Money, Murder, and Marzipan

"You panicked and killed somepony to save another pony you knew?" Princess Twilight asked. "That's not great, killing is always wrong, but it hardly makes you a villain."

She's a bright one, isn't she, Mama? Feathers chuckled over our link. Maybe you can get her to pardon you after she gives me her shinies.

A pardon requires I confess, and you know I can't do that. Both my brother and I would be dead within a week, and they'd probably ax you off as well, no matter what protections the princess promises or provides. Plus, we'd lose our payment, and you know how much difference that money is going to make.

You're too nice sometimes, Mama. Giving stuff away? That stallion is a bad influence on you. So, how are you planning on getting out of this one, then?

I'm not getting out of it. At least you'll get your shinies. Be good for the princess's friend.

But...you have to get out. We can run away to-

Not this time, Feathers. It's been a good run. At least we got him in the end. Better for me to go down, leave you and my brother alive, and maybe do a little good at the end of a disreputable life.

I felt Feather's grief and anger at my words, but I didn't have anything to say that could comfort him if providing shinies for his greed wasn't enough. His love for me was the only thing that outpaced his love of trinkets, and all the jewels in the world weren't worth losing me.

"A mere step on the road," I replied to the princess. "As I said, nopony ever plans to be a killer."

She frowned. "I am confused about one thing. How did he fail to notice your attack when he was so obviously able to quickly notice and fend off so many other experienced ponies?"

I chuckled. "You weren't paying close enough attention. I told you one of the hardest obstacles an assassin has to face."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh…he didn't detect that same predatory feeling from you. You were in his blind spot in more ways than one."

I nodded. "The first kill is both the easiest to do and the hardest to accept. Every kill after is both harder to do and easier to accept. Now allow me to continue."

Is it time to talk about me now, Mama?

I'll get to you eventually. Be patient.

BORING!

There was no pleasing some birds.

Yeah, so there I was, standing on the corpse of one of my guests, trying to process how I got there and how my knife had impaled his neck. I couldn't move; I was in too much shock. My stomach also wanted to empty itself, but retching would require me to move.

"This is funny. All these experienced ponies who do Work, and the little baroness is the one to end him."

I looked up at who was speaking and saw Count Pouty Face standing there, smirking.

"Well, she gets the payment for the Work, with a little bonus to repair this place," Count Pouty Face said with a sigh as he looked around. "Very sorry about the damages. You may need to close shop for a few days while they're fixed. At least you can afford it now. Can somepony please start disposing of these bodies? Find a Bookkeeper to ensure all their families get proper compensation and nopony gets missed."

"Huh?" I asked, slacked-jawed. You might notice I say that a lot, but sometimes it is the only appropriate response to a situation. The world is crazy, and you need to express that to remind yourself you're sane.

Count Pouty Face didn't give me the courtesy of an answer. He turned and walked out of the room, literally walking over the bodies of the vanquished ponies in the doorway like they were just a bump on the ground and not creatures that had been living, breathing, and laughing just minutes before.

Ponies came and dragged the bodies into the dining room. I could just barely see unicorns teleporting the bodies somewhere else. Why they couldn't do that while the bodies were in the doorway was beyond my understanding at the time. It is a procedural thing. When crime is organized, there are lots of rules and procedures to follow. Rules and regulations keep you from getting caught and the syndicate secret. At least, that's how I would operate things if I were involved in anything of the sort. It's also important to keep track of who is dead. When ponies you thought were dead turn up very much alive at a later date, it usually doesn't go well for anypony.

I wasn't aware of all those things at the time. I was scared, confused, and horrified. I didn't know what was happening, and there was still a dead body with a big pool of blood underneath me.

A hoof touched me, and I screamed.

"It's alright, it's just me," Stick said calmingly. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"Where's your friend?" I asked as I caught my breath.

"Stone? He's going to get patched up. He's not hurt too badly. Took a light cut on his flank, nothing serious," Stick said. "I'm going to clean you up and take you home." I told you he's a nice guy. He's a professional, but he's got a sense of decency. Nothing wrong with having a little pony decency when you're a crook.

I took one tentative step towards him and lunged the rest of the way, wrapping my forehooves around his neck as I finally let it out and started to sob.

He patted me gently on the back and rubbed it. "It's okay. Cry yourself out. On the bright side, you're going to be getting a big payday. The count had a big contract for whoever brought that guy down if things couldn't be resolved between them tonight."

I wiped my face, refusing to turn around and look at my victim. "Wh-who was he?"

"One of the count's lieutenants who got some unhealthy ideas the count couldn't let come to fruition. The guy was a killer, one of the best. He had mad combat skills, and I heard a rumor he used to be high up in S.M.I.L.E," Stick answered. "Count knew it wouldn't be easy or bloodless to take him down, so he decided to go with sheer numbers. Losses were expected but acceptable in this case. Some things just can't be allowed to happen. The guy knew this was coming. I think he only showed up to the meeting because it was his best chance to put his sword through the count."

There was a cough, and I turned my head to see Oily standing there.

"The count wishes you to know your payment for your Work has been put in a fresh account for you with the Bookkeepers. You've been listed under the name Little Baroness. Stick can show you where to find them and what procedures you need to follow to access your money," Oily said. He then pulled a piece of paper out of his jerkin and dropped it in front of me.

"Good day," he said and promptly walked out the destroyed back door, which was now clear of bodies.

"He's making fun of me?" I asked, flummoxed.

Stick gave me a confused look. "Why do you think he is making fun of you?"

"He said it is listed under Little Baroness."

"Oh, that," Stick said, sounding like he understood. "None of us use our real names in this business, and for most of us, our designated name is given to us by our first employer. Little Baroness isn't that bad. You should meet Snot Face, Mumbles, Radish Breath, or Cheese Brain. Little Baroness is downright regal…no pun intended…compared to what they got."

"Wait…" the princess interrupted. "So are you using fake-fake names for these ponies or just their fake names?"

"I told you, Princess, I'm making the entire thing up," I said with a smile. "Do we really need to get into how factual or false any figment of my fictitious flight of fancy is? The answer is yes."

"Yes to which? Are they fake-fake or just fake?" Princess Twilight asked in frustration.

I shrugged. "Huh? What are we talking about?"

She groaned and gave an agitated flap of her wings. I wondered how she kept such well-pampered feathers—probably a whole team of spa ponies who worked exclusively for her.

I gave her a smug grin. "Shall I continue?"

Stick used the kitchen sink and some towels to get the blood off me. While he was doing that, a team of ponies came in and cleaned all the blood and debris from the restaurant. Chairs, tables, and doors were still destroyed, but I was assured they'd take care of the doors. Things like missing doors attracted additional attention to a shop temporarily closed for remodeling. With that done, Stick took me home.

It wasn't a long walk home. My house was nice but relatively modest compared to many of the other homes in the noble's district. It had no yard, with a small porch that went straight out to the street. It was two stories with three bedrooms, two baths, a living room, kitchen, dining room, and a study. It was white, as is the fashion of most houses in that area. One of the upstairs windows had a small and very dead herb garden on the sill. It had been my mother's, and I just never had the drive to maintain it, nor the desire to spend time in the master bedroom in order to reach it, which still sat with all their stuff, gathering dust, as if waiting for their return. Only my brother ever went in that room, and then only briefly.

"Nice place, nicer than mine, but I'm not noble," Stick commented as he looked at the architecture.

"Thanks," I quietly said, still drained from my ordeal.

He gave me a brief pat on my back. "I think you can make your way inside. I'll be by in the morning to help you get your money."

He levitated the slip of paper that Oily had dropped. I had completely forgotten it. I lifted a hoof, and he placed it upon it. I read it for the first time. It was nothing but numbers and a seemingly nonsense collection of letters and pictograms. I couldn't make head or tail of it.

"I'll explain that in the morning, too," he told me. "Hang onto it; you'll need that the first time meeting with the Bookkeepers. It can be reissued, but it is terrible form to do so, and will get the count annoyed with you if he has to reissue it."

I looked up from the note. "Okay…thanks for being nice to me."

He chuckled. "I've got to serve tables for you. I can't have you breaking down. They'll reassign me somewhere else, somewhere I would like less. It would probably be a gambling hall. I hate those places; they always have ponies who build up a big debt, can't pay up, and then have to be encouraged to come up with the money. I hate encouraging ponies to pay their debts."

I didn't want to ask how he encouraged ponies to pay their debts. I didn't even know there were gambling halls in Canterlot. I also didn't understand how you, princess, let ponies get in debt or get murdered in restaurants. Then I remembered that I was the one who murdered a pony in the restaurant, and I was suddenly a little grateful you didn't seem to know about this or didn't care.

We said our final goodbyes, and I stepped into the house. After shutting the door behind me and setting the note down on the table beside it, I stared at the door for several seconds. I then scooted the table over against the door.

"Sis…are you okay?"

I turned to see my brother standing at the foot of the stairs, giving me a look I had never seen him give me, a fearful look. I glanced at the door that I had just attempted to barricade. I couldn't think of any reasonable explanation I could give him for why I had done that, and I certainly wasn't going to tell him the truth.

"Um, saw some weird ponies out and about. Wanted to feel a little safer," I said.

He didn't seem convinced and took a step back.

I gave him a reassuring big sister smile and took a few steps toward him but stopped when he started retreating up the stairs away from me. Was he scared of me?

"What's wrong?" I asked, feeling genuinely hurt at his reaction.

He was halfway up the stairs but not retreating any further. "Something doesn't feel right. Prove you're my sister and not some evil changeling out to suck my blood."

"Changelings don't suck blood, and I'm not a changeling," I said, half-amused and half even more worried.

He retreated up another two steps. "Prove you're my sister!"

His fear was real; this was no joke. I immediately tried to figure out what the best thing to say was.

I lowered my head. "When Mom and Dad died, you went into their room and hid under the covers of their bed. I begged you to come out, but I wouldn't come through the door. You stayed in there for a day and a half, and I stayed in the doorway for a day and a half. You finally came out because you were hungry and dehydrated, and you felt ashamed because you had wet their bed. I washed the sheets, but I left them for you to put them back on. I wouldn't go in."

He took a few cautious steps down the stairs. "It is you. What's wrong? Something feels wrong."

What could I say?

"I had a bad night, an awful night. Not as bad as when Mom and Dad died, but it is a definite second worst day of my life," I said, ready to cry again. I looked pleadingly at him. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what happened. It is that bad. Can I get a hug? I think I need a hug."

My little brother rushed down the stairs and wrapped his forelegs around me. I sat and hugged him back in turn. Crying onto his shoulder like I was the younger sibling who just had the nightmare, and so we sat for several minutes, saying nothing.