//------------------------------// // Painted Liars // Story: Raven Hollow 2: The Riddles of Blackmoor // by Magic Step //------------------------------// The recipe is a jumbled mess, so you rip out a piece of paper from your notebook to rewrite it in a more coherent manner. The only solid number you can see is that the number of rainbowberries should equal the number of points on a compass, or four, so you write this down. There are half as many cups of pearlseeds as there are rainbowberries, so there must be two of those. The number of greennuts is the number of rainbowberries plus cups of pearlseeds, so there are six of those. The amount of honey is the same as the amount of greennuts, so that is also six. There’s half as many raspberries as ounces of honey, so there’s three raspberries. There’s as many avocados as the number of rainbowberries minus raspberries, so there’s only one avocado. Rainbowberries plus avocadoes equals spoons of maple syrup, or five spoons. Seven times five spoons equals 35 sunflower seeds. As many minutes as greennuts is 6 minutes, and 10 times the number of sunflower makes the temperature 350 degrees. “All right. I’ve translated the recipe,” you tell Fabric Study. “Well, don’t give away the answer, please,” she says, turning aside. “Fine, but can’t you help me mix this thing?” “That would require me knowing the answer, wouldn’t it?” she asks rhetorically, giving you a smirk over her shoulder. “I know it’s not in your normal duties, but I promise you’ll be paid for your time.” You sigh in frustration. “Can you at least tell me which of these things are greennuts? And that’s not a spoiler, so don’t give me that look.” She reaches under the feeding table and pulls out a container of furry grey-green nuts, each the size of a golf ball. “Any other questions?” After she identifies pearlseeds for you, she turns to stare at the hummingbird-filled feeder, pointedly not looking at you. You crack the nuts as quietly as possible so she can’t complain that the sound effects are giving it away for her. Then you put the six silky-smooth kernels, ironically colored light yellow, into the mortar and start grinding away. “While I’m doing this for you, could you at least tell me more about the pony I’m supposed to be finding?” you ask. “I don’t even know his name or what he looks like.” “Oh. Right. That would have been a good idea to tell you upfront.” Fabric Study sighs. “Swordplay Study is his name, and his Study is everything related to swords, as you can guess.” “Why do you keep saying Study and not talent or cutie mark?” you ask, slicing open an avocado and tossing the pit inside under the table. “Family tradition. That, and it’s a little bit more intense than a talent. We’re not just expected to have any old job related to our talent; we’re supposed to be the experts in our field. We write papers and books and things.” She sounds remarkably unenthusiastic about the whole thing. “Oh,” you say, counting out 35 sunflower seeds. “So when can we expect to read a research paper on types of cloth?” you ask, half-jokingly. Fabric Study shoots you an irritated look over her shoulder. “Don’t laugh; there’s more to it than you’d think. Shrinkage, stainability, dye retention, fashion, comfort, cost, durability. The list goes on.” You stir the honey into the unappetizing yellow-green seed-spotted mess. “Anyway, back to Swordplay.” “He’s tall. Muscular. Same colors as me, but a bluer purple. Cutie mark of two crossed swords, one red and one blue. Always wears a red frilly jacket I made for him.” There’s a sad tone to this last sentence. You stir in two cups of white, silky, spherical seeds slightly smaller than sweetpeas. “Anything else?” “He always carries at least two swords, his favorite rapier and whatever sword he’s studying at the moment. He can also summon swords made of pure magic.” You nearly lose count of how many teaspoons of maple syrup you’ve added. “And he knows how to fight too, then?” you ask, hoping you sound completely casual about the whole thing. “Naturally. Experience is the best way to study something of this nature. You should see him at the tournaments; he’s beaten opponents twice his size black and blue!” She beams with pride. A shudder runs through you as you mash the final ingredients, both kinds of berries, into the tropical bird dough. If things turn south with him, this will not end well for you at all. “Something wrong?” Fabric asks, apparently finding the silence concerning. “No,” you say, patting the dough into a small aluminum pan. You put the bird cake in the oven and set the timer. “While we wait for this to bake, do you know what the next puzzle is?” “I have a guess,” Fabric Study says. “My grandmother, Portrait Study, did a series of pictures of all the family members up to her and insisted they stay in the manor, so I’m hoping they’ll be involved.” “How many generations do you have?” you moan. “Counting her? Seven.” Seven more puzzles to go? Joy. “But hopefully we won’t need to solve all of them. After all, we’re just doing this to find my brother, right?” Fabric Study says. “Right,” you say, massaging your eyes. “I’m getting paid by the hour right?” The two of you discuss finances for the remaining time the bird cake has to bake. At least she doesn’t seem stingy; this certainly seems like it’ll be worth your while. Finally the oven timer dings and you pull the dark brown crispy cracker-bread hybrid out of the oven with an oven mitt. You set it on its side in the feeder cup and ring the bell. A small flock of white birds with gossamer-like tails and crests emerge from a nearby tree and hover around the birdfeeder, circling it and singing a sweet, twittery song. Finally, the one with the largest crest lands on the perch and nibbles some of the cake, then leaves and lets the birds lower on the totem have their share. As he takes off into the sky, though, he says something in a strange high-pitched voice. “The truth-teller’s cutie mark has no more than two parts.” As the birds cycled through, each repeated the same phrase. One stops short after the word ‘no’, prompting the leader bird to caw at the offender in annoyance. “Oh… so that’s why we were doing this,” you say, turning to Fabric Study. “That mean anything to you?” “I… I’m not completely sure…” the lavender unicorn says. “But… let’s follow up my earlier theory and check the portrait series.” “I’m game,” you say. You are getting paid by the hour, after all. You follow her out of the aviary to a blue-grey back porch, through a large glass door, and into the rich manor of the Study family. Fabric Study leads you through several rooms with rich, creamy carpets, paintings from all eras on the walls, elaborate lighting, and expensive furniture right off the showroom floor. You pass two servants on the way; one is Faithful Aide, who looks disgustedly at your muddy hooves as you pass. Another is a pony in a classic maid dress, white frilly cap and all, who doesn’t even look at you, being too focused on the mantle she’s dusting. As you pass through a smaller blue room, with two blue armchairs and a bookshelf, an older mare’s voice calls, “Fabric?” Fabric Study immediately shoves you into a coat closet. “Hey!” you protest. “Shhhh,” Fabric Study whispers, closing the door on you. Through a crack in the door, you see an older unicorn mare enter the room; she’s a faded blue with a brownish-red mane. Her cutie mark is two dresses, one red and one green, and she holds a dress pattern in her red telekinetic grip. “I was hoping to go over my latest design with you. I’ve already reached my conclusions about which fabric is best but I want to hear your analysis.” “Oh, mom, just let me finish something real quick…” Fabric Study says. “What’s that?” her mom asked. “I’m… just… looking for a book…” Fabric Study said slowly, her eyes darting around. “Two minutes,” was all her mom said, swishing out of the room. Fabric Study lets you out. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I just… haven’t told them yet… and we’re really not supposed to tell anyone about the puzzles…” “Next time, tell me that upfront,” you say, trying to keep your palpitating heart inside your chest. You can’t help but remember the last time you were trapped in an enclosed space “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Look.” Fabric Study waves at the door her mom didn’t go through. “Through there, first right, and you’ll be at the portraits. I’ll meet up with you there or outside, okay?” “Okay,” you say, and the two of you head off in opposite directions. The portrait hall has thick red carpet and a skylight that doesn’t let sunlight get directly on the paintings. Seven gilded picture frames hang on the walls, each with a plaque beneath them stating the name and bearing a symbol that was probably their cutie mark. The first was a grey stallion with a silver mane. He was in profile, studying the slide rule in his forehooves. Underneath was the name “Mathematical Study” and a symbol of an x and y written in a fancy purple font. The second was a dark green mare with a curly pink mane. She was drawn from the front, holding out a pink daisy to the viewer that matched the flower on the plaque, along with the name Plant Study. The third was a greyish purple mare with a black mane, drawn from the front and with one hoof on her necklace, which alternated diamonds with silver stars. Her cutie mark was five silver stars connected with dotted lines to make a larger star, and her name, naturally, was Star Study. The fourth was in profile, a light blue stallion with a silver mane studying a small green gemstone. His cutie mark was three pebbles, and the name Geological Study. The fifth was grey with a dark purple mane. He was drawn in profile, holding a silvery tool that was probably used for sculpting, given his name was “Sculpture Study.” His cutie mark was a pair of pony silhouettes with a stone texture. The sixth was a light blue mare with a pink mane, stumbling towards the front of the picture, a goofy grin on her face, carrying a large stack of books in her hooves, with still more books flying around her in her telekinetic grip. Her cutie mark was three more books and her name was Literary Study. The seventh was a blue-lavender mare with a pink mane, holding a paintbrush loaded with green paint and staring intently at a canvas at the painting’s edge. Her cutie mark was a palette. Naturally, this was Portrait Study. Well, here were the portraits. Now where was the puzzle? You examine the walls, floor, and ceiling of the long hallway carefully, taking in every detail with the keen insight that made your profession an obvious choice. On the second pass you realize that a bit of the wooden trim that runs around the hallway at about head height has two cracks in it. You grab the short section between the cracks with your mouth and pull; out slides a small wooden table, like a drawer. On top of the table are written the words: Seven clues, but only one true. To find which it be, use these clues three: Well, there was a reason she was Portrait Study and not Poetry Study. 1. The truth-teller is drawn from the front. 2. The truth-teller’s painting has nothing silver in it. The last clue was heavily scratched out, but you can guess it’s the clue that the bird said: “The truth-teller’s cutie mark has no more than two parts.” Given how much work Avian Study had to do to add in his own puzzle, it was forgivable that his own puzzle was written on easy-to-lose paper. Between these three clues, finding the truth teller should be a snap.