Phillip frowned as he stepped through the front doors of Ponyville General Hospital, followed closely behind by Daring. The reception area was only populated by one pony, who was currently occupied with a magazine.

They walked up to the reception counter. The nurse who had been organizing papers into a manila folder set her work down and flashed the two of them a smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asked.

“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phil grunted. “We need to speak with the train crash victims that were brought in.”

The nurse nodded, picking up and checking her clipboard. “Smoky Jones and Coal Dust. Third floor intensive care unit,” she announced.

“Thank you,” Phil nodded and the two of them headed for the nearby elevators.

“If you don’t think they’re involved, why are we talking to them?” Daring asked as they stepped inside. Phillip pushed the button for floor three and the doors hissed shut.

“If they’re awake, maybe they saw more than Captain Lamp Iron did,” Phil explained. “If not, we at least have the first pony on the scene.”

Daring nodded as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

They stepped onto the third floor, which smelled strongly of cleaning agents. The faint hums and beeps of machines could be heard coming from rooms they passed. Rounding a corner, they came to a small reception area with a row of chairs for ponies to sit at.

A nurse was idly reading the newspaper behind the counter as the two walked up. She raised an eyebrow as she glanced between them. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“Detectives Finder and Do. We’re here to speak with the two train crash victims, Smoky Jones and Coal Dust?” Phil said.

The nurse scoffed. “Well, I’m afraid there’s fat chance of that,” she said. “The doctors had to put them into a magically-induced coma to let their brains heal, not to mention their bodies. They’ll be out another few days, at least.”

“Damn. So much for that,” Phil muttered.

“We were also told a Captain Lamp Iron was here?” Daring asked.

The nurse stood up and pointed down the hall past the counter. “He’s been on his radio non-stop since he got here,” she said. “Took me five times to get it through his thick skull they weren’t waking up anytime soon.” She sat back down with a huff, picking up her newspaper again.

Phillip and Daring looked at one another before nodding to the nurse and continuing down the hall.

Two payphones sat on the wall near the end of the hall, which concluded with a large window that overlooked the hospital’s courtyard. Against the opposite wall was another row of chairs, and slumped in one was Captain Lamp Iron.

He was a pine green earth pony with a red mane and tail, the former of which was messy and unkempt, almost like his shaggy red beard. Bags hung under his blue eyes like vacation luggage, and his wrinkled officer’s cap sat in the seat next to him, matching his wrinkled uniform. His cutie mark was a white railway oil lamp.

He was staring at the floor, his portable radio in his lap. His eyes were distant, and he didn’t notice the pair until Daring cleared her throat.

He snapped to his hooves, the radio clattering to the floor, and gave the pair a salute before realizing they weren’t who he thought they were – then he deflated like a balloon with a sigh.

“Captain Lamp Iron?” Phil asked, frowning as his eyes scanned him over.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said with a Gritish accent. He walked over and picked up his radio, lightly tossing it onto his hat. “What can I do for you?”

“Detectives Finder and Do, with the Ponyville Police Department,” Phil introduced, gesturing between them. “We’re here about the train wreck.”

“Bloody mess, wasn’t it?” Lamp muttered, running a hoof through his mane. The way it parted easily told it was a well-practiced motion. “My first assignment, and they have me gun running.”

“Are you alright?” Daring asked, looking him up and down. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Damn well feels like it,” Lamp said with a dry laugh. “I got two civilian casualties on my hooves – can you blame me?”

Phillip nodded sympathetically. “We were wondering if you could remember anything from last night. Anything you might’ve seen or heard when you came upon the crash.”

Lamp shook his head. “All I heard was metal creaking and that engine hissing like a bloody snake. Thought I heard some cars in the distance, but the motorway’s close, you know?” He hung his head. “Didn’t see anyone.”

“Damn,” Phil growled, about to turn away.

“But I know who’s behind this.”

Phillip and Daring both looked to Lamp, whose demeanor changed from remorseful to bitter. He scowled at the smooth stone floor.

“Who’s behind it?” Phil asked.

Lamp took a deep breath and continued. “Been making calls back out west, from where the train was from. Appleloosa railyard got back to me – had some mischievous little bastards poking around their office. Turns out they were Nightmare Moon Disciples.”

“Disciples? That far out west?” Daring asked.

Lamp nodded. “They committed a few train robberies and hold-ups out there. Trying to get a quick payday or something they can sell,” he explained. “Appleloosa Sherriff’s Office figured they saw the cargo as unmarked and thought it was something valuable.”

“Then why not stick up the train out there?” Phil asked.

“Because of my train tailing it – it was the most security I could get for this operation. Most likely spooked them, what with the army markings and all. They didn’t want to risk holding it up knowing we weren’t far behind.” Lamp shook his head. “They must’ve phoned ahead. We know there’s Disciples here too.”

Daring frowned. “That seems like a longshot, especially for the Disciples.”

“Well, it’s the best shot I got, alright?” Lamp snapped, voice cracking. He swallowed before continuing. “Any… word on their condition?” He nodded down the hall.

“They’ll be out for a few days,” Phil said. He gently set a hoof on Lamp’s shoulder. “You did the best you could, mate. I reckon if you hadn’t been following, those two wouldn’t be here right now.”

Lamp was silent for a moment before nodding. “They’re good chaps. Spotless records, the both of ‘em. I got a wife and kid of my own,” he said quietly, eyes finally meeting Phillip’s. “If something like this happened to them… I don’t know what I’d do.”

Phil nodded, patting his shoulder. “You’ve been a big help. We’re one step closer to catching the thieves. It’s best you get some rest, mate. Worrying isn’t going to make things better.”

Lamp nodded, flashing a brief, thankful smile before taking his seat again. Daring and Phillip walked back down the hall, past the nurse who was still reading her newspaper.

The elevator dinged and slid open, and an earth pony stallion scrambled out. He nearly lost his ten gallon Stetson before turning and making a beeline for the reception desk. Noticing ponies in his way, he skidded to a halt, and succeeded in only bumping into Phillip.

“Hey!” Phil barked, stepping back.

“S-Sorry,” the pony said with a familiar country drawl, tipping his hat for good measure.

Daring looked the pony over. He had a pale yellow coat and a messy two-tone mane and tail of yellow and yellow-orange and pistachio green eyes. His cutie mark was simply a red delicious apple. He was wearing a yellow and white gingham long-sleeved button up shirt under a brown corduroy vest. Affixed to the vest was a silver, six pointed badge.

“Are you with the police?” she asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

The pony blinked, before flushing. “Right, sorry. Name’s Braeburn, Braeburn Apple… well, Deputy Braeburn Apple. I’m with the Appleloosa Sherriff’s Office.” He tipped his hat again.

“Captain Lamp Iron mentioned he was in contact with your office,” Phil said. “You think Nightmare Moon Disciples crashed the train?”

“Would reckon so,” Braeburn said. “They’ve stuck up a number of passenger trains out near Appleloosa and Dodge Junction – a freight train or two too. Wouldn’t put it past them.” He fidgeted on his hooves, looking past the two. “Now, if’n you’ll excuse me, I really need to see someone here.”

“You know someone here?” Daring asked.

Braeburn nodded. “Smoky Jones, the engineer on the train. He’s my husband.”

Daring and Phillip glanced between each other. “We just spoke with the nurse and she said he and the fireman will be out for a few days,” Phil said.

In a similar motion to Lamp Iron, Braeburn paused, then slowly drooped like a sagging branch. “Oh. Was… was there any word on his condition?”

Phillip shook his head. “Magically-induced coma. The nurse didn’t mention anything other than that.”

“Oh.” Braeburn slowly walked over to the nearest seat and slumped into it. He took his hat off and set it in his lap. Reaching under his shirt, he fished out a bronze ring on a military chain, holding it lightly in his hoof.

Daring walked over and smiled sympathetically at him. “I’m Detective Daring Do, this is Detective Phillip Finder. Don’t worry, we’re on this case – we’ll catch whoever did this.”

Braeburn smiled softly, looking between them. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “My cousin Applejack’s told me a lot about you two. Does make me feel better that the best are workin’ on this.”

“It should,” Daring smirked.

Suddenly, the sound of radio static echoed down the hall, followed by murmuring voices.

“Detectives!” Lamp Iron shouted, running over to them with radio in hoof. The nurse at reception shushed him loudly as he passed.

“What is it?” Phil asked.

“Lieutenant General Beacon Fire’s gotten a possible update on the theft,” he reported. “You’re needed on site – 618 Tradesman’s Road.”

Phillip nodded. “Will do. Thank you.” He turned to Braeburn and nodded. “Don’t worry.”

He and Daring hurried over and called the elevator, stepping inside when the doors opened. Phillip glanced over at Daring, who was smirking knowingly.

“And we’re taking a taxi,” he stated flatly as the doors closed.

Daring stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“Daring, I love you, but if we do anymore flying my stomach’s liable to wind up in intensive care.”

618 Trademan’s Road, and its subsequent block, was barricaded off by sawhorses, crime scene tape, and police cruisers. The coroner’s van and a familiar black Fleetracer were pulled up next to the sliding door in the front.

Daring and Phillip’s taxi stopped just outside the barricades and they left after paying the fare. At that time, a gunmetal Hayson Commander Super Six Four Door pulled up at the curb and Beacon Fire climbed out.

“Think this is about the weapons?” Daring asked.

“The responding officers thought so,” Beacon said briskly as the three of them approached the barricades.

A mule officer standing guard nodded to them and lifted the tape for them to duck under. Cold Case and Captain hewn Oak were standing out front, alongside Officers Sentry, Bumblebee, and Prowl. The lattermost immediately snapped to attention and saluted upon seeing Beacon Fire.

“What’s the story?” Beacon asked, returning Prowl’s salute and looking between the gathered officers.

“We got a call about a blood trail out the back of the warehouse. At first we thought it might’ve been a bad refrigeration unit and some meat was thawing,” Prowl said. “We took a look inside and… I’ll be frank, ma’am – it’s a damn massacre.”

Captain Oak nodded solemnly. “It is an honor to have you here in our city, Lieutenant General,” he said. “But you seem to have brought much sin to our doorstep.”

Beacon raised an eyebrow at the captain. “Why do you think it’s related to the weapon theft?” she asked.

“Follow me,” Flash said, getting to his feet. Phillip noticed he was a little shaky on his hooves and frowned with concern.

“Are you alright, Flash?” he asked.

Flash flashed him an apologetic smile. “There was… a lot of blood. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“And why are you here?” Daring asked Cold with a frown.

“I was summoned here as well – apparently my presence was important,” Cold remarked, her face stoically blank.

Flash led Phillip, Daring, Beacon, and Cold around the corner of the building to the loading dock.

The black, white, and grey vans were still parked against the concrete dock, now surrounded by sawhorses and yellow crime scene tape. All three of them had their back doors open and facing the warehouse.

Flash simply gestured inside. Phillip took out the flashlight from his pocket and shone it into the first van, the black one. The back was smeared with dirt from either a hasty entry or exit or both, along with a few fresh green leaves and small black pebbles.

He walked over and leaned in close, studying the objects. “Golden oak leaves. They’re still green, meaning they came from a tree recently. Some blades of grass. Small specks of coal,” he reported.

“Those are in all three vans, we checked,” Flash said. “We thought these might be the vans Detectives Red and Rubber put the APB out for.”

Phillip nodded and pocketed his flashlight. “Aces, jackaroo. Have you checked inside?”

“Dr. Mortis is on scene,” Cold reported. “We have eight confirmed dead inside.”

Cold led them to a door leading into the warehouse from the loading dock. It opened to the main floor, and Prowl’s description of a massacre seemed accurate.

Simple metal folding chairs were scattered about the main area, all of them knocked over. A makeshift stage stood near the back, made of wooden crates, mostly covered in blood. One crate near the front had a splintered gash in it, and a pony lay dead on the stage, face up and with his neck torn open.

Another lay dead near the stage, facedown with gashes in his leg and blood pooled around the face. More dead bodies and more blood were near a door at the back that was completely torn off its hinges.

Dr. Mortis, wearing scrubs over her hooves and a facial mask, was jotting down notes on a notepad as she examined one of the dead. She looked up at the newcomers and flashed them a friendly, if unseen, smile.

“Had quite a party in here,” she remarked, her voice echoing through the empty room. “The room you want is just through here.” She gestured to the broken door. “But I suggest you use the backdoor.”

“Party, sure,” Beacon muttered sarcastically with a gulp as she eyed the scene.

Phillip jerked his head back outside, and the group made their way out and around to the back of the building.

The first thing they noticed were several trails of red clawprints leading out the backdoor, which hung on by one hinge. The tracks made their way onto the pier behind the warehouse before vanishing.

“Griffons,” Phil noted, carefully stepping over the tracks as he made his way inside. The others did the same.

The backroom was an office, with a few industrial shelving units against the wall. A few black gun cases sat under one of the shelving units next to some metal barrels like the one at the train crash, but they were all open and bare. Beacon muttered a curse under her breath.

The trails of clawprints led from the massacre in the main room, but there was little blood in the office space. One pony lay dead at a desk near the wall, still seated. Blood pooled around the shocked expression on his face and dripped to the floor.

Dr. Mortis walked in through the broken doorway, storing her notepad into the pocket of her coat. “Well, I haven’t had the chance to open them up yet, but I would say cause of death is either organ failure, blood loss, or choking on their own blood. Nasty ways to go all around,” she said.

“Were you all able to recover any weapons?” Beacon asked.

Mortis shook her head and nodded to the open cases. “These were all there were,” she said. “Other than the weapons these ponies had on them.” She gestured to the dead pony at the desk. “I doubt a pistol is what the military is after, though.”

“So wait,” Daring said. “We got eight dead but armed ponies. We think griffons did this, right?”

Mortis nodded. “The wounds are a match for those caused by griffon talons, if not a weapon like them.”

Daring looked around the office. “Then why aren’t there any dead griffons?”

“I was wondering that too,” Mortis said with a thoughtful nod. “There were spent casings, and what looked like bullet slugs in the warehouse, but it was rather difficult to tell whose blood they were coated in. They’ve been bagged up and sent to Dr. Suunkii.”

“They’re either armored, or skilled, or both,” Beacon said with a grave tone, eyes falling on the cases. “And they have our weapons.”

“Just great.” Daring huffed, throwing up her hooves. “The thieves got stolen from.”

“With all due respect, doctor,” Cold said with a raised eyebrow. “Why was my presence needed here?”

“Well, Captain Oak thought you deserved an update on the situation,” Mortis said, before looking towards the wall above them. “Also that.”

The group turned around and there was a collective gasp. Words were painted onto the wall like a graffiti tag, only written in blood. Smeared on, from the markings of each letter. It read:

"Jag kommer att ta dig, Cold Case! Kriga är med mig!"

“Griffonese,” Phil said.

“’I am coming for you, Cold Case, and Kriga is coming with me,’” Beacon read quietly, eyes falling on Cold Case. Everyone else’s followed.

Cold’s icy mask still kept her face rigid as she stared up at the message, but her sapphire eyes had shrunken and her heart thudded in her chest, betraying her fear.

Author's Note

Bum bum bum.

A massive thank you to Josiah's friend who helped with the Swedish translation there at the end. It should read, in English, what Beacon says.

If you've ever seen Thomas the Tank Engine (the engine himself rather than the show) those little spokes just above the front buffers are called lamp irons. You'd slide an oil lamp onto those to give the engine a headlight. That's where Lamp Iron gets his name from.

Also introducing Braeburn! Don't worry, we'll be seeing more of him later, sports fans.

I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. Stay tuned next week for the next chapter of Frost and Fire!