All of the reservations arrived before Count Pouty Face. They were all staggered in their arrivals over the course of an hour, in five-minute intervals: some reservations arriving alone, and some coming in groups of three or four. The majority of the ponies didn't look like they had any business being in the noble's district, but everypony was wearing clothes– jerkins and capes were prevalent. Most of them were stallions, but there were a few mares in the mix who were clearly not there on a date with their honey. One of the mares I spotted was so ugly I doubted she had ever been on a date in her life. That might be mean to say, but I had to examine her closely to tell she was a mare and not a stallion with fungus growing on their face.

The complete lack of ponies on dates was odd. I didn't get reservations, but my father had when he was running the kitchen, and there were always at least some ponies on dates during busy evenings. I had figured even with a business meeting, there would be some couples, but there weren't. It was all bizarre. Profitable but strange. Oh well, it was part of my job not to ask questions, and I was too busy to do much of that anyway.

"Another order for the rye and barley soup!" Stick announced as he set the piece of paper down and picked up the red wine. I was going to run out of wine and beer before the night was over.

Soup was an order that I was somewhat grateful to hear, but only partially. I had made large pots of each soup. It was one of the things you can make in bulk, even have to make in bulk, which made for an easier evening in the kitchen when there were a lot of orders for it. It had that somewhat tag attached because it was mildly insulting. Have you ever heard anypony say, that soup was awful? No, they say, that soup was okay or that soup was passable. In the worst-case scenario, they say, that soup was mediocre. Soup is always a safe dish to order. Although there was room to make truly exceptional soup, it was hard to mess up to the point of being distasteful. Ponies order soup when they aren't confident the cook is that great. If you are a pony with any sort of cooking mark, and you mess up soup to the degree that ponies hate your soup, you should just cut your cutie mark off and consider joining the newest incarnation of Our Town.

They also order it when they aren't sure they will have time for a long meal and want to ensure they are served quickly, but I hadn't considered that possibility. If this supposed syndicate exists, its members might find that a concern during business meetings.

Stone walked into the kitchen. "Main guest just arrived. He's two minutes early. That's bad tidings."

I didn't know who the main guest was. I had assumed it was the count. I looked at the clock on the wall and noted that there were reservations still due to arrive. This was clearly one of them.

"Huh?" I asked. I know; my younger self asked the deep questions.

Stick came in, seeming to come at a casual pace, but shutting the kitchen door firmly behind him. "Main guest came early. It doesn't bode well for how things will go between him and the count. You'll want to stay in here."

"Did they already place their order? What about the count? He hasn't arrived yet," I said, flustered there was a guest not getting served.

Stone stepped in front of me as I tried to approach the door. "Guest arrived early. Bad tidings. Stay back here."

"What if one of the other guests wants dessert?" I asked, aghast, glancing back at the cakes, cookies, pies, and puddings I had already prepared. "I'm going to waste all of this if nopony orders dessert! That's a big loss of money!"

"You'll survive it. You should still come out financially ahead tonight. Stay here, so you don't come out less healthy," Stone said firmly.

I glared at him. "The count isn't here yet. Somepony needs to take the guest's order."

Stick waved a hoof. "Let her go. She's right. The count isn't here yet. Who knows, maybe the meeting will somehow go well. Until it doesn't, this is just a casual dinner."

Stone didn't seem pleased, but he stepped aside. Neither of them made a move toward the door. Stick might have said it was okay to take the order, but he sure as Tartarus wasn't going to be the one to do it. It was up to me to do it.

I slowed my walk to the door as that little part of my brain that should have long ago kicked in suddenly woke up and started telling me that there might be some sort of danger involved in going into the dining room. I know, I know, it should have been blatantly obvious. If Stick and Stone had been any more transparent about the dangers to come, I would have been able to see straight through them. By the time I reached the door, I was seriously reconsidering whether I stay in the kitchen, but my determination as the establishment owner eventually won out, and I picked up a menu from the table beside the door and went out into the dining area.

As I stepped into the dining area, I had to stop myself from gaping at what I saw. Every table was occupied, most with more than one pony at them. Guests were having quiet conversations while eating, occasionally laughing at some jokes. It was enough to bring a tear to my eye. After being a virtual graveyard for years, my restaurant was filled with life, and I felt a little less like a failure who could never live up to my father's legacy. Have you ever had such a moment, princess? Don't answer, but if you have, you might understand why I stood just past the threshold with a dumb grin on my face and my vision clouded with moisture.

A few guests gave me a glance when I appeared, but none seemed bothered by my presence. They continued on as if nothing untoward was going on or about to happen. Yet, something felt off as I looked at the various ponies in my establishment. They looked normal, they showed no signs of hostility, yet still, somehow, my fur bristled at the sight of many of them. Perhaps you are feeling the same thing now as you share this cell with me. There is an inborn ability beyond understanding that we as ponies possess, some relic of prehistoric days that tells us that there is a predator nearby, a creature that has taken life. There is no reason for us to know the creature had done so, yet somehow, we do. If there are assassins in Equestria, this sensation is one of the biggest obstacles they must face unless they are a green rookie. It is challenging to pull off a stealthy kill when your target has a sense alerting them to a nearby killer. Perhaps what you are feeling now is but a trick of the mind because you believe me to be such a creature, princess. That is what I suggest it is, for I am an innocent mare. However, standing in that room, a prey's dread slowly overtook my earlier delight, even if I didn't understand this alien feeling.

The unserved guest was a unicorn stallion, middle-aged and very well-kept. He was sitting in a corner booth, facing the front door. I won't describe this unicorn's appearance in too much detail beyond that, but I do want to say he held himself with a certain confidence that made him seem like a lord sitting on his throne overlooking his vassals. He, too, emitted that aura of predacious fear as many of the other guests, although there was not any hint of cruelty in his features. Still, it took a lot of firming up my nerve to approach his table and place the menu in front of him. I am proud to say that I was able to smile at him despite the fact my stomach was turning flips.

"Hello, I'm Plum Treat, the host, cook, and proprietor of this restaurant. We are having a jam-packed evening, but that shall not impact our service. May I start you off with something to drink? We have a very nice red wine produced from the best fruit of Solar Green just south of the North Luna Ocean. I have it on good authority that it is a favorite alcoholic drink of the former princesses."

"No alcohol, just some chai. I will wait to place any further order until the count joins me."

I bowed my head. "Of course. I will be back with your drink in just a moment. Do you wish me to add sugar, milk, or cream?"

"I'll take it black," he replied. He then looked at the nearest table and frowned. "I would like you to prepare a fresh batch for me. I don't want anything that has been sitting. I'm willing to be patient."

"Yes, sir. I will ensure it is perfect and shall leave the menu for you to browse as you wait for your friend."

He chuckled a dry, empty-sounding chuckle. "Friend…that's funny. Take your time. I will simply take in the atmosphere."

I was happy to head back to the kitchen and away from the prickly sensation the guests gave me.

"Have fun?" Stone asked as I returned to the kitchen and shut the door– maybe shutting the door a little too firmly.

"It was fine," I said as I headed towards the pot for brewing chai.

"Don't make fun of her," Stick admonished his companion. He then looked up at the clock and gave it a pointed look.

Stone looked at the clock as well and sighed as he moved towards the door. "Count is due to arrive. I'll keep the door cracked an eye out. This time I'm going to insist you stay back here. I'll deliver the menu."

"Oh, you want to work now that your boss is showing up. Don't want to be thought of lazing around?" I asked snidely after starting the brew.

He sneered at me. "You don't have a clue what's about to go down. I'm keeping you safe, little baroness. It's bad business for vendors to get hurt."

"He's talking about you when he says vendor," Stick explained. "Don't mind his bad attitude; we're here to help."

I stepped back s few steps. "What do you mean by hurt?"

Stone grunted in reply but glanced out the crack in the door and stiffened up. "Count is here, taking his seat. Stay put."

I didn't get to ask any more questions before Stone exited the kitchen, and Stick took his place next to the door, blocking me from exiting it.

"What's going on?" I asked worriedly.

Stick waved a hoof to hush me and kept his ear to the door. He lit his horn, and his stick came out of the corner and hovered near him.

I sat, watching the chai brew, listening on edge for anything to happen, but only hearing the steady drip of the hot liquid, the faint buzz of Stick's horn, and the muffled sounds of conversations beyond the door. Nothing was happening.

Stick suddenly gasped and shut the door. Pulling a table over to further barricade the door. I ducked behind the counter and, not knowing why, I grabbed the knife that I used to chop vegetables. We sat quietly like that for several seconds. The slight hum of conversation continued outside, the chai finished brewing, and our breaths seemed unnaturally loud, even though I was trying to hold mine.

Then all Tartarus was unleashed.

There was a loud bang, followed by yelling. I heard tables and chairs being thrown, slamming, and breaking. The air suddenly filled with static electricity. There was swearing, screaming, and the smell of smoke. I gripped my knife tighter, trembling, wondering if I should make a run for the back door, but also unwilling to abandon my place business to the current carnage.

The door suddenly blew into a thousand splinters, knocking the table away. Stick moved like a viper behind the counter, not far from me. The unicorn I had been preparing the chai for suddenly came in, walking backward, a sword brandished in his magic and blood on his brow and flank. He let off deadly magic blasts as he slashed at foes who tried to advance toward him from the dining room. I should have been thinking of all the damage he was doing and the costs it would take to repair, but at this point, there were concerns more significant than money. I was glad I had sent my brother home before the guests started arriving.

The death-dealing unicorn continued to back up. He backed up so far that the counter no longer protected me. He spared the briefest 9f glances at me and seemed to dismiss me as anything he should care about, and kept his attention focused on the ponies still trying to get through the door. There was another sudden crash, and the back door caved in. An earth pony entered and was immediately felled by the unicorn's sword slicing through his throat. I watched in horror as blood poured out of the wound while the earth pony continued to stand there in apparent shock. The blood was already pooling on the tiled floor when the earth pony toppled forward, splashing the scarlet pool everywhere, including on me. I couldn't even dodge. I was too scared to move.

Another pony started in through the back door, more cautious than the first. There were still ponies trying to make it from the dining room to the kitchen, and the sword danced through the air, spraying crimson mist all over the kitchen as the unicorn continued to unleash blasts and throw up protective shields. Three more bodies had piled up in the doorway leading to the dining room, and new cuts were visible on the unicorn's hide.

Stick suddenly burst out of the pantry, wielding a broom in his magic. The unexpected attack caught the unicorn briefly off guard long enough for the broom handle to connect with his face, but the broom was of shoddy construction, and the unicorn recovered quickly, parrying the next broom strike with his horn and turning and bucking Stick against the wall. Stick hit the wall hard, and the unicorn's sword raised in the air in preparation to land the finishing blow.

I wish I could tell you what happened next, but my short-term memory must have taken leave of me in that moment of panic. The next thing I knew, the unicorn was down, I was standing on top of him, and my knife had thoroughly skewered his neck from behind. No matter how mighty the warrior or mage, a knife through the neck seriously cramps their style.

And that, if I were a killer, would have been how I got my very first kill.

Author's Note

I do plan on getting this thing a cover art, but honestly unsure what I am looking for in the cover art, hence the delay.