In All Things, Balance

It’s nearly midday now, and I’m still looking over the paperwork. The soft clicking of wheels is almost relaxing, but the intermittent blaring of the train horn is making it difficult to focus. I stifle a yawn as best I can and readjust myself on what might just be the least comfortable cushion I have ever felt. Dispatched on the first train out of Canterlot this morning, and I’m only about halfway to some rinky-dink town near the western coast of Equestria. Giving up on studying these reports for now, I relax my magic and let them tumble softly to the ground. They can stay there, for all I care.

My name is Hot Spot, but my friends call me Hottie. Okay, no one calls me that. I don’t really have many friends; being a detective doesn’t leave much time for socializing. Okay, it leaves plenty of time for socializing. Let’s just drop this subject for now and get back to what I’m doing on the express train to nowhere.

I was born and raised in Canterlot, the precocious (and, might I say, devilishly handsome) colt of a middle class unicorn couple. Other than being the most intelligent, talented, and humble pony in all of Canterlot, I was by all means an extremely average colt. One day, a fellow student’s knapsack left in the classroom was torn nearly to shreds while we were all out on the playground. Examining the evidence on the scene (a thoroughly assaulted knapsack, several feathers, and a bakery’s worth of crumbs), I was able to deduce the culprit. Apparently, a bird had flown in through an open window and torn the bag wide open in order to get at some bread stored within. Birds hate bags, I guess. In retrospect, it wasn’t exactly a mystery worthy of the great Fetlock Holmes, but it was enough to earn me a tattoo of a magnifying glass on my rump.

Twenty-some years later, I’m a fairly successful detective in the Canterlot crime division. I’m probably the best at what I do, so long as you disqualify the other detectives who are better. I handle a lot of the nitty-gritty stuff, and I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Maybe that’s why I was the one who got the call to meet with some police lieutenant late last night; a lot of ponies seem to have trouble with things like assault and, Celestia forbid, death.

“We’ve received reports of multiple deaths in Witherton, to the west. Some sorta plague, accordin’ to the letter.”

“Okay. So why are you telling me?”

I’m having a hard time paying attention to the stout gray Earth pony sitting at the desk in front of me. He’s going over some sort of report, glancing up at me now and then to make sure I’m paying some semblance of attention. Eventually he settles for making sure I’m still awake and not touching anything in his office. That’s fine with me; the only things in here are old reports, cardboard boxes, and dust. I give his desk a quick glance and there’s more of the same, along with a nameplate reading “Lt. Rough Spot”. Strange name for a desk.

“Because,” he grunts, clearly not impressed with my response, “The letter goes on to say that some of th’ deaths don’t fit with the others. Seems that while most of the ponies are fallin’ over dead from some unidentified illness, others have taken to simply fallin’ over dead. No signs of bein’ sick, no injuries, nothin’.”

“Well that’s interesting and all, but I still don’t see why it concerns a certain Canterlot detective. Don’t they have policeponies over there?”

He lowers the report and sighs. “S’a small town;” he continues. “There’s one’r two policeponies down there but they ain’t having any luck with this. There’re worries that the plague could be mutatin’, and it’s best for everyone involved if we figure this out nice ‘n quick. That, Detective Spot, is why this concerns you.”

This suddenly makes me want to join the conversation. “Woah, woah, wait a second. You want to send me to some tiny town, far to the west, that has some unidentified plague raging through it so I can investigate why ponies are dying of, and please correct me if I’m wrong, nothing.”

“Well lookie there, maybe you do have some detective skills in that brain of yours.” He’s clearly enjoying my sudden discomfort and is wearing a grin that's just begging me to put my hoof in his face, but I resist the temptation. Barely. He gives pause, and drops the grin for a more serious expression. “But if it makes you feel any better, this plague, or whatever it is, seems to be affectin’ the young and elderly for the most part. You should be perfectly fine, and we’ll be sendin’ you along with all the proper precautions.”

I’m determined to make a stand here, for whatever good it’ll do me. “None of this changes the fact that I am a police detective. I investigate murders, assaults, all that fun stuff. Wouldn’t we be better off sending, oh I don’t know, a doctor or something?”

“They have doctors there. Well, one of ‘em at least. He’s mentioned in the letter; apparently he’s been makin’ a somewhat passable effort to treat the plague victims but hasn’t been able to explain the other deaths. Your reputation gets around here, son. You’re an annoyin’ son of a bitch. But you also have an eye for these things, for findin’ the small details that lead to the big picture. That glass on your flank ain’t just for show.”

I sigh. This battle has clearly been lost, and maybe I can do some good for some ponies dying of what I can only assume is the boredom brought on by living in the flank-end of nowhere.

“Fine. When do I leave?”

“First thing tomorrow mornin’.”

I almost cry.

I consider the possibility that I’ve been sent out here just to keep me out of everyone else’s mane for a while. Like I said, I don’t exactly have a lot of friends. I give a grunt of disapproval to the universe in general and get up to stretch my legs. I wander around in circles for a bit, and then plop myself back down in my seat and stare out the window some more. Minutes pass, which turn into hours, which turns into a serious reevaluation of my life and the choices I’ve made. I’m eventually snapped back to reality by the slowing of the train. Happy to get some fresh air, I step onto the platform and look around. Not as small as I expected, honestly; you could almost call this place a real town.

A low rumble from nearby startles me a bit before I realize it’s just my stomach. That’s my cue to look for a restaurant, then. Detective work can wait until tomorrow; it’s starting to get dark now and I can get started with my investigation in the morning. A quick look around followed by a brisk trot finds me seated at a small but popular eatery. Some waiter tries to take my order, but I’ve become distracted by a gray unicorn eating at the other end of the restaurant. I mumble something to the waiter, point to some random item on the menu, and walk over to the unicorn.

He notices me as I approach, and lowers his fork with a questioning look on his face.

“Can I help you?” he asks, a little put off by the stranger interrupting his meal.

“I think you can. My name is Detective Spot and I’m here on behalf of the Canterlot police. We received…” I dig through my bag and remove the letter detailing the situation, then levitate it before him. “This letter, from your local police department. I believe it mentions you.”

He’s clearly surprised, but his face quickly dissolves into a friendlier expression.

“Yes, I’m the town doctor. But how did you know it was me?”

“Call it a haunch.” I motion to the large red cross adorning his flank. That’s some right fine detective work, there. He does his best to ignore my terrible pun, which I appreciate.

“I’ve been treating those afflicted as best I can, but it’s a losing battle I’m afraid. With you here, hopefully we can get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“That’s the idea. So, what can you tell me about all this? You might as well start from the beginning, and go over everything you know. Every little bit helps.” I ready some parchment and a quill. I’m glad I’ve managed to find this doctor so quickly, he’ll be a good first step in my investigation.

“I’d be happy to, but, ehrm, would you mind if we waited until after I finish my salad?”

My stomach roars again, and I remember why I decided to delay my investigation in the first place. I grin (sheepishly), and nod (politely). We agree to meet at his clinic after dinner, and he gives me the necessary directions.

About half an hour later, I’m doing my best to pick bits of some exotic fruit out of my teeth as I trot to the kind doctor’s practice. Dinner was delicious, if a bit pricey. I just wish I knew the name of whatever it is I ordered.

The doctor greets me as I enter, and I bow my head to him in turn. The harsh smell of rubbing alcohol and various cleaning products assaults me immediately, and I stifle a gag. I’ve never been one for hospitals. Dead bodies? No problem. The waiting room at the doctor’s office? The heebiest of jeebies.

He seems to notice my discomfort, but there’s nothing really to be done about it. He leads me into the next room, which is filled with beds which are filled with sick ponies. This serves to make me even more nervous; earlier I had checked the “proper precautions” I was sent along with: a box of bandages, a small package of tissues, and a note reading “IOU one kiss on a boo boo” which someone had helpfully signed “Your Mother”. I laughed, but only begrudgingly.

The doctor waves a hoof in the air. “No need to worry. It’s not airborne, from what I’ve been able to tell, and it only seems to affect the young and the geriatric.”

“That’s… Good, I guess.” I glance over at the occupant of one of the beds; a young filly; she doesn’t look conscious. I avert my gaze. “So you’ve been working on a cure?”

“Well, yes and no. Obviously, I’ve been doing my best to formulate some sort of cure. But for the moment, the best I can do is to treat the symptoms. Given some time to ride it out, most of my patients do get better under my care.”

“Any idea as to the cause?”

“Well, that’s part of why you’re here. I’ve been conducting test after test, but nothing has turned up. We were hoping you would be able to determine what could have happened recently to cause such an epidemic.”

I nod and make a few random scratches on my parchment so it looks like I’m writing something important. I haven’t really gotten anything of note from this so far, but it’s always good to keep up appearances. “How about the other deaths? The ones with no apparent cause.”

I swear I can almost see a look of fear in his eyes before he returns to a neutral expression. He may be safe from this disease, but it seems anyone is susceptible to these other, unexplainable deaths.

“At this point, I know about as much as you do. One day, I’ll be passing a pony on the street and chatting it up. The next, they’re found dead in their homes. I’ve seen the autopsy reports; they’re all currently listed as unknown cause.”

“Unknown cause?”

“There are neither external nor internal injuries. There’s no organ failure and no signs of any disease. There isn’t even anything that could link the victims together.”

This gives me pause. The letter gave the impression that the deaths were completely unexplainable, sure, but I expected something in common between the victims. Maybe they live in the same part of town and there’s some new fungus that’s knocking them over. Maybe they work at the same place and an irate customer decided to do away with them using some stealthy new poison. Hell, there has to be something. I mull it over for a bit, and decide to grab the autopsy reports from the mortician tomorrow.

“Thanks for your help, doc.”

He gives a short, friendly laugh. “Of course. I wish I could be of more assistance, I’ll be sure to let you know if I find anything new.” He turns away at the sound of coughing to help a patient.

“I appreciate it. I’ll be around town tomorrow during my investigation, maybe I’ll stop by again then.”

“Where will you be staying, by the way?” He turns his gaze back to me.

“Uh, I’m not sure yet. I was just going to find a hotel in town.” He looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

“Oh, no no no! You must stay with me, I insist! There’s only one hotel in town, and it’s not a very… Pleasant establishment.”

I grimace as his emphasis on the word ‘pleasant’. “Thanks for the offer, doc, but I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in here with…” I look around at all of the sick foals. “This antiseptic smell.” Smooth.

“Well you would stay in my living quarters on the second floor, obviously. I assure you, you won’t be able to smell a thing.”

It seems pretty clear that he won’t let his hospitality go unaccepted, so I shrug and follow him up the stairs. I’m incredibly exhausted, and the second floor has a much more pleasant feel to it than the first. He shows me to a guest bedroom and then begins back downstairs to care for his charges.

“By the way,” he looks back at me with a gentle smile. “You can call me Healing Salve.”