Act 2, Chapter 42: Steps of Grief
Starlight Over Detrot
Act 2, Chapter 42: Steps of Grief
Revenge may not seem like much of a basis for an economy, but the Griffins have come awful close.
Griffins are a warlike society. And this is a good word for it. They like war. A lot. When you evolve with enough aggression for not one, but two heavily territorial predatory species, you're bound to start more than a few fights.
Before Luna's banishment, when griffins couldn't get enough prey or pegasi to hunt and fight, they tended to be perfectly happy to begin revenge battles at the drop of a feather. Nearly any excuse would do to start a blood feud and get tribes fighting; Griffin recorded history prior to the Mare in the Moon is essentially a long chronological list of intertribal revenge-based wars with names like The War of What Kevin Said About Our Mum, The Battle of The Last Cupcake at Razorbeak Bakery, and the Look At How They Spelled Our Damn Last Name Massacre, each with thousands of casualties. It is for this reason that even today, pranking is highly frowned upon in griffin culture.
Griffins were and are very good at war, and often lost significantly more warriors in times of interspecies peace than they did in times of conflict. This was fine when such peace was at best occasional, as it honed the skills of the survivors - but when the calm-if-stagnant Solar Millenium trundled around, a lack of viable enemies nearly caused the griffins to peace themselves to death with internecine battles.
Circa 50SM, to prevent themselves from revenge-killing themselves into extinction, a griffin known only to history as Bella the Coherent took the throne and proposed a series of codified rules stating what constituted allowable revenge, and that it was no longer acceptable to eat someone's heart for farting in someone's den. It codified who could take revenge and for what. There would have been more grumbling about that if Bella hadn't just javelinned the previous monarch.
When it became legally allowable to transfer revenge and revenge rights, however, vengeance became the core of a complex economic system. Griffins were exchanging the right to blood feuds against particularly ill-reputed tribes and families in exchange for goods and services - or buying back their own revenge rights to protect themselves. Griffins were investing in diversified revenge portfolios, and achieving Revenge with Compound Interest. Of course, this nearly caused them to wipe out half their entire civilization in the Sub-Prime Revenge Bubble of 608SM, but they ultimately survived it.
In many ways this transition was necessary to bring them to a modern economy; The griffin unit of currency, the Ven, once represented blood debts but is now extremely rarely spent as such. They even contributed to a lot of modern economic thought; the pony word "Retail" comes from "Retaliate," from the related griffin concept.
Ponies, in public, look differently on vengeance. They do not see vengeance as a good thing… until you catch them in the right mood with the right wrong.
-The Scholar
I held the Don’s undamaged hoof in both of mine, staring into his pale face. His flesh was still warm, but I could already feel the beginnings of the chill. The professional parts of my brain were conferring with one another, trying to establish things like cause of death, but I’d shoved them into the deepest, darkest corner I could find. That left me thankful, at least, that he didn’t seem to have died in terrible pain.
Limerence was inconsolable, but then, I didn’t really have it in me to try. He hung against my side, his face hidden in the collar of my coat.
For all he liked to put up the character of a mature stallion, he had barely a year on Swift. Maybe less. He sobbed like a foal, shoulders heaving. Swift lay over by the bookshelf, looking lost. Her eyes leaked tears, but she didn’t seem to know what to do or think. She’d only known him for a single day.
Then there was me. Hard Boiled. Fate’s whipping colt.
My throat was parched and my tongue felt like it was the size of a grapefruit.
I need a drink, I thought, as the library blurred a little. Wiping at my eyes, my toe came away wet.
Crying? Was I crying? Really?
“A drink is the last thing you need, Hardy,” Juniper murmured, from someplace nearby.
I lifted my head, glancing around until I found his reflection in a glass-fronted book-case. Limerence hadn’t moved from his position, so it was fairly safe to say it was a hallucination. Funny thing, that I hadn’t thought to ask any of my friends if they could see him. After all, he was right there, right? Alive and well-
“I’m dead, kid,” Juniper growled, right next to my ear. Maybe it was in my ear. Maybe it was all in my head and I was still asleep. “Don’t you lose it now.”
“I want to lose it,” I whispered, plaintively. “Please, can’t I lose it this time?”
“Not unless you want the deaths of more people you love,” he sighed, tugging on the little tuft of a beard on his chin. I couldn’t read his expression. I wanted him to ruffle my mane, like he used to, and tell me I was being a little filly.
All the weight of all the death I’d seen in the last day threatened to send me spiraling off the edge of sanity. I could feel gleeful denial right nearby, ready to suck me down into some strange fantasy where the Don was still alive. I shuddered and ducked my eyes, looking down at the Don. More than anything, I wanted Tome to open his eyes and ask me what’d happened. To smile. To offer me cookies and an hour of his time so I could finally stop feeling like I’d murdered all those ponies.
He wasn’t going to, though, because he was dead. Dead, and the only pony who might ever give him any peace or justice wanted to drink himself insensate.
Damn me forever.
“No, kid. You don’t get to be damned. Now get up. Figure this out,” Juniper demanded.
Swallowing the enormous lump in my throat, I started what felt like an uphill slog through thick mud, pulling myself back into shape. I released Tome’s leg and turned to Swift. She was gently biting her left front knee, quivering with inner tension. Blood trickled down her fetlock, where those sharp canines bit into it, but she quickly released it as her eyes met mine.
“Swift… can you go find Taxi and bring her back here?”
She nodded, weakly. “I think so. We’re in the poetry… uh… poetry section somewhere. If I can just-”
“I need her here, right now,” I said, cutting her short. “If you can’t find us, call ‘Mareco’ and I’ll reply ‘Pony’.”
I thought she might say something else, but she just spread her wings and took a running start before coasting up, up and up beyond the height of the bookshelves, turning in a lazy circle towards where I thought the door might be.
Shutting my eyes, I put my forelegs around Limerence and held him to my chest while he wept. To be honest, I wasn’t doing much better, but he was young and if Swift was any indication, that kinda thing matters. I do wonder how far Swift might have fallen if I hadn’t dragged her out of that poetry club a couple weeks ago.
It was several long minutes before Taxi and Swift managed to find us again, but when they did, Taxi was only shocked for as long as it took to notice that I was in no condition to do what needed to be done just yet. She trotted over beside the Don, touching her chest, then her forehead before gently laying her toe on his closed eyes in one of those strange zebra gestures of respect.
Then she pulled her jeweling goggles and a tiny pouch of forensic tools out of her saddlebags, tugged the glasses down over her head and began to examine the area, maintaining a calm silence.
Limerence and I just sat there. I let time go. I knew there was some distant possibility our opponents were sneaking up on us or that somepony would discover our whereabouts, but that just didn’t seem to matter. I’d lost another father. So had he. There’s time for intrigue and paranoia. Then there’s time to mourn. If you can’t take the latter, the former won’t matter.
I don’t know how long it was before his his tears dried and Limerence breathed a slow sigh. He pulled himself away and tried to check his watch, only to realize he’d left it out for repairs. His adjusted his glasses which had fallen to the end of his nose and closed his eyes.
“I… I wish to apologize for t-this d-display, Detective,” he stammered.
“Nothing to apologize for, Lim,” I replied, pushing my hat back on my head.
“It d-does not befit-” he started to insist, but I put a leg around him for another second and he shook from head to tail as his emotions almost overwhelmed him again.
“Limerence… I need you to do something for me,” I said.
“I may…” he swallowed, glancing at his father’s corpse. “What is it?”
“I need you to get to a telephone and call Slip Stitch at the city morgue. Tell him he needs to come down here and to bring ‘Big Betty’. You remember that, alright? Big Betty. Tell him to leave Thalassemia there, too. She doesn’t need to see this. Can you do that and come back?” I asked, reaching out and pulling his face around to look into his eyes.
“Yes. Big Betty. Of course. Yes, I will… I will do that.” He choked up for an instant, then got to his hooves and trotted away at a stately pace. Stopping at the corner, he looked over his shoulder in my direction, keeping his gaze on the carpet. “Detective? Thank you.”
I acknowledged that with a bob of my chin and he trotted off between the stacks. Probably off somewhere to cry again, but he didn’t need an audience for that.
“Sir...why’d you send him away?” Swift asked, quietly. “Shouldn’t he be with us right now, so we can take care of him?”
I pulled at the tails of my coat, trying to ignore the lump of semi-solid emotional agony in my stomach as I explained that “He needs something to do. His father’s died and he’s feeling helpless. Trust me, I’ve been there. He’ll...recover. Maybe not today. Maybe not even soon. Our job hasn’t gone away because this was someone we cared about, though.”
Despite the brave words, I felt like I was floating. I could still feel dampness on my cheek fur and my eyes hurt. Just seeing the Don laying there, a pool of blood cooling under his chair, was enough to make me want to find the nearest bottle and crawl right to the bottom.
“Hardy?”
I tilted an ear in Taxi’s direction to show I’d heard the query.
“What’ve you found, Sweets?” I asked, finally, getting back onto all fours.
“I think it’s… uh… Celestia make me strong...” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, cringing as she touched Tome’s shoulder. “This isn’t going to make him any less dead, but...I think somepony tried that awful necromancy on him and-”
I jerked my head up at the word ‘necromancy.'
“The bastards hacked his hoof off to make a phylactery?!” I snarled, my blood catching fire. The rage that bloomed inside me felt like a blanket of napalm on my grief. “They ripped his soul out?! Slaughtering him and his people wasn’t enough?!”
My view blurred. Everything seemed to move of its own accord. Several frames skipped over one another. It was the oddest sensation, but I could only feel it with a semi-detachment that one feels seeing only parts of a movie where some bits have been removed.
Taxi was tugging on my hooves.
That’s funny, I thought, in the way a thing that is entirely unfunny can be funny.
I’d somehow gotten over to one of the glass cases. How’d I done that? I didn’t remember charging the book case, but I could feel the lump on my shoulder and a couple of pieces of glass poking me through my coat. The pain... ooh, that felt better than was probably healthy.
It took me a moment to realize it was the case I’d seen Juniper’s reflection in just a few moments ago. The entire front was shattered and the carpet littered with shards of glass. I looked up at it from a position on my side. How had I gotten down there?
Funny.
Taxi was shouting something in my ear, while Swift’s brightly colored wings flapped around me, hauling me away. Somepony pulled my coat back, and I felt sticky wetness on my fur.
“Hardy!” my drive barked, giving me a poke in the chest. I gasped as another burst of pain brought me back to reality. “Stop fighting us!”
Swift’s frightened face drifted into view and she peered down at me with those soft, pink eyes.
I felt weight on my shoulders and looked up to see Taxi pinning my forelegs.
“Hardy, I think the necromancy failed!” Taxi gasped, putting her hooves on my face. “The Don’s soul is gone, but... but they couldn’t capture it!”
That was like a gallon of ice water down the back of my neck. I went limp and my back legs sank to the floor. Had I been kicking with them? The muscles were a little sore. Strange. Strange, strange, strange.
“Come back to me, Hardy… come on…” my driver whispered. She sounded scared.
I rolled onto my side and pulled my hooves under me, but didn’t stand. I just sat there, trying to get my bearings.
“What did I do?” I asked.
“Y-you seemed like you were… um… at-attacking the book-case, Sir,” Swift muttered.
I pulled a face and sighed. “Crazy ponies do things like that,” I sighed, idly picking a piece of glass out of my hoof and flicking it away. It should have hurt, but the pain seemed awfully far away. “Look, I’ve had a stressful month. A little psychotic break is good for everyone now and then.”
Weird as it might sound, my head felt significantly clearer, although Taxi had her hoof curled into a zebra pressure point strike, ready to lay me out if I decided to throw myself at any more book-cases.
I wobbled as I stood, turning to the Don. “Sweets, you were saying something important?”
Taxi cocked an eye in my direction, then slowly nodded. “I… was just insisting you spend tonight in my room, away from any sharp objects-”
“Somepony tried to use necromancy on the Don. It failed. Finish that sentence,” I demanded.
Her hoof relaxed and she set it back on the carpet. “The flesh where they removed his hoof. It’s still red. Look.”
I glanced at the ugly wound where the Don’s leg was severed just above his fetlock. I remembered the dark grey of Ruby’s internal organs and my insides roiled. “Speculation. Why would it fail?”
My driver’s lip twitched as she watched me, still cautious. “I… I don’t know. Maybe he knew a way of protecting himself?”
“Protecting himself? Hmmm. That could be useful if we-”
“Sir...you’re shaking,” Swift mumbled, putting one wing out to steady my leg.
I brushed her feathers away. “I’m aware of that, kid. We’re not discussing my mental condition right now. The best thing we can do not discuss that. We’re discussing exactly how the Don might have known necromancy was being used-”
“F-father was probably immune to the poisons,” Limerence said from behind me, still fighting a quiver in his voice. “There’s an alchemical component to the spell, yes? The injection Skylark gave to Cerise, and whatever they gave to the Professor and Miss Blue?”
Limerence looked a bit more composed as I turned to face him, but his cheeks were still sallow and his eyes, bloodshot. He was examining the shattered glass of the book case, keeping his gaze carefully away from his father’s body.
“The coroner’s report said there was,” Swift answered, wiping at her nose with the back of her leg.
“My father knew of all the poisons of the homeland. He has talismans in his body and he took immunity draughts every day against the possibility of assassins. His willingness to use our homeland’s mystical arts to less-than-legal enterprise was unpopular with those in high places,” the librarian explained. “It... it was not the poison that killed him.”
“What then? Blood loss?” Taxi asked.
“No. I have...I took time to examine some of the bodies. You didn’t see them, but there are...many.” He choked, covering his face with his leg before emotion could drag him back over the edge of despair. “I think... Detective, I could be wrong, but I think it might have been our own magical defenses…”
My ears shot straight up. “Your own... what?!”
Limerence’s lip quivered, but his voice steadied. “Upon second examination, I noticed that the control matrix had been...altered. Had I not left my watch at the repair shop, it’s entirely likely I would have been targeted alongside my brethren the second I laid a hoof beyond the front door.”
It was a long ten seconds as the reality behind that statement sank into my fried brain.
“You mean somepony...who knew your security system set it to target Archivists?” Swift gasped.
“To target our badges of office, yes,” he murmured, gently nudging his father’s half-melted watch with one toetip. “I would ask you to examine Father. He kept his watch in his breast-pocket. I... I cannot...”
I hesitated. It felt wrong to move the Don from his place of rest, but eventually somepony was going to have to bury him or cremate him or whatever zebra do.
Gathering my gumption, I eased over to Tome’s side and, as gently as possible, pushed his body upright. The old stallion seemed light as a feather as I rearranged him on the chair. At first, I couldn’t see what Limerence was talking about, but as I looked a little closer, I noticed a clean hole, burned in the Don’s vest pocket. It was like a laser had punched right on through. The scalpel-like cut proceeded out through his back, grazed his upper hip, then left another puncture through the chair.
Tenderly as I could, I pushed the Don back into the position he’d been in, grabbing one of the pillows from the spare chair to settle his striped head on.
That feeling I’d gotten, standing in the rain with Mom while they put Dad in the ground came welling back up and I coughed, pulling back from my friend’s body as I fought for self control. No amount of mature consideration of my emotions versus the need for professionalism in the face of death would stop my eyes from burning or my throat from clenching shut.
Damn.
“Does that... does that mean there was somepony inside the Archivists?” Swift asked.
“The Don said as much when I saw him last. That’s what the mission was about, after all. How many ponies knew how to mess with the defenses?” I asked.
“Not many. Only the most trusted. My father, myself, and perhaps five others. Two of that number are confirmed dead. You saw the body of one by the door and the other was Professor Fizzle at the Museum. The other three are unaccounted for.”
“What about your brother?” I inquired, cocking an eyebrow.
He shook his head. “My brother is an extremely poor wardsmith. Because he is a zony, his leylines are stunted. It was made worse after the injury. He couldn’t even manage basic unlocking cantrips with his... condition. He made attempts to learn the system, but always favored less enchanted forms of security. Bodies over spells. He does not enjoy ‘theory’ in the way I do.”
“Speaking of family...” I reached into my inner coat pocket, retrieving the folded envelope still sealed with red wax. “Lim, your father... on the day we came down here, he gave me this.”
Limerence’s horn flashed and it took him two tries to channel enough of his concentration to take the envelope from my hooves. “This... this is father’s personal seal. This is for family correspondence!” he gasped, turning the envelope over.
“It’s his Last Will. He sent you with me as a test. It was all a test.” I drew in a breath, forcing myself to continue. I didn’t know how he was going to react and that worried me. “He left it to me to decide who would take over the Archivists when he died. He didn’t...he didn’t want to choose between you and your brother.”
Staring down at the Will, he lowered his head and took the hovering paper in his teeth, reverently sliding it into his pocket. He couldn’t stop the tears dripping down his cheeks, but that stoic expression he usually wore was plastered on. “I...I will read it when we have finished here. I need to search the stacks. Father said my brother was coming in today. If he is here, I wish to find his body.”
I held up my hoof to catch him as he started to turn. “We’ve got to get to the outskirts and guide Slip Stitch in, in case there’s an attack-”
“The attack has already concluded,” Limerence said, quietly. “Whosoever launched this… this holocaust… has been and gone. They have claimed what they came for or failed and retreated. I will return our defenses to their normal operations. The front door will only open for the five of us. Does the coroner have some… defining feature? A piece of clothing perhaps?”
I thought for a minute then nodded. “Yeah. I can’t think I’ve ever seen him without his labcoat.”
“Then the defenses will ignore a pony wearing a labcoat.” Pulling a piece of scrap paper out of his pocket, he jotted something on it then passed it to Taxi. “That should guide you to the entrance and back. I...I am going to find my brother, if he’s here.”
“Fine. Meet us here in a half hour, whether or not you’ve found him, though. Clear?
Limerence didn’t answer, but nodded and moved down the aisle between two bookshelves. A moment later, I heard a muted whimper, but that quickly faded into the distance.
Helpless as I might have felt just then, I could only imagine what Limerence was going through. He’d lost everyone. With luck, his brother might still be alive, but there was no way to know until we found his body or could contact him.
The sadness threatened to yank my precariously perched sanity off its seat again. I gulped for air, sweeping a hoof across my face as though trying to clear away thick smoke. Nothing would make the situation better today. Nothing would make the Don any less dead.
“Sir?” Swift murmured, giving me a light touch with her wingtip.
“I’ll be fine, kid. Or insane. We’ll see. Before I decide which, we need to get Slip Stitch in here,” I said, more calmly than I felt.
“Can we trust him, Sir? I mean, he seems totally nuts. Won’t he just report all of this-”
“We can trust Stitch. Whatever else I’ll say about him, he understands discretion.” I had another thought which made my ears twitch. “Advertising that the Archivists are dead before we can clear out the Archive and solidify our position will set us up for another gang war. The Cyclones will be moving in if the Jewelers don’t.”
Taxi’s ears twitched. “You don’t think this was another attempt to set off-”
“I think we’re well beyond the place that there’s anything we could call ‘excessive paranoia’, Sweets,” I replied. “Right now, Detrot is a whole heap of TNT just laying right out in the open, waiting for a spark.”
Swift looked in the direction of the Don’s body, then quickly averted her gaze before it could disturb her stomach. “Sir, this is about as big a spark as somepony could set off...”
“You’re not wrong. Come on. We need Stitch. I won’t leave the Don’s body here and we need a place to store the corpses. Big Betty has plenty of space and the morgue has about a thousand nooks and crannies where we can make this situation disappear,” I explained. “Then... then we’ll figure something out to keep this place from falling into the wrong hooves.”
****
The three of us sat on the front steps of the Archive, kicking our heels, waiting. The wait gave me time to think, which was the last thing I needed or wanted at that particular moment, so I’d pulled down my hat and tried a few of Taxi’s breathing exercises. They didn’t work, insofar as I felt no more relaxed, but it was something to do that didn’t involve talking to myself or screaming incoherently.
Nearby, Swift had her head on Taxi’s lap and my driver was gently stroking her mane as we waited for the coroner. Stitch was typically very punctual, which is to say he would almost always arrive when it was most convenient for his personal sense of comedic timing.
I was just about to suggest one of us might want to go get more alcohol when a musical jingle drifted down the block. Swift’s ears perked and she sat up, adjusting her combat vest and picking up her trigger.
“Kid?” I asked, curiously.
She spat out her trigger long enough to say, “Taxi said that if he offers us anything to eat, I should shoot him in the knee.”
I glanced at my driver and she shrugged.
“He can work on three legs,” she explained. “It might save us some dancing and singing, too.”
Settling back on the step, I waited until a great, pink beast nosed its way around the corner at the far end of the street. Along with it came the cheerful, completely inappropriate music of an ice-cream trunk blared at maximum volume through a dozen loudspeakers.
****
Big Betty was an ice-truck from a time before electric refrigeration was widespread and ponies had to move enormous lumps of ice to their freezers on a regular basis to keep food cold. The mighty transport had six wheels, designed for long haul, heavy duty trucking under a domed box with a tailgate tall enough for a dragon to feel nice and cozy under it.
During the war, it had been converted by some industrious, slightly demented mind into a transport for soldiers and a meat wagon for corpses, hence the enormous armored plates bolted on every available surface. Coupled with gun-slits, fittings for grenade-launchers, empty missile racks, and what appeared to be a galley cannon strapped to the roof, it looked like a wheeled snail of slaughter. Worst of all, the whole thing was painted the same hideous pink as the Morgue itself.
Where Slip Stitch had acquired the ex-military vehicle was something of a mystery, but nopony who values their mental stability asks about Stitch’s history. His use it for was altogether more mundane. He carried corpses and ice-cream.
Most often the ice-cream went to foals whose mothers or fathers had died in violent or unexpected fashions, while their parents went in the back of the truck. He’d throw the children parties, surround them with caring friends, and fill their emptiness with whatever tiny happiness he could.
Having watched plenty of children who’d suddenly lost everything bundled off into anonymous, government vehicles to be carted off to relatives who didn’t want them, or worse, to orphanages, I think I like Stitch’s method better. Difficult as he could be to work with, he knew grief, and he knew sweets. He also had quite the talent for helping people say goodbye and, with surprising frequency, finding better homes for those left behind.
I guess it helped that he struck fear into the hearts of the local foster homes. Nopony who heard Big Betty’s song dared raise a hoof to a foal or let one go hungry.
Death and ice-cream can be a surprisingly effective combination.
****
The truck said ‘Detrot Medical Examiner’ with the words ‘and Tasty Treats’ stenciled in just under it across the side of the door. The front axles were wide enough to take up both lanes on one side of the road, while the actual container was broad enough that it threatened to spill into oncoming traffic if Stitch wasn’t careful. It trundled down the street, pulling to a stop out front of the Archive with a screech of hydraulic brakes.
An energetic tuft of white fur bounced up and down behind the wheel to music that couldn’t possibly be the truck’s tune. For an instant, I managed to forget what was behind me, waiting in the Archive, and a tiny smile found a place on my muzzle.
Stitch swung down out of the cab, his white labcoat flaring as he landed on the asphalt and pulled a brightly stickered bag of medical tools out behind him.
“Oh, Detective! And Miss Sweet Shine, and Officer Swift! It is so good to see all of you again. I worried after you left my morgue that I might never get to wish you a happy rebirthday! One day soon, must have a party for that,” Stitch exclaimed, sweeping up to us and throwing his forelegs around my neck and Taxi’s. He seemed completely immune to my driver’s scowl as she gently pushed him off. “Now then, what have you brought me out to see? Discretion is, after all, my middle name. Slip Discretion Stitch. Not many ponies know that.”
He paused, then looked into my eyes for several seconds. His blue face twitched a little as he narrowed his gaze, then took two steps back. His mood seemed to snap like a pulled rubber band and the crazy halo of hair that comprised his mane flattened slightly.
“Oh... Oh, My... Detective, you must pardon me. I wasn’t aware when I received the call. What’s happened?” he asked, with genuine worry. “The pony on the phone sounded quite distraught, but that isn’t uncommon. To see you, though, with all the telltale signs of the death of a loved one…”
“It’s…” I started to reply that everything was fine, but something in his very earnest expression of concern left a crack in my armor that could only grow from there. I put a hoof over my mouth, breathing slow and careful. My eyes wouldn’t stop burning. Damn.
Taxi took over, giving me a minute to recompose.
“We’ve got an unknown number of dead from a magical malfunction. The building is presently under a sort of lockdown and will attack anypony who comes in. We’re here as... guests... of one of the dead ponies. Hardy and he were very good friends.”
Stitch’s looked up at the Archive, as though seeing it for the first time. “If I’m not incorrect, this is the home territory of the criminal organization known as the Archivists, yes?”
“That’s right.”
Pulling a pipe out of his pocket, he proceeded to blow a few bubbles through it, frowning as he considered the situation. “If I were to continue to deduce... would it be likely that there has been some form of attack, the Archivists have suffered significant casualties, and you don’t want this leaking to the press, the police, or anypony else because it could cause a war between the Jewelers and the Cyclones?”
Swift’s muzzle dropped open. “You... you deduced all that? Why aren’t you a cop?”
He smiled, enigmatically. “Because, my dear, then who would dispense the ice-cream?”
****
I pushed open the door of the Archive ahead of Slip Stitch and stood to one side.
“Ah, I see! I see!” he exclaimed as he caught sight of the body that still lay on the carpet just inside.
He tossed his bag of tools beside the corpse, pulling on a white breathing mask and tugging out a pair of hoof-operated forceps.
“I need to know what happened to these ponies. Limerence says it was their own defenses, but I need your professional opinion... and your truck,” I explained.
Slipping the forcep strap around his knee, he began gently probing the body tugging at the cloth that still clung to its chest. “If you don’t mind me asking, how big is this party likely to be? A crowd is always good, but am I likely to need additional streamers and body-bags?”
“More than a few. Honestly, we’re going to have to search the Archive top to bottom unless Limerence has some way of speeding that up. He’ll be back in a minute or two.”
Limerence chose that moment to reappear at my side. He was a stealthy little thing under normal circumstances, but in his home territory, he might as well have been a ghost.
He looked calmer and his mane was slicked back with water, as though he’d found a sink to dunk his head in. Not a bad idea, now I considered it.
“Detective. Ah. I see you have found the coroner. Is he to be trusted?” Limerence asked.
Slip Stitch leapt to his hooves and darted over to shake our librarian’s leg, vigorously. “Oh, good morning to you, Sir! Are you one of the survivors? You have my condolences. I shall be seeing to it that your loved ones are seen off to wheresoever they decide they want to go in the afterlife!”
I held my breath, uncertain exactly how Limerence was going to respond.
“There are... no survivors besides myself, mayhap five or ten agents in the field, and father’s vault keepers. I am the last Archivist here,” he replied, somberly, taking his hoof from Slip Stitch.
“And I gather then that you know how many bodies there are here?” Stitch asked, brightly.
“By the count I was able to make on the security cameras whilst I was looking for my brother, there are...thirty nine...dead. I believe they may all be Archivists, or possibly guests of the library,” he replied.
Dropping back to his knees, the coroner shuffled over to the dead body on the carpet and began gently prodding at the chest and ribs. “Ah. Yes, I will need somepony to lead me to them. We can make provisions for moving them to my storage facility and we’ll have their parties later!”
“I’m... I’m so sorry, Lim,” Swift murmured, moving over and putting her wing across his back.
The librarian didn’t acknowledge her, but nor did he push her away. He just stood there, head bowed, watching as Slip Stitch went back to his examination of the body.
“Now then, this is a mode of death I’m only loosely familiar with,” Slip Stitch continued after a slightly awkward pause. “This... I believe this used to be a unicorn. A mare, if I don’t miss my guess. She would appear to have been incinerated from the inside out. Perhaps... leylines set fire to?”
It took Limerence a minute to reply, but when he did, it was in a monotone that spoke volumes.
“Her name... I think this was Catalona,” he said, taking his kerchief out and touching it to his cheeks, as he got a far-away look. “She was one of our researchers and very finest ward-smiths. A sweet filly, barely out of her teens, who came to us from the Academy.”
“And these ‘defenses’ of yours?” Stitch prompted.
“I... mmm... I suppose it hardly matters if you know, and the Detective says you can be discreet,” he sighed, plucking at his vest as he stared at Catalona’s burnt corpse, though I got the feeling he wasn’t really seeing it. “Simply enough, our defenses are focused on a multi-pronged attack based on what species they determine they are attacking. Unicorns are disabled by mana overload, earth ponies and zebras by simple electrical shock if a nonlethal option is preferred, or by a pencil thin energy discharge that punches a hole in their hearts, and pegasi will experience a locking field that removes all the air from around their bodies. There are plenty of other options for changelings and such, but... I believe the ‘gist’ is adequate.”
“Yes...yes. I am imagining that you wished me to examine a particular body?” Stitch inquired.
I nodded. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. Anything that might tell us who killed him.”
****
Stitch stopped between two book-cases as we returned to the scene of the Don’s death, studying the body. His lips curved into a thin, slightly manic smile. “Oh, yes... yes, interesting. Let me see here!”
I stood back so he could conduct his examination, watching Limerence carefully. The Archivist’s jaw was slowly clenching tighter and tighter as Slip Stitch darted forward to get a closer look.
Stitch began walking in little circles around the chair, lightly running a gloved hoof over the backrest. He stopped over the plate of cookies, then very lightly brushed a toetip over the rim of the glass of warming milk before giving it a quick lick.
Nodding to himself, he pulled out a tiny recorder and pressed the ‘record’ button.
“Subject... Don Tome. Age regressed with zebra alchemy, but based on bone degradation in the exposed area around the severed hoof, I would say mid-nineties. Suspected cause of death...hmmm…”
Placing his hoof on the Don’s forehead, he lifted the body like a sack so he could look at his chest.
I put a leg on Limerence’s shoulder as he let out a low, guttural growl. “Calm down. Now. Or I’ll make you wait outside.”
“Detective, he shows no respect for the-”
I interrupted by stepping close and jamming my mouth next to his ear. He started to recoil, but I grabbed him around the neck, forcing him to stand there and listen as I hissed. “Slip Stitch sees a hundred bodies a year or more. He’s doing his job, just like we’re doing ours. There will be a time to mourn, but if you want to know who killed your father and brother half as bad as I do, you’ll let him work. If you don’t, I will lay you out with my rear hooves and apologize later. Are we crystal clear, Lim?”
The librarian’s ears laid back and he slowly nodded.
Slip Stitch seemed not to have noticed our little exchange, prancing around the body and table, talking to his recorder. He paused long enough to wave a little wand under Tome’s muzzle, then stick it into one of his ears for a second.
“I would place time of expiration within two hours based on coagulation of blood and a body temperature roughly...twenty three degrees. Subject was discovered by Detective Hard Boiled approximately-”
He looked up at me, expectantly.
“I’m afraid I didn’t check a clock when we arrived, but-,” I gestured at Tome’s half-melted pocket watch laying on the floor. Slip Stitch gently lifted it by the chain on the tip of his forcep and poked the face before lifting his recorder back to his lips.
“Time of death is... for once, exact; sixteen hundred hours,” he said, contemplatively. “The subject has cooled significantly more than they should have. Probably the blood loss. Death was quick, presumably caused by magical puncture through the chest, which seems to have been targeted at the subject’s pocket watch which was in the breast pocket. When subject fell forward, the chain was severed and the watch fell onto the floor. Poor stallion didn’t have time to know what hit him.” He paused, thinking about that for a moment before a smirk cropped up on his nose. “Heh... time... hmmm. Anyway! Subject would also appear to have been poisoned. Right foreleg is severed just below the knee. The removal seems to have been done either soon before death, or moments after.”
“Wait a second, could you go back? Mister Tome was poisoned?” Swift asked, her notepad out and her pencil in her mouth. She didn’t seem to be taking notes with any intent of using them later, but mostly as a thing to do besides cry, hide, or go insane.
“Oh my, was he ever! I do find it odd how so many ponies lately seem to be dying of several different causes at once. Your friend, Ruby, this poor fellow…” He swept his labcoat open and stalked back and forth, still clutching his bubble-pipe between his teeth. “Should I also suspect that the missing Professor from the History Museum - who the Archivists would most certainly have on their payroll - is also likely to turn up ‘dead of multiple’?”
“Errr…it’s... I... ugh. Yes, yes, he’s dead,” I muttered, a little guiltily. “Fizzle is in his office, which is behind a perception ward at the Museum. He’s been there a few days.”
“I shall go and collect him and secret him away the moment I can find time.” Stitch nodded towards the Don’s body. “Is the good Professor also likely to have drunk poison milk?”
I gave a surprised start.
“Wait... what?! You mean the Don was poisoned with his milk?! Not with a syringe or something like that?”
“Most definitely! There is a slight residue on the inside of the glass that has affected the creaminess of the beverage. I see no bulging of the eyes or constriction of the throat, however. This was an odd poison. That, or he was dead before it could take effect,” Stitch amended.
“But... the Don was always careful with things like that. Somepony he knew brought him this milk,” I said, quietly.
“Yes... an Archivist, A traitor,” Limerence added from behind me, his tail tucked tightly between his rear legs. He’d come up silently and I’d missed his approach. His mane was mussed and his eyes were shot red. He floated a familiar wooden staff off of his back and held it in front of himself. It was Zefu’s walking stick. “Please, come. My brother is three rows over, in his... his normal-” He gulped down a couple of breaths as he fought for self control. “-in his normal reading place.”
****
Zefu’s body was sprawled across a chair in a small alcove, a box of cheese-snacks and a glass of water sitting beside him.
In life, he’d been gorgeous, but his death wasn’t kind. The same magic that had killed the poor mare, Catalona, had left not much recognizable on the zony’s body. The blast of whatever it was that killed him managed to scorch almost every last inch of skin off his body, although some bits around his hooves still showed a bit of pale, white fur. If anything, the destruction was more complete. His eyes were gone. His fur was gone. Most of the flesh on his upper chest was gone. There wasn’t much left of his face.
“Sweet sloppy joes, my boy! Whatever happened to you?” Stitch’s nose wrinkled as he caught sight of the body, waving a hoof around his face to dispel the scent of burning flesh. Swift fell back a few steps back as the rest of us approached Zefu’s resting place.
I glanced at her, curious.
“What is it, kid?”
“Sir, he smells...” Her tail twined itself around her leg and she took another step back.
“You can’t seriously be bothered by how anything smells after that dunk in the sewer...”
“It's not... that. He smells... um... he smells likes... uh... like fried chicken, sir,” she whispered, stopping beside a book case. She ran her tongue over her muzzle as she continued, “If you don’t mind, I think I should probably stay back here.”
“Right,” I replied, internally cringing at my carnivorous partner.
Slip Stitch, meanwhile, was poking at the body with the end of a scalpel, teasing the area around the horn.
“Hmmm... this fine gentlecolt is a zony, you say?” he asked Limerence.
“Yes. I found my brother’s staff leaning here,” Lim replied, nodding towards the wall beside the chair.
“Well, I suppose species identification will be difficult without a blood test,” Stitch commented, hefting his recorder. “The underlying bone structure seems somewhat odd for a zony, but that could be damage from the spell. This was a rather spectacular mode of death.”
“My brother…had a skeletal condition that... that,” Limerence started haltingly, then stopped as his gaze fell back onto the charred remains. There was so little left that was recognizable. Even his mane was gone.
Taxi, who’d been standing silently in the background since we came back in, stepped forward and began to reach out to him, but Slip Stitch raised a hoof, stopping her. I couldn’t read his expression, but I’d learned to trust him in matters of death and grief.
As I watched, a shake developed in Limerence’s tail, then traveled up his spine, out to the tips of his ears.
If a pony cries enough, one gets to think there must surely be a limit on how many tears you can possibly shed at once. You’ll find you’re wrong, too, if you see enough dark and terrible things. Maybe it’s a small kindness that there’s no limit on how much you can weep.
Lim was glassy eyed and his nose was running, but he didn’t seem to notice. The quaking of his knees got so bad his rear legs slid out from under him and he fell onto his flank.
Taking two steps forward, Slip Stitch sat between Limerence and his brother’s body, blocking his sight of it. He gently took our librarian’s hoof in his, raising it off the floor. Lim looked right through him as though he weren’t there.
“Mister Limerence. May I ask, are you a pony of logic or a pony of emotion?”
There was a long pause while Limerence’s brain slogged into motion, but when it did, he raised his head and replied, softly, “I am a pony of... of logic, sir. What could that possibly have to do with... with anything?”
“Then I want to direct your attention to something. Your brother... what was his name?”
“Zefu…”
Stitch nodded and continued in a calm, even voice like one might speak to a frightened animal, “Your brother - Zefu - died in the most gruesome, vicious manner imaginable. Your father has been poisoned and his heart cooked in his chest. Your family is dead.”
Limerence’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl. He tried to snatch his hoof back, but Slip Stitch held onto it firmly, staring into his eyes with such intensity that the librarian slowly stopped his struggles and just stared back. The coroner’s crazy mane framed a face that was soft and a little pudgy, but for an instant it was like he’d become something else; something more.
“Emotion dictates you fall apart, now,” Stitch continued, his voice completely steady as he stood over the dead body of Zefu and gripped his brother’s hoof. “Emotion says you collapse. Emotion says you die inside and everything these ponies meant dies as well. Emotion says you are alone and nothing will change that.”
I watched as his words seemed to wash over Limerence with the force of a broken dam. His face tightened and he stood a little straighter. He levitated his brother’s staff off of his back, holding it in front of himself lengthways, examining the carvings. That stoic expression he’d worn the day I met him dropped onto his features, stamping out any clue that he’d been weeping openly just minutes ago.
“Now, Mister Limerence... I want to ask you: will you break?”
Lim shook his head and pulled his hoof from the coroner’s, setting it on the carpet.
“I am not going to break,” he replied.
Like a flicked switch, all the solemnity vanished from Slip Stitch’s demeanor. He raised his head and smiled, patting Limerence between the ears and ruffling his blond mane.
“Excellent! Well, then! Let’s let Uncle Slip Stitch get you on the path to some good, old fashioned revenge, shall we?”
“What?!” I spluttered.
The coroner gave me a wicked grin and waved his hoof over the body of Lim’s brother. “Oh, were you not aware, Detective?”
“Are we sure revenge is really the healthiest thing he can be thinking about right now?!” Taxi blurted.
Giggling maniacally, Slip Stitch’s eyes widened with glee as he rose up onto his rear hooves, dancing in a little circle, his tail sweeping along behind him like a great white brush. Something in the way the dim lighting framed his wild hair gave it a sinister glow, casting a shadow down over his face that suggested a hood of some kind.
“Can you not see it, Detective?” he exclaimed, waving his hooves in the air like a conductor controlling a great symphony. “The slaughter of a family? The death of a gang? Your beloved friend, left cooling in his chair by a traitor?”
I put a hoof on Stitch’s chest, pulling him back down into a standing position. “I’m seeing it, Stitch... and I’m still thinking I would rather see these ponies arrested-”
“Of course, of course…” he replied, waving his hoof dismissively. “I am aware of your very noble goals. What about his ultimate goal, however?” He pointed at Limerence, who was staring contemplatively at the carpet. “He must have one, you know! Madness is his only alternative. He is ever so close to madness right now. You are bare inches from it, my friend! I know, for my talent tells me so!”
He wiggled his backside like a cat about to pounce, flashing the ice-cream cone with the skull and crossbones.
“Can you not see it, Detective?!” he repeated, advancing on me. I took an involuntary step back. “This will be a grand occasion! So many evil ponies have come into our great city, and too many have climbed the towers of power! The resources required to mount such a thorough assault on one of the most well connected gangs in Detrot is simply enormous! You are a deliverer of justice, but look at what that makes necessary! So much injustice, and now...now there will be a reckoning!”
His eyes flashed with a frightening, inner light as he dropped back to all fours and jerked his head in the direction of Limerence.
“He... needs revenge. No amount of platitudes or ‘by the book’ law will ever make that pony whole. Death, my friend! Death will rebuild him! He must have his vengeance...or there will be no end!” Stitch put his toe against my chest and gave me a light shove, sending me onto my backside, “And you... you, Detective, will preside! You will make sure it is his vengeance he gets! You will hold his hoof and guide him into the warm embrace of violence... and I will hold the party afterwards, for any who survive, and all those who die! A party like no other! A great, glorious, gory, gala of death!”
Silence fell over the little space between the rows of old books. Slip Stitch relaxed, plunking himself down on the carpet and waiting for my response with a big, silly smile on his face.
I glanced over at Taxi, but she was just as dumbfounded as I was. Limerence was just sitting there, lost in thought, his eyes closed. I’d have given more than a few bits to know what he was thinking about, just then.
Granted, this wasn’t the weirdest thing Slip Stitch had ever done in my presence, but it was high on the list. I didn’t want to become an assassin, but I was making quite the living at it. Skylark. Cosmo, sort of.
Who might be next?
Did it matter?
If somepony tried to kill me, was I anything less than obligated to kill them?
Juniper was eyeing me from inside an art-deco mirror sitting behind a row of books. He looked a little disapproving, but also vaguely amused. He was one of those ponies who could pull off several expressions at once. He and Stella would have loved one another.
“I got nothing,” I sighed, pulling my coat straight. “We’ve got some bodies to move-”
Limerence raised his head, suddenly, ears twitching back and forth. “Detective! Intruders!”
I leapt to my hooves. “What?! Are you sure?”
He nodded, pointing to his head. Turning, he let me see what looked like a tiny black stone lodged in his ear. “I picked up a monitoring talisman when I was resetting the defensive system and altering the program to ignore the five of us.” He closed his eyes and his horn flashed up and down it’s length. “I detect... three... no, four incoming targets, all armed quite heavily. Three pegasi, one unicorn. They are all heavily tattooed with Cyclone gang symbology.”
“Can you get rid of them with the external defenses?” I asked.
“I... I can, but-” Limerence frowned a little, then raised his chin. “I do believe I have a better idea. Since you are guiding me to my vengeance-”
“We have not discussed vengeance here, Lim-” I tried to interrupt, but he plowed on.
“-I think it best we continue our association. To that end, I think it best make sure everypony who might think to target us is aware this facility is secure. Do you concur?”
“I mean... I do, but what-”
“Come along then!” Limerence swept his brother’s staff up in his hooves and turned towards where I presumed the front of the archive to be, cantering off between two book-cases.
I was too stunned by his sudden change of mood to follow.
Swift moved out of the little cubby she’d chosen to sit in whilst we examined Zefu and trotted up to me, wings half extended for flight.
“Uh... Sir, do you think we should go make sure nothing bad happens?” she asked.
“What’re they gonna do? They can’t get in here,” I replied. “Limerence fixed the defenses and the front door won’t open to anypony besides us. At worst, they’ll make some threats, realize they can’t get in, and wander off with their tails between their legs.”
“I wasn’t really worried about Limerence, Sir. I’m worried about those Cyclones...”
****
We left Stitch to the job of clearing up Zefu’s body and getting him into a body-bag for later examination, hurriedly rushing after Limerence. He was quickly lost amongst the rows of books, but by sheer luck we managed to wander back into an area that was kind of familiar. The Archive was an easier place to lose oneself than the Vivarium. After another five minutes stumbling back and forth, Swift called out from overhead that she could see the front door.
“I swear, once we’re done here, I am having Limerence teach me what system they use to navigate in this place,” I grumbled, following my partner’s voice.
Swift was perched on top of a book-case like a cat looking down at us as I rounded another corner. She pointed to the left with one wing.
“Sir, the way out is over there...but I could have sworn that wasn’t where it was when we came in.” She hopped down and fluttered to the ground.
“I’ve known the Don for over a decade and I never knew he had kids,” I replied, with a fond, sad smile. “He is... he was as private as any creature could be and this is his inner sanctum. I wouldn’t put it past him to figure some way to trick local space-time into making this place exempt from certain rules if it suited him.”
As we came within sight of the revolving doors, I could see Limerence standing out on the stoop, Zefu’s staff propped across his shoulders. He was looking out into the street at something and his lips were moving.
“Do you think we can convince these Cyclones that we’re working for them?” Taxi asked.
“I somehow doubt it,” I answered. “I don’t think these are Aroyos. Besides, would you want to let whoever told these ponies that the Archive was attacked know where we’re hiding? This was a hit job. They’re trying to start a war... and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Jewelers show up not long from now.”
Freeing my gun-bit, I angled myself down between the aisles until I could come at the revolving door from one side. Taxi took my cue and snuck across, getting out of the line of fire whilst Swift hovered overhead, away from the line of sight of anypony outside.
Easing up to the door, I stuck my head around the side of the glass cell.
Outside, four tense looking ponies stood at the bottom of the stairs. They were armed like a marauding band of P.A.C.T. agents, with enough heavy firepower to take on a small army and covered in tattoos so thick I don’t think I could have picked out their cutie-marks. The one out front who seemed to be leading them was a stallion with thick glasses and muscles on every inch that wasn’t covered in scruffy orange fur.
Limerence was addressing him, but I couldn’t hear what was being said.
Looking up, I waved at Swift who was chewing nervously, on her trigger.
“Kid, I’m going out there. Can you get in the revolving door and get a firing position? The door is made of bullet proof glass. If I give you a signal, lay down covering fire so we can pull back. In fact, just shoot the crap out of them. Try to leave them alive, if you can.”
“What kind of signal, Sir?” she asked.
“I hope you’re going to be able to tell what’s a situation where I need covering fire...”
“Sir, I think you need covering fire getting out of bed lately.”
It was a tiny joke and the sort that was deeply out of place, but I chuckled anyway, clenching my jaw before the tremor it set off in my stomach could turn into a full blown manic attack. Crying or giggling like a lunatic might have been very intimidating to most ponies, but I doubted it would impress the heavily armed Cyclones.
“If they start shooting, you start shooting. Does that work?”
Swift nodded and I stepped into the open, pushing through the revolving door.
****
The big unicorn Cyclone out front could have been a carbon copy of his friends, including the tattoos, but he had the gleam of intelligence in his eyes, whereas his companions struck me as largely muscle and not much creativity. The others were pegasi, each one wearing a combat saddle with a couple of heavy hitters in each. I counted two chatter-guns, a sawn off shotgun, and the long, black metal prong of what might have been an illegally modified lightning cannon. They all seemed pretty relaxed, but with professional killers, that’s an easy mistake to make.
As I came through the door, his attention flicked in my direction, took in my weapon and general physique and immediately dismissed me as he continued addressing Limerence.
“Look, matey... I gots the utmost respects for what the old stripe did fer us and every other thug in dis city, but my mates and I here dun’ heard the old stripe is dead. We gots no gripe wid the rest of you’z Archivists... but my little birdy what tells me stuff says the rest of them is dead, too. That means dis here property be noponies land... and the Jeweler cry-babies gonna be dis way soon. Now, you’z can’t protect dis place on you’z own. Why don’tcha let us in, let us have a little look’round, and we’z keep stuff safe, yeah?”
Limerence let out a long-suffering sigh and waved his hooves at them. “Gentlecolts, I am being patient with you only because my associate dislikes meaningless deaths and we already have enough bodies that will need hiding. The Archivists do not need your presence, nor your ‘help’. Leave. This is your final warning.”
I trotted up beside Limerence and cocked my ear at him. “Lim?”
“I am handling this, Detective,” he answered, quietly enough that only I could hear. “Or was I wrong in assuming you wanted as few bodies as possible?”
“No, not wrong, but these guys might provide us with some useful information.” I raised my voice so the Cyclones could hear me and called out, “Hey, who told you guys to come down here?”
The unicorn scowled at us and un-holstered his shotgun, levitating it into an aiming position. It was an awfully nice model of heavy duty, police-style twelve-gauge with chrome trimming and - for some bizarre reason - telescopic sights.
“I ain’t making myself too clear? Dis place be ours. You wanna show us around and make sure we don’t touch nothing that go boom, dat’s fine by me, but ya’ll is getting out the way. I see yer friend’s horn light, I put a big’ol hole in both of you ‘afore he can cast.”
I flicked a hoof at his gun. “You may or may not be aware, but my friend here is in control of the Archive’s defenses. That’s some big magic. They’ll burn you to ashes, but not before you find out just how much a pony can tell somepony whilst trying to put their internal organs out.”
The beefcake looked skeptical, but I saw a glint of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Erm... Detective, our external defenses are largely non-lethal,” Limerence put in.
My hoof hit my forehead so hard I momentarily saw stars.
“Lim, we don’t need to tell ponies that...”
“You mistake me.” Limerence turned back to the group of Cyclones and smiled in a way that would make a tiger flinch. “Gentlecolts! Since you have decided to persist in your trespass, I have decided you should all feel the sensation of being turned inside out! When you are ready to give us what we need, I will return your skin!”
One of the pegasi took wing, hovering overhead as the unicorn glanced back and forth at his friends, then cocked his shotgun, leveling it at Lim’s forehead.
I readied to grab the librarian and drag him back to the Archive. I could hear the gentle creak of the revolving door as Swift lined up a shot.
A soft glow suffused the ground around the Cyclone’s hooves.
That’s when the screaming started.
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his brother is dead too? that seems....... odd to me for some reason. why introduce him just for him to die off screen and in such a manner? the don himself was another story though, he was targeted...... any particular reason why swift thought the corpse smelled like chicken?
admitably it was clever to use the archive's own defenses against them. that is the reason why you do not use lethal countermeasures as a defense. period. what can be used to kill intruders can be turned on you just as easily.
my original gist on what was going on was off. did not think of them screwing with the defenses to turn on the archivists. though i am surprised that the archivists were so powerful yet had so few members. little more than fifty....... i was off on my previous theory but i can't help but think there is more going on here with the Don. the complexity of this attack was far more than merely an assault by an assassin or assassins. this was someone's plan for a long time now and finally executed. what did the don have that they wanted? i have a feeling they failed to obtain it.......
my primary thought is that this is a result of some other scheme.
...... i have a strange guess at what is going on at least one part of all of this plot.
my theory is that some remnant of nightmare moon, or an entity born from her, possessed ruby. however what happened afterwards was that ruby's soul was stolen, so in a sense she is 'alive'. however either, Either, the creature that possessed ruby is still with ruby, trapped in the phylactery, or the creature is in fact jumping around bodies and these guys are trying to trap her. ruby was directly possessed, but everyone who has come into contact with nightmare armor can be more partially possessed.
I really like the resident coroner. His madness is so amazingly lucid! Its chilling, but a good chill! The kind you get when the wind cuts you out of nowhere as a warning.
The only question I have, is if these folks have other non-magical means of watching the detective here?
I'd imagine they likely made a call out to every ganger they could get ahold of, and watch the dominos fall on them turning this into a warzone. But a lovely chapter. A shame its going to be so long until the next.
Well, that screaming is either the Cyclones as Lim turns on the defenses, or it's a lovely cliffhanger. Or both!
Guess we'll find out next month!
Jewelers should be arriving soon as well. Provided that scream isn't them. Joy..
5502732 We'll do our damndest not to make the next chapter a three week affair. Kasen's life has been crap lately and he does the uploads, so whilst the next chapter is WRITTEN, it is not edited.
-Chessie
5503209 I hope things get better, but this is worth waiting every bit for.
I don't mean to say otherwise. These chapters are like a great comic arc in a series. It's hard to wait for good quality. And you know it takes time to make that quality. When its done, its done, and I just have to wait for the next thrilling installment.
But for all the crud, I hope things get much better for all involved.
Edit: Saw ya fixed the edits I suggested, so now reviewing chapter.
Seeing both Lim and Hardy breaking down over the Don was heartbreaking.... though seeing Lim TRULY angry at those Cyclones REALLY makes them wish it was only their hearts he would be breaking.
5503475 Do you wanna just be an editor? I'm always looking for additional people to edit the chapters before they get released.
-Chessie
One of the better chapters in the story, I must say.
Why do people assume non-lethal equates to less painful? Lethal weapons are the least painful, not the most.
Ah yes, when revenge was being traded on the blood-debts of several trillion more griffins than were actually alive at the time.
5503487 Sure, I would LOVE be an editor/proofreader. I edit three seperate stories as it is *though one updates sporadically because the author has reality stuff, another I am going over old chapters before I was an editor to make those smoother -which I need to get back to-, and another which I do work for regularly*.But sure, just keep me in mind for the next chapter. :D
He has a talent in detecting madness. I imagine he must be a busy pony in Detrot.
Slip Stitch. Stahp.
I don't know if it's because of how well characterized the Don was or because of how vivid Limerence's grief is, but I won't deny I wept when you revealed he was gone. Poor Hardy, he will wade through an ocean of blood, but all the blood in the world cannot wash away the pain.
Two bits says that the corpse the found wasn't Zefu.
5503908
Agreed. A corpse in the usual spot, charred beyond recognition with only the staff as the identifying feature? Add on the fact that they were looking for an mole, and the revelation that the Don was poisoned through his milk, which he would only have accepted from someone he trusts?
Yeah, Zefu is still alive and is the mole. Lim's revenge is going to be getting very messy/crazy very soon.
5504039 considering these guys grant 'gifts' and his major shortcoming is both a physical injury and stunted magic, that is sadly plausible.
then again he would have known that his father would possibly be immune to the poison, with that amulet of his. or perhaps that could have been part of it all?
who knows. i do remember he was reseraching necromancy, so who knows what he his capable of.
5502664
The upside of such lethal defenses is that if someone turns traitor, unless they are very lucky, they will not live long enough to benefit from doing so. Additionally, the stuff that is protected is reasonably safe against thieves, even when no one is present.
5504184
A good question is whether the Zefu that Limerence and the Don knew are the same pony/zony as the real one.
5503487 I'd also like to volunteer my services as proofreader. I have more than enough time on my hands.
5504597 Hmm, you do raise a valid point and that is something to ponder.
Though I wonder why my comment was deleted? I hope it wasn't because I offended someone (like lordofmyth, who I was responding to), though if I inadvertently did, then I apologize to anyone who was upset.
5504930 Cool to hear, hope we both get a chance to be proofreaders. Numerous pairs of eyes are always better than just one or a handful.
5505271 Nahhh, it's a spoilers related deletion. I do try to keep the spoilers out of the comments until such time as I can actually release the chapter they're related to. Everyone deserves the chance to put the story together for themselves. I did make a blog post related to it.
-Chessie
5505309 Ah, I will admit my ignorance to missing that blog, but now I will keep my opinions on potential spoilers to myself. Thanks for that heads up!
Act 2, Chapter 42: "Steps of Grief"- Denial, Anger, Bargaining, blah, blah, the rest.
Not much more to actually say about this chapter, but I feel bad just doing the title thing so... SPACE FILLER!
um...
Few double words here and there. (didn't bother marking where as they don't seem too important to fix)
Theory killing galore.
Revenge is the sweetest crime...
That last bit...
Ow.
Until next month!
Chessie, Kasen, how do you possibly write such amazingawesomesaucesuperduperness along with having a life as well?
You do an utterly AMAZING job of this, you really do.
Are we sure that Slip Stitch isn't related to Pinkie? I can easily see him being her grandson or something. What with the ice cream, death parties, completely hyper personality and a sort of "Stitchy" Sense... Well he's a party pony of some kind, that's for sure!
Also, this:
That made me start laughing for about five/ten minutes, so much so that I think that if they didn't already, my roommate now thinks I'm insane.
Talking of Stitch, I am loving his character, he is a fabulously amazing creation! Also, his cutie mark. A skull and cross bones with an ice-cream cone? AWESOME!
I think that bar Limerence, Slip Stitch is now my favourite character.
And poor Limerence... The Don was a great character, and a great father figure obviously, it's hit Hardy and Lim hard.
Therefore, revenge! Wonderful revenge! I'm almost feeling sorry for what Limerence is going to do to the head honchos when they find them.
I think someone already said this, but ah well. I am Limerence Tome! You killed my father! Prepare to die!
Please put that in, pretty please?
So now to the
theories! Hmm...
speculatations...spekulations?spequlations? I can't spell today...So we have the Griffin embassy, just ready for a spark to ignite it... Ooh, phoenixes! (Bad joke)
The law firm, perhaps the organizers of it all, perhaps not...
PACT turning its operatives into carnivorous assasins, and there's a distinct possibility that they were there at the Librum, what with the pigeon.
The destruction of the Archivists causing yet ANOTHER gang land grab. That what, three now? Monte Cheval, Supermax and now the Librum Publicum? Yep, someone wants to cause a gang war.
I put bits on it that that probably isn't Zefu who's dead, we know that 'the bad guys' have the ability to change ponies dental structure and give Skylark wings, why not create a fake body, especially easy because the body is so destroyed it's only recognizable because of his staff. Which would give Zefu the chance to do... Something... Also, we know they grant wishes, and I think he would probably have been a bit jealous of his brothers magical ability and non-crippled-ness, so he might have betrayed the Archivists for that. And the first time we met him, he was acting rather suspiciously about something. And he has deep knowledge of necromancy and could have been the one to tell 'the bad guys' about phylacteries in the first place... Hmmm...
Anyway, amazing job! Well done! Keep being amazingly awesome and I hope that everything gets better for Kasen.
And wow, the suspense is killing me... I don't know how you do it at all...
- Shrike
P.S. Take cookies!!!! Lots of cookies! (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::) (::)
Possible continuity violation, unless I'm misreading things. In the Nightmare Night side story, it looked like that was Swift's second encounter with Slip Stitch - that she had never seen him again since fainting in the morgue, so she thought she imagined him. But here, she encounters him. There does not seem to have been a point where Nightmare Night could have happened between her first encounter and now, which would make this her second encounter (and thus, she would not later have cause to believe she had imagined him).
If I'm not misreading things, a small edit - there or here - would fix it.
you lovely, lovely bastards
also slip stich!!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER IS BACK!!!!!!
5508282 The side story is completely non-cannon. It was just a fun little thing about a time in Detrot's history. It never really had a good place to slot onto the actual story, so I just left the framing mechanism there. Honestly, if I had an opportunity, I'd re-write it to fit.
-Chessie
5507765
I've been wondering about the brother for awhile. And the story seems to definitely hint that that might not really be his body. I will not be shocked at all if he shows back up in the future.
5508974 Ah? The labeling suggested it is canon.
Just saying, continuity could easily be kept (if it was canon) with a small edit: either remove Swift's surprise in the side story (remove the 2 lines about fumes, and edit the line below them), or set it up here so she never actually sees Slip - maybe she excuses herself because she's reacting to the corpses earlier, and remains offscreen while Slip does his thing.
A very good bit of progression here. I've been following the story for a while now and I thoroughly enjoy each chapter. It's shaping up to be quite an epic tale, and I get the feeling the Supermax was just the first step on an increasingly longer journey.
I'm just glad to be along for the ride.
5513640 Honestly, there are so many continuity issues with that story (There's a whole HEAP of them.) that I can't really see fixing it without a total re-write. I do love the tale, but it's a mess.
-Chessie
I am very certain that Slip Stitch HAS to be a descendant of Pinkie Pie. His cheerful demeanor in a grim environment, his talent helping him keep people happy after otherwise grim events, his mane changing its poofiness when he finds Hardy at the Archive. "Uncle Slip Stitch.
Maybe it might also be me imagining the Parasprite Polka coming from his loudspeakers.
5518615 Welcome to Detrot. It sucks here.
-Chessie
5518644
Honestly as sad as it is was for the Don to die, I am much more interested in Limerence's wellbeing. It's very sad that all (most of ?) the archivists are dead. Still. While it's sad we won't get to know them better, their general lack of a part in the story makes their deaths only a minor point of sadness.
5518644
Well, I also have to thank you, for taking me on the longest reading journey of my life. It has taken me two whole months to catch up on one of the longest fics on FIMFiction, and I've loved every bit of it. Through tears, laughter, and moments of mind-reeling fear, I now await your updates
Damn I already loved Slip Stich but after this... He definitely deserves a spot among my favorite OC's.
5538068 I do love writing him. He's one of my favorite characters.
-Chessie
5549925 I'll say...I am perpetually worried this story creeps into the slightly too adult realm to maintain that teen-rating. Still, I've done my best.
-Chessie
This chapter made me cry.
You sons of a biatch.
This is teen? I admit, there are no descriptions of gore, but the story is so beautifully dark without them that I never missed them. Might be pushing it with soul containing, freshly amputated legs though.
5568438 We didn't want to make this 'Fallout Equestria'. Gore has a place, but you can make something horrible without it. I think if you need to shock someone, it should be their own mind assembling the awful things while you just give them the ingredients.
-Chessie
The pugilistic pre-unification pony tribes were already familiar with concepts such as "blood debts", but only the griffons could take that concept to such an extreme (and literal end) with "blood certificates of deposit", "blood mortgages", "blood treasury bonds", and "blood amortization through defenestrated capital". (When a griffon complains that her taxes are "bleeding me dry", they mean that in the most leteral sense).
While the griffin economy was based on revenge, they still needed a medium of exchange to calculate their revenge quotients. After all, they needed some way to objectively quantify exactly how much worse omletting (with mushrooms and scallions; yum!) Rachael's egg was than breaking wind in the market checkout line. They chose blood. The basing of the Griffon Empire's economy on blood (the literal "lifeblood" of Griffin commerce as it were) had several curious effects: First it turned every griffon bank and financial institution into a hospital and vice versa (a literal "blood bank", the cryogenic storage of which gave rise to the phrase "revenge is best server cold"), catapulting them to the forefront of medical practice. It also meant that griffon economists and bankers were readily employed as nurses and physician's assistants.
What?!
But I thought... His cane... The flowers...
Whelp, there goes all my carefully constructed
plotstory diagrams (although I am sure Zefu had a delectably yummy backside as well—Yummy enough for Taxi at least. Errr... that is before he was crispied)Alright. Slip Stitch is a descendant of Pinkie Pie, Iris Jade is related to Twilight Sparkle, and Astral Skylark may be related to Trixie.
And awaaaaaaaaaaay we go!
T
This makes me wonder how upset Stitch would be to receive a pony who suffered death by ice cream.
Not sure if he's wearing an electrified glove (perfect for making those corpses jump) or you meant *lightly running.
... My evil voices are saying Zefu brought the poisoned milk, and this is a decoy corpse.
Slip, aren't most ponies a mixture of the two? Lim included?
Forty-five caliber justice, or twelve-gauge justice?
Better hope one of them isn't Jambalaya or Wisteria.
*urp*
Oh my gawd...I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!
I LOVE THE SADNESS, THE MANIA!
I LOVE SLIP AND HIS GLORIOUS CALL TO VENGEANCE!
That whole heart-to-heart between Slip and Limerence (and Hardy, kinda) was absolutely spectacular.
8918553 That was hard to write, yeah. Wonderful, but hard to write.
-C