//------------------------------// // Chapter 5: First Impressions // Story: Overture // by Dusk Quill //------------------------------// Agent Bentgrass knocked with a heavy hoof against the solid front doors of Clydesdale Manor for the third time. Nopony had come to answer the door yet and their demands for entrance had been wholly ignored, much to the special agent’s frustration. Fleethoof was peering in through one of the large windows at the side of the door. The frosted glass did little to help, but even through it he could see there was nopony in sight. “Think nopony’s home?” he asked. “The Clydesdale family is one of the oldest noble families in Equestria’s elite. They have the power and the money to buy and sell ponies at a whim,” said Bentgrass, agitation touching his voice while he pounded on the doors again. “They could certainly afford to hire staff to mind the door.” “If they’re so high and mighty, then why do you think they’re involved in something like black market deals and organized crime? Doesn’t that seem a step down from sipping tea and talking politics?” Bentgrass’ eyes darkened a touch. “That kind of power can corrupt ponies.” Another series of loud staccato knocks shook the door. This time Fleethoof could see a mirage of vivid colors heading towards them. “Well, we got somepony’s attention this time.” He grinned at Bentgrass. “So how’re we playing this? Good cop, bad cop?” Bentgrass cast a disparaging look at Fleethoof. “I hate to imagine you in either role. Let me handle the talking this time, Captain. We don’t want to rattle the cage too much yet.” “‘Yet’… I like how you added that.” Fleethoof laughed. Then his expression dropped. “Wait, I don’t scare ponies!” The sound of locks opening was heard on the other side. Both ponies stood tall and at attention, a habit indoctrinated from years of military service. Bentgrass counted three heavy bolt locks releasing and then the latches clicked. One of the doors opened a fraction. A small, delicate-looking mare dressed in a maid’s uniform poked her head timidly out, looking both suited ponies up and down cautiously. “Y-Yes? May I help you?” The agent pulled out his badge, flashing it to the mare. “Good afternoon, miss. My name is Special Agent Bentgrass, RIS Division Six. This is my partner, Fleethoof. We’re looking for Dandridge Clydesdale.” “Master Clydesdale is not here.” Both stallions traded dubious looks. Neither were convinced by the mare’s well-rehearsed lie. Bentgrass’ cool gaze settled over her again. Fleethoof saw her hair stand on end. “Where is he then?” “Not here,” the mare said again, stonewalling the ponies once more. “Miss, we really need to speak to him,” Fleethoof said, his voice a touch softer than Bentgrass’. She looked over Fleethoof again, slinking slowly back into the house. She was slipping away. “I’m sorry, but as I said, Master Clydesdale isn’t here.” Bentgrass was unrelenting. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” “No. Nopony is home. Please come back at another time.” Just as the mare went to shut the door again, the sound of laughter echoed down the halls. Fleethoof’s ears pricked up and he brought his hoof against the closing door hard, forcing it open, much to the surprise of the meek housekeeper. “Nopony’s home, huh?” Fleethoof asked, focusing his hearing again. “I count at least four different voices inside.” Bentgrass nodded assent. He locked his steely gaze on the mare, making her flinch backward. “Miss, I am losing patience. Please go fetch your employer now. Tell him the RIS is here to speak with him.” The mare hesitated by the door for a while longer before nodding her head with little more than a twitch, avoiding making eye contact with either of them. “Please wait here.” The door closed once more. Fleethoof ducked his head to the window, watching and making sure she had walked down one of the hallways. He chuckled and stood up straight again once she was out of sight, shooting a curiously raised brow at Bentgrass. “She seemed scared of something.” “Like I said, you scare ponies. You give off an air of danger. I think it’s those soulless blue eyes.” “Aren’t you a charmer? I’m suddenly remembering why you don’t have many friends,” Fleethoof remarked with a smirk. “So what type of pony tells his staff to turn away everypony at the door, including the authorities?” Bentgrass had tuned in to Fleethoof’s suspicions as well. He tugged at his jacket, straightening the slim fit to his lithe body. Something definitely felt off. “The type that has something to hide.” “You know, I could just slip inside and check things out.” Fleethoof nudged Bentgrass with his shoulder to make sure the distant agent was paying attention. He motioned to the house with a flick of his head. “What was it you said? I can open doors you can’t?” “I didn’t mean that as literally as you’re taking it,” Bentgrass replied with a tone of sarcasm in his low voice. He gave Fleethoof a passive look, a humored gleam in his contrasting eyes. “If we are wrong about him, invasion of privacy with somepony of his caliber would bring the axe down on both of our departments so hard, Celestia herself wouldn’t be able to save our flanks.” Fleethoof sighed. He knew he was right. “…Do you think we’re wrong?” Bentgrass didn’t respond. Fleethoof dipped his head a bit, shuffling his hooves on the wooden porch as they waited. A few slow minutes passed, and then the latches clicked again and both doors opened wide this time. Fleethoof looked up, his eyes meeting some of the most fiendish he had seen in his entire life. Dandridge Clydesdale was taller than he had expected him to be, standing a full head higher than he was. The look in his eyes was that of a chess player: cool, calculating, and conniving. The smile he wore was one Fleethoof imagined all politicians wore; that egotistic grin that showed too many teeth and not enough honesty. Everything about the pony oozed deceitfulness and immorality. “Good afternoon, gentlecolts!” he greeted with a voice like honey and an accent Fleethoof thought mares would swoon over. He was the perfect predator. “Can I assist you two with something?” “Dandridge Clydesdale?” asked Bentgrass. The stallion at the door gave a sharp nod of his head. “I’m Special Agent Bentgrass, RIS. This is Fleethoof, Royal Guard liaison. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Dandridge was the picture of cool. His smile, if anything, widened and he nodded his head. “But of course, Special Agent! What sort of questions?” “Two RIS agents have disappeared from the area recently. Do you know anything about their disappearance?” “No, I’m afraid not,” replied Dandridge, his brow furrowing in convincing concern. “I wasn’t even aware that there were federal agents in Thatchholm county. What were they investigating?” Bentgrass disregarded Dandridge’s question with cool indifference. His eyes mirrored his suspect’s, the same look of a cunning mentalist blazon in his gaze. “Have you been home all week, Mister Clydesdale?” “Why yes, I have. I’ve been entertaining some friends from out of town.” He motioned with his head inside his house. “Now, what did you say they were investigating again?” “I didn’t. Did you hear any gunshots within the last few days?” Again, Dandridge shook his head. “No, I didn’t. There was a gunfight too?” “For a lord of a country, you’re not very observant about what goes on outside your front door, are you, Mister Clydesdale?” asked Bentgrass, his question obviously rhetorical by the smile he put on at the end. That struck a nerve. Dandridge’s eyes flashed with a trace of agitation. “I tend to keep to myself.” “Would you mind if we interviewed your friends?” Bentgrass persisted. “Just as a formality to make sure they didn’t hear or notice anything either. Strictly protocol, and whatnot.” Dandridge tensed up on the spot. Fleethoof noted the way his shoulders squared up defensively on his frame. “I’m afraid they might not be much help to you, Special Agent. They only arrived yesterday. It would be a waste of your very valuable time. When did your agents disappear again?” “Ah, that is very convenient…” “What are you insinuating, Special Agent?” Dandridge questioned, his eyes tapering into points. Bentgrass simply shook his head, tousling his platinum blonde mane lightly. “Nothing that another investigation couldn’t reveal. Thank you for your help, Mister Clydesdale.” With a nod of his head to Fleethoof, both ponies turned and began trotting down off the porch. Dandridge stepped out after them suddenly. “Special Agent, perhaps if you told me what they were investigating, I could be more of a help,” Dandridge offered with a wolfish smile. “I have degrees in law and criminal justice. Perhaps I can offer some insight into what may have occurred. A glimpse into the criminal mind, so to speak.” Bentgrass stopped and glanced over his shoulder at the pony lingering on the porch. “Your support is appreciated, but for a pony that hardly knows what is happening just beyond his doorstep, I have my doubts. If you think of anything that may help us, don’t hesitate to contact us, Mister Clydesdale. Good day.” He turned again, whispering under his breath to Fleethoof, “Keep walking…” “Well, that was about as useful as a wingless pegasi,” Fleethoof remarked once they were far enough away. “We’ve got about as much as we did before.” “He’s our pony.” Fleethoof turned his dubious gaze on Bentgrass. “You sound certain. What changed your mind?” “He kept glancing down and to the left when he spoke. It’s the classic tell of a liar. His left eyelid twitches when he does it too. He’d be a terrible poker player. He knows what happened, I’d stake my badge on it. Now we need to find out what he’s hiding and just how much he knows.” “What happened to finding hard evidence and not trusting intuition?” “The evidence is what puts him behind bars and in an interrogation room,” Bentgrass said, a knowing look on his face. “Intuition helps us identify the bad guys, and Dandridge is as crafty as they come.” Dandridge hung out on the porch for several moments longer, watching the two stallions as they took the path back down into Thatchholm. He dropped his smile once they were a safe distance away, scowling and gnashing his teeth together. The RIS was already here and looking for their agents. He could feel the noose tightening around his neck. But so long as he kept a step ahead and in control that trapdoor would never open beneath his hooves. Sucking in a deep breath, he returned to his home, cantering eagerly back to his study. He couldn’t wait to tell his guest that her friends had come looking for her. Dawn grunted when her body made contact with the hardwood floor. Every muscle in her from head to flank ached and cried for mercy. But she couldn’t give in, not when there was a ray of hope shining for her at last. Gritting her teeth, Dawn crawled across the floor. Each motion sent a wave of nerve-racking agony through her weak body. The strain of just shifting and moving took all of her remaining strength. Fighting her way out of the manor was out of the question. But putting up a fight against Dandridge was another matter entirely. Much to her relief, her luck had held up. Whatever had distracted Dandridge had obviously been much more important than the RIS hostage chained to his wall. She tried her best not to take insult at that notion. He hadn’t returned yet, and once she had managed to pry herself free, she felt like her fortunes were beginning to change. Leaving behind spotted trails of blood across the floor from the lacerations on her hooves, Dawn managed to make her way to the table. Her hooves scrabbled at the edge, grunting as she hoisted herself up, using the table for balance until she had gotten on her hooves again. Her badge, gun, and communicator were still there. In all his wisdom, it seemed Dandridge hadn’t counted on her getting loose. She ran through her plan of action over and over in her mind. She first grabbed her communicator and tapped the crystal twice. The gem made a soft hum before falling silent. Dawn tossed the crystal across the room, watching it land safely in a shadowy corner of the room. That was done. Her second task fell to her weapon. She grabbed the gun and grimly noted how light it was. The magazine was missing. A gun without bullets did her no good. Settling for one of Dandridge’s knives, she grabbed her RIS badge and ID. Dandridge still hadn’t returned. Dawn heaved a sigh and dropped to her hooves. She wobbled to and fro, then waited until her equilibrium had returned and was sure she could stand without collapsing. Then she slowly shuffled her hooves, limping towards the door. The trek seemed to span miles for her fatigued body. Yet even as she fought on, each inch felt like a breath of fresh air in her lungs. Each step meant a step closer to freedom. Tears stung at Dawn’s eyes. She would escape, she would return with the RIS, and she would get Dandridge for what he had done. Hopefully she could even recover Keen Eye’s body before he was dumped in a shallow grave and give her partner and his family some peace too. She approached the door, her horn igniting with a very faint aura as she tugged at the door. It took a few attempts, but when they finally flew open, Dawn’s soul soared—and then her heart sank. Dandridge was standing on the other side. Both ponies looked just as shocked to see the other, so much so that neither moved for a good while. Dawn was the first to move, spitting the knife out into her hooves and tensing up, prepared for a fight.  “Dandridge Clydesdale… You’re under arrest for assaulting a federal agent… kidnapping… and murder…” The stallion stood as still as a statue. And then he broke out into a quivering grin. A wheezing laugh left Dandridge as he sniggered at the determined agent, his smile so wide it hurt his cheeks. He gripped his sides and almost doubled over while gasping for breath. “Oh, that’s rich! Bravo, my dear! You got free and made my day with that joke!” he laughed, clopping his hooves together. “Wow, you RIS ponies truly are a devoted bunch, aren’t you? Incredible… Simply incredible! Your indomitable spirit is definitely one for the ages.” “Don’t move, or I’ll stick this knife so far in your throat, you’ll be spitting out the other end…” she threatened with a low growl in her voice. “It’s over, Dandridge… You’re finished…” Dandridge gave a soft titter followed by a heavy sigh as he calmed down and regained his breath. A single amused tear rolled down his cheek and was briskly wiped away. “Ah, my dear Glimmer… You’re right, it is over. It’s been such fun, but you’ve clearly proven that I cannot rely on keeping you confined any longer. Can’t have any loose ends coming back to hang me, after all. It’s time this ended.” He reached into his blazer, pulling his pistol out and firing a single shot point-blank into Dawn Glimmer’s torso. Dawn gave a choking gasp as the sheer energy knocked the air out of her lungs. The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor with a shrill noise of metal scraping wood while she doubled over, clutching at her side. She could feel the wetness of her blood pouring out past her hoof at an alarming rate. Her strength seeped away with each anxious beat of her heart. Dawn stumbled backwards a step and her equilibrium died. She hit the ground hard, still desperately holding the wound in her side. A glance down her body afforded her the terrifying view of the dark blood spilling from her and pooling beneath her body. The ringing in her ears returned, muffling the sound of gentle hoofsteps approaching her. Her head turned to stare with frightened eyes up at the calmly smiling Dandridge. “Oh, Dawn Glimmer, my lovely pet… I wish it hadn’t ended this way. But I can’t have you running around telling anypony about our fun, and I’m certainly not about to fight you. Besides, I don’t need you any more,” he purred, slipping his gun back inside his coat. He sat down beside the wide-eyed, dying pony and gingerly ran a hoof through her messy mane as she convulsed on the floor, grasping hopelessly at the wound draining the life away from her. “Don’t you worry, though. You’ll be gone in a few minutes. You can relax now.” Dawn gave a choking gasp as she tried to speak. The pain constricted her lungs, keeping her from drawing breath and silencing her. Her body slowly slipped into shock, numbness settling over her like a blanket as her senses failed one by one. Tears blurred her vision and fell freely down her muzzle to the cold floor. Those happy thoughts of her loved ones danced like a cruel taunt in front of her eyes before fading into eternal blackness. Dandridge hummed a soft tune under his breath, stroking her head all the while. “Oh, by the way…” He grinned that predatory smile down at the unicorn, watching the light dim in her pleading eyes. “Those were your RIS friends at the door. They’re looking for you. I think I’m going to have all kinds of fun with them.” A tremor ran through Dawn Glimmer’s body. She could hear her heartbeat in her head, slow and strong as it ran out of blood to pump through her body. Dandridge leaned down and gave her forehead a soft kiss before pushing her back into the torture room a little more and leisurely swung the door shut, taking thorough enjoyment from the scared look in her tear-filled eyes. He flashed a cold grin and winked. “Goodbye, Miss Glimmer. Doux rêves, mon cheri.” The darkness closed in on her just as her heart gave its final beat. Quiet made its residence in the cozy room of the bed and breakfast. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall created a steady rhythm of white noise in the background. Fleethoof sat in one of the chairs around the table, reclined slightly with his hooves up, cleaning his disassembled gun. Bentgrass had taken sentinel beside the window. His form pressed against the edge of the opening, resting his cheek on the cold glass while staring out into the early morning. His eyes remained fixated on the dark manor up on the hill, slumbering in the distance. He scarcely blinked, his focus so intense that the rest of the world was lost to him. His mind refused to let matters lie. He was constantly analyzing and reevaluating every scrap of evidence and every word spoken, trying to find a hidden angle or lead that he might have missed. “Take a step back, Agrostis,” Fleethoof finally spoke up, breaking the tense stillness between them. “You can stare at it all you like, but you’re not going to find anything.” Bentgrass didn’t so much as budge a muscle. “I can’t.” “Because you want to nail this pony or because you’re really worried about the other agents?” “Would you be any different if it was one of your soldiers, Captain?” Fleethoof ran his tongue over his lips as he finished wiping down the barrel of his weapon. He set it down, turning to the slide and giving it the same treatment. “That’s what I expected,” murmured Bentgrass. “If you want to get him so badly, just let me go in,” Fleethoof offered with a devilish smirk. “I’ll find out what he’s hiding.” “I would very much like to not kill him. And we’re not making a move without a reason.” “So if we get some sort of clue that he’s involved…?” Bentgrass’ hoof unconsciously began to press harder against the frame of the window. “Then I’ll do everything within my power to bring him to justice.” “Including letting me off my very short leash?” “We’re already breaking rules just by having you involved. You’re not an agent, so this technically constitutes a conflict of interest,” Bentgrass replied, making Fleethoof chuckle beneath his breath. “Not to mention Clydesdale isn’t the kind of pony you can just shoot and nopony will notice. If you’re going to violate any further laws, I want them to be justified at the very least. The last thing I want is to have to throw you in a cell with Clydesdale.” Fleethoof sighed and rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Fair enough… But why did you bring me along as your skeleton key if you aren’t going to use me?” “I will in time.” The conversation ebbed away into comfortable silence once more. Fleethoof had known Bentgrass from the times Division Six had worked with the Royal Guard and his team. He was a stallion of few words and sharp perception, something Fleethoof admired him for. They had spent meetings in the past in almost utter silence, simply exchanging information and personal ideologies. Then there were times they would covertly meet to exchange intel and discuss everything ranging from the philosophy of geopolitics to the best year for a vintage wine and the latest Wonderbolt derby. The cooperation and body language spoke volumes for the two of them. It was always mutually admiring and trusting. “You think I’m being overzealous” Bentgrass spoke up after many long minutes had ticked away, looking away from the rising sun to his partner and continuing, “don’t you?” Fleethoof drew in a deep breath through his nose. He took his time deciding on how to respond. He slowly slipped the loose bullets from his gun back into their magazines one by one, the idle work keeping his hooves busy and mind active. “No,” he said after a moment, looking up to meet the dissimilar eyes of the agent with an empathetic gaze. “I think you’re looking out for your own.” As if he had received some notion of much-awaited affirmation, Bentgrass finally stepped away from the window and came to sit opposite of Fleethoof at the table. He folded his hooves neatly in front of him and stared down at the finish on the wood with glazed, distant eyes. Fleethoof didn’t need to pry into his mind to know what he was thinking. He was trying to piece the puzzle together and build the tapestry from the loose threads they had gathered. “There has to be more evidence we’re missing…” Fleethoof pursed his lips, smacking them together with a soft pop as he finished loading the magazines. He gave them a soft tap on the table to settle the bullets into place before twirling one around on the table with idle thought. “Okay, let’s say we are. Where would you start looking?” “Clydesdale’s house,” Bentgrass said without missing a beat and with absolute certitude. “Clydesdale has this entire county under his hoof. The family has owned it for generations. There’s no way he knew nothing about what transpired here. He’s lying to cover something—or cover for somepony. But he knows more than he’s letting on.” “And you think he’s concealing evidence in his house?” asked Fleethoof while putting his gun back together piece by piece. “It’s the only logical explanation I can come to.” Bentgrass shook his head gloomily with a gruff sigh. “But even that’s circumstantial and speculative. There’s nothing solid other than a hunch.” “Sometimes your instincts are trying to tell you the truth.” “Instincts don’t hold up in court, nor when you’re trying to search somepony’s house.” “Touché,” Fleethoof conceded with a tip of his head. “Then we just need one good lead that points to Clydesdale having a hoof in this and we’ve got him.” Bentgrass leaned back in his chair again, rubbing his tired eyes with his hooves. Neither pony had slept that night. “Clydesdale’s a clever pony. He’s covering his tracks well if he is involved. This wouldn’t be his first bout with Equestrian law.” “So we just need him to slip up once—or we need a gift from an angel.” A muffled sound interrupted their conversation suddenly. Both ponies dropped their gazes from one another down to Bentgrass’ jacket. The agent slipped a hoof into his pocket, producing a glowing emerald. The soft sound resonated from the crystal with every pulse of energy. Bentgrass glanced up at Fleethoof, the apprehensive and wary look in his eyes saying enough. “I know about you RIS and your top-secret communicators,” he remarked with a dismissive wave of his hoof to put Bentgrass at ease. “Hey, don’t worry about Clydesdale too much. Even the best professionals slip up sooner or later.” Fleethoof didn’t receive a response. He hadn’t expected one. Bentgrass had already set the emerald down on the table and tapped it with his hoof. Runes began to glow around it and a thin veil of magical energy emitted like a screen from the crystal, projecting a two-dimensional image of a pony Fleethoof didn’t recognize. “Agent Bentgrass, I’m glad you’re awake,” the pony said, his tone calm and clear. “I have some information that might assist your investigation in Thatchholm.” Bentgrass waved his hoof to encourage the pony on the other end to continue. “I did some digging into the background of your suspect, Dandridge Clydesdale IV, and I found some… interesting things.” “Go on…” Bentgrass said coolly. “The Clydesdale family, as we all know, is one of the more prominent of the Earth pony noble families. The whole family has been dealing in mining companies for years internationally, making their wealth off the land. However, Dandridge seems to have found a taste for a different line of work.” Bentgrass’ brow furrowed, squinting his eyes a little. His head tipped to the side. “What sort of work?” “Organized crime, it seems. Nothing direct, but he has a lot of connections to mob families here in Manehattan and Fillydelphia, as well as freedom fighters in Zavros, usually by little more than tenuous friendships. But it turns out he has deals funding a lot of their activities: laundering, trafficking, smuggling… All under the table and strictly off the books, nothing one-on-one. Always through a bank account connected to another bank account connected to an offshore fund, and so on. But they all have one thing in common…” Bentgrass’ eyes darted back and forth as he added it up in his head. “All the money is coming from Clydesdale.” “In origin, yes and no. They’re coming from his father’s old accounts, but his father has been dead for years, and dead ponies don’t make withdrawals. It’s all circumstantial without a paper trail, but it’s very suspicious. Beyond that, he’s clean. Studied law and graduated with honors at Canterlot University, spent a lot of time internationally, but anything he does outside of Equestria we can’t get access to, including those accounts, so we can’t directly link anything to him that way yet.” Fleethoof saw the frustration burning like a growing wildfire in Bentgrass’ eyes. He was right; Dandridge Clydesdale had taken every precaution imaginable to make himself untouchable. “So all this is still useless to us…” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with irritation. “Yes, but we are getting warrants and sanctions for access to those international accounts. It’ll only be a matter of time. I do have something else that might make your day,” the pony continued. “Yesterday evening, we received a low frequency emergency signal from an RIS communicator in Thatchholm. At first, I thought it was a fluke with yours, but when the signal persisted through the night I got a fix on it.” Though he remained calm and composed, Fleethoof saw a spark flash across Bentgrass’ eyes at the prospect of good news. He lifted his head up, ears perked atop his head. “One of the missing agents?” The pony in the hologram nodded. “That’s what I thought.” “Where is it?” “It’s coming from the Clydesdale Manor. And it’s still active.” A gradual grin parted Fleethoof’s lips. He pulled the slide back onto his gun, reconstructing it with a snap. “That’s gotta be enough to search his house now.” “It is. A signal from a missing agent constitutes an Agent-in-Distress search and rescue and permits us to follow it wherever it goes, including private residences” Bentgrass said, nodding to the holographic pony. “Send over any information and paperwork you have on Clydesdale to Thatchholm. I’ll take a look at it. I’ll report in after I investigate the manor.” Tapping the emerald again, the hologram disappeared in a burst of magic and the stone settled back to a regular crystal. He stashed it in his jacket and made for the door while Fleethoof shoved a magazine into his gun and slipped it back into his blazer. “So what’s the plan this time, boss?” Fleethoof asked. “Good cop, bad cop now? Or do you want to do all the interrogating again?” Bentgrass was already halfway down the hall by the time Fleethoof caught up with him. “There won’t be any interrogating. If one of my agents is in trouble, we tear that house down brick by brick until we find them.”