Ponyville Noire: Rising Nightmares

Chapters

Case Nineteen, Chapter One: History Unearthed
Case Nineteen, Chapter Two: Blood Trails
Case Nineteen, Chapter Three: Alibis
Case Nineteen, Chapter Five: Symptoms
Case Nineteen, Chapter Six: The Doctor Will See You Now
Case Nineteen, Chapter Seven: Dread
Case Nineteen, Chapter Eight: Aftermath
Case Twenty, Prologue: Interrogation
Case Twenty, Chapter One: Special Delivery
Case Twenty, Chapter Two: Running Errands
Case Twenty, Chapter Three: On the Scent
Case Twenty, Chapter Four: Pray and Prey
Case Twenty, Chapter Five: You Know My Name
Case Twenty, Chapter Six: Glory
Case Twenty, Chapter Seven: Silver Lining
Case Twenty-One, Prologue: Nightmares
Case Twenty-One, Chapter One: Spycraft
Case Twenty One, Chapter Three: Appleloosan Intrigue
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Four: Past, Present, Future
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Five: Silent Night
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Six: From the Ashes
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Seven: Hoofprints in the Snow
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Eight: Tempestuous
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Nine: The Puppet Dances
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Ten: Waking Up
Case Twenty-Two, Prologue: The Ship's Log
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter One: The Game is Afoot
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Two: Groundwork
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Three: Meddling, Busybody, Jacks-in-Office
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Four: Benny Brigantine's Statement
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Five: Shipwreck
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Six: Stories to Tell
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Seven: Necropolis
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Eight: Uncovering the Truth
Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Nine: Snowblind
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter One: Manehattan, Manehattan
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Two: Stalked
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Three: Hawk's Field, Lion's Den
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Four: The Profane and the Sacred
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Five: Clovenworth Island
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Six: Turning Tides
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Seven: Short on Time
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Eight: Scavenger Hunt
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Nine: Time Enough at Last
Case Nineteen, Prologue: Death Shall Come on Swift Wings
Case Nineteen, Chapter Four: Breadcrumbs
Case Twenty-One, Chapter Two: Sins of the Past
Case Twenty-Three, Prologue: Tell-Tale Heart
Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Ten: War Drums

Case Nineteen, Chapter One: History Unearthed

The sky over Ponyville was a calming blend of light gray and blue, with thin layers of clouds strolling leisurely across the sun-kissed late morning sky. A light wind stirred the thin, bare branches of the cherry tree sitting in the backyard of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street, the chilling bite promising the coming of winter.

Inside the house, Phillip carefully stirred a test tube, holding up the tube to study the light brown water within. “Right,” he nodded, cutting out a small sheet of filter paper and inserting it into the tube, allowing the bottom half to dip into the water. He placed the tube into a rack with a row of other tubes, each of them with another piece of filter paper within it.

“You’re sure that you know the chemical composition of those samples?” Twilight asked, magically scratching down some notes with her magic as she studied the flask full of purple liquid, bubbling away over the Bunsen burner on the desk.

“Positive,” Phillip replied. “Those are all samples from the backyard. Did some of my first geology experiments on that.”

“Good,” Twilight nodded, briefly looking away from her own experiment to eagerly study the water that was already sluggishly trickling up the filter paper. “Ooh, this is exciting! Chromatography is such an underdeveloped branch of science; if we can find a compound that allows for consistent results, we might be able to find a quick way to identify soil compositions without needing to rely on microscopic analysis! It might not be enough for definitive analysis, but it’ll at least help with eliminations!”

“Whoa, Twilight, take a breath,” Spike rolled his eyes from the couch, not looking up from the latest Supermare comic. “It’s just some dirt.”

“Just some dirt?!” Twilight cried. “Spike, entire criminal cases have hinged off of traces like this! If our research works, this could revolutionize forensic science, and be the catalyst for new examinations that ensure that innocent ponies are not arrested for crimes that they didn’t commit! And you call it just dirt?!”

“When will I learn?” Spike sighed to himself.

“Twi, easy,” Phillip said, placing a hoof on her shoulder.

Twilight took a breath. “Sorry, you’re right,” she admitted.

“What I’m more interested in is this,” Spike said with a grin, turning his attention to the wooden club sitting on the coffee table next to the chessboard. “A magic club! How cool is that? Well, maybe not quite as cool as a lightning whip, but still!”

“It is an incredible magical totem,” Twilight admitted, picking it up in her magic and slowly turning it over. “I’ve scanned it a dozen times and I still can’t figure out how Aherrk or Captain Bushwhacker managed to integrate cloud magic into them so flawlessly, if that was their work.”

“It was the wandjina, of course!” Spike countered.

“Spike, that’s just a legend,” Twilight chided. “There’s no evidence that wandjina exist.”

“There was no evidence that…namorodo exist, either, and Daring and I fought them,” Phillip cut in, swallowing and forcing down the squirming tightness in his chest. He’d almost said ‘Ngluwi.’

Twilight opened her mouth to speak, paused, then closed it. “Okay, fair enough,” she conceded. “But we shouldn't jump to conclusions." She turned the waddy over in her magic. "I still wonder how they were made. Whoever made it must have had a lot of magical power and knowledge.”

Phillip took the carved waddy for himself and slowly turned it over in his hooves, admiring the carvings and paintings upon the dark red-brown wood; patterns of colored stripes and clustered dots along the handle, and painted upon the round head, two white mouthless faces with glowing white eyes: bearded Angkakert and Awely-Awely with her long wispy mane, both crowned with lightning and clouds.

“All that matters to me is that it works,” he said, placing it back down reverently on the table.

“Oh, speaking of which, should we take another look at your vest’s wards?” Twilight asked.

“Your latest design works fine,” Phillip nodded, glancing over at his green fishing vest hanging up on the hallway wall next to his trilby. The interior of the vest was visible, revealing the intricate design woven into the fabric in purple lines that glowed faintly when caught in the light: the Sparkle-Armor Protective ward Mark 4, a mandala that looked like an eight-pointed star with three interlocking circles within and a sun-moon design on each point of the star, the entire thing enclosed within a diamond and interspersed with runes. “Turns on automatically now, definitely seem to be lasting longer and recharges faster. You and your brother did ripper work on the new wards, and I'm glad that Cold was able to get enough warded vests for the department.”

“That is great, but I’m hoping that I can still improve it,” Twilight replied.

“Saved our lives plenty of times,” Phillip said, placing his hoof on Twilight’s shoulder.

“And nearly killed you once,” Twilight mumbled, lowering her gaze in shame. “I can’t afford to allow that mistake again. That's why I made the mark 4 in the first place.”

“Uh, Twi…?” Spike cut in.

“That wasn’t your fault, sheila,” Phillip replied, tilting her chin up. “If it hadn’t been for you and your genius, Zugzwang would’ve killed us all. You saved all of our lives back there.”

Twilight swallowed and smiled, her lips quivering a little as her eyes shimmered. “Thank you,” she said, hugging Phillip hard enough that he stumbled slightly with a grunt of surprise.

“I see you’ve been doing those exercises,” Phillip chuckled, patting her on the back.

“Guys?” Spike repeated, his voice rising a bit.

“I’ve learned that magic doesn’t solve everything,” Twilight admitted with a soft laugh.

“Guys!” Spike shouted, pointing.

Both ponies looked up to see that the flask that Twilight had placed on the Bunsen burner was now bubbling and steaming over the edge of the top, liquid dripping down the sides onto the flame, which hissed angrily and flared, turning purple.

“Oh, no!” Twilight cried, her horn lighting up to create a purple wall between them and the flask.

Not a moment later, there was a great flash of light and a bang like a firecracker as orange smoke billowed out of the flask like a tidal wave, breaking over Twilight’s shield. Steaming liquid fell from the clouds like rain that smelled of citrus and ink, covering every surface.

For a moment, there was merely silence and stillness, then Phillip turned and frowned at Twilight. She grinned sheepishly as she dropped the shield. “Sorry,” she said, folding her ears back. “Guess I had that on a little too high.”

“Guess so,” Phillip declared dryly.

The doorbell rang. “Of course,” Phillip sighed, heading for the door. He paused briefly in the hallway to take his .38 from the holster hanging from the rack and strap it to his foreleg, giving Twilight a meaningful glance as he did so. Twilight nodded and hustled herself and Spike into the kitchen out of sight, creating another shield before them.

His heart pattering against his chest, Phillip trotted up to the door and peeked through the curtains covering the window. Waiting on the front porch was a clover green unicorn, the gray around his temples encroaching deeper into the brown mane much farther than the last time Phil had seen him. The pair of red dice on his flanks displayed a five and a two, and he wore a cheap but well-fitted brown suit. In his hoof was a briefcase, papers sticking out of the interior and the exterior pockets.

Clicking the safety on his weapon back on, Phillip unlocked and opened the door, the purple protective wards over the wall briefly flashing as he did so. “Vinny,” he greeted the stallion, extending his unarmed foreleg to shake.

“Hey, hey, good to see you,” Vinny Gamble smiled, shaking Phillip’s hoof eagerly as he stepped inside. The attorney glanced at Phillip’s pistol as he stepped inside. “Heh, expecting somepony else?” he asked somewhat nervously.

“Just being careful, mate,” Phillip replied, locking the door and replacing his weapon in the holster.

Vinny sniffed the air. “What’s that smell? You trying to make orange wine?”

“Just an accident with an experiment,” Phillip replied, leading his guest into the living room, frowning at the liquid coating most of the surfaces. Twilight and Spike were cleaning up the room.

“Hello, Mister Gamble,” she greeted him with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about the mess.”

Vinny did a double-take upon seeing Spike, who gave him a small smile and a slow wave. The unicorn blinked a couple of times, then shrugged. “Eh, it’s okay,” he admitted. “I’ve honestly seen dirtier houses.”

“Guessing you’re here because of that murder in Trottingham?” Phillip asked, the sofa creaking beneath him as he sat down.

Vinny stared at him for a beat, then chuckled once. “So what gave it away?” he asked. “Dust on my horseshoes that’s from Trottingham? This ketchup stain come only from a diner there?”

“Bus ticket,” Phillip said, nodding to the small corner of blue paper sticking out of the exterior pocket of the briefcase.

“You can’t see what’s printed on it,” Spike protested.

“No, but I know that it takes about half an hour to get to my place from the bus station with a taxi,” Phillip said. “So the bus came in around 9:15. Your watch alarm is set for five-thirty AM,” he continued, nodding to Vinny’s watch, the small red arm set between five and six. “You’re clean-shaven and combed, so you took some time to get ready, maybe half an hour. Estimate that the bus took two to three hours to get here. Way your dress shirt is rumpled means that you slept in it.

“Conclusion: you spent all day yesterday at wherever you were, fell asleep in your motel working, took the bus back here. Trottingham is the right distance away, and there was a murder a couple of days ago.”

Phillip reached over and plucked the morning edition of the Foal Free Press from its place on the sofa next to him. The dampened front page declared in bold text, “Shopowner’s Son Arrested for Murder!” He handed it over to Twilight to examine.

“Two days ago, the owner of a metalcraft shop, Gold Plate, was killed in his store after closing,” Twilight read, her eyes sweeping the text with almost dizzying speed. “Yesterday morning, his son Silver Plate was arrested for the crime based on eyewitness testimony: a neighbor declared that he’d heard Gold and Silver Plate arguing less than an hour before the body was discovered.”

“Mister Plate is protesting his innocence, and has hired me to defend him,” Vinny nodded. “I pride myself on being a judge of character, and I believe him when he says that he didn’t do it. Unfortunately, gut instincts aren’t admissible in court, and they got a motive for him, so I’m in a bit of a snit.”

“You really don’t think he did it?” Phillip asked.

“Every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is ‘I didn’t do it,’” Vinny said. “It’s my job to do everything I can to get the best outcome for my client. Which means that if there’s a chance that he didn’t do it, I have to try to prove it. And Silver has already said he’s willing to pick up your tab himself.”

Phillip glanced at the newspaper in silent consideration, his eyes focusing on the photograph accompanying the headline: Silver Plate, his sterling coat matted and his white, gold-trimmed mane hanging down over his face as he was escorted out of his home in hoofcuffs, a police officer at each of his sides.

“Everypony deserves a fair suck of the sav,” he nodded. “Give me what you have.”

“I’d rather do it with both of you here,” Vinny said, glancing around. “So where’s the other half of the dynamic duo?”

“She went to see the new exhibit at the history museum,” Phillip replied.

“That was today?!” Twilight cried, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull. “Ohmigosh, I was so looking forward to our experiment that I completely forgot! Spike, c’mon!”

Snatching the protesting drake and her experiment notes in her magic, Twilight bustled out the door. “Sorry again about the mess! Tell me how it turns out! See you later!” she called, slamming the door behind her.

Phillip shook his head with a sigh before turning back to a gaping Vinny. “Right. Where were we?”

A pair of serpentine dragons, their winding bodies adorned with feathers, stood post on either side of the archway. Daring paused to study the great wooden carvings that had been formed from redwood tree trunks before strolling inside, adjusting her fake glasses and floppy sunhat as she entered. Over her head, a great banner displayed an image of a step pyramid among a jungle clearing, with tropical birds and monkeys among the trees. Massive yellow letters declared “Treasures of the Mysterious South!”

As she entered the massive exhibit hallway, she paused to gasp in delight, her eyes widening as she tried to take in every detail. Glass cases displayed pottery, hoof-carved tools, and intricate wooden carvings. Pictorial etchings into fragments of stone brought history and mythology to life, narrated by cuneiform writing. Tribal masks and carvings of dragons, eagles, and other beasts were mounted on the walls, staring down at the visitors that were meandering from exhibit to exhibit.

“Be still, my heart,” Daring whispered, a grin spreading across her face. She started to wander through the hallways, pausing at every exhibit from a display of small arrowheads and faceless idols to a rack of spears and shields. She memorized every accompanying placard, absorbing as much information as she could about the cultures of ponies and zebras that lived in the dense foliage of southern Equestria.

As she proceeded down the hallway, the crowds of visitors became denser, the voices louder and more excited. Hitching up her maroon dress, Daring swam into the crowd, slowly pushing her way forward until she saw the object of their fascination.

Standing in the center of the room, set atop a pedestal of faux stone beneath a thick glass dome, was a pair of golden rings, stacked on top of one another. The bottom one was about five feet in diameter, the smaller four feet wide, and runic symbols were placed along the circumference of each one. A square of velvet ropes blocked off the display from the attendees, who surrounded the artifact, staring in fascination.

Daring peered at the placard posted next to the stand.

Two of the Rings of Scorchero
Scorchero (ca. 110--55 BE) was the last emperor of the Tenochtitlan Tribe. Little is known of his reign, as many of the records of his history have been lost or destroyed, but it is known that he was a talented sorcerer who crafted twelve golden rings. These rings were said to have the power to control the sun and could direct intense heat upon the tribe’s enemies. The Tenochtitlan Tribe’s empire collapsed soon after the rings were allegedly crafted--myths tell that the land was consumed in a terrible fire that lasted for months and left few survivors. Since then, the rings have been lost, allegedly scattered across the Mysterious South so that they can never be rejoined again.

“Do you believe that?” a voice tinged with a Mexicoltian accent asked to Daring’s left.

She turned to see a muddy brown stallion with a bushy gray beard standing next to her, his light green eyes shaded by the floppy gray cap he wore.

“Believe what?” Daring asked.

“That the rings could control the sun,” the stallion continued. “Imagine the power to control the day, to bring down unrelenting, sweltering heat upon your foes. A weapon to be feared, indeed.”

“If it did work,” Daring pointed out. “With ancient artifacts like that, it’s always a roll of the dice if it did work or if it was just a shiny bauble that somepony told stories about. For all we know, that stuff about the rings controlling the sun didn’t come around until after he died; a myth to explain the fire that destroyed the Tenochtitlan Tribe.”

“Perhaps the tale of Scorchero is meant to be a warning about attempting to control powers we do not understand,” the other stallion mused, then chuckled. “Oh, perdon. I did not introduce myself. I am Groom Martingale,” he said, extending a hoof.

“A.K. Yearling,” Daring introduced herself, shaking his hoof.

The light green eyes widened. “The author of the Compass Rose series?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Daring nodded. “Keep it down, please. I’m trying to stay incognito.”

“Yo comprendo,” Martingale nodded. “Are you here researching your next story?”

“Partially,” Daring admitted. “But mainly I’m just here to enjoy the exhibit.”

Martingale chuckled. “Well, we are both here for the same reason, then. I also like to spend my time learning of our history, but I’m also hoping to do some research for a project of my own.”

“You an author, too?” Daring asked.

“I used to be,” Martingale admitted. “But I have to admit, reading your stories has blown on that little spark a bit. I’m hoping that something here will give me that little bit of inspiration I need.”

“Well, good luck to you,” Daring nodded to him, turning away.

“And to you, señora,” Martingale nodded as Daring retreated. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

“Maybe in the bookstore for our signings,” Daring smiled over her shoulder as she continued down the hallway, pausing at every exhibit case to study the contents.

As she was studying a case full of square-shaped coins, she felt a presence quietly sidling up to her left. “Heya, DD,” a familiar voice whispered.

Daring glanced over to see a cream-colored kirin with an autumnal orange mane grinning at her, yellow eyes glimmering.

“How do you always see through my disguises?” Daring sighed.

“C’mon, D, all you did is put on some glasses, a dress, and a hat,” Autumn Blaze grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice dress. Really flattering and it’s a great color for you. It definitely would fool most ponies. But you know, I’m a reporter. It’s my job to take a closer look at things, sniff out the truth. Even if that’s just a friend who wants to be incognito for a day.”

Daring sighed and rolled her eyes, but couldn’t resist a small smile. “You here just to enjoy the exhibit, too?” she asked.

“Partially,” Autumn said. “But mainly, I’m here to see if I can speak to anyone about the patron of this exhibit.”

She nodded to the placard next to the exhibit:

This exhibit was made by a generous donation by the North Star Capital Industries.

“Alba Dorata,” Autumn said.

“Yeah, I heard a few things about him,” Daring nodded. “Bought out Monopoly’s businesses after he went to jail. Had that thing about the kidnappers a couple of months ago. Why, you smell something dirty about him?”

“Well, no,” Autumn admitted as they moved on to the next exhibit, a trio of ponyquins dressed in the clothes, feathers, and ritual body paint of the Tenochtitlan Tribe: a stallion with a spear bringing home a string of freshly-caught fish, a mare bending over a fire, and a young colt playing with a set of carved sticks. “Not yet, at least. But last summer, after he got nearly kidnapped by those ponies, when I was submitting my story about Buzz to the Foal Free Press--he says hi, by the way, he, or she, is back to his beekeeping business, makes really great cross buns--a few of the editors were talking about how they didn’t know much about Alba Dorata. Even back when he bought Monopoly Investments, not a single reporter could get a good interview out of him. It’s like he was avoiding any interviews at all, which is weird, because I haven’t met a single rich pony that didn’t love talking about themselves.”

“So you’re trying to beat them all to the punch?” Daring asked with a grin.

“Hey, I can have dreams and aspirations,” Autumn shrugged with a faux modest smile. “Besides, I’m having some writer’s block with the opera. Gotta write something!

“Plus...honestly, something doesn’t feel right about him,” Autumn continued, her face falling to more serious lines. “I mean, this complete stranger comes into Ponyville last spring and buys out Monopoly Investments and starts completely reworking it, dissolves Cerberus Security, and starts ingratiating himself with the police by giving them new guns and stuff? You know, call me paranoid, but something doesn’t feel right about it to me.”

“Yeah, that does sound a bit fishy,” Daring admitted.

“You think so, too?” Autumn said “Oh, good. I was starting to worry I was going a bit crazy. That’s what I get for talking to Silhouette Gloom of the Sundown Lands too long.”

“...who?” Daring asked.

“My shadow,” Autumn said, waving at her own shadow splayed across the wall. Noting Daring’s expression, Autumn protested, “Hey, I think better when I have someone to talk to and I can’t really talk to the girls at the Bawdy about these kinds of things, okay?”

Daring sighed and shook her head. “You’re one of a kind, Autumn,” she said.

“Thank you!” Autumn chirped.

“Did you say you were writing an ope--” Daring’s sentence came to a stop as something caught her attention: a fragment of a stone carving displayed in a small case, overlooked by most attendants, but the shape carved onto the stone was coldly familiar to her.

The massive, dog-like beast was surrounded by ponies, who were bowing down to it in terrified worship. It glared down at them with beady black eyes, the teeth on its long snout bared. On its long tail was what looked like a paw, in which it clutched an indistinct form. A moment later, Daring realized it was a dead pony.

The darkness shifted and a massive eye opened beneath her, the slit pupil three times as long as her body. She saw her own reflection, pale and trembling, her own tiny pupils wide with horror staring back at her from the venomous green iris, and the wind rumbled in a language that she didn’t understand, every syllable making her bones shiver like a jackhammer…

“D? Are you okay?” Autumn asked.

Daring blinked and shook her head, taking a breath and allowing the squirming fear to slowly retreat back into her gut as the memory dissipated. “I’m okay,” she nodded, glancing at the placard accompanying the artifact.

Little is known about the mythical beasts known as ahuizotl, but it is known that they were worshipped by ancient ponies in Southern Equestria with sacrifices and ritual mutilation. The ahuizotl were known to eat those who displeased them and were themselves apparently priests of greater gods. Curiously, many records related to them appear to have been deliberately destroyed years ago.

Mythical beasts, Daring thought with an involuntary shudder. All myths have an origin.

“Anyway, you were writing an opera?” Daring said, moving on.

“You wanna hear about it?” Autumn chirped. “It’s about this guy who lives below a stage and falls in love with this singer and wears a half-mask and gets all broody because the singer is in love with another dude, so he kidnaps her and takes her on this underground gondola--”

Something in Daring’s pocket grew warm. She extracted one of her wedding gifts from an interior pocket: a notebook with a compass rose and magnifying glass embossed onto the leather cover. She flipped it open to see Phillip’s hoofwriting appearing on the enchanted page.

Hate to interrupt, but we’ve got a case in Trottingham. There’s a bus in two hours, meet me there.

Daring sighed and put her notebook away. “Ooh, you got a case?” Autumn asked.

“Yeah, something in Trottingham,” Daring confirmed.

“Oh, it might be that murdered shopworker I read about!” Autumn said. “You gotta go now?”

“Well…” Daring said, looking around with a small smile. “I can probably kill another hour or so.”

“Yay!” Autumn cheered. “So, did your Aushaylian vacation give you any ideas for your next book?”

“One or two,” Daring replied.

“Tell me everything, and feel free to go into tangents!” Autumn said, whipping out a notepad and pencil.

Daring smiled as she and Autumn proceeded to the next exhibit, shaking her head as she started to tell Autumn about Compass Rose’s adventures in the Outback.

The Diplomat’s tires crunched against the gravel as it parked on the side of the dirt road, coming to a halt just behind the police cruiser. Red and Flash stepped out of the car, stretching their shoulders as they exited. Red crinkled his nose at the scent as he slowly spun in place, taking in the mounds of garbage that surrounded them like mountains of filth, the stench permeating the air.

“At least they’re not in the river this time,” he muttered to Flash as his partner started making his way towards the officer that was standing post in between two mounds, pointing them down the narrow pathway that lay in the valley of detritus.

“I'll take waterlogged corpse over this any day,” Flash muttered, taking a fresh lime out of his pocket. He squirted some onto his hoof and dabbed it onto his upper lip, then handed it to Red.

"Where'd you come up with that idea?" Red asked, taking the lime and squeezing some onto his hoof.

"Doctor Mortis suggested it," Flash replied. "Speaking of whom."

Doctor Vitae Mortis was bending over in front of a smaller pile of garbage that formed a wall at the end of the pathway, snapping away with the camera that was floating next to her head.

“I remember back when I regularly came down here for corpses," the mortician commented sadly as the detectives approached. "I thought those days were over for a while there. Guess I was wrong."

Both pegasi paused and stared down at four objects that had sent the landfill forepony scrambling to call the police an hour ago, half-buried in the layer of hastily removed trash. The tangerine-colored griffon staring up at the sky, baring his slit throat to it. The white pegasus mare with the oranges on her flanks, laying on her side as if asleep among the crops. The yellow unicorn mare, chain ligatures marked into her hind legs. And the massive blue-gray earth pony, his burnt mouth open wide as if still screaming, revealing the massive hole in the back of his head that the dirt was flowing through.

“So…” Red said, frowning at the burns on the earth pony’s right hoof. “One pony swallows a gun, three with their throats slit, all of them dumped in a landfill. Honestly, I can’t say that this is the weirdest one I’ve seen.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Flash muttered, staring at the dead eyes of the dead stallion, the gray skies reflecting in the empty blue orbitals that still seemed to carry a sliver of terror.

Author's Note

The idea of using lime juice to cover up unpleasant odors was inspired by a passage in Inside Delta Force by Eric L. Haney; he used it while bodyguarding the American ambassador to Lebanon in dirty, war-torn Beirut.

Anyway, hope that you enjoyed this little taste of what's to come! A bit of foreshadowing, a bit of mystery, a couple familiar faces, who doesn't love that?

If you liked what you read, be sure to like and comment! See you next week!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Two: Blood Trails

The bus rattled to a halt in front of the station, a long silver building with “Breezy Bus” painted in blue letters along the side, glowing in the afternoon sun. The doors opened with a hiss and passengers began to disembark, the bus creaking back and forth beneath the weight of many hooves and paws and talons.

Daring stepped out first, tilting her pith helmet back to take in the town of Trottingham. Perched on the banks of the Maresippi nearly an hour southwest of Ponyville, the city was only about a tenth of the size of its older sister. The bus station sat at what appeared to be the mouth of Main Street, a two-lane street lined with buildings like soldiers at attention: barbershops, cafes, clothing stores, and other small-city comforts displayed themselves for the passing pedestrians and cars. Apartments sat on top of the stores, their windows looking down onto the street.

“This is cozy,” she remarked to the two stallions following her down.

“The metal shop is about a half-mile this way,” Phillip said, nodding down a side street.

“I need to get down to the police station, speak to Silver,” Vinny said, stumbling slightly as he tugged his bulging suitcase out of the bus. “I’ll meet you down there. See ya, fellas.” He waved them off and hailed a cab.

“Right,” Phillip said as they started walking down the side street towards their target. “Let’s walk through it again.”

“Okay,” Daring said. “Two nights ago, Gold Plate closed up his shop at five o’clock. Based on Silver Plate’s statement and testimony from a neighbor, Silver Plate arrived there about ten minutes after. He and Gold argued loudly, then Silver claims that he left in a huff. Around six o’clock, the neighbor walked past, realized that she hadn’t seen Gold come out, and found out the door was unlocked. She looked inside, found Gold with his head caved in, and called the police. Silver got there a few hours later. When the police were questioning him, he was arrested when he couldn’t give an alibi for that night.” She frowned. “Some stupid candlesticks. Really stupid reason to kill somepony, let alone your own father.”

“I should tell you about the stallion who killed his father because he wouldn’t buy him skybox tickets for a Manticores game,” Phillip replied, glancing at a small Mareish restaurant that they walked past, noting a silver shamrock in the window beneath the blinking Open neon sign and a couple of chefs on a smoke break next to the dumpster in the alley next door. The massive green container had two bulging bags within, both stuffed with empty beer bottles.

“For a Manticores game?” Daring snorted. “Okay, that’s gotta be the stupidest reason to murder somepony.”

“There it is,” Phillip said, pointing. A two-story brick building sat on the side of the road, separated from its neighbors by a pair of short alleys. A hanging wooden sign shaped like a platter over the door displayed a pair of candleholders flanking the words Custom Metalcrafting. Gold Plate, Prop. Yellow crime scene tape covered the door and the blinds in the display windows were all drawn, obscuring any view of the interior.

A white-blue griffon in a simple gray suit was leaning against the wall outside the door, arms folded across his chest as he waited.

“Think that’s our contact?” Daring asked.

“Don’t look like he’s waiting for the store to open,” Phillip said as they approached.

“You must be Finder and Do,” the griffon nodded, stepping forward. “I’m Detective Skybrush, we spoke on the phone.”

“G’day,” Phillip nodded, shaking the proffered talon. “Appreciate you coming down to meet us.”

“Truth be told, we’re all a bit out of our depth,” Skybrush admitted. “We don’t get a lot of murders out here, and this one’s been sticking in the back of my head, like a splinter I can’t dig out. Any help you can give us would be appreciated.”

“Let’s take a butcher’s at the scene, then,” Phillip said. “You brought the scene photos?”

“Yes,” Skybrush said as they started to walk around the building, reaching beneath his coat and pulling out a manila folder. “I’ve been over these a dozen times. I know that there’s something I’m missing, but I’m just not seeing it. Honestly, I think that--”

“Hold that thought,” Daring interrupted him. “No offense, detective, we just don’t want to get any biases before we get a look at this ourselves.”

“Right, I understand,” Skybrush nodded.

“When did you arrive on-scene?” Phillip asked, pausing at the back door and crouching down to study the concrete outside it.

“The murder was called in at six PM, two nights ago,” Skybrush said. “I arrived on-scene a half-hour later. Nobody had touched anything. The body was laying behind the counter.” He shuddered. “Never seen that much blood…” He took a breath and shook his head.

“Anyway, we searched the entire first floor,” he continued. “The doors to the second floor were all locked and had no sign of forced entry, so we couldn’t get up there until the locksmith’s opened up next morning.”

“And you did notice the bloody hoofprints out the back, right?” Phillip asked, nodding at the ground. A faint line of dark, almost black stains roughly shaped like crescents stood against the concrete, leading away from the building.

“We did,” Skybrush nodded. “We saw them in the hallway inside, leading from the blood pools out the back door. Unfortunately, the trail ends just a few feet away from here, so we’re not sure where they led.”

“You never found a murder weapon, right?” Daring asked as they made their way towards the front of the building.

“Nope,” Skybrush admitted, shaking his head. “We searched every trash can inside the building and the dumpsters outside. Nothing that looked like a murder weapon.”

“Right, let’s look inside,” Phillip said as they returned to the front.

“Okay,” Skybrush nodded. He paused in front of the door and pulled a key out from his suit pocket, using it to unlock the door. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a dark interior. Precious metals glittered inside like the waiting treasures of an ancient temple.

“Mind your step,” Skybrush said, lifting up the tape to allow them entry. Phil and Daring stepped inside, ducking beneath the tape.

The darkened shop reminded Phil of a grandparents’ attic. Shelves and display cases were scattered about the open room with seemingly no rhyme or reason, all of them creaking beneath the weight of the many metal craftworks placed upon them. Candlesticks stood post over cases of jewelry; bookends carved with intricate designs held watering cans and lanterns between them, wine bottle racks were placed on the wall next to dozens of clocks of varying designs, from snowponies to cats to pianos; firewood holders, pots, trash cans, and planters littered the floor around the walls.

Skybrush switched on the light and the illusion of serenity was immediately dispelled. The wall behind the farthest counter, which had a cash register set atop it, was spattered with dark red blood, long since dried, as if someone had tossed a can of paint on the wall. A set of white tape on the floor formed the outline of a body where Gold Plate had once lain, marking one of the only clean spots in the midst of the mess.

Daring hissed as she finally saw it for herself. “Jeez. Somepony must’ve really hated that poor guy.”

“Let me see the photos,” Phillip said.

Skybrush plucked the original pictures of the crime scene out of the folder and handed them to Phillip. Phillip panned through them until he found the ones that showed Gold Plate’s body. The golden-coated unicorn was laying facedown behind the counter, his head facing away from the counter. The metalworker’s head was covered in blood, his skull warped like a slightly deflated soccer ball; more blood was spattered across his copper-colored suit. The victim’s horn lay next to the fractured head, splintered into two.

Daring let out a queasy moan over his shoulder. “Overkill much?” she asked.

“We’re pretty sure it’s not robbery,” Skybrush commented as Phillip bent down to study the blood patterns on the ground. “The cash register wasn’t broken open and a lot of these smaller trinkets were left alone. So we’re thinking that the killer knew Gold Plate and was pissed off at him for some reason.”

Phillip remained silent for several moments, studying the blood on the floor and the walls. The varying shades of red stood out to him like the dreadful scene was a deliberate, carefully constructed painting: arcs of back spatter that marked the deadly swings, arrow-like lines that pointed towards where Gold Plate’s head had lain, round drops that had dripped from the weapon, the misty, air-sprayed puddles of expirated blood that marked the craftworker’s final breaths.

“Autopsy said that he was hit in the face once, then several strikes to the back of the head,” Phillip commented.

“How they were able to tell that, I don’t know,” Skybrush muttered with a shudder.

Phillip looked up at the back wall, his eyes focusing upon an almost horizontal line of blood, noting the way the droplets had run down the wall. “That’s from the first hit,” he said, pointing it out. “Narrow castoff pattern...looks like something small.” He nodded to the round drops, each nearly the size of a bit coin. “That dripped from the weapon when he was holding it.”

“Looks to me like he was hit by somepony on the other side of the counter,” Daring said, moving to the opposite side of the counter. She swung her right hoof through the air as if striking an imaginary attacker in the face, her strike following the line of the castoff blood. “So, he was talking to somepony on the other side, other guy gets mad and smacks him with something hard…”

She looked over the countertop, studying the knickknacks scattered across the surface with seemingly no pattern or thought put to their placement, many of them stained with droplets of blood. “I think I found our murder weapon,” she announced.

“Where?” Skybrush asked in bafflement. “We checked everything on there, there’s nothing that has that amount of blood on it.”

Daring pointed to one item: a small statue of a bird with a long tail perched atop a stone. “This is a turtledove,” she said. “And there’s room for two statues on this stand here: see the indent where the other one goes?”

“Huh,” Skybrush nodded. “Didn’t notice that.”

“Whoever was here wasn’t planning on killing Gold,” Daring concluded. “He must’ve said or done something to make the other pony mad.”

Phillip turned back to study the floor. “Hmm...interesting.”

“What?” Skybrush asked, bending down.

“There’s no void pattern in the bloodstains,” Phillip said.

“Void pattern?” Skybrush asked.

“If the attacker had been standing next to Plate, there’d be a gap in the bloodstains, from where the blood sprayed on him,” Phillip said. “But there’s not. Means he was standing outside the bloodstains. Which means…” He looked up at Skybrush, giving him a prompting gesture.

The griffon detective only had to think for a moment. “It was a unicorn,” he concluded. “He beat him with his magic.”

“Right,” Phillip said, looking over to where the blood had spread across the back hallway; some faint partial hoofprints could be seen in the spatter. “But he did get some blood on him anyway when he left.” He and the griffon followed the faint trail of half-formed bloody hoofprints and droplets of blood that led down the hallway.

“He was carrying the statue next to his head as he left,” Phillip said, crouching down. “Okay, based on the length of the tracks…”

“About three-foot-two,” Skybrush said. “We did measure the tracks already. Oh, and there’s a clearer track down there. One of my colleagues says it looks like either a Trotsonian or a Gardener brand.”

Phillip gave the griffon an appraising look, then nodded approvingly. “Ripper job,” he said with a small smile.

“Hey, guys,” Daring called from the front. “I think there’s something you should see.”

The two stallions returned to the front, where Daring was gesturing at the counter. “I was taking another look at the blood up here, and I saw something. Phil, you see these bloodstains here?” She pointed at a small trio of bloodstains on the counter. Each of them had a flat border on one side, as if somepony had cut off part of the stain with a ruler.

“There was something on the counter here,” Phillip frowned. “Something box-shaped that the killer took with them.”

“Let’s have another stab at that trail,” Daring said. “I think I have an idea where he was heading.”

They followed the trail down the hallway and back out the door, into the lot. “Somepony who was that desperate to avoid blood would want to get it off them quickly and get rid of that murder weapon that they just picked up,” Daring theorized. “There’s a river near here, right?”

“Yeah, a tributary off the Maresippi,” Skybrush confirmed.

The river proved to be a short walk from the shop, with a sloping bank leading down to the rippling waters. Daring took off and hovered over the bank, slowly panning back and forth as she studied the reed-covered mud.

“Aha!” she declared a minute later, pointing. A few reeds and grass had been bent aside and faint hoofprints could be seen in the mud.

“Gardener brand, about three-foot-two,” she confirmed, following the trail down to where the blue waters lapped at the bank. “Yup, looks like he bent down here and tried to scrub himself off,” she reported. “And I bet…”

She took in a breath and dove into the water with a splash. “Uh…” Skybrush stammered, pointing.

“She does that,” Phillip admitted with a sigh.

After a few moments, Daring splashed back out of the water like a dolphin breaching the surface, a grin on her face.

“Got it!” she declared, holding out her hoof. A small pewter statue of a turtledove sat in her hoof. Drops of blood and hair clung to the little item.

“Aces,” Phillip smiled at her, holding out a bag for her to place the murder weapon into.

“Unfortunately, all this points right at Silver Plate,” Detective Skybrush pointed out. “He’s a unicorn with the right height and from what we were told, he had a reason to hate his dad.”

“Fair dinkum,” Phillip admitted. “But let’s take a look upstairs first. You got a key?”

“Yeah, but why do you want to go up there?” Skybrush asked, taking a spare key out of his pocket.

“Might be other clues in his room,” Phillip replied.

They returned back into the metal shop and Skybrush unlocked a door in the hallway, which creaked open to reveal a narrow staircase leading upstairs. They trotted upstairs and found themselves standing at the joint of an L-shaped hallway. A bathroom and linen closet was off to the right, and two bedrooms stood on either side of the hall in front of them.

“I got the left one,” Daring said, pushing forward into the left room.

Phillip entered the right one, pausing at the door to study the room with his eyes. The bed on the left was neatly made, having clearly not been slept in for a while. To the right was a small desk with a wheeled chair in front of it, the top clear of any debris or items save for a lamp and a single bronze key. The entire room was covered with a thin layer of dust.

Phillip proceeded to the desk first and opened up the bottom drawer. Inside was a lockbox and several papers tucked into envelopes, all of them addressed to Silver Plate.

“Bills,” Phillip muttered, panning through the envelopes. Every single one of the envelopes was a bill from various banks and lenders, and several were marked as late.

“No Gardener brand horseshoes,” Skybrush announced, looking up from underneath the bed. “I suppose it was too much to hope.”

Phillip grunted and turned his attention to the lockbox. Reaching into a pocket, he extracted a set of lockpicks, selected a wrench and pick, and inserted them into the lock. After thirty seconds of clicking and fumbling, the lock finally gave with a snap.

“You need more practice,” Daring called from the next room.

Phil stuck his tongue out in her direction as he opened the box. Inside were several small scraps of paper, each marked at the top with three small balls.

“Pawnshop tickets,” Phillip said, extracting and studying them one by one. The tickets went back for almost a year and were records of several items that Silver had sold at local pawnshops: cufflinks, photograph frames, books, antique coins.

“Looks like Silver wasn’t very good with his money,” Skybrush clicked his tongue over Phil’s shoulder.

Phillip paused to study some of the tickets. All the tickets were for the same item: a golden pocket watch with an image of a deer embossed on the cover. And according to them, Silver had sold and bought the watch back three times, and had sold it again less than a month ago.

“What do you think?” Skybrush asked. “Some kinda addiction?”

“Maybe,” Phillip said, returning to the other drawers of the desk. “What’s this?”

He pulled out a sheet of notepaper that appeared to be covered in mathematical calculations, with numbers corresponding to percentages. Lists of numbers and letters were bunched together in the lines, written in four different colors: black, red, green, and blue.

“You think that’s a code or something?” Skybrush asked. “K4529, 55A89, A494Q…”

“It is a code,” Phillip said. “But not what you might think.”

“Nothing in Gold Plate’s room,” Daring announced from the doorway. “What’d you guys find?”

“Enough for me to make a theory,” Phillip said, rising. “Think it’s time to speak to Silver Plate.”

“I’m still learning a lot, but here’s what I know so far,” Doctor Mortis said, using her magic to adjust her mask as she bent over the blue-gray earth pony, studying the remnants of his mouth and the back of his head. “All of them died around the same time: I’d put it at sometime between 10 PM last night and 3 AM this morning. This chap’s three friends all had their throats slit by the same type of knife: something curved and thin, kind of like a sickle. The unicorn mare also has the marks on her hind leg,” she continued, nodding to the body laying on the next slab. “Somepony grabbed her leg with a chain of some kind. Looks like she was trying to run away.”

“What about the cuts on her face?” Red asked, fighting the urge to scratch his face through the mask that the pathologist had insisted that he wear, which did nothing to hide the odor of death that blended with the perfume of garbage. He studied the dead mare's face; the blood had been cleaned from her coat, revealing the long, thin, parallel scratches across her forehead.

“Looks like a bird or something mauled her when she was killed,” Mortis commented. She bent back down over the stallion. “This one is the oddball, though,” she said. “GSR traces on his hoof confirm that he shot himself in the mouth, and there’s also that stab wound in his leg. The only blood on his body is his own, though, and...hello,” she murmured, pointing with a gloved hoof. “Looky there.”

Red bent over the body, squinting at the flesh that was laid bare beneath the stark light of the overhanging lamp. It took him a few moments, but he finally spotted what had caught Mortis’ attention: a small red dot on his foreleg.

“Looks like a needle mark,” he commented.

“And it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before he died!” Mortis said excitedly. “I’ll have to get a blood sample for Suunkii!”

Red sighed and mopped his face. “So...one guy gets some weird drugs, gets stabbed in the leg, and shoots himself, the other three get their throats slit and one of them gets attacked by a bird,” he mused to himself. “What’s the connection?”

“The Industry Kings,” Flash announced from the doorway, holding several thick binders beneath one wing. “Twilight and I found the files on all of our victims.”

Red exited out into the hallway, happily discarding his mask into the trash can. He took the files from Flash and studied them.

“Rich Winds,” he said, tapping a folder with the orange griffon’s photo clipped to the front. “Cirrus Stirrer...Glitter Charm...and Greg Granite.”

“All of them have long rap sheets for drug dealing and racketeering,” Flash stated. “And they’re members of the Industry Kings.”

“Thought it’d take you longer to find these,” Red commented. “That file room is a mess.”

“I’ve been spending a lot of time reorganizing it,” Twilight smiled as she emerged from the room in question. “The criminal records are now grouped by species, categorized by name, classified by the level of crime and I even came up with a system for cross-referencing additional cases, suspects, witnesses, and victims!” She grinned. “It’s some of my best work.”

Flash chuckled. “I thought that portal spell was your best work,” he said.

“Flash, a good organization is key to everything,” Twilight replied. “Imagine how efficient everything would be if information was readily available to everypony’s hooves."

“Has anypony told you you’re obsessive?” Red snorted, prompting Twilight to stick her tongue out at him. “C’mon, rookie. We’ve still got four bodies on the slab in there and the only way we’re gonna figure out what happened is with some hoofwork...unless you’ve got a spell for that,” he commented to Twilight as he started to head back up the stairs.

“Well, there are theoretical spells that allow for time travel,” Twilight mused. “It would take an enormous amount of power to move even a few hours back in time, but if I could--”

“He was joking, Twilight,” Flash interrupted her gently, giving her a brief kiss on the lips. “I gotta go.”

“I’ll let you know if we find anything!” Twilight called after the stallions as she headed back into the laboratory.

Author's Note

Welcome to Trottingham! A small, cozy town on the riverside, perfect for your vacations and murder.

Everyone's on their way! But what waits at the end of the trail? You'll just have to wait and see!

Be sure to leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Three: Alibis

The Trottingham Police Station provided a massive contrast to the Ponyville precinct; while the station in Ponyville was several stories tall and announced its title in great letters over the revolving doors, with a large lot that was always loaded with cruisers and other vehicles, the Trottingham station was a mere two stories tall and the entrance was a simple glass door, and the lot had room for ten cruisers.

“I suppose it’s a little less than you’re used to,” Skybrush admitted rather sheepishly as he held the door open for them.

“If all the officers here have your brains and drive, it doesn’t matter if you were working out of a mud hut,” Phillip nodded to him.

“Really? Gosh,” Skybrush smiled with a faint blush, rubbing the back of his head.

“If you wanted to invite him to bed, Phil, all you had to do was ask,” Daring said with a roll of her eyes and a smirk.

Skybrush’s blush increased tenfold. “I, er, I, um, I’m seeing, uh, somegriff…”

“She’s joking,” Phillip deadpanned while giving Daring a look.

“You’re no fun,” Daring pouted.

Phillip sighed as they passed through the small lobby with its low chairs and yellow-brown walls. The civilians waiting in their seats or standing at the counter and the officers behind the desk all stared at the detectives as they entered, whispers following in their wake; some countenances began to glow with awe, while other creatures drew back with apprehension. A scrawny blue earth pony waiting in line audibly gulped when he saw them and skittered for the door.

“Where’s Silver Plate?” Phillip asked Skybrush.

The griffon coughed and cleared his throat. “He’ll probably be in an interrogation room downstairs, talking to his lawyer.”

“Then let’s not hang around like bogans,” Phillip said. “Lead on, jackaroo.”

“Right, right,” Skybrush said. He led them down a hallway, down a set of stairs, paused briefly to speak to another detective, then opened up a doorway with a sign overhead that read Holding Cells.

“He’s in the interrogation chamber,” he told Phil and Daring, nodding towards a hallway that led off to the side, away from the cells filled with grumbling inmates.

A short jaunt down the hallway led them to two one-way windows on opposite walls. Through the one on the left, they could see Vinny sitting at a table, speaking to another stallion. The silver-coated unicorn sat with his head down, his unkempt black and gray mane shading his face. Salt-and-pepper stubble clung to his jawline and he held his hooves on the table before him, tightly clenched. On his flanks was the image of a silver dinner platter atop a green tablecloth.

“So, what’s the game plan?” Daring asked as they paused outside the window to study their target.

“I’ll get his side of the story, for starters,” Phillip said. “I do have a theory about an alibi.”

“He hasn’t given one,” Skybrush pointed out.

“I know,” Phillip replied, heading for the door and entering the room.

Silver Plate looked up as he entered. “The fuck are you?” he grunted.

“Phillip Finder,” Phil told him, sitting down across from him. “The stallion who’s going to find out who killed your father.”

“Well, you’re in the wrong place,” Silver Plate groused. “I didn’t do it.”

“That’s why your lawyer hired my partner and me,” Phillip said. “But I need more than your word, you understand.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Why don’t you tell me your story from the beginning?”

Silver sighed in exasperation. “It’s like I said for a dozen times,” he stated. “Two days ago, I got back home from a long vacation and went in to talk to my dad; the last time we’d spoken was three weeks ago before I left and I wanted to try to clear the air around us. I got to the shop around 6:30 and let myself in. Dad was coming out of the back; he seemed kinda surprised to see me.”

He sighed. “Of course, he started laying into me right away about up and leaving without letting him know, and how he’d done so much for me just for me to throw it away, saying I had to shape up before I could inherit the shop. I barked at him that what I did with my own money and time was none of his damn business and I didn’t even want the damn shop anyway. After going back and forth, I just walked out. Found a motel next morning and that’s where the police found me.”

“Where’d you go out?” Phillip asked.

“None of your business,” Silver grunted.

“Wouldn’t happen to be that Mareish restaurant on Main Street?” Phillip asked.

Silver Plate looked up for the first time, his blue eyes blazing with surprise. “How did you--?”

“Silver shamrock in the window,” Phillip replied. “That’s a sign that Coin Toss’ gang hosts gambling tourneys. Recently, judging by the mass of beer bottles in the dumpster. You’ve been working on your card-counting game, judging by the notes in your room. And you’re clearly struggling with money, considering the number of stuff you’ve been pawning.”

Silver Plate swallowed and glanced around the room, his eyes settling on Vinny. “Dammit, man, why didn’t you just say so?” Vinny said.

Silver sighed. “Because you don’t talk about Coin Toss’ clubs,” he said. “Plus, it doesn’t make me look good if I admit I’m a gambler, does it?”

“If it gave you an alibi for that night, it makes you look better than a murder,” Vinny said. “There anyone there who knows you who could give you an alibi?”

Silver let out a dry laugh. “Good luck finding somepony who’ll admit to being there,” he grunted. “But I swear, I went straight there after I argued with my dad. Stayed there until it broke up around two in the morning, then went to a motel and went to bed. Never saw my dad again after that fight.”

Phillip thought for a few moments, studying Silver. The unicorn had slumped forward over the table again, studying his hooves as his mane hung over his face like shades over a window. Vinny reorganized his notes to give himself something to do as the silence hung over them all like a low cloud, glancing up at Phil with searching, uncertain eyes.

Phillip glanced over at the one-way window, frowning pensively as if he could see through it to where he knew Daring and Skybrush were watching.

“You sure you got to the shop at 6:30?” he asked Silver.

“Yeah,” Silver nodded.

“You sure the door was unlocked?” Phillip pressed.

“Yeah,” Silver nodded again.

“You left your key when you left on vacation?” Phillip asked.

Silver had to think for a moment. “Yeah, I did,” he admitted. “Left it behind because I’d argued with dad before I left.”

“Did you see anypony else when you were there?” Phillip pressed.

“No,” Silver shook his head.

“You sure you didn’t see or hear anything weird when you were there?” Phillip continued.

“No!” Silver snapped, looking up to glare at him.

“Silver,” Vinny said gently, placing a hoof on his client’s shoulder.

“You need to think,” Phillip said calmly. “Anything could be important.”

Silver placed his forehead on his hoof and thought for a few moments, then clicked his tongue. “Well, I did ask if he was wearing new cologne,” he said. “He absolutely reeked of this cheap cologne. He didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“And was there a box or something on the counter when you came in?” Phillip pressed.

Silver had to think for another few seconds, then nodded. “Yeah, yeah, a white cardboard box. About this big.” He used his hooves to indicate a shape about five feet in diameter and a foot high. “Don’t know what it was, but it was big.”

Phillip frowned in thought for a few moments, then nodded. “That helps. Thank you,” he said, standing up.

“Hey, detective,” Silver cut in, looking up. His blue eyes, formerly full of frustration and anger, now held a dim glow of desperate hope.

“I didn’t kill him,” Silver said. “I know I look bad, and I know I fought with him a lot, but I didn’t kill him. I swear.”

“Relax, mate,” Phillip said. “I’ll find the guy who did it.”

Briefly touching the brim of his trilby, he exited, closing the door behind him.

“What do you think?” Daring asked as he rejoined his two comrades, watching Silver slump over again, turning towards Vinny as his attorney began speaking to him, a reassuring smile on his face.

“I think he's telling the truth,” Phillip said. “And if he is, then we have an idea who killed Gold Plate and why.”

“What do you mean?” Skybrush asked.

“He got there at 6:30, but the door was unlocked and he didn’t have his key with him,” Phillip said. “Nor was Gold expecting him, if Silver got back home without telling him he was coming. Shop was supposed to be closed by then. So why was the door unlocked?”

“Some last-minute customer,” Daring concluded.

“He could’ve left the key behind him and locked the doors behind him,” Skybrush pointed out.

“He would’ve left a blood trail or mud traces up the stairs,” Daring countered. “Plus, you saw how much dust was in that room. We were probably the first ones in there for weeks.”

“A late-night customer,” Phillip said aloud. “Unicorn, about three-foot-two, wearing Gardener brand horseshoes and cheap cologne. Probably came in to buy whatever was on the counter. We need to go back there and look for more clues, probably talk to the neighbor.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Daring replied, already turning to go.

“I’ll have somepony drop by that restaurant and ask for witnesses,” Skybrush offered, following them.

“You might as well, but I doubt that any bogan there will tell you anything useful,” Phillip admitted.

“Gotta cover all the bases,” Skybrush said, pushing open the doors to the holding cells. He glanced at his two companions as they proceeded. “Do you always tilt your hats down like that when you’re trying to look cool?”

“No,” Phil and Daring simultaneously said, pushing their headgear back slightly.

“So this is the abode of the famous Curveball,” Red commented as he exited his car, frowning at the redbrick apartment in front of him. The apartment building was leaning slightly as if it were drunk, many of the windows so greasy that they were nearly opaque.

Flash checked up and down the street, shifting for the weight of his .45 underneath his jacket. A couple of mares in black pleather coats walking down the other side of the street stared at them as they passed; a clementine thestral in a loose jacket leaning against the wall of the apartment stared at them through hooded eyes, taking a drag on his foul-smelling cigarette.

A flutter of wings overhead made him look up. A raven took off from a powerline, flapping down the street, glancing down at him with a beady black eye.

“I don’t think we’re welcome around here,” he muttered to his senior partner.

“Don’t show fear, Sentry,” Red replied in an undertone, pointedly ignoring the thestral as he approached the front door. “Let’s just get in and out of here quick.”

They stepped into a cramped lobby that reeked of mildew and proceeded up the creaking stairs to the second floor, wincing at every harsh crack and groan that betrayed their presence. The door marked number six was at the end of the hall, the gold-plated number nailed to the wood nearly overrun with rust.

“Well, he probably knows we’re here,” Red grunted, beckoning for Flash to go on ahead, stepping back to watch the hallways.

Flash stepped up to the door and rapped sharply. “Curveball? This is the police,” he called.

There was no response from inside. Flash frowned and knocked harder. “Curveball! We’re just here to talk!”

His response was a faint clicking from within. Red dove in and tackled Flash like a linebacker, knocking him out of the way just as a hole burst through the door with a thunderclap.

“You’re not getting me!” a voice howled from within, accompanied by the second clicking of a shotgun hammer. “You stay the fuck back! You’re not taking me like you took Cirrus!”

“Put it down, Curveball!” Red barked, drawing his .45 as he stood up, digging into his pocket.

“Don’t kill him, we need him to talk!” Flash urged, scrambling back to his hooves as he drew his own weapon.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Red grunted, pulling out the object that he was looking for: a small yellow stone, roughly shaped like a die, with a rune that reminded Flash of an eye and a teardrop embossed upon it in purple.

“Ardere,” Red whispered, his lips nearly on the stone, which began to glow faintly. Red tossed the stone into the hole in the door. Flash heard it clatter against the floor, then a flare of light burst through the door as though the sun had just risen within the apartment. Curveball screamed from within.

Both detectives charged forward, Red shouldering the door open as they entered. The orange earth pony with the Manticores cap was writhing in pain on the ground, one hoof over his eyes, the other clinging to a double-barreled shotgun.

Red tackled Curveball to the ground, the shotgun tumbling from his grasp. Curveball wailed in terror, writhing in panic as the two detectives cuffed his forelegs. “Wait! Wait!” he pleaded.

“You should’ve thought of that before you tried shooting cops,” Red snarled, patting him down.

“I didn’t know it was you!” Curveball protested, tears of fear mixing with tears of pain in his eyes.

“The announcement didn’t help any?” Red snorted. “Flash, check the room.”

Holstering his weapon, Flash scanned the area; from eye level to ceiling, then eyes to knees, then knees to floor, just as Phil had told him. The cramped living room and kitchen were filled with greasy takeout bags; the groaning fridge proved to be stuffed full of recently purchased foods. The windows were both boarded over; the construction was clearly recent, as the boards were absent of the dust that covered every other surface. There was scarcely a corner where there was not a gun or a knife within reach.

Flash paused in the bedroom to study a framed photograph on the groaning dresser: Curveball standing next to a familiar white pegasus mare, both of them beaming at the camera with their forelegs about each other, each wearing a Ponyville Manticores cap. Behind them, he could see the tended green of Ponyville stadium.

With a soft sigh, Flash returned to the living room, where Red had hoisted the cuffed Curveball into a chair.

“Definitely a bit too short for regulation,” Red said, studying the shotgun. “And if I were a betting pony, I’d bet that you don’t have a license for most of those,” he added, nodding to a Mausenner C85 on the kitchen counter, handle and hoof strap turned towards them for easy access.

Curveball swallowed and glanced from beneath his cap at Flash, who just coolly stared at him from the threshold.

“You know why we’re here,” Red told the trembling earth pony. “Your buddies Cirrus Stirrer, Glitter Charm, and Greg Granite turned up in a garbage dump west of here.”

Curveball shuddered, his wide eyes still barely visible beneath the brim of his cap.

“What happened last night?” Flash pressed. “You’re obviously scared of something, and I’m guessing that that’s the same something that killed your friends.”

"And oh, look what we got here," Red said, nodding to a set of work horseshoes caked in mud resting on the floor next to the door. "How much you want to bet that there'll be dirt from the landfill on here?" He leaned down to glare at Curveball. "Don't you think that your friends deserve better than to be tossed into a pile of moldy food and old newspapers?"

Curveball whimpered, his eyes momentarily locked onto Red’s stern gaze, then quickly turned away as if searching for an escape route.

“Whoever you’re scared of, we can protect you from them,” Flash said, slowly moving around Curveball to subtly corner him, like a pair of wolves surrounding a lame deer.

“Or you could give us nothing, and we could just leave you to your new buddies,” Red grunted, turning away slightly and looking away, making a show about how much he didn’t care.

Curveball trembled in his horseshoes, eyes darting in between the detectives and the surrounding street, the trapped deer weighing his options: the pack of wolves or the den of snakes.

“You can’t protect me,” he whispered. “You don’t know who this is.”

“Who is it?” Flash pressed.

The stairs outside creaked loudly, groaning like a dying stallion beneath multiple rapid hoofsteps. Curveball gasped and looked up, tumbling off the chair and trying to crawl away.

Red drew his weapon again, signaling for Flash to pull their witness into the bedroom with a wing. Flash grasped the whimpering stallion by the nape of his neck and pulled him into the next room. “Shush,” he hissed, pulling out his own sidearm and crouching down next to the wall.

Red pressed his back against the fridge, breathing slow and steady. The hoofsteps clattered down the hall outside, pausing outside the door; he saw shadows shifting through the hole in the door. For a few moments, there was only a tense silence.

Then with a great roaring like a jackhammer, bullets pierced through the door, screaming through the apartment. Red flinched back from the fusillade; Curveball screamed and tried to make himself as flat as possible.

The door crashed open and three ponies charged in, all of them adorned in ski masks and bulletproof vests, all of them armed with submachine guns.

Red rounded the corner, sights snapping up to the lead pony, hoof already pushing the trigger of his .45. The gun kicked twice and the red stallion stumbled and fell with a grunt; the unicorn behind him tripped over him with a shout of “Fuck!” His weapon flew from his hooves, spinning across the floor.

The third pony, another unicorn, halted, and a blue circular shield blossomed into existence in front of him. His weapon spat hot lead at Red, who drew back with a gasp as bullets clattered against the steel. The unicorn that had tripped was pulling his weapon back to his hooves, turning around to aim at Red.

A .45 Filly let out its distinctive bark and the pony on the floor went limp, blood bursting from his skull. His limp body pinned his struggling earth pony companion to the ground.

“Cover!” Flash shouted. Red pointed his weapon around the corner of the fridge and started firing randomly, his bullets pinging musically off of the unicorn’s shield. The earth pony attacker howled and clutched his foreleg as blood spewed from the tunnel that had just been carved through the limb.

Taking a deep breath, Flash charged forward, raising his weapon. The unicorn turned his weapon towards him, moving as though in slow motion, his face blurry through his conjured shield.

Flash took aim and fired, not at the shield. The unicorn screamed and stumbled as blood erupted from his leg, dropping to one knee as his shield flickered and faded.

His screams were ended by two more .45 rounds to the chest that left him spread on the floor, moaning in pain.

Panting, Flash kicked the submachine gun out of his reach, aiming his .45 down at his face. “You good?” he called to Red, his voice raised over the ringing in his ears.

Red grunted and rubbed his side, his weapon aimed down at the earth pony that had tripped, who was still clutching his wounded foreleg and moaning in agony. He glanced down at the flattened round that had stuck in his vest. “I’m good,” he grunted, his chest burning with pain with every breath. “Nice shooting, Sen--”

A crash from the bedroom made them both whirl around. “Oh, that idiot,” Flash growled, rushing to the bedroom.

His fears were confirmed: the window had been smashed open, blood clinging to the remnants of the glass shards. A glance outside proved that Curveball, still in hoofcuffs, was trying to shimmy down the fire escape, panting and whimpering, his orange coat covered in blood from the multiple cuts he’d obtained in his escape attempt.

“Get back here!” Flash snapped, using a loose piece of wood to knock out more bloodied glass.

Once more, a heavy flapping of wings sounded overhead. A black blur streaked down from the sky like a meteor, aimed right at Curveball. The stallion looked up too late.

Red liquid gushed from his throat. Curveball’s cuffed hooves raised to his neck as he gasped and gurgled. He reached out to Flash, his wide eyes pleading, then toppled over the railing and tumbled to the ground with a sickening splat. Blood spread from his form, his cap pathetically flopping on the ground next to him.

Flash turned away from the corpse to look at the aggressor. The raven swooped about, heading westward with a flap of its wings. In the late afternoon sun, Flash saw the curved iron blades on its talons, Curveball’s blood dripping from them.

He also spotted the small red dot on its chest, like a tiny bloodstain.

Recognition flashed through his mind. That raven was outside when we got here!

“Hey! Come back here!” Flash shouted, diving out the window and taking flight, chasing after the bird.

“Sentry, where are you going?” Red shouted from inside.

“What?” the earth pony at his hooves wheezed, clutching his chest with his uninjured forelimb. “Think you can’t handle two of us at the same time?”

“You’re lucky to still be breathing,” Red grunted, sweeping his gun back and forth between his two captives. “If I were you, I’d exercise my right to remain si--”

Both of his captives glanced at each other, sharing the same look between them. A flicker of fear, then cold resolution. Red had seen that look before.

“Hey, don’t--!”

His order came too late. As one, both of the gunponies reached into their pockets and pulled out a small white pill, which they bit down upon. They choked and spasmed, foam spewing from their lips, mixing with the tears that were now falling from their eyes.

“Dammit!” Red snapped, dropping his gun and diving for the earth pony. He tried to force the dying pony’s head back, pulling his jaw open in what he knew would be a useless gesture.

Hooves batted him away, pushing against the proffered aid. “Who are you scared of?!” Red shouted. “Who is it?!”

The stallion gave a little choking noise, like a whimper. And then he was still and silent, leaving Red alone in the room with three dead ponies.

Yards away, Flash closed in on his target. The raven let out an angry screech and dove away from him, spinning in an attempt to evade his grabs.

“Hold still!” Flash shouted, grasping at the bird.

The raven cawed at him and suddenly whipped around, augmented talons raised and aimed for his neck.

"Wah!" Flash cried, banking to one side and instinctively raising a foreleg.

Claws dug into his arm and pain spread across the limb. The wings beat at his face as the raven passed by inches away, letting out another screech. Flash glanced over his shoulder and watched as the raven disappeared around the chimney of a nearby factory.

He turned just in time to see his reflection rushing at him. “Whoa!” Flash cried as he flared at his wings, stopping just in time to avoid crashing into the skyscraper. Turning about, he rushed around the chimney belching smoke, whipping his head every which way. But his target had vanished amidst the clouds.

Panting, he clutched at his foreleg, blood dripping down his limb, and started to head back to Curveball's apartment.

He scowled as he reviewed the projected images before him.

That had not gone to plan. The entire point of keeping Curveball alive was to make him the bait for a trap. But instead of Finder and Do, he’d instead gotten two of the juniors. And then the idiots that he’d hired couldn’t even kill two regular detectives; at least he’d made it clear what would happen to them if they allowed themselves to be captured. And worse, Lenore had not only missed, she'd almost been caught; if the boy had managed to grab some of her feathers, that would've been it.

It should’ve been simple: two detectives who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, collateral victims in a gang assassination. So much for that.

He glanced around the room, shadows cast by candlelight dancing over every wall and work table, and let out a growl. He'd probably have to abandon this place for a while, just to be safe. And after he'd put so much work into it...

No matter. There were other things to attend to, and he had other hideouts ready.

No point in pushing it at this point. He had tonight to prepare for.

Author's Note

So far, nothing's going to plan for anyone. Best-laid plans and all that. But maybe that will change later...

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, leave a like and a comment to let me know what you think!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Five: Symptoms

The sun had fully set by the time that Daring came within sight of the large arched bridge crossing the Maresippi, opening the way for visitors to enter and goods to leave the Industrial District of Ponyville.

“There he is,” Phillip said as he dangled beneath her, pointing at the dark green Lincolt Touring Breeze parked beneath them on the southern bank. A donkey in a trim red suit was standing next to his vehicle, looking expectantly up at them.

Daring descended quickly and more or less flopped onto the ground, panting and huffing, wiping sweat from her dripping mane. “Okay, I admit it,” she puffed. “Flying all the way back to Ponyville carrying you was kinda stupid.”

“Told you,” Phillip grunted, shaking his head. “G’day, Captain.”

“The alicorns must’ve sent the winds in your favor, detectives,” Captain Hewn Oak declared, striding forward with hoof outstretched. “It is good that you came so quickly after your call.”

“Has the museum been warned?” Phillip asked as they headed for the car.

“Yes, I called the museum director and the museum directly,” Captain Oak declared, opening the back door for them to step into the car. “The director assured me that they had taken every measure to ensure that the Rings were secure; they are moved to a basement vault and secured in a special box that has a silent alarm with a direct line to the police station if it is tampered with. There are no less than five guards at night, with every door and window securely locked and surveillance crystals scanning the interior at all times.”

“I’ve broken into harder places,” Daring said, climbing into the backseat with a groan.

“I have no doubt,” Captain Oak nodded, climbing into the front seat and starting up the engine. “Which is why we’re going directly to the museum ourselves to meet with the director and ensure that the security is adequate.”

“Good,” Daring sighed, taking out her flask and gulping down some Manticore Rare.

“By the way, I had Twilight search the archives for any mention of ponies matching the description of your elusive serpent,” Oak continued as he merged onto the street and started to cross the bridge, boats trundling beneath them through the dark waters of the Maresippi. He passed a manila folder over to Phillip. “She did indeed find a pony of interest by the name of Trato Perfecto.”

Phillip opened up the folder and studied the contents within. The first sheet was a mugshot from the Manehattan Police from 1938, showing a blue unicorn with a shaggy orange mane, yellow eyes, and the cutie mark of a briefcase with a bit sign on it. The rap sheet informed him that he had been arrested for bank robbery and fraud.

“He was originally from Mexicolt,” Hewn Oak stated as they reached the opposite side of the bridge. “He has since faded in and out of sight like a phantom; he was marked as a pony of interest for several thefts after his initial release in 1938, but there was never any solid evidence.”

“No history of violence,” Phillip noted, scanning the other pages.

Oak glanced in the rearview mirror at his passengers. “Detectives, I should tell you,” he said. “Somepony tried to ambush Flash and Red earlier today.”

“What?” Phillip cried, sitting up straight.

“Rest assured, they are both unharmed and have found the fox’s den and are prepared to go in to unmask him,” Oak stated, pausing at a red light. “But this fiend is a devilish trickster. They slaughtered a crew of Industry Kings last night and left one survivor as bait for our men.” He glanced back in the mirror once more. “I have a sneaking suspicion that he was after larger prey.”

Phil and Daring both exchanged looks. “We’ve both had ponies try to kill us before,” Daring pointed out, though she shifted uncomfortably.

“Aye, but we must still exercise caution,” Oak conceded as the light changed and he drove on.

The radio in the dashboard suddenly crackled to life. “Any available unit, 10-22 at Ponyville History Museum, silent alarm. Repeat, 10-22, History Museum, any unit respond.”

“I had to tempt fate,” Oak sighed and grabbed the radio. “This is King Seven, responding with Finder and Do,” he declared into the radio, switching on the vehicle's lights and sirens and pressing down the accelerator to speed through an intersection.

Their masked guest sat in the passenger seat of the truck parked in the shadowed alleyway, absently stroking the raven on his shoulder with one hoof. While his red eyes were fixed upon their target, the bird’s beady black eyes stared at Trato Perfecto. The unicorn shifted in the backseat finding himself unable to meet the silent gaze.

“Relajate, doctor,” the brown earth pony stallion said from the driver’s seat. “Mi amigo could sell water to a seapony. Convincing one guard to aid us is not an issue.”

The doctor glanced sideways at the boss, his gaze cold. One hoof went up towards one of the vials of yellow liquid resting on his chest with an almost absentminded slowness.

“None of us are perfect, si?” the boss replied with a conciliatory smile. “I’m sure he had a good reason for killing the crafter. It won’t be enough to stop us.”

Perfecto pushed some of his hair out of his face and tried not to swallow despite the sudden burning in his throat. He could hear the nervousness in his jefe’s voice, and could only hope that the “doctor” didn’t.

The jefe checked his watch. “The potion should’ve taken effect by now,” he declared, grabbing the bag of hoofprint-removing powder and donning his mask. “Vamonos.”

The doctor rose, pulling his hood over his head and climbing out the passenger door. Perfecto took in a breath and pulled his own balaclava down over his face. With a grunt, he lifted up the large bag with his golden magic and tossed it over one shoulder, shoving open the van truck door. The hard-won trinkets clattered within.

The trio hustled down the alley in silence, their approach unobserved. They crossed an empty, shadowed street to their target: the loading dock of the Ponyville History Museum, a concrete pier jutting out from the great brick wall leading up to a pair of locked metal doors.

A security crystal overlooked the doors like a vulture, its purple eye staring down balefully. Perfecto glanced up at it as they approached.

The jefe pulled out a key and inserted it into the metal door. With a click, the door unlatched and they proceeded inside, scampering silently down the darkened hallway. Another locked door to their left was swiftly unlocked and opened to reveal a set of stairs heading down. More security crystals stared at them to mark their progress

No alarms sounded, no hoofsteps of approaching guards echoed through the hallways. Trato Perfecto smiled in relief beneath his mask; his contact appeared to have done his job well.

With a soft chirp and a flapping of wings, the raven took off and headed down the hallway into the museum proper. Perfecto tried not to shudder in the cold draft left in the wake of the bird’s flight as they proceeded down into the basement of the museum, switching on flashlights clipped to their shoulders to guide them through the darkness.

The basement stretched out across the foundations, rows and rows of shelves and worktables filling the white-tiled room. Papers and textbooks sat abandoned at stations, table lamps lurking over them as if in fascination; cameras and other equipment sat on racks and tables, waiting for use.

“Come, rapidamente,” the jefe urged them, crossing the basement with quick, silent steps.

The trio paused before the great metal door set in the back wall. Two combination locks were set in the magic-resistant steel, as well as two handles.

“You remember the code, amigo?” the earth stallion asked.

“Of course I do, jefe,” Perfecto nodded, moving to the left dial.

As one, they spun the dials, entering the two combinations that they had long sought to uncover. They both grasped the handles and nodded at one another.

“Uno, dos, tres,” Perfect’s companion counted off. On tres, they both pushed down on the latches, which let out a simultaneous click.

“We’re in!” Perfecto grinned, pulling the vault doors open with a great groaning.

Their flashlights illuminated the interior of the massive treasure chamber, where the museum’s most valuable and fragile exhibits were stored during the night or for maintenance. Smaller safes and other containers lined the walls and tables, climate-controlled containers of bulletproof glass revealing fragile parchments and paintings.

“Our client said it’ll be in the back,” Perfecto declared, leading them around a worktable. “Label on it is ‘22-3-S…’”

A screech made them all whirl around. The raven was flying into the vault, wings flapping to alight atop one of the safes inside. It cawed again at their silent guest, its feathers ruffled in agitation.

The red eyes snapped up to the ceiling as if he could glare right through the material.

“¿Que es mal?” Perfecto asked, pausing.

The pegasus glared at him briefly and let out a brief grunt, gesturing with his head to the back wall. The message was clear: Keep looking.

The pegasus switched off his flashlight and proceeded to the door of the vault; whispering quietly to the bird as he passed. With a wing, he unlatched his other mask from his belt and passed it up to his hooves, strapping it on over his balaclava as he walked, strapping it on tight. The raven remained behind, glaring at Perfecto.

“Trouble, amigo,” the jefe breathed, trying to hide his shudder. “Come, let us find the rings. The sooner we conclude our business here, the better.”

“It’s getting dark,” Flash commented from the street, looking up at the large derelict building that loomed over the detectives in the street like a vulture peering down at them. “Where’s Matchstick?”

“Maybe she and Gavel got into another shot-drinking contest,” Red suggested, leaning against his car.

“Don’t be like that,” Twilight scolded him as she double-checked the equipment in the back of the crime scene truck and joined Flash up at the hood of the truck to go over the blueprints of the abandoned factory that they’d retrieved from Records. “Judge Gavel has been sober since the start of this year.”

“That’s what he says every year,” Red replied. Twilight frowned at him. “In fairness, this is the longest he’s lasted, apparently…” he admitted.

“Here she comes,” Flash said in obvious relief, standing up. A bright red Trotillac Convertible with the top down was pulling up to them, the driver honking merrily as she stopped. A reddish-orange unicorn hopped out of the car without bothering to open the door, tossing her blonde mane out of her face.

“Got the warrant here,” Detective Matchstick declared, holding the signed paper up over her head. “Sorry it took so long. I figured that a place this big might need a bit of help.”

“You asking for help?” Red smirked.

“As hard as it is to believe--I mean, I am all that--a bigass factory is a bit more than I can handle,” Matchstick admitted. “Which is why I called in a buddy at the fire department.”

She turned and nodded towards an approaching jeep grumbling down the road towards them. The open-air vehicle was painted red, with “Ponyville Fire” painted on the sides. But it was the silhouette of the driver that made the detectives’ eyebrows rise.

“A yak?” Red cried. “Since when does the FD have a yak?”

The jeep pulled up to a stop next to them and the yak hopped out. Her green eyes glittered with humor as she beamed at them all; her brown monkey swings, held in place by a couple of purple bows, bounced up and down with every step. She was adorned in a black and yellow reflective turnout jacket, with Ponyville Fire Department’s logo embroidered on the front, and a large toolbelt over her waist, rattling with equipment. Splashed across the back in bright yellow letters was a name: “Yona.”

“Hello, Matchstick!” Yona declared, bounding over to the unicorn mare like an oversized excited puppy and seizing her in a bone-crushing hug.

Matchstick let out a wheeze of pain. “Thanks for coming out, Yona,” she grunted. “Everypony, this is Yona.”

“Hello, friends!” Yona declared with a wave.

“Yona’s part of the department’s hazmat squad and helps with our bomb squad on drills; that’s how I know her,” Matchstick explained.

“Yona father move to Equestria and join Equestrian Army to aid sister country,” Yona declared proudly. “Yona join Fire Department to serve as well!”

“Trust me, she can help us get around that wreckage and if there’s any weird shit in there, between the two of us, we’ll find ‘em.”

Flash looked Yona up and down. “Um...if you say so,” he shrugged.

“Whatever, let’s just get this done,” Red sighed. He checked the blueprints spread over the hood of the truck. “Okay, the vent where I saw the feathers is this one here,” he said, pointing to a highlighted pipe that ran across several pages. “We’ll see where it leads.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Matchstick nodded.

The group crossed the street and paused at the locked gate that surrounded the derelict factory. A quick flash of Matchstick’s horn and the chain snapped open, rattling to the ground.

“Entrevous,” Matchstick said, pushing the gate open.

They proceeded through the gate and stopped at the door. The metal portal had been long secured with a padlock which had rusted solid brown, with additional boards nailed over it.

Matchstick and Twilight both swept the door with their magic but found nothing. “Looks clear,” Matchstick admitted.

“Wait,” Yona said, taking a mirror on a long handle out of her belt, not unlike a mirror used by a dentist but much larger. She poked it through a gap in the broken windows and tilted it around, studying the other side of the door.

“Yona not see any traps,” she reported.

“Okay,” Twilight nodded, frowning at the lock. “It might take me a while to break through that…”

“Stand back, friends!” Yona declared, backing up and scraping her hoof against the ground.

Matchstick quickly shoved Twilight out of the way. Yona charged like a runaway train, lowering her horned head.

With a great crash, she plowed right through the door like it wasn’t there, dust and debris flying in her wake. The detectives all stared at the massive hole that she had left behind.

“I see why you invited her,” Red said dryly.

They proceeded inside to find Yona was standing within what had once been the main floor of the factory, surrounded on all sides by broken machinery whose original purpose had been long lost. Timbers hung from the roof.

Yona was holding up a device that looked kind of like a set of miniature bellows attached to a dial by a rubber hose. She squeezed the bellows a few times, frowning as she studied the gauge.

“Air not flammable,” she reported. “And safe to breathe.” She sniffed, then grimaced. “Maybe instruments not calibrated.”

“That, my friend, is the scent of squatters,” Matchstick smiled, lighting up her horn with a scarlet aura. “Piss, shit, beer, and drugs. Learn to love it.”

Yona scrunched her nose up and switched on the headlamp over her horns. “Yona will keep testing air to be safe.”

“Watch your steps,” Twilight warned, frowning at a board that creaked beneath her weight. “Who knows how secure this place is.”

They proceeded forward through the factory, skirting around debris and detritus, wrinkling their nostrils at piles of garbage and waste left behind by squatters.

“I think that this is the pipe where the raven came in,” Red said, rapping at an old black ventilation shaft that ran down from the ceiling along the wall.

“We should check to see if there are any holes anywhere,” Flash suggested.

“Stairway here!” Yona shouted, padding her way over to a rickety set of stairs that led up to the floor above.

“Uh, Yona--” Flash started to say.

The yak took one step onto the stairs and they immediately began to splinter with a great cracking, the ancient staircase bending beneath her weight. “Oops,” Yona said sheepishly, quickly stepping off.

Red facehooved. “Faust help whoever she comes to rescue,” he mumbled.

“How about the ones with the wings go looking?” Flash offered. He and Red lifted up through the gap to a room that was full of broken tables and chairs.

“There’s the ventilation pipe,” Red said, pointing.

He and Flash studied the shaft with their flashlights but only found a few grates, which showed no sign that they had ever been opened, nor were there any signs of recent occupation. They went up to the next floor and followed the vent up to the ceiling, but again, there was no sign that their prey had left out of the old, rusting shaft.

“Let’s get back to the others,” Red said, sweeping his flashlight over the accumulated dirt and filth and garbage.

They proceeded back to the ground floor, rejoining the rest of the group. “There’s no sign of them up there,” Flash reported.

“That vent leads into the basement,” Red said, nodding to the rattling shaft that ran along the ceiling and walls to the floor. “There’s got to be a way down there.”

Twilight studied the blueprints with a frown. “It says that there should be a stairway around...here.” She pointed to a section of the creaking floor next to them.

“Well, there’s nothing there,” Matchstick said, sweeping it over with her magic.

“Wait a minute,” Flash said, bending down to study the floor beneath his headlamp. “The wood here is different.”

“Yona check!” Yona declared, striding forward. She stamped on the planks, creating a hollow rattling noise. “Something under there!” she declared, stamping on the floor again.

“Yona, maybe you should--” Matchstick started to say.

But before she could finish her sentence, the planks cracked, then broke beneath the yak, who tumbled down with a yelp of shock and a great crash.

“Yona!” Twilight called down.

“Yona okay!” Yona shouted up.

Her sentence was punctuated by a loud clunk of wood on bone and a grunt of pain. “Yona still okay!” Yona said.

Shaking his head, Red bent down to study the opening. Yona had broken open a trapdoor covering what had once been the staircase heading into the basement, though the stairs had long been destroyed.

“What’s down there, Yona?” he called down to the yak, who was currently testing the air once more, turning in place amidst the wreckage of the trapdoor.

“Yona see…” Yona adjusted her headlamp and looked around. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yona see lab!”

“A lab?” Flash asked.

Matchstick jumped down, sweeping her crimson spotlight over the walls. “No bombs or anything,” she reported, looking around with her glowing horn. “Yeah, this is a lab, all right. Y’all better get down here.”

Red and Flash both flapped down and landed in the basement, sweeping their flashlights around.

It was indeed a lab, with long worktables set along the walls. Beakers, test tubes, microscopes, and other equipment were all neatly organized upon the surfaces, unidentified liquids contained within. Set on one table was a bird perch made of a roughly T-shaped branch with two small plastic bowls on the top, one partially filled with water, one with nuts and dried kernels of corn. Wards were etched into the stone walls, arcane symbols that glowed faintly in the darkness. A small cot was set up in one corner, rough sheets left in an unkempt pile. A canvas bag filled with old clothes dangled from the ceiling in one corner, having apparently been used as a makeshift heavy bag. A candelabra was set up on one table, with three candles set in it--one green, one yellow, one red. The red one was lit, the scarlet flame sputtering frantically as if trying to escape the wick.

“I think we found our guy,” Red grunted, his flashlight focusing on the bird perch.

“Yona will stay here and not touch anything,” Yona announced, backing into a corner.

“These wards are security wards,” Twilight murmured, studying the symbols etched into the walls. “Anti-scrying...soundproofing...anti-tracking...thaumatic dispulsion…”

“Any we should worry about?” Flash asked, eyeing the wards nervously.

“No, there’s just a few defensive and concealment wards,” Twilight said.

“Hey, that’s a proximity alarm candle,” Matchstick said, grinning at the candelabra with its sputtering red candle. “I thought they stopped making those. See, you light the green candle and as long as it’s lit, it’s safe. If somepony strange gets too close, the yellow candle lights, and then the red one lights if an intruder tries to break in.” She looked around with a smirk. “Not much use when you’re not there to see it,” she added.

“Wonder what they were making,” Flash mused, casting his flashlight over the lab equipment.

“This is way too sophisticated for any regular drug lab,” Red admitted. “Not just the equipment, but the security.” He glanced at the perch. “No one’s gonna train a raven to slash ponies’ throats out for some red poppydust. Who is this guy?”

“Shame he’s not here for us to ask,” Matchstick commented. She suddenly paused, then pointed beneath a table. “Red, what’s that? Beneath that table on your left.”

Red bent down and spotted the object that had caught Matchstick’s attention. He pulled it towards him to examine in the light. Everypony’s eyes widened as they studied it.

It was a mask, with filters set into the lower part, the empty lenses staring up at Red as if in judgment. The mask was black and had a long beak, like that of a raven. It resembled a healer’s mask.

A plague doctor’s mask.

“Oh, no,” Red breathed, the color draining from his face.

“Uh, guys,” Yona said nervously, glancing at a dial on her equipment. “Friends have problem.”

“You’re damn right!” Red said, spreading his wings and taking off for the entrance.

But when he reached the entrance, the air in front of the doorway suddenly glowed scarlet and Red bounced off with a grunt of shocked pain. “What the fu--?!” he cried, rapping his hooves against the conjured shield.

“Oh, no,” Twilight said, her face blanching as she restudied the wards on the wall. “There’s a trap ward. I thought it was just an alarm!”

“Uh...do you hear hissing?” Matchstick said, cocking her head. She swept her vision over the room, her horn illuminating the source of the noise: a set of small holes drilled into the top of a corner of the room.

“Room filled with gas!” Yona cried, waving her foreleg frantically and showing off the dial of the bellows-like device. The dial was all the way in the red.

Flash looked with widening eyes at the sputtering flame on the red candle, which flared as if in rage.

“DOWN!” he screamed, grabbing Twilight and shoving her to the floor beneath one of the tables, covering her with his body.

With a snap, a blue sphere blossomed around the candle, then flames surged forward with a great roar to envelop the room.

Tires screeched as Captain Oak pulled his Touring over in front of the Ponyville History Museum. The great stone building loomed over the trio as they exited, spotlights lighting up the facade; banners advertising the Treasures of the Mysterious South exhibit fluttered in the breeze, giving the images of a feathered dragon and cipactli unsettling motion. A great set of stairs led up to the double doors, which were guarded by a statue of a sitting sphinx, staring down at them imperiously as if judging if they were worthy to enter her domain.

Another police cruiser was already parked in front of the museum, its blue and red lights spinning. A pair of officers, a unicorn and a thestral, were standing at the door.

“Captain Oak!” the light blue unicorn with an anchor cutie mark called, waving them over. His chevrons identified him as a sergeant and his nametag declared that his name was Coastline. “We tried buzzing security, but the doors are locked and no one’s answering us or dispatch!”

“Quickly, break the door open!” Captain Oak ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the pale white thestral nodded. She drew her nightstick and turned away to smash the glass doors open with it. She reached in and unlatched the door from the inside, swinging it open.

The five ponies entered the main lobby, all of them snapping on flashlights to penetrate the darkness and strapping pistols to forelegs. The reception desk was dimly lit by overhanging lamps, casting the advertisements in light. The walls were lined with a mural depicting the founding of Equestria, with the centerpiece dedicated to Clover the Clever, Private Pansy, and Smart Cookie dancing beneath the Fire of Friendship; the joyful scene was overcast by shadows.

“There is a security room near here,” Captain Oak declared. “Officer Starwatch, come with me. The rest of you, go down to the basement and intercept the intruders.”

“Got it,” Daring nodded, heading down the hallway with Phillip and Coastline in tow. The thestral followed Captain Oak down a different path.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Coastline asked as they proceeded down the hallway towards the Treasures of the South exhibit.

“Sarge, please,” Daring smirked as they entered the main hall, flanked by the feathered dragon statues that glared at them in the darkness. “I memorized the layout of this place when I first visited years ago.”

She spotted the stand that the Rings of Scorchero were placed on during the day. The case was gone, now placed in the safe in the basement, the stand illuminated by faint lights in the cases of artifacts lining the walls.

Martingale’s voice echoed in her ears: “Imagine the power to control the day, to bring down unrelenting, sweltering heat upon your foes. A weapon to be feared, indeed.”

For once, Daring really hoped that the legends were just stories.

“Okay, basement stairs are this--” Daring started to say, but was stopped by Sergeant Coastline.

“Over there,” he said, pointing down a side hall.

Their flashlight beams illuminated a figure clad in the grey uniform of a security guard standing at the end of the hallway, slowly shuffling down the tiled floor. They showed no sign of recognizing the three intruders.

“Hey! Hey, you!” Coastline shouted, rushing forward.

The security guard, a pale orange pegasus mare, looked up slowly as they approached, blinking vacantly.

“Are you okay?” Coastline asked as they reached her, shining her flashlight into her face.

She opened her mouth, but all that came out of her mouth were some faint, indistinct murmurs.

“Is she drunk?” Daring asked.

“I don’t smell alcohol,” Coastline frowned, studying the guard for any sign of injury.

Phil suddenly froze, raising a hoof to signal them to stop. His ears flicked back and forth, studying every noise, every creak of wood and sigh of wind or ventilation beneath the buzzing of electrical lights. The three ponies all stood frozen like statues, holding their breath, while the incapacitated guard continued to sway in place, registering nothing. Daring stared into the shadows, cursing herself for not thinking to put in her night vision contacts on the journey over.

Something shifted to Phil’s left, behind a cabinet of pottery. He whirled around, his flashlight illuminating a pair of red eyes enclosed in a black healer's mask as the figure lunged towards him.

Captain Oak’s flashlight illuminated the door marked Security. He proceeded forward and seized the latch, finding that it was open. Bracing himself for the worst, he pushed the door open with a creak, his Filly M1912 held ready. Behind him, Officer Starwatch swallowed as she glared over his shoulder.

The security room was a chamber with lockers for the museum’s security staff and a bulletin board with schedules and notices. Spread across one wall were images from the security crystals spread about the museum. A red light flashed amidst the control booth; no doubt the silent alarm warning that the vault had been opened.

Seated in a chair before the projections was a pale blue unicorn stallion, his blue mane fallen over his face. He didn’t move or react to their intrusion. The gold bars on the shoulders of his gray uniform identified him as the shift supervisor.

“Sir,” Captain Oak called, striding forward, keeping himself braced. He came within view of the supervisor and gave him a quick study. The green eyes stared forward blankly and there was no blood upon his form; upon closer inspection, Oak let out a breath and offered thanks to Faust when he saw that the guard’s chest still rose and fell slowly.

“Sir,” Captain Oak repeated, shaking the guard’s shoulder. The guard blinked slowly and turned to stare at him blankly, his eyes showing no flicker of recognition.

“What’s wrong with him?” Starwatch asked.

Hewn Oak leaned forward and sniffed the stallion’s breath, noting a faint aroma of mushrooms on his breath. “I think that he’s been drugged,” he reported. He spotted an open thermos that was filled with coffee and took a sniff, grimacing as he noted the same odor in the still-warm liquid.

“Captain,” Starwatch said, staring at the screens. “All of the images are frozen.”

Captain Oak looked up and confirmed that none of the projections were moving.

“Something must be wrong with the recording crystal,” Starwatch said, bending down to open a cabinet beneath the projectors. Within was a large green prism, faintly pulsing with energy. A small black box, no bigger than a deck of cards, was attached to the prism.

“What the heck is that?” she muttered, removing it.

The projected images all flickered, then motion began once more. Captain Oak scanned the images for any crystals that showed a view of the basement.

“There!” he shouted, pointing. An image revealed two masked ponies hard at work within the vault, attempting to open a small steel safe that they had set up on the worktable before them. A raven was perched on a shelf overlooking them. “There are our targets,” he declared. “We are in time to intercept--”

“Sir!” Starwatch cried, pointing.

Oak followed her gaze and his jaw dropped at what he saw. Phillip and Daring were engaged in combat with another figure. A figure clad in black with a raven-like healer's mask over his face.

“Luna preserve us,” he whispered in horror, already heading for the door. “Starwatch, get every available officer over here!” he commanded over his shoulder. “The Plague Doctor is here!”

Author's Note

"Yaks in emergency services: for when you need to get through that door/window/wall right fucking now." --Eagle, my proofreader.

At long last, the villain is revealed! I hope you're looking forward to the epic confrontation coming next week! I know I can't wait to show it to you!

I struggled for a long time to decide what to do with Yona. For a while, I was set on her being a cop, but that idea didn't really gel well in my mind, so I settled for rescue worker. I think it kinda fits!

In the meantime, be sure to leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed! See you next week!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Six: The Doctor Will See You Now

Phillip lunged back, gasping as the crescent-shaped blade missed his face by inches. He threw himself into a back hoofspring to avoid a second strike, his front legs instinctively shifting and flexing to take his weight.

The air whistled and something slammed into his right foreleg, knocking him down like a house of cards. He hit the floor with a grunt, his flashlight lens cracking against the stone.

With a snap of his wing, the masked figure whipped the chain at Daring, who had to roll out of the way to avoid the weight that smashed down where she had been a moment ago. At the same moment, Coastline seized the security guard, who was still staring in dazed confusion, and threw himself out of the way, one hoof fumbling for his sidearm.

The weight snapped around again and cracked the officer on the head; Coastline slumped to the ground with a grunt. Pulling the chain back to his hoof, the masked figure lunged at Daring, his blade slashing at her neck again.

“Shit!” she gasped, ducking beneath the blow. She lunged forward with a grunt, ramming her helmeted head into his chest; the blow rattled down her neck and spine, but she felt no crack of bones, heard only a faint grunt from her foe. Her hoof went to the sleeve of her .38 Filly Detective Special, pulling the weapon from her holster.

An iron vise seized her upper foreleg and Daring screamed as the sickle stabbed into her side, scraping against the layer of dragon-scale armor within her vest. “Get off!” she shouted, shoving back against the masked pony as he swung her around to place her in between him and Phillip, who was scrambling back to his hooves.

The red eyes blazed with hatred and he drew the sickle back, slamming it down at her head. Daring grabbed his wrist and they struggled back and forth in a deadlock, hooves stamping the floor in a twisted, deadly dance.

“Phil, help!” Daring shouted, snapping out a kick at the attacker’s leg, her blow slamming ineffectually against his thigh.

Drawing his gun and securing it tight to his foreleg, Phillip ran around to get a clear shot at the masked pony, who continued to maneuver to block him. “Get off her!” Phillip snapped.

The assailant released Daring’s foreleg and reached for his vest, grabbing one of the vials of yellow liquid. With a snap and a hiss, a cloud of yellow fog erupted from the vial. A chemical miasma of musk and sulfur invaded Phillip and Daring’s nostrils and throats and they staggered, coughing, tears stinging at their eyes.

Daring’s breath was struck from her by a hammer blow to her diaphragm and she was forced to let go of her foe’s foreleg, throwing herself back to avoid a slash at her throat. “Fucker!” she snarled, raising her gun to aim at the masked pony.

But the assassin had vanished. “Shit,” Daring gasped as she and Phillip panned their flashlights through the hall, their beams illuminating every cabinet of ancient artwork and artifacts. There was no sign of him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Daring breathed, her hooves trembling as she gulped down cold air. “That was the Plague Doctor,” she said to Phillip, the reality striking her.

“I know,” Phillip nodded, rubbing his bruised foreleg; the pain retruned as adrenaline faded, leaving a cold tension in his stomach. He swallowed and shook his head, his damaged flashlight flickering.

Hoofsteps stamped up the hall. Both ponies snapped their weapons up.

“Don’t shoot!” Captain Oak shouted, raising his forelegs as he rounded the corner.

Both detectives released their breaths, lowering their guns but continuing to look around, checking every shadow.

“Praise the alicorns that you lived,” Captain Oak said as he rushed up. He bent down to check on the unconscious Coastline; the unicorn’s eyelids flickered and he let out a soft groan as he started to rouse himself, slowly sitting up. The security guard was still staring blankly around at them all, her face a display of polite confusion.

“Sombra’s assassin is no doubt here to aid the thieves in the vault, attempting to take the Rings,” Captain Oak reported, helping the doped security guard to her hooves. “Backup is on the way. You must get to the vault in the basement and stop them. I shall take these two back to safety.”

“You sure?” Phillip protested, the iciness spreading through his chest as he imagined Oak, Coastline, and the guard all laying on the ground, their eyes reduced to ragged holes that leaked black and red slime.

“Fear not for me,” Oak said grimly, drawing his Filly M1912. “I am shielded by my faith and by .45 AFP. Go, stop the thieves!”

Phil and Daring glanced at each other, then Daring growled and nodded. “C’mon, let’s get them,” she snapped, proceeding.

Phillip glanced back at the other three, watching as Coastline returned to his hooves and allowed Captain Oak to support his weight as they guided the doped security guard towards safety. Then he followed Daring down the passageway towards the stairs. They trotted side by side, weapons at the ready.

They entered an exhibit on medieval history, with great tapestries of Faust, Celestia, Luna, and the Seven Pillars overhanging displays of chipped pottery and rust-coated tools and weapons. Daring skirted around a statue of a knight in iron armor, halberd tossed over his shoulder and visor obscuring his face. “Okay, we’re almost there,” she announced, licking her dry lips and ordering her hammering heart to slow. “The basement stairs are--”

“Liebling…”

Phillip’s heart leaped into his throat and he spun about, raising his gun to his eyes as he whirled to check every shadow that the bubbling laughter slithered from. “Did you hear that?!” he shouted to Daring, seizing his own foreleg to try to keep his sights from shaking. He turned around: did the statue of the knight move?!

“Hear what?” Daring snapped, glaring at him.

Phillip shook his head and took a deep breath. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s not here. “Nothing,” he grunted.

“Snap out of it, Phil!” Daring ordered, already pressing on. “C’mon, the stairs are this way!”

Phillip followed her down the hallway, out of the exhibit and down a side hallway, his ears flicking back and forth at every sound, every creak of wind, every rattle and groan of the building around them.

Daring finally reached a door marked Employees Only and nodded, licking her lips. “This way will lead downstairs,” she reported, testing the door and finding it locked. “Dammit. You--”

A vent above their heads suddenly rattled, letting out a sigh of wind. Daring flinched and froze for a moment, her eyes going wide, then she shook her head and refocused. “You kick it in.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded, stepping forward. He turned around and bucked back, smashing the door open with a great crash of thunder to reveal a set of stairs heading down, dimly lit by emergency lights.

“C’mon,” Daring urged, pressing forward down the stairs, her flashlight illuminating the way. Phillip was right on her heels, aiming his weapon up over her helmeted head.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and beheld the basement of the History Museum, a massive room filled with shelves upon shelves of artifacts and documents, stored here for collection, identification, and maintenance. Worktables littered the floor, placed beneath hanging lamps, all of them turned off. Dim red light shone from a door to their left, revealing a cloudless sky overhanging a vast forest of doors standing in their frames…

No. No, that wasn’t true. Phillip blinked and swallowed to force his heart back down his throat and saw that the door instead opened into a vault, the walls loaded with secured boxes that no doubt held the museum’s more valuable or fragile exhibits.

He had just enough time to take in the sight of an open safebox on one table, the large golden rings within glittering in the light of their flashlights, then he spotted the overturned worktable behind it, the boxes and papers upon it scattered across the floor.

Then he saw the shapes rising up behind it, weapons swinging around to face them.

“Down!” he barked to Daring, shoving her forward as he leaped for the cover of a shelf, tucking and rolling as the thunderous cracks of bullets cut through the air where they’d been standing a moment before.

“Mierda, it’s them!” he heard a shrill male voice call. “Get the rings and go!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Daring shouted as both she and Phillip drew their boomerangs and cocked their arms back.

A screech sounded in Daring’s ear and she ducked just in time to avoid a curved talon lunging at her neck. A raven with a blood-red spot on its breast swooped at Phillip, who had to throw up his right foreleg to shield himself, crying out in pain as the blade cut into his limb. His .38 clattered to the floor, the strap sliced clean through.

“Motherfucker!” Daring shouted, her eyes instinctively tracking the bird as it flew back up into the shadows.

A chain whistled through the air and ensnared Daring’s right foreleg, her gun going off by accident as she was tugged onto her back with a grunt. She looked up to behold a crescent-shaped blade swinging for her exposed throat.

A familiar whistle sounded and the Plague Doctor grunted as Phil’s boomerang struck him in his masked head. Daring hammered his armored chest with a punch as Phillip charged in, catching his boomerang in his teeth as he drew the waddy from its holster on his vest; he pulled the painted wood back to strike, his gray eyes blazing with rage.

Once more, the Plague Doctor’s hoof went to the bandolier on his chest and acrid yellow smoke erupted from his chest. Phillip grunted as he landed, his weapon swinging through the empty, cloudy air where his foe had been standing a moment ago. “You okay?” he asked Daring, coughing and choking on the smoke.

“I’m good!” Daring replied, coughing as she spun about, checking every shadow for their hunter.

Hoofsteps sounded from the vault. Phil checked around the shelving that they’d hidden behind to see that the two thieves--a unicorn and an earth pony, both adorned in balaclavas--were grabbing the Rings of Scorchero from the opened box and tossing them into a bag.

“iOlvidas, vamonos!” one of them was barking, glancing back at them with pale emerald eyes as he tried to herd his partner out of the vault with one hoof, his other hoof throwing the bag with their loot over his shoulder.

“Trato Perfecto!” Phillip barked. The unicorn froze for a moment, his eyes widening in disbelief as his name was called. Then he turned and fired a flurry of golden spheres at Phillip, who was forced back behind cover. Daring popped back around the other side, taking aim with her pistol.

The wind shrieked, a bone-rattling cry that she felt more than heard. A shadow blurred over her head, too fast to catch any details. The stench of rotten flesh suddenly filled her nostrils.

Daring’s heart skipped a beat. No…

It appeared in a blur in front of her, rotten jaw flapping to reveal the jagged teeth, empty sockets staring as the yellowed cranium darted back and forth, sinewy limbs twitching with almost insectoid movements.

Daring froze, her heart accelerating to a jackhammer rhythm within her chest, so fast and hard that she feared that its pounding might give her away. All she could do was stare as the namorodo began to stalk back and forth, searching for its prey. The dead thing threw its head back and howled once more, its scream echoing throughout the entire chamber and making Daring’s breath freeze in her lungs.

Phillip watched as their targets retreated with their prize, turning to see Daring standing frozen, her eyes wide with panic. “Daring, what--?”

He didn’t hear the rustle of wings until it was almost too late. The blade came down and scraped along his back as he threw himself to one side, crying out as the weapon scraped against the layer of armor beneath his vest. He turned and swung at the Plague Doctor, who ducked and retreated to avoid his follow-up attack.

A screech sounded and Phillip looked up, his heart dropping into his stomach as he saw the raven swooping down towards the frozen Daring, blades bared toward her throat.

“Daring!” Phillip screamed, his hoof going to one pocket in an instinctive movement. His boomerang whistled through the air and struck the raven with a satisfying thwack, knocking it out the sky. It lay on its side on the ground, screeching in pain. Daring started slightly, staring at the bird as if trying to figure out where it had come from.

The Plague Doctor snarled and slashed at Phillip again, forcing him to dodge, catching his returning boomerang as he vaulted over a crate. The chain whistled towards his head and Phillip dropped into a backward somersault over the concrete floor, flinging his weapon out again as he popped back to his hooves.

The Plague Doctor sprang into the air with a flap of his wings, snapping the chain with a flick of one wing. Phillip blinked in surprise as the chain struck the boomerang in midair and sent it skittering across the floor.

The chain swung out and wrapped around the support of a unit of shelving next to Phillip. With a twist and a grunt, the masked pegasus spun about, pulling the unit over.

“Ah, shit!” Phillip cried, diving out of the way as boxes tumbled down like cacophonous rain, crashing and smashing against the floor where he’d been standing a moment ago. No sooner had he regained his hooves than he had to throw himself aside once more as his target dive-bombed him, missing by inches.

The red eyes locked onto his, blazing with hatred...then as Phillip watched, the black pupils grew, covering the irides, swallowing up the sclera.

“Liebling…” the muffled voice bubbled out beneath the mask. “Liebling, is that you?”

Phillip’s froze for a moment. His hesitation earned him a stab in the side and he yelped as the blade slid in between the plates of armor and into his skin, drawing blood.

“Get back!” he shouted, swinging his waddy with more desperation than any actual skill.

The thing laughed beneath the mask, the horrid noise trickling into Phillip’s ears as he slapped aside the strike, the impact shuddering through Phillip’s bone.

“You didn’t think I’d be back, liebling?” he cooed, slashing at him again, every strike precise and controlled, the blade kissing Phillip’s cheeks and forelegs as he desperately dodged and ducked, backpedaling as fast as he could. “Did you think you could ever truly escape me?”

“Get away!” Phillip shouted, swinging the waddy at the monster with reckless abandon as he panted, his every attack missing by miles. He stepped back to avoid another slash and his blood ran cold as he felt the unforgiving brick of the wall strike him. Panting, he stared up at death with its empty black eyes behind the mask of the Plague Doctor, listened to it laughing throatily as it drew back the sickle for the final cut...

And then a golden angel swooped out of the darkness to save him, snatching him away just as the blade came down to crack against the brick wall.

Daring dropped Phillip within the vault itself and whirled around, throwing out her boomerang at their target with a wild swing of her foreleg; the weapon tumbled awkwardly through the air and missed the Plague Doctor by almost a yard.

The chain snapped through the air and the weighted end cracked Daring on the head, sending her spinning to the floor. Gasping for air, Phillip looked at her, then looked up at the blur of wings and hate that was racing towards him, blade ready for the final strike.

Panic gave him a burst of speed; lunging forward, he seized the door of the vault and shoved it with a desperate grunt. The door shut with a great boom, leaving him in darkness save for his flashlight. Phillip seized the handle and locked the door with a great clunking of locks, wincing at the scrape of the Plague Doctor’s sickle against the door.

He was left gasping and panting, holding onto the door handle with every ounce of strength, knowing that death waited for him outside. For many long seconds that stretched out into eternity, he stood there, all silent save for his heavy breaths. He turned around to check on Daring, who remained motionless on the floor, groaning faintly.

Hoofsteps outside. Phillip’s heart jumped into his throat and he tried to remember how to breathe.

“Phil? Daring?”

He froze at the familiar voice. It could be her, but...what if…

“Phil, I know you’re in there,” Cold Case called from outside. “It’s okay, the Plague Doctor’s gone. They’re all gone. We’ve got backup here. Are you okay?”

No relief seeped into Phillip’s bones, merely deep exhaustion. He unlatched the door and opened it up as Cold Case entered with Captain Oak and other officers. Captain Oak made his way to Daring, who sat up with a groan as she held her head.

“Are you okay?” Cold asked Phillip, looking him up and down with shock and concern in her blue eyes.

Phillip merely sank down onto the floor, gasping for air as he buried his face into his shaking hooves.

The flames spread across the laboratory, devouring everything that they could reach, burning the tables and their contents; the bottles of chemicals bubbled and boiled, exploding into multicolored clouds that swirled into the black smoke. They licked at the scarlet and purple shields that Twilight and Matchstick had conjured, splashing across the domes. The five creatures huddled behind the shields, backed into a corner.

Twilight grimaced, sweat running down her brow as she struggled to keep the shield up. “I can’t hold this for long!” she cried. “Fire is almost impossible to contain!”

Matchstick coughed, then turned and fired a beam of magic at the shield blocking the door. Her scarlet beam bounced off harmlessly. “Somepony think of something fast!” she cried. “We’re gonna run out of air soon!”

Flash gasped for air, crouching low to the ground as he and Red used their wings to push the smoke away. “One of those wards is making that shield, right?!” he shouted. “Which one?!”

Twilight squinted through the flames and smoke that stung at her eyes and scratched at her throat. She studied the wards on the walls, examining the glowing shapes burned into the stone.

“That one!” she cried, pointing at a ward shaped like a square with two hexagons within it.

“We have to destroy it somehow!” Flash cried.

Red pulled out his sidearm and opened fire on the ward. Each bullet struck a hole into the concrete wall, but many of them missed the ward. “And me without my sledgehammer!” he choked, reaching for another magazine. He fumbled as he tried to reload his weapon, blinking tears from his eyes.

“OUT OF YAK’S WAY!” Yona bellowed. She lowered her horns and scraped her front hoof against the ground, snorting and coughing.

“Move!” Matchstick warned the others, jumping back. Yona charged forward, racing through the smoke and fire, crashing through a table. She impacted against the wall horns-first with a great crash, sending debris flying. Vivid red lightning crackled across her body and she was thrown back with a scream, crashing into the opposite wall.

The ward flickered like an old neon sign, then faded away. The shield blocking the door broke and dissipated.

“Everypony out!” Red ordered, grabbing Matchstick beneath the forelegs and rushing out the trapdoor.

Flash grabbed Twilight and started to take off, coughing on the smoke that scalded his throat and chest. “You got Yona?” he called.

“I got her!” Twilight replied, straining as her horn lit up with a purple aura, pushing back the smoke that threatened to swarm around them both. The dazed yak began to float up after them, shaking her head as she regained her senses.

“Matchstick, give me a hoof!” Twilight called as Flash exited the trapdoor, setting the unicorn down on the floor.

Matchstick lit up her horn and helped heave Yona out of the trapdoor, grunting with strain. Yona pulled herself to her hooves, coughing on the smoke that had chased them out of the lair. Flames were already leaping out of the hole, starting to consume the floor.

“This way out!” Matchstick yelled, using her horn to illuminate the way out. The group hurried out of the warehouse, crashing through the wrecked doorway and through the gate as the fire began to consume more and more of the building, devouring the dry tinder like a dragon swallowing gems. They stopped in the street, panting and coughing, wincing as the pain of scalds and burns began to register.

“Is everyone okay?” Flash asked, checking on Twilight.

“I’m all right,” Twilight confirmed, giving him a sooty smile.

“Me too,” Red confirmed, grimacing as he studied the burns on his forelegs.

“Yak fine,” Yona grunted, smoke rising from the scorch marks in her coat. “Yak tough.”

“I need a cig,” Matchstick grumbled, pulling a packet out of her coat and lighting it with a spark from her horn.

“Where’s my car?” Red muttered, looking around. Spotting his vehicle, he hurried over and leaned into the driver’s side window to snatch the radio’s hoofset. He took a breath and began to speak into the hoofset. “Control, Bishop Six. Ten-fifty-two, ten-fifty-four at corner of Wheel and Cog. Send alarm out to all units: BOLO on Plague Doctor. Repeat: the motherfucking Plague Doctor is in Ponyville!”

“Bishop Six, roger on ambulance and fire,” the dispatcher replied. “We are already aware of the Plague Doctor; sighting at Ponyville History Museum. All available units to respond.”

“Shit!” Red breathed, opening up the door and climbing inside. “Bishop Six responding! Flash, let’s go!”

“Fuck me,” Flash breathed as Matchstick raced to her convertible and vaulted into the driver’s seat, turning over the engine. He briefly embraced Twilight and kissed her on the forehead. “You and Yona stay here, okay? Fire department’s on their way.”

“But--” Twilight started to protest.

“It’s my job, Twilight,” Flash replied calmly, his face hard with determination even as fear danced in his blue eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

Before Twilight could try to stop him, Flash ran over to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. He barely had time to close the car before the Diplomat screeched down the road with the Convertible right behind it, both of their lights spinning and sirens wailing. Twilight watched them disappear around the corner, her face alight with fear.

Yona strode forward and clapped Twilight on the shoulder, knocking all the breath from her lungs. “Friends will be okay,” the yak declared calmly. “Friends are smart.”

“No, no, they won’t be!” Twilight said, frantically pacing and rubbing her mane as hairs began to spontaneously spring out of place.

“Why everypony scared of Plague Doctor?” Yona asked, her brow creased with confusion. “Just seem like pony in silly Nightmare Night costume. Nightmare Night last moon, yes?”

“The Plague Doctor isn’t just a pony in a costume, Yona,” Twilight said, sitting down and staring up at him with wide eyes. “He...he’s an assassin. Who worked for Sombra.”

Yona’s pale green eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, that bad.”

“Really bad!” Twilight nodded.

“But what assassin doing in Ponyville?” Yona asked.

“I don’t know!” Twilight cried, throwing her hooves up. “I don’t--”

She gasped in horror, realization sparking in her violet irides. “The Rings!”

“They knew you!” the jefe said, shoving Trato against the wall. “They knew you!”

“I...I don’t know how!” Trato protested, his heart pounding against his chest with the speed of a jackhammer. “I thought I covered everything, I--!”

“You clearly didn’t, cabrón!” the jefe snapped. He started to pace the room, muttering to himself, running a hoof through his graying mane. His face reflected against the many cases spread across the room like museum displays.

“Amigo, please,” Trato protested, lifting up the two golden rings, grunting at their surprising weight. “We got what we needed; two more of the Rings. That should make--”

The mirror at the back of the room rippled and a shape rushed out, his head bowed and a tiny bundle clutched to his chest.

The two stallions watched as the Plague Doctor hurried over to a table and placed the raven upon it. He stared at the tiny, broken body in silence, his hooves trembling. The bird did not move or make a sound; the red mark on her chest did not move.

“Is…” The gray-maned earth pony stepped forward hesitatingly, clearly wishing that their guest had at least taken his gas mask off. “Did they…?”

The pegasus’ entire body shook for a moment, then in a blur of motion, he lunged at Trato Perfecto, shoving the unicorn up against the wall. He seized the unicorn around the neck with both hooves and began to squeeze, hatred blazing in his red eyes. Trato struggled, gasping and choking as he desperately tried to push his attacker off. He looked to the jefe, who simply stood frozen, eyes darting back and forth in terror.

“Stop.”

The voice carried such a weight of authority that the air seemed to get heavier at the word. The Plague Doctor immediately released Trato and dropped to kneel, as did the earth pony, trembling down to his tail.

Trato slid to the ground, massaging his throat and coughing. He squinted up at the newcomer that was now striding through the room, his cloak dragging across the cloud-brick floor. His hood cast his entire face in shadow, revealing no details.

Ignoring the stallions, the cloaked figure strode over to the table and laid a hoof atop the still body of the raven. A pale red glow shone from beneath the hood for a moment, and there came the sound of bones cracking and popping.

A moment later, the raven stirred slightly and pushed its head up, letting out a soft croak.

“There you are, Lenore,” the hooded figure whispered, gently picking up the little raven, who chirped up at him appreciatively. The visitor carried her over to the Plague Doctor, who happily took her into his arms, petting her as she cooed softly. The Plague Doctor nodded his thanks to the visitor.

“The detectives did that, didn’t they?” the hooded pony asked. “Did you kill them?”

The doctor shook his head, lowering his face in shame.

“Do not blame yourself,” the hooded pony replied. “I had hoped that you could kill them, yes, but I’m not disappointed that you couldn’t.”

The shadowed face turned to face Trato. The unicorn swallowed and shifted; even though he couldn’t see the visitor’s eyes, he could feel the cold gaze drilling into him like two daggers.

“They know who he is,” the hooded pony said. “Which means that they won’t stop looking until they find him.”

“Master, por favor,” the jefe whispered. “He made a mistake; we all knew he shouldn’t have killed the shopkeeper, but he threatened to go to the police unless we paid him more--”

The hooded pony slowly turned towards him, faceless gaze staring silently. The earth pony gulped and fell silent, lowering his head.

“Perhaps it would be best,” the faceless pony said to the doctor. “If they found him.”

Author's Note

In case you were wondering why everyone was scared of a stallion in a Nightmare Night costume...well, here's your answer. And I think you can figure out who the hooded stallion and El Jefe are!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and it left you properly in the mood for Halloween! If you enjoyed it, be sure to leave a like and a comment! See you all next week!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Seven: Dread

Phillip sat on the curb, eyes closed as he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. In for three. Hold. Feel the stone beneath your hooves, the wind on your back. Out for three. Let your muscles relax. It’s okay. You’re okay.

Yet his hooves would not stop shaking, and his heart trembled in his chest like it was going to leap right out of his ribcage at a moment’s notice. He opened his eyes with a sigh and looked around.

The museum was awash in red and blue lights from the cruisers and ambulances parked out front. Ponies roamed to and fro and the crackling of radios and voices provided constant background noise.

Phil looked over to a nearby ambulance, staring into the open back. Daring was sitting on one stretcher, holding an ice pack to her head with a shaking hoof and staring at the floor; Phil could see the tips of her wings twitching involuntarily as she took slow, deep breaths. Sergeant Coastline was on the other stretcher, also holding an ice pack to his head, frowning pensively.

“Phil?”

Phillip looked up as Suunkii hurried over, his bag of equipment rattling by the zebra’s side. Suunkii bent down and hugged Phillip, who stiffened momentarily before returning the embrace.

“Are you all right? Is Daring?” Suunkii asked, pulling back to study Phil, his wide emerald eyes staring out of his ashen face.

“Fine,” Phillip nodded. He shook his head and extended his arm, trying to force himself to think clearly through the fog of shock that hung over his head. “Plague Doctor used…”

The yellow smoke was thick and stinging, clawing at his eyes, nostrils, and throat as it invaded him. It smelled of chemicals and rust and he choked on it as it filled his lungs. The eyes, red as blood, stared at him through the cloud for a moment, blazing with hate...then the pupils grew to swallow the light whole--

Phillip shook his head, gasping for breath, tasting the cold, wet air of the outdoors. It’s okay. It’s okay. They’re not here.

“Phil?” Suunkii asked.

“Plague Doctor used a toxin. Need you to take a blood sample,” Phillip said, extending his arm again.

“Yes, I see,” Suunkii nodded, pulling out a syringe and a test tube. “Are you sure that you are all right? What happened? Give me as much detail about your symptoms as you can.”

“He…” Phillip swallowed and closed his eyes, mopping his face. “He snuck up on us. Nearly took us out right then and there. Had these...vials on a bandolier. Made smoke. It...” He took a breath. “Made me see things. Hear things. That weren’t there. Made me…” He swallowed back his shame. “Made me scared. Rapid heart rate. Faster breathing. Sweating.”

“I see,” Suunkii nodded, swabbing iodine on Phillip’s shoulder. “I strongly recommend that you two monitor your symptoms for the next few days, to be sure that there are no residual effects.” He took the syringe in his hoof and clamped his teeth onto the plunger’s mouth grip. “This may sting a bit.”

Phillip barely felt the syringe go in, acknowledging it only with a small grunt. He instead watched as Daring got up off the stretcher in the ambulance, dropping the ice pack onto the cloth and shrugging off the paramedic as she trotted over to them.

Suunkii finished drawing Phillip’s blood and placed the syringe into his bag. “Are you all right, Daring?” he asked her.

“I’d be better if they didn’t get away,” Daring grunted. “You need to prick me?”

“Yes,” Suunkii nodded, bandaging Phillip’s foreleg. As he pulled a fresh syringe out of his bag, he glanced at the two detectives.

“If I might ask…” he said slowly. “What did you see?”

An oily voice laughed in the distance and Phillip’s skin crawled as he felt hot breath running down his back. He shuddered, then took a breath to steady himself. Running wouldn’t solve anything.

“Zugzwang,” he admitted. “I saw Zugzwang. It...freaked me out more than I thought it would. All of a sudden, I just forgot all of my training. I just wanted to get away from him.” He shook his head. “Shit...I thought I was over all that.”

“You must not blame yourself,” Suunkii said tenderly, swabbing Daring’s forearm with iodine. “Your experiences left deep scars, and it appears that this hallucinogenic toxin forces one to relive their deepest fears.”

Daring hesitated for a moment, turning away as Suunkii poked her shoulder with the syringe, then sighed. “A namorodo,” she admitted.

“That’s why you froze up,” Phillip realized.

“Yeah,” Daring nodded. “I should’ve known it wasn’t real, but...it’s like my brain was totally, completely convinced that it was there. Took me a while to snap out of it.”

“And you did, just in time to save my life again,” Phillip replied, managing to smile at her.

Daring cracked a feeble smile at him as Doctor Suunkii bandaged her foreleg. “Do I get a lollipop now?” she asked him, earning an eye roll and a small grin in response.

“I know that you are not going to rest for now,” Suunkii said. “But you should both monitor yourselves and each other for any further developments; if you feel any unusual symptoms, get to a doctor immediately. There is no telling what else that poison has done to you.”

“Detectives.”

Officer Starwatch, Cold Case, and Captain Oak approached them, their faces grim.

“I’m guessing you lost them,” Daring said.

“Misfortune was upon us,” Captain Oak nodded. “The first officers were just arriving when the two fiends who stole the Rings exited the building, and the unicorn was able to teleport himself and his friend beyond our perimeter. We didn’t see where they went.”

“And the Plague Doctor flew out of an upper window before we could secure the air,” Starwatch admitted. She hung her head. “I tried to chase him, but he was too fast; I lost him in a cloud.”

“I’ve already got a ring of officers scanning the area for any sign of them,” Cold Case reported. “If they left any trace, we’ll find them.”

“I hope so,” Phillip said, turning to face Daring, seeing the same haunted look in her pale red eyes.

The sun rose slowly over the city of Ponyville, casting the buildings into shades of cold grays and whites. The frosty air bit at the flesh of those who dared venture outside.

Inside the police precinct, Cold Case stood at the window of her office, staring out at her city as if she thought that she could spot her prey from her vantage point. Inserting her pipe into her mouth, she took a long draw of the cinnamon-flavored tobacco, hoping that the stimulant would dispel the phantom of exhaustion that was hanging over the room.

She turned to face the other occupants of the room, all of them standing before her desk: Phillip Finder, Daring Do, Doctor Suunkii, Twilight Sparkle, Red Herring, and Flash Sentry. Their faces were all creased with exhaustion, shadows beneath their eyes, blinking and stifling yawns.

Cold glanced down at the paper on the desk in front of her. An old photograph of a stallion in a black, beaked mask stared back at her. Once more, she read over the bold-printed words.

WANTED BY THE ROYAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
"PLAGUE DOCTOR"
Murder, terrorism, war crimes, kidnapping, armed robbery.
Name unknown--pegasus--red eyes--yellow coat--approx. 3' 9"--slim build--cutie mark unknown
Often accompanied by a raven
This unidentified pony is believed to have been a high-ranking member of King Sombra's secret police during the Crystal War. He is known to have completed several assassinations of Equestrian military and political officials, to have been involved in equine rights violations against the Crystal Ponies, and to have used prisoners of war for biological and chemical weapon experiments. He is also wanted in connection to multiple murders, robberies, and abductions throughout Equestria committed after the war.
ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS: DO NOT APPROACH.

“Right,” Cold Case said, chewing on the stem of her pipe. “Report. Did you find any trace of the Plague Doctor or the Ring thieves?”

“No,” Red admitted, shaking his head. “We did find vehicle traces in a nearby alleyway that we believe are from their getaway vehicle: looks like a van. Unfortunately, we lost their trail on Hummingbird amidst all the other traffic. And they took routes that avoided surveillance crystals. Detective Rubber is doing his best with what he’s got, but I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

“Didn’t find any useful clues in the museum,” Phillip reported, pausing to try to swallow and remove the taste of cotton from his mouth, casting a longing glance at the coffee machine in the corner. “Jammer erased any surveillance footage; it was put in at 9:04 that night, well after the museum closed, but before the wankers got in.”

Cold gritted her teeth. “The museum theft needs to be our priority right now. Whatever that terrorist has planned for the Rings, he has to be stopped. How did they pull off the theft?”

“The guards at the museum were all drugged with a Confounding Potion,” Doctor Suunkii reported. “It is a potion intended to put its victims into a trance-like state for a period of time, during which they are incapable of responding to most stimuli or forming memories. The source was the coffee machine in the locker room. It is apparent that the thieves were hoping to replace the actual Rings with the copies and be gone before anypony had a chance to notice anything wrong.”

“That, and the fact that somepony placed a jammer on the security crystal all points to one thing,” Flash said. “One of the guards was an inside pony.”

“Which means that we’ll have to question them all,” Red grunted. “Unless there’s some way to narrow it down…”

A rapping at the office door interrupted them. “Chief?” an officer asked, opening the door. “Sorry to intrude, but we just got a message for Finder and Do from Trottingham PD.”

“Bring it in,” Cold Case nodded.

The young officer entered, holding out a manila folder. “Here, detectives,” he said, extending it to Phillip.

“Thank you,” Phillip said, taking the folder and opening it up. His eyes brightened as he studied the contents. “It’s a letter from Detective Skybrush.”

Dear Detectives Finder and Do,

Heard about the theft over the radio last night. I hope you’re okay; I wouldn’t want to end up facing the Plague Doctor! I can’t believe he’s in Ponyville, he hasn’t been seen for years!

After you left Trottingham, I continued examining Perfect Deal’s motel room. Didn’t turn up much else, and what I found is already being forwarded to your lab. However, I did ask if he’d made any phone calls while he was there. Turns out he used the public payphone across the street quite a lot. I subpoenaed the phone records and there’s one number in Ponyville that turns up a lot. I sent you a copy and highlighted the number for you. Maybe that’ll help with this.

Silver Plate’s been released without being charged, but I don’t think the DA’s fully convinced. You’d better find this Perfect Deal guy fast. Good luck.

Detective Skybrush.

Behind the letter was a record of phone calls, with several lines highlighted. Phillip and Daring both studied it, tired grins on their faces.

“That mate’s blood’s worth bottling,” Phillip nodded.

“Yeah, he’s almost more helpful than you,” Daring added, grinning at Red and earning a Flying Feather in response.

“Best get to work,” Phillip said, taking the folder and heading for the door.

“Hold on,” Chief Cold stopped them with a raised hoof. “Are you sure you two are okay?”

Daring rolled her eyes with a groan. “We’re fine, Cold. The toxin wore off completely after only a couple hours.”

Cold frowned at her, the skepticism on her face failing to completely hide the concern in her eyes.

“Cold, really,” Phillip said. “We’re fine. I promise. And we’re being careful.”

Cold sighed. “All right. Go.”

Phillip and Daring promptly exited, heading downstairs.

“Right,” Cold nodded. “Do any of you have any other clues?”

“We should be putting the squeeze on the Industry Kings again,” Red suggested.

“How’s that?” Cold Case asked.

“I completed an analysis of blood samples from the four dead ponies from the landfill,” Doctor Suunkii reported. “One of the victims, Greg Granite, had trace elements in his blood that were similar to traces in Phillip Finder and Daring Do’s blood. I am convinced that this is the Plague Doctor’s hallucinogenic toxin, though Greg Granite received a much stronger dose. I believe that this was enough to terrify him into committing suicide.”

“That, and the Doctor’s raven killed Curveball,” Flash added.

“Somepony has to know who he is or where he is,” Red growled. “They’re tied into this mess somehow. Now that I think about it, I bet that it has to do with their smuggling operations.”

“Good idea,” Cold said. “Get in touch with your informants, see if they’re willing to talk. And keep me posted on anything else that turns up.”

“I somehow doubt it,” Flash muttered, but followed Red out.

“Chief, I spent most of last night studying the toxin samples,” Twilight said, pausing to yawn. “Doctor Suunkii and I were able to break down some of the basic components, but the rest is...I have no idea what it is. This is the best sample that we’ve gotten of his toxin in years; if I’m going to create an antidote--”

“You’re not going to,” Cold Case cut her off. “I know you’re intelligent and experienced, but this is beyond your ken, and your focus. I’ve already sent a message to a contact in the military.”

“You refer to Lieutenant General Beacon Fire,” Suunkii stated with a small quirk of his eyebrow.

“Yes,” Cold replied with absolutely no change in her tone. “She’ll be coming here tomorrow to collect your samples and any data that you have made.”

“But--” Twilight started to protest.

“Twilight,” Cold cut her off again in a gentler tone, placing a hoof on the younger unicorn’s shoulder. “I know that you want to help stop him, but the best that you can do right now is to focus on crime scene evidence. The best scientists in Equestria have been trying to make an antidote to the Plague Doctor’s toxin for years, and none have succeeded. Let this one go.”

Twilight looked like she was going to argue further, but sighed and nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” Cold nodded, dismissing them. “Now get to work. Bring me that Doctor.”

The indigo-coated earth stallion fidgeted in his seat in the interrogation room, his eyes going from his hooves to the stallion across the desk from him before quickly darting back down. Phillip stared silently at his target, leaning back in his chair as he flicked through the folder in front of him.

“Moon Watch,” Phillip finally said. “How long have you been working security for the museum?”

“Ten years,” Moon Watch replied in a voice that carried a trace of a Mareish accent, glancing up at him before focusing on the folder on the table between them, subconsciously brushing off his mud-brown parka. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Phillip stared at him, never blinking, never moving his gaze away. “And before that?” he continued.

“I was a cop in Trottingham,” Moon Watch grunted, still staring at the folder. “Worked there for nearly twenty years before deciding to retire and move here for a quieter pace. Look, what’s this about?” he protested, looking up at Phil for the first time. “I have other things to do.”

“About your time in Trottingham,” Phillip continued as if he had not heard. “Uneventful career?”

“Completely normal,” Moon huffed. “Made it up to sergeant, hurt my knee in a fight, decided to retire. What does it matter?”

“Why did you do it, Moon?” Phillip asked. “Why’d you help steal the Rings?”

Moon Watch froze in his seat, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “Wh-what?! How could you say--?!”

“We know you got several calls from Trottingham,” Phillip said, pushing the phone record list with the highlighted numbers forward. Moon Watch’s home telephone. “We know it came from one of the ponies who stole the Rings.” He leaned forward slightly.

“He knew about Fig Leaf, didn’t he?” he hissed.

Moon Watch froze, sweat running down from beneath his mane of silver hair.

“I had a friend pull your file from Trottingham PD,” Phillip said, turning the page to reveal a personnel file. A younger Moon Watch stared up at them, smiling from the page, adorned in a new police uniform.

“It’s clean. Too clean,” Phillip said. “All except for one thing: an arrest record from your last year there. Bloke by the name of Fig Leaf was arrested for counterfeiting and drug-running. Committed suicide in his cell before he could be charged.” He scowled at Moon. “Bloody convenient.”

“That’s…” Moon Watch started to protest, but his voice caught in his throat.

“And you were the one who arrested the bloke,” Phillip continued. “And here’s the thing: there’s some rumors that Fig and his smuggling ring was connected to another tosser, Golden Harp. Trottingham citizen. Ties to the Mareish Mob. And your brother-in-law.” He scowled at the sweating stallion across from him. “Very bloody convenient,” he repeated.

Moon Watch stared at Phillip for a few moments longer, then his face hardened. “I did not steal the Rings,” he stated coolly. “Those phone calls are none of your fucking business. And if we’re done here, I have a meeting.”

Phillip just stared at him in silence for a few moments, then leaned back and gestured for the door. Moon Watch stood up and stalked for the door, shooting the detective a venomous glare as he exited.

“You’re a loose end, Moon,” Phillip said as the door opened. “Bear that in mind.”

The stallion paused in the door for a moment, head turned in thought, then he exited. He kept his head low as he sped down the hall, ignoring the two creatures that had been standing at the one-way mirror.

“Would you mind explaining yourselves, detectives?” Captain Hewn Oak asked Phillip as he exited the interrogation room. “You are allowing your best suspect to leave without a confession.”

“He wasn’t going to talk, Captain,” Phillip replied calmly. “But as I said, he’s a loose end.”

“And I’d bet anything that he’s heading to get whatever payoff he was promised,” Daring Do said, puffing on her cigarette.

“Ah, I see,” Captain Oak nodded. “Letting the snake go free to tempt the fox from its den.”

“Exactly,” Phillip nodded. “After you, Daring.”

“Such a gentlepony,” Daring said with a small grin as she turned and headed the opposite way that Moon had left. Exiting out a side door, she immediately took to the sky, settling on a cloud hanging over the front doors.

The elder earth pony was heading for the closest trolley stop, his head low, eyes darting back and forth as he licked his lips. He sat down on the bench as a couple of police officers passed by, averting his gaze.

Daring flipped open the enchanted notebook and scrawled a note on it. He’s taking a trolley.

After a few moments, a reply in Phillip’s hoofwriting appeared on the page: Right. I’ll tell Flash and Red.

Daring watched as the trolley rattled up to the stop, brakes squealing as it halted. Moon got up and hustled onto the vehicle, pushing past the ponies exiting. After a few moments, the trolley started back up and continued down the road, its bell dinging to clear the way.

Daring took off and flew over the trolley, making sure to stay directly above it so that nopony inside could see her. She moved from cloud to cloud, cover to cover. She paused at every stop, carefully watching the ponies that exited.

It was on the fourth stop that she finally spotted the earth pony leaving, his head turning from side to side as he hurried down the sidewalk. Fifth and Sunflower, she quickly scrawled into the notebook, following him from above.

As she stalked her prey, she saw a motorcycle with a sidecar pull up on a parallel street, pausing at a stop sign. The driver, an orange pegasus in a black pleather riding jacket, pants, and a helmet with a tinted visor, glanced over at his passenger, a black-maned earth pony in a blue vest wearing a cap and a scarf. The passenger in the blue vest and white pants tossed his scarf over his shoulder and pointed to his eye with a hoof.

I have the target.

Nodding, Daring continued to watch Moon Watch head down the street. He paused at the corner of a small bar with the name “Ace in the Hole” displayed in flickering neon over the door, looking around for any pursuers, then pushed the door open and headed in.

Daring glanced at her notebook. Heading in.

The motorcycle turned a corner and parked on the other side of the block, and the riders disembarked, the driver removing his coat to reveal the suit beneath it and trading his helmet for a fedora as he climbed off. The two stallions trotted into the Ace in the Hole one after the other as a rust-colored Diplomat 600 pulled up and parked in a public lot across the way. Daring took up position overhead, staring down at the squat building as if she could see through the brick ceiling.

Inside, The Ace in the Hole proved to be a small, close affair. A circular bar was set in the center of the room, dozens of beers and ciders on tap and many other liquors prominently displayed in a rainbow of colorful glasses. Booths were set up along the perimeter of the bar, a little more than half of them occupied. A jukebox stood next to one of the two doors that led to a separate room; the box crooned out a light jazz tune, the notes mingling with the constant chatter of the patrons. The scents of liquor, tobacco, and sweat hung in the air.

Phillip and Flash proceeded to the bar and sat down on the stools, taking a casual glance around the bar as they did so. “Seven o’clock,” Flash whispered to Phil as he put his forelegs on the bar.

Phillip grunted in affirmation, turning to look at his student. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the indigo earth pony sitting in a corner booth, his head down as he pondered the bottle of beer in front of him, smoke from his cigarette (Mareboro Smooth, judging by the scent) obscuring his face.

“What’ll you have, boys?” the hippogriff bartender asked them.

“Uh...Blue Moon,” Flash said.

Phil looked over the taps and frowned to discover that Kanga-Rum was not on the menu. “Same,” he grunted.

As the bartender got their drinks, Phillip allowed his gaze to pan over the rest of the crowd. The other patrons were all mostly focused on their drinks and cigarettes and newspapers; topics of conversation ranged from last week’s Manticores game to last night’s robbery.

“--heard that some masked freak was part of it,” Phillip heard a blonde unicorn telling his friend. “Some guy wearing a healer’s mask. The...Plague Doctor?”

His companion, an overweight green-maned unicorn, snickered. “Yeah, right,” he said. “From what I heard, that freak hasn’t been seen in years.”

“Who would even go around dressed like that?” the unicorn snorted. “Like a damn Nightmare Night costume…”

Ice ran down Phillip’s spine and he gripped the bottle tight like it was a lifeline back to reality.

“Phil? What’s wrong?” Flash asked, gripping his shoulder.

Phillip closed his eyes for a moment and took a slow breath in, embracing the fear, accepting that he was afraid. Then he slowly let it out, exhaling his fear out with it.

“I’m fine,” he nodded, giving Flash a small smile.

Flash frowned at the talking ponies. “I don’t see why Chief Case won’t tell everypony that the Plague Doctor’s here,” he grumbled. “Ponies should know.”

“Flash, it was barely three months ago when we had zombies and an eldritch monster running around town,” Phillip replied. “Think she just doesn’t want to start a panic.”

Flash let out a thoughtful murmur. “That’s fair, I guess,” he said. “I just don’t think that we should be hiding this from ponies.”

Philip let out a noncommittal grunt, continuing to scan the room. “Wonder who he’s meeting,” Flash murmured. “Bet he’s hoping to get the rest of his pay--”

Something caught Phillip’s attention: a stallion sprawled across one chair next to the door, leaning back in his seat while enjoying his smoke and the bottle of bourbon that he held in his left hoof. The purple unicorn had a white beard clinging to his jaw, stained yellow from menthol. He was wearing a black parka, currently unzipped, and a pair of jeans. A gold earring dangled from one ear, glittering in the light. As Phillip watched, the stallion shifted in place, adjusting his parka; he kept his right hoof on the umbrella that was standing on the ground next to him.

Phillip pretended to peruse a newspaper in front of him. “Flash. Unicorn at one o’clock. What you make of him?”

Flash glanced at him under the pretense of scanning the street outside. “Okay,” he muttered. “Number one, it’s the Moon of Frost and he’s sweating. Two, he’s been inside for a long time, judging by the ashes in that tray, and he’s still wearing his parka. Three, the skies are supposed to be clear all week and he’s holding an umbrella.”

“Aces,” Phillip nodded. “One other thing. You see how his right pocket is weighed down? How it’s still draped over him, unlike his left side?”

“Yeah,” Flash confirmed, checking him once more. “Looks like there’s...something in it? Something round?”

“Don’t stare at him, you drongo, you’ll give us away,” Phillip hissed. “Yes, there’s a roll of coins in his pocket. Gunpony’s trick; you have a gun in the waistband. Weight of coins keeps the jacket covering it and keeps it out of the way when drawing it.”

Flash glanced over at Moon Watch, who was fidgeting in his seat, glancing at his watch repeatedly. “I know I’m not supposed to jump to conclusions,” he said. “But something tells me that he’s here for Moon, and not to pay him.”

“Same,” Phillip confirmed.

“So what’s the play?” Flash asked. “I--”

But his thought was interrupted by their target suddenly rising and walking towards Moon Watch. The security guard glanced at him as he approached, then returned to his drink, fidgeting with his watch. The unicorn with the earring took a breath as he passed Flash and Phillip, one hoof gripping the umbrella by the middle.

Phillip watched the stallion as he passed, one eye on the brolly. Why the hell would he bother--?

The stallion half-paused behind Phillip, weight shifting. The blue eyes flicked to him for a moment.

It was enough warning. Phillip snapped aside, swatting the umbrella down as it speared towards his side; the blade that had sprung from the tip of the umbrella sank into the wood of the bar, missing Phillip’s leg by an inch.

Phillip’s elbow crashed into the assassin’s jaw as Flash struck him in the gut, pushing his breath from his lungs and forcing him back onto his haunches. Patrons leaped back with startled shouts, staring in disbelief.

“Stay down,” Phillip snarled to his prey, seizing his foreleg and flinging him to the ground like a rag doll; the unicorn grunted as his limb was twisted behind him, writhing in pain.

“We got him, we got him!” Flash reported into the radio that he whipped from his pocket. Within moments, Red Herring and Daring Do burst into the room.

“Out of the way, out of the way, police business,” Red ordered, drawing his weapon and hurrying over to their perp as Flash Sentry pulled out hoofcuffs. Patrons began to file out, murmuring to one another. Moon Watch stumbled out of his chair and began to scramble for the back door.

“Not so fast, buddy,” Red growled to the security guard, who immediately froze.

As Flash fastened the hoofcuffs over the assassin’s hooves, Phillip quickly patted him down for any other weapons, extracting a pistol with an enchanted suppressed barrel, which he quickly rendered safe.

Noticing the odd sheen to the earring, Phillip plucked the earring from his ear. The glamour spell promptly vanished, revealing a blue unicorn, his orange mane shading his angry golden eyes.

“Trato Perfecto,” Phillip growled.

“Not bad,” Daring commented, pulling the umbrella spear out of the bar and examining it. “Word of advice, though: next time, pick a less obvious weapon. You were asking for us to find you.”

The assassin glared at her for a moment, then sneered. “Maybe I wanted you to,” he hissed, a strange smokey emerald glow slithering into his eyes.

With a snap, the cuffs sprang open, clattering to the floor.

A red sphere blossomed from his horn and all four detectives were sent flying back: Phillip and Daring both tumbled over the bar, knocking over glasses and plates with a great clattering and sending the bartender jumping back with a scream; Flash was sent sprawling over Moon Watch while Red was thrown into a booth and smacked his head against the window.

Writhing in pain, Red glared up at his prey as the unicorn rose up onto his hind legs, the sinister smile on his face cast in red light. A tug on Red's right foreleg sent an electric jolt of fear up his spine and he grabbed his sidearm with his free hoof, resisting the magical pull on his weapon as it was nearly pulled off his foreleg.

With a roar like an enraged bull, Flash charged the unicorn, reaching for his hind legs like a linebacker trying to drop the quarterback. Trato leaped over his head, sneering as the pegasus passed beneath him.

He didn’t see Daring and Red both drawing their wings back until it was too late.

Two combined wind gusts slammed into the unicorn like a pair of wrecking balls and he was sent flying out the window, glass raining down upon him as he rolled across the street, leaving trails of blood behind him.

“Get him!” Red shouted, jumping out the window after him as the last screaming patrons fled the bar. Flash, who had rolled out of his failed tackle, dove out after him, with Daring and Phillip right on his tail.

Trato Perfecto snarled at them as he rose back to his hooves, red mist sealing his injuries.

“Hooves up!” Red ordered him, reattaching his sidearm to his foreleg and raising it.

Trato snarled and stamped the ground. Red lightning cracked across the pavement beneath his hooves and fragments of stone flew up to mold around his body, fusing onto him like a layer of black armor. He sneered at the two officers as the helmet formed around his head, shaping itself like a jagged mountainside; his glowing horn jutted out of the construction and venomous green light emerged from the deep eyeholes, smoke swirling from the dark caverns. It stomped towards them, the rocks groaning and cracking with every movement.

Flash grimaced and took a breath, raising his weapon. “Is there a plan here?”

“Same as always,” Daring replied, pulling out her whip as Phillip drew his waddy. “Shoot it until it dies.”

Trato’s horn lit up like a firework and crimson serpentine shapes blossomed from the horn, twisting in midair to form a glowing red net that flew at the four ponies.

“Look out!” Flash shouted, shoving Phillip aside, but he and Red dodged too late: the net entangled the two pegasi, sending them tumbling to the ground.

“Motherfucker!” Red snarled, struggling against his bonds.

Glowing red swords blossomed in the armored pony’s hooves and he charged like a living avalanche, roaring in fury.

Phillip threw himself out of the way, catching himself with his free hoof, his weight shifting in a cartwheel; upside-down, he beheld the armored behemoth glaring down at him as his conjured swords cut through the air.

Landing, Phillip snapped his hoof out; the foil-wrapped smoke bomb caught the sun briefly as it struck Trato in the face, the lightning trigger sparking and sending smoke billowing.

Green and red light burst from the cloud. Phillip had just enough time to draw in a breath before the living avalanche crashed through the smoke with a snarl.

“Bug--!” Phillip cried, futilely throwing up his forelegs a heartbeat before the armored form slammed into him. His hooves left the ground as his breath was thrown from his lungs; he felt his ribs cracking beneath the blow as he tumbled back, landing on the asphalt with a grunt.

“Phil!” Daring shouted, snapping her whip at their foe. The whip snapped against the stone ineffectively, earning an annoyed stare from the glowing green eyes.

A flicker of motion in the corner of Daring’s eye was all the warning she got. “Holy shit!” she gasped, ducking as the umbrella streaked past her like a torpedo, clad in a scarlet aura.

The blade missed her neck by inches; as it passed by, Daring caught sight of the strange sheen on the blade. Poisoned! Great, she grimaced to herself as the spear swooped around past her, a barracuda hunting for prey.

“These are the great detectives?” Trato snarled, slashing at Phillip with his swords, each strike missing by mere centimeters. “I expected better!”

Phillip gasped as he just barely ducked beneath another blade, which narrowly missed his neck. Fire shot up his shoulder as it caught his skin on the return, drawing a red line into his flesh. He twisted with a grunt, throwing himself into a somersault to disengage.

Something hooked around his ankle and tugged. “Gah!” Phillip cried out as the world tilted and the street raced up at his face. He caught a glimpse of the flying umbrella hooked around his leg as the asphalt struck him on the side of the face; pain and blood filled his mouth as he bit down on his tongue.

A crimson blade blocked out the sun.

“No!” three voices cried out as one.

A sonic boom cracked the air and Trato grunted as a leather cord wrapped around his limb, stilling his attack. Gunshots followed Daring’s attack and sparks danced from Trato’s armor as Red and Flash’s bullets struck him.

“Get off!” Trato snarled, his horn glowing. A serpentine shape burst from the appendage and twisted to wrap around Daring’s wings. Daring screamed as she fell out of the sky, tucking into a ball before she crashed to the ground.

Rolling back to his hooves, Phillip caught sight of the enchanted umbrella streaking back towards him. Sidestepping, he struck with his waddy, knocking the umbrella to the ground; the spell animating it dissipated into red dust.

Throwing off Daring’s whip with a grunt, Trato slashed at Phillip again as red auras yanked Red and Flash’s guns out of their hooves. As he ducked the attack, Phillip studied Trato’s armor, the rough plates of stone clinging to his flesh.

But not all his flesh.

The other blade whipped at him. Phillip snapped the umbrella open as he feigned a duck, his blinded foe snarling as his attack missed.

He caught Trato’s wrist in the hook of the umbrella and stretched the limb straight out, twisting around to pull the unicorn off-balance. He raised the waddy, the painted white faces of the wandjina raised to the gray sky, and smashed it down with a roar of “Bastard!”

His attack struck Trato’s elbow, where the armor was weakest. Bones cracked and broke and the unicorn bellowed in pain, dropping the sword.

A red beam struck Phillip like a truck and sent him sprawling back. He skidded across the asphalt as he fought to stay upright, the blistering heat fighting against the bubble of cool energy that surrounded him. He grunted and fought against the pressure, crushing him like a tidal wave; he tried to move, but it felt like trying to move through cement.

Phillip felt a warm pressure against his chest and grimaced: the ward carved into the layer of dragonscale armor was running out of power. Through the haze of the magic, he saw Trato advancing on him, his remaining sword drawn back to attack.

Swoop-CRACK!

Lightning crackled across the armored behemoth’s back and it sprawled with a grunt of pain, the lights in its eyes dimming; some of the fragments flew from its back, exposing his skin. Every head turned to face the attacker.

Her face drawn in concentration, her wings still bound by the magic rope, Daring drew back her whip once more, the leather cord hissing as it flew through the air.

Gather energy.

She felt the tingling of magic in her wings and pulled it in, stirred it in her gut like swirling clouds turning gray.

Focus will.

She took in a breath, taking in her rage, her pain, her desire to protect her friends from this bastard. She pushed the feelings down within her, mixing them with her magic, and pushed it out through her arm, down her hoof, and into the weapon. Lightning buzzed and crackled down the leather, dancing across the whip.

Channel spell.

With a yell that echoed off the walls of the block, Daring snapped her wrist. The whip uncoiled and struck Trato in his armored chest, the ear-splitting crack mixing with his scream of pain. Lightning exploded across his body and more of his armor crumbled away, revealing more of his chest and his head, his sword tumbling to the ground.

Instantly, Phillip was there, bashing at him with his waddy and his hooves as he kicked the sword out of reach. Trato backpedaled from the onslaught, desperately blocking every blow.

“Get him, Phil!” Flash cheered as he and Red continued trying to escape the net.

Trato snarled and fired another spell at Daring; the beam of magic twisted in midair and flopped to the ground as it formed into a great red serpent. It slithered towards Daring, hissing and baring its curved fangs.

Her eyes widening, Daring backed up, her heart leaping up into her throat and obstructing her rapid breath. She snapped her whip at the construct, but it dodged every blow, still advancing on her as she futilely tried to free her wings from the bindings.

Phillip jabbed at Trato, then swung at his skull with the waddy. His blow swooshed through the air as Trato ducked, and then the air was forced from Phillip’s lungs by a sledgehammer blow to the gut.

“Die!” Trato snapped, sweat running from his brow as he sent a left hook into Phillip’s jaw. Blood flew from Phillip’s lips as he staggered from the blows, stars dancing before his eyes. He dodged another swing out of luck more than skill, only to receive a foreleg to the gut, his armor the only thing saving him from more broken ribs, sending him stumbling.

Red light burned into his corneas. Phillip looked up to see Trato sneering down at him with those glowing green eyes, his horn glowing as he prepared a spell, face creased in concentration as he tried to force the magic through the appendage.

Phillip gritted his teeth, fighting through the pain, focusing only on the smooth, cold wood of the waddy in his hoof. He planted his hoof and pushed forward.

A scythe of crimson energy cut through the air. Phillip watched as if it was moving in slow motion, ducking beneath it, hissing as he felt the warmth pass over him.

Trato’s expression turned from a contemptuous sneer to shock; the horn sparked and flickered like a dying light, but it was too late.

Phillip roared out a war cry and swung for all he was worth. Thunder shook the air, mixing with a scream of agony.

Trato collapsed to the floor, his broken horn falling to the ground next to him. The emerald glow in his eyes faded away and what looked like a shadow flew from his body, dissipating into nothingness.

The net trapping Flash and Red disappeared, as did the snake construct and the rope binding Daring’s wings. Daring sighed with relief and hurried over to the others as Phillip sat down, grimacing and holding his burning ribs, pain rushing in as the adrenaline faded.

“Everypony okay?” Daring asked.

“I’m good,” Phillip nodded through a wince. “Flash?”

“We’re all right,” Flash said.

Phillip patted his vest, the warmth of the wards returning to a comfortable coolness as they recharged. “Thanks, Twilight,” he smiled.

A roar alerted them all. Trato Perfecto had staggered back to his hooves; his eyes, no longer glowing, were wide with the abandoned desperation of one with no hope. He lunged at Phillip, his hooves reaching for the earth stallion’s throat…

A gunshot pierced the air. Trato stumbled, looking down as if in disbelief at the red stain spreading across his chest. He looked up to stare openmouthed at Red Herring, who was slowly lowering his smoking .45 and reaching for his radio, his face cold.

“Dispatch, Rook Six. Ten-fifty-two at Ace in the Hole, one GSW and officer injured…”

With a groan, Trato Perfecto tumbled onto the ground, his blood slowly running out onto the asphalt.

Phillip bent down next to him, gently cradling his head. “Try to hang on,” he said. “Ambulance is on its way.”

“I’m dead anyway,” Trato grimaced through his gritted teeth, tears of both pain and fear leaking from his golden eyes. “No point.”

“Who hired you?” Phillip urged. “Come clean, mate. Who has the Rings?”

Trato Perfecto coughed, black blood running from his lips, and glared at his killers. “You have no idea what’s waiting for you,” he snarled. “What I’ve seen. What he’s capable of.”

“Who?” Phillip snarled.

Trato growled, but fear flickered in his golden eyes. “You haven’t won anything, Phillip Finder and Daring Do. He’s not finished with you.”

“But we’re finished with you,” Daring Do replied coldly.

The fear danced in Trato’s ear, slowly fading like a sunset dropping below the horizon. His body slumped over and relaxed; a final breath escaped him and Trato Perfecto was no more.

The four detectives stared down at the corpse in silence as approaching sirens sounded, the oncoming wails failing to drown out his final words.

The hooded unicorn grimaced in pain, clutching his head. Instantly the Plague Doctor was at his side, reaching out to help him up.

“I’m all right,” the master replied, shaking his head. He slowly stepped out of the salt circle, the white minerals stained red with blood. He cast a glance at the small bundle of orange hairs in the center of the circle.

“Is Trato--?” the earth pony asked hesitantly, clearly already knowing the answer.

“He wasn’t as strong as I thought,” the master stated. “And Phillip Finder and Daring Do were stronger than anticipated. We’ll need other measures to defeat them. But for now…” He glared at the earth pony. “We have other plans that you need to focus on.”

The bearded stallion nodded and adjusted his ascot. “Sí, señor.”

Author's Note

Sorry for the late publication, folks: spent most of the day visiting the folks back home.

That fight scene was a tricky one to choreograph: four on one is a lot of bodies to handle and making it seem fair is whole other thing entirely, but I put quite a bit of work into it and I hope you enjoyed it!

We're about to wrap up this case. Next week will be the sum-up, and after that...well, I think it's time we met a few more familiar faces. Until then, don't forget to like and comment!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Eight: Aftermath

“Let me get this straight,” Cold Case said, rubbing her forehead with a hoof. “You found one of the thieves who stole the Rings.”

“Yes,” Red Herring said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

“One of the only leads we had,” Cold continued icily.

“All due respect, ma’am, you weren’t there when he--” Red started to protest.

“One of the only ponies who knew anything about the Plague Doctor,” Cold pressed, notes of frustration entering her voice as she glared at the two stallions across the desk from her. “And you killed him. After he’d gotten his horn broken off.”

Flash glanced at his senior partner; the red pegasus scowled at the chief, his wings fluttering in agitation as he formulated his counterargument.

“Chief, we’re sorry,” Flash cut in. “He jumped at Phil and we thought he might still be a threat.”

Cold sighed and stared at the report in front of her, including photographs of Trato Perfecto’s hornless, bloodied corpse laid on a stretcher.

She paused over another photograph, this one taken of the umbrella with the hidden blade. “Where did he get that?” she mused aloud, chewing on the stem of her pipe in contemplation.

“He wasn’t there to pay off Moon Watch, that’s for damn sure,” Red Herring commented.

“Speaking of whom, has he said anything?” Cold asked.

“He started spilling his guts before we even got him in the cruiser,” Red replied. “He told him that Deal called him up and tried to hire him to help them steal the Rings. When he refused, Deal blackmailed him by threatening to blow the whistle on how he and his brother-in-law were involved in the Mob's smuggling ring and framed Fig Leaf for it so that he could keep his career.” Red snorted. “Prick.”

“He was the one who put a Confounding Potion in the coffee machine and put the jammer on the surveillance crystals,” Flash added. “But he only spoke to Trato; he didn’t know who the other stallion was, and he swears up and down that he didn’t know that the Plague Doctor was involved.”

“I believe that,” Cold nodded. She flipped through the last pages of the report, then closed the file and sighed, retrieving a bag of tobacco from the desk.

“I need you to review everything we have from the museum scene,” she instructed the two stallions. “Absolutely everything. Triple-check it. I’m sure Finder and Do are already on that. There’s got to be something that we missed, something that will give us a lead.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” Red muttered.

“He means we’re on it,” Flash said, quickly pulling Red out the door with an apologetic smile.

With a sigh, Cold lit up the bowl of her pipe with her magic, rotating her chair around to stare out the window of her office. Outside, the lights of Ponyville joined in the wake of the setting sun, orange light fading into darkness.

“Where are you?” she hissed aloud.

The only answer was a whisper of the wind outside the glass, sending a few of the last leaves of the year past her gaze, disappearing into the distance. Cold scowled and exhaled smoke.

“Hate to be whomever you’re mad at,” a female voice said from the door.

Cold Case turned around to see a tall charcoal gray unicorn mare in a brown bomber jacket with the cutie mark of an ornate torch standing at the doorway, removing her aviator sunglasses with her magic and pushing her fiery orange and gold mane over her shoulder as she gave Cold a small smile of greeting.

“Bea,” Cold said, allowing herself to feel a brief wave of relief wash over her at the mare’s arrival.

Lieutenant General Beacon Fire entered the office fully and walked into Cold’s embrace, greeting her with a kiss on the lips. “You look like you haven’t slept in days,” the general commented, looking Cold over.

“Feel like it, too,” Cold admitted, rubbing her worn face.

“Are Finder and Do all right?” Beacon asked, lifting up a briefcase with several locks on it. She dialed in a combination and unlocked it with a small key, opening the briefcase to reveal several files marked TOP SECRET in red.

“They’re both okay,” Cold nodded.

“They’re damn lucky,” Beacon said grimly. “Few ponies have taken on the Plague Doctor and lived to tell about it. You said that Twilight managed to isolate a sample of his toxin?”

“She did. I’m not sure how much help it’ll be, though,” Cold said.

“Anything helps, especially when it’s Shining’s sister,” Beacon said, trying to give Cold a smile, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “We barely have any samples of his toxin, and we're still working on figuring out most of the components."

She opened up one of the folders and scowled at the photograph within. The long-range photograph was blurry, taken from several yards away and through a window, but there was no mistaking the shape of the masked pony within.

“It’s been years and we still don’t know who he is,” Beacon scowled, staring at the picture of the Plague Doctor.

“And now he has the Rings of Scorchero,” Cold added.

“That’s not what worries me,” Beacon replied. “The Plague Doctor worked for Sombra. So who’s he working for now?”

The two mares looked at one another, then out the window into the encroaching darkness.

Silver Plate squinted, raising a hoof to shield his face as the sun struck his eyes. A crowd of reporters immediately swarmed in like a herd of vultures, assailing him with questions and flashing camera bulbs.

“Step aside, please, step aside,” Vinny Gamble urged the reporters, pushing them aside as he guided his client forward through the crowd.

“Ladies and gentleponies,” Detective Skybrush called from in front of the Trottingham Police Department doors, beckoning the scavengers over to him. “If you’ll all come over here, I’ll give you an official statement…”

The griffon caught the unicorn’s eye and gave him a small smile and an encouraging nod. Silver managed a feeble nod back as Vinny guided him into a waiting taxi.

Vinny sighed as he sagged into the seat next to him. “You ready to go back home?” he asked Silver.

Silver sighed. “It’s not gonna feel like home anymore,” he mumbled as the taxi pulled away from the station.

“You have someplace to go after this?” Vinny asked.

Silver puffed some of his stray mane out of his face. “Yeah, I’m bunking with a friend,” he said. “I’m looking to set up a place in Ponyville while I sell the rest of dad’s inventory.”

The taxi pulled up in front of the metal shop. The crime scene tape had been pulled away from the doors, but the windows were still dark, speaking to its abandonment.

“I know Dad wanted me to inherit the shop after he retired,” Silver said, staring at the little building like he was just seeing it for the first time. “But...I don’t know. I never really wanted to work in a shop.” He mopped his face as he and Vinny exited the cab, the former convict throwing some bits at the donkey driver.

“You know…” he said to Vinny. “The last time I was here, I had just finished yelling at my dad that he didn’t control my life. But now…” He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Now I’d give anything to take all that back.”

“I wasn’t on good terms with my dad most of my life, either,” Vinny admitted. “But in hindsight, I know that he loved me and was trying to make sure I was taking care of myself...in his own, distant, semi-manipulative way,” he said with a faint chuckle, earning a raised eyebrow from Silver.

“But anyway…” Vinny coughed, digging into his suit pockets. “I managed to find something that I think your dad would’ve wanted you to have.”

Silver’s eyes widened as he saw the item being extracted from Vinny’s pocket: a golden pocket watch with a deer engraved into the front.

“This was my favorite birthday present,” he said softly, accepting the gift. He opened up the face to find that the crystal-carved hands were still ticking away smoothly.

“Took me a while to track it down,” Silver shrugged.

“Why--?”

“Because I think your dad would’ve wanted you to keep it,” Vinny said, patting Silver on the shoulder. “Not just because it was a gift, but to remind you that he wouldn’t have wanted you to throw your life away gambling. Go out and make something of yourself, kid. You’ve got a long life ahead of you.”

Silver stared at the pocket watch, then slowly closed it, tears leaking from his eyes. “Thanks, Vinny,” he said quietly. “I will.”

“There are a couple other ponies you should be thanking, too,” Vinny commented, looking north. Far to the horizon, across the distant blue lines of the Maresippi, the spires of Ponyville reached up towards the gray sky.

The crowd of reporters shifted and murmured, pens and notepads held at the ready as they eagerly stared up at the stage of the Ponyville Police Department’s press conference room. In the hallway outside, Cold Case took a slow breath, adjusting her official uniform one last time.

“This will cause a panic,” Captain Hewn Oak said cautiously.

“I know,” Cold nodded. “But the ponies need to know.”

Oak puffed out a breath, one hoof stroking the beads of his rosary. “Alicorns preserve us,” he whispered. “May we beat the heretic scum from their nests before they can do any great harm.”

Cold Case looked to Beacon Fire, who had also dressed in her full uniform for the press conference, and nodded. Beacon nodded back and gave Cold Case a small pat on the arm.

The trio pushed the door open and were instantly assailed by a flurry of questions and shouts from the reporters. Keeping her spine stiff, Cold Case trotted up onto the stage and to the podium.

“Ladies and gentleponies, please settle down,” she said into the microphone, allowing a few moments for the reporters to quiet down and return to their seats. Up at the front, she recognized that kirin journalist in the midst of the crowd, sitting on the edge of her chair, notepad in her lap, pen floating in her blue magic.

“Two nights ago, on the evening of the 28th of the Moon of Frost, a group of at least three ponies broke into the Ponyville History Museum and stole two of the Rings of Scorchero. They were aided by a security guard whom they had bribed. We have since arrested the security guard and one of the thieves was killed when he attacked police officers.”

Cold paused, glancing at her two comrades that stood at her sides, then swallowed. “One of the thieves involved was the Plague Doctor,” she announced. “An assassin who worked for King Sombra during the Crystal War and is wanted internationally for murder.”

Instantly the salvos of questions came again, mixed with cries of alarm and panic.

“We are doing everything in our power to find the Plague Doctor and his associates,” Cold Case spoke over them. “The military, represented by Lieutenant General Beacon Fire, will be aiding us in our search. But we must also warn the public to be on the lookout for the Plague Doctor. From descriptions, he is a male yellow pegasus about three foot one inches tall with red eyes. He may have an affinity with birds and may have a cutie mark or special talent related to it.

“We must warn the public; the Plague Doctor is extremely dangerous,” Cold continued, noting that she was gripping the podium tightly with both hooves. “He has killed at least thirty ponies. We do not know who he is, or what he wants, but I do know this: we’re gonna find that son of a bitch, and he will pay for everything he’s done.”

She took a breath and fought down the chill that ran up her spine. “Now, we will take your questions…”

“Yona sorry,” the yak said, staring at the table. “Yona already told Detective all Yona saw.”

Phillip sighed and glanced down at his notepad. There were barely any notes written on the sheet, the blankness staring back as if mocking him.

“It’s all right, Yona,” he said, closing the notepad. “You did a bloody brave thing, going in there with them. Matter of fact, you probably saved their lives, breaking that ward.”

“How yaks solve problems,” Yona declared proudly. “Smash problem!”

Phillip smiled wryly. “Wish we could do that to the Plague Doctor.”

“Detectives will find him! And if they need Yona help, Yona will come help!” the young yak declared proudly. “Be glad to smash Plague Doctor for friends!”

Phillip actually let out a small laugh at her enthusiasm. “Definitely keep you in mind, sheila,” he said as he stood and exited the interview room.

His smile quickly faded as he headed down the hall to the conference room. Entering with a sigh, he flopped down into an empty seat around the table.

“You didn’t find anything useful at the lab?” Phillip asked Twilight, wiping his face.

“There has to be something!” Twilight protested, flipping through the disorganized pile of files in front of her. “Some clue, something that tells us who he is or how he makes that toxin or--!”

“Twilight,” Flash cut in, placing a placating hoof on her shoulder. “If there’s anything there, you’re going to find it, okay?”

Twilight took a few deep breaths and slowed down, reexamining her notes. “The fire destroyed almost everything in the Plague Doctor’s lab,” she reported. “Most of what we found are chemical traces. I’m comparing them to your blood samples to see if I can learn more about the toxin’s composition. Lieutenant General Fire will be helping me.”

“We’re putting pressure on every contact in the Industry Kings we have, but they’re not talking,” Red commented. “They’re more scared of this freak than they are of us. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“These Rings,” Phillip said slowly. “Guessing they’re more than just money.”

“If the legends are real, those rings are part of an ancient superweapon,” Daring said with a frown. “And this freak has at least two of them.”

They all turned towards the whiteboard at the end of the room. Photographs and notes were tacked up onto the board; pictures from the crime scenes, Curveball’s corpse with his slit throat, Moon Watch’s body crumpled in the street, images of the Rings.

And in the center of it all, the Plague Doctor, glaring out at the world through his healer’s mask.

“We’ll find him,” Phillip said grimly. “We will.”

Author's Note

Beacon Fire belongs to TheLegendaryBillCipher and first appeared in his story Ponyville Noire: Frost and Fire, which I have officially given my canon stamp of approval!

And so ends the first case of this volume. Can't really call this a great victory, but we at least got an innocent pony out of prison and have picked up the trail of a dangerous thief and murderer. Where do we go from here?

You'll just have to wait until next week to find out, reader! Until then, please be sure to leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed!

Case Twenty, Prologue: Interrogation

The mare woke up with a gasp to be greeted with complete darkness, so thick it felt like a blanket over her. She tried to sit up, but her head spun violently and she fell back with a moan, feeling the cold metal slab pressing up against her back.

“What..what the fuck…” she slurred, shaking her head with a moan. As her head slowly cleared, her mind went back to earlier. The phone call telling him he was home at last...driving out to the cottage...getting him in her arms once more, all his friends laughing...taking him out to the wheat fields and making love beneath the stars...he’d dropped her off at the apartment, promising to see her again the next day after work…

The cut on her face stung in protest. The cut that she’d received the moment that she stepped out of the car in front of her apartment. She’d looked up just in time to see the black wings flying away, and then…

With a grunt, the mare tried to sit up again, only for her progress to be halted by thick straps that bound her limbs to the table. She grunted as she struggled, but her bonds refused to budge. She tried to force magic to her horn, but nothing happened; she felt as though the energy was being blocked by a wall that she couldn't push through no matter how much will she pressed against it.

“Hey!” she called out into the darkness, trying to squint enough to distinguish shapes. “Who’s there?! What the fuck do you want with me?!”

Blinding light stabbed her in the eyes and she flinched with a grunt. Hoofsteps sounded from beyond, pausing by her side.

“You are Rough Diamond?” a stallion’s voice came, hot breath reeking of coffee and aftershave.

Diamond coughed on the miasma, turning to squint at her interrogator. “Who the fuck are you?” she snarled.

The pale emerald eyes stared down at her coolly. “Listen to me carefully, señora,” he said, tone as dispassionate as one who is instructing another how to fix a sink. “Mi amigo is going to come in in a few moments. He’s going to ask you about Winged Key.”

Rough Diamond’s heart retreated deep into her gut; every throbbing pulse made her stomach churn. “I...I haven’t seen or spoken to him in moons!” she protested. “Whatever he did--”

“He stole something that belonged to us,” the stallion cut her off. “We need it back. And we know that he's in Ponyville.”

A mirage of the painting of a strange stallion in front of a mirror flashed before Diamond's eyes.

“He’s not!” Rough Diamond protested, straining against her bonds, her accelerating heart giving her desperate strength. “I don’t know where he--!”

A hoof against her neck cut off her arguments and her air, making her gag as she was forced back down onto the slab that she was strapped to.

“You are lying.” The stallion’s voice was as cold as the metal that pressed against her back as he removed his hoof. “I am offering you mercy, Señora Diamond. Mi amigo is...most unpleasant in his methods, and I do not wish to see a beautiful mare tortured. We know where he is. We just can't get to him. Help us get what we want and nothing need happen to you.”

Rough Diamond was left gasping for air long after the pressure of her interrogator’s hoof was removed, as if the darkness itself was choking her. “I...I swear, I don’t...I don’t know where K-Key is…” Tears stung her eyes. “P-please, I don’t know--”

“Hmm,” the stallion murmured, then sighed. “Perhaps you are telling the truth. But we’ll know for sure soon.”

A door opened and shut. More hoofsteps entered, moving around in the darkness to Rough’s other side. She squinted at the approaching shape, then her eyes widened in horror.

“No!” she pleaded, squirming in her bonds, trying to get away from the masked face that was emerging from the shadows. “No! Please don’t!”

There was no mercy in the crimson eyes. He bent over her, his breath coming muffled as he studied her up and down. Like she was a bug on a slide.

He held up a photo. Diamond's eyes widened as they took in the three-story brown cottage in the fields, two stallions smoking at the head of the dirt drive and a mare standing on the balcony over the front doors.

"He's not there!" Diamond protested, shaking her head frantically. "He's not there, I don't know where--!"

His hoof went to the bandolier and extracted a syringe of pale yellow liquid. His hoof clamped down on her foreleg, pinning it like an iron weight as she continued to futilely squirm away.

“Please!” Rough screamed as the tip of the syringe lowered towards her flesh.

There was a click from the distance; a glance up revealed to Rough that the brown earth stallion from before was now standing behind a camera set up on a tripod. He looked at her over the viewfinder, then turned away in distaste.

Rough Diamond gasped in shock as the needle pierced her flesh. She started sobbing as the yellow liquid was flushed from the glass container.

Then she started screaming.

Author's Note

Hope that little taste put you in the mood for this mystery, dear readers.

Not much to say about this, just that I hope you liked it and to please leave a like and a comment!

Case Twenty, Chapter One: Special Delivery

Snow was falling from the gunmetal grey sky, melting against the condensation-frosted windows of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street. Daring Do wiped the window with a wing and stared out into the backyard, frowning as white flecks clung to the branches of the cherry tree, which stood resolute even as the snow blanketed the ground around for inches. Strings of colored lights hung from the bare branches, blinking on and off; beyond the gates, the neighbors' houses were all decorated for the season with lights, wreaths, and statues of reindeer and Santa Hooves.

She turned back to her current project. Placed upon the wall, right next to the small plastic Hearth's Warming tree, was a large poster board. Covering its surface were newspaper clippings secured by tacks. At the center was a section of the front page of the Foal Free Press from last week.

Rings of Scorchero Stolen by Plague Doctor! the bold type declared, with a photograph of the front of the Ponyville History Museum beneath it. Right next to it was another clipping from the Applewood Bugler that declared that an archeological site in the desert had been ransacked in the night, with a half-buried stagecoach having been broken into, its century-old contents removed. Rumors abounded that said stagecoach had been transporting a cursed necklace.

More such headlines were pinned to the board: gold coins stolen from a collector in Griffonia, a museum shipment that had gone missing en route to Mareland, and an archeological dig in Prance that had been ransacked during the night, both the night watchponies found dead amidst the uncovered graves.

“You don’t know if all of those are the same thieves,” Phillip pointed out from the experiment table. He bent back up from the microscope that his eye had been jammed into for the past hour, rubbing his face as he replaced the slide with the soil sample back in its plastic bag. He turned to the phonograph next to the table, removing the record that had ended and placing it back in its sleeve.

“Which is why I sent out all those telegraphs asking for more info,” Daring pointed out. “Besides, I’m at least doing something productive instead of going over some ashes for the tenth time.”

Phillip put another record into the machine and set the needle into the groove before answering. “My focus is on here and now,” he replied as a piano and trumpet duet began to croon a slow blues rendition of Let it Snow. “On evidence, not on theories.”

“You’d have better luck finding a still-living Ahuizotl than finding anything useful from that fire,” Daring scoffed. “And you know it. It’s been a week now.”

Phillip sighed and stared out the window for several long seconds of silence. “Bugger it all, you’re right,” he finally admitted. “But we’ve got nothing on the Plague Doctor and the Ring thieves. There’s gotta be something we missed.”

“Well, we’re not gonna find it by banging our heads against a wall,” Daring replied.

Her eyes roamed over to the pile of letters and telegraphs on the table. “Shit, forgot about the mail,” she muttered, heading over to the table.

“Oh, right,” Phillip said, looking at the post as if he had just noticed it was there. “Got so busy that I forgot about it, too.”

Daring panned through the mail, tossing aside some junk envelopes and setting aside a few bills. She opened up the other envelopes and scanned the contents.

“Okay…” she said. “Some rich heiress in Canterlot wants our help finding her diamond necklace. Probably lost it in the sheets.”

“Pass,” Phillip grunted.

“Filly from the Everfree District wants us to help find her missing bunny. She says she doesn’t have much money, but she’ll bake us a cake if we come to help…”

“If we can find time, maybe,” Phillip nodded.

“Yeah, she had me at the cake,” Daring affirmed with a small smile. “All right, inmate at Clovenworth wants us to help with her appeal, claims she’s innocent...oh, wait, I know her. Asshole bragged about all the cons she pulled on a weekly basis.” She crumpled the letter up and threw it into the trash.

“Shit, this telegraph is from yesterday. From Las Pegasus,” she declared, holding up the missive. She scanned it, then passed it to Phil. “You know this guy?”

Phillip’s eyes widened as they went to the signature. “Crikey, I haven’t heard from him in ages,” he said, reading the message.

Heard you fought Plague Doctor STOP will be in Ponyville by next train from Las Pegasus STOP need your help with theft of painting STOP believe thief is heading to Ponyville STOP believe this to be same group that stole rings STOP looking forward to seeing you STOP Agent Flame Strider

“So who’s Flame Strider?” Daring asked.

“An RBI agent, and an old mate,” Phillip replied. “We worked together on a case in Neigh Orleans in ‘47, one of my first cases as a PI.” He glanced at his watch. “And if I’m right, he should be here…”

The doorbell rang. “Right about now,” Phillip said with a small smile, standing.

He opened up the door to reveal a tall white stallion with the cutie mark of a flaming shield crowned with an iron helmet, snow melting off his tan trenchcoat. A thick briefcase was tucked beneath one wing. His sunset scarlet eyes, the same color as his mane and tail, twinkled with humor as he extended his hoof to Phillip.

“Got my message, I see,” the stallion grinned.

“Ripper to see you, Strider,” Phillip smiled, pumping the stallion’s hoof. “Get in here.”

He led the stallion inside and closed and latched the door behind him. “Daring, meet Flame Strider,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” Strider smiled at her, taking off his trenchcoat and hanging it up. Beneath the coat was a shoulder holster carrying an 1877 Hayfield revolver and the golden badge of the Royal Bureau of Investigation.

“Likewise,” Daring nodded. “But I’m guessing that this isn’t just a social call.”

“It isn’t,” Strider replied, dropping down onto the sofa and opening up the briefcase beneath his wing. “When I heard in the papers that you two fought the Plague Doctor, I couldn’t believe it.”

“Take that bloody basilisk over him any day, mate,” Phillip muttered.

Daring’s eyes widened. “Wait. You two fought a basilisk together?!”

“Swamp witch running a cult out of Neigh Orleans used it as a guard dog,” Phillip grunted. “Long story, tell you later.”

“Anyway,” Strider interrupted. “The Bureau’s been investigating the thefts of several magical artifacts over the past few years.” He glanced at the sideboard with the headlines pinned to it. “I see you were looking into some of those, too.”

“There, see? Not a waste of time,” Daring declared, sticking her tongue out at Phil.

“We think it’s the work of the same gang,” Strider said, taking folders and files out of the briefcase. “And we think we know who the leader is.”

He pulled out a thick file and opened it up. On the very front page was a mug shot of a brown earth pony stallion with green eyes and a salt and pepper mane, stubble accentuating his scowl. His cutie mark was a golden skull with gems inlaid into the eyeholes.

“Doctor Caballeron,” Daring read from the file. “Originally a doctor in archeology and ancient history from Mexicolt...kicked out of university...convicted of grave robbery and forging artifacts...released in 1938, moved to the Crystal Empire...hired by Cuore University, was involved in several archeological expeditions during the war...disappeared in 1944, suspected in many other thefts since then.”

“A pony matching his description was seen around several of the thefts,” Strider explained, taking out a stack of photographs. Most of them were surveillance crystal stills--a museum in Mareland, an antique store in Appleloosa, and a bar in Prance. All of them had a single pony circled: a brown earth pony stallion with green eyes. He always wore clothes to cover his cutie mark, his mane and tail were often different colors and styles, but upon closer inspection, the detectives could see that they were all the same pony: the shape of the jaw and ears, as well as the build and height, were all enough of an indicator.

“Wait a minute…” Daring whispered, squinting at a close-up image of the disguised Caballeron talking to the archeologists in the Prench bar, smiling beneath his false mustache.

“What is it?” Phillip asked.

Daring’s face creased into a snarl. “Martingale. At the museum. Son of a bitch, he was right in front of me!”

“He contracts with several local thugs, but there are a few that follow him around,” Strider continued, taking out more photographs. “I think you met this one.”

Phillip scowled at the image of the blue unicorn frowning at the camera, his orange mane hanging over his face. “Yeah. We did,” he grunted. “You mentioned the Las Pegasus theft. Heard some paintings were stolen from a casino three days ago.”

“Right,” Strider nodded, taking out a manila folder. “The paintings were stolen from the Trailblazer Club. And we know that Caballeron was involved; we’ve got him on camera here.”

He held up another still that showed a bar set next to an open gambling pit with green felt tables set up everywhere. Sure enough, there was a dark brown earth pony in a suit and pants sitting at the bar, green eyes frowning from underneath a low cap.

“The paintings were stolen during an arson fire,” Strider explained. “A disguised worker set a fire in the generator room that spread through most of the lower floors. During the panic, some thieves disguised as firefighters came in and unhooked the paintings. We caught one of the thieves and he turned on the others. He identified Caballeron from a photo lineup and we recognized one other stallion he described.”

He pulled out another mugshot, this one of a dark gold pegasus stallion with a rusty orange beard and the cutie mark of a set of keys with wings. A green, white, and orange flag was tattooed on his right foreleg, with the motto “Éirinn go Brách” written in golden letters beneath it.

“Winged Key,” Strider said. “Long rap sheet for burglary and B&E, ties to the Mareish Mob. He was identified as one of the thieves who helped carry the paintings out.”

“And you think he came to Ponyville?” Phillip asked.

“Yes,” Strider nodded. “The thief we captured helped us find the car that Winged used to get away from the casino, and we found some train ticket stubs to Ponyville inside. Plus, we know he has a marefriend here. Maybe we can get something out of her.”

“Good luck,” Daring snorted. “The Mareish Mobsters are all as loyal as brothers. You might get more info out of a brick wall.”

“We still have to try,” Strider pointed out.

“Need to know everything first,” Phillip stated. “You have the full case file?”

“Watch this,” Strider grinned, opening up another case file. He flipped through to a set of crime scene photos, which he spread out on the table. Then he took a device that looked like a small instant camera and scanned the photographs with it, then set the device faceup on the table.

The lens began to blink with a green light, then glowed: three-dimensional color recreations of the crime scene were projected from the lens into the air, slowly spinning.

“Oooh,” Phillip said, his eyes widening.

“The Bureau gets the best toys,” Strider grinned.

“Twilight did something similar to this,” Daring commented.

“Yes, R&D based this off of her notes that she submitted last summer,” Strider confirmed.

As Phil and Strider began to use the simulation to walk through the crime, Daring flipped through the file and found a list of the paintings that had been stolen, quickly scanning it. She scoffed at the price tags, which were all in the six digits.

“Four hundred fifty thousand bits for water lilies?” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “Who the hell decides the price tags on…”

She trailed off, her eyes widening as she spotted a familiar name on the list.

Not to Be Remade by Ariste Fou. Value $650,000

“Oh, no,” Daring groaned, closing her eyes.

“What?” Phillip asked, looking up from the holographic projection.

Daring held out the list, pointing to the familiar name. Phillip glanced at it, then closed his eyes. “Of course,” he muttered.

The green unicorn tossed a bit coin to himself, frowning and chewing on his crimson beard as he stared at the painting tacked up on the wall. The image showed a black unicorn stallion staring at a mirror on a mantelpiece, but his reflection showed the back of his head instead of his face.

“I don’t get it,” Coin Toss muttered.

“Me neither,” the dark gold pegasus grunted. “But that’s the painting that they wanted.”

Coin Toss pocketed the coin he was tossing. “Rumors must be true; that doc must not be the full shilling after all if he really wants this thing,” he said. “But if he wants it, he’ll have to share.”

“You should’ve seen some of the shit that they’ve got, boss,” Winged Key grinned. “If I told you half of it, you’d swear that I was codding you.”

“Might be what we need for the Mareish Mob to finally get on top,” Coin nodded. “If he wants to be a moran and not play fair, we’ll do it this way.”

“Soon we’ll be running Ponyville,” Winged Key beamed. “Maybe we’ll soon be running the monarchy out of Mareland! We--”

His dreams were interrupted by the door slamming open. A skinny orange colt with wheat-colored mane burst into the room, his face pale, gulping for air like a fish out of water.

“What’s wrong, Flax?” Coin Toss asked.

Flax took a gasp and slapped an envelope onto the table. "A bird dropped this in front of the house," he said, looking at Winged Key. "It's...it's Diamond."

Coin Toss opened up the envelope and shook out the contents. His and Key’s eyes widened as they stared at the photographs within. "Oh, no," Key whispered.

A pale blue unicorn mare, her white mane splashed across her face, strapped down to a table, mouth open in a silent scream. Her emerald eyes stared at the camera, terror glowing within them.

But next to her was a figure in dark blue, glaring at the camera, red eyes blazing with hate from behind the lens of his mask.

“Is that…?” Winged Key breathed.

“Oh, bugger me,” Coin Toss whispered.

He turned over one of the photographs to discover that three words had been scrawled onto the other side.

GIVE IT BACK

Author's Note

There is totally not any foreshadowing in this chapter.

Flame Strider belongs to my good friend Olakaan Pellik; you can read about his adventures, including the aforementioned teamup with Phil, in Strider!

Not to Be Remade is based on Not to Be Replicated by Rene Magritte. You might recognize the name Artiste Fou; if you need a refresher, please refer back to Case Seven in Kriegspiel.

Anyway, lots of setup in this chapter. I hope you're looking forward to what comes next!

Case Twenty, Chapter Two: Running Errands

“Oh, hey,” Daring commented, looking up at the red brick building on the corner of Rosebud and Oakfield. “This is my old apartment building. Wonder if Abigail is still the landlady.”

Strider hopped off the trolley, glancing down at the photograph that he’d extracted from the case file before the trio had set off on their journey. “Do you recognize her?” he asked, holding the pic out to her.

Daring studied the mugshot from 1938, frowning at the image of the pale blue then-eighteen unicorn mare with the long white mane that shaded her verdant eyes, scowling up at the camera. A close-up of her cutie mark revealed it to be an uncut sapphire stuck inside a stone.

“No,” Daring shook her head as the three headed for the door, snow crunching beneath their hooves. “I’m guessing she moved in after I was gone.”

Phillip checked the mailboxes posted at the front of the building. “She lives in 16,” he reported, pushing open the front door to reveal a dingy lobby with a flickering lightbulb.

The three investigators kicked the snow off their hooves and headed up the stairs, rounding the corner to the third floor and heading down the hall. Daring glanced briefly at number twelve as they passed with a frown, but said nothing as they reached number sixteen.

Phillip knocked at the door, but there was no answer from within. “Rough Diamond!” he barked, knocking harder. There was still no answer.

The door next to them opened and a sleepy-looking thestral peeked out. “What’s going on?” she mumbled.

“Sorry,” Phillip apologized. “We’re looking for Rough Diamond.”

The thestral blinked. “She’s not there? Weird. Her car was on the street outside when I got here half an hour ago. She’s usually gone by now; works at a jewelry store.”

“Which car is hers?” Phillip asked.

“The white coupe,” the thestral yawned. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to bed.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded as the thestral closed the door.

They descended the stairs and exited onto the street. “There it is,” Strider declared, pointing at the pure white Buck Nine Coupe sitting on the side of the road.

Daring frowned at the vehicle as they trotted up. “The driver’s door is unlocked,” she observed, her eyes darting to a dark red blemish on the white coat of paint. “Is that…?”

“Blood,” Phillip confirmed, bending down to study the drops. “Daring?”

“Cast-off pattern,” Daring said, analyzing the long streaks. “But it’s only one small wound...made by a moving object at about Diamond’s head height.”

“More blood down there,” Strider said, pointing at the dark red droplets mixed into the snow, nearly obliterated by the multiple overlapping trails of hoofprints.

“Larger droplets are from when she was first cut,” Phillip said, one hoof tracing the path that led up the sidewalk away from the car. “Then small droplets here...from when she fell down.”

“Somepony ambushed her when she was getting out,” Daring deduced. “Scratched her, drugged her, and carried her off.” She glanced at Phil. “You thinking that it might be somepony with a Nightmare Night mask?”

“Plague Doctor,” Phillip confirmed.

Daring looked up at the pole on the corner, frowning at the two surveillance crystals mounted atop it. “If we could get a view of those…”

“I got it,” Strider announced with a smirk, digging around in his pockets. He pulled out a circular stone with runes carved around the circumference and a blue lens set in the center. He held the stone up to the surveillance crystal; the runes around the circumference began to blink and glow pale green.

A moment later, a swirling image appeared within the lens; the three ponies standing in the street, staring at the circular stone. Phillip let out an admiring whistle.

“Told you the Bureau gets the best toys,” Strider grinned, tapping one of the runes. The image began to rewind, going back to last night. The three watched as the white coupe pulled up to the curb. The white-maned unicorn climbed out of the car, a smile on her face as her hooves crunched into the snow.

As soon as she set hoof on the ground, the image stuttered and froze, like a film with a misaligned reel. When the image resumed playback, there was no sign of the mare, though a closer inspection revealed that there was fresh blood upon the door of the car and the sidewalk.

“Damn,” Phillip grunted. “He used some kind of jammer to block the signal.”

“No telling where he went with her,” Daring sighed.

“Maybe not…” Strider thought aloud, looking up at the other crystal, then at a street lamp standing on the street behind the coupe. He tapped a few runes on the stone and another image appeared, this one the view of the other crystal, facing down the other corner.

He rewound the image to last night, to Diamond’s abduction. As the trio of detectives watched, they saw the faint shadow of Diamond stretching across the sidewalk, just inside the crystal’s field of view.

As they watched, Diamond’s shadow stumbled, then tumbled to the ground. The shadow of another pegasus swooped down from the sky, tossing Diamond over its shoulder, then taking off and flying over the crystals, followed by the mirage of a raven.

“He went…” Daring took a moment to reorient herself. “West. Not much, but it’s a clue. We might be able to get more from other crystals.”

“Aces, Strider,” Phillip smiled, patting Strider on the shoulder. He glanced around with a frown. “Should get an APB out on Rough Diamond. I’ll call the police.”

“But after that, we should speak to the Mareish Mob,” Strider suggested as Phillip headed over to a callbox and grabbed it, speaking into the phone. “They might be more willing to talk now.”

“Here’s hoping. Coin Toss might be at McNeighley’s by now,” Daring commented. She glanced at Strider and a grin spread across her face. “How fast are you, Strider?”

“Pretty fast,” Strider replied, stretching his wings out. “My daughter is a Wonderbolts hopeful; I’ve had to work to keep up with her.”

“Think you can keep up with me?” Daring smirked.

Strider cocked an eyebrow. “I might be able to,” he replied.

“I’ll carry him,” Daring replied, tilting her head at Phil as he started to return to them. “You need the handicap.”

“You’re on!” Strider grinned.

“What--?” Phillip glanced back and forth between the two grinning pegasi and his eyes widened. “Oh, no. No, Daring--”

His sentence was cut off by a scream and the laughter of two pegasi as they swooped into the sky.

The two pegasi sailed over the Everfree District and swooped down as they spotted their target: a squat little bar that sat at the end of the block. A flickering neon sign of a four-leaved clover stood over the door. Beneath it in gold was the name “McNeighley’s.” Daring landed first with a triumphant laugh, with Strider mere moments behind.

“So how come you let her carry you, but not me?” Strider smirked as Phillip was deposited on the snowy sidewalk, glaring at them both.

“Because I don’t give him a choice,” Daring grinned, booping her unamused husband.

“Strider, might be best if you wait outside,” Phillip said, staring at the front of the bar. “You know how Mareish feel about feds.”

“Good point,” Strider admitted, pausing outside the door.

“Ready?” Phillip asked Daring.

“As always,” Daring nodded.

The door jingled over their heads as they entered the bar. It was the same as they remembered; same huge bar manned by three bartenders, same green and gold lanterns hanging over the round tables, same image of a green, white, and orange stallion trampling Princess Celestia while calling for rebels to join up in the name of a free Mareland. The bandstand in the corner was currently deserted.

The conversation ground to a halt as soon as the two detectives entered, stamping snow off their hooves to join the slush around the door. The eyes of every inhabitant tracked their progress as they headed up to the bar. The sound of scraping chairs and stools sounded in their wake as their occupants got up, glancing over their shoulders as they bustled out the door.

“We’ll have two Manticore Rares, straight, and a word with Coin Toss,” Daring said to the closest bartender, a pale donkey with an orange goatee.

“We don’t serve coppers,” the bartender growled at her, baring his teeth; his golden incisors glinted in the light.

“You might want to rethink that,” Daring replied, leaning forward. “We know about Winged Key and about that painting from Las Pegasus,” she hissed into his ear.

The burro leaned back a little, his eyebrows rising. He glanced at his two colleagues, one of whom nodded and reached beneath the bar for a phone. The unicorn dialed in a number and turned away. Phil's ear flicked towards the unicorn. shutting out all other noise and focusing only on his target's voice.

"Get the boss," the bartender muttered into the phone. A muffled voice protested. "Yes, I know that she's been kidnapped," the bartender grumbled back. "Tell him that he needs to stop looking at that stupid painting and talk to me."

The unicorn glanced back over his shoulder and glared at Phillip, who returned his gaze evenly. The bartender turned back to the phone, covering his hoof with his mouth to muffle his voice as he spoke into the receiver.

After a few moments, he nodded and gave an “Okay, boss” before hanging up.

“He’ll be on his way down,” he reported with a scowl. “Wait here.”

“Thanks,” Daring grinned. “Now, how about those drinks?”

“Feck off,” the burro snarled.

The duo sat at the bar in awkward silence, staring around the bar. The other occupants glared at them sullenly, eyes quickly darting away to avoid actual contact. Hooves clutched drinks tightly, hooves shuffled in place.

Daring glanced at a couple of unicorns at a table next to them. Her scarlet eyes met both of theirs and locked onto them; the three silent contenders fixed their masks of neutrality.

After a few moments, Daring smirked. The unicorns both blinked, then glanced at each other. A moment later, they both stood up and shuffled out the door, the bell jingling overhead. Several other ponies hurriedly finished their drinks and followed them out, leaving McNeighley's nearly deserted in their wake.

“Heh,” Daring said, maintaining her smirk.

The clock had traveled a full ninety degrees before the bell over the door jingled and a green unicorn with a red beard and the cutie mark of two gold coins with four-leaved clovers stamped on them came in, shaking snow from his mane. He made his way up to the bar, scowling all the way.

“Coin,” Phillip said coolly.

“C’mon,” the mob boss grunted to them, tilting his head towards a door in the back.

The three ponies proceeded down the hall to a small office with the flag of Mareland hung up on the back. Coin gestured them into two of the chairs as he himself sat down at the head of the table.

“Right. Let’s start with what you know,” he said, steepling his hooves and placing his chin upon them.

“Winged Key,” Phillip said, frowning back at the boss. “He’s here. Or at least the Plague Doctor thinks he is.”

Coin Toss had an excellent poker face, but the faint flicker of terror in his eyes told Phillip all he needed to know.

“And we know that he took that painting from Las Pegasus,” Phillip continued. “Guessing the Plague Doctor wants it bad. And we know that he took Rough Diamond.”

Coin Toss looked back and forth between the two ponies for several long moments of silence, tapping his hooves together.

“Coin,” Phillip said. “A mare’s life is at stake. You told me once you understood the importance of duty. You have one to your men; to keep them and their loved ones safe. For her sake, help us.”

Coin frowned in contemplation, then sighed. “Okay,” he puffed. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I know about this Winged Key and this painting. What would you have me do?”

“The smart thing: give the painting back,” Phillip said.

Coin raised an eyebrow. “Not what I would’ve expected out of a lawpony such as yourself, Finder,” he pointed out.

“Give us the painting,” Phillip said. “We can put a tracking spell on the painting, follow it to the doctor’s hideout. Get him and the mare back.”

Coin’s brow furrowed. “And what about Winged Key?” he asked. “Sounds like the lad just made a stupid mistake.”

“We can discuss that later,” Phillip replied. “Getting Rough Diamond back safely is the priority.”

“And doing whatever we can to track down that masked psychopath,” Daring replied.

“Help us out with this,” Phillip replied. “And we’ll consider letting Winged Key walk for this.”

Coin looked back and forth between them a few times, pulling a coin out of his vest and tossing it a couple of times. He slapped it onto his hoof and glanced at it.

“Right,” he nodded. “I’ll have the painting brought to you.”

“Better plan,” Daring said. “How about you take us to wherever you’ve got it stashed.”

“Don’t act the maggot,” Coin replied. “These wankers have got to be watching me and the tavern. Bringing it here is just gonna get my ponies killed.”

Before either detective could protest, Coin Toss grabbed the phone and spun a number into it. After a few moments of ringing, there was a click as the line picked up.

“Bring the painting to the market. Pass it on to the detectives,” Coin ordered. The voice on the other side seemed to protest in confusion. “No, I know what I’m doing,” Coin replied. “Leg it down pronto. And keep him safe.”

He hung up the phone. “There. That’s that, eh?” he smiled at Phillip and Daring.

Daring just grunted. “Were you given any instructions for the drop-off?”

“We were instructed to put it in the mailbox on the corner of Lily and Fancy by ten tonight,” Coin replied. “They’re gonna know that something’s fishy unless it’s one of us, you know.”

“We’ll put a tracking spell on the painting and give it back to you here,” Daring replied. “Once we’re done coordinating with the police.”

Coin frowned and opened his mouth to protest. “Remember that you’re doing this to get Rough Diamond back,” Phillip cut in.

Coin stared at him for a moment, spinning his coin on the table for a moment, then huffed and repocketed the bit. “Fair’s fair,” he admitted.

“Your friend better be at the market,” Daring declared, rising.

“Grand,” Coin Toss deadpanned as the detectives exited.

Phillip and Daring left the bar and stood out on the sidewalk.

“How’d it go?” Strider asked, leaning against the wall.

“He says he’s gonna have somepony bring the painting down to the market,” Phillip said, looking over the cars parked on the street in front of the bar. “Which one is Coin’s car?”

“The white one,” Strider replied, nodding at the four-door in front of them. “What did he ask for in return?”

“That we don’t go after Winged Key,” Daring replied, scanning the streets up and down for any sign of surveillance. She glared at a pair of sparrows sitting on a power line, but the two birds seemed to be more interested in chirping at each other than her.

Strider frowned. “He stole that painting, and he may have information on the Plague Doctor,” he protested. “Letting him off--”

“We said we wouldn’t go after him,” Daring said with a grin. “Didn’t say anything about you.”

Strider blinked, then half-smirked for a moment before his frown returned. “You don’t really trust him, do you?”

“No further than I could throw a train, but right now, we don’t have a lot of other options,” Daring replied, watching Phillip as he bent down next to Coin’s car. “What’s up?”

“Interesting,” Phillip muttered, his eyes sweeping over the tires, scraping off some of the dirt embedded beneath the treads and studying it in his hoof. “Fresh dirt samples are the same as Diamond’s car.” He plucked at a leaf that had gotten stuck in the rear windshield wiper: a vivid red five-pointed leaf tinged with yellow veins. “Hmm,” he mused, pocketing the leaf.

“Detectives!” a voice called.

The trio looked up to see a white limousine pulling up to the side of the road. The rear window rolled down and a pale yellow crystal pony with a white and amber beard leaned out the window, smoothing out his expensive brown suit.

“Signor Dorata,” Phillip nodded, approaching the millionaire.

“Good to see you again,” the crystal pony nodded. “I never got to thank you properly for saving me from those kidnappers.”

“Part of the job,” Phillip replied, casting a glance at the driver of the limousine. The pale blue crystal unicorn gave him a brief, neutral glance in the rearview mirror. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was in a meeting with the sanitation union,” Dorata explained, tapping a cigarette into an ashtray filled with pale grey, fluffy ash. “The union heads are up for election and I wanted to know which ones to back. What are you doing here?”

“Police business,” Phillip replied.

“I see,” Dorata nodded. “How are you getting along with finding the Rings of Scorchero?”

“We’ll find the thieves. No wuckas,” Phillip reassured him.

“I feel somewhat responsible,” the crystal pony sighed. “I helped fund the expedition that found the rings, and I gave money to the Ponyville History Museum to open that exhibit. If I had known how dangerous they were…” He sighed. “I thought I’d made a fortune.”

“You didn’t know about the rings before funding the exhibition?” Phillip asked.

“No, I funded it out of goodwill; the expedition was just a search for remnants in the Tenochtitlan Basin. I didn’t even know what the rings were before I heard that they’d been discovered three months ago,” Dorata admitted. “I just thought that they were gold rings.” He sighed, then gave a brief shudder. “I suppose having the Il Dottore della Peste steal it taught us all differently. Take care of yourselves.”

“Thanks,” Phillip nodded, stepping back as the window rolled up and the limousine moved on.

Daring frowned as the car turned out of sight. “What do you think about him, Phil?”

“Not sure,” Phillip replied, gesturing for them to start trotting down the street towards the local market. “He could be just a businesspony.”

“And I could be an alicorn princess,” Daring replied dryly. “Autumn did mention that she’s been trying to look into him more when we met at the Museum.”

Phillip grunted, pulling a cigarette out of his vest and inserting it into his mouth. “That mare is gonna get herself in serious trouble one day,” he commented as he lit the end and took a long drag.

“Getting kidnapped by a bunch of mobsters wasn’t serious trouble?” Daring replied with a smirk.

“Nah. We were there to save her ass,” Phillip replied with an equivalent grin.

"Heh, true," Daring commented, popping open her flask and taking a sip of the Manticore Rare within.

Strider scrunched up his nose at the scent of bourbon. “Seriously? It’s not even noon,” he protested.

“I think better when I have a bit of alcohol in me,” Daring replied, stoppering the flask. “I know my limits, relax.”

"So, sounds like Coin has a safehouse,” Strider frowned. “If he’s got the painting there, that might also be where Winged Key is.”

Phillip puffed on his cigarette a few times, shooting a suspicious glance at Coin’s car. “Focus on getting Rough Diamond back and finding Caballeron,” he replied. “Winged Key is less important.”

“If he’s this dumb, maybe somepony else will take care of him for us,” Daring commented as they rounded a corner.

The Everfree Market took up an entire block on its own, the great green billboard set over the building declaring its name in golden letters. A red and white awning shaded the open entryway, which was filled with displays of tempting fruits and baked goods. Creatures milled in and out of the entrance with their purchases.

“Spread out,” Phillip said, flicking his cigarette into a trash can as they entered. “Make sure we’re not followed."

The trio spread out as they entered the market, each taking a different aisle and milling amongst the purchases. Daring made straight for the alcohol aisle, while Strider wandered over to the frozen pizzas.

Tucking a basket with a couple of bags under one arm, Phillip made an excuse to loaf amongst the produce, taking his time selecting some tomatoes, then milling through the bakery section and grabbing a couple of fresh loaves before moving over to the dairy section. He studied his reflection in the glass doors, watching the creatures behind him under the pretense of deciding which brand of milk to get.

A thestral stepped through the entrance of the market, grinding a cigar beneath their hoof as they looked around. Their yellow-eyed gaze panned over Phillip and the pony paused for a moment, then entered the market. They made their way over to the dairy section, keeping his head down.

Phillip reached in and casually grabbed a couple of glass pints of milk as the thestral snatched a carton of eggs. As he pulled the carton out, Phillip noted the small green and orange ring dangling from one of the thestral’s pointed ears.

He and thestral passed each other, neither slowing a beat. Something clunked into Phillip’s basket and the messenger moved on without a word or a glance.

Phillip grabbed a few more items before proceeding to checkout. As he was placing his items onto the conveyor belt, he spotted an extra item tucked into one bag: a narrow two-foot-long cardboard tube, hidden amidst the bread loaves. Phillip shifted the bag slightly to hide the tube from sight, a gesture which proved unnecessary as the bored teenaged cashier barely glanced at the bag before ringing it up.

“Sixteen bits, twenty-five cents,” the cashier drawled, looking at the clock instead of at his customer.

Phillip paid the fee and carried the bags out of the shop, holding them in his mouth. Daring and Strider were waiting outside, Strider having purchased a frozen pizza and a six-pack of nonalcoholic cider, Daring some bourbon and a couple of salmon.

“Pretty clear who the responsible one is,” Strider said with a small smirk as he studied Phillip’s larger collection of essentials.

“Hey, I’m plenty responsible,” Daring pouted. “That’s why I buy the alcohol.”

Phillip rolled his eyes as he headed over to a nearby blind alley. Setting his bags down, he glanced around to make sure that there were no prying eyes as the two pegasi moved in to shield him.

Shifting aside the bread, he found the cardboard tube. Phillip unscrewed the top and studied the contents: a rolled-up sheet of canvas.

“Right. Let’s get this to Twilight,” Phillip said, replacing the tube and grabbing the bags in his mouth. “And can we please just walk this time?”

“Hmm…” Daring mused, glancing at Strider. The white pegasus looked back at her, then smirked.

“Nah,” Daring said, giving Phillip just enough time to wince.

“They’re up to something, that much is clear. They wouldn’t have been at Coin Toss’ tavern if they didn’t know about the mare.”

“Do they have the painting?”

“Possibly. But they’re on their guard now. Our best chance of getting the painting is at the dropoff tonight. I need you to be extra cautious.”

“No te preocupes, master. My men and I have handled far more complicated.”

“I’m certain. The doctor will be on hoof to ensure that there is no interference.”

“I see. Now...the señora...what shall we do with her when this is over?”

“She hasn’t seen anything compromising. She may be released. Winged Key, however...a lesson needs to be taught.”

“The safehouse is very well-guarded. That’s why we used the indirect method, ¿sí?”

“We have our ways, doctor.”

Author's Note

Intrigue abounds! And so do the groceries.

Hope you liked this little setup chapter. If you did, be sure to leave a like and a comment! Hope to see you next week!

Case Twenty, Chapter Three: On the Scent

“This is art?” Cold Case frowned, chewing on the stem of her unlit pipe as she stared at Not to Be Remade mounted on the easel in the forensic laboratory. The painting proved to be smaller than anticipated, a mere two feet wide and two and a half feet tall.

“I don’t get it,” Daring said, frowning at the dual images of the back of the stallion’s head staring at her as if mocking her for not understanding their secrets.

Beacon Fire puffed. “Never was into visual art,” she admitted. “Unless they’re pics of you,” she added, grinning at Cold.

“Not now, Beacon,” Cold replied, her face remaining impassive despite the faint pink tinge seeping into her cheeks. “What do you plan on doing, Phil?”

“The last time we encountered an Artiste Fou painting, there was a message in it, and ponies nearly died because of it,” Phillip replied from the table that he and Doctor Suunkii were bending over.

“Including you,” Doctor Suunkii pointed out.

“Didn’t need a reminder,” Phillip said.

“When was this?” Strider asked, leaning against one of the counters.

“Tell you later,” Phillip replied. “Deco Line accidentally found it using liquid rainbow in cumulus water under a lamp. Might be the same thing here.”

“I am reluctant to experiment so callously on an ancient piece of art,” Suunkii frowned at the leathery canvas.

“And tampering with it might give away that we’re onto them,” Cold replied.

“We’ll just touch up a corner, see if there’s any reaction,” Phillip said, taking up a small vial of liquid rainbow, the multi-colored liquid swirling within the tube. He added it to the jar of water tinged with a cloudy gray-white, then swirled it with a metal stir stick until the liquid became a light purple.

He took up a paintbrush and swirled it into the vial, then gently stroked the bottom right corner of the painting, over the marbled mantelpiece. “General, please give it a little heat there,” he requested.

Beacon Fire looked at Cold Case, who sighed and rolled her eyes with a reluctant shrug. “Okay then,” Beacon said, lighting up her horn and casting a gentle heat spell on the canvas. Warm air breathed onto the painting; the liquid slowly began to dry, seeping into it.

There was no reaction. No hidden words appeared; the mantelpiece stubbornly maintained its dull gray coloring.

“Damn,” Phillip grunted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cold grunted. “What matters is that we are prepared for this drop-off. The good news is, we have almost twelve hours to get ready. This may be our best chance to finally capture the Plague Doctor. I need all of us at the top of our game, and every angle covered. Beacon and Strider, I’ll need your help setting up positions. Phillip and Daring, take the painting to Twilight.”

“Where is she?” Daring asked, looking around the lab.

“Twilight Sparkle is at home,” Doctor Suunkii reported. “She had to take a personal day.”

“Well, her leave’s just been canceled,” Cold replied. “Get her back here.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded, gently rolling the painting back into the carrier tube and swinging it over his shoulder. “C’mon, Daring.”

“That’s odd,” Phillip commented as they landed in front of Ten-ten Golden Oak Street.

“What?” Daring asked, but spotted the anomaly a moment later. Despite the inches-deep dusting of snow over the humble abode, all of the windows were open.

A moment later, the detectives’ snouts scrunched up as a vicious odor assailed their nostrils. “Ah, crikey! What is that?” Phillip cried, cringing.

“Smells like she’s experimenting with rotting eggs and a dead skunk,” Daring grimaced, using her wing to plug her nose.

As they approached, the door opened and an orange dragoness with purple fins stepped outside with a gasp, removing a clothespin from her nostrils.

“Smolder?” Phillip asked.

“I would not go in there if I were you,” Smolder told them, coughing. “Spike’s molting.”

“He’s what?” Daring asked nasally.

“Molting,” Smolder repeated. “It’s what happens to all dragons when they start to grow up; Twilight called me in to see if I could help out.” She let out a sardonic chuckle. “He’s lucky he’s in a city and not in the Dragonlands. That smell normally attracts predators.”

Daring blinked. “There are things that eat dragons?”

“Need to speak to Twilight,” Phillip interrupted.

“She’s in there,” Smolder replied, jerking a thumb into the house. “Losing her mind over some doctor’s toxin or something. I need some air and to see if I can grab some soap or something. See ya around.”

The dragoness spread her wings and took off, leaving the two ponies standing on the porch.

“This should be fun,” Daring muttered as they pushed open the door.

The miasma increased as they proceeded down the hallway, causing every other breath to come out as a cough. The scents of several types of shampoos, cleaners, and perfumes battled with the vicious odor, which refused to be smothered.

“Bugger me,” Phillip coughed, pulling out a hoofkerchief and tying it over his mouth and nose.

They entered the sitting room to find Twilight sitting amidst a circle of notepads crammed with scrawled hoofwriting and several open books on neurotoxins and biochemistry. Twilight had her nose stuffed in another book, this one titled “Dragon Lifespans;” there were dark bags beneath her wide eyes, she wore a filtered face mask over her mouth and nose, and her mane was a tangled, spiky mess. A pot of coffee was on the table next to her, but Daring could smell another one in the kitchen underneath the malodorous atmosphere.

Sitting in the corner applying a cream to his scales was the source of the scent. Spike had several red marks and boils all over his body; he hissed as he applied the cream to a particularly large mark on his cheek.

“You okay, mate?” Phillip asked as they entered.

Twilight screamed, leaping so high that her horn nearly scraped the ceiling and sending the book flying across the room. “Phil, Daring!” she cried once she landed, recovering her breath; her voice came out muffled through the half-mask. “What are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any more lotion, would you?” Spike cringed, his voice coming out hoarse and scratchy as he scratched at his welts. “This molting is driving me nuts!”

“Spike, stop scratching, you’ll just make it worse!” Twilight chided.

“I can’t help it!” Spike protested, his voice rising to a loud cry. “Nothing’s working!”

Twilight sighed and ran her hooves through her mane, sucking in air through her filters as her eyes bulged. “I can do this,” she said, her voice taking on a high-pitched quivering. “I can do this. It’s just a molting dragon on top of a terrorist with a bioweapon running loose through the city stealing ancient weapons! It’s nothing I can’t handle! It’s not--”

Her sentence was cut off by a yelp as Daring dumped a nearby pitcher of water on her head. Twilight sputtered and turned to glare at her.

“Have you always been this neurotic?” Daring asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spike deadpanned.

“I am not neurotic!” Twilight snapped.

“Right,” Daring muttered.

“Twilight, you need to take a break,” Phillip said, closing several of the books surrounding her.

“No! You’ll make me lose my place!” Twilight protested, her horn flickering as she telekinetically shoved him away. “I was just--”

“Twilight,” Phillip cut her off, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “You’re a mess. You look like and smell you haven’t slept, showered, or eaten a proper meal in days. You can’t help anypony if you’re not taking care of yourself. Let alone Spike.”

Twilight blinked heavily, swaying on her hooves. “But...but the Doctor’s...toxin…”

“Twilight,” Phillip said. “I know you just want to help, but this is out of your depth. You have other things more important to keep up with. Like your family.”

Twilight looked at Spike, who was still scratching at his boils, then closed her eyes and nodded. “You’re right,” she admitted, neatly gathering up her notes and books and placing them in a pile.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Twilight said, taking off her mask and pulling the little dragon into a gentle embrace. “I haven’t been paying enough attention to you.”

“It’s okay, Twilight,” Spike replied. “But maybe hugging me right now isn’t a great idea?”

Twilight sniffed, then grimaced and held Spike out at arm’s length. “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted.

“Yes, yes, happy families all around,” Daring replied. “Think you can put a tracking spell on this for us?”

Twilight gulped down some coffee and shook her head to wake herself up. “I can. What is it?”

Phillip opened up the carrying tube and extracted the painting, unrolling it for her to examine.

“That’s art?” Spike asked, tilting his head to one side as he studied the bizarre picture.

“‘Not to Be Remade’ by Artiste Fou,” Twilight commented. “Stolen from a casino in Las Pegasus. How’d it end up here?”

Phillip gave her a brief synopsis of how the painting had been stolen by Winged Key and brought to the Mareish Mob, of Coin Toss’ story and how they’d convinced him to give the painting to them.

“Why would they steal that painting from these guys?” Spike pondered, scratching his back and stomach. “Coin Toss isn’t stupid, is he?”

“No. I think he was trying to make a deal with this Caballeron,” Twilight frowned.

“Guessing he got in a bit over his head again,” Daring muttered.

“I can put a tracking spell on it, no problem,” Twilight nodded, lighting up her horn. “Spike, please bring me a compass from the basement.”

“Can do,” Spike replied with a tight grin, grimacing as he rose.

“No, I can do it,” Phillip replied.

“Thanks,” Spike sighed, sitting back down in relief. “Shelf on the right at the bottom of the stairs, second drawer from top.”

Phillip descended the stairs into the basement of Twilight’s home, which proved to be a neatly organized collection of drawers and storage bins. To the right of the stairs was a tall cabinet of drawers. He opened up the second drawer from the top to find a box of cheap compasses and magnets. He retrieved a small golden compass and carried it back up to the sitting room.

“Thanks,” Twilight said, taking the compass from him. She lit up her horn and both the painting and the compass glowed with a violet aura.

“Vestigia sequi,” Twilight intoned, her eyes closed in focus. “Vestigia sequi. Vestigia sequi.”

As the glow slowly faded away, the compass needle spun wildly for a moment before pointing at the painting like a magnet had been placed against the casing.

“There,” Twilight nodded. “That compass is affixed to the painting. You’ll be able to track it within five miles.”

“Ripper. Thanks, Twilight,” Phillip said, rolling the painting back up and placing it into the carrier tube, then pocketed the compass.

“Good luck,” Twilight said through a yawn.

“Get some rest,” Daring advised her as she and Phillip exited, the pegasus still holding her nose as they left.

They stepped into the cold air with sighs of relief. “Back to the precinct,” Phillip said, untying his hoofkerchief and repocketing it. “We’ve got work to do.”

The streets were dark, cast in shadows by the streetlamps. The snowflakes that fell from the sky flickered in the golden light as they tumbled down to join their brethren invading the sidewalks. The blue box sat on the corner of Lily and Fancy, illuminated beneath a humming lamp.

With a great rattling, a red-painted trolley rolled up the street and paused with a squealing of brakes. A stallion hopped off and stalked up to the mailbox, turning up the collar of his trench coat as he approached. The trolley continued on with a clattering of wheels, the plow affixed to its front pushing snow out of its way, the lights disappearing around the corner and allowing the darkness to close in once more.

The stallion paused, glancing up and down the empty streets as he rummaged in his pockets. His frosted breath came fast and hard as he pulled out the cardboard tube.

The mailbox creaked as he opened the door and dropped the tube into the slot. He looked around one last time, squinting into the shadows for any unseen eyes watching him. A few cars passed by, tires hissing over the semi-melted snow, but did not slow down. When no shapes appeared, he shivered and headed down the road, head down low.

Up on the roof of the building opposite, a rifle scope tracked the stallion.

“Package is in,” Officer Wheellock reported into her radio, laying atop the ceiling. Her hooves, clad in hoof warmers that covered her forelegs, did not tremble as she held her Summerfield rifle on the mailbox. Beside her, Sergeant Prowl’s yellow eyes followed the mobster as he turned the corner.

“Let him go, we’re not after him,” Strider’s voice crackled through their radios.

On the rooftop across from the sniper’s position, Strider and Daring both stared down at the mailbox, Daring through the enchanted lenses of her night-vision binoculars, Strider through the scope of a borrowed N2 Greater rifle.

“Keep your eyes on the mailbox,” Strider ordered everypony, adjusting the grip on his weapon. “And watch your sectors.”

“They’re sure to be watching for us,” Daring muttered, lowering her eyes to her compass. The needle was still pointing at the mailbox. She looked to the sky, but the dark clouds that blotted out the stars and the moon offered her no comfort.

In a trailer parked two blocks away, Hewn Oak, Cold Case, and Beacon Fire stood staring at the projections on the wall, watching the coverage from several small surveillance crystals surreptitiously set up hours before. Every street, alley, and corner for a block around was covered.

Cold’s eyes focused upon a rust-colored Diplomat 600 parked beside a bar to the west of the mailbox. The silhouettes of two stallions could be seen within the windows, a pegasus with a scruffy mane and an earth pony with a trilby. She took in a slow breath as she chewed the stem of her pipe.

“Luna watches over us tonight,” Hewn Oak reassured her even as his hoof stroked the rosary beads marked with a crescent moon. “We will be victorious over the heathens.”

“He always talk like that?” Beacon whispered to Cold.

“Yes,” Cold replied, her eyes drifting to other projections. An orange pegasus sat astride a motorcycle in an alleyway to the east, while another cruiser was parked to the south; inside, she could just see the shape of a chubby yellow earth pony at the driver’s seat with a lanky blue griffon next to him, heat from their disposable coffee cups fogging up the windows.

“Keep your eyes peeled, everypony,” she ordered into her radio.

Beacon Fire’s eyes darted to a south-facing projection. “Motorcycle approaching from the south,” she reported, watching the single headlamp piercing the darkness as it approached the mailbox.

“We got ‘em,” Gallus reported over the radio.

Every eye watched with bated breath as the motorcycle drove up Fancy Street. It paused at the stop sign, the engine ticking and grumbling as the helmeted rider looked back and forth to check for oncoming traffic. Inside their cruiser, Bumblebee placed one hoof on the handle of the door. Gallus shifted in his seat, his talon resting atop the .38 Blacksmith and Eastson Triumph in his holster.

The helmeted gaze passed over the mailbox without pausing. He lifted up his leg and proceeded on with a growl that echoed off the brick and glass walls.

Up above, Daring glanced down at her compass. The needle remained pointing at the mailbox.

“Negative,” she reported into the radio.

Breaths were released, hooves and talons pulled away from triggers and holsters.

“Phew,” Bumblebee sighed, releasing the door handle. Retrieving the paper cup of coffee from the backseat that he’d placed it in, he took another sip of the hot liquid.

“You know,” Gallus muttered, tapping one claw against the dashboard. “My life was a lot less exciting before I became a cop.”

“Think of it this way,” Bumblebee grinned at him. “You’ll have more stories to tell that hippogriff.”

Gallus’ blue cheeks instantly turned dark scarlet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled, glaring into the rearview mirror.

“Really?” Bumblebee chuckled. “Then why is it whenever The New Flappers are playing at the Apple Pie, you’re sitting near the stage?”

“I like their music. Fuck off,” Gallus snapped.

Bumblebee smiled at the younger stallion. “Gallus, a bit of advice: they don’t make mares like that every day. Hell, probably not even every year. You should try to move forward with her.”

Gallus remained silent, though he kept tapping the dashboard. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “I mean, we kinda met because a maniac with a flamethrower was trying to kill us. Not sure that’s a good way to start a relationship.”

Bumblebee chuckled. “Did Prowl ever tell you how she met her husband?” he asked.

“No,” Gallus replied, looking up.

“Vehicle from the north,” Cold’s voice reported over the radio.

The two officers leaned forward once more, eyes tracking the black two-door that drove in on Fancy Street. It paused for just long enough to count as a legal stop, then swerved onto Lily Street.

“Negative,” Daring stated a moment later, prompting them both to relax.

“Anyway, she pulled him out of a river,” Bumblebee continued. “Back during the Crystal War, when she was a search-and-rescue pilot for the Air Force.” He chuckled. “He proposed to her three times on the flight to the hospital. Granted, he had a concussion and was doped up on pain meds at the time, but still…”

“Really?” Gallus asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said with a suggestive smirk. “And look at ‘em now. Married four years and a beautiful little girl.”

Gallus’ face lit up as red as the stop sign and he quickly looked away. “Um, oh. I see,” he mumbled.

“Look, make a deal with me, Gallus,” Bumblebee said. “When this is over...talk to her. Ask her out. Take it from me, you regret the stuff you didn’t do a lot more than the stuff you did do.”

Gallus thought for a moment, then huffed out a sigh. “Fine. If it’ll get you to stop bugging me about it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bumblebee grinned, punching Gallus on the shoulder.

“Pedestrian from the east,” Cold reported over the radio.

Every head turned as the figure in the hooded sweatshirt headed up Lily Street, their shaded head held low as they marched up to the corner. The tall white figure with the cutie mark of an opened padlock with a white key inserted into it, some strands of their blonde mane falling out of their hood as she adjusted the bag thrown over her shoulder; the glow of the streetlamp revealed her steel-gray eyes staring out into the dark. She looked at the cruiser that Bumblebee and Gallus were sitting in, pausing for a moment.

Her horn lit up with a pale silvery glow for a few moments and she shifted her bag. She crossed the street and headed north up Fancy Street.

Daring glanced down at her compass and grinned as she saw the needle following the mare in the hoodie. “That’s our target,” she reported.

“Wings, follow from the air,” Cold ordered, her eyes on the retreating figure in the projection. “Pawns, hold position. Sentry, Herring, parallel pursuit.”

“Roger,” Red Herring reported. Cold watched as the Diplomat started up and started heading down Lavender, parallel to Lily; simultaneously, Flash kicked his motorcycle to life and pulled himself out of the alley, turning down Rose. He began to slowly run his motorcycle down the street, maintaining a slow pace to keep even with the messenger.

“We’ve beaten the fox from the hedge,” Oak grinned. “Now let the hounds chase her to her den.”

The mare turned north onto Clover Road. Red’s Diplomat paused at the northern intersection, while Flash turned onto the road and started driving up from behind her. Up above, Daring and Strider paused on a rooftop, staring down at their target.

Daring glanced down at the compass in her hoof. The needle was still following the mare in the hoodie as she stalked down the street, turning onto another street. She watched as Flash turned the corner to continue past her, with Red’s Diplomat halting at a stop sign.

“She can’t be going there on hoof,” Strider mumbled, adjusting the strap on the Greater over his shoulder.

The mare paused at the curb, looking up and down the road. A black four-door sedan pulled up to the curb and paused just long enough for the mare to jump into the passenger seat, then drove on. The scuff on the bumper glimmered faintly as it passed a streetlamp.

“They’re in a car,” Strider reported over the radio. “Black Chevroneigh sedan, license plate eight-seven-Charlie-Zigzag-two-Lima, headed east on Clover.”

Daring glanced down at the compass around her neck and stared, her eyes widening. “The hell?” she gasped.

Strider glanced over at the compass, blinking in shock. The compass needle was spinning randomly in its casing like a weather vane in a tornado.

Daring growled. “They must be jamming the tracking spell with something,” she snapped into the radio.

“Roger,” Cold Case replied. “Surveillance teams, close in. Do not lose--”

“Daring, look out!” Prowl’s shout cut in.

Daring caught a glimpse of the black wings a split second too late. She ducked, raising one arm to intercept the attack.

The bladed talons dug into her foreleg, then her neck. Her cry of pain mixed with the triumphant cawing of the raven as it flashed past her, the compass dangling from its beak by its broken strap.

Daring’s eyes caught the red mark on the bird’s chest as it flew up into the clouds. “That’s the Plague Doctor’s pet!” she shouted.

She spread her wings to take off, but a horrible coughing fit suddenly racked through her body and she collapsed. The strength fled her limbs and she sagged over, coughing and gasping.

“Daring? What’s wrong?” Strider said, bending over her, his eyes shining with concern.

A cold realization ran down Daring’s spine as she tried to force herself up. “Poison…” she gasped out, forcing the word out even as it felt like her throat was closing up. Pain spread across her limbs, every muscle tightening to the point where she felt like the tendons would snap.

Strider bent over her, barking into the radio: “Daring’s been poisoned! I need an ambulance!”

A flap of wings and Prowl was there, her yellow eyes darting over Daring’s body as she gasped and writhed on the ground, clutching her burning throat; her head pounded with every rapid beat of her heart, spinning from the lack of oxygen. Her jaw had clamped shut, her back arching off the ground.

“Get her down on the ground!” she heard Prowl ordering, her voice sounding like it was coming from down a distant tunnel.

She felt herself being lifted up by two forelegs and carried through the air. She tried to focus on taking steady breaths, but she felt like her lungs had shrunk, her chest burning as she tried to suck in oxygen.

The snow was cold beneath her as she was laid on her side; darkness was creeping in on the edges of her vision. Snow melted on her face, mixing with the tears that she could feel falling from her eyes. Pain burned across every spasming muscle; she would have screamed if she could open her jaw. Prowl was bending over her, one hoof at her neck to check her pulse, the thestral’s ear against her heaving chest.

Tires crunched. Hooves raced up.

“Daring?!” Phillip cried, his face bending over hers. His eyes darted over her body, widening in horror as he saw her trembling limbs, the cut on her face, the way she gasped and choked for breath.

“Strychnine,” Phillip gasped. He dropped down and grasped her hoof in both of his, ignoring the way that her arm spasmed in his grasp. “Daring, just hang on,” she heard him pleading. “Just stay with us...please, just...”

Daring coughed violently, each exhalation making her chest burn with agony. Her head was spinning like she was on a tilt-a-whirl as the blackness swarmed over her vision, every sound becoming more and more distant.

One last thought crossed Daring Do’s mind: I don’t want to die...

Author's Note

Will Daring survive? Has Caballeron successfully absconded with his prize? Is this victory for the villains?

Tune in next week, same Daring time, same Daring channel! In the meantime, be sure to leave a like and a comment!

~~Oh, who am I kidding, you all know she's going to survive...~~

Case Twenty, Chapter Four: Pray and Prey

Compared to the darkness of the night outside, the hospital room was painfully bright. Phillip’s eyes hurt as he sat next to the bed, staring at Daring’s body. He’d seen her lying atop a hospital mattress before, but now she was as still as a corpse, a tube stuck down her throat and an IV feeding a pale purple antidote into her arm. The only sign that she still lived was the slow beeping of the EKG monitor and the soft hissing of her artificial breath.

Phillip reached out and took her hoof; the limb was slack in his grasp, her temperature feverish. Brief echoes of what the doctors had told him flashed through his mind: “strychnine poisoning,” “enhanced toxins,” “antidotes,” “muscle relaxants and anticonvulsants.”

“Overnight monitoring.”

“Oxygen deprivation.”

“Possible brain damage.”

“If she makes it through the night…”

Phillip took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears scratching his eyes. To be able only to sit at her side and wait for her to wake up was an agony greater than any bullet wound.

Was this how she felt when I was in a coma? he thought idly, wiping at his face.

“Phil?”

Phillip looked up to see Flash standing at the doorway. The young stallion stared at Daring, the bags beneath his eyes emphasized by his pale face. Behind him was Twilight Sparkle, who was looking slightly cleaner and awake, but her face was still drawn with exhaustion and sadness as she gazed upon Daring.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Flash asked, entering slowly.

Phillip didn’t answer, just continued to stare silently at his wife.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Flash asked, sitting next to Phil.

Phil still didn’t answer save to swallow and take a shaky breath.

Flash hesitated a moment, then placed his wing around Phillip and pulled him into a hug. Phillip stiffened for a moment, then slowly placed his head against Flash’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“She’s gonna get through this, Phil,” Flash whispered. “We’re all gonna get through this.”

Phillip swallowed and nodded, then turned to Twilight. “Twi...can you…?”

“No,” Twilight shook her head. “I may be good at magic, but I’m not a doctor. My healing spells are only good for minor injuries like cuts and bruises; even if I tried something to heal her, I could very easily make things worse.”

Phillip sighed and mopped his face. “Worth a shot,” he mumbled.

“I would help if I could,” Twilight said, leaning into the hug as well. “But she’s strong. She’s gonna be okay.”

Phillip nodded. “Did you get the car?” he asked, hating how he had to force himself to care.

Flash and Twilight both paused, glancing at each other, then Flash sighed.

“We lost them,” he admitted. “There was just so much confusion after Daring…” He fell silent for a moment, then gulped and continued. “Bumblebee and Gallus tried to follow but lost them after a couple of turns. We’re working on surveillance crystal footage.”

Phillip sighed, a faint echo of frustration twisting in his gut underneath the impotent pain. “Shit.”

“And I tried to reestablish the tracking spell, but it didn’t work,” Twilight added. “Either they’re out of my range, or they’re blocking it somehow. I’ll keep trying, but it might have faded by now.”

“Damn bird stole the compass,” Phillip grunted. He sighed and mopped his face again.

“We’ll keep looking, Phil,” Flash said, tightening his winghug. “We’ll find these assholes.”

Phillip nodded but still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Daring’s form. She had remained still and silent throughout the entire conversation save for her slow breathing; her hoof remained limp in his grasp.

“Do you want us to stay?” Twilight asked.

“No,” Phillip lied. “You have other work to do. I’ll...I’ll be fine.”

Flash and Twilight both glanced at each other, then slowly stood up and exited. “We’ll be on call if you need us,” Flash said with a backward glance as he reached the door.

Phillip just nodded. Flash hesitated, then exited with Twilight. Their hoofsteps disappeared down the hall, leaving Phillip alone once more.

He squeezed Daring’s hoof, sniffling. His spare hoof went for his neck, wrapping around the little totem of Angkakert that dangled beneath his shirt. He rubbed the tiny wooden carving, allowing the tears to fall.

“Please,” he whispered in desperation. “Please. Please.”

Daring’s hoof squeezed his, just barely enough to be perceived. Phillip gasped, then slowly lowered his head, still holding the totem.

“Bien hecho, mi amiga,” Caballeron beamed, patting the white unicorn on the back as they trotted through the halls of their headquarters. “I knew I could count on you.”

The mare grinned as she hoisted the carrying tube. “‘Aven’t failed you yet, ‘ave I, boss?” she smirked, her lower-class Gritish accent biting into her speech.

“No, Open Lock, and I’m certain that you won’t,” Caballeron nodded as they entered the workshop, the door creaking as they did. Caballeron hit the lamp overhead, illuminating the massive worktable scattered with paintbrushes, chisels, rulers, pencils and notepads, and other tools. Clearing aside a space, Open Lock placed the carrying tube atop the table and unscrewed it.

“Lentamente,” Caballeron urged as the two began to coax the rolled-up canvas from within the tube. “This painting is over a hundred years old and extremely valuable to our client.”

“Easy, boss,” Skeleton rolled her eyes. “Don’t see what all the fuss is about, to be ‘onest. ‘S just a paintin’ of some bloke standing in front of a mirror that don’t work right.”

“It is so much more than that, mi amiga,” Caballeron replied, slowly unfurling the canvas, admiring the image of the stallion before the bizarre mirror. “They called Artiste Fou mad, but that was only because they couldn’t understand his genius. What he was truly in touch wi--”

A yelp from Open Lock made him look up with alarm. The pale yellow pegasus was standing at the doorway, his scowl evident even through the balaclava. The raven sat atop his back; the metal blades attached to her talons glimmered dangerously in the light.

“Do you ever knock?” Caballeron sighed.

As usual, the Plague Doctor didn’t answer, instead focusing his red eyes upon their prize on the table. A low grunt that sounded like a question issued from his throat.

“If you’re concerned, have I not reassured you that the walls of my home are warded against any version of tracking or detection spells?” Caballeron replied. “There is no chance that they will follow that tracking spell to us.”

The Plague Doctor nodded curtly.

“Now,” Caballeron said, reaching for a bottle of already prepared cumulus water. “Let us see what Artiste Fou had in store for--”

He suddenly froze, his emerald eyes widening in disbelief. “Doc? What is it?” Open Lock asked.

Caballeron snarled and scraped at the painting with a hoof. No flakes came off the canvas.

“iBastardo!” Caballeron snarled. “It’s a copy! A fake!”

“Are you sure?” Lock asked.

“There are no layers of paint from the restorations!” Caballeron replied, throwing the useless canvas aside. “It’s a duplicate made with a copying spell!”

“They did what?” Open Lock cried. “Cheeky Mareish bastards! Can’t trust a damned one of them!”

The Plague Doctor’s red eyes narrowed as Caballeron sighed and mopped his face.

“One of them must still have it,” Caballeron muttered. “Either the mobsters or the police. But which one? And how do we…?”

The raven let out a throaty little croak. The pegasus glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned and exited.

“Wait, where are you going?” Caballeron called, following after the masked stallion as he headed down the dark halls; outside the windows, the darkened clouds rolled endlessly towards starlit horizons.

They reached a door secured by a heavy padlock. Caballeron paused, glancing uncertainly at his companion.

The red eyes stared evenly back at him as the Plague Doctor pulled the sickle and chain from his belt. Caballeron swallowed nervously, then stood back and turned away. He heard the lock unlatch, the door open and shut.

And then he heard the screaming.

She didn't know where she was or how long she'd been there, but she wasn't concerned. There was only the music, a song as old as creation that wrapped around her like a warm blanket; infinite voices joined together in graceful harmony, her own voice flowing in and out of the melody without any conscious effort on her part.

A voice like a great river whispered to her, a message that she felt rather than heard:

It is time for you to go back, ampa.

Do not be afraid. They are waiting for you.

We love you.

A touch like a mother's kiss was bestowed upon her forehead, leaving with it the scent of spring rain. The song slowly faded away like a tide, and her heart ached at the loss.

We are always with you.

And then the song faded away, and she was floating back up slowly, lights piercing the darkness...

Daring Do slowly woke up and immediately wished that she hadn’t. Every muscle ached and her head felt like somepony had practiced a tap-dancing routine on her skull. Her throat burned, and when she took in a breath, she felt something hard and foul-tasting inside her mouth, prying her jaw open.

“Aghk,” she articulated, reaching up to grab the item in her mouth. “Gurk!” she grunted, tugging at the tube. Fresh waves of pain flew across her throat and panic caused her to start gasping and choking.

“Daring! Daring, easy!”

Hooves gently pushed her back down onto the soft mattress, tugged her hoof away from the tube in her mouth. Daring opened her eyes to meet a pair of stormcloud gray orbits and instantly relaxed, her breathing slowing.

“Breathe, Daring,” Phillip urged her, a weak smile drawing across his pale, exhausted face as he stroked her cheeks; his touch was soothingly warm. “Breathe. Shh, it’s okay.”

A doctor entered the room. “Ah, she’s awake,” she said with a relieved smile, taking out a stethoscope. “How are you feeling, Miss Do?”

Daring replied by curling her primary and secondary feathers together in a circle while fanning the other circles out

“Excellent,” the doctor replied, checking her heartbeat and breathing. “How about we get that thing out?”

The cream-colored unicorn gently pulled the breathing tube out of Daring’s throat. Daring coughed and spat as it was removed.

“Gugh,” she grunted. “The only thing I deep throat is him.” She nodded at Phillip, smirking at the way his ears turned red.

The doctor let out a mollified chuckle as she completed checking up on her patient’s heartbeat and breathing. “All right, looking good,” she said. “But I’m betting you’re really sore, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Daring replied, slowly stretching out her limbs. “Feels like I got run over by a steamroller a few times.”

The doctor started gently exercising Daring’s forelegs and wings. “Hmm, doesn’t look like you tore anything,” she reported. “But we’ll have to keep you here for monitoring just in--”

“Fuck that shit,” Daring cut her off. “I need to find some breakfast and an asshole. Just give me some aspirin and I’ll be fine.”

The doctor stared at her for a long beat, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re leaving here no matter what I say, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yes, she is,” Phillip sighed.

“Well, you should definitely get some ice and rest as often as you can,” the doctor told her. “And don’t overexert yourself or you’ll just end up right back here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daring said, getting off the bed. Her limbs wobbled for a moment as they protested having to take her weight, but she regained her hoofing after a moment.

After signing some early release paperwork, Daring and Phillip exited the hospital. Daring took in a deep breath of the cold, sun-kissed air outside the hospital, tilting her pith helmet back and looking around at the city streets covered in a thin layer of overnight snow.

“So,” she said, turning to Phillip, “I’m thinking Sugarcube Corner for breakmmph--”

Her request was cut off when Phillip pulled her in close and pressed his lips against hers. She enthusiastically wrapped her still-sore forelegs around her husband and kissed him back.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” Phillip exhaled shakily, hugging her so tight that she felt like he was trying to squeeze the air from her lungs; she felt hot tears on the back of her neck. “I prayed for the first time in years.”

“Like I was gonna let some bird put me in the ground,” Daring replied quietly, patting him on the back reassuringly.

When Phillip still didn’t respond, Daring gently tucked her face into his nape, nuzzling his shoulder. “When you were in your coma,” she whispered, feeling an echo of the old pain and fear slithering through her gut. “Not a day went by when I wasn’t scared that you weren’t going to wake up. But I’m okay, right?”

“Right, right,” Phillip nodded, taking a breath as he regained control of himself.

An echo of ancient music sounded in her ears. "Hey," Daring whispered. "I heard the song, too."

Phillip was silent for a moment while he processed her words, then let out a soft exhalation of relief and joy combined. He pulled back and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

“You too,” Daring smiled, leaning against him for a moment. “Now, about that breakfast?”

“Yeah, Sugarcube Corner sounds good,” Phillip nodded. “And we’re taking a trolley. You are not ready to go flying yet.”

“You’re no fun,” Daring pouted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Phillip guzzled down the last of his coffee as he and Daring entered the lobby of the Ponynville Police Department, tossing the cup into a trash bin.

“Ah, I needed this,” Daring sighed, inhaling the scent of the cappuccino in her cup before taking a sip. “Thanks, Phil.”

“Welcome,” Phillip nodded. “Now, let’s find--”

“Phil, Daring!” an orange blur shouted, rushing up to them. A moment later, the wind was knocked from both detectives as Flash seized them in a tight hug.

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow!” Daring protested as pain flared across her aching muscles, her cappuccino dropping to the floor and spilling everywhere.

“Sorry!” Flash cried, releasing her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think--”

“It’s fine,” Daring cut him off, sighing sadly as she looked mournfully at the precious liquid that was now spreading over the tiles.

“Are you okay?” Flash asked breathlessly, looking over Daring’s body.

“Well, I’m not gonna run any marathons, but I think I’m fine,” Daring replied, rolling her shoulders to dissipate the pain.

“Good,” Flash sighed. “We were all so worried.”

“Like I was gonna let some freak in a Nightmare Night costume and his pet bird kill me,” Daring smirked.

“Let’s get back to work,” Phillip said. “What have you found out?”

“Yeah,” Flash said. “You should probably come with me to the lab.”

Flash led them downstairs to the forensic lab, where they found Doctor Suunkii, Twilight Sparkle, Red Herring, Flame Strider, Cold Case, and Beacon Fire standing around a table, all of them staring down at something upon it.

“What are we looking at?” Daring asked as they entered.

“A package that a messenger from the Mareish Mob gave to us this morning,” Cold Case stated, frowning at them. “Apparently, a raven delivered it to them at sunrise.”

The small box, barely larger than a box for an engagement earring, lay open on the table; the brown paper that had been wrapped around it had been carefully peeled off and was placed on the table next to it. The name “Coin Toss” was scrawled on it in blue pen.

But it was the package’s contents that drew everyone’s eyes and prompted a small gasp from Daring. A single eye, green as a grassy field, a deep gouge within the jelly.

“That’s…” Daring started to say.

“Rough Diamond’s,” Strider replied, holding up the mug shot. The gouged-out eye matched that of the mare in the photograph.

“This was with it,” Cold Case stated, holding up a small note. Angrily scrawled onto the note in the same blue ink was a message:

WE WARNED YOU.

“What?” Phillip said out loud. “They think the Mob still has the painting?”

“We’re still working on that,” Red said. “Unless some imposter took the painting instead of them, then…”

“The painting was a fake,” Daring concluded, scowling.

Phillip thought for a moment, then smacked himself on the forehead. “Bloody idiot!” he snarled. “I should be drop-kicked from here into the river!”

“Is that a request?” Red asked dryly.

“Single layer. The painting had only a single layer,” Phillip continued, ignoring Red. “It was made with a copying spell. He kept the original.”

“I knew we couldn’t trust those assholes,” Beacon Fire growled.

“Coin Toss has some questions to answer,” Red Herring snarled. “Unfortunately, we can’t find him; we already checked McNeighley’s and his other hangouts and got nowhere. The guy who dropped it off is in interrogation, but he’s not saying anything.”

“So, let’s recap,” Cold Case stated. “This Doctor Caballeron and the Plague Doctor got away with the fake painting. Coin Toss still has the real painting. And we don’t know where Winged Key or Rough Diamond is, or if Rough is still alive.”

“Hoping that she is,” Phillip said, glancing at the eye. “Keep her for ransom.” He paused for a moment. “Mare who picked up the painting,” he said aloud.

“Her name is Open Lock,” Strider replied. “I called in her description to the Bureau last night. Short list for burglary and B&E throughout the Gritish Isles a few years ago, then dropped off the grid right around the same time Caballeron was spotted there; he stole a collection of marble carvings from the Royal Museum in Landain.”

“APB’s already out, no hits,” Red cut him off.

“And Twilight Sparkle and I will be conducting a forensic analysis of the package,” Doctor Suunkii announced. “I doubt that we’ll find anything, however.”

Phillip tapped the side of his head a few times in thought. “Who followed the car?” he finally asked.

“Detective Burned Rubber,” Cold reported. “He’s made his report.”

“I need to see it,” Phillip said. “I need to see the path the car took.”

A few moments later, a map of Ponyville was spread out on a table in the Dispatch Room with three ponies bending over it.

“Right around Seventh and Apple is where I lost them,” Detective Burned Rubber stated, tapping the intersection on the map. The orange unicorn shook his tar-black bangs out of his emerald eyes and frowned.

Phillip’s pen traced the path that the getaway car had taken, pausing at the intersection. “Any idea where they went after?” he asked.

“We went over the area with a tracking spell, but there were too many tire tracks on the streets; we couldn’t narrow it down enough,” Rubber replied, taking the pen in his magic and extending the line with a series of dots. “And it looks like the car had some kind of jammer in it because every surveillance crystal for a block around them froze when they passed. We tried to follow them by the trail of jammed crystals, and that did lead us down Apple Street up to Pear, but they must’ve turned off the jammer because that’s where the trail went cold.”

He shook his head at the long, winding route that his targets had taken. “Whoever was driving that car knew what they were doing,” he admitted. “I can’t believe I managed to follow them as long as I did.”

“You have any idea where they went after that?” Strider asked, glancing up at the displays on the wall where multiple crystals were embedded. Daring, Flash, and Red were all studying recordings from the previous night, rewinding and slowly tracing the videos, searching for any sign of the black four-door with license plate 87CZ2L--a license plate that Rubber had already confirmed was stolen from a completely different vehicle.

“Well, we didn’t spot them on any surveillance crystals, so my guess…they cut through an alley here instead of heading towards Pear,” Rubber said, drawing another dotted line through a city block. “Then they would’ve gone this way…”

“Hold it,” Flash called, pausing and rewinding his projection, a view from the intersection of Apple and Pear. As the others watched, a lone sedan came into view: a light green Chevroneigh sedan, license plate K700TYU.

“That’s not it, Flash,” Red commented, turning back to his own image.

“No, wait,” Daring said, squinting at the video. “Can you zoom in on the bumper?”

“Er…” Flash tapped a few of the crystals embedded into the wall, causing the image to swap to a street in the Industrial District. “Shit, what did I--?”

Burned Rubber rolled his eyes. “Move, whippersnapper,” he sighed, limping over to the screen. With a couple of taps, he returned the projection to the previous view of Apple and Pear.

“Thanks,” Flash said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his mane. He tapped a few more keys and after a few moments, managed to zoom in on the green Chevroneigh’s bumper.

“Aha!” Daring declared, pointing. “There’s a scuff on the bumper there! That’s our car!”

“Are you sure?” Red asked.

“I’m sure,” Daring stated. “I saw that scuff when they picked up Open Lock.”

“She’s right,” Rubber confirmed. “I saw the scuff, too.”

“So did I,” Strider nodded.

“Follow that car,” Daring ordered. Her command proved unnecessary, as Flash was already working to track the car’s progress through the city. The getaway vehicle passed down Pear, circled around three different blocks to shake off any last pursuers, then left the Everfree District and headed into the Financial District.

Finally, they lost them around Ingot Avenue. After checking the views from several other crystals, Red shook his head. “That’s gotta be around where they stopped,” he reported.

Rubber circled a small area enclosing three blocks in the midst of the northwestern section of Ponyville. “Now...where did they go after that?” he mused aloud.

“Hmm,” Phillip said, his eyes darting over the map. “The car from the museum robbery went in that direction as well.” His hoof traced a path from the Ponyville History Museum southwards down the streets.

“They’ve gotta have a hideout around there,” Strider said.

“Hoofwork?” Red sighed.

“Hoofwork,” Phillip nodded.

“Well, if you see any of them, let us know,” Red Herring replied, turning away from the apartment door as the young, tired mare closed it. He frowned at the three photos that he and the others had been passing around: Caballeron, Open Lock, and Trato Perfecto.

“Nada,” he grumbled to his partner, who tilted her pith helmet back to wipe her forehead. “But then, are we surprised? We knew that this was a long shot.”

“Archeologists spend whole days out in the sun, sifting through sand to try to find the tiniest shards of pottery and flint,” Daring replied. “You can work a few hours going door to door.”

“You sure your husband can’t come up with any better ideas?” Red grumbled, glaring back down the hall of the apartments. Phillip, Flash, and Agent Strider were knocking at other doors, and judging by their expressions, they were having about as much luck as Red and Daring.

“Well, he’s not Hooflock Holmes, Red,” Daring replied. “Even though he likes to pretend he is. C’mon.”

They knocked at the next door, 208. After a few moments, the door opened and a small aquamarine unicorn mare peeked out, the door clacking as the chain securing it was pulled taut.

“Yes?” the little mare asked.

“Police, ma’am,” Red introduced himself. “Have you seen any of these three ponies around here?” He held up the photographs of the three suspects.

The mare squinted at them for several moments of silence, then shook her head. “No, I’m sorry,” she said.

As Red continued his standard litany of questions about suspicious comings and goings in the past night, Daring peeked over the mare’s head into the apartment proper and raised an eyebrow at what she saw. The sitting room was nearly bare, save for a couple of chairs, a card table, and something standing in the corner. Light from the curtained window glittered off the tall, narrow shape.

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the mare said, starting to close the door.

Recognition suddenly flared through Daring’s mind. “Hold it,” she said, reaching out and holding a foreleg against the door. “Where did you get that mirror?”

The mare glanced back at the standing mirror in the corner. The golden frame had several gems set into it; blue, green, and red, shimmering faintly in the shadows.

“That?” the mare asked, quickly turning away. “I...bought that at a yard sale.”

“Really?” Daring raised an eyebrow. “For how much?”

“Five bits,” the mare said, trying to close the door again.

Daring scoffed. “Right. You got that for five bits when you apparently can’t even afford an actual table.”

A bead of sweat ran down from the mare’s reddish-brown mane. “I...I just moved in here,” she protested, her eyes darting about.

“Is that so?” Red asked. “So if we asked the super, they’d back that up?”

The mare stared at them for a few moments with wide eyes, then swallowed. Her hoof started to reach towards a table to the side of the door. Her hoof came down with a clatter on something metallic.

Red’s eyes darted down and he scowled at the small black shape visible through the crack. “You’d better have a license for that gun,” he said.

The mare blinked, then slammed the door in their faces.

“Guys, get over here!” Red barked to the others, turning and bucking at the door. The door splintered, determinedly clinging to the threshold as Phil, Flash, and Strider sprinted up.

With another grunt, Red bucked the door once more, causing it to crash down. The group caught a glimpse of the mare glancing over her shoulder as she jumped through the mirror, which showed a dark hallway instead of a reflection.

No sooner had she vanished through the portal than the mirror shimmered, then returned to a normal reflection, the images of the investigators staring back at them.

“I knew it,” Daring growled as she stomped over to the mirror. “That’s an enchanted mirror just like Scarlet used.”

“Where the hell did they get it?” Flash asked aloud as Red and Phillip quickly cleared the rest of the apartment, which consisted only of an empty bedroom and a small bathroom.

“More importantly, where does it go?” Daring said, trotting up to the mirror. “Now, how did Sparks say it worked…?”

She reached up and started tapping at the gems: green, blue, then red. “Aha!” she declared as the reflection began to swirl and blur.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Flash asked nervously. “We should call for backup.”

“You do that,” Daring nodded as the mirror revealed a darkened room on the other side. Drawing her pistol, she stepped through the glass.

With a roll of his eyes, Phillip drew his own revolver and followed her through. “Any of you coming?” he asked.

“I see why you married her, Phil,” Strider stated, pulling out his own revolver and following him.

Red and Flash stared at each other, then Red rolled his eyes. “Call it in, rookie,” he said. “Somepony’s got to use their brain here.”

Flash pulled out his radio and clicked it on. “Bishop Seven to Dispatch,” he reported.

Only static responded to him. Flash frowned and clicked the button again. “Dispatch, come in,” he said.

More static. Flash clicked to the backup frequency, only to get the same result.

“Did you charge it?” Red asked, unable to keep a note of nervousness out of his voice.

“Yeah, I’m sure--”

Flash’s reply was cut off by a yelp as something seized him and Red and pulled them through the mirror. The two pegasi tumbled to the floor, which flexed beneath their weight as only a cloud construction could.

A crushing weight pressed down on them both, forcing them to their knees and pushing the wind from their lungs. Flash strained to lift his head to squint about the small, dark room. Phil, Daring, and Strider were all forced down to the floor as well, their faces masks of pain as crackling red energy encompassed their bodies.

A door opened, throwing the chamber into light for a moment before a stallion entered, his body cast in silhouette.

“Well, well,” their captor said with a vicious grin that made his emerald eyes glitter. “Bienvenido a mi casa.”

The pressure suddenly increased tenfold, so great that Flash couldn’t even scream. Right before he blacked out, he heard the bodies of his companions thumping to the floor.

Author's Note

That can't be good! Although, let's be honest, that's pretty typical for our crew by now.

Hope you're looking forward to the next chapter next week, where we shall finally meet a certain benefactor! Be sure to leave a like and a comment, and have a good Thanksgiving!

Case Twenty, Chapter Five: You Know My Name

“...por un beso de la flaca,
Daría lo que fuera,
Por un beso de ella
Aunque sólo uno fuera.…”

Consciousness slowly returned to Daring Do, her vision coming to her in blurs of colors as the broadcasted music pulled her from the realm of sleep. Immediately, she winced as pain radiated across her sore muscles. “Ow,” she mumbled, slowly rising. “Ow!” she cried again when her head smacked against something hard.

She looked around to see that she was now locked inside a small cage. She grabbed the padlock securing the door and rattled it, growling as she examined the thick, magic-proof construction.

She reached around to run a hoof through her tail, only to find that her lock pick had been removed. As had her clothes and other gear. “Dammit,” she snarled to herself.

“Ow, what happened?” a voice said to her left.

Squinting around the dark room, Daring saw Phillip in the cage next to her, slowly getting back to his hooves. A scan of the rest of the room revealed Red, Flash, and Strider, all trapped in other cages, similarly locked, all of them stripped of their gear.

“Where are we?” Flash groaned.

“In the murder basement, looks like,” Red replied. “Dammit, we should’ve called for backup.”

“Your car has a tracking device, right?” Strider whispered. “They’ll know your last position.” He looked around the room. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a cage, honestly. Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this.”

“Like to hear about that one, too,” Daring replied.

The door lock clacked as it began to open. “Shit, here they come,” Red muttered.

Light flooded into the room as the door opened wide. Three figures stepped inside, all of them armed with riot shotguns.

“You two,” the apparent leader, a large red unicorn with a black mustache and the cutie mark of a set of hoofcuffs, said as he approached Phil’s cage. “El jefe wants to talk to you. Don’t try anything or we’ll shoot your friends.”

Phillip glared daggers at him but stepped back from the door as the leader reached into the pocket of his vest and extracted a key. The padlock rattled as he unlocked it; the entire time, the other two thugs kept their guns raised and aimed at Phillip.

The door squeaked open. “Out,” the large red unicorn grunted.

Phillip slowly stepped out of the cage, his eyes darting to the other two gunponies. The thugs shifted nervously, the beads on their barrels shivering as though a cold, rainy draft had blown into the room.

“Face the wall,” the leader commanded him. Phillip glared, but turned and faced the wall in silence. The taller of the two gunponies kept her weapon at his back, being careful to stay far out of reach. Phillip glanced at her over his shoulder; the earth mare gulped and thrust the barrel at his head, her grip on the pump tightening so much that her wrist turned white.

The red unicorn’s horn lit up the same shade of scarlet as the magical snare that had seized the prisoners as he pulled out a coil of rope and hobbled Phillip’s forelegs together with a short length, then tied another length around his neck like a leash, securing the other end to his own hoof.

This completed, the unicorn unlocked Daring’s cage, his brown thestral partner keeping his trembling weapon on her the entire time. She gave them both a scowl as she slowly emerged from her cage.

“What about our friends?” she asked as the unicorn secured her wings and front hooves with more rope.

“They stay here,” the red pony grunted as he secured another leash around Daring’s neck. He placed his hoof through the holding strap of his .44 Magneigh and held it on them with a steady, professional aim. “You two come.”

Phillip’s gaze slowly panned over the three thugs. The mare and the thestral were both still tightly holding their riot shotguns upon them, their weapons shaking and their eyes wide. Thugs. A superstitious, cowardly lot. Not a serious problem.

The unicorn holding their leashes was the real threat. Calm, steady hooves. Holding the gun like he knew what he was doing. And most definitely not scared of them.

Phillip glanced at Flash, considering his options. He and Daring might be able to take them under normal circumstances, but one stray shot…

“It’s okay, Phil,” Flash said with a tight, nervous grin. “We’ll be fine.”

“Move,” the unicorn barked, tugging the leashes. Phil and Daring grunted as their balance was stolen from them, stumbling on their hobbled forelegs.

“Keep your vest on, we’re coming,” Daring snarled, following along. She gave her companions one final glance as the two thugs with shotguns followed them out, catching Flash’s nervous eyes over his forced smile.

Then the door slammed shut behind them and locked. The unicorn tugged them down the hallway, which was decorated with ancient paintings, tapestries, and tattered scrolls and maps. Speakers were set in corners, crooning out La Flaca. The cloud-brick floor, enchanted to carry the weight of non-pegasi, flexed slightly beneath their hooves as they walked, each step coming as a barely audible puff.

They passed a window, which revealed an evening sky covered with dark purple clouds, gold tingeing the eastern sky. The cover seethed and rolled slowly, like a churning sea. Beneath them, the borders of the cloud house stretched out for several yards; unlike the swooping, grandiose architecture of most pegasus constructions, this house was relatively plain and simple, a sloping shape similar to a large houseboat. A set of masts stretched up above to the sky, the sails on them wrapped up for the night. Daring frowned at the starless sky as they passed.

A tug from the leash convinced her to move on. They turned a corner and reached a set of double doors. The red unicorn rapped at them, the knocking sound somewhat muffled.

“Enter,” a male voice sounded from within.

The door unlocked and squeaked open. Daring gasped at what she saw inside.

The large, windowless room was like a massive museum of artifacts. Everywhere the eye went, there was gold and silver, ancient ceramic and china, suits of armor and statues, weapons and paintings and tapestries from every culture. Most were locked in glass cabinets, and all of them appeared to have been carefully tended to; none of the paintings were faded or tattered in the slightest, and every piece of metal gleamed like it was fresh from the forge.

Set upon one of the far walls was a fragment of reddish stone with figures painted upon it. Upon one side, dark bony beasts rushed towards a village of huts, with a sun...no, an eye, a burning, angry reddish-yellow, glaring down upon them from the sky.

From the other side, gray clouds brought rain, lightning crackling beneath them. Figures strode upon the clouds, glaring down upon the invaders with glowing white eyes, crowns of lightning around their heads.

Before the painting was a familiar pony wearing an olive vest and an ascot, his gaze moving from the Aborigineigh artwork to the two objects in his hoof as he discussed something with a pale green unicorn with parchment-colored hair and the cutie mark of a scroll and a paintbrush.

“Those are ours,” Daring glowered at him. “They were gifts from our mother.”

Doctor Caballeron looked up at them with a small smirk. “Fret not,” he declared, handing the wandjina totem necklaces to the unicorn. “I merely want to study your equipment and weapons, to understand your connection to the worlds beyond ours.” He nodded to his partner. “Ponlos con el resto de su equipo,” he instructed the other stallion. The other pony nodded, blue eyes blinking owlishly through thick glasses, and took them through a door into an adjoining room; Daring and Phillip caught a brief glimpse of more artifacts in glass cabinets before the door closed.

Doctor Caballeron smiled and bowed to his two captives. “Buenas noches, Señor Finder, Señora Do. Doctor Caballeron at your service.”

“Pleasure, ‘Mister Martingale,’” Daring growled. “You always lock your guests in cages and point guns at them?” She nodded at the three thugs still surrounding them, weapons aimed at their backs and sides.

“Only the ones that show up to my home uninvited,” Caballeron replied, moving to a small nearby table. Sitting upon it was a tall bottle filled with a black liquid and three shot glasses. Caballeron unpopped the bottle and filled one of the glasses with the liquid. The scent of alcohol blended with coffee and vanilla.

“Kahlúa?” Caballeron offered them. “I find business easier to discuss over drinks.”

Two glares provided an answer. “Your loss,” he shrugged, taking a slow sip and smacking his lips appreciatively.

A radiotelephone set on the wall suddenly chirped. “Un momento,” Caballeron sighed, putting his glass down and crossing to the hoofset, lifting it off the cradle. “Hello?”

As Caballeron listened to the pony on the other end, Daring and Phillip cast their gazes around the room. The green unicorn emerged from the other room, giving them an expressionless gaze as he stood by the door. The unicorn holding their leashes by his hoof had his gun on them, the barrel unmoving; by contrast, the shotguns held by the other two thugs were quivering in their hooves, their owners staring at them wide-eyed.

The objects in a nearby cabinet caught Daring’s eye. She studied the contents: a set of twisted candlestick holders, all of them warped and bent at bizarre angles like they’d been smashed and randomly welded back together, a set of fragmented mirrors, and something that looked like a flute glued to a bell with some strings on it.

“Discord cultist ritual instruments,” she muttered to herself. She studied the item in an adjoining cabinet: a ceramic jar decorated with winding serpents, most of them with far too many eyes set into their bodies, all of them exhaling clouds of smoke.

“Is he sure? Talons of Glory are not easy to make,” Caballeron muttered into the phone. He listened to the other party for a few moments of silence, then sighed. “Fine. He can send su cuervo for it. Just get that painting.” He hung up the phone and turned around with a sigh.

“Ah, the Plague Jar,” he said, nodding to the item. “A cursed artifact made in the worship of Discord by a cult in the Frozen North. It is believed to spread diseases when properly activated--”

“And it was stolen from a museum in Neighples,” Daring scowled at him. “Where it belongs.”

“Please,” Caballeron scoffed. “A weapon such as that is doing nopony any good in a museum. Consider the candlesticks.” He nodded to the twisted constructions. “When lit with the proper rites, they can summon shadowy beasts to hunt your enemies. Imagine the possibilities for such a device! It should be used, not just left to gather dust in a museum while pendejos stare at it.” He turned to her with a small smirk. "And besides, isn’t that what you used to do?”

Daring scowled at him. “A part of my life that I’d give anything to take back,” she spat. “Stealing treasures was one thing, but giving them to madponies like you is another.”

Caballeron’s emerald eyes turned hard and ugly. “You are guests in my home, Señora Do. I have been quite polite to you, all things considered. You would be wise to return the favor.”

Daring bared her teeth at him, but the red unicorn raised his pistol slightly, the black barrel aimed at her head. Phillip shook his head at her and she relented. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“That's better,” Caballeron nodded.

"Question," Phillip stated. "How did you find the Kyaltratek?"

"The former Zugzwang had it in his hideout," Caballeron explained.

"How did you find it?" Phillip scowled. "Took us moons to find the place; layers of magical protection on the place."

"I used my last wishing coin," Caballeron replied.

"Impossible," Daring Do cut in. "Wishing coins are a myth."

“Incredibly rare," Caballeron smirked. "But not a myth. Now, to the reason why you’re here.” He took a sip of the Kahlúa and sighed.

“I’ve been authorized to negotiate with you on behalf of...my employer,” Caballeron said, noticeably flinching at the last word. A brief shudder ran down the spines of the other thugs.

“The Plague Doctor, right?” Phillip asked.

“Well...yes and no,” Caballeron admitted, tugging at the ascot. “We are both working for a...different benefactor.”

“Who?” Phillip pressed.

“It matters not,” Caballeron shrugged it off. “What matters is this: they have seen great potential in you both.”

“Oh, I see,” Daring deadpanned. “How about you do us all a favor and skip to the part where we tell you to take your job offer and stick it up your ass?”

“You might want to hear me out first,” Caballeron stated. “My employer can be...very persuasive when he wants to be, but I convinced him to let me try a gentler approach first. And please consider the fact that we have your friends hostage and that the Ponyville Police don’t know where you are. And yes, we’ve already taken care of the mirror.

“Now, hear me out. There are perks to joining us. Not just money, I know you are not that simple. Nor even power. But the most important thing in the world: knowledge.”

He gestured around the room. “You think of me now as a thief. But my current activities are merely a necessity for my true pursuit,” Caballeron replied, strolling past the cabinet with the Plague Jar. “A seeker of knowledge. A quester towards the unknown.”

He gestured at the Aborigineigh paintings on the wall. “In this case, the truth behind the legends of gods. Including your wandjina spirits.”

“Wow, doc. You’re even better than warm milk,” Daring drawled, making a show of looking bored and sleepy. Phillip nudged her sharply.

“As I was saying…” Caballeron scowled. “I earned my doctorate in archeology in my home country of Mexicolt, excavating ancient Hayan ruins in the jungle. It was there that I first found traces of the truth. Icons of ancient figures and deities. I found myself fascinated by the gods of ancient cultures, of their worship.

“And the more cultures I studied, the more parallels I drew,” he continued, looking up at the painting up on the wall. “The wandjina. Rain gods of Aborigineigh mythology. According to the legends of your ancestors, Detective Finder, they descended from the sky, crowned with lightning, and made a covenant with the Aborigineigh: rain and protection in exchange for worship.”

“The point?” Phillip grunted.

“Allow me to direct your attention to this photograph taken from rock carvings in the Frozen North,” Caballeron continued, pointing to another framed photograph on the wall next to the stolen wandjina painting.

The picture showed the silhouettes of two quadrupeds. Both of them had arched domes around their heads, with what looked like lightning shooting out of them. They appeared to be standing on clouds with their forelegs raised as if warding something off. Above, a dark, shapeless form with three green eyes glared down at them; skeletal figures seemed to be racing towards the dome-headed figures.

“¿Que piensas?” Caballeron asked. “The resemblance is--”

“Non-existent,” Phillip interrupted. “It’s merely a coincidence.”

“Is that truly what you think?” Caballeron replied, shaking his head. “Do you know nothing of history? Look around you! Similar art in two different cultures might be a coincidence, but to see similar designs in four, five, even eight different cultures around the world? I believe you would call that ‘evidence.’”

Daring panned her gaze around the room, frowning as she studied the artifacts placed around the room. She recognized Hayan, ancient Chineighse and Japonese, Coltish, Neighgyptian; then other species, from griffons, thestrals, and hippogriffs to buffalo, yak, and kirin. There were even a few frescoes and carvings that looked like they were from changeling hives.

And indeed, the more she looked, the more connections she saw. A depiction of the evil Storm King looming over Mount Aris on a hippogriff tapestry had some similarities to a shadowy silhouette on a Neighgyptian stone fragment; a blindfolded griffon painted on a Coltish platter reminded her of Fantisera, the Griffonese goddess of death and dreams. A carving of Haebak, the goddess of the sun who had granted the kirin their fire, depicted a yellow kirin with a long, flowing mane the color of the sunrise; it reminded her of the painting of the Aborigineigh goddess Yhi that she’d seen in Cathedral Gorge moons ago.

On top of that, there were the images of the Old Gods. The three venomous green eyes of Nightmare Moon in a shadowy mist, the angry yellow orbit of Daybreaker amidst storms and fire, Tirek’s blood-red eyes glaring out of mountains of corpses, and Discord’s serpentine body with its smiling, eyeless face were depicted everywhere, in every culture, often with the gods or other mythological heroes standing in defiance of them.

“Okay, maybe you have something there,” she admitted. “But what’s the point here?”

“The point is that this is evidence that the same beings have visited our world multiple times,” Caballeron stated as if explaining that two and two were four. “Beings of superior power and technology to ours, who gifted us with knowledge and tools in exchange for worship. Consider the number of artifacts around us now, weapons and tools that defy our understanding of magic. Is that not proof that they were made by beings that are not from this world? That are from a society more advanced than--”

“Wait,” Daring interrupted, raising a hoof. “You think...that the gods were aliens?”

Caballeron frowned. “A crude manner of putting it, but yes. It is clear that the beings that we once knelt before in worship are from other worlds. Worlds on a higher level than ours, with greater power, greater magic, greater knowledge. And I, Doctor Caballeron, shall be known as the stallion who found true proof of this!”

Daring and Phillip both glanced at each other. Daring’s lip twitched; Phillip let out a brief cough.

A moment later, both of them had collapsed into raucous laughter, leaning against one another as their howls mixed with the music still playing through the speakers.

Their laughter was halted a moment later by the bark of a gunshot. Smoke rose from the red unicorn’s pistol, which he was now aiming back at them, his expression darkening by the moment.

“I’d be very careful about laughing at the doc if I were you,” he growled, his low voice making the threat far more chilling.

“I was mocked for my beliefs when I first began,” Caballeron continued, a scowl etching his way into his face. “I lost my credibility. My funding. My position. I was forced to resort to other methods to search for the truth. And yes, I did find myself working alongside terrorists. But if you think I have any real love for my...current investors, you’re quite incorrect. It is an alliance of convenience, nothing more.”

“I’m sure that’s some comfort to Rough Diamond,” Phillip said coldly.

Caballeron frowned. “A necessity. If the idiota hadn’t attempted to steal from us, she wouldn’t have needed to suffer.”

“Is she still alive?” Phillip pressed.

“We are not barbarians, detective,” Caballeron scoffed. “But this is all beside the point.”

He looked them both in the eye. “The fact of the matter is, we have important work to do. And we cannot allow you to interfere. There is one way you are able to get out of this alive: join us. You will be well-rewarded: money, power, whatever your hearts desire.”

“My heart’s desire is to see you in a cell and everything you stole put back where it belongs,” Daring snapped back.

Caballeron sighed. “I knew that you’d be unreasonable,” he shook his head. “But need I remind you that we have your friends? You may not want to work for us willingly, but in exchange for your friends’ lives…” He let the implication hang in the air for a moment; the music over the speakers seemed to fade away under the weight of the threat.

“I have seen what the Plague Doctor can do to ponies,” he added in a lower voice. “The screams that they make. Do you really want to do that to your amigos?”

Phillip scowled, his tail twitching slightly in agitation as he mulled the threat over in his mind. His tail brushed against Daring’s for a moment; she tugged at the appendage slightly, as though seeking comfort from his touch.

“How about we make a counteroffer?” Daring stated. “You let us and our friends go, and we won’t have to kill any of you.”

The red unicorn let out a low, rumbling laugh, nervously echoed by the two thugs with shotguns even as they backed away slightly. Caballeron chuckled.

“I admire your spirit, Daring Do,” Caballeron smirked. “But what makes you think that you are in any position to make threats?”

The muffled crack of a gunshot suddenly pierced the air, followed by several thumps of returning gunfire, echoing from down the hall. The thugs’ heads all turned in alarm towards the door.

As one, Phillip and Daring moved. Caballeron’s eyes had just enough time to widen slightly in horror as his two prisoners seized their leashes in their hobbled forelegs and pulled.

“Fuck!” the startled red unicorn cried as he was helplessly pulled towards them, his horn lighting up in preparation to cast a spell.

The preparation proved to be for naught, for his nose collided with Phillip’s forehead at the same moment that Daring’s elbow smashed into his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs so thoroughly that he couldn’t even scream in pain as blood exploded from his face.

By the time that Caballeron and the other three thugs returned their attention to their prisoners, a crack announced that Daring had snapped the unicorn’s wrist, tugging the pistol from his grasp. She spun around and opened fire, bullets pinging off of the bulletproof glass cabinets as her foes ducked for cover.

“No! Don’t destroy my collection!” Caballeron wailed.

“I’m trying to shoot you, not them!” Daring replied.

The red unicorn at their hooves snarled as he tried to rise, only to cough as Phillip’s knee battered his chest. Seizing his foe’s head, Phillip grunted and slammed it against the glass cabinet holding the Discord cult artifacts; the glass smashed open and the thug slumped to the ground, blood trickling from his head.

As Daring kept their foes down with more gunfire, Phillip slashed the ropes hobbling his forelegs on the glass, then quickly cut the ropes binding Daring with a loose shard.

“Stop them, stop them!” Caballeron barked, poking his head out only to receive a couple of shots in his direction that forced him back behind cover with a yelp.

The thestral shotgunner poked his head out of cover, just in time to see Phillip vaulting a container of Hayan gold coins, hind hooves first. The blow sent the thug crashing to the floor, his head bouncing against the carpet. “Wanker,” Phillip snarled, yanking the shotgun out of his enemy’s hooves and smashing the stock against his head.

Buckshot cracked the glass of the container next to Phillip. The stallion ducked, stealing the thestral’s weapon for himself as Caballeron pulled out a pistol and opened fire at him.

The white unicorn's horn glowed gold as he tried to tug the gun from Daring’s hoof. Daring grunted, seizing the weapon in both hooves.

“Let go, girl,” the unicorn snarled.

Daring looked at the cracked-open case of artifacts beside her and her eyes settled on the bell-like instrument. Out of desperation, she grabbed the instrument and flung it at the unicorn, who ducked too late to avoid being struck in the head.

There were no words in any language Daring knew to adequately describe the sound it made. It combined something close to a deep gonging that echoed around her skull, a kind of ringing that she felt in her blood rather than heard in her ears, a sharp whistling-screeching that made her teeth ache, and beneath it all, she swore she heard screaming.

When Daring recovered, she realized that every pony in the room was on their knees, clutching their ears. Shaking her head, she grabbed Phillip and hauled him back to his hooves. “C’mon, Phil!” she shouted, her own words sounding faint and distant. The two detectives stumbled into the room that the unicorn had been guarding and slammed the door behind them.

A heavy shelf next to the door carried a collection of faded papyrus scrolls and crumbling manuscripts with flaking illustrations. With a grunt, Phillip seized the shelf and pulled it over onto its side with a great crash, barricading the door.

Daring winced as she saw the ancient texts tumble to the floor, the centuries-old paper tearing and crumbling. “Aw, c’mon, there wasn’t a lock?” she grumbled, then winced again as faint waves of pain radiated across her tired muscles.

“You okay?” Phillip asked, concern flashing across his face.

Daring took a breath and forced the pain into the back of her mind. “I’m good,” she nodded, looking around the room.

The room that they found themselves in appeared to be the workshop of Caballeron’s museum of stolen artifacts; items waited on shelves, counters, and worktables to be analyzed and categorized. Many of them had a sinister air; upon one shelf towards the back rested a unicorn’s skull with runes carved into the bone, a twisted dagger with a golden hoofguard, and a multi-faceted emerald. Daring had to tear her eyes away from the gem; she thought she saw something slithering within it, turning to look back at her.

The one source of light was muted starlight coming in through an open window set high up in the wall; the window also admitted a chill wind that made them both shiver. The door that Phillip had barricaded was the only other entrance; they could hear muted voices and gunshots from the other side, carrying along with the music over the speakers.

Something green caught Daring’s eye. Hanging up on one wall was a familiar set of gear: a green fishing vest, a green cargo shirt, a pith helmet, a gray trilby, a stockwhip, a carved wooden club, a set of boomerangs, and two wandjina totem necklaces.

“Jackpot!” Daring grinned, seizing her shirt and helmet and throwing them both back on, tossing Phillip his own clothing. She placed Awely-Awely around her neck; the carved wood felt comfortingly cool against her skin as she tucked it beneath her shirt, giving her a small sense of peace.

“Looks like they raided most of the rest of our gear,” Daring frowned, patting down her empty pockets. All she found was the disabling gem she used for picking locks and the container with her enchanted night-vision contacts. “Dammit,” she grumbled, pocketing them.

“We’ll manage,” Phillip grunted, glaring at the door as he heard pounding against the cloud-wood construction. He checked the shotgun. “Seven rounds left,” he grunted.

He looked around the rest of the room. Sitting in one corner was a blank easel, awaiting something to be placed upon it. Next to it was a table littered with test tubes, all filled with various chemicals and compounds and a notebook with scrawls, chemical formulae, and what looked like recipes covering every inch of it. At the very center was a larger jar filled with a semi-transparent pale blue liquid, with a paintbrush placed in it and the number 23 written on it. Stacks of books were on another nearby table, all of them with dog-eared pages; a quick glance at the titles confirmed that they were all about Artiste Fou. One book, entitled The Writings of Artiste Fou: the Mad Artist in His Own Words, was particularly well-read, judging by the state of its pages.

Phillip glanced at the notebook and noticed that one section was circled: 23 es la mezcla correcta. Estoy seguro.

"Hmm," Phillip mused. Taking an empty test tube with a stopper, he quickly poured some of the contents of Number 23 into it, stoppered it, and tucked it into his vest.

Something gold on a table caught his eye. Phillip turned around and gasped.

“The Rings!” he cried, striding forward. His gaze swept over the three golden constructs spread over the table. The smallest of the three was four feet in diameter and all of them were polished to a fiery burnish, the better to reveal the indigenous symbols and runes etched into them.

Phillip reached out to take the smallest one, grunting at the unexpected weight: the ring weighed far more than it should, at least twenty pounds. “Too heavy,” he grunted, setting it back down. Spotting some notes scribbled down on a pad of paper next to the Rings, he snatched these up and pocketed them.

A shuffling of wings at the window caught his attention. Phillip looked up and met the beady black eyes of a raven with a red mark on its chest, staring back at him through the open window.

“Shit!” he gasped, ducking as the bird rushed at him, the metal blades on its claws flashing in the moonlight. The raven swooped over his head and snatched at something laying on another workbench. Phillip caught a brief glimpse of the object as it sailed over his head: a mummified griffon’s talon with a black candle stuck in its withered claws.

Then the raven had vanished out the window, disappearing into the darkness towards the south.

“Shit,” Phillip cursed. “Daring, we gotta--”

He turned around to see Daring slowly striding forward towards the back of the room, her jaw slack and her eyes wide. He looked over to identify the object of her fascination: a book laying open on a small display shelf.

A book with yellowed, ancient pages covered in scrawled, uneven, writing that looked like it had been written by a frenzied madpony. Writing in a language he did not understand, but that he recognized from before.

“Daring!” Phillip barked, lunging forward to slam the book shut and stuffing it into his vest. He barely gave the cover a glance: the etching of a serpent winding about a dagger piercing the sun and the moon was familiar to him.

Daring stared for a moment at the stand where the Kyaltratek had lain, her eyes still wide and her jaw still hanging open, then blinked and shook her head. “What happened?” she asked.

“We gotta move,” Phillip grunted, glaring at the barricaded door. “Can you carry me out--?”

Voices and flapping wings came from outside, carried on the frosty wind. “Fuck. Hide,” Phillip snapped, diving underneath one of the tables and pulling a box in front of him.

Daring jumped behind another crate just as two pegasi entered the room, sweeping the area with the flashlights attached to the barrels of their submachine gun. The beams passed over the box where Daring hid but did not stop.

“The fuck did they go?” the smaller blue colt asked.

“Maybe they got out the window already,” the taller red mare replied.

“Not so fast,” a creamy yellow unicorn declared, floating in through a window on a golden aura, a pistol strapped to one hoof. He lit up his horn, sending waves of golden energy through the room.

Another source of light illuminated the room. Daring glanced down at her hoof and gasped to find that her entire body was glowing gold. And a glance up revealed that she could see Phillip’s silhouette through his cover.

“There they are!” the unicorn declared, yanking the box that Phillip was hiding behind out and tugging the shotgun from his hooves as the two pegasi rounded Daring's crate.

The shout had barely made it out of the thug’s mouth before Phillip bowled into him, the two ponies crashing to the ground as his pistol barked, sending one round into the ceiling before it was ripped from its owner’s foreleg and tossed aside. The two pegasi turned at the crash.

They paid for their mistake a moment later when Daring’s whip snatched the blue one’s gun from his hooves.

“Hey!” the red mare barked, whirling around only to meet an elbow to the jaw. Daring smacked the smaller colt in the face with the barrel of the gun, sending him to the ground with a howl as he clutched his bloodied face, teeth falling from his hooves.

With a roar, the red mare tackled Daring up into the air; Daring slammed into the wall with a cough as the air was knocked from her lungs, driven further by furious jackhammer blows into her sides. The submachine gun tumbled from her hooves and to the ground.

The unicorn squirmed beneath Phillip, his hooves glowing golden as he swung at the detective. Slipping an attempt at a choke, Phillip reached for the strap that Rarity had sewn into his vest mere weeks ago.

With a well-practiced snap, his waddy emerged from its sheath, the narrow end jamming into the unicorn’s ribs. His foe grunted, his spell fizzing out of existence.

Phillip headbutted his foe in the nose, sneering as hot blood rushed over his face with a crack, then reared back and swung. The waddy’s weighted end smacked across the unicorn’s horn with a sharp snap; sparks flew from the appendage as the unicorn writhed in agony, clutching his head and screaming. His howls were cut off when Phillip struck him on the head with the waddy.

Phillip looked up and gasped as he saw that Daring was trapped against the wall, the red mare’s hooves around her neck; Daring’s wings beat futilely as she tried to escape, her face drawn in fatigue as she struggled to draw breath.

Phillip’s wrist moved on its own. The boomerang whistled through the air and struck the red mare in the back of the head, the heavy blow dazing her. Daring battered her opponent in the chest with her knee, slipping out of her grasp.

The red mare dove for the ground, hooves outstretched for Phillip’s discarded shotgun.

“No, you don’t!” Daring barked, her whip swooshing through the air with a snap and ensnaring her target’s hind legs. The goon yelped as she was pulled back towards Daring.

“Bitch!” she croaked out, driving both hooves into the mare’s chest and sending her crashing to the floor, where she lay unmoving with a groan.

The blue stallion, groaning through his bloodied mouth, spotted the dropped gun and scrambled for it.

Crack!

The thug drew away with a yelp, clutching his reddened hoof.

“I wouldn’t,” Daring smirked at him, panting as she landed.

Double-checking to make sure that the other two thugs were still unconscious, Phillip stalked over to the trembling blue pegasus and pinned him to the ground with a hoof to the back. “Where are our friends?” he growled, his voice as low as a thunderclap.

“Uh...uh...uh…” the blue pony stammered, staring up at him with wide eyes.

The walkie-talkies on the thugs’ shoulders abruptly crackled to life. “They're in the cafeteria! Move in!”

Phillip leaned down at his trembling prey. “Cafeteria. Where?”

The thug gulped. “Down the hall!” he said, pointing. “Two rooms down! Big windows!”

“Is Rough Diamond here?” Phillip snarled.

The thug nodded rapidly. “Her cell is just down the hall from the cafeteria! Door next to the kitchen and on the right!”

“Thank you,” Phil nodded, then stomped on the pegasus’ head. He grunted once and was still.

Daring grabbed the shotgun and tossed it to Phillip, taking one of the submachine guns for herself.

“You okay to fly?” Phillip asked, strapping the unicorn’s pistol to his hoof.

“I’m good enough to get us there,” Daring replied, climbing up onto the table and spreading her wings. “I’ll--”

A click behind them. Phillip spun around to meet the glaring eyes of the unicorn, shaded in the darkness, staring at him over the barrel of the other submachine gun.

The crack of a gunshot mixed with the sudden blaring of guitars and trumpets over the speakers. The unicorn thumped to the floor, a hole drilled into his forehead.

Smoke rose from Daring’s weapon as she adjusted the strap. “C’mon!” she called to Phillip, grabbing him beneath the forelegs and soaring out the window. Snow assailed them both as Daring flew through the chill night air, banking around to follow the outside walls of the cloud house.

“If you take a life, do you know what you’ll give…?”

Lights glared through the darkness from the enlarged windows of the cafeteria; the muffled cracks of gunshots could be heard from within. Daring set Phillip down on the ground outside, then smashed the glass with the stock of her submachine gun, glaring through the hole.

The cafeteria was a wide room with several long tables and chairs; more art and trophies were displayed on the white walls, including a long scroll depicting a medieval battle over the shutters leading into the kitchen.

Red, Flash, and Strider, all armed with stolen guns, were backed up against one wall, crouching several overturned tables. Caballeron himself was leading a ten-strong squadron of goons that had surrounded them in an arc.

The chattering of Daring’s submachine gun mixing with the thunderclaps of Phil’s shotgun. Three of the gunponies had fallen before the others turned, momentarily frozen in shock.

“Keep their heads down!” the red unicorn from before barked to his comrades as his horn lit up, projecting a shimmering red dome in front of him. The shield rang out almost melodiously as the detectives’ bullets pinged off the construct; the surviving goons crouched down behind his shield.

The unicorn sneered and opened fire. His tiny Zezi machine pistol let out its distinctive purring as its bullets shattered the window, forcing Phil and Daring to duck.

“Wanker,” Phillip grunted, pulling out one of his recovered boomerangs. He poked his head up to the crack; another salvo of hot bullets screamed past his face and he drew back with a hiss that turned into a grunt as he snapped his wrist.

The boomerang smashed the window on its entry, whistling through the air as it banked around past their enemy’s shield, then swung around to smack him in the back of the head. The red unicorn grunted, his shield flickering as his focus was broken.

A moment later, he screamed in agony as buckshot ripped into his side, tearing away his flesh. He fell to the floor, his blood staining the tiled floor as Daring’s salvo struck down his comrades behind him.

Catching the returning boomerang in his teeth, Phillip racked the shotgun, sliding the bead over to the red unicorn’s face. Vicious green eyes blazed with defiance as the trigger began to bend beneath Phil’s hoof.

“No! Immaych tlytu!” Caballeron screamed, throwing himself in front of his fallen comrades with one hoof raised.

The shotgun let out its fury in a clash of sound and thunder, sending buckshot towards Caballeron.

Confetti rained down upon the disgraced archeologist.

“What the--?” Phillip gaped.

Held in Caballeron’s trembling hoof was a small idol of Discord, the eyeless face sneering as though mocking them. The eyes in the palms of the beast’s paws glowed yellow and red; as the detectives watched, the veins in Caballeron’s foreleg began to blacken, as though his blood had been replaced with ink.

“Arm yourself, because no one else here will save you…”

“Fall back!” Caballeron ordered his crew. Two of the less-injured thugs picked up the red unicorn and joined their comrades in retreating back through the door. The former prisoners all opened fire at the retreating group, only for every round to turn into confetti or flowers before they struck their targets.

“You’re going to be all right, Security!” Caballeron cried as he pushed through the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Daring and Phillip both vaulted in through the window as Flash, Red, and Strider stood up. “You guys okay?” Daring panted, checking her magazine, then grabbing a couple of fresh ones from a dead Caballeron thug.

“Yeah, you?” Flash panted, briefly gripping Phillip’s arm. Phillip nodded and offered the younger pegasus a tight smile as he tossed aside his empty shotgun, taking a dropped pistol for himself.

“How’d you get out?” Daring asked, massaging her sore wings.

“The old feather lockpick trick,” Strider grinned back. “Should’ve used combination locks.”

“The what?” Daring asked.

Strider cocked one eyebrow. “You didn’t know that you can use feathers as a lockpick?” he replied.

Daring just stared at him in surprise. “Ha!” Strider grinned. “I got one up on the great Daring Do!"

“Rough Diamond is here,” Phillip announced, pushing through the door leading into the huge, well-kept kitchen. “She’s just down the hall from here. Come on.”

“And here I thought that we were going to get out of here,” Red muttered as they followed him.

Phillip cautiously opened the door leading into the hall and glanced up and down the darkened passageway, his pistol at the ready. Seeing no one, he beckoned the others through. They headed down the hall towards the single window at the end, vaguely illuminated by the last vestiges of sunlight.

Daring opened the next door down and found a short hallway with no windows, a single door on either wall.

“Door on the right,” she declared, proceeding inside with Flash and Strider. Red and Phillip remained at the head of the hall, guns at the ready.

“I’ve seen this diamond cut through harder men
Than you yourself, but if you must pretend…”

“Locked,” Daring grunted, glaring at the padlock.

“Move,” Strider replied, extending his wing and plucking out two of the smaller feathers. He ran the shafts through his teeth to smooth them out, then inserted them into the keyhole and began to dig around, the tumblers and pins rattling as he began to work at the lock.

“You’re teaching me how to do that when we get out of here,” Daring muttered, a jealous scowl forming across her face.

“Get in line!” Flash said, grinning as he watched the agent work.

The lock snapped open and Strider shoved the door open. The room inside was small and dark, with only one hanging light that illuminated the sole occupant: a turquoise unicorn mare laying strapped to a table, her white mane hiding her face.

“Diamond?” Flash called, striding forward. He began tugging at the straps, undoing the hostage’s bonds.

Diamond moaned feebly and turned her head towards her rescuer. Flash gasped, pausing in his work for a moment.

The mare’s bloodshot left eye stared past him, unfocused and bleary. Her right eye was gone; all that remained was the bloodied socket, pus leaking out of the hole surrounded by inflamed, reddish skin.

“No...no…” Diamond whimpered croakily, struggling feebly in her straps.

“It’s okay,” Flash said, undoing the rest of Diamond’s bonds. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?”

Diamond let out a low, horrid moaning noise, like a feeble attempt at a scream, and retreated from him, curling up into a ball.

“Take that as a no,” Flash said, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulders; she dissolved into feeble whimpers and half-formed pleas but did not struggle. “All right, I got her! Let’s get out of here!”

There was a bark from down the halls and a clattering noise echoed across the floor. Clouds of gray gas hissed through the passageway, accompanied by the sounds of hoofsteps.

“Tear gas!” Red warned, already starting to cough as bullets screamed past him and Phillip.

The group retreated down the narrow hall towards the window at the end of the main hall, sending shots into the advancing cloud, coughing with every step as the gas began to irritate their senses.

Strider started to open the window, then paused as a shadow briefly crossed the window. “Gunponies outside!” he warned.

Daring glanced back as bullets flew past her ear, smashing the glass behind her; cold air blew into the hall, making the clouds of gas around them dance in the wind. Her breath came heavy as pain radiated across her muscles and she started coughing and hacking as the tear gas caught up to them. Rough Diamond was clutching her throat, wheezing for air.

“I’ve got an idea!” Red wheezed out. “Blow the gas in their faces!”

He started flapping his wings towards the window, with Flash and Strider joining in as Daring and Phillip continued firing blindly at their unseen attackers through tear-streaked eyes. Tear gas blew through the window, and soon enough, they heard coughing from outside.

“Strider!” Red barked, jumping through the window and turning to the left.

Strider followed him, turning to the right. The two thugs standing on either side of the window, blinded by the gas and startled by their targets’ boldness, stood no chance; blood blossomed from their bodies as they were felled.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Red barked as the others followed him through the window, gasping and wiping their eyes in the cold winter night.

“Stop them!” a muffled voice barked from inside.

“You can’t deny the prize, it may never fulfill you…”

“I’m spent,” Daring panted, her wings sagging in exhaustion.

“Get on my back,” Strider said, stooping slightly to allow Daring to climb up onto his shoulders. Phillip hopped onto Red’s back as Flash adjusted the barely conscious Rough Diamond’s grip over his shoulders.

As one, the three pegasi spread their wings and leaped off the edge of the cloud house.

"Go east!" Phillip ordered Red. "Need to get back to the city! Warn police!"

Tearing off his own mask, Caballeron rushed to the edge of his cloud house and watched as his former prisoners fled into the night.

Daring Do looked up and shot a defiant grin and a Flying Feather back at him, holding her pith helmet to her head with one hoof.

And then a cloud covered them and they were gone. Caballeron stood where he was, listening to the music howling over the speakers:

“You know my name!
You know my name!
You know my name…!”

Author's Note

Drawing done by one of my colleagues, Jade Dawn! Thanks, buddy!

Songs in this chapter: La Flaca by Jarabe De Palo and You Know My Name by Chris Cornell. I always wanted to do a scene with that song!

At long last, we get to the scene from the cover art and we are introduced to Daring Do's arch-nemesis from the show, Doctor Caballeron! I hope that you enjoyed this interpretation of him: he went through a lot of reworks before I finally settled on his motivations for joining the villainous alignment. The alien idea was suggested by an old friend Magic Step, and I both liked it for its originality and thought it was funny, so I kept it.

Be sure to leave a comment with any criticisms or thoughts, and leave a like if you enjoyed! See you next week!

Case Twenty, Chapter Six: Glory

The raven flew through the snowy night, its prize clutched tight in its talons. Snow clung to its black wings, but it ignored the cold, passing over the white-blanketed fields of crops north of Ponyville, over dark, silent cottages and homes shadowed by creaking, leafless trees.

It passed over one darkened two-floor brown cottage that stood post over long stretches of wheat, its passage unobserved by the two ponies in thick coats that stood on the balcony, stamping their hooves and trying to shield the fragile flames of their cigarettes from the biting wind.

It flew on another quarter mile to the next house, a ramshackle, formerly blue-white construction with cracked windows and a mold-eaten porch, surrounded by old, groaning trees and empty fields, the nutrients long sucked from the soil. A cracked window allowed it entry into the top floor. Flying past dust-covered furniture and broken housewares, remnants of owners who had long passed.

The broken, rotting stairs gave way to the bottom floor, which was lit by battery-powered lanterns and flashlights. Three earth ponies were clustered around a table, poring over photographs and a blueprint.

The mummified talon thumped onto the table, the black candle still clutched within its desiccated fingers. The three ponies all jumped back with a yelp, then looked up at the raven, which had perched upon a pale bust of a pony set into the wall above a nearby doorway. The raven blinked at them, ruffling its wings to shake the snow from its feathers.

“Hey, doc!” the white stallion with the slicked black mane said, turning towards the dual layer of black curtains that blocked the nearby window and adjusting the sunglasses that he wore despite the darkness and late hour. “Your pet’s back.”

From his post at the window, the pegasus lowered his enchanted binoculars and turned towards the voice with a small smile. He glanced once more at the target, the dark brown cottage with its faint lights feebly trying to expel the darkness, then turned, carefully shifted around the tripod-mounted camera. He pushed aside the first set of black curtains surrounding the windows, carefully replacing them before pushing aside the next set: couldn’t risk blowing the operation now by letting in a stray beam of light.

The other three stallions all repressed shudders and turned away from the masked pegasus as he approached. The raven hopped off the bust and onto his extended foreleg, croaking appreciatively as he stroked her with his wing.

With his other wing, he picked up the Talon of Glory, tilting it from side to side to study the construct.

“You know, I think flashlights are more efficient,” the white stallion frowned, his shaded gaze on the gruesome candleholder.

“Don’t ye know anything, Withers, ye numpty?” the broad green earth pony with the bushy red mane grunted. “That’s a Talon of Glory, a gift from the Lord of Chaos. The right claw of a hanged murderer, blessed with the proper rites.” He grinned at the grim trinket. “Aye, that’s a bonny one that the doc made.”

“Yes, we’re all very impressed with it, Rogue,” Withers commented, audibly rolling his eyes. “But what does it do?”

“You’ll see, lad,” Rogue replied as the doctor slipped the Talon into one of the pockets on his bandolier.

“All right, boys,” the large brown earth pony said, pushing his fedora back as he pointed at the blueprints and photographs spread out before them.

“They’ve got pairs of guards here, here, and here,” the leader declared, pointing to three dots marked around the perimeter of the house. “Plus the two guys on the balcony. The doc’s gonna get in through the balcony and start making some havoc. Once he’s got their attention, we’ll get in through the back and head for the basement vault. That’s probably where they’ll have the painting.” He pointed to a windowless room with a single door in the southeast corner of the bottom floor.

“The basement is the most secure part of the building, Biff,” Rogue grunted. “Only one way in or out of there. If those Mareish bawbags retreat back in there, they’re gonna be in the way.”

“That’s why we have this,” Biff smirked, holding up a canister filled with pale yellow liquid. “And these,” he added, holding up a gas mask. “We drill into the vault, flush them out. And right towards the doc.”

“Works for me,” Withers shrugged. “Long as those seals work.”

“I triple-checked, don’t worry,” Biff reassured him. “I have no intention of inhaling this stuff. No offense, doc.”

The masked pegasus just blinked at him and grunted.

“Right,” Biff said slowly. “Okay, if we’re all set?”

Withers adjusted his glasses and nodded, donning one of the three gas masks. The Plague Doctor unhooked his mask from his belt and strapped it on over his head, his breath coming in low hisses through the heavy filters.

After Rogue secured his mask tight and checked the seal, he closed his eyes and crouched down. “Lord of Chaos, give us your craftiness,” he prayed. “Confound our foes and grant us success.”

“Okay,” Biff nodded, taking a gas mask for himself and strapping it on tight. He and his two comrades all donned tight dark blue cloaks, tugging the hoods up over their heads. “Everypony got their teleportation crystals?”

All four ponies held up the small jars with the faintly glowing red crystals within.

“Let’s go get ‘em,” Biff nodded, heading for the back door and opening it with a groan.

The group exited, their hoofsteps crunching through the snow. The doctor spread his wings and took flight, gliding low over the ground to bank around. The three earth ponies stuck low to the ground, their movements muffled by years of experience.

Up ahead, the three-story cottage stood sentinel against the darkness, lights from every window spilling out of the house into the snowy night. A biting wind drew a rattle from the few remaining leaves on the sweetgum trees next to the driveway. The patrolling couple on the driveway looked up as a single leaf detached from the tree and drifted to the ground.

The earth pony adjusted his coat, making sure that the sawn-off shotgun beneath could be easily drawn if need be. “Front patrol, checking in,” he spoke into the walkie-talkie he pulled from his pocket. “Nothing yet.”

“Back patrol one, all clear,” another voice replied.

“Patrol two, still nothing.”

“Balcony, all clear,” a hippogriff standing at the balcony over the front doors reported into his radio. He replaced the walkie-talkie and sighed, staring into the darkness, his breath frosting before his beak.

“I’m still thinking about poor Diamond,” the unicorn mare next to him said, sucking at her fag. “I can’t believe that we’re just leaving her.”

“What do you want us to do, Cashew?” the hippogriff grunted. “We have no idea where she is, and we’re not just gonna give that masked freak that painting. The Mareish don’t just roll over for that.” He took a draw on his own cigarette. “He’s hoping those detectives will find her,” the hippogriff replied. “And that once all this is settled, he can use that bloody painting as a bargaining chip.”

“He’s acting the maggot, Leo,” Cashew snarled. “His arrogance is gonna get us all killed.”

“Oy, don’t talk about him like that,” Leo snapped back. “Coin gave both of us a home and a purpose to fight for. Wasn’t for him, you and I and most of the others here would be on the streets and you know it.”

“That doesn’t make him right!” Cashew replied. “He--”

Her protest was cut off by the lights over the balcony door suddenly turning off, as if they were a candle that an errant wind had snuffed out. “The fuck?” Leo asked, turning around and fumbling for his flashlight. “Who turned that off?”

A flap of wings from up above. Cashew looked up just in time to see a dark shape swooping down upon them.

The next thing she saw was a sprout of crimson blood erupting from her throat. She staggered, futilely clutching at her neck as warm, thick liquid gushed over her hooves. She tried to speak, scream, something, but all that came out was a panicked gurgle.

She could only watch as the masked stallion whirled around. Leo didn’t stand a chance; the blade sliced through his neck like the flesh was made of butter, sending blood flowing like a spigot. Leo stumbled, turning towards his killer with wide, horrified green eyes. His claw fumbled for the walkie-talkie in his pocket, only for the device to be cruelly slapped from his grasp and onto the floor. His body followed a moment later, twitching as the hippogriff desperately and futilely clung to life.

In her last moments, Cashew spotted something hanging around their intruder’s neck: a mummified griffon talon, clutching a candle. The flame on the candle, though...it was wrong. It was black, and despite the wind, it did not flicker, remaining steady on its wick.

And then the Plague Doctor was bending over her. The last thing Cashew saw in this life was the crimson eyes hatefully glaring down at her.

“Cashew, what’s going on?” a voice barked over the radio. “What happened to the lights?”

The Plague Doctor glanced down at the walkie-talkie, then glanced at the raven sitting astride his back. He picked up the radio, then held it up to the bird, clicking the button.

The bird let out a sharp caw right into the speaker. Smiling beneath his mask, the Doctor dropped the walkie-talkie to the floor and slid the balcony door open, the lights within snuffing out as soon as he entered.

“Fuck, he’s here! He’s here!”

The basement of the cottage was a simple construction, decorated with bookshelves, stuffed hunting trophies hanging upon the walls, and throw rugs covering the stone floor, the room lit by a chandelier hanging from the wooden ceiling. A locked chest sat in the corner, secured by a heavy iron padlock. The ponies within stood about the central table, all of them looking up at the ceiling.

“He’s here,” Coin Toss confirmed, checking the slide on his hoofgun to ensure a round was chambered. “Be ready, boys. There’s only one way in here.” He nodded towards the double-locked door on the north wall. The thick metal material was incongruous with the rest of the building, but stood strong in the threshold, its very presence promising safety.

“Break in here and try to take what’s ours,” one of his companions snarled, hefting a shotgun at the door. “We’ll show that masked gobshite!”

The bearded unicorn turned and glanced at his companion. The dark gold pegasus fidgeted in place, one hoof tapping at the trigger of his submachine gun.

“For Diamond,” Winged Key muttered.

“For her,” Coin nodded. “The detectives will find her, mate. And we’ll take care of this freak for her.”

Winged Key nodded and his eyes narrowed as he hefted his weapon. His tattoo caught the light, the golden motto glittering for all to see.

“Éirinn go Brách, motherfucker,” he swore at their foe.

A crack of gunfire roared from over their heads. They looked up at the chattering of an automatic gun.

“He’s in the dining room! He’s in the--!” The voice through the radio on the table was cut off by a cry of pain.

The six ponies stared up at the ceiling, listening as the gunfire was suddenly cut off. The sound was accompanied by shouts and pounding hoofsteps as others came to the fight.

More gunshots.

Screaming.

Then silence.

Coin Toss swallowed and glanced around at his companions. The other five ponies all stared at the door, shifting nervously, sweat beginning to run down their brows and necks. Gun barrels wavered as hooves adjusted their grasps.

“What’s going on up there?” Coin asked into the radio.

His only reply was crackling from the radio. “Anypony there?” Coin called again. “Come in!”

“We...fuck, fuck...we lost him!” a panting voice replied, cracking with terror. “Three guys down! I don’t know where--no! Oh, Faust, no!”

His reply turned into screaming. Then static. Then nothing.

“What is it?” Coin shouted into the radio, trying to force the growing rush of panic from his voice as his companions all stared wide-eyed at the little black box in his hoof.

The room shook with thunder. Every head turned around to see a hole blown into the ceiling in the corner of the room, the wood blasted aside by a shotgun slug.

“Feck off!” Winged Key roared, turning and firing a salvo from his gun into the ceiling. Bullets punctured the ceiling.

A gray canister fell through the hole in the floor with a clatter, yellow gas spewing from the device. The mobsters staggered back, coughing and choking.

“Shite, they’re trying to flush us out!” Coin Toss wheezed out, staggering for the gas canister. Seizing it in a bubble of emerald magic, he tried to lift it back out through the hole blasted into the ceiling. “Winged, get--”

Winged Key turned towards his boss, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Eyes as cold, empty, and black as a pair of holes.

The gas canister clattered to the floor as Coin staggered back, gasping in disbelief. “No…”

Black filth bubbled into Winged Key’s mouth, tongues dangling from the pitch. Veins tore across the unicorn’s skin, eyes like swollen bruises bursting from his flesh at random intervals. The thing stepped towards Coin, laughter bubbling from the inequine throat.

“No! Get back!” Coin screamed, opening fire at the thing, every echoing gunshot mixing with the monster’s howls.

“That’s not what I expected,” Biff commented, staring at the hole in the closet floor, listening to the gunshots and screams coming from within.

Rogue chortled, the mask making his voice sound almost mechanical. “The Lord of Chaos is with us, boys! He brings his wrath upon our foes!”

“Hey, he can bring all the chaos he wants, so long as it gets us that painting sooner,” Withers shrugged.

A scream echoed through the house from up above. Withers glanced up, trying to repress a shudder.

“Just be glad that he’s keeping the rest of these idiots off us,” Biff grunted.

The cries and gunshots from beneath petered out. “Okay, I think that’s the last of them,” Biff nodded, rising. “Let’s go get ‘em, boys.”

The gas mask-wearing trio descended the steps, pausing at the locked and reinforced door. Rogue reached into a pocket and pulled out what looked like a spray bottle. He sprayed the edges of the door with the foul green liquid within, which hissed and bubbled as it began to eat into the material.

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous to carry around?” Withers commented, raising an eyebrow at his companion.

“Aye,” Rogue grinned back at him.

Biff reached forward and pushed the door, which fell off the threshold and crashed to the floor, revealing the basement within.

The clouds of yellow gas were slowly dissipating. Corpses lay across the floor, blood staining the throw rug and the stone floor. A single green unicorn was curled up in the corner, tears running from his eyes into his red beard, the gun in his hoof clicking uselessly as he pointed it at the intruders.

Biff walked over to one of the bodies on the ground, red holes punched through the unicorn’s throat and chest. He glanced over the body, his eyes settling on the motto tattooed on his arm.

“Guess that’ll teach you,” he sneered at the still-twitching corpse, giving it a light kick.

Withers made a beeline for the trunk in the corner, crouching down at the lock and working at it with a set of tools that he pulled from his cloak. It took him only about thirty seconds to defeat the lock and open up the trunk.

“Let’s see what we won…” the thief muttered, shoving aside the stolen loot within, ignoring the albums of notebooks and bags of stolen gems and coins. “Aha! Jackpot!” he declared, seizing a cardboard tube. He opened it up and extracted the old, cracked canvas within.

“Is this it, boss?” Withers asked, unrolling the painting.

Biff glanced over and grinned at the sight of the stallion in the top hat with his back eternally turned to the world. “That’s it, Withers.”

“What do we do about the tadger?” Rogue grunted, glaring at the shivering Coin Toss, who was now covering his face, half-formed prayers and pleas feebly emitting from his quivering lips.

“Doc said that we’re supposed to kill everypony here,” Biff shrugged. “Might as well get him, too.”

Rogue grinned and stepped forward, pulling a curved knife from beneath his cloak. Coin Toss shivered and curled up into a little ball, whimpering like a frightened child.

“The motherfucking boss of the motherfucking Mareish Mob,” the husky earth pony sneered. “What a fucking joke.” He bent down to begin the cut.

Coin Toss stared up at him, eyes glistening with fear. With a bellow of desperate determination, he lunged at his attacker, bowling into him like a runaway car. Rogue grunted as the Mareish pony's hooves bashed into his chest, knocking him back a step.

"Fucker!" he snapped at Coin, slashing wildly with his knife and striking nothing but air.

Coin charged at Withers, who could only stare slack-jawed at his attacker, still numbly holding the painting in his hooves. Coin seized the canvas in his mouth and tugged.

"Hey! Let go!" Withers barked, trying to pull his prize away from Coin.

A great ripping noise resounded through the air as Not to Be Replicated tore in half. Gripping his own half in his teeth, Coin Toss charged for the doorway, lunging past Biff's attempt to tackle him. Panting and gasping, the unicorn charged up the stairs three at a time and out onto the landing.

Slipping and skidding through the still-warm blood that covered the floors, stumbling over the corpses of his comrades, he slammed through the front door. The cold wind bit into him as he ran across the driveway, racing towards his target: his white four-door car. "Come on, come on," he gasped through his teeth, grabbing at the door handle.

Pain flared across the back of his leg, like fire through his muscles. Coin Toss fell with a scream, dropping the torn half of the painting. He looked up just in time to see a raven swooping around through the air, his blood dripping off the blades on its talons.

Hoofsteps crunched through the snow. Coin Toss gaped in horror as the masked pegasus stalked towards him, the red eyes blazing with hate. The blood dripping from the blade in his hoof left a trail of red dots behind him. A mummified griffon talon was secured to his bandolier, the candle within its withered grasp snuffed out.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Coin Toss breathed in time to his thumping heart, trying to crawl away on his lame leg. He could only stare as the blade was raised, the eyes fixed upon his throat.

And then a sound pierced through the night air. The howl of police sirens.

The Plague Doctor froze, his head whipping up to stare in disbelief at the mass of red and blue lights that were charging up the streets towards them, tires screeching against the slick asphalt and dirt.

Coin's horn lit up and seized a clump of snow from the ground, flinging it at the Plague Doctor's mask. The assassin grunted in fury as the slush covered his face, shaking his head furiously.

He looked around just in time to see his target rolling underneath the car, dragging the torn canvas into cover with him. With a snarl, he reached after the unicorn.

Lenore screeched in alarm. The first police cruiser was turning up the driveway, headlights illuminating the Plague Doctor's figure.

A growl escaped the mask. Spreading his wings, he took to the sky, with Lenore following. A distant shout chased after him, but he was already vanishing into the night, his prize unclaimed.

Author's Note

Amazing what somepony can do when they're backed into a corner.

Coming up with the Talon of Glory's effect took me a while--I found out that there are a lot of different stories about what it does, but I finally settled on "turns off any nearby lights" because it fit with the Doc's stealthy MO.

And I've had a fair bit of fun coming up with characterizations for Caballeron's three main thugs. I wanted to put my own twist on each of their own little brand of evil, and I hope for a chance to show y'all more of it.

Hope you liked this chapter! Be sure to leave a comment to share what you thought!

Case Twenty, Chapter Seven: Silver Lining

The spinning red and blue lights illuminated the cabin, the colors spreading across the snow in every direction. Six police cruisers were all parked about the perimeter, the swerving tracks marked behind them evidence of their hasty parking.

“How did you figure out that this was Coin’s safehouse?” Cold Case asked, staring at the building from outside.

“Soil traces on Diamond’s and Coin’s cars,” Phillip said. “Sweetgum leaf tree on Coin’s car. Distance from here to McNeighley’s narrowed down the area. Just lucky we found it so fast.”

“Lucky for him, at least,” Daring Do commented with a scowl, glancing back at a cruiser sitting towards the back of the phalanx. Coin Toss was shivering in the backseat, clutching a blanket around his body and staring at nothing. Two officers were both glaring down at him.

A troop of officers emerged from the front door, their weapons lowered and shoulders slumped. Bumblebee set down the shield he’d been carrying and removed the gas mask over his face. The countenance beneath was a mixture of horror and awe.

“All clear,” he reported. “But…” He shook his head. “There’s no way one pony did this. No way. It had to be an army.”

“You wish,” Agent Strider said soberly as he, Phillip, and Daring proceeded towards the front door.

All of them glanced up at the balcony overhead. Two corpses, a hippogriff and an earth pony mare, were illuminated by the bulb over the glass door, weapons discarded next to their still forms. The hippogriff’s forelimb hung limply over the edge. As they passed beneath the balcony, some drops of blood, still slightly warm, dripped between the slats next to Strider’s hooves.

“Ick,” he groaned and entered the hallway.

They were greeted by a corpse sprawled face down on the floor, blood staining the once-beautiful throw rug across the tiles. The cottage stank of death. Bodies lay in every hallway and every room, blood spilling from slit throats, slashed eyes, and bullet wounds onto the floor. Almost every one of the corpses had an expression of terror upon their countenance, mouths hanging open in silent screams.

“Crikey,” Phillip breathed as they proceeded through a sitting room. The acrid scent of cordite hung in the air, muting the odor of blood. One wall was pockmarked with bullets, and chairs and tables were overturned in what appeared to have been a desperate bid to escape, judging by the three corpses sprawled across them, discarded guns dropped amidst smashed plates, glasses, and books.

Strider looked over the bullets marring one of the walls. “There are no blood trails leading out of here; he wasn’t hit,” he observed. “Every light is on, and there’s no cover in here.” He bent down next to one of the bodies, frowning as he studied the jagged tear in the side of the jenny’s neck. “How did they manage to not hit him?”

Daring frowned and tapped her head. “He had a Talon of Glory…” she muttered to herself. “What are those, what are those, I know those…”

“I saw his bird carrying it out,” Phillip said. “Looked like a mummified griffon talon holding a candle.”

“Right!” Daring declared, brightening. “Talons of Glory, made from the right hoof of a griffon hanged for murder! The candle creates a sort of anti-light: if you light it, it basically dims all the light around you, but you can still see.”

“Useful for stealth missions,” Phillip nodded.

“Why can’t they make magical artifacts that make our jobs easier?” Strider complained. “Why does all the cool stuff have to be evil?”

“Says the pony with the cutting-edge magical gear,” Daring replied.

“Yeah, but remote surveillance viewers and holographic scene projectors are just rocks, not murderer’s talons,” Strider replied.

Cold Case cleared her throat pointedly from the door. “Agent.”

“Right, right,” Strider nodded.

“Darkness, hallucinogenic poison,” Phillip said, looking around at the corpses. “No wonder they panicked. Doctor had every advantage he needed.”

“Coin said he was in the basement. Let’s check there,” Daring suggested, nodding towards an open door revealing a set of stairs.

Tendrils of yellow smoke clung to the steps, twisting and turning in faint winds. The three detectives donned gas masks before heading downstairs.

Phillip paused at the bottom of the steps, raising one eyebrow at the sight of the door lying on the floor. Smoke was still rising from the threshold where the acid had eaten through the wood and lock.

More bodies littered the floor of the basement, but instead of knife wounds, all of them were punctured by bullets. Shells were scattered everywhere amidst the crimson pools.

“Whoa,” Daring commented.

All three of their eyes were drawn to the pegasus laying wide-eyed and slack-jawed in the corner, his chest and throat punctured. The motto on his foreleg was stained with red, as if death itself were mocking the ideal of “Mareland Above All.”

“Winged Key,” Strider said, shaking his head.

Phillip looked from the hole blasted into the ceiling. “Blasted a hole in the ceiling. Pumped gas in here,” he reported. “Fear gas. Ponies here all went bunta, started shooting each other.”

“Poor bastards,” Strider commented, looking through the unlocked chest in the corner. “Then the thieves came in and stole the painting after they were all dead.”

“Except for Coin,” Phillip commented, looking at the lone gun laying in the corner. “Who managed to tear the painting and run.”

“Lucky bastard,” Daring muttered. “Wouldn’t have thought that he was that tough.”

“Hey, detectives,” an officer called from up the stairs. “There’s a set of hoofprints outside. They lead to an abandoned farmhouse next door. Nopony there, but it looks like they left behind some maps and cameras and stuff.”

“Probably won’t mean much if they left it behind,” Phillip commented, sighing and shaking his head, looking over the corpses sprawled across the floor.

“At least we got something out of this,” Strider said, pulling the plastic bag out of his coat.

All eyes fell upon its contents: the torn upper half of Not to Be Replicated, the reflection in the mirror and the top of the stallion’s hat visible.

“Lots of ponies died for this,” Phillip commented. “Must be important.”

Caballeron lay trembling on the floor, staring at the shadow stretching over his head.

“You,” the hooded stallion snarled. “Complete. Idiot.”

“I’m sorry, señor,” Caballeron pleaded. “It was the agent, I didn’t account for--”

“Silence.”

Caballeron swallowed and closed his eyes, keeping his head lowered.

He heard his master turn towards the podium where the precious tome had formerly lain. “The loss of the Kyaltratek is an incalculable setback,” he growled, laying a charcoal-colored hoof on the podium. “All of that power and knowledge...lost to me. And without it, I cannot unlock the secrets of the Rings.”

Caballeron kept his eyes shut, gripping the cloudbrick floor like he was afraid an errant wind would blow his trembling form away; the condemned pony was starting to think that the anticipation was far worse than the ax falling.

“And worse yet, you were only able to retrieve half of the map,” the voice continued in that snarl of barely restrained anger.

Caballeron glanced up. The aged canvas was placed upon the easel, but the stallion with his back forever turned to the world had vanished, replaced by a weathered scrawl of a map; a dotted pathway led between drawings of mountains, trees, rivers, and clusters of cottages before disappearing into the jagged top edge of the canvas. A paintbrush, bristles still wet with the solution, was placed on the easel’s tray.

“Still...it is better than nothing,” the speaker admitted. “The other half can be retrieved in time.”

Caballeron briefly considered speaking but thought better of it. He heard a hoof running through the notes on the nearby table. “Did you at least find the time spell?”

“Y-yes, my lord,” Caballeron gasped out. “Doctor Papyrus and I managed to translate most of the instructions. It...it appears that in order for the spell to work, we will require prisms carved of amberclaw.”

The stallion grunted. “A rare mineral from Thrussia. Acquiring it will be difficult, and carving it more so…”

“S-señor…” Caballeron gulped. “If I may...I know that amberclaw is sold to the Royal Academy in Canterlot for their studies. It is shipped through Ponyville. If you allow us, we may be able to get it for you.”

Caballeron felt the glare burning into him and shuddered, acutely aware of the weight of the guillotine blade over his neck.

“Do what you need to do, doctor,” the leader finally said. "Get our amberclaw."

“Y-yes, señor. Gracias, señor,” Caballeron gasped out, relief flooding over him as his neck was pulled off the block. He looked up to meet the shaded eyes glaring down at him.

“But first,” the snarling voice cut him off. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

Caballeron felt his heart drop into his churning stomach.

“I can forgive mistakes. I can forgive failures,” the master growled. “But for you to make a critical error such as this, that costs us this greatly. There must be consequences for that.”

The hissing of a chain was all the warning that Caballeron got. Something yanked his hind hooves out from under him and he grunted as his chin hit the ground. He skidded back like a fish on a reel, scrabbling for anything to grab, gasping in panic.

“No, no!” Caballeron gasped, looking over his shoulder to behold his captor. The red eyes glittered; Caballeron had a brief impression that he was smiling beneath the mask.

He started screaming even before the needle went into his arm.

Coin Toss shuddered, shifting in his chair.

“Three of them,” he muttered, staring at the table in front of him instead of at his interrogators. “All of them wearing gas masks. Earth ponies. One of them, huge bastard, spoke with a Trottish accent; another had a fedora on.”

From the other side of the bars, Strider flipped through his folder, then pulled out three photographs. “These guys?” he asked, sliding them across the table.

Coin glanced at them, then turned away and nodded. “Aye. That’s them.”

“Rogue, Withers, and Biff,” Strider listed them off, stifling a yawn as he did so. “Caballeron’s oldest henchponies. And you’ve met Tight Security and Doctor Papyrus.”

“They took the painting out of the chest,” Coin Toss continued, his voice barely audible. “The big one...pulled out a knife and came for me. I saw him coming and...I guess I just decided that I wasn’t gonna die pissing myself like that.

“I can’t say why I went for the painting, but I just did,” he continued. “Maybe I thought I could still barter my way out of this. Grabbed it and pulled. When it tore, I sprinted up the stairs and out the front door. Doctor caught me partway out. If your boys hadn’t arrived right then, I’d be dead now.”

He shifted in his seat and swallowed. “Dead like all my mates…” His clover-green eyes became even duller, staring forward like he was looking through the floor and into the dark ground beneath.

“Coin,” Phillip said quietly. “I’ve been dosed by that gas, too. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t,” Coin growled, looking up for the first time. His eyes met Phillip’s, full of pain and rage. “I blame the freak.” He leaned in close to Phil, his body still trembling; the chains of the hoofcuffs securing his forelegs rattled in a quiet symphony of subdued fear. “You find him, Finder. You find that bastard.”

Phillip nodded coolly and stood, leading Strider out of the room. The door closed and locked behind them, leaving the Mareish Mob boss on his own in the interrogation room. He sat with his head in his cuffed hooves, every breath coming slow and heavy.

Outside, Daring Do and Captain Hewn Oak both stared at their prisoner through the tinted mirror. Oak sighed, stroking one of the beads on his rosary marked with Cadenza’s crystalline heart cutie mark.

“A heretic serpent he may be, but he and his fellows did not deserve this fate,” he intoned.

“I’m just glad that he’s in a cell now,” Daring grumbled as Phillip and Strider rejoined them.

“Now, let us review where we stand,” Captain Oak stated. “We have half of the painting; our foes have taken the other half, for whatever sinister purposes they desire, and General Fire has already returned the cursed Kyaltratek to Canterlot, where the Princesses will keep it under even tighter lock than before. Winged Key is dead, having sewn the crops of his sin, but we have rescued Rough Diamond and Coin Toss. Further, we have recovered the mirror that they were using to traverse between this city and their den.”

“But not before they smashed the mirror on their side so we can’t get through,” Strider pointed out. “And then moved their cloudhouse somewhere else.”

“If nothing else, we have slowed them down,” Oak pointed out. “‘A flower does not bloom in one day. Tend to your garden day by day and your progress will be rewarded.’ Celestia 7:36.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a green hoof,” Daring grunted.

“Any progress counts,” Phillip grunts. “Gonna see what Suunkii found on the painting.”

“A sound idea,” Oak nodded, following the others down the hall to the stairs.

They reached the basement and followed the tinny strains of a brass quartet playing Hearth’s Warming carols over the radio to the laboratory. Doctor Suunkii was currently bending over a table, carefully adding a golden powder to a squat beaker filled with a pale blue liquid. Several emptied jars stood on a nearby drying rack, traces of a similarly colored liquid still clinging to the glass, glinting in the late morning sunlight that streamed in from the windows.

“I have successfully analyzed the sample of paint that you brought back from Doctor Caballeron’s hideout, Phillip Finder,” Suunkii announced as they entered, stirring the paste. “It is composed of water mixed with gold flakes, ground unicorn horn, and sap from a starfall tree.”

“So, not something you can get from a local crafts shop,” Daring commented.

“Most certainly not,” Suunkii replied, completing his stirring of the solution. “I have been testing variations of this compound on the fragment of the painting that you recovered. I believe I am close to finding the one that will reveal the secrets of Artiste Fou.”

He dipped a small paintbrush into the semi-transparent liquid and turned to the easel next to him, which bore the upper half of the painting that Coin had retrieved. He carefully drew the brush along the bottom corner, over the mirror.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the colors began to fade away, revealing an image behind the paint: a rough scrawl of a tree against the yellowed canvas.

“The fortune of the alicorns smiles upon us,” Oak declared as Suunkii began to carefully paint over the rest of the canvas. The artwork faded away, revealing the secret message behind it.

“A map,” Daring said out loud, observing the drawings of hills, rivers, and clusters of trees. A dotted line wove its way through the woods, ending at what looked like a cluster of treehouses.

“What are those among the treehouses there?” Oak asked, pointing to the small stick figures amidst the strange city.

Phillip squinted at the canvas. “Look like zebra,” he commented.

“An interesting choice for a landmark,” Suunkii mused. “I have heard of legends of a settlement of zebra in the land that is now the Everfree Forest, but if it existed, it was lost centuries ago, certainly long before Artiste Fou was born.”

“There’s a lot more out there than we think, doctor,” Oak said.

“Too right,” Phillip agreed.

“Knowing our luck,” Daring commented. “It can’t be anything good.”

“I…” Rough Diamond shook her head and idly rubbed at her face, scratching at the patch over where her right eye used to be, the skin beneath it red and puffy. An IV tube carried a transparent mixture of fluids, antibiotics, and painkiller potions into her arm. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember much.” She winced. “And what I do remember, I don’t want to remember.”

“I understand,” Flash said, reaching out to squeeze the young unicorn’s hoof. He and Red were sitting next to the mare’s hospital bed, the sun filtering through the snow-coated window behind them. “Please let us know if you remember anything else.”

Rough sniffled, rubbing tears from her sole remaining eye. “F-fuck, I...I can’t believe that Winged is dead,” she whimpered. “I j-just…”

“Diamond,” Flash said calmly, keeping his hoof atop hers. “I’m not gonna say that I know how you feel, or that it’s all gonna be okay. But I am gonna say that you’re not alone. Not if you don’t want to be. You should reach out to ponies who can help you. I can give you a number for a grief counselor if you want.”

Rough Diamond stared blankly at the wall for several moments, then nodded numbly. “I’d like that,” she mumbled, tears falling from her eye.

“Good,” Flash smiled at her, pulling out a business card and laying it on the table next to her bed. “We’re just a phone call away if you need us.”

“Thank you,” Diamond said with a feeble smile as the two detectives exited.

Red sighed once they were out of view, rubbing at his darkened eyes. “You think she stands a chance?” he asked his partner.

“We got her out of there alive,” Flash said. “Even when life completely shits on you, that doesn’t mean you have to just give up; that’s what my mom proved to me after the accident. She has a chance to come back from this that she wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

Red glanced at Flash and half-smiled. “You know, if I were slightly more of an asshole than I already am, I’d call you naive.”

“At least I’ve had a positive influence on you,” Flash grinned back at him. A moment later, his smile faded and turned into a large yawn.

“Yeah, same,” Red agreed.

Twilight approached, her eyes wide and alert as she stared at the lab report that she was holding in her magic.

“Ugh. Does she ever sleep?” Red grumbled.

“I got Rough Diamond’s blood report here,” Twilight declared as she approached the duo, not lifting her eyes from the documents. “She was given the Doctor’s toxin, but it’s very diluted.” She scowled at the report. “Epinephrine, psilocin, monoamine oxidase inhibitors...yes, these all match up with Phillip and Daring’s sample. But…” She glared at one underlined entry on the report.

“Unknown organic compounds: 78%”

“What is that?” Twilight scowled.

“I’m sure you and Doctor Suunkii will figure it out,” Flash reassured her, patting her on the shoulder.

Twilight took a breath, then looked up with a smile that was far, far too wide and accompanied by eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, I’m sure I will,” she said. “It’s not like this is a dangerous poison being used by one of the most dangerous assassins in the world! Not like he’s here. In our hometown. Right now! Ha! No pressure at all! No--”

“Twilight,” Flash cut her off. “You’re going Twilinanas again.”

“What?!” Twilight protested. “I am not going Twilinanas! Who told you about that?” she added with a growl.

“Shining and Cadance. During our visit to the Crystal Empire,” Flash replied calmly.

“Twilinanas?” Red said to himself.

“Well, I am not being Twilinanas!” Twilight protested.

Both pegasi raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay, fine, maybe a little,” Twilight admitted, flattening her ears.

“I have an idea,” Red suggested. “If you can identify as many of those components as you can, you think you can find some way to identify or track them?”

“I might…” Twilight said.

“The Industry Kings have to be the ones smuggling it in for him,” Red stated. “If we can find the pipeline, we can trace it back. We might even get a sample of it for you.”

“I’ll work on it,” Twilight nodded brightly.

“Good,” Red nodded. “We’re going to find that bastard, guys.”

“Hopefully before he finds us,” Flash said with a slightly nervous chuckle.

Two cold glares answered him. “Just...trying to lighten the mood,” Flash explained through a forced grin.

Red shook his head. “Don’t go into standup, Sentry,” he said, turning away. “Twilinanas,” he repeated to himself with a dry chuckle.

Flash puffed out a breath and followed his partner, draping a wing over Twilight’s shoulders. She nestled up against him as they trotted down the hallway, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented little sigh. He smiled softly, leaning over to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to Twilight.

She didn’t reply verbally, smiling back up at him instead. That was enough to convince Flash that he had told her the truth.

The typewriter let out its salvo of clicks and clacks, the carriage making its rapid commute across the machine, leaving letters in its wake. The rhythm was finally interrupted by a sharp ding, then a low shuffling as the writer pushed the carriage back to the right.

Daring Do frowned at the latest chapter of Compass Rose and the Tower of Terror. In this chapter, the treasure hunter had just triggered one of the titular tower’s many traps, a poison dart mechanism.

Compass stared at the little object in her hoof. It wasn’t a mosquito like she’d thought. It was a dark little blade, the poison on the dart’s head glimmering her headlamp.

She suddenly felt like an anaconda had wrapped itself around her chest, crushing her ribs like a vise; fire replaced the air in her lungs and she started gasping in panic. Venomous pain spread across her limb, every muscle contracting so tight that she felt like the tendons might snap.

The cold floor struck Compass Rose’s face as she toppled over, the lens of her headlamp cracking from the impact. The light flickered, illuminating the carving of the Ahuizotl on the wall. The snarling face glared at her through the darkness, as if mocking her plight.

It suddenly occurred to Compass Rose through the pain and panic that this might be the last thing she saw.

The cut on Daring’s face suddenly flared with pain and she hissed, reaching up to stroke her face as her heart suddenly leaped into her throat, pounding so hard that she thought it might jump right out of her.

Daring Do’s hoof went for the totem around her neck, stroking the cold carved face of Awely-Awely. Her breath started to slow as she wrested control of her emotions, closing her eyes to calm herself.

From outside came the sound of a saxophone, practicing freeform scales. The music rolled over Daring like a comforting blanket, allowing her muscles to relax as the stress left her. She acknowledged the fear in her gut, observing its furious, impotent writhing like a specimen on a microscope slide, then let it go with an exhalation, watching as it slowly shrank down to a minor tension far beneath her skin.

Opening her eyes, she looked out the window. Lit faintly by the glow of the false Hearth’s Warming tree in the corner of the room, Phillip was sitting on the railing of the back porch, caressing his saxophone as he summoned the music from the brass instrument. His eyes, however, kept scanning the darkened skies, ears flicking at every sound.

An owl hooted overhead. Phillip jumped slightly, looking around, then glancing back inside to look at his wife. After a moment, he sighed and put the reed back into his mouth, resuming his practice.

The chiming of the doorbell caught Daring’s attention. She rose from the chair and proceeded down the hall, pausing to retrieve her pistol from the hanging rack, strapping it tight to her hoof. Taking a breath, she paused next to the door, pushing aside the curtains on the window.

A yellow unicorn with graying blue hair stood on the porch, her long purple scarf flapping in the wind.

The tension in Daring’s body evaporated and she unlocked the door. “Joy,” she greeted the mare outside.

“Blessings, Daring,” Joyful Sound smiled, her unseeing eyes rising towards Daring’s face. “How are you?”

“Could be better, Pastor,” Daring admitted, stepping aside to allow her entry. Joy’s cane tapped against the floor as she entered.

Daring glanced up and down the street as Joy passed her. The street was empty save for the snow, glistening beneath the glow of the streetlamps and the strings of multicolored lights hanging from every eave. Daring closed and locked the door behind them.

“Flash told me of your encounter with the Doctor’s pet,” Joy said with a concerned frown as Daring hung the .38 Filly Special back up on the wall. “Praise the Mother that you lived.”

“Yeah,” Daring sighed.

“I hear music,” Joy said, cocking her ear. “Is Phillip outside?”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Daring said, leading the pastor towards the back door and opening it for her.

Phillip paused his practice as Joy strode out onto the porch. “Joy. What’re you doing here?”

“I can’t just visit my friends?” Joy smiled at him, striding across the porch until her cane thumped against the railing, then carefully turning to sit down upon it. Daring brushed aside some snow and sat down on Phillip’s other side.

The trio sat in silence for a moment save for the low wind that made the strings of lights running through the branches of the cherry tree in the backyard sway, the rainbow array splashed across the snow.

Daring looked up at the stars twinkling overhead, partially hidden by the passing clouds. She recognized Orion, with blue-white Rigel and pale red Betelgeuse winking down at them as they passed.

A moment later, the clouds passed over the hunter, hiding him from view. Daring sighed.

“What’s on your mind tonight?” Joy asked.

“Is it me, or did this not feel like a win?” Daring said aloud.

Phillip let out a small grunt of agreement, his face falling into severe lines.

“Yet on the other hoof,” Joyful Sound cut in. “You rescued two ponies from certain death. And you are all still alive and here.”

Daring half-smiled. “Right. Silver lining.”

They were silent for a little longer, then Phillip spoke. “Joy?”

“Hmm?” she replied.

“I never asked, but…” Phillip hesitated, clearly struggling to come up with a way to form his thoughts into words. “How did you find your faith?”

Joy cocked her head at him for a moment, then shifted in place.

“After the accident, I...was in for a long struggle,” Joy admitted. “I thought that my life was over; I would alternate between deep depression and fits of anger at the driver that hit me, at the doctors, at the Mother for doing this to me. I’m...not proud of who I was back then. I thought that my blindness was what defined me now, that all of my dreams of being a singer were gone, that I was now a burden on my family.

“Eventually it became clear that I was never going to be able to see again, and I was forced to accept that,” Joy continued. “And I realized that I could either let that define me or learn to live with it and try to move on. So for the first time, I started praying to the Holy Mother not to give me my sight back, but for the strength to accept what happened.

“And I found it,” she smiled. “It took a long time, and there were a lot of rough patches, but I was able to move on from the accident. I accepted that it wasn’t anypony’s fault--this wasn’t punishment or some kind of test to make me stronger. It was just part of life. I reconnected with my family and found a new job as the pastor of the church. And here I am now.”

Phillip let out a breath. “Not really the praying type,” he said. “Doesn’t make sense how you can pray to some god and then things are supposed to get better.”

“The prayer itself isn’t what’s important,” Joy said. “The Holy Mother isn’t some genie that gives us what we want if we say the right words. No amount of praying was ever going to give me my sight back. I prayed because it changed me. Because it allowed me to open myself up to grieve, to let others in. Because the Mother gave me what I really needed: strength.”

Daring shifted in place as she processed these words, then let out a breath through her pursed lips. “So how do we start?” she asked.

“You need to understand that faith isn’t a thing that you can just get,” Joy explained. “It’s a verb.”

Daring raised an eyebrow. “The dictionary might disagree with you on that.”

Joy chuckled again. “What I mean is that faith is a transformation. A journey, guided by the six stars of honesty, loyalty, generosity, kindness, hope, and friendship. And it can be difficult at times. There will be times when we struggle with doubt, with fear, with selfishness and hopelessness.”

She reached out and took Daring and Phillip’s hooves. Her touch was soothingly warm despite the cold air.

“But faith is about remembering, every day, through all the struggle, that you are loved,” she continued, her smiling eyes somehow making contact with both of theirs. “That even in the darkest of times, there is still light. It is about reaching out, every day. To something higher than yourself. To others. To yourselves.”

Daring pondered her words for several moments, then looked up at the sky. The clouds had moved on and the stars were all winking down at them. She smiled and extended a wing around Phillip’s shoulders, pulling him close. He leaned in and nestled his head against hers, briefly pressing his lips against her warm forehead.

Daring Do’s hoof went to the totem around her neck and she smiled in contentment. Thank you, she whispered.

Polaris winked at her in reply.

Author's Note

And on that bittersweet note, this case is all wrapped up!

Sorry for the late posting: I was busy all day doing Christmas shopping. I hope I did not disappoint with this chapter!

That last sermon about faith being a verb is based off a similar sermon themed "God is a verb" that I heard years ago in college. It's stuck with me ever since, and while I did take my own spin on it, I did want to try to capture a similar spirit here.

If you enjoyed this chapter, be sure to leave a like and a comment! I'll see you all next week!

Case Twenty-One, Prologue: Nightmares

“Don’t do this,” the mare whimpered.

She looked up from the chair she was strapped to, tears staining her eyes, straining against the bonds around her limbs.

The light directly overhead burned her flesh, making sweat drip from her mane and onto her once-pristine uniform. All around her were silhouettes in the darkness, shining eyes staring pitilessly. The barrels of weapons were glimpsed in the shadows, not raised, but hooves resting on triggers.

“Cinque.”

The prisoner flinched at the voice behind her, as cold and hard and pitiless as dirt being poured over her grave.

“Treno.”

The prisoner’s heart accelerated, thumping against her ribs. Her breath came in rapid gasps, punctuated by the occasional stifled sob.

“You know this is wrong,” she protested to her captors. “You...we can’t just--”

“Quattro. Bara,” the voice behind her spoke again, cutting through her protests like an avalanche cleaving through a train track.

Half-formed curses sputtered through her damp lips. The prisoner strained in her seat, tugging futilely at the straps. She tried to force magic through her horn, only to cry out as the appendage flared with agony as the energy was blocked by the black stones painfully jammed into the calcium.

“F-fuck! Please, please sto--”

“Tre. Ceneri.”

A jolt ran up the mare’s spine like an electrical shock and she gasped; she felt tendrils in her cranium, like spiders dancing over her brain. Fog seeped into her thoughts, blurring emotions; she struggled to remember that she was a prisoner, that they had lied to her, were using her research to kill so many, that she had to stop them, fight them…

A flicker of light caught the corner of her eye. She turned to see her friend staring coldly at her, her uniform so sharply creased that it almost cut the eyes to look at. Her expression was carved from stone; the only sign of emotion from her was the blue-white sparks shooting from her broken horn.

“Tempest…” the mare gasped. “Tempest, please…”

Another flicker like a dying lightbulb illuminated the opal eyes; beneath the cold veneer, the irides flickered briefly away, the mouth twisting slightly. One of the figures next to the opal-eyed unicorn turned towards her, but the mask had been replaced as soon as the flickering light passed.

“Due,” the voice spoke again; the prisoner could hear the smile in his voice. “Fiori.”

The probing limbs dug deeper into the mare’s mind and she shrieked as pain and confusion spread through her body. She was...she was...who was she? Why was she scared? Where was she? Who...who was…

“Uno.”

“NO!” the mare howled, her screams echoing through the room as she made one last strain, one last push against the coming darkness…

“Casa.”

The scream was cut off as suddenly as a switch being thrown. The mare sagged in the seat, her jaw hanging open slightly as her rapid breathing began to slow. She watched herself as if floating overhead studying the scene, as her limbs relaxed, as the terror left her tear-streaked eyes.

Hoofsteps sounded in her ears as the speaker slowly made his way around her. She studied the visage as it came into view; sparks of familiarity flickered in the back of her mind.

The black, lionesque mane, ever-shifting and dancing on invisible winds, adorned with a silver crown. The deep scarlet eyes, a faint poisonous green glow behind the sclera, glared down at her. The insectoid fangs protruding from the imperious scowl. The curved, blood-red horn. The shadow-black body, clad in silver armor and a long red cape.

For a brief moment, the mare thought that she should have been afraid, but couldn’t remember why, nor summon the effort for the emotion.

“Doctor Glimmer?” he asked in a low, growling voice.

Her lips moved without her command. “Yes, master,” she said in a flat, emotionless tone.

“You and Doctor Sunburst will resume Project Darkstar at once,” the crowned stallion commanded.

“Yes, master,” she repeated, nodding.

“Good,” the stallion nodded, lighting up his horn. The straps were released and the stones puncturing her horn crumbled away to ashes. The mare watched herself stand up and turn towards the door.

Another stallion in a mussed blue uniform like hers was waiting at the doorway, a folder clasped to his chest with the words “SEGRETISSIMO” stamped across it. The orange stallion lit up his horn to adjust his oversized glasses, his cyan eyes blank and emotionless behind the lenses.

“Starlight,” he whispered.

A blinding light filled the room, accompanied by a roar of thunder that filled her ears. Everypony screamed as the walls were disintegrated, crushed like toys beneath a foal’s hoof. Every atom of Starlight’s body was suddenly aflame, her screams washed away by the roaring wind that accompanied the light. The ponies all around her were aflame, writhing in unspeakable agony...Sunburst stumbled toward her, one hoof reaching for her, but in a heartbeat, he and the others were only ashes being blown away in the wind. Starlight stood alone, her screams snatched from her lungs, watching as the flesh on her limbs boiled and burned away to bone…

“Starlight!”

The mare gasped as she woke up, jolting upright on the bedding. She whipped her head back and forth as she took in her surroundings.

The cloth walls around her were decorated with great horned creatures racing through the fields beneath expanses of stars, every thread stitched with great care. She lay upon one of several woven mattresses that were spread across the floor, covered in thick sheets. The remnants of a fire were held in a stone circle in the center of the teepee. Piled in one corner was a collection of bags, with several notebooks and tomes on magic stacked nearby.

Starlight Glimmer exhaled slowly, raising a hoof to brush her mane away from her face as she looked at the mare who had woken her up. The dark orchid mare was dressed in a heavy fur coat, though Starlight could see the black layers of armor beneath it; a tomahawk was secured tight to her hip. The long rose mane was curled around the broken horn, like an old tree stump on her forehead; the opal eyes stared down at Starlight with concern, the scar over her right orbit pale against her skin.

“Shh, it was just a dream,” Tempest Shadow whispered, stroking Starlight’s foreleg.

Starlight swallowed and wiped her eyes. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” She glanced up at the dreamcatcher over her head, strings decorated with colored stones and eagle feathers dangling from the circular wood. “Maybe I should ask Little Strongheart for a new one,” she commented with a feeble laugh.

Tempest stared at Starlight for a moment as if she wanted to say more, then stood up straight. “If, uh...if you’re sure you’re okay, breakfast is ready,” she said.

“Okay, I’m coming,” Starlight replied, sitting up and brushing her mane back over her eyes. A flash of her horn and her own heavy coat was wrapped over her body and her hooves were shod in beaver-fur boots.

Both mares exited the teepee, gasping as the winter air stung at their faces and their booted hooves sank into the snow. All around them were more teepees, snow clinging to the decorated fabrics. A few straggling buffalo were emerging from their tents, smiling through their yawns, calves dragging their parents from their sleep.

A fire was already crackling in the center of the camp, the smoke rising from it flavored with pancakes and berries. The great shape of Chief Thunderhooves was immediately discernible amidst the circle of buffalo around the campfire, his head adorned with his great feathered warbonnet. The sound of his laughter floated over the morning chatter as his fellow tribe members passed around breakfast and carefully wrapped presents.

Tempest paused outside their teepee and reached into her coat. “I...here,” she mumbled, extracting a small package hastily wrapped in coarse paper.

With a cocked eyebrow, Starlight took the package in her magic and unwrapped it, opening up the top to reveal the contents.

Inside was a small wooden disc, cut from a small tree. Crudely painted upon it were a pair of cutie marks: a purple star with two mint green swirls rising from it like flames, and a bright purple firework blossom in the center of a hurricane shape. The paint was applied unevenly, with splotches where it had dripped down the wood running across the artwork.

Starlight stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at Tempest. The taller unicorn turned away, her cheeks flushing.

“I...Happy Hearth’s Warming,” Tempest mumbled.

Starlight smiled and pocketed the little token. “Thanks, Tempest. I...got you something, too.”

She lit up her horn and summoned the project that she’d been carefully crafting for weeks from its hiding place beneath her bags in the teepee. The vaguely bird-shaped collection of purple fabric and sticks floated over to Tempest’s hoof; the other unicorn stared at it with a cocked head.

“It’s a kite!” Starlight explained. “I thought that the two of us could go kite-flying later. You know I like it and I thought that you could join me this time instead of just staring--”

“This fabric didn’t come from here,” Tempest observed with a frown, plucking at the kite.

“I, uh...may have snuck into Appleloosa to buy it from the general store yesterday morning when you were helping gather firewood,” Starlight admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “Hey, I wanted it to be a surprise, and no offense to Leaping Beaver, but the weaving she makes isn’t quite up to kites, so I needed some better material.”

Tempest scowled at Starlight.

“I was careful!” Starlight protested. “I made sure I wasn’t followed! I just went down to the store and back!”

“Starlight, you know better than to go without me! Or to go into town if you don’t need to!” Tempest snapped at her. “Did you at least use a glamor?”

“Tempest, it’s been almost seven years!” Starlight protested. “If we were going to be found, we would have been found by now!”

“Starlight, the only reason we’re still alive is that we were careful and we kept our guard up!” Tempest replied. “And we can’t lower our guard now! Especially now that…”

She flinched and glanced around, noting the buffalo staring at the arguing duo, then leaned in and whispered. “Now that he’s back.”

A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold ran down Starlight’s spine and her head lowered with shame. “I...I just wanted to make a fun Hearth’s Warming gift for you…” she whispered.

“Is something wrong?” a young tan cow with a single feather in her short mane asked, striding up to the two.

Tempest looked at the buffalo, then at Starlight, then at the kite in her hoof. She let out a soft exhalation, the tension leaving her shoulders.

“No, Little Strongheart,” she said with a reassuring smile. “We’re fine.”

She turned back to Starlight and tilted her chin up, giving her a genuine smile. “Thank you, Starlight. It’s lovely.”

Starlight smiled back at her and let out a little laugh of relief. “Great! So, how about breakfast? I am famished!” she declared, turning and heading towards the campfire. Little Strongheart stared after her, her forehead creased and her face twisted into a frown, but the resuming chatter and laughter from her fellow tribe members quickly persuaded her to abandon her concerns and she returned to the campfire.

Tempest looked down at the kite in her hoof, then turned towards the north. In the distance, she could see the spires of Appleloosa’s city hall and church, glowing in the rising sun. If she strained to listen, she could hear the music and laughter and singing of the townsponies.

Something prickled at the back of her neck and her scowl deepened, one hoof going for the weapons at her side. She stood frozen for a moment, as if listening for a distant hoofstep or snapping twig out of place.

But there was only the crackling of the fire and the warm voices and laughter of their companions. With a sigh, she lowered her hoof and went to join Starlight.

Author's Note

In case you were wondering: "Five. Train. Four. Coffin. Three. Ashes. Two. Flowers. One. Home."

Welcome Tempest Shadow and Starlight Glimmer to the cast! I've been looking forward to adding these two to the Noire stories, and I've finally got a chance to do it. I hope that you enjoy my version of these two mares; it took a lot of work to mold them into Noire and I hope it pays off.

If you're looking forward to more, leave a like and a comment below! See you next time!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter One: Spycraft

The snow clung to the windows of the Apple Pie in Your Eye, reflecting the array of multicolored lights strung in every frame. Santa Hooves had parked his sleigh packed with gifts atop the building, waving down at the passerby on the street, inviting them into the warmth of the tavern.

Seated at the bar, Daring Do studied the gift in her hooves. The book’s title was Sunken Treasures and Shipwrecks, the silver words splashed across the ghostly image of a galleon resting at the bottom of a dark body of water. Sharks and squid orbited the wreck like planets around a dark, mysterious star, which seemed to beckon towards the reader, inviting them to explore the sunken secrets within.

“I, uh...I might have run out of ideas,” Rainbow Dash admitted sheepishly from her seat next to her, rubbing the back of her mane. “I went to the bookstore to get something for Twilight, and I still hadn’t thought of something for you, but I figured that you’d probably need some ideas to research for your next books, so I just kinda wandered around the history section and that one jumped out at me.” She shifted nervously in her seat. “I mean, unless you already had that, which is fine, I--”

Her sentence was cut off by a golden wing draping around her shoulders and pulling her into a warm embrace.

“Thanks, kid,” Daring beamed, tussling Rainbow’s mane. “Happy two-days-after-Hearth’s Warming.”

“Heh!” Rainbow chuckled, a relieved grin spreading across her face. “Thanks, Daring!”

“Now, here’s yours,” Daring replied, taking out a small, neatly wrapped package and passing it to Rainbow. Rainbow pounced on the gift, tearing the paper off in a flurry and taking the top of the box off.

Inside was a bright orange cylindrical whistle with a compass embedded in the end. A lanyard was wrapped around the entire cylinder.

“An emergency kit,” Daring explained as Rainbow extracted it for closer examination. “Compass, whistle, firestarter, and signal mirror. Something that you can take with you for weather duty or Air Force. Better to have it and not need it and all that.”

“Sweet!” Rainbow declared, uncoiling the lanyard and draping it around her neck.

Daring smiled at her protege, but the expression turned wooden as her eyes fell on Rainbow’s left wing. The metal prosthetic flexed in perfect synchronization with her flesh and blood wing, but it was still a poor simulation. Daring’s eyes went to the stump of bone that the metal was attached to.

Part of her still found it horrifically fascinating how the cut was perfectly smooth, as if Rainbow’s wing had been made of butter. Half a heartbeat, that’s all it had taken to cut the wing off.

For a moment, Daring was back on Twilight’s porch, feeling Rainbow’s hoof clinging tightly to hers, watching as the tears ran down the younger pegasus’ pale face, mixing with the pouring rain. She turned away before Rainbow could notice her hooves starting to shake, sucking in a breath to steady herself.

On the other side of the bar, Big Mac looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, continuing to wipe down a stein. Daring took a sip of her Manticore Rare, the burning bourbon going a long way towards completely calming her, and gave him a reassuring nod.

She glanced back at Rainbow, who was now watching the stage of the Apple Pie. Rara was seated at her usual place at the piano, crooning out Hearth’s Warming carols in chorus with Pinkie Pie, Applejack, and Steamed Carrot, with Phil on saxophone. A warmth spread through Daring’s heart when Steamed Carrot made eye contact with her and beamed. Daring raised her glass in reply and took another sip.

At a nearby table, Twilight Sparkle was sitting and reading a book. Next to her, Smolder and Yona were engaged in an arm-wrestling match; the dragon and the yak were evenly matched, determined grins on their faces despite the sweat that was running down their brows. Spike was hoarsely cheering Smolder on; the drake’s boils had been reduced to a more manageable number, which he only occasionally scratched at.

At another table, she saw Flash's cousin Sandbar sitting with Silverstream and a disguised Blue Rose and Ocellus. The sight of Sandbar and Ocellus holding hooves brought a small smile to Daring's face.

She then spotted a familiar blue griffon sitting in a nearby booth, shooting an occasional glance at Silverstream over his coffee. Daring made eye contact with Gallus, then meaningfully tilted her head at the hippogriff. Gallus glared at her. She maintained a steady gaze, cocking an eyebrow.

After a moment, Gallus sighed, stood up and made his way over to Silverstream. The younger hippogriff looked up and beamed at his approach, standing up to give him a welcoming hug. Gallus’ cheeks burned bright red, but he smiled as Silverstream began introducing him to her friends.

As Daring returned to her drink, she noticed Blue Rose, Ocellus, and Sandbar exchanging knowing smiles, prompting Silverstream to blush. She chuckled to herself as she sat down next to Rainbow.

Her attention was then drawn by Applejack and Pinkie Pie cradling a pale gold unicorn colt with baby blue curls, wrapped in a pale green blanket decorated with apple trees. The colt was giggling happily as Applejack played peekaboo with the colt, his silver eyes shining with happiness.

"Mama!" Endeavor babbled.

Joy spread across Applejack's freckled face and she cuddled her son, a happy tear running down one cheek, though Daring felt a small pang in her chest at the single, powerful word coming from Endeavor's mouth.

"He's in a good place, Sparks," she whispered, taking a long sip of the bourbon.

The bell over the door jingled, announcing a new arrival. Daring turned to behold a honey yellow-colored stallion with a long blonde mane entering, doffing his Stetson hat and stamping the snow from his boots at the threshold. He was wearing a brown vest with a gold star pinned to the front.

The stallion spotted her and made his way straight towards her. “Detective Do, ma’am,” he greeted her with a slight bow.

“Deputy Braeburn,” Daring nodded back as the Appleloosan deputy sheriff hopped up onto a stool.

“Howdy, cousin,” Braeburn grinned at Big Mac, greeting him with a warm hug. “Happy Hearth’s Warming!”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac replied, pulling out a bottle of Sweet Apple Acres Cider and pouring Braeburn a glass. Braeburn took a long gulp of the amber liquid, letting out a contented sigh and an approving nod.

“How’s Smokey?” Daring asked.

“Back to work and doing great,” Braeburn smiled. “Never thought that he’d be willing to get on a train again after the crash, but that’s my husband for you.”

“Good for him,” Daring nodded.

“Much as I’d like for this to just be a social visit with my family over here,” Braeburn admitted, turning to Daring. “This is a business call, I suppose.”

He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and placed it on the counter in front of Daring. She raised an eyebrow at the contents.

It appeared to be a golden bit, but sliced in half lengthwise, like a sandwich, revealing a hollowed-out interior. Also included in the bag was what Daring presumed was the content of the false coin: a tiny square photograph with minuscule writing upon it.

“Where’d this come from?” Daring asked, holding the bag up to the light for closer examination. Seeing the object of her fascination, Phillip climbed off the stage after finishing up a round of “Faust Rest Ye Merry Gentleponies” and made his way to the bar.

“Funny story, that,” Braeburn explained. “Yesterday morning, First Gear, who works as a delivery kid for the general store, came into the local police department with this. He accidentally dropped the coins that he'd gotten for tips that day; one broke open when it hit the ground and that came spilling out of it. Sheriff Silverstar couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Thought that you might want to take a look at it...especially because of the radio message we intercepted earlier this week.”

He pulled out a notepad and smoothed it out on the bar. On it was a long list of letters: “AFFGDXGXFD…”

“We were doing maintenance on the department’s radios Hearth's Warming Eve and stumbled on this frequency,” Braeburn explained. “It was just letters being sent out in Horse code. We didn’t know what to make of it; never heard anything from that frequency before, and never heard anything from it again.”

“It’s an ADFGX cipher,” Phillip stated, pulling out a magnifying glass and studying the tiny photograph. “Invented during the First Griffonese War.”

“Right,” Daring said, grabbing a napkin and drawing out a five-by-five grid on it, then writing “ADFGX” over the top and down the side. “You write out an alphabet in a grid like this one. Each letter corresponds to a pair of letters: a becomes ‘AA,’ b becomes ‘AD,’ and so on.”

“Why choose those letters?” Rainbow asked out loud.

“Because they’re all very different in Horse code, so you’re not likely to mix them up,” Daring explained. “What’s on the photo, Phil?”

“Some kind of key, I think,” Phillip said, grabbing a notebook and copying down the miniature codewords.

Do: volpe
Lun: sole
Mar: erba
Mer: ragno
Gio: nube
Ven: fiume
Sab: cielo

“What the heck does any of that mean?” Rainbow asked.

“It’s Crystalline,” Daring said. “The seven columns are abbreviations for the days of the week: domenica, lunedi, martedi, mercoledi, giovedi, venerdi, sabato. The rest of the words are ‘fox,’ ‘sun,’ ‘grass,’ ‘spider,’ ‘cloud,’ ‘river,’ ‘sky.’”

“And what does that have to do with this cipher?” Braeburn pressed.

“There’s more to it than just the letters in the grid,” Daring explained. “There’s also a keyword involved to change around the order. You said you got this on Hearth's Warming Eve?”

“Right,” Braeburn confirmed.

“So he used ragno as a keyword,” Daring said. “So what you do after you encode your message is you write out the message in columns underneath the keyword, like this.”

R A G N O
A A D D F
F G G X X

“Then you rearrange the columns in alphabetical order, like this.”

A G N O R
A D D F A
G G X X F

“Finally, you write the message out in a single line, like this.”

AGDGDXFXAF

Rainbow stared at the little letters on the notepad, puzzling over their permutations and meanings. “Man, I should read about this stuff more,” she muttered to herself.

“So you’re saying that there might be some Crystal Empire spy in Appleloosa?” Braeburn asked, disbelief and concern warring across his countenance.

“Looks like it,” Phillip commented, carefully transposing the intercepted message into columns, then into pairs. “Right. Now it’s a substitution cipher.”

“Yo, Twilight!” Rainbow shouted, waving at a corner table.

“What?” Twilight asked, looking up from her book.

“Need your egghead powers over here!” Rainbow said, beckoning her over.

“They’re not powers, Rainbow,” Twilight chided as she approached. “It’s knowledge, logic, and reason. What’s up?”

Phillip, Daring, and Braeburn briefly filled her in as Twilight began to study the code.

“I see,” Twilight nodded. “Well, the most common letters in Crystalline are E, A, and I...I see a few double letters here and here…”

With a flicker of her horn and flash of purple light, Twilight summoned a pile of notebooks and pens. She started writing down formulae, ciphers, grids, and calculations, muttering to herself the entire time; occasionally, Phillip and Daring would interject with a comment or a suggestion. Braeburn stared wide-eyed as the trio worked on the riddle.

After nearly twenty minutes of work, Twilight stared at her notepad, then raised her hooves with a triumphant “Eureka!”

Every head turned towards her at her cry, the carols pausing. The silence was punctuated by a loud thump as Yona slammed Smolder’s arm to the table, letting out a triumphant laugh.

“Ha! Yak best at arm wrestle!” she declared as Spike groaned in disappointment. “But dragon is worthy opponent!”

Her grin faded as she realized that everypony else was staring at them. She chuckled sheepishly and sunk back into her seat.

Her cheeks coloring, Twilight ran a hoof under the deciphered message:

Cinghiale uno e con Appleloosa bufalo.

“‘Boar One is with Appleloosa buffalo,’” Daring Do translated.

“Why would they be sending a code about pigs?” Braeburn asked.

“Whoever or whatever Boar One is, it’s in Appleloosa,” Phillip says. “And it’s probably not good.”

"Suspects," Phillip said, turning to Braeburn.

Braeburn scratched his head. "Well, we already questioned the four ponies that tipped First Gear for his deliveries. Let's see..." He flipped through a notebook. "Della Delivery, one of the mailponies; Coal Tender, who works at the trainyard; Open Casket, the undertaker; and Golden Crust, the baker. 'Course, they all denied that the coin was theirs." He flipped his notebook shut. "Not gonna lie, Phil: we're more lost than a cow in a chicken coop. We could use some help here."

Phil turned to the two pegasi next to him. “Well, we’ve already found all the lost bunnies in town, and the police will call us if they find anything on the Plague Doctor,” Daring said. “This might be a good lead.”

“Sweet!” Rainbow cheered. “I’ll go get a train ready!” And before anypony could stop her, she zipped out the door in a rainbow blur, the bell over the door jingling in her wake.

Daring stared after her for a moment, her stomach twisting with worry. The cutlass with the twin black suns flashed before her eyes once again; the echo of Rainbow’s screams and whimpers rang in her ears.

“Hey,” Phillip said, taking Daring’s hoof. “We’ll be there. We’ll take care of her.”

Daring squeezed his hoof back and nodded, forcing a tight grin on her face.

“Glad that you can come,” Braeburn said as he rose. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing.”

“Oh, thanks for jinxing it,” Daring groaned as they headed for the door.

“Hey, Phil!” Pinkie Pie called from the bar, concern splashed over her face. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“We’re always careful, Pinkie,” Phillip reassured her.

“Just don’t let the Plague Doctor stab you with his knife!” Pinkie Pie called, holding up a newspaper clipping: a surveillance still of the Plague Doctor brandishing his crescent-shaped blade.

Phillip cocked an eyebrow at Pinkie. “That’s not a knife,” he said.

A grin spread across Pinkie’s face. “I got you to say it!” she chirped. “Have fun in Appleloosa!” Humming merrily to herself, she moved on to serve some other customers.

Phillip blinked, then stared at Daring. She returned his puzzled gaze, then sighed and rolled her eyes. With a shrug, he held the door open for Daring and they stepped out into the cold.

“For the last time, copper,” the rust-colored griffon snarled from across the table, his forearms folded across his chest and his eyes firmly fixed on the wall to his left. “I don’t know Curveball, and I don’t know anything about any doctor.”

Flash Sentry scowled at his interview subject, then frowned at his folder. He scowled at the autopsy photographs of Curveball and his companions from the Industry Kings that the Plague Doctor had murdered. The slit throats gaped open, blood staining the fur around their necks. But even this had not been enough to persuade the suspect to talk; he had instead spoken through averted eyes, a clenched jaw, and a few beads of sweat that ran down the back of his neck despite the coolness of the room.

“Funny that, Simon,” Red commented from behind the griffon, striding forward to slap a pair of pictures onto the table. The griffon’s blue eyes briefly flickered to the surveillance crystal stills that depicted a battered but still serviceable four-door cruising through the streets of Ponyville at night.

“That is your car, isn’t it?” Red pressed, leaning down into Simon’s field of view. Simon’s response was to turn the other way, shifting in his seat and clutching himself tighter as if for comfort.

“Because it was spotted at the junkyard the night that your friends’ bodies were dumped,” Red pressed. “Went straight there from the docks where you were supposed to be working unloading the Sealight Delight--”

“Lawyer,” Simon interrupted, speaking through his gritted beak.

Red and Flash looked at each other. Red let out an irritated huff, but nodded and headed for the door.

“We’re not the worst option here, friend,” he advised Simon as he stood up. “You keep that in mind.”

The griffon just grunted, still refusing to meet the detectives’ eyes as they exited, closing the door behind them.

“Five up, and five down,” Red grunted. “We’re getting nowhere with the Industry Kings.”

“They’re more scared of the Plague Doctor than they are of us,” Flash replied. “And frankly, I’m not surprised.”

“Whatever they’re smuggling for him has got to be important,” Red said, then huffed out a breath. “Should’ve gotten the Sealight Delight back in here, but of course, it’s already sailed off and even its own shipping company can’t get hold of it.” He scoffed. “It’s a miracle. Ship up and vanished like a fart in the wind. I hope Agent Strider manages to track it down soon."

"Simon?"

Officer Gallus approached the window, frowning at the griffon in the window. "Flash, I know him," he protested. "He's not with any of the gangs."

"Then explain why his car was spotted at a body dump site," Red grunted. "Sorry, Gallus. Your buddy's stuck in this."

Gallus glared at Red for a moment, then turned back to the griffon in the empty interrogation room. As if sensing his gaze, Simon glowered at the window for a brief moment, then returned to his silent contemplation. Gallus opened his beak as if to speak for a moment, then sighed.

"Just wanted to let you know," he grunted to the detectives. "Prowl, Bumblebee, and I managed to get the dock manifests for the Sealight. They're waiting on your desk, Flash."

"Thanks, Gallus," Flash said. The griffon didn't acknowledge his praise as he headed back up the wall except with a quiet grunt.

Flash frowned in thought. “You know, it occurs to me that someone had to build the Plague Doctor’s hideout under that warehouse,” he commented. “And someone had to have seen something. I mean, it’s not like a concrete room just magically appeared under there, right?”

“That is a good point,” Red commented. “We’d better start leaning on the construction crew and see what they know. But I’m not giving up on the Industry Kings.”

“Don’t expect you to,” Flash replied. “But we’re getting nowhere with these guys. We gotta try something else.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Red admitted. He held up another folder, studying the photographs of the white, heavily scuffed mid-sized cargo ship with the name Sealight Delight painted across the bow in purple. He puffed out a breath. “The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh, Sentry?”

Flash mopped his brow and glared at Simon. “Too right.”

A flutter of wings passed overhead and a small metal tube clattered to the ground. The spy scooped it up, the pass so quick and clean that they doubted that anypony would’ve noticed.

If anypony was even watching them. Seven years in this backwater joke of a town. No point in wasting it now.

As soon as the spy returned home, they headed straight to their office and extracted the thin sheet of flash paper from the metal. Beneath the pale glow of an ultraviolet flashlight, the encoded message stared up at them. After all these years, they barely saw the cipher, translating the code in their head.

Received your message. Plague Doctor en route. Prepare transport for Boar One and Three to Ponyville.

A grin spread across the agent’s face as they held a match to the paper, watching it burn away to ashes in moments.

After all these years, they would be the one to bring the traitors to justice.

Author's Note

Breaking the hiatus with a big setup chapter! I really did need the time off for planning, writing, and just taking a break, but I hope that you've been looking forward to reading this as much as I've been looking forward to publishing it.

For those not familiar with how Deputy Braeburn ties into this series, please check out the tie-in story Ponyville Noire: Frost and Fire by TheLegendaryBillCipher.

And if this premise seems a bit familiar, that's because it is based on a real-life event from the Cold War. Look up Rudolf Abel and the Hollow Nickel case if you want to know more.

And yes: I've been waiting for years to do that "not a knife joke."

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Be sure to leave a like and a comment and I'll see you next week!

Case Twenty One, Chapter Three: Appleloosan Intrigue

“It’s like I told Deputy Braeburn, sir,” First Gear said, the oil-black earth pony stallion rubbing the back of his scruffy red mane. His brown eyes shone out from his pimple-dotted face as he nervously licked his lips. “When I got back to the general store, I parked the truck and pulled out my bag of tips. I tripped coming out of the truck and dropped the bag on the ground. When I looked into the bag, I saw the fake coin had broken open like an egg.”

Phillip glanced down at the small fake coin in the plastic bag. The bit was a high-quality forgery; he himself probably would’ve fallen for it. The markings claimed that it was forged in Fillydelphia in 1942, and it was well-scuffed from usage. There was a tiny hole, just large enough for a paperclip to be inserted, beneath Princess Faust's eye; he supposed that that was the intended method of opening the coin.

“You sure that only four ponies tipped you?” he asked the delivery pony.

First Gear sucked on his lower lip as he thought. “Quite certain, sir. Open Casket, Della Delivery, Coal Tender, and Golden Crust. I didn’t have as many deliveries as I’d thought, so I remember them all...”

Behind Phil, Daring Do turned away from their conversation to look over the rest of the Appleloosa General Store. The building was nearly as old as the town itself, the floor nothing more than bare wood. Shelves were stuffed with items ranging from envelopes and paper to kitchen utensils and cutlery to books to knives, bows and arrows, guns, and ammunition. Open barrels were stuffed with apples, oranges, beans, and other staples; the scent of fresh oatmeal cookies displayed on a nearby table tempted her. Chalked up on the wall was a list of weekly specials: today was olive and tomato pasta salad, currently set out in paper cups with plastic covers, each cup labeled with the store’s logo: an apple tree and a horseshoe. Yesterday’s special was coleslaw with vinegar dressing, and for Hearth’s Warming Eve, it was a takeout cup of Grand Apple Pie’s Curried Carrot and Apple Soup.

She turned to the counter, where Braeburn was speaking to the proprietor, a golden green-eyed earth pony stallion named Penny Pie; the owner’s bronze mustache bristled every time he spoke.

“Well, I do remember that unicorn mare,” Penny said, brushing off his green, stain-covered apron. “Don’t really get a lot of unicorns ‘round here, 'specially not ones as pretty as her, and I remember her because she wanted to get a good bolt of fabric for a kite. Stood out to me.”

“Do you remember who else was here in the store?” Braeburn pressed.

Penny thought for a moment. “Hmm...well, Hearth’s Warming Eve is always a bit busy, what with last-minute shoppers,” he said.

“Were Open Casket, Della Delivery, Coal Tender, or Golden Crust here?” Phillip asked, approaching with his list of names and addresses.

Penny scratched his balding head. “Hmm...I can’t say for sure. The days have a tendency to blur together when they’re that busy.”

Phillip frowned and glared at his list. “Right. Have to ask them ourselves, then.”

“How are we gonna narrow it down?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Pretty sure that they’re not gonna have a sign that says ‘I’m a spy.’”

“It’s a start, kid,” Daring said. “We’ll ask them about being in the store on Hearth’s Warming Eve, and if they’ve ever been to the Crystal Empire.”

“We’ll split up,” Phillip said. “Daring, you and RD take two suspects. Deputy and I will take the other two.”

“Got it,” Daring nodded as they exited.

Rainbow chuckled as she flew off after Daring. "This sure as hell beats that fundraising party that the weather team would be holding today," she commented to her mentor. "Bunch of old rich ponies going on and on about how weather is so important and getting the right equipment, blah blah blah."

Daring gave her protege a small smile. "Agreed," she nodded.

Daring looked at the small file as she and Rainbow approached the old, rickety-looking house that stood on its own, pushed away from the surrounding buildings like a leper shunned by its neighbors. The sign hanging over the door creaked as it swung in the light wind, lit by the reddening sun creeping ever closer to the horizon.

“‘Open Casket, Undertaker,’” Rainbow read the sign out loud. “‘Embalming, Coffins, Headstones, and More: Affordable and Sensitive Care.’” She snorted as she looked over the house, which was leaning to one side as if using the crumbling stone chimney for support. Many of the windows were yellowed with dust and most of the few shutters that were still attached to the window were only hanging on by a single rusted hinge. “Yeah. That’s definitely the house of a sensitive pony.”

“Don’t underestimate this pony, Dash,” Daring said, showing Rainbow the file from the sheriff’s office that they’d picked up. “This guy served a one-year sentence in Fillydelphia in ‘43 for smuggling drugs over the Crystal Empire border in his coffins. He moved down here after.”

“Maybe they were smuggling secrets, too,” Rainbow suggested.

“Maybe,” Daring said. “Let me do the talking, all right? Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of place.”

She pushed open the door; the jingling of the bell over the door was nearly drowned out by the creaking of hinges that apparently hadn’t been oiled since the town was founded.

The door opened to a crowded display room. One wall had several laminated photographs of different styles of headstones. Vases of fake flowers gathered dust in every corner, and a clothes rack held a plethora of formal suits and dresses for the deceased to wear. An ornate grandfather clock stood next to the door; the slow, heavy ticking of its brass pendulum clashed with the quiet organ music playing from a nearby victrola.

And everywhere the two mares turned, there were coffins. Every shape, every size, every color, and every type of wood, ranging from simple pine boxes to ornate oak coffins with intricately carved reliefs.

“Hello?” Daring called out, the floorboards groaning beneath her weight.

“Maybe he’s not here,” Rainbow commented, knocking on the top of a maple coffin.

The coffin sprang open with a creak and the pale stallion in an immaculate suit inside sat up, turning to look at Rainbow with wide green eyes. “Yes?” he croaked.

“BWAAUGH!” Rainbow cried, leaping away from the other pony and into Daring Do’s arms; Daring grunted in shock as Rainbow’s forelimbs encircled her neck.

The pony in the coffin blinked owlishly at them. Daring glared at Rainbow, who let out a sheepish chuckle and climbed off her.

“Open Casket?” Daring asked, brushing off her shirt as the stallion climbed out of the coffin.

The pale yellow stallion had only a few strands of his chestnut brown mane left, and his green eyes were magnified by his thick glasses. His old-fashioned suit was immaculately cleaned and pressed, though his hooves were hardened and callused from the labor of crafting coffins, and she detected a faint chemical odor emanating from him. His cutie mark was an open coffin with flowers surrounding it.

“Yes,” Open Casket replied, his voice as slow and deliberate as his movements. “How can I help you?”

“Daring Do and Rainbow Dash,” Daring introduced herself and her partner.

“Ah, the famous detective,” Open Casket said, studying her through his thick lenses. “Have you need of my services?”

“No,” Daring said, noting with some discomfort that the undertaker was examining both mares like he was sizing them up for a casket. “We’re here about the coin.”

Open Casket tilted his head to one side with a scowl. “As I told Deputy Braeburn before, that coin is not mine. I have never seen anything like it before and I do not know who would have one.”

“Where were you on Hearth’s Warming Eve?” Daring asked.

“Here,” the mortician replied, keeping his keen eyes on Rainbow as the younger pegasus examined the victrola. “There is not often business during the holidays, so I take the time to finish work on some of my coffins. I was putting the finishing touches on this one.” He gestured to a red cherry coffin with flowers etched onto the sides.

“Lot of work for a coffin,” Rainbow commented.

“I take pride in my work,” Open Casket answered. “And I believe that a coffin need not be merely a box. Why should a pony not put their loved one to rest in lavish comfort? That’s why I test each coffin myself to ensure that it is spacious enough. This one is bound for Ponyville for a special order.”

Daring bit back a comment about how she wasn’t sure how much a dead pony could appreciate their accommodations. “Did you go into the general store on Hearth’s Warming Eve?” she asked.

“No,” the mortician answered. “I have not been in the general store since I placed my orders for supplies on Monday.”

“What supplies?” Rainbow asked.

“Woodcrafting tools and materials that they were out of when I went there Monday. Is this really pertinent?” Open Casket asked.

“It is.” Daring thought for a few moments. “Have you ever been to the Crystal Empire?” she asked.

Open Casket frowned. “Yes,” he admitted. “I met with a few of my customers during my brief...side career. Gangsters and mobsters in both Equestria and the outskirts of the Empire, looking for an easy way to cart drugs.” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. “It was solely for money, understand,” he said to Daring. “A few extra bits in my pocket. It was a foolish mistake that I would take back in a heartbeat if I could. Then I wouldn’t be eking out this humble living here.”

“It was just drugs?” Daring asked. “You were never asked about smuggling...other items?”

“Only drugs,” the stallion confirmed. “I never asked about other materials and never wanted to get involved in that.”

“So you speak Crystalline?”

“Un po. Non mi alleno da anni,” Open shrugged.

“And do you have a radio?” Daring asked.

“Only the old victrola over there,” he nodded to the old record player still crooning out hymns.

Daring frowned and took one last look around the store. She glanced at the victrola, which Rainbow had completed studying.

“One last thing. Have you seen any unusual unicorns in town?” Daring asked.

Open Casket shook his head. “No. Not that I have seen.”

Daring glanced over at Rainbow, receiving a shrug in response.

“We’ll be in touch if we need anything else,” Daring said.

Open Casket nodded slowly, his expression inscrutable. “Perhaps I’ll be seeing you later,” he said as the two mares exited, the door groaning behind them.

Rainbow shuddered as they stepped out into the darkening Appleloosa streets. “Creep,” she muttered.

“Agreed,” Daring nodded.

“You think he’s the spy?” Rainbow asked. “He could be using that victrola as a radio, and he does speak the language.”

“Can’t be sure, kid,” Daring replied. “We’ve still got to check the other SNAKE!” she screamed, leaping into Rainbow’s arms to escape the vivid green snake that was slithering across the boardwalk in front of them. The serpent barely acknowledged either of them as it made its way beneath the boardwalk through a crack.

Rainbow smirked and raised an eyebrow at Daring Do. The great adventurer coughed and climbed off Rainbow, her cheeks coloring as she dusted herself off.

“Right. Let’s go,” she said, taking to the air. Rainbow followed, sniggering all the way.

“On Hearth’s Warming Eve?” Della Delivery asked, pushing a lock of her reddish mane back behind her ear. The portly green earth pony with the cutie mark of a stamped package frowned in thought, shifting on the sofa of her condo and playing with her charm necklace with one hoof. “Nope, I didn’t go to the store that day. I was busy at work most of the day with the deliveries, getting them shipped out onto the trains.”

Phillip glanced at his notebook, then around the room. Della’s living room would’ve been a humble space, with comfortable but cheap sofas, a simple coffee table with some hoofmade coasters decorated with artwork of settler times, and an old radio nearly the size of an icebox.

But everywhere one looked, there were scrapbooking pages displayed on the walls, framed for display. The wall to Phillip’s right included a page dedicated to Della’s vacation to Baltimare; right across from him was a large display of her coworkers at the post office, including the delivery workers at the train depot. In fact, she had clearly been in the middle of her latest project when Phillip and Braeburn interrupted her, for the table was occupied with glue, scissors, paper, and photographs that seemed to depict sunsets over the Appleloosan desert.

“You haven’t seen any unusual ponies around town?” he asked. “Any strange unicorns?”

Della raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t lived in Appleloosa for very long, but even I know that a unicorn around here would raise a few eyebrows,” she said, raising a hoof to play with the little charm necklace around her neck. “Mostly earth ponies like me ‘round these parts.”

“Where’d you live before Appleloosa?” Phillip asked.

“Manehattan,” Della said. “Born and raised there, but after it got taken over by the Crystal Army during the war, I decided to head down here for someplace a little safer and quieter. Pay’s not quite as good, but it’s peaceful and easier and I have a lot more time for my projects.” She smiled and gestured around the room at the fruits of her labors. “I’ve been thinking about branching out, making it a business or something.”

“Hmm,” Phillip muttered, taking another look around the room. His eyes ran over a set of brown mushroom leather boots set next to the door before moving on. “You ever been to the Crystal Empire?”

Della scowled. “After those stone bastards tried to wipe us all out? Why would I ever even want to go there? I don’t even speak the language. What’s this got to do with that weird coin?”

“Just trying to figure out who it’s from.,” Phillip said.

Della frowned. “I told you last time, Braeburn,” she said, turning to Braeburn. “I ain’t seen that coin before. You don’t think I’m mixed up in this, do you?”

“I’m just doing my job, Della,” Braeburn replied soothingly. “If there’s somepony up to mischief ‘round here, I gotta root ‘em out.”

“If you have nothing to hide, you needn’t worry,” Phillip said, rising and beckoning for Braeburn to follow. “We might be in touch later.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Della waved them out.

“Good evening, Della,” Braeburn said with a tipped hat as he and Phillip exited.

As the two stallions left, the deputy turned to Phillip, who was watching Della’s neighbor, a rail-thin blonde-coated stallion with thin glasses, dragging his trash can down to the end of the drive. The neighbor gave them a brief nod as he turned and headed back up the drive to the door.

“You think that she’s the spy?” Braeburn whispered to Phillip as he headed to the street.

“Not sure,” Phillip replied. “Need more evidence.”

Braeburn sighed. “I know all of these ponies, Phil,” he protested to the detective. “They’re neighbors, good ponies. It’s hard for me to think that one of ‘em might be a traitor.”

“If they were good at their job, you’d never know they were a spy,” Phillip said. “Only reason we know is ‘cause they buggered up and gave First Gear their fake coin.”

“You’re right,” Braeburn nodded, rubbing the back of his mane. “I just hope we can find ‘em before somepony gets hurt.”

They proceeded in silence until they reached their next stop: Golden Crust’s bakery, the last shop on the right on a long stretch of shops. The sign over the doors displayed an array of breads, cakes, pies, and cookies, with the windows showing carefully arranged displays of the real items.

But as Phillip approached the door, he spotted a sign hanging in the window of the door. “‘On vacation in the Fillypines,’” he read out loud. “‘Will be back next week.’” He gritted his teeth and glared at the locked door. “Damn.”

“Hmm. He must’ve left this morning,” Braeburn commented. “Maybe Coal Tender is still around.”

“Nope,” the coal-black stallion replied, putting on his blue jacket. “I wasn’t in the general store on Hearth’s Warming Eve. I was resting up for the long rides that night, with ponies heading all over Equestria to get to their homes. And like I told the Deputy before, I never saw a coin like that before.”

His sky blue eyes glanced at the two mares in the mirror as he brushed his cloud-white mane out of his face. “Why do you ask?”

“Just following up on some details,” Daring replied evenly, glancing around the engineer’s apartment. The small space was clearly not used often; the kitchen featured a small icebox that, based on a brief glance she’d gotten earlier when Coal Tender retrieved his lunchbox, contained little more than frozen meals and cider. There was a single recliner with a few magazines stacked next to it, a small radio, a bathroom, and a bedroom with a cheap mattress.

“Details like what?” Coal Tender replied evenly, keeping his eyes on Daring and Rainbow even as he finished tending to his mane.

“Like whose coin that is,” Daring replied, watching Rainbow shuffling her hooves in boredom as her eyes panned around the room.

Coal Tender frowned at her over his shoulder. “Is this about the parasprites?” he asked.

Daring Do blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The parasprites,” Coal Tender repeated in a conspiratorial whisper, turning around. “You see them everywhere too, right? You’re trying to track down who’s infected?” He cocked his head. “You can check my ears for the scat if you want.”

“Uhhh…” Daring stammered, taking a small step back.

“Hey, Daring,” Rainbow called, hoofing through a pile of magazines in a box near the door. Glancing over, Daring saw that they all had titles like Core Magazine, Powershovel Press, and The Truth. One cover proudly displayed a crudely shopped image of a lizard-thing putting on a Princess Celestia mask; the title proudly announced that within the pages were fifteen ways to protect yourself from being tracked by the fluoride in toothpaste.

“Interesting reading material you’ve got here,” Daring commented.

“These are the only magazines that tell the truth about how the world works,” Coal Tender replied. “They put memetic spells in the paper for major newspapers to make it easier to control you.”

“Right,” Daring said slowly. “You ever been to the Crystal Empire?”

“The Crystal Empire isn’t real,” Coal Tender whispered. “It’s all illusions and mind control spells to hide the experiments that the Princesses are doing.”

Daring and Rainbow both glanced at each other. “Whatever you say,” Rainbow said. “We’re gonna go now.”

“Right; I gotta get to work anyway,” Coal Tender replied, grabbing his lunch pail. He led his two guests out and locked the door behind them.

“Watch your backs,” he whispered to them as he headed down the stairs to the front door, looking both ways before leaving. “You never know who to trust in this town.” With a final nod, he started heading towards the train despot, leaving the two pegasi on the front step of the apartment.

Daring and Rainbow stared at each other for a long moment of silence. “Well,” Rainbow finally said. “That happened.”

“Yup,” Daring nodded.

“He could be faking it,” Rainbow suggested. “Making it look like he’s crazy so no one suspects him.”

“Maybe,” Daring shrugged. “Or maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree.” She sighed and glanced up at the evening sky, the purples and dark blues of the western sky slowly retreating against the onslaught of star-spangled black. “Let’s head back to the sheriff’s department and meet up with the others. Maybe they had more luck than us.”

The two pegasi took flight and headed south, quickly reaching the Sheriff’s department. The squat, single-story brick edifice sat near the end of Main Street; a great silver star of wood still stood proudly over the door as it had since the founding of the town, despite the faded paint and battered construction. A placard next to the front door told a brief history of the Department, featuring a black and white photograph of the original shack that the sheriff had been housed in.

Braeburn and Phillip were just reaching the door when the pegasi descended from the sky. “You find any likely suspects?” Daring asks.

“Only got to speak to Della,” Phillip said. “Crust is out on vacation.”

“That’s convenient,” Daring frowned.

“How’d you make out?” Braeburn asked.

“Well, Casket is a creep, but he does speak the language and had some contacts with the Crystal Empire’s mob,” Daring said. “He denied being a spy, of course, and he said he wasn’t at the general store on Wednesday.”

“Same with Della,” Braeburn admitted.

“And Coal Tender,” Rainbow said. “Who’s a complete lunatic, by the way.”

“Oh, you found his...collection, right?” Braeburn said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, we all know he’s a bit of a nut, but he’s pretty harmless and he does his job well. Lived here almost all his life, after all.”

“If by ‘nut,’ you mean ‘an entire fruitcake…’” Rainbow muttered, prompting Daring to let out a brief snort.

“I can’t figure out why King Sombra would’ve wanted a spy in Appleloosa,” Braeburn commented. “We’re a small town with no military bases anywhere nearby.”

“Could be a sleeper agent,” Phillip said. “Hiding down here to escape or waiting until they’re needed again. Casket and Della both lived elsewhere before coming to Appleloosa, and Coal moves all around Equestria regularly; could use that as a cover for passing messages.”

“Needed again?” Braeburn whispered, his eyes widening. “You don’t think...he’s back, do you?”

“Well, someone’s giving the Plague Doctor their orders,” Daring said.

Braeburn shuddered. “And you’re sure that one of those ponies works for him?” he asked.

“Looks that way,” Phillip nodded grimly. “But we need more evidence to figure out who.”

Braeburn sighed and glanced up at the darkening sky. “Well, we might be in for a long haul, ponies,” he said. “You’d best find a hotel to spend the night. There’s a good place near the train station, the Watering Hole. I’ll have some deputies check on the buffalo village tonight to make sure that there’s nopony suspicious nearby.” He yawned. “We’ll pick this back up in the morning. See you then.” With a final nod, he turned and headed into the department.

Phillip rolled his shoulders with a quiet groan. “I’m buggered. Let’s get a hotel room and find something to eat.”

Daring frowned but nodded reluctantly. “I hate that we just have to wait for them to do something,” she grumbled as they headed back up the street, passing a few late-night passersby.

“Not much more we can do,” Phillip said. “Sleep on it, might come up with something.”

Daring tilted her head back to look up at the sky. A multitude of stars twinkled down at them, spread across the sky in a beatific array.

“Wow,” Rainbow Dash breathed, looking up alongside Daring. “I’m never gonna get tired of seeing that.” She squinted around at the constellations. “There’s Polaris,” she said, pointing at the North Star. “And that’s...Sirius?”

“No, that’s Betelgeuse,” Daring corrected her. “It’s part of Orion; see his belt beneath the star?”

“Oh, right,” Rainbow nodded.

“Canis Major hasn’t risen yet,” Daring said, turning towards the horizon and making a brief calculation in her head. “It’ll be coming up from the sky over...there.”

“How do they even decide what to name stars?” Rainbow wondered out loud. “Like, I just see a bunch of dots. I only know how to find the North Star because I can use that to navigate.”

“There’s more to it than just dots in the sky,” Daring said. “When ponies saw shapes in the sky, they’d make up stories about them, to try to make sense of the world around them. Take Orion,” she continued, gesturing up at the hunter over their head, weapon ever raised. “The Neighgyptians thought that he was a god named Sah; because he rose before Canis Minor, he was thought to be the husband and protector of the goddess Sopdet, who brought the new year. Ancient pegasi thought that he was a hunter that was punished for deciding that he wanted to kill all the animals on Earth, so the ancestors had him killed by a scorpion; that’s why Orion and Scorpion are never in the sky at the same time. And some buffalo tribes call Orion Kabibona'kan, the Winter Maker, because it’s a winter constellation.”

“Huh,” Rainbow said, studying Orion with fresh eyes. “Maybe I should read up on stuff like this.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but there are more books out there outside of Hayana Pones and Compass Rose,” Daring smirked at her.

“Yeah, but nothing’s as good as Compass Rose,” Rainbow declared. “Why would I want to read anything else?”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, kid,” Daring chuckled, tussling Rainbow’s mane as they reached the Watering Hole, a three-story hotel within walking distance of the train station. The sign over the door declared that there was vacancy available and that there was an open bar and a grill within for the weary traveler. “Let’s get some food.”

Appleloosa became still and silent as the sun set. The only sound left was the whisper of the wind passing through the narrow streets.

The quiet was quickly broken by a gentle rapping at a chamber door.

The spy checked out the window to meet the coal-black eyes of a raven with a red marking on its breast. The bird cocked her head, then flapped off into the distance.

The spy took in a slow breath and pulled their coat to their body, stepping out into the night. They kept their movements slow and casual, just another citizen out for a late-night walk. Indeed, they saw a few other pedestrians out amidst the Appleloosan roads and greeted each with a brief nod and a smile.

But all the time, they kept their eyes on the black shadow flying overhead, guiding them on. They doubled-back, circled blocks, and checked their reflection in store mirrors, watchful of any sign of pursuit. But no one seemed to be following them.

The spy left the main center of Appleloosa and made their way to the western outskirts of the town. Here, the buildings were further spread out, like islands of an archipelago in a sea of dark sand. The raven perched on an abandoned building, a former barn.

The spy glanced around to make sure that nopony was paying attention to them, then walked around to the side of the building, out of sight of the streets.

A side door lay before them. With a swallow, the spy stepped forward and knocked quietly.

The door opened and the spy froze for a moment at the sight of the stallion on the other side. The red eyes stared at him coldly from the shadows of his jacket’s hood, the rest of his face covered by a scarf.

The Plague Doctor glared at the spy, then looked up. The raven fluttered down to their shoulder and let out a soft coo. The Doctor nodded and stepped aside to allow the spy to enter. The spy shivered as they passed by the pegasus into the darkness. The shutting of the wooden door behind them felt like a great tomb door crashing closed.

A flashlight clicked on to banish some of the shadows. In the thin light, the spy briefly noted rotting timbers holding up the ceiling and rusted tools spread across the dirt floor before turning to face the cold red eyes.

“I scouted out the camp earlier, sir,” the spy said, pulling out a notebook and a small penlight from their pocket. They flipped the book open, snapping on the ultraviolet light to reveal sketches and maps drawn upon the pages. “Looks like the two traitors sleep in this tent here.” They pointed to a circled tent in the midst of the camp. “But there’s a lot of buffalo sleeping throughout the camp, and some of them are armed.”

The Plague Doctor continued to stare at the maps and notes, though the raven cocked its head to stare at the spy, the coal-black eyes burning into their soul.

The spy gulped and shifted in place. “But...they’re going to be on guard now, sir,” they said in a quieter tone. “The detectives...I don’t know how they know, but they’re here.”

The Plague Doctor looked up at their comrade, his eyes burning from the shadows of his disguise. After a moment, the scarlet irides glittered.

The spy realized that he was smiling.

Author's Note

Not much to say about this one; just some setup for coming chapters. We've got three (well, four) suspects before us. Which one is the spy? Place your bets now in the comment section below, folks!

Be sure to leave a like and see you next week!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Four: Past, Present, Future

”Sleeping beneath all flesh. Sleeping beneath all flesh. Sleeping beneath all flesh…”

The endless chant cut through the night air, burrowing into Daring Do’s ears. Daring spun about in place, looking into the darkness that surrounded her. The trees that encircled the empty plain groaned in the wind, naked branches seeming to reach out towards her. Stones jutted out of the barren ground around her, like uncovered fossils; the crumbling structures were marked with hieroglyphs in a language that she could not read, but she recognized from a nightmare.

One shape marked into a nearby stone drew her attention: a great dog-like creature that bared its teeth at her, clutching a pony in the paw on the end of its long tail. For a moment, Daring thought she saw the black pits that passed for the thing’s eyes glow.

Looking up, she saw the stars swirling overhead; dots of bizarre colors ranging from sickly green to boiling red and venomous yellow, constantly forming, falling, and reforming into bizarre constellations.

“Who’s there?” she shouted, squinting through the forest. She saw no figures in the shadows around her, but for a moment, she thought she saw lights in the distance. Lights from a city.

“Sleeping beneath all flesh. Sleeping beneath all flesh. Sleeping beneath all flesh…”

The chant grew louder and louder in Daring’s ears, and with every repetition, she swore that she could feel something...stirring beneath her skin. Something in her blood, in her bones that was rising up, awoken by the voices. Daring grimaced, clutching her arm as jolts of pain shot up the limb, like thrashing appendages in her veins.

A crackling beneath her hooves made her gasp. The ground was stirring and shifting as well. Like something buried long ago was waking up.

Jagged tears ripped through the dirt around her. Daring spread her wings to try to take off, only to scream as her muscles contracted against her will; the things beneath her bones ripped and tore at her skin, and she bent down to her knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

The stone before her exploded, raining debris down on her. Daring stared up in horror as a great limb burst from beneath, stone and dirt falling from the dark blue fur. The claws flexed with a terrible cracking and popping as the enormous paw slammed down on the ground before her. A cloying miasma slammed into Daring’s face like a solid wall, the scent of rot nearly making her vomit. Up close, she saw that the paw, which was large enough to crush her, and the limb attached to it were heavily decayed; patches of skin were eaten away to expose muscle, and there were even patches where yellowed bone was visible.

“EHI! EHI! AHUIZOTL! EHI! EHI! AHUIZOTL! EHI! EHI! AHUIZOTL!”

The chanting around Daring reached a fever pitch, as did the frantic shifting and stirring of the things beneath her skin. She commanded herself to run, to fly away, to scream, but her muscles would no longer obey her. All she could do was stare in silent horror, her heart pounding in her ears, as a massive head, as decayed and rotted as its limbs, lifted itself out of the ground. The great golden necklace about its chest glimmered in the eldritch light. It shook its tangled mane out of its gaze, letting a putrid breath out of its jagged, rotting teeth.

The glowing green eyes snapped open, slit pupils glaring at her like she was an insect, a filthy thing to be squashed. The jaws opened wide…

Daring Do returned to the waking world with a gasp, jolting upright in bed. Her hoof went to the pistol on the bedside table, her foreleg sliding into the strap.

The other two occupants of the room jolted awake at the noise. “What’s going on?! Are we under attack?!” Rainbow Dash shouted as she sat up in her own bed, looking around wildly.

Phillip sat up from behind Daring, blinking blearily. “Daring? What is it?” he asked.

Daring’s heart slowed as she recognized her surroundings. She was in a small room, the brown walls decorated only by a few black and white photographs. The sun was slowly rising outside the window, casting the sky and the street in gold.

Daring let out a slow exhalation, lowering her weapon as the last vestiges of terror fled her. “I’m fine,” she said, wiping her face. “Just a bad dream.”

She felt Phillip’s hoof slowly slide down her arm to her hoof, giving it a gentle squeeze. She returned his grip in kind, turning around to give him a brief smile of reassurance. “Just a dream,” she said.

“Aces,” Phillip said, stretching with a great yawn and tumbling out of bed. “Since we’re up, might as well get some brekkie and get moving.”

Rainbow yawned and kicked off the heavy hoof-stitched quilt as she pulled herself out of bed. “Ow, shit,” she grumbled, wincing and massaging the stump where her left wing had once been. Her face fell into a scowl as her gaze panned down to the metal wing on the floor next to the outlet it was plugged into. The green light on the limb indicated that it was fully charged.

With a quiet sigh, Rainbow unplugged the prosthetic and rolled the charging cable back up. Carefully, she inserted the wing back into the metal slot on the end of her stump, securing the false wing with a click and a grimace. She flexed her wings, the metal limb responding in chorus with its flesh and bone counterpart.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Daring asked, buttoning up her vest.

“You and Dash should go back to the buffalo camp and talk to Starlight and Tempest again,” Phillip said, pulling his shirt over his head. “I’ll take a walkabout ‘round town. Might think of something we missed.”

He opened the door to the hallway of the Watering Hole, sniffing the air. “But first things first. Coffee,” he declared, following his nose towards the continental breakfast.

“Right behind you!” Rainbow Dash declared, following him out.

Daring rolled her eyes with a smile as she donned her pith helmet. “Compass Rose and the Quest for the Black Gold,” she muttered to herself.

Daring Do and Rainbow Dash approached the buffalo camp, the smoke from the campfires scratching at their noses. Buffaloes were milling about the teepees, tending to fires, organizing firewood piles and stores of food. The buzzing of conversation blended with the laughter of calves as they frolicked through the camp, chasing each other around the grass under the watchful eyes of their parents.

Daring’s eyes went to the massive form of Chief Thunderhooves, who was conversing with a smaller light brown cow dressed in a white and blue shawl decorated with beads and precious stones. Eagle feathers dangled from the cow’s ears, and her face was decorated with white and blue paint over her eyes and forehead.

The painted buffalo looked up at their approach. Chief Thunderhooves followed her gaze, scowling up at the golden pegasus. Daring shifted slightly and lowered her head in response. Chief Thunderhooves huffed and stomped off.

Rainbow scowled after him. “She’s not going to steal from you again, you know!” she shouted after his retreating form.

“Dash,” Daring said, raising a hoof towards her protege. “It’s fine.”

The cow in the shawl made her way up to the two mares, greeting them with a small smile. Upon closer inspection, Daring noted that there were shadows beneath the buffalo’s green eyes, not quite hidden by the facepaint; her mane was tangled and snarled, her coat unbrushed.

“Greetings, travelers,” the buffalo nodded in welcome. “I am Walks Many Trails.”

“Howdy,” Rainbow nodded. “I’m Rainbow Dash, and this is Daring Do. You’ve probably heard of her.”

“I have,” Walks Many Trails replied. Her smile faded into a pensive expression as she studied Daring’s face.

“You saw something last night,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

Daring blinked in surprise; images of a rotting limb and swirling, alien stars danced before her eyes. “I...take it you had bad dreams last night, too?” she asked.

Walks Many Trails nodded grimly.

“Hey, we’re not here to talk about dreams,” Rainbow Dash pressed. “We’re here to talk to Starlight and Tempest. Where are they?”

“Starlight Glimmer is in her teepee,” Walks Many Trails said. “And Tempest Shadow is helping repair our sweat lodge.”

“What’s a sweat lodge?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“It’s part of our traditions,” the shaman explained as she guided them into the midst of the camp. “We use hot coals to make the interior of the lodge hot. After performing a cleansing ceremony and smoking a bowl of herbs, we sit inside, meditating and praying to the spirits. The sweat purifies us of the dust of the world and opens us up to visions.”

Rainbow cocked an eyebrow. “So you smoke drugs and sit in a sauna?”

“Rainbow!” Daring scolded.

Walks Many Trails chuckled. “I suppose that’s not entirely inaccurate,” she mused. “But you’d be amazed as to what visions the spirits have given us in the lodge.”

She looked over at Daring. “We will be holding a ceremony later for a sweat. I think it would benefit you to join us.”

The chanting of unseen voices echoed in Daring’s ears. She met the shaman’s eyes, studying the trenches dug into her tired face.

“I…” Daring found herself nodding. “I think I’d like that.”

Walks Many Trails nodded with a small smile as they walked through the camp. They paused at a small teepee near the center. A large campfire sought to banish most of the morning chill, crackling merrily away at the nexus of the village; some of the camp’s elders were sitting around the flames, murmuring to one another over pipes and basket weaving.

“Starlight is in here,” the shaman said.

“Thank you,” Daring nodded. She prodded at the entrance to the tent, raising it a bit. “Starlight?”

The inside of the teepee contained two low mattresses, with a small stone circle for a campfire at the center. The sheets of one bed was so tightly folded that Daring was pretty sure she could have bounced a coin off them; the jackets and boots placed nearby were neatly folded and perfectly arranged, the horseshoes spitshone to a high polish, like a cadet’s kit waiting for the drill sergeant’s inspection. A few books, mostly military and history texts, were stacked nearby.

The other mattress, however, was a slovenly display, with the quilts thrown aside in a heap. Books and notebooks were scattered about everywhere, the papers covered in writing that was so sloppy it looked like another language.

Starlight Glimmer was sitting on her own mattress, sullenly repairing the broken kite. The unicorn looked up at their entry.

“Oh. It’s you again,” she mumbled. “C’mon in, we’ve got plenty of hard-packed dirt for everypony!” She gestured around the teepee with a feeble chuckle.

“You okay?” Daring asked as she and Rainbow sat down.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Starlight replied airily. “There’s a maniac who might be out to kidnap or kill me and I made my best friend angry all because I wanted to do something nice for her! I’m totally fine!”

Her last words came out in a sharp bark, her horn sparking aquamarine at the cry. She glared up at her visitors for a moment, tears shimmering in her eyes, then turned away and wiped her face with a foreleg. “I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s okay,” Daring replied, raising a hoof. “I don’t blame you.”

“Tempest sure does,” Starlight mumbled, staring at the half-broken kite.

“She’s not mad at you,” Daring said. “Not really. She’s scared that she’s going to lose you. That she won’t be able to protect you.”

Starlight looked up. “You think so?”

“I’m sure of it,” Daring said, glancing at her companion’s prosthetic wing.

Rainbow glanced back at her and Daring returned her gaze to Starlight. “If we’re going to stop that freak, then we need your help,” she said. “When you went to the general store, who else did you see?”

Starlight rubbed the back of her messy mane. “I...couldn’t name them,” she replied. “Tempest and I don’t go into town often, and when we do, we usually wear glamours. We don’t know many ponies in Appleloosa.” She sighed and stared at the kite. “I just wanted to go as myself once…” she mumbled. “I’m so sick of hiding! I just…” She sighed in disgust. “Now look where that got me.”

“I don’t blame you,” Daring said. “But what’s done is done.”

“Do you recognize any of these ponies?” Rainbow asked, holding up photographs of Open Casket, Della Delivery, Coal Tender, and Golden Crust.

Starlight squinted at the pictures, then shook her head. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Never was that great at faces…”

“Great,” Rainbow mumbled, putting the photos away. “Why would the Plague Doctor want you anyway?”

Starlight fell silent, looking up at the two mares.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she said quietly.

Rainbow blinked. “You said that your name was Starlight Glimmer.”

“It’s not that…” Starlight mumbled.

“You were working for Sombra during the war, right?” Daring asked quietly. “And you were forced to do something you knew was wrong, right?”

Starlight blinked up at Daring, tears leaking from her eyes, and mutely nodded.

“I was in the same boat,” Daring sighed, glancing down at her right hoof. For a brief moment, the crude brand in the shape of a ring of keys appeared on the flesh.

“I used to be a member of a group called the Family,” she explained. “A group of mercenary treasure hunters, thieves, and spies. It was all good: we stole from rich and corrupt ponies, found ancient treasures, didn’t hurt the innocent, all that jazz. But...” A shudder ran down her spine.

“The boss of the Family...Mojo...hired me to assassinate a target. I told him no and he...he beat me for disobeying him. And that's when I learned the truth: all that talk about looking out for each other and not hurting anypony who didn't deserve it was bullshit. The Family was all about money, and that meant that we were supposed to do anything, steal anything, hurt and kill anypony, all for the right price. And if we disobeyed, we..." She swallowed and shivered again.

Starlight was staring at her in a mixture of horror and pity. Rainbow’s wing draped about Daring’s shoulders. The golden pegasus stiffened for a moment, then gave Rainbow a small, grateful nod.

“It took me three years to work up the courage to turn them in,” Daring continued. “Mojo’s dead and the others are all in prison.” She looked up at Starlight. “So I know a thing or two about having a dark past hanging over your head. I’m not gonna judge you; whatever you did, I know you’re sorry and you’d take it all back if you could.”

Starlight was silent for a few moments of contemplation, then closed her eyes and took in a breath.

“Darkstar,” she whispered. “I helped invent Darkstar.”

Daring and Rainbow gasped. A memory flickered before their eyes: a mushroom cloud hanging over the ruins of Vanhoover, immortalized on the front page of the Foal Free Press.

Starlight dug around in her pack for a few moments, then extracted an old, faded photograph. The picture showed a younger Starlight, her bangs cut into a straight line, standing in front of a great building of blue sapphire. To her left was Tempest Shadow, her mane cut into a shorter mohawk and wearing a stiffly pressed uniform, smiling shyly at the lens; on Starlight’s right was an orange unicorn stallion with a scruffy mane, beaming up at the camera with Starlight’s foreleg around his shoulders.

“This was my graduation day at Cuore University,” Starlight explained. “That stallion was my best friend, Sunburst. He and I graduated with degrees in magic; Tempest got a degree in military history and joined the Army as a lieutenant.”

“You’re Crystal Ponies?” Daring asked.

“Only technically. Sunburst and I grew up in Sire’s Hollow, on the southeastern outskirts of the Empire; Tempest is from a smaller village right near the Equestria-Crystal Empire border,” Starlight explained. “It’s why we don’t, well, sparkle.”

“How’d she lose her horn?” Rainbow asked.

“Rainbow,” Daring hissed, elbowing Rainbow in the side.

“It’s fine,” Starlight waved her off. “She told us that she went into an ursa minor’s cave when she was a filly looking for a lost ball and it attacked her. She fended it off, but lost her horn.”

“Whoa,” Rainbow said, her eyes widening. Daring let out an impressed nod.

Starlight sighed. “Sunburst and I went into the University with big dreams of how we were going to change the world, push the boundaries of magic. We graduated in 1941...the same year the war started. And suddenly, everything changed.”

“It did for all of us,” Daring noted solemnly.

“Sunburst and I were picked up by the military because of our...talents,” Starlight continued, bitterness seeping into the final word. “We were told that our work would end the war, that we’d get even with the Princesses for taking Empress Amore from us…” She glanced up at Daring. “I know it seems obvious now that Celestia and Luna didn’t kill Amore, but from our side, it wasn’t that simple. We were told over and over that they’d murdered our Empress, and well...when somepony in charge tells you something enough times, you start to believe it.

“At first it was just medical research, communications, things like that,” Starlight continued. “But after a year or so, we started working on weapons.

“Sunburst was the first one to realize that something was off about all this...while I just happily charged on, excited about all the new things that we were learning, thinking about all the praise that I was getting.” She sighed. “Maybe if I’d listened to him…but anyway, he was the first one to start protesting the weapons projects, saying that what we were doing was wrong. That we were creating things that were too dangerous to exist. Delving into magic that shouldn’t be tampered with…”

“And then one day…” She shivered. “The Doctor showed up for him.”

The quiet rolled through the lab like a wave, the sudden silence punctuated by the clacking of iron horseshoes on the tile floor. Starlight looked up from their worktable and gasped.

Three ponies were walking down the hallway of the labs towards their table. All of them were wearing black and blue uniforms, their faces covered with balaclavas. On each of their breasts was a gold shield with a black snowflake embossed on the center and a motto beneath: Organizzazione per la Vigilanza.

Starlight’s eyes went to the one in the center: a pegasus with a sickly yellow coat. A raven with a red mark on its chest stood astride its shoulders, its head flicking from side to side as it studied everypony in the room with its beady black eyes. The pegasus’ red eyes were focused on the stallion next to Starlight.

Sunburst could only stare in silence, his confusion giving way to realization, then horror as the officers of the secret police reached them.

“By order of King Sombra,” one of the officers said, approaching Sunburst. “You must come with us.”

“No!” Sunburst protested, backing away, but the two junior officers strode forward and grabbed his forelegs. Hoofcuffs snapped over his wrists; the golden light on his horn flickered and died.

“You have an appointment with the doctor, son,” the speaker sneered at Sunburst, nodding to the stallion with the raven.

“Starlight, help me!” Sunburst cried, his hooves scrabbling futilely against the ground as he was dragged around.

Starlight started to step forward, but a hoof clapped down on her shoulder. She turned to find the cold blue eyes of the head scientist, the elder stallion in his major’s uniform shaking his head.

The fight went out of Starlight in a moment. She could only watch as her best friend was dragged from the laboratory, his screams for help fading into the distance. The stallion with the raven stared around the room; every head lowered beneath his gaze, every worker quietly returning to their tasks.

Starlight met the scarlet eyes for a moment before the colonel exited the laboratory, closing the door behind him.

“Consider this a learning experience, Miss Glimmer,” the head scientist said, turning and walking away. Starlight was left alone at her station, staring at her work without truly seeing it.

“He came back a few days later,” Starlight continued. “But he was just...robotic. Almost no emotion at all. When he looked at me, it was like…” She sniffled. “Like he was seeing right through me.”

“They brainwashed him,” Rainbow concluded.

Starlight nodded numbly. “After that, I knew to just keep my head down and my mouth shut, but then…” She swallowed again. “We started Project Darkstar.”

Silence blanketed the room for a few moments before Starlight took a deep breath.

“That was the last line for me,” she said. “I told them no, I wasn’t going to work on that. But…”

Her shivering increased, her eyes going ever more distant. “The doctor made an appointment with me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Daring hesitated for a moment, then reached out and laid a hoof on Starlight’s shoulder. Starlight stiffened up, then relaxed with a long sigh.

“I don’t remember much of what happened after that,” she continued. “Right up until…” She swallowed. “Vanhoover. After that...what we’d done...it was enough to snap us both out of it. That’s when we realized that we had to get out of there.

“We got in touch with Tempest--by then, she’d been reassigned to help protect important sites at the homefront--and the three of us destroyed all of our research on Darkstar and fled for Equestria. When we got to Canterlot, we told them everything we knew.” She let out a mirthless laugh. “They said we turned around the war by telling them where the Darkstar launch sites were. Well, now look at us.”

“What happened to Sunburst?” Daring asked.

Starlight flinched, shuddering and closing her eyes. “He...didn’t make it,” she mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Daring whispered, rubbing Starlight’s back.

Starlight blinked back tears and sighed. “Thank you,” she muttered. “After the war, Tempest and I started sort of wandering around Equestria; I would study magic while also helping out however I could, and Tempest...kinda became my bodyguard, I guess.”

“And you’ve been trying to fix her horn,” Rainbow observed, her eyes going to an open notepad on Starlight’s bed. Scrawled on the paper were several sketches of what looked like a fractured horn, with writing crammed around every perimeter.

“Yeah,” Starlight nodded. “It was something I was working on before…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she cleared her throat. “Been kinda short on proper labs, materials, and funding, though,” she commented with a dry laugh.

“What’s amberclaw?” Rainbow asked, noting a circled word on the notepad.

“A rare mineral that’s only found in the mountains of Thrussia,” Starlight said, clearly relieved to be talking about something else. “Since it can conduct magic, I was thinking about using that as a material for a replacement horn. Of course, can’t really afford a ship to Thrussia right now,” she said with another dry laugh.

“I don’t suppose you or Tempest knows who the Plague Doctor is,” Daring prodded.

“No one does,” Starlight muttered. “He and all of the other members of the Office of Vigilance--Sombra’s secret police--had their identities kept secret, even from us.”

The unicorn returned her attention to the kite, finishing up a few touches with an aquamarine flicker of her horn. The kite’s frame looked almost new, the twine about the wood all tightly and neatly wrapped around the fractures so that they could not be seen. Starlight stared at the kite for a few moments, a pensive sigh escaping her.

Rainbow stood up. “Well, that kite isn’t doing much good just sitting in here, right?”

“Tempest is busy,” Starlight mumbled.

“I don’t think that she’s too busy for you,” Rainbow said. “She’s stuck with you this long. You think she’s gonna give up on you now?”

Starlight stared at the kite for several moments of contemplation, then sighed. “Right. Here goes nothing,” she mumbled, picking the kite up and following Rainbow out of the teepee, with Daring on her tail.

“This way,” Starlight said, pointing towards the outer borders of the camp, where several other buffalo were working at a single construction.

The sweat lodge was a squat, round hut covered in woven animal pelts. A low doorway pointed to the east, just high enough for a buffalo to crawl through, allowed entry. A few of the smaller buffalo were bringing soapstone, limestone, and gypsum rocks to a nearby pile; a couple of buckets sat nearby, already full of water.

Tempest was trotting up to the lodge, carrying a large bucket full of water in her mouth. She paused at the sight of Starlight carrying the kite, staring at her with impassive blue eyes.

Starlight smiled nervously, shifting in place.

Tempest hesitated a few moments more, then slowly set the bucket down next to the others before turning and walking back to Starlight. She stared at the kite for a few moments of silence.

Starlight’s expression started to fall and she took a step back, but Tempest held up a hoof and sighed.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said, keeping her gaze steady on Starlight. “What you did was foolish...but I can’t blame you. You’re right: I’m tired of hiding, too.”

She reached out and took the kite, examining it for a moment, then giving the smaller unicorn a shy smile. Starlight beamed back and pulled Tempest into a hug; the taller unicorn grunted in surprise, then gently put the kite down and awkwardly patted Starlight on the back.

“Daring?” Walks Many Trails announced, striding up. “We’re about to begin the sweat.”

Daring nodded and followed the shaman to a cluster of younger buffalo surrounding a large crackling fire that was heating the gathered rocks. Rainbow shrugged and followed Daring, joining the group under the eye of Chief Thunderhooves.

“Welcome!” Little Strongheart smiled at the ponies. The other buffalo glanced at them and Chief Thunderhooves let out an irritated huff through his nostrils, but none of them raised any protest.

A few of the elder buffalos began playing sets of drums, rainsticks, and other instruments. Murmuring prayers in a soft rolling song, Walks Many Trails blessed each of the participants and gave them a small offering of tobacco.

“We throw these onto the rocks when we go into the lodge,” Little Strongheart explained to Rainbow in a whisper, noting the pegasus looking curiously at the small bag in her hoof. “The smoke carries our question up to the spirits.”

An acrid scent stung at Daring’s nose. A younger buffalo with similar adornments to Walks Many Trails was passing around an old pipe, decorated with feathers, beads, and painted icons. The smoke rising from the bowl was a conglomeration of herbs, tobacco, and other scents that Daring could not identify.

One of the buffalo reverently took the pipe and inhaled a puff, exhaling a roiling cloud of smoke as he passed the pipe along to the next. The second buffalo, a younger bull, looked at it querulously for a few moments, then passed it on without imbibing.

“You don’t need to smoke the pipe if you don’t want to,” Little Strongheart whispered to her guests. “But some of us believe that the herbs make it easier to receive visions.”

The pipe passed to Strongheart, who calmly inhaled a great puff, exhaling the smoke with an experienced casualness. The pipe was passed into Daring’s hooves.

Daring Do studied the pipe for a moment, then shrugged and lifted the reed to her lips. “Gently,” Little Strongheart advised her as she took a slow puff on the pipe. The warm smoke filled her mouth, both sweet and bitter tasting.

The smoke invaded the back of her throat and Daring hacked violently, the pipe nearly tumbling from her hooves as she coughed. Several of the buffalo around her chuckled; even Walks Many Trails and Little Strongheart tittered behind their hooves.

“Pretty strong,” Daring said with a forced smile, passing the pipe to Rainbow. The younger pegasus immediately sucked in a large breath, only to double over in a violent coughing fit, to the buffaloes' amusement.

“Perhaps leave that for the more experienced next time,” Walks Many Trails suggested, taking the pipe from the green-faced Rainbow and gently patting her on the back until her coughing subsided and her face returned to its normal color.

One by one, each of the buffalo knelt down and crawled into the sweat lodge. Little Strongheart went ahead of the pegasi. At Walks Many Trail’s nod, Rainbow crawled through, then Daring.

The undecorated interior of the sweat lodge was already warm, heated by the many buffalo inside, who all sat in a circle around a small central pit; the flames of the candles set within cast weird, flickering shadows about the animal skin walls. Daring took a seat next to Rainbow, who was staring about the room skeptically.

Walks Many Trails entered the lodge last, taking a seat at the head of the room next to a bucket of water with a ladle waiting inside. From outside, one of her neophytes used tongs to pass the heated rocks into the smaller pit. The lodge began to heat up rapidly; already, Daring could feel beads of sweat on her brow.

“And now we call to the spirits,” the shaman declared, lifting the ladle from the bucket of water. “Spirits, we ask you for your guidance.” She splashed some water on the hot rocks, spreading steam through the lodge with a hiss; the moisture seemed to cling to Daring’s skin, blending with her sweat. “Spirits, we ask you for your wisdom,” she said, splashing another ladleful onto the stones. “Spirits, we ask you for your compassion. Spirits, we ask you for your strength.”

With each ladle, more and more steam filled the lodge. Daring breathed in the hot, wet air deeply, feeling her heartbeat slow with every moment. Her mind fell into a tranquil lassitude, her thoughts washing away like the steam flowing out the door.

A sudden pattering drummed against the roof. Daring looked up at the sound. “Huh. Was it supposed to rain today?”

She looked around the lodge and blinked in shock.

She was all alone in the tent. “Hello?” she called, standing and turning in place. “Rainbow? Where’d you go?”

No reply. Struggling to comprehend, Daring crawled out of the tent and looked around, her eyes widening.

The buffalo village was gone. Instead, the sweat lodge was sitting in the middle of a vast plain of red sand, scrub brush rising in irregular patches. Rain fell from the light gray sky, the clouds only a thin veil that allowed the sunlight through. Before her, a massive red stone rose out of the ground, stretching out in both directions.

“Uluru?” Daring asked. “How did I--?”

“Hello, ampa.”

Daring turned around to see a familiar figure behind her. The zebra-like mare with the long white mane and the cutie mark of a set of clouds over a river lowered the hood of her cloak as she approached, beaming at Daring with bright blue eyes.

“Creek Fog,” Daring gasped. “If that’s actually your name…”

The Aborigineigh guide slyly winked at her. “I’m sure you have many questions, ampa,” she said, sitting down next to Daring. “This is your chance to ask.”

Daring Do sat in the shade of the great holy rock and took a breath. “Okay. First question: is this real, or is it just happening in my head?”

Creek Fog chuckled warmly. “Obviously it’s happening in your head, Daring Do. You did just inhale a significant dose of hallucinogens. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Daring Do stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, next question. You wouldn’t happen to know who the Plague Doctor is or where he is?”

Creek Fog’s face fell and she shook her head. “If I did know, I would tell you in a heartbeat,” she said. “But the Plague Doctor serves a dark master: a slave of the Old Gods. Their dark magic clouds them from our vision.”

“Sombra,” Daring breathed. “Then...he’s alive?”

A scowl formed on Creek Fog’s face. “The one that you know as Sombra is far more than a pony in some ways...and far less in others,” she said. “He has lived and died dozens of times, wearing dozens of different faces. With each life, he serves the will of his puppetmasters, coming closer and closer to their goals.”

“And he’s in Ponyville now?” Daring asked.

“Yes,” Creek Fog nodded. “Under a new name and a new disguise.” Sensing Daring’s protest, she raised a hoof. “If I knew who he was, I would tell you, but you must understand: we do not see the world from the same perspective as you. Sombra is hidden from our gaze by his masters' dark magics; we cannot perceive him unless he acts openly. And there are limits on how much we can do.”

“So it’s up to us,” Daring grumbled.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Creek Fog nodded, placing a hoof on her shoulder.

“Why us?” Daring burst out, flinging her hooves up in frustration. “I mean...I know we’re awesome and all, but…” She sighed. “Were we chosen or something? Why?” She glanced down at her right hoof. “Why pick me?”

“I told you before: your life is your own choice. Your songline is of your own writing,” Creek Fog replied gently. “You are here because of your own decisions. And your decisions alone will carry you down the path before you. You could choose to turn away from this if you wanted...but I know you won’t.” She stroked Daring’s cheek with a hoof, turning her around to face her calm smile. “Because you are our children. Two brave, strong, intelligent ponies who are willing to fight for what they know is right, who will always have the support of their loved ones.”

The memory of a mother’s kiss and the touch of rain brought a calm smile to Daring’s face. “Thank you,” she said.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Daring looked up to see that darker storm clouds had started to roll in, smothering the sunlight and bringing heavier rain. Suddenly, she remembered her dream from last night.

“That dream I had earlier,” she said to Creek Fog, who was scowling up at the sky. “It wasn’t just a dream, was it?”

Creek Fog shook her head. “The last ahuizotl is waking up,” she said grimly.

“What are ahuizotls?” Daring asked. “I know that they’re ancient mythical beings, but…”

“Monsters from beyond your world,” Creek Fog explained, bile in every syllable. “The Old Gods brought them here to serve as their priests. For far too long, our children suffered beneath their cruel yokes. Centuries ago, Faust and the Seven Pillars waged war on the ahuizotl and destroyed them all...save one. This last ahuizotl was trapped in a temple in what is now the Everfree Forest; we used our own magic to hide it from the gaze of its masters, but Zugzwang’s evil weakened the seals keeping it asleep. It is starting to stir, calling out once more. And Sombra’s ultimate goal is to find it and wake it up.”

She turned to face Daring, the anger in her normally kind eyes momentarily frightening. “If it is freed, it will try to wake its masters as well. That cannot happen.”

A chill briefly ran down Daring’s spine, a feeling like she was standing at the shore, watching a tsunami rush in to crush her tiny form beneath its mass. Then she took a breath and released the fear, letting it float away on the wind.

“How do we stop it?” she asked.

“The map that you recovered leads to its resting place,” Creek Fog explained. “Find the city of Thicket. There you will--”

The sky was suddenly split by a flash of lightning, blinding white and blazing hot. The ground beneath Daring’s hooves cracked, then gave way. Daring fell into the darkness with a scream, her wings flapping futilely.

“No!” Creek Fog shouted, diving for her, but their hooves missed by inches.

Daring plummeted down into infinite inky blackness, the light sucked away from her in moments. All sound was smothered...then, from beneath came a voice that was not a voice, a chaotic sensation that only fancy could transmute to speech, but that she somehow understood in a moment of horrid comprehension.

“NYAGLATH, GER’UH ANGFAH.”

The True Masters, sleeping beneath all flesh.

Motion beneath her. Daring turned to see a pair of eyes staring up at her: venomous green, the slit pupils three times her size. All she could do was scream as the massive mouth opened beneath her, a sickening miasma of rotting breath rushing up to meet her…

“Daring! Daring!”

Daring woke up with a scream, sitting upright and whirling around. Colors flooded back into her eyes and she found several faces staring back at her, alight with concern.

“Easy, easy,” Rainbow Dash said, gently pushing her back down onto the cool grass. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Daring slowly realized that she was back in the buffalo village, laying in the shade of a massive tree. She was nude save for the totem necklace, her body soaked with her own sweat, skin still burning like she was on fire. Rainbow, Starlight, Tempest, Little Strongheart, Walks Many Trails, and a few other buffalo were gathered around her.

“What happened?” Daring groaned as Rainbow placed towels soaked in cold water on her forehead.

“You went into a trance and started mumbling,” Rainbow said, placing more wet towels in Daring’s armpits and around her neck. “Then you started shaking and burning up. I dragged you out of there; I think you went into heatstroke.” She blinked, distress flickering in her red irides.

Starlight levitated over a pitcher of water, which Rainbow lifted to Daring’s lips. Suddenly realizing that her throat was as dry as the Saddle Arabian desert, Daring drank the entire thing in one go, sighing in relief once she was done. “Thanks, kid,” she nodded to Rainbow, offering her a smile that the younger pegasus returned.

“You had a vision, didn’t you?” Walks Many Trails asked.

Daring stared at her for a few moments, then slowly nodded. Despite her own heat, she felt herself shiver as she reached up for the totem of Awely-Awely, trying to draw some comfort from the cool wood.

Author's Note

That doesn't bode well, does it?

When I first started writing this series, I did already have vague ideas of making Ahuizotl into an eldritch monster prophesied to bring about the end of the world, but I have to admit, I really wasn't expecting a neonoir detective series to turn into a minor cosmic horror story. Still, I'm having fun writing it, and I hope you're having fun reading it!

Until next week!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Five: Silent Night

Phillip Finder contemplatively took in a long draw of his cigarette and slowly exhaled it, watching as the smoke curled up into the air, dissipating into the blue sky. He stared towards the setting sun in silence, watching as the distant sphere gradually fell behind the rolling hills.

“You don’t believe me?” Daring Do asked, standing next to him in the shade of the Watering Hole.

“It’s not that,” Phillip replied, shaking his head with a long sigh. “It’s...bloody lot to take in.”

“I know,” Daring nodded, shrugging up her jacket. “Apparently, Sombra is actually centuries old and is still alive. What do you say to that?”

“I say, we find the guy and lock him up!” Rainbow declared, slapping her front hooves together with a vicious grin.

“Kid, it took three alicorns to take him down last time,” Daring deadpanned. “I don’t think you’re gonna do much against that.”

“It can’t be that much worse than that Zugzwang freak,” Rainbow protested.

Both of her companions flinched at the mention of that name. "Oh...sorry," Rainbow winced.

"It's fine," Daring mumbled.

“Worry about finding him first,” Phillip said, taking another puff on his cigarette. “And before that, worry about finding the spy.”

“So what did you do all morning while I was tripping balls?” Daring said.

“Took some soil samples from around town,” Phillip said. “Might be useful later.”

“Nice,” Daring nodded. “You get anywhere on finding the spy?”

“No,” Phillip grunted, taking another puff through a scowl. “Spoke to a few of the suspects’ neighbors, but didn’t get anything helpful.” He exhaled smoke through his nostrils and sighed.

“Dinky-di is...I’m not sure what to do,” he admitted. “There’s not enough evidence to point to any one of them.”

“There’s gotta be some clue that they left behind!” Rainbow said, pacing around behind them. “What about that radio transmission? If they send another message, then we can track them down and take them down!”

“Sheriff’s already on top of that,” Phillip said. “But I doubt that the spy will be stupid enough to try that again.”

“Hey! Hey, detectives!”

Everypony turned to see Deputy Braeburn running up, holding his hat to his head with one hoof. He paused in front of them, huffing and panting.

“You’re gonna wanna come to the train depot,” he gasped out. “We got something!”

The sentence was barely out of his mouth before the ground was torn away from him by a rainbow blur; he yelped as he was pulled into the air, barely managing to hang onto his hat.

“Hang on tight, cowpony!” Rainbow laughed as she carried him to the east, following the train tracks to the edge of town. A shout of protest announced that Daring and Phillip had entered the race as well.

“If I’d been meant to fly, the Holy Mother would’ve given me wings!” Braeburn cried, cringing as he watched the train tracks rushing past beneath him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Phillip groused from his left, holding his trilby to his head with one hoof.

They reached the train depot within minutes, a great web of tracks set well outside the limits of Appleloosa. Trains and train cars were parked everywhere, ready to be refueled, resupplied, and reconnected.

Braeburn pointed to a large shed next to a turntable where a few locomotives were parked. Sheriff Silverstar was standing in front of one of the locomotives with one of the engineers, a stocky dark red earth pony with a cutie mark of a locomotive’s smokestack, who was mopping his forehead with his dirty red bandana.

The sheriff looked up as the pegasi descended, raising an eyebrow at Braeburn.

“Well, they got us over here right quick, Sheriff,” Braeburn said with a nervous shrug. “Hey, hon.”

“Howdy, Braeburn,” the engineer smiled back, rubbing the back of his brown mane and smiling through his bushy mustache.

“Nice to see you out of a hospital bed, Smokey,” Phillip nodded.

“Good to be back to work,” Smokey Jones replied.

Sheriff Silverstar cleared his throat. “Okay, detectives, come take a look at this,” he said, beckoning them over to the coal tender of one of the locomotives.

Phillip climbed up into the cab and peered into the coal tender. He saw the item in question immediately: half-buried in the coal was a battered suitcase, laying open in the tender. Inside the suitcase was a radio, set into the side of the case itself. A broken set of headphones and a small telegraph key were inside the case as well.

“I was getting this engine ready to go for later tonight and was doing a maintenance check,” Smokey explained. “I was checking the tender and saw the handle sticking out of it. When I pulled it out, I saw the radio inside. Braeburn told me about the spy you were looking for, so I went and got the sheriff.”

“Who was the last pony to use this locomotive?” Phillip asked.

Smokey hesitated for a long moment. “Well…” He sighed. “It was Coal Tender.”

“Aha! I knew he was faking it!” Rainbow declared.

“Hold your horses, Rainbow,” Daring said. “So where can we find him?”

“He’ll probably be in the break room in the office,” Smokey said, nodding to a hut next to one of the tracks.

“Thanks,” Silverstar nodded, his mustache bristling. “Braeburn, keep an eye on that radio.”

“Yes, sir,” Braeburn nodded as Silverstar headed for the hut with Phil, Daring, and Rainbow behind him.

As they approached the hut, a familiar coal-black stallion with a white mane exited out of a side door, glancing around.

“Coal!” Silverstar barked.

Coal Tender whirled around at the voice, his eyes widening at the sheriff. “What’s up, Sheriff?” he asked, shifting in place nervously.

“We’ve got a few more questions for you,” the sheriff said. “You’d best come with us.”

Coal Tender’s wide blue eyes glanced around at the four ponies, then he turned around and sprinted for the tracks.

He barely made it three steps before a rainbow pounced on his back, smashing him into the ground with a heavy woof.

“No, no!” Coal Tender cried, trying to scrabble back to his hooves as the others ran up.

“All right, settle down,” Silverstar sighed, reaching for a pair of hoofcuffs.

“The parasprites are controlling you!” Coal Tender protested as his front hooves were cuffed. “Don’t listen to them! You have to wash your ears out now! Before they bring down the entire city!”

“Whatever you say,” Phillip said, rolling his eyes as he helped Silverstar haul the engineer to his hooves and escort him to Silverstar’s cruiser.

“Give it up, you’re not fooling anypony!” Rainbow declared, following.

Daring glanced over her shoulder at Braeburn and Smokey, who were staring after the still raving Coal Tender--Smokey with wide eyes, Braeburn with a concerned frown. With a frown of her own, she followed after the others.

As the sun set over Appleloosa, slowly dipping behind the rolling hills to the west and swallowing the pastures in long shadows, a strange silence fell over the buffalo village. Most of the buffalo were quick to hurry back into their teepees, glancing into the encroaching darkness with nervous eyes. Armed sentries began taking up post around campfires or snatching up torches of their own; the flames reflected off the burnished metal of their firearms as they glared into the perimeter.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, Chief Thunderhooves,” Starlight said as she patrolled the perimeter of the camp, carving a circle into the ground with a magical beam. “But I don’t like staying here. I could be putting everyone in the village at risk.”

“You are one of us, Starlight,” Chief Thunderhooves replied simply, shouldering his lever-action Whinnychester as he followed Starlight around. “And we take care of our own. And as Tempest pointed out, there is strength in numbers. You would be at greater risk traveling on your own.”

Starlight sighed as she completed her circuit, but a small smile flickered at her lips as she closed the circle with a soft snap like a lightbulb breaking. “Thank you, Chief,” she said with a grateful nod.

“You are welcome,” the buffalo chief replied, lowering his head humbly.

Starlight’s horn flickered as she whispered an incantation. A turquoise dome briefly flickered over the village, the orange hues of the darkening sky momentarily distorted by the magical prism before the dome faded away into invisibility.

“There,” Starlight said with a note of pride. “A noisemaker spell. If anything larger than a bird or a raccoon crosses that line, we’ll know about it.”

“Can you not produce a solid shield?” Thunderhooves asked as they started to head back towards the camp.

“It would take too much energy, and I’d have to be awake all night to maintain it,” Starlight explained as they reached the central campfire. The sentries gathered about the campfire all nodded curtly as they approached. “This is more efficient.”

Tempest Shadow was standing outside her and Starlight’s shared teepee, sharpening a pair of tomahawks with a stone. A bandolier over her jacket carried a collection of knives, and a holster at her hip carried a Neighretta Modello 1935 and a trio of charging crystals; their bright aquamarine glow clearly indicated that they were freshly charged.

As the Chief and Starlight approached, Tempest unscrewed a canteen and took a long sip from it; the scent of black coffee filled the air.

“Tempest, did you get any sleep earlier?” Starlight asked, noting the dark shadows stubbornly clinging to the undersides of Tempest’s eyes.

Tempest Shadow had to obviously stifle a yawn before replying. “Enough,” she said, stoppering the canteen and placing it back down on the ground next to her.

“Tempest, please,” Starlight pleaded. “Get some sleep.”

“If the Plague Doctor is here, he’ll come in the dead of night,” she continued, looking around the village. “I’ll be up all night. I have to.”

“You’re no good to Starlight if you’re too tired,” Chief Thunderhooves pointed out.

“I’m no good to her asleep, either,” Tempest grunted, giving him a brief glare. “I’m fine.”

Starlight sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. But you’re getting at least six hours of sleep tomorrow.”

Tempest made a grunt of acquiescence as she checked the edge of the tomahawk blades. Satisfied, she placed them both in her belt.

“Starlight is right,” Thunderhooves said. “I will take over at one tonight. And you will get some sleep.”

“If you can help with Starlight snoring, agreed,” Tempest replied with a small smirk. Starlight stuck her tongue out at her as Thunderhooves chuckled heartily.

The laughter was quickly stolen away as the sun finally fell below the horizon. Darkness swallowed up the sky, the flickering stars seeming distant and disinterested; all sound seemed to vanish as well, leaving only the crackling of the fires and the distant hoots and chirps of the nocturnal animals.

“Starlight, get inside,” Tempest ordered, rising to her hooves.

Starlight glanced up at the distant sky with a shudder, then ducked into the teepee.

“Deputy Braeburn was by earlier,” Chief Thunderhooves said. “He said that they arrested a suspect.”

Tempest only grunted in acknowledgment, her eyes scanning the shaded horizon for any sign of movement.

Thunderhooves placed a hoof on her shoulder momentarily, drawing a grunt despite his gentleness, then headed for his own teepee, his rifle held tight to his side.

“Keep your eyes open,” he instructed a group of his brothers around the campfire. All of them nodded in response, their grim faces cast in shadows by the firelight.

Thunderhooves paused at the entry to his teepee, looking over his camp. Normally at this time of night, he could hear the sounds of his tribe: quiet snores, whispered conversations, and soft laughter as his brothers and sisters prepared for sleep.

Not tonight. Tonight, his camp was silent, like every buffalo within was holding their breath, straining their ears for the slightest sound out of place.

Perhaps it would be wiser to send Tempest and Starlight away. If this Plague Doctor was truly after them, then it was unlikely he would stop at murdering any buffalo in his way…

No. While they’d first come to them as travelers in need of food and shelter, their help had made them sisters now. And the buffalo took care of family above all else.

“Sleep well, Starlight,” he whispered as he entered his teepee. “We will keep you safe.”

But as he stepped inside, he heard a faint noise from the distance. On any other night, he wouldn’t have paid it any mind, but for some reason tonight that sound sent a chill up his spine.

The distant, raspy screech of a raven.

Tempest shook her canteen with a frown. Judging by the sloshing, she had only a few gulps left.

It should still be enough to get her through the rest of the night. Despite Thunderhooves’ offer, she had no intention of going to sleep until the sun was long up.

Besides, between the caffeine buzzing through her veins and the loud basso profundo snores coming from the teepee, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep if she wanted to.

Tempest sighed, glancing over at one of the roving sentries, a tall buffalo named Howling Wolf. The sentry nodded back to her, the twin eagle feathers behind his left ear waving slightly in the wind. “At least she’s sleeping,” Tempest muttered.

Wolf chuckled quietly as he resumed his round. The glow from the crackling fire cast his face into a strange, swirling mixture of shadows and light. Two other buffalo sat next to the fire, brooding over their pipes, the smoke from their bowls mixing with smoke from the fire. Their reverie was occasionally broken by a soulless, token comment on the day-to-day of the village and plans for tomorrow, but not once did their hooves stray too far from their rifles.

Tempest unscrewed the canteen and took in another sip of the lukewarm coffee, savoring the taste of the black-as-pitch liquid crawling down her throat. But as she screwed the cap back on, she heard something that made her heart leap to her throat.

Silence. Starlight’s snores had stopped.

Tempest was about to yank the teepee’s door open when she heard Starlight mumbling quietly. Tempest let out a relieved sigh as her heart slowed to a normal beat.

Inside, Starlight’s mumbling turned fearful, murmuring a phrase in a soft, rapid cycle. Tempest strained to listen.

“Sleeping beneath all flesh,” Starlight mumbled. “Sleeping beneath all flesh...sleeping beneath all flesh…”

Lifting up the lantern next to her, Tempest frowned and entered the teepee. The faint light revealed that Starlight was tossing and turning on her cot, clutching at her heavy blankets while continuing to mumble the strange phrase. Sweat was shining on her forehead.

“Starlight,” Tempest whispered, shaking her companion’s shoulder. “Starlight. You’re dreaming.”

Starlight jolted upright with a gasp, her wide eyes darting into every corner before settling on Tempest.

“Easy,” Tempest soothed, squeezing Starlight’s shoulder. “It was just a dream.”

Starlight swallowed and nodded, brushing her mane out of her face. “Right,” she mumbled, climbing out from beneath the blankets.

“Where are you going?” Tempest asked as Starlight pulled on a scarf.

“I need some water,” Starlight mumbled, shivering as she opened the entrance to the teepee and stepped out into the night. Her horn lit up aquamarine, providing her some illumination to guide her way.

Tempest followed Starlight from a few feet away as she groggily made her way over to a large water tank near the edge of the camp. Starlight leaned over the edge of the tank and splashed some water on her face. She gripped the edge of the tank, taking deep breaths and shivering.

“Are you okay?” Tempest asked, stepping forward.

“I’m fine,” Starlight replied, rubbing her forehead, which was still shiny with sweat. “Just…that was a weird dream.”

“Didn’t sound like it was about Sunburst,” Tempest commented.

“No,” Starlight admitted. “It was…some kind of monster. In a forest somewhere. It was…waking up.” She paused for a few moments, then shook her head. “Ugh. Just a dream.” She leaned down and took a few sips from the tank.

A flutter of wings made Tempest Shadow look up. She saw a small brown and white bird landing on a bare tree branch overhead, turning to stare down at her with wide yellow eyes. The pygmy owl let out a quiet hoot, clicking its beak as it examined the ponies below.

Starlight finished her drink and shook her head. “I’m going back to bed. G’night,” she declared, already heading back to the teepee.

Tempest followed behind her until they got back to their teepee. “G’night,” Tempest nodded to the other mare through a heavy yawn. She took her post back at the entrance, blinking back the specter of sleep as it started to fall upon her eyes.

A shadow passed briefly over her head. She looked up to see the pygmy owl from before flying over the campfire and swooping into the distance.

Tempest stared into the shadows dancing around the teepees, observing the smoke from the campfire and the two pipes laying nearby spiraling up into the starry sky. The complete quiet of the night was weighing down on Tempest’s heavy head. Her eyelids were feeling like something was pulling them down over her eyes.

She shook her head, banishing fatigue. No rest. No lowering her guard. Not until it was--

Wait a minute.

Every thought of sleep fled Tempest Shadow’s mind as her eyes focused on the two abandoned pipes laying next to the fire. Where were the other guards?

And that’s when Tempest heard it. Something that chilled her blood even more than before.

Complete, absolute silence. No snoring from Starlight. No crackling of the fire. No whisper of wind. She stamped her hoof against the ground and felt a tremor of alarm when she did not hear the thump.

Starlight!

Tempest whirled about, yanking her Neighretta from her holster as she charged into the teepee. She clicked the flashlight underbarrel attachment on, a thin beam of light piercing the darkness.

A pair of red eyes stared back at her balefully, devoid of surprise.

Tempest fired, sending three streaks of aqua-colored light soundlessly through the air, each one illuminating the entire tent. The Plague Doctor rolled to avoid the attack, but Tempest’s attention was arrested by an object on the floor.

An unconscious Starlight Glimmer lay on the ground, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and with a rune-inscribed ring around her horn. A raven with a red mark on her breast was perched on her neck; the blade on the bird’s talon sat dangerously close to Starlight’s carotid artery.

Tempest whirled to glare at the Plague Doctor, fixing her sidearm on his face. The masked pegasus only stared back at her, silently warning her. The sickle-shaped blade in his hoof flashed dangerously in the thin light of her flashlight.

Tempest glared at the monster over the sights of her weapon, fighting the urge to pull the trigger. She glanced over her shoulder at Starlight. The raven seemed to glare defiantly back at her, almost daring her to fire and end her friend’s life.

With an inaudible growl, Tempest clicked the safety on the weapon and slowly lowered it to the ground. The Doctor continued to glare at her, nodding towards the bandolier of knives. Glaring back at him, Tempest slowly reached up towards the clasp of her belt.

Her hoof blurred and a knife sailed through the air. The raven had to leap off of Starlight to avoid the attack, the knife thumping into the ground behind her.

Tempest’s other hoof snapped at the Plague Doctor, sending a salvo of knives at him and forcing him to dodge again. In a blur of motion, Tempest dived at Starlight, wrapping her forelegs about her form and rolling for the door.

She burst through the flap and out into the chill night air, panting as she popped back for her hooves. She rested a hoof on Starlight’s neck and felt a momentary thrill of relief when she detected a slow, steady throbbing.

Hoisting Starlight over her shoulders, Tempest ran for the edge of the camp, racing towards the town of Appleloosa. If she could get help--

Her hooves slammed into something on the ground and she stumbled with an inaudible grunt, her principal tumbling from her grasp. She turned around and gaped at the unexpected obstacle beneath the starlight.

Howling Wolf was sprawled across the ground, staring wide-eyed at the stars, mouth open in a silent scream. The blood from his slit throat lay in a pool about his head, already drying into the ground.

A shifting of shadows made Tempest scramble back to her hooves. The masked pony was stalking up towards her, every step as muted as the rest of the world, his movement unhurried.

The only thing that Tempest could hear was the pounding of her heart in her skull as she rose onto her hind legs. Her hooves tugged the pair of tomahawks from her belt and she settled into a fighting stance.

The Plague Doctor paused, staring at her through his beaked mask. Tempest’s dry throat burned and she tried to ignore how the sweat on her hooves was making her weapons shift in her grasp.

Tempest growled and forced the panic down. He was just one pony. She had killed dozens.

Her foe continued to simply stand there, staring at her over the corpse of his victim. The chain of his weapon, gripped between a hoof and his wing, swung slightly in the biting wind.

Gritting her teeth, Tempest Shadow sucked in a breath and launched herself, springing over Howling Wolf’s body and bringing an ax blade at her target’s head.

A blade slashed through her leg and she hit the ground with a silent bellow, her wounded leg tumbling out from beneath her like a broken branch. She caught a glimpse of the red-breasted raven flying off into the distance.

A chain wrapped around her throat, stealing her breath from her. Tempest was pulled inexorably forward like a trout on a fishing line, gagging inaudibly, but turned the tug into a forward somersault. She tumbled towards her foe as he was forced to leap aside, narrowly avoiding a tomahawk slashing at his legs.

Regaining her hooves, Tempest pressed her advantage on the Doctor, her arms whirling in attack after attack; she gasped and panted as pain shot up her wounded leg like liquid fire, but forced the pain and the fear into the back of her mind, snarling as she scissored the blades at the Doctor’s head and legs.

The red eyes flashed furiously as he leaped away, the chain swinging towards Tempest’s head. She ducked beneath the attack, then leaped aside as the weight cracked down towards her. With a barked laugh, she seized the chain as it came down and tugged, sneering as she saw the Doctor’s eyes widen as he was reeled in.

The raven!

Tempest whirled to see the bird diving towards her again, bladed talons aimed for her other leg. She whirled out of the way, slashing at the raven with her tomahawk but missing as it flew out of reach.

A sickle swung for her neck and Tempest grimaced as she barely dodged, the curved blade carving into her cheek as the Plague Doctor dashed past her. Keeping her grip on the chain, she tried to pull her foe back into range.

His hoof reached for his bandolier, tugging at one of the vials. Tempest turned away and closed her mouth as a cloud of foul yellow gas billowed out, the sulfurous vapors stinging her face.

The sickle slashed for her throat. Tempest threw herself back and rolled out of reach, tumbling across the cold ground. She returned to her hooves, panting as she glared up at the assassin's shadow through the yellow cloud.

Something grabbed Tempest’s leg. She looked down and gasped in horror.

A bone was jutting from the ground, seizing her foreleg in an iron grasp. A skull pulled itself out of the ground, then another, then another, scorched skeletons rising from their graves, staring at her with their empty sockets. Their jaws flapped open and they spoke in unison, their raspy voices drilling into her ears in time to the pounding of her heart:

“It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault…”

Shivering, wrangling her breath back into control, Tempest squinted through the illusion to see that the Plague Doctor had flapped over to Starlight. He held her up in front of him like a shield with his sickle to her neck.

“No!” Tempest cried, the sound smothered by the pressing silence: all she could hear was the accusatory snarls and screams of her victims as they continued to dance around her, illusory dead hooves tugging and clawing at her. Starlight had regained consciousness and started struggling and squirming in her bonds, head turning from side to side in panic.

The raven landed on the Doctor’s shoulder. Tempest saw that it was holding something in its beak; it looked like a small crystal bell, with intricate carvings of open mouths encircling the body. The raven shook its head as if ringing the bell, but no chime came out of it: instead, the mouths all glowed a pale white color for a moment and Tempest felt a cold wind rush over her. The skeletons assailing her all wailed in response, their howls of hatred and pain like knives in Tempest’s ears.

The Plague Doctor tugged something out of his pocket and tossed it up into the air. The teleportation crystal floated over his body, red lightning dancing from it towards the ground.

Panic raced through Tempest’s veins. And with panic came action. For a brief moment, the illusions faded away as she drew her right foreleg back. The tomahawk spun through the air, striking the crystal. It tumbled uselessly to the ground, its magic fading away. The Plague Doctor glared at the crystal, then at her.

A skeleton lunged at Tempest’s face and screamed; she could feel its hot, reeking breath on her face and instinctively flinched with a shudder. Shoving the hallucination aside, Tempest cocked the other tomahawk back, growling silently. Starlight had gone completely still as she felt the blade at her throat, her chest heaving in a panicked rhythm.

Sweat ran down Tempest’s forehead and she had to adjust the grip on her weapon, visions of the ax splitting Starlight’s head open like a cantaloupe dancing through her mind. She took a small step forward and the Plague Doctor retreated, his wings extending. The skeletons around Tempest continued to pull at her; her foreleg shook with the effort of keeping the imaginary limbs from yanking her weapon away.

A flicker of light danced in the corner of Tempest’s eye. She turned and gasped.

The pygmy owl from before was carrying a burning ember from the campfire, hovering over one of the tents. It made eye contact with her, yellow eyes flashing as if in malicious joy as it dropped the ember. The fire caught in moments, flames rushing up the animal skins, leaping to the neighboring tents in complete, horrible silence.

She turned back just in time to see the Plague Doctor flying into the darkness, clutching Starlight to his chest.

Sound returned in his absence, becoming louder like somepony was turning up the volume on the world: the crackling of the flames, then the shouts and screams of the buffalo as they emerged from their tents to find the camp in blazes.

A terrible howl cut through the night as a buffalo leaped from his burning teepee, flailing in crazed pain before collapsing in a heap. His screams mixed with the continuing screeches of Tempest’s tormenters.

Her heart fell into her stomach and tears formed in her eyes from both smoke and pain. Tempest Shadow dropped her other tomahawk and hobbled over to the water tank to join the battle against the fire, the skeletons continuing to dance around her.

“It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.”

Author's Note

The Plague Doctor strikes! But at least we got his accomplice...right?

More will come next week, friends. Until then, remember to leave a like and a comment!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Six: From the Ashes

They ran through twisting forests, stumbling over roots, grunting as branches struck their faces. Their rapid breaths blended with the chanting that sounded from the shadows around them, mingled with triumphant, taunting laughter.

A shriek cut through the night air behind them, the sound slamming into the trio like a physical blow. Phillip, Daring, and Rainbow grunted as they stumbled into a clearing, slowing to a halt amidst the jutting stones and ruins. Panting, throbbing hearts in mouths, they instinctively turned to face back-to-back-to-back, staring into the darkness surrounding them. Distant shapes danced through the trees, half-glimpsed in the light of the swirling, alien stars above them.

“Get back!” Rainbow shouted, her bravado a thin facade for her fear.

Laughter responded to her cry, followed by a deep intonation from several voices:

“NYAGLATH, GER’UH ANGFAH.”

At the chant, the ground beneath the ponies’ hooves shifted, like a great beast stirring in its slumber. The flesh of the ground ripped and tore, chasms opening up in the ground to swallow the ruins. Phillip yelped as a ravine opened up in front of him and he jumped back, nearly knocking over the two mares.

Hoofsteps thudded from the forest; a wave of rotting miasma struck their nostrils, sending bile up their throats. The trio turned, staring in horror as it burst from the trees, rotting limbs reaching for them, emerald eyes set in the yellowed skull blazing with hatred--

Phillip Finder gasped as he was pulled out of the nightmare, his eyes snapping open to greet the darkness of the motel room, lit only by the pale glow of the stars through the window. He wiped his face, panting and shivering as the memories faded away.

The shape next to him shifted, clinging tight to the pillow with a groan. In the bed across from him, he heard Rainbow tossing and turning with fearful moans.

Phillip rolled over to place a hoof on his sleeping wife’s shoulder, gently shaking her. “Daring, wake up,” he murmured.

Instantly, he froze, all grogginess banished in a heartbeat. He had felt the words come out of his mouth, but no sound reached his ears.

A shadow stretched out before him.

It saved his life. Phillip leaped away as he felt a hoof brush against his mane, shoving Daring out of the bed where they both crashed to the floor in total, unnatural silence.

Phillip spun about, one hoof reflexively going for the pistol on the hoofside table. Backlit against the window was an equine shape with a beaked head, already bringing the crescent-shaped blade around to bear.

His hoof slid into the hoofstrap of the .38. Phillip snapped the sights up and opened fire. He felt the gun kick with each shot, but heard no sound; the light from the explosions was instantly swallowed by darkness.

The shape vanished from the window, the bullets smashing through the glass.

Panting, his thumping heart in his mouth, Phillip pulled himself to his hooves as Daring rose up next to him, pressing her back against the wall as they both stared into the consuming darkness of the room. In the faintest glimmer that shone from the stars, Phil saw Daring hurry over to Rainbow’s bed and start shaking the younger pegasus awake.

Still aiming his weapon into the shadows of the room, Phillip groped for the light switch. He felt it click, but no light came to their rescue.

Something snagged the foreleg carrying the gun and Phillip was pulled in like a fish on a line. “Shit!” he felt himself gasp as he was pulled in, instinctively curling into a somersault, his gun pulled from his limb.

Pain flared across his back, the wound instantly turning cold as blood began to run down his skin. Blind and deaf, Phillip swung blindly at his foe as he returned to his hooves.

An iron rod slammed into his foreleg, then struck him across the face, sending him reeling as stars and colors danced before his eyes. Phillip felt the world turn, his pounding head crashing to the floor; the taste of blood filled his mouth as he gasped, trying to raise his forelegs to guard himself.

A vise seized his foreleg and pulled him up. Through the haze of pain, Phillip looked up to see darkness shifting against darkness as the blade was drawn back towards his exposed throat--

A gust of wind rushed into them both. The Plague Doctor was slammed into the wall by the two pegasi, his grip on Phillip releasing.

Friendlier hooves grabbed him, hauled him back to his hooves, pulled him away from the killer. As he regained his hooves, a dim light trickled into the room as the door was flung open, the faint hallway lights beckoning them to safety. The trio poured through the door and slammed it behind them in total silence.

Her eyes wide with shock, Daring pushed them all down the narrow hallway, towards the window, barely illuminated by the dimmed light of a silver hallway sconce. The absolute silence of their hoofsteps against the floor as they sprinted towards the exit made Phillip’s heart pound even harder, every beat a painful hammer against his skull.

Rainbow shoved the window open, then paused, giving her stump a brief rueful glance before frantically waving the other two forward. Daring jumped through the window, pausing and hovering outside to wait for the others.

Phillip shoved Rainbow through the gap; the younger pegasus jumped out and grabbed Daring’s offered hoof.

As Phillip started to climb through, he saw Daring’s eyes widen, noticed the encroaching darkness at the edge of his vision. “Bugger!” he gasped, throwing himself through the window into the cold night air.

Hot wind streaked across his wounded back and glass fell upon him like snow as he tumbled towards the ground. Daring dove down and caught him with her free hoof, halting his momentum for a moment before allowing him and Rainbow to fall safely.

Sound returned as they struck the ground with a pair of grunts. The sound of crickets and night birds had never been so relieving to Phillip’s ears.

The window fractured like a spiderweb as a hole was suddenly punched through the glass; a bullet whistled past Phillip’s ear and struck the ground at his hooves, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The trio retreated from the hotel to the cover of a nearby house, pausing to catch their breath and stare up at the windows pockmarked with bullet holes.

Nothing rushed out after them.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Rainbow panted. “The Doctor?”

“Yeah,” Daring said, then winced, raising a hoof to her side. It came away stained with red. “Shit,” she hissed, glancing down at the bullet wound in her side.

“Daring,” Phillip gasped, rushing to her side.

“He just winged me, I’m fine,” Daring reassured him, studying the small wound. Her eyes panned over the wound carved across Phillip’s back, blood staining his body and dripping from his broken nose.

“I’m okay,” he promised nasally.

“I don’t see him coming out,” Rainbow reported. “Do you think he’s gone…?”

The lights in their windows suddenly snapped back on. “I think he’s gone,” Daring said.

“Phil! Daring!”

The trio turned to see Deputy Braeburn rushing up, sweat running down his red face. “What happened?” he panted, skidding to a halt in front of them.

“Plague Doctor,” Phillip replied. “What’s going on?”

Braeburn’s eyes widened. “I was just coming over to tell you!” he cried. “The Plague Doctor kidnapped Starlight and set the buffalo village on fire!”

“Shit,” Daring gasped. “Come on, Deputy.”

Drawing his sidearm, Braeburn led the way back into the Watering Hole, pushing open the front door and rushing up the stairs. He spun about the landing to glare down the hallway. The only sign of anything amiss was a single door hanging open and stains of blood on the creaky wooden floor.

The four crept up to the door and stared into the bedroom. Wind whispered into the room through the holes in the window and Phillip’s discarded revolver lay on the floor near several drops of blood, but there was no one else to be seen.

“All clear,” Braeburn sighed, lowering his weapon.

“Great,” Daring said, rummaging around in her shirt hanging up on the coat rack for her first aid kit. Unwrapping a roll of gauze, she began to disinfect and bandage Phillip’s back.

“C’mon, we gotta move!” Rainbow said, grabbing her prosthetic wing from the outlet and carefully plugging it in.

“How long ago was the fire?” Phillip asked, stuffing gauze into his nostrils.

“We just managed to get it out,” Braeburn replied, prancing in place anxiously. “I just ran down here to get you. C’mon!”

Daring nodded grimly as she and Phillip finished patching each other’s wounds. Without a word, Daring snatched up Phil while Rainbow seized Braeburn beneath the forelegs. Two rainbows shot out of the window and headed for the buffalo village.

As Daring crossed over the hills, she spotted a great column of smoke rising up into the sky, illuminated by the reflection of spinning red and blue lights from below. She crested another hill and paused, gaping at the sight beneath them.

“Holy shit,” she breathed out, staring at the smoldering wreckage. All that remained of most of the teepees and lodges were piles of ash with tattered cloths and sticks jutting out of them. ATV fire trucks and ambulances surrounded the encampment; firefighters sprayed water over the remaining flames while paramedics tended to wounded buffaloes, patching up burns and wrapping shivering survivors in blankets. Villagers stood in shocked silence, staring over the remnants of their homes while holding family and friends close.

As Daring landed, she saw a line of shapes set on the outer edge of the encampment, each of them covered in a sheet. Little Strongheart and Walks Many Trails were bending over the last one in the line, the shape beneath nearly as large as the two of them put together.

Little Strongheart was holding a massive blue and white headdress in her trembling hooves.

Daring Do felt her heart fall into her stomach. “What happened?” she asked, striding forward.

“He…” Little Strongheart sniffled. “He went back in to try to find some others…and the smoke overcame him.”

The shaman placed her hoof on the corpse’s head with a sigh. “He died bravely.”

“It was the Plague Doctor,” Tempest Shadow announced, stepping forward, hobbling slightly on her bandaged hind leg.

“What happened?” Phillip pressed

Tempest took a shaky breath; Phillip noticed that her fatigue-shadowed eyes still glimmered with fear.

“He ambushed us,” Tempest recalled. “His raven…it had some kind of enchanted bell. When it rang, it created this…” She frowned, struggling to form the proper words. “Silence. It rang the bell and suddenly, everything was dead silent.”

“This bell,” Daring cut in. “Did it have a lot of eyes and mouths carved into it?”

Tempest nodded. “And when it rang, it glowed white.”

“A Thief’s Tocsin,” Daring explained. “Another favorite toy of Discord cultists; we used one a couple of times in the Family. Caballeron knows his stuff, I’ll give him that.”

“He must have used it to sneak past Starlight’s noisemaker spell,” Tempest scowled. “He killed all of our sentries, then got Starlight. I tried to stop him, but he used an owl to set fire to the tents.” She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “It’s not my fault…” she whispered. “I tried, but I had to save the others…”

“Which way did they go?” Phillip pressed.

“Towards Appleloosa,” Tempest reported. “He tried to use a teleportation crystal, but I destroyed it.”

“When was this?” Phillip pressed.

“Over an hour ago!” Tempest snapped back. “He and Starlight could be miles away by now!”

“Then we need to get searching!” Rainbow declared. “And start asking that crony of his!” She spread her wings and took off back towards Appleloosa.

“Kid!” Daring called after her, but Rainbow was already vanishing over the hills. Daring shook her head in disgust.

“Go with her,” Phillip said, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze. “I’ll look for clues here.”

Daring looked back over the line of corpses, fixing the sight in her mind. The wind rustled the sheets covering the bodies, allowing her to catch glimpses of scorched flesh and twisted limbs.

“Find him,” Little Strongheart urged them, looking up with tears sparkling in her furious eyes. “Find her and make him pay.”

Determination flooding her heart, Daring nodded grimly and took off after Rainbow. Phillip Finder watched her go briefly, then lowered his head to the ground and began studying the area for any clues, trying to sort through the mass of hoofprints and burnt wreckage for any useful signs.

He felt eyes upon him and glanced up to see Walks Many Trails staring at him, her face shaded by the whirling lights of an ambulance. She quickly looked away, but not before Phillip saw her contemplative frown.

Starlight Glimmer kicked at the side of the crate that she was trapped in, thrashing futilely against her bonds. Her prison continued to rattle its way down its path, oblivious to its unwilling cargo. The ropes refused to give an inch; she tried to force magic into her horn, but it was like trying to push against a locked iron door. All she could see through the blindfold was darkness, shadows against shadows.

The train tires screeched loudly, the cacophony burning into her ears as she felt the train start to skid to a halt. Maybe once the train stopped, she could get somepony’s attention and they’d let her out--

There was a loud scraping sound as the carriage door was pulled open. Hoofsteps approached, slow and quiet. Starlight screamed as loudly as she could, kicking the crate’s walls with every ounce of strength she could muster.

The hoofsteps did not speed up. Instead, the unknown pony continued towards her at an unhurried pace. A sense of deep foreboding clutched Starlight’s heart like a claw and she became still.

The crate creaked open, allowing a faint light to brush against her blindfold. She saw the vaguest of shadows bend over her. Starlight let out a muffled whimper, trying to curl up smaller into herself.

A flicker of sickly green light and she felt the world spin away as she was teleported. She whirled through nothingness for a moment before landing back down on cold, solid ground with a grunt. Starlight began to struggle again, wriggling on her stomach like a worm.

“Cinque. Treno.”

Starlight’s heart dropped into her stomach. No. Not him.

“Quattro. Bara.”

Starlight wailed in panic, her cries muted beneath the gag. Her struggles intensified, remaining as futile as before. Already she could feel the claws dancing up her spine, prodding at her cranium, digging into her mind.

“Tre. Ceneri.”

“Stop! Stop! Please!” Starlight begged through her gag, feeling tears forming in her eyes. The talons were ripping through her mind, fog seeping into her thoughts, into…where was she? Who…who was…

“Due. Fiori.”

Starlight’s screams and pleas faded away to gasps as her struggles slowed. It was fine…all she needed to do was relax, surrender control…

Faces flickered past her gaze, their ghostly eyes wide, imploring. An orange unicorn stallion…a dark purple mare…she knew them…she…

“Uno.”

“NO!” Starlight wailed, screaming as loud as she could, her cry echoing through the room. Surely somepony had to hear it, surely somepony…

“Casa.”

Everything went cold, Starlight’s scream dying in her throat. She felt herself relaxing, her limbs sagging and her heartbeat slowing.

The bonds, gag, and blindfold were pulled off. Starlight Glimmer blinked in the sudden light of a sickly green aura that illuminated the dark underground chamber, turning to look placidly up at the hooded figure staring down at her. The pale green light was the only feature that she could see of the shaded face, but she could feel the horrid, superior smile fixed upon her like a sniper’s scope.

“Doctor Glimmer?” the growling voice slithered into her ears.

“Yes, master,” Starlight Glimmer heard herself speak, her lips moving without her bidding.

The hooded stallion nodded to a nearby table illuminated by a lamp. Sheaves of paper were spread across the desk, all of them covered in magical formulae and notes written in a strange, swirling script.

Without being bidden, Starlight trotted over to the desk and set to work.

“Where did he take her?” Daring pressed Coal Tender, glaring at him over the table of the dimly lit interrogation room.

Coal rocked in his seat, muttering to himself, focusing on the blank white table instead of her.

“Where is the Plague Doctor hiding?” Daring Do snapped.

“The Plague Doctor isn’t real,” Coal whispered, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Celestia and Luna made him up. A boogeyman for the undesirables.”

Sheriff Silverstar snarled and leaned in from behind the suspect. “He set fire to the buffalo village, Coal!” he barked. “A dozen good buffalo are dead, including my friend Chief Thunderhooves! And he kidnapped an innocent mare! There are lives in danger, Coal!”

Coal let out a laugh that was far too high-pitched as he whirled on the sheriff. “You’re making it up!” he spat. “You just want to silence me because I know the truth! You planted the radio in my train, and if there even is a fire, you started it so you could blame me! I’ve known that you were coming for weeks, and I prepared for it. You won’t be getting into my head!”

He glared up at the ceiling. “You hear that, you damned parasprites?! I’m not gonna be your puppet!” And with that, Coal Tender covered his ears with his hooves and continued rocking, muttering in a strange monotone.

Sheriff Silverstar huffed through his nostrils, his black mustache bristling. “We’re getting nowhere with this,” he grunted to Daring.

Daring sighed and mopped her forehead, trying to stave off the encroaching headache that she could feel creeping up through her temples. “I need some coffee,” she muttered, turning and exiting the interrogation room. As she slammed the door, she could hear Sheriff Silverstar continuing to berate Coal Tender, whose only response was to continue his monotone chant in a louder tone.

Daring made her way down the stark white hallway of the sheriff’s office to a table bearing an old machine. Beneath the spout was a fresh pot of the black gold that somepony had had the foresight to make. Rainbow Dash was pacing next to it, frowning in thought.

“He’s still not talking?” she asked.

“Nope,” Daring replied, grabbing a paper cup and filling it up with the rich-smelling liquid. She stirred in some sugar and sweetener, then took a sip.

“Blech,” she grimaced, sticking her tongue out and glaring at the cup as if it had insulted her, the bitter taste clinging to her tongue. She scowled for a moment longer, then choked down a longer sip.

“Sheriff Silverstar said that they checked his apartment and they didn’t find anything else, right?” Rainbow Dash pondered.

“Right,” Daring frowned. “And honestly, sticking that radio in the coal tender was kind of a dumb idea.”

“Maybe he’s not the spy,” Rainbow considered. “But who would’ve put the radio there?”

“Somepony who would’ve had access to the train yard…” Daring mused, staring into her cup of coffee.

After a moment, the two mares looked up at each other, the same idea flashing in their eyes. Daring forced down the rest of the liquid and the two hustled out the door just as Sheriff Silverstar exited the interrogation room with a huff.

“Hey, where are you going?” he called after them.

“To find the real spy!” Daring called over her shoulder as they headed for the door.

“What? Hey!” Silverstar shouted, chasing after them. He reached the door just in time to see them taking off into the star-spangled sky. “Wait up!”

Silverstar chased after them, sprinting through alleyways and across streets. Ponies that had been drawn from their beds by the distant sirens watched from their porches and windows, turning to watch the sheriff and two pegasi rushing past with concern in their eyes.

Daring and Rainbow landed in front of a single house and paused, scowling up at their target. Sheriff Silverstar jogged up, panting.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“No,” Daring murmured, frowning in thought. “But if we had some other clues…”

Her eyes wandered over to a trash can on the street. “The street belongs to the city, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?” Silverstar asked. “Wait, what are you doing?” he asked when Daring flipped the trash can open and began digging through it with Rainbow’s help, pulling out a flashlight with her wing and shining it into the plastic bin.

“There might be something in here,” Daring commented, tossing aside some clippings and other rubbish. Rainbow briefly frowned at some loose scraps of copper wire before tossing those aside as well.

Silverstar stared at her, aghast. “Is this how you do it in Ponyville?”

The lights in the condo snapped on and a figure peeked out the open door. “What’s going on here?” Della Delivery demanded, striding out of the house, her charm necklace bouncing against her chest. “Why are you going through my trash at six in the morning?”

Something caught Daring’s eye. She snatched up the discarded cup and sniffed it. The scent of carrots and apples filled her nostrils and her eyes narrowed.

“So how was Grand Apple Pie’s Curried Carrot and Apple Soup?” she asked Della Delivery, holding up the crumbled cup with the apple tree and horseshoe logo stamped onto it.

Della froze, her eyes bulging out of her suddenly pale face.

“You lied when you told us that you hadn’t been in the General Store on Hearth’s Warming Eve,” Daring said, approaching the delivery mare slowly. “You saw Starlight Glimmer in there and sent that message.”

“That’s…that’s my neighbor’s trash!” Della protested, cringing away.

“Right. Is your neighbor also into scrapbooking?” Daring scoffed, nodding towards the scraps of paper in the trash bin.

Della swallowed and glanced over to Silverstar. “Sheriff, I…I don’t know what she’s talking about!” she protested. “I wasn’t in the store! I--”

“Della, it’s been a long night,” Silverstar said evenly, his thick eyebrows lowering. “I’ve got corpses on my hooves. It’d be in everypony’s best interests if you started telling the truth.”

Della’s eyes darted from one pony to the other. She saw no pity or comfort in any of the eyes glaring back at her. She took a step back, and the two pegasi responded by flaring their wings and bending their knees slightly, preparing to launch at her.

Della took a slow breath, steadying her nerves. One hoof went up to the charm necklace, stroking a pale white pill-shaped charm.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Okay.”

“All right now,” Silverstar said, stepping forward. “If you’ll come with--

“No!” Daring shouted, lunging forward.

Too late. Della bit down on the charm, the disguised pill crunching beneath her teeth. Instantly, foam began to spill from her mouth, her breath coming in harsh gurgles as she fell, convulsing.

“I’ll get help!” Rainbow shouted, zipping off in a rainbow blur as Daring and Silverstar pushed Della onto her back.

Daring Do tried to tilt Della’s head back, but the mare shoved her away, a defiant rage in her eyes even as more foam began to bubble around her mouth. She spasmed violently as her body instinctively heaved for breath.

“Where is he?” Daring demanded, grabbing the dying mare’s shoulders. “Where is the Plague Doctor?! Who is he?!”

Della Delivery spat at her, delivering a thick wad of cold foam that dribbled down Daring’s cheek. The spy sucked in a raspy breath and snarled out two spite-filled words.

“Ave Sombra.”

And with that, Della’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as her body gave one last shudder, her final breath coming out in a low rattle. Then the light faded from her face and she was still; as fast as a switch being thrown, the pony was gone and all that remained was a corpse.

Silverstar’s jaw dropped in horror and he slowly reached up to doff his hat, placing it against his chest. “Faust have mercy,” he murmured.

Daring Do just grimaced, glaring down at the body before her as if its silence was mocking her helplessness.

“I still can’t believe it,” Braeburn murmured, shaking his head and staring at the tile floor. “Della…I met her when she moved here from Manehattan. She was always such a hard worker, so friendly…”

“What was she even doing down here?” Rainbow wondered out loud.

“I think she was already working as a spy during the war,” Daring theorized. “She ran down here when Manehattan was liberated and just hung around, waiting for other orders.” She huffed. “Seeing Starlight in the general store on Hearth’s Warming Eve was just a coincidence.”

“Hush,” Phillip grunted from the worktable that he was bent over, the centerpiece of the windowless basement room that passed as the sheriff’s forensic laboratory, the cramped space stuffed with tables and benches. He scraped some more dirt off of Della Delivery’s horseshoes and onto a circular dish, which he then placed beneath an old microscope. He flicked the light on with a faint humming and pressed his eye to the scope. Next to him on the table was a map of Appleloosa, just barely fitting atop the worktable, and a notebook crammed with his own shorthoof writing.

“Okay…that’s from around her home,” he murmured, pushing some of the samples. “Coal. The train station…” He paused, glanced at his notebook, and scowled. “Grass. From around the buffalo village.”

“She was scouting them out,” Daring frowned.

Phillip continued to study the soil samples, occasionally glancing at his notebook to look up a reference. As he worked, he would mark the map with dots, circles, and lines, tracing out parts of the dead mare’s path.

“Aces,” he finally declared, raising his eye from the scope.

“You’re sure that that’s where she was?” Rainbow asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Kid, if he says that’s where she went, that’s where she went,” Daring replied.

“Good ‘nough for me,” Braeburn shrugged, his eyes going over the map. “Hmm…now what was she doing over there?” He pointed to a circle around a line of train tracks far to the north of town. “Not much out there other than a train signal.”

“Hmm,” Phillip mused. “Best go check.”

Braeburn was right. There wasn’t anything out there in the barren, scrub-covered deserts save the iron tracks stretching towards the east and a lone signal light standing vigil next to the switch. The green light punched through the fading darkness of the morning, guiding the detectives forward.

Phillip made his way up to the metal post, bending down to study the ground beneath the light of his flashlight. “Aces,” he nodded, pointing. “These are her hoofprints here.”

He frowned at the metal box at the base of the lamp. “Screws have been removed recently,” he observed. Pulling out a multitool, he bent down to unscrew the panel and pulled it open.

“What is that?” he murmured, shining his flashlight into the box. The others gathered around to study the anomaly: a battery and a small switch attached to the tangle of wires and switches within by a set of copper wires.

“Hey, Della had some wire like that in her trash,” Rainbow said out loud.

Daring reached out and flipped the switch. Instantly, the green light on the signal turned off and the red light turned on.

“She rigged that up,” Daring concluded. “Somepony could use that to stop the train.”

“But why?” Rainbow said out loud.

“The only train that came down this track earlier this morning would be the mail delivery,” Braeburn said out loud. “Headed to Ponyville…”

“That’s how the Doctor got Starlight out of here,” Phillip concluded. “He stopped the train and put her on it.”

“Which means we need to get to Ponyville!” Rainbow Dash declared, already zipping off.

Daring Do shook her head and grabbed Phil beneath the forelegs. “Think we can get a fast train back to Ponyville?”

“Smokey might be able to help with that,” Braeburn said. “Hey…you’re gonna get her back, right?”

“We will,” Daring promised, heading back to the Watering Hole with Phil in tow. The weight of a hollow promise bore down on every heavy wingbeat.

The surviving villagers dug through the ruins of their homes, searching for what little they could salvage from the ashen wreckage. Children clung close to their parents, whimpering as they stared at their ruined livelihoods; the elders consulted quietly on what to do next over the main firepit. The scent of smoke still hung in the air, scratching at eyes and throats.

Tempest Shadow sifted through the ashes of their former home. She lifted up one of Starlight’s former notebooks, the pages now a blackened, scorched mess. As she tossed them aside, she glanced over at a nearby ridge where several of the more able-bodied bulls were working. The rhythmic crunching of their shovels into the hard ground reached her ears even from so far away, each one a blow against her own chest.

She took a step and something snapped beneath her hoof. She looked down and saw a blackened skeleton of wood and fabric on the ground.

Tempest bent down to pick up the remnants of the kite, only for it to fall apart in her hoof, crumbling pathetically into pieces. Then she spotted a familiar blur of aquamarine among the wreckage. Brushing aside some ashes, she revealed the small wooden token. Burns and ashes covered the little ornament, but the sloppily painted cutie marks, though smudged and blackened, were still visible.

Tempest’s heart trembled in her chest and her eyes stung with more than smoke. “Fuck,” she mumbled, wiping at her eyes.

She stared at the token, at Starlight’s mark next to hers, then looked up towards the rise. She watched as a group of the largest buffalo slowly lowered a large wrapped bundle into the ground, with Walks Many Trails whispering prayers.

Grief suddenly vacated her and anger flooded in after it. She pocketed the token and moved to the remnants of her own mattress. Shoving aside the cot, she stared at the small, battered iron chest beneath it. She bent down to the combination lock and twisted the dial back and forth until the lock snapped open.

The chest groaned as it opened up for the first time in years to reveal its meager contents. Tempest froze at the sight within; an angular black helmet, the same color as the armor that she wore beneath her coat. Two Neighretta Modello 1934s, the charging crystals inside the spare magazines glowing pale blue. A small mirror set in a silver frame with runes carved around it. And a pair of double-headed throwing axes made of a burnished black crystal. A gem of a venomous green color was embedded into each of the handles; as she watched, the gems flickered faintly with power.

Tempest’s hooves trembled as she reached down and took the axes. She stared at her reflection in the burnished heads, wide-eyed and gasping through her open mouth.

For just a moment, a black shape appeared behind her, green eyes glowing in triumph. Tempest whirled about, her weapon raised to strike as sparks cascaded from her broken horn.

No one was there, but she could still feel him behind her, his breath on her neck.

With a growl, she banished the phantom. “I know I am a monster,” she growled. “But I am your monster no more.”

Tempest hooked the throwing axes into the holsters on her sides, then slid the helmet onto her head, her horn sparking as it scraped against the horn guard. She double-checked the pistols and pocketed both of them and the spare magazines. She retrieved the mirror, tucking it into a breast pocket. Finally, she dug around in the pocket of her coat and retrieved a set of keys that jangled in her hoof.

Tempest proceeded through the camp to a wigwam on the outskirts of the valley, fortunately untouched by the fire. She stepped into the wigwam, sorting through the stored blankets and tools until she reached what she was looking for.

The old motorcycle had been stored there for many moons, but there was only a slight layer of dust on it that she quickly brushed off. Tempest did a quick check of the gear in the saddlebags: spare tools, blanket, a folding saw, a small extra tank of gas.

She pulled the motorcycle out of the wigwam and paused when she saw Walks Many Trails standing in front of her, her sad eyes fixed on her.

“Don’t try to stop me,” Tempest said, swinging herself onto the bike.

“I won’t,” the shaman replied. “I merely wished to tell you one thing.”

She stepped forward and placed a heavy hoof on Tempest’s armored shoulder. “It’s all right to be afraid,” the shaman said. “The more you fight your fears, the stronger they become.”

Tempest stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward and pulled the buffalo into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Walks Many Trails said. “Just bring her home.”

Tempest Shadow inserted the key into the ignition and turned it, the motorcycle roaring to life beneath her. She flicked the kickstand up and pushed the throttle, guiding the vehicle forward with a grumble. She felt the eyes of the other buffaloes on her as she left the village, cresting the hills.

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine Starlight’s forelegs about her waist as she headed for Appleloosa.

Author's Note

No more bets, we have a winner! Show of hands, who was expecting Della to be the spy?

In the meantime, we've got a mare in trouble and another mare coming out of retirement. Some PS4 players may recognize a nod to God of War in this chapter: I thought it fit.

As always, leave a like and a comment and I'll see you all on the 26th!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Seven: Hoofprints in the Snow

The locomotive pulled into the Ponyville station with an echoing squeal of brakes, the late morning sun illuminating the steam and smoke billowing from the wheels. Almost before it had fully stopped, the three passengers were disembarking from the cab, landing on the platform.

“Thanks, Smokey,” Phillip nodded to the engineer in the cab, who nodded back.

“Phil! Daring!” Flash Sentry rushed up to them. He skidded to a halt on the platform, sending snow and slush flying. “We got your telegraph,” he reported breathlessly. “The mail train is waiting nearby, c’mon.”

He led them to a nearby side rail. The five-car-long mail train was still waiting next to the terminal post office, a small blue utilitarian shack where incoming and outgoing packages were sorted and stored before being passed on. The crew of mail workers was still waiting near the bright red engine, shuffling their hooves and staring about in a mixture of boredom and nervousness; Red Herring stood nearby, quietly consulting with the engineer while glancing at his notes.

Twilight Sparkle was standing next to one of the last boxcars, whose door yawned open to reveal stacks and stacks of crates, with bags hanging from hooks on the walls. Doctor Suunkii was standing inside the boxcar itself, speaking to his protege.

“Watch out, there are hoofprints,” Twilight cautioned as they approached, pointing at a trail of hoofprints marked through the snow.

Phillip paused to stare down at the hoofprints for a few moments. “Good impression,” he muttered, staring at one particularly detailed print. “Hmm…not good enough tracks to get a brand from them. Size thirteen…pony about three foot six.”

“I’m taking a cast of one of the better tracks,” Twilight said, nodding to a single track that had a small wooden box around its perimeter, enclosing a square of rapidly hardening plaster.

“So where’d they come from?” Daring wondered out loud. “There are no other tracks around here. Maybe they’re a pegasus?”

“No,” Rainbow shook her head. “The snow would’ve been blown away from where they landed by their wings.”

“Very good, Rainbow!” Twilight beamed. “They are indeed a unicorn. I found traces of teleportation magic here and inside the boxcar.”

“That door was open when we got here,” Doctor Suunkii said from the boxcar. “And there is one crate that was also open.”

He nodded to a single box, large enough to carry a full-sized pony inside, that lay on the floor next to him, its top pried open. Unlike all the other contents of the boxcar, it had no label.

“I have recovered hair from inside,” Suunkii said, holding up a bag. Inside was a clump of dark purple hair with faint aquamarine accents.

“That’s Starlight’s hair,” Daring nodded grimly. “Twilight, can you track her?”

“I can try,” Twilight said, levitating the bag with the hair sample over to her. She walked a safe distance away from the crime scene and with a flash of her horn, summoned a city map and a jar of salt. Burning away some snow to form a flat surface to work on, she placed the map on the ground, used the salt to draw a circle and magical runes around the map, and placed the kidnapped mare’s hairs in the center.

“Quearite. Sequor. Indago,” she began to chant, her horn glowing lavender. “Quearite. Sequor. Indago…”

The salt and the hair began to glow violet, levitating off the ground…then the glow faded away to nothing.

Twilight shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she reported. “She must be behind something blocking my magic.”

“Damn,” Phillip scowled.

“Why bring her to Ponyville?” Daring wondered aloud.

“Probably because the pony who was looking for her is here,” Flash suggested.

“Great. We’ve only got the entire city to ask about that,” Red Herring commented dryly.

“Wait a moment,” Suunkii called, frowning at the top of the crate. “There is additional hair here…”

He pulled out a pair of tweezers and plucked at the wood, carefully extracting a short, single, heliotrope hair.

“Excellent,” Suunkii declared, placing the hair in a tube. “A coat hair.”

He lifted it up to the sky and tilted it, showing everypony how the hair caught the light in such a manner that made it glimmer like a precious gemstone.

“A crystal coat hair,” Phillip noted.

“A yellow crystal unicorn,” Twilight mused. “That does narrow the suspect pool down quite a bit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Red commented dryly. “From four hundred thousand to, what, twenty-three thousand?”

“Actually, unicorns compose only about twenty to twenty-five percent of the population,” Twilight said. “If we eliminate non-crystal ponies and children--”

“Twilight,” Flash cut in. “You’re doing it again.”

Twilight chuckled nervously, blushing. “Right.”

“Why can’t you use the coat hair to track them?” Red asked.

“That coat hair isn’t enough material,” Twilight explained. “A tracking spell like this requires enough magical energy to bridge the gap from it to the pony. Blood is the best option; hair from their mane or tail can work if it’s fresh enough. But a coat hair doesn’t have enough magical energy on it after this long.”

“Then we’re gonna have to do hoofwork,” Red grumbled. “My favorite thing.”

“We’ll have to get lists from the Ponyville census at City Hall,” Twilight declared.

“What can I do to help?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Spread the word through the weather ponies,” Daring said. “Pass out photos of Starlight, Caballeron, and his freaks. Tell them to keep an eye out for any of them.”

“On it!” Rainbow Dash saluted, zipping off in a rainbow blur.

Flash frowned after Rainbow as she flew off towards the rising sun. “It’s been hours since Starlight was kidnapped, right?” he asked quietly. “The odds of getting her back alive--”

“Don’t,” Phillip cut him off. “Sombra wants her alive for whatever reason or the Doctor would’ve killed her right then and there. Just focus on right now.”

“Right,” Flash nodded, turning back to scan the ground for any other clues with a worried frown.

He watched as the rainbow-maned pegasus spoke to the twin blue sisters out the window, who both mulled over the photographs that she handed to them. Anger twisted in his chest like a serpent coiling about his ribs, igniting a fire that raced through his veins.

The detectives lived. And worse than that, they were already on his trail, hounds baying at his heels for his blood.

How were they still alive? What twist of fortune allowed them to keep evading both him and his assassin?

The fire in his veins suddenly turned to ice. He was so close…if he failed now, his masters--

He stopped those thoughts instantly. He had not failed yet.

The Plague Doctor was busy with preparations for the amberclaw tomorrow night. And after several failures, perhaps it was time to use a different piece.

He considered the two mares who were busy molding the snow clouds outside, their orange vests flapping in the wind. The one with the spiky mane paused to speak into the radio clipped to her vest.

Now there was an idea…

The intercom buzzed. “Signor Dorata, Detectives Sentry and Herring are here to see you.”

“So, what are we gonna do?” Red Herring asked as he sat in the lobby outside Alba Dorata’s office, keeping his voice low to hide it beneath the clacking of typewriters and chatter of the secretaries bustling around them like worker bees in a hive. “Just ask one of the richest ponies in Ponyville--who, by the way, has poured a lot of funding into the police, the fire department, the hospitals, and the fucking Filly Scouts--if he was hanging around the train station at four in the morning so he could kidnap a mare?”

“Well, maybe not in those words,” Flash replied, staring out the window at the street seven stories below. He shifted in place, wingtips fluttering slightly. “You remember the last time we were here?”

“I’m trying not to think about that,” Red grumbled, shifting in his seat and frowning at the list of crystal unicorns from the census. Several names were already scratched off, but many more were left.

“‘Only fifty-six suspects,’” Red grumbled in an imitation of Twilight’s voice. He glanced up at the framed photographs displaying the sunshine-coated crystal unicorn hobnobbing with the citizens of Ponyville, from the rich and influential to the poor and humble, and the clipped newspaper articles crowing of North Star Capital Industries’ generosity to the city.

“They can gussy it up all they want,” he muttered. “This will always be Monopoly Investments to me.”

The door across from them opened and a griffoness with a clay red coat wearing a prim suit exited.

“Signor Dorata is very busy at the moment, gentleponies,” Ryder said calmly, pausing before the door. “Please state your business.”

Flash cleared his throat. “We just need to ask him a couple of questions and then we’ll be out of his mane.”

The bodyguard frowned at him. “What questions?” she asked.

“If they were questions for you, we’d gladly ask you,” Red stated. “But the main point of asking him questions is to get answers from him.”

Hoofsteps approached from behind. Alba Dorata appeared, his white and amber beard bristling slightly as he magically adjusted his tie. “I have not forgotten the debt I owe you, detectives,” he said placidly. “I can spare a few minutes.”

“Where were you early this morning?” Flash asked calmly. “Around three AM?”

The crystal businesspony raised an eyebrow. “Asleep. As any sane pony would be at that hour.”

“And I’m certain of that,” Ryder cut in. “We wouldn’t be very good bodyguards if we let our charge wander around.”

“Do you know this pony?” Flash Sentry asked, taking out a sketch of Starlight Glimmer and showing it to the two.

Alba Dorata frowned at the picture, then shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Flash and Red glanced at each other, then Red sighed. “That’s all we needed,” Red muttered. “Sorry for bothering you, sir.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Alba said, stepping back into the office. Ryder gave them both a glance, then closed the door behind them.

“Dead end,” Red Herring mumbled as they turned away from the door, reaching up to retrieve his coat from the hangers next to the door leading back into the hallway.

But Flash paused as he started to retrieve his own trench coat from the hanger, staring at the other long winter coats on the rack.

“What are you thinking?” Red whispered.

“These ashes,” Flash whispered, nodding to some fluffy gray ashes clinging to the collar of one of the coats, a high-quality light blue jacket. “They’re just like the ones on Alba’s ashtray on his desk. I bet that this is his coat.” He glanced down at the collection of heavy boots sitting in the drying racks underneath the coats. “Size thirteen…” he mused to himself, nodding to the boots under his target jacket.

Red frowned at his younger counterpart for a moment, then shifted to block his body as he made a pretense of adjusting the buttons on his coat. A couple of the secretaries gave him looks that reminded him of a schoolteacher watching for any sign of daydreaming or trouble-starting, but for the most part, the busily working stallions and mares were content to keep to their work.

Behind him, he briefly heard the sound of tape tearing, then Flash stood up, clearing his throat. “Right. Let’s go,” his junior partner commented.

Red followed Flash out into the hallway and into the elevator. As the metal doors closed behind them with a ding, Red glanced up to make sure that there were no security crystals, then turned to Flash. “You got it?”

Flash smiled quietly as he pulled two objects out of his coat pocket: a pair of small plastic bags, each containing a piece of gray-colored tape.

“One from his jacket collar, another from the sole of his boots,” Flash said, quickly labeling the collected evidence.

“You know a judge might challenge that,” Red pointed out.

“He left his coat and boots out in a public area,” Flash pointed out. “We didn’t go into his pockets, so we didn’t violate his right to privacy.”

Red smirked. “We’ve all taught you well, rookie.”

“I am pretty good,” Flash said, straightening his back.

“Don’t get a swelled head,” Red chided as the elevator doors dinged open on the bottom floor. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

Sunshower sighed as she bent over the desk, sorting through the cluttered missives of weather reports, schedules, and data charts.

When she was a younger mare, invigorated by spending all day outside in the air, she had no empathy for the higher-ups of the Weather Service. As far as she knew, they were a bunch of older washouts who just sat around in their offices all day and let their power go to their heads with regulations and bullshit statistics and stuff.

After she got promoted (a job movement that she didn’t ask for, but was gently encouraged to take after arthritis started to creep up her wings), she slowly started to realize how wrong she was. Even two years later, she was still baffled as to how much paperwork went into making sure that Ponyville had enough clouds and precipitation, that the temperature was within acceptable parameters on a day to day basis, that there was enough rainfall to make sure the crops grew but not too much.

Combine that with dealing with complaints from civilians miffed about how they were getting too little or too much sun or rain or whatever, her workers’ schedules, and the occasional rogue weather, and she suddenly no longer blamed old Windgust for being so grouchy.

And of course, that was all with Rainbow Dash trying to use the weather ponies like a personal detective force. She snorted disdainfully. Rainbow was a good kid and a decent worker…when she decided to actually do her damn job.

“Okay,” Sunshower muttered, pushing some of her gray-blue mane out of her face and running her pencil down the list of weather orders for tomorrow. “I can pull RD over to help clear out the docks…Raindrops and Thunderlane can get that cold front moving and then--

The phone on the desk next to her rang. Sunshower groaned and lowered her face onto her hoof, the constant ache in her wings throbbing in time with her heartbeat. A phone call this early in the morning could never be good.

She grabbed the hoofset and raised it to her ear. “Weather Service,” she grumbled.

“Foglia. Sette. Torrente. Ventiquattro.”

For a moment, Sunshower thought she recognized the strange, muffled voice on the phone, but as the sentence finished, a strange sensation ran through her head, like fog seeping through her brain. Thinking became a chore, an expenditure that she could not afford, as tired as she was…she let herself slip away, vaguely observing the drowsiness setting over her face, how the pain in her wings faded to nothing as she listened.

“You will ensure that there is a cloud of fog over the Whitetail Woods tomorrow night,” the voice on the phone said.

“Yes,” Sunshower observed herself nodding, watching as she picked up the pen and scratched out part of the weather plan for tomorrow, instead scribbling down an order for rolling fogs across the southeast.

“You will go to Phillip Finder and Daring Do and bring them to the northeastern outskirts of the Everfree District,” the voice continued. “Ensure that they are killed.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sunshower felt a tiny thrill of horror. She was supposed to kill somepony?!

But the emotions faded away like leaves on the wind. It was all right. The voice on the phone had told her what to do. That was all that mattered.

“Yes, sir,” she heard herself speak.

A dial tone answered her. Sunshower drowsily watched as she set the phone down and stood to search for her targets.

Author's Note

That's not good!

Sorry for the short chapter, but this is mostly just setup for the following chapters.

But at least we've got our bad guy revealed! Alba Dorata was first mentioned waaaayy back in Case Ten and it's only now that he's finally appearing. I know that's a long time to wait, and that is something I wish I could've done better on, but it is what it is. I just never had room for him until more recently.

And in case you were wondering: "Leaf. Seven. Stream. Twenty-four."

Hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a like and a comment if you did!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Eight: Tempestuous

“Nope,” Phillip said, scratching off another name on the list.

Daring frowned at the green crystal unicorn merrily window shopping their way down Market Street. With a frustrated nicker, she leaned against the massive pine tree in the center of the street. The decorations still hung from the evergreen branches, which drooped beneath the weight of the snow. The lights and tinsel were glittering beneath the light of the sun, which was just starting to descend from its zenith.

“Maybe Red and Flash are having better luck than us,” she muttered, standing and stretching.

“Yo!”

Rainbow Dash descended from the sky to land before them, pausing to shake a light layer of snow from her wings.

“I spread the word to all the weather ponies,” Rainbow reported. “And I stopped by the Gold Griffon’s Head and told Bottgilia to keep his ears open. He says hi, by the way.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded. “Might get lucky.”

Rainbow glanced over at the list that Phillip was holding with a whistle. “That’s a lot of names,” she said. “You really have to check them all off?”

“One at a time, kid,” Daring replied, rolling her shoulders. “Hate to tell you this, but it’s not all glamorous.”

Rainbow puffed out a breath. “It’s like weather duty,” she grumbled. “Everypony thinks that there’s a lot of flying around dealing with thunderstorms and tornadoes and stuff like that, but it’s mostly moving clouds around and measuring temperature and shit. And way too much paperwork.”

“Agreed,” Daring grumbled.

“Speaking of which, I’ve got to get back on shift tomorrow,” Rainbow added.

“Right,” Phillip sighed. “Let’s get some lunch before we move on.”

“Sounds good,” Daring agreed.

“Detective! Detective Finder!”

The trio looked up to see a lemon yellow pegasus with graying blue hair descending from the sky, her winter jacket flapping in the breeze.

“Hey, Sunshower,” Rainbow waved at the elder mare.

The other pegasus ignored Rainbow, focusing on Phillip and Daring. “Detectives, I just heard from one of the other weather ponies,” she declared. “They spotted Doctor Caballeron near the Everfree Forest. Come on, I’ll show you!”

“Great!” Daring declared, grabbing Phillip beneath the forelegs and taking off, ignoring his cry of protest. “Lead the way.”

Sunshower flew off, leading them northeast. Rainbow followed behind Daring Do with a pensive frown on her face.

“Something’s not right,” she whispered into Daring’s ear.

Daring frowned and slowed down a bit to allow Sunshower to pull away. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“Sunshower is a grump; she never loses a chance to criticize me,” Rainbow replied. “And she almost never comes out of her office, not with her arthritis.”

“And why did she come straight to us instead of the police?” Phillip added.

Daring Do frowned, forcing the spike of adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins a moment earlier to settle until she could feel the prickling of suspicion on the back of her neck. Sunshower glanced over her shoulder back at them; Daring noted how her expression was strangely blank, her head only cocked to one side in confusion.

“Right,” she grunted with a nod, her heart pattering against her ribs with the controlled tattoo of a drumbeat as she sped up slightly to keep up with their guide. “Let’s see where this goes. Dash, you grab him.”

Rainbow Dash nodded and grabbed Phillip beneath his forelegs. As they flew on, she grasped a passing cloud with her wings, pulling tufts from the white form and tucking them beneath her feathers.

Phillip glanced up at her, then frowned at Sunshower’s back as she guided them on, one hoof crawling towards his .38.

His ear twitched as from beneath he heard the rumbling of a motorcycle engine starting up.

Riot’s tufted ears twitched and a grin spread across his face. “They’re coming,” the midnight blue thestral announced.

All around him, he heard his six companions prepare themselves: knives and clubs were drawn, slides were drawn back, hammers cocked in readiness to strike down upon cartridges. He himself settled back into the cloud that he was hiding in, one hoof sliding into the holding strap of the .44 in his holster.

Excitement buzzed through his veins; already, he could almost smell the blood in the air. Even if he and his crew hadn’t been promised six hundred thousand bits--three hundred thousand for each head--there was no chance that he was screwing this up. His brother had been working for Hill Crest last summer: a good job, not as good as Monopoly, but it paid well. And then those two fuckers had broken his arm in three places and sent him to Frostback for four years.

He snarled. Four years for Calamity when the bitch had done far worse than him and she only got one year. Fuck the justice system and fuck them both.

The sound of beating wings sounded louder in his ears. He let out a little chirp, his ears twitching to receive the echo. The reverberations revealed their targets: the bitch herself, that stupid helmet shifting atop her mane. Another pegasus flew alongside them, carrying that stallion in his vest and hat, with a fourth pony leading them towards the trap. He could even detect the .38 Filly Detective Specials in their shoulder holsters, her whip and his club strapped to their sides.

It wouldn’t save them.

Another chirp revealed his comrades waiting in their hiding spaces, muscles tensed like coiled springs, all awaiting his signal.

Closer…closer…Riot slowly drew the .44 from his holster, clicking the safety off.

Closer…he drew in a breath to let out the whistle that would herald their deaths--

And then a battering ram burst through the clouds and slammed into him, driving the breath from his lungs. His sidearm flew from his grasp as he wheezed in pain and surprise, his wings flapping futilely as he tried to bear his weight against the inexorable pull of gravity.

Riot caught a glimpse of a pair of scarlet eyes, glaring down at him through a set of greyscale bangs before his attacker banked around into another cloud. Something flew from her hoof with a great whistling, vanishing into another cumulus. There was a thump of wood on bone and Lucky Seven howled in pain as he tumbled from the cloud, his warped left wing flapping pitifully.

“Fuck, no!” Riot gasped, righting himself in midair and finally catching the wind beneath his wings. He dove like a rocket, catching the vivid green pegasus in his forelegs.

Lucky Seven winced, glaring at his fractured wing. “Bitch!” he snarled, glaring at the pegasus above them. The golden pegasus was currently battling the other hitponies, weaving in and out of their gunfire and attacks.

Where was that bastard Finder…?

Riot looked down and spotted the other target, being borne down towards the ground by another blue pegasus with a prosthetic wing. The sight of her multicolored mane baffled Riot for a moment. Since when did Daring Do have a kid?

Some weird old yellow pegasus was chasing after the two, pulling a knife from her jacket. The bait, Riot remembered.

“Get ‘em!” Lucky Seven barked, squirming in Riot’s arms to aim the .38 revolver strapped to his foreleg.

The spark of hatred ignited a flame in Riot’s chest, burning away the pain and shock. He dove down after his prey, carrying his partner in his hooves.

Rainbow Dash glanced over her shoulder with a growl. “Three incoming!” she shouted to her passenger.

Phillip looked down and spotted the roof that they were heading for a mere couple yards beneath him. “Drop me!” he ordered.

Rainbow hesitated for a moment, then let go. Phillip tumbled through the air, keeping one hoof on his hat as the wind rushed up past his ears. The jolt of the impact rushed through his bones and he grunted as he tucked and rolled.

He drew his boomerang as he returned to his hooves, turning to throw it. The weapon whistled as it spun through the air, forcing the thestral pursuing them to duck beneath it, his passenger’s aim going wild at the sudden drop.

A snap of a blue wing sent a gust of wind slamming into the thestral, who yelped in panic as the breeze slapped his wing, sending him into an uncontrolled tumble. The gold pegasus fell from his grasp, screaming and desperately flapping his broken wing.

A multicolored blur dove down after him. The sound of a hoof striking flesh echoed through the streets, accompanied by a grunt. By the time Phillip caught his returning boomerang, Rainbow Dash was placing the unconscious thug on a cloud, tossing his gun onto the street.

“I got this, old stallion!” Rainbow Dash grinned, snapping her wings out. Two small balls of compacted ice flew from her feathers, forged by her pegasus magic.

One struck Sunshower’s wing, spreading to encase the joint in its cold clutch; the mare grunted in surprise as her wing failed her, spinning out of the sky. She crashed onto the roof next to Phillip and lay still with a groan.

The other ball narrowly missed the thestral, who managed to correct his tumble just in time to dodge the attack. He snarled as he drew a pair of long knives from beneath his coat, the narrow slits in his violet eyes focusing on Phillip.

Phil glanced upwards to see Daring weaving her way in and out of four attackers; three were coming at her with knives and clubs, while a crimson pegasus mare tucked her silenced rifle to her shoulder, barking at her colleagues to get the fuck out of the way.

“Dash, help Daring!” he ordered, turning back to the thestral. With a growl, he drew his waddy from the holster, meeting the hate-filled eyes with a flare of his own.

Rainbow zipped off in a multicolored blur, crashing into the red pegasus with the gun, sending the weapon spinning away. Her target seized Rainbow around the body and began to pummel her with her knees; Rainbow twisted in her grasp, trying to free herself as she struck back with wings and hooves.

A sharp crack pierced the air and the crimson pegasus yelled in pain, blood spraying from her back where Daring’s whip had struck her. Rainbow broke free, aiming a kick to her foe’s gut that knocked the wind from her lungs.

Phillip returned his attention to the thestral, who was hovering a few feet away, adjusting his grip on his knives.

“This is for my brother,” he spat at Phillip through bared fangs.

"Who?" Phillip said.

“The stallion that you sent to Frostback for four years!” his foe snarled, his rage increasing.

“You have no idea how little that narrows it down, do you?” Phillip deadpanned.

The thestral let out a roar of screwed courage and charged, his blades whirling to strike. He hit nothing but air as Phillip easily sidestepped. Pain flooded his back as his waddy smashed down onto his ribs; he felt the bones fracture as he crashed to the roof, fire spreading across his body with every sucking breath.

Riot rolled back to his hooves, puffing and growling as he tightened his grips on his weapons. Phillip watched as the assassin forced himself upright, bent to one side in pain. Anger still burned in his violet eyes, but another emotion now warred with the rage: fear.

Riot came at him again, more cautious this time, leading with his left hoof before slashing with the right at his throat.

Slow, clumsy wanker. Phillip stepped back and smashed the waddy onto Riot’s right foreleg, sending the knife skittering away. Riot snarled and slashed with his left, only to howl in impotent rage and pain as Phillip seized his foreleg and sent his foe to the ground with a pivot. A knee to Riot’s foreleg forced the second knife from his grasp as well.

“Fuck! No!” the thestral shouted, rage, defiance, and despair all blending into his voice as he glared up at Phillip. His eyes tracked the waddy as it raised to the sky for the finishing blow.

Wings flapped, racing towards Phillip. The detective rolled out of the way as Sunshower barreled towards him, her own knife narrowly missing his ear.

A flick of the wrist sent his boomerang spinning out, but the mare was ready for it, dodging the attack with a sudden twist. She stared back at him with her knife extended, her face eerily blank even as she advanced, moving with a slow purpose.

Riot dove for his weapons, forcing himself back to his hooves as he panted and snarled, his wings flapping as he held himself upright. He sneered at Phillip, rallied by the appearance of a cohort, and lunged.

A moment later, his eyes bulged and he gasped, staggering. He fell facefirst to the ground with a heavy thump.

A throwing ax with an emerald crystal embedded in the metal head stuck out of his back.

Phillip and Sunshower both watched as the unicorn in the coat stalked forward, sparks dancing from beneath her helmet as she snapped her hoof out. The gem in the ax glowed and the weapon pulled itself out of the thestral’s back. Blood flew from it as it spun through the air, returning to the mare’s hoof.

Sunshower’s eyes widened in horror as she spread her wings, flapping to try to take off. Holstering the throwing ax, Tempest reached into her coat.

“Tempest, don’t!” Phillip shouted.

Tempest’s hoof reappeared, holding a mirror set in a silver frame, runes etched into the circumference. She showed it to the pegasus mare; turquoise light flashed from the glass, reflecting in Sunshower’s cerulean eyes. The mare blinked, slowly lowering herself to the roof as she looked around in confusion.

“Wha…what happened?” she asked. “Where am--?”

Her eyes fell upon the knife in her hoof, then the corpse and she gasped in horror, stumbling back and nearly falling off the edge of the roof. “What?! I, I…I did…” She collapsed to her knees, hyperventilating and hugging herself with her wings.

Phillip walked over to her and draped a foreleg around her shoulders, glaring at Tempest. “Didn’t need to kill him,” he grunted, glaring at the corpse of the thestral.

“You’re welcome,” Tempest Shadow replied curtly, giving him an icy look.

The sound of howling wind prompted the two of them to look up. A rainbow-colored tornado had formed overhead, sucking the rest of the assassins into its merciless vacuum. When the cyclone died away a moment later, it revealed six assassins laying in dazed, broken piles upon the clouds, with Daring Do and Rainbow Dash hovering triumphantly over them.

“‘Bout time you showed yourself,” Daring Do commented to Tempest Shadow.

“You knew she was following you?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“Since City Hall,” Daring replied as the sound of sirens approached. “Gotta work on your awareness, kid.”

Sunshower leaned into Phillip’s embrace, shivering and whimpering. He squeezed her tight, frowning at Tempest Shadow. The armored unicorn frowned back at him as two officers approached.

“Of course it’s you,” Prowl sighed to Phillip, looking from the dead thestral on the roof to the shivering mare to the scowling helmeted mare.

Next to her, Gallus’ eyes widened as he took in the sight before him, one talon going for his sidearm once he saw the distinctive bulges beneath her coat.

“Relax, officer,” Tempest replied. “I’ll come quietly.”

“You’d better, Colonel,” Prowl scowled at Tempest.

Tempest Shadow met her gaze with an equally cold glare as she descended the steps to the ground and other officers began to gather the assassins. Phillip gently helped Sunshower to her hooves and guided her back down to the ground. The mare trembled with every step, keeping her eyes fixed on anything except the body laying in the red-stained snow.

“All I remember is…the voice on the phone,” Sunshower admitted, staring at her clasped hooves on the table. “He said some words in a foreign language…then it was like I…” She shivered. “Like I was dreaming. I could see what I was doing, but I wasn’t in control, and…and I didn’t really care. He told me…” The pegasus gulped, seeming to curl in further into herself.

“We can stop if you want,” Flash said patiently from his chair.

Sunshower glanced around the cubicle that she was sitting in, taking a few breaths. “No, I need to get this out,” she admitted. “He told me that…I needed to get Detective Finder and Detective Do over to the edge of the Everfree District. That others would be waiting for me…”

Sunshower gulped and looked up at Flash Sentry for the first time, tears glimmering in her eyes. “What happened to me, Detective Sentry?” she whispered. “Why did I do that?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Flash replied, clasping the witness’ shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You were brainwashed. And we’re gonna figure out how he did it.”

Sunshower shivered more. “What if he does it again?” she whispers. “What’s he going to tell me to do next?”

Flash glanced up with a frown, looking across the rows of cubicles with their ringing telephones, clacking typewriters, and constant buzz conversation to the door with his partner’s name etched onto the frosted glass.

Inside that office, Red Herring leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking from the silver mirror on his desk to the mare sitting stiffly at attention across it.

“So Sombra can brainwash ponies by feeding them a potion?” he asked.

“There’s more to it than that, but yes,” Tempest Shadow replied curtly. “The potion combined with the proper spells allows him to implant hypnotic commands in a pony. When he activates them with the proper codewords, said pony has no choice but to obey him.”

Red paused, noting how Tempest’s front hooves began to tremble, like willow trees in a stiff breeze. “How much potion does it require?” he asked.

“It depends on the individual,” Tempest replied. “A…simpler mind that he intends to use for simple commands requires only a small dose, while stronger-minded ponies who are trying to fight back require a bit of…” She gritted her teeth, the anger in her eyes mixing with the reflections from the blue sparks that cascaded from her horn. “Breaking in,” she growled.

“And what’s this?” Red asked, gesturing to the mirror.

“An invention of Starlight,” Tempest explained. “It can be used to ‘reset’ a pony that is currently being controlled. And when I find Starlight, I’m going to use it to snap her out of it and bring her home.”

“Now, hold on,” Red held up a hoof. “We appreciate you helping Phil and Daring out of there, but you’re not--”

He was interrupted by one of Tempest’s axes slamming into his desk with a heavy thwack. The sound sent him reeling away from the desk with a gasp, one hoof instinctively going for his .45.

“You,” Tempest said coldly, the energy crackling from her horn casting her furious glare in shadows. “Are sitting here asking me useless questions when you should be looking for Starlight. Sombra has her, has no doubt turned her into his puppet again, and is no doubt using her to make more weapons. So let’s cut to the chase.”

She strode around the desk to face Red, snapping her hoof out. The ax flew back to her hoof, leaving a large gouge in Red’s desk.

“Where is she?” Tempest snapped, thrusting the weapon back into her holster as she glowered at Red. “Where is Starlight?!”

“Stand down, Colonel!”

Tempest Shadow instantly stepped back, snapping back to attention as Beacon Fire entered the room, with Cold Case watching from the door. Red Herring sighed in relief, slowly allowing his hoof to move away from his sidearm.

“Sorry, General Fire,” Tempest apologized. “I…lost control.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Colonel,” Beacon replied in a low growl.

Tempest nodded and turned to Red Herring. “I’m…sorry, Detective Herring,” she murmured.

Red scowled at Tempest for a moment, then sighed. “Fix my desk and we’ll call it even,” he grunted.

Tempest Shadow nodded and turned back to Beacon Fire. The charcoal unicorn glanced over at Cold Case, who chewed on the stem of her pipe for several seconds of silence, then nodded curtly.

“Colonel,” Beacon said. “Considering your skills and experience, I think you’d be a useful asset for this mission.”

“As long as you don’t harass my officers,” Cold added icily.

Hope flashed in Tempest’s eyes. “Thank you, General,” she nodded with a salute.

“Chief,” Red said. “Phil and Daring get anything out of those hitponies?”

“No, Sergeant,” Cold replied. “They received anonymous instructions to be ready to ambush them. They don’t know who hired them, and they don’t care.”

“Right,” Red mused, stroking his chin. “So give me a moment to figure out just where exactly on square one we’re standing…”

He turned and looked out the door, past the sea of suddenly silent cubicles, his coworkers poking their heads above their walls like prairie dogs to watch the show. He saw Flash’s distinctive shock of blue mane amongst the others.

An idea sparked in his head and he strode over to Flash’s cubicle. Eyes turned to track him as he walked past and he met them with a scowl. “Don’t you guys have work to do?” he snapped, prompting the audience to quickly duck back down behind their walls and return to their own work.

Reaching Flash’s cubicle, Red crouched down slightly to meet Sunshower’s level. The mare looked up at him through eyes that were still slightly damp.

“Sunshower,” he said gently. “We think that you were drugged. That’s how they were able to command you.”

Sunshower gulped and hugged herself with her wings. “Oh, Faust…”

“I need you to think carefully,” Red said gently. “Can you think of any time that somepony might have tampered with your drink?”

Sunshower blinked and sniffled, shaking her head. “No…no, I can’t think of anything except…” Her eyes brightened. “Wait. The fundraising party two days ago. I drank from the buffet table.”

Red Herring’s eyebrows narrowed slightly. “Okay. We’re going to need to know who was there.”

“I’m sure I can find a list of attendees,” Sunshower said.

Flash met Red’s frown with one of his own and nodded for him to exit the cubicle. The two pegasi walked over to an empty cubicle nearby.

“I heard about that fundraising party for the weather team,” Flash whispered. “Read about it in the paper. You wanna guess which unicorn was there?”

Red’s scowl deepened. “We should check with the doc. See if he came up with anything with those samples you took.” He sighed and mopped his face. “I knew that that guy wasn’t trustworthy.”

Flash looked across the hall as he reached for the spare phone. Cold Case and Beacon Fire were standing in front of Red’s open door, heads together in quiet discussion. On the threshold stood Tempest Shadow, her eyes fixed upon them like a hawk studying its prey, desperate hope shining in her irides.

Flash nodded and uttered a word of thanks before hanging up. “I was right,” he said, a vicious grin spreading across his face. “Suunkii says that the samples I took from Dorata…they’re a match for what he found at the train.”

“Well, well,” Red commented. “Let’s see what the chief thinks.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Cold Case replied from behind them, her voice hushed.

“Chief, c’mon,” Red scowled. “Same bootprints, same hair, he had no alibi, and let’s not forget that he owns motherfucking Monopoly Investments--”

“Language,” Cold cut him off, glancing over at Sunshower. The witness, thankfully, was too busy hugging herself to listen to them.

“Did Doctor Suunkii say that the evidence was a definitive match?” Cold asked Flash.

Flash rubbed the back of his head, his eagerness fading away in a moment. “Well…he said that it was more likely than not…” he admitted.

“So you do not have any solid proof,” Cold stated, chewing on the stem of her pipe. “Nothing that would get past the armies of lawyers that Dorata no doubt has at his beck and call.”

Red growled. “Chief--”

“No,” Cold Case cut him off. “You have to learn to choose your battles, Detective. In the meantime, perhaps we should focus on what Starlight’s abductors have planned.”

“Great,” Red grunted. “Don’t suppose you have any ideas.”

“Wait a minute,” Sunshower suddenly said, looking up. “I…I remember something else. The voice on the phone…he told me to make sure that there would be a fog bank over the White Tail Woods tomorrow night.”

Every head turned towards her. “Did he say why?” Red pressed.

Sunshower shook her head.

“Hmm,” Cold mused. “One would imagine that they need a fog cover that night for some reason.

“And if we figure out why and get to them first…” Flash prompted.

“Then perhaps they’ll lead us to Starlight,” Tempest Shadow declared, gripping one of the axes in her holsters.

Author's Note

Took some work to get Rainbow a moment in the sun, but I hope it was worth it for all of us.

I also hope that my writing Tempest Shadow is up to snuff. As I said, this is my first time writing her and Starlight and they both diverge heavily from canon, so I had my work cut out for me, especially with this scene to demonstrate her canonical bluntness.

This chapter is mainly meant for setup; next week, we'll have the big action setpiece. Till then, stay tuned!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Nine: The Puppet Dances

“All right, everypony, escuchame,” Caballeron declared, bending over the table. The other three ponies all gathered around, all staring at the map of the White Tail Woods spread out before them.

“We gotta go over this again?” Rogue grunted, rolling his shoulders. “Boss, you know that plans only ever last until somepony gets punched in the face.”

“Which is why we’re trying to avoid that for once,” Biff replied.

Rogue snorted. “Well, that’s no fun.”

“Rogue,” Caballeron cut him off. “Anyway, let us review. Tomorrow night, a cargo ship will be dropping off a delivery of amberclaw from Thrussia at the docks. It will be immediately placed into an armored car for transport to Canterlot. They will be bringing it along this route here.” He drew a hoof over a road cutting through the woods.

“Here is where we will ambush them,” Caballeron continued, placing a small flag at a curve in the road. “We will blow out the tires with some spike strips, knock out the drivers, cut into the back and remove the cargo, then bring it back onto the house.”

“You sure about letting the drivers live?” Rogue grunted.

“We do not need to kill anypony, Rogue,” Caballeron said firmly.

“I agree,” Withers nodded, squinting through his sunglasses at the map through a table-mounted magnifying glass. “We don’t need any more negative attention.”

Rogue snorted disdainfully. “I know you can’t read the papers, mate, but we’ve already got blood on our hooves. What’s a couple more?”

The glare that Withers gave his comrade through the sunglasses could’ve curdled milk. “I can read, you know!” he snapped. “Just because I need these glasses to not bump into shit and they don’t print newspapers with large enough print for ponies like me--”

“iBasta!” Caballeron barked. “This solves nothing!”

“Rogue, seriously,” Biff scolded.

The two combatants retreated from one another, both glaring.

“Will the…” Biff swallowed nervously. “Doctor be joining us?”

“I don’t know,” Caballeron admitted. “I think that he’ll be busy with the mare.”

The three thugs all sighed in relief.

“We’ll open the crate safely here,” Caballeron concluded. “And once our new amiga is finished with the formulae, we’ll cut the required pieces.”

“Stopping time,” Bill said with an incredulous shake of his head. “That’d make for a hell of a heist, doctor.”

“Oh, it’s not for us, amigo,” Caballeron said. “Our…benefactor has something else planned for it.”

“Be nice if he let us in on his plans more often,” Withers grumbled.

“Agreed,” Caballeron nodded.

“Ah, where’s your sense of adventure?” Rogue grinned. “Life’s all about having fun, not knowing where the next turn is gonna lead.”

“You get that from the Book of Discord?” Withers sardonically commented.

“Both of you, give it a rest,” Biff sighed. “What matters is we get him what he wants and we get to meet the Old Gods at last.”

“A new start for all of us,” Caballeron said, a wistful sigh crossing his face. “Away from all this. From the past.”

“Aye, wipe the slate clean for all of us,” Rogue grinned.

“If you say so,” Withers shrugged, squinting at the enlarged map, running a hoof over the topographical representation and tapping the marker on the table. “Only god I need is money.”

Rogue frowned at him but held his tongue.

“Then let us be sure of our cause,” Caballeron declared. “Tomorrow night, the amberclaw will be ours.”

The rust-coated griffon bounced the ball against the asphalt of the court, every bounce thumping in his ears like the city’s heartbeat. Behind him, the city breathed and tensed and pulsed, declaring its emotions and thoughts through the honking of car horns, the susurrus of tires through snow and slush, hooves and talons clacking against the snowy concrete, the buzzing of the lamps that illuminated the court, and beneath it all, a blend of dozens of different voices: the barking of street vendors, children laughing and whining, the conversations, arguments, and promises of couples. A bitter southern wind carried from the river, bringing with it the sounds of waves, creaking boards, and dinging bells from the public docks a mere half-mile away.

Simon clutched the ball to his chest for a moment and threw the ball up to the hoops. It thumped against the backboard and swooshed through the hoop, making the chains that passed for a net rattle. The ball bounced back to the griffon, who caught it with a sigh.

“Hey, Simon.”

Simon frowned at the familiar voice. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that there was a blue griffon with gold accents on his feathers standing at the edge of the basketball court.

“Gallus,” Simon replied, throwing the basketball again. The ball ricocheted off the rim and bounced into the corner, prompting Simon to hiss in frustration. “What are you doing here?”

Gallus trotted up and caught the ball. “I can’t talk to an old coworker?” he replied, bouncing the ball a few times.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Simon muttered, stepping back. “You’re a cop now. I already asked for a lawyer and he said I shouldn’t be speaking to you guys. And besides, if somegriff sees us talking--”

“I’m not a cop right now,” Gallus replied, taking a shot of his own. The ball hit the backboard high and careened back to Simon, who easily caught it. “I’m just here to talk.”

Simon frowned, casting his gaze over the small island that passed as a park in the Dockside District. Litter was sprinkled over the layers of snow like the toppings on a vanilla ice cream float, with walkways cut through the snow like rivers. The chains of a rusty swing set creaked in the wind; its slightly dilapidated appearance complemented the other playground equipment. A nearby public bathroom was covered in overlapping graffiti and gang symbols, a chronicle of shifting territories and alliances.

The only other eyes that were focused upon the two griffons were the faded images on a series of wanted posters plastered on the bathroom’s wall: Caballeron’s scruffy scowl, Lock Pick’s smirk, and the Plague Doctor glaring through his mask.

“Okay. Talk,” Simon grunted, tossing the ball to the other griffon.

“I know you’re not with the Industry Kings,” Gallus replied, dribbling the ball a few times.

Simon glanced aside and swallowed.

“And I know they pushed you into this shit so you feel like you don’t have any other options,” Gallus replied, taking another shot. The ball swooshed through the net with a quiet rattle.

“They’re my buddies,” Simon protested.

“If they’re your buddies, then where are they?” Gallus pointed out, practicing passing the ball between his wings.

Simon looked down at the ground with a sigh.

“Simon,” Gallus said, tucking the ball beneath his wing. “We used to spend all our time here. We even marked up the court after we won that doubles contest.”

He nodded over to a corner of the asphalt where a series of initials and cutie marks were etched into the stone. Simon’s eyes focused upon one of the fresher markings: an intertwined G and S.

“I know that it’s the way griffons go,” Gallus continued. “Keep our heads down and our beaks shut and that’s how we survive.”

Simon grunted.

“But I’m telling you now: that’s bullshit,” Gallus stated. “Since when do griffons let the bad guys walk all over us? We’re supposed to be proud about letting our neighbors get hurt?”

Simon was silent. Even the constant music of the city seemed to have faded, as if Ponyville itself was listening to them.

Gallus sighed. “Simon…c’mon. Just talk to me.”

Simon looked around with a shiver as the wind rustled through the park, checking every shadow for any sign of eavesdroppers. When he saw no one, he sighed and stepped forward.

“Okay, listen,” he whispered into Gallus’ ear. “A couple of days ago, there was this big earth pony in a fedora at a tavern and he was asking some of the other workers about a ship that’s coming in tomorrow night. The Krasnyy Oktyabr’ from Thrussia. He was asking about this crate; from what I overheard, it’s gonna be put straight on an armored car to Canterlot.”

He took the ball back from Gallus. “Now get out of here before someone sees us.”

“If you need to talk, you know where I am,” Gallus smiled before turning and heading off.

Behind him, he heard a few thumps of the basketball against the asphalt and then the swish of the ball passing through the net, a note of the symphony of Ponyville’s night.

He paused next to a rust-colored Diplomat 600 and leaned into the driver’s window. “I was right,” he declared with more than a hint of superiority. “He told me that one of Caballeron’s thugs asked about an armored car delivery tomorrow night.”

Red Herring frowned pensively in the driver’s seat and slowly nodded. “Hmm. Well, that at least gives us some time to plan things out,” he mused.

“Good work, Gallus,” Flash smiled from the passenger seat.

“This mean I’m a detective now?” Gallus asked, his feathers standing up with pride.

“You really want to deal with the extra paperwork, son?” Red asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Gallus deflated like a punctured tire, his face creasing with disgust. “Ugh, no thanks.”

Red chuckled. “All right, get in the back. We got work to do.”

The night of the 30th of the Moon of Cold lived up to its name, with a biting wind blowing in from the east. The gusts cast layers of snow over the streets of Ponyville, blanketing the sidewalks and chasing the citizens into the safety and warmth of their homes.

But the Dockside District never slept nor slowed for a little snow. Beneath the glow of heavy-duty lamps, workers bundled up in heavy coats and gloves, scarves flapping in the wind, bustled up and down the gangplanks of a cargo ship docked against one of the piers. The flag of Thrussia--a pair of gold griffons and a shield embossed over blue, white, and red horizontal stripes--desperately clung to the rigging as the wind threatened to tear it away. The night was alive with sound; voices in a mix of Equestrian and Thrussian, the squeaking of wheels, grunts of effort, the whirring of cranes, and creaking of ropes. Seagulls flitted between lamps and other perches, waiting for somepony to drop a morsel for them to eat.

Two stallions stood conspicuously out amongst all the other workers; a pair of earth ponies wearing heavy tan parkas with golden cloth badges, pistols holstered at their sides, stood on the deck next to the aft of the ship, a large cart waiting at their side. They fidgeted impatiently, frowning at the busy workers who were all ignoring them in favor of their own tasks, then scowled up at the ship.

“Come on, it’s freezing,” the shorter gold one muttered, tugging his hat over his scarlet mane.

“It’s one crate out of dozens,” the older blue earth pony replied, frost clinging to his lime-green beard as he spoke. “Give it some time.”

“Oi!” a ruddy-faced griffon officer shouted from above, clouds billowing from his beak as he leaned over the railing. “We bring it up now!”

“About time,” the gold stallion grumbled.

The aft crane squeaked as it lifted a pallet carrying a single crate clear of the hatch. The solid metal box was about the size of a radio set, secured shut with a padlocked chain wrapped around its body.

The crane lowered the pallet down to the waiting stallions, who reached up to guide the pallet onto the crate, securing it onto the metal.

“Seems like a lot of trouble for some rocks,” the gold guard commented, unhooking the crane from the box. “Don’t you think, Limey?”

“We just transport the shit, Doubloon,” his partner replied.

Taking the handles, the two earth ponies grunted as they heaved it along the concrete pier. Instead of heading for the warehouse that the rest of the cargo was being placed into, they went around the warehouse to a parked armored car.

“I got the door,” Limey declared, striding forward and pushing his jacket aside to reveal a bulletproof vest. He unclipped a set of keys from the belt beneath it, inserted it into the van’s back door, and unlatched it, swinging it open.

Six pairs of eyes stared back at him.

Limey frowned at his unexpected passengers, his gaze lingering over the scowling unicorn mare with the broken, sparking horn, but said nothing as he turned back to the cart.

“Like I said,” Doubloon muttered, helping his partner heave the locked crate off the cart and into the back. “Lot of fuss.”

Phillip Finder helped them drag the crate into the car, then glanced out the back of the armored car. There was nopony in sight amongst the dark shadows of the alleyway that were cast by hanging lamps, save for a few gulls milling about on the rooftops. He nodded silently to the two guards, who grimly slammed the doors shut.

In the darkness, he failed to notice a crystal lens glittering in the eye of one of the watching gulls.

Gallus swallowed and shifted in his seat up against the wall, taking slow breaths.

“You okay, Gallus?” Prowl asked. Through the window into the cab, she could see the two guards climbing into the car, the armored vehicle rocking slightly as they entered it.

“‘M fine, Sarge,” Gallus replied as the engine coughed to life. Tires grated against the asphalt as the truck pulled up to the street, paused, and turned to head northwest.

“You didn’t have to prove anything to anyone by coming on this,” Prowl said gently. “You could’ve been with the group waiting in the woods.”

“Yes, I did have to come here,” Gallus replied, giving her a steady gaze despite the encroaching green color about his cheeks. “To myself.”

Prowl smiled quietly and clapped Gallus on the shoulder. He gave her a thin smile in return as the car continued rumbling down the streets towards the precinct.

“Now I know how the cheese in a trap feels,” Bumblebee said with a light, forced laugh.

“Not many mousetraps have steel walls, Bee,” Prowl commented, reaching back and rapping the wall behind her with a solid thump. “We’ll be fine.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Tempest Shadow warned. “If Sombra wants this amberclaw, he won’t care how many of us he has to kill to get it.”

Bumblebee gulped, his face turning pale in an instant.

“Which is why we’re here,” Daring Do answered, adjusting her pith helmet. “To make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“No one’s gonna die,” Prowl nodded. “We’re gonna drop this amberclaw off at the station, then head out to the woods, get these guys, and go home safely. Right?”

Tempest Shadow gave her a grim smile. “Your naivete is adorable.”

Daring shifted in her seat slightly, her wingtips fluttering; the satchel that she, like the others, carried on her side rattled with her movement.

“Dash is gonna be fine,” Phillip reassured her, reaching over to squeeze her hoof. “Red and Flash and the others are already there and she knows not to take unnecessary risks.”

Daring gave Phillip a tight smile and squeezed his hoof in reply.

The van suddenly jerked violently to one side, the wheels grinding against the slush-covered streets. Cries of protest and alarm erupted from every throat.

“Driver, what the hell?” Prowl barked.

“It’s not me!” Limey shouted back, grunting as he wrestled with the wheel. “The wheel…something’s pulling it!” There was a pair of heavy thumps, then an increasingly alarmed cry. "The brakes don’t work!”

Every creatures' heart dropped into their stomach.

“They’re onto us,” Tempest growled.

Prowl clicked on her walkie-talkie. “Dispatch, this is Rook Seven, do you read?” she reported.

Dead silence. Not even static answered her, even after she clicked it on and off a couple of times.

“Radio’s being jammed,” the thestral reported through her teeth.

“So is ours!” Doubloon reported from up front, his voice cracking from panic.

“Fuck,” Gallus breathed.

The tires suddenly screeched as the vehicle swerved into a side road, then the engine roared as it accelerated uncontrollably. “Dead end!” Doubloon shouted in alarm. “Brace!”

Phillip’s arms wrapped around Daring as he shoved her to the floor, covering her with his body. Prowl shoved her two companions to the ground, with Tempest Shadow diving on top of the entire group.

The armored car slammed into the wall with a crash that sounded like the sky was coming down on their head. Daring’s vision whited out for a moment as pain reverberated across her entire body, her bones rattling from the impact. The wheels of the van lifted up off the ground for a moment, then slammed back down to the ground. The scent of smoke filled her nostrils as a great hissing filled her ears like a den of angered vipers.

She lifted her head with a groan as Phillip pushed himself off her. The others were all slowly lifting themselves off the ground as well. The interior light had snapped off; the only illumination was the blue flickering off Tempest’s horn.

“If you’re not dead, sound off,” she grunted, pulling herself off the others.

“I see why you’re not a doctor,” Bumblebee groaned from near the bottom of the pony pile. Flashlights were removed, switched on, and secured to shoulder straps, illuminating the interior of the van. The ponies and griffon were all massaging their bruises and grimacing. The box of amberclaw had slid to the front of the van but was still securely locked.

Prowl let out a little squeak. “The drivers aren’t moving,” she reported, her ears twitching. “They’re both breathing,” she added a moment later, the relief evident in her tone.

“Doctor’s here. Masks on,” Phillip ordered, grabbing for the satchel at his side.

There was a rustling of leather as the others all removed the gas masks from the bags and tugged them over their faces, tightening the straps. The sound of heavy, muffled breathing filled the dark metal interior.

“Stay where you are,” Prowl ordered through her mask, her sidearm strapped tight to her fetlock. “Let them come to us.”

“Right,” Gallus panted, thumbing back the hammer of his trembling .38 Naudant revolver. “We’ll just stay trapped in the closed metal box and wait for the bad guys to come after us.”

“They’ll just burn through the door and come in here,” Tempest Shadow declared, her Neighrettas glowing in the darkness as she pulled them out of her holsters. “We need to go on the offensive!”

“You’re not in charge here, Tempest,” Prowl snapped back. “My job is to keep us safe--”

“And my job is to get Starlight back!” Tempest shouted back, standing. “If you’re not going to--”

The armored car suddenly lurched violently, sending everypony tumbling with cries of alarm. The car settled back onto its wheels and was instantly struck from the other side like a giant was bashing at the vehicle.

“What the hell?!” Bumblebee shouted. “Do they have a dinosaur out there?!”

Metal suddenly cracked and groaned, the terrible noise scraping against their ears. Looking up, they saw that the reinforced roof and the walls were starting to warp and collapse, like they were inside a soda can that was slowly being crushed.

Gallus let out a shriek and dove for the back doors, throwing them open and diving out into the snow. The others all followed him, tumbling out of the collapsing van in a heap of flailing limbs.

Daring Do took to the sky, the cold wind biting into her wings as she snapped her head to every corner. They were at the end of a long blind alley, snow cascading from the sky and covering every surface. Graffiti-strewn brick walls stretched up like canyon walls on three sides, stretching up towards the dark sky. Tire tracks marked their progress up the alley, which was populated only by a few dumpsters and boxes. The only lights were their own flashlight beams cutting through the falling snow.

Gallus was shivering on the ground and dry heaving; Prowl was trying to exhort him back to his claws, her ears twitching every which way as she did so. Bumblebee was trying to pull the warped car open to rescue the drivers. Tempest was standing on her hind legs, a castfire pistol in both hooves; behind her, Phillip had turned to look back at the armored car. Daring saw him stiffen up in shock and turned as well.

Smoke was rising from the armored car’s smashed hood, but the back was still in its original shape.

She sucked in a breath with the realization. “The gas,” she said, pulling her mask off and flinging it aside in disgust. “The masks don’t work.”

Pale green light suddenly swarmed down like rain, glowing needles stabbing the six figures beneath before exploding with bursts of blinding light. Daring flinched as a dozen mosquitoes bit at her skin. A gentle heat pressed against her chest as the ward in her vest deflected the offensive magic.

Every head turned up to the rooftops just in time to see a head ducking out of sight; their assailant was barely visible through the tint of their gas masks’ lenses, but they all noticed the horn atop their head.

“Starlight,” Tempest breathed, holstering one of her pistols and pulling the mirror from her pocket. She tugged the gas mask off and flung it aside with a grunt.

Tearing her mask off as well, Prowl let out another chirp. “There’s two up there,” she declared, her ears wiggling. “Unicorn and a pegasus. I--”

Chains constructed of solid light suddenly shot down from up above, snaking through the air with a great rattling. Bumblebee was seized before he could blink, the chains wrapping around his limbs like pythons. “Shit!” he gasped, toppling over onto his side, flailing like a caught fish.

Prowl and Gallus both tried to dodge, but their wings and limbs were ensnared, sending them crashing to the ground with curses and grunts of pain. Tempest leaped from side to side with seemingly impossible agility; waves of blue lightning crackled from her horn with an angry buzzing, beating back the incoming chains. Where the lightning struck the walls and the ground, it turned the snow into clouds of steam and left hissing scorch marks.

Gallus yelped as one of the bolts scorched the ground near him, withdrawing his tail. “Watch it!” he shouted.

Phillip and Daring leaped away from the chains that darted after them, Daring twisting in midair as Phillip performed a pair of hoofsprings to avoid the magical snares that snapped at his limbs. The two landed next to Tempest as she backed up from her own attackers.

An idea sparked in Daring’s mind. “Circle!” she shouted, landing next to her two companions.

The attacking chains regrouped, twisting in midair like a den of cobras drawing back to strike, then launched themselves at the trio. The three ponies each dragged a hoof through the snow around them, forming a solid circumference.

Phillip and Tempest both bit down on their hooves, cringing as the taste of blood filled their mouths; Daring tugged a feather from her wing with her teeth, wincing as she transferred the feather to her hoof. As one, they slammed their hooves onto the circle, channeling their will through blood and feather into the construct.

The turquoise chains rocketed towards them, then shattered in midair like they’d struck an invisible wall, the pieces tumbling to the snowy ground and vanishing into flickers that snapped out. The three ponies all sighed in relief.

More light flared from the end of the alley and they turned to see a unicorn mare in a hooded jacket telekinetically pulling the crate from the back of the armored car.

“Starlight!” Tempest shouted and raced towards her friend, nearly outrunning Phillip’s boomerang as it whistled through the air.

Starlight turned and fired a spell, the illumination revealing her blank, cold expression. Tempest dodged to the side, ricocheting off the wall and lunging towards Starlight.

Both she and the boomerang missed as the unicorn mare vanished in a flash of light and reappeared behind Tempest.

With a snarl of frustration, Tempest whirled about and raised her hoof. Emerald light shone from the mirror in her grasp, reflecting in Starlight’s eyes, which suddenly widened as they locked onto the beam. Her mouth dropped open into an expression of dawning horror and she raised a hoof to step forward.

“Torna a casa, Starlight,” Tempest pleaded, stepping forward to meet her. “Torna a cas--”

“Tempest!” Daring warned too late.

Black wings streaked through the snowy sky and Tempest grimaced in pain as the mirror was torn from her grasp and shattered against the ground.

“No!” Tempest roared, opening fire with both pistols at the bird. Bolts of castfire from her pistol illuminated the alleyway, each shot echoing off the dark walls, but the raven vanished over the rooftops.

Starlight shook her head, then her eyes narrowed as her horn illuminated. A wave of light burst from her, shoving Tempest, Daring, and Phillip back. Tempest grunted as she was slammed against the wall, crumpling to the ground with a wheeze; her castfire pistols flew into the darkness out of reach.

Phillip and Daring both tucked and rolled as they hit the ground, regaining their hooves. Daring grunted and clutched her chest, her fractured ribs flaring in protest.

Starlight turned back to the armored car, pulling the crate forward. A glowing blue key appeared in midair and inserted itself into the lock, which snapped open. Starlight opened the crate to reveal its contents: stacks of translucent yellowish rocks, the color and texture of solid honey.

“Starlight, no!” Tempest cried, ramming into the other unicorn and knocking her aside. Starlight tried to force Tempest off her, only to grimace as Tempest forced her into an armlock, pushing her to the ground.

Phillip and Daring stepped forward, then leaped back as a cloud of smoke burst before them. The two hesitated, half-raising their guns.

A massive shadow shifted within the smoke, their flashlights casting it into a horribly suggestive shape…then a limb lunged out towards them, its blue fur matted, gore dripping from the rotting fingers.

Phillip dodged too late. He gagged as his attacker’s chain wrapped around his neck, reeling him in like a fish on a line, then howled as a blade cleaved through his left foreleg, sending his gun to the ground in a spray of crimson.

“No!” Daring screamed as the Plague Doctor pulled Phillip into a chokehold, the curved blade darting up to his neck. The Doctor backed up against the wall, holding his hostage tight with his right forearm; his left snapped up to Daring, the barrel of the suppressed .38 on his foreleg centering on her forehead.

With a yelp, Daring dove aside, her ribs flaring in pain as she leaped behind a dumpster. Bullets smacked into the wall inches behind her with a trio of sharp coughs. “Tempest!” she screamed.

Tempest looked up and froze at the sight before her. The masked pegasus glared at her over his hostage’s shoulder, keeping his gun on Daring’s cover.

Tempest’s hesitation cost her when Starlight’s head slammed into her chin; blood filled her mouth as she bit down on her tongue, instinctively releasing Starlight. The other unicorn pulled away from her, coughing and massaging her neck.

Her heart leaping to her throat, Tempest looked back and forth between the Doctor and Starlight, who was looking towards the dumpster with her horn alight. “Hey!” Daring protested as her gun was pulled from her foreleg and tossed down the alleyway, clattering down the asphalt.

Her face emotionless once more, Starlight turned back to the armored car; pulling a bag from her pocket, she began to hurriedly fill it with amberclaw. Around her, the three officers grunted and cursed as they continued to struggle against their bonds.

“Damn you,” Tempest snarled at the Plague Doctor. He sneered back at her through the beaked mask, gloating silently as Phillip grimaced, his blood still running down his foreleg onto the snow.

Starlight closed the bulging bag and the red-breasted raven swooped down and snatched the bag from her, flying up into the shadows.

Daring started to poke her head out from behind her cover, only to duck back down as another bullet whistled past her. “Fucker!” she gasped, fear and anger cracking through her voice.

Starlight trotted past Tempest, giving the other unicorn a glance as she passed. Energy crackled from Tempest’s broken horn, reflecting in Starlight’s blue irides; for a moment, she paused, recognition flickering in her eyes…a specter of realization and fear.

“Starlight,” Tempest pleaded, reaching out and grasping her upper foreleg.

The moment passed and Starlight shook her off with a grunt, proceeding towards the Plague Doctor like an obedient dog. Victory glowed in his scarlet eyes as he stared back and forth between Tempest and Daring, keeping the knife at Phillip’s neck.

Phillip locked eyes with Tempest; his expression was a stony mask of forced calm even though his nostrils flared with rapid breath that turned to heavy mist before him.

His gray eyes flicked to Starlight. In the heartbeat between Starlight’s steps, a plan formed in Tempest’s head.

Daring poked her head out from behind the dumpster again, rage on her face. The masked pegasus turned towards her, his weapon coming about.

Tempest lunged, front hooves stamping down onto the snow next to Starlight. The blue eyes turned towards her as she, in a motion that she’d drilled into herself so many times that she could perform it in her sleep, shifted her weight onto her back hooves, twisted, and sent her right elbow into Starlight’s jaw. Blood flew from Starlight’s mouth as the impact shuddered through Tempest’s armored foreleg.

Tempest winced, silently begging for Starlight to forgive her as she followed up with a hammer blow to the jaw. The blow echoed through the alley, sending Starlight spinning to the ground with a grunt.

An earsplitting crack tore through the cold air as Daring snapped her whip out, ensnaring the Doctor’s gun arm. A muted gunshot struck the ground as Daring pulled the weapon from his limb, a sneer of victory crossing her face.

The Plague Doctor’s snarl of frustration turned into a wheezing grunt as Phillip tugged the curved blade away from his neck and thrust his elbow back into his foe’s armored chest. Phillip pulled away from the assassin’s grasp, yelling in furious pain as the curved blade cut through his cheek; he tumbled out of range, leaving a trail of red in the slush behind him.

“Die!” Tempest shouted, drawing a throwing ax, raising it to the sky, and throwing it all in a single flowing motion. The glowing ax tumbled through the air towards its target, joined by the whistling of Daring’s boomerang.

A cloud of yellow smoke blossomed from the Plague Doctor’s bandolier, obscuring him from sight. Daring’s boomerang arced around to return to her hoof as Tempest’s ax thumped into the brick wall.

Tempest snapped her hoof out and summoned the ax back to her as the three ponies all stared into the cloud as it dispersed to reveal…

Nothing.

“Where’d he go?” Daring shouted, looking about, checking every shadow twice.

Prowl’s ears wiggled, but she shook her head. “He’s gone,” she reported.

The howl of incoming sirens filled the alleyway as Tempest bent down over the still-unconscious Starlight, gently cradling her and lifting her up onto her back. Daring darted to Phillip’s side, hissing as she examined his wounds. “Shit,” she breathed, getting out her first aid kit.

“Looks worse than it is,” Phillip reassured her, trying to smile and instantly learning that that was a bad idea when his bloodied face flared with pain.

“Uh…” Bumblebee said, rattling the chains that he was still trapped in. “Any idea how to untie us?”

Author's Note

Sorry if this seems kinda rushed; honestly, at this point, I was just trying to wrap this case up.

Next week is the finale! Can we free Starlight from Sombra's mind control, or is she doomed to remain a puppet for the rest of her days? Find out next Saturday!

In the meantime, please leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Ten: Waking Up

Tempest Shadow stared at the infirmary bed, her silence weighing down on her like a boulder on her shoulders. Starlight Glimmer stared blank-faced back at her, her own silence as cold as a frozen bridge. The persian blue eyes, normally alight with humor, were as empty as an open grave, and just as inviting. She lifted a hoof, the hoofcuffs securing her to the railing rattling as she tested their strength.

“Do you know how she enchanted the mirror?” the smaller lavender unicorn next to Tempest asked.

Tempest Shadow shook her head. “I’m not the one with a doctorate in theoretical magic,” she grunted. “She tried explaining it to me once, but it flew over my head.”

“Hmm,” Twilight Sparkle mused, studying Starlight Glimmer like she was an insect on a microscope slide. Starlight’s icy gaze turned to her, examining her with a cold disdain as she tested the other set of cuffs.

Tempest felt the two pegasi detectives watching stiffen up, their tension rubbing against her like the heat from a fire, and she instinctively glanced up at them. Detective Herring instinctively stepped back; Detective Sentry swallowed but kept his eyes on Starlight with a visible effort. Aside from the three on-duty nurses, they were the only ponies in the infirmary, the only sounds their own voices and the occasional rattling of the cuffs securing Starlight to the bed.

“Can you help her or not?” Tempest Shadow asked Twilight.

“Well…psychomancy is a very complicated branch of magic,” Twilight admitted through a grimace. “Without knowing what exactly Sombra did to her, or how she countered it, there’s not much I can do. In fact, if I try to fix it on my own, I might just make it worse.”

“What about that spell you used on Daring?” Flash offered.

“That was different,” Twilight explained. “She was affected by an overwhelming emotional surge. This is heavier brainwashing. That’s like…” Her face creased as she tried to come up with a suitable metaphor. “That spell I used on Daring was like cleaning gunk off the spark plugs. This is if somepony went into the engine and rewired everything and swapped out the pipes and if I try to swap something out, I might just make it worse.”

Flash blinked at Twilight, then chuckled feebly. “You really don’t have any idea how cars work, do you?” he asked.

Twilight pouted a bit. “That was the best analogy I could come up with,” she protested.

Tempest cleared her throat sharply, sending the humor retreating from the room. “Then what’s the plan?” she declared icily.

“This is something best left for a squad of professional psychomancers,” Twilight explained. “I can send a message to the Princesses and they’ll send a team over from the Royal Academy to free her from the programming…”

“And how long would that take?” Tempest asked, her eyes hovering on the bruises on Starlight’s jaw. Her friend met her stare with the same chillingly empty gaze that burrowed into her heart.

“Days. Weeks, maybe,” Twilight admitted.

Somewhere far away, a stallion sat in a circle of salt and blood that glowed faintly with a crimson aura, a small bundle of deep violet hair wrapped around his own black strands sitting before him. His eyes closed, he let out a thoughtful hum as he processed this new information, the distant voices buzzing into his ears like a weak radio connection.

Starlight would have an easier time escaping during transport to the Royal Academy than she would now, cuffed and surrounded by a legion of police officers. Or perhaps he could have her wait until she got to the Academy itself: there might be some useful trinkets or information there she could steal on the way out, perhaps even some potential new recruits.

Regardless, the best thing that she could do now was wait, be a cooperative prisoner. Let them lower their guard. Once she was back, their work--

“We can’t wait that long.”

The traitor’s voice snapped in his ear and he heard the bed railings squeak loudly. A scowl crossed his face. What the hell--?

“Starlight Glimmer,” Tempest Shadow said, bending over her friend, her grip on the railings so tight that the observing ponies briefly wondered if they might just snap off entirely. “Look at me. Listen to me.”

The pale blue eyes stared back at her in silence, no emotion on her face.

“Your name is Starlight Glimmer,” Tempest rattled off. “You were born in Sire’s Hollow in 1920. You and your best friend Sunburst graduated from Cuore University in 1941.”

“Tempest, that’s not going to work,” Twilight said gently.

“You love flying kites,” Tempest continued unabated. “Ever since you were a little filly with Sunburst. I met you on the Eighth of the Moon of Harvest, 1937: you and Sunburst were flying your kites out on the quad and your kite landed right in front of me while I was jogging and I trampled it.”

“Tempest, stop,” Twilight entreated, trying to pull her away.

“Wait,” Flash said, putting a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder.

It took a moment before Twilight and Red both saw what Flash had seen: a single tear glimmering in the corner of Starlight’s eye. The blue irides twitched once, then again, then Starlight closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head as if disoriented.

“Your favorite drink is banana daiquiris,” Tempest pressed on, her voice rising to a higher pitch with every other syllable. “You put pineapple on your pizza so Sunburst and I wouldn’t eat it! And you are not a fucking slave to any fucking wannabe king!”

She grabbed Starlight’s shoulders. The purple unicorn looked back up at her, more tears shining in her irides, her myokymia increasing by the moment as her breathing began to accelerate, taking in great, gasping gulps of air.

“He took Sunburst,” Tempest whispered. “He fucking killed your best friend, Starlight. Do you remember? When we were crossing Neighagara Falls, they caught up to us. And they…” She paused for a moment, as if considering the weight of her words, then took a breath and continued. “They shot him.”

Starlight shuddered, pain flickering across her face as the memory was dredged up before her. Her breathing accelerated, becoming heavier with every exhalation.

“He took your friends,” Tempest pressed. “He took your home. He took your freedom. He took your work and fucking perverted it and made it into a weapon.” She gripped Starlight’s shoulders tighter. “Fight him, Starlight,” she growled. “Fight him. Don’t let him take your life!”

Starlight’s eyes scrunched up and she curled up into herself, gasping and panting, more tears leaking from her eyes. “Tempest…” she whispered, her horn flickering in spasms of emotion.

“Come on, Starlight,” Tempest begged. “Come on--”

“Tempest!” Red suddenly shouted, but it was too late.

Tempest gagged as Starlight’s left hoof suddenly wrapped around her throat. Her eyes widened in horror as she met Starlight’s glare, the persian blue suddenly replaced with venomously glowing green.

“Traditrice,” Starlight snarled in a voice that was not her own as Tempest, Red, Flash, and Twilight were all sent flying back by a wall of vivid crimson light, crashing into the other cots and into the wall. The other set of hoofcuffs snapped open as the three nurses gaped in horror, stunned into stillness.

Starlight lunged off the bed and snapped her hoof out. One of Tempest’s Modello 1938s flew from its holster to her hoof. A twisted smile crossed the possessed mare’s face as she centered the sights over the stunned unicorn’s forehead and began to squeeze the trigger.

That smile was wiped away a moment later when a gust of wind slammed into her like a hammer, knocking her off-balance and sending the turquoise beam into the ceiling. The glowing green eyes whirled furiously on Flash and Red as the two stood up, reaching for their sidearms.

“Don’t shoot her!” Tempest roared, grabbing Twilight and rolling behind the cover of another cot.

Snarling a curse, Starlight fired a few shots at the pegasi, forcing them both to dive behind cover as she raced towards the window. A couple of shots shattered the window, twinkling glass fragments falling out into the darkness to join the dustings of snow that fell in sheets from the night sky. Starlight leaped through the glass, hissing in pain as the jagged remnants of the window sliced into her. Her horn began to light with a twisting miasma of turquoise and scarlet, covering her body as she prepared to teleport.

“No, you don’t!” Red Herring shouted, darting after her as if shot from a cannon. Starlight snarled in furious surprise as he wrapped his limbs around her, her teleportation spell instantly fizzling out as her concentration was broken. The pistol tumbled from her hoof to the street three floors below.

Flash leaped out after his partner and tackled Starlight as well, limbs and wings flailing as the trio tumbled through the sky like three leaves ensnared together in a whirlwind. They slammed onto the snow-covered rooftop of a neighboring building, still struggling, crimson lightning firing from Starlight’s horn as she fought back.

“Levati da me!” Starlight snarled, firing a spell into Red’s chest. He grimaced as the torrent of magic slammed into him like water from a fire hose, but determinedly held on as the spell fought against his protective ward.

A flare of purple light lit up the night as Twilight and Tempest teleported onto the roof next to them. Tempest joined the melee, trying to pin Starlight down even as she snarled and tried to strike her.

The glowing eyes locked onto Tempest’s orbits. For just a moment, the green glow dissipated, revealing the wide blue eyes behind it, terror and desperation shining in her face.

Then the glow reasserted its presence, Starlight’s countenance twisting back into a snarl, her horn flaring angrily. Conjured scarlet knives darted from her horn; Tempest ducked and twisted to avoid the attack, but Red and Flash both grunted as the blades dug into their vests. The conjured weapons began to pulse and flare, violet light flashing across the vests as the cursed weapons began to sap the energy of the wards.

“Twilight, fucking do something!” Red shouted, fumbling for his hoofcuffs, biting his teeth against the growing cold of his failing ward.

“I…” Twilight balked, panic on her face. “I, I only know the basics of exorcism! I’ve never tried to--”

“Twilight, you’re the magic expert here!” Red barked. “You--”

His sentence was cut off when the daggers embedded in the pegasus’ vests exploded in an array of scarlet fireworks, sending both screaming stallions skidding across the roof. Flash slammed into an air conditioner with a grunt, while Red had to grab onto the edge of the roof to keep from sliding off.

Tempest Shadow’s elbow smashed into the back of Starlight’s head, sending her into the snow with a grunt. Tempest grappled for Starlight’s foreleg, then yelped as a glowing emerald serpent suddenly wound itself around her arms. Before she could react, the conjured snake wrapped around her neck, then her forelegs, binding them together. Tempest gagged and choked, her breath wheezing out as Starlight bucked her off. A muted scream came from her throat as the conjured fangs sunk into her neck; Tempest’s limbs trembled and she toppled onto the snow-covered roof.

The possessed mare leaped on Tempest, sneering as she conjured another serpent to bind her hind legs. “We have unfinished business, Colonel,” she snarled in that horrible double voice, Starlight Glimmer’s own voice muffled by the deeper masculine snarl.

“Vaffanculo!” Tempest gagged out, defiance and fear competing in her eyes and voice even as her strength began to fade like a dying candle.

Starlight’s face twisted unnaturally in a cruel smile. Turquoise and scarlet magic swirled around the two mares as she prepared to teleport…

Then suddenly vanished. The glowing green eyes narrowed in furious disbelief as a circle of purple flames appeared around them.

“Ignitum stella!” Twilight shouted, pushing her forelegs out. Starlight snarled as a six-pointed star burst into flame within the circle. Snowflakes and motes of light began to swirl within the circle, like a small tornado, rising only to immediately fall back towards the ground. Starlight grimaced, suddenly moving sluggishly as though concrete blocks were tied to her limbs.

Twilight locked her gaze onto the glowing orbits. Her knees trembled from both cold and fear, but she met the harsh glare with a determined gaze of her own as Red and Flash hurried to her side, the stallions wincing with every step but standing up straight on their own.

“Sombra!” she shouted, her voice carrying the weight and power of a gunshot. Starlight suddenly shuddered slightly. “I command you to release Starlight Glimmer!”

A shadow seemed to peel away from Starlight, a swirling black maelstrom of clouds that clung to her body. A pair of glowing green eyes with scarlet irides, full of hate and rage, glared back at its captor.

“Your will is weak, girl,” the shadow and Starlight spoke as one, the specter’s voice a rumbling sensation like a hurricane speaking.

Twilight shuddered, suddenly buckling as though a great weight was pressing down on her back.

“Hang on, Twilight!” Flash cried, gripping her shoulder with one hoof. With the other, he pulled something out of his pocket and thrusted it at the trapped mare.

From a chain dangled a circular silver pendant depicting a chalice carrying a heart-shaped flame, surrounded by six gems: purple, red, orange, white, pink, and yellow. The eye at the top of the pendant turned to stare at Sombra; the glowing green eyes in the midst of the maelstrom widened as they focused on the symbol, the swirling smoke retreating slightly.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Highest shall dwell in the shadow of Her love,” Flash began to pray, his voice stiff with forced calm. “I will say of the Mother, ‘She is my refuge and my fortress, my Goddess, in whom I trust.’”

Twilight took a breath and shook her head as if steadying herself. “Sombra!” she shouted again, her voice belying the continuing shaking of her knees. “Begone from this place! Begone from Starlight Glimmer!”

“NO! SHE IS MINE!” the maelstrom roared in fury and tried to launch itself at Twilight, who screamed and instinctively ducked. The black cloud slammed into the edge of the circle and stopped as if it had struck an invisible wall.

“Surely She will save us from the fowler’s snare and the deadly pestilence,” Flash continued praying, holding the pendant up like a shield. “She will cover you in Her arms and under Her wings you will find refuge…”

Starlight flinched, shaking her head with a grimace, then started to lunge at Twilight. Tempest, still bound by the enchanted serpents, rolled in front of her with a great effort, causing Starlight to trip over her body.

Starlight whirled on Tempest, a snarl of rage on her face…then froze, blinking at something. The venomous green aura in her eyes faded, revealing her natural blue irides as she focused on the small wooden disc that had fallen out of Tempest’s coat pocket, with two crudely painted cutie marks upon it: a purple star with two mint-colored swirls, and a hurricane with a firework painted in the eye.

The maelstrom of shadows snarled and clung to her, but Starlight screamed, clutching her head and writhing as though in pain. “No!” she protested. “Get…get out of my head!”

“...nor the pestilence that stalks the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday!!” Flash continued, thrusting the pendant out at Sombra’s form; the cloud of shadows hissed and recoiled from him, still determinedly clinging to Starlight’s struggling form.

“Help me!” Starlight begged, reaching up for her three observers.

Twilight stood up straight, every trace of fear and hesitation vanishing from her face. Her horn lit up like a blazing fire, the circle and stars glowing brightly as the morning sun in response.

“SOMBRA!” she shouted, her voice carrying such power that everyone froze for a moment. “Thrice I bid thee! Thrice I command thee!”

“You will only observe with your eyes--”

“Thrice said and done!”

“--the punishment of the wicked!”

“Begone! Begone! BEGONE!”

Twilight stomped her front hooves against the ground, causing the spinning snow and energy to swirl with even greater speed. The swirling shadows screamed in fury as they were pulled away from Starlight, tossed about within the whirlwind, then forced down into the ground, swirling like detritus being sucked down the drain before finally dissipating harmlessly. The magic circle faded away to nothing, bringing in a sudden quiet that was filled with the soft wind.

Starlight sat up slowly with a groan, her eyes returned to their normal color. She glanced around, then saw Tempest still laying on the ground, the serpents that had been binding her limbs having vanished.

“Tempest,” Starlight gasped, hurrying over to her side. Her horn lit up as she scanned her friend, then she formed a circle of her own around Tempest, whispering a healing chant as she grasped Tempest’s forehoof in both of her own.

Tempest wearily looked up at her and gave her a feeble smile. She picked up the ornament with her free hoof and placed it on top of Starlight’s hooves. The purple unicorn smiled shyly back at her, continuing her chant.

Twilight collapsed to the ground, panting as sparks flickered from her horn. “I…I did it…” she gasped out with a smile.

“You did it!” Flash cheered, hugging her tightly.

“Yeah, yeah, great job all around,” Red groused. “Starlight, is she gonna be okay?”

“I’ve had worse, Detective Herring,” Tempest grimaced as Starlight’s healing spell washed over her body.

“She’ll be fine,” Starlight confirmed with a relieved sigh and a faint smile, gripping Tempest’s hoof in both of her own.

The larger unicorn gave her a faint smile in reply. “You never were the best at offensive magic…”

“I left the ass-kicking to you,” Starlight replied.

“And we’re all better off for it,” Red replied with a wince.

Panting and clutching his chest over his thumping heart, Sombra sat in the smoking ruins of his salt circle, the salt and blood spread across the floor like the scorch marks of an explosion. He snarled and smashed a hoof against the floor, hard enough to crack the tile. The small bundle of purple hairs blew away as if retreating from his wrath.

Damn them all! Damn the traitors! Damn that young unicorn! Damn those two nobody detectives with their snooping! And above all else, damn Phillip Finder and Daring Do! What power was keeping them alive?! Why couldn’t they just die?!

Enough. Anger served nothing. He took a few moments to breathe, frowning at the scent of burnt salt and blood that hung in the air. Every exhalation came out as a quiet wince as his bones protested every movement; his own spell being thrown back at him felt like being crushed beneath massive boulders, pulled inexorably into the ground until he was forced back to his own body.

He had endured worse.

That technician--Twilight Sparkle--was stronger than he anticipated. A mere student, and she had been enough to trap him and banish him from Starlight’s body. Granted, the youngling had helped--his blind faith in the false goddess had a power of its own he could not deny--and Starlight had been fighting back; he thought that he’d finally broken her, but once again, he’d underestimated her.

His gaze turned to the bundle of hairs. He briefly considered trying to possess her once more but decided against it. He had neither the energy to perform the spell nor the time to prepare it; and besides, they were sure to keep her under closer guard from now on.

So. He had lost the pawn he’d worked so hard to reacquire, and Tempest Shadow was most likely still alive. As were Phillip Finder, Daring Do, and their cohort.

Worse, Starlight would no doubt be able to lead the police to where she’d been held. He grimaced with the realization that he’d have to destroy it first. Damn: another hideout lost. But no matter. He had others.

And what mattered more: he had the amberclaw, and Starlight’s notes. His plan could go forward.

And no one would be able to stop him this time.

Sombra stood and took a broom and mop from the corner to clean up, simultaneously grabbing a notepad to send a missive to the Doctor. It was a new year, and there was still work to do.

The sun hung at its zenith over the city, proudly declaring that there was only half a day left until 1951. A palpable excitement seemed to hang in the frosty air at the promise of a new year and all it would bring.

The light illuminated the burned wreckage of an old mill in the Dockside District, the hollowed-out framework covered with scorch marks, faint tendrils of smoke still rising from the hole-punctured rooftop. The entire edifice looked as though it might fall over if the wind picked up. Surrounding the entire complex was a chain-link fence. A sign clung to one section of the fence: “Construction Zone. Do Not Enter.” A cluster of vehicles was parked along the street, including a bright red Trotillac convertible and a jeep with “Ponyville Fire” painted on both sides. The sound of the Maresippi crashing against the shore could be faintly heard in the distance, masked beneath the constant music of voices, car engines, and creaking ships.

Phillip Finder and Daring Do barely paid the warning sign any notice as they proceeded towards the opened gate. Phil checked over his shoulder at the building across the street: a brick construction with a restaurant on the bottom floor. The window on the front depicted a large steaming plate with a pair of fish, a bowl of soup, and a loaf of bread.

“I don’t remember much of where he was keeping me,” Starlight had said last night. “I was kept in a basement most of the time…but when we left to go after the truck, he led me up a set of stairs and through a door in the wall. I remember that we were in some old building with construction tools everywhere. And when we went out the window, I saw a restaurant across the street…it had a window with a plate with fish, bread, and soup on it. We headed west from there--him flying, me teleporting across the rooftops--and I saw the river to the left of us.”

Phillip paused, crouching down and brushing away some of the snow and mud to reveal a strip of silver partially buried in the ground, uncovered by the trampling of boots.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t in the original blueprints,” Daring commented, punctuating her sentence with a yawn.

“Well, look what the cats dragged in,” a scruffy-maned Detective Matchstick commented from the doorway of the mill, observing their haggard expressions and shadowed eyes.

“You’re not that good-looking after being up all night, either,” Daring groused at her.

“What’re you complaining about?” Matchstick replied. “You got to fight that masked freak. I had to sit all night in the woods with nothing to show for it.”

Phil cleared his throat. “Starlight narrowed the Doctor’s hideout to this area. Fire started here last night. Not a coincidence.”

“You’d be right,” Matchstick replied, beckoning for them to enter with her head.

The interior of the mill reeked, the scent of smoke, burnt wood and gas covering a dozen other revolting odors. Burn marks ran across the wooden walls and floor, still drenched from last night’s bombardment of water; ashes crunched beneath the detectives’ hooves as they walked around the wreckage of abandoned and ruined construction machinery and tools that had been left behind by construction crews.

“Didn’t even need the bellows to tell me that this was a fire was started by gasoline. Lots of it,” she said. “And following the scorch marks leads…over here.”

She pointed to a standing wall that was covered in burn marks, black waves painted across the wooden surface. A certain yak wearing a turncoat jacket and a hard hat was tapping at the wall with a frown.

“The fire started at this wall,” Matchstick explained. “But there’s no traces of gas on it. And I decided to check the building’s blueprints and found something interesting. There’s supposed to be a set of staircases leading down into a basement where this wall is.”

“Aha! Wall is hollow!” Yona confirmed with a bright smile, banging her hoof against the wall. Sure enough, her strikes made a deep hollow thumping.

“Great,” Daring said. “There’s got to be a way to open it--”

“There is,” Matchstick grinned as Yona backed up a few feet. Yona snorted, a grim smile on her face as she pawed at the ground, lowering her horned head.

She charged, the entire building shaking with every stomp. The yak smashed into the wall, the false door splintering into fragments that spilled across the floor.

A narrow passage yawned behind it, a set of stairs leading down into the foundation of the building.

“Nice one, Yona,” Matchstick said, crouching down at the entrance and shining a beam from her horn into the depths. A narrow set of stairs led down into a pitch-black basement, long abandoned and forgotten. The scent of gasoline and smoke intensified from beneath, stinging at the investigators’ eyes.

Yona descended first, testing the air with her bellows and gauge. “Air safe,” she reported once she reached the bottom. “Found where fire started.” She pointed her headlamp up at the ceiling, where a row of small, narrow holes had been drilled into the thick wood.

The three ponies slowly panned their flashlights across the narrow room. There was little left, and everything that was left was burnt: the remnants of the wards etched in the stone walls were hidden beneath ash, and a pile of scorched wood and fabric in the corner was all that remained of a table, chair, and cot.

“Well, don’t think we’ll be getting much out of this,” Matchstick sighed.

Daring bent down to sweep aside some of the wet ash, revealing a burnt scrap of paper, the writing on it obscured. She and Phillip both exchanged grim looks.

“But what did he have you do while you were there?”

“He…had me working on a spell. A complex magical formula. Something from the Kyaltratek that needed the amberclaw.”

“What does the spell do?”

“I’m…I’m not sure I believe it, but…it was a spell to stop time. But I know how to stop it.”

A train rattled through the snow-covered countryside, the rolling white hills glowing beneath the starlight. Within the single passenger car, a pair of unicorns stared out the window.

“I didn’t think we’d ever go back to Canterlot,” Tempest Shadow commented, sitting stiffly at attention in her gilded leather seat.

Sitting next to her, Starlight turned back to the table in front of her, papers covered in chicken scratch and sketches. The central paper featured a sketch of what appeared to be a circular pendant, runes encircling a gem embossed in the silver material.

A shadow crossed over the table and Starlight jumped with a gasp, whirling about.

The Royal Guard in the impeccable suit that almost hid his shoulder holster stepped back, raising a hoof placatingly. “Easy, Miss Glimmer,” the brown earth pony said. “I just wanted to tell you that we’ll be at the Royal Academy in about an hour.”

“Thank you, Captain Eagle,” Tempest Shadow nodded, her movements still slow and careful after her injury.

Eagle retreated to his chair at the front of the car, opposite another Royal Guard, both of their postures relaxed even as they kept their eyes on Starlight. Two other Royal Guards were sitting at the opposite end of the car. Three other passengers occupied the passenger car: earth ponies, each of them wearing blindfolds and golden headbands with runes inscribed into the surface, the marks glowing with a faint silver aura that pulsed in time with their quiet chants and prayers. The energy of the psychomancers’ spells was like a warm blanket wrapped around Starlight; she shifted and curled up into herself, trying to draw their protective embrace closer to her.

Tempest Shadow looked down at Starlight, then placed a hoof on her shoulder. “They’ll help you,” she said. “We’ll never have to worry about him forcing you to do anything again.”

Starlight smiled feebly up at her and returned to her work. “What are you doing?” Tempest asked.

“It’s a protective charm,” Starlight replied. “It should counter the…” She swallowed. “The time-stop spell that I had to work on.” She was silent for a moment, then forced a smile on her face. “I should be able to test it at the Academy once they’re done cleaning out my head.”

Tempest nodded and looked out the window, observing the moon’s path across the clear star-spangled sky. A glance at her watch confirmed that it was almost eleven at night; a moment later, Starlight let out a loud yawn.

“Rest,” Tempest commanded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Starlight grumbled, curling up in the seat.

Tempest glanced over at Starlight as the smaller unicorn nestled up next to her, a smile crossing her face at the weight and heat of her friend’s body against her. Her gaze passed over the pendant resting against Starlight’s chest: the small wooden ornament with the cutie marks painted upon it.

Her gaze also passed over another sketch on the table: a cross-section of a unicorn horn with a single word underlined beneath: “amberclaw.”

“Tempest?” Starlight murmured, her eyes flickering.

“Yes?” Tempest asked.

Starlight leaned up and brushed her lips against Tempest’s cheek. She froze, her eyes widening as a quiet squeak escaped her throat.

“Happy New Year, Tempest,” Starlight whispered, curling back up and going to sleep.

Tempest slowly raised a hoof to her reddening cheek, pressing it against flesh still warm from Starlight’s kiss. A smile crossed her own face as she turned to watch the world pass by outside.

Daring Do stared into her glass of Manticore Rare as if seeking answers within the dark red liquid.

“What would Sombra want with a spell that can stop time?” she pondered out loud.

“Nothing good,” Phillip muttered and downed another shot of Kanga-Rum.

“Be better if we find him before he can use it,” Flash replied, tapping a map of the Everfree Forest spread across the floor.

“And kick his flank!” Rainbow declared. “If Twilight could beat him, then so can we!”

“I didn’t beat him, Rainbow,” Twilight explained, not looking up from her book. “I merely forced him to release his possession of Starlight. And I drained almost all of my magic doing it.”

“It still means he can be beaten,” Flash said, sitting up straight and placing a hoof over the Navahist icon dangling from his neck.

“You got lucky that time,” Daring replied. “Which is why we need a better plan. And every advantage we can get.”

“This Thicket…” Twilight frowned, looking over a book of local legends. “Are you sure it exists?”

“I’m sure,” Daring replied, flipping through another book of Ponyville’s history.

“How?” Twilight frowned at her. “You…well…you were on drugs at the time.”

Daring sighed and mopped her forehead. “I…I can’t explain it, but…I just know that it wasn’t just a hallucination. That this Thicket is real and that we need to find it before the bad guys do.”

“The map,” Phillip said. “The city with the zebra. It’s on there.”

“I don’t know…” Twilight murmured. “There’s no evidence that Thicket actually exists, or that there are still even any zebra, or, indeed, any sapient creatures living in the Forest. Zebra legends tell of a home they had in the land that is now the Forest, but even their own scholars think that it’s all just stories.”

“C’mon, Twilight,” Rainbow said. “After everything we’ve said and done, you’re balking at this? Everypony thought that the Pony of Shadows was just a myth, and--”

Silence fell over the group at the mention of the beast; shudders ran up and down spines. Twilight hugged herself and leaned closer to Flash.

“It’s…scary,” she admitted quietly. “I used to think that everything had a rational explanation, that all magic had been studied and explained. And then we’re fighting legendary monsters, immortal madponies, and sleeping gods.” She buried her face in her hooves. “I feel…small. Powerless. There’s so much I just don’t understand.”

Flash pulled her closer, drawing his wings around her. “I understand,” he said soothingly. “But a wise pony once told me that being brave isn’t the same as being scared. When you were faced with Starlight, with Zugzwang, or any of the others, you didn’t hesitate. You acted.”

He tilted her chin up so that she looked at his smiling blue eyes.

“There are things we don’t know and that we might never know,” he said. “So focus on what you do know. You are one of the bravest, strongest mares I know, and we have so many strong friends. When the time comes, we’ll face them down. You just need to have faith.”

Twilight managed to smile and leaned up to nuzzle Flash. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Phil yawned and glanced at his watch. “Bugger,” he muttered. “It’s been 1951 for twenty minutes.”

“Hell of a New Year’s Party,” Daring said with a sardonic chuckle.

“You kidding?” Phillip grinned back. “Doing research with my wife and best mates. Best party ever.”

Daring chuckled and leaned in to kiss him, humming happily as he embraced her. Behind her, she heard Flash and Twilight pulling each other into a kiss as well, and Rainbow gagging.

“Happy new year,” Phillip breathed, pressing his forehead and nose against hers and rubbing in circles, taking in the scent of jasmine, bourbon, and sweat that clung to her, so familiar and always so comforting.

“Happy new year,” Daring replied, taking comfort from the warmth and weight of his body against hers, like an unbreakable shield against the tempests of the world.

“C’mon, guys, let’s get back to work,” Rainbow Dash urged them, grabbing another book and flipping it open.

“I thought you hated ‘egghead work,’” Twilight chuckled.

“Unless it’s Compass Rose or something about the Wonderbolts,” Flash added.

“And finding legendary cities so we can kick bad guy ass!” Rainbow declared.

Faint smiles flashed through the group as they returned to their work. Outside, the snow glistened beneath the clear indigo sky, Polaris and the other stars twinkling overhead, promising to guide them.

“Sister, we both know why it’s waking up.”

“He still lives.”

“Damnation. We hoped that the power of the Crystal Heart might be enough.”

“Clearly it wasn’t. We must be vigilant. Wherever he hides, we’ll root him out.”

“And this time, we’ll make sure he’s dead.”

Author's Note

For the curious:
Traditrice: traitor
Levati da me!: get off me!
Vaffanculo!: Fuck you!

Flash's prayer is also based on Psalm 91.

But that brings us to the end of this case, at last! I apologize if this seems rough; I actually had to abandon the planned-out story partway through and was writing by the seat of my pants from Chapter Seven onwards. This was a lot harder to write than expected, but I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless!

I will see you again in the next chapter! In the meantime, leave a like and a comment to let me know what you thought!

Case Twenty-Two, Prologue: The Ship's Log

She shouldn’t have bought the book.

But she hadn’t had a choice.

Angela Coastline’s hooves shook as she slowly turned the grimy yellow page. The writing on the old page was faded ink, but she could still read it.

Twenty-first of the Moon of Frost, 1872. 7:39 AM. 32°19’ N 55°28’ W. First mate woke up screaming, flailing at himself as though his skin were aflame. Nothing we did would awaken him. When the doctor tried to give him some laudanum, he drew his cutlass and cut the doctor’s foreleg off before leaping over the side. The carpenter managed to put on a tourniquet, but the wound is already gangrenous and stinking of rot. The whispering among the crew is getting louder.
So are the voices, pressing at the back of my skull. I can hear them, snarling and spitting curses at me.
They get louder when I pass his cabin. I spotted the carpenter skulking in the halls outside his cabin, hoof at his rosary and a dark look on his face.
I’ve never been a praying pony. But the alicorns help us all.

Angela swallowed and placed her face in her gloved hooves, her heavy breathing muffled by the mask that she wore to protect her from the dust and mildew that clung to the book. The jenny shook her head and brushed her sand-yellow mane out of her face, adjusting her glasses. Stay on task, Angie. You’re just here to restore it.

She examined the pages, trying to stop her brain from decoding the faded words as she made mental notes on the extent of the damage and formed a plan of attack on the forces of filth that had overtaken the ship’s log. Brushes for the dirt, wax paper and hydrogen peroxide for the mold, glue for the tears…ink to restore the lettering…

2:13 AM. Woke up to scratching at the door. Looked out with the lantern to find hallway empty. Lookout reported nothing. Can’t sleep. Pistol cold in my hoof. Voices telling me to end it…

Angela pulled herself away from the book, closing her eyes and forcing herself to suck in air through the mask. Perhaps she should forget the ink.

But better that the book was here, among the anonymous shelves of the Historical Society, than out in the open.

A rapping at the door made her look up. A pale blue hippogriff was standing at the open doorway of her office, confused concern in her light yellow eyes.

“Angela, there’s a couple of ponies out front who wanted to talk to you,” she said.

“Thank you, Seacrest,” Angela nodded, standing up. She carefully closed the book and slowly put it in a plastic bag, which she sealed shut. She removed the mask and gloves, balling them up and tossing them into a trash can, then picked up the bag with the holding strap in her mouth. With the cautious steps of a butler bearing a platter of glasses and red wine, she proceeded to the lockbox standing on a shelf in the back of the office.

“You okay, ma’am?” Seacrest asked hesitantly.

“‘M fine,” Angela replied, removing the keys from the left hoof pocket of her jacket. She inserted the smallest key into the lockbox, opening the metal door with a squeak of hinges. As she placed the bagged book into the lockbox, she caught a glimpse of the golden letters embossed onto the cover, faded but still legible.

TMS Merry Celestia.

Clearing her throat, she closed the lockbox and secured it once more. “Right. Let’s go meet our guests,” she said, following her assistant out of the office. She closed and locked the door behind her, returning her keys to her left pocket before proceeding down the halls of the Portsbeak Historical Society. The aged wood creaked beneath her hooves, the sound as comfortingly familiar as the sound of waves breaking against the beach. Through the windows, still streaked with the rain from earlier, she could see the hazy glow of the streetlamps illuminating the cozy houses of her hometown.

She heard the voices of their visitors as she entered the main room of the Historical Society, a grand study with rows and rows of bookshelves lining the walls, each bearing precious tomes from the previous inhabitants of the Griffish Isles. Paintings, portraits, and photographs were hung wherever there was space available. Here, General Ironbeak in his colorful regalia, painted after his victory over marauding pirates; there, a painting of a whaling ship at work, harpooners racing out in their rowboats to catch up to their target. Glass display cases contained exhibits from the isles’ rich history, from ancient earthenware to precious china and tableware to navigational instruments, each trinket carefully tended to.

One of the stallions, a broad-shouldered brown earth pony wearing a red and black coat and a black fedora and bearing the cutie mark of a boxing glove, was currently examining a sextant from the sixteenth century. His companion was a white stallion with black hair wearing a purple suit and sunglasses, which were also upon his flank. He leaned against a thin white cane looped about his right fetlock, listening to his companion’s lecture. Angela vaguely recognized them both.

“You adjust the arm of the sextant until the sun or the north star is just touching the horizon,” the brown stallion was explaining to his friend. “Then from that angle, you can do a quick and dirty calculation to determine how far north or south you are.”

“How’d they determine…” The white stallion frowned in thought as he daubed his lips with a napkin. “East-west? Is it latitude or longitude? I can never remember.”

“Longitude,” the stallion with the fedora replied. “And until they made good chronometers in the 1760s, that was mostly guesswork.”

“You seem to know what you’re talking about,” Angela smiled as she entered the room. Seacrest quietly took his leave, returning to his task of sorting the backlog of donated books in the backroom.

The two stallions turned to her with wide smiles. “Miss Coastline, thanks for seeing us,” the stallion in the fedora said, doffing his hat. “I’m Left Hook, and this is my friend Blind Luck.”

“Fitting name,” Blind Luck chuckled, gesturing at his shaded eyes as he tossed the napkin into a nearby trash can.

“Pleasure,” Angela said, shaking both of their hooves. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re visiting the Griffish Isles to do some research on local legends,” Left Hook explained. “We’re planning on doing a book on ghost stories and whatnot. We came by here this morning to look around--”

"He looked, I listened," Blind Luck smiled.

"But we had other things to attend to, so we didn't get to see you," Left Hook continued.

A memory clicked in the curator's mind. "Yes, I think I saw you this morning, but we didn't get a chance to talk,” Angela nodded, trying to ignore the ominous chill up her back and focus her thoughts on her guests and not on the book sitting in the lockbox in her office. “Well, I can assure you gentleponies that the Portsbeak Historical Society will be open for your research.”

Left Hook smiled. “I was hoping that you’d say that,” he commented. “Speaking of which, I think I see something that we can start with.”

His eyes turned to a painting on the wall depicting a group of ponies in richly adorned colored capes standing amidst a circle of carved monoliths and great stone tables. A large flat stone in the center bore elements of a ritual feast: bread, grapes, and goblets of wine, which the revelers were currently passing around.

“Ah, the standing stones of the Griffish Isles,” Angela said, nearly sighing with relief as she stepped up to her guest’s side. “This particular example is one not too far from here, just east of the village of Saddleshire.”

“Those symbols on their capes,” Left Hook commented, peering closer to study the embroidered symbols: a golden eye looking down upon an inkpot that was issuing forth a curved rainbow. “Those are Faust and Speranza worshippers. Around the sixth century, right?”

“Very good,” Angela nodded approvingly. “Local archeologists found evidence that early worshippers of the alicorns gathered around the stones, long before Apocrypha wrote her Revelations in 1157. This particular painting was made only about twenty years ago when religious implements were found by archeologists around the monoliths.”

“But they didn’t build the stones,” Left Hook pointed out.

“No, they didn’t,” Angela acknowledged. “No one’s sure who made those stones or what they were made for.”

“Don’t tell me,” Blind Luck clucked. “The aliens made them.”

Angela sighed. “That’s a common myth--”

She turned towards the other stallion and grunted in surprise, stumbling back as he rammed into her. The white cane clattered to the ground as they tumbled against each other, limbs entangling and disentangling. Angela grunted as her rear hit the floor painfully.

“Oh, sorry!” Blind Luck gasped out, fumbling for her foreleg and helping her up. “Sorry, I’m so stupid, I--”

“Quite all right,” Angela gasped out, massaging her ribs. “Anyway, the monoliths were there before the founding of Equestria. Some ponies believe that they represent calendars, some believe that they are arranged as a form of protective charm. Perhaps one day we’ll know what they were for.”

“The two of us have a few ideas,” Left Hook admitted. “And that’s not all we want to research.”

“Oh, there’s plenty where that came from,” Angela assured them. “We have some good old-fashioned ghosts, the black dogs, boggarts, giants…”

“We’re more interested in…tangential stories,” Blind Luck commented.

“Monoliths are neat and all,” Left Hook said, walking away from the painting back to the displays of nautical equipment. “But everyone loves a good ghost ship story. Like the Merry Celestia.”

The stone in Angela’s throat dropped into her stomach.

“It took us years to track down the last crewpony from the Neigh Gratia,” Left Hook continued, smiling at the curator. “I can’t tell you how disappointed we were when we found out that he’d died just a couple of months ago…or how relieved we were when we found out that you’d bought the logbook.” He gave her a winning smile. “We were hoping to see it.”

Angela took a moment to compose herself. “I’m sorry, but the ship’s log is too fragile for viewing,” she said. “There’s still a lot of renovation work to do--”

“Not a problem,” Left Hook waved it off. “We know a brilliant renovator who can have it looking freshly printed before you can say ‘haymaker.’”

“I’d prefer that the work be left to myself,” Angela frowned.

“I don’t mean to disrespect you,” Left Hook corrected himself. “But we’re working on a timeline and--”

“I’m sorry, but the ship’s log isn’t going to be available to the public,” Angela cut him off. “You’ll have to put in a request with the society if you want to view it.”

“Very well,” Left Hook said. “Then we’ll buy it from you. How do three hundred thousand bits sound?”

Angela’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not for sale,” she said firmly. “What do you even want it this badly for?”

Left Hook sighed and placed his fedora on a display case of sea charts. “Knowledge,” he replied. “Discovering what happened to the Merry Celestia so we can share it with the world.”

“And did you ever consider that things such as this aren’t meant to be shared?” Angela answered.

“Knowledge shouldn’t be hidden away, hoarded like an old dragon’s treasure,” Hook said. “Knowledge is meant to be sought out, revealed. Especially the hidden corners of the world.”

Angela lowered her glasses to fix her guest with a piercing stare. “Some knowledge shouldn’t be sought,” she replied evenly. “Especially not by ponies who don’t know what to do with it.”

“What makes you think that we don’t?” Left Hook pressed.

“You’re talking like this is a game,” Angela scolded. “Like it’s a Hayana Pones or a Compass Rose book. But what happened to the Merry Celestia is not something out of a pulp novel.”

“No, but it was real,” Left Hook continued. “And no one gains anything by hiding the facts away.” He took a breath. “I’m telling you this because I want you to understand the weight of what you have here.”

“I understand the weight of it completely,” Angela said coolly. “Which is why I’m not selling it.”

Left Hook sighed and placed his hat back on his head. “That’s fair,” he admitted. “Sorry you don’t see it our way.”

“You’re welcome to peruse the rest of the library,” Angela said. “But the ship’s log is off-limits.”

“Well, that’s kind of you,” Blind Luck said from behind her.

Left Hook glanced at his watch. “But I think it’s time for us to get going. Thanks for your time.”

“Of course,” Angela said stiffly.

“We’ll be seeing you,” Blind Luck grinned at her, patting her on the back as he and Hook exited.

Angela frowned at the stallions’ backs as they trotted down the hallway and out the front door into the cool darkness of the winter evening. It wasn’t until the door closed behind them that she allowed herself to relax, sighing deeply.

“Bloody amateur treasure hunters…” she grumbled, turning and heading back to her office. The creaking of the boards brought her no comfort, so great was the pressure building in her head, thumping with every beat of her heart. She fumbled in the pockets of her jacket for a moment before extracting the keys from her right pocket and unlocking her office.

It wasn’t until she’d fully stepped into the office and closed the door behind her that she remembered that she’d put her keys in her left pocket.

Her heart sunk into her stomach as she rushed across the room. The keys sang as she pulled them back out, nearly dropping them in her haste. She unlocked the door and opened it wide, already knowing what she’d find.

The safe was empty.

They had the ship’s log of the Merry Celestia.

Author's Note

At long, long last, we're back! Sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to make this perfect.

This case took a lot of work and planning and I hope that it shows. I'm pretty proud of where I took it and I'm glad to finally get the chance to show it off to you all.

Hope that you enjoy! Leave a like and a comment if you did and we'll see you next week!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter One: The Game is Afoot

“And she smiled at me and said ‘Perhaps I could provide…persuasive compensation for information on the matter,’” Strider chuckled, affecting an oozing feminine voice as he pushed the knight forward.

Phillip snorted and lifted up his bishop, knocking Strider’s knight down and claiming it for himself. “What’d you do?” he asked.

“For a moment, all I could do was stare at her,” Strider explained, pondering his next move. “Then I laughed in her face and told her to leave or I’d have her arrested for trying to bribe a federal agent.”

Phil let out another amused snort, watching with the intensity of a bird of prey as Strider pushed a rook forward five spaces. “Young wanker up herself,” he said.

Strider hesitated before slowly releasing the rook with the reluctance of a first-time skater letting go of the railing before heading out onto the ice, a visible swallow cracking through his mask of impassiveness.

No sooner had he retreated than Phillip pounced, lunging with a pawn to take an unprotected knight. “Check.”

A bead of sweat ran down the back of Strider’s neck as he studied the board.

“Just give up, Agent,” Daring commented from the kitchen, finishing up the dishes from lunch. “You might be able to delay mate for four moves at best.”

Strider sighed and flicked his king over with a wing.

“That’s what?” Phillip smirked. “Fifteen to zero?”

Strider stuck his tongue out at him. “I’ll get you next time,” he declared.

“Yeah, sure,” Phillip replied.

A rapping at the door got their attention. Phillip stood up slowly, sliding his hoof into the strap of his .38 Filly Detective that sat next to him. Daring pulled her own weapon out of the holster hanging on the countertop, while Strider placed a hoof through the trigger guard of his revolver, rising from the table.

Phillip proceeded towards the door with cautious steps and pulled the curtain back to look out the window. A donkey barely old enough to grow facial hair in a blue uniform and cap was fidgeting impatiently on the porch step, his parked bicycle waiting on the street outside.

Phillip glanced up and down the street, seeing no sign of any attackers, then unlocked and opened the door a crack, grimacing as the biting wind of the Moon of Wolves stung his face. The donkey on the porch jumped slightly at the sight of the weapon on his foreleg but recovered and put a thin smile on his dry, chapped lips.

“Telegram for Agent Flame Strider,” the bike messenger chirped, handing him an envelope. The envelope was stamped with the label “RBI Agent Flame Strider, 221 Honeybee Bakery Drive, Ponvyille.”

“Thanks,” Phillip replied, taking the telegram and tossing the messenger a couple of bits. The messenger tipped his hat and turned back to his bike. Phillip closed the door and turned the latches with a pair of clicks. A purple glow flickered across the house as the security wards reactivated, prompting the messenger to pause on his bike briefly before continuing on.

Phillip swallowed, ordering the tension in his chest to release as he returned to the living room, where the other two were clicking the safeties on their sidearms and returning their guns to their holsters. “Telegram,” he reported, holding it up for Strider to see.

“Finally,” Daring sighed as a grinning Strider took the envelope for himself, tearing it open. “Some action. It’s been almost three weeks.”

“Or maybe it’s my boss telling me I’m getting a raise for my hard work,” Strider replied. “Either way, it’s good news.”

“That’s a nice pistol, by the way,” Daring added, glancing at his sidearm.

Strider smiled and patted his holster. “Piettrot Model 1855 .44,” he said. “It belonged to my grandfather.”

“Isn’t that a ball and powder weapon?” Phillip asked, tilting his head quizzically.

“I had it adapted to fire cartridges,” Strider explained, his face turning to a frown as he read the telegram. “Ah. You guys had better pack for the Griffish Isles. We’ve got a case.”

He turned the telegram over so that they could both read it.

Caballeron’s henchponies spotted in Portsbeak STOP stole a ship’s log from maritime museum STOP Merry Celestia STOP investigate immediately STOP bring Finder and Do

“The Merry Celestia?” Daring asked aloud. She dug around in the stacks of books that sat next to the coffee table, digging through the tomes on the history of Ponyville and the Everfree Forest.

“There you are,” she finally declared, pulling out Sunken Treasures and Shipwrecks. She flipped through it until she reached one of the middle chapters.

“Aha,” she declared, pointing to the heading. “The Merry Celestia, lost in the Lunar Bay in 1872. No one knows where the wreck is…but if they found the ship’s log, that might be enough to pinpoint where it was sunk.”

“If Caballeron wants the ship’s log, there must be something on the ship that he wants,” Phillip declared. “Best get to Portsbeak pronto.”

“I’ll handle tickets,” Strider declared, grabbing the phone and spinning the dial. “Good thing the Bureau has a stipend for transportation. Just wish that they’d spring for first-class once in a while.”

Daring tucked the book beneath her fetlock and zipped upstairs to pack, her heart thumping with excitement as she grabbed her jacket and other tools, throwing them into a trunk.

“You’re excited,” Phillip commented, bringing their toothbrushes in from the bathroom.

“Haven’t had a chance to go diving for years,” Daring replied, taking the cigar tube survival cache and adding it to her gear. “That, and we get another stab at Caballeron and Sombra. What’s not to like?”

Phillip tried to smile, but his face was grim as he started to pack his own bags, adding a box of ammunition and some spare speedloaders to his kit.

A frantic rapping at the door made them pause. After a few moments, they heard Strider’s hoofsteps across the floor downstairs.

“Hey, Phil!” Strider called up the stairs. “There’s a half-dragon pony on the front step, and she really looks like she wants to talk to you.”

Phil and Daring exchanged quizzical glances. “Is she a redhead with green scales?” Phil called down.

“Yeah,” Strider shouted back up.

The two detectives smiled. “Let her in,” Phillip said.

The door opened and a set of hooves bounded in. “Hi!” a familiar voice chirped. “You must be Flame Strider! So what’s it like working for the RBI? How do you know Phil and Daring? What’s your favorite color? Wait, don’t tell me…red?”

“Let him breathe, Autumn,” Daring chided, descending the stairs to see Flame studying the kirin with a mixture of confusion and curiosity as she circled him.

“Hiya!” Autumn chirped, greeting Daring with a hug. “Didja hear the news from Portsbeak?” She waved a newspaper clipping from the morning’s Foal Free Press. The museum theft had only earned a couple of lines in the newspaper.

“We were getting ready to go, actually,” Daring replied.

“Great! I’ll come, too!” Autumn chirped. “You two heading to the Griffish Isles in search of treasure and bad guys, with Autumn Blaze, intrepid reporter, right on your tail! It’ll be just like old times!”

“There was only one time, and you got kidnapped,” Daring pointed out.

“And saved your lives!” Autumn replied. “Who knows, I might do it again! And besides, I’ve been thinking of taking a vacation.”

“And finding a new headline?” Daring continued.

“Well, yeah,” Autumn shrugged. “I mean, a girl’s gotta eat. And take a stand against bad guys.”

“Aren’t you investigating Alba Dorata?” Daring asked.

“Well, chasing my own tail only works for so long,” Autumn shrugged. “C’moooon, this could be something good!”

Daring frowned at the kirin that was currently giving her puppy-dog eyes. “You’re going to follow us no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“Yup!” Autumn nodded.

Daring sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You and Rainbow both…” She frowned at Autumn. “Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Please,” Autumn scoffed. “When did I ever do anything stupid?”

Daring narrowed her eyes at her. “Okay, I asked for that,” Autumn muttered. “So! Meet you at the train station for the train to Fillydelphia, right? Right! See you later! Nice meeting you, Agent Strider! Bye!”

And before Daring could say another word, the kirin zipped out the door and hurried down the street.

Strider blinked at the closed door, then chuckled. “She’s…enthusiastic.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Daring sighed, going back upstairs to pack.

“I still don’t see why we’re not going after Dorata,” Flash said, glaring at the newspaper clipping tacked up on the wall of Red’s office. The tan crystal unicorn smiled back at him from page three of the Foal Free Press, the photograph taken from a press conference announcing North Star Capital Industry’s funding of a series of mineralogy expeditions into the Everfree Forest. “I mean, we have the matching hair and hoofprint, he was at the fundraiser where Sunshower was probably drugged--”

“Kid, did you learn nothing about taking down mobsters from fighting Monopoly and Silvertongue?” Red Herring replied, spreading out the sheets of paper on his desk. “The Chief was right. Somepony like Dorata is going to have more money than all of us will see in our lifetimes and an army of lawyers at his hooftips. If we’re going to nail him to the wall, we need to be sure that we’ve got enough for it to stick.”

He pulled out a single sheet and slapped it on the table. This photograph displayed a middle-aged unicorn in a black suit with a coat the color of smog and a pale gold beard, the metallic blue eyes tranquil behind the thick glasses. A closeup shot of his cutie mark revealed it to be a steel girder crossed with a gold bar.

“And we start at the bottom,” he continued. “Starting with the Industry Kings and how they’re smuggling the Doctor’s poison into town.” He flipped the picture around. “Okay, class. Pop quiz. Who’s this?”

Flash looked around at the other ponies gathered in Red’s office, the most experienced detectives of the Ponyville Police Department. A thrill of pride ran down his neck when he realized he was counted among them, the best Ponyville had to offer.

That thrill was suppressed when a yawn forced its way out of his mouth. He rubbed his shadowed eyes and tried not to think of what he’d seen last night in his dreams, allowing the voices of his colleagues to pull him back to the moment.

“That is Steel Bar,” Detective Rising Dawn declared, the cloud-white pegasus’ wings twitching in eagerness to get moving. “Millionaire owner of several manufacturing and distribution companies based in Ponyville and the current leader of the Industry Kings.”

“If the Plague Doctor made a deal with the Industry Kings to smuggle his shit into this city, then that’s the guy he made the deal with,” Red said. “So we’re gonna start with that and keep working our way up. Dawn, start running through our contacts. Anyone who knows anything. If one of the Industry Kings talks about the Doctor in their sleep, I want to know about it.”

“On it, boss!” Rising Dawn saluted with a wing before zipping out in a blur of yellow and blue hair.

“Asphalt, I want to know where Steel Bar is, what he’s been doing, and what he puts on his eggs for breakfast,” Red said, passing the file with the gang leader’s photograph on it to a tar-black unicorn with a scruffy, chalk-white mane.

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” the unicorn replied, heading out.

“Folder, somepony built the Plague Doctor’s hideouts. I want to know who and when and who paid them,” Red added, pulling out another folder and passing it over to a manilla-colored earth pony with wiry brown hair and thick glasses.

“I’m on it,” Hidden Folder replied, grabbing the documents and leading his partner out.

“Rivers, we need to know where the Sealight Delight went,” Red continued, pulling out another file, this one with a photograph of a mid-sized cargo ship with rusted white paint, its name declared in scratched purple paint on the hull. “Head down to the harbormaster and see what you can find out about where it went after last Moon of Frost and where it is now.”

The donkey nodded as he took the file. “So, what are you and the dream kid going to do?” he asked.

“We’re going to be doing some snooping at the docks, see what we can figure out,” Red replied.

“Sounds like fun,” Rivers snorted.

“Barrel of laughs,” Red nodded. “We’ll reconvene tonight and compare notes. I’ll bring the chips.”

“Rather have booze,” Rivers replied, exiting with his partner.

“Wouldn’t we all,” Red answered, standing up. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get to work.”

Flash grinned as he followed his senior partner out of the office.

“What’re you grinning at?” Red grunted at him as they passed down the line of cubicles.

“Just…” Flash beamed. “Seeing you so eager to fight the bad guys instead of moping and grumbling like you used to.”

“Yeah, yeah, big change, character development,” Red rolled his eyes. “Wipe that grin off your face and come on. And get some coffee on the way out. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“At least some things never change,” Flash sighed.

The white unicorn adjusted his glasses and frowned at the worktable before him.

“How goes the restoration, amigo?” Doctor Caballeron asked, looking over his shoulder at the yellowed tome that sat on the table.

“Slow,” Doctor Papyrus sniffed. “I don’t see why Lunam Alis bothered to keep the log if he wasn’t going to take care of it in the least. Probably left it in a damp basement for years.”

“Ah, we’ve faced worse, eh, amigo?” Caballeron smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Anything for the knowledge that we will gain,” Papyrus nodded grimly, daubing a page with a cloth soaked in rubbing alcohol. “I’m working backward from the end. Once I find enough data, we’ll be able to more accurately fix the Celestia’s path and final position.”

“What have you found so far?” Caballeron asked eagerly.

Papyrus turned and favored him with a rare, beaming smile, his eyes glimmering madly. “Illumination, my friend,” he reported.

Caballeron grinned back and clapped him on the shoulder once more. “Muy bien. Let me know when you are finished.

“Eh, boss,” Withers called from the doorway. “Got word from Ponyville.”

Caballeron exited with his henchpony. “What is it?”

“Little bird told us that Finder and Do are on the move,” Biff reported, handing Caballeron a missive and giving a glance to a crow that was currently standing atop a nearby display case, sipping from a bowl of water. “They, the RBI agent, and that kirin reporter were seen at a train station getting tickets to Fillydelphia.”

“They’re coming here,” Caballeron smiled. “Perfecto.”

“Doc, all due respect, I don’t see why that’s a good thing,” Biff frowned.

“Because we have such secrets to show them,” Caballeron grinned, turning his attention to another display case. The contents within, a pair of warped silver candles with runes etched into the masterfully sculpted form, sat ready within.

Author's Note

And so begins the latest case in earnest. Our runners are at the track, and they're off!

Just a quick chapter to get set up for the coming adventures. Hope you enjoyed! Be sure to leave a like and a comment if you did and I hope to see you next week!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Two: Groundwork

The buzzing of engines pervaded the cabin and hallways of the airship, even with the soundproof materials. Daring Do looked out the window of the simple cabin, watching the dark, churning waters of the Lunar Sea far beneath them.

“Ugh,” she groaned, popping another pair of airsickness pills. “Be glad when we’re out of this contraption.”

Strider sniggered. “The great Daring Do gets airsick?” he taunted.

Daring flipped him the Flying Feather as she washed down her medicine with a glass of Manticore Rare. “Forgive me if I don’t really enjoy being in a vehicle that I’m not in control of,” she grunted. “Especially not a huge wood and metal coffin that floats on a balloon filled with explosive gas.”

“Oh, that’s cheerful,” Autumn Blaze said, glancing up at the ceiling. “I know I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

Strider glanced at her nervously. “Relax, agent,” Autumn said. “I’m thinking cool thoughts. Cool…non-firey…definitely not gonna die…thoughts,” she said slowly, looking up at the ceiling again.

“Should focus on the case,” Phillip said. “What do we know?”

“Yesterday evening at about six PM, two of Caballeron’s thugs, Biff and Withers, entered the Historical Society at Portsbeak,” Strider said, opening his briefcase and taking out the radiofaxed documents that he’d picked up from the RBI office in Fillydelphia. He spread the reports and grainy photographs out onto the table of the cabin. “The curator, Angela Coastline, met them when they entered. Biff tried to buy the journal from her, but she refused. While they were talking, Withers managed to pickpocket the key from her, entered her office, and opened the safe in her office, taking the ship’s log and leaving.”

He pointed to a grainy black-and-white still showing an earth pony in a suit and sunglasses trotting down a hallway.

“Local police started a search, but they weren’t able to find any trace of them,” Strider continued. “They did find one witness that mentioned that he thought he saw a cloud house outside the town that day, but that’s it.”

“If they left any trace, we’ll find it,” Phillip stated confidently.

“They’re probably looking for the wreck of the Merry Celestia,” Daring posited. “If we can find it first, or at least figure out where they’re heading, we might be able to head them off…and find whatever it is they’re looking for.”

“What’s so important about a sunken ship?” Autumn queried. “Ooh, was it carrying treasure?”

“That’s the mystery, Autumn,” Daring replied, taking Sunken Ships and Treasures out of her bag. She flipped through it until she reached the chapter that she was looking for.

“There she is,” she said, laying the book on the table and spinning it about to show off an old etching of a brigantine sailing upon calm blue waters, bearing the flag of the Griffish Isles: red stars forming the Big Dipper against a blue background, with a square containing a white and red cross in the upper left corner.

“The Merry Celestia was a merchant ship that traveled between the Griffish Isles and Equestria and the Crystal Empire,” Daring explained. “In the Moon of Hunters of 1872, they set off from Portsbeak to Fillydelphia, carrying a shipment of denatured alcohol. In the Moon of Frost, another ship, the Speranza Gloria found a single lifeboat with the ship’s log inside. No survivors were ever found, and the ship wasn’t found. Of course, there are the general rumors of ghost sightings, sea monster attacks, et cetera.”

“Oooh,” Autumn said. “Spooky! So what happened to the log?”

“Hang on…” Strider shuffled through the report. “Okay, according to Amanda, the log was taken by the Speranza Gloria’s captain, who kept it hidden in his basement. When he died last month, she bought it at his estate sale. She said…’I had to keep it safe.’”

“Oooh, I love this!” Autumn chirped, clapping her hooves. “Ghost ships, treasure hunting mercenaries, intrigue!”

Strider gave Phillip a querying look over Autumn’s shoulder. Phillip shrugged.

Autumn was now pawing at the surveillance stills from the historical society, squinting at the two thieves. “Biff and Withers,” she said out loud. “What do we know about these guys?”

“We’ve got files on most of Caballeron’s thugs,” Strider stated, pulling out another folder. He placed the collection of mug shots on the table for study.

“First up: Biff Tandem,” he said, tapping a photo of a square-jawed stallion in a fedora. “He was a boxer in Las Pegasus until he got caught throwing fights. He went down to Mexicolt to pursue a college degree; he was one of Caballeron’s last students before he was kicked out. When Caballeron left the university in 1942, Biff left with him and has been following him around ever since.”

“Guess he got suckered in by his talk of aliens,” Daring sniggered.

“Wait, what?” Autumn asked. “Aliens?”

“Tell you later,” Daring said.

“Next up: Withers,” Strider continued, flipping over to reveal a mug shot of a white stallion with black hair and unfocused blue eyes, smirking at the camera. “Partially blind from foalhood due to juvenile macular degeneration; those sunglasses he wears are enchanted to give him some sight back. He used to be a regular conpony in Fillydelphia, running confidence hustles and scams using his blindness to take advantage of ponies. Caballeron hired him to steal some enchanted coins from a collector and he’s been with him ever since.”

“I wouldn’t think that a blind pony would be much of a threat,” Autumn said.

“Don’t underestimate him,” Strider warned. “He’s smart as a fox and slippery as an eel.”

“Brains are more dangerous than brawn,” Phillip stated.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Strider nodded, flipping to the next sheet, showing a large green earth pony with a scruffy red mane. “Next up, Rogue O’Rattail. The youngest son of an upper-class family from Trotland, he actually searched Caballeron out when he went to Prance to steal a painting from a collector. There are lots of rumors that his family is involved in Discord cultists, but nothing’s been confirmed. What has been confirmed is that Rogue has a long list of vicious assaults and murders on his hooves.”

He winced at a photograph of a trio of bloodstained corpses sprawled across the rummage of a room that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. “He likes using his hooves,” he said, moving on.

“What about the mare that helped him with Not to be Remade or the unicorn that I saw at his hideout?” Daring asked.

“The mare is Open Lock,” Strider said, taking out two more photographs. “Long string of burglaries and B&E across Equestria. She joined the gang around ‘47. The other unicorn is Doctor Papyrus Scroll. Formerly a professor of ancient languages at the University of Trottingham and a contemporary of Caballeron. He joined up with him a year after Caballeron was kicked out. He doesn’t usually work on the heists, he seems to be more concerned with restoring the artifacts that they steal.”

Autumn Blaze looked over the mug shots closely, committing them to her memory. “I’ll keep these guys in the forefront of my mind,” she said.

“Right,” Strider said slowly, closing the folder. He yawned and stretched his wings. “We’d better get some sleep before we get to Portsbeak tomorrow morning.”

“Aces,” Phillip nodded, yawning and flopping down on the cabin’s bed. “See you in the morning.”

“G'night!” Autumn chirped, heading off to the cabin that she and Strider were sharing for the night. “So, Agent, how’d you get into the force? What was your strangest case? What do you do when off duty? You have a family back home?”

Strider gave Phil and Daring a befuddled expression. Daring smiled wearily and gestured him on. Resignation crossed Strider’s face as he sighed and reluctantly followed Autumn down the hall.

Daring took off her own shirt and hung it up on the rack with the rest of their clothes, but took her holster and her stockwhip and laid them on one of the bedside tables; Phillip had placed his own holster and waddy on the other table, well within reach.

Daring climbed up onto the bed and curled up next to Phillip, letting out a quiet hum as his arms wrapped around her body and pulled her forehead against his; his warm breath caressed her face as he nuzzled her and pulled the sheets up over them both. One of her hooves raised up to brush against the totem of Awely-Awely around her neck, taking comfort from the touch of the cool wood; she could feel a faint tingling of power within the totem, the wisp of cloud inside calm at the moment. The tap of a hoof against wood told her that Phillip was stroking his Angkakert totem as well.

For a moment, a vision of half-buried stones beneath alien stars danced before their eyes. The miasma of choking rot clogged their nostrils and a roar from a long-dead throat sounded in their ears.

Daring wrapped her wing around Phillip and pulled him closer beneath the sheets, both seeking to give and to gain comfort. The carriage rattled faintly in a sudden rush of turbulence and she moaned.

“Easy,” Phillip soothed. “Just…try to get some rest.”

Daring groaned and nestled up against the pillow, ordering her mind to sleep. “Sooner we get to Portsbeak, the better,” she sighed, allowing sleep to creep up her body.

Night had descended across Ponyville, the lights of the city competing with the star and moonlight overhead. Red stared at the window of his office, his breath frosting the glass.

“Okay, one at a time,” he said, turning around to face the crowd of detectives before him. “Rivers.”

“I found a record saying that the Sealight Delight had docked in Griffonstone in the Moon of Snow, as scheduled,” Detective Rivers reported, holding up a radiofaxed report. “From what I could figure out, it was supposed to pick up another cargo to take back to Manehattan the day after it arrived, but it left sometime the next night before the cargo could be loaded. Dockmaster was pissed as hell.”

“You get records on the crew?” Red asked.

“What do you take me for, a rookie?” Rivers snorted, holding up another list. “I’ve sent out BOLO notices to the police in Griffonstone and surrounding port cities. We’re still waiting on any responses.”

“It’s a start,” Red grunted. “Folder.”

“Took a lot of digging, but I managed to find the ponies who made the two hideouts we found,” Hidden Folder reported. “Two different construction and landscaping companies who had gotten the bids to deconstruct the abandoned properties. Both of them have ties to the old mob groups, especially Monopoly. All I got from them was that they got hired by some anonymous benefactor last spring: just told them to make the hideouts with the hidden entrances while they were working on tearing the places down. They didn’t ask any questions and got paid.” He snorted. “Just like the good old days.”

“Did they tell you anything about any other hideouts?” Flash asked, rubbing his shadowed eyes.

“Unfortunately, no,” Folder replied. “But I’m going to keep leaning on them and any other construction companies in town.”

“Good,” Red nodded. “Asphalt?”

“Steel Bar is where he’s always been,” Detective Asphalt reported. “Up at his mansion on Foundry Street. We tried to get in to talk to him about the Delight, since he runs the company that owns the ship, but his bodyguards blocked us off, told us to come back with a warrant. From the looks of it, there are at least five bodyguards there, plus one secretary and some other staff.”

Red snorted. “Not gonna have much luck getting a warrant without any proof,” he admitted. “Dawn?”

“No one was willing to talk much,” Rising Dawn admitted. “They’re all too scared of the Plague Doctor or of Bar. The most useful info I got was that there was scuttlebutt that somepony had made a deal with Bar after Whitestone was killed: something in exchange for help getting control of the Dockside.”

“That might explain why the leaders of the Dock Snakes all vanished not long after Whitestone died last spring,” Red muttered.

“In any case, since that quadruple murder last autumn, I think the word’s gotten around, and they’re all scared shitless,” Dawn continued.

“Got pretty much the same at the docks,” Flash admitted.

Red Herring stroked his chin, glaring down at the folder with Steel Bar’s photograph on it. “There’s gotta be something we can get to put pressure on the old bastard,” he said. “You all keep looking. Something’s gotta give if we push hard enough.”

“Yeah. Us,” Detective Rivers grumbled.

“Don’t talk like that, Rivers,” Red scolded. “This is our city, and no freak in a Nightmare Night mask is gonna take that away from us.”

“You got it, boss!” Rising Dawn chirped. “Ponyville Police, whoo!” She pumped her hoof into the air and looked around with a wide grin that quickly became forced when she realized that no one else was joining in her cheer.

Flash chuckled. “Uh, yeah. What she said,” he said.

“Just get out there and get to it,” Red sighed, dismissing them all with a wave.

The detectives all exited his office, chattering amongst themselves as they left, leaving Flash and Red alone in the office.

“You’re awful eager to get this guy,” Flash observed.

His senior partner looked up at him, then sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Kid…not that long ago, I’d given up,” he admitted. “I thought that Silvertongue, Monopoly, Scarlet had all won. That they’d be in charge no matter what and there was nothing we could do about it except put bandages on the cuts. You proved me wrong. You and Twilight and Phil and Daring: you proved to me and Trace that the bad guys didn’t have to win. That this could be a safe place for ponies like my wife and son.” He glared at the sheets of paper before him. “Which is why this wannabe can’t be allowed to win.”

Flash found himself beaming. “I…thanks, Red,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” Red waved it off. He looked around as if checking that they were truly alone, then leaned in closer.

“Flash…you been having weird dreams?” he asked quietly.

Flash rubbed the back of his mane and swallowed. “Well…I…” he started to say, even as the visions danced before him: a dark sky full of stars of anomalous colors that formed bizarre constellations, a field of half-buried ruins, and the distant, disembodied howls of “EHI! EHI! AHUIZOTL!” summoning that awful, rotting limb from the ground…

Red looked at him for a moment. “Poker really ain’t your game, kid,” he said. “I’ve…been having weird dreams, too. They’re just…hazy visions and voices, but…” He rubbed his forehead.

His eyes narrowed. “It’s got something to do with that damn map, doesn’t it? I know you and Twilight were helping Finder and Do on some research project.”

Flash swallowed, his eyes darting around everywhere for a moment, then sighed. “I…we’re looking for a city of deer called Thicket,” he explained. “It’s all because Daring had a vision in a buffalo ritual of her rain goddess telling her that--”

“Stop,” Red cut him off, holding up a hoof. “I can already tell that whatever the answer is, it’s only going to give me a headache. Just…tell me that you’re working on whatever monster is gonna crawl out of the abyss this time.”

“We are,” Flash nodded.

“Good,” Red sighed. “Means we can focus on shutting down the Plague Doctor’s pipeline.”

Flash nodded, but his eyes went to the window, watching the stars up above. The white dots were all in their proper places, twinkling down at him with comforting, if distant, warmth.

But still, he shuddered at the thought of the thing that lay waiting in the forest.

What does it matter if you catch this guy? That thing is still going to wake up, and then what?

Flash scowled and shook his head, reaching up one hoof to touch the Navahist icon beneath his coat. It matters because it’s the right thing to do. It’s my duty, he replied.

“I’ll spend some time trying to think of a plan,” Red said. “You need to get home and get some sleep.”

“You sure?” Flash asked. “I can--”

“Flash. Gonna need you at full capacity tomorrow, and that means you get some sleep,” Red replied. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Flash half-smiled. “Thanks, Red,” he nodded, heading for the door.

But as he exited the office and headed for the stairs, his smile faded as he thought of what awaited him in his dreams…and in the Forest.

“Thanks, Marcus,” Gallus nodded, taking the sausage patty from the vendor’s cart and repaying him with a couple of bits.

“Anything for the PPD,” the gray burro nodded back, running a rag over his gleaming food cart, steam rising from the grill.

Gallus took a bite out of the patty and let out a groan of delight as the flavors washed over his tongue. “Damn, that’s good,” he admitted as he cleared some snow off a bench and sat down next to one of his partners.

“Told ya,” Bumblebee grinned at him, licking ketchup from his extra-large carrot dog off his lips. “Best grill in the city.”

“I think you love it a little too much, Bee,” Prowl teased, giving Bumblebee’s belly a smirk as she extracted a small box from her pocket.

Bumblebee stuck his tongue out at her. “First of all, Arc says that it’s just more fluff to love,” he said. “Second, you’re the one munching on chocolate-covered grasshoppers.”

Prowl paused in pulling the snack from the box, then shrugged and tossed it into the air, expertly catching it in her mouth. “I’m allowed a little pick-me-up once in a while,” she replied. “Especially after dealing with you two on night shift.”

“So when are you two gonna kiss?” Gallus snarked through a beakful of meat, prompting his two partners to dissolve into snickers. The trio dissolved into a comfortable silence, watching the traffic of Main and Railroad passing by, the multicolored cars the blood in the veins of the Financial Section of Ponyville.

“So,” Bumblebee asked through a mouthful of carrotdog. “How long until something happens?”

“Well, we just sat down to a hot meal on a Thursday night shift, so…” Prowl exhaled a jet of mist. “I think we’ve got about two minutes, max.”

“Better finish this quick, then,” Bumblebee said, washing down his bite with a long draught of coffee.

“Hey, c’mon,” Gallus protested. “It’s been qui--uh, calm all day,” he quickly caught himself when both of his partners glared at him. “There’s no--”

“Any available unit, suicide reported at 26 Foundry Street, Code Two,” the radios on the three officers’ belts all buzzed.

Bumblebee and Prowl both shook their heads at Gallus as Prowl grabbed her radio. “Copy, Rook Two en route,” she reported. “C’mon, boys.”

Gallus and Bumblebee snatched down a few more bites and gulps before throwing the remainder of the food into a trash can and hurrying towards their waiting cruiser while Prowl spread her wings and took off. Bumblebee slid into the driver’s seat and had the cruiser moving, lights spinning and siren howling as he followed Prowl up the slush-covered street at a steady speed.

“Just my luck,” Gallus grumbled as Bumblebee turned up Foundry Street, which many considered to be the border between the Financial and Industrial Districts. On one side of the road were lower-class housing and stores for construction equipment; on the other were banks, jewelry stores, and upper-class housing. “Get dinner interrupted for a suicide.”

“That’s still somepony who had a family that just died, Gallus,” Bumblebee replied, cars swerving out of the way of their cruiser. “Try to put on a professional face.” His face twisted “Twenty-six Foundry…why does that sound familiar?”

Twenty-six Foundry Street turned out to be a ritzy two-story house, sitting alone in the center of its own block of perfectly smoothed snow atop a trimmed lawn. A long gravel pathway led up to the building. A trio of vividly colored luxury cars was parked in the driveway, all polished to gleaming.

Almost before Bumblebee had parked the cruiser, a young red-headed unicorn mare in an emerald blouse with the cutie mark of an open notepad and a golden pen was hurrying out of the front door, panic splashed across her freckled face. “He’s dead, he’s dead!” she wailed to Prowl as she landed.

“Calm down, ma’am,” Prowl said, gently taking the mare by the shoulders. “Who’s dead?”

“My, my boss,” the mare gasped out. “He…he killed himself! Oh, it’s awful! Please, I…he’s in here!”

She hurried back to the door with Prowl behind her. Bumblebee and Gallus followed; Gallus let out a quiet groan as he trudged through the snow, earning a reproving glare from Bumblebee.

The entrance hall was small but opulent with its maple wood construction and massive chandelier hanging overhead. Their hoofsteps were almost completely muted by the ostentatiously colored rug, melting snow dripping from their hooves.

“I’m Steno Pad,” the mare explained as she led them up the stairs. “I started working here a couple of years ago. My boss, he…this is his home.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Prowl said with professional detachment as they headed down a long hallway with red oak walls bearing expensive artwork and shelves of books that, judging by the pristine covers, had not once been opened. “When did you discover his body?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” Steno swallowed, opening a door at the end of the hall. This revealed a small interior office and waiting room: chairs with overstuffed cushions, calming landscape paintings on the wall, tables with magazines. A secretary’s desk sat at the end of the room, the papers, telephone, typewriter, and stationery atop it all neatly stacked and sorted; another door was set into the wall behind the desk.

Gallus frowned at the other pony in the room. The stocky blue hippogriff standing at the door stood at ease, fixing the intruders with a disapproving scowl. The dark suit that he wore failed to fully conceal his shoulder holster. He gave Steno Pad a glare, then stepped aside and opened the door.

The office inside was just as opulent as the rest of the building, with a massive desk in the center of the carpeted room. The windows opposite the door opened to a backyard with a row of perfectly trimmed hedges covered in snow; between the windows was a large portrait of a bearded dark gray unicorn in a black suit, the lifelike blue eyes staring imperiously at any visitors that dared enter his realm.

The subject of the portrait was lying facedown on the desk, his head turned to one side and his eyes closed as if asleep. Blood from his slit throat was pooling around his neck, staining the paperwork that he had been working on.

Bumblebee blinked, the lightbulb above his head flashing. “Steel Bar,” he said aloud.

Prowl walked around the desk and bent down, noting a silver dagger-like letter opener on the floor next to the desk, the blade stained with blood.

“Has anyone come into this room since you found him?” she asked Steno Pad.

“No, officer,” Steno Pad gulped. “I…I just went in to check on him because it was almost dinnertime and he hadn’t said anything in hours, not since his meeting with Iron Forge. I knocked and there was no answer, so I opened the door and…” She swallowed and sniffled.

“I made sure that no one came in,” the hippogriff bodyguard grunted. “Know how you coppers like clean crime scenes.”

Prowl exchanged glances with her two partners. “Gallus, get to the cruiser. Call in a bus and Doctor Mortis,” she ordered. “Bumblebee, I want you to question all the staff here.”

“Got it, boss,” Bumblebee saluted.

“You say so,” Gallus shrugged, heading back downstairs.

“So some rich hotshot slits his own throat,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Big fucking whoop.”

Author's Note

It's much more than a big fucking whoop, Gallus.

Not much to say about this chapter, it's mostly set up, plus a chance for me to expound a bit on Caballeron's main thugs. I took writing these stories as a chance to construct them as more than just blank pastiches like they were in the show.

Still, I hope that you enjoyed it and are looking forward to more! Don't worry, we'll get to the good stuff soon. In the meantime, leave a like and a comment and I'll see you next week!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Three: Meddling, Busybody, Jacks-in-Office

The sun was just barely cresting the eastern horizon, red and gold painting the rippling waves of the Lunar Sea. The water lapped against the steel and wooden girders of a massive set of docks that jutted out from the Griffish Isles. Ships bobbed up and down in the water in time to the dinging of buoys; further inland, workers swarmed around a concrete landing pad, reeling in the small airship like a fish.

The carriage landed with a thump against the ground as workers secured the cables trailing from the blimp to the ground and to a metal mast mounted on a tractor. Almost immediately, the doors opened and one of the passengers bounded out.

Autumn Blaze paused to take a deep sniff. “Sea air!” she declared to her companions, heedless of the bewildered stares that she was receiving from the workers. “You don’t smell that in the Peaks of Peril! Well, obviously not, because it’s kinda landlocked, but still…wow! Just smell that!” She took in another deep sniff.

Strider stared at her for a beat, then turned and gave Phil and Daring a querying look. Both detectives just shrugged.

“Right,” Strider sighed. “Okay, I think I see our transport.”

A chalk-white griffon hen with orange plumage, dressed in the bright blue uniform of a constable with her peaked hat beneath her arm, was waiting on the edge of the field next to a cruiser.

“Special Agent Strider?” she asked as they approached, her voice carrying a tinge of a Trottish accent.

“Yes,” Strider approached with an extended hoof.

“Constable Sunwall,” she replied, shaking his hoof. “And these two must be the famous Daring Do and Phillip Finder.”

“Pleasure,” Phillip nodded, shaking her hoof as well.

“Hi! Autumn Blaze, freelance journalist,” Autumn chirped, pumping Sunwall’s forearm. Sunwall blinked at her, then shrugged it off.

“How far to Portsbeak?” Daring asked.

“Less than twenty minutes,” Constable Sunwall reported, opening the back of her cruiser for her guests to climb in. “We’ll stop at the Historical Society so you can check out the crime scene.”

“Good,” Strider nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. “Is the officer in charge there?”

“Aye,” Sunwall replied, starting up the cruiser and turning onto a dirt road. “The detective will be waiting for you.”

“So, Constable,” Autumn asked from the backseat. “What’s your take on the Merry Celestia? What do you think she was carrying?”

“Well…” Sunwall said slowly, glancing at the kirin in her backseat.

While they were talking, Phillip and Daring exchanged dark looks. Their dreams last night had been hazy, only fugitive glimpses of strange landscapes, vague, distant words that slithered in their ears like cold oil, and the scent of rotting flesh.

How much more time do we have?

Phillip shook himself out of the reverie with a grunt and turned to watch out the window at the passing landscapes of rolling green hills dotted with cows and sheep grazing beneath the pink, blue, and orange sky, smoke rising from the chimneys of the occasional shepherd’s cottage. But still, his hoof slid across the hard surface to Daring’s hoof; she took it in hers and squeezed gently.

About twenty minutes later, the sun had fully risen over the horizon and they were approaching a township of tiled rooftops and narrow streets, only about half of which were paved. A wooden sign next to the entry road declared “Welcome to Portsbeak” in white letters.

“Historical Society is just down the ways here,” Constable Sunwall declared, turning up an uneven, potholed road.

Phillip frowned as he noted the pathway next to the road was only partially paved, concrete sections interspersed with lengths of mud.

“Rain recently?” he asked.

“Aye, rained for a couple of hours yesterday afternoon,” Sunwall nodded.

“Did it end before the robbery?” Phillip asked.

Sunwall raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Aye,” she said in a skeptical tone.

“There’s a method to his madness, Constable,” Daring reassured her.

The cruiser turned up a side road to reveal the Portsbeak Historical Society, a humble two-story brick building with its name posted on the sign hanging over the door. Another cruiser was parked on the street outside; traffic cones blocked off the sidewalk, with a pair of constables holding back a few curious pedestrians.

Standing on the lawn out front was a scowling jenny, glaring balefully through thick glasses, her sand-yellow mane a ruffled mess. Next to her was a tall brick-red stallion with a mane and mustache the color of a number two pencil. A police badge dangled around his neck, prominently displayed against his rain jacket, which did not cover his cutie mark of a set of hoofcuffs set atop a thick book.

Sunwall stopped the cruiser and let her passengers out. The stallion in the jacket scowled at Strider as he exited.

“So you’re the G-Pony,” he snorted disdainfully.

“Special Agent Flame Strider,” Strider said, striding forward with an extended hoof.

“Detective Rule Enforcer,” the stallion in the jacket replied, ignoring the hoof. “This is Angela Coastline, the custodian of the Historical Society. She was the one who called us.”

The jenny shifted in place, frowning at them before turning away.

“Oh. And here we have Phillip Finder and Daring Do, Equestria’s biggest meddling, busybody, jacks-in-office,” Rule Enforcer snorted at the other two detectives. “And…” His severe scowl turned to a sneer on the sight of Autumn Blaze, then he turned and looked back at Strider.

“Seeing as this is the doings of some infamous international criminal, I’m gladly handing this over to capable hooves of the Royal Bureau of Investigation,” he snorted. “So follow me inside so you can work your magic and figure out where these thieves went, Agent.”

“I intend to,” Strider said coolly. “Phil?”

Phil grunted and stood up from where he’d been pawing and nosing at the ground outside the museum. He trotted up to Angela.

“What happened?” he asked her.

The jenny took in a breath. “I already told the police everything I know,” she muttered. “They came in here late last night and talked me up about how they were planning on doing research for some book they were doing. One of them--the blind one--bumped into me and pickpocketed my keys, then went into my office while his partner was talking to me, opened my safe, and took out the ship’s log. I didn’t realize that they’d taken it until they left, upon which I called the police.”

“Never saw them before?” Phillip asked.

“They were there that morning, but I didn't speak to them before they left,” Angela shook her head.

Phillip was silent for a moment, then extended a hoof. “Need to see your horseshoes, please,” he said.

Angela blinked and raised a hoof. Phillip studied her horseshoes for a few moments, then turned and showed them to Strider, who nodded in satisfaction.

“We’ll find ‘em, Miss Coastline,” Phillip reassured her, setting her hoof down. “Daring, Autumn. We’ll take care of this,” he said, following Strider and Detective Enforcer into the museum.

Daring nodded and made her way to Angela Coastline’s side. “Angela?” she asked.

The curator responded only with a quiet grunt. “Why did they take the ship’s log?” Daring pressed.

“I don’t know,” Angela replied, refusing to look at them. “Just find them and get it back.”

Daring Do frowned at the curator. “Angela, these ponies wouldn’t have taken the Merry Celestia’s log if there wasn’t something in there that they wanted,” she said gently. “What did you find in it?”

“Nothing,” Angela replied, shuffling her hooves.

Daring’s frown intensified. “You bought the log of a ship from the year that it mysteriously vanished and left no survivors,” she said. “You kept it locked up in a safe for two weeks. And there was nothing in it?”

Angela was silent for several seconds, then turned and glared at Daring Do.

“Ponykind have been around for nearly a hundred thousand years, but only the last four thousand years of been of any significance,” she spoke in a severe tone. “Do you know what every pony, griffon, hippogriff, dragon, kirin, and zebra did for ninety-six thousand years? We hid in caves and huddled around campfires, praying that the things waiting for us outside the light would leave us alone. Their numbers fell and ours grew…but not all of us have forgotten why we once lived in fear. And that there are things out there in the dark that must never be brought to the light.”

And with that, she turned her back on Daring and Autumn with a sigh. Daring opened to speak, then stopped with a frustrated huff.

Autumn frowned in thought for a few moments, then her face brightened.

“There are things out there in the dark,” she said quietly to Angela. “But there are also ponies who have to stand against that. Ponies like you, who know what’s out there and know to protect others from them.”

Angela lifted her head slightly.

“That’s why you bought that book,” Autumn continued. “That’s why you kept it hidden. You knew that there was something bad in there, something that had to be kept secret…but you didn’t destroy it because you knew that somepony would need to know that someday.”

Angela didn’t answer verbally but gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Daring and Phil have faced things like that,” Autumn pressed. “Real monsters. They’ve looked into the darkness and laughed at it. And besides, whatever it is these guys are after, you know that they’re going to use it for their own ends. Isn’t it better that they know what they’re getting into?”

Angela frowned in pensive silence for several seconds, then nodded and stepped in close. “I took photographs of the log’s pages,” she whispered. “They’re hard to read, but…there might be enough for you to figure it out. Once they’re gone, I can get the photos and the projector from the darkroom in the basement.”

“Thank you,” Daring nodded. “And thanks, Autumn.”

“No problem,” Autumn beamed.

Inside the Historical Society, Phillip paused in the hallway, crouching down to study the welcome carpet, drawing a hoof over the mud stains spread over the mat. “Strider. Got a tracking wand?” he asked.

“Right here,” Strider nodded, pulling out a long black wand with an embedded blue crystal that glowed faintly with power. “This is the latest version: it can filter between different tracks.”

“Well, don’t we have the fancy kit here,” Detective Enforcer grumbled as they proceeded into the exhibit hall. Phillip paused to scan the entire room, eyes moving across every wall, every painting, and every case. His eyes went to the single older-model surveillance crystal mounted on the wall over the door, the faded emerald lens staring back at him.

“Right. Let’s see the office,” he said.

“Right this way,” Rule Enforcer grumbled, gesturing down a side hall.

They proceeded down a hallway, the wooden beams creaking beneath their hooves. Phil and Strider both kept their eyes on the floor, every step measured and careful.

They finally reached the door marked Office and stepped inside. Angela’s office was a tiny room, the shelves littered with books and binders. One desk sat next to a battered filing cabinet, stationery scattered across the surface; another worktable carried glue, bottles of cleaning liquid, brushes, jars of paint, and other equipment for restoring books, paintings, and other artifacts.

The safe in question sat atop the filing cabinet, the door still hanging open with the key in the lock to bare its empty interior. Phillip looked at the ring of keys dangling from the lock, frowning as he noted that there were ten keys on the ring and that many were similar to the one that opened the safe.

Strider stepped forward and switched on the tracking wand. The blue glow revealed a mass of shoeprints on the floor of the office, many clustered around the safe.

“So who won the soccer tournament?” he joked to Detective Enforcer. The red stallion’s sole response was to raise an eyebrow. Strider returned to his work with a small sigh. “Okay…that’s Angela’s horseshoes…Detective, may I see your horseshoes?”

Rule Enforcer obligingly lifted up one of his hooves, allowing Strider to check his heavy-duty iron horseshoes. “Right, those are yours…” He twisted a dial on the side of the wand and two of the horseshoe trails disappeared, narrowing it down to two different sets of prints.

“Hold this for a second, Phil,” Strider requested, passing the wand to Phil. He took out a measuring tape and measured the distance between two of the hoofprints. “About two-foot-nine…too short,” he muttered, measuring the other set. “Yeah, about three-foot-six. That’s Wither’s height.”

“Aces,” Phillip nodded, passing the tracking wand back to Strider. “Need to see surveillance crystal footage.”

“The memory crystal is in the corner there,” Rule Enforcer pointed to a section of wall next to the desk with the stationery. A set of round crystals was embedded into the wall, glowing faintly as they awaited a command.

Phillip pressed one of the crystals, which projected an image of the exhibit hall into the air before him. Phillip rewound the footage to the previous night, scowling as the two familiar stallions appeared in the room, meandering through the exhibits.

“Biff and Withers,” he grumbled, watching as they trotted up to a display case containing a set of navigational equipment. He squinted at the two stallions.

“No mud on horseshoes,” he reported.

“Well, that just blows the case open, doesn’t it?” Detective Enforcer snorted, sarcasm practically dripping off his tongue.

Phillip gave him a scathing look, then nodded to Strider.

“It means that they didn’t walk here, or at least didn’t walk far,” Strider reported. “They must have had a car parked nearby. I’ll see if I can find it.” He proceeded out the door, tracking wand held in his mouth; its illumination revealed more of the perpetrator’s tracks leading back out the door and down the hall.

Phillip continued to watch the recordings, observing how Withers daubed his face with a napkin, then flicked it into a trash can while speaking to Angela. He paused the recording, then rewound it a few moments, squinting at the napkin, then hurried out of the room.

“What is it?” Rule Enforcer asked, following him out and skirting the still-glowing trail of hoofprints.

He returned to the exhibit hall to find that Phillip was digging through the trash can that Withers had thrown his napkin into.

“You can’t seriously--”

“Aha,” Phillip grunted, yanking the crumpled napkin out of the trash can and unfurling it. He held it up to the light, revealing the red and blue logo of a set of cliffs overlooking a sea at sunset on the cloth.

“Recognize that logo?” he asked Detective Enforcer.

“White Cliffs Dine-In,” the stallion responded. “They’re a popular franchise in the Griffish Isles; there’s at least three within a few miles of here.”

Phillip turned the napkin over to reveal a phone number written on the other side. With a grunt of curiosity, he proceeded out the door and back out front.

Outside, Strider was proceeding down the sidewalk, frowning at the glowing mass of hoofprints and tracks on the sidewalk, with the others all watching his progress.

“There’s too many to filter out,” he shook his head.

“They weren’t walking on mud, mate, remember,” Phillip called.

Strider nodded. “Okay, if they were staying on the concrete…” He carefully proceeded down the sidewalk until it reached a branch where the main path continued onto a patch of heavily trodded mud, with another cracked section of pavement heading in a different direction. This smaller sidewalk had significantly fewer hoofprints on it.

“That’s better,” Strider nodded, twiddling the dial on his tracking wand. Several of the glowing blue hoofprints faded until only Withers’ trail was plainly visible.

Officer Sunwall let out an admiring whistle. “Now there’s a right proper gadget,” she said admiringly. “Where can we get one of ‘em, eh?”

“Sorry, they’re pretty expensive. Only the Bureau and larger departments can afford them,” Strider replied, following the trail further down the sidewalk and onto a small parking lot. The hoofprints ended at a pair of tire tracks, which Strider set to examining.

“Wheelbase: 115 inches,” he reported, jotting it down in his notebook.

Meanwhile, Phillip had proceeded to a public phone and inserted a bit, spinning the dial to enter the number from the napkin into the phone. The phone rang a few times before it picked up.

“Hello?” a mare’s voice said.

“This is Phillip Finder,” Phillip stated. “Who is this?”

There was silence for a beat. “Um…this is Pearl Shine. Did I do something?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Phillip continued. “But two or three days ago, you met a stallion in a White Cliffs Dine-In, a white earth pony with black hair and sunglasses. He was traveling with a tall brown earth pony in a fedora. You wrote down your number on a napkin for him.”

“Oh, uh…yes, yes, I remember him,” Pearl Shine continued slowly. “I met him a few days ago at the diner just north of Portsbeak; we were both sitting at the bar for lunch. He said that he and his friend were traveling south to Portsbeak to see the Historical Society. We flirted a bit and I wrote down my number on his napkin. What did he do?”

“Do you remember what car they came in?” Phillip asked.

“Um…I think it was a blue or brown Chevroneigh,” Pearl said. “I think I remember part of the license plate…9BX.”

“Thanks for your help. Police will be in touch if they need anything else,” Phillip nodded, jotting down some notes and hanging up.

Daring Do smirked at Detective Rule Enforcer. “Well?”

The stallion snorted, his mustache bristling irritably. “Not bad,” he admitted. “I suppose the rumors weren’t entirely exaggerated.”

“Lead on car. Likely rental from Saddleshire or nearby,” Phillip grunted. “Should follow up on it.”

“Right. We should,” Enforcer admitted. “The police station isn’t that far from here, we can walk.”

“Daring?” Phillip asked.

“Autumn and I will stay here,” Daring said. “We have scans of a journal to study,” she whispered into his ear.

He smirked with the side of his face that Rule Enforcer couldn’t see and leaned in to kiss her. “Good luck,” he said, following Strider and Enforcer down the sidewalk.

Angela took a heavy breath. “Come,” she declared. “We’ll go down to the darkroom and look at the scans.”

“Cause of death is pretty straightforward,” Doctor Mortis declared, stripping her gloves off and tossing them into a trash can. “Rapid exsanguination from a slit throat. He bled out within seconds. Based on rigor mortis and stomach contents, I’d put his death at sometime between 4 PM and 7 PM last night.”

Red Herring and Flash Sentry both scowled at the corpse spread across the metal slab in the morgue. Steel Bar was laid before them, a y-shaped incision baring his inner organs for examination. His neck had been cleaned of blood, revealing the ragged wound carved across his flesh to reveal his throat. The right side of his face, his forelegs, his flanks, and his lower legs were all discolored a dark purple with lividity from where he had lain.

“Too convenient, right?” Flash said to his partner.

“Way too convenient,” Red Herring replied, taking out his notepad. “According to Steno Pad, our late unlamented had a meeting with Iron Forge that lasted from about 3 PM until almost 6:30 PM. As far as she knew, Steel had no reason to kill himself and wasn’t talking like he was planning on it.”

“The letter opener has his blood on it and matches the wound,” Twilight Sparkle reported, entering the room and bringing a heavy stench with her. “There’s blood on his own hoof…it does appear to be a suicide.”

The other three occupants of the room all grimaced at the smell that wafted off the unicorn. “Pooh! I take it Spike is still molting?” Mortis asked, waving the air in front of her nose.

“Yes,” Twilight admitted. “Sorry; I took a shower this morning, but it doesn’t do anything!”

“It’s okay,” Flash smiled at her, pinching his nostrils with his wings and giving her a squeeze. “It should be over soon, right?”

“Smolder says he should be going into the final stage any day now,” Twilight said with a weary smile.

Red cleared his throat. “Got a dead body here,” he said while Mortis sprayed air freshener.

“Right, right,” Flash muttered, turning to the desk and looking over the crime scene photographs that were spread across Doctor Mortis’ nearby table. He pulled out one photograph that was a closeup of Steel Bar’s head, laying across his own desk.

“Something’s not right here,” he grumbled, tapping at his head.

Twilight and Red both looked over his shoulders at the crime scene’s photographs. “Sound it out, Sentry,” Red said.

Flash’s eyes swept the pictures again and again, his conscious mind struggling to interpret the warnings that his subconscious had picked up on. “The blood…” he finally spoke aloud.

“The blood,” Twilight repeated, taking a closer look at the blood pool around Steel Bar’s neck. “Of course!”

“What is it?” Red asked.

“That blood pool is only around his head on the desk here,” Flash said. “That means that his head was already down on the desk when his throat was slit.”

“If he had been sitting up in his chair, blood would have spurted across the desk and run down his chest and onto the floor,” Twilight explained further. “Doctor Mortis, we will need to do a blood analysis. See if there are any drugs in his system.”

“Right you are!” Mortis grinned, grabbing a syringe and a test tube. She drew an injection of blood from the corpse’s arm and filled the test tube with it, stoppering it and passing it off to Twilight.

“Thank you!” Twilight dashed down the hall to the laboratory with her prize, with Flash and Red following. She immediately hurried over to a centrifuge machine and placed the blood sample into it, starting up the machine with a whirring noise. While the machine did its work, she set up a collection of beakers, burners, and chemicals on a nearby table.

“I swear, she runs off of batteries,” Red grumbled, rubbing his baggy eyes.

“No, Detective Red Herring,” Doctor Suunkii smiled through the clothespin on his nose, looking up from his own work. “She runs off of passion for her work.”

“And I run off of caffeine and spite,” Red replied.

The machine spun down and Twilight extracted the tubes of separated liquids from within, humming thoughtfully as she studied the separated plasma and solids. She started mixing, stirring, and heating the samples.

After a few minutes of work, she removed a tube of light blue liquid from the burner and gave it a vigorous shake, watching as the bubbling liquid turned purple.

“Aha!” Twilight declared.

“Yes!” Flash repeated, pumping his hoof. “I knew it!”

There was a moment of silence, then Flash lowered his hoof. “Um, what does that mean?” he asked sheepishly.

“That color, Detective Flash Sentry,” Suunkii said with mild amusement, “is an indication that your victim’s blood contained a heavy dose of barbiturate.”

“Most likely a sleeping pill,” Twilight added, turning to the other colored tubes.

“So our suicide just turned into a murder,” Red Herring said grimly. “Is anypony surprised? C’mon, kid. Iron Forge and Steno Pad both have some explaining to do.”

“Good luck,” Twilight said, stepping up to Flash. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” Flash replied, plugging his nose so he could kiss her.

She raised an eyebrow at him as they separated. “Okay, almost always,” he admitted as he followed Red out of the lab.

Author's Note

Our great detectives are on the trail! Two separate paths, where will they end up next?

Enjoy your Fourth and I'll see you next Saturday! Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Four: Benny Brigantine's Statement

“Here they are,” Angela declared, pulling the film canister out of the drawer with the gravitas of a mare carrying a venomous serpent.

The basement of the Portsbeak Historical Society was a cluttered menagerie of exhibits that required further care, shelves groaning beneath the weight of books and binders stuffed with papers, desks piled high with paperwork, and file cabinets that appeared to have been organized by a schizophrenic. The film projector was set up in one of the few clear areas, aimed at a white screen on the wall.

Angela paused and glared at her two guests. “I warn you one last time,” she urged. “What happened to the Merry Celestia is not something that you can ever forget.”

“That’s the idea,” Autumn Blaze replied.

“I know what I’m doing,” Daring Do stated calmly.

Angela shook her head. “For your own sakes, I hope you are,” she said gravely, unspooling the film and reeling it into the projector.

Autumn Blaze snapped off the lights with a flicker of her horn as the projector buzzed to life, a flickering light beaming onto the white sheet. Angela clicked the button to advance a frame.

A blurry yellow and blue image appeared before them. “Hold on, let me adjust the focus,” Angela said, twisting the dial on the lens.

After a moment, the image became clear: a page from the ship’s log, the faded writing only barely legible against the mold-eaten pages.

“I have some special filters that might help,” Angela said, opening up a nearby box and pulling out a collection of projector lenses. She placed a pale citrus filter over the projector lens, casting the image in an orange tint that made the writing slightly more legible.

“‘Twelfth of the Moon of Rain, 1872…’” Daring read aloud. “That’s no good.”

“I’ll skip ahead to the voyage,” Angela said gravely, clicking the projector forward several frames.

Finally, she stopped and nodded. “Fifteenth of the Moon of Frost, 1872,” she reported. “The day of the voyage.”

Daring frowned. “Back it up a couple of pages,” she said. “Maybe something happened before the ship left port.”

“Right,” Angela nodded, going back two frames.

“‘Twelfth of the Moon of Frost. Port,’” Daring read out loud. “‘Double-checked cargo of denatured alcohol and ensured we have sufficient supplies. A stranger came to the docks today, looking for the next ship to Equestria. He seemed anxious about something: insisted he had to get to Canterlot as soon as possible. First mate was suspicious, but the stallion was willing to pay upfront and we need the coin. We’ll still be in Vanhoover within a month; this changes nothing.’”

“This captain…what was his name?” Autumn checked Daring’s Sunken Treasures and Ships book, which was set on a nearby table, and opened to the chapter on the Merry Celestia. “Benny Brigantine…clearly never heard of tempting fate.”

Daring let out a thoughtful hum and nodded for Angela to click to the next page.

Fifteenth of the Moon of Frost, 1872. 6:13 AM. Leaving port for Vanhoover. Cargo and passenger secured, crew in high spirits. Second mate seemed worried about something; said that he had a bad feeling about this.

12:02 PM. 42°47’ N 60°01’ W. Heading due east. Wind from the east slowing us slightly. Passenger is remaining in his cabin except for meals, doesn’t speak to the others much. Still expected to be in Vanhoover on schedule.

Daring frowned in thought. “You got a map of the Lunar Bay somewhere?” she asked Angela. “As small a scale as you can get it.”

The curator frowned and started rummaging through a stack of loose papers and maps. “I think I’ve got one here somewhere…”

“Aha!” Autumn’s horn lit up crimson and she telekinetically plucked a collection of charts of the Lunar Bay from the midst of the pile. She flipped through them and then held one up that showed the region between Portsbeak and Vanhoover. “That work?”

“Perfect. Tack it up here,” Daring said, pulling out an unused bulletin board and grabbing a nearby box of tacks.

Autumn and Daring tacked the chart up onto the board and Daring grabbed another tack. “Forty-two degrees, forty-seven minutes north…sixty degrees, one minute west…” she murmured, hovering her hoof over the chart for a few moments before placing the tack on the correct spot. She used a sticky note to label the tack “11/15 1201.”

“Hmm,” Daring mused. “Do you have weather almanacs for the Bay?” she asked.

“Going all the way back to 1790,” Angela replied.

“Autumn, go upstairs and grab the almanac for 1872,” Daring instructed. “And see if you can find anything else on the Celestia or the Gloria. Details on the ship’s design, crew, passenger lists, anything.”

“Aye-aye!” Autumn chirped with a salute before hurrying upstairs. Angela followed her up, shaking her head.

Daring took the remote and clicked forward to the next page.

5:32 PM. 41°12’ N, 58°33’ W, proceeding east. Sundown was at 5:12 PM. Progress slowed by unexpected southern wind. Weather should clear by tomorrow.

Sixteenth of the Moon of Frost. 6:33 AM. 40°55’ N, 58°32’ W, proceeding east. Several members of the crew appeared to have had trouble sleeping last night; grumbling of nightmares and odd noises. I won’t tell them, but something woke me up at three this morning; had a terrifying feeling that something was in the room watching me, but it passed.

12:10 PM. 40°23’ N, 58°31’ W, proceeding east. Some of the crew are whispering about the passenger, wondering where he’s from and why he was so eager to get to Canterlot. Oak said that he thought our passenger might be hexed; told him to stow that talk immediately. The last thing I need is rumors spreading around.

“Hmm,” Daring murmured, placing more tacks on the chart to mark the ship’s progress.

“We’re back!” Autumn declared, reentering the room with a stack of books held aloft next to her. “I got the weather almanac, port reports for Portsbeak, and the Speranza Gloria’s ship log from 1872, some shipping information, and some books on local legends from around that time. Might be useful.”

“Nice job, Autumn,” Daring said, claiming a nearby table as her own and spreading out the almanac and other books on it. She immediately went to the port reports and fanned through them until she got to the Moon of Frost.

“Fifteen, fifteen…” she muttered, dragging a hoof across the pages. “Here it is. ‘Merry Celestia, cargo of denatured alcohol. Captain, Benny Brigantine…’” She scowled. “Damn. Doesn’t mention the passenger.”

“Maybe they didn’t know about it. So, what have you been reading?” Autumn asked, taking a seat in a swivel chair and spinning around.

“I think the tale of the Merry Celestia is about to get to the good part,” Daring said, clicking to the next frame and ignoring Angela’s frustrated scoff.

The next few pages detailed the ship’s journey through the bay; nothing out of the ordinary was reported save for continuing bad dreams and general unease from the crew and unusual wind and weather patterns that sought to slow them down and push them off course. Daring continued to mark the ship’s progress with tacks.

“Yeah, I totally see why you didn’t want anypony to read this,” Autumn stated as Daring placed another tack on the board. “Bad dreams and ship’s coordinates are terrifying.”

“Just wait,” Angela muttered darkly as Daring went to the next page.

Eighteenth of the Moon of Frost, 7:33 AM. 38°34’ N, 57°33’ W, proceeding southeast. Heavy wind from the south and unexpected dense fog bank rolling in. Carpenter mentioned that he heard whispering in the bilge when he went down to check for leaks. The crew’s whispering is getting louder and it’s getting harder to quash the rumors. The passenger’s hiding in the cabin as much as possible; I can’t tell the crew this, but it is starting to worry me.

9:27 AM. Entered the fog bank; can barely see the sun anymore. I heard voices in the bilge, too, but there was no one there. I think the crew is getting to me.

2:54 PM. Got out of the fog bank, but now the second mate is gone. The last time we all saw him was at lunch; no one’s seen him since. We’ve searched the entire ship top to bottom; his cabin is as he left it and both of the lifeboats are accounted for. The entire crew is on edge now; half of them are saying that they saw faces glaring at them in the fog.

Did he jump overboard? Why would Astrolabe do that? He wasn’t suicidal, as far as I know, and aside from some strange dreams, this voyage is completely normal. I need to have a talk with the crew to quash these rumors before they get out of hoof.

“Ah,” Autumn admitted as Daring put another tack on the chart and added a label reading Fog. “I think I’m starting to see the problem.”

Nineteenth of the Moon of Frost, 7:21 AM. 40°9’ N, 58°2’ W, proceeding south-southeast. Must’ve gotten turned around in the fog. Got the crew on full sail getting us back on track. Slept badly last night; I dreamed that I saw Astrolabe leading me out onto the deck. He looked at me and said ‘We shouldn’t be here’ and jumped overboard. I turned and saw the passenger staring at me from the stern and calmly jumped over as well, sinking into the sea. Dreamed that something was laughing and snarling at me. Watch told me he heard the second mate calling to him last night.

We shouldn’t have taken that passenger on.

Did I write that?

Daring put another tack on the map with a frown. “Wow, they got really turned around in that fog,” she said, noting the wide distance between the last two tacks.

8:51 AM. Heard a horrible scream from the deck. Came out to find that Bowline had fallen from the rigging and was laying on the deck, three legs broken. He was babbling about “eyes in the sky” and “they are hungry and they’ve seen us.” The surgeon took him below deck and gave him some ether to knock him out and splinted him up as best as he could, but he’s not optimistic. From what the other crew told me, Bowline was working up on the mainsail when he suddenly started screaming and pointing up at the sky before he fell. Nopony else saw what he was looking at.

When I was talking to the surgeon, I saw the passenger watching from down the hall, but he went back into his cabin when he saw me looking. I saw something sticking out of the pocket of his cloak: some kind of amulet chain. I thought about talking to him, but--

Here there were several lines that were heavily scratched out, then it continued on the next page.

Superstitious nonsense. Accidents and paranoia, that’s all. Nothing’s going on that can’t be explained naturally. Nothing is going on. I will not have any more talk of that.

6:55 PM. 38°55’ N, 56°49’ W, proceeding southeast. Bowline died in his sleep. Surgeon can’t figure out how; assumes that there were some internal injuries he couldn’t treat. We’ll be burying him tomorrow.

Voices in my head. Can hear them if I listen. Coming from below. Laughing at me.

“An amulet?” Autumn mused, grabbing a book entitled Unsolved Mysteries of the Griffish Isles. “Why does that sound familiar…?”

Something tickled at the back of Daring Do’s mind, but she refocused on the ship’s log, continuing to post tack marks as the captain marked their continuing progress through the Lunar Bay, detailing the solemn burial of the dead crewpony, then the sudden psychosis and suicide of the first mate.

“Okay, I will admit, that’s kinda spooky,” Autumn admitted, her eyes rereading the section on the first mate attacking the surgeon and jumping overboard.

Daring skipped to the next page and frowned when she found that the page was badly tattered, the writing even more faded here than before. Entire sections were blotted out and scratched over, completely illegible.

6:04 AM. Surgeon…carvings all over room…carpenter…with his saw. Blood everywhere…

…just floating with the wind now. Crew…I’m sitting in the second mate’s cabin…that ivory pipe of his…still full of tobacco…Astrolabe to just walk back in like nothing’s wrong…hear…passenger…laughing, pleading, crying…

Stop laughing at me. Stop laughing at me. STOP LAUGHING AT ME STOP LAUGHING AT ME STOP LAUGHING AT ME

“Okay…all aboard the crazy train,” Autumn said with a slightly nervous chuckle.

Daring pondered the map, double-checking the last tack mark. “If they were just floating…need more clues.” She clicked to the next page.

12:10 PM. 37°14’ N…ing southeast…more crew vanished…talking. Another fog…need to stop this.

Gathered remaining crew…enger howled and laughed…id he’d hidden it on the ship…laughing, his guts in my hooves…hold for damn amulet…smashed open barr…no sign. Left body in cabin…still hear him…heading south to get out of fog…

“Ouch,” Daring winced. She clicked over to the next page and blinked to see the entire page was covered with oversized scrawls.

HIS FACE HIS FACE HIS FACE WAS IN THE FOG AND IT LOOKED AT ME AND LAUGHED AND THE GODS ALL LAUGHED AND ASTROLABE WAS SCREAMING

“Don’t think we’re gonna get any clues out of that,” Daring said, quickly clicking to the next page.

Twenty-fourth…5°22’...where he put that damn amulet. Crew turned out…still nothing…

Lightning from clear sky…mainsail irreparable…

Twenty-fifth…gathered the remaining three…holed below waterline…watched Celestia go down…sighted island with mountain to southwest…head there…

Crew gone. All alone.

Silence…stars wrong…

Astrolabe floated by…calling me…

I want to go home.

All the remaining pages were completely blank.

“That’s it?” Autumn asked, her face slightly paler than normal.

“That’s it,” Angela nodded. “You happy now?”

“No, because now we don’t know where the ship went down,” Autumn said.

“No, but we can narrow it down,” Daring replied, turning back to the chart. “Autumn, where’s that log from the Gloria?”

“Uh…here,” Autumn said, taking out another leatherbound book.

The entries for the Moon of Cold were easy to find: the edges of the pages were well-worn from the number of hooves that had flipped directly to the pages in question. Daring flipped all the way to the Fourth of the Moon of Cold and read.

3:12 PM. 30°36’ N, 52°39’ W, proceeding west. Lookout spotted a lone lifeboat adrift in the water to starboard. Name painted on the side was “Merry Celestia.” Lifeboat was abandoned save for a tattered logbook.

Beneath was a section that was heavily scratched out, then a single, hastily scrawled line beneath it:

I tried to throw it overboard, but it wouldn’t let me. If I can’t destroy it, then I’ll keep it hidden. No one must know.

Daring placed a blue tack at the given coordinates and stepped back to ponder. “So, after they sank the ship, they headed southwest for an island with a mountain…” she said out loud, studying the chart and opening the weather and ocean almanacs. “If the lifeboat was drifting for a few days, then following the currents and the winds…” She took out a pencil and started drawing lines along the chart, muttering to herself as she calculated and recalculated.

“Aha,” she declared a moment later, tapping a set of small isles in the northern Bay. “The Isles of Ice. So the ship went down somewhere in that direction…”

She clicked back to the last few pages of the log, trying to decipher the coordinates, comparing notes with the almanacs. Autumn watched over her shoulder, offering suggestions where she could; Angela watched in dark silence.

“Okay,” Daring frowned, drawing a small circle in the chart. “It went down…somewhere around there, I think.”

“That’s still a lot of area to cover,” Autumn pointed out.

“Well, we’ll have to find it somehow,” Daring replied. “Caballeron’s probably ahead of us by now.” She paused for a moment, then turned to Autumn. “You have any idea what he’s looking for?”

"Not sure yet," Autumn mused, taking up the book of local legends. "Hey, mind if I borrow this for a while? I promise to bring it back!"

"If you think it'll help," Angela replied with a shrug.

"Thank you!" Autumn chirped, hugging the book to her chest.

Her sentence was punctuated by the growling of her stomach, prompting an embarrassed chuckle. "Break for lunch?" she asked Daring.

"I think we've learned all we can here," Daring agreed. "Thanks for the help, Angela."

"Don't thank me yet," Angela replied darkly as the duo existed. She remained in the basement, staring at the projected image of Captain Brigantine's last word on the screen.

"We might have enough to narrow down the search area," Daring said to the other three later, frowning at her notes and charts. "But we still don't know what exactly they were carrying."

Phillip glanced around from the table at the cafe where they had all met up for a late lunch. There were only a few other ponies taking advantage of the cozy cafe’s warmth and coffee, both of which were provided by an antique wood stove set behind the counter, manned by a kindly blue hippogriff matron. The other customers were all engrossed in their own business, chatting over scones or pondering crossword puzzles.

"Whatever it is, it can't be good if Caballeron wants it," he said.

"Agreed," Daring replied. "So what were you two up to all morning?"

"We managed to narrow down where their car came from," Strider replied. "Turns out it was a rental car from a town a few hours up north, Saddleshire. Biff and Withers rented the car a couple of days before the theft, but they already returned it this morning."

"Saddleshire police are trying to find them," Phillip said, taking a bite out of his sandwich and chewing thoughtfully. "But it's a pretty big town."

"Hold on..." Autumn Blaze said, opening the book of legends that she'd borrowed from the Historical Society. "Saddleshire, Saddleshire..."

The faint connection that Daring Do had made earlier finally clicked, followed by a thrill of terror. "Oh, no."

"What is it?" Phillip asked.

"Here it is," Autumn said, showing Daring a page from the book. One glance at the illustration was enough to confirm Daring's suspicions.

"The Alicorn Amulet," she said, spinning the book around so that the stallions could see. She pointed at the sketch at the top: a black angular amulet with a blood-red ruby set in the center. Decorations resembling a pony's wings and the silhouette of a horned pony's head were set around the amulet; the single eye in the head glared up at them as if judging their worth.

"No one's sure who made it or when, but the stories say that it was around when Faust was young," Daring said. "Apparently, whoever wore it was the Old Gods' 'champion' or something. The Amulet granted greatly enhanced magical power, strength, speed, healing, the works. All for the low, low price of your sanity and giving you an insatiable bloodlust."

Strider whistled. "Little wonder Sombra would want it."

"Too right," Phillip nodded. “You sure that the passenger was carrying it?” he asked.

“Caballeron--is it ‘cah-bah-lair-on’ or ‘cah-bah-yehr-on?’” Autumn mused. “Anyway, ‘Cabayerron’s’ thugs were in Saddleshire before they came here, right?”

“Right,” Phillip nodded.

“Well, not far from Saddleshire is Maredale Green,” Autumn explained, pulling out a local map. She tapped the village of Saddleshire, a mere day’s travel from Portsbeak, then moved her hoof to a great patch of brown to the north of Saddleshire.

“A hundred years ago, Maredale Green was a thriving village,” Daring explained. “Then all of a sudden, the entire place just died. The land became infertile, a plague hit, storms and floods…the entire population was killed and no one’s lived there since the late 1870s.”

“Right around the same time as the Merry Celestia,” Strider observed.

“Which makes me think that the legend of the curse might just be real,” Daring said.

She glanced around to make sure that nopony else was listening in, then leaned in and lowered her voice.

“According to rumors and hearsay, the trouble all started when the wearer of the Alicorn Amulet, the last ‘champion,’ was killed by the villagers of Maredale Green in his sleep around 1870. And that’s when the land became infertile and the plagues and storms hit.”

“And you think it was a curse after the champion was killed?” Strider asked.

“Seems to be,” Daring replied. “The passenger on the Celestia was eager to get to Canterlot: I’d bet that he was trying to bring the amulet to the Princesses to see if they could help.”

“And we know how that turned out,” Autumn cut in with a little shiver. "So what's the plan now?"

"Local police here and in Saddleshire will still look for Biff and Withers," Phillip grunted. "Don't expect them to find them easily."

“Which means that we should go on the offensive,” Daring said.

“You’re going to say that we should go looking for the Celestia and find the amulet before they do,” Phillip grumbled.

“It’s what they’re going to do,” Daring Do pointed out. “If Autumn and I could figure it out in the span of a few hours, they probably have a huge head start on us. Any of you three scuba certified?”

“I am,” Strider nodded.

“Went diving at the Barrier Reef as a kid,” Phillip said. “Haven’t been diving in years, though.”

“It’s just like riding a bike,” Daring said encouragingly, then turned to Autumn.

“Uh…” Autumn rubbed the back of her mane. “I’m an okay swimmer, but I’m…not that great with deep water. I don't like not being able to see the bottom. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Phillip said, patting her shoulder.

“We’ll need to find a boat that can get us out there,” Daring said, unfurling the sea chart and frowning at the circular area where their ghost ship had gone down. “Preferably something with a sonar. And high-end diving gear, rope, lamps…”

“And let me guess,” Strider sighed. “I’m the one who’s going to be paying for most of it.”

“You are the one that has Princess Celestia writing his checks,” Daring smirked.

Strider rolled his eyes. “This is gonna be fun to explain to my SAC.”

Caballeron looked up from the ship’s log at the sound of rapidly approaching hoofsteps. “Withers, mi amigo. I have the feeling you’re about to tell me something bad,” he commented as the blind stallion hustled into the work room.

“The cops in Saddleshire are snooping around, boss,” Withers panted, adjusting his sunglasses and wiping his forehead. “They know about the rental car. Daring and that snoop husband are behind it."

Caballeron let out a thoughtful hum, glancing from the tattered yellowed pages to his pad of notes to the extensively marked chart of the Lunar Bay on the easel next to him.

His eyes then went out the window. Dangling from a crane was a dark blue speedboat; some of his henchponies were busily loading scuba gear, diving equipment, and other necessary tools into the boat, filling the fuel tanks. Biff was standing in the back of the boat, working through a checklist of materials. He doffed his fedora and wiped sweat off his brow, mulling over his task as he looked out over the edge of their cloud house headquarters at the setting sun sinking beneath the Lunar Bay.

“It’s safe to assume that those two will also be looking for the wreck,” he mused out loud. “So…we’ll just have to find it first.”

“Or take it from them,” Withers added.

Caballeron grinned. “I always liked the way you think, mi amigo.”

Author's Note

Ah, nothing like an Apocalyptic Log to get the imagination going. I put a lot of work into that story.

In case you were wondering, the chapter name is inspired by "J. Habukuk Jephson's Statement," a short story written by Arthur Conan Doyle (yes, that one) that was roughly inspired by the real-life Mary Celeste ghost ship. That's one of my favorite unsolved mysteries and I thought it a fitting inspiration for this case.

Hope that you enjoyed and are looking forward to more next week!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Five: Shipwreck

“She’s seaworthy enough,” the scruffy copper-coated hippogriff said, nodding at the golden boat that was bobbing in the water. Straight On ‘Til Morning was painted on the bow in baby blue lettering. “I’ve been taking out wreck divers for years, I can get you to what you’re looking for.”

Daring Do gingerly hopped into the yacht and made her way to the pilothouse, studying the controls with an imperious frown. “Fast, light…” She turned and held up the chart where she’d labeled the search area where the Celestia had gone down. “How long would it take you to get us out there?”

Captain Coral examined the chart thoughtfully. “Better part of a day to get there if the weather cooperated,” he said. “Take a day to search the area and another day back.”

“Fine,” Daring replied, turning to the sonar display on the rack.

“I got that especially for finding wrecks,” the hippogriff explained. He scoffed and shook his head. “I still say that wanting to dive down into a sunken ship and swim around is crazy, but there are a few ponies who want to do it, and I figured if somepony can get money out of it, it might as well be me.”

“Sound logic,” Daring nodded. She glared at the setting sun that was dipping towards the western horizon as if cursing it for daring to end the day and cut off their plans to go searching immediately.

“Is it dangerous down there?” Autumn asked.

“Wreck diving is tricky,” Daring admitted. “It’ll be dark and cramped, you can’t just swim straight up if you’re in trouble, and you can very easily get lost and trapped if you’re not careful.”

“And careful is what you’re known for,” Strider commented with a smirk. Daring replied with a smile.

“What about sharks?” Autumn added, looking deeply nervous.

“No, no dangerous sharks in these waters,” Captain Coral assured her. “Worst we get are makos and hammerheads, and those will leave you alone if you keep your distance.”

Autumn let out a relieved breath. “That’s good to know,” she said.

“But she’s right: it’s still dangerous,” Coral commented, glancing at Daring. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d better be worth it.”

“Worth plenty,” Phillip said calmly. “Be ready to set out early in the morning.”

“Aye-aye,” Coral grumbled, shrugging as his passengers disembarked back onto the dock.

As they headed back up the dock, their path was intercepted by Detective Rule Enforcer, who was grinding a cigarette in his teeth with a malevolent glare.

“Having fun?” he groused.

“Loads,” Daring smirked at him. “Wish you could come and enjoy a nice relaxing voyage with us, but I think you’ll be busy.”

“Yeah, hunting down your thieves,” Enforcer groused. “I’m sure you think that this little treasure hunt of yours is important, but some of us have actual work to do.”

“Detective, I know and appreciate all the hard work that you’re putting into this,” Strider said diplomatically. “And I’ll include in my report exactly how helpful you were. But I trust Phil and Daring’s judgment, and I believe that this is an avenue of investigation worth following. I’ll accompany you to the station and see what else we can do to narrow the search area down.”

Enforcer gave a disdainful sniff, drawing in a cloud of smoke. “And we’d definitely appreciate your help, Agent,” he drawled, deliberately blowing smoke at Strider.

“Good,” Strider replied, barely blinking. “I’ll follow you.” He nodded goodbye to the others and followed Rule Enforcer up the street.

Daring rolled her eyes. “Stuck-up, incompetent prick wouldn’t know how to handle a clue if it bit him in his giant--”

“Oh, forget him,” Autumn waved it off. “Let’s just find someplace for dinner and a hotel so we can get rested and be raring to go tomorrow morning! What you in the mood for? It’d be a shame to come to the Griffish Isles and not have some fish and chips. Oh, wait, that’s more of a breakfast thing, isn’t it? Maybe some bangers and mash instead. Or, hey, maybe haggis. I’ve always heard about that, it’s supposed to be really good!”

“Autumn, do you know what haggis is?” Daring said with a small smile.

“Well, no,” Autumn admitted. “Do you?”

Daring leaned in and whispered the answer into Autumn’s ear. The kirin froze, her face turning from a smile to a revulsed grimace as fast as a traffic signal. “Ewwww! Ponies eat that?!”

“Mostly griffons and hippogriffs, but yes,” Daring said as she and Phillip both chortled.

“Okay, no haggis! Just the bangers and mash!” Autumn declared, her disgust vanishing quickly. “C’mon, I’m hungry!”

“We’re coming,” Daring said with a small smile, following the kirin as she bounded down the street.

“Does she know what sausages are made of?” Phillip whispered.

“Shush,” Daring whispered back through a snicker.

Red Herring glared at the file atop his desk, scowling at the photograph of the steel-colored unicorn with a smokey black mane and beard as if the stallion in question had just insulted him.

“There’s only so many places somepony like Iron Forge can hide,” Flash said from the other side of the desk. “It’s only been a couple of hours since the warrant was issued. He’ll turn up, and then we’ll get some answers out of him.”

“We’d better,” Red growled, turning and glaring out the window. The sun had long fallen behind the horizon and Ponyville slumbered beneath a blanket of snow, glistening under the distant light of the stars and the harsh glow of the many city lights that still shone from the windows as the denizens prepared for rest. “That freak is still out there.”

Flash looked at his partner with concern, noting the heavy bags beneath his eyes. “Red, it’s been a long day,” he said. “Go home.”

“Kid, one thing you’re gonna learn is that we don’t keep regular hours,” Red groused through a yawn.

“Don’t I know it,” a mare’s voice came from the door.

Red and Flash both looked up to see a pale yellow pegasus with a wavy sea green mane standing in the doorway, a weak smile on her face.

“Uh…hey,” Red said, standing up slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t drop in and see my ex-husband, the father of my child?” Honeydew asked.

“You told me that you needed me at my best last night, Red,” Flash said. “Well, we need you at your best, too.” He exited with a smile. “G’night, sarge,” he declared before departing.

“That kid,” Red huffed before turning to his ex-wife. “I forget a play or a game something again?”

“Well, no, not this time,” Honeydew replied, taking a seat in a chair next to the desk. She and Red both leaned forward slightly, remaining just out of the other’s reach.

“Lionheart get any practice with that mitt?” Red asked after a few moments of awkward silence.

Honeydew smiled. “He loves that thing,” she said. “Practically sleeps with it. And he drags me outside to get some practice every week.”

Red let out a chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds like Lionheart,” he sighed.

“Red, why can’t you take a rest once in a while?” Honeydew asked.

Red sighed. “It’s this case, Dew. I--”

“There will always be a case, Red,” Honeydew sighed. “That’s what I tried to tell you for years. There’ll always be a case, and another case, and another case. But your son is only gonna be young once. And he needs his father.”

Red hung his head and mopped his messy brown mane. “...I was a shitty dad, wasn’t I?” he admitted.

Honeydew tentatively reached forward and placed a hoof over Red’s free limb. “You weren’t shitty,” she soothed him.

“I still could’ve tried harder,” Red replied, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Then what’s stopping you from trying again?” Honeydew urged. “Lion’s still young, and I’m still here.” She turned the case file on his desk upside down, hiding Iron Forge’s face from the world. “Or do you just get off on complaining all the damn time without actually trying to change anything?”

Red finally looked up at her, then at his desk. A small smile cracked his lips as he stood up.

“Hell with it,” he admitted. “It’s not like you can divorce me again.”

Honeydew let out a snort despite herself. “That’s the spirit,” she said, leading Red out of the office.

As he closed the door behind her and proceeded through the mostly silent floor of cubicles towards the door, Red hesitantly extended a wing and draped it over Honeydew’s shoulders. She stiffened briefly, then nestled up against him with a small sigh. The smile on Red’s face broadened as they proceeded through the doors to the stairway.

“That place on Thirteenth that you like still open?” he asked.

“The Coffee Corner. It’s still there, but I haven’t been there since we divorced,” Honeydew admitted.

“Me neither,” Red admitted. “Heck with it, my treat.”

Honeydew’s smile broadened as well as they started to descend the stairs. “I’d like that.”

The sun had only half-risen over the horizon, but Straight On ‘Til Morning was already pulling away from the docks of Portsbeak.

Captain Coral took a draught of pure black coffee from his flask, gently coaxing his ship past the buoys marking the boundaries of the No Wake Zone. He checked the chart spread out before him, rolling his cigarette from one side of his beak to the other as he considered his path to the target.

“Our best option would be to head to the Isles of Ice,” Coral stated to the mare next to him. “We can stop to refuel briefly, eat lunch, and be on our way.”

Daring Do nodded tersely. “Why couldn’t it have sunk closer to shore?” she grumbled, adjusting the life jacket that she and her companions were all wearing.

Out on the deck, Phillip tucked his trilby beneath his vests, then stuck a cigarette into his mouth and held it up to his lighter, taking a long drag on the smoke. He leaned against the railing, eyes scanning the other boats that bobbed up and down in the gentle waves. This early in the day, very few ships were actually moving about; Phil studied a passing lobster trawler, but the crew on board paid them no heed.

“Keep your eyes open,” he warned the other two ponies on the deck.

“Peeled like a hawk!” Autumn declared, shading her eyes with a hoof and peering from one side to another, glaring at every wave and cloud like Caballeron and his henchponies were hiding behind it.

Strider stared at her for a beat, then turned back to Phil, grasping the railing to steady himself as the engine kicked up with a roar and their yacht pulled away from the harbor at full speed, heading southeast towards the target area.

“At least the weather’s looking clear, right?” he said to Phil. “We should get there by mid-afternoon.”

Phil just grunted, one hoof going for the totem of Angkakert dangling from his neck, the wooden icon bouncing against his chest with every wave that the boat crested.

The hours dragged by, the endless dark blue sea washing away to the gray-washed horizons. Autumn kept up a running commentary on everything she saw and posited endless theories about how their journey might turn out, her enthusiasm undimmed by her companions’ curt replies. By the time the sun was approaching its zenith, a cluster of volcanic islands appeared on the southeastern horizon, clusters of multicolored cottages placed about the white surfaces like splotches of paint.

“The Isles of Ice,” Captain Coral nodded towards the snow-capped peaks.

They reached a dock that jutted out from the main island of Holtasoley, resting in the shadow of its massive volcano. The captain pulled the yacht into a fueling dock and set to refilling the tanks with the aid of the old, leather-skinned griffon dockmaster.

Daring thoughtfully chewed on their packed lunch of sandwiches, looking up at the great dome-shaped mountain. The mountain seemed to be stretching to touch the sky; clouds passed just over the white-covered top as if taunting it.

“This might have been what Brigantine saw when he rowed away,” she mused quietly.

Phil let out a quiet sigh. “Poor bastard.”

“Uh…” Autumn said, looking up from the notepad where she had been jotting down notes since the train ride to Baltimare. She glanced around to make sure that Captain Coral was still talking to the dockmaster, then leaned in.

“If we do get the amulet…well, you read about what it did to the crew,” she whispered. “What if we all start going cuckoo bananas on the way back?”

Daring, Phil, and Strider all exchanged glances. “You didn’t think of that?!” Autumn hissed.

“We’ll worry about that when it comes,” Daring replied. “Let’s worry about getting it out of Caballeron’s hooves first.”

Noting the tanks were full, Coral shook talons with the dockmaster and bid him goodbye before climbing back onboard. “All set to go?” he asked, receiving nods from all around. “Right, let’s be off,” he said, grabbing a sandwich for himself and heading for the pilothouse.

The yacht pulled away from the Isles of Ice and headed north, cruising through the waves with efficient speed. Most of the passengers watched the dark water with grim silence as the sun continued its inexorable path across the sky and the volcanic peaks to their south slowly dropped as if the mountains were crouching down behind the horizon.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Autumn insisted from the bow, noting the two stallions’ frowns. “We’re out here on the beautiful sea, it’s a nice, sunny day, and we’re on an adventure! C’mon, just take a deep breath of that sea air!”

She leaned over the bow, closed her eyes, and took in a long breath through her nostrils. Unfortunately, at that precise moment, the yacht crested a particularly high wave and splashed down hard, sending foam hurling up over the prow. The result was that instead of sea air, Autumn Blaze inhaled a significant amount of the sea. She doubled over the railing, coughing and spluttering.

“Think I’ll pass on that, thanks,” Strider said as he and Phil both snickered.

Autumn shook her dampened mane out of her face and grinned. “At least I finally got you two to smile!”

The growling of the yacht’s motors dimmed as the ship began to slow. “We’re here!” Daring called from out the pilothouse window. “We’re starting the scan now!”

“Whoo-hoo!” Autumn cheered, racing up to the pilothouse.

Daring turned on the sonar display on the control panel. After a moment of buzzing, a hazy green image appeared, revealing the contoured surface of the ocean floor deep beneath the sea, fish and underwater flora spread across the rolling stones.

“Okay, head north at a steady pace,” Daring instructed Coral. “After an hour, turn around and head south along the next line.”

“Aye-aye,” the captain nodded, holding his ship steady.

For hours, Straight On ‘Til Morning trawled the lonely expanse of the sea. Daring kept her eyes fixed on the sonar display for any sign of a wreck, occasionally glancing ponderously at the chart or the weather and ocean almanacs from the Historical Society. Autumn watched the display over Daring’s shoulder, pointing at anything that looked out of place with an excitement that was quickly smothered when Daring rejected them all. Strider and Phillip paced the decks, shivering in the frosty winds that blew across the water.

Finally, just as the sun was starting to kiss the western horizon and spread orange and red color across the sky, Daring leaned in closer to the screen. “Hold it,” she ordered, holding out a hoof to the Captain, who pulled back on the throttle.

Autumn leaned over Daring’s shoulder to squint at the image on the display: a long, almost avuncular shape beneath them.

“Autumn, the ship schematics!” Daring ordered.

Autumn leaped for the pile of books, charts, and notes on the table and grabbed a set of schematics for the Merry Celestia, unfurling them. Daring looked from the schematics to the display and back several times, tracing lines on the screen.

A grin slowly spread across her face. “There you are,” she announced.

Autumn let out an excited whoop and leaned out the pilothouse window. “We got it, boys!” she shouted to the others.

Coral dropped a sea anchor while Phillip, Strider, and Daring all prepared for their dive, donning thick black wetsuits and strapping on air tanks.

“Gonna be cold down there,” Phillip grumbled as he made sure his headlamp and the small glowstick attached to his belt were both working properly.

“That’s why we got the suits with the heat wards,” Strider replied, strapping a dive slate to his foreleg.

Daring tested her rebreather and nodded to find that it worked properly. She ensured that all the gear on her belt was accounted for: a knife, a set of underwater flares, a length of rope, a prybar, a flashlight, and spare batteries.

“Okay, boys,” she said, unfurling the blueprint of their brigantine for them to review once more. “The cabin where the passenger was staying was probably down here, to the stern of the hold. We’ll start our search there.”

“You know that they searched the ship when it was still above the water and didn’t find it?” Strider pointed out. “They could’ve just tossed it overboard.”

“Well, the passenger said before he died that he’d hidden it on the ship,” Daring replied, pulling her hood on and tucking her mane inside. “This is the only real lead we have.”

Strider sighed and donned his hood and goggles as well. “Well, I’ve run down slimmer leads,” he admitted, tugging on the flippers.

After a final check of each other’s gear to ensure that everything was secured and working properly, the trio put their rebreathers on and hopped off the back of the boat with three separate splashes. They floated for a moment, considering the churning darkness beneath them, the taste of rubber and canned air filling their mouths.

Coral glanced at the setting sun and shook his head. “You must be desperate to get whatever you’re after to risk wreck diving this late,” he said. “Be careful down there.”

“Good luck!” Autumn said, managing a smile despite the nervousness in her eyes.

Daring tapped her chest over her heart twice to signal that all was okay, a gesture that the two stallions both repeated. And with that, they deflated their buoyancy vests and sank beneath the water.

All sound was instantly snatched away, replaced by the low gurglings of the water and the hissing of their rebreathers. The three switched on their headlamps and the glowsticks and turned around to dive deeper into the water, gently kicking to push through the water, away from the safety of the boat above them and the fading glow of sunset.

As they swam down, Daring glanced around at them. She’d been diving before, both for amusement and for underwater treasure-seeking adventures with the Family; one of her favorites had been a swim through the tropical waters off Tahayti in search of a chest of allegedly cursed gold coins.

This was nothing like that jaunt. The water there had been warm and crystal clear beneath the sun, and everywhere one looked, there were vibrant colors of the underwater flora and fauna cavorting beneath the waves.

This water was beyond frigid; despite the gentle warmth that pervaded through their swimsuits, the cold assailed the exposed skin around their faces like thousands of tiny needles of ice. And it was dark, almost unnaturally so; the glow from their own artificial lights seemed pathetically dim in comparison to the empty shadows all around them. Beyond the boundaries of their lamps was an unsettling void of perfect nothingness, and the more Daring looked, the more she thought she saw dark shapes twisting and writhing just beyond the edge of her vision.

She shook it off. It was just her mind playing tricks on her.

A dark shadow beneath them slowly began to resolve into a shape, reluctantly pulled from the depths by the light of their headlamps. The old wooden brigantine lay on the port side, over a hundred feet from end to end; the masts had all snapped off and lay scattered about it, tattered remnants of the sails and riggings still clinging to them like sinew on ancient bones.

Daring swam to the bow of the ship, the tingling she felt in her hooves not related to the cold of the depths. Only a part of the bowsprit remained, ending in a jagged break like a snapped tooth; the figurehead beneath was nearly unrecognizable beneath the barnacles and slime that had overtaken the wood. Squinting at the wood through her lamp, she carefully brushed aside some of the undersea detritus to behold a name in faded but still legible lettering.

Merry Celestia.

A rush ran down her spine, both from excitement and trepidation. She looked back to the other two; though all she could see of them was their eyes, they both shared the same expression that she knew must be on her own face.

They swam across the deck of the ship, which was bare save for the remnants of the broken masts and some scattered rigging, making their way towards the stairs in the center of the deck. Phillip paused at the stairs and shined his light into the darkness beneath.

A shape lunged out of the darkness at him and he leaped back with a gasp, nearly dropping his rebreather as his hoof went for the knife on his belt.

The sleek shape swum lithely past him, the beady black eye set in the side of the hammer-shaped head regarding him with cool disinterest for a moment before moving on. Phillip exhaled, ordering his heart to return to its slower cadence.

Daring pulled a flare from her belt and pulled the plastic top off with a pop. The flare burst to life with a sputtering and a hiss, red flames shooting from the end. She carried the flare down the steps, the additional illumination revealing the remnants of the lower deck. A capstan was set up to the stern of the stairs, now overgrown with barnacles; towards the bow, hammocks were still set up as if awaiting the crew's return. Rusted and broken furniture, clothing, and other odds and ends lay or floated about in the water, abandoned by the crew.

Daring Do placed the flare on the side of the staircase, leaving it behind as a marker, then proceeded to swim around to the other set of stairs just behind it, with the stallions right behind her. At the bottom of the steps, she ignited another flare and wedged this one into the rickety steps.

The hold was a cavernous room, the light from their torches swallowed up by even thicker darkness. In the faint glow, the only feature that they could see was the detritus of several smashed-open barrels and a few rusted tools.

Daring pointed towards the stern and began to slowly swim into the darkness, sweeping the shadows with her headlamp. More broken barrels and the smashed remnants of crates were spread across the rotting wood.

Their lights fell upon a great hole in the side of the ship, the edges artificially smooth. Daring paused to study it for a moment, pondering what kind of desperation could have driven the surviving crew to sink their own ship in their bid to escape before swimming on.

A low creaking rumbled through the ship, causing the trio to freeze for a moment, looking about. A few fish darted away from the light, the only sign of any other life within the wreck.

Daring forced herself to relax. Just the wreck settling, she told herself, beckoning the others to follow her.

They reached the bulkhead at the back of the hold, pushing through a narrow passageway with doorways on either side. As Daring dropped another flare at the head of the hallway, Phillip pushed open the first door on the port side, shouldering it open and sweeping it with his headlamp.

The interior appeared to have once been the surgeon’s quarters: the center of the room had the ruins of a cot, and there were shelves on the walls. On the floor was an assortment of crushed bottles and vials, with the sodden remnants of some books scattered across them.

Phillip turned and made an X with his forelegs, tapping them together to indicate a negative. Strider pulled his head out of the other doorway and repeated the gesture.

Phillip swam a little further on to the next door and pushed this one open, shining his headlamp within.

An eyeless face leered at him from the darkness.

The earth pony's corpse floated near the back of the cramped cabin, forelegs outspread and jaw hanging open, intestines waving about like hideous underwater reeds. Patches of his reddish coat had been eaten away by time and predators to expose the ivory bones and the eyes had long vanished, leaving behind only the ragged holes, though the wheat-gold mane and tail were still intact, as well as the cutie mark of a horseshoe and a small hammer.

The trio of investigators all glanced at each other, the same thought in each other’s eyes: the passenger’s corpse looked as though it had been underwater for a few days at best, not nearly eighty years.

Shaking away the thought, Phillip took a flare from his belt and ignited it, dropping it onto the floor of the cabin. The cramped interior was spartan: a hammock, sliced in half, hung from one corner. A broken stool and smashed table lay against the opposite wall. The tattered remnants of a set of saddlebags lay near the floor, the ruined remnants of its contents scattered about: a rusted flask and a small compass, and some scraps of ruined papers orbiting the ruins of a journal.

While Daring waited at the door, Strider and Phil both entered the cabin, slowly sweeping every corner with their flashlights.

Strider studied the ruins of the journal, frowning at the tatters of the pages. He took the cover and studied it beneath his flashlight. A name was just barely legible on the inside of the pleather cover: Chris Cobbler.

So that’s who you were. Strider glanced over at the corpse and suppressed a shudder. He knew it was just his imagination, but the empty sockets seemed to be staring directly at him, the guts tugged about by unseen eddies.

Doing his best to ignore it, he poked through the rest of the saddlebags, then made his way over to the remnants of the hammock and searched through the fabrics.

In the meantime, Phillip performed a thorough search of the desk, pulling out every drawer and checking the interiors, but finding nothing. He grimaced in frustration, shaking his head. Where the hell could he have--?

He and Strider turned towards the corpse floating in the middle of the room. The passenger was wearing a hooded cloak about his shoulders: large sections had been eaten away by time and water, but their flashlights both focused on a strange bulge in the pocket.

Both of them looked at the rotten disemboweled corpse, then at each other. Strider shook his head and made an X with his forelegs, backing away a bit.

Phillip rolled his eyes and let out a sigh that came out as a cascade of bubbles. He swam over to the body and reached out to rifle through the pocket. His hoof clenched around something hard and he pulled it out to examine it.

It was a long ivory pipe with an oversized bowl. A three-masted boat was scrimshawed into the bowl, and the chamber still had some tobacco in it. Someone had crudely hacked what appeared to be glyphs into the inside of the bowl and there was a suspiciously dark stain around the rim of the bowl and on the stem.

Phillip studied the pipe, trying not to notice that the eyeless face had turned towards him, then looked over at the ruined saddlebags. Noting the lack of tobacco or any other smoking implements within the mess, he held up his diving slate and wrote down a message on it. He turned it so that the others could see the glowing letters.

Not his. Sailor’s?

Daring frowned at the pipe. Where had she read about something like that…?

An idea flashed through her mind. She scribbled down a reply on her own diving slate.

2nd mate!

She turned and swam back up the hallway, following the flickering red glow of the flare set into the stairs. Phillip followed her out; Strider exited behind him, pausing briefly at the doorway and telling himself he was just being silly as he closed the door behind them, casting one last glance back at the corpse staring back at him from the flickering, reddish light.

The trio made their way back up the stairs to the lower deck and Daring took the lead in heading towards the forecastle in the bow. Dropping another flare at the entrance to the hallway of cabins, she paused briefly to orient herself, then pointed at the foremost cabin on the starboard side. She tried to push it open, but the door refused to budge: after a moment, she realized that it was locked.

Pulling out her knife, she jimmied the blade into the latch and started to pry it back and forth. After a few moments of work, the lock gave and she pushed the door open with a grunt of effort, shining her headlamp up into the cabin.

The second mate’s cabin was larger and much better equipped than the passenger’s had been. A larger cot was set in one corner, opposite a larger desk. Stationery, books, and navigational equipment floated about in the water, and a trunk sat enigmatically at the foot of the cot.

Igniting another flare and placing it against the wall next to the door, Daring and Phil both swam up into the cabin and began to search. While Phillip made his way to the desk, Daring tossed through the cot, then checked underneath it, finding nothing.

Daring then turned to the locked trunk. Taking out her prybar, she inserted one end into the latch as Strider entered to help. He pushed the trunk down onto the floor as Daring braced herself against the wall, then pushed as hard as she could.

The trunk groaned and cracked, but did not give. Daring took in a breath, reset herself, and began again, straining against the rusted contraption.

With a snap and an explosion of bubbles, the trunk’s lock finally surrendered and allowed them to open it. Fit inside were some neatly folded jackets, spare horseshoes, and other odds and ends, including several large sealed jars of pipe tobacco and a set of waterproofed matches.

Daring immediately focused on the tobacco. She picked up one can and rattled it. Nothing. She tossed it aside and repeated the process with the next two cans, achieving the same effect.

But when she shook the fourth one, a metallic rattling answered her. All three of them paused and turned to stare at the tobacco tin as Daring fumbled for a moment with her gloved hooves, then pried it open.

Set inside was a triangular black amulet, wings spread from the tips and the silhouette of a unicorn’s head set atop it, the carved eye glaring out at them. There was a setting for a gem in the center of the construct, but the ruby that it had housed was absent. A cord attached to the amulet allowed one to wear it about their neck.

Daring touched the Alicorn’s Amulet and winced as a biting pain like teeth made of ice seared through her hooves, instantly releasing it. Phillip, his eyes widening slightly, pointed at her and tapped his foreleg with his other hoof twice to ask if she was okay. Daring shook her head and tapped her chest twice, then took the amulet more gingerly. The metal was far colder than the water around it, penetrating even the heating wards of her wetsuit, but it was bearable as long as she was careful. She twisted the amulet to examine it under her light, noting a set of scratches along one side of the setting.

Daring pocketed the Alicorn’s Amulet and pumped her foreleg up three times, indicating that it was time for them to head to the surface. The stallions both nodded in agreement. One by one, they swam out of the cabin, turned towards the hallway to return to the stairway, and froze.

The passenger’s corpse was floating at the entrance to the forecastle. His head was turned towards them and in the sputtering red glow of the flare, the eyeless face seemed to be glaring at them, one hoof outstretched as if to seize them and mouth open in a silent howl of rage.

The three of them glanced at each other nervously, then Daring swam down the hall. She hesitated for a moment, then scoffed at herself and prodded at the corpse with her prybar, moving it out of the way. She turned and beckoned with her head for the others to follow, then continued on, trying not to shudder when a slimy intestine brushed against her arm. As she made her way to the foot of the stairs, she spotted another hammerhead shark swimming back and forth at the entrance. It glared at her for a moment, then swam on with a disdainful wave of its angular tail.

The three swam back up the stairs and out of the wreck, reemerging into the boundless voids of the sea. Strider glanced back at the ship, then repeatedly shook his head and made an X with his forelegs.

Phil and Daring both nodded in agreement. Daring checked to ensure that the Alicorn Amulet was still secured to her belt and began swimming with her two partners.

The sea floor turned into dark, indistinct shapes beneath them as they swam up, the void swallowing up everything else around them. The silent darkness pressed down upon them as they swam up; no light from above penetrated down this deep.

Daring glanced at the display attached to her tank. The depth meter clearly indicated that they were definitely going up, and her air tanks were still almost one-third full. Everything was fine. Everything was fine…

What was that? She glanced down, certain that she’d seen something moving within the abyss beneath. Was--?

Swim faster.

She pumped herself harder, kicking her legs for all that they were worth. The stallions followed her at the same desperate speed, not daring to look back.

The cold air burned; sucking down breaths took greater effort.

Faster.

They clawed with their forelegs, kicking frantically, any thought beyond escape from the emptiness banished from their minds. Phillip had to stop himself from unclipping his air tank to try to decrease his weight.

Faster!

Too late. It was behind them, rushing up inexorably like a train…

They burst through the surface, the night air embracing them like a comforting hug. Ripping out their rebreathers, they hovered in the water for a few moments, gasping for breath.

A blinding light seared into their eyes but quickly resolved itself into Autumn Blaze, shining a flashlight down at them from the back of the boat. “Are you okay?!” she cried. “What happened?”

The sight of the other ponies and the first stars starting to emerge from the sky was instantly soothing to the three divers. “We’re aces,” Phillip said, swimming over to the back of the boat and waiting for the other two to climb back on board.

“You find what you were looking for?” Captain Coral asked, helping them climb back onto the safety of the boat.

“We did,” Daring nodded, patting the opaque bag secured to her belt.

“Yay!” Autumn Blaze cheered, then instantly stopped with a look of sudden realization, her eyes going to the bag like it contained a live venomous serpent. “Uh, wait…”

“It’ll be fine,” Daring said in an undertone.

“This mean we can head back?” Captain Coral asked.

“Yeah,” Strider said, starting to strip off his gear.

“Bloody brilliant,” Coral said, heading back up to the pilothouse. “I heated up dinner for you, it’s in the cabin. I’ll get us headed back to Holtasoley.”

Phillip’s stomach growled loudly at the mention of food, drawing relieved chuckles from the group. “Ripper,” he declared, getting his wetsuit off and grabbing his clothes and lifejacket from where he’d left them.

Autumn tossed them all warm towels and helped them carry their gear back into the cabin as the engine sputtered to life. “So what was it like? Was it scary? Were there sharks? Where’d you find it? Tell me everything, and feel free to go on long tangents!”

“Food first, talk later,” Daring said, making her way through a galley to a table where a steaming pot of stew and a stack of bowls were waiting. A used bowl and spoon were in the sink, the leftovers of the captain’s meal.

“Glad he was confident that we were coming back,” Strider commented, sliding into a cushioned seat and spooning himself a large bowl of stew, which he dug into with great fervor. “Ahh, that hits the spot,” he sighed in satisfaction.

Daring sat down with a groan, tilted her pith helmet back, and pulled out the bag with their prize, dropping it on the table with a clunk as the boat’s motors pulled it through the water.

“So…what about the gem?” she asked quietly.

“It wasn’t removed by the crew,” Strider stated. “They didn’t find the amulet. Maybe the passenger did it?”

“We might have to go back and search again,” Phillip said through spoonfuls.

“Maybe the gem was removed before he left,” Daring mused, looking at the bag with the amulet inside rather than her bowl.

“What’s the big deal?” Autumn said, slurping down the rest of her stew and going for a second helping. “We got the Amulet, right? We just need to get it somewhere safe from Cab…uh…lair…”

She paused, blinking heavily. The kirin yawned heavily, then flopped onto the table, snoring loudly.

Daring blinked in surprise. “Wow. She must’ve been really ti--” She turned to the other two and froze.

Strider had sagged in his seat, his eyes closed. Phillip was struggling to keep his eyes open, his head lolling.

He shoved Daring’s bowl away from her with a great effort. “Druuuh,” he slurred, then flopped facedown onto the table and started snoring.

Daring held her bowl up to her nose and sniffed. Just beneath the mixed flavors of the vegetables and braised hay, she detected a faint but distinctly bitter odor. Some kind of sleeping potion?

Lights out the window. Daring looked outside to see a speedboat pulling up next to their yacht, which was slowing to greet them. Ponies leaped from the other vessel onto their own, all of them armed with pistols.

Fuck.

Author's Note

Been looking forward to writing this chapter. Really does start to feel more like a Daring Do story, doesn't it?

Originally, Caballeron was supposed to ambush them using a necklace that allowed him to psychically control sharks and fish, but that plan had to be scrapped. Would've been cool, but it didn't work well in my head and I thought it might be jumping the you-know-what.

Hope you enjoyed! Be sure to leave a like and a comment if you did!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Six: Stories to Tell

Hoofsteps stomped onto the deck, coming closer; the clacks of weapon bolts sounded in her ears. “¿Listos?” Caballeron’s voice came from outside.

Seconds. Daring quickly spooned some stew from her bowl back into the serving bowl, then laid her head down on the table and forced herself to relax, closing her eyes despite her better instincts. One hoof drifted down to the stockwhip at her belt, resting next to the handle.

The door crashed open. Metal clattered as gun barrels were swept across the room. Daring wrestled with her thumping heart to keep her breathing steady, her body still.

“Look at that,” a gravelly voice with a tinge of a Las Pegasus accent around the corners said. “All four of ‘em, sound asleep.”

“You did well, captain,” Caballeron’s oozing voice came, accompanied by hoofsteps entering the room.

The scent of Kahlua scratched at Daring’s nostrils as the mercenary archaeologist stepped forward. Metal skittered as he retrieved the Alicorn Amulet.

“And so, we see that there is nothing that the great Daring Do can find that I cannot take away,” he declared, the smug smirk on his face audible as he extracted the amulet from the bag.

Daring kept herself still, listening to the shuffling hoofsteps and quiet breathing of the five thugs. Not yet…

Caballeron let out a thoughtful hum. “Shame about the gem. We’ll have to keep looking for that,” he mused.

“Does it really matter?” another voice snorted. “So it’s missing a stone, we still got the amulet.”

“The gem is absolutely necessary,” Biff’s voice cut in. “Without a focus like that, the energy in the amulet will be impossible to direct and control.”

“No matter,” Caballeron declared; the chain of the amulet rattled faintly as though he were donning it around his own neck. “It may take a little longer than anticipated, but we’ll still find it all the same. Just need to keep searching the village.”

“What about them?” a Trottish-accented voice snarled. “You know what the boss wants with them.”

The leather of his holster thumped as he pushed his sidearm into it, then the long snnnkt of a blade being drawn scraped against Daring’s ears and her heart dropped into her stomach. Her hoof inched towards the leather handle of her stockwhip.

“Hold, Rogue,” Caballeron ordered. “Our client has stated that he would like them dead, but if we have the opportunity, we can try to bring them in alive. And I would call this an opportunity.”

“You do remember what happened the last time we tried that,” Rogue snarled. Heavy hoofsteps creaked against the floor as the heavy stallion trotted over to where Daring knew that Phil was laying. “No, I say we finish it right--”

Fire rushed through Daring’s blood and she rose, drawing her whip back with a snarl. Caballeron and his thugs turned, eyes bulging and jaws dropping in disbelief as Daring snapped her whip down. The crack of the whip mixed with Rogue’s bellow of pain as the knife was knocked from his grasp.

“You bitch!” Rogue snarled, leaping at Daring before she could draw her sidearm.

She caught him and twisted with a grunt of effort and a push of her wings, barreling into Caballeron, Withers, and Biff. All four of her targets scattered like bowling pins with grunts and oaths of frustration, tumbling in her wake.

Another flap of her wings sent Daring flipping through the air, landing at the entrance to the galley where Coral stood, his beak still hanging open.

It was like an open invitation. Daring’s hoof cracked against his beak in midair, sending the traitorous captain flying back into the rail of his ship, clutching his face and howling in agony.

Even before her leg retracted, Daring was flicking her left wrist out. Her boomerang whistled as it cut through the air, ricocheting off of Biff’s forehead to knock into Withers’ foreleg, knocking his pistol wide.

Daring Do slid her left hoof into the strap of the revolver resting in her shoulder holster and snapped it up at her foes, allowing her boomerang to spin past her and clatter against the wall behind her. “None of you move!”

Her targets froze, staring at her in furious bewilderment. The blow to Biff’s forehead had knocked his fedora off and it lay on the floor next to his dropped pistol; Withers’ pistol was still strapped securely to his foreleg, but it was pointed at the ground uselessly. Caballeron was still laying on the floor, glaring at her upside-down; the Alicorn Amulet was secured around his neck. Rogue had started to rise to his hooves, but the appearance of Daring’s gun had forced him to halt. The knife in his foreleg, nearly as long as his arm, glimmered threateningly beneath the galley light, as though the steel had caught aflame.

“Guns on the floor, now!” Daring ordered, her weapon sweeping across Withers and Caballeron.

Rogue snarled, but obediently dropped his knife and his pistol on the floor next to Biff's pistol with a clatter.

“Things just had to be going too well,” Withers grumbled, removing his own weapon and dropping it.

“Kick ‘em under the table,” Daring ordered, gesturing with her weapon.

Caballeron obediently kicked the guns beneath the long table with a scowl.

“All right, you four, into the hold,” Daring continued. “You--”

A hoofstep behind her reminded her of Captain Coral too late. The hippogriff slammed into her like a cannonball, expelling the breath from her lungs as she was driven to the ground, rolling with the blow to get herself on top.

“Get her!” Caballeron roared as he and his thugs all pounced upon her in a flurry of snarls and limbs. Daring tucked her limbs in, grimacing as blows hammered against her bones, wriggling away from every attempt to grab her.

“Get off!” Daring roared, ramming her elbow into Coral’s gut, the ribs cracking beneath the blow. The wind whooshed out of his fractured jaw; his grip on her loosened and she quickly wiggled out of the grasp, knocking him out with a final blow to the temple.

Blocking a strike from Biff and replying with a kick to the chest that left him coughing, Daring lashed out with her left. Withers’ nose exploded in a crimson shower and he reeled back, howling as his glasses fell off. “Shit, shit! I can’t see!” Withers grimaced, fumbling about on the ground.

“Hold still!” Caballeron growled, grabbing Daring’s foreleg and ripping the pistol from her grasp, flinging it away with a triumphant snarl. His animalistic grin was quickly erased when Daring’s right hoof crashed into his face; he withdrew with a howl, clutching his bloody face.

“Out of the way!” Rogue snarled, lunging with his knife.

“Shit!” Daring hissed, rolling out of the way almost too late: a shock of cold pain ran down her body as the blade scratched across the layer of dragon scales in her vest.

She thumped against the table where the others sat, the bowl of stew rattling with her blow. Her heart thumping frantically, Daring scrambled back to her hooves and turned just in time to see Caballeron’s knee racing towards her face.

In the heartbeat before the blow came, Daring had just enough time to grit her teeth, lower her head, and lean into the strike. It still felt like being struck on the forehead with a sledgehammer; her skull cracked against Autumn’s chair, her vision whiting out as pain flooded her cranium; her pith helmet fell from her head to the floor next to her.

Shaking her head, Daring willed her vision to return to her, the world reappearing in a blur of color. The vague green and brown shape that she took for Caballeron was lunging in for a second strike and she replied with a firm kick to the gut that sent him stumbling back with a wheeze. Grabbing the table, she started to haul herself back to her hooves.

Rogue’s hoofsteps crashed in like miniature earthquakes; her vision cleared enough to catch the horrific grin on his face as he drew back the blade.

In desperation, Daring grabbed the only thing she had at hoof and raised it in the path of the incoming knife. The knife thumped loudly as it embedded itself in her pith helmet.

“Back off!” Daring snarled, twisting to bring the blade down onto the table, her elbow crashing into Rogue’s jaw with the same motion. He reeled away with a grunt, spitting blood and letting go of his weapon.

Snkkt.

Daring gasped as the second blade came down towards her face, Rogue’s bloody grin behind it. On reflex alone, Daring reached up to parry the attack.

Blade met flesh and blood flew with a cry of pain.

“Yeow!” Autumn Blaze yelped, the pain of the stab to her arm jolting her awake. She blinked at the brawl taking place before her, confusion and shock mixing with the sleepiness in her eyes.

Rogue’s free hoof bashed Daring on the head and she stumbled away with a wave of renewed dizziness, the ship seemingly tilting beneath her like a carnival ride.

Iron hooves wrapped around her chest with a python-like grip. “Gotcha!” Biff shouted, squeezing so tight that Daring felt her ribs cracking.

“Hold her still!” Rogue growled, closing in. He raised his weapon triumphantly and stabbed at Daring's neck.

The blade was stopped in midair by a hoof.

A coal-black hoof wreathed in red and blue flames.

Rogue froze, eyes widening in disbelief at the fiery monster before him. The hate-filled pure white eyes locked onto his as the blood of her knife wound boiled off her flesh. A metallic hissing filled the air, accompanied by acrid smoke. He turned and a choked noise of disbelief escaped his throat when he saw that the knife blade was melting in the nirik’s hoof.

Autumn Blaze’s scowl turned into a predatory sneer, accompanied by a rumbling growl.

“Ach, shite,” Rogue gulped.

A moment later, the hulking thug was flying back through the air, howling as enchanted flames licked at his coat.

“Fuck me!” Biff cried, letting go of Daring in shock and promptly paying for his mistake when she kicked him in the gut and sent him rolling back into a counter; the pots and pans rattled as he quickly pulled himself back to his hooves.

Daring lunged at him, but he managed to grab a pan from the counter, smacking her hooves aside and whacking her in the nose. Pain flooded Daring’s face, warm blood filling the nostrils of her broken nose as she roared in pain, blindly swinging at Biff and forcing him to retreat.

“Out, out!” Caballeron ordered from the door, already making good on his escape, drops of blood marking his retreat. Biff and Rogue followed him out, yelping in terror, the latter slapping at the last few flames that danced about his scorched body.

“Get back here!” Autumn roared as she and Daring gave chase.

Withers, who had recovered his sunglasses, seized a fire extinguisher next to the door, yanked out the pin, and sprayed it at his pursuers. Both mares halted, coughing and sputtering as cold foam coated them both.

“Gack! Ptoo! Fuck!” Daring gagged as the chemical taste invaded her mouth and burned at her eyes.

Autumn bellowed, her flames burning with greater intensity in response to her rage, evaporating all the foam coating her. Withers yelped and threw the extinguisher at her, not even pausing to watch his desperate gambit completely miss.

The speedboat that they had used to board their target vessel was bobbing in the water next to the yacht, the engine already chugging in readiness. Biff and Rogue had already boarded; Caballeron was waiting for Withers, waving him in like a linepony pointing the runner towards home plate.

He felt a gush of hot wind behind him and sped up, but it was too late. Autumn Blaze slammed Withers against the railing as she charged Caballeron.

“Gimme that!” she snarled, biting down on the Alicorn Amulet and trying to pry it away from him.

“Let go!” Caballeron replied, tugging back. The amulet hissed and began to smoke faintly, the metal warped by the enchanted fire.

The sound of hoofsteps behind her made Autumn turn just in time to see Withers charging at her, swinging a life preserver like a flail.

The heavy blow knocked her against the railing. As one, Withers and Caballeron grabbed the dazed Autumn and shoved her over the railing, sending her into the water with a cry of alarm and a splash.

Spitting and wiping foam from her eyes, Daring stumbled out of the galley just in time to see the rest of the thugs leaping into the speedboat, cutting the ropes securing it to the yacht, and speeding away with a roar.

But before she spread her wings, she heard splashing from overboard. “Help! Help!” Autumn Blaze cried between coughs and sputters, flailing in the water.

Daring looked around and spotted the dropped life preserver. She grabbed it in her mouth and tossed it over the side. “Autumn, here!”

Autumn paddled over and clung to the preserver, panting; even with the aid of the preserver, she was still struggling to hold her head above water, exhaustion and the drug sapping her strength.

Daring glanced at the sight of the enemy boat retreating into the darkness with a scowl, but her wings didn’t so much as twitch. She grabbed the rope and hauled Autumn over to the boat and up over the side. The soaking wet kirin sagged on top of her, panting and shivering.

“You okay?” Daring asked, checking Autumn over for any additional injuries. There was blood running down her foreleg from the knife wound and from the crack on her skull, but other than that, she appeared to be alright.

“F-f-f-fine,” Autumn said through chattering teeth.

Daring Do glanced up and scowled to see that there was no sign of Caballeron’s boat anywhere. “Dammit,” she sighed.

“Y-you’ll g-g-get ‘em,” Autumn tried to reassure her as Daring led her back into the galley where Phillip and Strider were still asleep in their chairs. She grabbed a towel from the pile of dripping gear and wrapped it around herself like a burrito.

A groan informed Daring that Coral was starting to wake up. Daring stalked over to the traitor and seized him by the throat, hauling him up and slamming him against the counter.

“When did they hire you?” she snarled, fire racing through her veins.

Coral gaped up at her, his eyes wide and terrified. “Th-they approached me four days ago,” he gasped out, shivering. “Th-the blind one and the one in the hat. H-Hired me in advance to take ‘em out to the Celestia once they figured out where it was.”

“And was drugging us part of the deal?” Daring growled.

Coral let out a choked noise that was partway between a gasp and a yelp. “Th-they just told me you might be s-snooping around! L-Last night, I called ‘em and told them you hired me; later that night, they came around in a boat of their own and gave me the s-sleeping potion, said they’d pay me d-d-double! It’s n-nothing p-p-personal!” he pleaded, his voice rising higher and higher.

“You made it personal,” Daring snapped and slammed Coral’s head against the stone countertop hard enough to crack it. The hippogriff sagged to the ground, unconscious once more.

Daring stomped back onto the deck just long enough to grab some rope, which she used to bind the traitorous captain.

“W-what n-n-now?” Autumn asked, clinging to her towel.

“Now we have to get back to land and get to Saddleshire,” Daring said, pulling out her first aid kit and tending to her and Autumn’s injuries. “They did let one thing slip: they weren’t surprised that the gem was missing.”

Autumn’s eyes brightened a bit. “Th-they knew th-that it’d b-b-be missing,” she concluded, her shivering starting to abate.

“Exactly,” Daring nodded, finishing wrapping a gauze roll around Autumn’s foreleg. “And it’s probably back in Maredale Green.”

She glanced at the snoring stallions. “See if you can wake them up,” she said, exiting the galley. “I’m gonna start getting us back to Portsbeak.”

Autumn looked at Phil and Strider, humming in thought, then looked around the room. Her eyes settled on a cooking pot on the countertop, then went to the cold water handle on the sink. “Aha!”

“Iron Forge, you are a hard pony to find,” Red Herring grumbled from behind the wheel of his car, glaring at the quaint blue cottage that sat in the midst of a suburban block in the Everfree District. “Look at this place, Sentry. Way too cute to be a mob boss’ place.”

“Probably why he’s been staying there,” Flash said from the passenger seat.

“Just lucky that somepony saw him,” Red said.

A silver Specter turned the corner from up ahead and pulled into the driveway, the highly waxed body reflecting the glow of the streetlamps. The driver’s door opened and a tall, lanky gold unicorn extracted himself from the seat. He glared at the parked Diplomat, then opened the rear door.

A bulky unicorn with a coat the color of steel emerged from the car and turned towards them. Iron Forge’s ruffled black beard and mane were streaked with gray; his cold blue-gray eyes flashed at them through a pair of thick glasses as he adjusted his thick jacket.

Iron Forge and his bodyguard proceeded to the door of the cottage. The gang leader paused at the threshold and beckoned them with his head before heading inside.

“Well, guess that means he wants to talk,” Red commented, exiting the car, shivering slightly in the biting night wind. He and his partner proceeded to the door, which opened before them. The gold unicorn looked them up and down with a scowl, then stepped aside to allow them entry.

The cottage was fully furnished with comfortable, high-end furniture, but there were no decorations on the wall, no photographs to identify the owners. A living room featured a collection of chintzy couches surrounding a coffee table, with a standing radio in the corner; the combined kitchen and dining room had a long mahogany table where Iron Forge was sitting, straight-backed and his hooves folded on the table as though this were simply a business interview.

“So how’d you find me?” Iron Forge asked, levitating over four mugs and a percolating carafe of coffee from the kitchen. He poured the steaming coffee into the cups, keeping eye contact with Red the entire time.

“Bad luck on your part,” Red said, taking a seat across from him. “Somepony saw your car out on the street and reported it.”

Iron Forge let out a quiet hum and took a sip of his coffee. His bodyguard levitated his cup over to him and took a sip, leaning against the wall across from them. He kept his gaze on Flash, who stood at the kitchen threshold, keeping his eyes on both unicorns.

“I assume you want to talk about poor Steel Bar,” Iron Forge sighed.

“How about you talk us through what happened?” Red nodded, accepting the offered coffee cup.

“Steel Bar summoned me that afternoon, saying that he needed to see me urgently. When I got to his home, he was quite distressed.” Iron was ponderously silent for a moment, then continued. “We…were having a disagreement with a client.”

“This disagreement wouldn’t happen to be regarding the Sealight Delight, would it?” Red asked.

“Detective Herring, please,” Iron Forge stated. “I don’t discuss business with outsiders.” He took another sip before continuing. “When we left two hours later, we finally had agreed to…stay the course for the moment and see where that took us. And I promise you, he was still alive when I left.”

“What did you think you should do about your...problem?” Red stated in a tone that made it very clear that he was not fooled by the metaphor for a moment.

“I thought that it would be better if we moved past a previous…misunderstanding and see what opportunities we could gain from this,” Iron explained. “Steel, however, was considering severing connections with our client. It took a great deal for me to convince him that that would cause us more problems down the line.”

“You two disagree a lot?” Red asked.

Iron Forge’s eyebrows narrowed a bit. “If you’re trying to insinuate that I wanted to kill him, let me assure you, Detective, that Steel and I had mutual respect for each other and we both knew our roles.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Red pressed.

Iron Forge sighed. “Yes, we’d been disagreeing more frequently with each other recently,” he admitted. “About several subjects, including how to run our businesses. And I feel I should admit, I was the one who first approached him to suggest we take this client on.”

“Hmm,” Red mused. “This client…is he dangerous? Was Steel scared of him?”

“Very,” Iron Forge replied. “And honestly, I don’t blame him.”

“Are you scared of him?” Red leaned forward.

A heavy silence stretched out between the stallions, then Iron Forge stood up, his face stony.

“Detectives, I know I can’t prove it, but I did not kill Steel Bar,” he declared. “I did not have anypony else kill him for me. I had no desire to kill him and I do not know who killed him. Now, if you have any further questions, I would suggest that you contact my attorney.” He passed over an embossed business card.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Red replied, taking the business card and taking a final sip of the coffee. “Thank you for the drink. And if I were you, I’d have eyes in the back of my head.”

“I learned to have those years ago,” Iron Forge stated as his bodyguard escorted the two detectives to the door. As the two detectives stepped back out into the night, the door closed and locked behind them.

“What do you think?” Flash asked as they made their way back to the car, crunching through the slush covering the ground.

“Well, he did basically admit that he had a reason to kill Steel,” Red replied. “At this point, we just have his word that he didn’t kill him.”

Flash glanced around at the trees surrounding the cottages, bare branches laid with snow groaning and creaking as they swayed in the slow wind. There were no other vehicles or passersby on the streets and several windows were dark, no sign of any occupancy behind the drawn shutters and windows. The only sound was the creaking of the branches and the constant buzzing of the streetlamps that competed with the starlight overhead.

The fluttering of wings above made his heart leap into his throat. His head snapped up to an overhanging branch. A pair of black eyes stared back at him.

It took Flash a moment to process the peaked head and the small red wings and he sighed in relief.

“It’s just a cardinal,” Red scolded, rolling his eyes. “Come on, we need to speak to Steno Pad again.”

Flash sighed and climbed into the car, closing the door with a little more force than necessary and fastening his seatbelt. As Red started the car and headed down the straight, he glanced at the blue cottage fading into the rearview mirror, as still and dark and silent as its neighbors.

If he’d looked a little closer, he might have seen the large black bird perched atop the streetlight across the street.

The Straight On ‘Til Morning lived up to its name: by the time the sun was halfway over the eastern horizon, painting the sky in vivid reds and oranges, the yacht was pulling into the dock at Portsbeak, engine coughing to a slow stop. Strider hopped off the boat onto the dock and caught the ropes that Autumn tossed him, hauling the boat and securing it to the cleat.

In the pilothouse, Daring pulled the throttle all the way back and turned off the ignition, then sagged against the dashboard with a groan, rubbing her exhausted eyes. “Finally,” she groaned.

Behind her, Phillip Finder sipped from his own heavily sugared coffee but kept the prisoner in the corner of his gaze. Coral looked up from the chair that he was bound to but quickly wilted beneath the icy glare that Phil gave him.

“Well, look who it is,” Daring scowled, glaring at the two ponies coming up the dock. Detective Rule Enforcer at least looked like he was well-rested, judging by the perfectly trimmed mustache. By contrast, Constable Sunwall looked like she was running off of four hours of sleep and a half-gallon of coffee, going by her ruffled feathers and red-rimmed eyes.

“Up,” Phillip snarled, cutting the ropes securing Coral to the chair and seizing him by the back of his neck. Coral whimpered as he was lifted to his hooves and carried down the steps and onto the deck.

The detective watched impassionately as his prisoner was passed over to him. “Five against one and you still lost,” he observed, placing cuffs on the hippogriff. Coral just hung his head in defeat as he was passed off to the constable.

“Any word from Saddleshire?” Phillip asked.

“The two ponies who stole the ship’s log were seen in Saddleshire about a week ago, asking around about local legends,” Constable Sunwall replied. “They were apparently spending a lot of time at a local library, researching local history.”

“Thank you, Constable,” Phillip nodded.

Sunwall flushed a bit with pride, ignoring Rule Enforcer’s scowl. “The local bobbies are starting to narrow down their search area for wherever they were hanging their hats,” she reported. “They’re checking every inn and motel for miles around.”

“Maybe they’ll catch them before we get there,” Strider posited.

“And maybe yaks will grow wings,” Daring snorted, then yawned. “C’mon, we gotta get moving to Saddleshire.”

“Well, love to stay and chat, but we got a train to catch, treasure to hunt down, and bad guys to catch!” Autumn chirped, bouncing off with the others in tow.

“If we could isolate what she runs off and sell it, we’d make millions,” Daring grumbled, leaning against Phillip.

Phillip smiled faintly and hoisted his wife up onto his shoulders. “Sleep,” he ordered her.

His reply was a faint mumble of protest that quickly turned into snoring. Phillip just chuckled and carried her on towards the train station.

Saddleshire demonstrated itself to be the quintessential Griffish village, with gabled rooftops spanning either side of the rolling cobblestone streets coated with slush and snow. A few cars drifted up and down the roads, traveling in the shadows of wood and brick that had stood since long before the flag of Equestria was planted over the nation. Smoke from the chimneys rose up into the late afternoon sky, blending with the low-hanging clouds that were streaked across the sky like broad brush strokes.

“We’ve been looking ever since you called us about the rental car,” the chocolate brown jenny explained, blowing some of the argent mane dangling out from beneath her cap out of her face with an abashed puff. Detective Sergeant Milly Star had agreed to meet them at the small, single-platform train station and was now leading them up one of the main streets. Ponies, donkeys, griffons, and hippogriffs all nodded hello as the group passed.

“I can’t understand how they can hide from us!” the detective groused, brushing some snow from the shoulder of her uniform. “You’d think that it'd be kind of hard to hide in a town of only thirty thousand ponies.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Phillip reassured her. “These are experts. Know all the tricks.”

Milly puffed. “Well, we won’t give up, I promise you that.”

“Good onya,” Phillip nodded.

“Have you checked around Maredale Green?” Strider asked.

Milly Star gasped and jumped so high that her cap fell off and tumbled onto the sidewalk; a few ponies passing by them whirled on him with dirty looks.

“Careful where you mention that place!” Milly hissed, retrieving her cap and brushing it off. “It’s taboo.” She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Why would they want to go down there? That place is cursed; the only ponies who go down there are kids on dares or thrillseekers.”

“They’re looking for something there,” Daring replied, stretching out her wings with a satisfying popping and cracking of joints. The few hours of sleep she’d grabbed on the train there had been beneficial.

Milly rolled her eyes. “The Alicorn Amulet?” she asked in a quiet tone. “The Green has been searched dozens of times over the years and nopony has found it. You ask me, the amulet is just a myth.”

“They don’t think it is,” Phillip said. “Where’s the town library?”

“Down this road, left at the fountain, and right at the crabapple orchard,” Milly pointed.

“Thanks,” Daring nodded as they set out.

Saddleshire Library turned out to be a sizable two-story brick building that sat within walking distance of the school. A flagpole stood outside the building, the flags of Equestria and the Griffish Isles listlessly waving in the late afternoon breeze.

The group of four entered, all of them briefly wincing at the harsh clack of their horseshoes on the stone floor intruding upon the peaceful atmosphere within. A sleepy-looking gray-maned thestral blinked up at them from behind the desk; the nametag on the desk identified her as Pressed Daffodil.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Daring Do briefly introduced themselves. “You know about the theft of the ship’s log from Portsbeak?”

Daffodil scowled. “Yes. The police were here asking about the two thieves.” She sighed. “If I had known what they were up to, I would never have helped them.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Daring said. “But if we’re going to stop them, we’re going to need to know what you told them.”

The librarian took a breath and nodded, rising from her chair. “Come with me,” she gestured, moving around the desk and heading up a nearby flight of stairs.

The room that they found themselves in featured long tables with many chairs and reading lamps set in between four shelves of battered and aged books and photo albums, faded titles announcing that the tomes detailed every aspect of the history of Saddleshire and the areas beyond. Framed up on the wall were paintings, maps, and black and white photographs.

“Oh, wow!” Autumn chirped, her attention grabbed by a picture of an incongruous arrangement of granite stones that stood in the midst of a bog. The roughly hewn monoliths stood in a formed circle like soldiers awaiting a command, surrounding a large flat-topped stone. Symbols and cuneiform were etched into the stone.

“Founder's Monoliths. That stone circle has been in Founder’s Bog since before this town was settled in the fourth century,” Pressed Daffodil explained, browsing through the bookshelf. “Nopony’s really sure who made it or why, but the first Alicorns’ Witnesses who settled here used it for their worship until an official church was founded.”

“Why would they use it for themselves?” Autumn asked.

“Because they believed that there was power in those stones. Ah, here it is,” the librarian replied, placing a stack of books on her outstretched wings and carrying them over to a table that the others gathered about. “This is the one that they spent most of their time on,” she said, patting a large photo album. “It’s a collection of photographs from Maredale Green from when it was still active.”

Daring scanned the pages of sepia photographs depicting a lively village. Farmers worked through fields of crops, shop owners posed with their wares, and pedestrians trotted up and down dirt roads flattened by carts and carriages. Almost every citizen in the photos was smiling at the camera.

Daring’s stomach twisted when she considered what was awaiting them.

“Horrible thing that happened,” Daffodil sighed, shaking her head. “There are ponies here who are old enough to remember watching their neighboring town die out and being helpless to do anything. We tried to send food after the crops died, but the plague kept us from sending any true help and it wasn’t until around 1875 that others were able to see what happened.” She closed her eyes for a moment, one hoof rubbing at the rosary necklace about ner neck. “All we have left are the stories.”

“Do you know anything about the legend?” Daring asked as the others all dug into the books. “About the amulet?”

Daffodil shuddered. “Don’t speak of that,” she hissed. “There’s a reason that it fell into legend; most of the ponies of Maredale Green didn’t speak of the amulet. Many ponies searched the ruins for any sign; they all came back empty-hooved, and many suffered bad luck or diseases afterward.” She glanced at them over her glasses. “If you’re going there, I’d make sure your affairs are in order.”

“You should worry more about the thieves,” Daring said grimly.

Daffodil sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need any help.” She hastily exited, leaving the four ponies alone in the reading room.

“So, we should probably get a map or something, if we’re heading out there,” Strider said, perusing through the books. He looked through an atlas and folded it open to reveal a larger map of the area. “Ah, here it is,” he said, tracing a path from Saddleshire up north past Founder’s Bog and to Maredale Green. The entire area was marked with red diagonal slashes with the word “DANGER” printed atop it.

“That’s encouraging,” Autumn observed.

“If nothing else, we might be able to catch Caballeron and his crew if they go back to the Green,” Phillip said. He looked over his own book, a red-bound diary, with a pensive frown. “This page is dog-eared.”

He opened up the diary and paused at the first page. “Dewdrop Sundance,” he read the name aloud and then flipped to the dog-eared page, which he read aloud.

“‘Eleventh of the Moon of Frost, 1872. Mother is failing fast; she alternates between unconsciousness and delirium, ranting and raving and laughing at unseen shadows. Father and the other village leaders all met up last night to discuss what to do. Even getting the gem out didn’t do anything to stop this madness. The cobbler volunteered to take…it to the mainland to seek help from the Princesses. He leaves this morning for Portsbeak. His brother will be keeping the gem himself.’”

“That must be how they figured out that the Merry Celestia was the ship that they were looking for,” Daring said.

Phillip flipped through the earlier pages, eyes sweeping back and forth as he scanned the writing. “Uh…here, ‘Twelfth of the Moon of Hunters, 1870. It’s over. She’s dead and they’re taking the body out of town to bury her beneath the stones.’”

He flipped to the next page. “‘The house where she was staying burned to the ground. Ponies nearby swear up and down that they heard her laughing over the crackling of the flames. Her damned necklace was found in the wreckage; the ponies who buried her swear that they buried it with her.’” He flipped through other pages, his frown deepening the more he read. “Crikey…”

“What happened to Dewdrop?” Strider asked.

Phillip flipped to the end of the diary and his face fell. “‘Out of food. Can’t swallow any water. Too weak to get to the door…and there’s no one left to help anyway. Mom. Dad. I love you.’” He closed the book and sighed, shaking his head.

“Damn,” Strider said quietly.

“If we don’t find the gem, it’ll all be for nothing,” Daring said grimly, looking through the photo album. She turned one page and froze, eyes widening.

"That's him."

She turned the album around and pointed at a sepia photograph of two ponies standing in front of a workshop, forelegs around each other’s shoulders. Chris Cobbler was on the left, beaming at the camera through a paintbrush in his mouth. His mane was like a pile of hay atop his head and he wore a tailored vest; they could identify him by his cutie mark of a horseshoe and a hammer. The stallion on the other side was almost completely identical to him, though his cutie mark was a hammer and a diamond and he wore an apron with a hammer and a set of nails in the front pocket.

Daring took the photograph out and turned it over to read the inscription on the back. “‘Brothers Chris Cobbler and Fred Facet working on Fred’s new workshop on Sirius Street.’”

“Fred must have been the one keeping the gem,” Phillip said.

“You heard them,” Strider protested. “Ponies have searched the village several times and never found it.”

“We haven’t tried yet,” Daring Do declared. “Even if it’s not there anymore, there may be a clue as to what happened to it.”

“We found the Merry Celestia,” Autumn beamed. “A stupid rock shouldn’t be that hard!”

“You had to go and say something like that, didn’t you?” Strider sighed, looking back down at the atlas and studying a close-up map of the abandoned village.

The white unicorn completed the incantation and slowly dimmed his golden light. That same light faded from the implements laid out in front of him on the table: the Alicorn Amulet and a silver rod on a string.

Doctor Papyrus frowned as he rubbed out the salt circle surrounding the two and gently lifted up the rod on the string. It started to swing gently towards the amulet, as though attracted by a strange magnetism.

“Are you sure of this, Caballeron?” he asked, passing the rod to his companion. He picked up the amulet, scowling at the warped metal on the left wing. “These aren’t just important to our client, these are historical artifacts of great importance and power.”

“It’s the only way we have,” Caballeron said grimly, donning the necklace with great reverence. “We need that gem and we need the amulet to dowse for it.”

The white unicorn sighed. “Very well. But please be careful. We nearly lost it once.”

“I do not intend to lose it again,” Caballeron declared with a nod. “Gracias, amigo. We’ll be back soon.”

He exited the workshop and returned to his exhibit hall. Biff, Rogue, and Withers were waiting next to one of the open cases, all adorned in dark blue hooded cloaks like the one that Caballeron himself wore, and all of them carrying a selection of guns and gear. Biff was carefully placing two silver candlesticks with strange runes etched into the casing into a saddlebag. Rogue was covered in bandages still sticky with a pale orange salve, breathing heavily through gritted teeth as he checked the knives sheathed to his forelegs.

“¿Listos?” Caballeron asked, receiving nods from all around. They proceeded down the cloudbrick hallway to another door, which opened to reveal a long room with two rows of gem-decorated mirrors on either side, like soldiers in formation.

They proceeded to a tall mirror with a square frame. Biff pressed the blue, white, and green gems embedded over the top of the mirror. Their reflections blurred and then disappeared, replaced by a view of a dark wooden room.

Rogue checked the knife secured to the holster in his foreleg, poked his head through the portal, and turned his head from side to side. “Clear,” he grunted, passing all the way through with the others on his tail.

The floor of the cottage, rented under cash and a pair of pseudonyms, creaked beneath their hooves as they proceeded to the back door and pushed it open with a creak. Outside, the sun was setting over Saddleshire, casting long shadows over the clutch of cottages arranged around the cobblestone culdesac. The only sound was a soft wind that rustled the leaves in the trees.

“Vamonos,” Caballeron ordered, pulling his hood up over his head. The four hurried to the northwest, across the shadow-casted bogs and plains towards the doomed village.

Author's Note

The first fight scene was a bit tricky to choreograph: even Daring Do wouldn't be able to hold off five attackers at once for long. Nothing shifts the odds like having an angry pyrokinetic on your side, but still, it wouldn't have been an easy fight.

I also had some trouble figuring out where to put that Iron Forge section. Originally, it was going to be at the end of the previous chapter, but then I realized that it broke the suspense, so I decided to move it over to after the fight so it was in a more "quiet" segment.

The next chapter is one I'm particularly proud of. I put a lot of work into it and I hope that you're looking forward to it as much as I am!

Until next week, and be sure to like and comment!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Seven: Necropolis

“What did we miss?” Flash grumbled, looking over the crime scene photographs for the hundredth time, cast in sharp relief by the office lights that battled against the darkness from the window. He stared at the dead body of Steel Bar as if he hoped he could somehow pry the answers from the corpse’s image. “And why?” he asked. “Why did they kill him?”

Across the desk from him, Red Herring sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You’re asking the wrong question, rookie. If we find out who, then we can figure out the why. Focusing too much on the motive can lead you down the wrong road way too easily.”

“You’re right, sorry,” Flash shook his head. “It’s just…” He sighed. “Feels like we’re chasing our own tails on this. And maybe we’re focusing too much on this. Iron Forge would be in charge of the gang now, right?”

“Far as we know, yes,” Red nodded. “And before you ask, we are keeping a closer eye on him. He’ll slip up sooner or later.”

He glanced at a report in his in-tray and sighed. “Still nothing on the Sealight Delight. Dammit,” he groused, tossing the report aside. “Flash, this is the most solid thread we have in our hooves right now. We gotta tug because it’s all we got.”

“I know, I know,” Flash sighed, holding his head in his hooves, rubbing his temples as he felt the distant pulsing of an incoming headache across his cranium. “I just we know that we’re missing--”

He froze, his eyes focusing on a closeup of the deceased mobster’s head laying on the desktop. He snatched the picture up, then looked at several other pictures of the desk.

“Missing,” he breathed, then hurried out the door.

“Hey, kid! Get back here!” Red called, hustling after him.

Flash proceeded down the stairs until he reached the locker rooms on the ground floor. It was shift change and the rooms were packed with officers coming in, coffee cups in hoof as they chatted with the off-coming officers.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Flash said, pushing his way through some of the officers, head panning back and forth as he searched. Finally, he spotted the familiar blonde thestral sitting on a bench. “Hey, Prowl! Prowl!”

Prowl looked up from rubbing ointment into her wings. “What’s got your feathers in a bunch, Sentry?” she asked, stretching with a quiet groan.

“Do you remember Steel Bar’s office?” Flash asked breathlessly. “When you first walked in there?”

Prowl raised an eyebrow, though an amused glimmer danced around her yellow irides. “Pretty sure I was the one who taught you about observation, rookie,” she chuckled. “Yes, I remember.”

“Were there coffee cups on the desk when you went in?” Flash asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Prowl paused in thought for a moment, then a pensive frown crossed her face. “There weren’t,” she reported. “I’m sure of it.”

Flash let out a laugh. “Thanks, sarge!” he said, exiting in a blur, leaving behind a wake of bewildered stares.

Red Herring was waiting for him outside the lockers. “You know, you might be Finder’s kid, but that doesn’t mean you have to act like him,” he snorted.

Flash sputtered for a moment, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment, then shook his head with a glare. “I figured out what we were missing,” he declared, holding up the picture that had gotten his attention. “It’s literally missing from the table. The coffee cups!”

“What are you--?” Red peered closer, then his eyes widened. “Holy shit. Let’s go, kid.”

They raced out the door, both of them with determined grins on their faces as they sped for Red’s car.

“Great. Because it wasn’t dark enough already,” Strider commented, looking up with a frown.

The other three looked up to behold a thick sheet of clouds slowly crawling across the sky, shielding the setting sun.

“Forget it,” Daring grunted, tightening the collar of her jacket. “The sooner we get to Maredale Green, the sooner we can find the gem and get back home.”

“Brrr…I’m all for that plan,” Autumn shivered from behind the group, clutching her own coat tighter about herself.

“You’re a kirin. You can do the fire thing, right?” Strider asked.

Autumn gave him a flat look. “I can’t go nirik at the drop of a hat,” she explained. “It’s a defense mechanism for when I get angry or scared.”

“Oh,” Strider nodded, looking rather abashed.

Phillip let out a long exhalation, his breath a mixture of cigarette smoke and condensation as he rolled his fag from one side of his mouth to the other. He scowled at the frost crunching beneath their hooves with every step, the white reflecting the glow of his electric headlamp. “Bloody snow.”

“Ah, don’t knock it!” Autumn chirped. “It may be cold and wet, but you can make snow angels, and snowponies, and snow forts, and snowballs, and--hey, look!”

Their headlamps picked up a sign blocking the path up ahead. As they approached, they paused to read the warning in its entirety.

DANGER! TURN BACK!

By Order of the County Sheriff, the land beyond is CONDEMNED due to plague and other hazards.

There is nothing past this sign worth dying for! GO NO FARTHER!

“If we were smart, we’d listen to that sign,” Strider commented.

“Guess we’re not smart,” Daring Do replied, passing it with a shrug.

“Life’s too short to obey the signs!” Autumn said, calmly walking around the sign as well.

Phil took a final drag on his cigarette and dropped it on the ground next to the sign as he proceeded around it. Strider sighed and followed them.

“Hey, look!” Autumn said. She pointed to the left, directing her companions' attention to a circle of stones incongruously set in the midst of a frost and ice-coated peat bog. Shadows cast by the setting sun cast the carvings in the stone in strange relief.

“There’s Founder’s Bog,” Daring said, looking down at her map and compass. “So Maredale Green isn’t much farther.”

They proceeded in silence for a few minutes more on their trek on the path over the rolling fields, the only sound the crunching of the frost and snow and the distant calls of nocturnal birds and animals as they stirred from their perches on bare branches that creaked in the wind. The clouds continued to cover up the sky, churning gray and black blocking out any light from above.

They crested another low hill and paused to behold the land before them. Beneath the faint glow of starlight trickling in through the clouds, the village of Maredale Green stretched out before them, a loose cluster of rundown cottages and shops. Dust clung to peeling boards and the shattered remnants of windows; carriages and wagons sat abandoned in the streets, little remaining of their cargo save broken barrels and empty crates. A rotted stump was all that remained of a tree in between two forlornly leaning buildings. A musk of age-old rust and decay as thick as a wall hung in the air, one last obstacle to try to force them to turn back.

But most unnerving of all was the utter stillness. No boards or signs creaking and groaning in the wind. No calls of nocturnal beasts looking for a meal. Not even the buzz of insects that should have made their homes among the rot.

Absolute silence. The sound of death.

Strider swallowed. “Why’d we have to come here at night?” he groaned, keeping his voice low as though afraid to penetrate the thick silence. “This place would be creepy enough during the day.”

The four hesitated at the ridge for a long moment, then Daring stepped forward cautiously, as though walking blind through a minefield. She set her hoof down with a slow crackling of frost, then took another step forward.

Nothing.

“C’mon,” she grimaced, annoyed at her own trepidation. The others followed her into the town proper, their steps and breaths now slow and quiet.

They proceeded down the street, ears swiveling back and forth, eyes panning over every shadow. The stench that clung to every surface thickened as they proceeded into the village proper, embracing the interlopers tightly, as though it might never let them leave; their dry coughs were soon added to their hoofsteps, still the only sounds in that blighted place.

There were no street signs left in ruins, but their close examination of the maps and photographs from the library had given them a rough idea of where their target was. They passed one intersection, then another, flanked on either side by the ruined houses.

Finally, Daring pointed to the left, up another road. They advanced, headlamps leading the way.

Autumn let out a cry that shattered the stifling silence like a gunshot. Their lights had fallen upon a corpse that was sprawled face down in the street; a red and brown line led from the corpse up a set of porch stairs to a yawning door. Patches of the unicorn mare’s light yellow coat had been eaten away by rot to reveal yellowed bone, and the stomach had deflated like a balloon, her wet skin looking as though it might slide right off her bones if she was disturbed.

Phillip paused, crouching down next to the corpse as he swept his headlamp up and down it. He looked at Strider and Daring with a frown that they returned.

There were no insects hovering around the corpse, which itself looked like it was a few months old at best; after nearly 80 years, there should have been nothing but bones left behind by insects and scavengers.

“You okay, Autumn?” Phillip asked, rising to his full height.

Autumn swallowed. “Y-yeah, I’m good,” she said through a shaky laugh. “Just…first time I’ve ever seen a dead body. And it just so happens to be in the middle of a creepy, abandoned town.” She let out another nervous laugh, eyes darting around everywhere. “This is gonna make a great story when I write this up!”

The other three all glanced at each other. “Autumn, if you want to go back…” Daring started to say.

Autumn took a breath and shook her head. “No point. I’m here now. Might as well see this through.”

“If you’re sure,” Daring said through her teeth. “C’mon.”

They proceeded down the street of houses, which were becoming more and more deteriorated with every step. More bodies were strewn across the streets, ponies lying where they had dropped.

They took a right at the next intersection, continuing to penetrate further into the heart of Maredale Green. The miasma of rot grew worse with every step and many of the houses here were in complete ruins. Autumn paused next to a house, shining her light through a shattered window and shuddering at the sight of two ponies dangling from nooses within.

“Almost there,” Daring coughed, pointing to a shop that was leaning to one side as though in exhaustion up ahead.

She reached the door first and tried to turn the knob, but grunted when she found that the door refused to budge. She rammed her shoulder into the door, but it still remained adamantly shut.

“Locked,” she reported. She looked up to the side and spotted a window next to the door that had been smashed open, fibers and hair still clinging to the broken glass. “That’s a tight squeeze, but--”

“Move,” Phillip grunted, approaching. Daring moved out of the way as Phillip stepped up and turned around. He wound up, then bucked the door. The crashing of wood sounded like thunder, echoing down the streets of the dead; the door splintered and bent in the frame.

Phillip kicked the door again and it shattered into splinters, allowing them entry. “Let’s go,” he said, entering.

“You hear that?” Biff hissed, raising his hoof to call a halt as the sound of crashing wood echoed from the distance.

“Someone’s there,” Rogue growled, grabbing a set of binoculars from his saddlebags and raising them to his eyes.

Caballeron raised his own binoculars to his eyes, sweeping over the ruins of Maredale Green from their vantage point atop a hill. Movement drew his eyes and he scowled when his suspicions were confirmed.

“Mierda. They got here ahead of us,” he spat, watching as their four foes entered a wrecked house.

“Not a problem,” Rogue grinned, drawing his knife from the holster on his fetlock. “Let’s just close in and--”

“And get our asses kicked again?” Withers cut him off. “What, you like being set on fire?”

“She caught me off-guard, that’s all!” Rogue snapped back. “This time--”

“This time, we will play it safe,” Caballeron replied, rummaging in Biff's saddlebags. “Ah, here they are.”

He pulled the two candlesticks out of the bag and set them on the ground.

“Doctor, you sure?” Biff asked, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve never been able to get that to work.”

“Today is different,” Caballeron replied with a small smirk, tapping the black amulet around his neck. “I have a greater power guiding my hooves.”

He pulled a packet of salt from his pack and used it to pour a circle around the two candlesticks, then lit them both, making bizarre intonations beneath his breath with a familiarity that displayed painstaking practice. A rune on one silver candlestick lit up orange, then its twin began to glow as well.

His companions watched in a mixture of fascination and trepidation as Caballeron slowly paced in a circle around the candlesticks, mixing his prayers with carefully choreographed gestures. Despite the solemn tone of his chant, delight flashed in his emerald eyes as more of the runes on the candlesticks began to glow like lights on a Hearth’s Warming tree, purple, green, white, and blue. The flames on the wicks began to dance and flicker in a bizarre synergy, swaying in unfelt breezes, their colors shifting to shades that none of the observers could adequately describe.

Caballeron sat down on his haunches and raised his eyes to the cloud-covered sky, lifting both of his forelegs out in a gesture of welcoming. “Ehi! Ehi! Ehi!” he called out in a whisper. “Nyaglath, ger’uh angfah!”

The flames on the candles flared like gas burners that had been turned all the way on, swirling in unnamable shades of almost orange, nearly blue, and something similar to white. For a moment, Biff, Rogue, and Withers thought they saw a crimson glare in Caballeron’s eyes that magnified his wide smile.

Then the flames dimmed down to mere flickers and thick smoke began to pour from them, coalescing into two swirling shapes that hovered overhead. Limbs formed from the torsos, the smoke seeming to solidify into bladed appendages. The heads formed last, looking down upon Caballeron.

“Whoa,” Biff exhaled, pushing his hat back to study the conjurations closer. “Holy shit, it worked.”

Withers flinched and turned away, rubbing his eyes beneath the enchanted sunglasses. “What the fuck are those?”

“Que incredible,” Caballeron beamed at the two smokey figures. “Two visitors from beyond, summoned to our world.”

“Best we put ‘em to good use,” Rogue grinned.

“Quite right, mi amigo,” Caballeron nodded. He raised a hoof and pointed down towards the village, towards their foes, hissing out a command in that alien language.

The swirling, ever-changing heads seemed to grin. And then the conjured figures vanished.

Fred Facet’s workshop had two rows of dust-covered display cases, the glass smashed and the jewelry long gone. Grime covered the framed photographs on the walls. Daring stepped up to one and wiped some of the dust from a picture to reveal a photograph of the two brothers with an older couple that could only have been their parents.

She sighed and shook her head, panning her gaze over the shop as they proceeded forward. The boards creaked and groaned beneath every hoofstep, the noise like salvos of gunfire in the silence of the dead town.

“So, if I had a gem from a cursed amulet, where would I keep it?” Autumn asked, looking around and bending down under furniture as if she expected the ruby to be hidden beneath one of the counters.

“My guess?” Strider commented, looking towards the back of the room where a door stood ajar. “In the safe.”

“You should be a detective or something,” Daring commented, making her way over to the door.

The door led to a small office that contained a small desk, a rickety chair, and a sturdy iron safe with a combination lock. A lock that was currently sitting on the floor, having been knocked off with a prybar and hammer, judging by the tool marks on the open door. The safe itself was empty.

“So much for that theory,” Daring remarked.

“Check upstairs,” Phillip grunted, already heading up the stairs. Each step groaned in protest at his weight as he proceeded up to the second floor.

Another door at the top of the stairs barred their way, but this one was bashed down just as easily as the front door was. The miasma of copper and rot intensified as soon as the door splintered, causing the four investigators to stagger, coughing.

Phillip entered the doors and froze with a small gasp at the sight before him.

“What is it?” Daring asked from behind him through a cough.

“Bugger me,” Phillip said, stepping forward to allow them entry. “I’m not sure.”

Daring entered the room behind him and gasped. The second floor was indeed the living quarters of the shop owner’s family, a living center with a small attached kitchen. Doors led to a bathroom and two bedrooms. One had an adult-sized bed, the other had two foal-sized beds. Dust of years clung to wooden toys littering the floor and the beds. The windows were all boarded up from the inside; the only light was their own headlamps.

Placed upon the wall over the central table was a framed photograph showing Fred Facet with a unicorn mare, her smiling face framed by flowing locks. Two fillies, a unicorn and an earth pony with bows in their manes, posed in front of the pair.

The three mares were all sitting at the central table, slumped in their seats. A dark coppery liquid stained their slit throats and was painted across their slashed and battered faces, chests, and hooves; the skin beneath the blood was a horrible gray-green of decay, sagging off their bones. Three knives were placed upon the table, their blades stained to the hilts.

More of the coppery liquid was painted across the walls, the floors, the doorways. The same phrase, over and over again, in three different hooves.

“‘Return It To Me,’” Strider read aloud, shuddering as he stared at one large declaration on the wall over the table.

Autumn looked over Strider’s shoulder at the scene and retched, letting out a dismayed whimper in Kirean before staggering down the steps. She made it to the landing before vomiting.

“Same,” Daring said, gulping down some bile at the sight. She turned and trotted back down the stairs to comfort Autumn, gently draping a wing around the shivering mare and pulling her closer.

Autumn coughed and spat out bile. “Does…does it get easier?” she asked Daring quietly, wiping tears and spittle from her face.

“Not that much,” Daring admitted. “And it’s worse knowing that you can’t do anything for them.”

Autumn swallowed. “Just some kids,” she whispered.

Daring sighed and put a foreleg around Autumn, stroking her back. It was all that she could think to do.

“Fred’s body isn’t here,” Strider reported after scanning the other rooms. He looked back at the messages painted across the walls. “Why would they do this?” he asked aloud, trying to keep his eyes on everything except the corpses. “Return the gem? Return it to who?”

“The champion,” Phillip said. “They buried the champion’s body ‘beneath the stones.’ Guess she wanted the gem back.”

“The stones,” Daring pondered aloud from downstairs. “You think they meant Founder’s Circle?”

“Far from the village,” Phillip said. “And they believed that the stones had power. Makes sense.”

“Great,” Strider sighed. “We passed them on the way here, and now we need to turn around and go back.”

Autumn shook herself out of her reverie and stood up. “Okay. Okay,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “Let’s go to Founder’s Rock, then. If we can get it before--whoa! What the fuck is that?!”

Daring whirled around and gasped at the thing that had slithered through the broken door and was frozen in her and Autumn’s lights, staring back at them across the room.

It looked vaguely quadrupedal, but its front limbs were double-jointed and bladed, like a praying mantis. It seemed to be made of smoke, its body swirling and shifting constantly.

The head…the head was wrong, the shape incomprehensible, the features indescribable. Daring looked at the staring mouths and a stabbing pain suddenly pierced her head between her eyes, like a drill being shoved through her cranium. She had to look away, cringing; the pain only diminished when the beast was out of her sight.

“What’s going on?” Phillip called, trying to push downstairs.

“There’s something in--”

"Daring!" Autumn screamed, leaping away.

The smokey monster was slithering across the floor, its hoofsteps horrifically silent. Its head was thrust forward, its...jaws or its eyes wide open...or perhaps closed, stretched in an impossible angle that Daring could vaguely imagine was a smile.

Daring pushed Autumn behind her, wincing at the stabbing pain in her head as her right hoof instinctively went for the whip at her side. She seized the leather handle and drew the weapon, pulling it back with a swoop. She pushed the shock and fear into her gut, stoking the fuel for the fires of her will; light began to dance along the cord of the whip in response to her magic.

A snap of her wrist sent the whip uncoiling forward, the lightning woven into the rope sending light and shadows dancing across the walls. The whip struck the beast with an earsplitting crack, cleaving its head into a puff of smoke.

The thing paused for a moment, staggering as though stunned...but before the mares' eyes, smoke began to swirl around the stumpy neck, the abominable head reforming. What might have been holes, might have been mouths, and might have been eyes burrowed into Daring's gaze, sending renewed waves of pain through her head.

"Uh-oh," she muttered. "Autumn, get back upstairs!"

The two mares retreated up the steps, slamming the door behind them. "Okay, we gotta get outta here--"

Daring froze, her eyes widening. Strider and Phillip were standing in the center of a chalk circle that Phillip had drawn on the floor, a dark red blot marking where he had closed it with his own blood. Another smoke monster was stalking around the circle, bladed arms slashing ineffectively at the invisible wall that blocked it.

"Daring, circle!" Phillip barked.

Too late. The monster had turned and noticed Daring and Autumn. It paused, cocking its head to one side, then scuttled towards them in horrific silence.

"No!" Strider shouted, opening fire with the Model Navy .44. The bullets just streaked through the monster like it wasn't there.

"Fuck!" Daring gasped, pulling a piece of chalk out of her pocket and bending to try to mark a circle on the ground.

The bladed arm came down and struck Daring on the foreleg. A cold sensation ran up her limb and she dropped the chalk, stumbling back with a cry as pins and needles danced beneath her skin.

Another bladed arm came down like an ax blow. Daring rolled aside to avoid the blow, pushing herself away with a flap of her wings and stumbling into the children's bedroom. One sight of the ineffable face sent fresh waves of agony through her head and she had to turn away to seek some relief.

"Behind you!" she heard Strider warn and instinctively turned to see nothing but the wall.

Strider hadn't been talking to her. Autumn yelped in pain and shock and Daring turned to see the kirin falling to the ground, her limbs as stiff as a corpse in rigor mortis. The smokey beast from downstairs had appeared behind her, though the door remained closed.

And the second one was now coming through the wall before her, bladed arms reaching out for her.

Phillip burst out of the circle and lunged for the one attacking Daring, snarling as his waddy sliced through the air. Smoke was ripped from the monster with each attack, but it merely turned and slashed at Phil with one of its appendages. Phil dodged the attack, wincing as molten pain erupted behind his eyes at the sight of the thing's face. He instinctively turned away with a gasp of agony.

Then a terrible numbness spread across his hind legs and he fell, dropping his weapon. He tried to roll away from the other attacker, only for another blow to strike him across the chest. He felt it like a slicing, frosty wind that slammed against his torso, accompanied by a chilling cold emanating from his vest; those two blows had been enough to drain the protective wards.

"Fall back!" he managed to order before another strike of the bladed arms spread that icy numbness across his entire body. His muscles contracted painfully, no longer responding to his commands.

Daring seized Phillip by the back of his vest and flew for the boarded-up window, lowering her shoulder to crash through. She made it only halfway across the room before another strike of the smokey arms sent her crashing to the ground.

"Daring, Phil!" Strider called, pulling the paralyzed Autumn away.

"Go, go! Get yourselves out!" Daring urged before the paralysis sealed her jaw. She could only stare as Strider hesitated, then lunged for a boarded-up window, smashing through into the cold, dead air.

The smokey monsters stared after Strider for a moment, then loomed over their prizes, pleasure glittering across their horrid faces.

Strider landed on the street outside, panting and gasping. He bent down over Autumn, pressing a hoof against her icy neck.

A thready pulse knocked against his hoof and Autumn's terrified eyes twitched. Strider sighed in relief.

Autumn's eyes went to the sky above. Strider looked up to see two columns of smoke racing through the sky above, Phillip and Daring clutched in their swirling tendrils. The smokey tunnels flew over Maredale Green and towards the east.

Caballeron and his companions watched as their beasts flew through the air towards them, dropping their paralyzed prizes on the snow before them before reforming into their quadrupedal forms. They seemed to beam up at Caballeron as though in pride.

"They're still alive?" Rogue snarled, glaring at Daring Do, who was trying to move her forelegs. She glared defiantly back at him.

Caballeron frowned at the monsters, then at the runes on the candles. "Ah, of course," he nodded. "The Uhluhtcs made this. They preferred to make live sacrifices to Discord."

"Would make sense that they make beasts that would retrieve live captives," Biff nodded.

"And here I thought they were like cats, bringing back prizes," Withers commented, still refusing to look at the monsters.

"Let's change that," Rogue grinned, drawing a knife.

"No, Rogue," Caballeron cut him off. "Our client told us to take them alive if we have the chance. I don't think you'd want to displease them."

Rogue growled. "You remember what happened last time, right?"

"Painfully," Caballeron frowned, touching the bandages on his face. "But nothing was ever gained without some pain. Bind and gag them both, quickly."

"And this is why you always carry duct tape," Biff smirked, pulling two rolls out of his saddlebags and tossing one to Withers.

Caballeron held up the dowsing necklace, which was swinging towards the south. "Hmm...it appears that the gem isn't here."

"Their two friends are still here, though," Withers pointed out as he finished winding tape around Daring's wings and added a strip around her mouth, earning a glare. He disarmed her of her pistol, then quickly ran a hoof through her tail and removed the razor blade and hoofcuff key that she kept concealed in her tail, pocketing them with a smirk.

"Which is why we need some...leverage," Caballeron declared. He cleared his throat and sat down, cupping his hooves around his mouth.

"Special Agent Flame Strider! Autumn Blaze!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the still village. "We have your companions! Come out and surrender or we will kill them, and then you!"

Strider swallowed and slowly exhaled, his breath coalescing before him. "Now what?"

Author's Note

Now what indeed?

The smoke monsters took a couple of tries to make work. Originally, they were going to be Weeping Angels expies that could only move if no one was looking at them, but that proved too hard to choreograph, so I changed it to its current iteration.

This chapter, along with the wreck diving scene, were both experiments in Nothing Is Scarier. I was working on how well I could portray an inherent wrongness from an absence of detail, or from things that were just uncanny enough. This entire series has taught me a lot about horror writing and I hope that it shows.

If you enjoyed, please be sure to like and comment! See you next week!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Eight: Uncovering the Truth

“Must we really go through this again?” Steno Pad protested, rubbing her forehead.

“I just want to make sure we got everything right,” Flash replied gently, sitting across from her with his notepad ready.

Steno Pad sighed and looked about the sitting room of her modest apartment. Modest, of course, was a relative measure: the living room alone was almost two-thirds the size of Flash’s entire apartment, and he was pretty sure that the price of the sofa that he and Red were sitting on could’ve fed him and his mother for two weeks. Expensive art decorated the room, and a large bookshelf took up most of one wall, every tome set upon it neatly organized. Flash briefly frowned at the sight of The Mistletoe Masquerade and its two sequels, all with the same author’s name upon it: Scarlet Letter.

“Very well,” Steno Pad said, smoothing out her vest. “At three PM, Iron Forge arrived for his meeting with Mister Bar. I let him into his office and they locked the door behind them. I had other work to do during the meeting, but I could hear them talking. At 6:30 PM, Iron Forge exited the office and left. I did not see Mister Bar or hear him after that.”

“Was he still alive when Iron Forge left?” Red asked.

Steno Pad paused for a beat. “I…I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Looking back, I hadn’t heard either of them talking for a long time before Iron Forge left.”

Red nodded and gestured for the secretary to continue. She sighed and brushed her vest off again before continuing.

“Around 7:20, it was getting close to dinnertime, and I realized that Mister Bar had not come out of his office. I knocked on the door but received no answer. So I unlocked the door and…”

She paused and took a slow breath, closing her eyes and folding her front hooves in front of her to hide their faint trembling. “And he was there,” she said in a tight voice. “Lying on the table in a pool of his own blood. I called the police right away.” She took another breath and swallowed, looking up at her guests for the first time. “I’m sure your officers have the story from there.”

“Were Steel Bar and Iron Forge alone in the office?” Red asked.

“Yes,” Steno confirmed. “The other members of the staff were watching the windows or doing other tasks.”

“Did you serve Steel and Forge coffee or something?” Flash asked.

Steno Pad paused to think for a moment. “Yes,” she nodded after a brief pause. “I brought them both coffee.”

“How did they take it?” Flash asked.

Steno Pad blinked at him, clearly wondering what the hell that had to do with anything. “Mister Forge took his with two sugars,” she said. “Mister Bar liked his with a double shot of cream.”

Flash nodded, moving his eyes down to his notepad but watching the mare across from him. Steno Pad shifted on her sofa and looked down, chewing on her lower lip. Her eyes darted briefly towards the kitchen. Flash didn’t look up, but a cold weight settled on the back of his neck when he remembered the steel block of expensive-looking knives that he had seen prominently displayed on the counter.

“So, just to get this right,” Flash said. “After you served Iron and Steel, you didn’t go back into the office?”

“No,” Steno replied, impatience biting into her tone.

“And when you found Steel Bar dead, you didn’t touch anything, right?” Flash pressed.

“No,” Steno answered, the impatience in her voice growing like a weed. “I specifically had one of the bodyguards block the door and ensure that no one entered.”

“So where did the coffee cups go?” Flash asked.

Steno Pad froze as though her widening eyes had fallen upon the gaze of a cockatrice.

“I checked the crime scene photographs several times and it’s funny,” Flash said, pulling out a close-up photograph. “I see the rings where there were clearly cups on the table…but no cups.”

“And here’s what’s even funnier,” Red cut in. “We double-checked the house and we did actually find two coffee cups in the kitchen sink. Our lab studied the contents of them both and found that one had a lot of cream in it. And a lot of barbiturates.” He leaned forward, giving Steno Pad his trademark withering scowl. “Even if you hadn’t realized that you needed to try to get rid of the spiked coffee, that was nothing short of stupid.”

Steno Pad swallowed, her eyes darting between the two stallions, the door, and the kitchen. “N-no, wait, I…I took the coffee cups out after Iron Forge left…”

“With Steel Bar facedown on his desk?” Red asked, rising. “I think you need to come down to the station and answer some questions.”

“I…” Steno Pad’s mouth moved but no sound came out. She only stared as Flash rose and pulled out a set of hoofcuffs.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Flash recited, stepping forward. “Anything you say can and--”

His sentence was cut off when the coffee table shot across the floor and slammed into his legs, sending him crashing to the ground with a bellow of “Ow, fuck!”

Steno Pad leaped off the couch and dashed for the kitchen, firing off a salvo of bright orange stinging spells from her horn at the pursuing Red Herring. Most of them missed and the few that struck his vest only prompted an irritated grunt as they dissipated harmlessly across the wards.

“C’mere!” Red snarled, snatching her foreleg.

“Get off!” Steno Pad shrieked, fury and desperation on her face as she lit up her horn. A dozen knives flew from the knife block and darted at Red like a swarm of hornets.

“Flash, duck!” Red shouted, hitting the floor almost too late, wincing as he felt a couple of those knives passing just inches over him.

Flash saw the knives coming and yelped, seizing the coffee table and flipping it over. The knives slammed into the polished oak surface with a series of heavy thunks.

Steno Pad seized a large knife and stabbed down at Red with a shriek. Red rolled aside and swept his wings across her legs, knocking her to the floor; she smacked her head against a cabinet, yelping as blood began to flow from her forehead.

“You--!” she snarled, turning to glare up at Red, the blood from her head wound highlighting her hate-filled eyes as her horn glowed a dark orange.

She never got a chance to cast her spell or finish her curse. Red seized a pan that was soaking in the sink and swung for the bleachers, striking her across the jaw. She spun to the floor with a groan, her horn pathetically fizzling out.

Red dropped the pan as Flash hustled up to them. “You okay, Sentry?” he panted.

“I’m fine,” Flash replied, taking out his cuffs and securing her forelegs.

“On the upside,” Red commented, examining his coat with a scowl. “I’m pretty sure she wasn’t brainwashed.”

Steno Pad groaned and stirred, glancing down at her cuffed hooves before giving her captors a look of loathing.

“So now that we’ve gotten formalities out of the way,” Red commented. “Why did you kill Steel Bar?”

“He was going to betray us,” Steno snarled. “He would’ve backed out of the deal with the master.”

“What deal?” Red pressed. “Did it have to do with the Sealight Delight?”

“I will say no more,” Steno spat and fell silent, glaring at the floor.

“Well, you did tell her that she had that right, Sentry,” Red commented as he and Flash hauled the murderer’s dead weight from the floor and dragged her to the door.

“Okay, Autumn?” Strider said, tugging at the kirin’s stiffened limbs. “Autumn, now would be a good time to start moving again.”

Autumn growled, then grunted as one hind leg kicked out, then the other. “Okay…okay, I think…it’s wearing off,” she grimaced, starting to move of her own accord again. She slowly rolled over and pushed herself up to her hooves with a groan. “Ow, ow, ow…”

“Agent Strider!” Caballeron’s voice called again, cutting through the still, dead air. “Show yourself or we will kill your friends!”

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Autumn said, stretching out her limbs.

Strider sucked in a breath through his teeth and checked the chamber of his revolver. “We’re not gonna stand a chance against them with those…smoke things.”

“Snatchers,” Autumn said.

“What?” Strider asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s what I’m calling them, Snatchers,” Autumn explained. “You know, ‘cause they just snatched up Phil and Daring.”

“...right,” Strider said slowly. “And there’s no way we can get away easily or get help, so…” He swallowed. “Guess our only option is to play along for now.”

“Uh…you know they might just kill us all anyway,” Autumn pointed out nervously.

“If they were going to, they would have,” Strider replied, trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince his companion. “They tried to take us alive before. Maybe that’s what they want. And besides…if we don’t, they’ll definitely kill us.”

Autumn hissed in a breath. “So,” she said with a forced smile. “The less shitty of two shitty options. Got it.”

“At least if we’re still alive, we can think of something,” Strider replied.

He slowly stepped out into the open, raising his hooves. “Okay, we’re coming out!” he called.

He turned to see Autumn frowning at the ground, drawing a circle in the snow with her hoof. “Autumn?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. We’re coming! Don’t shoot them!” she called, following Strider out.

The two slowly proceeded across the snow, the only sound the crunching beneath their hooves. The corpses scattered across the village seemed to reach out towards them as they passed as if trying to grab them…or stop them. Autumn glanced at the eyeless face of a mare gaping up at her, yellowed skin stretched tight across her skull, and shuddered.

Lights from up ahead led them over a hill and they saw Caballeron and his companions in a cluster, their faces cast in shadows by their flashlights. Daring and Phillip sat in the center of the group, bound and gagged with tape, glaring at their captors.

Strider had just enough time to register the sight of the smoke monsters circling his friends before the duo pounced upon them. Smokey limbs struck down on Strider and Autumn and they collapsed to the ground, muscles tightening painfully.

“Let’s take that gun of yours, pig,” Withers said, stomping up to Strider. He pulled the revolver out of Strider’s holster and examined it. “Model Navy .44, modified to fire cartridges,” he mused, pocketing the gun and taking out a roll of duct tape. “You have good taste, Agent.”

With a force of effort, Strider managed to move his eyes just enough to glare at Withers as the bespectacled pony wrapped tape snugly around his limbs, wings, and muzzle.

“Not one flicker of that horn of yours,” Biff warned Autumn as he bound her. He paused, running a hoof through her mane. “Hmm…pretty little thing,” he purred. “On second thought, I’m glad that the Doc wants you alive.”

Autumn managed to let out a muffled growl, but not all of her shivering was due to the cold.

“Bien,” Caballeron nodded. He bent down in front of Daring and tugged her gag off. “I assume you found something in there, ¿sí?”

Daring spat in his face, an act of defiance which quickly earned her a knee to the gut from Rogue. She doubled over, coughing and spluttering, but continued to glare up at them.

Caballeron sighed, wiped off his face, and held up the dowsing rod. “We’re going to find it eventually,” he deadpanned. “You talk, we find it easier, and I consider not hurting your friends.”

Daring growled, then sucked in a breath. “Founder’s Rock,” she growled. “It’s buried beneath Founder’s Rock, with the champion’s body.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Caballeron nodded, replacing the tape over Daring’s mouth and grabbing the silver candlesticks, the flames atop them guttering and flickering in the cold as he carefully replaced them in his saddlebags. “Vamonos. I do not wish to stay out here any longer than I have to.”

“Agreed,” Withers shivered. “But how are we gonna carry--?”

The Snatchers picked up the bound prisoners, one beneath each bladed arm. The prisoners winced: the touch of the smokey flesh was cold and itched violently, like dozens of needles scraping against their flesh, but there was no paralytic effect this time.

“Oh, well, that works,” Withers shrugged, looking at the ground to avoid gazing upon the smokey faces.

The group began to march south, following the swinging of Caballeron’s dowsing rods. The Snatchers leered down at their prisoners, their swirling faces stretching into what might have been grins whenever they winced and looked away.

Daring squirmed in her captor’s grasp, testing her muscles. The pain of the paralysis spell was starting to slowly diminish, leaving a dull ache in her sluggish muscles. Phillip was also starting to struggle but winced and slackened when his handler seemed to tighten its grip on him.

“Quit struggling or I’ll start on your whore,” Rogue snarled at them as he passed. Phillip scowled at him but remained still.

After a few minutes of silent travel, they reached Founder's Rock, their flashlights illuminating the carved monoliths.

“Drop them here,” Caballeron nodded to a smaller stone, placing the candlesticks atop a flat stone and following his dowsing rod to the center of the construct.

The Snatchers obediently dropped their prisoners on the ground, eliciting pained grunts as they crashed onto the snow.

“Rogue, watch them,” Biff ordered, following the doctor.

“I’ll keep this one close,” Rogue growled, drawing his knife. He bent down over Autumn Blaze and placed her blade at her neck, drawing a quiet gasp as the cold blade stroked her coat. “You try that fire thing, moose, and I’ll gut you like a fish,” he hissed into her ear.

The Snatchers began to stalk around the other prisoners like wolves snapping at lamed deer. Daring shuddered as one of them thrust its face into hers, turning away and drawing in a hiss of pain.

Caballeron scanned the ground around a large flat stone in the center of the circle of monoliths, pawing at the snow and watching the dowsing rod, which was swinging back and forth wildly. “Aha!” he declared after a few moments, his face stretching into rapturous delight. The dowsing rod was pointing straight at the ground and trembling, as though being held taut by an invisible cord. “Right here, the soil has been turned. Venga, venga, the shovels!”

Withers and Biff hurried forward, taking shovels from the collection of tools that they carried on their backs and passing Caballeron another shovel. The trio began to dig into the hardened earth, tossing aside snow and soil.

Despite herself, Daring found herself straining to watch them, trying to peek into the ever-widening hole. Her eyes went to the Alicorn Amulet around Caballeron’s neck, the dark metal glittering in the glow of their flashlights. Was it her imagination, or was the eye glowing faintly…?

Daring shook herself out of her reverie. Now what?

She glanced over at Autumn, who was shivering from a mixture of cold and fear, Rogue’s knife held close to her neck. But as Daring watched, she started to move again, slowly shifting and stretching her limbs.

“Keep still,” Rogue snarled, tightening his hold on her. Autumn grunted and went still, but Daring saw the anger flashing through her golden eyes.

Daring turned to the others. Phillip was laying still and relaxed, eyes calmly panning over everything. Strider was glaring at his bound hooves and wings, starting to tug at the tape as the paralysis wore off. One of the Snatchers leered down at him and he grimaced, ceasing his struggles.

Her gaze went over to the silver candlesticks, which she recognized from her tour of Caballeron’s “museum” of stolen artifacts. So that’s where the beasts come from. She studied the flickering lights atop the candles, then glanced at one of the monsters as it passed by. It turned…no, it didn’t turn. The things that she was pretty sure passed as eyes were suddenly aimed at her and she looked away again as stabbing pain erupted behind her own eyes. The smokey legs moved on and Daring took in deep breaths of the cold air, mastering the pain and trying to come up with a plan.

“Here! Here it is!” Caballeron declared with a cry of delight.

The three of them stared down into the hole that they’d made. Revealed within were two corpses, skin dried to a brown leathery texture from years of laying beneath the surface of the bog. On top was an earth pony stallion with a few strands of his wheat-gold mane still clinging to his skull, and the cutie mark of a diamond and a hammer. His mouth gaped open as though trying to gasp for air through the muck that filled his throat. A shovel was clutched in his withered hooves.

“Faust’s Eyes. He buried himself alive,” Withers breathed in horror.

“Move him,” Caballeron ordered.

A grim-faced Biff and a disgusted Withers both bent down to pull the mummy from the hole to reveal the body beneath him. The mare beneath had been a pegasus, though only a few bluish feathers were clinging to the bones of her wings. All of her mane and tail were gone, her cutie mark faded to virtual obscurity, and her eyes were closed, but her mouth was frozen in a strange, twisted smile. Her mummified flesh was marred by slices and her neck was sliced open.

Placed upon her chest, clutched within her folded forelegs, was a carved red gem, marred by some scratches on one corner.

“At last,” Caballeron breathed. With great reverence, he slowly reached down and gently pried the stiff hooves aside, taking the gem in his hooves. Rogue paused in his patrol, watching in awe.

Daring and Phil both glanced at each other and nodded, knowing that they weren’t going to get another chance.

Both of them held their forelegs straight out in front of them and then jerked them back towards their chests, pulling their front knees past their chests. The tape around their forelegs sheared down the middle and they ripped them apart.

Time seemed to slow as the thieves turned towards her. Daring’s hoof went to the pocket of her vest where she kept her boomerangs, smirking behind the tape over her mouth and silently thanking the idiots for being dumb enough to let her keep her gear.

Two boomerangs whistled through the air. Rogue grunted as Phil’s stick struck him on the wrist, knocking his blade from his grasp.

Daring’s weapon spun through the air past the Snatchers, who had frozen in seeming shock. Every eye tracked the spinning weapon as it streaked towards its target: the candles sitting on the flat slab of rock.

Suddenly, the boomerang was trapped in a blood-red aura and froze in midair before falling to the ground.

A grin spread across Caballeron’s face as he studied his hoof; the limb was surrounded by an aura of the same reddish color as the gem in the Amulet, which was now shining in the darkness like a flame.

“Oh, hell yes,” he purred.

Dark reddish-purple flames erupted from the darkness and Rogue flinched away with a gasp as the nirik rose to her hooves, the tape binding her melting away. “Shite!” he gasped, rolling away to avoid a kick from her.

The Snatchers both lunged forward, bladed arms extended, but Autumn raced around her friends in a circle. Dark reddish-purple flames erupted from the ground at her hooves, surrounding the stone. The Snatchers flinched away, raising their forelegs as though to shield themselves. Autumn paused, panting and glaring defiantly at her captors, who were all briefly frozen in surprise.

Phil and Daring pulled pocketknives from their pockets and cut their hind legs and Daring’s wings free, then Phil hurried over to Strider and cut him loose as well. Strider groaned in pain as he stood up, stretching out his limbs with a growl.

A red sphere streaked through the air and spattered against the magic circle, which briefly appeared as a purple wall in midair; the Snatchers started slashing and hacking at the circle with fury on their twisted faces, causing the flames to flicker. Autumn gasped in pain and dropped to a knee, the flames encircling her own body guttering in response.

With a roar, Rogue charged in and tackled Autumn like a rugby player, ramming her against the monolith and driving the breath from her lungs as she sagged to the ground. “Bitch!” he snarled, ramming his knee into her face; Autumn grunted as her head bounced against the carved granite, her nirik flames dissipating like the burner had been turned off, and the flames of her circle disappeared as well.

“Get off her!” Daring snarled, lunging in and sending Rogue sprawling like a tenpin.

One of the Snatchers silently rushed in, one foreleg raised. Daring rolled away, grimacing as her stiff muscles struggled to obey her commands.

What might have been teeth and might have been eyes flashed at her and Daring took to the sky to avoid the things’ swipes.

“Get them!” Caballeron snarled, charging up more red spheres in his hooves and throwing them at Daring, forcing her to twist and dive to avoid them; the red glow of the amulet was now matched by his eyes, which had widened to the size of dinner plates. Withers pulled Strider’s revolver from his pocket while Biff went for his own sidearm, a large semiautomatic pistol.

Another whistling noise pierced the air and Withers yelped in pain as something smacked into his wrist, sending the pistol tumbling into the snow. Biff ducked beneath the boomerang with a snarl, turning towards the charging Phillip.

Gunshots cracked through the air, each flash like a bolt of lightning in the darkness. Phillip rolled, twisted, and jumped, gritting his teeth against the soreness that had seeped into his muscles. He dove behind a stone, grunting as bullets sparked against it.

Strider dove down like a comet, ramming into Biff and sending him sprawling with an “Oof!” Strider spun into Withers, who just barely threw his forelegs up in time to block.

“Get off, pig!” Withers snarled, driving his knee into Strider’s gut.

Strider doubled over for a moment, then gasped as a red aura surrounded his body and lifted him off the ground. Caballeron snarled and gestured, sending Strider flying through the air to smash into a stone.

Rage pushed through Phillip’s body and he lunged out of cover, slamming into Withers’ hind legs like a bulldozer and pushing the half-blind pony into the snow. His knee slammed into the side of Withers’ head with the weight of a sledgehammer; the thug spasmed and went still with a groan.

“Watch out!” Strider warned.

Phillip dove aside, tumbling through the cold snow as a smokey arm chopped down at him like an ax. He felt the blow like an icicle being drawn across his back, sending renewed waves of fatigue through his body. He looked up and immediately paid for it when a red-hot knife stabbed him between the eyes.

More smokey arms slashed at him and Phillip vaulted over a standing stone.

Too late, he saw the red cannonball streaking towards him.

Caballeron’s spell sent Phillip skidding back through the snow, wheezing in pain as he felt the heat of the spell dissipating off his ward.

Caballeron grunted in effort, drawing back his hooves and thrusting them forward. A scarlet beam of energy as thick as a telephone pole surged from his hooves with a roar that seemed to make the sky shake, steam erupting from the snow beneath it.

Phillip threw himself to the ground, covering the back of his neck as the heat of the spell singed his coat; sparks flew from the beam and struck Phillip’s back, leeching energy from his protective ward.

The spell shut off like a faucet being closed and Caballeron sagged to the ground, huffing and sweating.

Phillip leaped to his hooves, snapped out his boomerang, and raced in, nearly catching up to the spinning weapon as it caromed off of the feeble shield that Caballeron managed to throw up in front of him. Phillip closed in, raising his waddy to strike down at the shield…then suddenly pivoted and charged at the two candles that still stood on the flat stone, flames guttering.

“No!” Caballeron cried, reaching out with a hoof. The candles were pulled away from Phillip, his waddy kissing the air mere centimeters from where they stood.

An impossible face lunged at him and Phillip winced as the red-hot knife twisted inside his head again. He tumbled like a log through the snow to dodge the blades, sucking in the cold air as the slush spread across his face, his trilby falling off his head.

Hoofsteps crashed behind him, accompanied by a snarl of “Hold still!”

Phillip grabbed the trilby and turned, flinging it into Biff’s face. Momentarily blinded, Biff swung the shovel in his hooves and completely missed, giving Phillip time to climb back to his hooves, his kick hammering into Biff’s thigh and dropping him like a tree.

Phil took the momentary reprieve to glance over at Daring, who was currently fighting Rogue hoof-to-hoof, while also dodging the swings of the other Snatcher. Autumn was trying to get up, clutching her bloodied nose and shaking her head, eyes unfocused.

A rush of wind warned Phillip just in time to duck beneath Biff’s shovel. His counterstrike with his waddy was blocked by Biff’s shovel. “Pig!” Biff snarled, shoving Phillip back as he lifted himself up. Phillip tucked himself into a back hoofspring, but his forelegs quivered in protest at taking his weight and he had to tuck himself into a sloppy roll to avoid a chop of the metal blade, nearly running into the Snatcher behind him.

Strider pounced upon Caballeron’s prone form, pinning him down. “This doesn’t go with your eyes,” he smirked, grabbing the Alicorn Amulet and tugging.

But the Amulet clung to Caballeron’s neck with an adamantium grip. Strider grunted in confusion and tugged again, then screamed and reared back as a sensation like molten fire ran down his hoof.

“Fool!” Caballeron sneered, ramming his head into Strider’s chest. A gesture tossed the RBI Agent off him with a gesture, once more sending him skidding across the ground to plow a line through the snow. “Only I can remove the Amulet!”

“And I’ll make you!” Daring snarled as she slammed her knee into Rogue’s jaw, knocking the Scotspony down and leaving him groaning on the ground. She charged at Caballeron like a golden torpedo.

Caballeron crossed his arms and threw up a shield in front of him, only for Daring to easily bank over it, the wake of her wind tugging at his coat. Her hooves sledgehammered into Caballeron’s back and once more, he crashed into the snow.

“iPuta!” Caballeron snarled, whirling and slashing his hoof through the air. A wave of pure darkness, like a tangible shadow, flew from his limb and struck Daring in the face, blinding her. She staggered with a curse, shaking her head to try to get the tarry shadows out of her eyes.

“Daring!” Phillip cried.

He paid for his distraction when Biff feinted low and then smashed him in the face with the shovel. The eruption of pain blinded him and he fell with a roar, his blood staining the snow. Biff pinned him down, the shovel blade held to his neck.

His cry proved pointless, for both of the Snatchers pounced upon their blinded prey. One slice brought Daring to her knees with a gasp. Two more left her paralyzed on the ground, fear and rage shining in her eyes.

Caballeron and Withers slowly pulled themselves to their hooves, panting and groaning. Caballeron’s eyes glowed the same furious scarlet as the gem as he glared at his captives.

“If you’d cooperated, you could have lived,” he snarled. “But now you pay the price for interfering. Say goodbye--”

And then a roar made the sky shake. Caballeron froze in disbelief as a flaming monster sprinted towards him, steam rising in her wake as she charged, wobbling unevenly but never slowing or falling.

The Snatchers raced to meet Autumn Blaze, blades raised to strike. Autumn did not slow, did not waver. Instead, she charged in, as unstoppable as a train, and leaped at them like a lion pouncing upon a gazelle.

The alien faces lit up in glee…then twisted in disbelief…then pain as the nirik dove right through them, burrowing holes through their trunks. Dark red and purple flames licked at the edges of the holes, then raced across the vaporous bodies, consuming them like paper, leaving nothing behind. The flames on the carved candlesticks went out like a puff of wind hit them.

Caballeron’s eyes widened and he drew back a hoof, sucking in a breath. Scarlet energy began to sluggishly gather in his hoof as his companions closed in to intercept the attacker.

Autumn ignored Biff and Withers, focusing only on Caballeron. She pushed past his thugs and leaped once more. Caballeron threw up a foreleg in a useless bid to protect himself, crying out in pain as flaming fangs locked onto the Alicorn Amulet.

With a snap and a cry, Autumn tugged the Amulet from Caballeron’s neck and flung it aside, where it landed in the snow.

“No!” Caballeron and Rogue both screamed in dismay.

“Get off him!” Biff snarled, swinging his shovel at Autumn and striking her on the back. She tumbled off Caballeron with a grunt, her nirik flames dissipating in an instant. She could only look up wearily as he raised the shovel for a final blow.

A crack of lightning pierced the air and Biff screamed as blood erupted from his hoof, dropping his weapon.

“No,” Daring snarled as she drew her whip back. “You won’t hurt her. Or anyone else.”

Next to her, Phillip gripped his waddy with an iron grip, ready to bring it down on any offender’s bones; the eye that was not curtained by blood shone with barely restrained rage. Strider had retrieved his revolver from the ground and was calmly sweeping it across the dazed thugs.

A cracking noise undercut by a low rumbling sound drew everyone’s attention back to the steaming hole in the snow where the Alicorn Amulet lay. As they watched, the amulet spasmed, twitching as though in agony as more cracks spread across its metal form.

And then the construct snapped into pieces. Smoke colored shades of black that had no name billowed from the metal fragments, slamming into the ponies like a truck and knocking them down.

Sound hammered down upon them like a physical blow, a bellowing like a dozen trains roaring past them all at once, so loud and so terrible that Daring was certain that the villagers in Saddleshire had been awoken by it.

It was only in retrospect that Daring recognized the sound for what it was: four voices all screaming in utter, impotent rage.

After several hours, or perhaps only a few seconds, the sound faded away into distant echoes, leaving Daring, Phil, Autumn, and Strider lying on the ground, clutching their ringing ears. Daring slowly forced herself up to her hooves, her head pounding like a drum.

A look around revealed that Caballeron and his crew had vanished along with the candlesticks, leaving the fractured remnants of the Alicorn Amulet on the ground.

“Oww…what happened?” Autumn groaned through her bloodied nose, sitting up.

“Our friends ran off,” Daring replied thickly, helping Autumn to her hooves. She grinned and patted the kirin on the shoulder. “That’s twice you’ve saved our asses out here, Autumn. Nice work.”

Autumn managed to grin back, despite the dazed expression on her face. “What a story this will make!”

Strider groaned and flopped down onto the snow. “My supervisors will never believe me. When I get home, I’m gonna be put on psych eval for a month,” he grumbled.

“Well, at least we’re all alive to complain about it,” Daring grinned, sitting down next to Phillip and putting her wing about him, drawing a dazed but happy smile. “And more importantly, Caballeron and Sombra didn’t get the Alicorn Amulet.”

They sat in comfortable quiet for a few moments before Strider spoke up again.

“We’re gonna have to walk all the way back to the village, aren’t we?”

Author's Note

Bloodied, battered, and bruised, and not beaten, thanks to the help of friends. Just like always!

This fight scene took some tweaking, and I'm proud of a chance to show Autumn growing in confidence and skill. Turning into a raging ball of fire is a big advantage, but it doesn't always solve everything.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! We'll be back to wrap it up next week! Leave a like and a comment if you're looking forward to the next case!

Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Nine: Snowblind

The hooded pony glared at the cabinet that the silver candlesticks stood in, his gaze seeming to bore through the reinforced glass. The reflection showed where Caballeron and his henchponies stood frozen, condemned ponies waiting for the ax to fall.

“You had it,” the hooded pony snarled. “You had the Alicorn Amulet in your hooves. And then it was destroyed. You had our foes in your grasp twice. And let them live.”

“Señor, I--”

“Silence.”

Caballeron swallowed and looked down at the floor, instantly cowed.

The hooded pony stood in silence for a few moments more, then huffed out a breath. “What progress have you made on finding Thicket?” he asked.

Caballeron had to take a breath to steady himself before replying. “Unfortunately, rather little, sir. There’s little information available on previous civilizations who lived in that area, and exploration into the Everfree Forest is limited.”

He glanced at a frame on the wall that carried a torn piece of canvas, upon which was a crude map. A line led around a mountain, past a group of cottages clustered around a statue of a bipedal creature with arms outspread, and over a river before disappearing off the torn edge of the canvas.

“Put frankly, señor, until we know where exactly this is, we don’t have much to go on,” he admitted.

“I will try to make arrangements for further exploration into the forest,” the hooded pony grunted. “In the meantime, I want your focus to be on that.”

“Sí, señor,” Caballeron nodded as he and his companions all sighed in relief.

“The next time our targets try to interfere, you will contact me immediately,” the stallion growled, still refusing to look at his hired help. “Clearly, you need more experienced hooves to handle two detectives, an RBI agent, and a reporter.”

Rogue scowled and started to open his mouth, but Biff struck him on the shoulder and firmly shook his head. Rogue fell silent with a huff.

“Continue. And don’t give me more reason to doubt your competence, doctor. Or I’ll arrange for you to have additional therapy,” the stallion declared, turning just enough that Caballeron could see the shadowed profile of his black snout. The doctor gulped and nodded rapidly.

With a flash of dark scarlet light, Sombra disappeared, taking the heavy weight of his presence with him. Caballeron sagged to the ground, shivering and gently placing a hoof on the bandages beneath his eye.

“Easy, boss,” Biff soothed him. “We’ll find that city and get him what he needs. And finally get the proof that we’re both looking for.”

Caballeron had to take a few more shaky breaths before nodding. “Right, right,” he said, rising back to his hooves. “Back to work, then, amigos.”

“And maybe something a bit lower-risk,” Withers suggested, letting out a quiet groan of pain as he moved. “I’m really not eager to get my ass kicked and get another chewing out.”

“We’ll get them next time,” Rogue snarled heavily through his broken nose. “Because next time, we’re not bothering with taking them alive. Next time, I'll slit their throats the first chance I get.”

Sombra slowly lowered his hood and sighed heavily into the empty darkness, sagging into a chair. The Alicorn Amulet, one of the greatest weapons in the world…lost forever. His masters would be furious with him for this, another failure.

Because that was all that he had done. Fail. He’d failed when he first attempted to summon his masters so many centuries ago. He’d failed dozens of other quests, under dozens of different masks. He’d failed as the Crystal Emperor in his war against Equestria. And he was failing now, here in Ponyville.

And the punishment for every single one of those failures had been death. Sombra shuddered as he recalled the myriad methods of death that he’d suffered over the years, spanning near the entirety of the many possible ways to kill a creature. He’d been burned alive, drowned, crushed, poisoned, beheaded, executed by firing squad, and incinerated by the wrath of three angry alicorns.

And every single time, his masters refused to let him rest. Every time, they’d torn him from the world beyond and crafted him new flesh and bones, pouring him back into them like molten metal into a mold.

Not until his promise was fulfilled.

To his masters.

And to her.

Sombra reached down and pulled a small snow globe of blue crystal out of his pocket. He stared into the tiny glass sphere at the figure inside: a unicorn with a pale heliotrope coat and the cutie mark of a golden caduceus. Her eyes, the same arctic blue color as her mane, stared up at him through the glass, full of sorrow. And questioning.

Sombra shook the snowglobe slightly, whipping up a flurry of white flakes about the lone little figure. He lifted it up and tenderly kissed the cold glass.

When he pulled it away, the unicorn inside had closed her eyes and turned her head away.

I will get you back, my love.

The train let out a loud whistle and began to slow as it pulled into Ponyville station. Phillip looked up from his seat to see a collection of familiar faces waiting for them outside the window.

“Thought it’d be a bigger crowd,” Daring Do commented from her seat next to him, glancing down at the copy of the Foal Free Press from two days ago spread across her lap. Splashed across the front page was a great bold headline.

Gritish Isles Intrigue: Local Detectives Stop Mercenary Archeologist from Stealing the Alicorn Amulet!

“You never do anything halfway, do you, Autumn?” she asked, smiling to herself as she ran a hoof down the article narrating their exploits in grandiose detail.

“It’s how I pay the bills when I’m not dancing,” Autumn replied with a grin, her voice still carrying a nasal undertone. “Ow,” she added, wincing and gently rubbing her bandaged nose. “And besides, you deserve to let everypony know what you did.”

“What we did,” Daring replied, leaning forward and tussling Autumn’s mane, earning a sheepish giggle. “Saved the world and stuffed Caballeron and Sombra.”

“You know, in the movies, the hero never winds up spending three days in the hospital with a concussion, or needing several stitches on his face,” Strider grumbled, gesturing to his head, then to the jagged red line across Phillip’s face, stretching from above his right eye to his lower left cheek.

“I think it makes you look badass,” Daring smiled, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thanks,” Phillip smiled, giving Daring a kiss back.

“Nor do they have to spend five hours explaining to their superiors that yes, they actually did have to spend all that money and yes, they did wind up finding and destroying a legendary ancient magical artifact,” Strider continued unabated. “Sometimes I envy you independent contractors.”

“If you do go solo, you’ll have to find somewhere else to operate,” Phillip said as the train halted with a screech.

The four ponies gathered their bags and departed the train to meet their welcoming committee.

“Welcome back!” Twilight declared, giving Phil, Daring, and Autumn each a hug as they stepped off the platform. She looked at Phillip’s scar and winced. “Oh, what happened?”

“Got hit in the face with a shovel,” Phillip replied, turning to Flash and Red. “Heard about your case.”

“Well…just doing my job,” Flash replied with an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah, it might shock you to know that we didn’t let this city burn to the ground while you were gone,” Red replied. “After Steno Pad confessed, we turned Steel Bar’s place upside-down. Got loads of info on the Industry Kings, and Iron Forge is willing to cut a deal.”

He pulled out a file and showed it to Phillip. Phillip opened up the manila folder and glanced at the title.

“The Sealight Delight,” he read aloud.

“We’re gonna nail those assholes to the wall,” Red said with a wolfish grin.

“Ripper job, both of you,” Phillip beamed, clapping both pegasi on the shoulder.

Flash flushed with pride. “Thanks, Phil,” he said.

“Ugh,” Red rolled his eyes. “I’m outta here before I choke on all the sap. See you back at the precinct.” He spread his wings and took off, heading south.

“Hey, where’s Spike?” Daring asked, looking around.

Autumn sniffed at Twilight. “And, hey…you don’t stink anymore!”

Twilight beamed, then turned and shouted. “Spike, Smolder! Come on out!”

Two figures flew up from behind a nearby shack, soared through the air, and glided down in front of the group. Smolder hit the ground in a three-point landing with a grunt and a cocky smirk. Spike flapped his scaly wings hard upon his descent and flopped to the ground before coming up with a “Ta-da!”

“Whoa,” Daring breathed, her eyes widening.

“What do you think?” Spike said, turning to show off the new appendages. “Just got ‘em yesterday!”

“Aces,” Phillip nodded. “See you’re getting in some good practice.”

“It helps that he has a real dragon to teach him,” Smolder smirked, rubbing Spike’s head. “Race you back, Spike!”

“You’re on!” Spike declared, taking off and heading south, his flight path wobbling and weaving in an almost drunken manner despite the wide smile on his face. Smolder followed just behind him, clearly holding back for his sake, the smile never leaving her face.

“Spike! Wait up!” Twilight called.

“Ah, let ‘em go,” Daring said. “He’ll be fine.”

Twilight watched them for a few moments, then smiled with a contented sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

The party left the train station and headed south, following the flying dragons as they wove over the buildings of Ponyville.

“Wonder where the Plague Doctor was this whole time?” Daring said aloud.

“Don’t jinx it,” Strider urged her.

“Whatever he’s up to,” Phillip said. “It can’t be good.”

She crunched through the snow in the prison yard, her scarlet mane buffeted by the frosty wind--what little made it over the reinforced concrete walls.

She stared up at the gunmetal sky above her as snow continued to fall over Clovenworth Island, watching the distant birds slowly circling the prison, then slowly turned in place, looking through the electrified barbed-wire fence that surrounded the yard, the chain links rattling quietly in the wind. After so many months, she’d learned the rhythm of the prison by heart.

A stocky earth pony mare, her ink black mane drawn up in a strict bun, stomped out of the administrative building. Warden Brick Wall was out on her daily round of the prison, which meant it was almost 2:30. Which also meant…

“Yard’s over!” the officer in charge of the yard barked from the shack next to the gates.

The other female inmates began to trudge back to the shack to be searched before heading back inside, brushing snow from their garish orange jumpsuits.

The unicorn adjusted her own jumpsuit, scowling at the itchy fabric before moving on. As she proceeded towards the shack, she idly brushed a hoof through her mane.

No one noticed the little ball of paper that fell from her hair and onto the snow.

As the inmates filed through the gates, a seagull alighted on the ground, pecking at the snow that its white coat nearly blended into. The guard in the closest watchtower frowned at the little bird for a moment before shrugging it off. Probably just another bird pecking for some scraps amidst the snow.

So he didn’t notice the gull pick up the little ball of paper and hold it in its beak. With a flap of its wings, the gull took off, soaring over the walls, its flight tracked by the envious eyes of many inmates.

It glided over the churning dark waters of Manehattan Bay, grabbing every thermal it could on its way to its destination. The beaches of Manehattan were nearly deserted in the winter, with only a couple signs that they were ever inhabited: a closed-up snack shack and a lifeguard’s high chair facing the water.

A yellow pegasus with scruffy brown hair sat on the snow-dusted sand, staring at the distant hunk of rock, his cloak gently flapping about his body. The gull landed on the sand next to him and placed the ball of paper into his waiting hoof. The stallion unfolded the paper and scanned the message upon it.

All proceeds well. The ritual location has been set and the pieces are in place. I itch in anticipation of the day I finally get to see you again, my love.

The stallion smiled and lifted the paper to his nostrils, inhaling the subtle odor of the rose-scented shampoo. He kissed the paper and pocketed it, rising and heading back into the city.

Still so much work to do…but soon, she would be free. Soon she would be in his arms again, after so many years apart.

Soon their master would have an army at his command once more.

Author's Note

Drama and intrigue! What comes next for our heroes? Find out in the following weeks!

This was kind of a buffer story, but I wanted to write a case where the good guys unambiguously win this time around. Plus, it gave me an opportunity to recycle a sunken ship plot that I had to drop earlier and experiment a bit with horror writing. I hope you enjoyed this case as much as I enjoyed writing it and you're looking forward to the next one!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter One: Manehattan, Manehattan

“‘Fourth Heartless Body Found,’” Strider read aloud from that morning’s copy of the Manehattan Times. He snorted and looked over at his companions. “Leave it to the press to make it sound like a damn thriller title.”

“Four ponies with their hearts ripped out and magic symbols etched all over their bodies and dumped out in the open for everycreature to gawk at. Why the hell weren’t we called in earlier?” Daring groused, glaring out the window of the train as it rumbled along the tracks. Outside, the sun rose over Manehattan Bay, golden light glittering across the water. The Statue of Harmony shone like a second sun as it stared out to the east, watching over the ships that were already floating in and out of the massive bay. The cityscape of steel, glass, and concrete reached up to the overcast gray sky as if trying to pierce the low-hanging clouds: a display of ponykind’s hubris.

“I had to jump through a bunch of hoops to get permission to bring you in; not everypony in the Bureau is really open to the idea of asking for help from outside consultants. They think it makes us look bad or something,” the RBI agent explained. Strider’s eyes scanned down the front page before locking onto one line. His scowl deepened and he let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a frustrated groan. “Oh. That explains it.”

Phillip’s ears twitched and he sat up on his seat, pushing his trilby back to reveal his eyes. “What is it?” he asked, clearly dreading the answer.

“Listen to this,” Strider replied. “‘Assistant Special Agent in Charge Swampfire made a statement at the scene that the RBI was continuing to look into suspects and advised homeless citizens to seek shelters and inform the police if they saw anything suspicious. ‘The only way we’re going to catch this guy is if we all work together,’ he said.” He scoffed. “At least he got demoted to ASAC.”

“How’d that idiot get sent to Manehattan?” Phillip sighed in disgust. “Thought they kept him in Neigh Orleans so he couldn’t cause trouble.”

“Don’t ask me,” Strider replied.

“That was your SAC in Neigh Orleans, right?” Daring asked. “When you fought that swamp witch?”

“Yeah,” Strider said sourly. “And he hates us both for taking his credit and making him look stupid.”

“Doesn’t need anypony’s help to look stupid,” Phillip replied, drawing snickers from his companions. He looked out the window to watch the great granite walls of Grand Central Station approaching. “Important thing is, we’re here now.”

“Oh, and look who it is,” Strider grimaced as the train began to pull up to the platform.

An ash gray earth pony built like a tree, his red-green mane cut down to military length, was waiting on the platform, wearing a black casual suit jacket and a scowl that could cut through steel, orange eyes filled with loathing.

Strider sighed and stood up as the train came to a halt. “All right. Let’s get this over with,” he grunted, gathering up his bags.

Phillip and Daring followed him down the hallway of the mostly empty train car and out onto the platform. “G’day, Swampfire,” Phillip said to the stallion on the platform, his face and tone as sour as though he were being forced to suck on lemons.

“Special Agent Swampfire to you, Finder,” the stallion spat back before turning to Strider. “And you. Don’t see why you’re so eager to stick your nose into this.”

“Four ponies have been murdered and it’s pretty clear that you guys are in over your heads, just like in Neigh Orleans,” Strider replied coldly. “These two have lots of experience with cases like this. And you know that they would have just gotten involved on their own eventually anyway.”

“Only reason we didn’t come sooner is because Strider here insisted that we do it the official way,” Daring griped. “We’re here, whether you like it or not. The more you help, the sooner we can catch this asshole and the sooner you can get rid of us.”

Swampfire let out a huff. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

He led them through the massive, bustling hallways of Grand Central Station and out onto the main street just as the great clocktower was striking eight in the morning. Ignoring the line of taxis eagerly waiting for disembarking passengers, Swampfire headed to a waiting dark green NeighSoto Custom Commuter.

“Bags in the back,” he grunted, opening the driver’s side door and popping up the trunk.

“Worst limo service ever,” Daring commented as they deposited their luggage into the trunk. “I’m definitely giving this guy one star.”

Strider had to stifle a smirk behind a wing. “Enough,” Phillip hissed to both of his companions. “Don’t piss him off more than he already is.”

Strider took the shotgun seat while the detectives got into the back seat. “I’ll get you to your hotel so you can drop your bags off, then take you to the field office. It isn’t far from here,” Swampfire declared, sounding quite relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with them for long as he pulled into the bustling traffic of Manehattan, the slush swishing beneath his tires.

They paused at a Neighgency Hotel not far from the station just long enough to drop off their bags before heading on to the Manehattan RBI field office. Twenty-five minutes of awkward silence later, they were pulling into the lot of a tall steel and glass edifice that sat on its own plaza, towering over the nearby buildings. The rising sun was reflected in its lower windows, burnished orange and gold.

“More impressive than the Neigh Orleans office, that’s for sure,” Strider said admiringly, tilting his head back to look up at the top of the building.

“Could’ve flown here in less than half the time,” Daring groused, stretching her wings out as they exited.

“Not all of us have wings, Daring,” Phillip said with a feeble smile as he followed his wife, proceeding past a sign with the RBI’s shield logo proudly displayed upon it.

A small cluster of creatures was loitering outside the office, tending to cameras, notebooks, tape recorders, and microphones. As the group approached, a hippogriff photographer pointed at them, jaw hanging open. Like sharks scenting blood in the water, the horde of press descended upon them, thrusting cameras and microphones into their faces and barraging them with questions like machine gun fire.

“Detective Finder, are you here for the murders?”

“What do you think of the arcane symbols etched into the victims?”

“Is this the Plague Doctor’s work?”

“No comment, no comment!” Swampfire declared, pushing his way through the swarm to the front doors of the office with the others on his tail. He held the door open for them to enter and ducked in after them, closing it behind him with a scowl. “Fucking locusts,” he snarled beneath his breath.

The gray lobby of the RBI field office was thankfully well-heated, banishing the chill of late winter. A Netitus security gate blocked entry, manned by a small group of RBI Police security officers.

“Hey, Dawn, Jimmy,” Swampfire greeted two of the officers, a yellow-orange pegasus mare and a dark green griffon.

“Morning, sir,” Jimmy nodded, eyeing his guests. “Guess that’s them, huh?”

“That’s them,” Swampfire said stiffly. “Let’s get ‘em through so I can bring ‘em upstairs.”

The security officers efficiently brought Daring and Phillip through the gate and scanned their belongings. Dawn, smiling bashfully, handed them both a visitor’s security pass, which they placed upon their vests.

“Okay, okay, let’s move,” Swampfire grunted, calling an elevator with a ding.

“Keep your mane on, we’re coming,” Daring rolled her eyes, following the others to the elevator. “And his eyes aren’t on that end,” she called over her shoulder to Dawn, who let out an embarrassed squeak and averted her gaze from Phillip’s rear, her face turning bright red.

“Only I get to stare at your sexy butt,” Daring smirked, lightly bringing her wing down on Phillip’s flank and drawing a startled nicker from her husband.

“Daring, please,” Phillip groaned, glaring at a snickering Strider.

Swampfire rolled his eyes and pressed the button for the twelfth floor. The doors closed and the elevator headed up.

The doors opened with a ding onto a huge floor of cubicles and desks, separated by walls with great glass windows. Agents rushed back and forth, talking on the phone, grabbing faxes, tacking photos and notes up on billboards, and comparing notes with one another.

“Welcome to the Equicide Unit,” Swampfire declared, proceeding through the teeming maze, giving nods to some of the agents that he bumped into.

As Phillip and Daring walked down the hall, a wave of stunned silence followed them. Heads turned to track them, eyes widening and jaws dropping. Awed whispers followed behind them. Swampfire folded his ears back and let out a low growl.

Towards the back of the room was a large office with a name painted on the frosted glass window: SAC Swift Judgement. Swampfire knocked at the door.

“Enter,” a voice said from within. Swampfire opened the door and gestured for his guests to enter.

The office proved to be well-equipped, with a bookshelf up on the back wall, opposite a window that overlooked the city beneath. Behind the desk was a blue unicorn mare, her mane an equal blend of black and white. Her cutie mark was a gavel and a set of balance scales. Her desk was sparsely populated; the main decoration was a photograph of the SAC posing in front of a vivid yellow Neighzer Manehattan.

She put down the report that she was scanning and swept her eagle-like golden eyes over the visitors.

“Detective Finder, Detective Do, Agent Strider,” Swift Judgement declared, rising and offering her hoof to shake. “Thank you for coming in.”

“Pleasure,” Phillip said. “Just here to help you find your killers.”

“We could use the help: that’s why I agreed to bring you in as consultants after the third body was found two days ago,” Judgement agreed, looking down at the report with a frown. “Too late for the latest victim, though. She was found in an alley by a Manehattan PD patrol at four in the morning. And of course, the press picked up on it,” she added sourly. “Damned vultures.”

“Yeah, we saw the paper,” Daring commented. “And got ambushed on the way in.”

“Just tell us where to start,” Phillip said.

“I’ll have Swampfire give you the case details,” Judgement said, giving her junior a meaningful glance. “And I’m sure he’ll give you his full cooperation in these difficult times.”

Swampfire ground his teeth together, looking as though steam might start billowing from his ears at any moment, but said nothing.

“Where are you staying, so I can get in touch with you?” Agent Judgement asked.

“The Neighgency near Grand Central,” Daring reported.

“Yes, I know the place,” Judgement nodded, jotting down a quick note. “If you need anything, I have an open-door policy.” The SAC smiled at her guests. “I hope that you can finally shed some light on this before somepony else dies.”

“It’s what we do,” Phillip said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Sure,” Swampfire groused beneath his breath, earning a reproving glance from Judgement.

“Get to it, then,” Judgement said, dismissing them with a nod.

Swampfire led them into a nearby conference room. Set up on one wall was a whiteboard with photographs of the four victims and notes drawn beneath them in marker; another wall bore a map of Manehattan with several pushpins tacked up onto it. Notes, photographs, and reports were spread across the long conference table, organized into neat stacks.

Daring froze as she studied the pictures up on the wall, her stomach doing somersaults at the sight of the corpses. Two males, two females. A unicorn, a thestral, a hippogriff, and an earth pony. The blood had soaked into the four victims’ coats so deeply that at first glance, she couldn’t see the strange symbols that had been carved into their skin. The hieroglyphs were of no language that she knew, but the blasphemous script looked vaguely, horrifically familiar. All of them had their faces frozen in screams of agony and fear.

Of course, the most eye-catching detail was the massive holes torn into their chests. Their ribs had been hacked open, exposing their organs. Their hearts had been ripped away, arteries and veins violently severed and left dangling into the empty space where the vital organ had once been.

Daring Do turned aside and had to take several deep breaths to settle herself before entering the room fully. Swampfire gave her a small, condescending smirk from the head of the room.

“Four victims,” the ASAC began without preamble. “Minnie Moondust, Frost Dance, Snowfall, and the latest, Citrus Harvest. All of them homeless and living on the streets. The first victim, Frost, was found one week ago here,” he pointed to a red tack on the map. “Then Minnie here, five days ago. Snowfall, three days ago, here. And finally, Citrus this morning, here.”

Phillip, the color slowly returning to his face after the sight of the mutilated corpses, looked over the map. There appeared to be no pattern to where the bodies had been dumped: they were all miles apart from each other, spreading across the entirety of Manehattan.

He then turned to the autopsy reports on the desk, running a hoof down each of the four lengthy reports. “Crikey,” he mumbled. “They were alive when they got carved up.”

Daring shuddered, her stomach doing more flips. Strider swallowed down a mouthful of bile, his face going even whiter than normal.

“Limbs were chained down,” Phillip continued. “Traces of slate on their backs. Altar?”

“Because every good cult needs a good old-fashioned altar for all their sacrifices,” Daring commented.

“And the carvings changed with each victim,” Phillip added, looking over the photographs. “Like they were…experimenting.”

Daring and Strider both shuddered. “And dumping the bodies out in the open makes it look like they’re trying to create fear,” Strider concluded.

“We sent photographs and notes of the symbols to the Royal Academy of Magic in Canterlot,” Swampfire grunted. “Waiting on their analysis.”

“Hmm. Each of them had sleeping pills in their system,” Phillip said, his hoof running over stomach content analysis. “And they all had eaten some kind of soup before they died.”

“Wow, I’m so glad that you’re here so you can point out things we already knew about,” Swampfire stated, dry sarcasm biting into every one of his syllables.

Phillip ignored him. “You figure out the victims’ last movements?”

“As much as we can figure them out,” Swampfire replied. “The homeless creatures in this city aren’t known for cooperating with police, and the vics were all loners who had few friends.”

“Question remains where that soup came from,” Phillip mused. “Food shelf?”

“We already thought of that,” Swampfire declared with the tone of a weary teacher trying to explain to a particularly thick student that two and two are four. “Manehattan PD is checking them, but do you have any idea how many food shelves are in this city?”

“Hearing a lot of excuses and not many results here, chief,” Daring commented before she could stop herself.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Manehattan is a lot bigger than Ponyville,” Swampfire snapped back. “And we’re not all great detectives who can solve cases like this in our sleep!”

“Okay, what’s your issue?” Daring snapped.

“My issue is that we have to resort to vigilantes and arrogant, inexperienced agents who stick their noses in everycreature’s business to do our own jobs!” Swampfire snarled back, rising. He stormed out with a huff, slamming the door behind him.

“I was going to say that he hasn’t changed, but he has,” Strider grunted. “He’s gotten worse.”

“Forget him,” Phillip rolled his eyes. “Be better without that wanker looking over our shoulders.”

“So what’s the plan now?” Daring asked.

“Want to go over all this with fresh eyes,” Phillip said. “Go over everything that they have, visit the crime scenes, talk to the witnesses. Might find something that they missed.”

“And hopefully, we can find our potager,” Daring said.

"Our what?" Strider asked.

"Soup chef," Daring replied. In response to Strider's blank look, she added, "I like reading, okay?"

She forced herself to swallow down a breath and looked back at the autopsy photos, trying to focus on the arcane glyphs and not on the blood. “What’s all this for, anyway?” she asked herself. “They wouldn’t be going to this much trouble just to freak ponies out.”

“I’m pretty sure that anything that involves tearing ponies' hearts out of their chests can’t be good,” Strider said quietly.

Once upon a time, the aroma of the carrots, lenten rose, and spices would have evoked vivid memories of his grandmother, her kind rose-tinted eyes beaming at him from the kitchen.

Now they only made him think of screams and blood and corpses to be dumped in alleyways.

He sighed as he stirred the bubbling pot, watching the carrots and rose petals bubbling within the orange broth. The churning motion only aggravated his own stomach, which was twisting and heaving like he was on the deck of a sailboat in a typhoon. The only reason he didn’t vomit was that he hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

Turn the heat down to low. A few pinches of paprika. Stir. He lifted the spoon up to his beak and took a sip. The flavors only barely registered on his tongue now. And why bother? The only thing that mattered was that it was warm and had a strong enough flavor to hide the sleeping pills that were now sitting atop the cabinets over the stove.

If his grandmother knew what he was using her recipe for, she’d be spinning in her grave over at Hooflawn Cemetery. It was small comfort to him that she couldn’t possibly know.

Not for the first time, he considered just dumping the entire pot into the sink and running. What was he doing here anyway? He’d been going to Saint Goldleaf’s since he was a child, working the food shelf as long as he could remember, spooning out grandma’s soup to a small fraction of the needy and hungry of the city.

The changes had started coming after Father Paterissa died two years ago. The new priestess had taken over and began to initiate a few…changes to the services, strange rituals and odd chants that none of them understood the purpose behind, but she assured them were completely harmless. Then the disappearances of those who questioned her teachings. Private conferences with the elders amongst the congregation. Invocations to different gods, prophecies of dark days, and promises of power to those who proved themselves truly worthy. And now here he was, an accomplice to murder and aiding and abetting a terrorist.

Dead pony stirring. Even if the feds wouldn’t throw him in prison for his crimes, the rest of the congregation would hunt him down if he went anywhere near the police or the RBI. He brought a hoof to his eyes and shuddered. Bronze, Sirius, Mushroom…creatures that he’d known since he was a boy, played with at the church picnics, sung with in the choir, served on charity missions with…their faces and names were the same, but it was like they were complete strangers. What had that bitch done to them?

And what was he going to do?

The ringing of the phone nearly made him jump out of his skin. Leaving the pot to simmer for a bit longer, he proceeded across the single room of his apartment and grabbed the phone off its cradle. “H-Hello?” he stammered.

“The Stormbringers are here,” the voice on the other end hissed.

The name made his heart skip a beat. The Stormbringers. The priestess had warned them that they might get involved and that they had a knack for interfering with well-laid plans. The master had given them kill-on-sight orders.

Which meant…

“They are staying at the Neighgency near Grand Central,” the voice on the other end continued, whom he finally recognized as belonging to the church’s mole in the RBI. “The entire congregation knows what to do; if you get the chance, kill them.” And they hung up with a click.

He had to sit down to think. The Stormbringers, here. If the Plague Doctor couldn’t kill them, then what chance did any of them have? They’d find the church sooner or later, and then all of them would get caught in their wide net. Including him.

But then again…was that really a bad thing? If he couldn’t go to the RBI or the police…

The soup began to bubble over the pot, the gas flame hissing in protest as the broth rained down upon it. He stood and hurried over, turning the flame down and giving the pot a final stir, plans already being constructed in his mind.

Author's Note

Four dead already, and with an uncooperative contact hanging over their shoulders, this isn't going to be as easy as our heroes might have thought. But if it was easy, anypony could do it.

Swampfire has previous history with Strider and Phil. For more info, check Olakaan Peliik's story Strider! I highly, highly recommend it!

I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and are looking forward for more! Leave a like and a comment and I'll see you in September!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Two: Stalked

Phillip crouched down to study the dark stain against the brick wall of the alleyway where Citrus Harvest had been found. He lifted up the crime scene photograph that had been taken that morning, frowning as he studied the image of the poor mare spread out across the pavement, bloodied and carved-open chest bared to view.

“That’s something that’s gonna stay with me forever,” the pale-blue-coated thestral police officer commented with a shudder.

“So when you and your partner spotted the body, then what?” Phillip asked, turning to face the officer standing at the mouth of the alleyway.

“My partner secured the scene and started calling in backup,” Officer Moondust explained. “I searched the area for any witnesses, but it was like two in the morning, so pretty much everycreature was asleep. The only witness that I could find that was willing to talk to me was a hobo griffon down the road who claimed that he saw a pickup truck stop at the alley a few hours before, but he couldn’t give me any details.”

“Hmm,” Phillip frowned, lowering his face down to the ground and studying the debris around where the body had lain. He tried to find any useful details on the asphalt, any hairs or tracks or drops that might tell him something about the ponies that murdered this mare.

It was useless. Time had wiped away anything that might be of use, or hidden it beneath the dust and detritus of the city. The scene had already been swept with tracking wands, but there were so many tracks overlaid atop one another that telling one from another was impossible.

With a sigh, Phillip strode to the end of the alley. He ducked beneath the crime scene tape and looked across the street. Strider and Daring were standing in front of a surveillance crystal perched atop a stand at the end of 35th Street. Strider was watching the playback on the circular stone that he had used.

As Phillip proceeded over to them, he looked up and down the street. It was lined on both sides by shops, taverns, and restaurants, with apartments stacked atop them reaching up to the sky, claustrophobically close to one another. Many windows were darkened and only a few silhouettes could be seen within the shop windows, but he nonetheless felt eyes watching their every step.

Strider was looking as though he were holding back curses with great difficulty. “There are too many cars that passed down this road this morning,” he complained. “There’s no way to narrow it down.” He sighed and put the viewer back in his pocket. “Anypony else feel like we’re looking for a needle in a haystack?”

Phillip nodded his assent as a streetcar trundled past them. The garishly colored advertisements posted on the sides of the bright yellow carriage instantly drew the eye, declaring that one could call for cheap rates on life insurance. The carriage rattled and clattered down the street, electricity buzzing from the cable that ran above the street, leaving a faint scent of ozone in its wake. Brakes squealed as it pulled into the stop where a few creatures waited beneath the glass shelter.

“Now boarding, 35th and Whinnychester; next stop, Natural History Museum,” an automated voice announced over the streetcar’s speakers, slightly muffled through the metal and glass frame as the occupants began to disembark.

All this was just one of a potpourri of sensations that assailed Phillip. The constant background noise of a city of seven million creatures--overlapping voices, vehicles, music, and clattering--struck at his ears, and dozens of different scents filled his nostrils, nearly indistinguishable from one another. The cold air, heavy with industrial pollution, scratched at his coat.

Compared to Ponyville’s four hundred thousand, or even Sydneigh’s million, it was nearly overwhelming

“We got nothing, don’t we?” Daring asked, despair biting into every syllable.

“That’s not true,” Strider replied. “We got a lot of things. We just don’t have anything that points specifically to the culprits.”

Daring growled, then dissolved into a brief coughing fit. “Damn this air; how do ponies live here?" She spat and cleared her throat. "If we’d been here sooner--”

“Have to work with what we’ve got,” Phillip sighed.

Daring hissed and scuffed her hoof against the sidewalk. “And meanwhile, these fuckers are probably carving up some other poor pony so they can dump them in the street.”

“Hey, we can’t give up that easily,” Strider urged, taking to the sky. “C’mon, let’s see if we can talk to some of the victims' friends. Maybe they’ll remember something.”

“Maybe,” Daring said glumly, picking up Phillip and following Strider through the canyons of steel and stone.

The corner of 8th and Trottington was within a stone’s throw of Central Park, the barren, slush-coated trees visible to the north corner. Parked on the side of the street was a long white truck, with the sides opened to reveal boxes of non-perishable food and personal care products. Volunteers carted supplies from the truck onto a set of folding tables that sat beneath an awning attached to the side of the truck; a line of homeless citizens made their way across the tables like a buffet line, taking a selection of offered products. Painted on the side of the truck, over the doors, were the words Hunger Free Manehattan: Mobile Food Pantry.

As the trio of investigators approached, Daring noted a jar on the end of the table marked Donations. She pulled out her coin purse and dumped a hoofful of bits into the jar with a clinking.

“Oh, thank you,” a lime green hippogriff mare with a graying mane and tail said without turning around from her task of lifting boxes from the truck. “We could always use the help.”

She turned around and paused, her wrinkled daisy-yellow eyes widening at the sight of her benefactors. “Oh. I think that we all could use your help, Detectives.”

“Flowerdance, right?” Phillip said.

“That’s me,” the hippogriff nodded, placing the box down on the table and pulling cans of soup out for perusal. “I’m the one who runs this pantry.”

“You seem to know us,” Phillip said, also placing some bits into the donation jar. “This is our colleague, Agent Flame Strider. Do you have a few moments?”

Flowerdance sighed. “This is about Citrus, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.

“Yes,” Phillip nodded.

“Okay,” the hippogriff nodded, leading them over to the opposite side of the truck, away from the ears of any of the attendants. She leaned back against the truck, letting out a sigh that formed into vapor before her beak.

“You and Citrus were close?” Phillip asked.

“You could say that,” Flowerdance shrugged. “She was a regular at our mobile food pantry for the past year or so and I make it my business to try to get to know all of the regulars here.” She sighed. “She had no one else, you know,” she said. “Her husband took the kids and she wound up on the streets after her farm went under. She was trying to find other work at the local gardens.”

Phillip was silent briefly, allowing the moment of grief to pass. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Three days ago, Monday,” Flowerdance replied. “I saw her at her usual spot outside the Burger Princess around lunchtime and talked to her, bought her lunch. She was just sitting outside and asking for some change like always; she said she was doing all right, no real changes.”

“She didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary?” Phillip pressed. “Anypony that might have been following her or that she was afraid of?”

Flowerdance gave him a look. “She was homeless and alone in the biggest city in Equestria while a serial killer was carving up ponies like her,” she said. “Who wasn’t she afraid of?” She jerked her head back towards the line of destitute citizens that were parading down the tables on the other side of the truck. “You see that line there? Normally, I get three times that number for this trip. Most of the rest of this population is trying to keep their heads down because they’re terrified…and the ones that are coming out here are only doing so because they know that they don’t have any other choice.”

Daring studied the line of creatures taking supplies from the truck, noting the way that they took what they were looking for in quick, jerky movements, heads down but eyes darting everywhere, taking in every face. Like rabbits that knew that they were in the fox’s territory, just waiting for the slightest sound to dart for cover.

The sight made her stomach twist with the nausea of unpleasant memories: living on the street, running from the law, always watching for any sign of an ambush. She looked away and felt disgusted with herself for doing so.

“So she wouldn’t have followed somecreature that she didn’t trust?” Phillip asked Flowerdance.

“She was smarter than that,” Flowerdance replied. “In the life that these creatures live, you learn fast or you get hurt.”

Philip lowered his head in thought for several seconds.

“You know the other food shelves in this city?” he asked after some deep contemplation.

“Most of them,” Flowerdance replied.

“Has there been any unusual activity among the other food shelves?” Phillip asked. “A new shelf, staff acting strangely, anything like that?”

Flowerdance’s wrinkled face creased in thought. “Now that I think about it, I have heard of a new mobile food pantry that started up a few weeks ago, not long before the murders,” she said. “It’s just a van that travels through the city, distributing food to some of the homeless ponies individually. No one knows much about them; I think they’re associated with some church, but I have no idea which one.”

“They wouldn’t happen to specialize in soups, would they?” Strider asked, his ears perking up.

“They do usually pass out bowls of soup, yes,” Flowerdance said.

“Can you describe their vehicle?” Strider asked, placing a pen in his teeth and grabbing his notepad with a hoof.

“I’ve seen them a few times, passing by on the streets. It’s a white van,” Flowerdance said. “It just has ‘Emergency Food Shelf’ painted on the sides in black.” She rubbed the back of her head with a frown. “Couldn’t tell you much about the ponies who run it, though; they keep to themselves and they always seem to move on when one of us comes to set up.” She let out a hiss. “I should have known that something was off about them.”

“That helps a lot,” Strider said, scribbling down some notes. “Thank you very much.”

“Just find them,” Flowerdance said, giving them a hard glare. “For the sake of all these creatures, find them.”

“That’s what we do,” Daring replied with a confident nod, grabbing Phillip beneath the forelegs as she and Strider took to the overcast sky once more.

The soup had been separated into jars and placed in the icebox for freezing hours ago. It struck him how easy it was for him to continue the routine even after this long; years and years of automatic practice drilled deep, it appeared. And besides, they’d have to keep up appearances for the time being, even after they’d gotten what they were after.

He shuddered and tried to banish the mental image of the beating heart being torn from that mare’s chest, hugging himself as her last desperate scream echoed in his ears. Nausea clenched his stomach and he leaned over to dry heave into the trash can, spittle tumbling from his lips into the can with the rest of the refuse.

Wiping off his mouth, he sagged back into his chair with a sigh. As always, he sat alone in the apartment, staring at the clock on the wall. The only sound in the entire place, ignoring the constant background cacophony of the city, was the second arm ticking inexorably around the circumference, marking the passing time. It was nearly six PM and the sun was dipping ever lower towards the western horizon, casting ever-lengthening shadows across the streets.

They’d presumably go back to the hotel to recuperate at the end of the day. That might be the best place to attack…

Or call them.

The thought made his heart quiver in his chest and he gasped for air, briefly entertaining a vision of his own heart being torn from his chest while the rest of the congregation watched.

But…what was the alternative? Go down with the rest of the ship if they failed? Or be disposed of the moment he was no longer of any real use to them?

Besides, what kind of pony was he if he stayed silent forever?

One that was alive.

But even rats had a sense of self-preservation.

He strode over to the phone and picked up the phone book from the drawer beneath it.

The sun had long surrendered the sky to the overcast night by the time the weary trio returned to their hotel room.

“At least we got something,” Strider commented, stretching out his wings with a groan.

“Yeah, a white van trawling the streets,” Daring said sourly, hanging up her pith helmet and grabbing her flask from her pocket, filling the room with the scent of Manticore Rare. “You know how many of those are probably in this city?”

“It’s more than we had before,” Phillip pointed out, placing his own trilby on the hook next to Daring’s pith helmet.

Strider smirked a little. “You see Swampfire’s face when we made the report to the SAC?”

Daring let out a bark of a laugh. “I didn’t even know that faces could turn that shade of purple!”

The two stallions both laughed quietly, but the humor quickly faded out. Phillip turned and looked out the window with a low sigh. A common nighthawk, dark gray with a flattened head and a short, squat build, perched atop the ledge of the balcony outside the window. It turned towards him with a big black eye and let out a loud, buzzing chirp, fluttering its white-tipped wings and baring the tufted white ring about its neck.

Beyond them, the music of the city continued unabated, only slightly dimmed by the night: a constant continuing cacophony of vehicles and voices and radios and construction and more. The city truly never slept.

His stomach twisted at the thought that the morning might bring with it another corpse sprawled across the street for all to see. But what could he do?

The phone on the bedside table rang. The trio all paused and glanced at each other, then Phillip picked the phone up from its cradle. “G’day.”

“Detective Finder?” said the tranquil mare’s voice on the other end. “This is the hotel switchboard. We have a caller asking specifically for you. He says it’s urgent.”

Phillip’s raised eyebrows made Strider and Daring both pay close attention. “Put him through,” he said.

“Connecting,” the operator said. There were a few clicking noises and then a timorous male voice came on, just barely audible over the background noise of the street: he must have been on a public phone.

“H-hello? Detective Finder?”

“Who are you?” Phillip demanded.

“Uh, Salmon,” the voice on the other end replied. “Listen, I…I can tell you about the murders. I…” He swallowed. “I was part of it. I drove the van and made the soup.”

Phillip’s eyes narrowed, but his heart began to speed up in his chest, maintaining a disciplined but eager rhythm. In the brief pause, he heard a faint clattering and a muffled voice behind the caller’s rapid breathing.

“Where are you?” he asked.

Salmon didn’t answer for a moment; Phil heard his breathing shift as though he were looking about, nearly muting the faint voices in the background.

“L-look, I…I think I’m being followed,” he gasped out. “I’m calling you from a public phone because, for all I know, they’re tapping my home phone. Can…can you meet me at the southeast corner of Central Park? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be there,” Phillip nodded. “Watch yourself.”

He hung up the phone and grabbed his hat from the hook. “Central Park, southeast corner, fifteen minutes,” he stated, tossing his companions their hats.

“Be there in three!” Daring declared, grabbing him beneath the forelegs as Strider opened up the balcony window. The three of them soared out of the window and headed northwards through the frosty Manehattan night.

Salmon hung up the phone and took a breath, looking around. The only other figure he could see was the hawker on the corner, trying to find some evening customers for his hot chocolate and coffee stand before he headed home.

But just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean that they weren’t there.

He just had to get to Central Park. Then he’d be safe, shielded by the Stormbringers. In five minutes, it’d be over.

He grabbed his bicycle from where he’d left it leaning against the side of the phone booth and saddled up. The bike creaked and squeaked as its old gears and wheels began to turn, the rusty chain clacking in protest as he headed down the sidewalk as fast as he could go.

It’d get him there.

He turned left onto Magnus and switched gears, pedaling as hard as he could go. If he could cut across Ferrus Street, he could make it--

The brakes screeched and he nearly tumbled off the bike. Salmon froze in numb disbelief, staring at the figure before him, illuminated by the dim light of the streetlamp it was perched upon.

A raven stared down at him, baleful black eyes seemingly glimmering in sadistic glee. It seemed to bare its red-marked breast at him as if gloating.

Panic seized the stallion like a crushing python and he looked for an escape. The alleyway! He could lose them in the maze of alleys!

Salmon frantically turned into the narrow alley between the frame shop and the laundromat. Nearly sideswiping a dumpster, he scanned for the next turn on the left. He nearly missed it in the dark and had to brake hard to make it, almost falling off the bike in his desperation.

“Whoa!” he cried, squeezing the brakes as hard as he could. The silhouetted figure up ahead didn’t even flinch at having been nearly run over.

Too late, Salmon recognized the figure. And the car blocking the end of the alley.

And the suppressed gun in their hoof.

Somepony coughed sharply three times; Salmon felt each cough as a light punch in his chest and the night suddenly became even colder.

He looked down and let out a whimper. Blood, so dark it seemed black in the shadows of the night, was running down his chest.

The world tilted and he crashed to the ground, gasping for air. His murderer slowly trotted up to him, the sound of their hoofsteps sounding as distant as though he had fallen into the bottom of a well.

“I blame myself,” the killer said, bending over. “Maybe if we’d kept a closer eye on you, this wouldn’t have been necessary.”

Salmon tried to speak, to plead or cry out for help that would arrive too late, but he had no breath left in him.

He left this world with tears in his eyes.

Daring did indeed land at the southeast corner of Central Park within three minutes. The park was a haven of nature amidst the stone and concrete jungle of Manehattan, surrounded on all sides by skyscrapers like the towers of a castle about the keep. Even this late at night, there were a few ponies about, joggers and walkers making their way through the barren trees and illuminated statues of the park.

Daring circled the area a few times, both she and her husband glaring down at the rivers of ponies and vehicles beneath. There were a few loiterers and parked vehicles, but none of them stood out; no one reacted to their presence in any way, suddenly looking away or turning about. There were no signs of any ambushers lying in wait.

Daring dropped Phillip in front of the memorial statue of General Sure Muster, the brass illuminated to a bright glow by the spotlights set around it. She then took to the sky just above Phillip and began to slowly turn in a circle, squinting through her pocket monoculars. Phillip took out his own binoculars, sweeping the streets with his gaze.

“He had to have been close by if he said he was going to be here within fifteen minutes,” Strider commented, landing next to Phillip.

“Or this is a trap,” Daring replied, panning her gaze up to the skyscrapers above.

“Oh,” Strider said, slowly turning in place in a controlled, casual display, gently pulling his coat away from his shoulder holster with a wing. “Right. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Phillip lifted the binoculars to his eyes and started scanning the shadows of the park. The darkness of the night was banished by the night vision enchantment on the lens, granting him perfect clarity into every shadow. He scanned a small group of tourists that were gawking at the statues and checked a withered griffon that was feeding the night birds, but no one stood out to him as suspicious.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that somecreature isn’t out to get you.

A fluttering of wings made him glance up. A bird had landed atop General Sure Muster’s head; the sight of it perched atop the perpetually determined grimace, casually looking down at him with a big black eye, was bizarrely comical.

But something at the back of Phillip’s head, a strange sense of familiarity, bade him study the bird closer and he frowned up at it. It was a dark gray common nighthawk, short and squat, continuing to stare at him and Daring. It sat with its wings tucked in close, strangely unafraid of the ponies so close to it, seemingly fascinated with them instead of trying to hunt for food.

Wings with white tips. Just like the white ring around its neck.

Phillip realized that it was the same nighthawk from the hotel. But why would it follow…?

His heart skipped a beat with realization.

Up on the roof of a nearby building, a pegasus carefully placed the Summerfield rifle on the edge of the roof. The compass strapped to his hoof spun in its housing, pointing towards his spotter perched atop the garish statue.

A heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm. Lungs took in the frosty air at a controlled pace, slowly inhaling and deeply exhaling.

A red eye squinted through the scope. He centered the bead on Daring Do’s chest and carefully adjusted for distance and wind.

A hoof curled around the trigger and slowly began to squeeze.

Author's Note

And scene!

Only the second chapter and we're already getting into the meat of it. This one's gonna move at a pretty fast clip, so try to keep up. We've got a lot to get through!

If you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to drop a like and a comment! See you next week, where we find out how our heroes are gonna get out of this one!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Three: Hawk's Field, Lion's Den

The back of Daring’s neck suddenly prickled, an instinctual alarm gifted to her by her prehistoric ancestors, honed by years of practice: a warning that a predator was watching her. Her nerves all screamed at her to duck.

It saved her life.

She dodged just as a crack split the air, the distinct sound of a supersonic bullet rushing past. She felt a weight zip past her as though the air had suddenly solidified. Something struck the base of General Sure Muster’s memorial, sending fragments of stone flying off. Ponies all about them instinctually froze at the sound, whirling about with wide eyes.

“Sniper!” Daring warned as the thump of the actual gunshot pounded the air like a drumbeat on the heels of the bullet.

At her cry and the sound, creatures all about them began to run in every direction in search of cover, screams of panic filling the night sky.

Strider grabbed Phillip and dove for the cover of the statue as Daring took cover behind a stone pillar that a streetlamp was perched upon.

“Shot came from over there!” Strider shouted, pointing towards the west.

Daring had already identified the closest cover: a twenty-four-hour bar with a set of glass doors, through which figures were already rushing in search of safety.

“There!” she barked, pointing towards the door. “On three!”

Strider nodded and grabbed Phillip by the back of his vest. Phil tensed and shot him a brief glare, but did not struggle.

“One, two, three!” Daring shouted and charged for the door in a blur of golden wings. Strider took to the air and darted after her, carrying Phillip beneath him.

There was a trill and the nighthawk dove out of the sky, aiming at Strider; in the harsh artificial light of the streetlamps, the blades affixed to its talons glowed like fire.

The RBI agent saw the bird coming and tried to adjust course, only to cry out in shocked agony as the knives dug into his foreleg. The pain forced him to release Phillip, who hit the asphalt with a grunt, instinctively tucking and rolling. His trilby fell off, but he ignored it, sprinting for the cover of the building.

The attacking nighthawk’s beak thrust at Strider’s face and instinct forced Strider to flinch, raising a foreleg to shield his face and stalling his flight. Black eyes blazing with hate, the nighthawk swooped around to attack Phillip, aiming for his hind legs.

“Phil, look out!” Strider warned, flying in to try to catch up. Phillip glanced over his shoulder and tried to dodge to one side, but the hunting bird stayed with him, locked onto his hind legs like a missile. Knives glittered in the night, preparing to hobble their target.

A whip struck the air with an earsplitting thunderclap. The nighthawk let out a piercing squawk of pain and tumbled to the ground in a pitiful bundle.

Daring Do lunged forward from the door and grabbed her husband in a blur of gold and gray just as the crack of another bullet tore through the air, sending debris flying from the ground inches from where Phillip had been standing. Even before the drumbeat of the gunshot thumped against the sky, she had banked around, seized Strider with her free hoof, and tore through the door of the bar, sending it crashing to the ground.

Creatures were huddled inside, crouched beneath tables and behind the bar, hunkering down next to the brick wall. The bartender was quivering beneath the bar, clutching the phone to his ear.

Daring dropped the stallions in the corner near the door, far away from any windows. She sagged to the floor, panting and sweating.

“You two okay?” she gasped out, her wide eyes sweeping over Phillip’s body.

“I’m aces,” Phillip replied, exhaling. “Thanks, both of you.”

“All in the line of duty,” Strider replied, pulling out a small first aid kit and wrapping gauze around the cuts on his foreleg.

“Sit and stay cool,” Daring advised him. “That might be poisoned. Anything out of the ordinary, let us know.”

“Oh. Thanks for putting that in my head,” Strider said calmly, settling back.

For a few minutes, there was a tense, close silence, prey animals huddling in the grass in hopes that the predators would leave. Then came the blessed howl of sirens as an army of Manehattan Police cruisers screeched into the street, followed by a loud buzzing sound as a pair of helicopters raced in, snapping on spotlights to aid in the search.

Police officers rushed into the room, sweeping the area with semiautomatic rifles. The civilians in the bar yelped and cowered, covering their heads or raising their hooves and talons. “East! Plaza Hotel!” Phillip reported.

The grim-faced thestral sergeant did a minor double-take at the sight of the two detectives, pale orange eyes widening in surprise, then nodded and relayed the information through his walkie-talkie, sweeping the room for any sign of threats or serious injuries. “Okay, people, just keep your heads down until we give the all-clear,” he declared in a voice like thunder. “We’ll take care of the wounded once we know that it’s safe.”

He beckoned to his partner and quickly hustled out the door to rejoin the others in sweeping the area. A few civilians decided to try to rush for help, but most of the others remained where they were, fearfully whispering amongst each other.

Daring’s wings twitched in agitation and she stood up with a growl. “We should go out there and--”

“We’d just get in the way,” Phillip cut her off. “Let the cops deal with this.”

Daring Do scowled at him but sat back down with a huff.

It took nearly half an hour for the police officers to return. “All clear!” the thestral sergeant from earlier reported. “All right, folks, head out in an orderly fashion. We’ll check you for wounds and take your statements. Just work with us and take it easy and we’ll all get to go home soon.”

“You get him?” Daring asked the sergeant as the terrified civilians hustled out the door.

“No, he ran off,” the sergeant gravely shook his head.

“Shit,” Daring cursed as she exited with the others.

The streets glowed with flashing reds and blues of emergency lights, like some bizarre overdone Hearth’s Warming light display. Ambulances tended to the few injured creatures, most of whom had been trampled or hurt in the initial stampede for cover; thankfully, there were no serious injuries. Police swarmed over the Plaza and the surrounding area, checking for any evidence and questioning witnesses. Helicopters swarmed overhead, spotlights sweeping the ground beneath.

“I’m fine, I swear,” Strider reassured the paramedic who was checking his blood pressure and listening to his chest with a stethoscope.

“Your pulse and pressure are both highly elevated,” the young hippogriff responded, frowning in concentration as he pressed his stethoscope harder against Strider’s chest.

Strider fixed him with a level stare. “That might have something to do with the fact that I was being shot at not too long ago,” he deadpanned.

“Oh. That would do it,” the paramedic blushed, recovering his equipment and scurrying on.

Phillip sighed in relief. “Least it wasn’t poisoned. But take it easy regardless, mate.”

“If I wanted to take it easy, I’d take my wife and daughter on a vacation to Haywaii,” Strider smiled back, putting his jacket and fedora back on.

“Oh, look who it is,” Daring scowled at the ash-colored earth pony approaching, his suit rumpled as though he’d thrown it on on his way out the door.

Swampfire looked over the three investigators with a scowl. “So. Somepony tried to kill you. I’m sure there must be a pretty narrow suspect list,” he declared, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable.

Daring replied with a Flying Feather. “You mind letting us swab your hooves for residue?”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Strider cut them both off, stepping between them like the referee at a boxing match sending the fighters back to their corners. Daring and Swampfire glared at each other, then slowly backed down with a simultaneous snort.

“Do have an idea,” Phillip said, stalking over and glaring at the dead nighthawk on the ground, scowling at the blades attached to the talons.

“Plague Doctor,” he grunted.

“Guess he’s expanding his operation,” Daring said. “How’d he manage to find and catch up to us so fast?”

Phillip reached down and tugged a small bracelet from the bird’s talon, tilting it to reveal a small emerald embedded into it, faintly glowing with magic.

“Tracking gem,” he snarled.

“Give me that,” Strider said, snatching it and putting it in an evidence bag.

“So where does that leave us?” Strider asked.

“We do at least have a lead,” Phillip said.

“That son of a bitch who called us,” Daring snarled. “Led us right into that ambush.”

“Might not have been a trap,” Phillip pointed out. “Plague Doctor had the bird following us.” He slowly looked up and studied a metal tower nearby. A set of surveillance crystals were perched atop it, staring down at them like cyclopean metal birds of prey, crystalline eyes staring.

“Need to find the phone he called us from,” he said aloud.

“There’s probably a few hundred pay phones that he could have called us from,” Swampfire pointed out. “How are you going to narrow it down?”

“I need quiet,” Phillip stated simply, walking over to a corner of the bar and sitting down. He took a slow breath and closed his eyes, reaching up to cover his ears with his hooves.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, his heartbeat steadying in response. He forgot the cold, hard stone beneath him, the bite of the frosty wind bringing a potpourri of unidentifiable odors to his nose, forgot the distant noise all around him.

He was back in the hotel room, listening intently to Salmon’s nervous, panting voice over the phone.

“Uh, Salmon. Listen, I can tell you about the murders. I…I was part of it. I drove the van and made the soup.”

“Where are you?”

A faint clattering. A muffled voice.

“L-look, I…I think I’m being followed. I’m calling you from a public phone because for all I know, they’re tapping my home phone…”

Phillip frowned and rewound his mental recording, focusing on the strange noise in the background. A metallic clacking…wheels. A muffled voice…

He replayed the sound again. And again. And gradually, the words resolved themselves into language.

“Now boarding, 9th and Rockhoof. Next stop, 15th and Rockhoof.”

Phillip snapped his eyes open. “Map.”

Strider fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a map of Manehattan, spreading it on the table before him. Phillip ran a hoof over the table.

“Here,” he said, pointing. “He called us from 9th and Rockhoof: I heard a trolley in the background. There have to be surveillance crystals nearby. Strider, you got that…”

“SCPUD: Surveillance Crystal Portable Uplink Device,” Strider explained, holding out the circular rune-marked stone.

“I’m just gonna call it a spud,” Daring said, earning a brief frown from Strider. “C’mon!”

She grabbed Phillip beneath the forelegs and took off, with Strider following. “Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!” Swampfire protested.

“Sorry! Got better things to do than stand around!” Daring shouted as they headed north. Swampfire glared after them, shaking his head in frustration.

“There’s something else bothering me,” Strider pointed out with a frown as they flew on. “How did he know which hotel we were staying at?”

Daring frowned, then turned and looked back over her shoulder.

“No way,” Strider replied. “He’s an idiot and stuck-up, but he’s not a killer.”

“You sure about that?” Daring answered.

Strider opened his mouth to reply but closed it. They made the rest of the journey in silence.

“There you are,” Strider smirked, holding up the device to allow his companions to view the projected image.

An earth pony with a faint pinkish coat and short, silvery hair stood frozen in the phone booth, head turned towards the security crystal. The fear in his aquamarine eyes was palpable, even in the semi-transparent image. He wore a simple, tattered jacket and his cutie mark was a fish on a chopping block.

“So that’s our informant,” Phillip said. “Where’d he go?”

Strider fast-forwarded through the playback. Salmon rapidly spoke into the phone, head swiveling back and forth as he danced in place. As the trolley in the background was clattering past, he hung up, swung his leg up onto the dark blue bicycle resting against the booth, and headed south down the street.

“So where can we get one of these?” Daring asked as the trio proceeded south.

“You could start by being a federal agent,” Strider replied.

“Would I have to wear a blouse?” Daring asked.

“Probably,” Strider smirked. “And I don’t think the pith helmet would be allowed.”

“Ugh. No thanks,” Daring grimaced.

Strider checked the surveillance crystal at the next intersection and confirmed that Salmon had biked through, then led them down to the next intersection. The playback from the crystal showed that Salmon had turned to head west.

“Darn it. No crystal at that street,” Strider frowned as they paused at the next intersection.

“Try down there,” Phillip suggested, pointing to another tower of crystals at the next intersection, nearly a third of a mile down the street.

Strider hustled down the collection and held the SCPUD up to the crystals, the runes blinking green light as they connected to the enchanted stone. He rewound the playback to the proper time but frowned when their target did not appear.

“Looks like he didn’t head down this street,” he reported.

“I’ll check the alleys, see if I can find anything,” Daring said, taking to the sky. She began to circle the area, glaring down at the alleys and side streets below.

A glimmer of blue in the shadows of one alley made her pause. Was that…?

Daring stuck her hoof in her mouth and whistled to her companions. “I found his bike!”

The other two followed her guidance to find a dark blue bicycle left lying on the ground. The two pegasi hovered over the scene, careful not to damage the crime scene. Phillip scanned the area with his flashlight, sniffing.

“Cordite,” he scowled. “And…blood.”

He bent down and angled his flashlight to reveal dark red spots painted across the ground. Turning his flashlight up revealed more blood painted across the wall behind them, each centered around a cluster of bullet holes.

“High-caliber,” Phil noted. “Probably .44 or .45.”

“We’re probably not going to get good ballistics off of that,” Strider commented, frowning at the bullet holes.

Phillip followed a trail of blood drops and drag marks to the mouth of the alleyway, where it exited on a narrow, close street with brick walls on either side, most of their darkened windows boarded over. The blood trail led to the side of the road, with some larger drops on the asphalt indicating where Salmon’s body had been loaded into the trunk of a car.

“G’day,” Phillip mused, focusing his attention on a lamp post that stood on the sidewalk right next to the blood trail, the light flickering on and off. “Scrape mark here.”

He shone the light closer to reveal some paint scrapings embedded into the scratch, the light purple marks contrasting against the dark green paint of the post.

Phil took out a tape measure and measured the distance from the ground to the scratch mark. “Sixteen inches,” he reported.

“I see a callbox,” Strider said, looking towards a blue metal box standing on the corner, graffiti littering the surface of the device. “I’ll call this in.”

“No sleep tonight, I see,” Daring grumbled. “I thought it was the wicked that get no rest.”

The sun hung at its zenith overhead, peering down through a thickening layer of gray clouds upon a city alive with noise and rushing colors. Vehicles, pedestrians, and wings bustled through the city streets. No corpses had been left displayed in an alleyway this morning, but still, citizens were hurrying back and forth with the alacrity of subdued fear, dodging around each other with nervous glances. On the rare occasion that eye contact was made, both participants could see the same question in each other’s eyes: “Who’s going to be next?”

The five-story apartment building sat in the middle of a block in a southwestern neighborhood, not far from the coast. The brownstone building faced the narrow, cracked street, windows impassively staring down. Snow and slush clung to the barren trees lining the mostly barren sidewalk; the only figure in sight was a turquoise unicorn retiree sitting on one of the staircases, smoking a cigarette and staring at the empty streets as she reminisced over past days when foals would have gleeful snowball fights and made snowponies and snow angels on the embankments. She puffed out a cloud of smoke and sighed.

The sound of approaching tires made her look up. Her eyes widened at the sight of an unmarked car with a spinning red light planted on the roof. The car parked in front of the apartment and the doors opened to reveal an entourage of four ponies.

Her cigarette tumbled from her open mouth. A golden pegasus in a pith helmet and a stallion in a gray trilby exited one of the cars, looking up at the apartment building. Both of them proceeded up the other set of stairs, the stallion giving her a nod and a brief salute as they passed.

“Well, I’ll be,” she breathed, allowing herself to feel hope again.

Phillip and Daring followed Strider and Swampfire into the lobby and up a set of claustrophobic stairs to the third floor. A young blue hippogriff stood fidgeting in front of one of the doors, the keys in his claws jingling with every motion.

A scowling Swampfire pulled a warrant out of his coat and held it out for the landlord to review. “Open it up,” he ordered.

The hippogriff swallowed, his eyes widening at the sight of the judge’s signature and seal on the official document, but nodded and bent to the door. After some brief fumbling with the keys, he managed to unlock the door and swung it open with a creak. The scent of spices, broth, and cooked meat wafted faintly out of the door, making the visitors’ mouths water and stomachs grumble.

“Salmon Fillet’s always been a good tenant,” the landlord protested, stepping back. “Never gave us any reason to complain. W-what did he do?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Strider said plainly as they entered the apartment.

The tiny apartment’s combination living room, dining room, and kitchen showed little signs of being used: the wide table, its surface marked with knife gouges, ancient food stains, and burn marks, took up most of the area aside from the sink, icebox, and the well-used stove and oven. A couple of chairs and a desk littered with papers completed the humble ensemble.

“You’re sure that this is the guy who called you?” Swampfire asked.

“We didn’t spend all night and this morning prowling around passing out those damned flyers and poring over records just to make shots in the dark,” Daring groused back, giving him a glare that accentuated the heavy bags under her eyes.

Swampfire just grunted and leaned against the wall next to the door. “So who the hell is this guy, anyway? All we got on him was a driver’s license and an address. No criminal records, nothing.”

Phillip opened up the icebox and frowned at the sight of the frozen boxes of soup within. His eyes then went to a bottle of sleeping pills placed on top of a nearby shelf. “We might have found our potager,” he declared, checking through the rest of the cabinets. The cabinets were heavily stocked with spices, cans of stock and vegetables, and other ingredients, but nothing else of interest was to be found.

“So who was he working for?” Strider wondered aloud. He started to dig through the trash can next to the oven, rummaging through the rubbish for clues. “Hey, what’s this?”

He pulled out a crumpled-up sheet of paper and unballed it to reveal a typewritten list. “‘Food Truck Schedule,’” he read out loud. “‘Sunday, Gold Crescent. Monday, Salmon Fillet. Tuesday, Red Rover…’”

“There a letterhead or something?” Daring asked, hustling over to look.

The top part of the paper was torn off at an angle. Only the bottom part of a logo could be seen: a coat of arms split in half vertically, with one half decorated with stars and the other decorated with a sun. The only part of the letterhead remaining was the word “Manehattan.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” Daring commented dryly.

“Maybe the other half’s in here somewhere,” Strider said, resuming his search.

Phillip proceeded into the bedroom, which was equally spartan as the rest of the apartment; there was only the rickety bed, a dresser, and a closet, the walls bare of any decoration save for one: set facedown atop the dresser was an old framed photograph. Phillip turned it over to reveal a faded picture of a younger Salmon smiling at the camera.

Next to him was an elder earth pony with a light blue coat, her foreleg draped over her son’s shoulders. Her sea-green mane was streaked with gray, but her sunshine yellow eyes shone with happiness. The two were posed in front of a guard rail overlooking the water.

Phillip’s attention went to the building to their left. All that could be seen was a corner of the brick wall, but there was part of a sign visible: a bulletin board with a coat of arms on display. The shield was split into quarters, each holding a different symbol; a quill and inkpot, a rainbow, the sun, and a crescent moon. A set of wings flanked either side of the shield, and a horn crowned the symbol.

“An Alicorn’s Witness church,” Phillip mused aloud as Daring entered.

She squinted at the bulletin board. “Hey, I think that that’s the same icon as the schedule that Strider found,” she said. “Strider, bring that letter in here.”

“Dang, can’t find the other piece of this,” Strider said, pulling his head from the trash can and joining the others in the bedroom. Spotting the coat of arms on the bulletin board, he pulled out the torn schedule that he’d found.

“That looks like a match,” he mused. “But where is it?”

“There’s an island in the background there,” Daring said, leaning forward and pointing at the dark spot in the background, tracing over the high, angular perimeter. “Is that…?”

“Clovenworth,” Phillip confirmed with a scowl. “That should narrow down locations.”

“Locations for what?” Swampfire asked.

“Think we found the church that the food truck is from,” Phillip explained. “Should find it and look around.”

“You do what you gotta do,” Swampfire grunted, already turning to leave. “I got other things to take care of while you’re off on a scavenger hunt. Like getting more info on this church or whatever.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help!” Daring shouted down the stairs at him. Swampfire made no reply, turning the landing and disappearing from sight, the sound of his hoofsteps soon silencing.

Phillip had already grabbed a phone book and a map, tracing a hoof over the Manehattan coast. “Got you now.”

The Church of Saint Goldleaf was a brick building that sat perched on a hill overlooking the bay, its old steeple stretching up towards the sky. An old dirt road led up the slope to the doors, which appeared to have stood since the city of Manehattan was a fledgling port town. The small parking lot next to the road felt more like an afterthought.

Daring Do dropped Phillip onto the crest of the hill and landed next to him, looking out over the blue waves of the coast. Far off in the distance, Clovenworth Island sat like a dark stormcloud on the horizon, the sharp angles of its towers and high, barbed wire-topped walls instantly drawing the eye.

“Scarlet’s there,” she commented, primarily to herself, as Strider landed next to them. She let out a long breath that turned to vapor, floating up to join the gray clouds that were gradually covering the sky.

“Don’t have time for a visit,” Phillip said, proceeding to the door. Muffled voices and pipe organ music could be heard from within.

“You do realize that we might be walking into the lion’s den here?” Strider commented, looking up at the steeple high overhead. It seemed to loom over them, a huge and imposing shadow. The stained glass window beneath the bell tower displayed Faust and Speranza back to back, wings outstretched as they looked down upon the visitors. In the shadows cast from the overcast sky, their gazes, intended to be welcoming and peaceful, now seemed baleful and threatening, as if warning them off.

“Well, you know what they say about lions,” Daring commented, giving Strider a smirk. “You don’t have to outrun the lion, you just have to outrun the other guy.”

“That’s bears,” Strider flatly replied.

Phillip cleared his throat. “We’ll be careful,” he said, opening the door.

They proceeded through a foyer and followed the sound of the organ music up a creaking set of stairs into the sanctuary. The stone sanctuary was lined on both sides by stained glass images of the six alicorns watching over ponies tending to their tasks. The graying light filtering in through the windows was augmented by the flickering candles set in the chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.

The wooden benches lining the sanctuary could have seated more than a hundred, but the cushions that lined the pews were mostly coated in dust, testifying to their lack of general usage. The sixteen creatures that were occupying the pews appeared focused on their own meditations and most of them did not look up at the entrance of the intruders. At the head of the room was a large stone altar covered with a rainbow-colored cloth. The music was coming from a massive pipe organ set on a balcony over the front of the room; a thestral in a white cloak was practicing at the keyboard, his focus absolute. The music bounced off the stone walls, blending with itself to produce strange echoes and reverbs that sounded like groans and muffled whispers.

Daring flew up for a closer look at one of the stained-glass windows that was set high off the floor, studying the composition of Cadenza smiling down on a pair of lovers watching their young foals playing beneath a grove of apple trees. “This is forest glass,” she mused aloud. “From western Prance, if I’m not mistaken…there’s a maker’s mark here.” She whistled admirably. “Made in 1560, and this place is older than that.”

“Indeed; Saint Goldleaf’s church is one of the oldest churches in the city,” a female voice declared. A light yellow unicorn mare with red streaks running through her brown mane approached the group, her rosary necklace jingling with every step. She wore a set of flowing white robes and carried a crosier tipped with a golden set of wings and a horn. “We once served nearly the entirety of the city, but now that the city’s expanded, our membership has fallen a bit. The builders didn’t consider how inconvenient it might be to drive up a hill to get here.” She smiled and bowed at the waist slightly to greet them. “Blessings. I am Cardinal Blessed Raconteur. And I believe I have the pleasure of addressing the famous Daring Do and Phillip Finder.”

“G’day, Cardinal,” Phillip nodded. “This is Agent Strider. Do you know a Salmon Fillet?”

“Oh, yes, Salmon,” Cardinal Raconteur nodded with a smile. “He had been coming here since he was a child with his parents, working our food shelf even before we expanded to the mobile shelf.”

Strider narrowed his eyes. “‘Had been?’”

“And about that mobile shelf,” Daring scowled, landing next to the Cardinal. “Mind if we see the van?”

“That won’t be necessary,” the cardinal replied. Her smile broadened, but her eyes darkened, taking on a sinister glow. At the same time, the organ music deepened, the instrument producing low rumbles that did not belong to a normal instrument.

“Salmon was so quiet, so unassuming,” Raconteur continued. “Simply doing his tasks, attending the services, making the soup, driving the van. He took the first sacrifice himself, you know; all I needed to do was point and he obeyed.” She sighed. “I really should have seen his betrayal coming. I was a fool to assume that he would just follow without the same…coaxing that I gave some of his brothers and sisters. Oh, serpent heart hid with a flowering face."

The door slammed shut and the three investigators looked up to see a bulky griffon placing a bar over the door, glaring at them. The other attendants were slowly standing up, their faces cold as they drew knives, clubs, and guns from beneath their coats.

“The traitor has served his role in death,” the cardinal declared, her voice blending with the crescendo of the organ music that made the trio’s skin crawl with every note. “He has drawn the Stormbringers into our web. The eyes of our masters are upon you, brothers and sisters, and their hooves now guide your limbs. We have worked so long for this; we shall not fail here!”

She thumped the crosier against the floor and the golden icon ignited with terrible greenish flames reflected in her mad scarlet eyes. Strider and Daring both cried out as an aura of similar color surrounded their wings, the familiar tingling of their flight magic evaporating in an instant.

“Kill them.”

Author's Note

Lion's den, indeed.

Relentlessly hunted and now seemingly cornered, how are our heroes going to get out of this one? Find out next week!

Be sure to leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Four: The Profane and the Sacred

The congregation lunged at the trio with a roar, those with melee weapons charging in while the gunponies maneuvered for a clear shot.

A flash of light and a clap of thunder shook the room as smoke erupted from where their targets were standing, blocking their view. The congregation staggered, the closest ones shielding their eyes and coughing on the fumes; the organ player momentarily stumbled over a note but immediately picked back up and resumed his uncanny hymn.

A pair of whistling noises streaked through the air, soon accompanied by yelps and oaths as their weapons were knocked from their hooves.

Phillip and Daring charged from the smoke, slamming into the nearest foes and knocking them to the ground, catching their returning boomerangs as they plowed down the central aisle, headed straight for the priestess like a pair of sharks making for a wounded seal.

Raconteur merely smirked and gestured with her crosier. A pair of huge wooden pews were sent hurtling towards her foes as though they’d been thrown by a tornado.

Phillip dove and slid beneath the pews like a runner trying for home base, while Daring leaped over the pews, tucking into a forward flip. The pews flew into the back wall and smashed into pieces that flew everywhere, sending Strider and the rest of the congregation diving for the ground.

As Daring landed, she pulled her bullwhip from her belt, uncoiling the leather cord. Even before she landed, she drew the whip back with a grin, then snapped it out with a crack.

The air around Raconteur hissed, a sphere of emerald flame flickering into being around her as the whip bounced harmlessly off the shield.

At the other end of the room, Strider drew his .45 Filly and opened fire, sending three quick shots at the priestess. Every bullet evaporated against the shield with a faint hiss. Phillip snarled and swung his waddy at the shield, but the strike merely sent him reeling with a grunt.

Raconteur cackled, her laughter mixing with the strident notes that the organ was emitting. “This is the wrath of the Stormbringers?” she taunted, slamming the end of the crosier against the ground. A blast of eldritch fire burst from her, shoving Phillip and Daring aside like the blade of a bulldozer. "Gods, what fools these mortals be!"

The congregation recovered their guns and turned towards Strider, who dove behind a pew. Phillip and Daring rolled out of the blow, recovering instantly and rushing back into the melee.

“No, you don’t!” Daring shouted, snapping her whip out again. The donkey that had been aiming a pistol at her yelped as the leather cord ensnared his foreleg and he was reeled in like a fish on a hook.

Phillip closed in and snapped a roundhouse into the donkey’s gut, leaving him gasping on the ground like a beached whale. Sidestepping around him like a dancer, Phillip smashed his waddy into a pegasus, sending blood and teeth flying, and threw his boomerang in the same motion. The weapon spun through the air and struck two ponies that were trying to flank Strider’s position, pinballing between their craniums before returning to Phillip’s hoof.

“Thanks, Phil!” Strider shouted, popping back out of cover and opening fire, dropping both of the mares with one shot apiece.

A roar alerted Daring of an incoming hulking coal-black griffon, a broken piece of a pew raised over his head; at the same time, a young buffalo cow seized a dropped knife with a snarl and charged in.

“Please,” Daring scoffed, sidestepping the griffon and raising her hooves, the cord of her whip held taut between them. The griffon’s roar turned to a grunt of confusion as his talons were bound with the cord, his own momentum pulling him forward to the floor.

At the same time, Daring swung the other end of the whip over her head, the handle swishing for the buffalo’s head.

“Ha!” the buffalo taunted, ducking beneath the blow.

“Ha-ha!” Daring laughed back as she deftly brought the handle down like an ax onto the crown of the target’s foreleg, the weighted end knocking the knife from her grasp.

Talons grasped at her hind limbs, the griffon at her hooves trying to pull her to the ground. Daring rolled out of the attack, her momentum carrying her towards the buffalo and she drove her elbow into her temple, knocking her to the floor. A spinning step back towards the griffon and her hoof crashed into his beak as he tried to rise, sending him to the ground.

Silence fell over the sanctuary, save for the groans of the defeated cultists left sprawled across the floor. Strider, Phillip, and Daring all turned to face Raconteur, whose smug expression had evaporated as she looked over her defeated cohort. The organist paused, turning to stare at the scene of destruction beneath him.

“Just you and us now, Your Holiness,” Daring taunted. “Why don’t you drop that shield before we break it down for you?”

The priestess growled, then lifted her crosier above her head and slammed the end to the ground. The emerald flames around the decorative head grew, the flames on the chandeliers overhead suddenly turning the same eldritch color and flaring. The shadows that the light cast twisted unnaturally; the silhouette behind Raconteur seemed to grow into a serpentine shape slithering across the wall of the sanctuary, twisted horns and wings growing from the shade. The organist grinned and resumed playing, blasting out bold, echoing notes that rumbled through the sanctuary.

“EMBRACE THE CORRUPTION!” she roared, her voice echoing impossibly loudly, somehow musically blending with the organ's chords. “LET THE TOUCH OF DISCORD CLEANSE YOU!”

Emerald flames erupted across the bodies of her congregation, who began to spasm and twist, gasping as their faces twisted in a mixture of pain and ecstasy.

“What the hell…?” Daring said, her eyes widening.

"There are more things in heaven and Earth, Daring Do, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Raconteur smirked.

The buffalo mare that she’d knocked down let out a groan that turned into strident laughter, her jaw opening impossibly wide with a cracking noise. Her teeth began to grow and curl, turning into uneven fangs in a maw that was nearly a foot wide open; curled horns erupted from her shoulders, turning into asymmetrical growths. She laughed with every growth that burst from her body, the unnatural sound sending chills down the investigators’ spines.

Cracking, bubbling, groaning, and stretching sounds filled the air; bones and muscles began to twist and warp, drawing gasps, groans, cries, and laughter from the mutated congregation. Eyes tore through skin, claws and talons sprouted from shoulders and backs, tumorous growths burst and bubbled forth, impossibly long tongues slick with acid dangled from open mouths, and limbs melted and fused like clay, turning into tentacle-like appendages that dripped with foul-smelling ichor.

A clap of thunder sounded from overhead, muffled through the stone; rain began to patter against the stained-glass window, running down the colored patterns and distorting the light that was filtering in through the sanctuary. The organ music quieted down to sinister murmurs and groans that one felt more than heard.

“You guys got a plan?” Strider asked as he slapped a fresh clip into his sidearm.

Daring flapped her still-glowing wings and grimaced when she failed to gain any lift. “Gotta find an exit!” she said, glaring up at the stained-glass windows, all of them high up out of reach. The smiles on the alicorns' faces seemed to grow taunting in the darkness of the rain outside.

Phillip drew his .38 with his left hoof and nodded towards a door at the front of the sanctuary, behind the altar. “Push through, get out there,” he nodded.

Raconteur raised her crosier and two of the pews lifted off the ground, hanging threateningly overhead. The mutated ponies roared, hissed, and snarled as they closed in, a tidal wave of twisted flesh and bone.

Daring threw another smoke bomb at their hooves, creating another cloud of choking smog that obscured them from view, but the monsters merely pushed through it, claws and fangs snapping towards them.

“Yikes!” Daring shouted, dodging beneath an appendage not unlike a scorpion’s tail that had erupted from a stallion’s shoulder blades.

Strider grabbed a broken pew fragment and thrust it in front of them, creating a momentary barrier that their foes stumbled against. “Go, go!” he cried, urging his friends on. The trio dodged around the horde of attackers, vaulting over pews and charging for the door at the back wall.

“Ah-ah-ah! Where do you think you’re going?” Raconteur taunted, dropping one of the pews in front of the door, blocking their exit. The other pew came spinning at their heads.

“Duck!” Daring cried, shoving both stallions to the ground. The pew passed inches over her head, knocking her pith helmet off.

“Get them!” the priestess snarled, gesturing with her crosier.

A thing that had formerly been a light yellow earth pony mare screeched and lunged at them, snapping at them with the claws that had torn from her forelimbs; bloodlust glowed in her four eyes, all of them a different color, and bile flew from her mouth.

Strider put a bullet into the beast’s forehead with a crack of thunder and it tumbled to the ground with a crash, its body twisting in disturbing insect-like spasms. The corpse was instantly trampled by the other monsters as they surged in, scrabbling against the stone and vaulting over obstacles in their way.

“Ah, shit,” Strider grimaced as the other two drew their own sidearms and opened fire as well, dodging around the swarm. Two, three, four monsters fell, but the others just kept coming on.

Strider stumbled over a piece of debris and fell against the stone wall, grimacing as his shoulder rammed into the wall. He fired off a wild shot at an approaching beast; the elderly earth pony stallion raised a foreleg covered in a chitinous material, the bullet deflecting off the deformed limb. The limb blurred and slammed into Strider’s jaw, sending him flying into the opposite wall. He crumpled to the floor with a cry, the world spinning as his pistol flew across the floor.

“Strider, look out!” Phillip shouted, dodging around a pegasus that was lunging at him, grimacing as the talons that had torn from his attacker’s hind legs slashed at his foreleg.

Phillip’s warning came too late: a hulking mass of tumorous flesh rammed into the pegasus, knocking him down. The thing pinned Strider down, snarling as it opened its gaping mouth and leaned in towards his head, the two forked tongues dangling from its maw.

“Gah!” Strider cried, choking on the monster’s reeking breath as he tried to fend it off. He hissed as the tongues assailed his face. “Phil, Daring, help!”

His heart leaping to his throat, Phillip raised his revolver at the mass of flesh and fired twice; the bullets smacked into the twisted form, but he may as well have thrown peas at it for all the good it did.

Click-click-click.

“Bollocks!” Phillip sprinted towards Strider, but a beat of wings made him tuck into a roll. The pegasus with the talons soared over his head, letting out a screech of frustration as it missed.

Unfortunately, Phillip didn’t see the other attacker coming at him from the left. He ducked beneath a swipe from a tentacle, grimacing as stinking mucus spattered over his face, then bellowing in pain as the acid bit into his flesh, his eyes instinctively slamming shut.

As a result, he didn’t see the other tentacle barreling at his face. The battering ram crashed into his skull, sending him flying back as stars danced before his eyes. He crashed into the altar, pain erupting across his entire body and his breath leaving him in a cry as he slid to the ground.

Vision returned to him in a blur of colors. The sound of his wife’s desperate grunts mixed with the cracking of her whip made him turn to see her back up into a corner, cracking her whip in a desperate bid to fend off the monsters surrounding her. Strider was still struggling against the crushing weight on his chest, gasping for air, his forelimbs trembling.

Cardinal Raconteur approached him, dark pleasure shining in her eyes. Some of her other monsters fell in behind her, hounds on the lead. “Death is coming, Detective Finder,” she gloated.

Phillip glared at the false cardinal, who merely smirked back at him. The eldritch fire crowning her staff cast her face in twisted shadows, making her eyes seem to glow. The bubble-shaped shield that she had surrounded herself with was faintly visible, the light green glow shimmering in the rain-streaked light.

He felt a snarl erupt from his throat, anger rushing through his body and smothering the fear and exhaustion and pain beneath a cold flood; a crack of thunder sounded from directly overhead. As he rose to his hooves, he took the surge of energy and stuffed it down into his core.

He lowered his head and charged at her, swinging his waddy back. Raconteur’s eyes widened as he came on, then she growled and thrust the crosier at him. A crackling sphere of green flames shot at him with a roar.

Phillip rolled beneath the attack, barely slowing. The sphere struck the wall behind him with a hiss of stone fusing into glass.

A gesture of the crosier sent a bolt of emerald at Phillip, coming at him too fast to dodge. It struck him in the chest like the punch of a minotaur, but he pushed through it with a growl as the spell washed around his body like water running around a rock.

“What?!” Raconteur cried in disbelief, trying to push more energy into her spell, but Phillip’s ward held strong, baying off her magic. The pipe organ began to play even louder, the organist slamming down on the keys in seeming desperation, as if the louder bellows might drive Phillip off, but all in vain.

Phillip thought of Daring, of Strider, felt their presence nearby, heard their grunts and oaths as they fended off the monsters, sensed their desperation and fear. His muscles tightened. Protect them.

The images of the mutilated corpses flashed before his eyes, every detail painfully clear to his mind. He saw the fear and pain and desperation on their faces. Anger made his heart race. Avenge them.

He felt a cool, familiar touch of rain against his chest: his Angkakert totem. He invited the coolness into him, letting it fuel him in his charge; the thunder overhead cracked again as though in response and he swore it felt like another set of hooves were gripping his weapon along with him.

Raconteur stumbled back, eyes widening, raising her crosier as though to try to shield herself. The force field around her began to thicken in response.

Useless.

Phillip planted his hooves, twisted his shoulders and hips into the blow, and swung for the bleachers, putting every ounce of his fear, anger, and drive into the strike; he felt the energy rushing from his core up his arm and down the smoothly carved wood of the waddy. Lightning flashed outside, accompanied by a deafening roar of thunder and his own bellow.

The round end of the waddy struck the shield and shattered it into pieces that dissolved into green motes. Raconteur fell to the ground with a scream as the pipe organ music screeched to a halt, the cloaked thestral tumbling from his chair with a cry of dismay. The monsters all flinched away, faces twisting in confused pain.

“Defiler!” Phillip shouted, pinning her down with a hoof to the chest and raising his waddy for the final blow.

Raconteur shouted and thrust with her crosier. Phillip was suddenly surrounded by a sickly green aura and lifted up into the air, struggling futilely.

Swoop-CRACK!

“No!” Raconteur cried as her crosier was yanked from her grasp by Daring’s whip, lightning crackling along the leather cord.

Daring seized the staff, raised it over her head, and smashed it against the stone floor as another lightning strike sounded outside, light filling the sanctuary. The gold crownpiece shattered, the enchanted flame dissipating instantly.

The mutated congregation members all immediately went into violent spasms, wailing and screeching in agony. The twisted limbs and extra eyes began to spasm and dissolve, turning into puddles of ooze that their unconscious forms collapsed into. After a few moments, all was still and quiet again, save for the rain against the windows and the moans of their defeated foes.

Phillip landed on the ground with a grunt, turning to his two companions. “You two okay?” he asked.

“I’m good,” a sweat-covered Daring replied, flinging aside the broken shaft. She tested her wings and grinned when they lifted her off the ground slightly.

Strider coughed and spat as he pushed the groaning white-haired earth pony off him and raised himself to his hooves, his trench coat covered in slime. “Ugh…my wife bought me this coat,” he grumbled.

"Hey, you," Daring ordered the organist, recovering her pistol and aiming it up at the balcony. "Why don't you come down and join us?" The thestral, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear, slowly made his way down the steps, never taking his gaze off of Daring.

Phillip glared down at Raconteur, who was trembling beneath him, eyes wide with disbelief and terror. "But then I sigh and with a piece of Scripture, tell them that the gods bid us do good for evil," he hissed at her.

"And thus I clothe my naked villainy with odd old ends stolen forth of holy writ," Daring finished the line. "And seem a saint, when most I play the devils." She gave Raconteur a vicious snarl. "Thing about saints: they usually wind up dying."

The cardinal let out a bleat of fear and covered her head with her forelegs. “Mercy!” she pleaded. “Mercy, Stormbringers, I beg you!”

Phillip and Daring briefly exchanged glances. “‘Stormbringer?’” Daring asked. “That’s kind of cool.”

“So how come I don’t get a cool nickname?” Strider asked, retrieving a set of hoofcuffs and securing Raconteur’s forelimbs.

Swampfire and Judgement stared at the three ponies in silence, then slowly looked about the church, staring at the six corpses that were still laying amidst the destruction.

“Okay…one more time,” Agent Judgement said slowly. “You came here and they all attacked you, and then the Cardinal…mutated them.”

“This is what you get for bringing these ponies here,” Swampfire complained to his SAC. “Bizarre stories that wouldn’t impress a third-grader.”

“Do I need to remind you about the Wonderbolt that choked to death on chicken feathers in front of a live audience?” Strider growled. “Or the one that drowned in swamp water in his apartment? Oh, how about the one with the chicken feet?!”

Swampfire growled. “Fine. Point taken.”

“Should check the church,” Phillip continued. “Might be more clues.”

“Agent Judgement!” came a shout from below. “We found something in the basement!”

The five investigators hurried down the stairs into the wide, dark basement, which reeked of years-old dust and debris. Boxes were stacked all across the walls, and racks of clothing that had been worn down by time and moths hung in between the stone arches.

Some agents and crime scene personnel were standing at the back wall, shining flashlights over a small cove that appeared to have been turned into temporary living quarters. A mattress was pressed up against the wall, the sheets upon it tossed aside. A table nearby was scattered with photographs and maps of Manehattan, with the Neighgency hotel next to Union Station circled; small gemstones like the one that Phil had recovered from the nighthawk were placed on the table next to polished stones that were curved like contact lenses.

And set at the top of the table was a perch for a pet bird, with a bowl of water and a bowl of seeds set within.

“Guess we found the doctor’s office,” Daring said with a scowl.

"What've we got here?" Strider asked, bending down and using a wing to pull some loose objects from beneath a table: a cluster of brass cartridges.

"Thirty-aught-six," Phillip scowled.

"We're both pretty familiar with that caliber," Daring spat.

Phillip examined the headstamp on the end of the casing. "HB...that's a Crystal Empire manufacturer that specialized in supplying the military during the Crystal War. Year...1943."

"What's this?" Daring asked, snatching up a photograph beneath the maps of Manehattan, its edges tattered from being repeatedly handled. The picture was of a light pink unicorn with a long red and black mane. She was winking up at the lens, her horn alight as she levitated the camera up before her, a genuine smile on her face. She was holding up a piece of paper with a single word written on it in flowing red cursive: Pour toujours.

Daring's face creased into a snarl. "Scarlet," she spat with acid on her tongue.

“And look here,” Swampfire said, pointing his flashlight at a tall stack of blueprints. The front page depicted a tall fortress of stone and steel spread across an island, surrounded by a high gate. Every eye was instantly drawn to the name printed on the top of the page.

Clovenworth.

Author's Note

I was playing WH40K Chaosgate: Daemonhunters when I wrote this chapter, and that may have influenced things slightly.

Regardless, now we have a solid lead and we really get to the meat of this chapter! We're about to see a few familiar faces in this story. I hope that you're looking forward to it!

Until next week, and I can't wait to read your comments!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Five: Clovenworth Island

The island loomed over them, gray stone and gray metal reaching up for the gunmetal gray sky that overlooked the gray waters. The imposing structure hung over the approaching launch like a guillotine blade, waves crashing against the steep stone slopes that looked like they would be standing until the end of days. The beam of light emanating from the lighthouse penetrated through the rainy sky like a sword slicing through the atmosphere.

“Anypony else feel kinda small right now?” Daring said, staring up at the huge shape of Clovenworth Penitentiary as their launch trundled through the churning water of Manehattan Bay. She shivered slightly in the rain that continued to fall from the sky up above, dripping off the brim of her pith helmet. Lightning flickered through the clouds overhead, accompanied by a distant rumble of thunder.

Phillip and Strider stood next to her on the deck of the boat, the powerful lights mounted over the pilothouse penetrating the evening air and illuminating a concrete pier extending out into the water. A small cabin stood at the end of the dock, a tiny shelter against the forces of nature. Three figures stood waiting for their launch on the dock: a reddish-brown female yak, her copper mane tied back in a tight knot and wearing the dark gray uniform of a correctional officer covered by a rain jacket; a light blue unicorn stallion with reddish hair in a primly pressed suit, his cutie mark a folder with an open eye stamped upon it, clutching a clipboard to his chest with one foreleg and holding an umbrella over his head with his magic; and an earth pony mare with a coat the color of dark chocolate, ink-black hair, hard blue eyes, and shoulders like a linebacker, her cutie mark a brick wall, stoically unmoved by the weather. All three had walkie-talkies secured to their belts with microphones clipped up to their shoulders.

As the launch approached, spotlights snapped on from the two nearest guard towers, causing the ponies on the boat to wince at the sudden assault of harsh white light. The boat chugged to the dock, the engine slowly groaning to a halt.

“Here we are,” the hippogriff police officer piloting the boat declared, exiting the boat and tossing a couple of lines to the yak officer. The yak tied off the boat and beckoned them to jump onto the pier.

The trio hopped onto the stone as the stocky mare approached them. “Welcome to Clovenworth Island, Agent, detectives,” she announced in a voice as thick as the walls of her prison. “I’m Warden Brick Wall. This is my secretary, Counterintelligence.”

“Welcome,” Counterintelligence nodded.

“G’day, Warden,” Phillip said, shaking her hoof. “Were you related to Stone Wall?”

“He was my cousin,” the warden answered with a quiet sigh.

“My condolences,” Phillip bowed his head.

“He was a good stallion,” Daring put in.

“You got the fucker. That’s all I could ask for,” Brick said, shrugging and letting out a quiet cough. “I got your message and spread the word among the officers,” she said as the yak officer grabbed a phone from a wall fixture and announced that the visitors had arrived. “We appreciate the warning, but I don’t know what you expect to find here.”

“We have a few questions for a couple of the inmates,” Strider replied as they followed the warden and her secretary up a long set of snow and slush-coated stairs set into the cliffs, the spotlights from the guard towers illuminating their every step. Set over the stairs at periodic intervals were metal arches: Netitus Security Gates, designed to unravel any glamours or similar spells or set off an alarm if one attempted to walk through carrying any contraband. “And we also want to ask you about the staff.”

Brick Wall glared at him. “Are you insinuating that some of my officers are planning a breakout?” she growled.

“We just want to cover every angle,” Strider said placatingly.

Brick Wall frowned at him for several seconds of silence but nodded. “I see,” she said, watching as Daring passed through the first gate, which turned red and buzzed loudly.

“She’s not packing, dinky-di,” Phillip assured the warden as he followed his wife through, the gate buzzing for him as well.

“As long as we’re taking the tour, we might as well get some info about the prison,” Daring proposed, looking up at the massive towers staring down at them. Behind the glare of the spotlights, she could see the silhouettes of guards with rifles looking down upon them.

“Fair enough,” Brick Wall nodded. “Counterintelligence?”

“Clovenworth Penitentiary was built in 1844 as a military fortress, during the Siren Wars,” Counterintelligence rattled off from memory. “It was converted into a maximum-security prison in 1933 for inmates with severe disciplinary problems, those who have successfully or repeatedly attempted to escape from less-secure institutions, and those who had committed crimes of an extremely heinous nature. Every measure was taken in making the facility as difficult to escape from as possible.”

Daring abruptly winced as the all-too-familiar cold of an anti-flight ward washed over her like an ice bath. The comforting buzz of her flight magic was smothered beneath the preventative magic, and for a terrifying second, a part of her brain screamed at her that her wings had been suddenly severed and she instinctively checked to make sure that her feathered appendages were still attached.

“Never gonna get used to that,” Strider grimaced, glancing at his own wings.

“Yes, that’s one of the first defenses that the island has,” Counterintelligence continued. “Every inch of the walls of this prison carries powerful defensive wards: anti-flight, anti-teleportation, anti-scrying, strengthening, and so on. This stairway is the only path onto or off the island; the rest of the island’s perimeter is all sheer cliff walls, and without flight, climbing them would be a near-impossible task.”

“Staff and inmates?” Phillip asked as they neared the top of the stairs.

“Total staff number about 120, with 85 total correctional officers,” Counterintelligence rattled off. “We never have less than 50 on the island at any one time. Clovenworth has a maximum capacity of 240; the current capacity is 197. And here we are.”

They reached the top of the stairway and approached a thick set of metal gates placed in the thick concrete walls that circumnavigated the prison; as Counterintelligence stated, wards were carved into the stone, the arcane symbols faintly glowing with power that passed between them like water through a channel. The gates were protected by a second guardhouse, where a trio of officers approached them and gave each of the three guests a thorough search, checking every pocket and running through their clothes, coats, manes, wings, and tails.

“No exceptions for the warden’s guests?” Daring asked, frowning as one of the officers thoroughly searched her pith helmet.

“We can’t allow ourselves to become complacent, ever,” Brick Wall replied, nodding in approval at her guards’ work.

“Your pistols and other weapons will need to stay here,” a light gray hippogriff officer reported. “We’ll lock them up in the guardhouse for you.”

Phil, Daring, and Strider removed their holsters and hoofed them over, followed by Phillip's waddy and Daring's stockwhip. The hippogriff looked at the Aborigineighal weapons for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at them.

“We won them in a contest and we feel obligated to use them,” Daring replied.

The hippogriff shrugged, entered the guardhouse, and returned with a clipboard carrying three pieces of paper and a pen. “Each of you needs to sign one of these, please,” he said, handing the clipboard to Phillip.

“What’s this?” Phil asked, looking over the document.

“A waiver,” Warden Brick Wall explained. “That you understand that in the event you are taken hostage, we will not negotiate for your release.”

“Cheery,” Daring commented, signing the waiver and passing it to Strider. He and Daring both signed the waiver and handed the clipboard back to the guard.

The officer reentered the guardhouse and there was a buzzing noise. The gate began to roll to one side with a groaning and clattering of gears, allowing them entry.

“Shall we?” Brick Wall asked, gesturing for them to enter first.

Daring Do looked up at the massive towers overhead, their spotlights still shining their beams down upon them. The gate in front of her looked more like an open maw ready to swallow her whole; the high brick walls seemed to threaten to trap her here forever. Her heartbeat sped up, thumping against the inside of her skull; her lungs instinctively started to gulp down cold evening air like she was drowning.

“Daring?” Phillip asked, taking her right hoof and squeezing.

Daring swallowed a mouthful of bile and took a slow, deep breath, ordering her heartbeat to slow down. “I’m okay,” she smiled feebly up at him, gripping his hoof back. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Right,” Phillip nodded, leading his wife and partner through the gate into Clovenworth Penitentiary.

The first thing that they saw on the other side of the fence was a battered metal sign titled Inmate Rules, a long list of regulations and restrictions for the inmates of Clovenworth. The island looked kind of like a crude castle keep, penned in by brick walls topped by barbed wire and spikes, with guard towers dotted irregularly along the circumference. Sections of the island were separated by chain-link fences that intersected the gray stone buildings that dotted the prison, and the ground was covered in great swaths of snow, with salted sidewalks cutting through the banks.

The main buildings, all of them crowned with blankets of white, were a trio of circular three-story buildings, one smaller than the other two. Each had a gated yard attached to them, each with a guard tower positioned to watch over them. Next to the entrance was a long, flat building with windows and a set of radio antennae connected to it. Nearby was a smaller white building with a red cross painted over the door. On the opposite side of the prison were two long, parallel buildings. A water tower stood next to another, smaller stone building, and finally, a two-story gable-roofed building stood off on its own not far from the entrance.

“Those three large buildings are the cell blocks,” Counterintelligence explained. “We have separate ones for males and females, and the small one is death row, which has the only execution chamber in Equestria."

"Out of curiosity, how many do you have in there?" Strider asked.

"Nine at the moment, all of them serial killers and domestic terrorists," Counterintelligence replied. "You two would probably recognize one of them," he added meaningfully to Phil and Daring. "Next to you are the barracks, where guards stay while off-shift during their tours and which also houses the main security center. Then we have the infirmary, shops where inmates work, backup generators, and the warden’s home and offices.”

“We’ll start in my offices,” Brick Wall said, leading them towards the gable-roofed house. “Mind the fences; they’re electrified.”

“I noticed,” Phillip replied, glancing at the fence. Even if he hadn’t been able to feel the thick sensation of static that hung in the air around the metal, the small red warning signs with a picture of a lightning bolt placed at regular intervals would’ve been enough of a clue.

Brick Wall paused at a gate set into a section of the fence and glanced up at a surveillance crystal mounted on a nearby tower. A loud buzzer sounded and she pushed the gate open, allowing her guests entry up a concrete path that was kept scrupulously clear of snow.

The warden’s office would’ve been modest if it had been placed in a normal suburban neighborhood, with its compact size, a tiny attached flower garden that was currently barren from the cold, and simple dark-blue paint that had faded from years of exposure. Compared to the utilitarian gray of the prison, it looked like a palace dropped in the middle of the desert.

“Here we are,” Brick Wall said, pulling a set of keys from a keyring on her belt and inserting one into the wooden door. The door squeaked open to reveal a simple lobby, with a set of stairs leading to the second floor, a small receptionist’s office to one side occupied by a white-maned unicorn mare with a bubblegum coat, and a sitting room to the other.

“Evening, Sticky Note,” Counterintelligence greeted the mare, shaking off his umbrella as they entered.

The mare’s jaw dropped when she saw the stallion in the gray trilby and the mare in the pith helmet enter. “D-d-detectives!” she stammered out, rushing to a coffee machine in the corner. “Welcome to Clovenworth! Can I offer--?”

“No thanks,” Daring waved her off.

“My offices are upstairs,” Brick Wall said, taking off her jacket and hanging it up on a rack next to three sets of saddlebags, then kicking off her horseshoes and placing them into a boot tray. “Jackets and shoes off, please. I don’t want to give the cleaning staff reason to stay in my home longer than they have to.”

The other ponies all removed their horseshoes and outer jackets. Counterintelligence took his leave and entered the receptionist’s office, gathering some documents. Sticky Note pretended to shuffle through some mail while watching the detectives proceed upstairs with wide brown eyes.

Brick Wall led them to the second floor, down a hallway lined with portraits of the previous wardens, and into a large oak-paneled office. Set at the end of the room was a large but simple desk, the stationery atop it neatly organized. Filing cabinets were set behind the desk like soldiers at attention. On the wall opposite was an enlarged architectural drawing of the original layout of the penitentiary.

“Which inmates did you want to speak to?” the warden asked, unlocking one of the filing cabinets.

“Scarlet Letter,” Daring said, spitting out the name like it tasted of acid.

“Hmmm,” Brick Wall grunted, pulling out one drawer and flipping through it. “She’s been with us for about half a year now. No real disciplinary problems, but we’ve been keeping a close eye on her. We don’t get many inmates who deliberately petition to be moved here.”

She pulled out a manila folder and placed it on the table, pushing it over to her guests. Strider used a wing to open the folder and spread the documents therein over the table. Paperclipped to the front of the papers was a set of mugshots, depicting a short, light pink unicorn mare, her long midnight black mane accented with red. Her facial expression was neutral, brown eyes cold; the face itself was crisscrossed with bright red scars, dividing her face like a haphazard jigsaw puzzle. A closeup of her cutie mark revealed it to be a letter and quill.

Daring took in a slow breath through her nostrils, her muscles tensing as her eyes fell on the photograph. The last time that she’d seen Scarlet Letter, she’d been laying unconscious amidst the wreckage of their fight, her bloodied face shredded by the broken glass around them. For a moment, Daring remembered how her neck had felt so fragile in her hooves.

It would’ve been easy. So easy.

But it wouldn’t have been right.

Daring exhaled slowly and closed her eyes for a moment, bringing the hate under control and forcing it back into its cage.

“Since she got here, she’s been associating with some of our…higher-risk inmates,” Brick Wall said, giving Daring a meaningful glance and shifting aside some papers to reveal a typewritten list of Regular Associates. “I think that you might recognize a few names on this list.”

Daring Do studied the list in silence for a moment, then let out a groan. “Great. Just great.”

“What?” Strider asked.

“Family members,” Daring groaned.

“Family…” Strider’s jaw dropped. “Ooohhhh.”

“How many are in here?” Phillip asked.

“Twenty-two,” Brick Wall and Daring Do said at the same time.

“All of the living Family members besides me and Sparks,” Daring added.

“They were all moved here after repeated disciplinary problems and escape attempts from lesser-security facilities,” Brick Wall explained. “Most of them are in and out of solitary confinement, and they’re one of the most close-knit groups in here; they rarely interact with the other inmates. We know that the male and female ones are communicating with each other, but every time we shut down one line, they open up another.”

“Not surprised,” Daring grumbled.

“What makes you think that Scarlet is planning an escape?” Brick Wall asked.

Phil gave her a brief overview of their raid on Saint Goldleaf’s church. “Found .30-06 rounds made in the Crystal Empire there,” he explained. “Same rounds that a BAR uses. And she had access to those before.”

“I see,” Brick Wall nodded grimly.

“Are any of your staff members of Saint Goldleaf’s church?” Phillip asked.

“Not that I know of,” the warden admitted. “But Counterintelligence and Sticky Note would know more about the staff.”

“Is Scarlet close to any of the staff?” Phillip pressed.

“My officers are trained to keep their distance from the inmates,” Brick Wall coldly replied. “I doubt that any of them would’ve been taken over by her ‘charms.’”

Daring let out a breath. “Well, no point standing here delaying the inevitable. What cell is she in?”

“Follow me,” Brick Wall instructed, rising from the desk once more. She led them back down the stairs and into the boreal evening.

“The female wing is the closest one,” she said, pointing to the nearest circular concrete construction as they headed through the next gate.

Two more gates brought them within reach of the cellblock. Daring paused at the doorway, staring up at the three-story building stretching over her. Cast against the ever-darkening sky above, the cold, clinical design looked almost ominous, like a guillotine blade hanging over her head.

For a moment, she felt small and vulnerable. For a moment, she was back at Frostback, being pulled from the back of the transport, the shackles around her hooves and wings rattling as she was escorted to the intake gate.

Her stomach twisted in her gut and her knees suddenly felt weak.

“Daring?” Phillip asked, pulling her close.

Daring Do closed her eyes and forced herself to control her breathing. Inhale for five. Pause. Exhale for five. Pause. Repeat. You’re okay. You’re okay.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, nonetheless leaning against him, taking strength from his presence.

“You don’t need to--” Phil started to say.

“Yes. I do,” Daring scowled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Brick Wall signaled the surveillance crystal watching over the thick metal doors leading into the cell blocks. With a loud buzz, the doors unlocked and slowly swung open.

“After you,” the warden beckoned her guests to enter.

They entered a sally port, the tiled floor slick with melted snow and slush; the doors slid shut and locked behind them, while another set before them blocked further entry. A window to the left revealed a security room with a single officer, sipping from a fresh thermos of coffee while she watched a panel of security displays.

“Good evening, Warden,” the senior burro saluted, the chevrons on his sleeves marking him as a sergeant. “Here to see somepony?”

“Scarlet Letter,” Brick Wall replied.

“Ah. Cell B27, ma’am. I’ll let Stargazer know you’re coming,” the burro nodded, hitting a button on the dashboard in front of him. The doors in front of them buzzed and slid open.

The sound hit them like a physical assault: dozens and dozens of voices all overlapping one another in a dreadful cacophony. Conversations, insults, curses, complaints, and more, blended together into an indistinct mess. Daring swallowed and had to take a few more deep breaths to convince her stomach not to violently expel its contents all over the floor.

Never let them see when they get to you.

Nonetheless, she stayed close to her husband’s side as they proceeded into the pit.

The cell block was organized in a panopticon style: the three floors of cells were placed on the interior walls of the circular building, with stairs connecting each floor. A small tower stood in the center of the cellblock, with windows all around the perimeter of the top floor. Officers stood in the tower and patrolled up and down the balconies, pausing to admonish some of the more troublesome inmates. More doors on the walls led to a mess hall and a gymnasium. The roof was domed by a skylight to allow for some natural light and a view of the sky: rain pattered against the double-laminated bulletproof glass, running down the sides.

“We’ll speak to Stargazer first,” the warden said, leading them towards the door set into the tower’s bottom, which obligingly buzzed as they approached.

As the group headed inside, some of the nearest inmates spotted them. The volume suddenly turned up on the mix of voices:

“Hey, hey! It’s Finder and his whore!”

“You put me in here, mudfucker! I swear to Faust, I’ll--”

“Hey! Hey, Daring Do! Why don’t you and I take a shower together?!”

“Bring your bitch over here! Come and stay awhile--”

“--gave you that scar on your bitchass face, Finder? I’d like to shake their hoof!”

“--shove that stupid hat up your--”

“--use that whip in the bedroom? You dirty--”

Daring and Phillip both let out a sigh as the door slammed behind them. “Least we got a fanbase,” Daring cracked weakly through a thin smile as they proceeded up a narrow staircase and into the central office.

The circular office had floor-to-ceiling reinforced windows on every wall, allowing the officers inside to watch the entire cell block. A locked metal case on the wall contained a selection of shotguns and assault rifles for an emergency. On a table in the center were notepads, binders containing protocols and check-in logs, and battery chargers for the walkie-talkies. A roster on the wall displayed a list of cells and their occupants, with mug shots pinned up next to them. A door to one side led to a small bathroom.

Two officers were standing in the office, watching the cellblock through the windows. A thestral sergeant turned to face his visitors, his purple mustache bristling as he exhaled. “Warden, agent, detectives,” Stargazer greeted them.

“We’re here to speak to Scarlet Letter,” Phillip said.

“Ah, yes, the author,” Stargazer deadpanned, looking over to a cell on the second floor.

Daring glared through the window at the cell. The unicorn mare, clad in a harsh orange jumpsuit, lay on her bunk, her back to the rest of the cell. Judging from the motion of her head, she was writing in a notebook like the ones that were neatly stacked on the floor next to the toilet and sink. The muscles in Daring’s forelegs clenched and her heart began to speed up, breath coming sharp and quick through her nostrils.

“What’s she been doing here?” Phillip asked.

“She socializes with some of the other inmates during her free hours,” Stargazer explained. “She’s well-behaved, mostly: works in the laundry, spends most of yard doing laps.” He scowled. “It’s the quiet ones that you gotta look out for. You sure that she’s planning an escape?”

“Most likely suspect,” Phillip replied. “We need to talk to her.”

Stargazer glanced at him, then panned his gaze over the rest of the inmates. “You sure that that’s a good idea?”

“Have you met him?” Strider smirked. “None of his ideas are good. Ow!” he added when Phillip and Daring both elbowed him.

The officers and warden all stared for a few seconds, then Stargazer looked at Brick Wall, who just shrugged slightly. “All right, if you’re sure,” the sergeant said, grabbing a radio off the wall. “Okay, guys, on your toes. We’ve got a couple of ponies who want to talk to Letter.”

The officers patrolling the ledges all saluted or nodded in acknowledgment, scrutinizing their charges for any sign of imminent danger.

“Here we go,” Strider exhaled as the trio once more descended the stairs and exited the tower.

Another set of metal stairs led them up to the second floor and they passed by cell door after cell door. The mares on the other side of the bars threw taunts as they passed, let out threats that could’ve been ripped from a dime novel, or just glared in baleful silence; only the presence of a griffon hen on patrol, orange eyes glaring and her beak carved into a severe scowl, kept them from doing more than heaping verbal abuse upon the visitors.

One cell caused the three investigators to pause briefly. Inside, sprawled on the bed, was a changeling with a solid black carapace. Her limbs were dotted with holes; her long “mane” of setae was colored a light aqua blue, tied back into a ponytail that ran down to her shoulder. Like all of the prisoners, the changeling had a silver metal band on her arm that prevented her from using any magic and served as a tracking device.

The changeling glared at them, her solid sapphire eyes cold. “What do you want?” she snarled, her translucent wings buzzing in agitation; her fangs gleamed in the harsh light of her cell.

“Chrysalis loyalist,” the griffon guard explained from the post. “All of the ones that stayed loyal to her are in here, eighteen in total.”

The changeling hissed at the guard and turned back to her book, pointedly ignoring them.

“Glad that they’re in here,” Phillip said, moving on with the other two following.

Finally, they reached cell B27 and paused outside. The unicorn on the bed continued writing, giving no acknowledgment of their presence.

“Scarlet,” Phillip called.

Scarlet Letter paused, then slowly set her pencil down. “You promised that every time I looked in the mirror, I would think of you,” she said; her voice was tinged with the familiar curious mixture of Prench and Crystalline accents, but now had a raspy undertone. She slowly sat up and turned around with a scowl. “Well, you made good on that, Madame Do.”

Daring Do glared at Scarlet through the bars, eyes tracing over the web of red scars on her enemy’s once-beautiful face, then looked over the notebooks neatly stacked on the floor. “Working on your next novel?”

“It passes the time,” Scarlet admitted. “Of course, finding a publisher is going to be difficult.” She took a breath and settled herself, then fixed the visitors with a placid smile, like a hostess entertaining her guests. “So. Bon soir, Monsieur Finder, Madame Do. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way.” She inclined her head to Agent Strider. “And you, monsieur. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

“RBI Agent Flame Strider,” Strider nodded.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Scarlet replied. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Saint Goldleaf’s Church,” Phillip said.

Scarlet’s smile didn’t waver, though her eyes took on a condescending shade. “I’m afraid I have not been able to visit services for the past several months, detective. Is that name supposed to mean something?”

“We found .30-06 rounds from the Crystal Empire there,” Phillip said.

Scarlet tilted her head to one side. “And…?”

“Same rounds as a BAR uses,” Phillip said.

“As do Greenfields, Grands, Summerfields…” Scarlet pointed out. “This is a reason for you to suspect me?”

“And the Plague Doctor was there,” Daring said, pulling out the photograph of a smiling Scarlet. “Old friend of yours?”

Scarlet stiffened slightly, her poker face faltering.

"'Pour toujours,'" Daring read aloud, then sneered at Scarlet. "So does he keep the mask on when you're fucking?"

Scarlet replied with a viper’s smile and a soft, false laugh. “You would have made an excellent asset, Madame Do. I am eternally sorry that you couldn’t come to see things my way…but perhaps one day.”

“I paired up with a psychopath once,” Daring scowled. “Never again.”

Scarlet sighed and sadly shook her head. “We’re not so different, mon ami,” she replied, fixing Daring with a slightly pitying look.

“Haven’t we already gone over this?” Daring snarled, though her right hoof pawed at the floor as if scratching a remembered itch.

“But it’s true,” Scarlet continued. “You and I both fled from those who should have loved us and didn’t. You and I both found and forged a family and home for our own…”

“Spare me,” Daring spat.

“You and I both value our loved ones above anything,” Scarlet continued unabated. “Above the law, above our own lives. The difference is solely in our limits.” She smirked slightly. “And speaking of whom…”

A whistling caught Daring’s ears, carrying over the constant background noise. Two short whistles, followed by a longer, rising note and a final short chirp.

Daring’s heart dropped into her stomach. She knew that signal.

The rhythm repeated, louder and more insistent, coming from a cell further down the line from her. “Hey, si-is!” a voice sang out, a voice that she hadn’t heard in over two years. “Over he-ere!”

“Daring, don’t,” Phillip hissed, grabbing Daring’s shoulder, but she had already turned towards the voice, towards the familiar face that was grinning at her from behind a cell door a little further down the line.

The light gold unicorn mare kept her eyes on Daring as she approached; her smile never wavered, but the smile didn’t reach her light brown eyes, which looked cold and hard in the shade of the reddish-brown mane that framed her face. Her cutie mark was a four-leafed clover framed by an upside-down horseshoe.

“Well, well, well,” the mare said icily as Daring came within reach. “The prodigal daughter returned.”

“Hard Luck,” Daring nodded back. “Guess the name is finally fitting.”

Hard Luck’s smile was instantly replaced with a snarl. “The hardest luck I ever had was meeting you,” she growled, her hateful eyes roving over Daring’s body. She stared at Daring’s hat for a second before returning to her face, forcing another smile onto her countenance. "So, you're here to visit. Wanna say hi to all your sisters?"

The same whistling taunt echoed through the cellblock, assailing Daring's ears. Her heart racing in her chest, she slowly turned and looked about. Faces that she recognized leered at her from behind the cell doors, grinning and waving like they were greeting an old friend. Zephyr Dart, Snabbt Oga, Nail Driver...

"And don't forget your brothers," Hard Luck added. "They're all over in the male block."

"Too much to hope that any of them are in death row?" Daring asked, swallowing back the bilious taste of fear from her gut.

"You wish," Hard Luck replied, giving Daring's twitching wings a glance before returning her gaze to her face. “Look at you. You spend a year in prison and when you get out, you immediately latch onto the snoop, like a damn stray following some guy home. Tell me, how hard did you have to suck his dick before he let you stay?”

Anger flared in Daring’s chest but she forced it back down. “I’m paying off my debt, same as you are.”

“What debt?” Hard Luck spat, banging her hoof against the bars: her right hoof, marred with the brand in the crude shape of a set of keys. “What did we ever owe anypony? Are we supposed to be paying them back for every time we got kicked around or called ‘gutter trash’ or spat on just because we were born poor?”

“No: paying back our debt for every life we took, every family we tore apart, every thing that we stole,” Daring replied.

Hard Luck’s bared her teeth. “Just what I’d expect from big-hearted Daring Do. Priding herself on never taking a gun, spending all her free time chasing after lost treasures and selling them to museums…when she didn’t just give them away.” She leaned in close, snorting out a breath through her nostrils. “I don’t get it, Do. We broke bread together, sheltered together, worked together. You remember when you broke your wing in the Amarezon and I dragged your ass all the way back to camp and patched you up?”

“I do,” Daring replied evenly. “And I also remember you killing three of the natives when they tried to stop us from stealing their jewels.”

“Hey, we had a contract with a huge payout for those gems: money that was gonna pay for all of our food and board,” Hard Luck scoffed. “Wasn’t about to let some natives get in the way of our bread. That’s the only law out there: survival. You get what you need and you don’t apologize to anyone for it.”

Daring sighed. “Mojo put those thoughts in your head,” she said. “Don’t you get it? He manipulated all of us into being his good little lackeys.”

“No,” Hard Luck snapped back. “He took us in, gave us a home, taught us. He was the father that all of us never had, and if he was hard on you, it was because you needed a good spanking from time to time.”

“Caning me for refusing to kill somepony was a spanking?!” Daring shouted, the once-forgotten pain of the crisscrossed scars racing over her back.

“Life is hard; why should he have been any different?” Hard Luck spat back. “Boo-hoo, he wasn’t all soft and cuddly. He still loved you. Loved us all. And you still betrayed him. Betrayed us. Your family."

“He didn't love me for anything more than what I could do for him. And this was never my family,” Daring replied, holding up her right hoof.

Hard Luck’s eyes widened in disbelief when she saw the unblemished skin on her frog, then she gripped the bars with a growl of rage, rattling the iron as if she sought to tear them down and leap at Daring. “You ungrateful slut! If it hadn’t been for us, you wouldn’t be the mare you are today!”

“I know,” Daring said, keeping her voice even despite the tempest of emotion--pain, shame, grief, anger, and guilt--all tumbling about in her chest. “And I wish I wasn’t.”

She returned to the stallions, taking slow breaths through her nostrils. Her argument seemed to have riled up the inmates, for they were heckling her in louder tones. Officers patrolling the cells began to respond to the more aggressive inmates, barking out orders for them to back off, but it was like they were desperately trying to stamp down a rising forest fire with blankets.

Scarlet smiled wanly and shook her head in response to one of Phil’s comments. “Face it, Detective Finder: you have nothing. I suggest you go on home before you start a riot.”

“We’ll be back,” Finder scowled at her as they turned to go.

“Oooh, I can’t wait,” Scarlet purred, exaggeratedly panning her gaze over Phillip’s flanks and making sure that Daring saw her. Daring gave her a glare that could melt stone but only received a smirk in response.

"See you soon, sis!" Hard Luck called to Daring as they started to descend the stairs back to the main floor. Other voices called out to her over the constant noise, like drills into her ears.

"Look at me, bitch!" Snabbt Oga snarled, the aquamarine griffon reaching through the bars of her cell door, talons scratching the air. "Look me in the eyes!"

"You think you're still sharp?" Zephyr Dart taunted, the blue-white pegasus pacing her cell, wings twitching. "Just give me a gun and we'll see how good you still are!"

"I always beat you sparring, Do!" Nail Driver barked, the bulky yellow earth pony slamming one huge hoof into the other. "This time, we do it for real!"

Daring held her head up high, trying to force the insults and jeers to slide off her back even as each one felt like a hot barb digging into her guts. Phillip walked close by her side and she had to stop herself from leaning against him.

As the trio descended down a different set of steps to the ground floor, a voice in a strange, sing-song accent spoke up behind them. "Well, well, look who it is. Miss me, Agent Strider?"

Strider stopped and turned to find himself looking at a creamy white zebra mare. Her long, scruffy striped mane swept around the curved horn on her forehead; she fixed Strider and Phillip with a serpentine smirk, her emerald eyes appearing almost black in the low lighting. Her cutie mark was of a serpent coiled around a five-pointed star.

"Xixphy," Strider said coldly.

Daring and Phil both turned. "That's the mare from Neigh Orleans, right?" Daring asked.

"The one with the basilisk, yes," Phillip nodded.

"Glad to see you here instead of an asylum," Strider told the swamp witch.

"Took some work, but I eventually convinced them that I was completely sane and in control of myself," Xixphy chuckled darkly, keeping her eyes on Strider.

"Right. Because murdering nearly a dozen ponies to try to harvest their souls and make yourself into a demigod is a rational act," Strider snorted.

"Oh, you put too much of a premium on other ponies' lives," Xixphy rolled her eyes. "Tell me, did you give much thought about the eggs you had for breakfast or the flowers you trample underhood walking down the street?"

"Ponies aren't eggs or flowers," Strider growled back, turning away.

"Oh, it all comes out to the same in the end," Xixphy shrugged and waved her hoof dismissively. "Now go on, go on back to pretty little Snow and pretty little Jett."

Strider froze for a moment, then whirled around. "How do you know about them?" he asked.

"I wouldn't be much of a sorceress if I didn't know things," Xixphy replied in a low purr like a jungle cat stalking a bird.

Strider glared at her through the bars. "You do anything to them--"

"And you'll what, Colt Scout?" Xixphy sneered. "Besides, what am I gonna do from in here?"

"Xixphy! That's enough!" Brick Wall barked as she approached.

"Of course, warden," Xixphy simpered exaggeratedly. She walked to the back of her cell, her smirk never wavering from Strider. Strider glared at her, then turned back to the warden with a grunt.

“I’ll have my officers toss Scarlet’s cell, and we’ll move her to solitary in the basement for the time being,” Brick Wall informed the detectives. “Back in my offices, you’ll find copies of all of her outgoing mail. Ask Sticky Note and Counterintelligence for help.”

“Ripper,” Phillip nodded as officers closed in on Cell B27, one of them holding a set of shackles. “Should also check Family members’ mail. See if there’s anything. Right, Daring?”

Daring just nodded numbly and allowed the others to escort her back out of the cellblock, the taunts and bellows of the inmates chasing them out of the metal entrance. The door buzzed closed behind them and they proceeded through the sally port and out.

They finally allowed themselves to relax when they reached the cold, darkening evening outside the cellblock and the door securely shut behind them. For a few moments, they leaned against the concrete wall, breathing deeply.

“Let’s get outta here,” Daring said, leading the way back to the chainlink fence. Phillip stood close to her side, both of them pretending not to notice how hard she was shaking.

Author's Note

Some familiar faces to be seen here! A glorious reunion indeed.

Hope that you enjoyed this long chapter! Please leave a like and a comment and I'll see you next week!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Six: Turning Tides

“Alright, ponies, listen up,” Swift Judgement declared, her voice carrying over the constant chatter of the Equicide Office. The agents and Manehattan police officers surrounding her all stopped and turned around to face the SAC, the chatter falling silent in an instant. The only sound was the thrumming of the heater and the rain that continued to patter against the windows, the lights of Manehattan starting to warm up and penetrate through the growing darkness of the approaching evening.

“Our friends here think that our merry band of cultists is planning a breakout at Clovenworth Island,” Judgement continued, holding up a folder. “I’ve got here a list of all the current staff and inmates at Clovenworth. I want you all to start running them down: them, their family, their friends, their bridge club members. If there are any connections to Saint Goldleaf’s Church, I want to know about it, and I want them in here.” She tossed the folder onto the table in the center of the office space. “Swampfire will divvy them out to you. Right, what else?”

“We should start checking the docks and wharves,” Strider put in. “They’ve obviously been planning this out and preparing for a long time, and they’ve probably got boats ready.”

“Good point,” Agent Judgement nodded. “I’ll call down to the harbor police and tell them to be on the lookout for anything suspicious.”

“Have copies of letters Scarlet received,” Phillip added, holding up another folder. “Should check them, and documents from the church.”

“Also a good point,” Judgement agreed. “Why don’t you, Strider, and Swampfire work on that?”

“Oh, goody,” Daring grumbled, returning Swampfire’s glare with one of her own.

“What about the cardinal from the church?” Strider asked. “We should be sweating them.”

“We are, but they’re not saying anything,” Swift Judgement replied. “Let them think about it for a while and we’ll come back if we find something.”

“Right, folks, let’s get to it,” Swampfire called, prompting the RBI Agents surrounding them to close in on the table, chattering amongst themselves. Swampfire began to pass out documents to the agents, who snatched them up and split off into small groups with officers to work.

Once Swampfire was done, he trotted over to the other three, his face twisting as though he were sucking on lemons, a single folder tucked beneath his foreleg. Without a word, he led them over to a side room and opened it up. Inside were boxes and boxes of evidence, folders of documents taken from the church.

“So,” Strider favored the ASAC with a wide smile. “I hope that you didn’t have any plans for the next few days.”

“If you think I’m happy about this, you’re wrong,” the earth pony grumbled. “Let’s just get this over with so we can get out of each other’s faces.” He paused a beat, then turned in Phil and Daring’s general direction. “Oh, right, a package arrived for you two earlier,” he said, refusing to look directly at them. “It’s in the other room.”

“Aces,” Phillip said, leading Daring to the small adjoining antechamber.

The small room had a desk, some chairs, a telephone, and a shelf with law books and thick binders of documents. Sitting on the desk was a package wrapped in brown paper.

Phillip read the address label on the package, hoofwritten in marker. “‘To: Phillip Finder and Daring Do, ℅ Manehattan RBI Office, 27 Federal Plaza, Manehattan. From: Starlight Glimmer, Royal Academy of Magic, 7 Starswirl Street, Canterlot.’”

“Starlight,” Daring said happily, taking the envelope attached to the package and slicing it open. She unfolded the letter within and frowned at the haphazard writing on it. “Wow, she clearly didn’t take any calligraphy classes in school…‘Dear Phil and Daring, I read that you were in Manehattan working on the heartless murders. I know why they’re carving out the hearts: it has to do with that spell Sombra made me work on. I’ve enclosed a few things that I think might help: call me at this phone number so I can explain more. Starlight.’”

While Daring had been reading the letter, Phillip unwrapped the package and opened it. Inside were three circular pendants of silver, runes carefully etched into the circumference. What looked like a small hourglass was set into each pendant, filled with multicolored sand, and silver chains that allowed them to be worn around the neck. Phillip picked one up and carefully turned it over in his hooves; he could feel a strange tingling warmth from the metal as if it had been sitting in the sun for several hours. It seemed to vibrate faintly

It took five rings for the phone to pick up. “Hello? Detective?” a familiar mare’s voice asked.

“Starlight? It’s Daring,” Daring said, holding the hoofset out so that the others could hear her. “How you doing?”

“Oh, hey, I’m great, great!” Starlight replied, the forced cheer in her voice clearly evident. “Just hanging around the Academy, having psychomancers scan my head every other day to make sure that there’s no trace of brainwashing left, but other than that, Tempest and I are both fine. Is Phil there?”

“Right here, Starlight,” Phillip replied.

“Oh, good, good, you’re both there,” Starlight said. “So, listen. Tempest and I have been reading about the murders in the papers, and I thought you could use the amulets that I sent you. They’ll help with the time stop spell,” Starlight explained.

“That’s what this is for?” Phillip said with a scowl.

“Yeah, the, uh, spell uses a heart from a ritual victim as part of it,” Starlight replied. “Basically, you carve out the victim’s heart, enchant it so that it’s still beating, and then place it in a ritual circle surrounded by the amberclaw prisms. It’s…how do I describe this?” Starlight mused. She was silent for a few moments, then cleared her throat.

“The spell works by…creating a small area where time is compressed so that an hour or so can pass within a couple of seconds. Uh…to put it this way, somepony standing inside the ritual’s area of effect wouldn’t notice anything different, but for somepony standing outside it, it would look like time just ‘skipped’ to the end, after the spell was over. So, like, if you used the spell to, uh, cook a five-course meal, from an outside perspective, it would look like you were standing in the kitchen one moment and the next, there was food on the table. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of,” Daring said. “And how does the heart tie into it?”

“It acts as a sort of…'pendulum’ to keep time going within the area,” Starlight answered.

Daring frowned in thought for a few moments. “Out of curiosity, what would happen if someone destroyed the heart?”

Starlight sucked in a breath. “Not sure…it might cause time to stop entirely, it might do nothing, or it might create a backlash of energy that turns into a black hole that the entire planet collapses into. Maybe…don’t do that?”

“Right,” Phillip said, looking at the amulet. “So what are the amulets for?”

“Those will make you immune to the spell’s effects,” Starlight replied. “If you wear it within the spell’s area, you can actually go into the ‘stopped time’ and change things.” She let out a breath. “I want you to understand: this is highly advanced and very dangerous magic. There is a reason that chronomancy was declared Forbidden Magic alongside necromancy, blood magic, enthrallment, and interdimensional travel: it’s dangerous to mess with time. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you could completely alter history, create alternate timelines or paradoxes that destroy the universe--”

“Starlight, you’re doing it again,” the muffled sound of a deep-throated mare’s voice came.

“G’day, Colonel,” Phillip said with a dry smile.

“Detectives,” Tempest Shadow replied. “I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do we,” Daring Do said, taking one of the amulets and placing it around her neck.

Tempest sighed over the phone. “Detectives, Starlight and I wanted to say…we owe you. If it hadn’t been for you, Starlight and I would either be dead or working for Sombra. If you need help, we’ll be there.”

“You’re both helping plenty. Thank you,” Phillip replied. “Can you make more of these amulets?”

“I only had time to make three, but I can make more in the next few days,” Starlight replied.

“Hey! You two about done in there?” Swampfire’s voice groused from the door.

“No rest for the wicked,” Daring said, pocketing the spare amulet as Phillip placed the second around his neck. “Thanks, Starlight.”

“Good luck!” Starlight said before hanging up with a click.

The two of them went back to the other room, where Strider and Swampfire were poring over the letters that Scarlet had sent. “Most of these look like they were sent to publishing companies, trying to send out manuscripts,” Strider commented. He looked at their pendants. “What are those, gifts from secret admirers?”

“From a friend,” Phillip said, sitting down. He explained what Starlight had told them.

“Stopping time. Right,” Swampfire grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“This could be one of the biggest prison breaks of all time,” Phillip glared at him. “You can help or you can waste our time.”

Swampfire’s lip curled and he stalked off. “Clearly you don’t need my help,” he groused, slamming the door behind him.

“Bloody bludger,” Phillip spat. He scanned the documents in the boxes, then pulled out the blueprints of Clovenworth taken from the church. He spread the blueprints over the table.

“Should start thinking about how the breakout would work,” Phillip said.

“They’d need to smuggle the hearts and the prisms in somehow,” Daring said. “And set it up somewhere out of sight. Then they’d need to signal the rest of the congregation somehow…”

“Phone,” Phillip suggested. “Be somepony with access to the phones.”

“That narrows it down a bit,” Strider admitted. “But still…”

There was a brief silence as the three of them glanced at the door, then Daring leaned in.

“Why don’t we address the elephant in the room?” she hissed. “There’s no way that bird found our hotel by accident, and Salmon didn’t just guess that we were staying at the hotel.”

Phillip nodded grimly. “I’m sure we weren’t followed back. Somepony here told.”

“You think it’s Swampface?” Daring asked. “I really want it to be him.”

“I don’t think so,” Strider shook his head. “He’s selfish and stupid, but I can’t see him allying with…well, lunatics.”

“Being up himself doesn’t make him the bad guy,” Phillip agreed. “Need more evidence.” He paused. “Speaking of which: Salmon Fillet.”

“I got the report on the paint back from the forensic lab,” Strider said, pulling a small folder out of his saddlebags and flipping it open. “Top layer is light purple, with a layer of yellow beneath it.”

“Hmm. Narrows it down slightly,” Phillip mused.

“I went over the surveillance crystal footage from that night this morning, but didn’t see any cars that matched that description,” Strider shook his head.

“Killer knew to avoid them,” Phillip scowled. “And was able to catch up to him. Had to have been watching him.” His eyes turned hard. “Find the killer, might find the traitor.”

“Right. We keep our eyes and ears open for anything around here,” Daring nodded.

“In the meantime, let’s focus on making sure that nopony gets out of Clovenworth,” Strider said, returning his attention to the blueprints.

“We need to do it tonight.”

“Are you sure? We’d planned to wait until things had died down a bit…”

“It has to be now. The Stormbringers will be baying at our tails before the end of the next day, even with our agent trying to slow them down.”

“Damn Raconteur. An entire congregation and the blessings of the True Masters, and she couldn't kill two ponies.”

“She will be punished in time. What matters is we must move forward with this, before they have a chance to stop us.”

“You are certain that they--?”

“Impossible. We planned this to ensure that no interference would be possible. As long as you are able to do your part.”

“We are prepared: just be certain that the spell functions.”

“It will: I have practiced this many a time. Nothing will stop us now.”

Thunder and lightning crackled over the island, casting the concrete edifices in stark black and white. The cellblocks had been torn to ruins, twisted rebar jutting out from the fractured walls. The warden’s office, infirmary, barracks, and other buildings were warped and decayed, as though they’d been standing for centuries: the sagging roofs had massive holes in them, the windows were broken, and doors hung off the hinges. Sections of the chain-link fences stood like tattered curtains, the posts leaning drunkenly every which way.

Corpses were sprawled across the grounds, the snow stained with blood. The scent of rot filled their nostrils as they slowly made their way through the prison grounds. A flash of lightning illuminated a makeshift gallows in front of Daring and she gasped as she found herself staring up at the body of Brick Wall. Her decaying skin was sloughing off her bones, her limbs bare of flesh. Her swollen purple tongue dangled from her mouth; her eyes bulged from her face, locked onto hers as if accusing her, blaming her. The corpses of Counterintelligence and Sticky Note swung beside her, also staring balefully down at her with their rotting dead eyes.

Another lightning flash and a roar of thunder made the trio flinch. They stood back to back beneath the freezing downpour, squinting into the darkness, all of them panting and gasping like they’d run a marathon. Shapes danced back and forth amidst the shadows, just out of their reach. Laughter, hissed taunts, and threatening grumbles slithered into their ears over the sound of the rain and wind, and the screeching of unseen ravens and crows circling overhead assailed them.

“Run,” Phillip gasped.

They turned and sprinted, skidding in the bloody slush and stumbling over corpses in the darkness. Their pursuers chased after them, their taunts growing louder. A low chant began to sound, a familiar circular rhythm that their racing hearts marched to.

“Ehi, ehi, nyaglath, ger’uh angfah…ehi, ehi, nyaglath, ger’uh angfah…”

They reached where the exit gates should have been, but there was nothing but a solid concrete wall, blocking their way. “Shit, shit, shit,” Daring gasped as they backed up against the stone, glaring into the darkness. Their hooves reached for their holsters, and chills that had nothing to do with the biting wind went up their spines when they realized that their weapons had vanished.

Lightning flared through the sky once more, revealing a wall of indistinct figures closing in on them, blood spattered across their faces and coats. Their maddened eyes and wide smiles seemed to glow in the darkness and their chant grew as they approached, louder than the gale:

“EHI, EHI, NYAGLATH, GER’UH ANGFAH! EHI, EHI, NYAGLATH, GER’UH ANGFAH! EHI, EHI, NYAGLATH, GER’UH ANGFAH!”

The wall behind them suddenly shattered, sending them flying like bowling pins. Daring howled in agony as concrete debris landed on her wing, trapping her on the cold ground; the pain spread across her body like fire, summoning tears from her eyes. A lightning flash revealed a corpse of a guard staring directly at her.

The ground shook with massive footsteps: a hot, reeking wind slammed into her body and she heard her companions screaming behind her. Her pounding heart in her throat, Daring turned to see a pair of massive green eyes glaring down at her, yellow teeth spread in a grin. All she could do was scream as the huge, rotting limb reached down to grab her--

“Hey! Wake up!”

Daring, Phillip, and Strider all jolted awake with gasps, eyes wide in their pale faces, the motion sending the documents that they had been studying scattering to the floor. They whirled on the speaker as one, drawing their weapons.

“Whoa, whoa, easy!” Swift Judgement cried, lighting up her horn to form a shield in front of her.

It took a few moments for the three to get their breathing back under control. “Sorry, ma’am,” Strider said, holstering his revolver and mopping his sweaty mane.

“Bad dreams,” Daring added, coiling her stockwhip back up and returning it to her belt. Phillip nodded, replacing his waddy. “What time is it?” She glanced at the window to find that the sun had completely fallen. The skies were still overcast, and the only light outside came from the streetlamps and windows below. She heard no sounds of activity from the office outside.

“It’s just past two,” Swift Judgement replied. “We have to move, now.”

“What’s wrong?” Strider asked, rising.

“The silent alarm at Clovenworth just activated. There’s been a riot!”

Author's Note

Dun dun dun!

Not much to say about this chapter other than it's mainly here for a pause in the action and to provide setup. Next week, the real action begins! I hope you're prepared for it, friends!

In the meantime, please leave a like and a comment and I'll see you next Saturday!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Seven: Short on Time

Daring panted as she carried Phillip over the sleeping city, fiery adrenaline racing through her veins clashing with the lack of sleep that had settled into her bones and the chill that was pervading her coat from the drizzling rain. “Dammit, they just had to go and do this now,” she growled, racing south.

“Set us down on the docks,” Phillip instructed, pointing towards the concrete wharves beneath them, illuminated by swirling red and blue lights from the gathering police cruisers. “Flight wards won’t let you get close and we should wait for backup.”

“I hate waiting,” Daring grumbled, but nonetheless banked down towards the dock.

“Wait for me!” Strider called from behind, swooping down after them.

They landed amidst the growing crowd of police officers and RBI Agents that were surrounding the docks, checking equipment and bustling about, seemingly trying to figure out who was in charge and what the plan was. Most of them were staring out at the dark shape of Clovenworth Island far out into the bay. The island could only barely be seen in the muted moonlight that managed to leak out from behind the heavy cloud cover; the lighthouse was ominously dim.

Heads turned as the trio landed, eyes widening in shock.

“Detective Finder! Daring Do!” a younger officer cried, snapping to a crisp salute.

“At ease,” Phillip grunted impatiently. “Who’s in charge?”

“Agent Swift Judgement is on her way,” one of the RBI agents replied as the thestral pulled a shotgun out from the trunk of his car. “Yeah, here she comes now.”

Phil, Daring, and Strider turned to see a Neighzer Manehattan approaching, the spinning red light mounted on the roof cutting through the rain. It screeched to a halt in the lot and Swift Judgement exited the driver’s seat almost before it had fully stopped.

“You should be Wonderbolts, as fast as you two are,” she commented to the trio, drawing her sidearm from beneath her coat: a .44 Desert Griffon.

“Reckless as always,” Swampfire grunted as he exited the passenger seat, giving Strider one of his customary glares.

Swift Judgement made her way through the dock. “What’s everypony just standing around for? Where’s the damn launch?” she barked.

“The launch was gone when we got here, ma’am,” a senior RBI agent replied, looking up from a radio set. “We’re trying to get in contact with the prison, but no one’s answering the radio.”

“Dammit,” Judgement replied. “Well, we’d better start looking for boats. I don’t care if we need to commandeer a rowboat, we need to get over there!”

She turned to look back at her consultants, only to find that all three of them were gazing at her Neighzer Manehattan, the rain pattering against the light purple coat.

“Nice car, ma’am,” Strider said.

“Hmm?” Judgment asked with a frown. “Thank you. I bought it when I became the SAC here two years ago.”

“When’d you paint it purple?” Phillip asked, slowly trotting around the circumference of the car.

“Just a couple of months ago,” Judgement replied, the confusion on her face increasing by the moment. “What is this about?”

Swampfire was scowling at Strider, but his eyes were darting over to the SAC, hints of suspicion in his eyes.

“So, where were you around nine-thirty two nights ago?” Daring asked, approaching from behind Judgement.

Swift Judgement turned on her, her stoic expression flickering briefly. “I…decided to go home for the night,” she said.

“And you live alone, I’m sure,” Daring replied as Phillip knelt next to the front right wheel. He pulled out a magnifying glass and studied the chassis for a moment, then nodded.

“Look, what’s this about?” Judgment scoffed.

“The scratch on your car eighteen inches off the ground,” Philip said.

“What scratch?” Judgment replied. “There’s no scratch.”

“There isn’t because you buffed it out,” Phillip answered, slowly standing and facing her, his gray eyes glowering darkly beneath the brim of his trilby. “I can see the marks where you cleaned it off. After you scraped it on the lamppost on Twenty-first. After you shot and killed Salmon Fillet.”

Judgment’s mouth opened to protest, but the words died in her throat as they locked onto Phillip’s penetrating gaze. She tried to take a step back, then whirled around to see Daring and Strider standing behind her, all of them glaring, closing in like wolves on a lamed deer.

“Swift?” Swampfire asked, but there was no pity or confusion in his voice, merely a quiet demand for answers.

Swift Judgement’s eyes darted back and forth as if searching for an escape, then hardened. “Damn you!” she snarled, her horn lighting up. A shield spell erupted from her and slammed into Phillip and Daring like a brick wall. They took the hit and rolled with it, popping back to their hooves as the traitorous agent drew and aimed her sidearm.

Strider got there first, pouncing on Swift and thrusting her gun arm up, sending her shot up in the air.

“Get off!” Swift snarled, turning towards Strider with a punch to the gut. He blocked it with his fetlock, trying to push her away, but she seized his own right foreleg and pulled him in, driving his knee into his thigh and causing him to instinctively fire his own sidearm into the air. The two agents began to struggle in a tangle of limbs, twisting and turning about each other like partners in a violent dance, neither willing to let the other go, curses and grunts bursting from their throats as they kicked, punched, and slammed into each other.

One of their guns went off and Phillip ducked as the bullet passed less than a foot next to his head. He, Daring, and Swampfire surrounded the duo, trying to line up a clear shot or close in to aid, but the dancing combatants constantly circled each other, their guns randomly barking as they struggled, preventing them from getting close. The other officers and agents were scattering, staring agape in disbelief.

“Hold her still!” Swampfire shouted, his own sidearm at the ready.

“I’m trying!” Strider replied, slapping aside Judgement’s Desert Griffon with a wing and aiming a kick at her shin. She stepped back to avoid it, tugging then pushing at him to try to knock him off-balance.

Both combatants reared their heads back and simultaneously tried to headbutt each other, the result being that their foreheads bashed together with a sound like two coconuts striking each other. They reeled back, stunned, but still clutching each other.

Judgment recovered first, driving a knee into Strider’s thigh and making his leg buckle, dropping him to a knee. His grasp on her right foreleg slackened and she tugged it free. “Die!” she growled, aiming the enormous pistol over Strider’s shoulder at Daring Do.

Strider’s wing came up and slapped her foreleg aside, sending her shot wide once more. With a grunt, Strider pulled on her left foreleg while turning into her, sweeping his wing across her legs. Judgment screamed as she was pulled over him and slammed onto the ground, the breath expelled from her lungs with a wheeze.

She looked up to see three guns aimed down at her. She glared up at them in defiance for a moment, then sagged in defeat, hatred simmering in her eyes. “Damn you,” she growled at Phillip.

“Didn’t think you’d be enough of a drongo to use your own vehicle,” Phillip replied as Strider pulled her pistol from her foreleg and extracted a set of hoofcuffs. He slapped the cuffs on her and hauled her to her hooves, passing her off to two nearby agents. “Get her out of here.”

The agents glanced at each other, then carried their former leader to a waiting cruiser.

The unicorn agent at the radio stared for a beat, then turned to Swampfire. “Well…guess you’re the ranking agent on scene, sir,” he said.

Daring let out a groan. “Ah, fuck. Should’ve waited until later…”

Swampfire hesitated for a beat, then his face settled into an iron countenance. “Right. Find us some damn boats.”

A fleet of commandeered speedboats roared through the choppy water of Manehattan Bay towards the dark shape that sat brooding over the water. A flash of lightning streaked through the sky, casting the island in stark black and white, like an image from a nightmare. A sound carried over the water, barely audible over the crashing waves, rushing wind, and roaring engine: a muted, wailing siren, like the groan of a dying animal.

In the lead boat, Phillip stood alongside Strider and Daring, his wife at the helm, crouched behind the windshield, teeth gritted as she guided the boat through the sea. Phil pushed his trilby down low over his face to try to keep the spray and wind out of his eyes as the boat crested the waves. He squinted through the darkness that the boat’s lights were struggling to penetrate. The concrete pier that served as the entrance and exit for Clovenworth Island was abandoned; there was no sign of any officer awaiting them.

Strider yelped as the boat crashed down onto the water, sending spray everywhere. “I’m glad you don’t have a car!” he stated, pushing his own fedora down onto his head.

Daring responded with a Flying Feather, pushing the throttle forward for the final leap.

“Load up!” Swampfire barked at the armored SWAT team that was waiting in the back of the boat, bracing themselves against the buffering of the wind and the waves. Weapons were unslung and hammers were cocked.

Daring pulled back on the throttle and swung the speedboat wide, pulling it into the pier. The SWAT officers immediately hopped off the boat, sweeping the empty docks with their weapons, mounted flashlights penetrating the shadows. The sound of the siren was louder, the wailing distorted.

The officers entered the small guardhouse, the door creaking loudly as they pushed through. They swept the small cabin on the dock, flashlights casting shadows over the interior. The silhouette of a pony sitting in a chair was cast against the windows. The white-gold unicorn commander approached the chair and checked it, then shook her head sadly.

“Clear,” she reported.

Phil, Daring, Strider, and Swampfire hopped off the boat as well, Daring efficiently tying the boat off on one of the cleats. Phil and Strider entered the guard’s cabin to find a gray-maned officer sitting in the chair, a thermos of coffee and a newspaper spread across the table in front of him. Blood from his slit throat was sprayed across the paper, the dried stain obscuring the printed words. The officer was staring up at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes.

“Slit by a left-hooved pony,” Phillip mused, briefly scanning the wound, then sweeping over the entire room with his eyes. He crouched down to study a dark, mostly dried puddle next to the door.

Strider frowned at the dried newspaper. “How can the blood be dry already?” he asked. “The alarm went off not even an hour ago.”

“Worry about it later, Strider,” Swampfire replied as the SWAT team headed up the stairs, rifles at the ready. “We’ve got a prison to take back.”

Daring paused briefly to put her night vision contacts into her eyes, then fell in behind Phil, drawing her pistol.

The SWAT officers led the way up the stairs, following the sound of the still-groaning siren, the Netitus security gates buzzing in alarm as they passed through. No spotlights from the towers snapped on, but the unicorns up at the front kept shields at the ready nonetheless. The agents and detectives followed behind as more boats arrived, unloading more backup. A faint orange glow could be seen cast against the overcast skies as they approached.

When they crested the top of the hill, they found that the gates leading into the prison proper were open, a passageway into hell. The small guardhouse on the exterior of the gates was riddled with bullets, the bloodied corpses of the officers within laying half out of the door. Debris had been jammed into the motor controlling the gates, preventing them from closing.

The rest of the prison was even worse. Corpses were spread everywhere, blood mixing with the rain. Nearly every building in the prison was aflame, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows and colors across the ground. The wailing siren was coming from a lone pole that had been pulled down onto the ground and appeared to have been battered with blunt objects. Many of the gates that divided the prison grounds into sections had been knocked over, as had the sign reading “Inmate Rules.”

To their left, the warden’s home looked like it had been through a war: flames danced in the upper windows and the walls were pockmarked with bullets. To the right, the barracks were in ruins. The doors hung open and smoke billowed from within, carrying the metallic reek of incendiary grenades.

“Wait here,” the commander ordered the agents and led her team inside. The agents waited outside, shivering in the rain.

A flash of lightning illuminated the doorway momentarily, revealing corpses sprawled across the hallway, their blood staining the tiled floors. Daring let out a brief hiss.

“They locked the guards in,” Phillip stated quietly, observing the stampede of muddy prints in and out of the doorway and the broken chain and padlock dangling from the door. “Then when they had more backup…”

“Bastards,” Daring exhaled.

The commander returned, her eyes heavy. “Clear,” she reported. “They’re dead. All of them.”

“Fuck,” Swampfire breathed. “Okay, let’s, uh…clear out the rest of the prison.”

They checked the watchtowers overlooking the stairs. Each had a single dead officer within. Their heads both had dark circular burns.

“High-powered castfire sniper rifles,” Swampfire commented with a scowl. He nodded to the bulletproof windows that surrounded the watchtowers. “These wouldn’t stop a round from those.”

The group next went to the infirmary, where the doors hung off their hinges. Piles of debris lay on either side of the entrance hallway, shoved aside as though a giant hoof.

“They tried to barricade themselves in,” Strider observed as they entered.

There was no sound save for the rain and thunder still roaring outside. Bodies of nurses and janitorial staff decorated the darkened hallways, their blood mixing with discarded bullet casings. Beds that had been previously occupied now stood barren. A door to a storage closet hung open, the jamb bashed open: shelves were knocked over, medicine and supplies scattered over the ground.

They found the first body of one of the attackers in the infirmary: a blue thestral wearing a bulletproof vest, staring up at the ceiling sightlessly, his throat slashed open. A BAR lay discarded on the ground next to him amidst the wreckage of knocked-over equipment. Facedown nearby was the body of a nurse, the scalpel in her talons still wet with his blood.

“No one,” Strider declared as they completed their search.

When they entered the female cell block, they were greeted with the same ominous silence that hung over the rest of the building. The lights illuminated a battleground: corpses of officers were laid in puddles of their own blood and fluids, their bodies riddled with bullets.

Every cell door of the panopticon was open. But they didn't have to look far for their former occupants: gathered on the bottom floor about the base of the guard tower were the bodies of inmates, spread about like scattered sticks.

Phil bent down next to the body of one of the inmates, a dark green unicorn sprawled facedown on the concrete. She had a bullet hole in the back of her head, a feature that most of her inmates had. Some of the inmates were spread out from the rest of their comrades, tunnels carved through the sides of their heads or drilled into their backs.

"They executed them," he breathed. "Lined them up and shot them."

Daring counted the bodies, examining their faces. A scowl crossed her face. "They're gone," she hissed.

"Who's gone?" Strider asked.

"The Family mares and the changelings and Xixphy," she answered. She picked up a broken silver band on the ground and studied the rune-etched surface with a deeper scowl. "And they broke off the restraint rings, too."

The male cell block was much the same story: flames and blood, every officer dead, every cell open, most of the inmates executed on the floor, and the Family members and changelings vanished.

The interior of death row featured a long concrete hallway lined with offices that then split into two doors: one cellblock for females, one for males. Each cell block had a dozen cell doors on the walls surrounding a large sitting room with tables secured to the floor.

Every one of the cell doors was empty, taunting the would-be rescuers with their inadequacy.

"Great," Strider sighed. "Of course they decided to let the serial killers, traitors, and war criminals out."

“Where’s the warden?” Swampfire asked as they proceeded down another hallway toward the execution chamber. “We’ve been all over this place and haven’t seen her.”

The commander entered the viewing room and paused. “Found her,” she reported in a flat tone.

On the other side of the glass, Brick Wall dangled from the gallows, the noose digging into her neck. Her wide eyes bulged from her purple, bloodied face as if accusing them of failing to save her. Strider, Daring, and Phillip all winced and looked away, hearts instinctively speeding up as their vision flashed before their eyes.

“No one,” Swampfire exhaled, collapsing into a seat. “There’s no one left. They’re all gone. But it wasn’t even an hour ago, how did they….?” He seemed to sink into himself, dropping his face into his hooves. “What am I going to say in my report?”

Strider rolled his eyes at Swampfire’s back and led his companions back up the stairs and outside into the rain. They stood there, shivering in the cold darkness, staring out into the silent shadows as they slowly started to trudge towards the stairs.

“We’re too late,” Daring breathed. Almost on instinct, her hoof went up to her neck and she pulled the Awely-Awely totem out from beneath her shirt and began to rub the carved wood as if trying to draw some comfort from the necklace.

“There’s gotta be some way we can track them down,” Phillip said as they returned to the barracks. “They had to have taken a ferry or something.”

“They planned this out well,” Daring replied. “By now, they’ll have gone to ground, and they’ll be out of the city by sunrise.” She gestured at the burnt-out shell of the barracks. “And they get away with all this shit.”

“You can still save them.”

Phil and Daring turned around to see a figure in a rain-drenched cloak emerging from around the corner of the building, pulling back the hood to reveal the face of a white-bearded Aborigineigh stallion.

“Rolling Thunder,” Phillip said, relaxing at the sight of the former guide.

“Huh?” Strider asked, eyes sweeping back and forth the area. “Who are you talking to?”

“A friend, mate,” Phillip reassured Strider.

“Why can’t I see them?” a clearly unconvinced Strider asked.

“Because you are unfortunately not part of my covenant, beloved nephew,” Rolling Thunder answered, smiling at the RBI agent before his face turned serious once more.

“Listen to me, alerenheng,” the Aborigineigh said, his eyes intense. “The invasion is still ongoing.”

“What?” Daring asked, gesturing. “Looks pretty over to me.”

“The time spell is still ongoing; what you see is both currently happening and has happened already,” Thunder replied. “And you have the means to undo these wrongs.” He pointed at Daring’s chest, where the hourglass-shaped amulet that Starlight had sent them dangled from around her neck.

Daring frowned and took the amulet in her hooves, the metal anomalously warm in the cold, rainy air. “How do we use them?”

“Turn the amulets so that the sand falls,” Thunder explained. “You will be transported within the spell’s effect. You may save many lives, perhaps even avert this disaster entirely.”

He placed a hoof on Phillip’s chest, right over the totem of Angkakert tucked beneath his shirt. A comforting coolness spread through Phillip’s body at the touch, like a gentle embrace that banished fatigue and fear.

“We will be with you,” Rolling Thunder promised before fading away.

The trio was left alone in the rain, looking at each other uncertainly, each holding their amulets. Another crackle of lightning and grumble of thunder sounded from overhead, the sound oddly encouraging.

“Well, hell,” Daring said. “It’s not the craziest thing we’ve done. On three, right?”

“On three,” Strider and Phillip both nodded.

“Okay, one…two…three!”

The three simultaneously turned the hourglass-shaped amulets, causing the ground gems within to fall to the bottom. The rain that was falling from the sky suddenly froze, then started to fall upwards, into the sky. The SWAT team reappeared, running backward at superequine speed, then rushing back down the steps as the inmates that had been looting the warden’s house rose, then retreated back towards the cell blocks. Figures raced past them at blinding speed, inmates, armed invaders, and officers; corpses rose from where they lay, blood retreating back into their wounds as they raced back and forth.

For a moment, all motion froze, then resumed. The sound of the rain was now joined by the roars of battle: shouts, screams, gunfire, the wailing of sirens. The fresh scent of blood and cordite hung in the air: in the distance, they could see flashes of light in the windows of the male cell block. Below them, an orange ferry was tied off at the docks, bobbing in the choppy water; the words "HARMONY ISLAND FERRY" was painted on the sides in white. A semi-translucent sphere of dark purple energy surrounded the boat; a trio of ponies with machine guns and sniper rifles stood on the deck, prepared to fend off any attempt to take their transport.

The doors to the barracks were chained shut, the chains rattling as ponies inside strained against the locks, the reinforced windows thumping loudly as the trapped officers tried to break themselves out. Outside the doors were two figures in bulletproof vests, BARs at the ready.

“What the--?!” a female unicorn cried, whirling around and bringing her weapon to bear on the trio that had suddenly appeared. Her partner, a pale gold earth pony, was slower to turn.

Daring was faster than them both. Her whip snapped out and seized the unicorn’s weapon, tugging it from her grasp as a salvo went wildly into the air. The earth pony instinctively ducked and paid for it when Strider put a round into his head, followed by another for the unicorn.

Recoiling her whip, Daring seized the BARs and tossed them to the two stallions, then hurried over to the chained door. “Hang on, guys, I’ll get you out,” she reassured them, digging into her pocket and pulling out her lock picks.

It took less than five seconds for her to defeat the padlock. “Good thing they went cheap on this,” she muttered, tugging the chain off and throwing the doors open.

Officers stumbled out of the doors, bulletproof vests thrown over clothing that had been hastily tossed on, guns at the ready. “Where did you come from?” Sergeant Stargazer asked, gaping.

“Long story,” Phillip replied. “What can you tell us?”

“Not much,” Stargazer replied, looking around wildly as more officers filed out. “By the time we heard the first gunshots, the doors were already locked and those two were standing watch. We saw them attack the warden’s home and drag her out.”

“How many?” Strider asked.

“I…I’m not sure,” Stargazer shook his head. “Maybe twenty? Regardless, we can’t stay here. We need to get to a more defensible position.”

“Maybe one of the cell blocks?” Strider suggested.

Stargazer nodded, his fear and confusion melting away to reveal a countenance of determination. “Right. We’ll go to the death row.” He turned to the other officers. “Okay, team, we’re outnumbered and outgunned, so we need to fall back to the death row cell block and wait out…wait, where’s Shepherd? She was on security crystal duty.”

“We’ll find her,” Phillip said, heading inside with Daring and Strider. Phillip paused at a coat rack hanging on the wall, studying the coats and umbrellas hanging up on the hooks, then nodded grimly as he headed further inside.

They passed one door which creaked open. Sticky Note and Counterpoint peeked out through the crack, eyes wide, both of them dressed in rumpled undershirts.

“D-Detective Finder?” Sticky Note gasped, shivering and pulling the door open further. Behind her, Phil could see a line of bunk beds, the sheets tossed aside. The door had been barricaded with a metal bed frame.

“You two okay?” Phillip asked.

Counterintelligence nodded with a swallow. “We barricaded ourselves in here once we heard the gunshots. What’s happening?”

“Where’s the security room?” Phillip asked.

“Just down the hall and to the left, across from the armory,” Counterintelligence replied.

“Thank you,” Phillip said, moving on down the hall.

At the end of the hall were two doors. The door on the left was open, displaying empty weapon racks. Daring opened the door on the right.

A desk and a chair faced a wall of crystals projecting images of the rest of the prison. The trio could see images of officers and invaders running through the male cell blocks, cheering inmates being freed from their cells. A control panel of buttons and switches and a radio were set on the desk.

Phillip’s flashlight fell on a few drops of blood on the floor and he grunted, sweeping the area with the flash. It fell on a closet in the corner, which he ripped open.

The corpse of a white unicorn mare with a fluffy, cloud-like mane tumbled out. Phillip gently caught her and lowered her to the ground, studying her slit throat.

“Left-hooved,” he confirmed, gently closing the mare’s grass-green eyes. “Come on.”

He stood up and left the office, storming back down to the bunk room with the other two following.

The two secretaries looked up at their approach. “What is it?” Counterintelligence asked.

“Where did you put the heart?” Phillip snarled at Counterintelligence, shoving aside the bed frame blocking the door and entering the room, closing in on the warden’s secretary.

The unicorn blinked, quailing slightly. “I-I beg your pardon?” he stammered, backing away.

“You killed them,” Phillip hissed as Daring and Strider closed in around him, like wolves around a lamed deer. “Shepherd, the guard at the docks. You’re left-hooved and your umbrella is wet. Where did you put the ritual?”

“Counter…?” Sticky Note gasped, backing up against the wall.

Counterintelligence’s eyes darted from one to the other in desperation, then his face turned to a snarl.

"These animals don't deserve to live here, fed and housed on my tax dollars," he spat. "They need to be wiped out, all of them! What 'justice' is there from letting these bastards live?!"

"And what right had you to slit your coworkers' throats?" Phillip snarled, his voice pitched as low as the thunder outside. "You're no different than the ones on death row."

"I helped bring real justice!" Counterintelligence spat back in rage-fueled defiance, but his knees trembled and his eyes darted between the three cold-eyed ponies that were surrounding him. "Right now, the others are giving those animals real justice, and then--"

"You bollocking, traitorous idiot," Phillip growled, looming over him. "They're not killing the inmates, they're letting them out. And they were going to burn you with the rest of them!"

"Liar!" Counterintelligence roared, lighting up his horn.

The bed frame that had been blocking the door was sent spinning across the floor as if flung by a tornado, scraping and banging against the floor. “Watch it!” Daring cried, leaping out of the way. Strider dove to one side, while Phillip did a backflip over the bed frame.

Counterintelligence’s spell hit Phillip in midair and he tumbled to the ground, landing with a grunt as he rolled. The traitorous unicorn leaped for the door.

"No, you don't!" Strider shouted, leaping at him and tackling him out of the air. The two ponies tussled together on the floor, Counterintelligence snarling and spitting as he grappled for Strider's weapon.

"Get...off!" Strider shouted, pinned beneath his foe and trying to simultaneously tug his weapon from his grasp while also keeping ahold of the unicorn.

"Hold him!" Daring shouted, charging in.

There was a flash of light and a roar. Sticky Note screamed from the corner where she was trembling. Everypony froze for a moment.

Counterintelligence slowly toppled over with a groan, his eyes rolling back into his head as he wheezed out a few final breaths. Dark red blood ran from the gunshot wound in his chest, pooling about his body.

Strider stared at him, panting. Smoke rose from the Navy .44.

"I just..." he protested. "I didn't...it went off..."

"It's okay, Strider," Phillip reassured him, helping his friend back to his hooves. "Not your fault."

Stargazer ran in from outside, followed by other officers. "Counter!" he cried at the sight of the body. "What in...you...what the hell happened?!"

"He sold you out," Daring spat. "He was the one who killed Shepherd and let these bastards in."

"What? Him?" Stargazer protested. "No, no, there's no way--"

"It's t-true," Sticky Note said, allowing Daring to help her up and wiping her eyes. "H-he confessed. B-b-before they..." She gestured sadly at the body.

Stargazer slumped, disbelief frozen on his face for several seconds before it slowly melted away to disgust. "Well. Then I'm not gonna waste time missing him. C'mon, let's just get out of here." He gestured for everypony to follow him out of the barracks and back into the rain. Sticky Note leaned against Daring, passively allowing the pith helmet-wearing pegasus to guide her back outside. The secretary flinched at the barrage of noises, the continuing sirens and gunshots and shouts through the rain and wind.

Daring Do looked about at the warzone that the prison had turned into, then turned and looked down the steps at the ferry waiting in the water. She hesitated, then turned back to the prison, towards the sound of battle.

“Sticky,” she told the trembling secretary, grabbing her shoulders. “Take a deep breath. It’s gonna be okay. The officers are gonna escort you to the cellblock.”

Sticky squeaked.

“It’s gonna be safer than here,” Daring replied. “Just go with them. It’s gonna be okay.”

“O-o-okay,” Sticky stammered, nodding. “What are you g-gonna do?”

“What we do best,” Daring replied, watching Strider and Phillip looting the bodies of the two invaders for extra ammunition for their BARs. “Stop the bad guys.”

Author's Note

Yeah, I think you can guess what video game this is based off of.

Not much to say about this other than I hope that you enjoyed and are looking forward to more!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Eight: Scavenger Hunt

Phillip stepped over Shepherd’s body, casting a glance down at her still form with a soft grunt, then bent down over the control panel of the surveillance crystals. His eyes swept over the projected images, watching the displays of carnage from all over the island. The invaders were assaulting the female and male wards, shooting it out with retreating officers as inmates shouted and hollered within their cells.

“Repeat, fall back to death row!” Stargazer’s voice crackled through the radio. “Just get out of there and run!”

One after another, the officers abandoned their posts, rushing to the emergency exits and fleeing across the grounds. Bodies dropped from both sides as the attackers gained ground, cheers erupting as they took the cell blocks.

“Damn,” Phillip grunted, panning through the cameras.

“So what exactly is the plan?” Strider asked. “Why are we not going to death row?”

“Our best option to get help is to find wherever Counterintelligence set up the ritual,” Daring replied. “If we can disrupt the spell, that should make it easier for backup to arrive, and maybe we can keep them from escaping."

Strider blinked at her. “Didn’t Starlight say that messing with that could break time?”

“What’s life without a little risk?” Daring shot him a grin.

“There’s the warden,” Phillip stated, pointing at one projection. Brick Wall lay on the concrete floor of the female ward's entrance, securely bound and gagged, glaring up at the armed invaders that surrounded her with unbridled hate in her eyes.

“Okay,” Strider said. “So where are the beating heart and amberclaw prisms?”

“Working on that,” Phillip answered, continuing to pan through the projections.

“You should’ve gone with the officers,” a voice whispered.

“Who said that?” Strider asked, looking about.

A moment later, he gasped when he realized that the corpse on the floor had opened her eyes and was looking at them. The trio backed away from the impossible sight, their hearts racing in their chests.

“There are dozens of them and only three of you,” she hissed, a giddy smile spreading across her pale face. “You should have gone with them. Should have hidden and cowered. You’re all alone now…”

Daring hissed and drew her whip, eyes darting about everywhere. “He’s here,” she whispered.

A silver canister with several holes pockmarked into the surface tumbled into the room, clattering against the tiled floor as it bounced, the metal exterior catching the light attractively.

“Down!” Phillip shouted, seizing Shepherd’s body and throwing it over the grenade before turning away, shielding his eyes with a foreleg.

The stun grenade detonated a moment later with a clap of thunder and a flare of white light, as bright as the sun. The three staggered against the blow, ears ringing and the floor tilting beneath them. Spots danced before Phillip’s eyes as he fumbled for his holster, feeling as though his head had suddenly been enclosed in metal.

It came through the door, black eyes burning with bloodlust and hate. It smiled broadly and the tentacles dangling from its impossibly wide mouth began to dance in excitement, lamprey-like mouths sucking. It reached out a hoof towards him as if beckoning him. Ice clutched at Phillip’s heart and he backed away, clinging to the waddy like it was a lifeline…

Flashes of light illuminated the room as Strider opened fire with the BAR, every shot muted by the constant ringing in his ears. The thing retreated, awful tentacles flailing in shock.

Daring seized Phillip’s foreleg in an iron grip and tugged him towards the door, both of them stumbling as the floor pitched and heaved like the deck of a ship.

Wind brushed against Phillip’s cheek as they exited. He ducked just as the chain whistled over his head.

Daring pushed him back and he stumbled onto his rear. Faintly, he heard a crack, and Strider yelped as the weight smashed down onto his foreleg, knocking the rifle to the floor.

The Plague Doctor closed in on Daring and Strider, red eyes flashing behind the mask. The sickle flashed at Daring’s face and she ducked, the blow knocking her pith helmet askew and blinding her.

Strider swung at their foe wildly but was forced to dodge an upward swing of the sickle blade. The blade dug into his shoulder instead of his neck and he spun away with a muted howl, blood spraying across the wall. Daring charged in and tackled the Plague Doctor, slamming him against the wall and assailing him with her elbows and knees in a desperate assault.

Motion over Phillip’s head. The red-breasted raven flew in from behind Daring, the blades on its talons flashing dangerously.

Phillip’s hoof moved on pure instinct, seizing a boomerang from his pocket and throwing it out. It wobbled, but sliced through the air and struck the raven in the rear before tumbling to the ground. The raven nearly fell out of the sky, flapping its wings in a desperate bid to stay aloft. It missed Daring by a full foot, but she still instinctively gasped and ducked as the bird passed her.

The Plague Doctor pulled the chain of his kusarigama taut between his hooves and pressed it against Daring’s neck, causing her to gag and release him. He twisted and slammed her against the wall just as Strider and Phillip both rose to their hooves, their postures now steady and masks of anger fixed over their fear.

Smoke erupted from his body, swirling to conceal his form. The clouds shifted and transformed into crows and ravens, which swarmed over the trio in a flurry of wings, beaks, and talons, their terrible screeches filling their ears.

“Out! Out!” Strider declared as he grabbed the BAR. Phil retrieved his boomerang and his own weapons and they retreated with haste back down the hall, past the barracks, over the howling and raving corpse of Counterintelligence, through the entrance, and bursting into the pouring rain, slamming the door behind them. The illusion was banished by the embrace of the cold wind; they sagged against the wall, panting and shivering as their hearts began to slow.

Phillip took a deep breath of the rainy air, allowing the comforting coldness to fill him up, spreading through his body and forcing his terror to retreat to the back of his mind.

“You okay?” he asked Strider, pulling out his first aid kit and examining Strider’s shoulder wound. Daring took the BAR from him and covered him as they worked, sweeping the darkness with her shoulder-mounted flashlight.

“I’m still breathing, so that’s something,” Strider replied with a forced grin, holding his pistol up with the uninjured left foreleg.

Blood oozed from the deep stab wound. Phillip packed the wound with gauze and wrapped it up as tight as he could. Strider tried to move the shoulder, only to gasp in pain as fire raced up the wound.

“We should get you to death row,” Phillip said. “You--”

Strider gritted his teeth and firmly shook his head. “If you’re gonna go on your scavenger hunt, you’re gonna need someone to watch your backs,” he said through a pained grin.

Daring smiled back at him. “Okay, let’s stay on the move. We’ll head to the warden’s house; that’s the best lead we’ve got. Go!”

Lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating the pockmarked shell that had been the warden’s home. The trio raced across the slick, damp ground, eyes scanning every shadow and the sky for any sign of any pursuers. Beyond them, the sound of gunshots had fallen silent, though the klaxons continued to howl for a rescue that was not coming.

Screams, pleas for mercy, and gunshots echoed off the walls of the ward. Scarlet Letter stood on the balcony, watching the execution beneath her with a satisfied smirk.

"Wait!" one of the mares cried, crawling away from a gray earth pony armed with a BAR, leaving a trail of blood from her wounded leg. "Wait, ple--"

Her entreaties were cut off by a second bullet into her forehead, leaving her crumpling on the floor with the rest of the inmates. Quiet reigned through the cell block.

"Well, it's not like anything of value was lost," Xixphy shrugged next to her.

Scarlet looked over the cell block at the freed inmates. The sisters of the Family were embracing one another, changelings licked their chops as they processed the deluge of fear and emotion, and a few other inmates that Scarlet had selected for their usefulness stared at the pile of corpses on the floor, their countenances ranging from shock to disdain.

The gray earth pony hustled up the stairs to Scarlet's side and unlocked the silver restraint band on her arm with a stolen key. Scarlet sighed in relief as the listlessness that the band imparted on her instantly vanished, washed away by a tide of energy; warm sensation filled her horn and she willed it to glow red, smiling as the light shone in her vision. Beneath her, the unicorns and changelings began to cheer as their own bands were removed, some of them shooting off fireworks that danced along the walls.

“Any problems?” she asked as the invader unlocked Xixphy's band.

“No, ma’am,” the earth pony shook his head, taking out a pair of Neighretta Modello 1935s and passing them to Scarlet. “The officers weren’t much trouble.”

Scarlet’s smile turned to a pensive frown as she checked the chambers of the weapons, the crystals within casting her face in a reddish glow that accentuated her scars. “And yet, they managed to get out of the barracks and retreat.”

“Someone must have let them out,” the invader replied. He paused and looked over the balcony at the pile of corpses beneath them. "Ma'am...why did we have to kill the others? We could've used them."

"No, we couldn't have," Scarlet replied, pocketing the guns. "These were scum: stupid, shallow, greedy, too short-sighted, and too much trouble to be of any real use to our master."

"If you say so," the earth pony shrugged. "But the ones on death row--"

"Some are already loyal to the master," Scarlet replied. "The others have talents that are of use and can be more easily converted or controlled--"

“Scarlet!” Hard Luck called from inside a cell, frantically pointing out the window with wide eyes. “Scarlet, you need to see this!”

“What is it, mon ami?” Scarlet asked, trotting over.

Hard Luck responded by pointing out the barred window. Scarlet stepped up and squinted out into the dark, rainy night, patches of light from the lamps fighting off the shadows.

Something was moving near the warden’s home. Was that…?

A flash of lightning cut through the air and the three ponies were thrown into stark contrast. Even from this far away, there was no mistaking those silhouettes topped with the distinctive trilby and pith helmet.

Scarlet’s jaw dropped open, her eyes widening to the point that they seemed ready to bulge from her head. “C’est quoi ce bordel?!”

“How did they get here?!” Hard Luck cried.

"Some kind of temporal magic," Xixphy scowled. "Maybe Starlight gave them something."

“Merde!” Scarlet grimaced. “This changes everything. Our victory is no longer assured.”

Another flash of light cut through the air. Scarlet spotted another shape stalking through the shadows and sighed in relief. “Ah, good. The Doctor is on them…but we still should move fast.”

“Let us after them,” Hard Luck snarled. “My brothers and sisters and I have been looking forward to getting some payback.”

Scarlet scowled in thought for a few moments. "Those putains have an annoying habit of surviving and too much is riding on this to spoil our chances on a gamble." She finally nodded. "Take nine of your siblings and go after them. The others will aid in breaking into death row."

"You got it," Hard Luck grinned. "And we'll need the warden, too."

"I'll go with them," Xixphy grinned. "I've been looking forward to a reunion with Agent Strider."

"Bonne. But listen: if things start to go wrong, you are to immediately head to the boat." Scarlet turned and gripped Hard Luck and Xixphy by the shoulders. "Whatever happens tonight, our number one goal must be getting you and your siblings out. We are going home tonight, so no unnecessary risks. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hard Luck nodded.

"I won't lose sight of the mission," Xixphy assured her.

"Good," Scarlet replied, patting her companions. "Now go, and luck be with you!"

"We don't need luck," Hard Luck replied with a grin, hurrying off to gather her brothers and sisters with Xixphy right behind her.

Scarlet stuck her hoof in her mouth and whistled shrilly. "All right, camarades! To death row!" she shouted.

Cheers and roars echoed off the walls of the cell block. Scarlet headed down the stairs and led the way out the front door, her smile broadening as she tasted the cool, rainy winds of freedom outside.

Phil shone his flashlight into the dark hallway of the warden’s home, scanning the debris-littered entrance. The floorboards creaked beneath his hooves, the only sound save for the rain pattering against the windows. He sniffed the air, detecting the faint undertones of blood and cordite hanging in the air.

“Looks clear,” he reported, leading the other two inside. Strider and Daring shone their flashlights around the house as well, scanning for any sign of ambushers.

“If it was here, he’d have put it somewhere where the others wouldn’t have just stumbled over it,” Daring commented, heading into the secretary’s office. She made a beeline for Counterintelligence’s desk and started tugging open the drawers, sweeping the interiors.

Strider closed the door behind them with a squeak of hinges. “Tell me we’re not gonna split up,” he said, staring out the window with his pistol at the ready, gritting his teeth as pain radiated across his injured shoulder.

“What do you think this is, a slasher movie?” Daring replied, slamming the drawers shut in frustration. “Damn. Okay, let’s check the rest of the house.”

They checked the rest of the first floor, studying the living room, kitchen, and dining room and finding nothing. They headed up the stairs, where the scent of blood and cordite hung heavy in the air.

Bodies of the invaders were sprawled across the upstairs hall, most of them with bullet holes in their heads. The trail of corpses led to the broken-open door of the bedroom. The room was in ruins; spent cartridges were littered over the rug, broken and bloodstained furniture was scattered all over the floor and rain poured in through the shattered window, a testament to the warden’s fierce battle against the intruders.

“I don’t think he’d put it in there,” Strider commented, though Daring gave the wrecked room a quick inspection. She found nothing in there, nor in the Warden’s study, the filing room, or the bathroom.

They paused at the foot of the stairs, sweeping every shadow, holding their breath as their ears swiveled back and forth, trying to discern any sound beneath the raging storm and howling siren. No rustle of wings or creaking of floorboards beneath a hoof alerted them to another’s presence.

Phillip exhaled and checked the chamber of his .38, just to reassure himself it was loaded. The image of a hopping mouse being stalked by a snake through the bush flashed through his head and his heart trembled in his chest.

Easy, easy. Steady, controlled breaths. Use the fear, don’t let it rule you. You know he’s there. Be ready for him.

The trio made their way to another door, which Daring pushed open with a creak. Their flashlight beams revealed a set of wooden stairs, bare save for a layer of dust, that descended into the bowels of the foundation. They stared down in heavy silence; three ponies standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into the dark, churning waters beneath.

“So…shoot rock-paper-scissors for it?” Strider offered with a weak chuckle.

Daring took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. Strider, you stay here and watch the stairs,” she said. “Phil, let’s get this over with.”

Phillip nodded, his face neutral even as his mouth suddenly felt drier than the Outback sands during the dry season. Daring led the way down the stairs at a quick trot, every step groaning in protest beneath her weight; Phil came up behind her, glancing over his shoulder. Strider stood post at the doorway, unslinging the BAR and holding it tight to his chest, back against the wall, head swiveling back and forth. Phillip turned a landing and headed down the last set of stairs into the basement proper.

The basement was a clutter of filing cabinets and cardboard boxes, all of them bulging with dusty, yellowed records. The stone walls were lined with cleaning equipment and old furniture. Phillip instinctively checked for any doors or windows, but the walls were all solid concrete. One way in, one way out.

“You take that wall, I got this one,” Daring said and made for the first cabinet and started yanking open the drawers, starting from the bottom and moving her way up. Every one was filled with folders and binders, but no beating hearts or prisms. She glanced over her shoulder to see Phillip slamming the drawers of his cabinet shut with a grunt of frustration, then tossing open some boxes to find nothing inside.

Daring moved on to the next cabinet, opened the bottom drawer, and screamed. A multicolored mass of writhing serpents burst from the drawer, their hissing filling her ears, black eyes glittering in the darkness: cobras, mambas, taipans, vipers, and adders. They spilled out of the drawer like water from an overflowing cup and swarmed up her limbs, embracing her with their cold, slimy, disgusting scales.

“Get off! Get off!” she shrieked, reeling back and trying to shake the snakes off her, expecting to feel their fangs biting into her at any moment.

Phillip turned to see his wife staggering away, flailing at herself. “Daring!” he cried, rushing to her, reaching out to her even as she leaped away from him, screaming and stumbling on her own hooves, rolling around on the ground like she was on fire.

Watch out!

Phillip ducked just in time; the wind from the chain that had been swinging at him brushed against the top of his head, nearly taking his trilby off.

He turned around, raising his pistol, only to let out a cry as a weight cracked down on his foreleg, knocking his aim to the floor. The Plague Doctor lunged in from the shadows, sickle slashing at his throat.

Phillip ducked and stepped in close, fire racing up his injured foreleg as it took his weight; his right foreleg went into his vest and drew his waddy, the pointed end ramming into the Plague Doctor’s side and drawing a snarl of pain.

The Doctor turned towards Phil as he circled around him, the blade slashing back toward his head. Phillip’s waddy slammed into the incoming foreleg with a crack and the Plague Doctor staggered with a growl of pain.

Phillip continued his retreat, aiming for his target’s knee. Too late, he noticed the chain thrusting at his face. Pain burst across his face as his nose exploded, his vision momentarily whiting out; instinctively, he turned and somersaulted away, hearing the chain smashing onto the ground next to him.

He blinked away tears as he returned to his hooves. His vision returned in a blur of colors; the first thing he saw was the chain on the floor next to him, which he followed back to its owner.

The Plague Doctor was turning towards Daring, who was trying to push herself up off the ground. His sickle caught the light of Phillip’s torch.

“No!” Phillip screamed, grabbing the chain and yanking. The assassin grunted as he was pulled off-balance, the blade scraping against the floor as it missed Daring.

A flashlight beam raced down the stairs and Strider appeared, raising his BAR at his target, his injured shoulder protesting beneath the weight of the machine gun. “Move, Phil!”

Phillip dove out of the line of fire. If Strider hadn’t waited, it might have ended there.

The Plague Doctor’s left hoof snapped at Strider and a muted cough echoed through the room. Strider ducked as a dart whistled past his neck, striking the stone wall behind him.

In the split second it took him to correct his aim, another cloud of smoke erupted from the assassin’s form, covering his body. Strider opened fire with a heavy thumping but hit nothing.

“Out, out!” he shouted, sweeping the growing cloud of smoke.

Phillip rushed in, grabbed Daring, and hauled her up, racing for the stairs. Strider covered them with his BAR as they retreated up the stairs, slamming the door behind them. They sprinted out the front door and back into the cold rain, leaping through the open gate. Slipping and skidding and splashing across the slush and mud, they ran all the way across the field until they reached the relative shelter of the long, low shop buildings.

The first buildings were untouched by the chaos, so far removed from the war. The door was secured with a padlock that Daring hurriedly defeated and they stumbled into its shelter, slamming the door behind them. Their flashlight beams revealed that this was a laundry room, with rows and rows of huge washing machines standing ready in the darkness to receive their loads.

“Everyone okay?” Strider panted, reloading with trembling hooves, fumbling with the empty magazine. He grimaced and clutched his bandaged shoulder, sucking in the frosty air.

Daring Do shivered, swallowed, and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said.

Phillip grunted and felt his left foreleg; as the adrenaline faded away, throbbing pain raced in, rushing up to his shoulder. “Bruised, not broken,” he reported through gritted teeth.

Daring cracked open the door and listened for a few moments. Beneath the pouring rain, occasional thunderclaps, and the still-howling siren, she heard distant shouts and gunshots, but no sign of pursuit. No hoofsteps, no flaps of a raven's wings.

“I think we lost him for the moment,” Daring said, standing. “We’ve got to keep mov--"

A flashlight beam blinded her, forcing her back. "There you are!" a voice shouted.

Daring squinted through the dark and her heart dropped into her stomach. Hard Luck sneered at her over the sights of her BAR as she snapped the sights to her forehead.

Author's Note

Find a still-beating heart and a set of prisms in a prison overrun with armed inmates. How hard can that be?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Just a couple more will round out this case!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Nine: Time Enough at Last

Daring ducked back inside, slamming the door shut as a salvo of .30-06 rounds spat from Hard Luck’s weapon, spattering against the wall.

“Hide!” she cried to her companions, grabbing a nearby cart loaded with cleaning supplies and shoving it in front of the door.

Strider seized a door at the other end of the room and pulled it open to reveal a hallway extending deeper into the shops. The trio raced down it as blows battered against the exterior door.

Another door with a window was on the left of the hallway, opposite a window to the exterior. It opened into a large machine shop with conveyor belts leading to machines. Open boxes of license plates were stacked in one corner, blank ones on one side and printed ones on the other. Securely locked toolboxes stood along the perimeter of the room.

Daring slammed the door shut behind them and she and Phil, grunting and groaning, pushed a heavy desk in front of it. “Get behind something, quick!” Daring ordered her companions. The three of them all pressed their backs against desks or machines, drawing their guns and trying to still their pounding hearts.

With a great crash, the exterior door split open and armed inmates poured in, flashlights sweeping the shadows.

“They headed further inside,” Hard Luck grunted.

“What’s the plan now?” Snabbt Oga asked. “Team up and sweep the place?”

“Work smarter, not harder, sis,” Hard Luck smirked. “Come on, guys!”

The ten of them retreated from the shop and backed out into the rain.

Daring peered through the window, her night vision contacts allowing her to clearly see through the darkness. She watched as the gunponies fell back several yards, their weapons held ready for any sign of movement. “What are they…?”

Hard Luck signaled and a stallion broke off from the group, sprinting back towards the cell blocks.

“We should get out of here,” Strider urged.

“The back doors just open to the perimeter wall,” Phillip reported. “We’d still have to go around into their line of fire.”

The male stallion was rushing back, carrying a large, squirming bundle. Daring gasped when she recognized the bundle that her former brother was dragging over. “The warden!”

Brick Wall was tossed at Hard Luck’s hooves with a muffled grunt, her rage-filled eyes shining in the rainy darkness. Hard Luck smirked, pulled out a pistol, and pressed it against the warden’s head.

“Okay, sis, I hear you’re a hero now,” she called out, her voice carrying over the din of the storm and the prison. “So let’s put that to the test. You got til the count of ten to come out of there or I’m gonna spray this bitch’s brains all over the ground. You hear me?”

“Oh, fuck,” Daring exhaled, her heart dropping into her stomach.

“One!”

Daring started to push the desk blocking the front door aside, straining against the heavy weight.

“Hold on, think,” Phillip urged, stopping her. “There’s ten of them and we have no approach.”

“Two!”

“We gotta do something!” Daring protested.

“Three!”

Phillip gritted his teeth and stared out the window, eyes darting from enemy to enemy, calculating distance and trajectory.

“Four!”

“These windows are bulletproof,” Strider said. “We can’t do anything from in here.”

“Five!”

“They’ll shoot us as soon as we show our faces,” Phillip stated, though his eyes kept darting to the hostage.

“Six!”

Brick Wall had gone still. Though she continued to glare up at her captors, her chest was heaving with heavy, rapid breath.

“Well, what do we do?” Daring asked, her right hoof twitching in agitation.

Lightning flashed through the sky with a great thunderclap. Hard Luck was silent, cocking her head in consideration. Another flicker of lightning illuminated her face: her eyes darkened and her lips curled back into a small smirk.

“Calling my bluff, huh?” she called. “You’ve got a point, sis. We kill her, we’ve got no leverage and we’ve still got to go in after you.”

The three detectives glanced at each other, holding their breath.

A gunshot echoed through the air, as loud as a thunderclap.

“No!” Daring cried, staring in horror as smoke rose from Hard Luck’s gun. Blood ran from Brick Wall’s chest, blending with the rain and running down her body into the ground. Her eyes stared sightlessly at Daring, silently accusing her of her failure.

“I never was good at bluffing,” Hard Luck shrugged. “Okay, you, you, you, and you, front and the back doors. The rest of you, teams of three. Let’s get the bitch.”

Four of the gunponies split off and ran around the shops, one to each of the walls. Hard Luck and Snabbt Oga each gathered up two of their friends and moved forward in phalanxes, weapons raised, one team each headed to the two main entrances.

“Shit, just great,” Daring exhaled.

“Time for us to get out of here,” Strider urged.

“Definitely,” Daring nodded. “We might be able to take one or two of them, but not ten.”

Doors crashed open on either side. Hoofsteps entered, echoing down the dark, silent halls. More crashes indicated that their pursuers were searching the other rooms.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” Strider asked.

Daring scanned the darkness outside, then nodded and led her companions to hide behind the printing machine. She pulled her lighter out of her pocket, yanked out the flame shroud, then pulled out the flint, spring, and striker wheel.

“Your lighter,” she hissed to Phillip as she twisted the spring around the flint.

“Not here!” a muffled voice sounded from their left. A crash to their right announced the approach of their hunters.

Daring lit Phillip’s lighter and began to heat the flint with it. “We wait for them to come in here, then I’ll blind them with this,” she whispered urgently.

“With that?” Strider asked.

“Trust me,” Daring nodded. “Closest cover is an open emergency exit for the male ward, eighty yards to the northeast. We get there, we should be okay.”

“Should be,” Strider repeated, checking the chamber of his revolver. “I like should be.”

Flashlight beams penetrated the darkness of the hallway outside. Silhouettes danced in front of the door.

“Hey, this door’s blocked!” Snabbt Oga shouted. “They’re in here!”

Hoofsteps pounded up the hallway as the rest of the Family gunponies charged in. Bodies slammed against the door like thunderclaps, pushing the barricade aside bit by bit.

“Come on, come on,” Daring muttered, holding the red-hot flint to the flame.

“Move!” a male voice barked.

Dark blue light slithered into the room, then with a great boom, the door crashed open, sending the desk flying across the room and smashing into the printing press.

The six ponies slithered into the room, weapons held up, flashlights and unicorn beams sweeping the darkness. Two gunponies took up post on either side of the door as the other four split off into teams of two, running up either side of the wall.

The three ponies stood statue-still, breath held, hearts pounding in their ears. Daring held up the flint, the little piece glowing red. Not yet…

“Behind the press!” Oga’s voice barked.

Hoofsteps closed in.

“Now!”

Daring closed her eyes as tight as she could and threw the flint around the corner of the press.

“Flashbang!” Snabbt Oga warned, but it was too late. Before she could finish the word, the hot flint struck the hard floor.

For a moment, it was like the sun was shining directly into the dark room. Blinding light filled every inch of the space, accompanied by cries of pain and surprise.

Daring, Phillip, and Strider burst from their cover as the light began to fade away. Family members were leaping behind nearby cover or huddling behind the domed shields that the two unicorns had instinctively thrown up.

All save one.

“There you are!” Snabbt Oga snarled, turning her weapon on them.

Daring’s whip snapped out and encircled the barrel, tugging the gun down to the floor and sending a brief salvo of bullets into the ground. A moment later, Phillip’s shoulder slammed into the griffoness’ chest.

A moment later, he cried out in agony as her talons dug into his forelegs, drawing blood.

“Gotcha!” Snabbt grinned as she rolled backward, placing her hind legs against his gut. Phillip was flipped over her, pulled inexorably forward by his own momentum. He slammed against the floor with a wheeze, his breath pushed from his lungs. The griffon rolled on top of him, grinning as she drew a claw back to tear his throat out.

“Get off!” He sat up, driving his forehead into her gut. He felt her ribs cracking beneath the blow, but her claws raked at his back, cackling as she tried to pin him beneath her.

“Let him go!” Daring shouted, rushing in and kicking the griffon on the side.

The griffon was driven off Phillip, drawing blood and flesh with her talons as she rolled. Her tail wrapped around the gun, pulling it towards her claws.

“Think fast, sis!” she sneered, snatching up a bundle of license plates with one wing and throwing them at Daring. She ducked as the metal squares sliced through the air, narrowly missing; she opened fire blindly, but Snabbt rolled behind a conveyor belt, avoiding her shots.

The other gunponies, despite still being blinded, were starting to turn their weapons toward the trio.

“Go, go!” Daring ordered, grabbing Phillip by the foreleg and hauling him to his hooves.

Strider slammed the door shut behind them and staggered, grimacing in pain and clutching his shoulder.

“Strider, c’mon!” Phillip urged.

Sucking in air through his teeth, Strider trotted after them, firing a few wild rounds behind them to force Snabbt to back off.

They sprinted for the door, pursued by salvos of bullets. As they raced for an exit, Phillip reached back and drew a boomerang from his pocket.

As they reached the door, he cocked his head to one side, his ear swiveling. Hoofsteps splashed outside, marking the position of the sentries.

He threw the boomerang as Daring shouldered the door open. It struck one target on the forehead, the light yellow hippogriff grunting as she was knocked to the ground.

The white thestral accompanying her ducked beneath the spinning weapon. With a snarl, he turned the shotgun towards Phillip’s head. Phillip tucked and rolled through the wet slush as the weapon roared, gritting his teeth as he felt the hot wind rush over his back.

Strider’s revolver barked, but the thestral threw himself into a cartwheel, avoiding the gunshots. He opened his mouth and screeched, the high-pitched cacophony drilling through the air. Phillip, Daring, and Strider all staggered beneath the auditory barrage, crying out as pain erupted between their temples.

“Florisa restrictum!”

The ground beneath Phillip cracked and vines rushed up from beneath, encircling his torso and pulling him down. Behind him, he heard Daring and Strider crying out as they were seized by more vines, pinned down to the ground as they futilely struggled.

A singsong accent laughed lightly. “Now, where do you think you’re going?” Xixphy purred, approaching from above, her horn alight with a serpentine green glow.

More gunponies rushed in, their faces splitting into grins as they surrounded their trapped prey, weapons held at the ready. The Plague Doctor approached, his raven riding astride his withers.

“Fuck,” Daring exhaled, giving up her struggles.

“You should’ve just stayed out of this, sis,” Hard Luck sneered, aiming her BAR between Daring’s eyes.

A lightning bolt streaked down from the sky, striking the ground next to them in a blinding flash; the resultant thunderclap was like a physical blow, making them reel. The gunponies leaped away with cries of shock, raising forelegs to shield their faces.

Something glimmered in the edge of Daring’s vision: the time amulet around her neck!

With desperate strength, she tore one foreleg loose from her bonds and grabbed the hourglass-shaped decoration, turning it over. Phillip, then Strider followed her movement, grasping their own amulets and turning them over. The pale blue crystal dust began to run down the hourglasses.

Xixphy recovered just in time to see what they were doing, her eyes widening in realization. Her horn lit up and a blade of energy scythed through the air toward them, glowing vivid blue, harsh heat radiating from the attack.

The spell suddenly stopped in midair as all motion froze for a moment, then rushed towards them. Daring winced in anticipation of the blow, but it passed right through them without any effect. The rain began to fall in earnest as the howl of the siren became distorted and sped up.

All around them, their would-be killers gawked in disbelief, gesticulating wildly, their motions sped up. After a few moments, they all turned and left, walking towards the docks at a rapid trot.

More ponies appeared, rapidly sweeping over the prison grounds: the SWAT team and the agents. Daring stared as she saw herself, Phillip, and Strider at the head of the procession before they vanished around the cell blocks.

Abruptly, time resumed its normal pace, the howling of the siren resuming its normal cry. In the distance came the sound of shouting, muffled by the wind and rain.

Daring Do grunted, straining against the vines that were still wrapped around her body. She reached her freed foreleg up and pulled a pocket knife from one pocket, snapping the blade open and sawing at the vines. “Come on, come on, damn you…”

It took a few seconds for her to free herself. “Okay, hold still, you two,” she said, moving to Phillip’s side and cutting away at the bonds.

“Can’t believe I forgot about this,” Phillip sighed as he was released, looking down at the hourglass amulet about his neck, next to the totem of Angkakert.

“I’m just glad it works both ways,” Strider added as Daring started to cut him loose.

Phillip turned to Warden Brick Wall’s body, which was still laying on the ground nearby. He bent over her, but even as he touched his hoof to her neck, the look on his face made it clear that he already knew what he would find.

“She’s gone,” he reported.

“Where did you guys go?!”

Swampfire rushed up to them, his sopping mane in disarray and his eyes wide in disbelief. His gaze dropped onto the warden’s corpse and his jaw dropped.

“How the…where did…when…what the fuck is going on?!” he stammered out.

“What is going on?” Phillip stated.

“You tell me!” Swampfire cried. “One moment the warden’s in death row, now the warden’s out here and now all the guards are sprawled all over death row! Hey! Where are you going?!”

The trio was already racing off towards the death row cell block, the low building illuminated by another flash of lightning.

“What the fuck?!” Hard Luck cried, gesturing at the ground in front of them. “Where did they go?!”

“Dammit,” Xixphy snarled. “Should have taken those amulets first thing.”

“What now?” Snabbt Oga asked.

The Plague Doctor grunted and jerked his head towards the docks.

“Yeah, he’s got a point,” Xixphy nodded. “It’s time for us to cut our losses and head for the boat.”

“Dammit!” Hard Luck spat.

“We don’t get out of here, there’s a chance that none of us get out,” Snabbt said, placing a talon on her sister’s shoulder. “Let’s just go. We’ll get another chance.”

The unicorn huffed in annoyance but nodded. “What about Scarlet?”

The raven leaped off of the Plague Doctor’s shoulder and took off toward death row.

“He’s got it,” Xixphy nodded. “Come on, ponies!”

The group shouldered their weapons and raced for the docks.

Outside death row, Scarlet paced up and down the line of soldiers stacked up outside the main doors, still smoking from the aftereffects of the spell that had blown them open. Gunshots streaked down the hallway towards them, occasionally returned by bullets from her own team.

A pegasus mare, her blue mane streaked with white at the temples, leaned around the corner to bring her shotgun to bear, then cried out as hot lead tore into the side of her neck. Blood gushed from the wound, running into the sopping ground as she collapsed into the snow.

“No!” Scarlet cried, telekinetically tugging the wounded mare to her.

The wide, frightened green eyes sought out Scarlet’s as the pegasus gasped for air, desperately pressing her hoof against the wound even as more hot, sticky blood spurted out. She reached up towards Scarlet for a rescue that she could not provide, then her body relaxed in death, the eyes dimming as life left them.

Scarlet took a breath and gently closed the corpse’s eyes, shaking her head.

A caw made her look up. The raven was standing next to her, gesturing with her head and cawing.

Scarlet frowned and glanced behind her, watching a steady stream of killers disappearing around the side of the building. She stuck her hoof in her mouth and whistled shrilly.

“Family members, fall back to the boat, now!” she ordered. “The rest of you, keep on them! We’ll hold the boat as long as we can!”

Calls of assent and compliance answered her command. Her new brothers and sisters surrounded her, some of them grumbling, but all of them willingly following her.

“You sure about her?” Nail Driver hissed to Scarlet, looking back at the one guest that had managed to escape the cell block.

Scarlet did not look back; she could hear the mare’s excited hisses and giggles as she ran alongside them. “I’m sure that she’ll do what she’s paid. That’s all we need right now.”

The doors of death row were now wide open, smoke still rising from the warped and melted metal, and fresh blood was staining the hallways. Phillip slowly made his way down the floor, looking side to side at the bodies of the officers sprawled across the floor.

“Shot in the back,” he observed, bending down to study the body of a familiar thestral. “They were running for the front doors…how did they get inside?”

“And the inmates are all out,” Strider stated as one of the SWAT unicorns gently patched up his shoulder wound. “Ow!”

“Easy, agent,” the unicorn frowned, watching as the stitches slowly closed the wound. “Okay, that’ll stop the bleeding, but you really need to have a doctor look at this.”

“After,” Strider grunted, proceeding further into the central hallway of the cell block.

“Down here!” Daring called from the female section, illuminating a cell with her flashlight. The lock on the opened door appeared to have been melted by magic, the molten metal still glowing faintly.

The others hurried over to cell 3B, peering into the back. At the back wall of the spartan cell, behind the bunk, a panel had been removed from the back wall, exposing a passageway into the maintenance tunnels.

“Looks like one of them had been planning an escape for a while,” Daring commented. “And if she could get out, the others could get in. Who was in this cell?”

A SWAT officer glanced at an open binder on a guard’s desk and winced. “Oh, no.”

“Who?” Daring pressed despite the churning of her stomach.

“Tinderspark,” the officer confirmed.

“Fuck,” Daring and Phillip said simultaneously.

Phillip growled, glaring at a nearby corpse, the mare staring sightlessly up at the rain-streaked skylight above.

“Could’ve done more,” he hissed, his voice underlined by a distant rumbling. “Could’ve stopped some of them…”

“It was three of us against an army,” Strider replied. “What else could we have done?”

“Could’ve found the ritual,” Phillip growled. “Could’ve…”

He abruptly froze for a moment, then cringed. “Oh. Stupid, stupid, bloody stupid.”

He sprinted out of death row.

“Phil! Wait up!” Daring shouted, racing after him.

“You gotta be kidding,” Strider sighed, chasing after them.

Phillip pushed past Swampfire, who was conversing with the SWAT commander at the entrance of the cell block. “Where are you going now?! Get back here!” the ASAC called.

“One side!” Daring shouted, shoving past him, followed by Strider.

“H-hey! You can’t just--wai--but I’m the acting SAC!” Swampfire protested, his voice rising to a crack.

“Where are we going?” Daring called after Phil, her voice hoarse; every beat of her heart was a sledgehammer blow against her ribs, her lungs burned with every gulp of air, and her muscles screamed with every movement.

“Medical center!” Phillip shouted back, ducking through a gate.

“Why…” Daring’s mind finally clicked: the broken storage room door flashed before her eyes. “Oh, Faust, we’re thick!” she groaned.

The white building approached them, illuminated by another bolt of lightning. As they passed through the doors, Phillip reached up and grasped his hourglass amulet, turning it over. His other two companions mimicked the gesture, the crystal dust falling into the lower chambers.

Once more, the rain striking the windows froze, then began to run up into the sky. Gunponies entered the medical wing, running backward. The bloodstains on a tile corridor rushed back into the body of an orderly, who climbed back to his hooves and ran in reverse down the hall, pursued by two other attackers. The gunponies retreated back out the door; the clutter scattered across the hallway began to move on its own, piling up behind the doors, which slammed shut behind them.

All motion froze for a moment of silence, then came the rain pattering against the windows once more. Outside the siren resumed its howl and the sound of gunfire was audible in the distance.

“This way,” Phillip said, leading them toward a stairwell. He shouldered the door open and shone his flashlight down the darkened stairs.

“Come on,” Daring urged, starting to push past him.

But Phillip held out an arm to stop her, glaring at the concrete steps. “Fresh hoofprints,” he said, pointing at several wet trails running down the stairs. “From outside. Someone’s waiting for us down there.”

“Of course they fucking are,” Daring growled, checking the chamber of her revolver.

“Changelings,” Phillip concluded. “Only way they could’ve gotten in here like that.”

“Where are all the others?” Strider asked.

Phillip closed his eyes and held his breath for a moment, head cocked to one side. From far beneath came muffled whimpering and shivering.

“Down there,” he hissed. “Hostages, sounds like.”

“Guess they wanted to slow us down a little,” Strider replied.

“Thoughtful of them,” Daring added. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

They proceeded down the steps slowly and carefully, weapons held at the ready. Their flashlights penetrated the gloom, revealing the stark white walls of the basement. Hallways branched off in three directions, lined with doors that opened to the boiler room, storerooms, and other such places.

Philip cocked his head to listen, then pointed to the left. “They’re over there,” he said.

“And so is the storeroom that we’re looking for,” Daring added.

They crept around the corner, weapons held at the ready. A cluster of orderlies and nurses sat or lay in the hallway, some of them completely still, others shivering and flinching from the sudden barrage of light. The door to the storeroom that had been kicked in when they first arrived was at the end of the hall, like the finish line to an obstacle course.

“Detectives!” a young mare gasped out, getting up and trotting towards them with relief on her face, her too-large coat flapping as she moved. “Oh, thank Luna, thank Luna…”

She was fast. The knife appeared from her sleeve like the conjured cards of a stage magician, whipping at Phillip’s neck.

But even exhausted as he was, he was faster. He ducked to one side, brushing the attack aside with his right hoof. He wrapped his limb around hers and trapped it to his body, his left elbow swinging around to collide with her head.

Before the blow could land, the orderly’s body was suddenly awash in emerald flame, the knife falling to the floor. A moment later, the mare was replaced by a long dark python that wrapped itself around Phillip’s chest. “Too slow, Finder!” the serpent hissed in a buzzing, feminine tone at her target’s head.

Daring yelped and drew back from the snake, stumbling over a semiconscious orderly. As she rolled back to her hooves, her flashlight fell on the silver griffon’s neck, marking the two circular holes marred into his flesh, a thin trail of blood running from the wound.

Movement to her right. Daring leaped back into a sprawl as another orderly lunged in like a linebacker, his hooves grabbing nothing but air. Daring crashed on top of him and started to roll off.

“No, you don’t!” the orderly snarled, his body briefly surrounded by emerald flames. When the fire cleared, the changeling appeared before her, his matte black chitinous body seemingly molded from the shadows themselves, his limbs marred with several jagged holes. His yellow eyes burned with a mixture of lust and hate; the “mane” of setae was a venomous green color and the insectoid wings buzzed angrily. It looked just like the posters that had been prominently displayed on nearly every corner of Equestria not too long ago, and Daring Do was reminded of the fear and paranoia that they brought.

Daring leaped back, one hoof going for the stockwhip at her side, but there was another flash of green light behind her.

“Gotcha!” the hulking black bear that had suddenly appeared behind her roared, wrapping its massive, furry limbs about her body.

“Let go!” Daring protested, struggling and squirming within the iron vise that was crushing her ribs into her lungs. Her breath came shallow and rapid; her limbs burned and ached with every movement. Exhaustion had set itself into her bones with the weight of iron and she could not throw it off.

The yellow-eyed changeling closed in, his tongue flicking out to taste the air; a few medical staff that were still conscious scrambled away from him with cries of alarm.

“Been so long since I had a decent feeding,” he grinned, baring gleaming white fangs at Daring as he approached.

A glance over his shoulder informed Daring that Phillip was still struggling with the python that was trying to secure his forelegs to his sides, while Strider was wrestling with two changelings at once; the pegasus was backed up against the wall, holding his forelegs before his face as he tried to shield himself from their blows. His revolver went off by accident with a sharp bark, sending a round into the ceiling and prompting the trembling orderlies on the ground to cry out in panic and cower as close to the floor as possible.

The fangs lunged at Daring’s neck, quick as a viper. Daring snapped her head forward and the changeling bellowed in pain as his teeth collided with her helmet-clad forehead, some of his fangs snapping off as he reeled away.

“You little--!” The bear tightened his grasp around Daring’s chest. She wheezed as her lungs were compacted like a car in a crusher. Her heart sounded like a drumbeat in her ears as she strained for air, her useless struggles growing feebler by the moment. Through the shadows that were encroaching on her vision, she saw the yellow-eyed changeling recover himself, snarl, and lunge at her again.

And then came that familiar whistling noise, cutting through the noise of combat, even carrying over a distant rumble of thunder. The yellow-eyed changeling grunted and collapsed facefirst onto the ground, the boomerang clattering to the floor next to him.

“Wanker!” Phillip growled, ramming the elbow of his free foreleg into the python’s head. He slammed himself against the wall, crushing his foe’s skull between his body and the brick. The python grunted and tumbled off his body, her body briefly wrapped in emerald flame as she transformed back into her changeling form. A kick to the head left her sprawled across the ground, out cold.

One of the changelings fighting Strider turned to engage Phillip and promptly paid for this mistake when Strider struck her partner in the face with his revolver, sending her spinning to the floor as blood ran from her nose. Squinting through a black eye, Strider took aim and fired.

The massive arms pinning Daring’s body immediately slackened as the bear staggered. His body was ablaze for a moment and a changeling crashed to the ground, jaw hanging open as though in disbelief, a bloodied hole all that remained of his right eye.

“Bastard!” the bloodied changeling snarled, leaping up at Strider and pinning him to the ground.

“Storeroom!” Phillip ordered, rushing in to help Strider.

Daring Do sucked in a breath and turned, leaping over the changeling’s corpse to the door waiting for her at the finish line. In one smooth movement, she pivoted and bucked with both legs. The door held firm the first time, sending pain radiating up her limbs. She sucked in a breath and kicked again. This time, the door crashed open.

A rhythmic thud-thump, thud-thump, thud-thump greeted her. On the floor of the storeroom, sitting between two shelves of medicine was an equine heart, its pinkish flesh adorned with carved symbols that she did not recognize, but which nonetheless made eyes water at the mere sight of them. The heart continued to beat at a steady pace, the sound and motion sending Daring Do’s stomach twisting into knots. Surrounding the heart in an intricate pattern were several carefully carved prisms of amberclaw, the honey-colored translucent stones intricately shaped into asymmetrical forms. Colors that Daring could not quite name and twisted reflections danced within the amberclaw; she quickly pulled her gaze away when she thought she saw something turn to face her.

Pulling out her pocket knife, Daring snapped open the blade and jumped forward, aiming for the heart.

“Hold it!”

Daring froze and turned around. The yellow-eyed changeling had grabbed an orderly and was clutching the shivering young griffon to his chest, holding a knife to his exposed neck. Behind him, Strider was sprawled across the floor, unconscious. The changeling with the broken nose was pinning Phillip to the ground, crouching over him like a wolf protecting her kill, fangs locked around his neck, growling warningly as blood from her broken nose dripped onto her quarry’s face. Phillip lay still, save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his eyes a mixture of defiance and fear.

“Drop the knife,” the yellow-eyed changeling hissed at Daring.

Daring glared back at him, eyes darting from him to Phil to the pleading gaze of the griffon orderly. The young white griffon gasped as the knife pressed against his neck, drawing a bit of blood.

“Now!” the yellow-eyed changeling ordered.

Daring took a breath and slowly started to lower the knife. Something thumped against her chest, a comforting cold weight: her totem of Awely-Awely.

Desperate hope fluttered faintly in her gut. Daring took in a breath and stretched out her wings. A faint tingling danced beneath her feathers, seeming to reach up towards the sky like a weak magnetic pull, reaching up towards the storm above. The scent of rain filled her nostrils, filling her down to her core, and she faintly thought she felt a presence behind her.

“Please,” she whispered.

Thunder suddenly roared from directly overhead, the building shaking as though it had been struck by a broadside of cannon fire; light flared down the hallway. The two changelings reeled back in shock, eyes widening in sudden shock.

Phillip’s limbs felt like they’d been encased in lead; his head thumped with every heartbeat like someone was using his skull as a drum. But the crack of thunder sent a burst of energy through his body and he lashed out. His right hoof cracked against his quarry’s ribs, drawing a wheeze of pain, then his left smashed into her jaw. She spun like a top, crashing to the floor next to him with a groan.

The yellow-eyed changeling turned towards Phillip at the noise, his grip on his hostage slackening. The griffon immediately pulled away from him, flinging himself to the floor.

Daring whipped around, snatching up her knife again. She raised the blade and lunged for the beating heart.

“No!” the changeling shouted. Emerald light briefly illuminated the wall before her and she heard wings behind her, closing in on her.

But it was too late. She drove the blade into the heart with a sickeningly wet thump. The heart began to beat frantically, violently spasming in response to the blade. The swirling colors in the amberclaw prisms began to glow brighter and brighter, cracks spreading across the stone.

Daring turned away, raising a hoof to shield her eyes. There was a dazzling explosion of lights and colors that she couldn’t name, a rush of wind that nearly lifted her off her hooves, and a deafening noise that she could not quite describe, something between a roar, a clap of thunder, and a crash of waves.

The sound faded away, leaving complete silence in its wake. Daring slowly lowered her hoof to find that all that was left of the ritual was a shapeless form of bloodied meat and a pile of honey-colored dust. She turned around.

A black hawk was hanging in midair behind her, talons reaching out towards her, completely still. Daring stared, then slowly raised a hoof and waved it in front of him. No reaction.

“What the hell?” she asked, looking around him.

Phillip was laboriously climbing to his hooves with a moan; Strider groaned as he came to. Everycreature else was completely frozen, either sprawled on the floor or crouching against the wall.

“What happened?” Strider asked, looking at the changeling with the broken nose. She was laying on the ground, seemingly petrified in the act of trying to get up.

“I…” Daring said, glancing down at the hourglass amulet around her neck. “I think I broke time.”

The trio slowly climbed up the stairs to find that the exterior doors were still blocked. “Great,” Strider grumbled as they pushed the barricade aside and opened the door.

The raindrops were hanging frozen in midair; the siren had ceased its howling, leaving an unsettling silence in its absence. Daring looked towards death row and saw a cluster of ponies gathered around the building, all of them frozen like statues: both the invaders with their BARs gathered around the door in preparation to breach and the SWAT officers milling about the building. Swampfire was standing right next to a gunpony frozen in the act of firing into the doors.

“Yeah,” Strider said, sitting down with a groan. “You broke time. Any ideas on how to fix it?”

Daring let out a weak laugh. “I’m just glad that we stopped some of--”

A thought flashed through her mind. She ran for the docks, but only managed a few yards before her exhaustion caught up with her, like boulders tied to her hooves. She only managed a weak trot past the barracks, with Phillip behind her.

At the top of the stairs, they looked down towards the pier. The waves were still moving, crashing against the stones. The boats that they had arrived on were all aflame, the glow of the fire reflecting off the water.

The ferry was pulling away from the docks with engines grumbling, loaded with passengers. Standing on the rear deck was a familiar pink unicorn; she raised a hoof and gave them a mock salute. The redhead next to her sneered back at Daring, her scarred face twisting grotesquely.

“No!” Daring cried, trying to push herself forward, only to stumble as her muscles finally gave out.

The ferry seemed to shimmer like a mirage, then vanished from view, the wake swallowed up by the dark, churning waters; even the sound of the engine was silenced. Daring Do and Phillip Finder could only stand and stare helplessly into the night.

“Free,” Scarlet Letter sighed, sagging against the railing. “We are free.”

The escapees around her erupted into cheers. Winged creatures flapped their wings in elation, though they were careful not to take off, lest they were pulled from the protection of the invisibility ward painstakingly painted into the hull of the ferry. Friends embraced one another, laughing or crying in joyous relief. A few of those with guns fired off excited rounds into the air.

Scarlet took in a deep breath of the salty sea air, letting it fill her to her core, then slowly letting it out with a smile. She turned to the zebra next to her.

“Once we get to Manehattan, you’ll meet up with Doctor Caballeron,” she reported. “He’s getting close to finding Thicket and could use some help.”

“I’ll gladly tell what I know,” Xixphy smirked. “Such a shame my old partner can’t be here to see it.”

“Bonne. And you,” Scarlet said, turning to one of their escapees, who was leaning against the railing, eyes closed, blissfully ignoring the fact that the others escapees were keeping their distance from her. “We’ll have work for you in time.”

“Just give me some napalm and my pay,” Tinderspark rasped with a grin. “I’ve been eager to get back to work.”

“Excellent,” Scarlet nodded.

With a fluttering of wings, the red-breasted raven landed on Scarlet’s withers. It cooed softly and nuzzled into her mane.

“Excusez-Moi,” Scarlet smiled, heading back inside. Reveling escapees greeted her as she passed, some embracing her and tearfully thanking her. Scarlet exchanged cheek kisses and kind words, wiping away tears and returning smiles as she made her way up to the top deck.

He was waiting for her at the bow, looking out over the bay towards the glowing skyline of Manehattan. He turned to greet her, red eyes shining beneath the mask.

Joy flooded through Scarlet’s veins. She strode forward, lighting up her horn, delighting at the simple act of exerting her will on the world around her. She tenderly removed the healer’s mask to reveal the balaclava that his head was shielded by, hooking it against his belt.

He pulled her into his arms, wrapping his wings around her body as she tugged the cloth away from his mouth. Their lips met in a long, deep kiss, the first that they had shared in far, far too long.

“Mon amour,” Scarlet Letter whispered, allowing herself to rest against his chest. He tucked his chin atop her head and she heard him taking long, deep sniffs of her mane.

The invisible ferry and its illicit cargo trundled on silently through the bay, unseen and unstopped.

Case Nineteen, Prologue: Death Shall Come on Swift Wings

Most of the city of Ponyville was asleep at two in the morning, her streets quiet and her windows dimmed. But the Dockside District never really slept.

The waters of the Maresippi lapped at the docks, the dark waves seemingly trying to climb up the wooden and concrete pillars. Boats tied to the piers bobbed up and down in the waves, their creaking and thumping carrying across the still, humid night air, mixing with the many hoofsteps and voices of stevedores, the thumping of crates and squeaking of cart wheels and the rattling of cargo cranes lifting nets of cargo into and out of the bowels of ships.

A mid-sized cargo ship was secured to a pier a ways off from the others, its formerly white hull scuffed with rust and dings; the name Sealight Delight was only barely visible on the hull, the pale purple paint scratched and faded. Workers moved back and forth between it and the nearest warehouse, placing the crates upon conveyor belts that carried them into the receiving area like a tongue guiding morsels of food into a great mouth.

A rust-colored griffon pushed a cart loaded with boxes to the conveyor belt, pausing for a moment to wipe his sweaty forehead. “What the heck is in all this stuff?” he mused out loud as he bent down and started to heave it up onto the belt.

“Cans, tools, reams of paper,” a scruffy red hippogriff replied, helping his younger companion with his load. “Little of this, little of that.”

The griffon hefted another box onto the belt, watching as it traveled down the belt and through the plastic sheet covering the portal inside. “No, I mean--”

His question was interrupted by the hippogriff smacking him on the back of the head. “We carry legitimate, boring, normal cargo,” the elder snarled. “That’s all we need to know. You’re not paid to ask questions, Simon. Sooner you learn that, the better.”

The griffon gulped and nodded, helping his senior heave another crate up onto the conveyor belt. The belt hummed and groaned as it carried the crate into the warehouse, through the plastic sheet, and down a long hallway into the heart of the receiving area.

A yellow unicorn mare scanned each box with her horn as it rattled past her on the belt. Two boxes passed by her without comment and were carefully placed in the growing stack of crates at the end of the belt, but when she swept the magical orange beam over the third one, a small red X on the corner glowed in response.

“This one, too,” she reported, lifting the box with her magic and placing it on a cart behind her that was already groaning beneath the weight of several boxes loaded on top of it.

The orange earth pony in the light raincoat tilted his Ponyville Manticores cap back to examine his clipboard. “Yup, that’s all of them,” he nodded, tossing the clipboard on top of the stack of boxes. “Thanks, Glitter.”

“No prob,” Glitter replied, turning back to the conveyor belts and removing the incoming boxes to stack them.

The capped earth pony grabbed the handles of the cart and started to push it with a grunt. The wheels rumbled, squeaked, and groaned in protest as he drove it across the concrete floor of the receiving area.

“You need help with that, Curveball?” Glitter called.

“Nah, but could you get the door?” the capped pony huffed back.

In response, the door glowed orange and swung open. “Thanks!” Curveball smiled as he pushed the cart through. He carried it down the hallway, past empty offices and file rooms and conference areas, and then through another set of doors.

The other room of stacked crates was dimly lit by only a few low-hanging lamps, the better to not get undue attention; the shadows around them gave one the impression of a campfire at night, barely staving off the darkness. A single battered pickup truck was parked outside, the bed protruding into the front area through the opened doors, the tailgate open and ready to receive their cargo. Four other ponies stood around the lot. Three of them, each wearing a light jacket, were passing a bottle of bourbon around and smoking reeking cigarettes; the fourth stood by himself in the shadows, reading a book.

“About time,” the tall blue-gray earth pony grunted, tossing his cigar aside and striding forward, accompanied by his two companions. “C’mon, we gotta get this shit into the truck and out there.”

He and Curveball hauled the cart over to the truck and the four ponies hauled the first crate off. The earth pony fumbled for a moment, then managed to unlatch a hidden compartment in the bottom and pulled the drawer open to reveal its contents: several red crystals carefully carved into prisms and glowing faintly with power, each set carefully into foam packaging.

“Castfire crystals,” the white pegasus mare grinned, gently extracting the packages from the compartment. “That’s gonna make some ponies real happy.”

“And more importantly, make us a lot of money,” the large earth pony replied, opening up the false bottom in the bed of the truck for his partner to place their booty inside. This done, he sealed the hidden compartment on the crate, pushed it aside, and turned to the next one.

One by one, each of the crates surrendered their hidden contents: packages of drugs, silencers, armor-piercing bullets, counterfeit bits, and more. Finally, they got to the last box, a small, tightly sealed metal container marked with refrigeration wards.

When they opened this one, all four of the smugglers paused to stare at their prize. Lined up in a row like little soldiers inside the box were fifteen test tubes, all tightly sealed and placed in styrofoam, each filled near to the brim with a pale yellow liquid.

“What’s this?” Curveball asked aloud, taking one of the tubes and shaking it, causing the thick liquid inside to slosh.

“I dunno,” the blue-gray pony replied, squinting at the tube. “Doesn’t look like any drug I’ve ever seen.”

"That's for our...special client," the large earth pony commented, glancing at the stallion with the beard, who was still deeply invested in his book. "We're getting paid a lot to bring that in for him."

The white pegasus snatched the tube up with a wing. “Maybe I should take a whiff,” she grinned, trying to unscrew the top.

“Cirrus, you know what they say about dealers who sample their own product?” the earth pony asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Ahh, live a little, Granite,” Cirrus smirked, undoing the top with a pop.

“I really wouldn’t do that,” another voice interrupted.

The stallion who had been reading a book was strolling up to them. In the light of the lamp, his full face was revealed: the brown earth pony had a black mane streaked with gray and salt-and-pepper stubble around his smiling mouth. His gray-green eyes glinted with humor in the low light, and he wore a gray shirt and a red-spotted ascot. His cutie mark was a golden skull with red and green gems set into the eyes; the jewels seemed to glow like living eyes as he moved.

“So you finally got your nose out of that book, egghead?” the tangerine-colored griffon sneered, strolling over to the book that their guest had left. “The hell is this, anyway? ‘Cultures of the Mexicolt Valleys?’” He scoffed and tossed the book into a corner. “Geek.”

The stallion frowned at him for a moment, his gray-green eyes flickering like a blade catching the light, then turned back to the other three.

“What is it, Doc?” Granite scowled at the tubes.

“That,” the doctor replied. “Is not your concern. You are paid to smuggle the materials that we request into Ponyville. That is all.”

“So,” Cirrus said, stoppering the tube again and placing it back in the compartment. “If it ain’t drugs, then what is it? Some kinda weapon? Gonna poison the reservoir?”

“Guys, maybe we should just give him his stuff and move on?” Curveball asked nervously.

“You should listen to your amigo,” the scruffy stallion nodded, casually dusting off his ascot.

“The thing is, the last few months have seen some really weird shit going on around town,” Granite said, taking a step forward. “Gang war, monsters, and a fucking zombie apocalypse running around the town. And when you refuse to tell us what this shit is for, that worries us. Especially since I know that you've been bringing a lot of this stuff in over the last few moons.” He took a step forward, looming over the elder stallion.

“So what the fuck have you got us involved in?” he growled.

“If the Industry Kings are not satisfied with the deal, we can make one with somepony else,” the pony with the ascot replied coolly, looking around and letting out a soft whistle like a distant bird call. “Somepony else who could benefit from what you are being paid, who might benefit from your...removal from power after the police received several tips about your operation.”

Granite’s gray eyes blazed with rage. “Are you threatening me, doc?” he snarled, his voice like stones grinding together.

“So you’re not a complete idiota,” the stallion replied with a smile.

“That’s it!” Granite snapped, his hoof whipping beneath his jacket. The .45 hoofgun let out a sharp click as it emerged and pressed itself against the doctor’s forehead as Curveball and Cirrus both drew their own guns.

“You’re gonna tell us exactly what the fuck this stuff is and what you’re planning with it,” Granite snarled. “And then you’re gonna call your boss down here and--”

“Say,” the doctor interrupted, his smile never faltering as he glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s your amigo?”

The three smugglers looked up at where the griffon had been standing and gaped. There was no sign of the griffon, just the book laying facedown on the floor.

“Rich?” Cirrus called, looking around.

Her call was answered by a sudden flutter of wings, then the lightbulb burst with a loud pop and a burst of light like lightning before plunging the entire room into darkness.

“What the fuck?!” Granite shouted, fumbling for a flashlight in his pocket and clicking it on. The little beam seemed pitiful in the crushing darkness as he swept it over the lamp, revealing that the lightbulb had shattered, leaving shards of glass on the floor.

“Que sorprendente,” the doctor chuckled in the darkness.

“Rich!” Cirrus called, hustling over to where the griffon had been standing, flicking open a little cigarette lighter. The tiny flame illuminated her face, allowing Curveball and Cirrus to see the concern slowly creeping across her countenance as she looked around.

“Where’d he go?” Curveball asked, unable to keep the nervousness out of his voice as Granite continued to scan the stacks of boxes with his flashlight.

Something shifted in the darkness beyond. Holding the lighter up high and aiming her pistol before her, Cirrus stepped forward.

A blur of shadowy movement rushed past her silently. Cirrus let out a gurgling cry, her gun and lighter clattering to the ground, the flame extinguishing in a moment. Granite whirled the flashlight back onto her to see the mare staggering towards them, her eyes wide with terror, both hooves clutching her throat. Blood, colored black in the darkness, gushed out from beneath her hooves.

“Cirrus!” Curveball cried, rushing over to her. She tumbled into his arms, letting out a choked, bubbling sob, then went still. Curveball lowered her to the floor, shaking her and calling her name even though he knew that she wouldn’t respond.

Another shadow whooshed through the dark with a flapping of wings and pain seared across Curveball’s foreleg. “Ow!” he cried out in a mixture of pain and shock, dropping his gun and clutching his forelimb. Blood ran down his limb from the multiple cuts that had been dragged across his flesh by invisible talons.

“The hell?!” he cried, searching with his uninjured foreleg for his gun. He felt the cold metal of the handle, but something blurred before his eyes with another flap of wings, the wind of its passage so close that he instinctively flinched. When he went out to search again, he gasped as he realized that the gun had vanished.

Granite grunted and seized the doctor, holding his pistol to the smaller stallion’s head with one hoof and sweeping his flashlight through the room with his other as he backed them up against a wall.

“I got your friend here!” he shouted, his voice a grating mixture of fury and terror. “I got your friend! You come out right now or I’ll--”

His taunt was cut off by a scream when the ascot-wearing stallion whipped a small knife out of his tail and sunk it into Granite’s leg. The pain made him loosen his grip on his hostage and the stallion dropped to the ground and rolled away.

There was a sound like a muffled cough and Granite grunted in pain. His hoof darted to his neck like he was slapping a mosquito.

The dart that had struck him tumbled out of his neck and clattered to the floor, unnoticed.

“Get back here, you little--!” Granite started to snarl, sweeping his flashlight across the ground in search of his hostage, but then he heard something in the distance.

A low shuffling of hooves. A soft moaning.

“No…” he whispered, backing up and stabbing the flashlight into the dark. “No…”

They came from the shadows like ghosts, blank eyes staring, rotten lungs letting out low moans, decaying limbs reaching out for him.

Granite screamed, dropping his flashlight and scrabbling back up against the wall, stumbling on his wounded leg. “Get back!” he shrieked, seizing his pistol in both trembling hooves and opening fire. Each gunshot echoed like a giant was striking the warehouse with a great hammer, each flash of light piercing the darkness in a blinding flash. He struck home with each shot, but the monsters still came, their groaning burrowing into his ears.

“Get away from me!” he screamed, firing again and again as more and more of the dead ponies emerged, growling for his blood.

Curveball dove to the ground as gunshots whistled over his head, covering himself with his forelegs. “Granite, what the fuck?!” he cried as a bullet ricocheted off the wall over his head, staring at his companion, who was screaming and firing at empty air.

“What’s going on?!” Glitter shouted, bursting into the room and immediately ducking as another bullet whistled over her head.

“Get help!” Curveball shouted, scrambling back against a crate for cover. “We’re under att--!”

Another swoosh of wings, this time accompanied by a throaty cry. Glitter screamed and Curveball looked up to see that she was clutching her face, blood dripping onto the floor. Grunting and swearing, she turned back towards the door, blindly fumbling for the handle.

With a hissing of metal, a chain whipped out of the darkness and wrapped around Glitter’s hind leg, yanking her hoof out from beneath her with a grunt of pain. She screamed as she was dragged into the shadows, her hoof scraping against the concrete.

“Glitter!” Curveball cried, rising to go help her, only to be forced back down as another bullet screamed past his ear.

Beneath the tinnitus, he heard Glitter’s screams cut off by the unmistakable sound of flesh torn by a blade and blood spurting onto the stone. “Glitter?!” he cried again, knowing that she wouldn’t answer.

Granite’s cries had turned to faint whimpers. Curveball slowly peeked around, squinting past the light of the cracked flashlight to see the large stallion cowering against the wall, staring around with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping, his gun trembling in his hoof.

His desperate eyes turned on the gun, staring at it with an expression like a pony standing on the edge of a diving board.

“No!” Curveball cried, but all he could do was watch as Granite shoved the gun into his mouth and closed his eyes.

There was a final thunderclap and Granite slumped to the ground, painting the wall behind him with his blood and brain matter.

Curveball sat still in the darkness for several long moments, the only sound his soft, gasping breaths. The blood running down his foreleg was horribly warm and sticky against his cold body, the coppery scent invading his nostrils, and he abruptly realized that tears were running down his face.

Another flashlight clicked on, the light as blinding as the sun. The ascot-wearing stallion was casually striding out of the darkness, a smirk fixed on his face. Ignoring Curveball, he stepped over Cirrus’ body and walked over to where his book lay on the ground. His smirk turned into a scowl when he noticed the bloodstains on the cover.

“Ay, malparido…” he grumbled, picking it up and wiping it off with a hoofkerchief.

“Y-you…” Curveball stammered, trying and failing to force himself to stand up. “Y-y-you killed them…”

“No, I didn’t,” the stallion replied, turning around and nodding past the trembling smuggler. “He did.”

Curveball turned around and felt his heart drop into his stomach. The stallion emerging from the shadows like a vengeful wraith was clad entirely in dark blue, save for his pale yellow wings. Around his body was some kind of armored vest, with a bandolier of darts and syringes strapped across his chest; the pale yellow liquid in each of them was horribly familiar. Secured to his belt was a coiled chain with a curved sickle-like blade attached to one end. A raven with a small red mark on its chest like a bloodstain sat on the intruder’s back, glaring at Curveball with beady black eyes that seemed carved from the night itself.

A hood was drawn over the pony’s head, and upon his face, he wore a mask: a healer’s mask, black, shaped like a crow’s head with a long, pointed beak. Behind the lenses was a pair of eyes as red as burning coals, glaring down at him with unbridled hate. His breath came through the filters of his mask in a low, venomous hiss like a nest of angered serpents.

“Oh, no,” Curveball whimpered, crawling away. “Oh, no. I didn’t know it was you! I didn’t know it was you!”

He thumped into a pair of legs and looked up to see the ascot-wearing stallion smirking down at him.

“Well, now you do know,” he smirked. “Now, I imagine that your amigos outside might have heard some of those gunshots, but mi compadre has ensured that we’ll be alone for a little longer, so escuchame; I have a message for tu jefes.”

He leaned down so that those gray-green eyes filled Curveball’s vision. “What we are planning is none of your business,” he hissed. “You’re involved whether you want to be or not. Just do what we pay you for and keep your mouths shut, lest you require another appointment with the doctor. Comprende?”

Curveball gulped and nodded, feeling warm liquid trickling down his hind legs.

“Bien,” the stallion beamed at him. “Shall we go, doctor?”

Curveball watched as the masked stallion retrieved the carefully wrapped test tubes, inspecting them for a moment before tucking them into a pocket. He turned and followed his companion towards a side door. The entire time, the raven upon his back glared at Curveball like he was a bug that was just waiting to be eaten.

“Buenas noches,” the doctor waved to Curveball as he held the door open for his companion, who paused briefly to remove the healer’s mask from his head and strap it to his belt before stepping outside. The earth stallion exited after him, the sound of the door slamming like a great thunderclap.

Only when they were gone did Curveball allow himself to exhale, a breath that quickly turned into sobs and whimpers as he curled up on the ground, laying down next to Cirrus’ body, the reek of her blood invading his nostrils.

Author's Note

Starting off strong! After months of writing and postponing, I just couldn't wait any longer! Behold the fourth story of the Noireverse!

I'm sure I needn't quiz you on the stallion in the ascot's name. Those of you who read the original Phillip Finder stories might have an inkling as to the identity of our mysterious masked stallion. To those who have not, I think you're in for a terrifying treat with this fellow!

Like what you read? Be sure to leave a like and a comment! I hope that you're looking forward to more!

Case Nineteen, Chapter Four: Breadcrumbs

“A crow,” Red repeated, rubbing his forehead. “A trained crow with metal blades on its feet.”

“A raven, detective,” Twilight corrected him, casting healing magic over Flash’s foreleg. “There is a difference.”

“Whatever,” Red rolled his eyes.

“I’m just glad you got out of there okay,” Twilight said, examining Flash’s foreleg to ensure the cut had healed correctly. She glanced back into the room from the hallway and shuddered at the sight of the three bodies spread over Curveball’s floor, their blood spreading over the cheap wood. Doctor Suunkii was currently bent over the corpses, taking photographs of their markings and tattoos.

“So am I,” Flash said, looking back into the room. He watched as Suunkii pulled back the sleeve of one of the dead assassins’ shirts, revealing a tattoo of a coiled sea serpent, fangs bared.

“Hey, isn’t that a Dock Snake tattoo?” he asked.

“It is indeed,” Suunkii nodded. “It would appear to the untrained eye that you were fated to be collateral damage in a gang assassination.”

“That would be too damn coincidental,” Red growled. “Bastard left Curveball alive just for bait for us.”

“Or maybe somepony else,” Flash pointed out.

Twilight looked up with an expression of shock. “Phil and Daring?” she asked.

“Probably,” Flash nodded.

Red snorted. “Shoulda sent more than three guys,” he muttered.

“What’s our next play?” Flash asked.

“We have to put the squeeze on our contacts in the Industry Kings and the Dock Snakes,” Red replied. “Figure out what happened that night, and what they’re so scared of.”

“I just wish that I’d managed to get some of that bird’s feathers,” Flash muttered. “Then you could track it, Twilight.” He frowned at the cut on his foreleg. “All I got was a new scar.”

Twilight studied the wound for a moment more, then her face brightened with an idea. “You didn’t get their feathers, but they did take something of yours!” she declared. “Your blood! If I tinker with the basic tracking spell a bit and blend it with the blood identification spell I came up with, I might be able to follow the drops of blood that they left behind!”

Flash stared at her for a beat. “Um...do you need my blood for that?” he asked.

“No, just a hair,” Twilight said.

“Well, okay,” Flash replied.

“Great!” Twilight beamed, her horn lighting up and plucking a hair from Flash’s head.

“Ouch!” he yelped.

“Sorry,” Twilight apologized, giving him a brief kiss on the forehead before clomping down the stairs past the officers guarding the hallway. “Come on, before the trail goes cold!”

“That mare,” Suunkii sighed, shaking his head.

“I’ll mind the children,” Red said, heading down after the two.

He exited the apartment building to find Twilight following Flash up the sidewalk and through the alleys down the streets. He followed them through the weaving, smoggy streets of the Industrial district.

Flash paused after a couple of blocks, looking around between a great skyscraper and a textile mill belching smoke into the air. “Yeah, this is where it cut me,” he reported.

“Great,” Twilight nodded, pulling a stick of chalk out of her saddlebag and drawing a circle on the sidewalk. She placed Flash’s hair in the center of the circle and exhaled. Her horn glowed lavender, and the circle began to glow the same color.

“Persequor, invenient,” she began to murmur. “Persequor, invenient...persequor, invenient…”

The hair began to glow lavender as well, twitching as though in excitement. With another exhalation, Twilight rubbed out the circle. The light darted out in a small sphere no larger than a tennis ball, then alighted on a spot on the asphalt a few yards away, which began to glow as well.

“There!” Twilight cried, darting forward.

“Watch it!” Flash shouted, grabbing her tail to stop her from leaping out into traffic. A delivery truck blared its horn at her as it passed by.

Twilight gave the two stallions an embarrassed smile. “Thanks,” she said sheepishly.

They crossed safely and reached the first droplet of marked blood. “There’s the next one,” Red pointed at another glowing line running down the side of a nearby factory. He looked up at the roof of the building stretching over their heads. “You know, following a flying creature on hoof might not be so easy.”

“I’ve got a solution,” Flash grinned. “Hang on, Twilight!”

He grabbed Twilight beneath the forelegs and took off into the air, carrying her with him. “Wha-whoa!” Twilight cried, her alarm quickly giving way to delighted laughter. “This is amazing!” she cried, looking around in awe.

“Makes you kinda wish you had wings, doesn’t it?” Flash smirked.

“Sentry, the trail,” Red scolded, flying up next to his partner.

“Right, right,” Flash said. “Look, there’s the next one,” he said, nodding towards a glowing purple spot on top of another rooftop.

“Let’s go!” Twilight cried eagerly, gesturing for Flash to follow the trail. Flash took off with a delighted whoop from Twilight. Red followed after them, trying to ignore the squirming in his stomach.

By the time Phillip, Daring, and Skybrush landed before Gold Plate’s shop, the late afternoon sun was casting the street in long shadows blended with golden-orange light. A sharp breeze whistled up from the river, carrying the chill of the aptly named Moon of Frost, bringing the promise of winter that would be coming within weeks.

“You sure you’ll find something?” Skybrush asked, unlocking the door once more. “We searched the shop several times before.”

“You did,” Phillip replied as they once more entered the cold, dark showing room with its mishmash of metal knick-knacks. “We didn’t.”

Phillip proceeded to the counter and closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. He allowed all other sensory input to fade away. The sounds of the street outside and creaks of the house around him faded to silence; he forgot the cold pressure of the floor pushing up against his hooves, the soft touch of his undershirt and the weight of his vest.

He slowly inhaled through his nostrils, studying the tingle of odors. The coppery scent of metal, in its various flavors of brass, steel, gold, silver, and copper, covered nearly everything, but he pushed it aside to focus on the subtler details. He pushed aside his own deodorant, ignored Skybrush’s feather wax, allowed himself to linger briefly on Daring’s jasmine shampoo, then dug past the tickling scent of dust.

There! Just in the back of his nose, he detected it: faded with time, but still there. A reeking malaise of cheap cologne that reminded him of gasoline splashed over turpentine. Sniffing like a bloodhound, he proceeded around the counter and down the hall.

“He can really smell that customer’s cologne?” Skybrush asked, watching Phillip proceed down the trail.

“Earth pony magic, combined with years of practice,” Daring explained. “Annoyingly, it means that I can never surprise him with pizza.”

“You do realize that smell isn’t admissible evidence in court,” Skybrush commented.

“That’s not the point,” Daring said. “The idea is, if he can figure out where the customer went, he might find something that he left behind.”

His nose leading the way, Phillip proceeded down the back hallway, then into a side room that turned out to be a small storage room with old posters and tools on the walls and scattered about the small tables. He paused in place, turning his head from side to side.

“Strong scent here,” he muttered. “Customer hid in here when Silver came in.”

He bent down and started searching the floor, snapping on his flashlight for a better view. “G’day,” he muttered, taking out a set of tweezers and plucking a long hair that had snagged on a table leg. He held it up for his companions to see.

“Orange,” Daring commented. “Definitely not Silver or Gold Plate’s.”

Phillip sniffed it and made a face. “Reeks of cologne,” he muttered, placing the hair into a bag and handing it to Skybrush.

“Our lab probably isn’t as advanced as yours, but we’ll find out what we can,” Skybrush commented. “Hey, here on the threshold: coat hairs.”

There were indeed small pale blue hairs clinging to the side of the doorway, which Phillip quickly brushed into another bag.

“We didn’t go in here because the door was shut and the blood trail didn’t go into it,” Skybrush admitted, taking the bag. “Guess that’ll teach us.”

“Learn from this, mate,” Phillip said, completing his scan of the room and deciding that there was no further evidence to be gleaned from there.

“Okay,” Daring said, reviewing. “Blue unicorn with orange hair, about three foot two, wearing Gardener brand horseshoes, wearing cheap cologne.”

“Neighbor might have seen something,” Phillip said. “Daring, check around to see if there are any other clues. Skybrush, let’s go see this neighbor.”

“Right,” Daring nodded, heading for a set of stairs that led down to the basement.

Skybrush and Phillip exited the store and glanced over at the building next door, a squat little brick building with a barbershop pole affixed next to the door. Phillip spotted a pair of eyes in the window facing them; they made eye contact with him, then quickly vanished.

“Nosy,” Skybrush commented as they headed for the door. Frosted letters on the glass door declared “Smooth Trim Barbershop: Family Owned and Operated since 1876.”

Skybrush opened the door, causing the bell over the door to jingle, and they proceeded to enter a tidy barbershop, with lines of chairs facing mirrors, none of them occupied; shears, combs, razors, and other tools were set up on the counters, ready to be used. A waiting area was set up in the corner with sofas, magazines, a steady supply of crossword puzzles, and a radio; a large cash register that looked nearly as old as the store was set up on another nearby table.

A light brown unicorn with a cutie mark of a pair of scissors and a creamy white mane and mustache, both of which looked like they’d been cut with a slide rule, was unnecessarily sweeping the black and white tiled floor. He looked up at their approach, reacting with obviously fake surprise.

“Ah, welcome back, detective!” the stallion cried, setting aside his broom and dusting off his apron before striding forward with one hoof extended. “And who is your friend?”

“Close Shave, this is Phillip Finder,” Skybrush introduced his partner as he shook the barber’s hoof.

“The famous detective!” Close Shave cried, pumping Phillip’s hoof. “It would give me a great honor if you were to get a haircut at my shop!”

“Maybe later,” Phillip said, subconsciously pushing some of his scruffy mane back behind his head. “You keep an eye on Gold Plate’s shop.”

“I do like to keep apprised of the neighborhood,” Close Shave admitted.

“You see who comes and goes into the shop,” Phillip stated.

“Well, that is what windows are for,” Shave said, gesturing to the window that clearly displayed the front of the metal shop.

“Somepony came into the shop a few days ago,” Phillip cut in. “Blue unicorn with orange hair, about three foot two. Probably had some cheap cologne.”

“Ah, yes, I do remember somepony matching that description,” Close Shave nodded. “He came in here five days ago, not too long before poor Gold was murdered.”

“Did you get a name or anything?” Skybrush asked, whipping out his notebook.

“He said his name was Deal Maker; he did indeed have very distinct cologne, I thought I’d never get the smell out,” Shave recited. “Had a strange accent, too; definitely not from around Trottingham. He had the cutie mark of a briefcase with a bit symbol on it and golden eyes. He said he was looking for a good metal worker for a project that he had in mind. We chatted a bit about local stores, and he did ask a few questions about Gold Plate’s work.” Shave paused. “Now that I think about it, he was hanging about in the shop for a while and watching Gold Plate’s store.”

“Would you be willing to make a statement to that effect?” Skybrush asked, jotting down notes.

“Yes, of course,” Shave nodded. “Do you think that he was the one who--?”

“He’s just a pony of interest at this moment,” Skybrush interrupted.

The bell clattered as Daring burst into the room, her eyes wide with worry. “We got a problem,” she declared to Phillip.

“The famous Daring Do!” Close Shave cried. “I am honored--”

“Yeah, yeah, not now,” Daring snapped, holding out something to Phillip. “I think I know what Gold Plate was working on.”

Phillip took the item, which turned out to be a fragment of curved metal. He realized that it was a broken fragment of a metal mold. “Why did he break this?” he pondered, turning it over in his hooves. “Looks ring-shaped.”

“Look at the markings on the inside,” Daring said, pointing.

Phillip frowned at the symbols etched into the metal interior. Odd tribal designs and runes, slithering across the surface. One shape reminded him of a serpent, another of a sun.

“Wait…” Phillip whispered as he suddenly recognized the symbols.

“The Rings of Scorchero,” Daring confirmed. “He was hired to make a copy of the rings.”

“Maybe he just wanted his own version of it,” Skybrush commented.

“Who’s willing to murder over a copy?” Daring replied. “And why would he smash it after?"

"Did Deal mention if he was staying in town while he was here?" Skybrush pressed Close Shave.

The barber tapped his chin a few times. "Yes, I did hear him mention that he was staying at a motel near here, the Ho Hum."

"Thanks," Daring said, grabbing Phil beneath the forelegs and vanishing out the door with a cry of alarm and the jangling of a bell.

A few moments later, the door reopened and a sheepish Daring reentered, followed by an irritated Phillip. "Um...where is the Ho Hum?" Daring muttered.

"I'll show you," Skybrush said, heading for the door. He gave Phillip a querying look, who rolled his eyes in response. "Thank you for the assistance, Mister Shave. We'll be in touch."

The bell jangled once more as the trio exited, leaving the barber alone in his empty shop.

"Those two,” Close Shave remarked to himself after several seconds of silence, returning to his sweeping. “Are quite strange.”

The small drop glowed violet on the sidewalk. Flash landed on the street, placing Twilight gently on the ground next to him. The unicorn spun in place, her horn alight.

“I don’t see the next drop,” she reported.

“Well, they were going this way,” Flash said, looking to the northeast. The only buildings around them were old factories and mills, several of them nearly as old as the city itself. Flash coughed on the thick smog that eternally hung about the Industrial District, spitting out blackened phlegm. “Mother, I hate this part of the city,” he grumbled. “Red, you see anything?”

“I got nothing,” Red reported, spinning in midair. “I can still see the trail that we were following, but I don’t see any other dots.”

“They’ve got to be around here somewhere, then,” Flash declared, looking about.

“Wait…” Twilight said, stepping forward. “I feel something, this way!”

“Define ‘something,’” Red stated as Twilight hustled northeast, pausing to look for traffic before crossing the road. Flash and Red followed her as she passed around a city block and paused in front of a chain-link fence that surrounded a small derelict brick building that had once been a blacksmith shop, according to the faded sign that was barely clinging to the wall over the door by a single nail. Signs on the fence declared that the site had been condemned and was due to be torn down and rebuilt.

“There’s a circle around that building. I can tell because it’s blocking my magic. Do you feel that?”

Flash frowned and extended a wing. He did feel something, a faint buzzing on the edge of his wing that made his primaries crawl.

“Why would they put a circle around an abandoned building?” Twilight asked. “I’m going to get a closer look.”

With a pop and a burst of purple light, she teleported to the other side of the fence and proceeded forward.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Phillip,” Red rolled his eyes from overhead.

“We can’t afford to lose this trail,” Twilight replied, pawing at the ground. After some digging, she uncovered a portion of a thin silver band buried in the ground around the building. “Hmm,” she frowned, stepping over the circle.

“Blood spot!” Red shouted, pointing at the roof of the ramshackle structure. A glowing dot had indeed appeared on the misaligned roof tiles. He landed atop the roof to investigate further. A small glimmer of black caught his eye.

“There’s a crow...raven feather caught in the air duct up here!” he called down.

“I bet that this is our bad guy’s hideout!” Flash grinned, heading for the door. He peered in through a window that was covered with boards. "It's a mess in there," he reported. "I see wreckage and furniture everywhere." He started to tug at the boards covering the window.

“Hold it, partner,” Red scolded, quickly flying down and blocking him. “Use that thing between your ears. This guy’s dangerous and he clearly put work into this. You don’t think that he put some work into security around here?”

“Oh,” Flash said sheepishly. “Good point.”

Twilight lit up her horn and several small purple spheres blossomed from the tip, circling the derelict structure like planets in an orrery. The miniature stars started to turn different shades and colors, which Twilight scrutinized closely.

"I'm picking up traces of gunpowder and unknown chemicals," she reported. "I can't tell what it is, but it might be dangerous."

“Let’s call in backup to get this place swept,” Red said, looking around and checking the skies, glaring at a pair of shadows on an overhead power line before realizing that they were merely mourning doves. “And in the meantime, how about we get out of the open?”

“Good idea,” Twilight nodded, teleporting to the other side of the fence, The trio headed back to the apartment building, their heads turning back and forth with every step, double-checking every shadow that extended eastward from the setting sun.

The Ho Hum lived up to its name: it was simply a set of single-story brown and gray cottages set in the middle of a small lot, surrounded on all sides by grass that was browning in late fall.

"Yeah, he was here," the heavyset blue unicorn had yawned from behind the receptionist's desk when they asked if a blue unicorn with orange hair had stayed there recently. "Stayed in cottage number six right up until two days ago. Checked out in a big damn hurry."

"May we see the cottage?" Skybrush asked.

"Sure," the mare shrugged. "Haven't had much time to clean it anyway."

Cottage number six was in the middle of the lot. The interior proved to be just as promised on the outside: a combined bedroom and mini-kitchen with an old radio set in one corner, next to the lumpy bed covered in faded blue-white sheets that matched the carpet. The sound of a leaky toilet came from the bathroom door.

"Not sure how much you'll find," Skybrush said, frowning around at the room.

"You'd be surprised," Phillip replied, making a slow circuit of the room before making a beeline for the trash can, which was still full of takeout wrappers and notes. He dumped the can onto the floor and started sorting through it.

Daring started searching the mattress, looking for anything that the previous occupant had left behind. "If this guy was smart, he wouldn't have killed Gold," she said, lifting up the mattress to check beneath it. "I'm betting that he left behind something."

"Right here," Phillip said, retrieving a note from the trash and uncrumpling it.

Skybrush bent down to study the discovery. "'Silver owes money to Mob. Contact Colcannon? Might need to get gold for cheaper. What if he starts asking questions? Has to know about museum.'" He tapped his jaw in thought with a talon. "Hmm...Colcannon runs that Mareish restaurant that Silver was gambling at. We've long suspected him of being connected to the Mareish Mob, but could never get anything to stick."

"Notes on his working with Gold," Phillip muttered. "Looks like he was considering using blackmail."

"Guys, we got a problem," Daring announced, holding up a telegram that she'd retrieved from behind the mattress.

She read the note aloud. "'Change of plans. Need rings by 28 Frost.'"

Phillip's eyes widened. "Today's the 28th of the Moon of Frost."

"They're gonna hit the museum tonight," Daring concluded. "Phil, we gotta get back to Ponyville.”

“Next bus back to Ponyville is in an hour,” Skybrush said.

“Fuck that,” Daring replied.

Phillip stared at her for a beat, then groaned and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But we're calling ahead. And I’m doing this under protest.” He turned to Skybrush. “You do good work here, mate. Keep us in the loop.”

“Will do,” Skybrush nodded. “Um, good luck.”

That sentence was barely out of his mouth before a greyscale rainbow zoomed out the door with a rush of wind and a squawk of surprise. Skybrush stared for a moment, then continued his search through the motel room.

Author's Note

Poor Phil, always getting taken for a ride.

Okay, okay, I know that this isn't very exciting reading. I promise, the exciting stuff is coming soon!

I hope that you enjoyed regardless! Please leave a like and a comment if you enjoyed!

Case Twenty-One, Chapter Two: Sins of the Past

With a squealing of brakes and a hissing of steam, the afternoon train slid into the platform at Appleloosa Junction. The carriage doors opened and Deputy Braeburn hopped out, taking a deep breath of his hometown air.

“Welcome to Appleloosa, ponies!” he declared to his traveling companions as they disembarked. Rainbow Dash zipped out, taking in the sights with wide, admiring eyes.

“Haven’t been down here in a while,” Daring commented, looking around the town. Main Street stretched off to the horizon in both directions, the dirt road pounded flat by the many hooves and wheels that passed over it. Creatures passed to and fro, flitting in and out of the wooden stores that had been standing since the town was founded during the 1832 Macintosh Hills Gold Rush; the boardwalks creaked beneath the trampling hooves, paws, and talons. Drawn wagons still outnumbered the cars traveling up and down the streets. Hearth’s Warming decorations were still hanging in most windows and eaves, even though there was barely any snow to be seen in the desert.

“When did you come here?” Phillip asked.

“It was...during my time with the Family,” Daring admitted. “I was hired to steal some relics from the local buffalo tribe for a collector who couldn’t buy them for himself. When I turned myself in, I made sure that he was arrested and the relics returned.”

“Ah,” Phillip nodded. He slowly raised a hoof and reached out towards her.

“I’m over it,” she reassured him with a smile. “I just hope the buffalo have forgiven me.”

“Hope so too,” Phillip said.

“So what’s the plan?” Rainbow asked. “We find this spy and bring them in?”

“The best place to start is with figuring out what Boar One is,” Phillip stated. “Where are the buffalo tribes camped around here?”

“To the northwest of town,” Braeburn said. “It’s not that far, follow me.”

They proceeded up the walkway, passing other Appleloosan natives, many of whom greeted them warmly with a tipped hat and a “Howdy,” which Braeburn never failed to return.

Before long, they reached the edge of a massive grove of apple trees, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The branches of the trees were all bare of leaves, though a few workers were still milling about the orchard, performing winter maintenance.

“This grove borders the local tribe’s stampeding grounds,” Braeburn explained as they walked around the grove, passing through a gate. “The town’s founders made a deal with the tribe leaders to let them grow next to the grounds in exchange for part of the crop. You see where the tracks are?”

They saw them, thousands of overlapping buffalo tracks imprinted into the ground over generations, rushing past the grove.

“What’s so special about running over a path?” Rainbow wondered out loud.

“It’s their way of connecting to their past,” Daring explained. “They run across the same ground that their ancestors ran across as nomads, moving with the seasons. It's how they keep their identity as a tribe and honor their ancestors and the spirits.”

“Not unlike Aborigineigh songlines,” Phillip commented.

“Now, bear in mind, that’s sacred ground to them, so let’s walk alongside it,” Braeburn said. “The tribe’s camp is this way."

They proceeded up the path, walking parallel to the tracks. They soon left the orchard behind and were walking along grassy hills that rolled over the landscape in every direction, the peaks crowned by the remnants of the snow that had come for Hearth’s Warming.

Braeburn paused at the top of one hill to wipe off his brow and fan his face with his hat. “Not much farther,” he announced. “You’ll be able to see the teepees from the next hi--”

“Think fast, Deputy!” a brown figure shouted, bursting from the bush. The stallion barely had time to turn around before he was tackled to the ground.

“Oof!” Braeburn grunted, then grinned up at his attacker, who was currently hugging him around the neck. “Howdy, Strongheart!”

“Saw you coming from over the next hill,” the young buffalo cow with a single eagle feather in her blonde mane grinned down at him, then turned to smile at Braeburn’s companions. “Welcome, strangers,” she nodded to them. “I am Little Strongheart. What are your names?”

“Phillip Finder, Daring Do, and Rainbow Dash,” Phillip introduced them. “We’re here on a case.”

Little Strongheart’s face fell into a frown. “A case? Is there something wrong?”

“We’re looking for Boar One,” Rainbow Dash asked. “You know who that is?”

Strongheart tilted her head to the side in confusion. “We have no boars here.”

“Rainbow,” Phillip hissed before turning back to Strongheart. “We believe that there’s something or someone in your camp that might be in danger.”

The young buffalo’s reddish-brown eyes widened slightly, darting side to side in their sockets as she swallowed quietly.

“You know something, don’t you?” Phillip pressed.

Strongheart turned to Braeburn with a concerned frown.

“Strong, they’re good ponies,” Braeburn coaxed her. “And whoever this pony is, they might be in big trouble. We gotta help ‘em.”

Strongheart stared at the trio, then sighed and lowered her head. “C’mon,” she beckoned. “There’s somepony at the camp you should meet.”

As the group crested the next hill, they spotted their target about a half-mile ahead: a circular cluster of teepees and tents that spread over the sprawling plains, centered around a group of logs encircling a campfire. The scent of cooking oats and coffee wafted over to the group from the smoke. Buffalo, ranging in size from smaller than Little Strongheart to the size of a car, milled about the campgrounds.

Rainbow looked at the distance between them and the buffalo lands, then grinned at the others. “Race you there!” she declared and sprinted off in a cloud of dust.

“Hey!” Little Strongheart shouted, racing off after her in another dust cloud, leaving the others coughing and rubbing their eyes.

“Kids,” Daring grumbled, following at a quick trot.

Rainbow Dash pulled ahead of Little Strongheart as they neared the central campfire, but the buffalo bounded off a nearby drum and performed a forward flip over one of her larger companions, somersaulting to a halt next to the perimeter of logs just ahead of Rainbow. Several of the younger buffalo around them cheered and applauded this feat, prompting Little Strongheart to bow.

“Nice!” Rainbow Dash grinned at her, offering a hoofbump. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Lots and lots of practice,” Little Strongheart replied.

There was a chatter of voices among the buffalo as the intruders entered their grounds. Summoned by the noise, a massive dark brown buffalo with a huge headpiece of feathers emerged from his tent, apprising his visitors.

“Chief Thunderhooves, sir,” Braeburn greeted him, doffing his hat respectfully.

“Deputy Braeburn,” the buffalo chief nodded to the deputy before turning to the other ponies. “Strangers. You are welcome to our la--YOU!” he suddenly shouted, whirling on Daring Do with a furious recognition burning in his eyes. That same recognition suddenly flared in the eyes of several of the older buffalo, who all glared at Daring. Weapons were suddenly displayed, from native clubs and tomahawks to old but well-tended shotguns and carbines.

“Come to steal from us again, thief?” Thunderhooves spat, lowering his head threateningly.

Phillip started to step in front of his wife, but Daring Do stepped forward to face her accusers.

“What?!” Rainbow Dash shouted, whirling to face the chief. “She’s not a thief anymore! We--”

“Rainbow. It’s okay,” Daring cut her off.

She faced the burning coals that were Chief Thunderhooves’ eyes, swallowed back her fear, then dropped to a crouch, placing her forehead against the cold ground.

“Tēnétkē Ellv’ksv, Chief of the Buffalo,” she declared. “My decision to steal your tribe’s relics was born of youthful arrogance and greed; it is one of many mistakes that I would take back in a heartbeat if I could, which is why I arranged for them to be returned to you. I do not expect nor ask for your forgiveness. But I believe that you and your people may be in danger. Please, give my friends and me enough trust to get to the bottom of whatever may be happening, and then we will leave and trouble you no more.”

There was a brief murmur among the tribe around them, notes of disbelief and concern amidst the symphony of the native tongue.

“And what danger is this?” Thunderhooves asked imperiously.

“Deputy Braeburn intercepted a message sent by a pony that we believe was, or is, a spy for Sombra and his forces,” Daring explained, keeping her head lowered. “We think that they discovered something that your tribe has. And they want it for themselves.”

The buffalos all went completely silent, exchanging glances.

Chief Thunderhooves snorted, continuing to glare down at Daring. Little Strongheart sidled up to him and began to whisper in his ear; the observing ponies noted that the younger buffalo was just barely the size of the chief’s head.

Chief Thunderhooves glanced at Little Strongheart, who gave him a firm though imploring gaze. The great buffalo sighed.

“Very well,” he said flatly. “Do what you need to do to protect our tribe. You will be accompanied at all times while you are here.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Daring said, rising.

Little Strongheart briefly conversed with another buffalo in her native language; the other buffalo shook her head and replied, pointing to the hills to the north.

“Follow me,” Little Strongheart said to the ponies, leading them away from the camp.

As Daring moved to follow, she glanced behind her to see two older buffalo fall into step behind them, both of them armed with shotguns. She sighed to herself, though she silently conceded that she couldn’t blame the buffalo for not trusting her.

Still, she felt a pang of old, forgotten pain as they continued on, exiting the camp under the close watch of their guides.

Little Strongheart guided them to the top of a particularly large hill far to the north. The lowering sun painted the grasses in shades of gold and orange, dancing in a quiet southerly wind.

“These two ponies came to us a year ago,” she explained to her guests. “They said that they were travelers studying magic and history, moving from place to place. We allowed them to stay since then; they’re very helpful around the camp, but they almost never stray far. If they ever go into town, they always disguise themselves.”

“Who are they?” Rainbow Dash asked. “Where did they come from?”

“You’ll meet them soon,” the younger buffalo replied.

As they crested the hill, Little Strongheart frowned as she looked around. Laying on the ground were two kites, hastily dropped with their strings trawling across the ground; one was roughly bird-shaped and covered in purple fabric, while the other was a vivid red and shaped like a butterfly’s wings.

“Starlight! Tempest!” she called out, looking around.

There was no answer save the whisper of reeds in the wind.

“It’s okay, these ponies are friends!” Little Strongheart continued, looking around as Phillip bent down close to the ground, studying the trampled grass and hoofprints. “They just want to talk to you!”

There was still no answer.

“Starlight, we think somepony found you!” Strongheart pressed. “You might be in danger! Please come out and talk to us!”

Phillip frowned at the ground, then turned towards the east. He proceeded down the slope to a small grove of trees, where he paused, staring into the branches.

“Cinghiale uno,” he said out loud. “We’re here to help, I swear.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air in front of him shimmered, turquoise waves of magic dancing through the air. Two unicorns appeared as the invisibility spell faded away.

One was a small, light purple mare with a two-toned purple mane. Her violet eyes stared at the detective with a mixture of fear and suspicion as she hugged her coat tight to her body.

Her taller companion had a dark orchid coat and a long rose-colored mane. Her icy opal eyes glared at the strangers, flicking to each one of the ponies as if calculating distance and trajectory. The coat around her body was partially opened to reveal the black armor beneath it; Daring’s eyes went to the tomahawk on her belt.

Then they went to the scar over her right eye and the fractured horn on the larger mare’s head, blue sparks dancing around the broken stump. Recognition flared through her mind; she’d seen the mare before, splashed in black and white across a newspaper page. In the picture, she’d been wearing the uniform of a Crystal Army Colonel and her mane had been cut into a severe mohawk.

“Whoa,” Rainbow Dash breathed, staring at the broken horn. “Badass!”

The tall mare glared at Rainbow. Daring sharply nudged her protege, who nodded and closed her mouth with an audible clop.

“I take it you know who I am, Detective Finder?” the mare with the broken horn asked Phillip icily.

“Colonel Tempest Shadow,” Phillip said calmly. “Youngest Captain in the Crystal Gendarmerie’s history. Made Colonel in winter of 1942 after the Siege of Cloudsdale. Disappeared late 1943. I always wondered why; knew you hadn’t died, it would’ve been bonzer news for our side.”

She smiled without warmth. “Your reputation clearly was not exaggerated, Detective,” she stated with just a hint of sarcasm.

“And you must be another defector,” Phillip said, turning to the smaller mare.

“How did you see us?” the pink unicorn demanded, a tinge of a Crystalline accent around the edges of her voice. “I erased our hoofprints down the hill.”

“A blank space of hoofprints amidst all the other tracks,” Phillip said. “Like an arrow pointing right at you.”

“Who are you?” Daring asked.

The pink unicorn took a breath to settle herself, then planted a false grin on her face. “Doctor Starlight Glimmer, Doctor of Theoretical Magic. But I think you know me as ‘Boar One,’” she said, punctuating her sentence with a nervous laugh. “That’s what they called me after I defected. She's Boar Three,” she added, nodding at Tempest.

“Why?” Rainbow Dash pressed.

“Who found us?” Tempest asked, ignoring Rainbow’s question.

“Deputy Braeburn intercepted a radio message Hearth's Warming Eve,” Daring said. “It was encoded. It said that Boar One was in Appleloosa with the buffalo.”

Starlight’s face went pale, her eyes widening. “Hearth's Warming Eve…? That was when--” She started gasping for air, her knees trembling as she hyperventilated.

“When you went into the general store to get the fabric for this,” Tempest said coolly, giving a glance at the purple bird-shaped kite. She gave the smaller unicorn a cold glare. “Seven years of being cautious, Starlight. Thrown away for a gift.”

Starlight recovered enough to glare at her. “I just...I just wanted to do something nice for Hearth’s Warming! You’re always on and on about how we have to be safe and hide from everypony! I’m sick of hiding and running!”

“I have kept us alive!” Tempest snapped back.

“This hasn’t been living!” Starlight shouted back. “It’s just been surviving!”

“There’s no point in gifts if we aren’t alive to enjoy them!” Tempest replied through her teeth, sparks shooting from her horn like a miniature meteor display as she strode up the hill, her interrogators forgotten. “The one time you didn’t listen to me and look what happened!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that there was a spy in Appleloosa?!” Starlight protested, following behind her.

“You have to assume that there are spies everywhere!” Tempest answered. “If you had remembered that and hadn’t wasted your time on trinkets, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” She punctuated her sentence by raising a hoof and bringing it down on the ground like a hammer.

With a sharp crack, the kite snapped into pieces. It lay pathetically on the ground, the fabric fluttering feebly in the wind.

Starlight’s jaw dropped as she stared at her ruined craft. She slowly looked up at Tempest, tears shimmering in her eyes.

The anger on Tempest’s countenance evaporated in a heartbeat, replaced by numb horror. “Starlight,” she whispered. “Starlight, I didn’t mean--”

Starlight choked, then turned and ran away, her sobs carried on the wind. “Starlight!” Tempest called after her, starting to give chase, only to be stopped by Little Strongheart’s hoof.

“I’ll go talk to her,” she said, trotting after Starlight. Tempest started to say something, then hung her head with a sigh.

The intruders all glanced at each other as Tempest gathered up the kites, studying the broken one with a frown.

“Maybe it’s best if we head into town and start asking some questions,” Braeburn suggested.

“Aces,” Phillip said flatly, already turning to leave.

The two buffalo escorts guided them back south towards town. As they left, Daring looked back over her shoulder.

The broken unicorn was still staring after where her friend had gone, the broken kite dangling from one hoof.

The spy lowered their binoculars with a frown.

On the upside, they confirmed that both of the traitors were there, and got some useful intel on the area.

On the downside, those two detectives were here. The ones that killed Zugzwang. The ones who had fought the Doctor and lived. Who had stolen back the Kyaltratek. Anypony with that kind of power needed to be watched carefully.

How did they...fuck. Somehow they must’ve overheard the radio message. The master wouldn’t be happy about that. He might...

They took a breath to calm their nerves. No. They hadn’t failed yet.

And they knew better than to take any more risks. They’d wait until tonight, when the Doctor came in, to make a plan.

If all went well, the master would have two of his most valued prizes back. And two of his most dangerous enemies out of the way.

Author's Note

Tēnétkē Ellv’ksv literally means "Thunder Hoof" in the Muskokee language. Thanks to my proofreader Eagle for that.

And so we begin. I've been surprised to find that writing Tempest has proven to be harder than I anticipated; then again, this is my first time writing her, and I'm pretty divergent from her canon counterpart. I hope that you like her nonetheless!

Be sure to leave a like and a comment, and I hope to see you next week!

Case Twenty-Three, Prologue: Tell-Tale Heart

Blood tasted like nothing else: a thick, pervading, coppery scent that filled his beak and his nostrils with every breath.

He stared at the thing that had once been a pony sprawled across the altar. Her eyes, the color of ripe tangerines, stared up at the distant ceiling, her face marred by tears. Her mouth was locked wide in a final scream, a plea for someone to aid her; her scraggly mane, the yellow faded from years on the streets, was damp with sweat. Raw red marks were etched into her limbs where the chains secured her to the unyielding stone.

Blood ran in rivulets from her chest, both from the markings carved into her flesh and from the hole that had been hacked into her chest.

Above her, the priestess in her regal robes of white splattered with her victim’s blood hoisted the heart into the air, grinning as the hideously adorned muscle continued to beat with a horrifically hypnotizing rhythm. Upon the balcony above them, the cloaked thestral at the pipe organ continued stroking the massive keys, music blaring from the pipes down into the great sanctuary. The priestess’ voice rose in the familiar chant and he forced himself to lift his voice in praise along with the other acolytes, that awful taste blending into every syllable:

“From the weakness of the spirit, Daybreaker, harden us!
“From the lies of hope, Nightmare Moon, preserve us!
“From the chains of morality, Discord, free us!
“From the lure of peace, Tirek, save us!
“From the empty world of the false gods, True Masters, bring us salvation!
“Ehi! Ehi! Ehi! Nyaglath, ger’uh angfah!”

The music from the pipe organ came to a slow stillness. The priestess lowered her prize, holding it out for her hooded followers to admire. “Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a jewel on its head!” she crowed. “At last, we've done it! By the will of our masters, we have what we need!”

A cheer erupted amongst the cultists. The stallion forced himself to join in the celebration, mustering as much false cheer into his face as he could.

“Dispose of the corpse,” the priestess declared, nodding to the two nearest acolytes. “Leave it out somewhere to be found, like the others. The scent of fear is in the air and we shall harness it!”

“Yes, Priestess,” the two burly stallions both bowed and moved forward, unlatching the chains securing the body to the table. They lifted the body up with about as much care as though she were a sack of potato peelings. Just another thing to be disposed of.

"All causes shall give way: we are in blood stepped so far that, should we wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er," the priestess crooned. She carried the beating heart over to another table, holding the disgusting thing like it was a baby. With a slow reverence, she placed the heart in a box etched with bizarre runes and twisting emblems of the four Old Gods intertwined. She locked the box, finally silencing the nauseating thud-thump of its beat.

The stallion watched as more acolytes brought in cleaning materials and began to scrub down the altar and the bladed tools on the other table, his empty stomach churning. He could already see the headlines tomorrow, declaring that the fourth body had been found. Panic in the streets. The police and the RBI issuing token statements to try to calm everyone. Ponies throughout Manehattan locking their doors and praying to things that they didn’t truly believe in.

All according to their plan.

A hoof came down on his shoulder and he nearly leaped out of his skin, whirling to see another acolyte behind him, their hood drawn up to hide their eyes.

He still knew who it was beneath the hood. It was why he hadn’t gone to the police.

“You all right, mate?” the cultist said through a friendly smile that the hippogriff knew was only skin deep.

The stallion swallowed and tried not to notice how much he was sweating. “I’m fine,” he replied through a forced smile. “Just…a bit hot in here.”

The hooded figure stared for a bit, the smile never wavering for a moment, then nodded. “Maybe you should head home for the night,” they said, the false kindness in their voice like sugar hiding poison. “We’ll take care of the cleanup.”

He swallowed and nodded, relief and concern rolling his stomach over and over in his guts, aided by the thick miasma of blood and viscera. He proceeded down the hall, past the pews of the sanctuary; the music from the pipe organ, which had resumed now that the service was complete, seemed to loom over him like a physical presence, following his every step. Shadows from the flickering candles set in the chandeliers overhead crept up the stone walls to the stained glass windows, making a sanctuary that could seat more than a hundred seem close and claustrophobic.

He looked up at the stained glass images, calming blues and yellows and greens and whites depicting ponies nodding over flowers and harvests, all under the watchful golden eye of the alicorns.

He let out a brief scoff. Faust and all the others clearly hadn’t been watching when that poor mare was bled out on the stone. Nor for all the others.

Or maybe She had been watching? He looked down at his hooves as the malign odor filled his mouth once more. It had to have been a trick of the darkness and light, but it appeared to him that his forelimbs were suddenly drenched in blood, as thick as gloves, stretching up past his elbows. He hissed and scrubbed at his limbs for a moment before the hallucination faded away, leaving him trembling and gasping for breath.

He thumped into a wall that shouldn’t have been there and tumbled onto his tail with a gasp. “S-sorry, I--”

He looked up and his heart suddenly froze, tumbling into his stomach.

The red eyes stared down at him through the balaclava, the gaze burrowing into him like a drill. The pegasus in black armor studied him for a long moment of silence; the red-breasted raven on his shoulder leaned over to stare down at him with those beady black eyes, head cocked to one side.

“Sir,” the reluctant acolyte stammered, his horseshoes scrabbling against the hardwood floor as he tried to climb back up. “Sorry, sorry, sir.” He quickly hurried past the silent pegasus, trying not to look at the beaked mask hanging from the sentry’s belt.

He tore his hooded robe from his body and stuffed it into his saddlebag as he exited the sanctuary and hurried down the creaking wooden steps. The guards at the front doors gave him curious stares as he passed them, prompting him to force a smile and wave them good night, mumbling something about a stomach bug as he exited the doors.

The cold air from the wintry sea struck him in the face as he exited and he took several deep breaths as he proceeded down the slush-covered path past the parking lot, hoping that the biting cold might wash away the horrid, coppery aftertaste. He tuned out the muffled chiming and groaning behind him and listened to the sound of the waves breaking against the rocky shore so many yards beneath him to his left. He looked over the railing at the foam beneath him and considered leaping into their embrace.

A light brushed against his eyes. He looked up and stared at the slowly spinning beam of light far out over the horizon. He could just barely see the dark angular shape against the horizon, miles away from Manehattan.

Clovenworth. Their target.

He glanced back down at the foam and shuddered. Even if he could escape it this way, what would be waiting for him on the other side?

His own cowardice sent a fresh wave of nausea through his body and he leaned over the railing, heaving into the water deep beneath. When he was finished, he wiped his face with a fetlock, then grabbed his bicycle from where he'd left it leaning against the railing. He saddled up for the long ride back to Manehattan, back into the waiting lights of the big city, where his apartment and his liquor were waiting.

If he’d looked back at the church perched atop the hill, eerie groans and bellows still emanating from behind its stone walls and decorated windows, he would have seen one lit window near the far end of the church.

And he might have seen the silhouette of the pony inside watching him backlit against the flickering light.

Author's Note

Ah, nothing like a pony sacrifice to start things off.

This is gonna be a really big case and I've put a lot of work and thought into this. I hope that you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed working on it!

In the meantime, leave a like and a comment to show some support!

Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Ten: War Drums

The sun was rising, cresting over the waters of Horseshoe Bay, casting the cloudy sky a gunmetal gray. The burnt-out shells of the original boats bobbed in the water outside the pier, smoke still rising from their warped forms. Other ships had arrived from the shore, more police officers and military summoned by the sight of the flames and the continuing lack of any response on the radio.

Right now, all of the newcomers were staring at the garden of petrified statues in complete disbelief.

“Okay…” a silver-maned captain said slowly, slowly wandering around the cluster of ponies outside the death row block, inmates, invaders, and officers alike. He blinked at the drops of rainwater that were still hanging in midair, then turned to the three bandaged, exhausted ponies sitting nearby. “One more time, please.”

“They smuggled a heart in and broke a bunch of inmates out. I stabbed the heart and broke time,” Daring mumbled, struggling to keep her eyes open. She swayed in place slightly, shaking her head groggily. Phillip was leaning against her, already asleep; Strider was fighting a similarly futile battle against exhaustion; his head pitched forward, causing his fedora to fall off onto the ground.

“Right,” the captain nodded. “So, does anyone happen to know anyone versed in time magic?”

A sergeant looked up, his jaw dropping. “I think she might have a few ideas, sir,” he said, pointing.

Everyone looked up, then backed away, dropping to kneel as the great white alicorn approached the group, flanked by a quartet of her Royal Guards in full armor.

“Rise, friends. We need not stand on ceremony now,” Princess Celestia said with a wave of her hoof. “Detectives. I wish we could meet under better circumstances,” she added with a wan smile at the groggy trio.

“So do we, Princess,” Phillip mumbled through a yawn. “When’d…when’d you get here?”

“We took a fast train just before sunrise,” Celestia explained. “We arrived just under an hour ago and checked in at the RBI headquarters. That’s when we heard of the breakout.” She looked around with a pensive frown. “It seems that we arrived just in time, pun not intended.”

“We?” Daring asked.

“It took a bit of convincing to get her to come along,” Celestia smiled. “Though, honestly, the real battle was getting Colonel Shadow to agree to it. But I think she’s ready.”

Starlight Glimmer was slowly making her way through the chaotic debris of the prison, her head lowered but her eyes swinging from side to side, clutching her coat to her body. She wore a silver band around her head, the runes engraved into the surface glimmering beneath the muted sunlight. Tempest Shadow walked alongside her, head up and eyes forward, but one look at her posture made it clear that she was alert to everything around her. The bulges beneath her jacket marked the position of her throwing axes at her waist and the two castfire pistols in shoulder holsters.

“Morning,” Starlight greeted them with a nervous grin. “Wow, you look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“Feel like it, too,” Daring replied, shrugging her bandaged shoulder.

“Thank you for this,” Phillip Finder said, raising his hourglass amulet; the thing felt like it had suddenly transformed into a sack full of bricks, his foreleg was that tired. “Saved our lives.”

“And many other lives,” Celestia added, nodding to the petrified figures surrounding death row.

“Well, provided that we get this spell right,” Starlight added.

“It will, Starlight,” Celestia encouraged her.

“Right, we’re just repairing damage to the laws of time and reality. What could go wrong?” Starlight asked with a forced, nervous laugh.

Tempest lifted a booted hoof and placed it lightly upon Starlight’s shoulder. Starlight looked over at her bodyguard and her smile turned genuine. She nodded, took a breath, and stepped forward.

“Okay, let’s start with…him,” she said, pointing at the frozen Swampfire.

Starlight pulled a sizable box of chalk from her pocket, extracted a piece, and crushed it to dust in her magic. She sprinkled the white dust in a circle around Swampfire, murmuring incantations as she did so.

Celestia and Starlight took up position on either side of the petrified agent, both of their horns glowing. Gold and turquoise energy blossomed from the ground within the circle, streaks of colored lights swirling around her like leaves in a vortex. They blended together into a cloud of sparkling white dust that settled over Swampfire’s body before evaporating.

Swampfire blinked and looked around, his eyes growing wider with every sight he took in.

“P-Princess?” he stammered out. “W-what happened? How did…what…who…where…why…how…” He slowly spun in place, staring at the petrified figures all about him, then settled his gaze on Agent Strider. “You, you…you…” The ASAC slowly sagged to the ground, holding his head in his hooves and mumbling to himself as he rocked back and forth.

“Well, I think we established that your spell works,” Celestia beamed at Starlight, who was looking very proud of herself.

An idea sparked in Daring’s mind. “Wait, hold on!” she cried, running off towards the shop.

The others followed her to the shops until she stopped at a single body laying on the ground, the snow around her painted dark red. The still-bound Brick Wall stared up at the sky, the blood running from the gunshot wound in her gut.

Celestia and Starlight looked at the wound, then at each other. “Can you help her?” Daring asked.

“I can’t make promises,” Celestia replied sadly. “She may have died before you stopped time.”

“We still have to try,” Starlight added.

“And we will,” Celestia nodded.

Once more, Starlight sprinkled a circle of crushed chalk around Brick Wall’s body as Celestia gently untied her and had one of her Royal Guards secure a valve bandage over the wound, sealing it tight on three sides. Celestia and Starlight lit their horns and energy swirled around Brick Wall’s body, colored lights reflected in the still-wet blood.

“Come on, come on,” Daring breathed.

The colored energy grew into a snow-like cloud and slowly descended over Brick Wall’s body, settling on her form before disappearing. For a moment, she was still, then her chest began to rise and fall with low, wheezing noises; with every inhalation, the bandage crinkled as the air sucked it tight to the wound, while each exhalation sent air hissing out from the unsealed side. Her eyes darted about in confusion, pain, and fear.

“Easy, easy,” the Royal Guard medic assured her, kneeling at her side as other ponies rushed off to find a stretcher. “We got you.”

Brick Wall nodded, wincing even as relief passed over her face. Daring and Phillip both sighed, some of the weight that they’d been carrying evaporating in a moment.

“I believe that we can handle things from here,” Celestia smiled kindly at them. “You should go and get some rest. I think you need it.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Phillip said through a yawn.

The three of them dragged themselves down to the pier and took a boat back to shore. A cab took them back to their hotel. They shuffled through the lobby to the elevator, took it up to the third floor, and crawled to their room. It took Daring three tries to insert her key into the doorknob.

The two perfectly made beds beckoned them, more tempting than an ambrosial banquet, though it had to wait until they doubly locked the doors, inserted the security chain, and jammed the doorknob with a broomstick and some rubber doorstops. Their coats, vests, and hats were discarded onto the floor as they made a final effort to the goal. All three of them were asleep before their heads hit the pillows.

Their dreams were filled with the music of raindrops on the window and the embrace of a cool wind. None of them stirred until the next morning.

The streets of Ponyville were cleaned of any sign of snow or slush and the evening was filled with the music of songbirds, beneath the regular sounds of the city: the growling of car engines, dinging of trolleys, and overlapping voices.

“See Winter Wrap-Up went off ripper,” Phillip commented as they flew over the streets, heading southeast from the train station.

“Just glad we missed the song,” Daring replied, taking a breath of the chilly, sweet-smelling air.

“Ugh, don’t mention that,” Phil grimaced. “Now that bloody thing’s gonna be in my head for a week.”

Daring chuckled as they landed at the front step of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street. “Home at last,” she sighed, reaching for her key.

The day’s edition of the Foal Free Press lay on the front step The headline on the front page proudly declared in bold, “PRISON BREAK AT CLOVENWORTH--LOCAL DETECTIVES ON SCENE!” Daring frowned at the headline as Phillip picked up the paper.

The story contained within the pages would contain the major talking points of the past week. The hijacked ferry had been discovered abandoned off the coast to the west of Manehattan. The trail of the thirty-seven inmates, including all twenty-two of the Family members that had been imprisoned there, had quickly gone cold.

Brick Wall had recovered from her gunshot wound and was determined to return to work. She and the officers and other staff that had survived the breakout happily credited their survival to the bravery of Agent Flame Strider, Phillip Finder, and Daring Do, and the magical prowess of Starlight Glimmer.

Swift Judgement had been interrogated for her involvement but had given up little. A closer investigation into her movements eventually revealed that she had used contacts in the Manehattan mafia, carefully cultivated from her time in the Organized Crime unit, to smuggle in weapons and equipment on behalf of St. Goldleaf’s cultists. Letters and phone records had even revealed that she was responsible for planning the theft of the Harmony Island Ferry from the docks, and her position as the SAC had allowed her to subtly mislead the investigation.

After suffering a complete nervous breakdown on Clovenworth, Swampfire was currently on mental health leave, and Strider had gleefully reported that scuttlebutt was that he was working on transferring to a smaller, quieter field unit where ponies didn’t turn up in alleyways with their hearts torn out of their chests and insane cultists didn’t stop time.

“Not like he was much help anyway,” Daring had snorted to Strider on the platform of Grand Central Station that afternoon.

“Agreed,” Strider nodded.

“You sure you don’t need us here?” Phillip had asked.

“I just need to clear a few things up here…and convince the higher-ups that I’m not insane,” Strider sighed with an eye roll. “Stupid psych evaluations. And after that, I’ve been thinking I should go back to Canterlot for a while, stay with my family.”

“You find anything…” Daring cut in.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Strider nodded.

“Aces,” Phil said, gripping Strider’s foreleg. “My best to Jett and Snow.”

“I’ll tell ‘em you said hi,” Strider smiled, clapping Phil on the shoulder. “And you two should try to take some time off after this. Get some rest. We all need it after this.”

The train whistle had sounded, announcing its departure south. After their final goodbyes, the two of them had jumped onto the train back home.

The two stepped into their home and closed the door behind them, the purple wards built into the walls briefly flashing as they reactivated. For a few moments, they were still, listening to the music of the city outside: the song of night birds, the grumbling of car engines, and the gentle wind through the trees.

Nothing out of place. No sign of intruders or that they had been followed. The two of them simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.

Phillip flipped open the Foal Free Press and placed it on the coffee table next to the chessboard. An entire page had been dedicated to mug shots of the escaped inmates, thirty-seven faces scowling up at him. He slowly scanned them over, committing each to memory and updating his mental files. He lingered on Tinderspark’s hideous face for a moment as a recalled heat washed over his body.

Daring Do glanced over his shoulder at the familiar faces, her scowl intensifying with every moment. Her wingtips twitched a few times as her gaze panned over the escaped Family members.

“You’re scared,” Phillip observed without looking up.

“My former…siblings,” Daring said, the distaste evident in every syllable. “Are all just as good as me. Some of them might even be better.” She swallowed and breathed out. “And they’re all experts at fighting dirty. It’s not just us. It’s all of our friends. Our family now.”

Phillip put down the paper and pulled his wife into an embrace. She hugged him back, the tightness of her embrace revealing her fear.

“I’m scared, too,” Phillip whispered. “But we’re not giving up, right?”

“Right,” Daring nodded. “We just have to keep going. Keep fighting. It’s all we can do.”

They held the hug for a few moments more, then slowly separated. It was at this moment that Daring noticed a telegram waiting on the hall table with their mail. She scooped it up to read. “It’s from this morning,” she reported, opening it up. She scanned over the words, and a smile grew across her face at the message within.

Got the approval from the Princesses. And she said yes. She’ll get out tonight. Beacon.

She signed her name on the document and put the pen down with a sigh.

“Congratulations,” Gentle Guide smiled at her, unlocking the silver band around her foreleg. Warm sensation flooded through her body as her magic was freed; the feeling of energy rushing into her horn was almost overwhelming. After so long, she’d nearly forgotten that it was there.

“Don’t,” she replied, turning away from the desk towards the sally port. “It’s more than I deserve.”

“I hope you change your mind on that,” the officer replied, watching as she headed out. The first door of the sally port buzzed open. “Stay safe out there.”

She didn’t answer as she proceeded through the first door, which shut behind her. Another buzz sounded as the exterior door unlocked and she pushed it open into the yard. She paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath of the cold night air before proceeding down the passageway, the chain-link fences on either side of her rattling slightly in the wind.

She glanced over one shoulder, briefly thinking of the Licorice Twins. They’d be out on parole tomorrow. A fair deal for this.

She reached the metal doors at the end. Another CO stared at her for a beat, then nodded and opened the iron doors.

“Thank you,” she nodded and stepped across the threshold of Frostback Prison, officially marking her transition from inmate to free mare.

Almost free.

A mare in a bomber jacket was waiting for her next to a dark car, fiery mane in a tight bun. She stared impassively at the former inmate as she approached.

“Last chance to change your mind,” the general stated simply. “We’ll be going after your--”

“They’re not friends. Or my family,” the inmate cut her off sharply. “They’re criminals that need to be stopped.”

The amber eyes studied her for a moment, then she nodded. “Bright Sparks. As of this moment, you are a special asset for the Protective Pony Platoon in its mission to combat terrorism. You will serve Equestria to the best of your ability. You will obey all orders given to you without question or hesitation. Do you understand?”

Bright Sparks stood up straight and raised her right foreleg in a salute. “Completely, General Fire.”

Beacon Fire smiled grimly and returned the salute. “Welcome aboard.”

Author's Note

Well, that'll end the case.

To those of you who have stayed with me this long: thank you. It's been a hell of a ride. I'm sorry to leave it here for now.

Here's a blog post explaining things as they stand now.