Chapter 1: A Clean Getaway
The Great and Powerful Trixie trotted down the off-ramp from the Blueskin Bridge, pulling her yellow and red caravan wagon. It had been over an hour since she had demolished Bottom Billing's office, an act which she had judged called for a hasty and unannounced departure from the crowded Island of Manehattan, most populous city in the land of Equestria. Trixie's step was still light and her heart merry, for she had crossed the mile-long metal bridge, passed the tunnel in the 500-foot-high beetling cliffs of the Palomisades, and was right now setting her hooves upon the Island pf Jersey -- which she happened to know was in the next county over from Manehattan.
And nopony had pursued her. The Mostly-Lawful but Sometimes-Misunderstood Trixie was enough of a veteran of the road life to know that leaving a town unpursued was a good thing, and getting across the county line was an even better thing, lest some ponies of evil and narrow minds decide that she was not the pony of good and noble character she knew herself to be, and organize a posse while she was in the process of leaving. She could relax now -- unless somepony had set a bounty on her, or the Royal Guards themselves for some reason were after her, she was now safe from arrest.
The road off the bridge was wide, and it made a gentle turn to the south along the route she had selected. West and south, she'd decided. She wanted to go southwest down the coast to Fillydelphia, then cut west to Manechester, stopping along the way for supplies and to scout out opportunities. Past there? She didn't know. Perhaps she would have already found a venue that would truly appreciate her talents. If she had, then she could head back toward Baltimare, maybe even by rail -- Manechester was right at the junction of the Fillydelphia and Baltimare lines.
A certain arrogant, domineering, handsome ... now why had that thought crept in? ... unicorn stallion would no doubt be amazed at the successes won by the Awesome and Impressive Trixie! He would beg to have her come back to be in his show. And after he'd begged enough, if he begged just right ... maybe something involving flowers, dinner and long and earnest conversation ... perhaps she would deign to honor the Hippodrome with her magnificent talents!
Trixie was smiling widely to herself at this vision of a pleading and worshipful Piercing Gaze, as her wagon rolled off the bridge and down the main street of the town of Lionsville. On her right rose Fort Traveler, which with Fort Blueskin on the Manehattan side had once rendered the Manehattan Straits impassable from the north to any hostile surface warships. She'd thought that they had been long since turned into historical monuments, since the last great war had ended many decades ago, and was slightly surprised to see a modern Equestrian naval airship moored to the fort's main mast, and soldiers peering over the parapets.
They must still be nervous about what happened a few days ago, she thought. Another reason to leave the island. What if somepony thought Trixie was connected to those terrible black magicians who attacked my performance? Granted, it didn't seem reasonable, as she -- or whatever had been conjured in her place -- had been fighting the shadow-shrouded nightmare ponies, but she had learned from hard experience that townies could get the strangest ideas about the Great and Powerful Trixie. Especially if something went wrong with her pyrotechnics. They are always so quick to blame me for every little thing that happens! she remembered.
It's as if they think there's something wrong with towing a caravan packed full of black-powder explosives through their quiet little towns, she thought to herself, ruminating upon the unreasonableness of towns-dwellers. Well, granted there are some ponies whom one could not trust with such devices, but I am the Great and Powerful Trixie, after all. Can't they tell that I'm no ordinary Pony from my very name? "The Great and Powerful Trixie," she meant, of course -- she hated to be called "Lulamoon." Why in the name of all sanity did some ancestor of mine pick the name "Lulamoon," anyway? It makes me sound insane.
This reminded her that she needed to purchase some supplies, starting with those very black-powder explosives. Almost all her pyrotechnics had been used up during that unexpectedly-extended Summer Sun Celebration performance, which she had perhaps unwisely contracted to play "until sunrise." No one could say that the Great and Professional Trixie would fail to honor a contract to perform! But the consequence had been that she had nothing left in her fireworks store but a few small smoke bombs.
Lionsville was a growing town. From the looks of the businesses -- many of them wainwrights, leather goods dealers and restaurants -- a lot of its business came from the freight trade to Manehattan. She saw a lot of big heavy freight wagons, some of them towing trailers, moving along the main street or parked at these businesses. There were also numerous big burly Earth ponies pulling these wagons, or walking along the sidewalks in search of food or entertainment.
Perhaps not the best place for theatrical supplies, she concluded. Still, I can get some food for the wagon's stores, maybe get a bite to eat myself. Trashing Bottom's office really worked up my appetite. She cast her gaze about, looking for a restaurant. Never shop for supplies on an empty stomach, she had learned long ago. The last time she had done so, she had wound up with a wagon full of corn chips and cream-filled donuts. That had been one long road full of -- She refused to finish the thought, as indelicate, and thus quite beneath her, even in her memory.
She pulled off the main street and parked on one of the side streets, far enough from the town's primary thoroughfare that no one just passing through would casually spot her yellow-and-red caravan. Since she had her Cutie Mark actually painted on a sign hanging from the front, and again on a panel on the rear, it was not exactly the best vehicle from the point of view of concealing her identity. This was normally intentional, as she sought publicity for her career, but could be problematical on the unfortunately all-too-frequent occasions that someone was attempting to follow her with unpleasant intentions.
Unharnessing herself, she went into her van, threw a light brown cloak over her lovely form, and strolled down toward the main street. The cloak concealed her Cutie Mark and made her light-blue, almost white mane and tail less obvious. Aside from these, she was just one Pony in the crowd. True, Trixie is a Unicorn amongst Earth Ponies, and an exceptionally-beautiful mare at that, she thought, but those won't leap out at anyone just passing through the town. On the off-chance somepony's looking for her, the Cautious and Canny Trixie should be pretty safe, she told herself. And if she's not, she has a couple of smoke bombs under the cloak. She smiled to herself as she remembered her many cunning tricks, and knew that she should be safe from any followers.
After all, she reminded herself it's not as if the Guards are on Trixie's trail!
***
The Canterlot Limited pulled into Grand Central Station at 2:43 pm, 11 minutes late.
"What is the point," asked Lieutenant Straight Arrow, as he and his partner debarked the train, "of the railroad even running a limited if they can't make it run on time?" The big, burly unicorn stallion might have leapt off a recruiting poster for the Day Guard, with his white coat, deep blue mane, and light blue eyes. All three were natural. Despite these appearances, Straight Arrow was an officer of the Night rather than the Day Guard: in point of fact, an agent of the Night Watch.
"Things happen," replied Sergeant Silent Shadow with a shrug. He was a small, wiry pegasus stallion with a dark gray coat, dark purple mane and deep blue eyes. His coloration was also natural, and it almost seemed surprising that he did not have the bat-wings of the Nocturnae. Of course, if he had been biologically a Night Pegasus, he would not have been qualified for plainclothes work, as his appearance anywhere off Mount Avalon would have excited considerable attention. He too was of the Watch.
They trotted rapidly out of the terminal. Before them hummed the life of Manehattan, apparently unshaken by the horrors of three nights past. Cabs flitted in the street outside, taking on passengers and clopping off, only to be replaced by new cabs. The whole arrangement resembled some strange factory-machine, a conveyor-belt for ponies instead of parts.
"We'll get there faster on foot," Silent Shadow murmured.
"You're the expert on this town," assented Straight Arrow. "Lead the way."
They went south on Park Avenue. Around them bustled the masses, above them rose the buildings of the great city. Straight Arrow was not easily moved by anything less than the semi-divinity he served, but the skyscrapers of Manehattan impressed him: in ranked masses they seemed less like ordinary buildings than like artificial mountains. They were awesome in a different way than were the cool spires of Canterlot: those were a fairy architecture, built to the standards and for the purposes of another order of being; while these towers of masonry and steel were purely of this world.
Straight Arrow could sense signs of the damage that had come three days ago. There was a smell of smoke in the air, and here and there he could see a collapsed building, occasionally with a faint haze rising from it. All the serious fires had been put out two days ago, but within some of the heaps of rubble, some substances must still have been slowly smoldering. The Ponies of Manehattan seemed to be paying this no mind, merely walking around the hasty barricades that had been erected around the damaged structures. As always, the ability of Ponies to rise above disaster and rebuild their lives astounded him, renewed his faith in his own species.
They trotted south about a mile together, rarely reaching even a canter along the crowded sidewalks. The streets themselves were congested with wagons of every type, loaded with all sorts of goods. The commerce of half a continent flowed through this great metropolis, Straight Arrow knew, which was exactly why Equestria's unknown enemy -- the force that the Watch was already beginning to call among themselves "The Shadows" -- had tried to destroy it.
That destruction had been attempted by a small band of terrorists -- no more than thirteen black-cloaked Ponies of all three Kinds, who had all wielded inexplicably-great magical powers. They had almost succeeded. They had been stopped just short of achieving their goals, stopped neither by the Regular Guards nor the City Watch, but instead by something impossible. By an unknown Alicorn, calling herself Illusion, who had appeared to aid the showmare Trixie Lulamoon. Illusion vanquished them, and as abruptly vanished -- leaving an unconscious Trixie, and many unanswered questions.
They really should have come sooner. But the Longest Night had caused chaos all over Equestria: there had been many strange events, and an outbreak of violent attacks from both monsters and -- ominously, Ponies -- which had still not yet wholly died down. The Night Watch had been very busy, and more than a few individuals and items had been classified "WCP" and gone into the Special Archives below the Palace Library.
Straight Arrow and Silent Shadow themselves had fought for their lives against a bestial fanged and clawed creature that had finally been subdued with the help of a specially-forged blunt silver bolt which Straight Arrow had himself fired from his service crossbow. The semblance of a chalicothere had faded away to reveal -- an unconscious a fifteen-year-old filly, two of ribs broken by the bolt, but otherwise unhurt. The big brains were still trying to figure out how that had happened -- Straight Arrow was just glad that he hadn't shot her with one of the sharp-headed bolts. If he had, those nightmares would have taken a long time to leave him.
The Watch normally would have ordered them to take some leave after an encounter like that. The Watch sometimes demanded great risk, but it was kind to its members afterward. It was a measure of the great need of the times that Straight and Silent were instead ordered to Manehattan, to interview Trixie Lulamoon and investigate the Alicorn Illusion. Normally the Manehattan Field Office would have sent their own agents, but they too were overworked: half were casualties of the Longest Night, and the others frantically searching for the Shadow Ponies who had inflicted those losses.
So Straight and Silent, barely rested from their last assignment, were called into action again. Straight Arrow supposed that it was something of an honor that they were this highly thought-of by their superiors. He wasn't complaining, though -- interviewing an injured showmare was easy compared to fighting a crazed chalicotherequinoid horror. And this "Alicorn Illusion" had been friendly, by all accounts -- there seemed little danger of violence from her, whatever she turned out to be.
It should be an easy assignment. He pitited his colleagues in the Manehattan Office, who might have to fight the Shadow Coven.
At least he and Silent wouldn't be doing that.
***
The metropolis of Manehattan sits atop an invisible city, of which its Pony inhabitants are vaguely aware but seldom see and even more seldom visit. This is the labyrinth of tunnels; of water and gas pipes, of sewers, of subways, and other delvings beneath the great city. Many date back before the skyscrapers, some date back to the time of separate port-towns. A few date back even to before the Cataclysm, to the Age of Wonders, to the city of the titan towers that preceded known history.
Much lies under Manehattan, some of it mapped, and some forgotten. It is a good place for things to be forgotten, to rot away in the Underdark. It is a good place for things to go who wish to evade attention.
***
The rat sniffed cautiously from the shadow of an old barrel.
Its kind had changed little since the Cataclysm. Gotten a bit larger, perhaps, especially above the eyes, where the cranium bulged just slightly more, in a way that only dedicated zoologists would have noticed at first glance. It was smarter than its ancestors -- all life that survived that Day when the world changed forever had been descended from the brightest of their species, forced to adapt as they had been to an environment now full of sapient, magical predators.
It was not really very intelligent. Its species had neither language nor the ability to think about thinking. Unlike most of the surviving ungulates in this new age of the Earth, among whom even the bovids and ovids were as smart as would have been the great apes of the alternate timelines dominated by hominids, it lived wholly in the now, its memories dim and connected more by chains of association than of orderly, logical reasoning. It was, however, wary. And it bred in tremendous litters. Only the smartest and the wariest grew to pass on their genes, and this rat was very smart and very wary.
That did not save it.
It was unaware of the equid form that stood in one corner, cloaked in its mantle of Shadow. It crept cautiously out, advancing in short rushes, then stopping with twitching nose and whiskers to scent and feel its environment. Thinking itself safe, it darted out to seize the morsel of cheese ...
... and was scooped up within a sickly purplish-gray telekinetic aura. Squeaking in terror, the rat felt an invisible grip handle it cruelly, breaking its tiny limbs. As it squealed in pain, it was drawn before a terrifying visage -- similar to that of the great creatures who ruled the city beneath which its whole short life had been spent, similar but different. Its near-sighted beady little eyes caught a blurry glimpse of an equinoid muzzle filled with sharp jagged teeth, like the dentition of some impossible carnivore, and cat-slitted eyes glowing with purple witch-lights. Its tiny consciousness had no concept with which to understand what it was seeing, save for one.
Predator.
It was right. Had it known that it was correct, that knowledge would have provided it scant consolation as the aura shifted, tearing loose its ribs, and wrenching its spine until it snapped.
As the rat squalled forth its death-cry, something tore at it from the inside in a way for which few even of the giant equine creatures who were the rulers of its city would have had a concept, and which would have horrified it had it been equipped to understand what was happening. Its life-force was gouged free of its housing, and sucked into that great carnivorous maw. With the last of its awareness, it was drawn into what was to it a great darkness, and then ceased to be.
***
Spiritual hungers assuaged, the being who had once had a normal Pony name, but had put that name aside to style himself the Nightstallion of Manehattan felt more fundamental cravings. The Pony he had once been would have been repulsed by what he did next, but the superior being he had become was a predator by nature as well as appearance, and did not disdain a source of readily available protein. His aura pulled the corpse of his victim into his mouth, and commenced a great munching and crunching, carefully chewing his fleshy meal before swallowing it, bones and all. He need fear neither parasites nor disease: he had consumed their life force along with that of the rat, and what was left was merely raw material for his digestive tract.
I, who deserved by right of power to rule this city, he thought to himself. This is to what I am reduced. Even in his thoughts, the one who had once been a precise and proper scholar was careful not to split his infinitives. Hiding in a stinking sewer. Dining on rats.
Technically, the chamber in which he sat was part of an old smuggling tunnel which had in turn been incorporated into a storm drain system and was merely connected to the sewers, but that did not lessen the stench in his sensitive equine nose. Nor did it make raw rat taste any better.
He could have found better fare. The restaurants of the greatest city on Earth lay just twenty feet overhead. With his powers he could easily have attained the streets, taken a bath, and dined on delicious hayburgers and sauteed mushrooms with cheddar cheese. He could even have eaten meat -- good lizard steaks, properly cooked and seasoned, served with fine wines. Manehattan had plenty of restaurants catering to Griffons and other species, or even the more adventurous among Pony diners.
Instead he was, well, here. And eating what he had just eaten.
But he dared not leave the tunnels. He and his Shadow Coven had taken no particular care not to be seen when they had launched their attack. They had expected the city to be too disorganized after they destroyed the East Docks to mount any organized search. They would have been off to another city, traveling together, their magic reinforcing each other, spreading chaos throughout Equestria.
Now, their attack had failed. The Shadow Coven was sundered -- not one of the ungrateful bastards had even stayed with their leader! -- and he was a wanted fugitive, hunted not only by the City Watch but -- more ominously, by the dreaded Night Watch, those who boasted that "when things go bump in the night, we bump back."
He had become one of the things that went "bump in the night," and he devoutly did not wish to attract their ire. Not until he had become a whole lot stronger.
It was all the fault of that showmare. The Great and Powerful Trixie, she had called herself. Somehow, she had been able to summon a being of unimaginable, impossible power. The Alicorn Illusion, which had shrugged aside the strongest attacks of his Shadow Coven as if it had all been to Her some sort of game. Then scattered them, as if She had been a foal kicking aside annoying kittens.
He did not fear destruction half as much as he did humiliation. That had been his reason for summoning the Shadows in the first place, to repay the world for the humiliations it heaped upon a brilliant scholar, one who knew he was better than other ponies, in refusing to grant him the admiration and pleasures which were after all only his due by right of superiority. He would shatter this sentimental civilization, and rule as one of its destroyers -- but this Trixie had thwarted him of his just reward.
She would pay. Someday, somewhere, he would follow her, he would find her, and then she would pay.
They would all pay. But most especially Trixie.
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Darn you! You're writing these faster than I can read them!
This is looking promising. Will follow. Nothing to comment on at the moment.
"Trixie Lulamoon and the Alicorn Illusion" has a very Prog-Rock sound to it.
This has in me inspired the headcanon that Canterlot is so poorly built in a structural-defense sense because it's actually built as a spell matrix, Amestris-style. The entire city is built to help focus alicorns and high-level mages to accomplish certain tasks, such as raising the moon when it isn't your talent.
Or making a shield-bubble the size of a mountain. 
Stuff like that.
Then I thought that, perhaps, the Crystal City could be the same. The I thought that, actually, the Crystal City is that way. If you check the moments before the Heart lights up 'ol tall, dark and billowy, you can see the city streets light up in a giant spell matrix. The entire city is just an amplifier for the crystal-ponies' psionic love-energy; the city streets are a gigantic collection-grid, the Castle is a lens to deliver the energy to the center, and the Heart is the focus for the whole thing...
And like many of the small things you bring up in this 'verse, this is completely irrefutable canon.
"pf" should be "of":