Chapter 5
Fundamental Differences
Featherfall struggled to keep her head up but ultimately found herself staring blankly into the swirling, hypnotic wooden grain of her desk. The report lay open to the first page, unread.
“Late train?” Foresight asked.
Featherfall opened her eyes and wiped the drool from her chin. She couldn't remember falling asleep. She nodded slowly, eyeing the pair of steaming mugs of cocoa her partner was carrying. A wisp of steam trailed behind one of them as it floated into her waiting hooves, seemingly drawn by a magic of her own. “I thought maybe I could sleep on the way back. The mother in front of me thought so too. I think she could have slept through the train derailing with the way her foals were carrying on. I don't know how anypony can sleepy through that noise.”
Foresight shrugged off her complaints. “Have a nice Hearth's Warming?”
“I did,” Featherfall said, and smiled weakly. She brushed a stray lock of her mane out of her eyes and turned her attention back to the report. “Still working on the Sweet Bread case.”
“Any luck?” Foresight asked. He gathered up the crime scene photographs spread across the pegasus' desk and shuffled through them.
Featherfall shook her head. Any clues lurking in the photos or witness statements still evaded her, if they existed at all. “It's very strange.”
“So I hear. Still no sign of the father?”
“None at all,” she said wistfully.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
Featherfall shrugged. “They left their kid behind. He's annoying but not that annoying. My best guess? Whoever took Sweet Bread came back for Sourdough. Might've been using her to lure him outside. Unfortunately 'Punkin' Bread says they disappeared sometime in the night so our window is hours wide. Nopony the locals interviewed said they saw anything out of the ordinary.”
Foresight stacked the photos up and dropped them back on his partner's desk. “Well, stick with it. Somepony saw something. The answer is in there somewhere.”
A weary Featherfall was still looking for the same said answer when the air in front of her suddenly caught fire. On impulse she leaped back from her desk but the conflagration ended as abruptly as it had begun. From the tumultuous flames a single off-white envelope fluttered to the ground, miraculously undamaged from its spectacular arrival.
Blinking in surprise, Featherfall prodded at it, half expecting it to vanish in a similar puff of smoke and flame. When it didn't, she snatched it up and returned to her desk. Through the thin haze of dissipating smoke she could see Foresight staring in disbelief.
“What the buck was that?” he asked, slack-jawed.
“A letter,” Featherfall answered, turning the envelope over. A blob of cherry red wax held it shut. Across the front 'Frosty' was emblazoned in blue in tall cursive letters. “It's from Torch!”
Foresight harrumphed. “Does he have something against the postal system?”
Featherfall simply shrugged and eagerly dug the silver horn file out of her satchel. Little crumbs of wax rained across her desk as she sliced through the seal with a practiced flick. Her eyes scanned quickly over the letter inside.
Frosty!
It was so good to see you again this Hearth's Warming. I hope you liked Melody! She really liked you. I really enjoyed having you around. I hope that you did not let the unpleasantness with Mother ruin your good time. The last few years have been hard,I know, and I want you to know that if you need anything, you can always call on me. I'll write again soon, so don't forget to write me back! Come visit again soon!
With love,
Torch Lights
“Well?” Foresight asked, watching as Featherfall neatly folded the letter and slipped it into her filing cabinet.
“He's always been a little over protective of me,” Featherfall said. “Just checking up on me I think. My mother and I had a bit of an altercation...” she added sheepishly. “She dropped in on us Hearth's Warming Eve while you were at Shimmer's. Threw a tantrum and demanded I call off the investigation. She said we arrested Candle?”
“We have,” Foresight said. He averted his eyes from her searching gaze and busied himself shuffling through his notes. “It's a matter of public record,” he added.
Featherfall approached his desk and waited in quiet expectation. Her partner proved to be resilient to the tactic, only looking up once to confirm that she was, in fact, still there. “Are you going to tell me why?” she finally asked.
“No,” Foresight answered without looking up.
Featherfall balked at his bluntness. “What? Why not?” she demanded.
Her partner heaved a sigh and jammed his quill into its inkwell. Now the senior detective's full attention was on her. “Because I like having you around, Featherfall. I like being your partner and I like working with you. So I'm doing what I can to keep you here and that includes not divulging critical information to you regarding a case you've been thrown off of due to conflict of interests. You're a good detective; I'm sure you can piece it together.”
“Everypony must have alibied out,” Featherfall said. Her gaze sank toward the floor as she slunk back to her desk in quiet contrition.
“This is why you're off the case,” Foresight said. He shook his head in dismay. “You're too emotionally involved. You're acting just like everypony we've interviewed that can't believe their loved one went Trottingham Butcher on somepony.”
But I know him better than that, hung on the tip of Featherfall's tongue. Twice she opened her mouth to say it, but thought better of it and willed it back
Foresight could see her thinking about it, the battle playing out subtly in her eyes. “That facts will come out eventually, Featherfall. They are what they are.”
Featherfall grumbled an incoherent response and returned her attention back to the Sweet Bread case file. She hated it when Foresight lectured her, particularly when she knew he was right. She buried herself in her work until Swansong and Coldhorn arrived, breaking the quiet stalemate between her and Foresight.
“Any luck with Riverrun?” Foresight asked.
Swansong frowned and shook her head. She stopped for a visit at the coffee pot on the way to her desk. “He wasn't home. Went by his place of business. They said he's out on vacation for Hearth's Warming. They're expecting him back in three days. Sounds like a stand up employee, if a bit impersonal. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What she means is dull and reclusive,” Coldhorn commented dryly. She slid the magazine from her sidearm and began counting out the rounds one by one as she lined them up on her desk. Each of the slender bullets gleamed with a soft red energy, even after the influence of the changeling's magic was removed.
“Thinking of getting certified?” she asked, noticing that she had caught Featherfall's attention.
The pegasus shook her head. “Not exactly practical for me,” she said. “So, you haven't interviewed Riverrun yet?” She looked around the room for an answer.
Coldhorn and Swansong cast questioning looks at Foresight. “We're getting to it,” he said defensively.
“No, I know,” Featherfall replied in a much more humble voice. “I didn't mean... I'm just... Why didn't you interview him when you were at Shimmer's?”
“He wasn't there,” her partner explained. From his tone she could tell he was running out of patience with her.
“But... he was there. I saw him,” Featherfall insisted. “He came out on the porch right after you left.”
“Really? Now that is interesting,” Swansong said, ears perking. “Your sister lied about her boyfriend being home. Why would she do that? Is she ashamed of him?”
Featherfall shrugged helplessly. “I've never met him actually.”She turned to her partner. “More importantly, how did he slip by you, Foresight?”
“Sometimes things fade into the background. It's like voices on a train or in a crowded restaurant. Too many sources blend together and you don't notice them as easily,” he explained. “I was having an off day, and on top of that if he was asleep or...”he trailed off, noticing that he had lost his partner's full attention. Featherfall's gaze had slowly turned to the yellow and blue-maned unicorn, then busily scrubbing the barrel of her thaumic pistol with a cleaning rag.
“Don't even let your mind go there, Featherfall,” Foresight warned. “Think about it long and hard. You're already on desk duty. If you start a changeling scare...”
“Hold on, hold on,” she said, rubbing her temple. “Just... give me a second. Let me think. If Riverrun is a changeling...”
“Me missing somepony isn't anywhere near sufficient grounds to accuse him of being a changeling,” Foresight warned.
“It is pretty rare though,” Swansong commented. “What if it fits the crimes? A changeling abducting mares.”
“The bakery is only a few blocks down the road from Waxworks',” Featherfall said. “It could be the same guy.”
Foresight started making two lists on the dusty old chalkboard, one for each victim and shook his head skeptically. “How can it? The crimes have very little in common. The Breads run a little bakery and Waxworks distributes all the way from Manehattan to Los Pegasus. Waxworks was attacked in the middle of the night; Sweet Bread mid-morning. The Breads have a strong marriage; Moonsong was having an affair.”
Swansong tugged the chalk away, their auras clashing silver and red before Fore's winked out. The mare added a few items to each column. “And yet they're within a few blocks of each other and in both cases we have a missing mare who was, to outward appearances anyway, in a committed relationship taken while the stallion was otherwise indisposed. They are also of similar age and well liked. So, if we assume the mares were the targets and remove the stallions from the picture completely...”
“Do changelings have a 'type,' though?” Featherfall asked, looking to the disinterested changeling for an answer.
Coldhorn started shoving rounds into her spare magazine, giving the spring in the primary magazine time to rest. “Yes,” she said. “Just like how you get the same mocha coffee every morning, Featherfall. Or Foresight, you and that dark Zebrican roast you always drink. Heh, this place goes through enough coffee to give a manticore the shakes.”
Featherfall bristled at the changeling's judgmental tone. “I don't drink THAT much!” Coldhorn pointed her sunflower yellow hoof, and Featherfall found her eyes drawn to the disposable coffee cups heaped up in her wastebasket. Every single one bore the smiling CoffeeBuck seapony. Flushing slightly, the pegasus wrenched her thoughts back on topic. “Well... fine. How do you wake up every morning?”
A smirk flit across Coldhorn's face as she looked sidelong at the questioning pegasus. "Road rage." She licked her lips coyly. “Dark, earthy, with just a hint of spice.”
Foresight studied the board, then sighed in defeat. “Okay, it's probably worth looking into,” he admitted.
“Probably?” Coldhorn sneered. She turned a sharp eye on the unicorn and marched toward him “What's the matter?” she snarled. “Think it's too much of a long shot? Not worth looking into? Maybe you're right. After all if one changeling were overlooked...” Her unicorn guise flickered and faded beneath a halo of emerald flames. “What's the worst that could happen?”
“I get your point,” Foresight said, meeting the changeling's steely-eyed gaze. She grinned devilishly, her fangs gleaming.
Swansong stepped between them. “Want me to run it by Crackshot?”
“No, I'll do it,” Foresight said, ears pinned back as he sulked away.
When he was gone Swansong turned to Coldhorn. “Happy?”
“Always,” the changeling crooned.
Over an hour had passed and Foresight still had not emerged from Crackshot's office. Featherfall worked in silence, trying to give the impression of dutiful attention to her notes, but her ears were perked toward the office door. The muffled conversation had brief moments of clarity when voices were raised, only to sink to a bare whisper when the stallions became conscious of their volume.
At last they came out, Crackshot leading the way. He cleared his throat but all eyes were already on him. “Do we have consensus that this could be a changeling?” he asked, looking around. Everypony quietly nodded. “Do we or do we not? I need an answer, not shrugs!”
Swansong spoke up first. “Yes sir.”
Crackshot nodded slowly and turned his gaze on the unicorn with a placid grin seemingly etched into her face. “Coldhorn?”
“It's a strong possibility,” she answered. “The behaviors fit.”
“Very well then,” he said gruffly. “We will move against the suspect immediately. It is in our best interests to bring him in before he gets into downtown Canterlot and disappears. Foresight and Coldhorn will lead. Swansong I want you to go with them as backup. The fewer agents we have in close proximity the less potential for him to use his shapeshifting against us. You all know the protocols: identity markers and passwords. This is an opportunity for us to shine, fillies and gentlecolts. Don't buck it up.”
* * *
Featherfall felt nervous energy brimming throughout her as she slipped onto the train in the early morning hours. She felt herself jump at every voice, her eyes darting rapidly back and forth as she rounded every corner. She came to one of the busier cars and ducked into an empty seat by a foggy window. From her satchel she tugged a small blanket, and wrapped herself up in it, pulling it up almost completely over her head. Through a little gap she watched the silhouettes of dark trees pass by and listened to the soft rhythm of the tracks below.
“What are you doing here, Featherfall?” she heard a familiar voice ask. Sleepily she stretched her forelegs, letting the blanket tumble off her in waves.
“Hmm?” she asked, enjoying the warm sun on her face. Her eyes shot open. Outside was the station and before her: Foresight. “Guh, Fore!”
“What are you doing here?” he repeated stiffly. Featherfall averted her eyes from his judgmental gaze, searching the ceiling and walls for an explanation. All she found was Coldhorn and Swansong, both bearing scowls.
Featherfall smiled sheepishly. “I... well, I was worried,” she admitted.
Foresight looked about ready to start tearing his own mane out. “Do you have any idea what you're doing?” he asked, sounding strained. “You could lose your job over this!”
“I do know what I'm doing,” she snapped. All at once she was out of her seat, nose pressed against his. Foresight's eyes widened and his ears drooped. “I don't have a lot of ponies in my life that I really care about, Fore. One's Torch and one's you. Now if you think I'm going to sit in that office all day and read witness statements when there's a...” she glanced back and forth and lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “If either of you ever finds himself walking into a room they might not walk out of, it's going to be with me standing next to them.”
Featherfall straightened up and took a step back, out of Foresight's personal space. “I don't want to lose my job,” she explained calmly. “But I'd rather lose that than you.”
The stunned stallion shook his head in disbelief. Blushing furiously he turned to each of his fellow agents. Swansong groaned and rolled her eyes. Coldhorn licked her lips and waggled her brow, then smirked at his disgust.
“Alright,” Foresight said, defeated. “Let's go.”
“Just let me get my stuff together,” Featherfall said, hurriedly stuffing her satchel full.
A brief flicker of flame, like a match being struck, was the only warning Featherfall had before a gout of hot flame coughed a letter onto her seat. She jolted upright and pawed wildly at her forelock to free it of embers.
“Uh... from my brother,” she announced sheepishly as she held up the letter for her equally startled co-workers. She chuckled nervously, feeling the weight of their unblinking stares. “We've uh... we've gotta work out a schedule on these...”
Later in the morning, Featherfall found herself once again on Torch's doorstep, this time with Swansong at her side. Torch emerged, blinking his confusion in the bright morning sun.
“Now, when I said 'come visit soon',” Torch said, looking back and forth between the mares on his porch. “I didn't mean 'in an hour,' Frosty.”
“It's complicated,” Featherfall confessed. “Can we come in?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, withdrawing from the door. His mood seemed to fade when the door swung shut, and the grave looks on his guests' faces registered. “This is serious, isn't it?”
His sister nodded slowly. “It is.”
“Put this on the bottom of your right front hoof,” Swansong said. A sticky wax token, thin as paper and no wider than a bit coin floated before the concerned stallion. “What's your name?”
“Torch Lights,” he answered automatically, his attention focused on the silver-maned mare attaching another of the sticky droplets to his left ear. “What are these for? What's going on?”
“Security,” Swansong said. “You are not to leave the house. Is that understood?”
Torch frowned, looking to his sister with pleading eyes. “Frosty? What's going on?”
“We need to use your guest room,” Featherfall answered. “I promise we'll explain everything as soon as this is over.”
The bewildered stallion nodded his head numbly. “Okay.”
Prone on the guest bed, Swansong was nearly invisible to the outside world. Snowflakes drifted in through the open window, clinging to her mane and lightly stinging her nose as she set to work assembling her tripod with practiced ease. Her breath came in even, misty puffs as she steadied her spyglass on the sill, poking out between the shutters.
“See anything?” Torch asked, his whispered voice barely audible over the cold wind whistling in through the window.
“They're on the patio,” Swansong narrated calmly. “Looks like there's no answer at the door.”
“So what happens now?” Torch asked, looking to his sister for information.
Featherfall leaned against the door frame, looking out at the idly falling snow. “We wait and let Fore and Coldhorn do their job.”
“They're circling around back,” Swansong announced. “Checking out the storm cellar.”
Mentally Featherfall traced her colleagues' path through the fresh-fallen snow. She could almost see Foresight, tugging the rusty cellar door open and descending into the dankness below. “Do they keep anything down there?”
Torch rubbed his chin. “Most of Dad's old stagecoach? Mother sort of crashed it last year... It was... well. You can guess how it was.”
“Nothing,” Swansong interrupted. “They're heading back this way. Get the door, would you? I'll keep an eye out for the suspect.”
“You still haven't told me what's going on,” Torch complained, following Featherfall into the hall. “Why am I wearing these ridiculous things? What are they?”
His sister hurried on to the door. “Identity markers. I'll explain in a minute. I promise.”
Foresight heaved a tired sigh and trudged inside, shaking the snow from his pelt.
“Ear,” Featherfall said, waiting patiently.
Foresight lowered his head. Featherfall brushed his ear down until she found a little baby blue token nestled discreetly within his fur.
“Find anything?” she asked.
“Nothing,” her partner grumbled. “This was an incredible waste of time.”
Featherfall hung her head, concealing her watery eyes. The failed changeling raid seemed an obvious final nail in the coffin of her brief career. “I'm...” she started to lift her head to face him eye to eye, but his hoof caught her attention and her voice caught abruptly in her throat. A little splash of blood, fresh and glistening, had stained his snow-white hoof. Featherfall felt as though her heart had stopped beating for a moment. She could think of only one reason it might be there. She knew she had lingered too long; 'Foresight' had already lowered his head to look. “I'm sorry...” she said, her voice ragged and breathless as she averted her eyes from the telltale blood, slowly turning to Torch. Trembling and wide-eyed with fear she braced herself. "Run!"
* * *
Featherfall awoke in darkness. She could feel herself dangling upside down, pendulously swaying to the plaintive creak of well-aged timbers. Her wings hung loose from gravity's pull, dangling past her head. On one side she could feel warm blood trickling off the tip of her wing, streaming down from an indiscernible source. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up at the ground below. Sprawled in the dust and blood, Sourdough stared back with dead, sightless eyes His body was pale and ashen, devoid of color. Something had gnawed his horn away, leaving little more than a broken stump. Beyond him Moonsong and Sweet Bread lay atop a heap of what looked to be four more bodies, all similarly faded and chewed.
Slowly the pegasus turned, a victim of the whims of the cold wind seeping in around the rusty cellar door. She felt the air catch in her throat when she saw the cocoons; four of them nestled in the corner. Trapped within their murky emerald haze, her colleagues and brother lay sleeping, perhaps to never wake again with their faculties intact. Her stomach crawled, twisting into knots.
“Ah good, you're awake,” Shimmer crooned.
“Shimmer! What have you done?” Featherfall snapped. Hate burned in her eyes as her sister's hoof spun her about and brought them nose-to-nose.
Shimmer's blackened face twisted into a cruel smile. “Dear sister! It is so good to see you. I was worried you wouldn't wake up in time. What was it we're supposed to call you now, Frosty? Feather... Featherhead? Princess Featherhead, wasn't it?”
“You're a monster, Shimmer!” Featherfall shouted, struggling with her bonds.
“A monster?” she asked, sneering. “Big words for one who sent a changeling to arrest me. She's not so far gone as she likes to pretend, you know. When we put her in the cocoon again, well...” Shimmer smirked wickedly and licked her lips. “You should have seen the fear in her eyes. Delicious.”
A figure detached from the darkness of the cellar wall and joined Shimmer before the dangling pegasus. “You do love to play with your food,” Riverrun said.
“I wanted her to know,” Shimmer said, grinning. She looked back up at her younger sister and stretched her gossamer wings. “Like them? They're real. Unlike that little horn of yours. Which reminds me! You're about to get that horn you always wanted.”
Featherfall had heard more than enough. She sprang to life, twisting and flapping furiously against the gooey mass binding her legs. Desperately she ripped a feather from her wing and flung it up into the rafters, sparks tumbling into her face in its wake. A silver comet blossomed against the ceiling, showering embers and slivers of rotten wood across the floor. Featherfall came crashing down and scrambled to get her footing.
“Just kill her!” Riverrun snapped. Shimmer's fireball very nearly did the job, but the nimble pegasus twisted violently out of the way, hurtling herself into the air amid another burst of searing heat and stinging debris. She scrambled desperately for purchase on the side of Foresight's chitinous tomb and tore into it with reckless abandon.
“Fore! Fore I need you!” she cried out. She could hear the changelings bearing down on her. Another feather exploded against the base of the cocoon, breaking it loose and propelling it into a heap of old carriage parts. Pungent ichor erupted all around the stallion as he found his freedom among the rubble. He tumbled down the pile and stopped suddenly as his leg slipped between the spokes of an old wheel. Foresight cried out in agony as his leg caught and snapped under the jarring force. Riverrun charged for the struggling unicorn, only to find the barrel of a thaumic pistol leveling in his direction.
Shimmer stopped dead in her tracks. “River!” she cried out in warning, far too late.
Deadly beams of ruby light screeched through the air. The first bolt caught Riverrun in the shoulder, spinning him broadside to the stallion and ending his charge. Two more deadly beams of light lanced through his chest, spattering his lifeblood across the floor. Carried only by his momentum, the changeling tumbled onto his side and shuddered in death.
“You! I'll kill you!” Shimmer shrieked. Her magic took hold of the weapon and she wrested with Foresight for control. Featherfall sent a silvery comet of searing flame toward her changeling sister. Shimmer fired back in answer, the volley from her own horn detonating against it in a dazzling burst of white-hot flame. The thaumic pistol fired wildly, punching smoking holes into the cellar walls as it twisted violently under the sway of competing wills. Spent cartridges, still aglow, tumbled across the floor until at last the weapon was empty. The changeling's aura took hold of the broken stagecoach and gave it a mighty heave, bringing the wooden mountain tumbling down over the injured unicorn.
Shimmer's full attention turned to the pegasus. “Now, you... I'll gouge your heart from your chest!” Shimmer roared. Bolt after bolt of fiery wrath rocketed toward her airborne opponent. It was all Featherfall could do to avoid being struck down. Her wings began to ache, liberated of too many critical feathers. She could feel her body slowing down. All at once her world went white. Shimmer's magic exploded against the wall right in front of her, enveloping her in fire and peppering her with debris. Blackened and bloodied, she rolled to a stop against the back wall with the ominous cocoons hanging just above her. The feather on her head sagged into her field of vision, its color almost fully drained.
Featherfall could only watch, struggling to regain control over her aching limbs as Shimmer stalked toward her with murderous intent. She raised her hooves in defense as her changeling sister sprang upon her, holding her satchel up to ward off the flurry of blows. Shimmer seized it in her jaws and yanked violently, rending it asunder. Bit coins, snacks, and baubles bled out through the tear, raining down around the struggling pony. A flash of silver caught her eyes as the horn file tumbled free.
Shimmer wrenched the satchel free of her grasp and flung it aside. The changeling growled savagely, licking her cruel fangs as she loomed over her fallen prey. She leaned in close, a sickly green aura glowing softly around her gnarled black horn. Featherfall could feel nausea grip her as her sister's magic started to take hold.
“Don't worry sister...” Shimmer cackled madly, her voice cold and grating. Her hate-filled eyes burned with an unholy green fire. “You won't feel a thing.”
Featherfall cried out and forced the horn file upward with all of the strength left within her. Shimmer lurched, eyes wide as she felt her strength flow out of her. Sickly green blood oozed like tar from a grievous gash in her throat. She stumbled back, working her jaw in voiceless horror. Featherfall darted out of her vengeful reach. The wounded changeling struggled to stay upright, her very life seeping out beneath the pressure of her hoof. She clawed and dragged herself toward her fallen lover, but fell short. Collapsing to the cold dusty floor, Shimmer breathed her last.
“Featherfall? Featherfall are you okay? What happened?” Foresight called frantically from where he lay. Ruined wagon parts shifted around him as he struggled to get his head above the sea of broken lumber. Featherfall could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Aches and pains made themselves known as the adrenaline began to subside.
“Shimmer is dead,” she answered, eyeing on the cocoons above her. Three slumbering ponies still awaited their salvation.