The Feather of Fire

by nerothewizard

Chapter 1

Bright, beady eyes glistened in the soft glow of the street lights, reflecting off the empty, black irises of the furry four-legged rodent that sat in the alley, lurking on the lid of an overflowing garbage bin. Its ears flicked back and forth, searching for any sound that indicated trouble afoot. Seemingly satisfied that the coast was clear, the scrawny rat scampered to the edge of the lid, tensed its hind legs, and made the short leap to an adjacent, uncovered bin. It almost didn't make the jump, and its tiny claws clung desperately to the rim of the can as its rear limbs flailed about, trying to find a grip on the slick metal. Finally, with considerable effort, it stood balanced on the narrow rim of the garbage can and peered inside, hunger driving its every action. Scrounging for scraps in this city was never easy; however, this particular rat had discovered a small network of trash cans that always seemed to be filled to the brim and beyond with delicious foodstuffs. Tonight was no exception; a barrage of food smells had attracted it to the alley this night, and in this garbage receptacle lay the sources of all those tantalizing aromas. If the rat could have read the Equestrian language, it would have seen the faded painting on the side of the nearby building with the words “Trottentino's Itailian Cuisine” and “Finest Food in Manehattan” barely legible beneath a crude portrait of the original owner's face. This rat was not blessed with literacy, though, and its only concern at the moment was acquiring the eatery's leftovers for itself. As it leaned down into the bin and began to gnaw on the remnants of a manicotti special, its ears remained ever alert.

After only a few minutes of uninterrupted feasting, the rat perked up. There was a noise at the end of the alley. Instinctively, it turned and leaped back onto the lid of the other trash can before hopping down on top of the boxes that had provided it access in the first place; now, those same boxes served as a temporary shelter where the rat fled, waiting for the danger to pass. It dared to peer out from behind its cover. A single pony, light brown with a dark mane, trotted into view, illuminated by the street lamps. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was out of view, clearly not concerned with the goings-on of the rat's alleyway. The sudden scare left the rat's heart beating quickly, though, and it dared not try to obtain more sustenance until it was sure the coast was clear. It crept slowly along the side of the building, staying in the shadows, until it reached the corner. The noise of the pony's hooves was becoming more and more faint. The rat stepped into the light for the briefest moment, then stepped back. It had seen the pony's silhouette in the distance, clearly walking away from the alley and toward the Southern District of the city. While the rodent had no way of knowing exactly where the interrupting pony was headed, it did know one thing: digging through garbage to survive was far preferable to following the equine, whether or not it was carrying anything edible. Not even the rat would go into that area of town.

It was into the Southern District, however, that the pony, a pegasus mare, trotted on this dimly-lit night. The lack of pedestrians did little to calm her nerves, but years of dealing with hazardous environments had given her a solid defense mechanism against fear. A song, remembered from long ago, hummed from her lips, her eyes scanning the streets around her. Situational awareness, she thought. Know your surroundings. After a quick sweep of her peripheral vision, she paused for a moment and reached into her saddlebag, retrieving a small piece of paper with hastily scrawled writing. She had read it several times already, but she had to be absolutely sure of the address, especially in this area of town. Satisfied that she was on the right track, she continued toward her destination, unaware of the soft, almost silent hoofsteps that came from the sidewalk far behind her.

The building was much like she expected. All the high-rise apartments in the Southern District had several things in common: barred windows, dimly-lit stoops, cold brick exteriors, and often graffiti splattered across the facade. Spray-painted words she would be ashamed to repeat in front of polite company greeted her as she walked up the stairs – a little quicker than was probably necessary – and began to scan the call buttons. The name plates were either gone or broken for most of the apartments, but thankfully, vandals had not yet defaced the one she was after. Her hoof pressed against the ancient buzzer.

Seconds passed, then a full minute. She scowled, then pressed it again. Only silence. Uncaring of protocol, she began rapidly pressing the button in a series of long and short tones that resembled old Horse Code. Still, no answer came from within. The mare's annoyance quickly turned to concern. Perhaps she had come too early? She turned to her saddlebag, ready to open it and re-check the time indicated on the note, when she heard a voice that was like a cold, whistling wind say, “Looks like nopony's home.”

For a moment, she thought that it might have come from the speaker next to the door, but then she realized the terrifying truth. As much as she didn't want to, she slowly turned on the stoop. At the base of the stairs, she saw the figure of a stallion, a dark coat flowing from his midsection. How did he get so close without me hearing him? Her wings tensed as he began a slow ascent of the short staircase. Her eyes narrowed. Fear began to well up inside her. He reached the final step and lifted his head. It took all of her might not to gasp. He was an earth pony with a dark green coloration, or at least if he had wings, she couldn't see them underneath the coat. His jaw was square, almost too square, and an ugly scar snaked its way down the right side of his face, from just above his earlobe to his jawline. A ratty auburn mane sat unkempt atop his head. Despite his intimidating appearance, the mare couldn't help but think, Man, this guy is like a walking cliché.

He spoke again, softly and with an unsettling air. “Awfully late for little mares to be out and about in this part of town, wouldn't you say?” He flashed a dirty grin. “Who knows what might happen.”

Her rapid heartbeat was not helping in the least, but she kept a brave face as she said, “You don't say. And just what do you think is going to happen?”

His voice was more frightening than anything else, at least for her. “That's up to you, my dear.”

“Bits? Is that what this is about? You want my bits?” Just by looking into his eyes, she already knew the answer.

“Oh please,” he scoffed. Even the slightest laughter from this imposing figure was the most unpleasant sound she could imagine. He continued, “You think this is about money? My dear, don't be so shallow.”

“Then what do you want?” she asked with a slight tremor.

He leaned forward, uncomfortably close to her face. She tried to take a step back, but found that she was out of room. She could have sworn that the door was further back, and dared a glance behind her. Quickly, she realized that she and the mystery stallion were no longer the only ones on the porch. A pair of ponies stood between her and the front door of the apartment building, their faces concealed by hooded coats that looked eerily similar to the one worn by the other stallion. She turned back to find his face mere inches from hers. His scent seeped unbidden into her nostrils, a cologne with a deep, musky aroma. In any other situation, she might have found it attractive; right now, it only hastened her heartbeat even further. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “What else? I want you, Miss...Daring...Do.”

At the last word, her eyes sprang open wide, the realization coming too late that this was no random act, no chance encounter with a gang of perverted thugs. They knew her name. She had to get away, now.

Daring's head propelled forward at frightening speed, striking the too-close stallion squarely in his jaw. It felt like colliding with a wall. Still, her unexpected action caught him unawares, and he stepped backwards with a cry that seemed more like alarm than pain. She could sense the other two behind her beginning to move in response to her struggle. Her hind legs kicked up as her momentum from the head-butt carried her forward, and she felt her hooves collide with the bodies of her two assailants. She was toppling forward now, the stallion recovering quickly from her attack. Propped up on her front legs, she attempted a dodge to her left, but her rapidly shifting center of gravity threw her off balance completely, and she collapsed clumsily. She clawed at the cement in a desperate attempt to get up, to run, to flee as fast as she could from these mysterious ponies, but heavy hooves suddenly pressed into her back. Her wings fluttered uselessly. She was pinned.

A rough hoof pressed her head down onto the cold stoop and forcefully turned her face toward the scarred stallion. She cracked a tiny grin at the sight of blood trickling down his chin. There was no semblance of a smile on his face, though, and Daring knew that whatever was about to happen, it was going to hurt. A lot. As he raised his front hoof up high in the air, she closed her eyes in anticipation of the beating.

It never came. The next sound she heard was a muffled cry from behind her, and suddenly, the weight was lifted off her back. Her eyes popped open, and almost without thinking, she rolled to her left, close to the stoop's metal railing, and propped herself up on her hooves. She spun around quickly to survey the situation, her head down and body tensed for a fight, but couldn't believe what met her eyes. One of the two cloaked assailants was draped over the opposite railing of the stoop, clearly out of commission. The other faceless pony had retreated to the door and was crouched down, while the stallion was at the top of the stairs, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. Daring and both of the other ponies were staring at the newest addition to the now-crowded stoop.

The most Daring could tell was that this newcomer was a mare. Beyond that, identification was impossible, due to the mask and full-body costume that covered the pony in two hues of purple, with light blue material where her eyes would be. A matching fedora adorned her head, and a long, dark cape clasped with a button with a stylized letter “M” completed the simple but striking ensemble. Daring barely had time to take in the stranger's look, though, as the mysterious guest began to move. The purple-clad pony whipped around so her back was to the other faceless attacker and bucked hard, landing the kick directly in the face of her unprepared opponent with a loud crack. A moment later, the cloaked pony was nothing more than a crumpled pile in front of the door.

The newcomer brought her rear hooves down and stood up straight, nearly eye level with the scarred pony. Despite the costumed mare being slightly shorter due to her gender, Daring thought that she would rather face off against the stallion any day. A look into the eyes of the male pony showed that he was thinking along similar lines; his gaze darted from one of his cronies to the other, then to the mare that had incapacitated them both, his eyelid twitching slightly. With only a second's hesitation, he spun around and half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps and into the dusky streets.

Daring Do watched him flee, her eyes wide and her heart still pounding in her chest. As his figure vanished around the corner of a building, she released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding and turned to face her rescuer. Daring did a double take, though, when the masked face which had been several feet away was now only inches from her own. She stepped back, only for her rump to make contact with the metal railing. Her eyes widened anew, suddenly unsure of the intentions of this strange mare.

The masked pony seemed to sense Daring's nervousness, as she took a step back and raised her right fore-hoof. For the first time since coming onto the scene, the new arrival spoke, “Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you.” The voice was female, but the pony behind the mask was talking with a deeper and more gravelly sound than most mares would, obviously a ploy to disguise her identity. She continued, “Just wanted to make sure you were okay, and that you're really who I hope you are.”

Daring swallowed hard and asked, “Who...who do you hope that I am?”

“Daring Do, renowned archaeologist and treasure hunter, explorer extraordinaire, and very nearly a victim of murder by some questionable characters,” responded the pony in purple. She cocked her head slightly and said, “If I'm not mistaken, that is.”

Daring was briefly speechless, but finally spat out, “How do you...know that?” Before the other pony could respond, something the masked mare had said registered in her mind. “Wait, wait, wait. Murdered? But...what?”

“Who did you come here to meet?”

“What does that have to do with -”

“Just answer me. Who did you come here to meet?”

Despite being intimidated by the costumed pony, Daring was growing rather frustrated, a result of her recently frayed nerves. She responded indignantly, “And why should I tell you anything? I don't even know who you are, or how you know who I am, or...what even just happened!”

Silence fell for a moment. Then, the stranger finally said, “You want answers. I can give you some. You just have to trust me right now.”

Daring glanced at the motionless bodies of the two unconscious ponies whose faces were still concealed beneath dark hoods, then looked back at the masked pony. “I suppose I can do that, as long as I don't end up like those two.”

“Don't worry about that,” came the quick response. The caped pony continued, “You came here to meet one Professor Annals, correct?” Daring nodded slowly. “This meeting was detailed on a note you received in your mailbox today, a note which you still have with you, I hope.”

With a quick motion, only taking her eyes off the masked mare for a moment, Daring extracted the note from her saddlebag and held it in her hoof. “This is the one. He gave me this address, and a time, and...one other word. 'Urgent.' How do you know all this, anyway?”

“How do you know Professor Annals?”

Clearly, this line of questioning was not going to be guided by Daring Do. She answered, “He and I have collaborated on many projects and digs while working for Manehattan University's History Department. He's a trusted member of the faculty, a very brilliant pony. If it weren't for his assistance, I probably wouldn't be part of the University at all.”

Something that sounded like a sigh emanated from behind the mask. “Professor Annals was killed earlier this evening. His body was discovered in his home, by his wife.”

Daring's words caught in her throat. She could feel a rush of heat run to her face, a sudden upwelling of sadness threatening to spill over into tears. Instead, she gasped out a breath and whispered, “He's...dead?”

The emotionless voice of the masked pony responded, “Yes. And this-” the costumed pony gestured toward the apartment building behind her- “is not his home. He lives in a suburb of Manehattan.”

Daring Do's face contorted in confusion. “Why would he give me the wrong address?”

“Because he didn't write the note.”

The thoughts clicked into place. “I was set up? How? By whom?”

The stranger turned away. “That is something I'm still trying to figure out. And I think I'm going to need your help with that, Miss Do.” The masked face turned back toward Daring. “Somepony wants you out of the way. Somepony powerful enough to hire hit ponies. Like it or not, Miss Do, you have enemies now.” In the distance, a siren began to wail, echoing through the empty streets with a haunting cry. The purple pony turned in the direction of the sound, then back to Daring. “Watch your flank, Miss Do. I can't always swoop in to save you.” With a flip of her cape, the dark mare spun around and stepped onto the metal railing, being careful to avoid the pony who was still out cold and draped over it.

Daring called out, “Wait!” The costumed pony paused. “What's your name? What else do you know?”

The light blue eyes of the mask seemed to gaze through Daring. “My real name isn't important, but ponies call me the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well. Stay alert, Miss Do. This is a big city; you never know who might be watching.” Before Daring could interject again, Mare-Do-Well leaped off the railing and vanished. Daring ran to the railing and looked down, then left, then right, but there was no sign of movement. The only noise that rang through the night was the siren, growing louder as the authorities drew nearer. For Daring, though, the thought of the approaching police brought no comfort, and a single tear finally blazed a new, moist path on her light brown cheek. She glanced at the two unconscious bodies nearby, then hung her head and stared at the cold, hard concrete, not looking up until flickering red and blue lights signaled the arrival of Manehattan's finest.

---

Comments

[FelixVerricht]

I had an idea to write out the daring do novels but seems you beat me to it. This one is definitely on my to read list.

[Swashbucklist]

DD and MDW's universes don't exactly mesh, but the concept is pretty exciting. The best way to think of this is as a team-up between Indiana Jones and The Shadow. A little odd, but definitely worth checking out. I like it so far.

[VunderGuy]

"This rat was not blessed with sentience, though..."

Ummm...yes it is. It just isn't blessed with SAPIENCE. And yes, there is a difference. Check on yahoo answers if you want proof.

[VunderGuy]

Hrmmm...very interesting chapter and interesting story so far...

Tell me: would you mind if I borrowed the name of that Italian restaurant for a superhero pony-fic of my own that I'm working on? As a nod to your story?

[spideremblembrony]

This is a very interesting concept. I look forward to reading more of this impressive story.

[Borg]

Just how poorly is Manhattan University paying you for whatever position you hold, that you believe your colleague would be living in this neighborhood? Or do you simply never expect to encounter traps outside ancient ruins?