The Night Sweep Hotel

by Sourberry

Chapter 2

The wasteland of strewn paper stretched out over the desk and up the walls. Each clipping, or scrawled, note affixed with tiny pins and string. The strings tethered no idle musings, but theory to theory, and facts to facts. A tapestry of her mind was laid bare before her, so that she might pick over the bones and sift through the ashes of her forethoughts. Lyra lifted up a tiny blade with her magic and, from the comfort of her bed, she cut a page from the pack.

“So much for the return of those great thieves,” she spoke softly to herself.

The word 'outsider' was fittingly left by its lonesome self, its strings swaying listlessly like pendulums. Lyra tacked more strings to to the bubble reading 'inside job', and then set her blade back down on the table.

Unless one of the princesses decided to take up grand larceny overnight, she continued her train of thought, and chuckled to herself. I don't think anypony else would be powerful enough to sunder that alarm spell.

One of the larger sheets of paper was a blueprint for the Royal Canterlot Museum, and dotted over it in red ink were the locations of numerous alarm triggers and cage traps. Only one of these markers was drawn in blue ink, indicating it as the only alarm had been triggered. Underneath it was written 'triggered during exit', and was surrounded by a cloud of question marks.

Nopony bothered investigating the alarms, because they worked, but only as the suspect left, meaning they worked their way through the entire museum undetected and then tripped the alarm on their way out. Lyra continued to mull over, lighting up another incense stick on her bedside cabinet.

Which is a mystery in its own right, as those alarms on the outside are a pittance compared to the ones in the inner chambers, even I could crack them. Lyra lay back on her bed, breathing in the sweet coils of cinnamon smoke. Even if it were a last minute blunder, the thief knew how those spells worked.

Lyra plucked the string that had once connected the 'Valley Minerals Company' to the 'inside job' sheet. This is a bold move to make, Lyra. These miners are the prime suspects, with three arrests in the past twenty four hours, bringing the total this week to eight. The sheet reading 'inside job' had been tacked onto a pair of other sheets detailing the possibility that the diamond might have been stolen by those who originally dug it up. But they're miners, not career criminals, and I doubt they have enough technical aptitude, even between all of them, to crack these alarm triggers.

Lyra held a pin over the string bridging the new connection. No‒ the thief knew what they were doing, because they had been briefed, or... Lyra stuck the pin in the string, connecting the 'inside job' to 'The Brightstone Group'.

“They built the alarm themselves,” she said aloud, with a certain degree of smug satisfaction at the theory she'd concocted.

Lyra rolled over on her bed and lifted up the invitation to the old black market the pair of thieves used to use, back in their glory days. Lyra had acquired it a month back after saving one of the traders from incarceration. Tonight she planned to make good use of it.

Neatly folding the invitation up she slipped it into her saddle bags beside her bed, and checked the time– four twenty one in the afternoon, still too early. While she might have had a minor breakthrough with her investigation, she still had plans to visit the black market to see if the diamond had turned up there, or if there were any rumours running about concerning it.

With nothing left but agitated time wasting on her plate, she opted to take a break and fetch another drink. The hotel was quiet, like a blanket of solitude had been draped over the building. On her way down the stairs she heard no noise from any of the usual residents, and even the pink one was nowhere to be seen. She passed over to the reception desk and wrote out a quick note to Octavia, informing her that she would be out for the evening, and to not cook anything tonight. By the time she was done writing, it was apparent that the nib had been worn and needed replacing. She pulled it from the quill, fixed one of her own personal ones in, and tossed the worn one in the bin.

She stood staring at the bin, frozen in shock, cold sweat forming on her brow and running down her head, her heart tightening with each passing second. Casually dropped on the surface of the bin was an open, empty envelope, addressed to room five, sent by the Brightstone Group. As her mind slowly ticked back into action she levitated the letter up to her face, so as to be sure she wasn't just horribly misreading it. The truth was crystal clear before her: there was a Brightstone Group agent in the room just below hers.

Her legs felt weak, but carried her up the stairs faster than she'd ever managed before. Bursting back into her room she lay her hooves upon the chest under her bed and dragged it out. Inside was a device she'd bought a couple of years ago to record moving images of wildlife at night, for that shy pegasus just outside of town. Having departed from her zoological academics, she'd re-appropriated the device for clandestine surveillance. Once again it was about to be put to use.

She pulled up the the bracing stand housing the blank black slate and tapped it once with a jolt from her magic. The black slate flickered to a grainy life, presenting her with an image of her legs and belly. Lifting up a small model of a mouse, which wouldn't fool anyone into believing it were real, she tapped it onto the slate and the image changed to where ever she pointed the head of the mouse. Briskly heading downstairs she set the mouse outside room five, returned to her room, and using the remote control rod in the box, she spurred the mouse on under the door and into the room.

The image on the screen was not as good as it could be, for time had worn the spells that bound the device to function, but they never distorted colour, nor caused lighting errors to appear, as they were appearing now. The floor of the room had been warped by a malign purple glow coming from the mirror in the bedroom, causing it to ripple as if it were water. With great apprehension she drove the mouse over towards the floor, expecting the screen to clear and the picture to return, but the mouse was tossed suddenly by an undulation and rocked about on the floor, rolling with each ripple. Lyra watched, mouth agape, as the mouse tossed and rolled along the shifting floor, finally coming to a rest upside down under the bed.

Standing upright she snatched up a bundle of locksmithing tools from under her bed, slung them over her back and departed for the room below, a severe expression set across her brow and maw.

* * *

By the streamside the foals played; leaping from stone to stone as they tried to cross the water faster than the one before could. A sullen pegasus watched from afar, silently smouldering, her eyes bloodshot and crusted, her yellow mane a wreck and her coat lined with a thin layer of oily filth.

When one of the colts misjudged a step and went face first into the stream, a spark of life jolted her heart, sending a current up her spine and to her mouth, where it tugged at her lips, only to die with their goal unfulfilled. The other foals went to help, to see if he were fine, to help him out of the water, and to move on with their lives. Lightning Dust remained on the bench long after they departed.

She wasn't sure when exactly the vacant-eyed, worn looking unicorn had sat down next to her, but his prolonged silence, and aura of ataraxia were beginning to grate on her. From the furtive glances she made, she pieced together an overall picture of a successful stallion of laudable reputation, a well paid job, a beautiful wife, and a host of other unsightly accolades.

“What do you want?” Her voice was a lot louder and packed with more venom than she had intended.

“Hm?” The unicorn lazily dragged his gaze away from the vibrant skies and swirling clouds above.

“Nothing,” Lightning Dust instantly regretted her decision to speak. She should have just gotten up and left.

“Lovely weather we're having,” the unicorn commented in a slow, lackadaisical manner. “It's really neatly wrapped the day I've had.”

Lightning Dust looked firmly at the ground, and bit her tongue.

“Tonight is going to be an especially beautiful one, I can feel it,” he continued to ramble on. “One that even Luna could not dream up, one that could only be built by consensus and team work. It's going to change the face of landscaping forever.”

The air outside was stifling, with no recompense made by a cool wind. Everything about the scene made her want to be sick.

“We built it together, we all did,” the unicorn snapped out of his reverie as Lightning Dust began to walk off. “Enjoy the evening, madam!” He called to her, and she came to a stop.

“Where can I find a quiet place in the city to sleep?” She sharply asked him.

“Tomorrow we could build you one,” he laughed, “But for tonight, I believe the Night Sweep Hotel is the most remote lodge in Canterlot. Several of my co-workers use it...” He trailed off as the stormy pegasus took flight, leaving him alone on the bench. “I hope you find your way,” he said, imagining that somehow she'd hear him.

* * *

Pinkie Pie set the teapot down on the fold out table and pushed the piping hot cup and saucer over to the changeling sat opposite her. With a flourish she unfurled a napkin and lay it on the table, setting her sandwich and condiments on top of it. The changeling tentatively tried to lift up the cup and saucer, balancing it on the hooks and holes in its forelegs, ultimately abandoning the idea, and settling for bending over and rapidly lapping at it with its forked tongue.

“So, Stimfa,-” Pinkie began

“Nympha,” the changeling corrected.

“That's what I said,” Pinkie took a bite out of her sandwich, slowly munching it. “Rarity really was right about tea parties; they smooth over everything.”

“You still haven't told me what you're doing down here, nor how you came to be here in the first place,” Nympha said.

“I did! I totally did. I got lost, remember?”

Nympha narrowed its eyes at her whilst surreptitiously lapping away at the tea.

“I Pinkie Promise you that's what happened,” the changeling watched as the pink pony made some ridiculous hoof gestures, produced a cupcake from her mane, and splatted it onto her eye. “And now I want to know why you're down here.”

“You promise not to tell anyone?” Nympha looked apprehensively at the dark corners of the room

“I just made a Pinkie Promise!” Pinkie raised her brows and held her hooves up.

“I'm trying to get home,” Nympha said, slowly dragging its hoof around in a circle on the table, and looking wistfully upwards. Pinkie followed its gaze up to the sea of darkness above and the little islands of light it had. “So I decided to build a machine to take me home.”

“How's it going to do that?” Pinkie asked, still looking up at the twinkling lanterns in the inky firmament.

“With a tremendous roar and a blaze of glory,” Nympha leant back on the chair and smiled a crooked smile, its fangs biting over its chitinous mouth. “I'll go to those stars, I'll find my kin, and I'll dwell in the house of my queen forever more,” Nympha sighed, tipping the chair back and rocking on its back legs.

“You must be super duper smart to build that! I know Twilight would love to see it, if, you know,” Pinkie rubbed the back of her neck, and an awkward silence pervaded the air.

“Even when setting aside my racial handicap, I can't imagine that she would want to help me, not for a second, as this machine has been built on the foundations of deceit,” Nympha gestured to an inactive furnace, filled with empty wrappings and boxes. “I couldn't buy or salvage the parts, so I had to intercept deliveries to the hotel,” he tapped his hooves together anxiously.

“Couldn't you do the thing where you look like other things? Then you could go out and buy things!”

“Not without my queen, I cannot. If you're as isolated as I am, you're own your own. A hive queen gives rise to our powers,” it sighed and set the chair back on all four legs. “Without her, we're nothing but overgrown cockroaches.”

“No you're not!” Pinkie defiantly smacked her hooves down on the table, bouncing the teacups up and down, and startling Nympha. “You're a brave pony that's lost and needs help, and I'm going to be the one that gives it to you!”

“How can you-”

“I'm not going to be the pony to build your rocket,” she shook her head, smirking “I'm gonna' find some ponies who will!”

“You said you wouldn't tell a soul!” Nympha leapt off the chair and stood on the table, its wings buzzing frantically.

“They're not going to know it's for you though, silly!” Pinkie reassured Nympha.

“The risk is too great! What if they want to bring more of your kind? If more come down here I'll be found for sure,” Nympha clambered off the table and threw its arms around Pinkie, its blue eyes engulfing her field of vision. “You mustn’t let this come to pass!”

Pinkie calmly rested her hooves on the changeling and tenderly embraced it in a hug. Nympha sat and waited it out, his cold insides shuddering at the close heat pressed against it.

“I'm going to help you,” Pinkie said, breaking off. “And you're going to be able to see your queen again.”

“Please, just,” Nympha tried to speak up, his forelegs rubbing together, “I've worked on this for so long; don't ruin it for me.”

She wasn't sure how she was going to do it, but the goal of getting Flim and Flam down here to construct the rocket was now firmly lodged in her head. The idea resonated in her head, alongside an invasive ringing tone. Pinkie came to a halt, looking around at the corridor she'd returned to, and listened carefully. Surely enough there came tolling of a grand bell up ahead. Pinkie picked up the pace and cantered towards this wildly alien sound. The bell tolled twice more before she got to the steps leading up and out of the boiler room.

Her exit of the boiler room was awash in disorientation, as no longer were there the myriad of colourful paintings adorning the walls, no longer was there a lovingly crafted walnut desk, and no longer was there the door to the back garden. Everything had changed. Pinkie now stood at the bottom of a grand chamber, with marble and white stone stretching high up into the air, stained glass windows set betwixt pillars, depicting ponies harvesting and living amongst the clouds. At the centre of the room was an exalted podium, mounted upon a dais, from which Octavia stood and spoke to a dishevelled pegasus.

“I'm afraid our prices are non-negotiable,” Octavia's voice was carried impressively throughout the massive room, overcasting the audible clopping Pinkies hooves made on the stone floor. “If you want the room for the night it's two bits.”

“Fine,” the pegasus sighed heavily, tossing one coin after the other up at Octavia. “What room number am I? I really just want to get going.”

“You'll be in room four. Would you like me to show you to your room?” She asked, tossing a key and chain down to the pegasus.

“Tch,” the pegasus scoffed, “I'm not a foal. I can find it myself,” she snatched the key off the floor with a glare and stomped off towards Pinkie, glancing over to her as she passed by.

“Huh,” Lightning Dust came to a stop, looking Pinkie up and down. “Deja vu,” she concluded after a moment's thought, and trotted on over to the elevator.

Octavia met Pinkie at the half-way point, following after the pegasus. She smiled warmly at Pinkie, and bowed her head in greeting.

“I'm sorry about Lightning Dust,” Octavia patted Pinkie on the side. “Don't let her get to you.” Octavia pointed to the elevator where Lightning Dust was walking to. “I fancy an evening of music, care to listen?”

“Sure!” Pinkie beamed, “But first I've got to talk to Flim, or Flam. They're still checked in, right?”

Octavia nodded.

“Great! Let's go!” The pair hurried along the grand hall and to the elevator, where Lightning Dust was looking over the controls. Octavia strolled in and pulled down a huge lever on the right, and yanked it to one of the brackets indented in the wall. The elevator doors closed with a clatter and the device spurred into motion, playing a whimsical jingle of a tune as it lifted them up.