Chapter 2
Hooffalls split the young silence of the chamber. Both metal-clad and unshod hoofs clattered and thudded over marble and luxuriant carpet. Guards and servants alike rushed into the inner palace as soon as the sun fell backwards into the morning horizon. Celestia had never let that happen. Guards brandished weapons and swept through the halls. Finding only unlit rooms of luxury items, they rushed back as if they had been tricked by a phantom assassin. Servants ran everywhere in a panic, checking every closet and cupboard. Shoving desperate snouts in the face of logic, they turned over every cushion, opened every drawer, and peered into the fireplace.
General Armor strode into the middle of the confusion and stood contemplatively. The tall white unicorn was encased in the brightest burnished gold, in a suit of armor which covered much more of his body than that which he wore as Shining Armor, Captain of the Guard. Under his shell, lively blue eyes appraised the scene, and instinctively took charge of the response. “Get an ESP in here,” he demanded to no one in particular. Gun barrels and accusing eyes possessed every window, but all that was seen outside was the angrily buzzing swarm of pegasi guards.
A soldier took a step into the pleasure room where a bruised and exhausted colt still groaned on the floor. Before he could process the sight, three of the agents that supplied special services to the Princess pulled him back. Two of them went in, and the last shut the door behind them, making it clear to the other guard that this room need not be mentioned.
One guard moved to look down off the balcony. Splash, squish. “Oh my goddess, what is this—“ he yelled, pulling his hoof up out of a glistening, tumorous mass. “I –“ (cough, cough) “found something!” The General, seizing upon the first important piece of information past the inane “Clear, clear! Where is she?” approached the balcony. The embarrassed warrior who had discovered whatever it was began to heave and wretch, overcome by ghastly vapors from the oozing mass.
“Not in the shit,” General Armor ordered, “It’s evidence.” The guard leaned on the railing and vomited profusely down onto those investigating the scene from below. Barf came as a relief to his senses, as it was much more pleasant than the other substance. The General breathed deeply of the fumes; they stung his senses too, but not like they did to the others. It was familiar, and carried a heavy weight of conflicting emotion.
Techs arrived, waving ESP detectors that clicked and pulsed green light. A pony in a white coat and goggles approached the General. His detector lit up red and screeched at some disturbance. Aimed at the viscous, caustic slime, it read “999” and “0.” “What is it?” Armor turned and demanded.
“I don’t know, sir. There’s no evidence of a teleport on this floor, but right here I’m showing data like I’ve never seen. We’ll have to submit this… to full sci/magic screening.” He stooped to gather some of the mysterious substance into a vial before backing away gasping. “Look,” he gestured at something as he recovered his breath. The points of Celestia’s golden crown protruded from the semisolid slime.
Disturbed, and with a cool wrath pooling in his chest, the General left the east side to gaze out a western window. There the crescent moon hung uncertainly. It had retreated from the rays of dawn, but stopped when the light had unexpectedly relented of its pursuit. Lit now from below, the crescent of the moon shone dimly and reflected on the broad solar insignia wrought onto his chest. He lowered his horn, onto which was forged a long blade. “You can smile now,” he addressed moon. “I don’t know what happened, but I know you’re behind it,” he growled.
Two floors below, in a brightly lit hall adjoining the throne room, one of the guards who had remained there was drawn to a disturbance from the wall. The pegasus approached a massive relief carving of the Griffin War and put his ear close the memorial. The stone muffled a series of thuds and angry yells. The guard silently drew out a ceremonial sword and waved to alert another warrior to the intrusion. The second guard took up a position behind a corner where he could cover his partner with his pistol.
One of the four panels of the relief swung out from the wall to reveal a hidden stairway. Two earth ponies in suits half-dragged a struggling creature into the open. The pegasus guard lunged forward, but restrained his blade at the last moment. One of the agents released his grip on the captive and reached into his vest to flash a badge. The guards in the hall immediately shifted their focus to the wiry figure, which sprang back up from the floor with renewed energy. It turned as if it would flee, but the four royal officers hemmed it in.
It was a pegasus, though a strange one; it planted its hooves firmly, as if preparing to fight. The unusual shape of its face made it seem androgynous, but it was a female. She was short, thin, and dripping wet. Ribs showed past her matted coat, which was dull gray streaked with white. Her wings stretched out feebly, unable to fill the space behind her; they did not look like they would lift her. Her eyes were completely filled with black. White only showed in their very corners as they shifted from threat to threat.
Clearly no one was intimidated. She quickly shifted to a docile attitude, bowing away from them as she accepted her position.
“I caught it coming down the secret passage from the Princess’s chambers,” the agent informed the others.
“A little short for a Lunar assassin,” a guard remarked.
The other agent conferred to his partner, “She could be one of Celestia’s pets. One of the cages was open.”
The guard with the sword declared, “It’s a nightsider if I’ve ever seen one. Just look at it.” He held the point of his weapon to her throat. He considered claiming the honor of dispatching one of her majesty’s enemies.
The agent who had apprehended her stayed him, explaining, “It could know something.”
She was led away from the audience chamber. They steered her around several corners to an unmarked door. It opened to a dark, rough passageway that fit ill with the decorum around it. She hesitated at the unfriendly entrance, but a rough shove from the guard motivated her inside. They walked down another narrow staircase. As her eyes recovered from the previous light, she began to see farther, but all that came to view was more stairs. As they continued their shadowy descent, the passage was still unfamiliar but she knew where it would lead. Shaking off paniced thoughts, she realized somewhat disconnectedly that the darkness was more comfortable anyway.
A flickering lamp half-heartedly illuminated an iron door next to a barred window. After providing authentication to a face behind the window, the guard instructed, “Put her in the south wing. Don’t let her mix with the other prisoners.”
“This one? To the stale house?” the gatekeeper wondered. Despite his surprise, his quill moved mechanically across the forms on his desk.
“Something weird is going down,” the guard alerted. “Tell the warden to expect more soon.”
The door opened and the pegasus stepped reluctantly inside. Somepony came in behind her and cuffed her wings together tightly. She stared numbly ahead as a pair of sheers clicked open behind her. It was protocol for inmates to have their mane and tail shaved upon internment. A hoof brushed lazily across her short, scraggly mane, and a voice muttered, “What’s the point?”
Continuing past the offices and through more bolted gates, she reached a four-story cell block, with several aisles through the stacked cells. She took a dejected step down the yawning central aisle, but a sharp check to her side suggested she divert to the left. A vault was opened, from which came a more pungent odor than the main cell block, and finally they came to an empty cell inside. “You’re S 92,” her escort stated as he opened the bars and flung her inside before she could enter voluntarily. She picked herself up off the floor as the lock clicked and her captor was already turning to leave.
The cell was made of stone and completely empty. The only features besides the bars in the front were a small hole near the back and a vent at each side of the floor that connected the cells.
She held her eyes shut for a minute and then peered through the shadows. When she could make out eyes in the cell across from her she became uncomfortable and shifted her attention to her own accommodations. Closer inspection yielded little that was useful; the floor, walls, and ceiling were indeed bare. The walls were not completely empty, however. Previous occupants had somehow scratched messages and pictures into the hard stone. One side was filled with many unintelligible imprecations against “Onyx”. The other inscriptions were even more encouraging. At the back, “DIE FASTER” was etched angrily in large letters. Tick marks started on one wall, crossed the back, and started on the other before falling into a despondent spiral.
She sat on the cold floor and began to do nothing. “Since I’ve got so much to do and so little time,” she mused sarcastically, “I better not get ahead of myself.” She was determined to remain still and quiet for as long as she could stand. She was doing quite well.
Yep. Nothing.
A gust blew in from the vent and chilled her aft sections uncomfortably. “I can’t be moved that easy,” she decided. Another low blow came. For some time she sat stubbornly as the wind rolled in almost regularly from the end of the south wing. Growing tired of pointless endurance, she retreated to the back of the cell, where she hoped for shelter.
Unfortunately, pressing close to the wall showed that the stone was colder than the wind. She tried to balance the two. “Now how long can I sit here? Can this be part of my routine? Yay,” she thought. The little inmate furrowed her brow, frustrated with herself for accepting such lameness.
“I wonder how long we’ll get food when things go south,” she pondered importantly. With some satisfaction she guessed she would last longer than a lot outside the jail, as if she had orchestrated this on purpose. “Is that wrong? What is wrong?” She blinked uncertainly. Blinking made her eyes sting. “That’s stupid, since when?” she protested.
Just then something caught her eye. There was some new light coming in. It was very weak, but was it growing? Although it was indirect light, she knew instinctively that it wasn’t just any light—it was sunlight. It was coming in the vent with the wind. She lay on the floor to peer through the opening. She was in luck, view-wise. She was only a few cells away from what must be the south end. There was just enough of that precious glow outside to outline the horizon. Another gust rudely rushed into her face. She could put up with it for the payoff. From what she could put together, she was in a part of a jail on the edge of the cliffs where the south wind blew strong.
She let herself relax, gazing through the bars into her private scene of the unnatural dusk. For a moment her eyes closed and mind stopped, as she edited out a puff of interrupting air. She didn’t think the light should be there, but instead of questioning it she simply took it in. Darkness was comfortable but empty; now she finally had something to look at. It suited her well. It was soothing and peaceful. As long as she watched, she felt less soulless. “I like dusk,” she whispered, and drifted to sleep.