//------------------------------// // Part 2: Locate // Story: Zipporwhill Assassinates the Princesses // by Sollace //------------------------------// Zipporwhill had a mischievous gleam in her eye, the kind of spark that only grew by the second. She bore a slight smirk as she trotted across the castle courtyard, the sounds of her red cart, rattling and squeaking, shifting and shuffling as its contents were buffeted along. She trotted briskly, her tiny legs barely keeping pace as she followed the two guards from earlier. The stallion and mare trotted together in front of her, she with her head against his side, still cooing and glancing back to Zipp on every occasion, whilst he still kept his poise. They’d long since left the gates to be closed behind. It had been almost ten minutes, and darkness was already befalling the castle grounds. All around them, lanterns were being turned on, bats fluttered, and lunar guards yawned as they approached their stations. All in the castle were winding down for the night. All, that is, except for the rare few. As they walked, the distant murmur of activity started to reach Zipp’s ears. They pricked slightly at the sound, and she strained to hear what it was the best she could. They trotted between a pair of buildings with lights still on, the sounds growing louder, and the source becoming clear as they reached a small side entrance. The guard stopped beside the door. He took a second to push the mare away from his side, and then turned down to address Zipp. Still keeping the formalities, he started, “Alright, ma’am--” “Zipp, Zipporwhill, mister,” she corrected. “Yes, of course.” The stallion nodded, and then motioned to the door with a hoof. “Now these are my barracks. Keep quiet and follow my lead, and everything should be fine. You should have ample opportunity to sell your cookies inside.” “Ooh!” Zipp’s eyes lit up, and she almost jumped as she chirped, “Alrightly, mister!” Then, immediately gasping, she clasped her hooves over her mouth and retreated away from the guards’ glares. “I mean—” she squeaked, and then clamped her mouth shut, making a show of doing a quick zip-and-lock motion with her hooves. She then tossed away the imaginary keys and beamed. “...” At length, the guard heaved a sign. “Okay” He then turned to the mare next to him with a pointed hoof. “And that goes double for you,” he whispered, “If the commander finds out I brought a mare into the male barracks, he’d have my head.” “Oh, I promise I’ll be quiet,” she said, and mimicked Zipporwhill’s motions from earlier. “Cross my heart.” “Good.” He nodded, and turned to the door. The guard took a moment to pause, and to collect himself. He drew a deep breath and puffed out his chest. Slowly, he reached up a hoof, and rapped twice on the hard wood. KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK Silence fell between them. Zipp and the mare stood back as they waited for an answer. At length, a tiny slit in the door pulled open, and a pair of blue eyes glared through from the darkness within. “Private Iron Hoof,” the stallion began, reading off his title and rank as he saluted the door, “Reporting for—“ The slit slammed shut, cutting Iron Hoof short. There was a rumble, the sounds of several locks being slid into their open position, and then the door swung inwards with a loud crash.. “Where have you been, Private!?” A gravelly, deep voice screamed, and the door was immediately replaced by a literal wall of muscle. A cream stallion close to triple his size loomed in the doorway, the oceans of muscles rippling, barely contained beneath his plates of flimsy armour. They flexed to fill the entranceway, and the wooden doorframe creaked and groaned loudly with every movement he made. “You’re late! And why are you bringing civilians into the barracks outside of visiting hours!?” “P-P-Commander Pansy Pants!” Iron Hoof stammered, stumbling away from the door out of shock. He stepped in front of Zipp, trying to block her from view with his body as he address the Commander. “I—I—It’s—I j—“ “Spit it out, Private!” the commander yelled, covering all three ponies in a thin spray of his spittle. “I-She was at the gate, and I th—“ “And you thought you’d let her in!?” “N-n—I mean, yes, b—“ “Give me one reason not to dismiss you right now, Private!” “We—well-I-she—” Iron Hoof was stammering uncontrollably, his entire body shaking as he feared for his life. He glanced to his side, looking for anything to save himself, when, all of a sudden the mare stepped up and shoved him out of the way, as she screamed, “She has cookies!” “Cookies!?” The commander yelled, covering both guards in a fresh coating of spittle. “Y-Y-” Iron hoof nodded, hesitantly. “Yeah, b—” “I love cookies!” He yelled and, with some difficulty squeezed back into the barracks, leaving a gap in the door just large enough for them to fit past. “Come on in!” ~ ~ ~ The inside of the barracks was a hot and humid place. The air felt heavy with the musk of stallions at work, and was filled with the raucous laughter of the guards as they enjoyed their night off. All throughout the living courters, ponies were going about their business, either in the progress of removing their armour, or turning down their beds for the night. Around one of the beds in particular, lit under the flickering light of a lantern, a large crowd of stallions gathered to listen to the latest tales from the cadet’s training. “...and then,” said one of the guards—an off-white stallion with a deep blue mane sat in the middle of the circle. He was leaned against one of the chairs, with a foreleg wrapped around the backrest, whilst he waved with the other, regaling the group of his tale. “He actually did it!” “Pfft—” Behind him, a guard seated at the dinner table, overheard, and did a spit-take. He almost spewed across the entire table as he double back in laughter, soon after joined by the whole room as everypony burst into a loud chorus of guffaws. “Thunder, that’s amazing!” a greying stallion with a bristled moustache shouted above the rest. He leaned in to slap his friend on the back, almost knocking him clear off of his seat as they both went to wipe the tears from their eyes. “Ah couldn’t ah done it better m’self,” he said, “and how’d the princess respond?” “Oh, you know...” Thunder rolled his eyes. “...the usual. They actually kind of liked it. I think he’s been appointed their official mane-s—” “Alright, maggot!” Thunder, and everypony else in the room, was suddenly cut off by a loud holler from outside. Almost all at once, the whole room went deathly silent, each stallion within earshot frozen on the spot. Their already white faces turned even paler as they slowly turned together to look to the door. The ground shook with a rhythmic, thump, thump, thump, the windows rattling and the floorboards creaking in protest beneath their gargantuan weight. On the far side of the room, the bathroom clicked and sprang open, revealing in a cloud of steam a slender pegasus covered head to hoof in hot towels. He trotted out with a loofah in hoof, glancing around at all the stallions looking the other way. Before Cadet Zephyr Breeze could so much as open his mouth to say, “Hey, guys, what’s everypony looking a—” the other door burst open in a flurry of motion, slamming against the far wall so hard any lesser door would have shattered. In the wake of the echoing crash, the empty doorway was filled with a literal wall of muscle as it flexed and stretch. With no lack of effort—and many frustrated grunts and groans, in part from the door— the Commander ‘n Chief of the Royal Guard squeezed through and into the room. Immediately behind him emerged the female guard and Iron Hoof, with a little filly in a Filly Scout’s uniform curiously peeking in from the edges of the doorway. “All right, maggots!” Commander Pansy Pants repeated, his gravelly voice booming through the barracks. He took a step aside, pulling his massive bulk out of the way to allow Zipporwhill space to walk. “Listen up; this little filly has something important to say!” As the Commander pointed, every eye in the room followed, and attention fell on the little filly currently standing in the doorway. Zipporwhill squeaked, emitting a tiny eep as she retreated out of fright. She ducked behind the doorway, hiding from the stallions’ expectant gazes to collect herself. O-okay, she gulped. Glancing once more around the corner, she saw the stallions still watching her with wide eyes, their ears turned forward out of curiosity as they waited for what she had to say. Okay, Zipp. She breathed. Just as you practiced. Steadying her nerves, Zipporwhill held her head high and grabbed the handle of her cart. She puffed out her chest, giving a cursory glance to Iron Hoof and the mare beside her, and stepped back out into the open. The ponies’ eyes watched intently as Zipporwhill strutted into the room, her eyes closed as she stuck a pose beside the commander. The usual Filly Scout procedure—she had to make sure it was convincing—puffed out chest to ensure the sash was fully visible, and a flash of a proud salute, as she squeaked out her lines. “I—” she stammered, “I’m Filly Scout Zipporwhill. Scout number sixty-nine, of troop number sixty-nine, Canterlot Division, an—” “Yes, yes,” the Commander interrupted, hoof waving a yawn. He waved to the filly, barely missing the coffee table and two other stallions as he struggled to turn sideways. “Get on with it, we all know the Filly Scout designation!” “O—Oh.” Zipp blinked. She glanced to the guards, and then to the cart. She pulled it a bit closer—“Well,”—and pointed—“I’m selling cookies, and—” All across the room, stallion’s ears perked up. Their eyes lit up and all together they screamed, “COOKIES!?” “Y-yes,” Zipp nodded. Scrunching her nose, she glanced to the cart, and was about to explain— “Bu—” –when she was suddenly cut off by a rumble and the loud stampede of hooves behind her. The poor filly, she couldn’t get another word out as she was swarmed by her new patrons, each hoofing over bits and coins from their piggy banks. One particular voice screamed above the rest. “I want chocolate chip!” Thunder shouted. Barging forward, he practically shoved his fellow guards out of the way as he stepped forth with a helmet full of bits in his hooves. ~ ~ ~ “C-Come on!” Zipporwhill wheezed. Pulling with all of her might, the tiny filly’s breath came in short pants as she struggled to pull the heavy cart behind her. Her mane was already starting to look a little frazzled. Her sash was crooked with chinks in its edges, and the beret—as she leaned back, flopped to the ground. “Oh...poo.” Taking a break, Zipp dropped the handle of her cart and leaned down to pick up the beret. She carefully secured it over her head, being sure to hide the tiara well this time, and cast a glance back over the mountainous load. The poor wagon, its wheels creaked and bent beneath the weight of the bits. The towering pile of money eclipsed the filly, coming just barely past the tips of her ears as they swayed precariously. She was now owner to a small fortune, almost enough that, if she were old enough, Zipp could buy and retire to a small mansion in the country-side. However, that meant little for her plan. The idea was to tell the guards about the moon cakes. But, in the confusion, she’d barely had another word past her original speech. In the end—she breathed a sigh—it was a good thing none of them really had a thing for peanut butter crunch, she concluded. If it weren’t for that last layer in the cart, they would’ve surely found her secret weapon. With another, heaving sigh, Zipporwhill grabbed the handle of her cart to start moving again. “I guess I’ll just have t—“ “Hey, Zipporwhil!” Zipp froze, her blood running cold as a voice called out for her from behind. “Oh no,” she whispered, dread creeping into her voice, “I can’t have been found out already.” Her heart pounding, Zipp’s mind went into overdrive as she considered the situation. She glanced around the empty quad. She couldn’t run, that would be too suspicious, and they’d likely take up the chase. It would only be a matter of time before she was caught. There were guards everywhere, and the castle was locked, which meant, barring all else, she had to keep her cool. Okay, okay, Zipp, She steeled her nerves, taking a deep breath, and listening intently as the sound of shambling hooves drew closer. There’s no reason to be alarmed. Maybe you just forgot something, and they’re bringing it back. “Yes,” She laughed nervously, putting on a weak smile as she turned to meet the mystery guard. “How may I—“ “Zipp!” The guard shouted, her southern drawl all the more apparent now that she was close. It was the same mare form before, with her ill-fitting uniform and wobbling pose as she trotted forwards from the barracks. She took a few more, uneasy, shambling steps, her armour chinking loudly as it shook around her. “I—” She began, before being cut off by a yelp as she tumbled forwards, face planting and crumpling before Zipp into a heap of shattered armour and cloth. The backside burst open, and two fillies, one orange, the other white, and both their manes streaked with sweat, emerged gasping for breath. “Air!” Scootaloo gasped, and fell over backwards. Sweetie Belle dropped to the ground next to her, panting. “I thought I was going to die!” The front of the armour moved, and Apple Bloom emerged wearing the guard’s helmet. She leered towards Zipporwhill, eyes narrowed as she glared her down. She prodded the filly in the chest with a hoof as she seethed. “Ya’ owe us, for this.” “S-sorry, Apple Bloom,” Zipporwhill apologised, looking in turn to the other fillies in a messy heap in front of her, “I wasn’t expecting it to take quite so long…” “No kidding,” Apple Bloom spat. She dropped to her flanks and, with some effort and many grunts, dislodged her head from the helmet and discarded it with the rest of the costume. “So,” she glanced to the pile of bits, “What ya’ goin’ do now?” “Well, that backfired, horribly—“ “I wouldn’t say horribly,” Scootaloo cut in between gasps, with a hoof wave to the cart. Zipporwhill rolled her eyes, and continued. “I think we’re going to have to go for plan B.” “What’s—” Sweetie gasped and flopped onto her back. “—‘Plan B’?” “We find the princesses ourselves,” Zipp answered without hesitation. She turned around and grabbed the handle of her cart, waving for the Cutie Mark Crusaders to follow. “Come on, they have to be somewhere around here.”