Night in the quiet county of Thatchholm was bathed in silvery moonlight. Not a single creature stirred in the sleepy hamlet nestled between the lush rolling hills. The entire scene was tranquil and picturesque. It made Fleethoof regret not having a camera as he stood atop the roof of Clydesdale Manor. Surrounded by shadows and pale light, the pegasus was all but invisible amidst the sloped rooftop. It gave him ample opportunity to observe the surrounding countryside and watch the activity down below. He had to admit, Dandridge owned a beautiful portion of land.
Fleethoof sucked in a slow breath and held it in his lungs. The fresh air rejuvenated him, reminding him of times he had thrown himself out of helicopters and hurdled through windows. A warm breeze struck him in the face, and for a moment he was transported back to Saddle Arabia. He was seated on a balcony overlooking the capital, enjoying the late summer air with Cadence at his side. His heart ached, longing for that time back. But deep down he knew he had a task at hoof. That time was long gone.
Taking one more breath, Fleethoof stood from his crouched position beside a chimney and maneuvered his way with care across the roof until his hooves met the edge. He glanced down the three-story drop, eyeing not the fall to a certain death, but the windows. Each one was blacked out, indicating a distinct lack of activity.
Perfect… he thought with a confident smirk. Closing his eyes, Fleethoof leaned forward and threw himself over the edge. He savored the feeling of the wind rushing past his face as he plummeted, enjoying the sensation of air rippling over his wings. His eyes snapped open as he passed the second story, popping his wings out and veering up into a smooth glide. He skimmed over the ground before coming back around towards the manor. He picked one of the dark windows on the second floor and flew straight at it. He came closer—closer still—and swiftly changed the direction of his beating wings, slowing himself down until his hooves pressed lightly against the glass with a soft tink.
Hovering in midair, he released the switchblade from his armguard and deployed the blade, shoving it in between the frames of the large windows until he felt the lock snap. A gentle push on the glass yielded him entry, and with a flutter of his wings, Fleethoof had infiltrated the manor.
The room he landed in looked like a miniature museum of sorts. Glass cabinets and display cases sat about the dark room beneath a high vaulted ceiling. He eased the window closed with a soft click to mask his intrusion, then sauntered down the rows of cases. Expensive and ancient-looking artifacts sat on velvet cushions beneath their protective encasement. Curved blades bearing runes he didn’t recognize lay in perfect size arrangement across a map of Zavros. He could only assume the knives were zebra in origin. There didn’t seem to be anything of particular use to him in here, aside from an ostentatious display of the Clydesdale fortune.
He walked at his own pace past a case filled with archaic tomes and maps and made his way over to the doors at the other end of the room. Noting the light peeking in from beneath it, Fleethoof cautiously opened the door a crack. Bright light spilled into the darkness, blinding the pegasus momentarily. When his vision had settled, a well-lit hallway was waiting for him on the other side. He determined it must have been empty from the lack of any movement or sound.
Fleethoof slunk through the doors and shut them as quietly as he could. In the exposed light of the corridor, he felt very vulnerable, a feeling that sent chills down his spine. He checked to make sure his pistol was loaded and the safety was off before trotting fast down the hall. The luxurious carpet masked his hoofsteps with every trot. He had no idea where to even begin looking. The Clydesdale Manor was immense, almost as much so as the Everfree Mansion. The thought made him shiver while dark vision danced about in his head. It might have been a more appealing environment, but the danger felt as real as ever.
He moved down the hall to the next door, pausing to open it with care. It was little more than a dark bedroom. Frowning in disappointment, he proceeded down the expansive hallway to the next door. Again, it was another bedroom. I guess every room on this floor is a damn bedroom, he thought when he stumbled across his third vacant bedchamber. So the stuff I’m looking for is probably below me. Now where are the stairs…?
The sound of a door closing nearby made Fleethoof all but jump out of his skin. With his heart racing, he dipped into the dark bedroom he had found, leaving the door ajar to keep a watchful eye out. The sound of heavy hooves clopped down the hall, getting louder and louder with every step. Fleethoof bit his lip, subconsciously holding his breath as his hoof drifted to the pistol holstered on his tactical vest.
A shadow slid across the opposite wall in the corridor. A pony passed right by the door a moment later. Fleethoof recoiled into the darkness a tad more. The slight bulge of a pistol jutted out from beneath the pony’s suit at the hip. Dandridge’s security was, as expected, armed. Despite his worry, the pony just continued on down the hall until Fleethoof heard nothing. Wasting no time, he peeked out left, then right, and rushed back out into the hall and ran back the way he had seen the pony come from.
The hallway rounded and, much to Fleethoof’s delight, opened up to a winding stairwell. He poked his head over the edge and peered down to the lower level. He had to be absolutely certain nopony was close enough to catch him. If he was busted now, it was game over. Bentgrass couldn’t be his shield this time. Breaking and entering would land him in prison until Princess Luna could get past the bureaucratic nightmare of paperwork to turn him loose. That was all assuming Dandridge didn’t let his body end up in some landfill somewhere in the far corners of Equestria.
Fleethoof proceeded down the stairs to the first floor corridors, wary of every corner and shadow while deftly dodging another patrolling guard around a corner. He was familiar with where he was now; he had walked down this hall earlier, and the guards were walking routes Fleethoof could have predicted in his sleep. Retracing his steps from memory was an easy feat. But as he passed room after dark room, he began to take notice of the suspicious lack of activity. Where was Dandridge? Where were his friends, his guests he claimed to be hosting? The manor was far too still for his comfort.
He only permitted himself to breathe easy when he ended up outside Dandridge’s office. A glance at the space beneath the double doors revealed nothing but silence and darkness. This was the one room in the entire house he was glad to have found empty. Fleethoof grasped the gilded doorknob firmly and pushed—except the door refused to give way. He rattled the knob with a scowl, testing the lock.
Damn… Can’t break this one. Much too obvious… Okay, we’re doing this the old-fashioned way then…
Reaching into a pouch on his vest, Fleethoof produced a small set of lock picks. He glanced down at his watch and then began. Taking one part between his teeth and keeping the torsion wrench held in place with a delicate hoof, he began to maneuver the pick with his teeth against the tumblers. It was an arduous task, and a slow one at that. He paused every few minutes just to listen to the silence in the house, making sure he didn’t detect anypony coming before returning to his task.
One by one the tumblers gave way until he felt the mechanism turn and click. He permitted himself a smile at his accomplishments and checked his watch. Four minutes and thirty-six seconds. He scowled. Midnight still has me beat by two minutes… he thought with envy. Taking a deep breath, Fleethoof slipped inside the office, making sure to lock the door behind him.
In the dark, Dandridge’s office gave him the creeps. The large wall of glass at the other end cast light like silver ghosts around the furniture and floor. Shadows crept across the walls and ceiling like long arms reaching out for him. The night, which had so often been his ally, suddenly felt very much like his foe.
Get a grip, Fleet. You’ve got a job to do. So do it.
Walking with gradual strides across the parquet floor to the desk, Fleethoof kept his ears turned up and on high alert. This was where Bentgrass had received the distress signal from. Other than his hoofsteps, which sounded like small explosions in the quiet, he heard nothing. Much to his dismay, Dandridge’s desk remained the same as before, with only a couple noticeable differences. The same books and papers lay out in plain sight. The newspaper from earlier had been turned upside-down and the photograph of Clydesdale with Sarcidano was gone. He had obviously struck a cord with the aristocrat when he had questioned him about it. The thought made Fleethoof smirk with pride.
Well, perhaps this means Benty’s having some luck out in Manehattan…
Fleethoof took the moment to take a brief flip through the books on Dandridge’s desk. Many were bank records on his own accounts. Interestingly, none of his withdrawals or transfers had reasons or names attached to them, leaving nothing to pin him to. He felt the disappointment closing in around him again. Clydesdale was one slippery son of a bitch.
He set the book back down on the desk, glancing around at the towering oak bookcases around him. Everything seemed superimposed and powerful; he, in contrast, felt small and meek. Fleethoof furrowed his brow, trying to reason why Dandridge would opt to have his office feel like it was dwarfing him when all he exuded was confidence and control. His eyes turned downward to the desk again, studying the photographs and mementos across its wide surface.
That was when he noticed a glaring detail. There wasn’t a single photograph of Dandridge’s family in sight.
“That’s peculiar…” he mumbled to himself, shuffling through the drawers in the desk to see if they had been hidden away. One was locked, the rest containing inconsequential items and tools. He couldn’t recall seeing a single family portrait or painting of them in the hallways either.
A sharp click caught Fleethoof’s immediate attention. His head snapped up to the door across the room, hearing a key turning in the lock. He could see a shadow standing on the opposite side from the gap beneath the door. The doorknob turned and light flooded into the dark office. Fleethoof’s heart missed a beat.
Dandridge pushed open the door to his office, reaching to the wall and flipping on the light switch. The chandelier overhead poured light down around the empty office like a waterfall as he led the zebra following him across the floor to his desk.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about the Rangers, Githinji,” Dandridge said, his voice booming with self-confidence. “You can tell Unathi that he and his forces have much more support than the Equestrians do in this matter. This is primarily your war, after all. Celestia would never be able to rally enough support for any kind of militaristic intervention.”
Githinji raised a brow, staring at him with intrigue. “You are certain of this, Clydesdale? You know this is not a game we play.”
“Believe me, I know this is no game. I don’t play games.” Dandridge leaned down and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a dark brown book. “You and Unathi have the full support of me and my friends. If Celestia attempts anything, I have it within my power to martyr her politically. I know at least a few of my fellow congressponies would be supportive of your plight. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
For the longest time, Githinji fell silent. His eyes turned downward to the floor, and then lifted to meet his again. “Very well, Clydesdale. We will do business with you once more.”
A wide smile took residence on Dandridge’s face. “A clever decision, my friend. Now, for twenty-thousand bits, I can guarantee a steady supply to your forces in the capital. I can’t make any offers anyplace else for security reasons. Twenty-thousand covers the cost of the weapons themselves, the shipping and forged customs, and security detail to ensure they make it there. For thirty-five thousand, I can double the supply with the same shipping and security costs.”
“Master Unathi gave me permission to purchase as much as I see fit,” said Githinji, leaning across the table as Dandridge dipped his quill in an inkwell. “Thirty-five thousand bits it is. Master Unathi wants to make sure his soldiers are the finest in the land when we seize control.”
“A wise choice,” he agreed, making the notes in his ledger. “Thirty-five thousand bits from Mister Unathi to this account in Re'em. I’ll handle the rest from there. I’ll get in touch with my suppliers tomorrow and see how quick we can have your shipment out, provided we get the money posthaste.”
Dandridge slid a slip of paper with the account number over the desk to Githinji.
“Master Unathi will have the funds to you by tomorrow. I guarantee it.”
“I know he will. Unathi has been a very reliable client in the past. And I believe that concludes our business for tonight. We can discuss this in finer detail tomorrow.” Dandridge shut the book with a loud slam and stowed it back in the safety of its locked drawer. “Now, come. The others must be wondering where we are.”
The two stallions went to leave when Dandridge paused halfway around his desk. He turned on his heels, glancing down underneath his chair. His eyes narrowed and he ducked down, grabbing a single red feather from off the floor. He brought it up to his eyes and turned it over and over in his hoof.
“What is it?”
Dandridge stood up, showing the feather to Githinji. “It’s a pegasus down.”
“Do we have an intruder?” asked the suddenly nervous zebra.
“Oh, no no no!” Dandridge laughed, setting the feather down on his desk with great care as if it were made of glass. “I had a pegasus in here earlier. Nothing to be startled over.”
“Who said I was startled? I was being cautious.”
“Says the zebra who just about jumped out of his stripes.” Dandridge laughed again, waving towards the door. “Come, we’re missing the entertainment in the parlor.”
Fleethoof waited until Dandridge had shut the lights off and he heard the door lock again before he dared to let himself breathe. Letting out a deep exhale that swept relief through his burning lungs, he flapped his wings and descended from the ceiling. His hooves ached from holding himself still in midair in the corner of the ceiling. He was at Dandridge’s desk the moment his hooves touched down, tugging at the locked drawer. It refused to budge, despite all his strength. The lock must have been reinforced.
Whatever’s in there, Dandridge really doesn’t want anypony seeing… he thought. He sighed and ran a hoof through his messy golden mane, taking a breather to formulate a plan. He couldn’t break this lock without tipping off Dandridge, and if it was reinforced, he doubted he had the skills to pick it. He was at an impasse. Fleethoof growled under his breath, finding himself wishing Skyfall’s resident cat burglar was here. Midnight could probably have this lock open in no time flat.
Fleethoof pursed his lips, mulling over his options for the moment. With no way to open the drawer, he had no choice but to leave it behind for now. If Bentgrass could get them probable cause to search again, then they could find out what it was. Without a reason, though, it was fruit from the poisonous tree, and utterly useless to them.
Okay, Plan B: find other evidence…
Slinking back out of the office, Fleethoof took off as quietly as his hooves would allow him to. Dandridge had to keep more incriminating evidence elsewhere in his house. He found it difficult to believe that a pony of such magnitude would have such little dirt on him that it could all be contained in one tiny drawer. It was just a matter of finding it.
A shrill cry from a nearby room down the hall caught Fleethoof’s attention. He trotted up to it, leering at the double doors the closer he got. The sound of something or someone hitting the floor inside made him linger. He pressed an ear to the wood in an attempt to figure out what was going on. The sound of a blow hitting flesh rang out, followed by another thud of something falling. Narrowing his eyes, Fleethoof dared to slide a door open a crack and peered inside.
The room on the other side looked like a parlor of sorts. Expensive furniture and cabinets filled with fine art sculptures and china sat distributed almost evenly around the room. An assortment of creatures from around the world and congregated in the sitting room, lounging out on the armchairs and couches while Dandridge stood in between them all, running a hoof through his mussed-up mane.
At first, Fleethoof didn’t know what was going on. He caught on quick when Dandridge kicked something on the ground and a battered pony rolled out into view, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. He gasped beneath his breath and watched as Dandridge pushed a hoof down on the young filly’s back, pinning her to the red rug beneath them. Dandridge’s expression twisted in a dark way, and the pony under him cried out in pain as more pressure was applied to the base of her spine.
“Did you really think you could try to sell us out and we’d never know?” sneered Dandridge, spitting down on the back of the pony’s head. “After all I’ve done for you… I brought you into our organization off the streets, and this is how you repay me? By cozying up to the federal agents?!”
“I-I’m sorry, Mister Clydesdale!” the young pony whimpered. She shielded her head with her hooves, tears streaming down her muzzle and mixing with the blood on her face. “They… They knew things! They threatened me! I didn’t wanna go to prison!”
Dandridge snorted with anger and drew his pistol from within his jacket, pulling the slide back with a sharp snap of metal and chambering a fresh round. The pony yelped and whimpered again, her eyes shut tight. Dandridge leaned down, grabbing the pony’s mane and yanking her head up hard until she cried out again.
“P-Please, don’t…!”
“You would’ve been safer in prison…” he hissed. He let the pony flop back to the floor before climbing off of her again, slinking about like a predator stalking a wounded animal. “Go. I’ll give you a ten-second head start to get out of my house before I hunt you down like the sniveling coward you are.”
Fleethoof held his breath as Dandridge tossed his gun back and forth between his hooves. “One…”
The pony let out a cry crossed between a whine and a shout and scrambled to her hooves, her beaten body straining against the pain to run for her life.
“Two…”
Fleethoof tensed up, ready to dive away from the door, lest he get caught. The pony was up now, sprinting towards him. She was halfway across the room already. He slid the doors closed again and backed away.
“Ten!”
A loud gunshot made Fleethoof flinch away from the door. He heard something heavy impact with the wood, and then everything was still again. Loud bouts of laughter rang out within the parlor, followed by inane chatter, as if nothing had ever occurred. Fleethoof’s breathing came in fast and shallow. A cold sweat beaded his forehead. He couldn’t grasp what he had just witnessed. His foolhardy bravery beating his common sense, he slid the door open a crack. He had to see it for himself. The crumpled mass of the pony lay collapsed against the doors right in front of his eyes. She wasn’t moving, nor was she breathing.
Sweet Celestia and Luna… Oh shit…
Fleethoof winced and clenched his jaw while taking off back down the hallway. Dandridge had just murdered one of his own personnel in cold blood. He had seen it all. He had the bastard. That’s gotta be enough to put him away now! he thought, excited nervousness energizing him as he made his way back upstairs to his exfiltration point. If that won’t put him away, nothing will!
Pushing open the door to the dark room, Fleethoof slid inside and kicked the door shut, and realized he wasn’t in the right room. He had stumbled into a large bedroom, one that he assumed was the master bedroom by its size and décor. An alicorn-sized canopy bed lay against a wall just below a very expensive looking painting. Silver moonlight wisped in from several large windows, casting the soft-looking spread into a sea of sparkling cotton. Several framed law degrees hung from the wall from various institutions, all bearing Dandridge’s name.
Much to his surprise, there was a shocking lack of personal family mementos here as well. If there was one place in the entire house Fleethoof had expected to find at least one family photograph, it would have been here. The bedroom was noticeably ordinary and plain. It was a stark contrast from the rest of the house. Only the bare essentials made up Dandridge’s personal quarters: a bed, a dresser, and a vanity. The rest of the room was empty space, making the entire place feel much larger and more daunting.
Trotting at his own leisure around the edges of the room, Fleethoof studied the pony’s personal space. A triptych of photos sat in connected frames on the vanity. They were the only thing he could see that bore any personal connection to Dandridge. Upon a closer inspection, each photo consisted of the bloodthirsty pony with a companion. The first was a female zebra standing in front of his alma mater. The second was an Arabian mare, her long, dark mane covering part of her face, giving her a mysterious and exotic flair. The third was the female griffon he had also seen in his office, neither of them looking too pleased to be together at the time.
Fleethoof considered the pattern for a moment, then moved on. An escape was an escape as far as he was concerned, and his chances of finding the same room he had come into in this mammoth house were slim to none. Unlocking the latch to one of the windows, Fleethoof flew out with a delicate flap of his wings, making sure to close the shutter behind him. He cast one last glance into the house before he disappeared into the night with a flap of his wings, vanishing without a trace.
He came to rest just outside the bed and breakfast, slipping back into the sleepy inn as surreptitiously as possible. Nopony was awake, and the lounge was empty, the dying embers in the hearth throwing harsh shadows around the room. Fleethoof sighed and trudged up the creaky old staircase back into the room. He pushed the door open into the dark room, noting from the lack of life that Bentgrass still hadn’t returned.
I hope Agrostis is having better luck than I am, he thought and locked the door behind himself.
No sooner had he snapped the lock into place, he heard something shift in a corner of the room.
Fleethoof tensed up, a hoof still lingering on the lock. An ear flicked backwards, swiveling like a radar dish to capture any residual sound. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end as his sixth sense went crazy. He wasn’t alone.
In the dark, Fleethoof dropped a hoof to his side, brushing it against the grip of his pistol. His pulse raced strong in his veins, pumping adrenaline to every fiber of his being. Time seemed to slow down as he spun on his hooves, quick on the draw. His gun was up and pointed at the shadowy corner, just barely able to make out the outline of a pony in an armchair cloaked in darkness.
“Don’t you move,” he growled beneath his breath, a hoof fumbling around behind him until he found the light switch.
Blinding light flooded the room in the blink of an eye. He winced against the sudden stinging in his eyes, but the other occupant seemed even more perturbed by the light than he was. She shrieked and covered her face—and that was when Fleethoof got his first good look at the intruder.
“Midnight?!” He was shocked, even when he knew he shouldn’t have been. “What th— What the hell are you doing here?!”
“I followed you to the train station,” she cried out, her eyes squinting as she tried to adjust to the unnatural light. “You were acting all secretive and I wanted to know what you were up to.”
Fleethoof dropped the hammer and tossed his gun onto the table with a heaving sigh. “Are you insane? I almost shot you!”
“I know. In retrospect, hiding in a dark room with you being so jumpy was probably a bad idea. My bad. But I’m here! Sooo what can I do to help?”
“You can start by going home.” Fleethoof opened the door and glared at her, giving her a look that spelled finality. There was no option for discussion. “Now.”
“Aww, but I came all this way to lend you a hoof,” she pouted, crossing her hooves across her chest and sticking her lip out like a little filly. “You’re just gonna throw me out in the cold?”
“It’s sixty-seven degrees out. Midnight, trust me. You really don’t want to be here.”
“Uh, yeah, I do.”
“Would you just listen to me for once and go back to Canterlot?”
“Not until you let me help you, then we both go back together. Deal?”
Fleethoof snorted and shook his head. “No deal. Midnight, I’m ordering you to go home now.”
“And I said no.” Midnight pushed her weight further down into the armchair, sinking deeper into the cushion. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down her captain, making her point clear.
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Fleethoof said through gnashed teeth. He rubbed his aching temples with his fore hooves, taking slow breaths and counting to ten. It didn’t help.
“Look, Fleety, I’m already here. Just let me do something to help. Please. I was going mad back there waiting for you. Please just let me do something—anything.”
Fleethoof swallowed as much air into his lungs as he could. He held onto the breath, counting the seconds until his lungs begged for release, and then exhaled. When he looked up again, Midnight was still there, but her expression had softened. The pleading look in her eyes pulled his defenses down brick by brick. He hated when she did that. It meant he was about to lose the fight.
“At least let me stay and learn. Please?”
He groaned and rolled his head on his stiff neck. “…Fine.”
Midnight squealed and clapped her hooves together happily. Fleethoof, for all his strength, was exhausted. He collapsed across the bed, groaning the second his body made contact with the mattress. The soft pillows blocked out his vision, leaving him obscured in comfortable darkness. A few moments later, he felt another mass shift the bed beside him. He didn’t need to look up to know Midnight would be there.
“Can I help you?” His question was ironic, muffled by the pillows his face was buried in.
“Nope. Just getting comfy. You like the right side of the bed, huh?”
Fleethoof gave a muted grumble. “We aren’t sharing the bed.”
“Aww, but then where—“
“You’re taking the bed. I’m sleeping in the chair. Unless you’d prefer to hang from the ceiling, bat.”
Midnight scoffed and giggled. “Hardy har. Come on, pegasus. What, can’t share a foxhole with a filly?”
“Since you’ve never been within a hundred yards of an actual foxhole, I don’t think you’re allowed to make that analogy.” He shifted his head just enough to peek up over the uneven surface of the pillow at the bat pony lying prone beside him. “And I’m trying to be courteous.”
“Psh, courtesy shmurtesy. Stop being silly and go to sleep.”
“This goes against every ethics code in the Guard. You know that, right?” Fleethoof paused to examine the devious look in her eyes. “What am I saying? Of course you do. You just don’t care.”
Midnight shook her head proudly. “Nope!”
“And you’re really not put off by the thought of sharing a bed with your commanding officer? And you’re really not going to let me go?”
“Nope again! If you go sleep in the chair, then I’ll just sit on your lap to bother you.”
With a weighty sigh, he ducked his head beneath the pillow, hiding away from the world.
“So what’s the plan, Cap’n?” she asked, whispering to him from the other side of the bed.
“We wait for Bentgrass to get back with his leads,” Fleethoof mumbled from under the pillows. He was too tired to care about lifting his head up to speak anymore. “Then we get the bad guy.”
“Good plan. I like it. But what do we do tonight then?”
“You go to sleep,” he said, rolling over onto his back so he could breathe again. “And I’ll be doing my best to pretend you’re not here.”
Midnight simpered and began wrapping herself up in the blankets like a cocoon. “Love you too, Fleety.”
“Just keep your hooves to your side of the bed and don’t snore.” Fleethoof leaned up and turned out the light, letting the calming darkness of the night overtake the room again. “…And it’s ‘Fleethoof’.”