//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Above Reproach // Story: Overture // by Dusk Quill //------------------------------// Dandridge listened to the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle above his fireplace as he scrawled elegant lines of text across his ledgers. The gentle clicks of white noise soothed his brain and put him in an odd state of relaxation. He glanced up at the newspaper propped up on a stack of books on his desk, skimming through the headlines to see what events had graced the front page today. The large bold font across the top told a story of a crime family in Manehattan city. The Royal Guard had busted a large group of them during a weapons deal at Manehattan Harbor. Dandridge scowled, taking a sip from his cup of coffee, the hot, bitter liquid washing over his tongue and taking the edge off the angst. Those had better not be my investments in the hooves of the Guard… he thought while he glanced back down at his work. He tapped the end of his quill against the page, clutching the feathered end tightly between his teeth. His eyes stared down at the long, flowing lines of words. Each one faded into an indiscernible black squiggle as his eyes shifted in and out of focus. His mind was miles away in Manehattan. The authorities had made a move on his compatriots. The RIS was snooping around his doorstep. He didn’t like it, not one bit. With a sigh, Dandridge dropped the quill again and rubbed his aching temples with his hooves in a dire attempt to alleviate the pressure pounding at the front of his skull. He had nothing to worry about. All the appropriate measures had been taken to ensure his safety. Rule one of good business: always make sure you walk away with the profit…  To come out on top he would have to stay one step ahead of his friends and three steps ahead of his enemies. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups with those snoops poking around his personal affairs. Breathe, Dan… Breathe… He paused to close his eyes, taking in a slow breath. You have nothing to worry about. You’re better than they are. They know nothing.  The doors to his office flew open abruptly, making the stallion jump in his chair and sending his heart into a flurry. His housekeeper came rushing in, blubbering incoherently aghast at something Dandridge could not discern. “What did I tell you about interrupting my work?” he snapped, growling like a wild animal. His reaction had been so volatile and furious it made the mare skid to an unsteady halt and backpedal a few steps. “No. Don’t you walk away now. What is it?” “I-It’s the ponies from yesterday, Master Clydesdale. They’re back. I think they’re trying to break down the door.” Dandridge’s forehead scrunched up. Concern painted his visage. He rose to his hooves with haste and cantered down the halls, his housekeeper running just to keep pace with him. As he rounded the corner to the main hallway, he could hear the loud banging from the other side of the house. The closer they drew to the foyer, the louder the banging was heard. It sounded like they actually were trying to break in after all. Slowing down to give himself enough time to smooth out his hair and straighten his blazer, Dandridge unlocked the doors and pulled them wide open, a benevolent smile on his face. “Good morning, gentlecolts! Back to— Hey!” He was sharply cut off as both Fleethoof and Bentgrass pushed their way past the stallion, forcing their way inside the house. Bentgrass pulled out his emerald from his jacket, listening to the slow, soft pinging sound it made. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” asked Dandridge in a rage. “You can’t just come barging in here! That’s illegal!” “Actually, we can,” Fleethoof retorted, his eyes hard as he turned on the sybarite stallion. “The RIS received a distress signal from your property, Mister Clydesdale, and we’re going to search your house until we find where the signal is coming from.” Bentgrass looked up and put the gem away again. “It’s coming from this direction.” The two stallions set off down the large hallway without another word. Dandridge, still in a state of shock, followed closely behind with his housekeeper close in tow. As they progressed further into the house, Bentgrass would pause and listen to the signal from the gem in his jacket, gauging how close they were by the frequency of the sounds. “What gives you the right to just barge in here like some sort of secret police? Do you know who I am?” Dandridge continued to berate the ponies as they moved on. “Yes, I know who you are, sir,” Bentgrass said, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes burned with a dark threat, urging the pony to challenge him a little more. “I’ve dealt with your type before. The ones who think they’re above the law and think they can get away with anything because their social status protects them. Let me tell you, sir, you are just as vulnerable to justice as anypony else. Now you can help us and tell us what we need to know or you can stay out of our way while we work. Understood?” Bentgrass stared off with Dandridge for a moment. Neither pony backed down, glaring hard into each other’s eyes, unwavering and undeterred. The steely tension hung heavy over the two stallions and a palpable electricity ran between them. Finally, Dandridge snorted and lowered his head a touch. That was all Bentgrass needed. The group slowly wandered down the long corridors of Clydesdale Manor, following Bentgrass’ emerald each step of the way. The closer they got, the louder the gem—and Dandridge’s protests—became. As they passed by a set of double mahogany doors, the gem went crazy. Sharp series of pings resounded from it every second as if it were about to explode. Fleethoof and Bentgrass exchanged a look and then pushed the doors open. The doors opened up to an expansive office, with a grand mahogany desk situated just in front of a wall of glass that overlooked the lush countryside of Thatchholm county. Bookcases towered up to the ceiling on both adjacent walls, every bound tome neatly tucked away in pristine formation. It was apparent that great care had been painstakingly made to keep such order in check. A long rectangular table was covered with maps of the world, covered with lines for well-known trade routes between nations. Everything about the room exuded power and control. Bentgrass meandered slowly across the floor, his hoofsteps echoing quietly around him as he inspected the office. The gem was all but vibrating it was going off so wildly. Fleethoof followed him in a moment later, studying the room in all its detail. Dandridge lingered back by the door, his hoof surreptitiously slipping down to unbutton his blazer. A glint of his shiny metal pistol flickered beneath the heavy gray fabric. “The signal is coming from in here,” said Bentgrass, walking alongside one of the bookcases with the gem, listening as the pings refused to grow any more or less frequent. “It should be in this room.” Fleethoof furrowed his brow. He walked alongside the table. He peeked beneath it, looking for a similar emerald to Bentgrass’. “Are you sure?” Bentgrass shook his head with absolute certainty. “It has to be here.” While Bentgrass continued to check the bookshelves and the corners of the room, Fleethoof made his way around to the desk. None of the books and assorted artifacts on the desk was the communicator they were looking for, but they certainly did look expensive. Dandridge clearly enjoyed his lavish lifestyle and inherited wealth. His eyes trailed slowly over the few photographs he had: one of him with a female griffon, one with a pony in a fine suit at what looked like the Manehattan boardwalk, and another of him with a group of assorted creatures. Fleethoof lingered on the pictures for a while longer and then glanced over at the newspaper. The same pony from the boardwalk photo was on the front cover being cuffed by the Royal Guard. Another photo showed stocks of weapons and drugs being confiscated. He glanced down at the open ledger, skimming quickly over the elegant script. It contained banking records, with several large payments made out to somepony in Manehattan for ‘goods and services’. “Bit of bad luck with your friend, Mister Clydesdale,” Fleethoof stated, catching a confused look from him. He held up the newspaper and the photograph. “You know what they say about the company you keep…” Dandridge scowled at the pegasus from across the room, his eyes turning threateningly dark. “We all make poor judgment calls from time to time. It’s precisely why I’m trying not to hold any animosity against the two of you right now.” Fleethoof chuckled under his breath, pulling open a drawer and shifting through the contents. “Think we’re making a bad decision, huh?” “Yes, I do. And searching for a distress signal does not grant you the right to go through my belongings. Open one more drawer and I’ll have you both arrested for trespassing and harassment.” As much as he detested the thought of admitting victory to the smug bastard, Fleethoof knew he was right. He reluctantly slid the drawer shut and waltzed across the room with a smooth gait towards where Bentgrass was. He had moved back to the center of the office, the gem still pinging like its entire existence depended on it. “I don’t understand…” muttered Bentgrass with a shake of his head. “The other communicator should be going off as well. It says it’s here, but why can’t we hear it?” “Oh, that’s a bit of hard luck, gentlecolts,” Dandridge said, the sympathy so fake in his voice it made Fleethoof’s teeth grind together until it hurt. The pony smiled, traipsing closer to them with graceful, gliding strides. “But as you can see, I have nothing to hide, nor anything that you seek. Now if you don’t mind, I have a great deal of work I must be attending to. Could you wrap this up quite quickly?” Fleethoof’s eyes narrowed to slits as he stepped up until he was face to face with Dandridge. “I can smell the despicableness on you. It’s so thick, it reeks. How can you stand to look yourself in the mirror?” Dandridge’s smile, if anything, widened on his lips. “With great pride.” “I’d just love to shove that pride down your throat…” “Be careful what you say, Mister Fleethoof. I might mistake that for a threat.” “Hmm, you’d be that clever, wouldn’t you?” Dandridge’s grin slowly widened, flashing each and every pearly-white tooth in his mouth to the captain. “I’m clever enough to get by.” “Get by with what exactly?” Fleethoof persisted. “With my business.” “And what business is that?” Dandridge cocked his head to the side, a glimmer of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “None of yours, I can assure you.” Fleethoof and Dandridge stared each other down, standing so close that only a narrow strip of space separated their glares. “You know, Clydesdale, I’d be careful if I were you too. You never know when you might have a noose around your neck. One slip could hang you.” Dandridge gave a cold, hard laugh, his eyes sparkling with demented delight. “That would imply I did something wrong to have a noose around my throat in the first place.” “Like harming two government agents?” asked Fleethoof tersely. “Who said they were harmed? Last I recall, you both said they were just missing,” he asked with a shrug of his shoulders. The cocky stallion gave a soft chuckle. “I told you before, I don’t know a thing about it. I’ve never even met any federal agents before the two of you.” “I’m more likely to believe a snarling dog won’t bite me than I am to believe your story.” “Oh, such aggression with nowhere to direct it. Does it infuriate you, Guardspony? Sting a little, perhaps?” Fleethoof’s eyes were smoldering now. A blazing anger flared up within his heart while staring into the remorseless, calculating eyes of his adversary. He had seen that gaze only twice before in his lifetime. “It’s only a matter of time.” “Before what? You try to arrest some other poor innocent pony? You two are so desperate to pin this on somepony, you’ll be investigating the princesses before long.” “Innocent—ha! You’re as guilty as a cat in a canary cage.” “You have nothing to prove otherwise, or else you wouldn’t be barging in here on false pretenses,” Dandridge snapped. “You should be ashamed of what you’ve done to your family’s name,” Fleethoof growled. “What would your father think if he knew what you were up to right now?” Dandridge’s eyes darkened a touch. His smile faded and his lips curled back in a silent snarl, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth clicked together. “Don’t you dare mention my father.” “Why? Afraid to admit you’re using daddy’s money to fund your little criminal friends?” “You just spouting nonsense. You can’t prove a damn thing.” “Or are you just too cowardly to admit that you’re nothing more than a go-between for the real important ponies of the world? Just another pawn for them to use at their whim.” “You can’t prove that either.” “And when you add in abducting government agents too, oh boy… Canterlot Prison is just dying to have you as a guest…” “Enough! You have nothing against me. It’s written all over your faces! You don’t know where your agents are and neither do I!” Dandridge shouted angrily, tossing his head wildly to and fro between Fleethoof and Bentgrass. “And when you two incompetent morons do finally find her alive and well with no connection to me whatsoever, oh, won’t you both feel like idiots then! I think I’ll be sure to have you both knocked back down to pushing papers for the rest of your miserable lives.” Fleethoof stood still as a statue, his wings bristling slightly on his back. He was biting his tongue so hard that he tasted the metallic tang of blood. He forced himself to keep from saying or doing anything rash. Dandridge gave a smug chuckle, a wide smile across his pompous face. “How did you know she was a mare?” Dandridge turned a tad, glancing over his shoulder at Bentgrass. His face drained of color, a slight pallidness replacing the flush of anger in his cheeks. “…What?” “The missing agent,” Bentgrass repeated, eyeing Dandridge with his bat-like eye with icy suspicion. “You said ‘when we find her’. We never told you we were looking for a mare.” If Dandridge had given a reaction, Fleethoof hadn’t seen it. The pony had one hell of a poker face; straight as an arrow. He blinked a few times and just rolled his shoulders in a cool, collected shrug. Bentgrass slowly closed the distance between the two of them, his eyes prying at Dandridge’s for answers with unyielding determination. “What did you do to her?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Dandridge, glancing away. His impassive demeanor gave away nothing. “But I know you didn’t find what you were looking for, so I want you both out of my house now. Go, before I get the Guard on you.” Bentgrass leered at the Earth pony for a moment longer, and then nodded his head once to Fleethoof. The two stallions slowly made their way out of the office, headed for the front door. Dandridge escorted them the entire way, seeing them off to the porch with a harsh scowl. “You may not want to flash your gun all over the place, Mister Clydesdale, lest anypony assume you’re threatening them,” Bentgrass said dryly as they stepped off the porch. “I believe we’ll be in touch.” Dandridge’s face flushed again while he hurried to button up his blazer again, concealing his weapon. “Don’t come back to my house again,” Dandridge threatened and stepped back inside, slamming the doors shut behind them. Fleethoof listened as each of the deadbolt locks snapped into place. He glanced at Bentgrass as they set off back towards Thatchholm through the mist. “We’ve got him on the ropes.” “Maybe…” mused Bentgrass. “He tipped his hand. He knows something. But we still can’t prove he was connected without anything concrete to link to him. Even that slip with Dawn’s gender is circumstantial. Any half-witted lawyer will argue that it was a fifty-fifty guess.” “Perhaps I can help with that. Dandridge was friends with some Manehattan capo that was busted last night. I have a friend who works in the Manehattan Guard. Maybe they can squeeze some information from him.” Bentgrass nodded his head slowly. “That might get him on the racketeering and smuggling charges, but it doesn’t get us anything on him for what he did to the agents. I wish I had more time to check that room. I’m certain he was hiding something.” “Leave that to me,” Fleethoof said with a confident grin. “If there’s one thing I’m a professional at, it’s infiltration and stealth. If there’s anything in that room, I’ll find it.” “You know anything you find would be inadmissible in court,” Bentgrass muttered. “You aren’t acting as a government agent, and anything you acquired would be by illegal search and seizure.” “True, but if I did find anything and then we got him on the Manehattan charges, that would be enough for a search warrant, wouldn’t it?” Fleethoof’s hopes lifted a little as he saw that familiar look in Bentgrass’ eyes when he put two and two together. “Then I could just so happen to lead you right to the evidence, and bam! We got the bastard.” “That… might actually work.” Bentgrass turned his head, staring intensely at Fleethoof with his bat-like eye. “The entire plan is dependent on you finding anything worth a conviction though.” Fleethoof nodded his head once sharply. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me. I’ll take a look around tonight.” Bentgrass nodded and popped open a pocket watch. “Then in the meantime, I shall head over to Manehattan and make sure your friend brings us sufficient evidence to garner a warrant—and to put a little pressure on Clydesdale.” “You don’t think we’ve got him squirming enough yet?” Fleethoof chuckled under his breath. “Have you ever heard the folk tale of King Ariegeois, Fleethoof?” When Fleethoof shook his head, Bentgrass gave a curt nod of his head, just barely dipping his chin. “Ariegeois was a diamond dog with an insatiable lust for gems, more so than the average mutt. His pride and desire drove him to claim many packs’ territories and mines as his own. One day, a smaller pack defied him and refused to relinquish their horde to the tyrant king. The pack was much too weak to face the wrath of Ariegeois, but they had a plan. “The pack unified with several other smaller groups and began to cut off Ariegeois from his allies. One by one, Ariegeois’ support fell and the arrogant king, assured that he was untouchable, did nothing to aid them. They were merely tools to him. He finally realized what a costly mistake he had made when the packs had him completely isolated and his doom closed in. In a rage, Ariegeois attacked with what little strength and pride he had left. He was slain in combat and was forever slandered for his presumptuous and egotistic ways.” A light illuminated behind Fleethoof’s eyes as the captain picked up on the meaning behind the story. “You want to cut off Clydesdale’s friends in Manehattan to leave him defenseless. Then he’ll be ripe for picking and breaking.” “That is precisely my intention. All it takes is the right leverage on his out-of-town associates.” “Be careful out there, Agrostis,” Fleethoof murmured, watching the soft cloud his breath made in the fog dissipate before his eyes, just like their grasp on Dandridge. “Everypony knows the stories of those ponies. The Manehattan syndicate aren’t to be messed with.” “Oh, don’t worry about me, Captain. I’ve stirred up the hornets’ nest enough times to learn how to avoid being stung.” A wry smile crept across Bentgrass’ face. “And Fleethoof, please don’t shoot Clydesdale. We need him alive to make the arrest.” It was Fleethoof’s turn to smirk with dry humor. “I make no promises.” Being back in Canterlot had a certain sort of charm to Fleethoof as he trudged through the light rainfall dampening the city. Even though he had only been gone a day, it was almost disorienting going from the vastness of Thatchholm’s countryside back to the sleepless metropolis he had come to know and love. The weather certainly didn’t fair any better. Fleethoof walked with practiced steps down the busy streets of the city, making his way around the labyrinth of blocks and roads until he came to a familiar Guard precinct. The white stone structure stood out against the older buildings surrounding it in Canterlot’s Legislative District, the windows aglow with warm yellow light from within. Stepping carelessly through puddle after puddle, he pushed his way through the heavy wooden doors and into the warmth of the building’s interior. The precinct was expectedly quiet. Crime in Canterlot was at an all-time low in recent years. The Guard was finally able to enjoy a peaceful spell. Following a path that had been burned into his mind, Fleethoof cantered up a flight of stairs in the foyer and wandered down the only hall on the second floor to Skyfall headquarters. With Sharp Shot in charge, he expected the place to be barren. That pony probably had everyone taking a mini vacation in his absence. He pushed open the doors and stopped in the doorway. He had been right, the room was empty—save for a single bat pony ducking down beside his desk. He could hear the rattle of metal against metal. She was trying to break into his drawers. When she heard the door open, Midnight’s head shot up, her golden eyes as wide as Fleethoof’s felt. “Fleety!” she cheered with a huge smile on her face. She flew across the room, wrapping her hooves around him in a tight embrace. “You’re back!” Fleethoof decided it was best to avoid one headache and let her be. With a roll of his eyes, he made his way across the floor. “Sorry Midnight, it’s not for long.” Midnight sprung after the captain over to the equipment vault as he dialed in the combination. “Ah… just stopping home for a quick pick-me-up?” “You could say that, I suppose.” Fleethoof turned the latch and swung the large metal door open wide. The lights inside the vault flickered to life, casting the gunmetal shelves in white fluorescent light. Both ponies stepped inside. “I need some more equipment than I originally planned.” “How about one of these?” Midnight asked, lifting a hefty-looking rocket launcher off the wall with a grin that showed off her glistening fangs. Fleethoof smirked and shook his head. “Bentgrass would adore you… No, I’m thinking something a little more subtle.” “Liiike…?” Midnight prompted. “Where is everypony?” he asked. He gathered up his vest and a few tools from various shelves and jammed them into a bag. “Sharp Shot didn’t disband the unit, did he?” Midnight snickered under her breath as she went through each of the guns in the vault, lifting them up and checking them out. “No, not yet. He’s out with Echo, taking her on her final examination.” That surprised Fleethoof more than if he had disbanded Skyfall. So Sharp is actually taking charge in my absence… he thought with a smile. “Good. You two finish all your other tests then?” “Uh-huh,” said Midnight, walking slowly up behind her leader. “I’m just waiting for you to give me my final test.” Fleethoof didn’t respond to that. Protocol required all new members of Skyfall Team to complete a field test with a designated mentor. He had drawn the short straw with Midnight. “Soooo… when am I gonna get my test, Fleety?” “First, it’s ‘Fleet’ or ‘Fleethoof’. No more ‘Fleety’.” He paused and turned to look at her, slinging the bag across his body. The excitement in her honey irises reminded him of a foal waiting for their birthday gifts. “Second, I promise I’ll give you your test as soon as I get back, provided Sharp gives me a good report for you. But I’m in the middle of something that requires my full attention right now, okay?” A light lit up behind Midnight’s eyes. “Can I help you with whatever it is you’re doing?” Fleethoof stood perfectly still. His mouth hung open a touch, the words frozen on his tongue. Midnight’s enthusiasm and commitment impressed him to no end. For a moment, he considered taking her along. Thoughts of Dandridge flashed before his eyes then. He could see that cold grin and murderous stare. He knew in his gut that whatever had happened to those agents couldn’t have been pleasant. He couldn’t imagine subjecting Midnight to anything like that quite yet. “Not this time, I’m afraid,” he declined, giving her a small smile and patting her shoulder. He could see the dejection on her face. “Don’t worry, Mid. You’ll get your chance to prove yourself soon enough. Just have a little patience with me, please.” Midnight grumbled something under her breath as she followed Fleethoof back out of the vault. “So if you’re still busy doing whatever it is you’re doing, what brought you back here? Shouldn’t you be out wherever you were?” “That’s where I’m going back to right now.” “What happened to that creepy pale guy you left with? Is he your coltfriend in another agency or something?” Fleethoof stopped halfway to the door. Why does everypony think me and Bentgrass are in a relationship?  “We split up. He’s investigating another lead right now.” Midnight wasn’t satisfied with the cryptic answers. “So where is he?” “Manehattan.” “Is that where you’re going?” “No.” “Come on, Fleet! Give me something to hold on to,” Midnight groaned, following in his hoofsteps all the way to the door. “I get worried when you go off on your own.” Fleethoof stopped halfway out the door. He turned to look at her with a wry smile and motioned with his head back to his desk. “I’ll be careful and I’ll back very soon. There’s something I have to take care of first. Oh, and stay out of my desk, Midnight. That’s something you can hold on to.” Fleethoof reveled in the frustrated look on Midnight’s face as he left the bat behind in the office, wearing that same grin all the way back to Thatchholm. Dandridge listened to the sound of the whirring gears and machinery working in his office. He watched as the bookshelf before his eyes slid back into the wall and then out of sight, revealing the dark-stained double doors hidden behind it. He stepped up to the familiar doors and pushed them inward with a sharp click of the latch. The stench of death and bodily fluids sucker punched him right in the nose. It made him grimace away for all of a second, and then braced himself as he stepped through the portal. The lights came on, the dim illumination doing little more than providing outlines of the table, the chair, and the two bodies lying slumped across the floor like garbage. “Hello, Miss Glimmer,” he chirped as he stepped past the crumpled mass of pony nearest to the door. He smiled down at the corpse and crouched down beside her to run a hoof through her mane. “That was quite a clever trick you pulled. Now, where did you put that annoying little beacon to your friends, hmm?” Dandridge’s eyes scoured every inch of the torture chamber’s shadowy nooks and crevices. His citrine eyes moved like a hawk’s hunting its prey from the heavens above. And then there: a glint of something shiny in the far corner of the room. A predatory smirk crossed his face. “Clever girl…” Dandridge strode over to the corner of the room, his eyes tracing the finely cut edges of the emerald. He lifted the gemstone up, tossing it in the air and catching it again. A triumphant grin replaced his smile and he laughed a deep, dark chuckle that rumbled in the pit of his chest. That had been far too close of a call. The RIS were getting smarter. He had to keep several steps ahead if he planned to win this chess game. He snickered once more and dropped the gem to the floor. He listened to the clinking sound it made as it contacted the hard floor and rolled to a stop at his hooves. Lifting a hoof, he brought it down hard on the crystal, listening to it crack beneath the violent force. A second strike sent deep splinters breaking through to the core of the communicator. A third shattered it into a dozen pieces. Dandridge hummed to himself, pleased with his handiwork. He shuffled the pieces of the broken communicator around on the floor with a content sigh. Now he had to warn his partners about the coming incursion. “Your move, Special Agent.”