Mule PI: The Watchstallionby Oat CakesChapters1 Chance2 Train3 Entrance4 Brass Tacks5 Hearth and Hostel6 Good Day7 Bad Day8 Rose Bundle9 Rock1 Chance 2 Aqu 999 Noble House of Keys Disgraced Count Corrugated Convicted! In the royal investigation with regards to Griffonian Espionage, Count Corrugated Keyway has been found guilty. The Nobility of the house of Keys has been revoked with all holdings forfeit to the crown. See the full story and interview on page 3. Tariffs Rising! The EOFA has issued increased tariffs for... “Quick,” Professor Quotient addressed sharply. “Huh, wh- yes Quotient?” Quick Sort was ripped from the news and returned to his seat. “Perhaps you need to step out for a moment?” Quotient all but commanded as she eyed the newspaper. “Yes. Thank you professor,” Quick spoke without thought as his eyes returned their lacking focus while he packed up his saddlebag. Fractional Quotient was by all definitions a task master but Quick hardly noted his arithmancy professor’s uncharacteristic charity, lost in thought as he imagined his future. Tuition for Celestia's Gifted was paid for in a hefty sum of bits and greased by noble titles, both of which Quick Sort found quite short. Quick reasoned that nepotism was out of the picture and so was graduation. Just a year more and he could have earned his stars in both arithmancy and enchantment. Quick took a moment to kick himself for attempting both stars at once. He knew that if he’d gotten just his enchantment star he would at least be employable in Canterlot. Maybe that was the solution, to leave Canterlot. There were always postings for bosun back home and he just had to make enough bits to finish his stars. On a train to Baltimare sat a young stallion. Beside him was a bag filled with stationary and a single bit. The stallion was difficult to see in the dim economy car, with the exception of a bright yellow cutie mark. Placed on his slate grey coat was a manila folder, left open to show three papers. His unkempt navy blue mane shook and his long legs were aching to be stretched as the train squealed and slowed. “Water stop! One hour! This station is Trottsville!” The conductor hollered to each car as she passed down the station platform. Quick groaned and strained his eyes as the afternoon sun entered the dark cabin. The platform outside the open door was hardly crowded as, despite the call to disembark, few ponies exited and fewer still waited for a train. Seeing the open space on the platform Quick felt it would be good to spend the hour on his hooves and, thinking better than to leave his meager funds unattended while he exercised, he wore his saddle bag. “Eeek!” he exclaimed as his loin was damp and cold. Tossing the bag to the ground, Quick found that the bag had been soaked through with ink. He craned his neck to look at his back. A tired sigh accompanied a tired walk to find some sort of rag. A paper stand caught his eye; it seemed news-rags would do the job. One inky bit and ten inky rags were spent before the considerably darkened saddlebag was clean. While tossing the papers a small and remarkably clean patch of text caught Quick’s eye: Help Wanted: Pony (EP)--wanted to haul grain; interview Lower Canterlot, Copper Mill; 2 bits Pony (EUP)--Young, wanted to file papers, general assistant; trot in interview Trottsville, Mule PI; 3 bits; immediately; NO POST Pony (P)--Dry thunder specialist; 10 bits; interview at Cloudsdale We... WOOOOOooooo, the train horn bellowed. “All Aboard!” the Conductor called. Quick pulled himself from reading to search for his ticket. “All Aboard!” was called again. His bag was turned out, empty. “All Aboard!” the Conductor called, one final time. Quick tore through the dirty rags to search; blackened and crumpled near the bottom of the pile was a single scrap of paper with the distinct shape of his ticket. “Ponyfeathers” “It’s a bit late for an interview,” a mule spoke from the doorway as he squinted to see through the setting sun. Above the doorway in faded black lettering hung a sign that read: Mule Private Investigation Appointment only “Sorry” Quick apologized, ducking his head slightly. “Hmp,” the mule grunted, turned and walked inside. He paused, “Well?” “Oh” Quick replied, nearly tripping over himself to follow the mule. They walked a short ways, down a short hallway, in a short building. The building was decorated with only a few windows, the hallway was decorated with only a few doors, and the walk was silent. “Here’s my office,” the mule spoke as they came to the end of the hall. The mule opened the door to reveal a simple robust desk accompanied by a cushioned seat. One wall was dominated by a large window, with the opposite wall being adorned with only a simple hat rack. On the rack was a weathered old fedora. Behind the desk, the wall was bare except for cracking tan paint. “There’s a chair in the corner, sit,” the mule said as he took his seat. From his simple wooden chair, Quick could finally take a good look at the mule who turned and looked out the window as he spoke, “Where are you from?” “Baltimare, sir,” Quick replied. “Train went east today. You walked?” the mule looked hale, but his gray coat was off. “Huh? No, I took the train from Canterlot.” “Hmp,” the mule grunted. “Can you read?” “Uhh,” Quick paused in confusion, “yeah.” “Hmp. Can you write?” it was the coloration, some parts of his coat darker and some lighter, that was off. Quick nodded... and then spoke, “Oh, yes.” “Whats your name?” the mule was gray with age, though he didn’t show his age in his eyes. “Quick Sort of house... of... just Quick Sort.” The mule grunted as he pulled out a desk drawer and rummaged through it. “Fill out page one”--A paper full of legal text and numbered boxes was hooved over with a pen--“front and back. The big box is for me. The date is the third of Aquamarine, ninety nine,” the mule spoke as he returned to looking out the window. Quick took the paper and pen in steady blue magic, filling the page from front to back in a moment of practiced ease. “Um, sir? The box for cutie mark is scratched out?” “Hmp. It is,” the mule eloquently clarified as he turned and gave the unicorn a deadpan look. “Oh,” Quick sheepishly looked away from the unmarked mule who was beginning to look over his paper. “They call me Mule,” the Mule stated and as he signed the document the sun set, dimming the room. “Just mule?” “Hmp. Mule.” Mule looked out the window and pointed to one of the few buildings with its lights on. “Brick Brack runs the inn; its expensive.” He pointed again to an unlit block of buildings. “Honey Paper has some cheap apartments; don’t go there. You got family in town?” “Um... no. Why cant I go to Honey Paper?” said Quick, leaving his lack of bits unspoken. “I owe her,” Mule said, then turned to Quick, “I have a room, downstairs. Clean it up and don't smoke. No company.” “Thank you.” “Hmp,” grunted Mule as he got to his hooves and slowly made his way around the darkened desk and out the door. He turned back to Quick, who was still seated, and called, “Well? Come on.” Behind an old door and down some old stairs was a large room. The room was furnished wall to wall with filing cabinets and a vintage collection of a dust enthusiast. All around the floor were empty paper boxes. Mule broke the silence, “Left wall is old cases, the rest are whatever.” “Whatever?” Quick asked. “Whatever.” “But how do you sort it?” “I don’t, that’s your job.” “No, I mean--” Mule interjected with a sigh, “Last hire put the boxed files in the cabinets.” “Well how’d they sort it? Is there an index?” “She couldn’t read.” “Oh...” said Quick as he took a better look at the many, many empty boxes. Mule grunted. “Just how long do I have to re-sort them?” “Until its sorted.” “No--” “Just have the files I need brought when I ask. Otherwise, whenever.” “Whenever.” Mule grunted. Author's Note I’ll try for one or two chapters a week. 1/20/24 Initial Post 2 Train 10 Aqu 999 Vehicular Vanishing Act Canterlot Express 948435 Missing The Neighagra Falls rail administration office reported the all clear when the massive 40 car freight train #948435 left its yard on the 5th of Aquamarine. The three day journey to Manehatten has developed into a full search and rescue effort. See the ongoing story on page 2. To join the search effort see page 5. New Methods in Rock Farming Geolomancy and aquamancy researchers Wild Fissure and Jelly Squeeze from PCSGU are baffling alchemists by turning coal into diamonds. Their secret ingredient? Just add water! Interviews and a citation for their work are on page 3. Weather Shortage This years slow winter wrap-up continues to cause issues in the weather sector. Bucket Blast, weather coordinator for Las Pegasus, states, “We make weather from water. You can get water lots of places--rivers, lakes--lots of places. You can’t get weather water out of the ground though. A late winter wrap-up means a lot of snow melted in places we can’t reclaim. About 10% of the spring weather water is stuck in the ground. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but remember this is the rainy season--it adds up fast.” Full interview page 4. Bang bang bang bang. Dust ejected from the ceiling of the file room, drifting expertly as they maneuvered into Quick Sort’s morning tea. “I’m up!” he shouted so loudly that the ceiling shook again and the dust seasoned his buttered toast. “Not up enough,” called a muffled Mule, “I want to see the new cases.” With a huff that blew a cloud of dust, Quick gathered a thick pile of case folders that were set on the cabinet nearest the door while levitating the remains of his breakfast to a waste bin. While climbing the stairs he made an effort to be loud enough for the old mule to hear him approaching. When Quick swung the door open he found Mule sitting on his cushion and looking out the window. “How many were there?” Mule inquired. “There’s eight of them,” Quick answered as he pulled them from his saddle bag and placed them onto the empty desk. “Read them out, my eyes are old,” said Mule, not looking away from the window. Quick shuffled the folders so that their tabs were visible and their names were legible. “Clock bells were stolen in Van Hoover--” “Hmp,” Mule interrupted, “too far.” “Okay, a grave robbing at River Horn manor.” “Hmp.” “... School supplies missing from--” “Too cheap.” “What? Why?” Quick responded with both intrigue and annoyance. “School wont pay what I’m worth, next.” Quick frowned, not wanting to neglect a school in need. He finally complied, schools can wait; he came here for bits. Quick returned his attention to the case files, “Officer poisoned in Baltimare.” He paused in brief anticipation. “Tell me more,” Mule requested. The case folder was the thickest out of all eight and contained two dense sets of papers bound by paperclips and a single loose sheet that levitated to Quick. From this sheet he read, “To Mule P.I. my daughter has been murdered and the guard refuses to investigate further,” Mule turned his ears as he looked out the window, “They have found nothing, no suspect, no motive. I tried to pull some strings, but there’s only so much I can do in retirement. Sharp Eyes was to inherit the estate, but with her passing I am lost. In this post I have included reports from the investigation. Please, ease my heart and find justice for Sharp. EUP LTJG Half Helmet.” Mule took a long look out the window before turning to face Quick Sort. While taking and reading through the letter for himself Mule asked, “How long was the investigation?” Quick looked over the cover pages of the two stacks of reports in confusion, there were clearly two separate investigations. After a moment comparing the dates of the reports Quick replied, “Five days for the first, two days for the second.” The letter was forgotten as Mule gave Quick his full attention, much to his surprise as this was the first time Mule appeared to give anything his full attention. “In the top left corner of the second investigation reports,” Mule directed, “does it say RBIA?” A quick check revealed, “Yes.” The word struck like a a needle and Mule deflated in his seat. For nearly a full minute he stared vacantly at the wall behind Quick, who had begun to fidget. He was relieved when Mule finally turned and looked out the window. Quick couldn’t hold his curiosity any longer and asked, “What is RBIA?” “They were...” Mule took a long, tortuous, moment of contemplation, “... they’re better detectives than I was--than I am.” Mule grunted, as if to interrupt himself and stated, “There were eight.” Quick paused in confusion, “Oh, right.” After levitating the reports and letter back to their case folder, he read the next, “Body guard for the Feather Bangers: murder or accident, from Skysafe.” “I don’t work for insurance... Whats the pay?” Mule stated. The first page of the request listed the pay as, “Fifteen thousand bits.” “I sometimes work for insurance,” Mule corrected. “Who are the Feather Bangers?” “They’re a music group from the east coast, Manehatten I think.” “You didn’t read that,” Mule noticed. “They’re popular. Or are you just a fan?” Quick insisted, “No no no, not a fan--” “How popular? I don’t see them in the papers.” “They’re,” Quick took a moment to consider his phrasing, ”more popular in magazines for young mares.” “Hmp, not touching that.” “But, the bits--” “Aren’t worth the publicity. We’re going to River Horn.” Mule rose from his seat, stretching for a moment before addressing Quick, “Pack the case file, plenty of paper, and”--He looked at the stained saddle bag--”no ink.” While Quick packed his bag he turned to Mule, who was exiting his office, and asked, “What about filing those cases, and any new cases?” Mule raised an eyebrow but kept walking as he said, “And leave you alone in my home? Hmp.” “So, give me the details,” Mule said, then took a bight of his salad before returning to look out the dining car window. Quick set down his hay-fries and washed down his oatburger with lemonade. “We’re half way there, you haven’t looked?” he asked. “That’s your job.” Mule stated, but Quick suspected Mule’s new attention for the case had more to do with gaining a window seat over lunch than with Quick’s job. The case file levitated from the overhead compartment down, ”Lets see,” said Quick as he skimmed the remarkably short letter. “There’s not a lot of details. One week ago the Horn Manor graveyard was broken into overnight. It was discovered the next day when a section--” “Was there a watchstallion?” Mule interjected. The levitating page flipped as Quick scanned both sides, “It doesn’t say.” “Hmp.” After a taking a second to regain his place in the text, Quick continued, “The next day a section of fence was discovered to have been cut. Several valuable heirlooms from the mausoleum were stolen.” He paused to take a drink of lemonade--skimming ahead as he did so--”It says to visit the manor for more details on the heirlooms, if you accept the job. The pay is--” Mule gave a dismissive grunt. “Whats that mean?” “Means the pay doesn't matter,” Mule said as he turned back to his meal. Like an itch at the back of Quick’s spine, annoyance crawled its way up his back and exited his mouth, “The pay matters when its for helping a school but not some noble’s private graveyard?” Mule snorted and appeared to almost be smiling as he chewed. “You didn’t even look at three of the cases! What are you even doing?” Quick asked, running out of steam as he noted the mule’s amusement. “What?” “You done?” Mule asked, receiving an annoyed huff in return. “I do care about the pay.” Quick did not look convinced as he took a bite of his oatburger. “Hmp. Fine,” Mule began to explain, “this client is a noble, Lord Horn--a noble who was just disrespected. He’s going to pay however much I tell him I’m worth.” Mule smiled as he continued, ”There’s no Lord in Equestria who can hear my offer and think, ‘that mule is worth more than my pride,’ none of them.” Quick’s unamused look remained as he asked, “You want to haggle them for more than a hundred thousand bits?” “A HUNDRED THOUSAND BITS! Why didn’t you say?” Quick sighed into his cold oatburger. Mule chuckled, “Heh, Lord Horn will pay a hundred twenty, at least, if I’m not too rusty.” An awkward, oat filled, acknowledgement was returned as Quick imagined. Watching the passing trees turn to fields, he imagined what a hundred thousand bits would do for him. He could certainly earn his stars, it would hardly scratch such a fortune. Quick dreamed as fields turned to river and back to fields. Maybe traveling would do him some good, to cross the sea--not as a bosun but as a privileged passenger. The sky was a soft orange when he considered the expectations of his defunct House of Keys. A noble, wealthy, and gifted unicorn should pursue the pinnacle of knowledge--found a university, invent a school of magic, anything to put your name on--all that or politics. A sharp Skreeee pierced the dinning car as Quick was recalled to reality. While waiting for the train to stop, he took stock of his surroundings. It was nearly time for sunset and the dinning car housed only Quick and his meager luggage. Said luggage lurched in its compartment as the train stopped at the platform. “End of the line! Please alight for the evening! This station is River Horn!” called a surprisingly familiar voice. Electing not to find the mule and to instead sate his curiosity, Quick peered down the well lit platform towards the conductor. She was a mare, which Quick confirmed by the sound of her shouting as she continued to call down the platform--and most definitely did not confirm by watching her tail, which was long and tied off with a green ribbon. Straining his eyes, he could tell that her coat was very light, and that she had a short brown mane, covered mostly by a red and gold conductors hat. “You can chase tail later,” Mule said as he prodded Quick from behind. Quick sputtered something between a cough and a curse, then turned--red in the face--and growled, “Don’t sneak up on me.” “Hmp. Use your ears.” Mule pointed across the station to the town, then to the right where a stone tower could be seen well above the tree line in the distance and said, “Lets get there before dark.” Author's Note I’m so sorry for the pun. Also, wow this feels so slow but there's so much to set up. 3 EntranceMule walked and Quick followed, both with a brisk pace. The sun on their backs stretched their shadows further and further. When the boarder of the estate was in view Mule slowed his pace, “Listen up,” he demanded, “I don’t care who raised you, I don’t care what you know, I don’t care how annoying this will be--you will not mess this up.” Mule looked to Quick who responded in turn with two nods of his head. “Hmp. You will speak when I tell you and you shouldn’t say much. You can look board, but you cant look annoyed--that face. That face you made looking out the train--make that face if you can manage.” Mule huffed--paused--and said, “If you must leave, say, ‘please excuse me,’ and immediately leave. And say it quiet, you’re--” “Why am I here?” Quick countered. “Hmp. You’re my errand colt, but you will be running errands on the lord’s bit.” Mule’s words dripped with annoyance, ”You can’t do that if you don't meet the lord.” “Okay, okay, got it.” “Hmp. Say it back,” the mule challenged. “All of it?” “Hmp.” “Fine--um--be quiet--if I can’t, leave--and meet the lord and... don’t look annoyed.” “Hmp. Good enough.” It was nearly five minutes later when their shadows touched the gate to Horn Manor, and another minute after when the two reached the gate themselves. The estate was fenced in its entirety in vibrant green hedges that, on closer inspection, hid a dense layer of thorns which in turn hid a fence beneath it all. In the center of the fence was a wide ornate gate made from golden brass and framed by two large brick posts. The gate was free from the surrounding greenery and through it the entire manor could be seen, in the center of the estate and surrounded by a massive patio to the left side and a vibrant garden to the right. In the ornamentation of the gate it appeared as though the pickets and rails were tubing for a massive brass instrument and atop the finial tips were works of art. Each of the fourteen tips sported a miniature instrument. There was a trumpet, an alto horn, a tuba, two prench horns, a conch, a slide whistle, a harmonica, a megaphone, and five variations of a bugle. The entire gate was lit by a white gem lamp at each post and an orange gem was inset under a brass plate on the right post. On the plate was no lettering, only an embossed picture of a rain cloud being spewed from a pipe. As Mule reached to tap the orange gem it sparked to life, glowing and vibrating in matching intensity, “Business?” the gem asked in a voice that was difficult to discern from crackling static. “Confidential investigator from Trottsville,” Mule replied without hesitation, though Quick was intrigued by the talking gem. The gem crackled for several seconds, saying nothing, before it went silent and dimmed. The sun plunged past the horizon and the moon rose dimly in its first quarter. Quick fidgeted as a light breeze picked up and danced across the green fence. A light in the distant tower lit in its highest window. The window darkened as the next lowest lit, then again and again the light traveled down the tower before disappearing. Quick made to ask if they should return to town but Mule prodded him with both a pointed look and a pointed hoof. Getting the message, they waited in silence as the light returned to the bottom of the tower, then rose and rose. When the light reached its origin the gate gem returned to life. “You are expected,” the monotone stone intoned, then shone the lone flagstones to glow. As if compelled by incantation, the gate swung open. Walking along the path through the yard, the silence between them was filled with waking nightlife. Upon reaching the door, Mule produced a weathered old fedora from nothing, to Quick’s bewilderment. Mule donned his hat, then pulled the knocker back once clack, twice clack and spoke softly, “Walk behind me.” Before Quick could question Mule’s conjuration capabilities the door opened to show a well furnished mud room and a stallion at the door. He was a pale yellow and dressed to impress in a rich brown vest and pants that covered him from shoulder to dock. The earth stallion’s mane was a layered turquoise and sea green that matched both his tail and a tuft on his upper lip that bounced as he said, “Welcome, please enter.” “Thank you,” answered Mule as he stepped into the spacious mudroom, Quick in tow. The room was furnished with benches and racks with hats. At one wall was a small coat closet and to the other was a washroom. Between them, trimmed and ornamented in carved and lacquered wood, at the opposite wall was a doorway and in that doorway approached a figure from down the long hall--a stallion in dark colors and a red robe. “May I?” the butler requested and gestured with his ears. Mule gave a slight nod and was relieved of his hat as the stallion reached the mudroom. “Your lordship, how may I assist you?” The lord Horn studied Mule and Quick studied the lord. He was a tall unicorn, though his stature was hunched, and your attention could hardly be pulled from his billowing, yet short mane. Matching his short beard, his mane was a deep blue that contrasted the rich red of his robe but blended well with his muted deep purple coat. The lord’s scrutiny had passed and he said, “Hmm, you’re the mule. Come, the gallery is where I do business,” then turned and walked down the enormous hall. Together they walked in file--lord, mule, clerk, butler--for nearly half a minute at a decent pace. The walls were broken up with many doors, but for a long while the right wall was instead decorated with paintings. It was only Quick who’s eyes were caught by the canvases. The first few were standard fare with the recognizable harsh white shapes in a recreation of Star Skipper’s Portrait of Hearth's Warming and Celestia’s gentle smile in Sun’s Justice by Bristle Brush. What followed were something between landscapes and portraits; the paintings captured beautifully realized depictions of concert halls, each with a different lone performer. While all the doors they had since passed were singular, when the lord Horn stopped it was to open a set of decorated double doors on the right wall, framed in whittled and painted musical motifs. Entering the doors was like a portal; where wood and earthen tones once claimed the walls was instead gold, brass, and warm reds and oranges. The room--nearly square--was dominated by heavy curtains along the entirety of its longest opposite end. Accented with gold, the curtains began from the ceiling, two storeys up, as a deep red and became crimson, became rust, became vibrant orange and finally reached the floor. Quick's attention was pulled from the wall of layered colors by the soft sound of a violin. In the very moment his eyes strayed from the curtains all thought of the violin vanished. At the furthest end of the room was a stage, boxed in gold with curtains partly drawn, and on the stage was it. It was a throne of brass, of pipes , of ivory, of enormous scale. Polish and no small amount of bits had made the already impressive inner workings of an organ into a work of art. The lord lit his horn and for a moment there was silence. The violin whisked away, hardly noticed in front of the massive organ, and was replaced by a flute and clarinet. When their soothing melody began, Quick's eyes were drawn back across the room, noticing a ballroom floor, then paintings on the near wall, then plinths decorated with instruments, then a small table set before them. Around the table was a couch and two cushioned seats. The seats, opposite each other about the table, were taken already by the lord and Mule. It was as Quick reached the couch when the lord Horn called to behind the couch,"Cider, hard." "Slick cherry?" the butler asked. The lord clarified, "Something hard, maybe rosé." "Coffee? Tea?" was offered to the guests. "Water." Mule ordered. Quick shook his head. When the sharp clacks of the butler on the ballroom tile became knocks on wood the lord Gloom Horn spoke. Author's Note OOOoooOO its mystery time! 4 Brass Tacks"Why should I hire you?" the lord questioned as he straightened his posture slightly. Mule matched his attention to posture and leaned forward as he stated, "I've only ever lost three cases, disregarding dismissal by a client, and I'm a stubborn old mule--that's half the job," and he nearly smiled. "And the young stallion?" "My apprentice, from university in Canterlot." With intrigue, much to Quick's surprise, the lord asked, "Your family?" Quick cringed as he told the truth, "Mundane," but it felt so much like a lie. Taking a small effort to hide his disappointment the lord Horn said, "My apologies." The butler arrived carrying a small platter on his back with two glasses, a pitcher and a red tinted bottle. From the pitcher, Mule's drink was poured and from the bottle was the lord's. The butler had only just barely finished pouring his drink when it lifted in a dusky blue glow to the lord's lips. He took a long drink and a short cough before he said, "I suppose I should start at the beginning. In my youth, my younger brother drowned during a weather accident that flooded the countryside of River Horn. Loud Horn was eight at the time, no mark yet. It burdened mother terribly until the day she joined my late father. All three rest in the Horn family crypt." The lord paused to take another long drink and Mule seized the moment, "May I ask, how long ago was the crypt last open?” When the lord set his drink down he replied, “You may. Mother was put to rest in 984, in late Garnet. The crypt was not opened since, though the mausoleum above is regularly attended. And do not spare my feelings--ask what you must.” “That was all I have, for now,” said Mule as he glanced at the curtains behind the lord. “Very well, where was I?... Oh, the heirlooms. They were buried with a number of heirlooms. Mother was buried with her favorite pieces from the vault, father was buried with the original watchstallion’s charm, and my brother was buried with his favorite toy--a short whistle. He took it everywhere,” the lord took a short drink, “Hmm, I think he blew that whistle more than he spoke. I would tease him--” “Excuse me,” Mule interjected. “Oh, yes?” “What is the original watchstallion’s charm?” Mule asked the lord. “The watchstallion’s charms are meta-stable illusion artifacts that enhance night vision.” Quick answered in excited interest. ”They are typically set into helmets as small gemstones.” Before Quick could go on, the lord smiled and said, “Yes, that is the modern charm--adapted for the Guard. The original is a necklace with a carved red garnet gemstone accompanied with a small inset blue saualpite grain.” While the lord went on, Quick met Mule’s crushing gaze and redoubled his effort to shut his mouth. “It would shimmer in the dark like a cat’s eye. The chain was bronze, coated to look silver. It is likely bronze again, but the main piece was real silver. My father developed the artifice with his mage, Sharp Baton.” The lord took another long drink, during which Quick could only further agonize under Mule’s hard look, despite the soft music. “She passed in the same flood as my brother, sun bless them.” Mule relented his assault on Quick to ask, “Was there any enchantment on your mother’s heirlooms?” The lord paused to recall, before saying, “No. They were finely crafted, but just mundane jewelry.” The lord looked between Mule and Quick while the flute faded and the clarinet began to play in solo. The sound danced in short staccato phrases, filling the awkward pause. When the flute rejoined in canon the lord regained his attention and asked, “Will you be taking this case, mule?” Without missing a beat Mule met the lord’s eyes. “I saw your asking rate and it’s agreeable for this work. I would ask for some upfront payment or to bill your estate for the cost of the ongoing investigation.” The lord looked relieved to say, “You’ll have it, but did you not bring funds with you?” “Hah,” Mule smiled, “I am not in any shape to haul bits and I’m not trusting enough for a bank.” The lord hummed to himself in agreement, “Silver, is the drafter in?” The butler, standing motionless at the door, replied, “She has retired for the evening, but she is in.” “So late already. Very well, then I will see you off with some bits for tonight. Silver Pocket will arrange your endorsement tomorrow.” Mule nodded and asked, “When may we return for further questions?” “Ask Silver,” the lord motioned to the butler, “I must be off, lest I finish this bottle.” Silver Pocket approached the table, cork in hoof, and--on seeing the bottle closely--clarified, “Sir, you have finished the bottle.” The lord hummed again and rose from his seat, “Before I start another--good night,” and on the uttering of ‘night,’ the music was cut short. “Good night”, Mule returned as the lord exited the gallery. Quick was in the process of collapsing into the soft couch as he relaxed his posture when Silver answered Mule, “The lord will be occupied until mid evening tomorrow, but you are free to enter the estate as early as dawn.” He then produced eight coins and hooved them to Mule. “Thank you, we will be off,” Mule replied, pulling Quick from the couch. They were halfway down the hall before he released his hold on Quick. Having the Mule between him and the paintings, Quick found little to entertain himself besides the doors on his side of the hall. When they reached the mudroom they had nearly left before Silver caught up to them. “Sir,” he addressed and caught Mule’s attention, holding his tattered hat. Mule took the old fedora and said, “Hmp, thank you,” before following Quick, who waited just outside. They walked across the estate in silence. The path was not lit this time, but the waxing moon was just enough to walk by, and so they reached the gate. The pair stopped before the gate and for a moment they shared the concern that they would have to wait in the cool night for it to be opened. When they approached the post Quick was true to his name in noting, “There’s another gem,” more to himself than to Mule--grunting in response--and lit his horn in a white shimmer. The gem responded, glowing in blue for a moment before the gate gently swung open. When they crossed the gate, Quick sighed and stated, “So... That was a lot.” “Hmp” “What happened to haggling?” Mule ear flicked as he said, “He’s not a disrespected noble.” Quick stopped for a moment, though Mule kept his pace, and asked in mild disbelief, “He’s an imposter?” Mule snorted, stifling a chuckle. When Quick matched pace with him again, he clarified, “He wasn’t disrespected--well he was, but that’s not why he commissioned me.” “Oh?” “He’s grieving. You can’t ask a grieving client for more... Even if they’ve been drinking.” “It’s immoral” “It’s bad business,” Mule corrected. ”And bad odds too.” “Just business?” “Hmp,” Mule grunted and looked to River Horn in the distance. “Don’t mix your money and your morals. You’ll be saving your self on both ends.” “Sure,” Quick dismissed. Author's Note For reasons of pacing and tone, I think this is where this chapter has to end. If only they reached the manor earlier in the day I could have made this chapter longer 5 Hearth and HostelMule frowned slightly more than normal as he looked over a white painted sign colored orange in the light of the adjacent window. The sign read Flat Note’s Inn, but Mule’s attention was on a small emblem in the corner of the sign. “Get us a room,” he directed to Quick, who was looking into the window of the building. There was little else to see of the building in the dark, only that it blocked the sky high enough to be at least three floors. What had captured Quick’s attention was the dancing orange light that bathed him and the smell of fresh bread. The smell was blended with oak wood, with wheat, with oat, and with an old hat. He nearly gagged, but turned to Mule and asked, “Whats the hat for?” as he pointed to the decaying fabric that was placed on his head. “For wearing,” Mule stated. “Now get us a room, no breakfast if you can.” And with that he began to walk further into town. “Where are you going?” Quick asked in mixed annoyance and resignation, hat forgotten. “Hmp.” Crackling wood accented the gentle strumming of a guitar in a tall wooden lounge. The only other sound in the night were the occasional creaking of wood from floors above and the turning of pages coming from the desk. Behind the desk was an older filly perched on a stool. The young earth pony was tan like white sandstone and had a rich brown braided mane. When the regular music of Flat Note’s was disrupted by the din of the door bells she added another paper cut to her lip. “Ouch, mmm,” she sucked her lip for a moment without looking up, then said, “Welcome to Flat Note’s, how can I help you?” In the moment it took her to mark her page and close her book, Quick basked in the warmth from the fireplace and took a reprieve from the cool night as he looked about. He saw in the lounge to his right a wide couch that faced a fireplace and before turning to face the voice he noticed a kitchen with a wide bar table. “Well aren’t you dressed up,” called the filly. “Oh, uh thank you,” said Quick as he made an effort to focus. “I need a room for two, no breakfast.” “Oh, are you sure you don’t want breakfast? I make some awesome oat cakes,” she tempted. “Yeah, I’m sure” “Oh? Oh,” the young mare giggled then shouted, “Maaaaaaaa! Out-of-towner all gussied up for a double. Is the hookup room open?” The sound of a metal sheet clattering loudly on a hard floor interrupted any thought Quick was having as an older mare wearing a white apron burst through the door to the kitchen. She had a frazzled rust orange mane that bounced with her long stride to the filly. While the older mare was similarly tan like the younger, her coat was a warmer shade and the entirety of her front was powdered in white flour. “Sugar Spice,” she puffed out flour with every word, “do you know the hour? Keep your voice down.” While Sugar Spice looked to the clock mounted above Quick, whose hands both pointed to nine, her mother looked to the stallion below. “Our most lovely room is available. I’ll have you know there is a cleaning surcharge.” Looking to the mess of flour that made a line from the kitchen to the mare before him, Quick reassured, “We will be clean.” “Hum, right.” The sour looking mare hooved a guest book from under the desk onto its top and pointed to the bottom of a list of names while Sugar sheepishly hooved a pen to Quick. As he wrote his name, the mare continued, “Keep it down. The walls are thick but they aren’t enchanted. And if you need anything, call for me; I’m Quiet Night.” “Got it.” Quick said before yawning. While Quiet Night returned to the kitchen, Sugar asked, “When can we expect her?” Quick morphed his long yawn into a, “Huh?” “The mare, do you need us to tell her the room number?” she clarified. “Him, I think he’s... running some errands. Yeah, please tell him the room.” Quick did not look back to see Sugar’s embarrassed look as he made his way to the couch. He sat in the center, closest to the hearth, and warmed himself. He listened to the sounds of the fire cracking, of a metal sheet lifted from the floor, of the gentle guitar, of a sink running, of the couch deforming as he slumped deeper into it, of hooves on tile then wood, of Quiet saying, “Give me 10 minutes and the room will be ready,” to which Quick lightly nodded and had nearly nodded off before hearing hooves approach again, much lighter this time. “I’m sorry I assumed,” Sugar apologized as she sat at the end of the couch. Quick didn’t open his eyes as he said, “What? Oh, it's no big deal.” “Still it was rude.” “Its fine.” “But--” “Hey,” Quick opened his eyes, “if it's really getting to you, you can apologize to him when he gets here.” His eye caught on some motion as he looked to the guitar and saw it playing itself with two levitating picks, black and brown. Though the rest of him was nearly asleep, Quick’s curiosity was awakened to ask, “Where did you get that guitar? Or is it a guests?” Sugar Spice was quiet for a long while. When Quick turned and looked to her, her sad gaze was broken from the guitar and she looked to him and answered, “My ma was a great friend of Sweet's mom, so it was a gift from Sweet.” “Oh, who’s Sweet?” “Sweet Dream, she works for the Horns. She’s pretty good with magic from what I’ve heard.” If Quick’s curiosity was awake before, it was now properly caffeinated. “So she's Sharp Baton's daughter?” “Yeah, you knew Sharp Baton?” “I’ve recently heard about the flood--” Quick cut himself off as he noticed Sugar’s already somber mood dropped like lead at the mention of the flood. “We lost a lot in the flood. We try not to bring it up.” Sugar muttered, barely audible. “I’m sorry,” Quick apologized. “Don't be,” Sugar comforted, “you sort of already brought it up with the guitar. It was my dad's.” Quick took a better look at the guitar, though he did not get up. It was scratched in places. It was slightly out of tune. The body was a simple agathis wood with soft flowing grains across its surface. He reached out with his magic and gently brushed against the focus of the enchantment. The picks missed a strum, but returned to their rhythm with noticeable vigor. “Wow, Sweet’s been making instruments for a while then.” ”Oh, no the enchantment was a gift from just last Hearth's Warming.” “But...” Quick thought better than to ask, but Sugar caught the question before he could ask it. “It's only the picks that are enchanted, the guitar was always his.” “I see... Thank you.” Quick smiled, tiredly. Sugar returned her own tired smile, then pulled up a book that she had placed by her side. As she began to read, Quick expended the last of his curiosity to glance at its title, Musicology and Semiotics IV. The sound of hooves on stairs turned Quick’s ears, then turned his head as Quiet Night approached and said, “Your room is ready, 210,” as she hooved him a key with a simple fob. Quiet then turned to Sugar, “How much more in that chapter, cupcake?” Quick slowly removed himself from the couch as Sweet leafed ahead and counted pages. He was passing the desk when she replied, “Like eight.” Just past the desk was a stairwell and as Quick ascended he heard Quiet’s voice fading as she said, “Eight pages, then bed. It’s a school night.” At odds with his name, Quick eventually reached the second floor and walked the only hall to its farthest end to a door numbered 210. He fumbled with the key in his hoof and then in his magic before giving up and using his mouth as the fiddly key resisted his restful dexterity. When the keyway finally relented, Quick found the room to be too dark to see, but he stumbled blindly forwards with a hoof outstretched. He took four steps before he felt the corner of the bed frame. He dropped his saddle bag. Quick trudged to the side and clambered up, then rolled onto his back in the center of the bed. He took a moment to smell the delicious roses on the bed as he summoned his magic to push the door closed. Finally, he snored. Sugar Spice was placing a red ribbon between the pages of Musicology and Semiotics IV when the door bells clattered and a tired old mule walked in. “I have a room,” he stated, though Sugar felt it was a demand. “You do? What’s your name?” Sugar shifted in her seat and swiped the book from beneath the counter. She swiftly searched for reserved rooms and found none named. “Mule.” “I’m not seeing Mule here, sir,” Sugar supplied, silently sweeping her hovering hoof past the pages of patrons. “Did he not buy a room?” Mule asked, half to himself. “Excuse me, but who bought the room? Maybe he didn’t list your name.” “Quick Sort. Young stallion, got a hat on--can’t miss it.” Sugar paled and spoke, “S-sorry,” to which Mule replied with a grumble as he turned for the door. “No wait, I’m sorry for assuming. Quick was here. He's in room 210, h-heres your key.” “Hmp.” Mule took the key by mouth and made his way up the stairs. While rounding the banister at the half-flight, he could hear the filly plant her face in her hoof, though he hardly noticed over the sound of his own steps. He passed five rooms on each side before finding the door, 210. It was slightly ajar. Mule cautiously pushed the door open, then waited a moment before entering the pitch dark. He turned to look at the wall hidden by the inward swinging door and pressed on a dimly lit oval in the dark. The room was immediately flooded in a soft pink light and Mule looked to the bed. Spread on his back, ringed in a heart of rose petals, Quick snored. Author's Note I’ve got to analyze some lab grown rocks and stones tomorrow, so I can’t promise a chapter. Next week might be 3 chapters since I think the subject of ch 6 sucks . Have a pony picture in recompense: 6 Good Day“So sorry,” Sugar Spice repeated as she poured another glass of lemonade from a wide pitcher. “Hmp.” “Very sorry,” Silent echoed while she placed two cakes from her skillet onto Mule’s plate. “Hmp.” “I'm sorry, sir,” Quick said, taking the lead in the apology contest. Were it not for a butter colored mare, he might have set a record. Seeing their competition, the mares conceded the contest and walked down the bar. “Hmp.” Mule emphasized his point by taking a large bite. “I really should have put it together sooner, or turned on the light to the room”--Mule chewed slowly--“or... um... or the flowers. I should have thought about it with the flowers but--” “It’s a good oat cake,” Mule made a pointed look to Quick. “But--” “Could do without the fanfare.” “But--” “Eat your oats,” Mule demanded as he slid the plate and untouched lemonade to Quick. Seeing as there was no remaining participants in the contest, Quick took his first place prize. He thought to say thanks before trying the oat cakes, but felt it was too close to an apology. Besides, he’d just get a grunt from the mule as he looked out the window. Quick burned the roof of his mouth; they were worth it. After he had soothed his palate with the cool lemonade, Mule spoke, “ ’ts not your fault, its the hat.” As amusing of a sight Quick’s breakfast might have been, Mule had both his eyes and ears pointed to the window. He didn’t need either to know the scalded stallion was giving him a look that begged to be answered. Sugar returned and wordlessly refilled Quick’s glass. They shared a look, each now nervous for their own reasons, before she left again. When she was out of earshot Mule began to answer Quick’s look, “The hat has a few ‘rules,’ can’t give it away, can’t damage it, whatever. I don’t do magic; just know its cursed.” Despite the pain, Quick was compelled to ask, “What do you mean cursed?” He wanted to continue, but regretted his inability to ask short winded questions. “How?” he managed; the word stung. “ ‘ts just cursed.” Mule stated solidly. Quick tried another lemonade remedy and waited a long minute before he felt his question was worth asking. “Artifice, rune-craft? I know enchantments--its not that.” “Don’t care,” Mule got up from his seat at the bar and glanced briefly towards the kitchen before making for the door. His slow pace afforded Quick the time to finish his glass. When Mule had disturbed the bells at the door, Sugar bussed the plate and glass while asking, “You’ll be back?” to which Quick nodded as he donned his saddlebag. From then till the bells chimed again, she watched him leave. “You put a ‘cursed’ hat on me? Why? And how bad is it? and--” Quick nearly tripped over the tracks as the morning sun blinded him, “--ow.” “You’re not dying. Hat’s got rules. I said some of ‘em. You break the rules, the hat does something.” Mule shrugged, “Sometimes its a good thing. Got you a free breakfast.” Hardly believing a hat had had him, Quick quipped, “So its some stupid superstition?” “I’m not stupid” Quick shrank for a moment, “Sorry” “Hmp.” Mule stopped, squinting in the sun, and huffed as Quick followed suit. The mule waved his foreleg and gestured to draw attention to his hoof. The next moment the hat was there. It was simply there in his hoof as if it had always been there. Mule adjusted the brim to shield his eyes and began to walk again. He was not followed for another minute. The gemstone crackled, “Business?” Mule projected his voice and spoke clearly as he said, “Confidential Investigator--” and may as well have said open sesame. The brass gate opened immediately as the gemstone crackled for just a second more. In the morning light, the yard of the Horn estate was clear to see. Some movement to the left caught Quick’s eye and some to the right caught Mule’s. On the far end of the patio was an earth pony with a net on a long pole. They were too far to discern, but it was clear they wore a sort of blue outfit that clashed with a lime coat. In the garden, an earth Mare wore overalls. Her coat made her look like she was wearing denim on denim and she pushed a cart filled with greenery. Trailing behind her was a deep green colt with reddish orange scruff that hid his horn. His mouth was filled with a large and twisted stick and he waved excitedly as they passed. While Quick waved back, Mule waved the knocker. They hardly had to wait as the door opened. “Investigator, welcome,” Silver Pocket greeted. As if the large open door were not enough of an indication, Silver waved for them to enter. When the duo had entered Silver asked, “May I?” and received an old hat. “Your endorsement has been drafted, allow me a moment to retrieve it,” he said. As the butler exited the mudroom, Mule looked to Quick and asked, “What are the rules?” “Really?” Quick whined, “we aren’t even meeting the lord.” “Yes, really. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut last time,” Mule jabbed. Quick sighed, “Um--dont speak... and leave quietly.” “And?” “And... don't look annoyed.” As Quick finished his listing, Silver had returned to the mudroom with two envelopes. As he spoke he offered them to Mule, then to Quick, then waved them back to Mule. “You may request 10,000 bits with these endorsements.” Mule, not ready to receive the envelopes at first, took the endorsements when Silver finished speaking. He held the paper awkwardly as he asked, “Is there a good room for taking questions?” Silver hummed, “Yes, there is the sun-room, the library and...”--Mule noted his lack of pockets--”...no just those two.” Quick brightened at the mention of the library, but was distracted by Mule hooving him the endorsements. “I take it the sun-room has a large window?” Mule asked. Vibrant greens and soft yellows decorated three story walls of blooming vines. The sun room was practically a conservatory and it’s humidity reflected that. The combination of an internal weather system and a semicircle of massive east facing windows cooperated to make a little patch of indoor jungle. There were several varieties of trees along a path around the windows. Each tree was distinct in some way; some trees had trunks twisted nearly into knots; some trees had flawlessly smooth bark; some trees had bark that flaked in massive pieces. Among the trees in the center of the room was a lemon tree. Besides this tree there was a short table, wide cloth chairs and benches--practically beds. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you have the time?” Mule requested from beside the lemon tree. “Oh, I do. At least until the lunch hour,” said Silver having finished pouring two glasses of lemon tonic. He poured a third. “Ask away.” Mule waited and listened to Silver pulling a chair closer, then sitting. He did not turn from the window. “Do you have family here.” “Yes, many serving Lord Horn.” “How does the lord pay?” “Oh, he pays very well. The Horn vault has always been deep.” “How are the Horns? How is Gloom?” “Horn, just the one. He’s...” Silver paused to consider his words. “Temperamental isn’t the best word, but he gets into these moods. Very different moods. He is very different, day to day. Some things are always the same though. He is very generous. He is always... distant. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. I’d say you don't know what to expect with him, but knowing him this long--well--I have a good idea most of the time.” He considered that a well enough answer as he looked to Mule. Mule evidently did not, “Continue. What is he like on a good day? A bad day?” Silver leaned back into his seat as he thought. “A good day. The lord... Gloom isn’t very talkative. If he starts a conversation, its a good day. He will talk to anypony he meets, he will sing when he composes... Music. When its him playing the music, not the enchanted ones. That’s a good day.” “How about a bad day?” “Bad days... they-- there’s a lot of ways--not... let me start again. The lord has these... moods. Sometimes for a day, a week, a month. He’s always in a mood this season. You’ve heard about the flood. Nopony talks about the flood unless they must, but Gloom... I don’t think he stops thinking about it. Not for a few months at least.” “He lost a lot,” Mule inferred. “He lost... He knew everyone, you know? I’ve heard that when he was a colt, he wasn’t like this. He talked to everypony, every day. The young heir was popular, he loved it. And... excuse me.” Silver took a deep breath and steadied his wavering breath. When he regained his composure he started again, “I think he lost the most. Most lost one or two, but Gloom--Gloom must have lost a dozen. And his mother and brother... I think you understand, don't you?” Mule looked back from the window to assure Silver, “Yes, I think I know. He visits them often, doesn’t he?” “Yes,” Silver nodded, “Some days, that’s all he will do.” “That’s a bad day,” Mule stated. “That’s a bad day.” “Excuse me,” Quick interrupted, “I'm sorry, but I’ve run out of ink.” Having no ink-pot, Quick had made use of a pen from the inn. He was partly relieved that the pen had run out of its cheap blue ink; the pen was a pain to use. “Oh, no bother,” Silver said as Mule grunted. “Have one of mine,” he offered as he pulled a sleek pen from his suit pocket. Quick offered silent thanks and prepared to take notes again. “So,” Mule captured Silver’s attention again, “There’s lots of ways, you said, he has a bad day?” “Hmm, yes. Forgive me, but when he is mourning he is... relatively easy to handle. He... Please keep this confidential.” Having returned to window watching, Mule simply nodded. “He will once, perhaps twice a year, throw these parties. They are strange things. He will make a big deal out of preparing for them; all of the staff get wrapped up in it. We all prepare for a week at least. The gallery is arranged into a proper ballroom and theater, the garden is immaculate, local lodging is reserved, etcetera. And when the day comes, nopony arrives.” “He doesn’t invite anypony?” Mule inquired. “Its strange, perhaps the strangest part. He does invite ponies. I asked Minty, the drafter, about the invitations. She said they all reached the post, Equestria Air guarantee.” Silver stopped to take a drink. “The return postage though, some return quickly. They say they’re sick, they say they’re busy. Normal. Then the letters say they have previous engagements, they are traveling. And again this seems normal except for the quantity of the letters. But then they just get bizarre. One said they cannot attend because they were ‘captured by pirates’. Another said they had been turned into cheese. All kinds of ridiculous things. And there's a dozen of them!” “And how does the lord react?” Silver waves a hoof out in exasperation and huffs, “He throws the party.” Author's Note Spent most of my writing time this week drafting and time-lining. Only 1 edited chapter this week. Originally this chapter was going to be a short interview, then a tour of the Horn Manor. The interview was interesting, but the tour sucked. It was just a dump of information and I would hate to put any kind of important information into such a terrible chapter. Unfortunately I did write the whole tour before I understood how much it sucked. The next few chapters will be interviews around the manor to break up the tour. Or perhaps a tour to break up the interviews. 7 Bad DayMule waited for Silver Pocket to regain his composure. When the stallion had set his drink down, Mule began his questioning again, “What happens at these empty parties?” “The lord, he pretends that it's normal. He will act like everypony has attended, sometimes talking to nopony. Sometimes he will pretend some of the staff are party goers. It’s--” Silver paused, “--quite awkward.” “How is he after?” “He is... refreshed. I honestly think he enjoys himself, but... It can’t be healthy.” “Hmp. When was his last party?” “It was... late Topaz. I remember we set up the Hearth’s Warming decorations just after.” “He doesn’t have these parties in the spring. Am I correct?” “In the spring... No, we’ve not had one in the spring before. Why?” “Hmp. What makes you happy, Silver? Do you have a lot here in River Horn?” “I suppose I have everything here in River Horn. My family, my friends, my work. And... what makes me happy?” “Have you married a mare? or your work? Any hobbies?” “Oh, I’m not taken, no. I suppose my work and my hobbies bleed together. I like being in charge, but not having to make the plans.” “I think we can get into the details now if you’re ready. Where were you when you heard about the robbery? What do you remember about that day? In as much detail as you can, please.” Mule: Where were you when you heard about the robbery? What do you remember about that day? In as much detail as you can, please. Silver: I woke up around 2:00 AM. My first responsibility is always to make sure that the shift change from overnight to morning goes smoothly. Everypony was accounted for, except Berry and the pegasi. Berry was sick that week. Mule: And the pegasi? Silver: And the pegasi? That’s normal, or rather, it's been normal this year. You see, the lord has a private weather team. Hmm-- 22 pegasi. They’re split, about half are technicians and half sky-workers. Anyways, all of the sky-workers have their contracts leased out this season. It's the drought, you know? We have two technicians here still, but the rest of them are in Cloudsdale. Mule: Who are the technicians? What's their schedule? Silver: The technicians? Oh, Faucet and his son Jet. Faucet is our senior engineer and Jet is still in training. They’re not a part of the shifts, I don’t oversee them. Mule: How long does turnover take? I assume some commute from River Horn. Silver: It takes until 4:00 AM. Yes, not all of the staff are housed here. Perhaps its better to call it a shift change around 2:30 and a second around 3:30 as the staff from the town group up on the walk here. Mule: Which are which? Silver: Which are which? What do you mean? Mule: Which ponies are in which group? Who lives here full time? Silver: Oh, yes. Most of the dedicated staff are housed here. The kitchen staff, the groundskeepers, the guards, the maids, the drafter, the craftsponies, and myself--of course. Mule: All of them are here full-time? Silver: No, some of the groundskeepers are from River Horn as are many of the craftsponies, but the rest are all housed here. Mule: Does your family commute? Silver: Yes, my family is here and in River Horn. You’ll likely meet my sister, Minty Page. Mule: The drafter? Silver: Yes. Mule: Are the commuters all groundskeepers? Silver: No, not all groundskeepers. We have porters come from Little Horn as well. Most of the craftsponies are apprentices and they live in town. Mule: Do the porters have a lot of work at the manor? You don’t seem to produce many goods here. Silver: No, they spend most of their time carting to and from the train station. They move materials, food, and other such. Brass is heavy you know. We make instruments on commission. They’re not all the heaviest things to move, but sometimes we make organ parts. Mule: Let's move on. What happened after the morning shift changed? Silver: Hmm. After the morning shift change, I went over the lord’s mail with Minty. I studied law in Canterlot, you know. Mule: And how long does this take? Silver: At least an hour. Mule: When did you finish? Silver: We finished at 5:29. Mule: That’s rather specific. Silver: I suppose you haven’t seen my mark? I’m quite punctual. Mule: May I? Silver: No, that would be a hassle. It’s a pocket watch. Mule: So what happened after 5:30? Silver: I was rather free to oversee the morning staff until 7:15. Mule: What happened then? Silver: The lord called then, he had awoken. Mule: What were you doing when he called? Silver: I was at the pool speaking with Hoop. I believe we were talking about rail fare. I know he had been talking about his youth in Manehatten and the coast. He wanted to visit his family. Ah, I remember. He wanted to know if the lord would fund his travel to Manehatten since rail was getting more expensive. Mule: What did the lord call you for? Silver: He calls in every morning. It’s simply his waking call where we talk, or rather I talked that morning, about the news-- there was the dérogeance of lord Key in the paper. We talked a bit over breakfast about noble responsibilities and the princess. Mule: Did he say anything unusual? Silver: No, nothing unusual. He hardly said anything-- he was having a bad day. Mule: What kind of bad day? Silver: A mourning day. He went to the mausoleum shortly after breakfast. Mule: Do you know how long he was there? Did he call you any other time? Silver: Yes, I remember. He left at 8:09. And no, I did not see him again until the evening. Mule: What time in the evening? Silver: He returned at 5:50, or rather he retired at that time. I had some dinner brought to him then. Mule: Was that after sunset? Silver: Yes, the sun had just set when he returned. Mule: Let's go over the day again. There wasn’t anypony out of place, and nothing interesting happened? Silver: No, nothing of interest. The manor had no visitors that day. Mule: Did the manor have any visitors in the last week? Silver: Not the day before, but on Sunday. We did have some visitors for Sweet on Sunday. Mule: Who? Silver: A mare and her daughter. They stayed for an hour, then left. Mule: What was the visit for? Silver: No, I don’t know why. Sweet let them in, I didn’t see them until they were leaving. Mule: How about the evening shift that night? Everypony was accounted for? Silver: The evening shift--Yes, there was nopony missing from the evening shift that day. Of course, excluding the pegasi. Mule: I’d like a list of the evening shift. Silver: I can get you a list later, yes. Mule: And nothing interesting happened that evening? Silver: Nothing happened that evening. Mule: How did the evening end for you? Silver: I managed the turnover to the night shift, then I retired at 7:06. Mule: Everypony was accounted for on the night shift? Silver: Yes, again nopony was missing. Mule: You mentioned guards. What are their schedules? Silver: Rocky Road is on duty in the mornings, Fence Bender is on duty in the evenings, and Little Anchor guards the night shift. Mule: Just the three-- Was Little Anchor at his post? Did you see him? Silver: Yes, Little Anchor was at his post. I do remember seeing him that evening. Oh, I should mention he is a pegasus. I neglected to mention him since he isn’t on the weather team. Mule: Is there anything else you neglected to mention? Silver: I don’t think so. Mule: Take your time. Slow down. Think it through. Silver: I can't think of anything more. Mule: Well, if you can think of anything come find me. Let's move on to the next morning. How did your day start? Silver: I was woken by Sweet. She looked terrible and was crying. I could barely tell what she was saying-- something about her communication network. I put it together that something had happened with her magic, but I’m not a mage. Mule: When was this? Silver: It was-- around 2:30. I didn’t check the time. Mule: So what happened with Sweet? Silver: I walked with her to the kitchen and made us cocoa. That was 2:52-- I know that. When she calmed down she told me that her communication array was broken. She was only getting noise. I didn’t really know what she meant. I thought her array was supposed to collect noise. I didn’t ask. Mule: What did she say specifically? Silver: Um. Mule: And take your time. Silver: She said, “The array, its busted.” She said that when she was still crying. When-- when she calmed down, she said, “All my channels are getting noise. I don’t know what I did. They were all good this morning, you got the mail didn’t you?” I remember I told her yes. Mule: I’ll need you to explain this communication array. I know you don’t know the magic, but you know what it does, right? Silver: Hmm. It’s-- how did she explain it. It’s a magic gem, or a group of gems rather. They send letters to each other like that expensive teleportation postage. But, it’s much cheaper-- you just can’t send parcels-- only letters. Mule: So it teleports letters? Silver: Sort of? hmm. It sends pieces of letters from one gem to another and then you have to piece the letter back together again. It’s-- It’s complicated but being complicated somehow makes it less expensive. I don’t know. Mule: So you send pieces of letters from one gem to another gem? Silver: Yes, essentially. Mule: And you said it was used for postage. How far apart can the gems be? Silver: I don’t know. I know the farthest gem is in Cloudsdale right now-- at least that far. Mule: Cloudsdale is on the other side of Canterlot right now. It can send letters through the mountain? Silver: I don’t know how it works. I’m sorry. Mule: No, it's fine. Let’s talk about things you know. So, and correct me if I’m wrong, you wake up around 2 am, Sweet is crying about her communication array, and she tells you it was working yesterday but not now? Silver: Yes. Mule: Did she say when it stopped working? Silver: No, I don’t think so. Mule: The communication array seems to be working now though. I saw it at the gate. Silver: Some of it still works. I don’t know how it’s broken but Sweet says she repaired part of it. Mule: You don’t know how its broken at all? Silver: I’m an earth pony, not a mage. Mule: And that's fine. Let's move on. What happened next? Silver: I left Sweet in the kitchen and I fetched Fence. We explored the tower to see if we could find the damage to the array. I didn’t do much. Mule: Why Fence? Little Anchor was on duty. Silver: I wanted a unicorn. Mule: Fair. Did Fence find anything? Silver: She said there was a lot of energy discharged and that the aura was all wrong. I don’t know what that means, but that’s what I repeated to Sweet. Mule: I’ll be sure to ask Fence later. What happened next? Silver: I returned to Sweet and Fence and went to get Rocky and Anchor. I stayed with Sweet until sunrise. Mule: What did you do together? Silver: We moved to the library and talked about her time in school. Mule: Her time in school? Silver: It helped distract her. She liked her time in school very much. We talked about her school and then her favorite professors and classes. Mule: You talked in the library until sunrise? Silver: Yes. Mule: What was notable about sunrise? Why did you stop? Silver: Rocky found us, and told us about the cemetery. It was terrible, the bars were broken and-- Mule: Slow down. Let's go through this slowly. What did Rocky say? Silver: He said-- what did he say-- he said, “You’re gonna want to see this.” And I said whats wrong with the tower. And he said, “It's not just the tower, somepony broke into the mausoleum.” Then we walked to the cemetery. Mule: Who all walked? And did you talk on the way? Silver: It was all three guards, myself, and Sweet. Anchor said that the spire on the tower was snapped, and he and Fence started arguing about whether it was hooves or magic that broke it. Mule: What do you remember about the argument? Silver: Hmm-- I’m sorry, I don't recall what they said precisely. I was in my own head a bit. I think it was something about hoofprints on the spire. Mule: So you get to the cemetery. They’re still arguing? Silver: No, they stopped when we got outside-- or perhaps just after. Mule: What door did you leave? Silver: It’s just here, in the sun room. There’s a door on the south side. I’ll show you. Mule: You can show me later. What did you see at the cemetery? Silver: Rocky led us to the side, away from the gate. There was a gap in the fence-- all bent out of shape. Mule: What’d he say? Silver: He said he went out to look for the spire. Anchor had found the top was snapped and told him. So he’s out looking. That must have been-- 6:50 or so. We were fetched from the Library at 7:02, I know that. Mule: What’s he looking for? Silver: For the broken tip of the spire. So he’s out looking and he’s not finding it. But when the sun rises he sees the hole in the fence and he rushes back to show everypony. Mule: And what happens next? Silver: We all climb through the hole to the mausoleum. The door is clearly broken-- lots of pieces everywhere. I tell them, the guards, I’m going to get the lord and I leave. Oh, and Sweet comes with me. Mule: So you both go to the lord. Silver: Yes. Well, I go to the lord, Sweet went to her tower. Mule: Did she say why? Silver: No. Mule: And how did Gloom take the news? Silver: I’ve never seen him angry before then. Well, I’ve seen him shout in pain and such, stub his muzzle-- but never this-- this directed anger. He pushed past me and galloped to the cemetery. Mule: Did you follow? Silver: Yes, quite easily. The lord is-- not in peak fitness. Mule: What happened next? Silver: He pushed into the mausoleum. I think there was broken glass, so Fence got in his way to tell him. Gloom pushed past her and just-- I don’t know. I’m sure its a unicorn thing, but his horn was flaring and he was crying, but he was still so angry. I didn’t get close enough to hear him, but he was talking. Mule: Talking to himself, or did the guards enter with him? Silver: To himself. Mule: And the glass, where did the glass come from? Silver: The back side of the door. On the inside of the door is a glass painting. Mule: What was the painting of? Silver: The painting was of a white conductors baton. Gloom-- When he-- He fixed it. Mule: He fixed the painting? Silver: Yes. He stopped talking after a minute or so and gathered all the glass together and just-- he just put it back together like it was nothing. Mule: Had he calmed down? Silver: No. I think he was angrier after he put it together. Mule: What happened next? Silver: He walked back to the gallery. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t say anything. He locked himself in the gallery then and he started to play his organ. It was-- It was beautiful and sad and angry. I think they could hear it from the river. Mule: How long did he play? Silver: It was-- 2:05 the next morning. He performed for nearly 19 hours, then he passed out. Mule: Did anypony get into the room before then? Silver: No. The guards posted themselves next to the door and wouldn’t let anypony try. I don’t blame them; I think they kept ponies safe. Gloom was-- He was not in control. Mule: What was done when the lord stopped playing? Silver: We had a doctor fetched already from River Horn. Dr. Splint, I believe. Gloom had his hooves bandaged and was given some medicine to prevent infection. It was just bed rest then. I’m terribly sorry, but it's nearly 11:00, and I have responsibilities. Mule: I understand. Thank you for your time Silver. I think I have most of what I need. If you would get that list to me, of the night shift, that would be appreciated. Silver: I’m afraid I may not get to that today. Do stop by with Minty and she will copy the rosters for you. Mule: Will do-- Oh and show me that door before you leave. I, Silver Pocket of River Horn, certify that the foregoing is a true and correct copy of a recorded conversation I had with Mule of Trottsville, Private Investigator (Independent), on the morning of Aqu 11, 999. Author's Note I would have liked to quote the transcript portion like I do with newspapers, but it doesn’t play nice with FIMFic’s TTS feature. Also, I can’t tab-space the transcript to make it look nice, it just condenses to a single space 8 Rose BundleThe dining hall was nearly as warm as the sun room, but in the place of smothering humidity there was the enveloping fragrance of fruit and pastries. The room was half the length of the Gallery, but equal in its width. The spacious place was faced with cases of rich brown around wide windows. There were a number of large tables, mostly filled; there were a few smaller tables tucked where the larger could not fit, empty. At the large tables it was clear that some ponies grouped themselves by profession. At the most crowded table were ponies with cutie marks of bowstrings, of hammers, of cane reeds, and of all kinds of musical doodads. The next most crowded table covered their cutie marks with denim overalls. The rest of the tables were harder to discern. There were ponies outfitted as porters sitting with masons and many others. From one of these mixed tables, a scruffy green colt waved to Quick. Quick waved back from his small table in the corner. “What are these?” Mule asked. Breaking from his greeting, Quick looked down at their table. He looked up again at Mule and asked, “You’ve never had salsa?” “Look closer, not salsa.” Following Mule’s direction, “That’s not salsa,” Quick confirmed. Mule took a chip and brought it uncomfortably close to his eye, “I don’t think it’s chips either.” “They must be chips,” Quick thought aloud. He looked, briefly, to the other tables to see some digging into their own ‘chips and salsa.’ He took a chip in his hoof and looked it over; he saw something was off, but could not place what it was. Whatever it was, it looked good to eat, and so Quick ate the chip. Finally finding what it was he cheered, “Cinnamon!” “Cinnamon chips?” As if to confirm Mule’s question, Quick scooped salsa onto his next chip and brought it closer to see. “I think it’s-- it’s fruit. It’s a fruit salsa, I can see strawberries,” he stated excitedly. “Hmp. Odd.” “Good,” Quick corrected, mouth full of chips. “Hmp,” Mule capitulated, mouth full of chips. When the chips were gone, Quick brought out the transcribed conversation and started to look over it. “So, what do you think happened?” he asked. “I don’t know yet,” said Mule as he wiped his mouth while looking at the remaining half bowl of salsa. “Don’t get those notes sticky.” “Sure. Nothing at all? Do you not trust Silver?” Mule snorted and said, “I don’t think Silver lied to me.” “Oh?” Quick leaned into the table, intrigued. “He’s got no stake in this. He only loses if we don’t solve this.” Mule leaned back in his chair, “What do you think?” Quick took a momentary glance at the pages in his magic, “I think he cares a lot about Gloom.” Mule looked out the window, despite it being across the room. “Go on, whys that?” he asked. “He only got all worked up when-- when he was thinking about him. The parties and-- and he really got worked up when Gloom was angry.” Mule gave half a smile, “Did you notice? He didn’t ask Sweet why she left him. I don’t believe he thinks about other ponies when Gloom is involved.” Quick took a moment to think about what Mule said. He watched a blue stallion dressed in white carry a number of baskets to each table while he said, “It makes sense. His whole life has revolved around him, right?” “Hmp. He was raised with stories about him, he probably paid for Silver’s law schooling. Now his every day is about Gloom,” Mule affirmed. The stallion ran out of baskets. “He didn’t do it,” reasoned Quick. Again, Mule half smiled, “Oh, he definitely didn’t do it. And he wouldn’t be an accomplice either.” Quick started putting the pages back into his bag. “You think there’s more than one pony involved?” The stallion grabbed one more basket. “I said I don’t know yet.” He was half way to their table. Quick watched as the stallion placed the basket at their table, turned, then walked away. “I think we should see the cemetery.” “I think we should finish our lunch.” Mule took a chip from the basket and, without looking from the window, dipped and ate it. “And then see the cemetery.” “Hi! I’m Bundle! Who’re you?” Mule and Quick had just left the dinning room when a rust maned colt puttered his hooves across the hardwood to follow. Quick waved, “I’m Quick.” “Hmp.” “He’s Mule,” Quick gestured. Bundle quickly inserted himself between them. “What do you do? You’re new.” Bundle looked up at Quick’s horn, “Do you do magic? I love magic!” “I umm...” “We keep walking,” grumbled Mule . Bundle frowned. “That’s boring. My brother walks all day to the train and he’s boring.” “I do some magic,” Quick volunteered. “Oooo show me, show me!” Bundle bounced in excitement as he trotted. They had entered the sun room as Quick explained, “Uh, it’s kind of hard to show. Do you know what arithmancy is?” Bundle was equally amazed and horrified as he asked, “You use magic to make spiders?” Mule grumbled again, but to himself. He advanced his pace and exited the southern door ahead of the others. “No, I use magic to do math,” Quick corrected. As if his coat could get more disheveled, Bundle creased his muzzle and stated, “Lame.” “Oh,” said Quick. He was, for a moment, downtrodden before he quipped, “Hehe, would you rather do the math yourself?” Bundle’s eyes widened and he gasped, “I can make the magic do my math work? Show me! Show me!--” “Maybe later, okay?” Quick interrupted Bundle’s cheering. “Okay,” Bundle said, no amount of cheer lost. He then pointed to Mule, who was just reaching the corner of the cemetery. “So what does he do?” “He’s a detective,” Quick supplied. Bundle looked up at Quick and confusion was clear on his face, “Where are all his gadgets?” “What?” Quick returned the confusion. “His gadgets! Where is his grappling hook?” Bundle made a pushing motion with a hoof as he walked. He mimicked a psh-shooo, then looked to Quick to see if he was understanding. “Oh, you’re thinking of Batmare,” he recognized. “She’s awesome!” Bundle pumped a forehoof in the air and skipped a step with a small hop. “Yeah, ummm. You saw how old he was?” Quick gestured to Mule, who was walking well ahead around the long perimeter wall of the cemetery. “Yeah, he’s all grey and stuff,” said Bundle. He stretched and made himself as tall as he could and whispered, “and he smells kind of old too.” Quick looked down at the colt, who returned his gaze with curiosity and expectation. “So uhh... it’s like...” he remembered how excited Bundle was about Batmare, “he’s too old to be doing back-flips and stuff.” “But what if there’s a super mystery and like he needs to do a back-flip or he gets caught?” “Uhh... what if... they can’t tell hes a detective because he doesn’t have his... stuff.” Lame, Quick thought and grimaced slightly. “Oooooh! Hes undercover!” Bundle ate it up. “Yeah, kinda.” Bundle took two steps away and asked, “So what are you?” as he looked at Quick in full. “Huh?” Quick didn’t follow. “Are you his sidekick?” Bundle guessed. “Umm. Kinda.” Bundle gasped even louder, “O-M-C! You couldn’t tell me all the awesome magic you know because it’s all for fighting bad guys, right?” he asked as he practically danced beside Quick. “Umm.” Quick responded. Lamely. Again. “Get over here!” Mule hollered. He was standing, as he had been for nearly a minute, at the fence. Quick picked up his pace and, smiling, swept Bundle onto his back with his magic. They reached Mule half way down the long north face of the cemetery. The fence itself was simple. Like the front gate, the pickets were tubes of brass. Unlike the gate though, the fence was tarnished and woven between them were numerous vines flowering in yellows, whites, and oranges. At the place where Mule stood though, the fence changed. Where normally there was a hoof-length between the bars, here they were bent. Along a length of eight bars, each were bent to accommodate a oval-ish opening. “Listen up!” Mule bellowed, despite Quick having closed the distance. “I don’t want anything disturbed. You, colt.” Bundle waved from Quick’s back. “You stay on his back, or you stay outside. Got it?” Bundle nodded. “Quick.” “Yes?” “If I say something, you write it down. If you see something, write it down. You don’t have to tell me. Got it?” “Got it.” Aqu, 11, 999 Impressions of the crime scene: Mule: Look here, on the ground. There’s vines. They’re not clipped, they’re snapped. Somepony pulled them off the bars (1). Mule: There’s no metal pieces on the ground. Follow behind. Quick: Basic scan shows no enchantments at the breach or on the surrounding fence. Mule: Ground is dry (2). We couldn’t get good prints anyways. Wow. I can see why he was angry. Lets start on the ground. The left door is shattered (3). Two major pieces, lots of rubble. Right door is faring better. Its got the painting (4). Red baton. It’s supposed to be white. Bundle: Creepy. Quick: Painting responds to basic scans. Very energy dense. Don’t touch it. It’s hot-- dangerous. Bundle: Cool! Mule: Look at the hinges (5). Right hinges are untouched, left are shredded. Left door took the majority of the force. Look at the way the pins sheared. The doors were pulled outwards. There’s a chunk missing from the right door (6). Go find where it landed-- see if has some kind of lock or bolt in it. Quick: The missing pieces are scattered between 4 and 8 hoofs towards the north west corner of the cemetery. Big piece has a metal chunk. Can’t tell what it was. Mule: Let me see. Quick: No residual magic in the metal chunk. Here Mule: Hmp. Yep, that held the door closed. Did a good job if they had to tear it up that much. Don’t follow me in. Lets see, there’s some urns here (7). Looks like they were disturbed. There’s some circles around where they normally sit, but they’re not on them. It looks like there’s-- yep. Ok, this is where the heirlooms were. Left is the lord, right is the lady. Bundle: Should he be um... I don’t think you’re supposed to open them. Quick: He knows what he’s doing. Mule: They missed some of the gems here. Quick: What about the ledge there. In the center. Mule: Empty (8). I don’t see an impression; it’s very clean. Looks like-- yep, this is Loud Horn’s. I don’t think he-- there's no urn (8). You see anything interesting colt? Bundle: No. But the door was real loud (9). Mule: What do you mean loud? Bundle: When they broke the door, it was real loud. Quick: Yeah, all this rubble-- and the door falling. Bundle: Yeah, it woke me up. Mule: It woke you up? Do you know when? Bundle: Uhhh. Quick: Did you see a clock? Bundle: Yeah. Quick: What did it say? Bundle: I dunno. I’m not good at clocks. Mule: Do you remember what numbers the clock was pointing to? Bundle: Uhh-- One was pointing straight up and the other one-- it was up too but not as much up. Quick: Do you know which was the shorter arm? Bundle: Uhh. No. Mule: One arm was pointing up. Was the other one on the left or the right of it? Bundle: This side is left? Mule: Yes. Bundle: Left. Quick: approximately 11:45 to 12:00 (9). Thank you Bundle. Mule: That’s a big help, colt. Lets check the gates now. They might have tried those first. No. Doesn’t look disturbed (10). Quick: East gate is not disturbed (10). Mule: Lets check the other side. It’s closer to the main gate anyways. No. Nothing here either (11). I’m gonna peak in here (12). Do your magic thing or whatever on the gate. Bundle: Show me! Quick: Here, touch my horn. Do you feel that? Bundle: It’s warm and kinda bzzzz but like I feel it in my teeth. Quick: That’s what my scanning spell does. When I throw some magic out and it hits some other magic it will come back. And if the bzzzz changes then I know I hit something. Bundle: Can you teach me that? Quick: Maybe later. Oh-- Bundle: What? Oh you found something! Mule: What is it? There’s nothing in the shed (12). Quick: The gate. There’s some kind of enchantment (13). Mule: You sure it’s not one of those opener gems. Quick: No. Look, there’s a normal lock for the gate. Mule: So what does the magic say then? You know what it does? Quick: Hmm. No, I can’t tell without potentially damaging it. Bundle: I think I know! Mule: Go ahead. Bundle: When me and Bramble play we-- Promise you won’t tell my mom? Quick: Promise. Bundle: We aren’t supposed to play in here. And when we do Miss Dreams always tells my mom about it. But look at the tower! You can’t see the gate from the tower since the tree gets in the way. I think the magic lets her see the gate. Mule: Nice deduction colt. There’s a magic alarm on the gate. Quick, did you scan the other gate? Quick: No, give me a moment. Mule: You can put him down. Quick: Yeah. It’s the same on the other gate (10). Mule: How about the fence? Quick: Definitely not. Mule: You scanned it already? Quick: When we entered and on my way to the east gate and back. Mule: Good. How about the mausoleum doors? Quick: Definitely nothing. The enchantments would be much less durable than the doors. Mule: Can you tell if they were enchanted before they were broken? Quick: Maybe if Gloom didn’t have a flare in there. Mule: Hmp. Lets get going. Carry Bundle out please. Bundle: Wheee! On the back of the page is a rough sketch of the scene. Author's Note This was a fun one to write. 9 Rock“I’ve been looking for you, sprout,” said a deep baritone voice. Down the hall was an ash dark earth pony with a striking harlequin green mane. “Hey, Dad!” Bundle waved, then pointed to Quick beside him, “Quick is showing me magic!” Despite the enormous width of the manor’s corridors, the gray stallion seemed to fill its majority with his smile as he said, “That’s awesome, Rose Bundle.” He looked to the unicorn and mule standing outside of the sun room and addressed them, “You must be the investigators.” “I am.” Mule confirmed in a voice that was clear and deliberate. “Well, thanks for dealing with this scruff ball. I know he’s a hoof-full--I’m Rocky Road.” he held a hoof out in greeting, to which Mule pressed firmly against as he spoke. “I’m Mule. This is Quick Sort.” Mule said. “Good to finally meet you. I’d missed you on your first visit.” Rocky addressed his son, “Bundle, you didn’t cause these stallions any trouble, did you?” “No, dad. Mr. Mule said I was very helpful,” Bundle smiled. “He wasn’t any trouble,” Quick confirmed. “Though we would like to trouble you for an interview, if you have the time,” said Mule. “Sure, I can,” Rocky offered, then looked to Bundle, “You should go find your mother, sprout. She has some chores for you and you ran off in the middle of lunch.” “Awwwww. But magic!” Bundle whined. “No buts... But--” Rocky motioned for Bundle to come closer and whispered conspiratorially, “--if you show your mother some new magic, I’m sure she’d love it.” Bundle nodded and smiled as he pattered and bounced away down the corridor. “Now,” Rocky spoke to Mule, who’s back was still lit from the open door of the sun room, “where would you like to have this interview?” Mule: Before we get into the details, I’d like to know you. Tell me about yourself Rocky. Rocky: Where should I start? Mule: Where are you from, Rocky? Rocky: Well I was born in a little town north of the Unicorn Range called Pickseed. You wouldn’t have heard about it before. There’s some 30 ponies there now. It’s a bit north of Two Filly Peak. Mule: What do they do at Pickseed? Rocky: Not much to do but farm. There’s decent soil and we’re on the wet side of the mountain. Cloudsdale is close-- most years-- so we did alright. Mule: Why’d you leave? Rocky: Just too small. I know my cutie mark is a rock, but it’s not about me being a work horse. It’s-- well it’s a story. Mule: Hows it go? Rocky: Eh, we were working the field. My brother and father were having a terrible time with this boulder. We get rock-storms in Pickseed. I don’t know how they happen, but when the mountain avalanches we get showered in small stones. All the big rocks don't make it to us. Except that year. That year we got the biggest boulder we ever had. It was in a terrible spot too. I don’t recall why, but it just needed to go. So my brother and father were out there with this massive boulder. And I ask them how I can help and they say I can’t. I was just a colt then. I’m sure they didn’t want to flatten me trying to move the thing. Anyways, I started going neighbor to neighbor asking them about big rocks. Turns out most of them can’t help because they have their own rocks. So I finally get, uh-- a bit mad. Instead of asking for ponies help I started telling them what to do. Turns out, if we all worked together we could get those rocks pushed easy. So we did that, and we did it all day. It was probably at the first boulder we moved that I got my mark. Didn’t really see it until we were helping old Bow. Mule: So your marks about giving orders. Rocky: It’s about teamwork. Mule: I see. Not enough things for teamwork to do in Pickseed? Rocky: Exactly. I joined the guard when I figured that all out. That was some-- 5-- 6 years later though. Mule: What did you do in the Guard? Rocky: I was a corporal most of my time. I worked in the National Defensive Works Projects corps. Spent 8 years regulating and digging firebreaks south of Everfree. Mule: You’re not a guard now. Why’d you go private? Rocky: I met a mare-- Seam Jacket, love of my life. We’ve been together almost 14 years now. Mule: What did you do for work between leaving the guard and working for lord Horn? Rocky: Oh, Gloom was setting up his personal guard when my contract ended. It just worked out. Mule: And you’ve been here since? Rocky: Since 84. Mule: Okay, Rocky Road. I think we can begin. Did anything stand out to you on Tuesday, the day before the theft? Rocky: No. Mule: Walk me through that day. Rocky: Well I start my mornings at 2 am. I relieve Anchor at 3. Then I work until about noon. Eh, I think Seam took Brick into town for his summer shoes that afternoon, so I watched Rose Bundle. We were in the library for a few hours. I remember there was squash in the mess hall that evening. Seam was bummed since she missed it-- I think it’s the last of the winter squash season. Mule: Brick is your older son? Rocky: Yes. I assumed you knew, since Bundle was with you? Mule: He mentioned Brick is a porter. Rocky: Eh, sort of. He wants to join the guard like his pops, so he’s always trying to be athletic. Sometimes I think he believes my cutie mark is about being strong and lifting big rocks. He’ll learn-- I hope. Mule: So he isn’t employed here? Rocky: No, hes just a bit too young for the lord to hire. He makes himself busy anyways. Calls it his training. Mule: Let’s move on. Rocky: Alright. Mule: When did you sleep that evening? Rocky: Well, I started trying to sleep about 6:30. Wasn’t ‘till 7-- eh, 8 when I actually slept. Mule: 7 or 8? Rocky: 8. Mule: When did you wake up? Rocky: It was 2 am, when I normally get up. Mule: Did you wake up before then? For any reason? Rocky: No, I don’t think so. Mule: You don’t think so? Rocky: No. I didn’t wake up. Mule: Alright. So you’re up. It’s a normal wake-up. You start your routine? Rocky: Yes. Mule: Can you remember anything out of place before you started your shift? Rocky: Eh-- Mule: Take your time. Rocky: Eh-- My toothbrush was in the wrong cup. Mule: That all? Rocky: Yep. Mule: Okay. Did you have any open windows? Rocky: Eh, no. Why? Mule: Not important. I think we should talk about your shift. You relieved Little Anchor from his post. Correct? Rocky: Yes. Mule: He was there at his post when you went to relieve him? Rocky: Yes. And he was there at the start of his shift too. Mule: You saw him? Rocky: Eh, no. I hear he was seen there. Mule: Heard from who? Rocky: Eh-- I don’t remember. Mule: That’s fine. Tell me if you remember later. What about Little Anchor-- Did he look like he normally does? Did he look tired? Rocky: Yeah, he always looks tired. Mule: Did he look more tired than usual? Rocky: No. Mule: Did he look disheveled in any way? Rocky: Yes, but-- eh, that’s also normal for Anchor. Mule: So he looked like-- Rocky: He was a tired mess. That’s just Anchor. Mule: Alright. You’re at your post now. What happens next? Rocky: Eh, nothing until an hour later. Mule: Nothing? What do you normally do? Rocky: We-- eh-- Okay, this will take some explaining-- so you know Silver? Mule: Yes, I’ve met Silver. Rocky: Okay, so Silver-- The lord doesn’t really take charge. And Silver-- he’s supposed to be his butler but it’s more like-- eh-- hes kind of the lords manager? Quick: You mean he acts more like his steward than a butler? Rocky: Yeah, that’s it. He’s a steward-- running the whole property. But, if the butlers being the steward then who’s the butler? So, eh, we kind of end up being his butlers. At least, when we’re here at the manor. Mule: When you say we, you mean all of the guards? Rocky: Yes. Mule: And you do actual guard work-- Rocky: When we’re out of town with the lord. Mule: So you stand at his door doing nothing. Rocky: Not all the time, we still have responsibilities. That’s just, eh-- you get it. Mule: What kind of responsibilities? Rocky: Oh um, well Fence works with Sweet and does all the magic security. Anchor does night watch and air safety. I end up doing a bunch of geotechnical surveying every few months. Mule: Geotechnic surveying? Rocky: Yeah, I get some crews to dig up soil up river. We do some tests and look at last years riverbeds. River Horn lives on the Foal River and dies on that river-- it’s important work. Mule: I understand. But you weren’t doing any of that on Wednesday morning? Rocky: Just standing there. Mule: For an hour. Rocky: About an hour. Mule: So what happened in about an hour? Rocky: Well, Silver comes out of the library and starts telling me there’s something wrong with the tower. I don’t know magic, and I know he doesn’t either but he looks all worried. So I think the worst, and I ask him, “Do we need to evacuate?” I don’t think he heard me-- He just tells me to look around outside and he leaves. Mule: He didn’t hear you? Rocky: He didn’t stop to talk. I don’t think he even turned his ears to listen to me. Mule: Alright. Was Fence with him? Rocky: No. Eh-- I didn’t see her until way later. Mule: How much later? Rocky: Eh-- Mule: After sunrise? Rocky: No-- but not too long before. Mule: So, Silver told you to go outside. What happens next? Rocky: Well, I go outside and I look at the tower. It’s really hard to see-- even when I-- Here look. Way out there I walked out there and looked up at the tower. Mule: But you couldn’t see the tower in the dark. Did you have a light? Rocky: I have a watch-charm on my helmet, but it was a new moon. No moon means no night vision. Mule: How long were you out there? Rocky: Oh, I was out there until sunrise, but this was eh-- like 10 minutes later I start seeing Anchor with a lamp up flying around the tower. Mule: So you look in the dark for ten minutes and then Anchor starts flying around? Rocky: Yes. Mule: Continue, please. Rocky: Eh-- So I’m looking up at the spire and I see-- Okay, so you saw the spire. It’s all broken right now, and that’s what it looked like then. There’s a really tall thin part at the top that all the pegasi complain about. It’s really hard to see and they want to put a flag on it or something but Sweet says they can’t. Anyways, I’m looking up at the spire and I think I can’t see the long part because it’s just dark and hard to see. But, Anchor just keeps flying circles around it. I figured it out when he flew through were it was supposed to be. Mule: How long did that take? Rocky: Oh just a minute or so. After that I yelled up at him, since I don’t think he could see far with his light. He lands and starts talking about how the spire’s missing-- It’s just snapped off. So he and I talk about how it happened and we both look around the tower for broken pieces. Mule: How do you think it happened? Rocky: Well, when I first saw it I thought-- oh, the magic thing broke; it’s probably a magic thing. Mule: You changed your mind? Rocky: Yeah, eh-- When we found the top part of the spire there were hoofprints on it. Mule: How did that change your mind? Rocky: Well, if there’s hoofprints on it then somepony smacked it. Way I see it, only a pegasus could do that. Pretty simple. Mule: Seems like Anchor and Fence had a disagreement over that. Rocky: Yeah, eh-- Anchor didn’t find any prints on the top of the tower and kept arguing it was magic. He and I started that argument-- So after we found the broken piece he turned it about and looked at the broken edge and the hoofprints and he flew back up top. When he came down he just wouldn’t stop saying that it was magic that broke the spire. He repeated over and over that there’s no way a pegasus could have done it without leaving prints on the top of the tower. I argued he could have missed the prints in the dark or maybe they hit it in flight with only their forelegs. They could have never touched the base of the spire-- you know? Mule: I believe I do. So you disagree about how the spire broke. How long did you argue about this? Rocky: Eh-- an hour at least. Mule: What ends the argument then? Rocky: I got tired of saying the same thing to him. We had more important things to do so I just said he won. Mule: But you still think it was a pegasus? Rocky: No doubt. Mule: What did you do next? Rocky: Well, I wanted to search for any foul play. Maybe something left behind in the flowers. You can see they’re pretty dense this year. Anyways, I went back inside and got a decent light. I searched maybe an hour. Probably more like half an hour. Mule: Did you happen to check the time when you were inside? Rocky: No. Eh-- actually I think the chiming clock in the kitchen was going off when I was leaving. Mule: What door did you leave? Rocky: It was the north service exit by the storeroom. Mule: You’ll have to show it to me. After. Rocky: Yeah. Mule: You searched for half an hour. Did you find anything? Rocky: I found a few shards from the broken spire. Nothing really important, but I boxed them up to help with repairs. Mule: You moved them? Rocky: I think I got almost all of them, yes. Mule: And that's all you found? Rocky: Yes. Well, that’s all the stuff I found. I found the broken fence too. Mule: Yes, let’s get to that. Up. We’re going to the cemetery. I, Rocky Road of River Horn, certify that the foregoing is a true and correct copy of a recorded conversation I had with Mule of Trottsville, Private Investigator (Independent), on the afternoon of Aqu 11, 999. Author's Note So sorry, I couldn’t keep Bundle in this chapter for very long.
1 Chance 2 Aqu 999 Noble House of Keys Disgraced Count Corrugated Convicted! In the royal investigation with regards to Griffonian Espionage, Count Corrugated Keyway has been found guilty. The Nobility of the house of Keys has been revoked with all holdings forfeit to the crown. See the full story and interview on page 3. Tariffs Rising! The EOFA has issued increased tariffs for... “Quick,” Professor Quotient addressed sharply. “Huh, wh- yes Quotient?” Quick Sort was ripped from the news and returned to his seat. “Perhaps you need to step out for a moment?” Quotient all but commanded as she eyed the newspaper. “Yes. Thank you professor,” Quick spoke without thought as his eyes returned their lacking focus while he packed up his saddlebag. Fractional Quotient was by all definitions a task master but Quick hardly noted his arithmancy professor’s uncharacteristic charity, lost in thought as he imagined his future. Tuition for Celestia's Gifted was paid for in a hefty sum of bits and greased by noble titles, both of which Quick Sort found quite short. Quick reasoned that nepotism was out of the picture and so was graduation. Just a year more and he could have earned his stars in both arithmancy and enchantment. Quick took a moment to kick himself for attempting both stars at once. He knew that if he’d gotten just his enchantment star he would at least be employable in Canterlot. Maybe that was the solution, to leave Canterlot. There were always postings for bosun back home and he just had to make enough bits to finish his stars. On a train to Baltimare sat a young stallion. Beside him was a bag filled with stationary and a single bit. The stallion was difficult to see in the dim economy car, with the exception of a bright yellow cutie mark. Placed on his slate grey coat was a manila folder, left open to show three papers. His unkempt navy blue mane shook and his long legs were aching to be stretched as the train squealed and slowed. “Water stop! One hour! This station is Trottsville!” The conductor hollered to each car as she passed down the station platform. Quick groaned and strained his eyes as the afternoon sun entered the dark cabin. The platform outside the open door was hardly crowded as, despite the call to disembark, few ponies exited and fewer still waited for a train. Seeing the open space on the platform Quick felt it would be good to spend the hour on his hooves and, thinking better than to leave his meager funds unattended while he exercised, he wore his saddle bag. “Eeek!” he exclaimed as his loin was damp and cold. Tossing the bag to the ground, Quick found that the bag had been soaked through with ink. He craned his neck to look at his back. A tired sigh accompanied a tired walk to find some sort of rag. A paper stand caught his eye; it seemed news-rags would do the job. One inky bit and ten inky rags were spent before the considerably darkened saddlebag was clean. While tossing the papers a small and remarkably clean patch of text caught Quick’s eye: Help Wanted: Pony (EP)--wanted to haul grain; interview Lower Canterlot, Copper Mill; 2 bits Pony (EUP)--Young, wanted to file papers, general assistant; trot in interview Trottsville, Mule PI; 3 bits; immediately; NO POST Pony (P)--Dry thunder specialist; 10 bits; interview at Cloudsdale We... WOOOOOooooo, the train horn bellowed. “All Aboard!” the Conductor called. Quick pulled himself from reading to search for his ticket. “All Aboard!” was called again. His bag was turned out, empty. “All Aboard!” the Conductor called, one final time. Quick tore through the dirty rags to search; blackened and crumpled near the bottom of the pile was a single scrap of paper with the distinct shape of his ticket. “Ponyfeathers” “It’s a bit late for an interview,” a mule spoke from the doorway as he squinted to see through the setting sun. Above the doorway in faded black lettering hung a sign that read: Mule Private Investigation Appointment only “Sorry” Quick apologized, ducking his head slightly. “Hmp,” the mule grunted, turned and walked inside. He paused, “Well?” “Oh” Quick replied, nearly tripping over himself to follow the mule. They walked a short ways, down a short hallway, in a short building. The building was decorated with only a few windows, the hallway was decorated with only a few doors, and the walk was silent. “Here’s my office,” the mule spoke as they came to the end of the hall. The mule opened the door to reveal a simple robust desk accompanied by a cushioned seat. One wall was dominated by a large window, with the opposite wall being adorned with only a simple hat rack. On the rack was a weathered old fedora. Behind the desk, the wall was bare except for cracking tan paint. “There’s a chair in the corner, sit,” the mule said as he took his seat. From his simple wooden chair, Quick could finally take a good look at the mule who turned and looked out the window as he spoke, “Where are you from?” “Baltimare, sir,” Quick replied. “Train went east today. You walked?” the mule looked hale, but his gray coat was off. “Huh? No, I took the train from Canterlot.” “Hmp,” the mule grunted. “Can you read?” “Uhh,” Quick paused in confusion, “yeah.” “Hmp. Can you write?” it was the coloration, some parts of his coat darker and some lighter, that was off. Quick nodded... and then spoke, “Oh, yes.” “Whats your name?” the mule was gray with age, though he didn’t show his age in his eyes. “Quick Sort of house... of... just Quick Sort.” The mule grunted as he pulled out a desk drawer and rummaged through it. “Fill out page one”--A paper full of legal text and numbered boxes was hooved over with a pen--“front and back. The big box is for me. The date is the third of Aquamarine, ninety nine,” the mule spoke as he returned to looking out the window. Quick took the paper and pen in steady blue magic, filling the page from front to back in a moment of practiced ease. “Um, sir? The box for cutie mark is scratched out?” “Hmp. It is,” the mule eloquently clarified as he turned and gave the unicorn a deadpan look. “Oh,” Quick sheepishly looked away from the unmarked mule who was beginning to look over his paper. “They call me Mule,” the Mule stated and as he signed the document the sun set, dimming the room. “Just mule?” “Hmp. Mule.” Mule looked out the window and pointed to one of the few buildings with its lights on. “Brick Brack runs the inn; its expensive.” He pointed again to an unlit block of buildings. “Honey Paper has some cheap apartments; don’t go there. You got family in town?” “Um... no. Why cant I go to Honey Paper?” said Quick, leaving his lack of bits unspoken. “I owe her,” Mule said, then turned to Quick, “I have a room, downstairs. Clean it up and don't smoke. No company.” “Thank you.” “Hmp,” grunted Mule as he got to his hooves and slowly made his way around the darkened desk and out the door. He turned back to Quick, who was still seated, and called, “Well? Come on.” Behind an old door and down some old stairs was a large room. The room was furnished wall to wall with filing cabinets and a vintage collection of a dust enthusiast. All around the floor were empty paper boxes. Mule broke the silence, “Left wall is old cases, the rest are whatever.” “Whatever?” Quick asked. “Whatever.” “But how do you sort it?” “I don’t, that’s your job.” “No, I mean--” Mule interjected with a sigh, “Last hire put the boxed files in the cabinets.” “Well how’d they sort it? Is there an index?” “She couldn’t read.” “Oh...” said Quick as he took a better look at the many, many empty boxes. Mule grunted. “Just how long do I have to re-sort them?” “Until its sorted.” “No--” “Just have the files I need brought when I ask. Otherwise, whenever.” “Whenever.” Mule grunted. Author's Note I’ll try for one or two chapters a week. 1/20/24 Initial Post
2 Train 10 Aqu 999 Vehicular Vanishing Act Canterlot Express 948435 Missing The Neighagra Falls rail administration office reported the all clear when the massive 40 car freight train #948435 left its yard on the 5th of Aquamarine. The three day journey to Manehatten has developed into a full search and rescue effort. See the ongoing story on page 2. To join the search effort see page 5. New Methods in Rock Farming Geolomancy and aquamancy researchers Wild Fissure and Jelly Squeeze from PCSGU are baffling alchemists by turning coal into diamonds. Their secret ingredient? Just add water! Interviews and a citation for their work are on page 3. Weather Shortage This years slow winter wrap-up continues to cause issues in the weather sector. Bucket Blast, weather coordinator for Las Pegasus, states, “We make weather from water. You can get water lots of places--rivers, lakes--lots of places. You can’t get weather water out of the ground though. A late winter wrap-up means a lot of snow melted in places we can’t reclaim. About 10% of the spring weather water is stuck in the ground. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but remember this is the rainy season--it adds up fast.” Full interview page 4. Bang bang bang bang. Dust ejected from the ceiling of the file room, drifting expertly as they maneuvered into Quick Sort’s morning tea. “I’m up!” he shouted so loudly that the ceiling shook again and the dust seasoned his buttered toast. “Not up enough,” called a muffled Mule, “I want to see the new cases.” With a huff that blew a cloud of dust, Quick gathered a thick pile of case folders that were set on the cabinet nearest the door while levitating the remains of his breakfast to a waste bin. While climbing the stairs he made an effort to be loud enough for the old mule to hear him approaching. When Quick swung the door open he found Mule sitting on his cushion and looking out the window. “How many were there?” Mule inquired. “There’s eight of them,” Quick answered as he pulled them from his saddle bag and placed them onto the empty desk. “Read them out, my eyes are old,” said Mule, not looking away from the window. Quick shuffled the folders so that their tabs were visible and their names were legible. “Clock bells were stolen in Van Hoover--” “Hmp,” Mule interrupted, “too far.” “Okay, a grave robbing at River Horn manor.” “Hmp.” “... School supplies missing from--” “Too cheap.” “What? Why?” Quick responded with both intrigue and annoyance. “School wont pay what I’m worth, next.” Quick frowned, not wanting to neglect a school in need. He finally complied, schools can wait; he came here for bits. Quick returned his attention to the case files, “Officer poisoned in Baltimare.” He paused in brief anticipation. “Tell me more,” Mule requested. The case folder was the thickest out of all eight and contained two dense sets of papers bound by paperclips and a single loose sheet that levitated to Quick. From this sheet he read, “To Mule P.I. my daughter has been murdered and the guard refuses to investigate further,” Mule turned his ears as he looked out the window, “They have found nothing, no suspect, no motive. I tried to pull some strings, but there’s only so much I can do in retirement. Sharp Eyes was to inherit the estate, but with her passing I am lost. In this post I have included reports from the investigation. Please, ease my heart and find justice for Sharp. EUP LTJG Half Helmet.” Mule took a long look out the window before turning to face Quick Sort. While taking and reading through the letter for himself Mule asked, “How long was the investigation?” Quick looked over the cover pages of the two stacks of reports in confusion, there were clearly two separate investigations. After a moment comparing the dates of the reports Quick replied, “Five days for the first, two days for the second.” The letter was forgotten as Mule gave Quick his full attention, much to his surprise as this was the first time Mule appeared to give anything his full attention. “In the top left corner of the second investigation reports,” Mule directed, “does it say RBIA?” A quick check revealed, “Yes.” The word struck like a a needle and Mule deflated in his seat. For nearly a full minute he stared vacantly at the wall behind Quick, who had begun to fidget. He was relieved when Mule finally turned and looked out the window. Quick couldn’t hold his curiosity any longer and asked, “What is RBIA?” “They were...” Mule took a long, tortuous, moment of contemplation, “... they’re better detectives than I was--than I am.” Mule grunted, as if to interrupt himself and stated, “There were eight.” Quick paused in confusion, “Oh, right.” After levitating the reports and letter back to their case folder, he read the next, “Body guard for the Feather Bangers: murder or accident, from Skysafe.” “I don’t work for insurance... Whats the pay?” Mule stated. The first page of the request listed the pay as, “Fifteen thousand bits.” “I sometimes work for insurance,” Mule corrected. “Who are the Feather Bangers?” “They’re a music group from the east coast, Manehatten I think.” “You didn’t read that,” Mule noticed. “They’re popular. Or are you just a fan?” Quick insisted, “No no no, not a fan--” “How popular? I don’t see them in the papers.” “They’re,” Quick took a moment to consider his phrasing, ”more popular in magazines for young mares.” “Hmp, not touching that.” “But, the bits--” “Aren’t worth the publicity. We’re going to River Horn.” Mule rose from his seat, stretching for a moment before addressing Quick, “Pack the case file, plenty of paper, and”--He looked at the stained saddle bag--”no ink.” While Quick packed his bag he turned to Mule, who was exiting his office, and asked, “What about filing those cases, and any new cases?” Mule raised an eyebrow but kept walking as he said, “And leave you alone in my home? Hmp.” “So, give me the details,” Mule said, then took a bight of his salad before returning to look out the dining car window. Quick set down his hay-fries and washed down his oatburger with lemonade. “We’re half way there, you haven’t looked?” he asked. “That’s your job.” Mule stated, but Quick suspected Mule’s new attention for the case had more to do with gaining a window seat over lunch than with Quick’s job. The case file levitated from the overhead compartment down, ”Lets see,” said Quick as he skimmed the remarkably short letter. “There’s not a lot of details. One week ago the Horn Manor graveyard was broken into overnight. It was discovered the next day when a section--” “Was there a watchstallion?” Mule interjected. The levitating page flipped as Quick scanned both sides, “It doesn’t say.” “Hmp.” After a taking a second to regain his place in the text, Quick continued, “The next day a section of fence was discovered to have been cut. Several valuable heirlooms from the mausoleum were stolen.” He paused to take a drink of lemonade--skimming ahead as he did so--”It says to visit the manor for more details on the heirlooms, if you accept the job. The pay is--” Mule gave a dismissive grunt. “Whats that mean?” “Means the pay doesn't matter,” Mule said as he turned back to his meal. Like an itch at the back of Quick’s spine, annoyance crawled its way up his back and exited his mouth, “The pay matters when its for helping a school but not some noble’s private graveyard?” Mule snorted and appeared to almost be smiling as he chewed. “You didn’t even look at three of the cases! What are you even doing?” Quick asked, running out of steam as he noted the mule’s amusement. “What?” “You done?” Mule asked, receiving an annoyed huff in return. “I do care about the pay.” Quick did not look convinced as he took a bite of his oatburger. “Hmp. Fine,” Mule began to explain, “this client is a noble, Lord Horn--a noble who was just disrespected. He’s going to pay however much I tell him I’m worth.” Mule smiled as he continued, ”There’s no Lord in Equestria who can hear my offer and think, ‘that mule is worth more than my pride,’ none of them.” Quick’s unamused look remained as he asked, “You want to haggle them for more than a hundred thousand bits?” “A HUNDRED THOUSAND BITS! Why didn’t you say?” Quick sighed into his cold oatburger. Mule chuckled, “Heh, Lord Horn will pay a hundred twenty, at least, if I’m not too rusty.” An awkward, oat filled, acknowledgement was returned as Quick imagined. Watching the passing trees turn to fields, he imagined what a hundred thousand bits would do for him. He could certainly earn his stars, it would hardly scratch such a fortune. Quick dreamed as fields turned to river and back to fields. Maybe traveling would do him some good, to cross the sea--not as a bosun but as a privileged passenger. The sky was a soft orange when he considered the expectations of his defunct House of Keys. A noble, wealthy, and gifted unicorn should pursue the pinnacle of knowledge--found a university, invent a school of magic, anything to put your name on--all that or politics. A sharp Skreeee pierced the dinning car as Quick was recalled to reality. While waiting for the train to stop, he took stock of his surroundings. It was nearly time for sunset and the dinning car housed only Quick and his meager luggage. Said luggage lurched in its compartment as the train stopped at the platform. “End of the line! Please alight for the evening! This station is River Horn!” called a surprisingly familiar voice. Electing not to find the mule and to instead sate his curiosity, Quick peered down the well lit platform towards the conductor. She was a mare, which Quick confirmed by the sound of her shouting as she continued to call down the platform--and most definitely did not confirm by watching her tail, which was long and tied off with a green ribbon. Straining his eyes, he could tell that her coat was very light, and that she had a short brown mane, covered mostly by a red and gold conductors hat. “You can chase tail later,” Mule said as he prodded Quick from behind. Quick sputtered something between a cough and a curse, then turned--red in the face--and growled, “Don’t sneak up on me.” “Hmp. Use your ears.” Mule pointed across the station to the town, then to the right where a stone tower could be seen well above the tree line in the distance and said, “Lets get there before dark.” Author's Note I’m so sorry for the pun. Also, wow this feels so slow but there's so much to set up.
3 EntranceMule walked and Quick followed, both with a brisk pace. The sun on their backs stretched their shadows further and further. When the boarder of the estate was in view Mule slowed his pace, “Listen up,” he demanded, “I don’t care who raised you, I don’t care what you know, I don’t care how annoying this will be--you will not mess this up.” Mule looked to Quick who responded in turn with two nods of his head. “Hmp. You will speak when I tell you and you shouldn’t say much. You can look board, but you cant look annoyed--that face. That face you made looking out the train--make that face if you can manage.” Mule huffed--paused--and said, “If you must leave, say, ‘please excuse me,’ and immediately leave. And say it quiet, you’re--” “Why am I here?” Quick countered. “Hmp. You’re my errand colt, but you will be running errands on the lord’s bit.” Mule’s words dripped with annoyance, ”You can’t do that if you don't meet the lord.” “Okay, okay, got it.” “Hmp. Say it back,” the mule challenged. “All of it?” “Hmp.” “Fine--um--be quiet--if I can’t, leave--and meet the lord and... don’t look annoyed.” “Hmp. Good enough.” It was nearly five minutes later when their shadows touched the gate to Horn Manor, and another minute after when the two reached the gate themselves. The estate was fenced in its entirety in vibrant green hedges that, on closer inspection, hid a dense layer of thorns which in turn hid a fence beneath it all. In the center of the fence was a wide ornate gate made from golden brass and framed by two large brick posts. The gate was free from the surrounding greenery and through it the entire manor could be seen, in the center of the estate and surrounded by a massive patio to the left side and a vibrant garden to the right. In the ornamentation of the gate it appeared as though the pickets and rails were tubing for a massive brass instrument and atop the finial tips were works of art. Each of the fourteen tips sported a miniature instrument. There was a trumpet, an alto horn, a tuba, two prench horns, a conch, a slide whistle, a harmonica, a megaphone, and five variations of a bugle. The entire gate was lit by a white gem lamp at each post and an orange gem was inset under a brass plate on the right post. On the plate was no lettering, only an embossed picture of a rain cloud being spewed from a pipe. As Mule reached to tap the orange gem it sparked to life, glowing and vibrating in matching intensity, “Business?” the gem asked in a voice that was difficult to discern from crackling static. “Confidential investigator from Trottsville,” Mule replied without hesitation, though Quick was intrigued by the talking gem. The gem crackled for several seconds, saying nothing, before it went silent and dimmed. The sun plunged past the horizon and the moon rose dimly in its first quarter. Quick fidgeted as a light breeze picked up and danced across the green fence. A light in the distant tower lit in its highest window. The window darkened as the next lowest lit, then again and again the light traveled down the tower before disappearing. Quick made to ask if they should return to town but Mule prodded him with both a pointed look and a pointed hoof. Getting the message, they waited in silence as the light returned to the bottom of the tower, then rose and rose. When the light reached its origin the gate gem returned to life. “You are expected,” the monotone stone intoned, then shone the lone flagstones to glow. As if compelled by incantation, the gate swung open. Walking along the path through the yard, the silence between them was filled with waking nightlife. Upon reaching the door, Mule produced a weathered old fedora from nothing, to Quick’s bewilderment. Mule donned his hat, then pulled the knocker back once clack, twice clack and spoke softly, “Walk behind me.” Before Quick could question Mule’s conjuration capabilities the door opened to show a well furnished mud room and a stallion at the door. He was a pale yellow and dressed to impress in a rich brown vest and pants that covered him from shoulder to dock. The earth stallion’s mane was a layered turquoise and sea green that matched both his tail and a tuft on his upper lip that bounced as he said, “Welcome, please enter.” “Thank you,” answered Mule as he stepped into the spacious mudroom, Quick in tow. The room was furnished with benches and racks with hats. At one wall was a small coat closet and to the other was a washroom. Between them, trimmed and ornamented in carved and lacquered wood, at the opposite wall was a doorway and in that doorway approached a figure from down the long hall--a stallion in dark colors and a red robe. “May I?” the butler requested and gestured with his ears. Mule gave a slight nod and was relieved of his hat as the stallion reached the mudroom. “Your lordship, how may I assist you?” The lord Horn studied Mule and Quick studied the lord. He was a tall unicorn, though his stature was hunched, and your attention could hardly be pulled from his billowing, yet short mane. Matching his short beard, his mane was a deep blue that contrasted the rich red of his robe but blended well with his muted deep purple coat. The lord’s scrutiny had passed and he said, “Hmm, you’re the mule. Come, the gallery is where I do business,” then turned and walked down the enormous hall. Together they walked in file--lord, mule, clerk, butler--for nearly half a minute at a decent pace. The walls were broken up with many doors, but for a long while the right wall was instead decorated with paintings. It was only Quick who’s eyes were caught by the canvases. The first few were standard fare with the recognizable harsh white shapes in a recreation of Star Skipper’s Portrait of Hearth's Warming and Celestia’s gentle smile in Sun’s Justice by Bristle Brush. What followed were something between landscapes and portraits; the paintings captured beautifully realized depictions of concert halls, each with a different lone performer. While all the doors they had since passed were singular, when the lord Horn stopped it was to open a set of decorated double doors on the right wall, framed in whittled and painted musical motifs. Entering the doors was like a portal; where wood and earthen tones once claimed the walls was instead gold, brass, and warm reds and oranges. The room--nearly square--was dominated by heavy curtains along the entirety of its longest opposite end. Accented with gold, the curtains began from the ceiling, two storeys up, as a deep red and became crimson, became rust, became vibrant orange and finally reached the floor. Quick's attention was pulled from the wall of layered colors by the soft sound of a violin. In the very moment his eyes strayed from the curtains all thought of the violin vanished. At the furthest end of the room was a stage, boxed in gold with curtains partly drawn, and on the stage was it. It was a throne of brass, of pipes , of ivory, of enormous scale. Polish and no small amount of bits had made the already impressive inner workings of an organ into a work of art. The lord lit his horn and for a moment there was silence. The violin whisked away, hardly noticed in front of the massive organ, and was replaced by a flute and clarinet. When their soothing melody began, Quick's eyes were drawn back across the room, noticing a ballroom floor, then paintings on the near wall, then plinths decorated with instruments, then a small table set before them. Around the table was a couch and two cushioned seats. The seats, opposite each other about the table, were taken already by the lord and Mule. It was as Quick reached the couch when the lord Horn called to behind the couch,"Cider, hard." "Slick cherry?" the butler asked. The lord clarified, "Something hard, maybe rosé." "Coffee? Tea?" was offered to the guests. "Water." Mule ordered. Quick shook his head. When the sharp clacks of the butler on the ballroom tile became knocks on wood the lord Gloom Horn spoke. Author's Note OOOoooOO its mystery time!
4 Brass Tacks"Why should I hire you?" the lord questioned as he straightened his posture slightly. Mule matched his attention to posture and leaned forward as he stated, "I've only ever lost three cases, disregarding dismissal by a client, and I'm a stubborn old mule--that's half the job," and he nearly smiled. "And the young stallion?" "My apprentice, from university in Canterlot." With intrigue, much to Quick's surprise, the lord asked, "Your family?" Quick cringed as he told the truth, "Mundane," but it felt so much like a lie. Taking a small effort to hide his disappointment the lord Horn said, "My apologies." The butler arrived carrying a small platter on his back with two glasses, a pitcher and a red tinted bottle. From the pitcher, Mule's drink was poured and from the bottle was the lord's. The butler had only just barely finished pouring his drink when it lifted in a dusky blue glow to the lord's lips. He took a long drink and a short cough before he said, "I suppose I should start at the beginning. In my youth, my younger brother drowned during a weather accident that flooded the countryside of River Horn. Loud Horn was eight at the time, no mark yet. It burdened mother terribly until the day she joined my late father. All three rest in the Horn family crypt." The lord paused to take another long drink and Mule seized the moment, "May I ask, how long ago was the crypt last open?” When the lord set his drink down he replied, “You may. Mother was put to rest in 984, in late Garnet. The crypt was not opened since, though the mausoleum above is regularly attended. And do not spare my feelings--ask what you must.” “That was all I have, for now,” said Mule as he glanced at the curtains behind the lord. “Very well, where was I?... Oh, the heirlooms. They were buried with a number of heirlooms. Mother was buried with her favorite pieces from the vault, father was buried with the original watchstallion’s charm, and my brother was buried with his favorite toy--a short whistle. He took it everywhere,” the lord took a short drink, “Hmm, I think he blew that whistle more than he spoke. I would tease him--” “Excuse me,” Mule interjected. “Oh, yes?” “What is the original watchstallion’s charm?” Mule asked the lord. “The watchstallion’s charms are meta-stable illusion artifacts that enhance night vision.” Quick answered in excited interest. ”They are typically set into helmets as small gemstones.” Before Quick could go on, the lord smiled and said, “Yes, that is the modern charm--adapted for the Guard. The original is a necklace with a carved red garnet gemstone accompanied with a small inset blue saualpite grain.” While the lord went on, Quick met Mule’s crushing gaze and redoubled his effort to shut his mouth. “It would shimmer in the dark like a cat’s eye. The chain was bronze, coated to look silver. It is likely bronze again, but the main piece was real silver. My father developed the artifice with his mage, Sharp Baton.” The lord took another long drink, during which Quick could only further agonize under Mule’s hard look, despite the soft music. “She passed in the same flood as my brother, sun bless them.” Mule relented his assault on Quick to ask, “Was there any enchantment on your mother’s heirlooms?” The lord paused to recall, before saying, “No. They were finely crafted, but just mundane jewelry.” The lord looked between Mule and Quick while the flute faded and the clarinet began to play in solo. The sound danced in short staccato phrases, filling the awkward pause. When the flute rejoined in canon the lord regained his attention and asked, “Will you be taking this case, mule?” Without missing a beat Mule met the lord’s eyes. “I saw your asking rate and it’s agreeable for this work. I would ask for some upfront payment or to bill your estate for the cost of the ongoing investigation.” The lord looked relieved to say, “You’ll have it, but did you not bring funds with you?” “Hah,” Mule smiled, “I am not in any shape to haul bits and I’m not trusting enough for a bank.” The lord hummed to himself in agreement, “Silver, is the drafter in?” The butler, standing motionless at the door, replied, “She has retired for the evening, but she is in.” “So late already. Very well, then I will see you off with some bits for tonight. Silver Pocket will arrange your endorsement tomorrow.” Mule nodded and asked, “When may we return for further questions?” “Ask Silver,” the lord motioned to the butler, “I must be off, lest I finish this bottle.” Silver Pocket approached the table, cork in hoof, and--on seeing the bottle closely--clarified, “Sir, you have finished the bottle.” The lord hummed again and rose from his seat, “Before I start another--good night,” and on the uttering of ‘night,’ the music was cut short. “Good night”, Mule returned as the lord exited the gallery. Quick was in the process of collapsing into the soft couch as he relaxed his posture when Silver answered Mule, “The lord will be occupied until mid evening tomorrow, but you are free to enter the estate as early as dawn.” He then produced eight coins and hooved them to Mule. “Thank you, we will be off,” Mule replied, pulling Quick from the couch. They were halfway down the hall before he released his hold on Quick. Having the Mule between him and the paintings, Quick found little to entertain himself besides the doors on his side of the hall. When they reached the mudroom they had nearly left before Silver caught up to them. “Sir,” he addressed and caught Mule’s attention, holding his tattered hat. Mule took the old fedora and said, “Hmp, thank you,” before following Quick, who waited just outside. They walked across the estate in silence. The path was not lit this time, but the waxing moon was just enough to walk by, and so they reached the gate. The pair stopped before the gate and for a moment they shared the concern that they would have to wait in the cool night for it to be opened. When they approached the post Quick was true to his name in noting, “There’s another gem,” more to himself than to Mule--grunting in response--and lit his horn in a white shimmer. The gem responded, glowing in blue for a moment before the gate gently swung open. When they crossed the gate, Quick sighed and stated, “So... That was a lot.” “Hmp” “What happened to haggling?” Mule ear flicked as he said, “He’s not a disrespected noble.” Quick stopped for a moment, though Mule kept his pace, and asked in mild disbelief, “He’s an imposter?” Mule snorted, stifling a chuckle. When Quick matched pace with him again, he clarified, “He wasn’t disrespected--well he was, but that’s not why he commissioned me.” “Oh?” “He’s grieving. You can’t ask a grieving client for more... Even if they’ve been drinking.” “It’s immoral” “It’s bad business,” Mule corrected. ”And bad odds too.” “Just business?” “Hmp,” Mule grunted and looked to River Horn in the distance. “Don’t mix your money and your morals. You’ll be saving your self on both ends.” “Sure,” Quick dismissed. Author's Note For reasons of pacing and tone, I think this is where this chapter has to end. If only they reached the manor earlier in the day I could have made this chapter longer
5 Hearth and HostelMule frowned slightly more than normal as he looked over a white painted sign colored orange in the light of the adjacent window. The sign read Flat Note’s Inn, but Mule’s attention was on a small emblem in the corner of the sign. “Get us a room,” he directed to Quick, who was looking into the window of the building. There was little else to see of the building in the dark, only that it blocked the sky high enough to be at least three floors. What had captured Quick’s attention was the dancing orange light that bathed him and the smell of fresh bread. The smell was blended with oak wood, with wheat, with oat, and with an old hat. He nearly gagged, but turned to Mule and asked, “Whats the hat for?” as he pointed to the decaying fabric that was placed on his head. “For wearing,” Mule stated. “Now get us a room, no breakfast if you can.” And with that he began to walk further into town. “Where are you going?” Quick asked in mixed annoyance and resignation, hat forgotten. “Hmp.” Crackling wood accented the gentle strumming of a guitar in a tall wooden lounge. The only other sound in the night were the occasional creaking of wood from floors above and the turning of pages coming from the desk. Behind the desk was an older filly perched on a stool. The young earth pony was tan like white sandstone and had a rich brown braided mane. When the regular music of Flat Note’s was disrupted by the din of the door bells she added another paper cut to her lip. “Ouch, mmm,” she sucked her lip for a moment without looking up, then said, “Welcome to Flat Note’s, how can I help you?” In the moment it took her to mark her page and close her book, Quick basked in the warmth from the fireplace and took a reprieve from the cool night as he looked about. He saw in the lounge to his right a wide couch that faced a fireplace and before turning to face the voice he noticed a kitchen with a wide bar table. “Well aren’t you dressed up,” called the filly. “Oh, uh thank you,” said Quick as he made an effort to focus. “I need a room for two, no breakfast.” “Oh, are you sure you don’t want breakfast? I make some awesome oat cakes,” she tempted. “Yeah, I’m sure” “Oh? Oh,” the young mare giggled then shouted, “Maaaaaaaa! Out-of-towner all gussied up for a double. Is the hookup room open?” The sound of a metal sheet clattering loudly on a hard floor interrupted any thought Quick was having as an older mare wearing a white apron burst through the door to the kitchen. She had a frazzled rust orange mane that bounced with her long stride to the filly. While the older mare was similarly tan like the younger, her coat was a warmer shade and the entirety of her front was powdered in white flour. “Sugar Spice,” she puffed out flour with every word, “do you know the hour? Keep your voice down.” While Sugar Spice looked to the clock mounted above Quick, whose hands both pointed to nine, her mother looked to the stallion below. “Our most lovely room is available. I’ll have you know there is a cleaning surcharge.” Looking to the mess of flour that made a line from the kitchen to the mare before him, Quick reassured, “We will be clean.” “Hum, right.” The sour looking mare hooved a guest book from under the desk onto its top and pointed to the bottom of a list of names while Sugar sheepishly hooved a pen to Quick. As he wrote his name, the mare continued, “Keep it down. The walls are thick but they aren’t enchanted. And if you need anything, call for me; I’m Quiet Night.” “Got it.” Quick said before yawning. While Quiet Night returned to the kitchen, Sugar asked, “When can we expect her?” Quick morphed his long yawn into a, “Huh?” “The mare, do you need us to tell her the room number?” she clarified. “Him, I think he’s... running some errands. Yeah, please tell him the room.” Quick did not look back to see Sugar’s embarrassed look as he made his way to the couch. He sat in the center, closest to the hearth, and warmed himself. He listened to the sounds of the fire cracking, of a metal sheet lifted from the floor, of the gentle guitar, of a sink running, of the couch deforming as he slumped deeper into it, of hooves on tile then wood, of Quiet saying, “Give me 10 minutes and the room will be ready,” to which Quick lightly nodded and had nearly nodded off before hearing hooves approach again, much lighter this time. “I’m sorry I assumed,” Sugar apologized as she sat at the end of the couch. Quick didn’t open his eyes as he said, “What? Oh, it's no big deal.” “Still it was rude.” “Its fine.” “But--” “Hey,” Quick opened his eyes, “if it's really getting to you, you can apologize to him when he gets here.” His eye caught on some motion as he looked to the guitar and saw it playing itself with two levitating picks, black and brown. Though the rest of him was nearly asleep, Quick’s curiosity was awakened to ask, “Where did you get that guitar? Or is it a guests?” Sugar Spice was quiet for a long while. When Quick turned and looked to her, her sad gaze was broken from the guitar and she looked to him and answered, “My ma was a great friend of Sweet's mom, so it was a gift from Sweet.” “Oh, who’s Sweet?” “Sweet Dream, she works for the Horns. She’s pretty good with magic from what I’ve heard.” If Quick’s curiosity was awake before, it was now properly caffeinated. “So she's Sharp Baton's daughter?” “Yeah, you knew Sharp Baton?” “I’ve recently heard about the flood--” Quick cut himself off as he noticed Sugar’s already somber mood dropped like lead at the mention of the flood. “We lost a lot in the flood. We try not to bring it up.” Sugar muttered, barely audible. “I’m sorry,” Quick apologized. “Don't be,” Sugar comforted, “you sort of already brought it up with the guitar. It was my dad's.” Quick took a better look at the guitar, though he did not get up. It was scratched in places. It was slightly out of tune. The body was a simple agathis wood with soft flowing grains across its surface. He reached out with his magic and gently brushed against the focus of the enchantment. The picks missed a strum, but returned to their rhythm with noticeable vigor. “Wow, Sweet’s been making instruments for a while then.” ”Oh, no the enchantment was a gift from just last Hearth's Warming.” “But...” Quick thought better than to ask, but Sugar caught the question before he could ask it. “It's only the picks that are enchanted, the guitar was always his.” “I see... Thank you.” Quick smiled, tiredly. Sugar returned her own tired smile, then pulled up a book that she had placed by her side. As she began to read, Quick expended the last of his curiosity to glance at its title, Musicology and Semiotics IV. The sound of hooves on stairs turned Quick’s ears, then turned his head as Quiet Night approached and said, “Your room is ready, 210,” as she hooved him a key with a simple fob. Quiet then turned to Sugar, “How much more in that chapter, cupcake?” Quick slowly removed himself from the couch as Sweet leafed ahead and counted pages. He was passing the desk when she replied, “Like eight.” Just past the desk was a stairwell and as Quick ascended he heard Quiet’s voice fading as she said, “Eight pages, then bed. It’s a school night.” At odds with his name, Quick eventually reached the second floor and walked the only hall to its farthest end to a door numbered 210. He fumbled with the key in his hoof and then in his magic before giving up and using his mouth as the fiddly key resisted his restful dexterity. When the keyway finally relented, Quick found the room to be too dark to see, but he stumbled blindly forwards with a hoof outstretched. He took four steps before he felt the corner of the bed frame. He dropped his saddle bag. Quick trudged to the side and clambered up, then rolled onto his back in the center of the bed. He took a moment to smell the delicious roses on the bed as he summoned his magic to push the door closed. Finally, he snored. Sugar Spice was placing a red ribbon between the pages of Musicology and Semiotics IV when the door bells clattered and a tired old mule walked in. “I have a room,” he stated, though Sugar felt it was a demand. “You do? What’s your name?” Sugar shifted in her seat and swiped the book from beneath the counter. She swiftly searched for reserved rooms and found none named. “Mule.” “I’m not seeing Mule here, sir,” Sugar supplied, silently sweeping her hovering hoof past the pages of patrons. “Did he not buy a room?” Mule asked, half to himself. “Excuse me, but who bought the room? Maybe he didn’t list your name.” “Quick Sort. Young stallion, got a hat on--can’t miss it.” Sugar paled and spoke, “S-sorry,” to which Mule replied with a grumble as he turned for the door. “No wait, I’m sorry for assuming. Quick was here. He's in room 210, h-heres your key.” “Hmp.” Mule took the key by mouth and made his way up the stairs. While rounding the banister at the half-flight, he could hear the filly plant her face in her hoof, though he hardly noticed over the sound of his own steps. He passed five rooms on each side before finding the door, 210. It was slightly ajar. Mule cautiously pushed the door open, then waited a moment before entering the pitch dark. He turned to look at the wall hidden by the inward swinging door and pressed on a dimly lit oval in the dark. The room was immediately flooded in a soft pink light and Mule looked to the bed. Spread on his back, ringed in a heart of rose petals, Quick snored. Author's Note I’ve got to analyze some lab grown rocks and stones tomorrow, so I can’t promise a chapter. Next week might be 3 chapters since I think the subject of ch 6 sucks . Have a pony picture in recompense:
6 Good Day“So sorry,” Sugar Spice repeated as she poured another glass of lemonade from a wide pitcher. “Hmp.” “Very sorry,” Silent echoed while she placed two cakes from her skillet onto Mule’s plate. “Hmp.” “I'm sorry, sir,” Quick said, taking the lead in the apology contest. Were it not for a butter colored mare, he might have set a record. Seeing their competition, the mares conceded the contest and walked down the bar. “Hmp.” Mule emphasized his point by taking a large bite. “I really should have put it together sooner, or turned on the light to the room”--Mule chewed slowly--“or... um... or the flowers. I should have thought about it with the flowers but--” “It’s a good oat cake,” Mule made a pointed look to Quick. “But--” “Could do without the fanfare.” “But--” “Eat your oats,” Mule demanded as he slid the plate and untouched lemonade to Quick. Seeing as there was no remaining participants in the contest, Quick took his first place prize. He thought to say thanks before trying the oat cakes, but felt it was too close to an apology. Besides, he’d just get a grunt from the mule as he looked out the window. Quick burned the roof of his mouth; they were worth it. After he had soothed his palate with the cool lemonade, Mule spoke, “ ’ts not your fault, its the hat.” As amusing of a sight Quick’s breakfast might have been, Mule had both his eyes and ears pointed to the window. He didn’t need either to know the scalded stallion was giving him a look that begged to be answered. Sugar returned and wordlessly refilled Quick’s glass. They shared a look, each now nervous for their own reasons, before she left again. When she was out of earshot Mule began to answer Quick’s look, “The hat has a few ‘rules,’ can’t give it away, can’t damage it, whatever. I don’t do magic; just know its cursed.” Despite the pain, Quick was compelled to ask, “What do you mean cursed?” He wanted to continue, but regretted his inability to ask short winded questions. “How?” he managed; the word stung. “ ‘ts just cursed.” Mule stated solidly. Quick tried another lemonade remedy and waited a long minute before he felt his question was worth asking. “Artifice, rune-craft? I know enchantments--its not that.” “Don’t care,” Mule got up from his seat at the bar and glanced briefly towards the kitchen before making for the door. His slow pace afforded Quick the time to finish his glass. When Mule had disturbed the bells at the door, Sugar bussed the plate and glass while asking, “You’ll be back?” to which Quick nodded as he donned his saddlebag. From then till the bells chimed again, she watched him leave. “You put a ‘cursed’ hat on me? Why? And how bad is it? and--” Quick nearly tripped over the tracks as the morning sun blinded him, “--ow.” “You’re not dying. Hat’s got rules. I said some of ‘em. You break the rules, the hat does something.” Mule shrugged, “Sometimes its a good thing. Got you a free breakfast.” Hardly believing a hat had had him, Quick quipped, “So its some stupid superstition?” “I’m not stupid” Quick shrank for a moment, “Sorry” “Hmp.” Mule stopped, squinting in the sun, and huffed as Quick followed suit. The mule waved his foreleg and gestured to draw attention to his hoof. The next moment the hat was there. It was simply there in his hoof as if it had always been there. Mule adjusted the brim to shield his eyes and began to walk again. He was not followed for another minute. The gemstone crackled, “Business?” Mule projected his voice and spoke clearly as he said, “Confidential Investigator--” and may as well have said open sesame. The brass gate opened immediately as the gemstone crackled for just a second more. In the morning light, the yard of the Horn estate was clear to see. Some movement to the left caught Quick’s eye and some to the right caught Mule’s. On the far end of the patio was an earth pony with a net on a long pole. They were too far to discern, but it was clear they wore a sort of blue outfit that clashed with a lime coat. In the garden, an earth Mare wore overalls. Her coat made her look like she was wearing denim on denim and she pushed a cart filled with greenery. Trailing behind her was a deep green colt with reddish orange scruff that hid his horn. His mouth was filled with a large and twisted stick and he waved excitedly as they passed. While Quick waved back, Mule waved the knocker. They hardly had to wait as the door opened. “Investigator, welcome,” Silver Pocket greeted. As if the large open door were not enough of an indication, Silver waved for them to enter. When the duo had entered Silver asked, “May I?” and received an old hat. “Your endorsement has been drafted, allow me a moment to retrieve it,” he said. As the butler exited the mudroom, Mule looked to Quick and asked, “What are the rules?” “Really?” Quick whined, “we aren’t even meeting the lord.” “Yes, really. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut last time,” Mule jabbed. Quick sighed, “Um--dont speak... and leave quietly.” “And?” “And... don't look annoyed.” As Quick finished his listing, Silver had returned to the mudroom with two envelopes. As he spoke he offered them to Mule, then to Quick, then waved them back to Mule. “You may request 10,000 bits with these endorsements.” Mule, not ready to receive the envelopes at first, took the endorsements when Silver finished speaking. He held the paper awkwardly as he asked, “Is there a good room for taking questions?” Silver hummed, “Yes, there is the sun-room, the library and...”--Mule noted his lack of pockets--”...no just those two.” Quick brightened at the mention of the library, but was distracted by Mule hooving him the endorsements. “I take it the sun-room has a large window?” Mule asked. Vibrant greens and soft yellows decorated three story walls of blooming vines. The sun room was practically a conservatory and it’s humidity reflected that. The combination of an internal weather system and a semicircle of massive east facing windows cooperated to make a little patch of indoor jungle. There were several varieties of trees along a path around the windows. Each tree was distinct in some way; some trees had trunks twisted nearly into knots; some trees had flawlessly smooth bark; some trees had bark that flaked in massive pieces. Among the trees in the center of the room was a lemon tree. Besides this tree there was a short table, wide cloth chairs and benches--practically beds. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you have the time?” Mule requested from beside the lemon tree. “Oh, I do. At least until the lunch hour,” said Silver having finished pouring two glasses of lemon tonic. He poured a third. “Ask away.” Mule waited and listened to Silver pulling a chair closer, then sitting. He did not turn from the window. “Do you have family here.” “Yes, many serving Lord Horn.” “How does the lord pay?” “Oh, he pays very well. The Horn vault has always been deep.” “How are the Horns? How is Gloom?” “Horn, just the one. He’s...” Silver paused to consider his words. “Temperamental isn’t the best word, but he gets into these moods. Very different moods. He is very different, day to day. Some things are always the same though. He is very generous. He is always... distant. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. I’d say you don't know what to expect with him, but knowing him this long--well--I have a good idea most of the time.” He considered that a well enough answer as he looked to Mule. Mule evidently did not, “Continue. What is he like on a good day? A bad day?” Silver leaned back into his seat as he thought. “A good day. The lord... Gloom isn’t very talkative. If he starts a conversation, its a good day. He will talk to anypony he meets, he will sing when he composes... Music. When its him playing the music, not the enchanted ones. That’s a good day.” “How about a bad day?” “Bad days... they-- there’s a lot of ways--not... let me start again. The lord has these... moods. Sometimes for a day, a week, a month. He’s always in a mood this season. You’ve heard about the flood. Nopony talks about the flood unless they must, but Gloom... I don’t think he stops thinking about it. Not for a few months at least.” “He lost a lot,” Mule inferred. “He lost... He knew everyone, you know? I’ve heard that when he was a colt, he wasn’t like this. He talked to everypony, every day. The young heir was popular, he loved it. And... excuse me.” Silver took a deep breath and steadied his wavering breath. When he regained his composure he started again, “I think he lost the most. Most lost one or two, but Gloom--Gloom must have lost a dozen. And his mother and brother... I think you understand, don't you?” Mule looked back from the window to assure Silver, “Yes, I think I know. He visits them often, doesn’t he?” “Yes,” Silver nodded, “Some days, that’s all he will do.” “That’s a bad day,” Mule stated. “That’s a bad day.” “Excuse me,” Quick interrupted, “I'm sorry, but I’ve run out of ink.” Having no ink-pot, Quick had made use of a pen from the inn. He was partly relieved that the pen had run out of its cheap blue ink; the pen was a pain to use. “Oh, no bother,” Silver said as Mule grunted. “Have one of mine,” he offered as he pulled a sleek pen from his suit pocket. Quick offered silent thanks and prepared to take notes again. “So,” Mule captured Silver’s attention again, “There’s lots of ways, you said, he has a bad day?” “Hmm, yes. Forgive me, but when he is mourning he is... relatively easy to handle. He... Please keep this confidential.” Having returned to window watching, Mule simply nodded. “He will once, perhaps twice a year, throw these parties. They are strange things. He will make a big deal out of preparing for them; all of the staff get wrapped up in it. We all prepare for a week at least. The gallery is arranged into a proper ballroom and theater, the garden is immaculate, local lodging is reserved, etcetera. And when the day comes, nopony arrives.” “He doesn’t invite anypony?” Mule inquired. “Its strange, perhaps the strangest part. He does invite ponies. I asked Minty, the drafter, about the invitations. She said they all reached the post, Equestria Air guarantee.” Silver stopped to take a drink. “The return postage though, some return quickly. They say they’re sick, they say they’re busy. Normal. Then the letters say they have previous engagements, they are traveling. And again this seems normal except for the quantity of the letters. But then they just get bizarre. One said they cannot attend because they were ‘captured by pirates’. Another said they had been turned into cheese. All kinds of ridiculous things. And there's a dozen of them!” “And how does the lord react?” Silver waves a hoof out in exasperation and huffs, “He throws the party.” Author's Note Spent most of my writing time this week drafting and time-lining. Only 1 edited chapter this week. Originally this chapter was going to be a short interview, then a tour of the Horn Manor. The interview was interesting, but the tour sucked. It was just a dump of information and I would hate to put any kind of important information into such a terrible chapter. Unfortunately I did write the whole tour before I understood how much it sucked. The next few chapters will be interviews around the manor to break up the tour. Or perhaps a tour to break up the interviews.
7 Bad DayMule waited for Silver Pocket to regain his composure. When the stallion had set his drink down, Mule began his questioning again, “What happens at these empty parties?” “The lord, he pretends that it's normal. He will act like everypony has attended, sometimes talking to nopony. Sometimes he will pretend some of the staff are party goers. It’s--” Silver paused, “--quite awkward.” “How is he after?” “He is... refreshed. I honestly think he enjoys himself, but... It can’t be healthy.” “Hmp. When was his last party?” “It was... late Topaz. I remember we set up the Hearth’s Warming decorations just after.” “He doesn’t have these parties in the spring. Am I correct?” “In the spring... No, we’ve not had one in the spring before. Why?” “Hmp. What makes you happy, Silver? Do you have a lot here in River Horn?” “I suppose I have everything here in River Horn. My family, my friends, my work. And... what makes me happy?” “Have you married a mare? or your work? Any hobbies?” “Oh, I’m not taken, no. I suppose my work and my hobbies bleed together. I like being in charge, but not having to make the plans.” “I think we can get into the details now if you’re ready. Where were you when you heard about the robbery? What do you remember about that day? In as much detail as you can, please.” Mule: Where were you when you heard about the robbery? What do you remember about that day? In as much detail as you can, please. Silver: I woke up around 2:00 AM. My first responsibility is always to make sure that the shift change from overnight to morning goes smoothly. Everypony was accounted for, except Berry and the pegasi. Berry was sick that week. Mule: And the pegasi? Silver: And the pegasi? That’s normal, or rather, it's been normal this year. You see, the lord has a private weather team. Hmm-- 22 pegasi. They’re split, about half are technicians and half sky-workers. Anyways, all of the sky-workers have their contracts leased out this season. It's the drought, you know? We have two technicians here still, but the rest of them are in Cloudsdale. Mule: Who are the technicians? What's their schedule? Silver: The technicians? Oh, Faucet and his son Jet. Faucet is our senior engineer and Jet is still in training. They’re not a part of the shifts, I don’t oversee them. Mule: How long does turnover take? I assume some commute from River Horn. Silver: It takes until 4:00 AM. Yes, not all of the staff are housed here. Perhaps its better to call it a shift change around 2:30 and a second around 3:30 as the staff from the town group up on the walk here. Mule: Which are which? Silver: Which are which? What do you mean? Mule: Which ponies are in which group? Who lives here full time? Silver: Oh, yes. Most of the dedicated staff are housed here. The kitchen staff, the groundskeepers, the guards, the maids, the drafter, the craftsponies, and myself--of course. Mule: All of them are here full-time? Silver: No, some of the groundskeepers are from River Horn as are many of the craftsponies, but the rest are all housed here. Mule: Does your family commute? Silver: Yes, my family is here and in River Horn. You’ll likely meet my sister, Minty Page. Mule: The drafter? Silver: Yes. Mule: Are the commuters all groundskeepers? Silver: No, not all groundskeepers. We have porters come from Little Horn as well. Most of the craftsponies are apprentices and they live in town. Mule: Do the porters have a lot of work at the manor? You don’t seem to produce many goods here. Silver: No, they spend most of their time carting to and from the train station. They move materials, food, and other such. Brass is heavy you know. We make instruments on commission. They’re not all the heaviest things to move, but sometimes we make organ parts. Mule: Let's move on. What happened after the morning shift changed? Silver: Hmm. After the morning shift change, I went over the lord’s mail with Minty. I studied law in Canterlot, you know. Mule: And how long does this take? Silver: At least an hour. Mule: When did you finish? Silver: We finished at 5:29. Mule: That’s rather specific. Silver: I suppose you haven’t seen my mark? I’m quite punctual. Mule: May I? Silver: No, that would be a hassle. It’s a pocket watch. Mule: So what happened after 5:30? Silver: I was rather free to oversee the morning staff until 7:15. Mule: What happened then? Silver: The lord called then, he had awoken. Mule: What were you doing when he called? Silver: I was at the pool speaking with Hoop. I believe we were talking about rail fare. I know he had been talking about his youth in Manehatten and the coast. He wanted to visit his family. Ah, I remember. He wanted to know if the lord would fund his travel to Manehatten since rail was getting more expensive. Mule: What did the lord call you for? Silver: He calls in every morning. It’s simply his waking call where we talk, or rather I talked that morning, about the news-- there was the dérogeance of lord Key in the paper. We talked a bit over breakfast about noble responsibilities and the princess. Mule: Did he say anything unusual? Silver: No, nothing unusual. He hardly said anything-- he was having a bad day. Mule: What kind of bad day? Silver: A mourning day. He went to the mausoleum shortly after breakfast. Mule: Do you know how long he was there? Did he call you any other time? Silver: Yes, I remember. He left at 8:09. And no, I did not see him again until the evening. Mule: What time in the evening? Silver: He returned at 5:50, or rather he retired at that time. I had some dinner brought to him then. Mule: Was that after sunset? Silver: Yes, the sun had just set when he returned. Mule: Let's go over the day again. There wasn’t anypony out of place, and nothing interesting happened? Silver: No, nothing of interest. The manor had no visitors that day. Mule: Did the manor have any visitors in the last week? Silver: Not the day before, but on Sunday. We did have some visitors for Sweet on Sunday. Mule: Who? Silver: A mare and her daughter. They stayed for an hour, then left. Mule: What was the visit for? Silver: No, I don’t know why. Sweet let them in, I didn’t see them until they were leaving. Mule: How about the evening shift that night? Everypony was accounted for? Silver: The evening shift--Yes, there was nopony missing from the evening shift that day. Of course, excluding the pegasi. Mule: I’d like a list of the evening shift. Silver: I can get you a list later, yes. Mule: And nothing interesting happened that evening? Silver: Nothing happened that evening. Mule: How did the evening end for you? Silver: I managed the turnover to the night shift, then I retired at 7:06. Mule: Everypony was accounted for on the night shift? Silver: Yes, again nopony was missing. Mule: You mentioned guards. What are their schedules? Silver: Rocky Road is on duty in the mornings, Fence Bender is on duty in the evenings, and Little Anchor guards the night shift. Mule: Just the three-- Was Little Anchor at his post? Did you see him? Silver: Yes, Little Anchor was at his post. I do remember seeing him that evening. Oh, I should mention he is a pegasus. I neglected to mention him since he isn’t on the weather team. Mule: Is there anything else you neglected to mention? Silver: I don’t think so. Mule: Take your time. Slow down. Think it through. Silver: I can't think of anything more. Mule: Well, if you can think of anything come find me. Let's move on to the next morning. How did your day start? Silver: I was woken by Sweet. She looked terrible and was crying. I could barely tell what she was saying-- something about her communication network. I put it together that something had happened with her magic, but I’m not a mage. Mule: When was this? Silver: It was-- around 2:30. I didn’t check the time. Mule: So what happened with Sweet? Silver: I walked with her to the kitchen and made us cocoa. That was 2:52-- I know that. When she calmed down she told me that her communication array was broken. She was only getting noise. I didn’t really know what she meant. I thought her array was supposed to collect noise. I didn’t ask. Mule: What did she say specifically? Silver: Um. Mule: And take your time. Silver: She said, “The array, its busted.” She said that when she was still crying. When-- when she calmed down, she said, “All my channels are getting noise. I don’t know what I did. They were all good this morning, you got the mail didn’t you?” I remember I told her yes. Mule: I’ll need you to explain this communication array. I know you don’t know the magic, but you know what it does, right? Silver: Hmm. It’s-- how did she explain it. It’s a magic gem, or a group of gems rather. They send letters to each other like that expensive teleportation postage. But, it’s much cheaper-- you just can’t send parcels-- only letters. Mule: So it teleports letters? Silver: Sort of? hmm. It sends pieces of letters from one gem to another and then you have to piece the letter back together again. It’s-- It’s complicated but being complicated somehow makes it less expensive. I don’t know. Mule: So you send pieces of letters from one gem to another gem? Silver: Yes, essentially. Mule: And you said it was used for postage. How far apart can the gems be? Silver: I don’t know. I know the farthest gem is in Cloudsdale right now-- at least that far. Mule: Cloudsdale is on the other side of Canterlot right now. It can send letters through the mountain? Silver: I don’t know how it works. I’m sorry. Mule: No, it's fine. Let’s talk about things you know. So, and correct me if I’m wrong, you wake up around 2 am, Sweet is crying about her communication array, and she tells you it was working yesterday but not now? Silver: Yes. Mule: Did she say when it stopped working? Silver: No, I don’t think so. Mule: The communication array seems to be working now though. I saw it at the gate. Silver: Some of it still works. I don’t know how it’s broken but Sweet says she repaired part of it. Mule: You don’t know how its broken at all? Silver: I’m an earth pony, not a mage. Mule: And that's fine. Let's move on. What happened next? Silver: I left Sweet in the kitchen and I fetched Fence. We explored the tower to see if we could find the damage to the array. I didn’t do much. Mule: Why Fence? Little Anchor was on duty. Silver: I wanted a unicorn. Mule: Fair. Did Fence find anything? Silver: She said there was a lot of energy discharged and that the aura was all wrong. I don’t know what that means, but that’s what I repeated to Sweet. Mule: I’ll be sure to ask Fence later. What happened next? Silver: I returned to Sweet and Fence and went to get Rocky and Anchor. I stayed with Sweet until sunrise. Mule: What did you do together? Silver: We moved to the library and talked about her time in school. Mule: Her time in school? Silver: It helped distract her. She liked her time in school very much. We talked about her school and then her favorite professors and classes. Mule: You talked in the library until sunrise? Silver: Yes. Mule: What was notable about sunrise? Why did you stop? Silver: Rocky found us, and told us about the cemetery. It was terrible, the bars were broken and-- Mule: Slow down. Let's go through this slowly. What did Rocky say? Silver: He said-- what did he say-- he said, “You’re gonna want to see this.” And I said whats wrong with the tower. And he said, “It's not just the tower, somepony broke into the mausoleum.” Then we walked to the cemetery. Mule: Who all walked? And did you talk on the way? Silver: It was all three guards, myself, and Sweet. Anchor said that the spire on the tower was snapped, and he and Fence started arguing about whether it was hooves or magic that broke it. Mule: What do you remember about the argument? Silver: Hmm-- I’m sorry, I don't recall what they said precisely. I was in my own head a bit. I think it was something about hoofprints on the spire. Mule: So you get to the cemetery. They’re still arguing? Silver: No, they stopped when we got outside-- or perhaps just after. Mule: What door did you leave? Silver: It’s just here, in the sun room. There’s a door on the south side. I’ll show you. Mule: You can show me later. What did you see at the cemetery? Silver: Rocky led us to the side, away from the gate. There was a gap in the fence-- all bent out of shape. Mule: What’d he say? Silver: He said he went out to look for the spire. Anchor had found the top was snapped and told him. So he’s out looking. That must have been-- 6:50 or so. We were fetched from the Library at 7:02, I know that. Mule: What’s he looking for? Silver: For the broken tip of the spire. So he’s out looking and he’s not finding it. But when the sun rises he sees the hole in the fence and he rushes back to show everypony. Mule: And what happens next? Silver: We all climb through the hole to the mausoleum. The door is clearly broken-- lots of pieces everywhere. I tell them, the guards, I’m going to get the lord and I leave. Oh, and Sweet comes with me. Mule: So you both go to the lord. Silver: Yes. Well, I go to the lord, Sweet went to her tower. Mule: Did she say why? Silver: No. Mule: And how did Gloom take the news? Silver: I’ve never seen him angry before then. Well, I’ve seen him shout in pain and such, stub his muzzle-- but never this-- this directed anger. He pushed past me and galloped to the cemetery. Mule: Did you follow? Silver: Yes, quite easily. The lord is-- not in peak fitness. Mule: What happened next? Silver: He pushed into the mausoleum. I think there was broken glass, so Fence got in his way to tell him. Gloom pushed past her and just-- I don’t know. I’m sure its a unicorn thing, but his horn was flaring and he was crying, but he was still so angry. I didn’t get close enough to hear him, but he was talking. Mule: Talking to himself, or did the guards enter with him? Silver: To himself. Mule: And the glass, where did the glass come from? Silver: The back side of the door. On the inside of the door is a glass painting. Mule: What was the painting of? Silver: The painting was of a white conductors baton. Gloom-- When he-- He fixed it. Mule: He fixed the painting? Silver: Yes. He stopped talking after a minute or so and gathered all the glass together and just-- he just put it back together like it was nothing. Mule: Had he calmed down? Silver: No. I think he was angrier after he put it together. Mule: What happened next? Silver: He walked back to the gallery. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t say anything. He locked himself in the gallery then and he started to play his organ. It was-- It was beautiful and sad and angry. I think they could hear it from the river. Mule: How long did he play? Silver: It was-- 2:05 the next morning. He performed for nearly 19 hours, then he passed out. Mule: Did anypony get into the room before then? Silver: No. The guards posted themselves next to the door and wouldn’t let anypony try. I don’t blame them; I think they kept ponies safe. Gloom was-- He was not in control. Mule: What was done when the lord stopped playing? Silver: We had a doctor fetched already from River Horn. Dr. Splint, I believe. Gloom had his hooves bandaged and was given some medicine to prevent infection. It was just bed rest then. I’m terribly sorry, but it's nearly 11:00, and I have responsibilities. Mule: I understand. Thank you for your time Silver. I think I have most of what I need. If you would get that list to me, of the night shift, that would be appreciated. Silver: I’m afraid I may not get to that today. Do stop by with Minty and she will copy the rosters for you. Mule: Will do-- Oh and show me that door before you leave. I, Silver Pocket of River Horn, certify that the foregoing is a true and correct copy of a recorded conversation I had with Mule of Trottsville, Private Investigator (Independent), on the morning of Aqu 11, 999. Author's Note I would have liked to quote the transcript portion like I do with newspapers, but it doesn’t play nice with FIMFic’s TTS feature. Also, I can’t tab-space the transcript to make it look nice, it just condenses to a single space
8 Rose BundleThe dining hall was nearly as warm as the sun room, but in the place of smothering humidity there was the enveloping fragrance of fruit and pastries. The room was half the length of the Gallery, but equal in its width. The spacious place was faced with cases of rich brown around wide windows. There were a number of large tables, mostly filled; there were a few smaller tables tucked where the larger could not fit, empty. At the large tables it was clear that some ponies grouped themselves by profession. At the most crowded table were ponies with cutie marks of bowstrings, of hammers, of cane reeds, and of all kinds of musical doodads. The next most crowded table covered their cutie marks with denim overalls. The rest of the tables were harder to discern. There were ponies outfitted as porters sitting with masons and many others. From one of these mixed tables, a scruffy green colt waved to Quick. Quick waved back from his small table in the corner. “What are these?” Mule asked. Breaking from his greeting, Quick looked down at their table. He looked up again at Mule and asked, “You’ve never had salsa?” “Look closer, not salsa.” Following Mule’s direction, “That’s not salsa,” Quick confirmed. Mule took a chip and brought it uncomfortably close to his eye, “I don’t think it’s chips either.” “They must be chips,” Quick thought aloud. He looked, briefly, to the other tables to see some digging into their own ‘chips and salsa.’ He took a chip in his hoof and looked it over; he saw something was off, but could not place what it was. Whatever it was, it looked good to eat, and so Quick ate the chip. Finally finding what it was he cheered, “Cinnamon!” “Cinnamon chips?” As if to confirm Mule’s question, Quick scooped salsa onto his next chip and brought it closer to see. “I think it’s-- it’s fruit. It’s a fruit salsa, I can see strawberries,” he stated excitedly. “Hmp. Odd.” “Good,” Quick corrected, mouth full of chips. “Hmp,” Mule capitulated, mouth full of chips. When the chips were gone, Quick brought out the transcribed conversation and started to look over it. “So, what do you think happened?” he asked. “I don’t know yet,” said Mule as he wiped his mouth while looking at the remaining half bowl of salsa. “Don’t get those notes sticky.” “Sure. Nothing at all? Do you not trust Silver?” Mule snorted and said, “I don’t think Silver lied to me.” “Oh?” Quick leaned into the table, intrigued. “He’s got no stake in this. He only loses if we don’t solve this.” Mule leaned back in his chair, “What do you think?” Quick took a momentary glance at the pages in his magic, “I think he cares a lot about Gloom.” Mule looked out the window, despite it being across the room. “Go on, whys that?” he asked. “He only got all worked up when-- when he was thinking about him. The parties and-- and he really got worked up when Gloom was angry.” Mule gave half a smile, “Did you notice? He didn’t ask Sweet why she left him. I don’t believe he thinks about other ponies when Gloom is involved.” Quick took a moment to think about what Mule said. He watched a blue stallion dressed in white carry a number of baskets to each table while he said, “It makes sense. His whole life has revolved around him, right?” “Hmp. He was raised with stories about him, he probably paid for Silver’s law schooling. Now his every day is about Gloom,” Mule affirmed. The stallion ran out of baskets. “He didn’t do it,” reasoned Quick. Again, Mule half smiled, “Oh, he definitely didn’t do it. And he wouldn’t be an accomplice either.” Quick started putting the pages back into his bag. “You think there’s more than one pony involved?” The stallion grabbed one more basket. “I said I don’t know yet.” He was half way to their table. Quick watched as the stallion placed the basket at their table, turned, then walked away. “I think we should see the cemetery.” “I think we should finish our lunch.” Mule took a chip from the basket and, without looking from the window, dipped and ate it. “And then see the cemetery.” “Hi! I’m Bundle! Who’re you?” Mule and Quick had just left the dinning room when a rust maned colt puttered his hooves across the hardwood to follow. Quick waved, “I’m Quick.” “Hmp.” “He’s Mule,” Quick gestured. Bundle quickly inserted himself between them. “What do you do? You’re new.” Bundle looked up at Quick’s horn, “Do you do magic? I love magic!” “I umm...” “We keep walking,” grumbled Mule . Bundle frowned. “That’s boring. My brother walks all day to the train and he’s boring.” “I do some magic,” Quick volunteered. “Oooo show me, show me!” Bundle bounced in excitement as he trotted. They had entered the sun room as Quick explained, “Uh, it’s kind of hard to show. Do you know what arithmancy is?” Bundle was equally amazed and horrified as he asked, “You use magic to make spiders?” Mule grumbled again, but to himself. He advanced his pace and exited the southern door ahead of the others. “No, I use magic to do math,” Quick corrected. As if his coat could get more disheveled, Bundle creased his muzzle and stated, “Lame.” “Oh,” said Quick. He was, for a moment, downtrodden before he quipped, “Hehe, would you rather do the math yourself?” Bundle’s eyes widened and he gasped, “I can make the magic do my math work? Show me! Show me!--” “Maybe later, okay?” Quick interrupted Bundle’s cheering. “Okay,” Bundle said, no amount of cheer lost. He then pointed to Mule, who was just reaching the corner of the cemetery. “So what does he do?” “He’s a detective,” Quick supplied. Bundle looked up at Quick and confusion was clear on his face, “Where are all his gadgets?” “What?” Quick returned the confusion. “His gadgets! Where is his grappling hook?” Bundle made a pushing motion with a hoof as he walked. He mimicked a psh-shooo, then looked to Quick to see if he was understanding. “Oh, you’re thinking of Batmare,” he recognized. “She’s awesome!” Bundle pumped a forehoof in the air and skipped a step with a small hop. “Yeah, ummm. You saw how old he was?” Quick gestured to Mule, who was walking well ahead around the long perimeter wall of the cemetery. “Yeah, he’s all grey and stuff,” said Bundle. He stretched and made himself as tall as he could and whispered, “and he smells kind of old too.” Quick looked down at the colt, who returned his gaze with curiosity and expectation. “So uhh... it’s like...” he remembered how excited Bundle was about Batmare, “he’s too old to be doing back-flips and stuff.” “But what if there’s a super mystery and like he needs to do a back-flip or he gets caught?” “Uhh... what if... they can’t tell hes a detective because he doesn’t have his... stuff.” Lame, Quick thought and grimaced slightly. “Oooooh! Hes undercover!” Bundle ate it up. “Yeah, kinda.” Bundle took two steps away and asked, “So what are you?” as he looked at Quick in full. “Huh?” Quick didn’t follow. “Are you his sidekick?” Bundle guessed. “Umm. Kinda.” Bundle gasped even louder, “O-M-C! You couldn’t tell me all the awesome magic you know because it’s all for fighting bad guys, right?” he asked as he practically danced beside Quick. “Umm.” Quick responded. Lamely. Again. “Get over here!” Mule hollered. He was standing, as he had been for nearly a minute, at the fence. Quick picked up his pace and, smiling, swept Bundle onto his back with his magic. They reached Mule half way down the long north face of the cemetery. The fence itself was simple. Like the front gate, the pickets were tubes of brass. Unlike the gate though, the fence was tarnished and woven between them were numerous vines flowering in yellows, whites, and oranges. At the place where Mule stood though, the fence changed. Where normally there was a hoof-length between the bars, here they were bent. Along a length of eight bars, each were bent to accommodate a oval-ish opening. “Listen up!” Mule bellowed, despite Quick having closed the distance. “I don’t want anything disturbed. You, colt.” Bundle waved from Quick’s back. “You stay on his back, or you stay outside. Got it?” Bundle nodded. “Quick.” “Yes?” “If I say something, you write it down. If you see something, write it down. You don’t have to tell me. Got it?” “Got it.” Aqu, 11, 999 Impressions of the crime scene: Mule: Look here, on the ground. There’s vines. They’re not clipped, they’re snapped. Somepony pulled them off the bars (1). Mule: There’s no metal pieces on the ground. Follow behind. Quick: Basic scan shows no enchantments at the breach or on the surrounding fence. Mule: Ground is dry (2). We couldn’t get good prints anyways. Wow. I can see why he was angry. Lets start on the ground. The left door is shattered (3). Two major pieces, lots of rubble. Right door is faring better. Its got the painting (4). Red baton. It’s supposed to be white. Bundle: Creepy. Quick: Painting responds to basic scans. Very energy dense. Don’t touch it. It’s hot-- dangerous. Bundle: Cool! Mule: Look at the hinges (5). Right hinges are untouched, left are shredded. Left door took the majority of the force. Look at the way the pins sheared. The doors were pulled outwards. There’s a chunk missing from the right door (6). Go find where it landed-- see if has some kind of lock or bolt in it. Quick: The missing pieces are scattered between 4 and 8 hoofs towards the north west corner of the cemetery. Big piece has a metal chunk. Can’t tell what it was. Mule: Let me see. Quick: No residual magic in the metal chunk. Here Mule: Hmp. Yep, that held the door closed. Did a good job if they had to tear it up that much. Don’t follow me in. Lets see, there’s some urns here (7). Looks like they were disturbed. There’s some circles around where they normally sit, but they’re not on them. It looks like there’s-- yep. Ok, this is where the heirlooms were. Left is the lord, right is the lady. Bundle: Should he be um... I don’t think you’re supposed to open them. Quick: He knows what he’s doing. Mule: They missed some of the gems here. Quick: What about the ledge there. In the center. Mule: Empty (8). I don’t see an impression; it’s very clean. Looks like-- yep, this is Loud Horn’s. I don’t think he-- there's no urn (8). You see anything interesting colt? Bundle: No. But the door was real loud (9). Mule: What do you mean loud? Bundle: When they broke the door, it was real loud. Quick: Yeah, all this rubble-- and the door falling. Bundle: Yeah, it woke me up. Mule: It woke you up? Do you know when? Bundle: Uhhh. Quick: Did you see a clock? Bundle: Yeah. Quick: What did it say? Bundle: I dunno. I’m not good at clocks. Mule: Do you remember what numbers the clock was pointing to? Bundle: Uhh-- One was pointing straight up and the other one-- it was up too but not as much up. Quick: Do you know which was the shorter arm? Bundle: Uhh. No. Mule: One arm was pointing up. Was the other one on the left or the right of it? Bundle: This side is left? Mule: Yes. Bundle: Left. Quick: approximately 11:45 to 12:00 (9). Thank you Bundle. Mule: That’s a big help, colt. Lets check the gates now. They might have tried those first. No. Doesn’t look disturbed (10). Quick: East gate is not disturbed (10). Mule: Lets check the other side. It’s closer to the main gate anyways. No. Nothing here either (11). I’m gonna peak in here (12). Do your magic thing or whatever on the gate. Bundle: Show me! Quick: Here, touch my horn. Do you feel that? Bundle: It’s warm and kinda bzzzz but like I feel it in my teeth. Quick: That’s what my scanning spell does. When I throw some magic out and it hits some other magic it will come back. And if the bzzzz changes then I know I hit something. Bundle: Can you teach me that? Quick: Maybe later. Oh-- Bundle: What? Oh you found something! Mule: What is it? There’s nothing in the shed (12). Quick: The gate. There’s some kind of enchantment (13). Mule: You sure it’s not one of those opener gems. Quick: No. Look, there’s a normal lock for the gate. Mule: So what does the magic say then? You know what it does? Quick: Hmm. No, I can’t tell without potentially damaging it. Bundle: I think I know! Mule: Go ahead. Bundle: When me and Bramble play we-- Promise you won’t tell my mom? Quick: Promise. Bundle: We aren’t supposed to play in here. And when we do Miss Dreams always tells my mom about it. But look at the tower! You can’t see the gate from the tower since the tree gets in the way. I think the magic lets her see the gate. Mule: Nice deduction colt. There’s a magic alarm on the gate. Quick, did you scan the other gate? Quick: No, give me a moment. Mule: You can put him down. Quick: Yeah. It’s the same on the other gate (10). Mule: How about the fence? Quick: Definitely not. Mule: You scanned it already? Quick: When we entered and on my way to the east gate and back. Mule: Good. How about the mausoleum doors? Quick: Definitely nothing. The enchantments would be much less durable than the doors. Mule: Can you tell if they were enchanted before they were broken? Quick: Maybe if Gloom didn’t have a flare in there. Mule: Hmp. Lets get going. Carry Bundle out please. Bundle: Wheee! On the back of the page is a rough sketch of the scene. Author's Note This was a fun one to write.
9 Rock“I’ve been looking for you, sprout,” said a deep baritone voice. Down the hall was an ash dark earth pony with a striking harlequin green mane. “Hey, Dad!” Bundle waved, then pointed to Quick beside him, “Quick is showing me magic!” Despite the enormous width of the manor’s corridors, the gray stallion seemed to fill its majority with his smile as he said, “That’s awesome, Rose Bundle.” He looked to the unicorn and mule standing outside of the sun room and addressed them, “You must be the investigators.” “I am.” Mule confirmed in a voice that was clear and deliberate. “Well, thanks for dealing with this scruff ball. I know he’s a hoof-full--I’m Rocky Road.” he held a hoof out in greeting, to which Mule pressed firmly against as he spoke. “I’m Mule. This is Quick Sort.” Mule said. “Good to finally meet you. I’d missed you on your first visit.” Rocky addressed his son, “Bundle, you didn’t cause these stallions any trouble, did you?” “No, dad. Mr. Mule said I was very helpful,” Bundle smiled. “He wasn’t any trouble,” Quick confirmed. “Though we would like to trouble you for an interview, if you have the time,” said Mule. “Sure, I can,” Rocky offered, then looked to Bundle, “You should go find your mother, sprout. She has some chores for you and you ran off in the middle of lunch.” “Awwwww. But magic!” Bundle whined. “No buts... But--” Rocky motioned for Bundle to come closer and whispered conspiratorially, “--if you show your mother some new magic, I’m sure she’d love it.” Bundle nodded and smiled as he pattered and bounced away down the corridor. “Now,” Rocky spoke to Mule, who’s back was still lit from the open door of the sun room, “where would you like to have this interview?” Mule: Before we get into the details, I’d like to know you. Tell me about yourself Rocky. Rocky: Where should I start? Mule: Where are you from, Rocky? Rocky: Well I was born in a little town north of the Unicorn Range called Pickseed. You wouldn’t have heard about it before. There’s some 30 ponies there now. It’s a bit north of Two Filly Peak. Mule: What do they do at Pickseed? Rocky: Not much to do but farm. There’s decent soil and we’re on the wet side of the mountain. Cloudsdale is close-- most years-- so we did alright. Mule: Why’d you leave? Rocky: Just too small. I know my cutie mark is a rock, but it’s not about me being a work horse. It’s-- well it’s a story. Mule: Hows it go? Rocky: Eh, we were working the field. My brother and father were having a terrible time with this boulder. We get rock-storms in Pickseed. I don’t know how they happen, but when the mountain avalanches we get showered in small stones. All the big rocks don't make it to us. Except that year. That year we got the biggest boulder we ever had. It was in a terrible spot too. I don’t recall why, but it just needed to go. So my brother and father were out there with this massive boulder. And I ask them how I can help and they say I can’t. I was just a colt then. I’m sure they didn’t want to flatten me trying to move the thing. Anyways, I started going neighbor to neighbor asking them about big rocks. Turns out most of them can’t help because they have their own rocks. So I finally get, uh-- a bit mad. Instead of asking for ponies help I started telling them what to do. Turns out, if we all worked together we could get those rocks pushed easy. So we did that, and we did it all day. It was probably at the first boulder we moved that I got my mark. Didn’t really see it until we were helping old Bow. Mule: So your marks about giving orders. Rocky: It’s about teamwork. Mule: I see. Not enough things for teamwork to do in Pickseed? Rocky: Exactly. I joined the guard when I figured that all out. That was some-- 5-- 6 years later though. Mule: What did you do in the Guard? Rocky: I was a corporal most of my time. I worked in the National Defensive Works Projects corps. Spent 8 years regulating and digging firebreaks south of Everfree. Mule: You’re not a guard now. Why’d you go private? Rocky: I met a mare-- Seam Jacket, love of my life. We’ve been together almost 14 years now. Mule: What did you do for work between leaving the guard and working for lord Horn? Rocky: Oh, Gloom was setting up his personal guard when my contract ended. It just worked out. Mule: And you’ve been here since? Rocky: Since 84. Mule: Okay, Rocky Road. I think we can begin. Did anything stand out to you on Tuesday, the day before the theft? Rocky: No. Mule: Walk me through that day. Rocky: Well I start my mornings at 2 am. I relieve Anchor at 3. Then I work until about noon. Eh, I think Seam took Brick into town for his summer shoes that afternoon, so I watched Rose Bundle. We were in the library for a few hours. I remember there was squash in the mess hall that evening. Seam was bummed since she missed it-- I think it’s the last of the winter squash season. Mule: Brick is your older son? Rocky: Yes. I assumed you knew, since Bundle was with you? Mule: He mentioned Brick is a porter. Rocky: Eh, sort of. He wants to join the guard like his pops, so he’s always trying to be athletic. Sometimes I think he believes my cutie mark is about being strong and lifting big rocks. He’ll learn-- I hope. Mule: So he isn’t employed here? Rocky: No, hes just a bit too young for the lord to hire. He makes himself busy anyways. Calls it his training. Mule: Let’s move on. Rocky: Alright. Mule: When did you sleep that evening? Rocky: Well, I started trying to sleep about 6:30. Wasn’t ‘till 7-- eh, 8 when I actually slept. Mule: 7 or 8? Rocky: 8. Mule: When did you wake up? Rocky: It was 2 am, when I normally get up. Mule: Did you wake up before then? For any reason? Rocky: No, I don’t think so. Mule: You don’t think so? Rocky: No. I didn’t wake up. Mule: Alright. So you’re up. It’s a normal wake-up. You start your routine? Rocky: Yes. Mule: Can you remember anything out of place before you started your shift? Rocky: Eh-- Mule: Take your time. Rocky: Eh-- My toothbrush was in the wrong cup. Mule: That all? Rocky: Yep. Mule: Okay. Did you have any open windows? Rocky: Eh, no. Why? Mule: Not important. I think we should talk about your shift. You relieved Little Anchor from his post. Correct? Rocky: Yes. Mule: He was there at his post when you went to relieve him? Rocky: Yes. And he was there at the start of his shift too. Mule: You saw him? Rocky: Eh, no. I hear he was seen there. Mule: Heard from who? Rocky: Eh-- I don’t remember. Mule: That’s fine. Tell me if you remember later. What about Little Anchor-- Did he look like he normally does? Did he look tired? Rocky: Yeah, he always looks tired. Mule: Did he look more tired than usual? Rocky: No. Mule: Did he look disheveled in any way? Rocky: Yes, but-- eh, that’s also normal for Anchor. Mule: So he looked like-- Rocky: He was a tired mess. That’s just Anchor. Mule: Alright. You’re at your post now. What happens next? Rocky: Eh, nothing until an hour later. Mule: Nothing? What do you normally do? Rocky: We-- eh-- Okay, this will take some explaining-- so you know Silver? Mule: Yes, I’ve met Silver. Rocky: Okay, so Silver-- The lord doesn’t really take charge. And Silver-- he’s supposed to be his butler but it’s more like-- eh-- hes kind of the lords manager? Quick: You mean he acts more like his steward than a butler? Rocky: Yeah, that’s it. He’s a steward-- running the whole property. But, if the butlers being the steward then who’s the butler? So, eh, we kind of end up being his butlers. At least, when we’re here at the manor. Mule: When you say we, you mean all of the guards? Rocky: Yes. Mule: And you do actual guard work-- Rocky: When we’re out of town with the lord. Mule: So you stand at his door doing nothing. Rocky: Not all the time, we still have responsibilities. That’s just, eh-- you get it. Mule: What kind of responsibilities? Rocky: Oh um, well Fence works with Sweet and does all the magic security. Anchor does night watch and air safety. I end up doing a bunch of geotechnical surveying every few months. Mule: Geotechnic surveying? Rocky: Yeah, I get some crews to dig up soil up river. We do some tests and look at last years riverbeds. River Horn lives on the Foal River and dies on that river-- it’s important work. Mule: I understand. But you weren’t doing any of that on Wednesday morning? Rocky: Just standing there. Mule: For an hour. Rocky: About an hour. Mule: So what happened in about an hour? Rocky: Well, Silver comes out of the library and starts telling me there’s something wrong with the tower. I don’t know magic, and I know he doesn’t either but he looks all worried. So I think the worst, and I ask him, “Do we need to evacuate?” I don’t think he heard me-- He just tells me to look around outside and he leaves. Mule: He didn’t hear you? Rocky: He didn’t stop to talk. I don’t think he even turned his ears to listen to me. Mule: Alright. Was Fence with him? Rocky: No. Eh-- I didn’t see her until way later. Mule: How much later? Rocky: Eh-- Mule: After sunrise? Rocky: No-- but not too long before. Mule: So, Silver told you to go outside. What happens next? Rocky: Well, I go outside and I look at the tower. It’s really hard to see-- even when I-- Here look. Way out there I walked out there and looked up at the tower. Mule: But you couldn’t see the tower in the dark. Did you have a light? Rocky: I have a watch-charm on my helmet, but it was a new moon. No moon means no night vision. Mule: How long were you out there? Rocky: Oh, I was out there until sunrise, but this was eh-- like 10 minutes later I start seeing Anchor with a lamp up flying around the tower. Mule: So you look in the dark for ten minutes and then Anchor starts flying around? Rocky: Yes. Mule: Continue, please. Rocky: Eh-- So I’m looking up at the spire and I see-- Okay, so you saw the spire. It’s all broken right now, and that’s what it looked like then. There’s a really tall thin part at the top that all the pegasi complain about. It’s really hard to see and they want to put a flag on it or something but Sweet says they can’t. Anyways, I’m looking up at the spire and I think I can’t see the long part because it’s just dark and hard to see. But, Anchor just keeps flying circles around it. I figured it out when he flew through were it was supposed to be. Mule: How long did that take? Rocky: Oh just a minute or so. After that I yelled up at him, since I don’t think he could see far with his light. He lands and starts talking about how the spire’s missing-- It’s just snapped off. So he and I talk about how it happened and we both look around the tower for broken pieces. Mule: How do you think it happened? Rocky: Well, when I first saw it I thought-- oh, the magic thing broke; it’s probably a magic thing. Mule: You changed your mind? Rocky: Yeah, eh-- When we found the top part of the spire there were hoofprints on it. Mule: How did that change your mind? Rocky: Well, if there’s hoofprints on it then somepony smacked it. Way I see it, only a pegasus could do that. Pretty simple. Mule: Seems like Anchor and Fence had a disagreement over that. Rocky: Yeah, eh-- Anchor didn’t find any prints on the top of the tower and kept arguing it was magic. He and I started that argument-- So after we found the broken piece he turned it about and looked at the broken edge and the hoofprints and he flew back up top. When he came down he just wouldn’t stop saying that it was magic that broke the spire. He repeated over and over that there’s no way a pegasus could have done it without leaving prints on the top of the tower. I argued he could have missed the prints in the dark or maybe they hit it in flight with only their forelegs. They could have never touched the base of the spire-- you know? Mule: I believe I do. So you disagree about how the spire broke. How long did you argue about this? Rocky: Eh-- an hour at least. Mule: What ends the argument then? Rocky: I got tired of saying the same thing to him. We had more important things to do so I just said he won. Mule: But you still think it was a pegasus? Rocky: No doubt. Mule: What did you do next? Rocky: Well, I wanted to search for any foul play. Maybe something left behind in the flowers. You can see they’re pretty dense this year. Anyways, I went back inside and got a decent light. I searched maybe an hour. Probably more like half an hour. Mule: Did you happen to check the time when you were inside? Rocky: No. Eh-- actually I think the chiming clock in the kitchen was going off when I was leaving. Mule: What door did you leave? Rocky: It was the north service exit by the storeroom. Mule: You’ll have to show it to me. After. Rocky: Yeah. Mule: You searched for half an hour. Did you find anything? Rocky: I found a few shards from the broken spire. Nothing really important, but I boxed them up to help with repairs. Mule: You moved them? Rocky: I think I got almost all of them, yes. Mule: And that's all you found? Rocky: Yes. Well, that’s all the stuff I found. I found the broken fence too. Mule: Yes, let’s get to that. Up. We’re going to the cemetery. I, Rocky Road of River Horn, certify that the foregoing is a true and correct copy of a recorded conversation I had with Mule of Trottsville, Private Investigator (Independent), on the afternoon of Aqu 11, 999. Author's Note So sorry, I couldn’t keep Bundle in this chapter for very long.
