madam. Can you think of any reason why this has happened?”

“Dunno, started about six months ago. Not much I can do about it, either, Lord Piss Pot doesn’t come out here all that often. Today was the first time I’ve even seen him in months, with that Aristo fellow.”

“Are you gonna do it, Ghost? Are you gonna fight the evil governor and save the gryphons of Trottingham?!” The hatchling stared up at the Ghost with twinkling eyes, his tiny beak punctuating an enormous smile.

“I’m going to do what I can, buddy. Look after your folks, I’ll go have a chat with our ‘elected officials’.”

With that, the Ghost leaned back and fell into a glide. Beyond the dark brown roofs, the Ghost could see the governor’s house illuminated by lamplight and made his way to it, soaring across the alleyways beneath him. Pushing off one of the houses in a final lunge, his somersaulted over the iron fence and spread his cloak to cover the rest of the distance between him and the slim windowsill he soon clung to. Below he could follow the paths of guards as they patrolled the grounds and shimmied along the sill until he placed himself next to a large window at the house’s front.

“... revenue has increased by another sixteen percent, my lord. A fine goal for the year. And there is still the matter of where to disburse these funds.”

“I very much wanted to divert something into the park services funds. During my rounds, I’ve noticed the upkeep has been somewhat lacking as of late.”

The Ghost peered through the large bay window and spied the two ponies in question, Lord Pish Posh and Bronze Hoof, talking with other ponies. Around them sat stacks of documents, large easels supporting graphs of annual income, and a half eaten platter of snacks which sat between them. Bronze Hoof stood up.

“An excellent decision, my lord, and with that I believe we are fully budgeted for another successful year. Any revisions to the budget address can be submitted-”

“There is still the matter of the outer boroughs and their upkeep,” a pink unicorn piped up, floating her quill in her magic. “Center borough storefronts, Mane Street especially, have been seeing a lot of improvements over the past six months, but most of Trottingham’s population is with the gryphon community, outside of the city center.”

“The gryphons have a much different culture, as Bronze Hoof informs me,” Pish Posh said. “The last thing I wish to do is impose changes upon their areas of the city they do not want. I’ve charged Bronze Hoof with arranging an official inquiry so we may know how best to proceed.”

“That’s all well and good, my lord,” the pink unicorn continued. “But that doesn’t help solve complaints of dilapi-”

“Our governor is merely doing what he thinks is best,” Bronze Hoof interrupted. “As I was about to say, if there are any suggestions about budget revisions, they may be submitted to my assistant on the morrow. Now, it is late, and I do recommend we all get some sleep. Good night.”

The members of the assembly were hardly given time to react before a pair of guards came through the doors and ushered them from the office. Bronze Hoof gave a glance to Pish Posh, nodded, and made his way out of the office behind them. Pish Posh remained at his desk, scratching away at parchment with his ornate and comically oversized quill, gleefully jotting notes from his meeting while the Ghost looked on. His gloved hoof gently touched the glass as a peculiar fog began to form beneath it. The Ghost froze and cautiously shifted his eyes downward towards its source.

“Ooh, we spy on pony now? Rusty have good ears, too.”

There, claws dug firmly into the windowsill and dangling precariously against the mansion exterior, was Rusty. The Ghost could feel his breath hitch in his throat and fought to contain his scream.

“What are you doing here?” The Ghost hissed through his teeth.

“Ponies not good climbers. Rusty thought you need help.”

“I can climb just fine,” he snapped as quietly as possible. “I told you I was running recon. The governor is right there!”

With a huff Rusty pulled himself up, peeking his eyes over the lip of the windowsill to meet the back of Pish Posh’s polished leather seat. His nose twitched.

“You want Rusty to sniff gov-”

“No I don’t want you to sniff! How did you even get in here?”

“Rusty dig hole. Diamond dogs good diggers.”

“I-I… ugh, okay. You’re here now, so please, stay up here and play lookout.”

The Ghost didn’t even wait for an answer before gently pushing the window open. Time with Darrox had given him insightful powers of infiltration, enough to slip into the office without Pish Posh even raising his head from his work. Around him, the Ghost flicked his cloak to snag the flames from candles, one by one, until the room was pitch black. Pish Posh threw back his head at the first swipe of black fabric and could scarcely follow the others. He panically fumbled with the drawer in his desk, only to have it shoved closed by a black hoof, which Pish Posh followed back to the dark, fluttering mass it came from.

“Evening, governor.”

Pish Posh melted into a puddle of babbling and half-spoken words. His chair was the one thing keeping him from retreating at the frantic pace his hooves now flailed with. The Ghost leaned closer, dark tendrils working their way from the legs of the chair and toward its occupant.

“”I-I know of you,” Pish Posh stammered. “But w-why have you… have you c-come here? I‘ve done nothing wrong!”

“They all say that.” The Ghost dropped the letter onto Pish Posh’s lap. “For the past six months, your office has been forcing gryphon citizens from their homes and businesses in the central borough. It’s marked by your seal.”

“Th-this is impossible,” he stuttered while he scanned the letter with trembling hooves. “I’ve been doing what I can to reach out to the gryphon community. They always refuse me. Are they unhappy? Did I do something wrong?!”

“You have neglected them! You funnel bits into pet projects for the rich districts, allowing the poor to wither. With armed escort, you’ve had these letters delivered, and you lacked even the spine to sign them yourself.”

“B-but I’ve never even seen this letter before!”

“Who else, then, could bear your seal and exercise such authority?!”

“I could.”

The Ghost snapped his head up toward the source of the offending interjection. Bronze Hoof stood in the illuminated doorway, smirking, before stepping into the office.

“I had wondered when you would arrive. Truly, the stories of your vigilance may just be that. What matters, though, is you have come.”

The Ghost felt a tug at his cape, leading out the window and to Rusty’s paw. They could all hear the shouting of ponies and clacking of armor on the bottom level, and the Ghost watched the two guards from before return to the room, weapons in hoof.

“Bronze Hoof, the councilor. If it wasn’t Pish Posh, then it had to be you.”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “I’ve worked very hard to arrange this little meeting between us.”

“Your surrender would have been easier.”

“It would have, yes, but detrimental to my plans. You cost us much embarrassment in Manehatten, Ghost, even more so in Canterlot. The Vice General would be pleased to know you fell for the bait.”

The Ghost clenched his teeth and the very mention of his enemy. Pish Posh, however, exchanged his glance from side to side, caught up in the tension between the two parties before him.

“You’re part of his conspiracy,” the Ghost seethed.

“I was, until Fancy Pants allowed everything to be undone. But even so, I never lost faith in the Vice General.” Bronze Hoof touched his heart and spoke aloud, a certain bravado in his voice. “It has taken much time and effort to create the sort of desperation you predictably seek out. Once word of disparity between the gryphons and ponies of Trottingham reached your treacherous ears, I knew you’d come running to stop it.”

“A trap, then?”

“Indeed, and now that you are within my grasp…”

As Bronze Hoof gave his sinister sermon, the fibers of the cloak tensed and began to drag the dangling diamond dog up through the window. The burly frame of Rusty curled into a ball and carefully rolled into the office and behind the billowing cover the cloak provided. He and the Ghost nodded to each other, wordlessly preparing as Rusty crawled to the corner of the desk, crouched low and ready to pounce.

“... A glorious Equestria, free of the decrepit rule of the Two Sisters. Shield Wall will be so pleased to know I have slain you, and with your cloak as tribute, his mastery of ponykind can resume!”

“A fine speech,” the Ghost mocked, lightly clapping his gloved hooves. “But I think Shield Wall would sooner kill you for monologuing.”

“How dare you! Your pride is insulting, Ghost, especially for one with no way out,” Bronze Hoof declared with a grin, earning a sigh from the Ghost as the two guards tensed their weapons.

“Rusty, schnell.”

With the clap of powerful paws against the desk, the massive diamond dog popped out from his cover and tackled the two guards, wrestling them both through the door. Bronze Hoof screamed and hit the floor, hooves over his head. Vicious barking could be heard as the Ghost glided toward the cowering councilor. A firm kick to the side sent Bronze Hoof sliding against the wall, the Ghost standing above him.

“When you said you were part of Shield Wall’s conspiracy, I didn’t think you meant ‘the weakest link’.”

“Don’t insult me, Ghost, I still have you trap-”

The Ghost lifted Bronze Hoof to eye-level and sent a hoof to his face, spinning him around. He stabilized before taking a fighting stance.

“Why, Bronze? Why target innocents to win a fight you’ve already lost?”

“Because we haven’t lost! There are still cards we have yet to play, powerful forces you couldn’t begin to guess. Did you truly think Shield Wall, in his brilliance, was without contingencies?”

A quick swipe of his hind leg spun Bronze around, lining his rear hooves up with the Ghost and unleashing a mighty buck. The Ghost coiled the cloak around himself just in time to absorb the impact. From within the black mass a single tendril shot out and lashed Bronze’s muzzle.

“I want answers, councilor! If your intention was to kill me tonight, then you’ll need more than half-baked schemes and empty threats!”

“Your death is only the beginning, Ghost. With you out of the way, nothing will stop me from finding them all and bringing the Vice General back into power. Guards, to me!”

The two continued their exchange of hooves. Bronze Hoof jabbed and swung with practiced form, but those precious few strikes that connected lacked any power to hurt his cloaked enemy. The Ghost, however, landed a thundering blow to Bronze Hoof’s now-bloody jaw, just before the clattering of metal armor made its way upstairs and into the office. Guards brandished spears and magic, wildly lashing out against the cloaked intruder, but the Ghost was soon above them in a display of agility and landed within the crowd.

Two spears lunged toward the Ghost and were deflected by covered forelegs, harmlessly sending them against the armor of two other guards behind him. A snap from the cloak cut one guard across the brow, and a flurry of these strikes came down onto the others with lightning speed. Armor straps were cut, allowing the Ghost easy access to land powerfuls strikes on whoever came next. A unicorn beside him let out a small burst of fireworks, the sparks singing the Ghosts exposed muzzle, but barely slowed him down before the unicorn was flung across the room. The final guard stood shakily, eyes glued to the groaning forms of his comrades, before dropping his weapon and rushing down the stairs.

“That was fantastic!” Pish Posh shot his hooves into the air, cheering as the adrenaline threatened to pour out from his ears. “I have never seen a more incredible display in my life. Sweet Celestia, I’d become a crime lord, too, if it meant having a show like that! By the Sun… where’s Bronze Hoof?”

The Ghost followed the droplets of blood to the window, where he watched Bronze Hoof climb down the walls and begin galloping through the courtyard. The Ghost lept from the window, spreading his cloak and closing in on his prey. Bronze hoof could only take a quick peek behind him, forcing his legs to carry him faster than ever before. The iron gate came closer and closer with each step, but Bronze Hoof could feel a rumbling beneath him, and his path was soon blocked by an explosion of dirt and a large, canine fist rocketing straight for his chin. The strike launched Bronze Hoof into the air and flat onto his back.

The Ghost landed nimbly on his hooves and stood, dumbfounded, by the scene before him. Rusty had climbed out of his hole, shaking the dirt from his coat, and walked over to the fallen Bronze Hoof, who laid unconscious on the otherwise clean grass of the courtyard.

“Rusty do good, huh? Rusty stop bad pony?”

The Ghost could only laugh at the sight. He swung a hoof over Rusty’s shoulders and patted his head.

“Yeah, Rusty, you did great. Remind me never to try outrunning you.”

“Ghost pony could try, but won’t make it. Diamond dogs really good diggers.”