Ivory Tower

Something was wrong.

Luna had felt it from the moment she had brought forth the night. When the Moon had refused to shed her guiding light over Equestria, remaining dark, as if in mourning, Luna had not been concerned. But when the stars had likewise refused to shed their light, leaving the night sky a dead and empty sea, Luna had felt a dreadful certainty come over her: that this black night was an omen.

An omen of what, she did not yet know.

But as she circled above the white stone tower, she began to suspect.

During the daylight hours the tower would have seemed a grand sight to behold: marble walls gleaming in the sunlight like white gold, stretching off into the sky, a monument of Canterlot’s prosperity. On any other night, the tower would have seemed a warm and inviting place to take refuge from the wintry cold. A safe place. A sanctuary. A haven.

On any other night.

But under the darkness of this mendacious night, it seemed a place forsaken. This grand tower of marble became a thing of nightmare, a monolith built of skulls, every dark window a pitted socket, every iron balcony a grinning mouth, screaming madly in tune with the wind.

“Princess Luna!” One of the pegasus guiding her chariot spoke, pulling Princess Luna out of her contemplation. “Where would you like us to set down?”

“Upon the rooftop,” Luna said, silently thankful for these soldiers; they knew the city of Canterlot far better than she.

The top of the tower was rounded and, aside from a set of double doors on one edge, completely flat. It looked almost designed for such a purpose. Luna’s chariot alighted smoothly and softly.

“Would you like us to accompany you, Princess?” The same pegasus asked as she stepped off the chariot.

“No. Remain here and await my return. I may have need of you again before this night is up.”

“Yes, Princess,” the guards pulled the chariot to the edge of the roof, and remained at attention.

Luna walked across the gelid stone to the double doors, which she now recognized as belonging to one of the moving boxes—elevator—she corrected herself. She was looking for the contraption that would summon the box when, to her surprise, the doors slid open, and a stallion stepped out.

At first, Luna nearly mistook him for a mare. He was tall and slender, with delicate features and a narrow muzzle. His mane was black, his coat white, his eyes grey.

“Hello, Princess!” said the stallion, smiling like a harlequin. His voice, like his other features, was slightly effeminate.

Luna took a step back. “Um, hello. Do I . . . know you?”

“No. No you don’t. In fact, we’ve never met before,” the stallion replied, still smiling. “But may I just say that it is an utmost pleasure to finally meet you!”

Luna took another step back. “You must forgive me, stallion, but who are you?”

“Who am I? Why, I am your handler, or course.”

“Handler?”

“Yes. Handler, noun: a pony, person, or thing who handles. It is actually one of several dozen words that were taken from the Minos language and incorporated into contemporary Equestrian following the mass influx of minotaur immigrants to Equestria during the war between Taurus and Pan.”

Luna stared at the stallion, scrutinizing him. “What is your name, stallion?”

Again, a hint of surprise flickered on the stallion’s face, then he bowed down until his nose almost touched the stone. “I am Smith, Your Majesty. Word Smith. Of Your Majesty’s Royal Investigation Service.” The stallion bowed deeply to her. “I was under the impression that you were aware of my presence here.”

“Oh. Yes. Forgive me.” Luna motioned for the stallion to rise. “The summons that I received made mention that I was to liaison with a ‘wordsmith,’ but I did not realize that it was referring to your name.” She held out her hoof to him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“It is quite all right, Your Majesty,” Word Smith said, touching the tip of his nose to her hoof. “My name is in fact quite commonly misconstrued as a title. It doesn’t bother me inasmuch as my name and occupation are in truth very nearly interchangeable.”

“Please, If we are to work together, address me as Luna.”

“As you wish . . . Luna.” Word Smith said courteously. “But if we are to address each other in the informal, then I must likewise request to be addressed simply as Smith.”

Luna smiled, “As you wish, Smith.”

Word Smith gestured to the open doors. “Good. Now that the social niceties of mutual acquaintance have all been properly observed, shall we begin?”

Luna nodded, and followed the stallion into the elevator.

“May I ask why I have been summoned here?” Luna asked.

Word Smith paused a moment before answering. “You mean you aren’t already aware?” he asked. “But you received an epistle requesting you to come here to the Ivory Tower. Surely it gave you cause as to why?”

Luna shook her head. “No. I was in Manehatten when I received the summons: a letter stating that my presence was urgently needed at the Ivory Tower Resort in Canterlot, and that I was to liaison with a “wordsmith” on the roof. The letter made no mention of why I was needed.”

Word Smith didn’t look at her. “I included a preliminary report of the current situation with my request for aid. If you did not receive at the very least a rough summarization, then I find that fact most . . . disconcerting. I do hope that this is merely a product of sapient error, rather than gross incompetence. As one is far easier to correct than the other. But I digress, I requested your presence to investigate a death.”

“Death?”

“Yes, death: noun, the cessation of all vital functions necessary to the maintenance of bodily function.”

“Has there been an accident?”

“No, no accident,” Word Smith said. “A murder.”

BING. The elevator doors opened up onto a spacious, lavishly decorated hallway. Neither Word Smith nor Princess Luna made any motion to leave.

“Is . . . something wrong, Luna?” Word Smith asked slowly.

Luna shook her head. “No. Nothing is wrong,” she lied, as cold talons of dread raked across her chest.

Time passed. The elevator doors slid closed with a sigh.

Murder.

It was not a word used often in Equestria. Even before her fall from grace, murder had been scarce both in word and deed. More so even now, in this time of peace and passivity. “Murder,” she said. The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

“Yes. Murder: crime, the act of killing another sapient being—either with or without malice aforethought. By design or happenstance.” Word Smith paused for a moment, then, “I was under the impression that you are something of an expert in the field of thanatology. Was I mistaken?”

Luna sighed.

“No. There has been no mistake. In times long past, I was known as a mistress in the art of death. I should think that I still am. Now show me to this . . . murder.

“Splendid! It’s at the end of this hallway—first door on the left.”

Wordlessly, Luna followed Smith down the hallway to a cracked oaken door.

“Halt!” she exclaimed, stepping in front of the stallion.

“What is the matter?” Word Smith asked.

“There was magic here,” Luna said, looking over the door. “A ward. Very powerful. It has been destroyed.”

“Ah . . . yes . . . that was our fault, I’m afraid.” Word Smith said.

Luna turned to look at him. “Explain.”

“This complex is known as the Ivory Tower. It is one of a number of establishments which provide luxury accommodations to those wealthy ponies who do not have permanent residences within the city of Canterlot. Each floor is comprised of two luxury suites,” Word Smith gestured to the wall behind them, “Divided by a central corridor.”

Luna looked down the hallway. End to end, it was easily over five-hundred hoof lengths. “I fail to see how this is relevant, Smith.”

“Yes. I was getting to that. You see, each suite is cleaned once a week by a dedicated custodial staff for the duration of each tenant’s stay. It was early this morning, that one such crew came to clean this room and found that the door to Suite 37 was quite impassable. A magical barrier—a ward of immense strength—had been placed over the door, barring entry by any persons or ponies on the outside.

“Obstructing entry into a suite by any means either mundane or magical by any staff member of the Ivory Tower constitutes a violation of the lease agreement, so the staff summoned the local constabulary, who were unable to remove the ward despite their best efforts. They, in turn, summoned the city watch, whom were likewise unable to remove the offending obstruction. In a last ditch effort to do away with the barrier, a contingent of the royal guard was dispatched. They neutralized the barrier in short order and made their way into the suite . . . where they discovered the body.”

Luna felt hot anger wash across her face. “Destroying the ward in such a manner was a reckless mistake. Whatever magic once presided over the threshold of this apartment has been razed beyond recognition, as were any clues it might have held. Why was not a proper mage summoned?”

“I couldn’t say. It was shortly after the guards found the body that I myself was brought to the scene,” Word Smith said. “But I surmise that they were not expecting to be embroiled in a murder investigation.”

“Where are these the guards now?”

“In the tower lobby, interviewing the other guests. If you don’t mind my asking, what clues, pray tell, could the ward have offered us if it had remained whole?”

“Nothing now,” Luna huffed, and pushed past the door.

The room was extravagant in the extreme: large and spacious, the trappings of wealth adorning every wall. “Luxurious indeed,” Luna said. “Where is the body?”

“In the bedroom. Last door on the left. Follow me, please.” Word Smith set down the rightmost hallway.

The carpeting was soft, almost silken, and lush. Perfect for muffling approaching footfalls. Any being with a mind for murder would not have had much difficulty in catching their victim unawares.

“Was anything stolen from the room?” Luna asked.

“Not as far as we’ve been able to discern. Which, in view of the amount of mammon on display here, is rather startling. I received a full inventory of all the furnishings that this suite was stocked with, and they’re all accounted for. Granted, that doesn’t dismiss the possibility that the victim brought an item or items of value to their suite, and those were then subsequently taken in the aftermath of the murder, but it is unlikely. The Ivory Tower provides each tenant with a private safe-deposit box to store any valuables in the Tower Vault.” The stallion didn’t look at her as he spoke, staring straight ahead.

“And the victim had one of these boxes?”

“Yes. The acting manager doesn’t have the means to open it currently, and the Tower doesn’t keep an inventory of what their guests store in the boxes—in order to better guarantee discretion—but I’ve contacted the proprietor, he is on his way with a passe-partout to open the victim’s box on the off chance that it contains any clues as to why he was killed.”

“You have certainly been thorough, Smith,” Luna said appreciatively. “Have you been involved in many such investigations?”

“I haven’t, actually.” Word Smith stopped suddenly in front of her. Luna nearly ran into him. “Here we are. The bedroom.” He turned to her and gestured through the door with a hoof, “After you, Luna.”

Luna nodded, took a breath, and pushed the door open.

From the moment that Word Smith had mentioned murder, Luna had not believed—not truly—that a murder had been committed. In the back of her mind, there had been a tiny seed of doubt.

But as soon as Luna saw what was laying on the floor, her doubts fell to the floor like shattered glass.

“Mother Epona . . .” she gasped, staring at it.

The victim was a stallion. Luna could tell from the set of the shoulders and the thickness of the legs and chest. But that was as much as she was able to process before the horror of the situation froze her thoughts.

The head had been cut off.

And so had the skin.

Luna was no stranger to death; she had seen much of it in her time, but this pony had not been murdered, they had been butchered.

Luna felt a swell of nausea swell up in her breast. She turned away and fought it down. This was far worse a death than she had seen in centuries.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Luna started and spun around. “Who is there?” No answer. “Reveal yourself!”

There came a laugh, “Oh Luna . . . have you forgotten me already?” And then, impossibly, two eyes appeared in the center of the far wall. “It’s only been what, a thousand years?” Two rows of uneven white teeth folded out of the wood below the eyes. “You wound me, Luna.”

Discord! Luna spat. Her horn began to blaze and her wings stretched out at her sides. “Are you responsible for this atrocity!?”

A wooden nose joined the eyes and teeth and they all tilted to one side. “ ‘Atrocity?’ Do you mean this brutally murdered pony on the carpet, this tastelessly decorated room, or this horribly ugly tower? Because you really do need to be more specific.”

“Do not toy with me, draconequus. Now answer my question or I will—”

“You’ll what? Blast me? Fight me? Spit on me? Because those all worked so well last time.” Two mismatched limbs sprouted out of the woodwork and crossed themselves. “No. I had no hoof or talon or paw in the your little pony’s demise.” The teeth widened into a disembodied smile. “Honest.”

Luna snorted. “Then tell me, what is your purpose here, draconequus?”

“Celestia asked me to come help solve this murder.”

Luna couldn’t have been more surprised if he had slapped her.

“What!?”

“He said that Princess Celestia asked him to—” Word Smith began.

“Silence Smith!” Luna yelled, covering his face with her tail. To Discord, she said, “Tis a lie! My sister would never resort to requesting aid from you!”

“Really?” Discord asked. His head bulged out of the wall, and he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I find that a little surprising, I mean, she’s never ‘resorted’ to requesting my help before. Oh wait! She did! When Lord Tirek escaped from Tartarus.”

“And you betrayed us! Betrayed Equestria!”

Discord rolled his eyes. “I said I was sorry about that, didn’t I? And besides, everything worked out in the end, didn’t it? I don’t see why you’re being so cross about this. I thought ‘Love and Tolerate’ was the Equestrian way, and right now you aren’t being very loving or tolerant.”

“If you wished to be treated with civility, then you should not have stabbed us in the back when we were at our weakest!” Luna growled at him. Her horn was still blazing, ready to unleash her wrath upon Discord at the slightest provocation.

Discord sighed. “Celestia thought you might need a little convincing, so she gave me this.” A scroll popped into Discord’s talon, he held it out to Luna.

Her sister’s name gave Luna pause, and she snatched the scroll out of his talon, and opened it. It read thus:

My Dearest Luna,
I apologize for not informing you of this in advance, Little Sister. It was never my intention to deceive you. As I write this letter, only scant minutes have passed since I sent you the summons, but I have just received a report of the murder, and if what I have read is true, then circumstances have changed. This must be dealt as hastily and quietly as possible. To this end I have asked for Discord’s assistance in this matter. I have made it clear to him that he is to defer to your judgment and abide by your will until you bring the perpetrator of this crime to justice. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I did not think that it would be for the best. I meant no deception, and pray you will forgive me this trespass.
Yours Truly
~ Celestia

Luna read the letter a second time, a third, a fourth. The letter was marked with her sister’s seal, written in her sister’s hornscript, and sported the pitiable tone which Celestia had always used whenever asking Luna to do something unpleasant.

“It would seem that my sister wishes us to work . . . together,” Luna said, disbelieving.

Discord clapped his paw and talon together. “Oh this will be great! You’ll see! We’ll be like Sherlock Hooves and Professor Mareiarty!”

“I have not the slightest idea those are.”

“Sherlock Hooves and Professor Mareiarty are fictional characters from—”

“Silence, Smith!”

Luna felt the sides of her face twitching in anger. “Because of your actions, the whole of Equestria was very nearly enslaved to the will of an insane centaur!”

Discord cocked an eyebrow. “And because of your previous actions, the whole of the world nearly froze to death in night eternal.”

Luna went still. “You . . . you . . . you beast! I will accept no help from you, nor will I have anything to do with you! Now I command you to be gone from this place at once!”

“Wait just one moment please!” Word Smith exclaimed, wrestling with Luna’s tail. “With all due respect, Princess Luna, I must say that I disagree with this course of action most vehemently. There has been a murder, Princess Luna. We need every resource available to us if we are to solve this crime, and I think it would be a grievous mistake to dismiss him.

Luna looked at him incredulously. “You cannot be serious. He is the spirit of chaos!”

“I fail to see how that has any relevance to a murder investigation. The average rate of murder in among ponies in Equestria is one incident every three years. It’s slightly higher for the other citizen races—about one incident every year per species—but the fact is that murder is scarce in Equestria. A murder like this, wherein the victim has been flayed and decapitated, is almost unheard of.

“The last time a murder even remotely similar was committed in Equestria was almost eighty years ago, when a gang of ponies calling themselves the Wyld Stallyns took it upon themselves to rid Equestria of inequine immigrants by way of trampling them to death.”

“I—” Luna tried to say.

“The last known instance of a pony ending the life of another pony on Equestrian soil was during last Nightmare Night, And it could hardly even be called a murder—some injudicious unicorn dressed up as a monster for Nightmare Night and tried to scare his mare friend. She bucked him in the face and broke his neck.”

Word Smith pointed down at the body.

“This pony was flayed, Luna. Flayed and decapitated. When I arrived here most of the guards were either vomiting or sobbing, and one had even soiled himself. The ones that were still capable of something like rationale, only had the presence of mind to notify your sister and ask her for help. So I decided sent them downstairs. They are inexperienced with violence and I myself am inexperienced with murder, Luna, so I daresay that we cannot afford the luxury of choosing our company. We need every resource available to us if we are to solve this crime, and bring the perpetrator to justice.”

“I’m glad to see somepony here is thinking clearly,” Discord said. “The albinoid is right, Luna. This little paradise that you’ve built for yourselves doesn’t have a lot of bloody murders, and your sister tends to get a little uppity when ponies start losing their heads. We don’t have to go frolicking through the flowers, we just have to work together until this is over and done with. Then we can get out of each other’s way.”

Luna didn’t speak at first, just stared at Word Smith while she gathered herself.

“You are correct, Smith,” she finally said, slowly. “We need every resource available to us is we are to solve this crime.” She turned to Discord. “I apologize for my outburst and untoward conduct, Discord.”

“Apology accepted,” Discord said smugly, and held out a paw, “Put ‘er there partner.”

Luna pushed his paw down with her hoof, “No. Not partner. Assistant. You are here to assist me. And that is what I expect you to do. Understood?”

Discord rolled his eyes. “Of course, my dear. How then, would you like me to assist you?”

Luna conjured a notepad and quill and thrust them at him. “Take notes.”

“Actually that won’t be necessary,” Word Smith said, walking up from behind them. “I possess an eidetic memory; I’ll be filling out a full report complete with transcripts of all spoken conversation after we depart. Any additional transcriptions would be superfluous.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him. “Thank you for informing me of that, Smith. I would not want to waste Discord’s valuable time with superfluous note taking.”

“Oh that’s quite all right!” Smith said cheerily. He turned to Discord and held out an arm. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Word Smith, Royal Lexicographer and occasional special investigator.”

Discord pulled himself out of the wall and took Smith’s arm enthusiastically. “Discord, Royal Pain, and occasional traitor to the nation. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Luna sighed, closed her eyes, and took a breath. That was when she noticed the smell.

A forest, she thought. The room smelled like a forest. Oak and pine and fir and birch trees, all amalgamated into one arboreal perfume. It should smell of death in here. Why doesn’t it? The answer came immediately.

“Smith!” she spoke sharply. “When did you arrive at this tower?”

“At half past nine of the clock. A little over an hour and a half ago.”

“And when you arrived here, what did it smell like?”

“Smell like? Oh yes! The smell. When I arrived here, it smelled of pine and birch, not unlike the scented candles we used to light in the archives before they burned down. To tell the truth I wasn’t expecting the scene of a murder to be so . . . aromatic.”

“None do,” Luna said. “It is the pony’s magic leaving the body—dispersing into the surrounding area.”

“Magic leaving the body?”

Luna nodded. “Yes. When a creature of magic dies, its body does not decay immediately, the magic within its body acts as a . . . ah . . . preservative that prevents the corpse from decaying.”

“But the magic doesn’t stay in the body,” Discord said. “It evaporates into the air, like water.”

“This pony, was he strong in the arcane arts?” Luna asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Word Smith said after a slight pause. “Why do you ask?”

“Because, my sesquipedalian friend,” Discord said, throwing an arm over Smith’s shoulder. “The more magic that something has in it, the longer it takes to dissipate after that thing dies. Rabbits and birds take hours, ponies take days, and dragons can remain perfectly preserved for centuries after they croak.”

“This pony has not been dead long,” Luna said. “It takes between three and five nights for a pony’s magic to leave the body. He has not even begun to rot.”

She looked up. “Smith, I want the city watch mobilized and present at every train station and aero port by first light tomorrow. Have them be on the lookout for anypony or body traveling alone, with a look of nervousness about them.”

“You think that the killer is still in Canterlot?” Word Smith asked.

Luna shook her head. “I think nothing, Smith. But if they are, then we would do well not to make it an easy thing for them to depart.”

Word Smith nodded his assent. “Any species in particular, Luna?”

Luna lowered her head closer to the body. “This pony was beheaded with a single blow. That would require both a fine blade and great strength. The killer could have been a unicorn wielding a greatsword or poleaxe, but I have seen minotaur cleave the heads off bison with blades thinner than my horn. And a grim wolf, diamond dog, or dandy lion could have done this with only slightly less ease.”

“Well, that will complicate matters,” Smith said. “What shall the guards do if they find one such being?”

“Detain them, question them, make an account of their whereabouts over the nights previous. I assume that Canterlot’s finest are capable of that, at least?”

“I believe so,” Smith said.

“Good,” Luna said, turning back to the body. “What was the victim’s name?”

“I’m afraid that the guest registry is kept in the vault during the night hours,” Smith said. “So until the property owner arrives to open the vault, we have no way to identify the body.”

“Discord,” Luna said.

Discord snapped his talons together and a sheaf of paper popped into his open paw. “Oh, look. The guest registry. How convenient.” He flipped through the several pages. “According to this, the tenant of this suite is one ‘Baron von Oakenhoof.’ ”

“A baron?” Luna asked. “I thought my sister dissolved the noble lines.”

“She did,” Discord replied. “It’s his name, not his title.”

Luna turned to Smith, “Does the name hold any significance to you?”

“I’m afraid not. It is quite a common practice to take the royal titles as monikers among the established wealthy. I’ll check the citizen registry at the Equestrian Tax Office come tomorrow morning.”

“I’d be willing to bet that whoever killed him did so because he’s rich,” Discord said indifferently.

Luna turned to him. “How do you mean?”

“Look at this house, at this room,” Discord gestured grandly around them. “Looks to me like Mister von Oakenhoof is a one very wealthy pony, and wealthy ponies tend to die more horribly than most. A lot of money can make a lot of enemies. Remember the Canterlot riots back in King Coal’s day?”

Luna did. “Yes. But this pony was not dragged out of his home and bucked to death in the street. His skin and head were cut off. Such a thing would take time and effort and patience. That denotes premeditation, and a strong desire to not merely kill him, but to defile him. Make him less than equine. Whoever it was that killed him also knew him, and more than likely hated him.”

“Or they were just insane,” Discord said.

“No,” Luna said, glaring at him. “An insane pony would not go through the trouble of committing such an act and then leave the evidence of their work on the carpet. They would . . . dress it up. Leave it on the bed, or the table. A place of significance.”

“What about blood magic?” Word Smith asked.

Luna turned to him. “What would you know about blood magic, Smith?”

“I know that blood magic rituals require an element of sacrifice.”

Discord spoke up, “Remember the dark ages? It was all the rage to grab a nice virgin mare and bash her brains out all over the nearest alter.”

Luna shook her head, “No. In rituals of blood magic, the sacrifice is the centerpiece, the heart of the ritual. After the sacrifice is made, the subject becomes a kind of totem, holy, akin to sacred. To remove it would profane the ritual. No practitioner would do such a thing.”

Discord looked genuinely impressed. “My, my . . . you’re like a macabre little Twilight Sparkle.”

“It is not by choice,” Luna said, staring down at the body.

“Twilight Sparkle? The newly crowned princess of friendship?” Word Smith asked.

“No. The other Twilight Sparkle, newly crowned princess of books.”

“Are you . . . being sardonic?”

“Where is the head?” Luna asked suddenly.

Word Smith blinked. “The head?”

“Yes. Where is the victim’s head?”

“We haven’t found it.”

Luna held his gaze for a moment, and turn. “Discord?”

The draconequus shrugged. “It’s not here. I’d know if it were.”

Luna’s horn flashed, and a blue silken blanket shone into existence over the corpse. “From the amount of blood on the carpet, I believe that he was dead by the time his head was cut off. I don’t believe that the decapitation took place in the bedroom, either. Look at the walls, the ceiling. The force required to remove a head in a single blow would have left blood spatter. He was brought here after the fact.”

“I find it highly unlikely that someone would murder a pony and then deposit him in a luxury suite,” Word Smith said. “So he was in all likelihood separated from his head in another area of the suite.”

“Agreed. Word Smith, you said that this tower supplies accommodation to wealthy ponies whom do not live in Canterlot?”

Smith nodded. “Yes. From what I understand, the majority of tenants hold estates outside of Canterlot, and reside here most commonly to attend social functions such as the Grand Galloping Gala and Midnight Masquerade.”

“Discord, go to the citizen registry and find where this Oakenhoof usually resides.”

“Your wish is my command.” Discord clapped twice, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Silence descended over the room.

“Word Smith,” Luna finally said, turning to the stallion. “Are you afraid of dogs?”

“Dogs? No. Why do you ask?”

“What about wolves?”

Word Smith shook his head again. “I don’t believe so. Not unless I have some heretofore unknown childhood trauma that I have repressed. Which is improbable.”

“Good.” Luna pointed to the far corner of the room, “Now stand there, and do not move until I say otherwise. I am going to search for the killer’s scent.”

“Scent?” Word Smith asked.

Luna didn’t reply. Her horn began to blaze; she felt her body grow hot, and the change began.

Her hooves changed first, cracking and splitting into claws. Next, her hocks flattened into paws. Her coat and mane grew long and shaggy. Her horn sunk into her head, and her wings merged into her body. Her ribs and spine cracked and popped as they restructured themselves. Her nuzzle suddenly felt too small as her teeth grew larger and sharper. Finally, her ethereal tail coalesced into a thick and furry cord of muscle.

Where Princess Luna had stood only minutes before, now stood a blue dire wolf.

“Princess Luna?”

Luna looked over, to see Word Smith staring at her, smiling impeccably.

“You metamorphosed into a wolf,” he said. “Canis druis, if I am not mistaken—more commonly known as the dire wolf.”

Unable to speak in her current form, Luna nodded.

“I didn’t know that therianthropy was in your repertoire of abilities,” Word Smith said, examining her. “Simply fascinating. I can’t help but notice that you have retained your midnight-blue coloring. Are you incapable of chromatic metamorphosis as well, or were you simply unwilling to change your color?” Suddenly, Smith’s eyes grew wide. “Scent! You said that you were going to search for the killer’s scent! Does that mean you have access to the sensory capabilities of the animal’s which you transform into!?”

Luna stared at him, and shook herself. Academics, she thought. Their heads always so full of questions, it is a wonder they can walk upright without tipping over.

She gestured with a paw to the corner of the room, then at Word Smith. It didn’t take the stallion long to grasp her meaning.

“Oh, yes. You said for me to stand in the corner and not to move until you say otherwise. Your lycanthropic metamorphosis ‘threw me off my game,’ to use a contemporary aphorism. My apologies.” Word Smith walked over to the corner. “Proceed with all due course.”

Luna walked over to the stallion, and sniffed him. Paper. Ink. Quills. Word Smith smelled of books and parchment. In short, like a librarian. But he doesn’t smell of fear, Luna noted with interest. The part of her that was a wolf didn’t like that. He was a pony and she was a wolf. But the part of her that wasn’t a wolf was intrigued. Word Smith wasn’t afraid. Nor did he smell of anxiety, or disquiet. He smelled perfectly calm. Of course my sister would not send me a fool. But you are more than you appear, Word Smith. Luna stepped to his side, and observed his flank. His mark was curious: two rows of simple black squares, intersecting at a right angle. Luna found it familiar, but could not recall from where.

“I would assume that you are taking my scent, then?” Word Smith asked as she circled him. “So you can establish a control variable with which to deduce the killer’s scent?”

Luna nodded again, and turned to the wall form which Discord had emerged. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Discord smelled like a menagerie, like something that shouldn’t exist. The wolf disliked his smell even more so than Smith’s. A growl rose in her throat, unbidden.

“Is something the matter, Luna?” Smith asked from the corner.

Luna silenced herself and shook her head. The wolf wanted to run, get away before this . . . thing returned.

Luna shook herself again, and sneezed to expel the offending odor, and lowered her head to the ground and began to sniff fervently. The scents assailed her: the scent of magic: of trees and leaves, and old wood moist with morning dew, were the most readily apparent. But underneath, there were other scents: blood, sweat, fear, bile and excrement. And farther still beneath those, were the scents of individual ponies. The body beneath the sheet only smelled of blood and magic—without its skin, it lacked any telling scents—but Luna quickly picked up what she thought was the victim’s scent from the other areas of the suite. It permeated every room, and it was far stronger than the others. She found several scents which most likely belonged to the royal guards—they had a far lesser presence in the suite, and were most concentrated in the bedchambers—and several other old scents, which probably belonged to past guests and service staff. She did not find any inequine scents.

Luna traced the scent trails through the suite, and in doing so began to develop a picture of the murdered pony’s life. He rarely ate in—his scent was all but absent in the kitchen and dining room—but he spent a lot of time in the bathroom and closet. He used the parlor quite often, and always sat in the same chair. He almost exclusively drank raspberry tea, but on occasion would partake of something stronger. He wore cologne. He polished his hooves. He dyed his mane. Luna smelled no fear in his scent. No anger or nervousness. He almost certainly knew the killer. And had no idea that the killer harbored such malicious intentions.

In her mind’s eye, she imagined it: the killer knocks on the door, the victim opens it and lets him in. They talk, and drink and be merry. The killer is patient. He waits for his chance, smiling and laughing all the while. Eventually it happens: Oakenhoof turns to use the lavatory or to refill his decanter, and the killer strikes. A single, swift blow to the head to render him unconscious, then comes the kill. Bloodless. Drags him into the bedroom and places a pillow over his face to suffocate him. Quick, and painless. The killer doesn’t want him to suffer, but at the same time cannot let him die peacefully. He has to deface him. In death make him less than he was in life. But how?

The question had an easy answer. Luna walked into the kitchen, her eyes searching the counter. As she had expected, a knife rack lay next to the stove. Rows of knives rested within their niches like sleeping gargoyles. Their handles black as obsidian, their blades glinting in the candlelight.

Of course an establishment such as this would spare no expense in offering its guests only the finest. Doubtless there are several gourmets on call at all hours, day or night. And they would never have the food prepared and brought up. No. This is not some common hotel, it is the Ivory Tower. The gourmet himself would arrive in person to prepare a guest’s meal. And of course, that would necessitate that only the finest accoutrements be present in the kitchen. The freshest produce, the purest water. The sharpest knives. Only the finest. Because anything less is unacceptable. You came into the kitchen, saw these pristine knives laying in there cradle, and a plan took shape. You took two blades: a filleting knife and a cleaver. Did you already know what horror you were going to enact when you pulled the knives from their niches? Did you imagine yourself bringing the cleaver down on his neck? Slowly peeling the skin away from his flesh? Did you keep them as trophies? Grisly reminders of your triumph? What could this pony have possibly done to you? What are you feeling now? Regret? Release? Exhilaration? Will you kill again, now that you have tasted blood?

She thought she knew the answer. She hoped that she was wrong.

When Luna returned to the bedroom, Word Smith was still standing in the corner. “Any luck?” he asked her.

Luna shook her head.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with a slight frown.

Luna tried to shrug, which proved difficult in her wolf form, and decided to shed the wolf skin.

“Our victim was a socialite in every sense of the word,” Luna said, after she had regained her form. “He entertained frequently. But scrupulously. This room smells of unicorns. Several unions’ worth have visited this suite in the past weeks.

“So we are looking for a unicorn, then?”

“It is more than likely, but to assume such a thing without credible evidence would be folly.” Luna walked over to the covered body and stared down at it.

“Princess Luna, is everything all right?”

Luna sighed resignedly. “Since my return from exile, I have longed for familiarity in this strange new world, and now I have found it. So much has changed in the last millennia, but murder remains much the same.”

“Be careful what you wish for, right?” came a voice from above them.

Luna started, and looked up. Discord’s head was sticking out of the ceiling, grinning like a mad fool. “Discord!” Luna spat. “How long have you been watching us!?”

“I’ve been back for a while, but you looked busy, so I didn’t want to interrupt. By the way, you would not believe what the couple up here is capable of. I think they must be gymnasts!”

“Get down here this instant!” Luna shrieked.

Discord slithered out of the ceiling and flew down next to Luna. “A pony has been murdered, Discord,” Luna said, fuming. “Skinned and decapitated and left here to rot like a slab of meat. Do you even care? Is this all but a game to you? Are the lives of ponies so insignificant to you that–”

“There’s a room behind the wardrobe,” Discord said quickly.

“. . . what?”

“A room, behind the wardrobe.” Discord pointed to the far end of the room, where the large oaken wardrobe sat, like a wooden sentry. “When I was upstairs watching that couple doing their tawdry gymnastics, I noticed that their suite is exactly the same as this one, with one exception.” Discord flew over the armoire and placed a paw on it. “That there’s no wardrobe in the above suite. Instead they have another closet. To wit, that’s two closets. His and Hers. It’s cute.”

Luna examined the armoire. It was small but ornate, filled with a collection of formalwear that was no doubt worth its weight in gold. She had run her nose along every surface of it, and found nothing. Lighting her horn, she engulfed the armoire in her aura, and lifted it off the floor.

Standing behind, like a stranger in the shadows, was a black iron door.

“Why, Discord, thanks to your exceptional powers of observation, we have found this no doubt eminently important clue! Thank you so much!” Discord gushed behind Luna.

Luna grunted, but said nothing.

“This constitutes another violation of the lease-agreement. I do hope Mr. Oakenhoof’s estate does not expect their security-deposit to be returned to them.” Word Smith said. He turned to Discord. “It was very perspicacious of you to notice this hidden doorway.”

“Why, thank you! I do try.”

“Quiet! Both of you!” Luna hissed. She could feel a strong magic upon the door. Strong, but volatile. It most likely had been cast by a one who either did not know, or did not care what they were doing. Such spells could be dangerous.

Slowly, she touched the door with the tip of her horn. The effect was immediate: power burst out through the door, wild and crackling like tongues of electric flame. The door screeched like a wounded animal and as the metal began to grow hot and warped. With a sudden CRACK the door split down the middle and collapsed into a sagging, smoking heap.

“You know,” Discord said, one eyebrow cocked. “I could have removed that spell quite easily for you.”

Luna glared at him.

“Or not,” Discord relented.

“An incendiary ward,” Luna said, taking the metal in horn and moving it out of their way. “Meant to immolate any would-be intruders. I might have dispelled it, but it was too unbalanced, so I reflected its power into the cold iron, where it would not be harmful.”

“Oh.” Smith said. “That is most . . . interesting.”

“Discord,” Luna said sharply.

“Yes?”

She gestured to the open doorway, “Search the room beyond for any more such traps, and dispel any you find.”

Discord smirked, and suddenly a cutlass appeared in his talon. “Tally-ho!” he exclaimed, waving the cutlass over his head, and flew into the darkened room.

“He is quite theatrical, isn’t he?” Word Smith asked beside her.

“When he wishes to be.” We are going to have words, when next we meet, Sister.

Minutes passed.

Discord stuck his head out of the doorway, grinning like a fox. “You’re going to like this, Princess,” he said, and disappeared back into the darkness.

“After you, Luna,” Word Smith said, gesturing to the door.

Wordlessly, she crossed the threshold.

The lights snapped on, blinding her for a second. She held up a wing to shield her eyes from the glaring light.

“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to Fluttershy,” Discord said softly.

“What are you on about now, draconequus?” Luna asked, blinking the light out of her eyes. She looked up, and froze. This room, like every room in the suite, was spacious, to put it mildly. It could have comfortably housed a family of four. But it wasn’t a closet.

It was a dungeon.

Whips and chains hung in racks along the walls, coiled like vipers awaiting prey. In the center of the room was a single wooden post. A whipping post.

“I should do favors for your sister more often, Luna,” Discord said, chuckling. “This is turning out to so much more interesting than I thought it would be.”

“It would seem that the late Baron von Oakenhoof, is—was—something of a sexual deviant,” Smith said, looking around the room.

“Lovely. It’s always the rich ones, isn’t it? Next Grand Galloping Gala, come out to the statue garden around midnight. You will not believe how many of the glitterati sneak out to rut themselves silly. The stories I could tell.”

“What do you mean, Oakenhoof was a ‘sexual deviant?’” Luna asked.

“Well, this is a dungeon,” Smith replied.

“Yes. I can see that.”

Word Smith shook his head, “Pardon me, Luna. This is not a dungeon in the sense that it is a place where ponies are kept against their will, it is a place where ponies who suffer from sadomasochistic tendencies can act out their desires in private.”

“It’s a sex dungeon,” said Discord.

Luna stared at them. “Explain.”

Word Smith cleared his throat. “Bondage, noun: the state of being physically restrained by rope, chain, or other means, for the purposes of sexual gratification. Sadomasochism, noun: a psychiatric condition in which sexual gratification can only be achieved by the reception on infliction of physical and/or mental pain.”

A pause. “You mean to say that these ponies tortured themselves in order to have . . . relations?” she finally asked.

“Oh, no. For sadomasochists, carnal release is achieved through either the infliction or reception of pain. The act of coitus is rarely enacted.”

Luna unfurled her wings slightly to cover herself. “Is this widely practiced in Equestria?”

“No. It’s actually illegal.”

“Illegal?”

“Yes. Unlike homosexuality or even xenosexuality, which, why frowned upon by some facets of the Equestrian populace, can be argued to further the ideals of love and tolerance around which our culture is centered, the practice of sadomasochism involves inflicting and receiving pain, and enjoying it. Such a thing runs contrary to Equestrian values. The practice was outlawed in Equestria by Princess Celestia some three hundred years ago.” Word Smith spoke with an academic’s tone, as if explaining the difference between a diamond dog and a grim wolf.

“And it’s not even the weirdest thing that they’ve come up with in the last thousand years,” Discord said from above them. He was standing in the air, riding crop in paw, fencing with an animate cat o’ nine tails. “Look up apotemnophilia next time you’re in the library. It’s a real conversation starter.”

Luna ignored him.

She found this aspect of the victim’s life to be . . . troubling, but otherwise unhelpful. She looked over the stables in the new light of her knowledge as to their true intentions. Each was large enough for several ponies. One by one, she searched them. Within each there was a different means of restraint: from manacles, to a metal saddle, to contraptions that Luna could not begin to guess the function of. The room had been swept clean. Luna could feel the residual magic in the air. There was no dust, no smells of sex and musk. Everything was pristine as only magic could make it. Still, Luna searched. Through it all, Word Smith followed behind her, a smiling sentry, clad in the colors of a chess board.

After what felt like hours of searching through the hidden chamber with nothing to show for their efforts beyond a horrified fascination of sadomasochism, Luna closed her eyes and sighed. A pony mutilated beyond recognition, a concealed chamber of carnal agony, a deranged draconequus, a stoically cheerful stallion, and not the slightest idea of who—or what—had committed this crime. Why was nothing ever simple?

“I don not understand how could anypony take pleasure in . . . this?” Luna asked aloud, examining a muzzle with a rubber ball in place of a bit.

“Maybe they got spanked once too often and took a liking to it,” Discord said. Thus far, he had made no movements to aid them in the search of the perverse place, and Luna had been content to leave him to his own devices. “For all we know, short-stop might have been trying out a new toy when he lost his head.”

Luna made to reply, then stopped. “You are absolutely right!” she said.

Discord blinked. “I am?”

“Of course, how could I not have seen it before,” Luna said excitedly. “There were no signs of struggle, no scents of fear or anger. No deep wounds on the body, and so little blood for such a pitiless method of murder.”

“Hold on, Luna. Just what are you going on about?” Discord asked.

Luna stopped and looked up at him. “I do not believe that Oakenhoof took pleasure in inflicting pain, but in receiving it!”

“You’ve lost me.”

“You believe that the killer was the victim’s lover.” Word Smith said suddenly.

Luna looked over at him, slightly surprised. “Yes. I believe that this room may have been where that stallion was killed.”

His smile did not fall, but his silver eyes grew unfocused, darting back and forth like marbles. “It would make perfect sense: judging from the lack of arterial blood, it’s veritably certain that the victim’s mutilation was enacted postmortem. You suspect that the killer and the victim possessed consanguinity. Statistically speaking, nine in every ten murders are committed by a being of close emotional acquaintance to the victim, and of those, the culprit is a lover, wife, girlfriend, etcetera, in about half the cases. And if they had a sexual relationship it stands to reason that it would not have been overly difficult for this alleged paramour to convince the victim to engage in some form of dalliance.”

“Lured to his death with words of love,” Luna said. She opened one of the stable doors, revealing a black saddle that when worn, would have rendered the wearer all but immobile. “Like a fly into the spider’s web. An old tactic, but no less effective with the passage of time.”

Word Smith was smiling again. “And once ensnared firmly within one of these contraptions, the victim would have been at the killer’s mercy. But the question remains as to why? What motive could have driven Oakenhoof’s lover to murder him in such a brutal fashion?”

Discord landed between them with a thump. “You really have to ask?” he said contemptuously. “Ever heard the saying, ‘Tartarus hath no fury like a mare spurned?’ He’s rich and he’s a stallion. That combination doesn’t hardly lends itself towards chivalry. Add a mare with a fetish for whips, chains, and cries of pain to the mix, and you have a recipe for murder. A la king.”

“He is right,” Luna conceded. “Look around us, any pony with a mind for murder would find it trivial in a place such as this—where implements of pain are so conveniently collected.”

Word Smith didn’t reply. He was staring around them, silver eyes flicking from between the rows of macabre apparatuses. “You misunderstand me, Luna. I am not referring to the motive behind the murder itself, but the subsequent flaying. That is the question to which I have preoccupied.”

“The flaying?” Luna asked. She recalled everything that she had glimpsed about the body. Like the decapitation, it had been cleanly done. There had been little damage to the muscles beneath. The skinner had been steady of horn and clear of mind. Precise.

“What about it?” Discord asked, crossing his arms together.

Word Smith ran a hoof along the saddle. “Why would the killer lure the victim, here?” he asked. “Doesn’t it seem slightly inconvenient?”

“We are dealing with a pony versed in the perverse. Their motives are rarely easy to guess at,” Luna replied.

Word Smith gestured to the wall beside them, “This dungeon is lined with stainless steel—so named because of its resistance to rust and discoloration. You said that the force of decapitation would have left spatters of blood and that the victim could only have been dead for a few days, but what evidence do we have that the victim was quickly dispatched? Once ensconced within one of these bindings, our killer would have had Oakenhoof at their mercy. Potentially, for as long as they could wish.”

With dawning horror, Luna said, “She may have tortured him before she murdered him.”

“At the very least, we have to consider the possibility.”

“The plot thickens . . .” Discord said, before turning to Luna. “And to think, I was going to spend tonight building winter burrows for bunnies.”

Luna would have much preferred the bunnies. A thought came to her then. “Discord,” she said suddenly, “What did you find about Oakenhoof in the tax office? Where does he live normally?”

Discord paused, and conjured forth a scroll of parchment. He held it out to her. “Baron von Oakenhoof’s property tax records, as requested.”

Luna scanned the paper. “He has properties all over Equestria, but it would appear that his primary residence is listed in Horsemouth.” Furling the scroll, she said, “Discord, you will accompany me to Horsemouth. Oakenhoof surely has servants there, they may have a notion as to the identity of Oakenhoof’s lover.”

Discord shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Luna turned to Smith. “Word Smith, while Discord and I go to horsemouth, you and I shall proceed to lobby. I wish to question the guards that first arrived here, and the staff. I should think that nopony has been permitted to leave the building?”

Word Smith shook his head, “No. No one has been allowed entry or departure from the building since the body was discovered.”

“Good. While we are thus engaged, I will look into the matter of this possible lover.”

A pause. “Princess, forgive me if I seem crass, but you sound as if you intend to accompany Discord and myself on our respective investigations . . . simultaneously.”

Luna held Smith’s silver gaze for a second, and then lit her horn. The light grew in its intensity until her entire body grew white and hot from the magic. Finally, there was one final blinding corona of energy, and the light faded.

Where previously a single Princess Luna had stood, now stood three.

“That is because I do,” said the center Luna.

The Light

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The Light.

In the beginning, there was no Light. Only Dark.

But the Mother feared the Dark, and begged the Father to end it.

So the Father spoke those reviled words: ‘Let There Be Light.’

But the Father failed.

The Light could not end the Dark. Only drive it away.

The Father failed.

Because all that begins must end.

The Dark has always been, and will always be.

But the Light.

The Light is an aberration created by the Father.

The Light was born.

And the Light will die.

Midnight Tides

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“So, the other Lunas, are they ancillary constructs, or do they think and operate independently?”

Luna pursed her lips. It had been only a scant few minutes since her other selves had departed, and no sooner had they than the scriblarian had begun to question her. Incessantly. Strange

“Luna, did you hear my question? I asked you if–”

“The latter.”

“Fascinating.”

Luna didn’t look at him, staring ahead at the dial which displayed their position in the tower.

“Would you be able to play Old Mare with yourself, without either of yourselves knowing what cards the other held?”

“Yes. We do not share our thoughts while separate.”

“And I assume that the experiences of your bodies will amalgamate upon your recombination?”

“Yes.”

“That is quite a useful ability that you have, Luna. I can only imagine the efficiency with which it could be used. Is this why you were such an accomplished investigator in the days before you became Nightmare Moon?”

“Is there a point to these questions, Smith?” Luna snapped, suddenly finding Smith’s ever present smile annoying.

“Yes, yes they do. If we are to have a healthy working relationship, then it would be to our mutual benefit to have some cursory knowledge of each other. If you no longer wish to answer my questions, Luna, then perhaps you would like to query me about something or other?”

The dial ticked down to 30. “What does your mark represent?” Luna asked, gesturing to the L of black squares upon Smith’s flank.

“Letterboxes,” said Smith. If he was either pleased or disappointed at Luna’s question, he didn’t show it.

“Letter boxes?”

“Yes, letterboxes.”

“Your talent lies in taking out the post?”

“Oh, no, no, no. Not letter boxes—which, today, are more commonly referred to as mail boxes—letterboxes. One word. They are used to indicate how many letters each word has in a crossword puzzle.”

It took a moment for Luna to place the word. “Those lopsided chess boards in the news paper? That is your talent?”

“Yes. I acquired my cutie mark in a national crossword competition, in which I placed first.” There was no pride in his tone, just the same odd gaiety.

The dial ticked past 20. A sudden image of her sister, breaking her fast, newspaper spread out in front of her, rose into Luna’s mind. “I would not expect a stallion whose talent is the solving of word puzzles to be a special investigator.”

“Nor would I expect it of a mare whose talent is to raise the Moon,” Word Smith replied.

Luna felt the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. “No. I suppose you would not. How then did you come to be a special investigator, Smith? I intend no offense, but you hardly seem the type.”

“No offense taken. I was offered an informal position within the Royal Investigative Service shortly after I began my tenure as the Royal Lexicographer. I believe that my sister may have had something to do with the offer. I know for a fact that it was her recommendation which led to my placement as the Royal Lexicographer.”

“Who is your sister?” Luna asked, imagining a gangly and disheveled mare.

“Raven Quill.”

The dial ticked 10.

“Raven Quill,” Luna said slowly. “Your sister is my sister’s . . . personal aide?”

“Yes.”

Luna knew Raven Quill, and from what she had seen, so too did most everypony who worked within the castle. Everything about her was neat and ordered and radiated a kind warmth. Raven had a chocolate brown mane, which she always kept neatly wound into a bun. Word Smith’s mane was as black as midnight, and hung down over his neck like an oily shadow. Raven’s coat was the color cream, always brushed to a polish; Smith’s coat looked like sallow bone, not quite white, but pale.

“You are siblings by blood?” Luna asked tentatively.

“Yes. Fraternal twins.”

Siblings. Twins. Sister and brother. Yet one is an open window, the other a black mirror.

“Celestia speaks very highly of her. You must be proud.”

The dial stopped ticking, and the elevator doors slide open with a pleasant BING.

“And now we must return to our unpleasant task,” Word Smith said, stepping out of the elevator. “We shall have to resume this conversation some other time, perhaps.”

“Of, course, Smith,” Luna said amicably. “It is no problem at all.”

“Halt! Who goes there!” A royal guard stepped around the corner. Upon seeing them, his eyes bulged and his mouth fell open, looking to Luna not unlike a fish.

“Princess Luna!” the stallion yelped, and threw himself into a clumsy bow. “My deepest apologies, Princess, I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Rise, stallion. All is forgiven.” Hesitantly, the guard rose to his hooves. Luna held out her hoof to him. He stared at it for a moment, and nudged it slightly with his own.

“I shall have your name and rank.”

The stallion placed hoof to head in a slightly nervous salute. “Soft Sand, Private First Class in Her Majesty’s Royal Dawn Guard.”

“Take me to your superior officer, Private,” she said curtly.

Private Sand paled. Nevertheless, he spun on his hooves and said, “Yes, Princess. Right this way!” His voice came out a near yell, and cracked on the last word.

“Oh, there is no need for you to leave your post, Private,” Word Smith spoke up suddenly. “I can show the Princess to the captain myself. They are still in the conference room, I trust?”

Private Sand nodded vigorously.

“Thank you, Private Sand,” Luna said. “You are dismissed, I have no further need of you.”

The private all but collapsed in relief, managed a hasty salute, and trotted briskly away from them.

“My, my, for a member of the dawn guard, he seemed quite uneasy in your presence, Luna,” Word Smith said, after the private was out of sight.

“He may be clad in gold, but he is barely more than a colt. I can no more fault him for being nervous in my presence than I can any other child.”

Word Smith started forward down the hallway and Luna followed. “Is that also why you did point out his breach of etiquette?”

“You noticed?” Luna asked, surprised.

“Yes. I’m surprised that you did not correct his behavior.”

“As I said before, he is young still, I can forgive one minor infraction.”

Word Smith looked back at her. Silver eyes met blue. “By my count the young private committed no fewer than three transgressions of improper conduct. Do you intend to forgive those as well?”

“I do indeed,” Luna said, frowning. “What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t. Merely idle curiosity.”

There were several dozen stallions milling about the lobby. Some were Dawn Guard, most were clad in the beaten gold of the city watch. When they saw Princess Luna, they froze, still as toy soldiers, before one of them had the presence of mind to bow, leading the others to follow his example.

Smith led her to a plain set of double doors emblazoned with the word CONFERENCE. Word Smith knocked once, and pushed the door open.

Inside, several older stallions were seated at a long meeting table, deep in discussion. They all glanced up with surprise when the doors opened, but to their credit, all of them immediately rose out of their chairs and fell into proper bows.

Luna bowed her own head. “Rise, all. I wish to speak with the senior most officer present.”

“Princess.” One of the dawn guard stallions said. “I am Sergeant Lance Head, of Your Majesty’s Royal Dawn Guard.” He gestured to the stallion directly across from him. “This is Captain Bodega of the Canterlot City Night Watch.” He is technically the highest ranking officer here.”

The slight emphasis with which the sergeant said ‘technically’ was not lost on Luna. “Thank you, Sergeant. Smith, please brief Captain Bodega of our findings and the surveillance I ordered, then return to me. I wish to speak with Sergeant Lance, alone.”

The room was empty save for Luna and the Sergeant in less than a minute.

“Permission to speak, Princess?”

“Denied,” Luna said tersely. “I know a border dispute when I see one, Sergeant. This murder occurred within the City of Canterlot, and therefore falls within the jurisdiction of the city’s watch. I will brook no argument to this. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Princess.” Lance said stoically. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Good. Now, sit.” Luna took a seat at the head of the table. “I have questions that I would like for you to answer. The sergeant wordlessly took a seat to her right.

Luna lit her horn; one of the quills on the table became animate. It dipped itself in the nearest inkwell and hovered patiently over a blank scroll. “Describe, from the moment before you were summoned here, to the moment before Agent Smith and I entered this room, the events as they have occurred in as much detail as you are able to garner. Do not be concerned with speaking too fast; the quill will keep pace.”

Lance Head looked from Luna to the quill, and back again.

“Speak as you would to a friend or equal. Nothing you say will offend me, Sergeant,” Luna pressed.

“I got the call about three hours ago,” he began, pausing to stare at the quill when it began writing. “The city watch wrote to tell us that they had a barrier they couldn’t bust, it got pushed straight to me. When Shining Armor was captain, he’d usually be the one who’d handle it; that stallion was almost as good at breaking down barriers as he was at building them up. ‘Course, he’s gone now. So I guess I’m the next best thing.”

“Do you have much experience with breaking barriers?” Luna asked.

Lance Head shrugged. “Not really. I can cast a lance that’ll pierce dragonhide. So I guess that makes me the closest thing to an expert we have in the Dawn Guard now that Armor’s gone.”

“Did Prince Armor handle every instance of wayward barriers?”

“Yeah. Mostly. Canterlot’s a city of unicorns, and between Celestia’s school for gifted unicorns and the more specialized academies, it was more common than you might expect. Mostly it was domestic stuff; girl would catch her beau smooching another mare and seal them both in a bubble, students trapping themselves in their own shields, that kinda thing.

“Every time it happened, Captain Armor would trot out, give it a tap with his horn, and it’d pop like a bubble. He made it look easier than anything.” Lance Head paused for a moment, before continuing. “Occasionally we’d get a call that was more serious. I remember one time when a little filly wandered away from her mom at the bank near closing time and got herself locked in the vault. Now the vault was on a timer; once it closed, it was closed until opening time next day. I remember when we came on the scene: mother was in hysterics, half the city in the street, watching the spectacle. And this wasn’t just any off-the-shelf-safe,” Lance shook his head. “No. This was the real deal. This was the National Bank of Equestria’s vault, top of the line. Enchanted by the strongest spells money can buy and maintained by an entire team of mages. To put it plainly, impenetrable. At least, that’s what we all thought.

“I remember when he walked in. The captain was usually a pretty friendly guy. There were a few ponies who thought that he was too young to be a captain, but most everypony who knew him liked him. But when he walked into that bank, the look he had on his face would have given a twelve-headed-hydra second thoughts before getting in his way. He said two words to us: get back. And that was it.” Lance Head’s eyes grew distant. “What he did then could’ve put the fear of the Father in you. His eyes started glowing white, and suddenly it was like we were in the middle of a windstorm. He ripped the door right off its hinges. He might’ve been pulling off a bandage for all we knew.

“That day, I don’t think that there was a one of us who thought he was too young to be a captain. Hell, I don’t think that there was a one of us who wouldn’t have followed him straight down into Tartarus after that day.”

The quill was scribbling furiously, dipping itself into the inkwell every now and again. Twice, Luna had replaced the paper on which it was writing. “So after Prince Armor left the Dawn Guard, you were the one tasked with removing errant wards and barriers?”

Lance Head nodded. “That’s the gist of it. Before Captain Armor left, he cherry picked some of the best and brightest we had to join his new crystal guard. A few of us volunteered, too. Lieutenant Stone Tone, who had been in line to replace him as captain of the Dawn Guard, volunteered, and he didn’t even get a promotion to show for it! He actually made a crystal mare the captain. Went by the name of Straight Edge. I met her once, during one of Princess Celestia’s visits to the Empire.” He shook his head. “Finest looking mare I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a few—but she had a look in her eyes that said ‘You better not mess with me if you want kids, because I’ll make damn sure you never have any.’”

Luna nodded. “Would you like a drink, Lance?”

“Yes, please, Princess. All this talking’s dried me out.”

Luna smiled, “Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Just an ice water would be fine.”

“Of course,” Luna said. She pulled a blank paper from the table and willed the quill to write: Smith, I require you to bring me one cup of black coffee, as hot as it is possible to make it, and one cup of iced water. Place the coffee before me, the water before the sergeant, and leave. Do not speak, and make as little noise as possible. Luna cast a quick spell on the paper. It folded itself in half, flew towards the conference room door, slipped through the crack between wood and carpet, and was gone.

“Were you disappointed that Shining Armor did not request you to join with him?” Luna asked, returning her attention to the sergeant.

Lance Head seemed slightly surprised by the question. “No. After Captain Armor left the guard, there was a huge gap in the ranks. I was a private first class when Captain Armor left; I got promoted two ranks. The only problem I have is with the green apples.”

“Green apples?”

“New recruits,” Lance head clarified. “We had to bring in a lot of fresh produce to fill the vacancies. Most all of them are young studs, so us veterans took to calling them green apples. When I got the message about a barrier, I thought it would be a good training exercise. Break and enter, search and secure. It’s a textbook operation, and it went off without a hitch . . . at first. Then the screaming started.” Lance Head’s features grew ashen. “I’ve seen some bad things in the guard, but nothing like what was in that bedroom.”

“I know that this will not be pleasant for you, Sergeant,” Luna said sympathetically. “But I need you to tell me the events as they happened from your eyes. Start with the barrier.”

“Not much to tell, really.” Lance Head said with an air of resignation. “It was a solid job. I could tell right away why we got the call. In a city like Canterlot, a spot on the watch is a pretty cushy job. I mean, except for the changeling invasion a few years back. And the night watch is even easier. Canterlot ponies don’t like to stay up late. Guess all that partying and primping really tires them out.”

“Return to the barrier, please,” Luna said gently.

“Oh, right. Sorry. The barrier. Where was I on that?”

“You said that it was a very solid job.”

“Right, right. Yeah. That it was. Pale yellow, spanned the length of the frame. Could just barely make out the door on the other side. I went down the line of protocols: tried to dispel it, but the lattice was something like three layers deep; way above my pay grade. Then we tried to depower it.” The sergeant shook his head. “What a mess that turned out to be. We had three suck sticks with us—one between every squad–”

“Pardon me a moment, Sergeant, but what is a ‘suck stick?’” Luna asked.

A pause. “They’re like, magic vacuums, that suck up and store magical energy. They’re standard excursion gear. We mostly use ‘em to drain the odd drunk unicorn or depower spells and enchantments that have been improperly maintained. They look like small wooden sticks, which is where the name comes from. Also, you can use one as a club in a pinch.”

“Talismans of enervation,” Luna said in understanding. “In the days before the Long Night, we used amulets made up of silver and gemstone; we called them spell drinkers.”

Sergeant Lance whistled appreciatively. “They sure knew how to do it in those days. But as I was saying, we put a sucker up to that barrier and it blew up in our faces. Literally.” The sergeant made an exploding gesture with his arms. “Never seen anything like it. It ain’t easy to fill up a suck stick. Sometimes we can go for months between defills. We put the other two up and the same thing happens.” Lance shook his head disbelievingly. “The only other pony I’ve ever seen put that kind of juice into a spell was Captain Armor.”

“So you think that the ward was created by somepony of great magical ability?”

“I don’t know how anypony else could have. I mean, putting that kind of power behind a spell isn’t too difficult; even a weak unicorn could store the energy in gemstones over time till they had enough. But making a three-layered spell lattice takes skill. Serious skill.”

Yes it does, Luna thought. But to maintain three auras around one’s horn for a duration requires more than just raw power and magical ability, but also prodigious strength of the mind.

At that moment, the doors opened, and Agent Word Smith entered the conference room, carrying a small tray in his teeth. He set the tray down, placed their drinks in front of them, and left silently.

Sergeant Lance Head eyed Smith’s narrow frame until the doors were again closed.

Luna’s eyes measured the sergeant. He was young. In the latter half of his first century. Armor bright and polished but also dented and scarred. Eyes cold and hard, like blue diamonds. This stallion had been tempered by the crucible of service. If there was yet any softness in him, it was buried deep.

“What is your opinion of Agent Smith, Sergeant?” she asked suddenly.

The question had the desired effect: eyes widened, ears perked, lips parted slightly. “Oh, uh, how do you mean?” he asked, playing for time. He had dropped his guard, and her spear had pierced flesh.

“I mean exactly what I said, Sergeant. What is your opinion of Agent Word Smith?” Another blow to keep him disbalanced. “I would very much like to know your thoughts about him.”

“It’s hardly my place to judge a pony that I’ve just met. But why do you ask?” Deflection and counterattack. He was better at this than she would have guessed. It would have to be poison, then.

“Because Agent Word Smith wished to punish one of the soldiers under your command. Severely.”

Sergeant Lance Head went still. “May I ask which soldier, and for what?”

“Private Soft Sand. For three counts of misconduct.”

“Misconduct?”

Luna kept her face blank. “Upon exiting the elevator, Private Sand addressed me as Princess Luna before properly introducing himself. When I proffered my hoof, he touched it with his own hoof, and when introducing himself, he said that he was of Her Majesty’s Royal Dawn Guard.”

As Luna spoke each offense, Lance Head winced, slightly.

“And what are your thoughts about Private Sand’s misconduct, Princess?” Lance Head asked, lips pursed into a thin line.

“I think that the private has had a most trying night. After what he has endured, it would be cruel of me to pursue such a petty vendetta.”

The Sergeant’s relief was almost palpable. “I appreciate that, Princess. I swear it won’t happen again.”

Luna smiled, “Such a lapse is a small thing to forgive, Sergeant. They have more than earned it. I find it admirable that they remain so vigilant in the face of such a trial.”

“They’re a little rough right now, but the potential’s there. They just need time and training.” Lance Head spoke with obvious pride.

“But that is why I wish to know your opinion of the stallion, Sergeant. Such a thing seemed . . . unusual under the current circumstances.”

There was a long pause.

“I’ve only had the pleasure to work with two other RIS agents before now. The first time was during a murder investigation in lower Las Pegasus. Went by the name of Bentgrass. Agrostis Bentgrass. Real smarmy character. Smiled a lot. Like he knew something that the rest of us didn’t, and there was something wrong with one of his eyes. I don’t think he was in there for more than five minutes before every stallion in that place, myself included, wanted to buck him in the face.

“The second one I met in Manehattan. This guy was a different story altogether. Agent Fine Crime. Nopony wanted to buck him in the face. Heck, nopony even wanted to talk to the guy. He had this . . . intensity about him. Like he was just waiting for an excuse to rip your face off.” Lance Head pause, as if unsure quite what to say next. “But Smith, well, there’s something off about him. Something . . . creepy.”

Luna tilted her head to one side. “And what about Agent Smith do you find ‘creepy’ exactly?”

Lance Head stared at his iced water. Luna watched his eyes follow a droplet down from the rim of the cup to where it joined a growing pool on the table.

“When he came up to the room,” the sergeant said at last, “I didn’t believe that he was RIS at first. No badge. No papers. Couldn’t understand half the things that were coming out of his mouth. I could tell that there was something not quite right about him. And I don’t mean how he looks like a plague victim either.” He shook his head. “I’m not ashamed to say that when I saw that . . . body, up there, I just about lost my dinner. What was done to that pony would make anypony or body sick. But when Agent Smith saw the body . . .”

Luna leaned forward slightly. “What did he do, Sergeant?”

“He . . . he just kept smiling. Staring and smiling. His expression never changed. Not when he entered the suite, not when he saw the body, and not when he looked up at me and said that it was ‘highly probable’ that a murder had been committed. He just kept smiling. Like he was just having a pleasant stroll through downtown.” Lance Head shook himself. “You want my opinion of Agent Smith, Princess? There’s something wrong with him. There’s something wrong with the entire damn investigation service. Those ponies ain’t right.”

Luna remembered Word Smith’s scent. How she had not smelled even the faintest trace of fear or discomfort, when even she had felt her gorge rise upon seeing that mutilated corpse.

“Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your honesty. I do not believe that I will need to ask you any more questions.” Luna rose up out of her chair.

“Permission to speak freely, Princess?” Sergeant Lance Head said suddenly.

Luna paused for a moment. “Granted.”

“When the Agent Smith sent us down here, he mentioned that he was waiting for a liaison from headquarters. Are you that liaison?”

“Indeed I am, Sergeant. I will be leading the investigation hence, until its conclusion. Agent Smith is to be my ‘handler.’”

Sergeant Lance blew out a blustery sigh. “It’s not my place to question your orders, Princess, but if you’re involved in this investigation, then you should have the stallions of the royal guard by your side.”

Luna was momentarily taken aback by his brazenness. “You are correct, Sergeant, it is not your place to question my will. And I believe that your stallions have done enough thus far.”

The sergeant said nothing; his face was a stony mask.

“But I appreciate your concern for my well being,” she said more gently. “Thank you for your time, Sergeant. I am sorry for what you and your soldiers had to see tonight. Hopefully they will not see such again hence forth.”

Lance Head got out of his chair and bowed to her, but said nothing.

When Luna opened the conference room door, Word Smith was waiting for her. Beside him was a nervous portly stallion. “Hello, Luna. You had a productive palaver, I hope?” Smith said with his usual cheeriness.

“In a way,” Luna replied. Looking to the stallion next to him, she asked, “Who are you?”

“This is Pot Luck, proprietor and general manager of the Ivory Tower luxury resort,” Word Smith said. “He arrived shortly before your request for liquid refreshment reached me. It is, I must confess, the reason for the delay.”

Pot Luck bowed down as far as his rotund form would allow. “Princess Luna, may I just say that it is an utmost honor to bask in your presence.”

“Have the preparations been made?” Luna asked Smith.

“Yes. Captain Bodega is organizing the effort now.”

“Good.”

“Will you be needing to speak to the Captain in private as well?”

“There is no need.” She turned to Pot Luck. “Fat one, you can open the chamber of lock boxes, yes?”

Pot Luck’s face went from pale yellow to pale red. “Uh, um, ugh. Yes.”

“Then do so. I wish to know what wealth he has sequestered here.”

Pot Luck’s mouth worked furiously, but silently for a few seconds, until Word Smith spoke up. “Luna, you might be interested to know that there is a tenant living in the other suite on Oakenhoof’s floor.”

Luna stared at Smith. “I thought you had said that the suite across from his was vacant.”

“I did. But it turns out that I was relaying misinformation passed to me from the acting manager at the time.” Smith shrugged. “Simple equine error, I’m afraid. This new information has only recently come to light during my converse with Mr. Pot Luck.”

She turned back to Pot Luck. “Is this true, fat one?”

Pot Luck’s immense frame seemed to shrink before her gaze. “Yes.”

“And for how long has this tenant inhabited the adjacent suite?”

“A month, maybe?”

“What is the name of this tenant?”

“Prism. She’s an artist.”

“Do you know where she can be found?”

“She’s probably still in her suite,” said the withering Pot Luck. “She’s not a real outdoorsy type.”

Silence.

“Smith,” Luna said.

“Yes?” Smith said.

“When the body was discovered, did the ponies of either the City Watch or the Dawn Guard bother to knock upon the door of the adjacent suite?” By this time, most of the stallions from both groups had gathered close enough to hear their conversation. From their collective expressions, Luna did not need to wait for Word Smith’s answer.

“INCOMPETENT WORMS!” she screamed in the Royal Voice. The force of her exclamation shattered every window in the lobby and sent the assorted stallions running like frightened rabbits.

“Would you like for me to tell you a joke, Luna?”

The problem with elevators, Luna decided, was that they took far too long to take a pony where they needed to go.

Luna had left the opening and cataloging of Oakenhoof’s safe-box to Sergeant Lance Head and the ponies of the Dawn Guard. In the face of their bumbling, and her use of the Royal Voice, they had been eager to placate her. And so she had once again come to be in an elevator with Agent Word Smith.

“You wish to tell me a joke, Word Smith?”

“Yes. Joke, noun–”

“I know what a joke is, Smith, but I hardly think that this is the time or place for humor.”

“Oh, I disagree. The sharing of humorous anecdotes is a very effective form of stress relief, albeit temporarily.” Smith had not seemed the least bit perturbed by her anger. After her outburst, he had shaken himself briefly, and then said, “If there is indeed a possible witness to the crime, then she must be interviewed immediately,” with all the aplomb of a wooly mammoth making its way across the tundra. Luna had liked that. If nothing else, it meant that he was not one to be rattled easily.

“Very well, Smith, speak your joke.”

“Splendid!” Word Smith cleared his throat and said, “Why did the stallion bring with him into the lavatory, a bee?”

Luna blinked. “A bee?”

“Yes,” Smith said placidly. “A common honey bee.”

“I do not know. Why?”

“Because he was taking apis.”

Silence.

“I . . . am afraid that I do not understand.”

“It’s wordplay. The Old Equestrian name for the genus of the honey bee is apis, and it is phonetically similar to the latter half of the dysphemism for urination, to take a piss. So you see, by bringing the bee into the lavatory, the stallion was literally taking apis into the lavatory. It is not quite grammatically correct, but owing to the intrinsic hilarity of lavatories—and all things tangentially related therein—quite humorous. Wouldn’t you say so?”

Luna stared at the smiling stallion. “Yes. That was quite a . . . humorous anecdote.”

“Would you like me to tell you another?”

Luna shook her head. “No. I would like to ask you a question. Smith, are you familiar with the name Agrostis Bentgrass?”

“Why, yes, I am. Agrostis Bentgrass is one of the most successful agents within the whole of the Royal Investigation Service. He has more closed cases than any other agent to date. If he were not otherwise occupied at present, he would have most likely been the agent assigned to this case.”

Interesting, Luna thought. Smith had answered her question quickly and concisely, without the slightest pause or hint of annoyance. “Where is he now?”

“Agent Bentgrass is currently on a case in Manehattan. I do not know the specifics; such things are kept on a need-to-know basis within the ranks.”

Luna considered this. “What about the name Fine Crime?”

“Also a highly decorated agent of the RIS, though in a much different capacity. Agent Fine Crime spends much of his time investigating possible foreign threats along and beyond Equestria’s borders. He has logged more hours outside of Equestria than any other agent in the RIS.” Word Smith looked at her curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Luna said dismissively. “Theirs are the only names that I have heard in regards to the RIS.” A fine script thou art reading, Smith. The soft and supple ponies of this city must feel like foals at the teat when you read it.

“I’m not surprised. Agents Bentgrass and Fine Crime are two of only five permanent agents within the service. So it is only natural that their names would have penetrated the social barrier of common knowledge.”

“You only have five permanent agents upon retainer?” Luna asked, genuinely surprised. “Is that sufficient?”

“More often than not it’s abundant,” Smith said. “It is why most of us work in other occupations when we are not involved in a case.”

“Such as a lexicographer?”

Smith nodded slightly. “Exactly. Another example would be Agent Yearling. When not engaged in cases, she previously served the crown as the Royal Historian. She has since retired from that position to write a series of children’s adventure novels. But even though Agent Yearling has retired from her duties in the official capacity, she continues to work for the RIS in the provisional capacity whenever archeological or historical expertise is needed.”

Luna was willing to bet that Smith had answered many such questions before; his manner of speaking had changed slightly, become more academic. She cast her eyes down. “How terribly ignorant I must seem to you. I hold the title of princess, yet how little I know of mine own country.”

This time, Word Smith’s answer came only after a slight pause. “Think nothing of it, Luna. It is as the great philosopher Carabas Cube once said: Ignorance is merely the state of being uninformed. Take a scholar to farm and a farmer to university, and there will be not a difference between them.”

Luna allowed herself a small smile. A fine answer, Word Smith.

BING.

Once again the elevators opened onto Oakenhoof’s floor. As before, the corridor was silent, but now the silence felt foreboding. As if the shadow of death had fallen over this hallway, pressing slim and fallow hooves to the air. The pair made their way to the door opposite Oakenhoof’s.

“Smith,” Luna said, looking at the door apprehensively. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to do the lion’s share of the conversing. I tend to . . . frighten ponies.”

“Of course, Luna. Think nothing of it.” Word Smith knocked on the door. They waited for several moments, which became several minutes, and Word Smith knocked again.

“Coming!” a thin voice yelled from behind the door. Luna and Smith traded a glance.

Finally the door cracked open, and a pale pink eye peeked out at them. “H-Hello?”

“Hello!” Smith sang out. “Am I correct in my assumption that you are Ms. Prism, the tenant of this suite?”

There was a pause. “Yes?” it sounded more like a question than an answer.

“I am Agent Word Smith, from the Royal Investigative Service. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Smith stuck out a hoof to the cracked doorway. The eye shrank back and the door inched slightly closed.

“I . . . I pay my taxes.”

“And I have no doubt to your sincerity, Ms. Prism. It is your neighbor, Baron von Oakenhoof, that I wish to question you about.”

The door opened slightly further, revealing the face of a white unicorn. “Baron? Did . . . did he do something?”

“Yes. We have reason to believe that Mr. Oakenhoof was not paying a full tenth of his income every month. As you no doubt know, it is the responsibility of every pony and body residing in Equestria to pay a tenth of their income to the crown, which so dutifully provides us with security and safety, on the first of every month. Now, if a citizen of Equestria up and decided that they were no longer going to pay their required allotment of tax, then that would be most unfair to those hard working ponies that do pay their taxes. Ponies like you, upstanding citizens working to better yourselves, shouldn’t be victim to one pony’s avarice. Wouldn’t you agree?” These lines too sounded scripted and rehearsed, but Smith’s tone remained polite.

The mare behind the door didn’t say anything for a long moment. She looked as if she would rather have been anywhere else at that moment. “Um . . . yes?”

“May we come in? I would very much like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor.”

“Oh, um. Okay?” The young mare looked like a rabbit that had just invited a fox into its burrow. “Please come . . . in.”

Luna decided to make her presence known. “Thank you, young one. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

Prism looked up, and made a noise somewhere between a scream and a strangled yelp. “You’re Princess Luna,” she said, staring dumbly at Luna.

“Yes.”

The poor mare looked as if she might faint. Word Smith spoke up, “Yes, tax evasion is a very serious crime in Equestria.”

This seemed to snap Prism out of her stupor. “What? Oh! Tax evasion! Yes! Come in, please!” She pulled open the door and ushered them inside.

Prism’s suite looked much the same as Oakenhoof’s; the only difference being that it was inverted. Prism was dressed in a tarnished brown robe.

Prism led them to her sitting room. “Would . . . would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“That will not be necessary, Miss,” Luna said, taking a seat.

“Likewise,” Smith said.

“Oh . . . okay.” Prism stood there, motionless. “Wha-what is this about?”

“Please, have a seat,” Luna said.”

Slowly, Prism sat down in her own chair. “Am I in trouble?” she asked timidly.

“Not at all,” Word Smith said. “I only wish to ask you a few questions about the good Baron.”

“What’s . . . what’s going to happen to him?”

Word Smith made a dismissive gesture. “Tax evasion is a minor crime. If convicted, Baron von Oakenhoof will be charged a fine amounting to half the sum total of his unpaid taxes.”

Her pink eyes flashed to Luna.

“Princess Luna is here merely to observe, Miss Prism. As part of her reintegration into Equestrian government. Were you very well acquainted with your neighbor?” he asked her.

Prism shook her head. “No. I don’t think that I even spoke to him more than a mouthful of times!” She looked like she was on the edge of hysterics.

“Enough of this,” Luna said, rising to her hooves. She lit her horn and fired a blast of blue light into Prism’s face. “Sleep.” Prism’s eyes grew wide, shining a bright purple as the magic took hold, and she crumpled into Luna’s aura.

“Was that really necessary?” Smith asked, looking completely unperturbed by the unconscious mare floating in front of him.

“Yes.”

“This is going to make my forthcoming account of events much more time consuming. I’ll have to file a report for magical incapacitation.”

“This is not to go into your report, Smith. Understood?”

Word Smith stared at her. “It’s not?”

“No. It is not.”

“Oh.” Word Smith was silent for a moment. “In that case, I shall take this opportunity to make a search and seizure of her refrigerated beverages. I am slightly parched.”

“Good stallion.” Luna carried Prism to the bedchamber, and set her down gently upon the mattress. Celestia would not approve if she learned of this, but it was always so much easier to put them to sleep. Luna touched the tip of her horn to Prism’s. “Dream now, young one.”

Luna closed her eyes, and the world disappeared on a wave of blue ethera.

In an instant Luna knew that Prism was not the killer.

The mare’s heart was pure; innocence radiating from her in showers of golden light. But also shut, like a rose in late bloom. Not unlike the soft voiced one—Fluttershy. Cast in this light, Prism’s manner in their presence made sense. The poor mare was a wallflower. But unlike Fluttershy, this one’s heart had not been opened by friendship. Perhaps when this current trial is over, I shall return to you.

But there was still a task to be carried out. Luna opened her eyes, and found herself standing upon a beach; the full moon and a panoply of stars reflected in the water. Directly in front of her, was a window, suspended in space, and beyond this window, looking in on her, was Prism. Without her brown cloak on, Luna could see that her mark was of a painter’s tray and brush. But they lacked color of any kind. An albino? That explain her pallor, and mannerism.

“Hello,” she said through the window. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you a new addition to the gallery?”

Luna looked back at her quizzically. New addition? What did she mean—I am in a painting! Luna realized. It was a novel notion. She had never been a painting before. But it made sense. Those that were shy of heart, usually did not dream of talking to other ponies. Looking back to Prism, she said “You are correct, I am indeed a new addition. I am on loan from a museum in Trottingham.”

“You’re quite breathtaking,” Prism said. She seemed a wholly different mare form the one who had greeted her in the waking world. “Your back and foregrounds are both so dark, but still manage to strike such a visible contrast, and your field of depth is so large.”

Luna blushed and put a hand to her muzzle. “You flatter me, truly. I was painted by a minor artist during the turn of the last century. He actually considered me to be one of his lesser works.

Prism gasped. “A lesser work!? I would go so far as to say that you are a masterpiece.” She stopped, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I’m Prism, by the way. It is nice to meet you.”

Luna bowed her head. “Midnight Tides. It is likewise a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Tell me, Prism, do you come to this gallery often?”

“Oh, yes! I try to visit as often as I can. But every time I come, it seems like they’ve added a dozen more paintings.” She shook her head ruefully. “I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to see them all.”

Luna giggled. “What fun would that be, then? It is not an adventure to take the road less traveled if you know what lays down it.”

Prism turned her head to the side, covering her face with her mane. “I’m . . . not really the type of pony that goes on adventures.”

Luna pressed her muzzle closer to the window. “And what kind of pony are you, Prism?”

Prism pawed at the floor idly. “I’m just . . . me. A boring, regular pony. Nothing special at all.”

She almost completely immersed now. Luna could feel it. She just needed a little push. “There are many kinds of adventures, just as there are many kinds of ponies. Perhaps you would like to go on an adventure with me?”

“With you?”

“Yes.” Luna reached out, and pushed her arm through the painting. “With me.”

Prism stared at her hoof, mouth open. Slowly, she reached out, and took Luna’s arm in her own.

Luna smiled and, with a thought, pulled Prism into the painting. She landed on the wet sand with an “Oof!” and scrambled to her hooves.

“Oh my gosh! I’m in a painting!” she yelled, holding her face in her hooves. She spun around, “I can’t believe I’m actually in a painting!” she began hopping excitedly. “This is so amazing!”

“We can visit any painting you wish.”

Prism froze, mid-hop. “Any painting!? Any painting at all?”

Luna nodded. “Yes. Any painting whose name you know, my dear. You need only speak it. Or is this too adventurous for you?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Prism said ecstatically. “This, this is better than any adventure that I could ever dream of!”

Apparently so. But she still wasn’t quite there yet. “Then speak the name of a painting, and away we shall go.”

Prism bit her lip nervously. “I think . . . I think that I would like to see Moonlight Palaver. It’s a political satire. It portrays some of the greatest leaders in the world, gathered around a table, playing poker.” She giggled. “I’ve always wanted to see it, but I’d have to go all the way to Prance, and . . .” she broke off. “Well, I have enough trouble just coming to Canterlot for a gallery opening.”

“Have no fear,” Luna said knowingly. She lit her horn, and the beach around them disappeared as Prism’s mind reshaped their surroundings.

Luna found herself standing in front of a large wooden table. Seated at the table, was a motley assortment of beings. An elderly ewe, a donkey, a buffalo, a stag, a dragon, and, on the last chair, a small golden crown . . .

Luna’s breath caught in her throat; she knew these beings. Or rather, she had known them. Fairy Floss, Burro Delver, Gellert Fivecrags, Bullwalda Greenhorn, the Fire Queen, and The Capricious Crown. Before her fall from grace, these had been the rulers of Equestria’s neighboring countries. In the time between then and now, they had all passed into the hereafter. Then, before she realized that it was happening, her own memories bled into the dream, animating it.

Burro Delver slammed his hooves into the table. “That’s the last straw, Crown! There are not five aces in a deck of cards, and it is most certainly not called a capricious flush!”

The Crowns multifaceted jewels flashed. “My country, my rules! And in Capra, the first rule is the Crown always wins!”

“Why you–”

“He’s right, Donkey,” said Fairy Floss. “We did decide to have this conference in Capra, after all. It’s nothing to start a war over.”

Luna turned her attention away from them, looking for Prism. She was in the far corner of the room, painting the scene. Luna smiled. The white mare was fully immersed in the dream, following the script of her own desire. Which left Luna free to proceed.

“Unimportant Servant 207616,” said the Crown. “Deposit my winnings in the treasury. You may then return to whatever it is you do when not basking in my presence.”

The ibex swept the coins off the table, and made towards the exit. Luna stepped in front of him. “What is your name?” she asked the ibex.

The ibex stared up at her, expressionless. “Prism,” it said at last, in a dull monotone.

“Good. Now, where do you live, Prism?”

“In Manehattan.”

“Good. Now, why are you staying at the Ivory Tower?”

“Art show.”

“Good. Now, do you know who Baron von Oakenhoof is?”

A pause. “Neighbor.”

“Good. Now, did Oakenhoof—your neighbor—ever invite you into his suite?”

“Yes.”

“Did you accept the invitation?”

There was a longer pause, this time. “No.”

“Good. Now, why did you not accept?”

“Scared.”

“You were scared of Oakenhoof or you were scared to enter his suite?”

The ibex didn’t respond.

Luna took a breath. Talking directly to a pony’s subconscious mind was a delicate affair, and could even be dangerous if one was not careful.

“Prism, did you ever see anypony else enter Oakenhoof’s suite?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, was this pony a mare?”

“No.”

“It was a stallion?”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a pony?”

“No.”

Luna took another breath. She would have to take a risk.

“Can you describe the being you saw enter Oakenhoof’s suite?”

“Many.”

This time the pause was Luna’s.

“How many?”

“Many.”

“He had many guests?”

“Many.”

“Many gatherings?”

“Many.”

“He had many gatherings, with many guests?”

“Guests. Many. Party.”

“Good. Now, did you ever see Oakenhoof enter his suite with only a single being, pony or otherwise?”

The ibex took a long time to answer, so long that Luna begun to think that it wouldn’t. “No.”

Luna returned to the waking world. She left Prism lying in the bed and smiling warmly, and entered the kitchen, where she found Agent Word Smith sipping a glass of iced tea. “How long have I been away?”

‘No more than a few minutes, by my count. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” she told him of what she had gleaned from Prism’s mind.

“Having a surplus of guests whom share the victim’s perversion would certainly account for the excess of stables we found in his closest. What do you think it means?” Word Smith asked.

“I think,” said Luna grimly, “that our killer was not alone in this venture. I believe that they may have an accomplice.”

Shadow

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Shadow.

Every stallion mare and foal, no matter how bright their smiles or how noble their deeds, casts a shadow.

The saints and the sinners. Zealots and heretics. Poor and wealthy. Thieves and murderers and soldiers and kings. All are joined together by the shadows they cast.

The light covers all with its lies. Shadow serves to remind us of truth within the mendacity of the light.

Behind the dog’s lolling tongue and smiling eyes is the blood of a wolf. And behind the face of every pony there is a shadow. An unseen aspect which they keep secret.

There are no ponies without shadows behind their backs. Just as there are no ponies without secrets. Without sin. Without darkness within their hearts.

We say that we are civilized; we make play that we stand above the slathering beasts trodding through the mud at our hooves. But these are merely the lies we tell ourselves, no more substantial than smoke. Beneath this frail facade of civility, we are but slathering beasts. We burn away the darkness with our lights and fires and pretend that this makes us more than we really are.

But the the brighter our lights burn, the darker our shadows become.

Black Cards And Empty Sky

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Luna felt the outer wards of Canterlot Castle galvanizing as she passed through them. Deep in the bowels of the castle, alarms would be sounding; guards and common staff alike snapping to attention. Sentries would be dispatched to find the source of the disturbance. If the current guards on duty were young and eager to impress, she would have perhaps a minute before they flew out into the night sky. If they were veterans, jaded by countless false alarms, it could be between five and ten minutes before they took wing.

She banked right, passing the West Wing of the castle, and flew towards the highest balcony of the East Wing. Opening a passage through the much stronger wards protecting the castle proper, she turned herself to mist and passed through the window as silently as a shadow. She landed on the floor as silently as a shadow and took in her surroundings. She was in one of the guest suites. There were many dozens within Canterlot Castle—enough to house entire delegations of foreign leaders and their retinues. This looked to be one of the smaller ones. She approached the bed, therein were two prone forms.

The first, was a tall and handsome unicorn stallion. He possessed a mane of spun gold and a coat white as winter’s first snowfall. This was the pony who she had been searching for: her nephew, Prince Blueblood. “Hello, Nephew,” Luna whispered.

Prince Blueblood made no indication that he’d heard her.

Next to the sleeping prince, was a unicorn mare. She had a coat of beaten gold, and her mane shone like flowing honey in the first light of dawn. Luna could feel the warmth of her dreams, not quite a fire, but a warm and soft blanket. Luna touched the young mare’s horn to her own and knew her. Her name was Golden Wish. Her special talent was knowing what the ponies around her wanted. She tried to give those around her what they desire in the hopes that it would make them happy. She’d met Prince Blueblood and known exactly what it was that he had wanted, and, after he had taken her to the gardens and whispered sweet words of love to her underneath the weeping willow, had been more than willing. She was a generous and kind mare, with an open heart. Luna pulled herself away from Golden Wish’s mind. If only her nephew was as easily read, she could be come and gone swifter than a nightingale.

She cast a swift spell to make sure that the mare remained asleep, and spoke softly, “Blueblood.”

No reply.

Luna spoke again, louder this time, “Blueblood.”

The prince nickered, but remained asleep.

He sleeps like the dead, Luna thought. Tis nothing for it. Luna took a breath.

“BLUEBLOOD!” she called in the royal voice, walking to the front of the fireplace. Her horn flashed, and fire sprang to life amongst the cold logs.

A high keening wail broke cut through the air. Luna turned to find a bundle of sheets flailing wildly atop the bed. “Help! Guards! Assassin! I’m blind!”

Luna stared at the flailing mass of sheets for a moment, and then took them in horn and ripped them away. “Quiet, nephew, thou art making a mockery of yourself.”

Blueblood stopped thrashing. “Auntie Luna?” he asked incredulously. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“I wish to have intercourse with you, Nephew.”

Blueblood stared at her for a moment. “Beg pardon?”

“Conversation.”

“Ah,” Blueblood said in understanding. “Damn. I was hoping you were speaking to the carnal sense of the word.”

“I am your aunt!” Luna said, raising one eyebrow. “The blood that runs through your veins also runs through mine. As it does Celestia’s. Need I remind you of this fact?”

Blueblood shrugged. “Celestia also changed my diapers and taught me to use the potty. You just showed up one day, looking like the goddess of midnight trysts. If you expect my yearnings to be curbed because you say so, then you are grossly overestimating my loyalty.”

“You are disgusting.”

Blueblood smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

Luna took a breath. “I have not come here to trade witted barbarisms with you, Nephew.”

“Of course, you haven’t,” Blueblood said easily. “The only reason that the great Princess Luna would ever deign to grace the lowly Prince Blueblood with her royal—and might I add, enchanting—presence would be if you were forced to.” The Prince paused to yawn. “And that begs the question: were you forced by my dear aunt Celestia to come here, or by an altogether different circumstance?”

Luna said nothing; she didn’t have to.

Blueblood rose from the bed and walked over to a wooden cabinet on the other side of the room, pulling out a crystal decanter and a glass.

“Your chambers are more sparsely furnished than I would have expected.” Granted, by the standard of common ponies, the room was very much steeped in luxury. But Luna found it curious that the chamber the prince had taken for himself would be so spartanly decorated.

Blueblood was gently rolling his glass back and forth. He stopped and sniffed his drink appreciatively. “Ponies that surround themselves with the trappings of wealth do so because they wish to feel important.”

“And you do not?”

“I am a prince, Aunt Luna. I know that I’m important.” In that moment, even with his mane strewn wildly about, and spittle crusted to the sides of his muzzle, he looked as much a prince as she had ever seen him.

And then the moment passed, and he was just a spoiled child once again.

“Care for a drink, Auntie? It’s a fine vintage.”

“It is customary to offer your guest a chair before you offer them a drink, Nephew.”

Blueblood smiled like a jackass. “It is also customary to use the door to enter your nephew’s bedroom, Auntie.”

Luna said nothing, restraining her growing ire. From the moment that she had first met Blueblood, he had irked her. Like a child testing the limits of his mother’s patience, and Discord had already whittled what patience she had.

Blueblood refilled his glass. “Well, Auntie, I know that you haven’t blessed me with your presence to share a glass of Saddle Arabian fire wine, so to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I require information.”

“Information?” Blueblood asked, looking at her skeptically. “You do know that I’m a prince, right? Not an intelligence-garnering spy in Your Majesties’ Secret Service?”

Luna smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, Nephew. I am aware of your trifling significance to the Equestrian government. The information I require is of a more . . . intimate nature.”

“Oh, swell. Intimate I can do.” Blueblood chuckled. “I could answer some very intimate questions about half the mares in Canterlot.”

As a child you conduct yourself, so as a child you must be treated.

He put the glass to his lips, and then drew back sharply Luna’s aura encompassed his neck. The prince’s eyes bulged and his glass shattered on the floor. There were a few brief flashes of yellow light as Prince Blueblood’s magic tried to supercede her own, as he flailed wildly, grasping at Luna’s aura with his hooves.

“I am willing to tolerate a great many things, Nephew,” Luna said slowly. “But I have had a very trying night. So, when next I speak, you are going to answer me quickly and concisely. Without flippancy. Is that clear?”

Blueblood nodded quickly.

“Good,” Luna said, and released him.

The prince fell to the floor with a gasp.

Suddenly, the door burst open; two Dawn Guard stallions stormed in. “Prince Blueblood, we heard shouting! Is everything all right?” They froze when they saw Luna, and dove into hasty bows.

The prince held out a hoof towards them. “It’s okay, my dears,” he wheezed. “Aunt Luna and I were just engaged in some good old family bonding. Now make yourselves useful and wake up the servants. I’m very sweaty, and would like a bath. Tell Proper Protocol that I want the sage and rosemary blend. Good stallions.” He waved his hoof at them in a shooing motion.” The guards glanced at Luna, bowed again briskly, and left. As soon as the door closed, Blueblood’s smile fell. “Honestly,” he huffed. “An assassin could have danced on my corpse and rummaged through my jewelry box in the time it took those buffoons to check on me.”

“Perhaps they did not wish to risk interrupting.”

Blueblood laughed. “Auntie Luna! Since when have you possessed a sense of humor?”

“I was not joking.”

Blueblood’s smile grew thin. “You know what I love about you, Auntie? Your honesty. Most of the ponies I deal with are so ready to stick their noses up Celestia’s rump that they come to court with snorkels. But you always speak your mind. It’s refreshing. An oasis of truth in a desert of lies.”

“Blueblood,” Luna warned.

Blueblood’s waning smile disappeared altogether. “You won’t get away with this,” he said crossly. “I can assure you, that when Celestia hears of this she will—”

“Oh yes, Nephew. Please tell me, what will my sister do?” Luna asked. “Will she lock me in chains? Throw me in the dungeons? Or perhaps she will banish me to the Moon for another millennium?” Luna grinned mirthlessly.

“I-I’m serious!” Blueblood sputtered.

Luna stopped laughing. “Celestia loves you. But it is as you said: she has known you since you were a babe small enough to take suck at her teats. I have only ever known you as you are now, Nephew,” she all but spat the last word. “As a spoiled colt that makes play he is a stallion. You have neither my adoration nor my respect, and hold no power over me. You can do nothing to me except waste my time.” Luna pulled the chair from the vanity to her and took a seat. “Now, shall we try this again?”

Blueblood said nothing, but Luna could see the rage seething behind his eyes, and underneath that, the shame. Luna had called his bluff, and in the space of a few words, she had not only insulted the prince, but humiliated him as well. But she had done so in private. To say anything to anypony—even Celestia—would be to admit this humiliation, and to a pony like Blueblood, admitting such a thing was on par with the act itself.

She watched as resignation smothered the fire behind his eyes. Finally, Blueblood took a breath. “What is it you would like to know, Princess Luna?”

“Baron von Oakenhoof. Do you know the name?”

Blueblood froze. “The . . . timber baron?” he asked, looking mystified. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“That is not your concern, Blueblood.”

“Is he in trouble?”

Luna paused. “. . . of a sort.”

This seemed to catch the prince’s attention. “Oh? Well, do tell, Auntie.”

“I am the one asking you the questions, Nephew.”

“Right, right. I don't know him personally. But I do know of him. Has a reputation as something of an odd duck.”

“How so?”

Blueblood snorted. “Well there’s that ridiculous name for starters,” Blueblood snorted. “I mean, ‘Baron von Oakenhoof?’ talk about pretentious.”

“I thought it was common practice to for the wealthy to take noble titles as names,” Luna said, keeping her voice neutral.

“It is, amongst ponies descended from nobility. Ponies from superior stock, with pedigrees. Not common rabble!” Blueblood sneered, revealing perfect white teeth. “The Oakenhoofs are a family of earth pony timber barons. About as far from nobility as it’s possible to be. Just because your great-grandparents had a lot of money, doesn’t make you a noble.” Blueblood took a breath. “Could I have a chair, please?” Luna nodded and lit her horn; a silver chair appeared in front of the prince. “Could I get another glass too?” he asked as he took a seat.

“No.”

Blueblood shrugged. “Well in that case, I mean exactly what I said. He’s an earth pony with money. Old money. And from what I’ve heard, he’s also social climber. Thinks that just because there isn’t a carriage in Manehatten that’s not made from Oakenhoof lumber, that he can just waltz into any party in Canterlot.”

“Do you know if he has a lover?”

This gave Blueblood pause. “A lover?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that the Princess’s head’s been turned by a lowly timber baron and this is all a pretense for romantic inquisition?”

“Do not be so presumptuous,” Luna replied. “I wish to know if he has somepony close to him that I may talk to. Oakenhoof is beyond my reach at present.”

Blue eyes sharpened. “He’s on the run? Now I’m intrigued. What ever did he do?”

“I cannot say.”

“Really, Auntie. It’s not nice to tease. But to answer your question, he’s had a great many lovers. Canterlot tramps are just as pragmatic as they are anywhere else in the world, money is money—be it from farmer’s hoof or noble’s horn.”

And is that mare in your bed just a ‘Canterlot tramp?’ Luna bit down the retort.

“Do you know if Oakenhoof had a lover whom he preferred?”

“What, like a ‘mane squeeze?” Blueblood asked. His eyes traveled to the golden mare on his bed, as if remembering that she was there for the first time. “Not to my knowledge. To hear it said, Oakenhoof liked to keep his options open. It’s probably one of the few things we had in common.”

“Does he have any confidants?”

Blueblood shrugged. “As I said before, we didn’t exactly travel in the same circles, Aunt Luna. You’d be better off asking Fancypants about that sort of thing.”

“Fancypants?” Luna asked.

“Yes, Fancypants,” Blueblood replied, stifling a yawn. “He knows everything about everypony.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Rumor has it that he gets off on rubbing his nose in everypony’s dirty laundry.”

Luna brought the decanter of fire wine forth to her muzzle and had several swallows. Blueblood watched in silence. “Wonderful vintage, isn’t it?” he said after she had finished.

“I have had better.” Luna put down the decanter. “Where might I find this Fancypants then?”

Blueblood took a glass in horn and filled it. “The same place you find all the rich ponies in Canterlot,” he said, downing his glass. “At a party.”

Nearly seven centuries before her fall from grace, a desire to explore the world had spread across Equestria like plague; explorers had swarmed like locusts off the edge of every map in an effort to at long last fill in those areas that had for so long been represented with by empty blank parchment. Most of these sojourns had born little fruit; many had returned empty mouthed; many more had not returned at all. But those that did return to Equestria always brought with them stories of their exploits in the lands off the edge of the maps.

The ponies that had traversed the terra incongnita—the unknown lands—had returned with tales of ponies made of diamond in the north and of massive winged lizards that spat fire in the south. Of ponies the size of mice floating through the air with gossamer wings in the east and hulking horned behemoths in the west.

The ponies that had gone to chart the mare incognitum—the unknown seas— had returned with tales of tall and slender ponies without cutie marks, and striped ponies without any color in their coats or manes. Horrific monsters that would make whirlpools whenever they opened their mouths, and hydras that could swim like snakes through the sea. Beautiful mares that lived under the water and could bespell even the most resolute of stallions with no more than a song, and beasts with the heads of bulls that walked on two legs.

The myriad explorers had then at last turned their sights upward, towards the caelum ignotus—the unknown sky—in golden chariots and luxurious airships they travelled above the world, and when they returned, fantastic accounts of castles in the sky, towers that turned sunlight to fire, and animate bronze colossi would spin from their tongues like golden thread.

Some of these accounts were honest, most were fictitious, but all had had made for interesting reading at the time, if nothing else.

But there was one place which had remained unexplored. Far, far above the world below, so far that the blood in your veins and air in your lungs would freeze solid, was an in-between place. A demimonde. In the years preceding her return, she had learned that a few brave souls both from within and without Equestria had tried to breach the place where the sky kissed the cosmos, but none had succeeded in breaching its depths; all who neared the empty sky—winged and shipped alike—fell back to the earth like hailstones. And though a part of her had been saddened to learn of these deaths, another part of her had been glad—glad that the empty sky was still hers and hers alone.

It was here where Luna came when she wished to think, and where she had now come to contemplate the events of the past hour. It possessed no name in the old tongue, but Luna had christened it the caelum vacuus—the empty sky. The empty sky was her secret place—her special place—the only place in all the world where she could feel truly . . .

alone.

Princess Luna sat on a cloud. A fine layer of frost had formed atop her coat. Far below her, no bigger than a snowflake, lay Canterlot. Somewhere down there were the two other pieces of herself. One would still be in Canterlot, with Agent Word Smith, the other would be headed to Horsmouth with Discord. And so too, was this mysterious ‘Fancypants’ of which her nephew had spoken. Her nephew’s description had not been helpful: blue mane, white coat, often wore a monocle. Just another breadcrumb on what was hopefully the killer’s trail. She would ask Celestia when the next large event would take place, and she would find this Fancypants then.

“I thought I’d find you here, Luna.”

Luna sighed, watching as her breath turning into a glittering cloud of stardust in the chill air. “Hello, Sister. You have gained silent wings in my absence, it would seem.”

The Moon and stars were still absent their places in the sky, but Celestia shone like a ghost in the lightless demimonde. “Oh, Luna. We both know that’s not true. I’m about as quiet as a minotaur in a glass house when I fly,” Celestia lighted on the cloud next to Luna and put a hoof squarely on her nose. “You just become so lost in thought when you’re brooding.”

Luna fought not to smile, and managed something like a scowl. “I am not brooding,” she said pushing away Celestia’s hoof. “I am searching.”

“Oh?” Celestia asked, eyebrows raised. “Searching for what, pray tell?”

Luna fell silent. “Dreams,” she said finally, looking down at Equestria. “I am searching for any dreams which involve the victim. Oftentimes a killer will be plagued by guilt and visions of their victims in their sleep. It would expedite matters greatly if I were to find such a dream.”

“Oh.” The levity was gone from Celestia’s tone. “Have you had any luck?”

Luna shook her head. “No. The killer may not be asleep, or they may feel no remorse for their crime. Though I find the former notion more appealing than the latter.”

“What are they dreaming about?”

“The usual,” Luna said dismissively. “Wealth, fame and fortune. Flying, falling, dying. There are a few nightmares prowling about, but they are barely more than cravens.”

“Can you see Ponyville from here?” Celestia asked.

Luna looked up and closed her eyes. “Ponyville is fine” she said after a moment. “Twilight Sparkle dreams of apples falling from a tree and turning into fish that swim through the sky. Hardly unusual.” From the corner of her eye, Luna watched her sister. Celestia’s eyes were distant, staring off back and forth over Ponyville far below.

“You should not be out this late, Sister. Why hast thou not retired for the night?”

Celestia looked up at her and smiled. “I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, Luna. Not with you on the hunt. Already, I have received a formal complaint from one Mr. Pot Luck for a ‘grievous insult against his person.’”

Luna stared at her sister.

“You called him fat.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry about it, Luna,” Celestia said quickly. “Pot Luck Sr. lodges grievances for all manner imagined slights. I’ve made arrangements for all of his complaints to go through Fine Print’s office. They have a longstanding distaste for one another. I expect it will be ‘misplaced’ by noontime.”

Luna spotted a Capricorn swimming through the sky above her. She shifted her weight slightly to get a better view.

“Luna,” Celestia said. “I don’t want pry, but the only reason that you ever come to this place is when you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Sister,” Luna said. “I am fine as fine can be. I know you find it difficult to fathom, but I take solace in solitude.”

Celestia drew closer to her. “I can fathom wanting to be alone, Luna. But that hasn’t worked so well for us in the past.”

“I do not need you to remind me of my past sins, Sister,” Luna said, avoiding Celestia’s eyes. “I can recall them well enough on my own.”

“Luna.” Something in Celestia’s tone made her turn her head. Tears were falling down her sister’s face and freezing into glittering crystal droplets. “Please. We promised each other that we would no longer hide our feelings. The last occasion that I can recall being here was the night before the Long Night. You'll forgive my apprehension if I find your presence here alarming.”

Luna closed her eyes, letting her world become dark. The pain in her sister’s eyes was like a knife in her breast. So much pain. Begetting only more pain.

Luna opened her eyes. Celestia was still staring at her with those pitying eyes; lines of frozen tear tracks on her face.

“I do not to do this, Sister! I do not want to play these shadow games! Lying and manipulating and digging into the past of all those around me, smearing myself with their secrets until they slide down my legs and off my wings like black rain. I do not want to tell Oakenhoof’s beloveds of his passing before taking advantage of their grief to question them.”

She threw her head back to the stars. “I knew, Sister. When the sky grew black as I brought forth the night. I knew. Death had come to Canterlot on bloody wings. Yet to see that body—that pony—laying there on the floor, mutilated. I had thought myself as marble—cold and uncracking—but when I saw that corpse I was shaken. I do not wish to surround myself with death and misery anymore, Sister. I am not what I once was. I do not want to do this.”

Celestia draped one of her wings over Luna.

“I did not take the throne because I desire it, Luna,” Celestia said quietly. “I took the throne because there is nopony else whom I would entrust it with.”

“And is there anypony else to whom you would entrust this matter?” Luna asked.

Celestia was silent.

“I thought not,” Luna breathed out a sigh.

“I'm sorry, Luna. Had I known how upsetting this would be to you—”

“You would still have asked,” Luna cut her off. “It is who you are.”

An uncomfortable silence descended.

Celestia stood up suddenly. “Mayhaps we can continue this conversation elsewhere?”

Stiffly, Luna rose to her own hooves.

“My atelier in the old castle. Is it still intact?”

Celestia looked at her curiously. “Yes, I believe so.” Her horn lit, and the world disappeared in a flash of light.Celestia’s horn lit, and the world fell away in a flash of golden light. Luna felt the lurching sensation in her wings that came from a rapid change in altitude, and blinked away the blindness from her eyes. Gold gave way to black, and she found herself in darkness.

Luna spread out her wings to steady herself, and shook. “How many times have We told you to inform Us before you do that?”

Celestia landed next to her, and likewise shook, pelting Luna with melting frost. “You sounded in a hurry, Little Sister. And I was getting a chill besides.”

Luna grunted and lit her horn, taking in her surroundings.

Her atelier. Long ago, during the construction of the Royal Castle, she had commissioned a chamber to be built deep below the castle basement. A square chamber with no doors or windows. It was little more than a large stone box buried beneath the castle’s foundation. The only way in or out of the chamber was by way of magic.

Celestia lit her own horn. “Your ‘Cabinet of Curiosities’ seems to have aged remarkably well over the last millennium.” A golden candelabra appeared in the air and drifted along the length of the room. Rows of narrow shelves lined all four walls, and each shelf was filled with all manner assorted detritus: jars filled with eyes and horns; ancient tomes, cracked and frayed. Potion bottles small and large, dead animals preserved against decay; weapons from every civilization known, and other things so old that their names and purposes had been lost to time. In the center of the room was a flat rock the width of a chariot, sanded smooth by years at the bottom of a river, which served as a table.

Luna scanned the rows quickly, searching. “Tis not surprising. Most everything is enchanted.” Her eyes lighted on a cracked bronze vase. She pulled it forth and glanced inside. “Take this,” she said, and passed the bowl to Celestia. “We will have need of it soon.”

Celestia took the bowl, glanced inside, and looked up pensively. “Luna, what exactly are you planning to do with this?

“You will see.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow but said nothing else.

At last Luna found what she had been searching for: a faded blue jewelry box. She took the box in her aura and gently brought it over to the table in the center of the room.

“What is that?” Celestia asked.

Luna opened the box. Layed out inside the box on blue velvet, were three unassuming black cards.

“A relic,” Luna said simply. “Taken from the chambers of the sorcerer Blackstone Flag. Supposedly, he had these hewn from his very flesh, so that he might gain omnipotence.”

“Uh . . . huh,” Celestia said, staring at the cards. “Luna, what do you aim to accomplish here?”

Luna gathered the cards together and turned to Celestia. “It is as you said, Sister. What I wish does not change what I am. So I aim to catch this killer.” She took a breath. “What I am about to do may be . . . troubling to you. Do not worry. Tis only a ritual.”

Celestia nodded mutely.

She pressed the cards to her head—just below the base of her horn, and spoke the Words:

“I was born in the past. I live in the present. I will die in the future. So that I might know what is unknown, I give unto thee my blood and breath and bone. All that begins must end. All that ends must begin.”

The candlelight flickered, and a chill fell over the room.

Luna turned back to the table and pulled a card from the deck, laying it down face up on the table. Its surface was black as pitch.

Luna’s horn lit, and a silver knife appeared in air, held aloft by her aura. Luna slowly lifted her hoof to the knife. “I was born in the past. I was born in blood. By blood is the past revealed,” she spoke solemnly, and shoved the knife point into the soft heel of her hoof. The pain was tremendous, but Luna kept her features still. She heard a soft intake of breath, and out of the corner of her eye saw Celestia wincing at her wound.

Luna pulled the knife out of her hoof and held it over the card. The blood—her blood—gathered at the knife’s tip and fell onto the card’s face. The droplet did not splatter, but sank into the black card like rain into arid soil. And as it sank, a picture was revealed. Black gave way to red as lines and curves swam over the card’s surface, forming the picture of a bright red skeleton, grinning with merriment and holding a glass of some red concoction in horn. Both of its hooves were clasped together in irons. The portrait of the smiling skeleton, was bordered by lines of foals bound in chains; eyeless, their features contorted in masks of despair and fear. The bottom of the card was captioned with a single word:

Death.

“Well that’s . . . helpful,” Celestia said, taking Luna’s hoof in her own. “I’m guessing that it refers to the murder?”

“We should be so fortunate,” Luna said without looking away from the card. “Each card has many meanings, and of all the arcana, Death is the most obtuse.” Luna traced the border of the card with a wingtip. “Do you see this border, Sister? Blind foals in chains. Do you believe that the killer has an assemblage of blind foals bound together within his basement?”

“I certainly hope not,” she replied, pressing a cloth into Luna’s hoof.

“As do I, Sister. But that is my point. The foals are more likely symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what?”

“That is the question. Death is usually representative of change. I would venture that these foals—blind and bound as they are—represent a covenant.”

Celestia finished tying the cloth around Luna’s hoof. “A covenant of what?”

Luna’s wingtip touched the skeleton’s wineglass. “Lust.”

“Lust?”

“Yes. The oldest form of merrymaking that exist in the world.” She turned to Celestia and offered a brief summary of what she had found in Oakenhoof’s residence. It took a second to for her to grasp Luna’s implication.

“How awful!” she exclaimed. “Are you saying that there’s a … what? A murderous sex cult in Canterlot?”

Luna smiled grimly. “Not quite. Oakenhoof was murdered by one whom wished his suffering. Such desire is not born by chance. Oakenhoof was quite likely joined in covenant of libertines, blind to their own depravity, and chained together by the exotice excitment of taboo. The dungeon sequestered within was far larger than one lone stallion would need to accommodate himself. It would make sense if he was but one member of a larger group. Within this group, I would surmise that he took a lover, and that eventually, he attracted this lover’s ire.”

“It does make a certain amount of sense,” Celestia said, taking the card in horn to examine it closer. “There have been many secret societies in Canterlot before. But most of them have been harmless—distractions for bored stallions and mares looking for excitement. Nothing like this.”

“Tis only conjecture, Sister. There is a great divide between fantasy and reality. I doubt that the entire covenant conspired to murder Oakenhoof; more likely it was a single individual, acting independently.”

Celestia replaced the card. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Luna,” Celestia said, placing the card back on the table. “The only evidence we have that this ‘covenant’ exists is your interpretation of a tarot card.”

“The cards do not lie, Sister.”

“But they never tell the exact truth either. You yourself said that the cards have 'many meanings.'”

For one tense moment, they held each other’s eyes. “Yes. They do,” Luna admitted, and laid the second card on the table.

Luna pressed her nose against the second of the cards. “I live in the present by every breath I take. By breath is the present revealed.” She inhaled deeply, and then slowly exhaled onto the card.

Once the image appeared, neither sister spoke.

Luna narrowed her eyes. “This bodes ill.”

“In what way?” Celestia asked. “The picture or the name?”

“Both.”

Upon the second card, was a picture of a creature wearing a pony’s skin. Blood was dripping down its sides at where the skin had been torn open. The legs were still attached, obscuring the creature’s own limbs form view. Of the eyes, nothing could be seen; just black pits of darkness. But jutting out beyond the pony’s nose was a long grey muzzle filled with bloody teeth. The second card was titled: Skinwalker.

“What does it mean?” Celestia asked.

Luna shook her head. “Nothing good. The Skinwalker is an ill omen in any form. But the Wolf that wears a sheepskin most of all. He appears friendly, but underneath, hides a beast. It means that the murderer may be much more dangerous than I had originally thought. It means that a monster walks among us.”

Celestia covered herself with her wings. “Are you sure that there are no other interpretations?”

Reluctantly, Luna nodded. “Yes. The Skinwalker has only one meaning. Much as we might desire otherwise.”

Luna laid the last card on the table. “Sister, the bowl, if you will?”

Celestia slowly laid the bowl on the table. Within were the broken fragments of a unicorn horn. Bleached white with age. Once upon a time, it had been her horn—the horn which she had been born with, until a glory-seeking minotaur had cleaved it from her skull with a mace. Luna took the smallest fragment in her aura, and lifted it up above the final card. “I will die in the future, and leave naught but bones behind. By my bone is the future revealed.” She dropped the horn piece on the card. Immediately it crumbled to dust, revealing the future on the final card.

“Luna,” Celestia asked, staring at the slowly forming image, “what did you use for bone before your horn was shattered?”

Luna didn’t look up. “Teeth.”

“. . . Oh.”

The image formed into coherence and the future was revealed.

Luna felt a shudder come over her that had nothing to do with the chill air. On the card was a picture of the moon. Captioned along the bottom of the card was the word: Moon. But in the center of the moon, was an eye. A great blue eye, emanating with a dreadful persapacity.

“And what does this one mean, Luna?” Celestia asked.

She couldn’t speak at first; her mouth suddenly felt very dry. But even when she finally found the words, they came only begrudgingly. “I do not know, Sister,” Luna said. “I do not
know.”

The Darkness

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The Darkness.

The Darkness is Truth.

The Truth is dark.

We pretend that we are civilized, pretend that we more than animals, that our clothes and our words and structures make us superior to the creatures that wallow around in the dirt, defecating and fornicating under the open sky with equal measure. We like to say that because we make our waste and our children from within stone walls that we are above every creeping thing which creepeth in the night. We imagine that we are special, unique, the favored children of the divine beings whom we so aspire to emulate.

This is why we fear the Dark.

The Dark strips the masks from our faces, the veils from our eyes. The Dark forces us to see that which we refuse to acknowledge but know in our heart of hearts to be true.

If you gaze up into the sky during the day, it is said that you will see a glimpse of paradise. But the Dark shows the Truth. In the Dark, those mortal gods, who so boldly claim to hold dominion over this world, are afraid to venture out beyond their doors. Because while they tell themselves over and over again the lies of the world, the Dark whispers the Truth in their ears, planting the seeds of doubt.

The Truth is that we are not civilized beings, standing above the world in Ivory Towers that stretch to the heavens, We are only beasts ruling above beasts. We do not rule this world, we were not chosen by providence. Our kind was merely the first that learned to lie. We became so proficient at lying that we began believing our own lies.

But the Darkness is truth.

Look into the sky during the day and they say you will catch a glimpse of paradise, but look to the day in the darkness, and you will see the Truth: there are no gods above the sky. There is no paradise awaiting us after this life.

There is only Darkness.

Oakenhoof Manor

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“You know, Luna, I think that I’d enjoy this little ride together a lot more if I were inside the chariot, don’t you?”

Luna glanced at Discord, flying closely alongside her chariot. It had been quiet on the way to Horsemouth. Discord had scarcely spoken more than a few words since they’d left Canterlot. When they had departed, her guards had blanched upon seeing the Draconequus trailing behind her. Even now, they kept shooting furtive glances back over their shoulders, but otherwise made no protestations or comments against Discord’s presence. “I, however,” she said with finality, “would enjoy this ride even less than I am currently.”

Discord put a talon to his muzzle thoughtfully. “It would seem we’ve reached an impasse then. How about a compromise? I ride with you, and you just pretend that you’re not bothered. Sound good?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“And this is why you don’t have any friends, Luna. You’re not willing to compromise.”

“You would lecture me about friendship!?” Luna scoffed.

“Well, between the two of us, I do have more friends.”

“You possess one friend.”

“And you possess zero, Luna. That’s a hundred percent advantage.” Discord reclined back in the air and smiled. “Which would make me a far more qualified judge of these matters than you.”

To her guards, Luna asked, “How long until we arrive at Horsemouth?”

“An hour if the wind stays calm,” one of the pegasi replied. “Half that if we catch a tailwind, twice that if we run a headwind.”

Luna ground her teeth. Ordinarily, the weather of their course would have been prepared in advance to ensure a swift and easy flight. But their unexpected departure from Canterlot had left no time for such a luxury. She would have to grin and bear it.

“I could get us there with just a snap of my claws. I’d just need to get a little comfortable first. Maybe in your chariot?”

“Why are you doing this?” Luna asked.

“It looks like a very nice chariot, bat wings notwithstanding.”

“Not your pointless needling! Why are you doing this? Why are you assisting me? You don’t care about the lives of ponies. Why would you agree to investigate a murder?”

Discord raised one scaly brow and crossed his arms. “It’s so good to know how highly you think of me, Luna,” he said, smirking. “But in this instance, you’re right. I don’t care. I’ve seen more of your precious ponies come and go that one getting early retirement isn’t going to rustle my jimmies.” Discord tilted until he was flying upside down. “If you must know, I decided to do this because I was bored.”

“You were . . . bored,” Luna replied after a moment.

“Yes. Bored. As much as I’d prefer otherwise, Fluttershy can’t afford to spend every waking moment of her existence with me, and your sister remains adamant that I not indulge my innate desire to bring chaos to the world, so occasionally I have to find other ways to occupy myself.”

“Bored,” Luna said again.

“Oh don’t give me that look. I’ve been around longer than you and Celestia combined. Sometimes, I get bored.”

Luna stared at Discord. His eyes were twin rubies, glittering in what little light was to be had on this dark night. His lips upturned in a cockeyed half-smile. Arms crossed, tail swinging calmly back and forth. Whatever he might have been feeling, Luna could not tell. He wore the smiling mask like a harlequin.

At last, Luna turned away from him, and pressed herself to the other side of the chariot. “Come,” she beckoned.

“Ooh!” Discord flew up and into the chariot feet first. “Comfy,” he said, bounding on the cushioned floor experimentally. “Azure velvet, phoenix down, top-of-the-line enhancements to ensure maximum safety and comfort for the occupants. My, my. The perks of being a princess. Does this come standard, or did you have to commission it?”

“This chariot was a gift from my sister, Discord,” Luna said.

“Oh?” Discord looked up at her. “Of the ‘Welcome Back!’ or the ‘Please-Forget-I-Banished-You-To-The-Moon-For-A-Thousand-Years!’ variety?”

“It was for my birthday.”

Discord stopped bouncing. “Oh. Well that backfired spectacularly.”

The night descended into an uncomfortable silence. Luna focused her attention on the blackened sky in front of them.

After several minutes of silence, Discord stuck a claw out an inch in front of Luna’s face. “I’m not touching you.”

Luna stared at Discord’s outstretched claw. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not touching you,” Discord said simply.

“Well . . . stop it.”

“I’m not touching you, Luna.”

“Stop it.”

“Luna, I’m not touching you.

“Stop it.”

“Luuuna, I’m not touching you.”

“I told you to stop it, Draconequus!” Luna yelled.

Discord held up his hands. “Stop what, Luna? I’m not touching you.”

“Well then, stop ‘not touching me,’” she growled.

Discord smiled. “Your wish is my command, Luna,” he said. And then he flicked her on the nose.

Luna blinked, sneezed, and screamed. “Discord!”

“But I was only doing what you asked, Luna,” Discord said, looking hurt. “You told me to stop ‘not touching you.’ And that’s exactly what I did.”

Luna forced her lips together. Then, through clenched teeth, she said, “Can you take nothing seriously, draconequus?”

Discord looked at her incredulously. “That’s a rhetorical question, I assume?”

“Obviously,” Luna breathed on a sigh. “You said that you could shorten this trip, Discord?”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. With a click of your claws, if I recall correctly.”

“Ah, yes. I did say that, didn’t I?” Discord replied cheerily, and clicked his claws together.

There was no flash of light, no fizzle or pop to signify that any magic had been enacted but Luna knew immediately that something had changed. The pegasus magic in her wings started tingling, adjusting to a sudden change in atmosphere. She had to resist the urge to spread her wings out, and knew from the sudden jerking of the chariot that her guards had felt it too.

Luna shook herself. “What did you do?” she asked Discord.

Discord shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, not much. I just moved the world forward a bit. We’re above Horsemouth, by the way.”

“Princess, are you all right?” one of the pegasi asked her.

“I am fine,” Luna replied. “What is our bearing?”

The pegasus paused to look over their surroundings. “I believe that we’re . . . above Horsemouth,” one said tentatively.

“That’s what I just said!”

“Good,” Luna said. “Locate Oakenhoof Manor at once and set us down.”

From the corner of her eye she could see Discord scowling. “Honestly, Luna,” he said, “have a little faith.”

It didn’t take long to locate the manor; it stood on a hill overlooking the whole of Horsemouth. Large and gothic, primarily of wood construction, it looked less a house and more a wooden fortress. It was of square architecture, with boxy turrets jutting up from each corner. The roof looked flat. There was a wrought iron fence directly in front of the house, and a trellis covered in thick thorny vines. From what little of Horsemouth architecture Luna had seen, she surmised that this manor was old. Not as old as Canterlot, but definitely much older than the buildings surrounding it, which was curious. As they circled the manor, Luna also noticed a large forested area to the rear of the manor. A private trotting ground, perhaps?

“Princess, where would you like us to set down?” one of the pegasus asked.

“On the front walkway,” Luna said. “But circle the manor once again first.”

The pegasus nodded, and the chariot tilted upward.

“Something the matter, Luna?” Discord asked.

Luna kept her eyes on the mansion. “There is no light,” she said.

“What?”

“In the windows, there is no light.”

Discord stretched his head out past the railing. “Huh,” he said after a moment. “And why exactly is this a cause for concern?”

“It is improper,” Luna said. “When the Master of the House is away, somepony must always be on vigil to attend her if she should return unannounced in the night. And a lantern must always be left burning in a window so that the Master will know a servant is indeed at attention within the house.”

Discord was silent for a moment. “No offense, Luna, but you do know that some customs have changed just a teensy-weensy bit in the last thousand years, right?”

Luna turned to look at him. “Since my return, one of the few things which has remained constant is the custom of the wealthy. You saw what his accommodations were like inside the Ivory Tower.”

“Fair point,” Discord said. “But we’re not going to learn anything staring at the windows.” And then he jumped over the side.

“Discord! You impetuous-!” But he was already gone. “I’m heading down,” she called to the guards, and lept off the chariot. It was a short glide to the entryway. Discord was leaning against the door, smirking.

“What took you so long?” he asked.

Luna ignored him. She’d already decided what she was going to do. As soon as she recombined herself, she’d send Fluttershy—the yellow one, if memory served—somewhere far away with lots of indigenous wildlife which she could fawn over, and order Discord to accompany her. It would not be difficult to arrange; she knew several ponies which she felt could be trusted not to tell Celestia. Ponies who bore the draconequus no goodwill.

Putting aside the thought for later contemplation, Luna lit her aura and stretched out her senses. There were no sleeping minds within the manor, that much was certain. “Can you sense anypony in the house?” she asked Discord.

“Nope,” he replied.

Luna grasped the door knocker and rapped gently.

“Looks like no pony’s home,” Discord said after a minute. He reached out and turned the door handle. “Door’s unlocked though. Shall we?” He pushed the door open.

Something was not right about this. “Stay close to me,” Luna said as she crossed the threshold.

Discord raised one eyebrow. “Stay close? Are we nervous, Princess?”

“I only wish to keep an eye on you, draconequus.”

Discord chuckled. “Of course, Luna.”

The front doors opened out into a grand atrium. “Hello? Is anypony here? It is I, Princess Luna. I am here on behalf of the Canterlot City Guard, concerning the Master of the House. Is anypony here?”

Silence.

“Well this isn’t creepy at all,” Discord said.

Luna lit her horn. “Light!” she commanded. Immediately every candle, lantern, and fireplace within the manor burst into flame as her magic sought them out. Faded gold light filled the atrium as tiny flames flickered into existence atop a chandelier overhead. From the corner of her eye Luna saw a slithering movement; she jerked suddenly. “Did you see that!?”

Discord blinked. “See what?”

Luna pointed to the far corner of the atrium which branched off into a corridor. “I saw something move.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

But Luna was already at the corridor’s entrance. Beyond was not a corridor at all but a large walk-in closet. Rows of coats hung on racks alongside the walls. There was no other entrance in the coat rack save the one Luna was now standing in. And it was completely devoid of life.

Luna could sense Discord behind her, looking over her into the closet. She didn’t need to see his face to know what expression he wore.

“Follow me,” she said before Discord could say anything. “And keep an eye out.”

Luna flew up to the second floor. “If this manor is truly vacant, then we shall take advantage of this opportunity to search the premises.” Luna pointed to the north end of the hallway. “We will search every room from one side of the house to the other. Traditionally, domestic servants are housed either in their own domicile away from the main property, or in the farthest most bedrooms. I did not see any building that looked big enough to house servants on the grounds,” she said once Discord had joined her. “So it is likely that they either reside in the house or in the surrounding town.” Luna eyed Discord thoughtfully. “Can you take a less conspicuous form?”

He snapped his claws and was gone in a white flash of light. Luna felt something soft wrap around her neck. She looked down to find a sparkling blue scarf wrapped around her neck. “Is this ‘inconspicuous’ enough for you, Luna?” the scarf said.

“Get off of me!” Luna exclaimed, trying to pull the scarf off.

The scarf seemed to droop slightly. “Oh come now, Luna. I look so nice on you. I can change the color if you want, but this shade really makes your eyes pop.” A full-length mirror popped into existence in front of her.

Luna stopped. She closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath. When she opened them and looked into the mirror, she smiled. “Yes,” she said pleasantly, “my eyes are very much popping in their sockets. Thank you, Discord. Let’s be off.”

The scarf that was Discord tingled slightly. “You’re . . . welcome.”

Luna set down the hallway. Having the Spirit of Chaos coiled around her neck was not exactly comforting, but she refused to play Discord’s foalish games.

“So,” Discord asked nonchalantly after a minute of silence. “What exactly are we looking for? Another sex dungeon?”

The first door Luna came to revealed a broom closet. The second door however, had opened up into a spacious study. Bookshelves lined both walls, and a large desk sat sternly at the end of the room. On the wall behind the desk was a portrait of a stallion, looking down like a judgmental god. “No,” Luna said. “I doubt that Oakenhoof was so bold as to practice his fetish within his own home.”

“Then what are we looking for?”

“Clues,” Luna said simply. “Friends, lovers, associates. Anypony who Oakenhoof might have drawn into his depravity.”

“Misery does love company,” Discord said.

Luna ran a wingtip over the top of the desk. It made a bright streak in the wood. “This is curious,” she said. “What I saw of this manor’s interior before entering here was immaculate, but this desk is covered in dust.”

Discord made no noise or movement from around her neck.

Luna pulled out one of the desk drawers with her aura, the handle was rusted with age and dented by teeth marks. Inside, was nothing of note: a few papers, an old pipe, and a tin of tobacco that was nearly as rusted as the drawer handle. A quick search of the other drawers revealed a similar assortment of detritus, all of it withered with age and covered with dust. She went to the nearest bookshelf and began pulling volumes at random. Each tome was yellowed and smelled of stale paper. “This room has been left in such a state intentionally,” she said at last. “To what intent, I know not.”

“Maybe it’s haunted,” said Discord boredly.

“Or his servants have been barred from entry,” Luna replied.

“Assuming Oakenhoof even has servants.”

“He has them. Excepting this room, the interior of the manor has been immaculate. No, this study has been left untouched for a reason.” Luna went to the portrait of the stallion, and quickly checked that there was no hidden compartment behind it. When she replaced it, she noticed that there was a small plaque on the bottom. The writing was faded, but still legible:

Baron Oakenhoof I

“Oakenhoof The First . . . The Timber Baron . . .” read Luna. It was a portrait of the first Oakenhoof. “This must have been his study.”

There was a flash of light and a ‘POP!’ and Discord appeared beside her, in his true form. “I got tired of being a scarf,” he said simply. “You can keep it, by the way; consider it a gift.” He glanced up at the portrait. “Charming fellow. Looks like he could have gone to the same gentlecolt’s club as the first Blueblood.

Luna’s mouth suddenly felt dry. There was a rather striking resemblance between the two. Not in their physicality, but in their demeanor. The set of Oakenhoof I’s shoulders, those cold eyes. The haughty arrogance which seemed to be soaked into the very paint. Deep in Blueblood Manor there was a portrait of King Blueblood I. It was larger, and more ornate, featuring the titular King surrounded by baying hounds standing atop the bleeding corpse of a manticore. “Yes,” she said at last. “They do bear a passing resemblance to one another. The countenance of one who thinks himself above those around him is easily recognizable.”

Discord smiled. “Especially to those who’ve worn it themselves, I’d imagine.”

Luna didn’t reply. To her, the portrait of Oakenhoof I didn’t just look cruel, but also . . . disappointed; as if he could see what had become of his descendants. King Blueblood had hoped to be the father of a dynasty. What had Oakenhoof hoped to leave behind as his legacy? What would he think of Baron Von Oakenhoof’s sexual depravity? What would he have said if he were to know that one of his line would find pleasure in being chained and tortured? From the impression his portrait gave, they would not be words of love and tolerance. And then a more sobering thought came to her: was Baron Von the last remaining Oakenhoof? Had this proud stallion’s line been cut? Such was the greatest fear of any father who hoped to achieve immortality through legacy. That all of their achievements and aspirations would die with their line.

“Let us continue our search,” she said to Discord, and left through the doorway.

The next door they came to opened onto the second floor of the library, and the door after that opened out into a large communal lavatory. Save Oakenhoof I’s study, the rooms were mundane; nothing within any of them offered any insight into Oakenhoof’s personal life. Luna felt more as if she were walking through a museum than a house. As their search progressed, Luna noticed that much of the interior architecture was very similar to that of the time before her fall from grace, in stark contrast to the exterior, which possessed an alien aesthetic. The final door of the wing led to a master suite. Like everything else in the house, it was immaculately kept, and bereft any signs that it had ever been inhabited. “Discord,” Luna said slowly. “Word Smith did say that the Ivory Tower primarily provides temporary residence to its tenants, yes?”

Discord was looking uninterestedly at his tail. “He might have said something to that effect. Why do you ask?”

“Something seems amiss in this house,” Luna said.

Discord yawned. “You don’t say?”

“I feel as if I am walking through a child’s doll house!” Luna exclaimed. “In Oakenhoof’s suite at the Ivory Tower there was trash in his waste bin, the smell of cologne and tobacco in the air, specks of dirt and hair in the carpet and on the tiles. The detritus of a life. This house feels as empty as a vacant coffin! It is not right!” Luna went to the window, outside, the sky was still a sea of black. “Something has been bothering me since we left the Ivory Tower,” she said. “The ‘dungeon’ in Oakenhoof’s suite. That would have been no small undertaking. Why would anypony—even a wealthy pony—undertake such a task within a place of temporary residence?” She turned to Discord.

“You don’t think that Oakenhoof actually lived here?” he asked.

“I think the evidence supports it.” Luna gestured to the bed. “These sheets are unwrinkled. In the lavatory there were no personal toiletries. In the library there were no books unshelved. We have searched the whole of this house and we have found nothing save a facsimile.”

Luna stormed out of the master suite, a smirking Discord in tow. The opposite wing was eerily symmetrical to the first. There was another broom closet, another study room—albeit much cleaner and more spartanly furnished—another communal lavatory, another door which opened up onto the second floor of a ballroom, several smaller guest suites and finally, another unlived-in master suite.

Luna stomped her hoof on the carpet. “Curse it all!” Oakenhoof Manor was vacant; it would offer no aid to their investigation. This had all been for nothing. She hung her head and closed her eyes.

“Come on, Luna! Keep your head up,” Discord said cheerily from behind her. “Somepony still has to cut the grass, trim the hedges, and all that jazz. We can talk to them.”

“It would accomplish nothing,” Luna sighed. “The groundskeeper for an estate-in-waiting would not need to tend the land more than twice a month, and unless there was an extraordinary issue to resolve, they would never need come in contact with more than the butler.”

Discord gasped exasperatedly. “Don’t be such a defeatist, Luna. There’s still the downstairs to search. Maybe we’ll find something there.”

Luna gave the draconequus a look askance. “Yes, I suppose we may.”

Resigned, she followed Discord downstairs, and as she had expected, they found nothing. They checked both of the coat closets by the entryway first, then proceeded on to the library. Luna grasped every book in her aura and pulled them off the shelves all at once, and only succeeded in throwing up a cloud of dust. There was a large common room, decorated with paintings of various members of the Oakenhoof family. A small washroom for guests, and a much smaller washroom obviously intended for servants. The grand ballroom which Luna had seen earlier from the second floor. A parlor that smelled rank of tobacco, adorned with the taxidermied heads of timber wolves, honey badgers and rockodiles, as well as the weapons Luna supposed had been used to kill them. There was a great dining hall; a cherrywood table and chairs enough to seat two-dozen guests. The brick fireplace sat stoically in the center of the room; a pile of fresh logs lay patiently beside it. The kitchens were likewise: glinting as the firelight danced over their polished iron, like armored knights standing at the ready, only awaiting the call to action. In each and every room, they found nothing: no hidden doors, no switches, notes or indeed any sign that anypony had ever lived there at all. Luna’s words from earlier rang in her ears, Like I am walking through a doll house.

A sudden chill made its way down her spine.

Luna could not shake the feeling that something was wrong in this house, but she did not know what. Why would Oakenhoof have listed this as his place of residence if he did not reside here? Why leave such a grand estate, untenanted? What was the significance of the study on the upper floor? Why had the rest of the house been razed to a wasteland of polished brass and swept tile but that room had been locked away? So many questions and not a single answer.

“Something just occurred to me,” Discord said suddenly.

Luna turned to him. During their search the draconequus had not been silent, but he had spoken about bore any relevance the the matter at horn, and she had ignored him. “Oh?” she said.

“What if he was burgled?” Discord asked.

“Burgled?” Luna repeated.

“Yes, burgled: it’s a verb, it means to . . . to” Discord waved his claws in the air, “to—ugh! Where’s the walking dictionary when you need him—to steal!” Presently they were in the kitchen; Discord snapped his claws together, and an assortment of forks, knives and spoons clambered out of the previously empty drawers—propelled on tiny silver legs—and made their way onto the counter. They mingled there for a few seconds, as if marveling at their own existence, and then haphazardly segregated themselves into three groups. Discord held up a claw, “Now, pretend that the golden fork over there is Oakenhoof” — one of the forks turned a bright shade of gold and started hopping excitedly. — “Now, Oakenhoof is off in Canterlot hanging with the knives” — the golden fork hastily ran over to the group of knives — “and he starts hanging with the kinds of people who like to be tied up and beat down. They invite him into their little group and what do you know? He takes a liking to it. So much so that he decides he doesn’t ever want to leave.” Discord pointed to the remaining forks, “So he has his staff sweep the house and then gives them all the boot.” As one, the forks hung their heads and sulked away, slowly climbing back into the drawer that they’d appeared from.

“Now,” Discord gestured to the spoons. “These spoons here just so happen to hear that there’s an empty mansion chock full of valuables ripe for the picking. So they go in while the getting’s good, and snatch everything not bolted down.” The spoons sprouted slender silver arms and scattered about in an attempt to ‘steal’ something; their efforts were in vain for the most part, but one industrious spoon managed to pull the burner off the stovetop. “So,” Discord placed claws on hips and puffed his chest out proudly, “what do you think?”

In truth, Luna had not considered burglary as a possible cause for the manor’s barren state, but the scenario as Discord had described it sounded . . . unlikely. “It is possible . . .” she said cautiously, “but it does not explain why Oakenhoof was murdered.”

Discord shrugged. “Probably died in a masochistic orgy.”

The knives grew arms and pulled out tiny daggers; Luna watched in horrified fascination as they began stabbing the golden fork and peeling off gold foil from its body, revealing something that looked disconcertingly like chocolate.

“I will keep your theory in mind, Discord,” Luna said. “It is too soon to rule out any possibility as yet.”

Discord beamed. “We make a great team, Lou.”

“Please do not address me as ‘Lou,’” Luna said. She walked through to the end of the kitchen to the back door, where she found a staircase leading downward. “Come, there is still searching to be done.”

Discord mimed a salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”

The room beyond the doorway a far cry from the rest of the mansion. Luna’s light spell had not found any sources here. Although she could see in the dark even more easily than she could see in the light—or so it sometimes seemed—she lit her horn for Discord’s sake. As they descended the stairs it seemed that they entered another world; above was a world of polish and sparkle, of stained wood and furnished glass. Luna and Discord were now below that bright and shining palace however, and in this netherworld, it stank of musty, stale air; the walls were crumbled and cracked in places and the wooden planks of the stairs and floor were rotting and infested. With every step Luna took, the earthen magic in her hooves tingled as the wood strained to hold her. These stairs should have splintered long ago, Luna thought. If they were not so drenched in earthen pony magic, they would surely be naught but dust now.

Luna stopped, and pressed a hoof onto one of the planks; not roughly, but firmly. The plank bent, and groaned as she pressed, but it did not break or crack. “Find something?” Discord asked from behind her. The draconequus had not deigned to walk on the rotted steps; he instead chose to float alongside her.

“These boards,” Luna replied, not looking away from the bent plank. “They are steeped in earth pony magic.”

Discord bent down and poked several steps. “You’re right. Heck of a lot older than the house by the feel of them. Though I doubt it’ll do the property value much good. What does it have to do with ol’ Oakey?”

Luna shook her head. “Maybe nothing, maybe everything. Tis impossible to know the significance of this without more information.” She lifted her gaze to the rectangle of light which framed the doorway to the house above. “But if we are to find something useful about Oakenhoof, I would say that this will be where it is.”

At the bottom of the cellar was a damp, dirt floor. Again, Luna could feel the magic in her hooves once she stepped onto the dirt; magic born from generations of earth ponies trodding upon this floor, drenching it in their magic, without the purifying presence of rain or wind or sun, the magic had accumulated, drenching this place.

Discord flew over to one of the stone pillars, rapped it gently, then gave out a sharp whistle. “I hope these pillars aren’t part of the foundation; they’re held together more by earth pony magic and spit than anything else. Get a little running water in here, and the whole mansion might collapse.”

Luna glanced up at the ceiling. The ceiling looked as old and rotten as the stair steps. “That is an unpleasant notion,” she said, and quickened her pace slightly.

At one time, this cellar may have been a wine cellar—Luna stepped over broken bottles and saw a few empty racks for such bottles, but they were in disrepair—but now seemed to be in use as a storage floor. There were chests filled with clothes and boxes filled with papers—all soiled by mildew. Decorations for the holidays, other assorted items Luna had no understanding of, but could tell at a glance were beyond repair. The dirt floor did not help matters; it added a layer of filth, encroaching on and over everything that rested on it. In addition, roaches, spiders, centipedes, moths, snakes rats, every vermin and pest which sought the dark and dank had made a home somewhere in this cellar, and they had spared little in constructing for themselves a paradise. They fled from the light of Luna’s horn like rats from a sinking ship.

She found no secret doors, no hidden passageways, no evidence of Oakenhoof’s depravity nor the identities of his associates. “Well, Discord,” she spoke on a sigh, “I think we have seen all that there is to see. Shall we depart?”

No answer.

“Discord?” It wasn’t until Luna looked back for him that she realized he wasn’t there.

“I’m over here,” came his voice to her left, several isles over. “I found something that you need to see.” Something in his tone sounded so unlike the draconequus that Luna immediately spread her wings and flew to him.

“What did you find,” she asked as soon as her hooves touched ground.

Discord was staring down at the floor, unmoving. “It’s better if I show you,” he said, and held out his paw. “May I take your hoof?”

Luna stared at Discord’s outstretched paw uncertainly for a moment, and then surrendered her hoof to the draconequus; she flinched as she felt his foreign magic entering her body, but didn’t fight it. “What am I to look for, draconequus?” she asked.

“You’ll see, Luna,” Discord replied simply. And she did.

Suddenly, it was as if she were standing atop a glass-bottom boat: the dirt floor below her became as glass, fading away into transparency before her eyes. At first, she could not speak. Her mouth made the motions of speech, but could not reproduce the sounds. Finally, when the words came, they came battered and slowly, like battle-weary soldiers on the long march home. “Discord . . . if-if this is one of your jests I-”

“It’s not,” Discord said quietly.

Luna pressed her muzzle to his. “Then look into my eyes and swear it to me, draconequus.”

“What you see down there is no joke, Luna; I swear.” There was no humor in Discord’s voice, no snide arrogance, only cold truth.

Luna pulled her head back slowly. “I would have much preferred a joke.”

“You and me both,” Discord said, smiling grimly. “Things just got a lot more complicated, that’s for sure.”

“Do . . . do you know how many are down there?”

Discord shook his head. “Not a clue. I’d guess about eighty at least, but there could be more; a lot of them look they they were buried in pieces.

“Eighty,” Luna echoed hollowly. Her hoof was still firmly held in Discord’s paw; she stared down at what lay below the dirt. Bones. Hundreds of bones. Pony bones. Skulls, hooves, legs, ribs, wings, tails, horns, were scattered deep below the ground like maggots in a carcass, spanning the entire length of the basement floor.

“Father Cosmos . . . what manner of hell is this place?” she asked. The foundation of Oakenhoof Manor was buried atop a forest of bones.

The bones of children.

The Beast And The Monster (Part 1)

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Can you guess the difference between a beast and a monster?

The Beast And The Monster (Part 2)

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Beneath the ground they lay, scattered about like fallen toys. The skeletons of children, smiling without lips, staring without eyes. Unnaturally warped and contorted, their frail bodies had been twisted and broken when they had been buried, and now only their bones remained as testament to their suffering, withered and bleached by time.

They were all so small. Most of them would have been too young to even bear marks on their flanks, and to die at that age . . .

“Should I fetch Word Smith and your other halves?” Discord asked.

“Yes-No! I-I don’t know.” Luna pulled her gaze away from the bones. “I need to think. Please, release your spell, Discord.”

Discord motioned with his arm, and the ground below returned to blessed solidity.

Luna hastily made her way to the stairs; Discord followed her silently. How would she even begin to go about a matter such as this? The bones—the victims—would have to be exhumed, and after that examined. She would have to summon Word Smith here and consult with him upon the legalities of such action. And after? Luna did not know what would happen after. She could not think that far ahead. She closed her eyes, and saw empty staring sockets.

Up the stairs, through the kitchen; by the time her hooves touched upon the polished tile of the atrium, she was nearly at a gallop. She could not drive the images of those bones from her mind. The entire manor suddenly felt dirty, wrong. “Luna, stop,” Discord called from behind her. “We need to talk about this.”

“Yes,” Luna said, nodding breathlessly. “I just need—I require a moment to collect myself.” She closed her eyes, willed frail skeletons from her mind’s eye, and spoke the names. “Wolf, Snow, Worm, Flower, Milk, Harvest, Blue, Thunder, Blood, Hunter, Cold, Night,” she said in quick unison and exhaled. She took another breath and repeated the names. “Wolf, Snow, Worm, Flower, Milk, Strawberry, Thunder, Blood, Hunter, Cold, Night.”

“Luna . . . what are you doing?”

“I am trying to calm myself,” Luna said.

“Luna, you’re trembling.”

“I . . . am aware, Discord,” Luna said through gritted teeth.

“Luna, you don’t need to be getting so upset about this, those bones are—”

“UPSET!” Luna boomed in the Royal Voice. “THERE IS A MASS GRAVE BELOW OUR HOOVES AND YOU THINK THAT I AM UPSET?” Luna slammed a hoof into the floor; the marble tile cracked like eggshell. “They were children, Discord,” she hissed. “Foals not yet old enough to earn their marks, and somepony murdered them.” Luna brought herself up until her gaze was even with Discord’s, and spoke in a whisper. “There are no words, in this language or any other, which can convey the full weight of my fury.”

Discord did not move. “Luna,” he said slowly, placing a talon on her shoulder. “Those bones are ancient. Whoever murdered those foals, for whatever purpose, they’re long dead now. It’s no use dwelling on it.”

Luna released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You are correct, Discord, but I-I . . . argh! Just—talk about something asinine! I need a moment to not think,” Luna said, sitting down heavily on the floor.

Discord smiled. “Now that I can do.” He placed a paw on his chin and stroked his beard for a moment, and then clapped. “I recently accompanied Fluttershy to see the a butterfly migration,” he said cheerily. “She usually has her friend Rainbow Flash escort her there, but she cancelled last minute. I can’t imagine why.”

“Oh,” Luna said. “How was it?”

Discord threw his arms up and stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Oh, the migration was horrible! The last time I can remember being that bored was when Harmony was still alive. I mean, they’re butterflies. Once you’ve seen one congealing mass of the things you’ve seen them all. But we did have a picnic afterwards, which was very nice. At least, it was until she started talking about butterflies.” Discord rolled his eyes and continued.

“How they turn from fat little caterpillars into cocoons, how they eat, what they eat, how they impact the ecosystem—blah, blah, blah. And then she started talking about fireflies, which was slightly more interesting, albeit in a macabre sort of way. I always thought that those little lights on their butts were for attracting mates, but no, they’re actually for attracting food. They wiggle their glowing butts around until some other fly comes in for a looksee, then they grab ‘em and fill ‘em full of acid. And then once said fly’s organs are all nice and acidized, they set down and have a nice carcass full of insect consommé.. For the first time in the history of our friendship, I found myself urgently wishing that Fluttershy would stop talking. I swear, she made me want to put fly paper on every square inch of my house. And I live in another dimension!”

“Once, long ago, Celestia took me to see a procession of wandering pines,” Luna said. “I remember how enthralled she was and I, for all the life in my veins, could not fathom what she found so enticing about a parade of walking trees.”

Discord snickered. “Your sister always did have the strangest fascination with fauna. During my tenure as a garden decoration, she’d visit me at least once every week, and without fail, sooner or later she’d wander onto the topic of plants. I remember that for nearly a century she wanted to build houses out of oak trees. Can you imagine?”

“Discord, I . . . I am not the best at—I mean to say that I—When I divide myself, my mental fortitude is split equally with my magical and physical strength,” Luna said quickly. “I must apologize for my outburst. It was unwarranted.”

“Don’t worry about it, Luna. I find it refreshing. Most of you ponies just hold everything in until you pop like brightly colored balloons. Nothing wrong with letting off a little steam every now and again. I do it all the time.” Discord whistled, and a jet of white steam surged from his mouth. “So, we’re feeling better, I take it?”

Luna found that she was smiling, despite herself. “Marginally. Thank you, Discord.”

“I live to serve,” Discord said, breaking into a deep bow. “But you decided to investigate a murder in three pieces why, exactly?”

“The first few nights after the crime is committed are the most crucial to an investigation,” Luna explained. “Before the perpetrator gathers their wits and covers their tracks. I divided to expedite matters. I was not expecting to find anything of this magnitude.”

“All right,” Discord said. “So what’s the plan?”

Luna took a slow breath, and focused on putting her thoughts to her tongue. Her mouth and throat felt terribly dry. “The . . . the remains, they will need to be examined to determine their causes of death.” She paused for a moment, and then continued more steadily. “We will need to know how long they have been buried.”

Discord crossed his arms over his chest and took a seat in the air. “Oh, that’s a given. What I meant was how exactly we go about doing that. This isn’t something that Celestia’s going to be able to keep quiet. Not to mention what do we tell your sister? She’s not going to like hearing that we’ve gone from one murder to a hundred in two hours.” He smiled grimly. “I’d hate to think what this’ll do to Equestria’s murder ratio.”

Luna opened her mouth to respond and promptly closed it. A hundred murders, she thought. A hundred little children murdered, dismembered and left to rot beneath the ground. “We are not going to tell Celestia,” she said at last.

Discord blinked. “We’re not?”

“No, we are not. Not immediately, at least.” Luna shuffled her wings uncomfortably. “I . . . I do not want her to see them.”

Discord went still. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Sure thing, Luna. What do we do then?”

Luna closed her eyes, and willed the empty stares away from her thoughts. “I am . . . I am not in a fit state to make decisions. I need time to clear my head. I will need Agent Smith’s advice before we do anything; my grasp on Equestria’s current legalese is still quite tenuous. Find him and my other selves, tell them what you have found, and bring them here. I will await your return.”

“Alone?” Discord looked displeased at the notion.

“No, not alone.” Luna pointed her head in the direction of the doorway. “My guards are just outside.”

“Yeah . . . no,” Discord said, crossing his arms. “Call me crazy, but I’m not leaving you alone in a murder house with nopony but a couple of Equestria’s finest for company.” He paused for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. Luna felt the scarf he had given her tingle with his chaotic magic. “There,” he said smugly. “If you need me, just say my name three times, and I’ll be back here before you can say ‘one-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-pony-eater.’”

Luna eyes the scarf warily. “Thank you, Discord. I appreciate your . . . concern for my safety.”

“Oh, puh-leez, princess, I’m not worried about you. I just don’t want your sister to give me that Look of hers when she finds out I left you alone.” Discord shuddered. “It always makes me feel so guilty.” The draconequus clapped twice and his body began to fade from view. “See you soon, luny toon,” he said, and disappeared completely.

Silence swept in with a zealous indignation after having been shoved aside for so long, and quickly filled up every space with its burdensome weight. They would have had nightmares before they died, would they not? You could have saved them if only you had not succumbed to your pettiness.

Luna decided that she needed to go outside for some fresh air.

When Luna opened the front door, her two pegasi were standing next to the fountain, still tethered to the chariot. They were conversing, and looked slightly startled by her sudden appearance, but quickly regained their composure and bowed. “Princess Luna,” they said in unison.

“At ease,” Luna replied, inclining her head to the pair. Rook Nest and Cloud Sweep, both privates and relatively new to the Dusk Guard, but they would suffice for now. “How long has each of you served in the Royal Guard?”

The question took them by surprise; they looked at each other, then back at her. “I was in the Dawn Guard for a year and three months and I’ve been in the Dusk Guard for nine,” the one on the right—Cloud Sweep—said.

“I’ve been here six months,” the other one—Rook Nest—said sheepishly.

Luna lit her horn and conjured a piece of parchment. “Private Cloud Sweep,” she said. “This is a Writ of Dusk. It will temporarily confer unto you all the powers and privileges of my station. Do you understand the significance of this, Private?”

“I . . . I am afraid not, Princess.”

“It means that, until dawn, you are the most powerful pony in Equestria, underneath only my sister and I.” Luna offered the writ to Cloud Sweep, “Do not lose it.” The private looked at the scroll like it was the proffered hoof of Death, but he grasped it nonetheless.

“Now, Private, listen closely: you are to take this into town, and locate the chief magistrate. I assume that this manor falls within the borders of the Horsemouth Township; I want you to find the deed and title for this manor and the surrounding property. Once that is done, I want you to search for any other lands or properties in the surrounding area that are held under the owner’s name. Any structures or sites outside the main property. Once you have a list of all the owner’s holdings in Horsemouth, you are to return to me. Am I understood?”

“Uh . . . yes?”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Cloud Sweep stood there hesitantly for a moment, then unhitched himself from the chariot and jumped into the air. Luna watched him go. Nothing she had said to him had been true; she could not write a writ of dusk, as no such document existed, but half of making ponies believe you had power was believing you had power yourself, and she felt confident that he would have no problems.

Once he was out of sight, Luna turned her attention to Rook Nest. The young stallion looked even more nervous than Cloud Sweep had. Luna pointed to the manor doors with a hoof. “Private, I am going to take a quick survey of the surrounding area. Whilst I am away, go into the manor and look for anything out of the ordinary.”

The private raised his hoof. It took Luna a moment to realize he was trying to ask her a question.

“Yes, Private?”

“Um, what exactly do you mean by ‘out of the ordinary?’ ”

Luna stared at the private, and took a slow breath. “Private?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“What do you think ‘out of the ordinary’ means?”

“Well, I, uh, I’d say it means something unusual,” Private Rook Nest said lamely.

Luna smiled. “Very good, Private. Now, you will go through those doors, and if you see anything ‘unusual’ such as a collection of severed heads, or a giant penis hanging from the ceiling, make a note of it, and report it to me upon my return.” The private’s cheeks colored brightly.

“Y-yes, Princess. Right away.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Rook Nest trotted into the mansion as briskly as possible without breaking into a run, and then Luna was alone at last. Had she been too hard on him? Perhaps, but foals could not learn to fly unless they were pushed off their cloud.

Luna kicked off the ground and flew upwards into the night sky. She had always felt better when she was flying. In the air the world was simpler, easier to understand. Especially now, when the world below was so different, so . . . needlessly complex. There were so many ponies with so many issues and opinions and arguments and ideas of how the world was supposed to be. Long ago, she had been like them; she had thought that she knew what it would take to set the world to rights. But unlike them, she had possessed the power to actually do it. Just a few words, and everything would be so much better.

Luna had thought her little ponies as clouds: pliable, soft, easily herded. How wrong she had been. How foolish. Ponies were not clouds to be moved and placed at whim. They were like children, each with their own strengths, weaknesses, hopes, dreams, and nightmares.

Above her, the sky was covered with dark roiling clouds as far as she Luna could see, gliding across the sky like beasts of legend. Luna passed through them easily, despite their heavy moisture, and perched atop them.

The stars were dark still, and so too was her moon, but she did was not here to stargaze. “Father Cosmos,” she spoke, staring up at the sky. “Help me through this trial; please lend me your strength in this, my time of need.” It was a simple prayer. The last time Luna had tried to pray had been before her fall from grace. She had looked up at the sky with desperate tears in her eyes, and managed only two words: ‘Help me.’

No answer had come then, and no answer came now.

In truth, she no longer expected one.

Like most early earth pony architecture, Oakenhoof Manor was very square. All straight lines and sharp angles in perfect symmetry. Completely unlike the curved, elegant style which unicorns were so fond of. Earth ponies were simple and straightforward creatures, and consequently all that they created was as simple as they themselves were. This carried the added benefit of making hidden rooms very difficult to hide within earth pony structures. Luna had little doubt that the house was exactly as it appeared. The rooms were too spacious, the walls too thin. Nevertheless, Luna circled the manor twice before she went back inside, if only to clear her head.

Just when Luna re-entered the mansion, she was surprised to hear yelling. Luna ran towards the the noise, leading her to the library entrance, and threw open the doors and found Private Rook Nest being pursued by a swarm of . . . books?

Before Luna, the entire library had gone mad: every shelf was stripped bare, and every volume appeared to be flapping through the air, frenzily pursuing the frazzled private.

“Private!”

Rook Nest saw her, and relief flooded his features. “Princess Luna! Oh, thank Celestia!” He banked towards her. The swarm of hostile literature did the same.

Luna scowled and lit her horn; she recognized this as an anti-thieving spell commonly used in private libraries. The Royal Library in Canterlot used a similar variant. It would not be difficult to deal with, however, the spell was only supposed to activate in the occasion that someone tried to remove a book from the library or damaged a book in some way. We are going to have a talk about proper search protocol, Private. Luna waited until Rook Nest was safely behind her, then fired a spell into the flying mass of books; instantly, they ceased their aggressive behavior, and began to flutter idly about the room.

“Wow!” Luna turned back to find the Private behind her, looking up at her in awe. “That was amazing, Princess.”

“What did you do!?” Luna demanded.

The Private looked shocked. “Nothing! I swear! I just came in here and all the books started attacking me!”

“The spell would not have activated without provocation, Private.”

“You have to believe me, Princess,” the private said, backpedaling. “I just came opened the doors, took a look around, and then everything went to Tartarus. I never touched anything. It’s obviously Discord who’s responsible for this!”

“Discord?—Discord is not here, Private.”

This seemed to take Rook Nest aback. “He’s not?”

“No. He went to Canterlot for at my behest for aid.”

“B-b-but, he was laughing! I heard him!”

Luna froze. “That is impossible,” she said slowly. “I watched Discord depart with mine own eyes.”

“But—but I swear I heard it! Somepony was laughing when the books attacked me! I swear!”

The private’s words were cut off by an keening screech.

Every book in the library was suddenly swirling together in a frenzied cyclone of paper and pressed woodpulp; they were screeching madly as their pages ripped free from their books and gathered at the center of the cyclone, while the spines and covers swarmed together towards the edges. And then, as quickly as it had began, the cyclone slowed and the mass of books began to coalesce. The covers fused together over the pages, forming a tall, brown pyramid of concentric rings. Almost like a child’s ring toss game, or a coiled—

“Private,” Luna said, “make your way back to the entryway. Slowly.”

Private Rook Nest gave her a stricken look. “What? Why?”

“Just do as I say, Private.”

Luna slowly moved backwards, never letting the pyramid leave her gaze. Private Rook did the same. In front of them, the mound of fused books remained, motionless, gleaming in the candlelight as nothing made from pulped wood should ever glimmer. There is no way, Luna thought. No way she could be correct. The amount of energy it would take to expand and transmute that much matter would be colossal. Only a magicorn of tremendous ability would be able to perform such a feat. A magicorn on par with Light Line the Brave, Starswirl the Bearded, or Clover the Clever.

Then the pyramid moved, slowly, silently, and Luna knew she had been right.

Coiled in front of them was a colossal snake.

From atop the coils rose the snake’s head, larger than an eight-horse carriage. Two eyes, each black as ink, were carved into each side of its head, giving no indication of where its gaze fell, but Luna knew that it was looking at them.

“Princess Luna,” came Rook’s frightened whisper from behind her. “What is that?”

“We have been caught in a trap, Private,” Luna said calmly.

The serpent opened its mouth—revealing mounds of paper teeth still spotted with ink as they transmuted into stark white fangs, each as large as her hoof—and gasped excitedly, almost longingly.

“Wha-what do you mean ‘a trap?!?’ Who—”

“Quiet!” Luna snapped. “Private, Do you remember the way?”

Rook nodded weakly. “The exit’s . . . right behind us.”

“Yes. Listen closely, Private. Before you is a golem, they are animated constructs made from earthen materials transmuted into flesh. It can not be killed, only felled temporarily. To fight would be folly. When the serpent attacks, I will hold its attention; whilst I do, make your way through the exit and to the front entrance of the house. Stay grounded and close to the walls, beneath its notice. Once you are through the doors, do not stop until you are outside. Do you understand?”

“How do you know it will attack us?” Private Rook asked in a frightened whisper.

And it was at that very moment, the snake struck.

Under A Silver Moon

by Danger Beans

The Night

Ivory Tower

The Light

Midnight Tides

Shadow

Black Cards And Empty Sky

The Darkness

Oakenhoof Manor

The Beast And The Monster (Part 1)

The Beast And The Monster (Part 2)