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.”
I wake to the sound of crying, and roll out of bed completely startled. It takes me a moment to get my bearings before I realize where I am, but once I do, I am immediately able to recognize that cry. The sick foals and elderly downstairs are probably too weak to cry that loudly, and I can’t imagine the good doctor becoming this distraught after losing a patient (after all, losing a life is something that every doctor eventually becomes accustomed to). No, I know that type of cry. It’s one I’m very familiar with.
It’s the cry of a parent who has lost their foal.
I know I said dead bodies don’t bother me, and that’s true. It’s the living that give me trouble. Having to tell a mare that her only son has been murdered never gets any easier. I don’t usually talk to foals who’ve lost a parent, that’s the remaining caregiver’s territory, but I’ve done it once or twice. Unsurprisingly, it’s even harder for me. They’re just foals, they don’t truly understand death, and I end up explaining why mommy and daddy aren’t going to be around anymore. I’d rather strike up a conversation in the morgue any day.
Sneaking out without involving myself in their grieving seems the best option, even though I have a few more questions for the doctor. First and foremost, I need to know where exactly in this town the police station is. Unfortunately for my investigation, he’s probably tending to the parents and I shouldn’t interrupt. Maybe it’s a little insensitive of me, but I suppose I’ll just wait. This probably won’t take long; the doctor has plenty of other patients he needs to tend to and I can bother him then.
Ten or so minutes later, I peek down from the top of the stairs. Sure enough, a stallion and mare are standing before a bed and sobbing. Their cries have grown nearly silent now, and it sounds more like they’re choking than weeping. Quickly looking away, I find the doctor at another bed tending to an elderly pony.
“-are doing fine, you needn’t worry about them. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Sweep?” He’s fluffing a pillow with his magic and replacing it when I trot up.
“No, that’ll be fine. Thank you so much, doctor.”
“Well you just let me know. Now try to get some rest.” Healing Salve leans in close to the elderly pony, and the tip of his horn glows a deep red. A small stream of crimson light passes from the horn to the patient, and the latter almost seems to glow as he sighs contentedly and falls into a light slumber.
As the glow dies down, I move closer to Salve and whisper lightly, careful not to wake the snoring pony next to us. “Good morning doctor, I had a few more questions for you if you have a moment.”
He stumbles backwards away from me. I must have startled him.
“Phew, you startled me. When did you get down here?”
“Not too long ago. What was that magic, doc?” All Canterlot detectives have some basic first aid training. Unicorns take it a step further and learn some very basic healing magic, while pegasi learn special search and rescue techniques. Earth ponies learn whatever it is Earth ponies do, I guess. That being said, I’d never seen any spells like that.
“Oh, that was just some basic magic to induce calm. Helps the patients get some well needed rest. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Can you just get me directions to the police station from here?”
He trots over to another nearby bed and motions for me to follow. “Certainly, simply go out the front entrance and make an immediate left, then follow that road until you reach the…”
I zone out as he relays the directions, distracted by the filly in the bed before us. She looks like the textbook definition of sick. She’s clearly been crying, and sees no reason to stop when we arrive. I glance back at the doctor, and he’s tilting his head and staring at me.
“Did you get all that, detective?” It’s almost like he hasn’t even noticed the filly.
“Uh, sorry, I must have zoned out there for a second. Can you just write it down for me?”
He glares, annoyed, but begins to write the directions on a loose sheet of parchment. “There, that should get you to the police station without much trouble.”
“Thanks, doc.” I move in closer and whisper to him. “This filly looks like she’s in pretty bad shape, maybe you want to cast that calming spell on her?”
He shakes his head, and whispers back. “I know she looks unwell, but she’s actually faring just fine, all things considered. Her treatment only just began, so give it some time to take and she’ll be looking much better in a few days.”
“Maybe so, but she sure looks like she could use some calming down.”
He shakes his head regretfully. “That spell may seem simple, but it takes a lot out of me. I can’t cast it in such rapid succession. Rest assured, she will be perfectly fine given some time to calm down on her own. If it really comes down to it, I will cast the spell once I have had a short while to recharge.”
Still somewhat unsatisfied, I nod briefly and thank him for his time. The doctor knows best, I suppose. The sun is bright in the sky and ponies are busying themselves in the streets. I go over a mental checklist of places I should investigate, and make a note to myself to ask the policeponies how to get to any of them.
The doctor’s directions are simple enough, and I quickly find myself before a small but official looking building. I open the doors with my magic and step through the threshold, catching the attention of a portly pony behind the counter. He looks me over and stands up, extending his hoof towards me.
“You must be that Canterlot detective I sent for! Welcome to Witherton, friend. I expected you in yesterday, what happened? Missed your train? Train get derailed? Forgot what you were doing? That last one happens to me plenty, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t worry about it. Name’s Flat Hoof, by the way!”
I stutter a hello, shake my head, shake his hoof, and collect myself. “Actually, I ran into the town doctor by chance last night and got my investigation started with him. He was kind enough to lend me his guest bedroom for the night.”
“Good old Healing Salve, always looking for ways to help ponies out. He’s the best doctor in town! Heck, probably the best doctor in all of Equestria! I broke my leg a couple months ago and he set it right nice and quick! I’d take my foals to him every time they had a sniffle if I had any foals, he’s just that good!”
You know the bearers of the Elements of Harmony? I’ve only ever met them one of them myself, but they’re pretty well known around Canterlot. There’s the smart one, the fast one, the fancy one, the terrified of everything one, the uh, the one with the apples? I can never actually remember any of their names to be honest. That is, except for Pinkie Pie. That mare is hard to forget, especially after you get drafted into helping clean up after one of her parties. Like any good host, she had stayed after her little get together to do the cleanup. Meanwhile, there I am, minding my own business and walking through the gardens at night. I’m investigating some murder or assault or some such nonsense, when suddenly I catch a face-punchingly pungent whiff of sugar from a nearby ballroom. Clearly, this deserved my investigative abilities far more than some meager crime, so I meander my way in and see what I can only describe as a cotton candy colored cannonball zipping through the room towards me. It barrels into me and starts talking a mile a minute, asking me my name, where I’m from, if I like parties…
Eventually, she slows down enough for me to realize I’m blurting short, confused answers at a mare. She tells me her name is Pinkie Pie and oh boy, it’s so great to meet you, let’s be friends, I’ll go get you some leftover cake, not that you don’t deserve fresh cake but we already had the party and so all the cake is leftover now, but even with just two ponies it can still be a party, do you like parties, I think I already asked you that but oh boy I love parties, I just threw a party you shoulda seen it. After a few dozen more questions and ramblings, I collected myself and joined her for a slice of cake and some punch, and then helped her clean up like the gentlecolt I am. It was an enjoyable, if draining, evening. Oh, and don’t worry about that investigation I was in the middle of, I took care of it right afterwards and everything was hunky-dory. Except for the dead pony. But for everyone else, everything turned out fine.
I bring this up because for a few minutes, I genuinely weigh the possibility that this might be Pinkie Pie in a fat police pony costume. I drop that hypothesis when I realize that the great ball of energy that is Pinkie could never sit still for this long and the pony in front of me is simply far more excited about his job than he has any right to be, and is also very easily distracted.
“Uh, that’s great.” I manage to cut him off. “Anyway, I was hoping you could get me the files on those unexplained deaths.”
His eyes beam and his smile gets so big I worry he might hurt himself. “Sure I can! Just follow me on back here and I’ll get you those files lickety split! It’s a real good thing you’re here, we’ve been working on this case nonstop for the past month or so and we haven’t made any headway! But I’m sure a fancy Canterlot detective such as yourself will have this thing straightened out in no time.” Mid-speech, he begins to saunter into the back of the station, bobbing his head the whole way to a song only he can hear. I put a little extra distance between us, shiver, and follow him in.
“...throughout the week! Okay, this last one is for Penny Pincher, we found her three nights ago in her home. Forty-seven years old, built up a fortune as a market tycoon. No living relatives or beneficiaries, and no will has turned up in any records, so her assets defaulted to the town’s treasury until we can figure out what to do with them. Autopsy report came up empty, just like the rest. Gotta wonder what’s going on with that! Ponies can’t just die of nothing, you know!” I do know. He’s mentioned the inconclusive autopsies for all seventeen cases so far, and with a few exceptions, we have nothing to go on. Two or three of the deceased showed signs of minor bruising consistent with collapsing, but nothing that would have lead to death. The rest almost seemed like they laid themselves down gently before breathing their last.
“Alright, mark her on the map, please.” I levitate a map he kindly provided me before him, and he takes a quill in his mouth. A final dot and note is drawn on my now crowded map, listing the place of residence and name of the victim. For the victims that didn’t die in their homes, I’ve had him mark both their residence and place of death.
“Phew! That was a lot of ponies, it’s a real shame they all passed away. I didn’t really know most of them but it’s still a shame! Anypony’s death is a tragedy! Do what you do best and make sure this is the end of it, alright?”
“Trust me: I’ll get to the bottom of this in no time flat,” I lie, “And thanks for all your help.” The truth is, this isn’t going to be a simple case. At the very least I have a place to start now, but the map levitating in front of me makes me uneasy: there’s absolutely no pattern in either the homes or places of death, nor is there any pattern as to the time of death.
“Come on back any time! And thanks again for coming out here on such short notice, we really appreciate it!”
I wave a hoof at him and smile as I walk out of the station. Wait, we? Hopefully, next time I stop by there’ll be some other ponies I can talk to who are a little less excitable. He was certainly a big help, but listening to him talk that quickly is physically exhausting.
A wooden post to the face stops me in my tracks. I lower the map, rub my nose, and grumble angrily at the post. With it put in its place, I take a look at the small but pleasant building in front of me. It’s right on the outskirts of town, and looks to be one of the older buildings in the area. A house, sized for no more than one or two ponies, is surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence. In fact, the fence looks like the most recent addition to the home and if anything takes away from the charm. It’s imposing and uninviting, but now there’s nopony to give an invitation to this place anyway. I amble around to the gate and find it tightly locked. Sigh, spin, grunt, kick. The gate tilts inward and splinters a bit, but holds steady. A second grunt and kick. The gate is at about a forty-five degree angle now. One last kick uproots the posts and shatters the gate’s connection to the rest of the fence. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to forcibly enter a residence, but it always feels a little naughty. Obviously, it’s not illegal during the course of an investigation, but it’s hard to shake that feeling of breaking and entering. With that dirty business done, I trot up to the front door and find it similarly locked. Sigh, sigh, sigh, spin, grunt, kick. As the door flies off its hinges, I consider the possibility that the police probably have the key to this place and I could have made a much less destructive entrance had I only asked for it.
Too late now, I decide as I make my way through the home. It’s a very small building, only six rooms and a basement, and two of those rooms seem to be storage. They may have had some other use at some point, but now they’re packed tightly with various treasures. Trophies, awards, and pile upon pile of photo albums. I gently flip one open and find it filled with grainy pictures of the same Pegasus, over and over. He looks like a professional stunt flyer, decked out in what I recognize as one of the older Wonder Bolt outfits. Page after page, there’s nothing but ancient pictures of that one single pony, sometimes with his Wonder Bolt costume and sometimes without. I close the album and continue into the next room.
The first thing I notice when entering is the subtle, familiar, and unpleasant smell of death. The second thing I notice is the overpowering smell of cleaning products. The third thing I notice is the chalk outline of a pony, surrounded by signs of an investigation. The policeponies here have already completed their attempt at an investigation, so I don’t have to worry about messing up the crime scene. I take a few photos, just to be safe, and make my way over to a saddlebag lying in a corner. I carefully adjust the bag so I can see the buckle, and confirm my suspicion: The buckle is the same design as the cutie mark of the Pegasus in photo albums.
This really isn’t a surprise, since Flat Hoof had already told me about the first victim back at the station. Sleet Wing, a former Wonder Bolts flyer who specialized in weather based stunts. One of the big names, back in his day, but an accident during one of his stunts left his wings crippled. Forced into an early retirement, he completely shut himself off from the rest of the world. There are no interviews and very few photos of him post-accident, and he quickly faded from the public eye. Left with a reasonable fortune from his time in the spotlight, he lived a quiet life here in his hometown of Witherton; a quiet and fairly long life at that. By the time he passed away, most of his fortune was already gone. He had spent a decent sum having a new fence installed to further isolate himself from the community, for some reason.
About two months ago, Healing Salve received an urgent summons from Sleet, and was sent the key to the gate and house. When he arrived, Sleet was in his bed and seemed terminally ill. Salve treated him as best he could, and Sleet appeared to be making a recovery. After a few days of intense treatment, Salve reported a complete recovery. He asked a neighbor to check in on Sleet every few days to make sure he was doing alright, and after a large amount of convincing, Sleet allowed it.
Things were fine for the first week or so, Sleet seemed in high spirits (or high spirits for somepony who hates the world), and there was no sign of any illness. But one day, when the neighbor went to check on him, they found him stone dead in his living room. The police were called, Salve was summoned once more, and it was decided that the illness had likely come back full force and taken Sleet by surprise. The autopsy report showed no cause of death, but they just chalked it up to the strange nature of the recurring disease.
That was that, for a short while. Nopony had any reason to doubt the cause of death for the elderly pony. That is, until more ponies started popping up dead without cause. They reopened his case, and deemed it the first in the series of unexplained deaths.
Well, if there’s anything I can conclude so far, it’s that this pony lived a miserable life pining for the long lost days of his youth. I jot down some notes about the items around the room, the positioning of the body, and a few reminders about things to investigate further once I have a few words with the police. First and foremost, I have some concerns about the disease that preceded Sleet’s death. It seems strange that in all this talk of “completely unexplainable deaths”, Salve never mentioned the fact that patient zero was recovering from a serious illness. Heck, it was what they thought killed him in the first place before these other bodies started showing up and making a mess of things. It’s true that none of the other ponies showed any signs of such a disease, but Sleet was an old stallion. Maybe his body just couldn’t handle it as well and showed the symptoms more visibly.
Having something like this to go on serves to energize me and, with a smirk, I quickly make my way to the next victim’s place of death.