//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: A Final Bow // Story: Murder Most Equestrian // by Tumbleweed //------------------------------// I froze, and Carrot Top took a step forward-- but Trixie waved the both of us away with a disdainful sweep of her hoof. “Hazelnut. Hazelnut! Who puts nuts into coffee? I might as well chew on a pine cone! Gah!” Trixie flailed about, histrionic-- though definitely not in a manner befitting someone on the verge of death. “You're. Not. Poisoned.” Carrot Top said. The steel in Carrot Top's voice was enough to get even Trixie to stop. The diva blinked a few times, and stared at Carrot Top, shocked. “What kind of reporter are you?” “I'm just a fan!” Carrot Top switched back to seemingly harmless cheeriness. “And I'd hate to tell all your other fans back in Ponyville that the brave and courageous Trixie, one of the ponies who helped befriend the changelings, started crying like a little filly when she got the wrong coffee. What would the rest of your fan club think?” “I have a fan club?” The very concept cured Trixie quicker than any real antitode ever could. She settled back into her dressing chair. “On second thought, the wrong coffee does seem rather silly in perspective. But! Are there any other burning questions my legions of devotees need answered? I can't garuntee I'll tell you everything-- a lady's got to keep her secrets, you know.” “Oh, I've got tons. But I don't want to monopolize your time-- you've got a play to perform!” Carrot Top stuffed her notebook back into her saddlebag and walked out of the dressing room. “Thanks so much, though!” Not wanting to draw Trixie's ire (more than I'd already drawn it, at least) I followed suit. “So it wasn't her.” I said once we were out of earshot. Not that Trixie listened to much beyond the sound of her own voice, but still. We took refuge in the shadow of the paper-mache cliff from Act 2, huddling together for privacy. “You're right.” Carrot Top said. “If she were that good of an actress, this production would be going a lot smoother.” “So that leaves us without a suspect.” I said. “Without one suspect.” Carrot Top rubbed at her chin. “We're looking at this from the wrong angle-- the how instead of the why. You said Deep Pockets was a philanderer. Which means the first pony who'd be mad at him would be--” “Spotlight!” I forced a grin as I saw the elegant white pegasus walking in our direction. “Flash Sentry.” She glanced my way, and took a moment to primp her blonde mane. “There you are.” “You were looking for me?” I said, trying not to sound too enthused about it. On the one hoof, she might have been a murderer-- but on the other hoof, you should have seen her plumage. Carrot Top coughed. “Yes.” Spotlight sailed over, acknowledging the both of us with the barest of nods. “I wanted to speak with you before rehearsal.” “Oh, are you okay?” Carrot Top said, with blithe, rural concern. “I mean, what happened to your husband was so tragic, and here you are at the very theater where he-- where he--” Carrot Top trailed off. “Died.” Spotlight said, flatly. “It must be so hard! I mean ... if I were in your horseshoes, I don't know how I'd even get out of bed!” Carrot Top sniffed and trembled at the very thought. It was enough to make me wish I'd asked Carrot Top for acting lessons. “And you are?” Spotlight arched a gold eyebrow. “My name's Carrot Top.” “And you and Flash Sentry are ... “ “Close.” Carrot Top smiled, perhaps a little wider than she should have, and leaned against my side. “Carrot Top's from Ponyville.” I blurted, by way of explanation. “Lovely place, but a bit ... provincial, if you understand.” “I see.” Spotlight pulled in a deeper breath. “As for any ... emotional distress I may be in, I nevertheless will endure. With my husband's death, his business interests fall to me. Which means that I'm now producing this show, for better or worse. Which is why I wanted to talk to you, Flash.” “Oh?” “Deep Pockets may have been known for his ... deep pockets, but like many things in the theater, it was more illusion than reality. Nearly every bit he had is tied up in this show. Which means if it doesn't sell tickets. I ... don't know what I'll do.” Her voice went a little softer, a little more vulnerable, and damn if I didn't fall for it. (Again, you should have seen her plumage). “So ... I'm asking-- begging you, Flash Sentry--” She leaned in close enough I could smell her perfume. “Yes?” “Don't fuck this up.” By reflex, I fell back to my standard response whenever a beautiful mare started glaring at me: I lied. “You can count on me, Spotlight.” Still, it was enough to convince her, as Spotlight took a prim step back. “Good. Now get on stage-- Canter Zoom's starting rehearsal soon.” And with that, the tall pegasus mare fluttered her wings and stalked off to deal with whatever other producer business that had fallen onto her shoulders. “She did it.” Carrot Top said as she watched her go. “I don't know how, but she did it.” “There's no need for jealousy.” I said, as tactfully as I could. “You know I've only got eyes for you.” That part was only half a lie. “It's not your eyes I'm worried about.” Carrot Top grumbled. “But we've got better things to worry about.” “The murder, right.” I said. “But you said that somepony saw her entering the stairway after you did, and you were the one to find the body. If my dressing room had a window, she could have flown out, but ... well, I suppose I'm just not that important.” “You've got a good point there.” Carrot Top said. “Mister Sentry?” Juniper Montage's nevous hoofsteps echoed through the wings of the theater. “My Uncle needs to speak with you. There's ... there's kind of a problem.” “Damnation, not another murder, is it?” I blurted. “No. He said it's worse.” “The press is here.” Canter Zoom said. The cast and crew gathered in the green room-- though given the large size of the former and the small size of the latter, it was a snug fit. Canter Zoom's news earned groans and grumbling from most everypony in the room, except for Trixie (who looked entirely too enthused about the prospect) and myself (who remained characteristically clueless). Canter Zoom raised a hoof for silence, and went on. “We were supposed to have our press preview a week from today. But somehow, the invitations went out early, and now we have every theater critic from a fifty mile radius waiting in the lobby. Trixie told me that a reporter from Ponyville, of all places, has already cornered her for an interview.” I reflexively looked beside me for Carrot Top, but she'd already disappeared. Smart mare. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say somepony was trying to ruin us. After everything we've been through, we've got a lobby full of hard-to-please theater critics, just waiting for an excuse to tear this production apart. We can't tell them to come back in a week, because then they'll be mad at us for wasting their time, so they'll give us a bad review. But we can't perform for them now, because the show still needs a lot of work, and so they'll give us a bad review. Either way, bad reviews mean no ticket sales, which means The Life and Times of Flash Magnus will be dead on arrival.” More groans and half-voiced obscenities rippled through the cast. Somepony in the corner even started to cry. Artistic temperaments, I tell you. I, however, didn't bat an eye. It was just a matter of perspective, really. You see, as a proper coward, I have a long list of things that terrify me. Changelings, dragons, gnolls, well-armed secret agents, well-meaning Princesses, and so on. Of course, it should be noted, that all of the things I listed are entirely sensible phobias to have, especially when one's lived a career such as mine. In comparison, stage fright is small beer. I've never met a theater critic who tried to kill me-- and even if they did, the typical critic is a tubby academic sort-- somepony I could easily run away from.* *It should be noted that Sentry's opinion of academia (or, well, academics) is hardly an accurate one. “It could be worse.” I said, by reflex. Because if I'd learned nothing else in my long and sadly storied career as a Hero of Equestria, it's that things can always be worse. Canter Zoom stared at me, baffled, like I'd somehow gotten my lines right. “You're right, Flash.” He said, and walked over to pat me on the shoulder. “The only way out is forward-- we just need to go out there and knock their horseshoes off. I mean ... the foundations of a good play are there, but ... it's going to come down to you, Flash. Do you really think you can pull this off?” And then, damn it all, the entire cast and crew turned to me with all-too-familiar looks of hesitant, desperate hope. Each one silently hoping, pleading, that Flash Sentry, Hero of Equestria, would solve all their problems by virtue of standing around and looking heroic. Of course, we were all safely ensconced in the green room, and not on some arrow-riddled battlement, so things weren't nearly as dire. And so, when I affected a roguish grin and puffed out my wings, I almost meant it. “You can count on me, chaps.” And you know what? They bought it. Maybe I wasn't as bad an actor as Canter Zoom thought. Carrot Top waited for me in my dressing room-- thankfully without any fresh corpses this time. “Any new developments?” I asked as I hurriedly started pulling on the tin armor of my Flash Magnus costume. “Other than the sudden arrival of the press? No. But that's fishy enough.” “It is.” I said with a shrug. “But ... well, maybe it's a good sign? There's too much commotion, too much attention-- not only have we got Miss Maple sniffing around, but a bunch of unexpected journalists? That's not a spanner in the works, it's a whole damn toolbox.” I paused, and then canted my head at Carrot Top. “You didn't invite them, did you?” “No. But when you put it that way, I almost wish I had.” “Right. So we've bought ourselves some time to get to the bottom of this-- while everypony's watching me on stage, you can keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Think you can stay out of sight?” Carrot Top looked at me flatly. “Right, sorry I asked.” “Just ... be careful out there, Sentry.” “I'll be fine! In fact, I dare say I'll be the safest pony in the whole damn building-- I'll be on stage the whole time. Even if this mysterious murderer wanted to off me, there's no way they'd do it with everypony watching.” “I hope you're right.” Carrot Top smiled another of her soldier's grim smiles. “Break a leg out there.” “Because that doesn't sound ominous.” I said. Carrot Top laughed at that, and kissed me on the cheek. This done, she silently slipped out of my dressing room, easing the door shut behind her. Once she was gone, I pushed my dressing chair up against the door. Just in case. A quick look at the clock on the wall told me I had just enough time for a drink before curtain. Just a little something to calm the nerves and help the circulation, you know. But, a quick scan of the cramped little room showed it to be distinctly, damnably, dry. “If Inspector Maple nicked my emergency brandy, I'm filing a formal complaint.” I grumbled, and pushed at the side of my makeup table to make sure the bottle hadn't been knocked behind it somewhere down the line. Something went 'click.' I squeaked in brief terror, and threw myself backwards-- over the years, I've survived enough deathtraps and ambushes to fill an A.K. Yearling novel, so that sort of reaction was my first reflex. Thankfully, no twelve ton slabs of rock came crashing down from the ceiling, nor did any razorblades shoot out from the floor. Instead, the mirror on the other side of the room slid to the side, revealing a cramped, dark corridor that might as well have had 'SECRET TUNNEL' stenciled on the wall. Against my better judgment, I looked closer. Sure enough, there was a single set of hoofprints in the dusty floor of the secret passage-- leading in, and then out. Well, that explained how the killer had gotten into my dressing room to begin with, but only raised more questions on the who and why. Before I could ruminate on it any further, somepony started banging on my dressing room door. Hard. By the third too-hard smack of hoof on oak, the reality of my situation finally caught up with me; there was still a killer on the loose, and for whatever damned reason, I'd let Special Agent Golden Harvest, the only pony with any hope of even slowing down the martial-artist murderer, go off and do her own thing. Trapped as I was, I bolted for the only means of escape I had, and flung myself into the secret passage. In the darkness, I saw a lever mounted on the wall-- I cranked down on it, and sure enough, the mirror slid shut behind me, leaving me in darkness. I really should have held out for a dressing room with a proper window, but that's hindsight for you. I blundered my way down that dark passage-- but once I realized nopony was trying to actively trying to kill me, I relaxed. Slightly. “No way to go but forward.” I muttered to myself, and pressed on. The pitch-black hallway was cramped, littered with random piles of boxes and furniture-- which kept on bruising my shins as I stumbled on. The passage wasn't a long one, thankfully-- I plowed my nose straight into a the solid wall of a dead end after two or three minutes. More blind fumbling found another switch mounted on the wall, and the hidden doorway opened up before my nose. I staggered out into the scene shop-- the lights were dimmed for the show, but even then it was still a contrast to the utter blackness I'd just been in. I coughed the dust from my throat, wiped it from my eyes, and looked behind me just in time to see the hidden door slide back into place. “Damnation.” I muttered to myself. ”How the hell does anypony get around in this theater? I'd be better off with a coil of rope and a Yakish sherpa--” And then, it struck me. I knew who killed Deep Pockets. The epiphany struck me dumb for a moment, as I realized that this could be a very, very dangerous thing to know. I shifted my weight from one hoof to the other, anxious, and wondering just what the best escape route would be. But before I could bolt, Juniper Montage showed up. “Mister Sentry!” The pigtailed pony skidded to a halt in the doorway to the scene shop. She had a clipboard in her hooves and a panicked look in her eye as she stared at me. “You're on!” I'm sure you're familiar with The Life and Times of Flash Magnus. Every literature teacher in Equestria will make at least some attempt to cram the gist of the play into each and every student they teach. This, of course, will have varying levels of success. Personally, I found the play to be rather dull until Canter Zoom explained just how filthy the “Do you bite your hoof at me?” scene in the first act really is. Of course, Flash Magnus doesn't get to make any dirty jokes-- he just stands around and looks heroic and soliloquizes. Which is what I did. The performance that night was nothing like any of our rehearsals, in that we were actually, you know, good. I delivered my lines when I remembered them, and made dashing poses when I didn't. Trixie gasped and screamed and otherwise damseled it up, while the supporting cast (which is to say, the actual, professional actors) did everything they could to make it look like we knew what we were doing. To be honest, the intricate operation of the live performance went off smoother than a lot of military campaigns I've had the misfortune of participating in. Things came to a head in the final act, with the grand masquerade. Ponies pranced about in their meticulously designed masks and costumes as the play's several plotlines finally converged. And, of course, The Nameless Assassin (honestly, I think Shaky Bill was phoning it in when he named that particular character) skulked through the Masquerade Ball, disguised in a black cloak and skull-faced mask, hunting for the great Flash Magnus. As we'd rehearsed dozens of times before, the Nameless Assasin wove through the bustling masquerade ball and pulled a crossbow from beneath his cloak. However, quite unlike we'd rehearsed, I saw the glint of actual steel shining from the arrowhead. My heart jumped into my throat, my mouth went dry, and once again I found myself in the all too familiar situation of somepony trying to murder me for no apparent reason. The worst part was, with everypony's eyes literally on me, I couldn't scream and bolt, lest Canterlot's press corps discover how cowardly I truly was. In a single, fluid motion, the Nameless Assassin raised their crossbow and fired. The bass thrum of the bowstring echoed through the theater, and my cowardice-honed reflexes kicked into gear. I threw myself to the side, then swore as I felt the bolt tear straight through the feathers on my right wing. The wound was superificial-- but damned painful. I bit my tongue to stifle a whimper-- only to see The Nameless Assassin suddenly standing above me, rearing back with one hoof to finish the job-- --until an orange-haired pony swung in on a rope and kicked the Nameless Assassin in the face. A gasp went up from the crowd as Carrot Top made her grand entrance. Somewhere along the way she had acquired Trixie's Adent Dale costume, complete with a peacock-feathered mask to conceal her identity. She and the Nameless Assassin stared at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. But then, in a flurry of cloaks and hooves, they launched themselves at each other, trading punches and kicks with deadly precision. Once again, the rest of the cast followed my lead-- this time in getting the hell out of their way. I'd seen Carrot Top fight before, but I'd never seen her fight so hard. The Nameless Assassin parried each blow of Carrot's, then replied with two more of her own, nearly faster than the eye could follow. More than one blow made it past Carrot's guard, slamming into her body with sickeningly loud thumps. She gave almost as good as she got-- almost. Carrot Top reeled back and wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, staring at The Nameless Assassin, defiant. “You're good.” The Nameless Assassin's voice echoed to near unintelligibility within the skull mask. “But not good enough.” And with that, the Assassin struck one more time-- Carrot Top barely got her guard up in time, catching the Assassin's forehoof before it could stave her throat in. Sweat and blood both dripped down Carrot Top's face as she pushed the hoof back-- or tried to, at least, as the Nameless Assassin bore down on her even harder, hooves edging closer and closer to Carrot Top's neck. Which is when I hit the Nameless Assassin. From behind. With a chair. In military parlance, this is called “striking for advantage,” but in all honesty it's just fighting dirty. Which, incidentally, was my preferred method of fighting. Safer to hit one's enemy when they're not looking, after all. The Nameless Assassin went down in a heap, at which point I gave them a couple more bashes just to be thorough. The chair went to pieces on the third hit (it wasn't supposed to, for the record). Carrot Top wiped blood from the corner of her mouth and cracked a grin. “Flash, I love you.” She paused, suddenly realizing she'd fought a martial-arts death-duel in front of a full audience of journalists and critics. Carrot's green eyes went wide behind her mask, at which point she hesitantly kept speaking. “But we only have fourteen hours to save Equestria?” She got a standing ovation. The curtain fell, and Miss Maple was there at the wings, waiting for us. “Well done, Flash!” She said, grandmotherly as ever. She either didn't notice or didn't care about my bleeding wing. Given her profession, I could only assume the latter. “What's was that?” Canter Zoom pushed through a throng of bewildered looking extras, with Juniper Montage hot on his hooves. “That wasn't in the script!” “Neither was murder.” I rubbed at my wounded wing. “Indeed.” Miss Maple said. “That was a close call, with the crossbow there.” “Too close.” I grumbled, and yanked the skull mask away, revealing the face of the pony who'd just tried to kill me. Cutie Cue. Gasps rippled through the crowd. I ignored them. At least the burly policeponies Miss Maple brought with her had the sense to clap some hoofcuffs onto Cutie Cue as she blinked her eyes back to painful awareness. I nodded to Miss Maple. “Turns out, there's a secret passage that goes from my dressing room to the scenery shop-- this damn theater's full of them. And who knows a theater better than the stage manager? She used it to kill Deep Pockets without anypony noticing ... and then, when I found the passage, she tried to kill me on stage so it would look like an accident.” “But ... but why?” Canter Zoom said, aghast. “You told me yourself, Deep Pockets couldn't keep his hooves to himself. One lover's quarrel later, and he learned that Cutie Cue didn't keep her hooves to herself, either.” At that, Cutie Cue looked up at me-- dazed and battered, but still coherent enough to break out laughing. “Oh. That's what you think this is about? You're dumber than you look, Flash Sentry.” “If I may?” Miss Maple stepped forward. “You've done quite well for yourself so far, Flash, but you don't know the full story. For one, Cutie Cue and Deep Pockets were never ... involved.” “I'll say. I have standards.” Cutie Cue said. “Shush, you.” Miss Maple said. “Then who was?” Canter Zoom said, perplexed. “Do you know how hard it is to get a coffee in this theater?” Miss Maple said. “What's that got to do with anything?” I said. Miss Maple smiled. “Everything, Flash. You see, every day, the corner coffeeshop prepares a very specific order, each and every pony in the cast gets their own favorite coffee. There's no extras, no room for error-- the order list looks like the cast list in the program ... plus one. Deep Pockets was the only pony not directly involved in the production who got a special order. Now, who's responsible for that?” Juniper Montage cringed, splaying her ears back. “He ... he said he could make me a star.” “Her?” Spotlight huffed, shaking her head. “This is just insulting.” “I can't believe this.” Canter Zoom groaned. “If that's the case ... then why did Cutie Cue kill Deep Pockets?” I said. “A very good question.” Miss Maple said. “For, while all of you have been working very hard on the show, not to mention on your investigation--” Miss Maple winked at me. “I've been making inquiries into Deep Pockets' finances.” “What was left of them.” Spotlight said. “Indeed. They were in rather poor shape. But ... well, I won't bore you with the specifics of it, but Deep Pockets had something of an insurance policy set up in the show. You see, due to certain ... loopholes in Equestrian Tax law, it's actually quite possible to turn a considerable profit from a flop of a play ... so long as one is ready to take the money and run at the correct time.*” *While I am not a law historian, it's worth noting the most notable case along these lines is the semi-famous Berrystock vs. Wilder Bloom. “Cutie Cue, as the stage manager, either was in the scheme from the start, or she figured it out early on. The temptation to keep the money for herself must have been too great, and so, poor Deep Pockets had to die. And then, when it looked like Flash Sentry had rallied the cast, Cutie Cue decided to stage an 'accident.' Of course, she didn't count on Flash and his ... friend, either.” Miss Maple looked over at Carrot Top, who tried for one of her guileless smiles, but it was a little less convincing with a fresh set of bruises. “And I would have gotten away with it, too!” Cutie Cue snarled.”I did everything I could to ruin the show from the inside-- but then Deep Pockets tried to cut me out, so I showed him.” The stage manager turned assassin gave a little half-mad giggle. I couldn't blame her, as I would've been loopy after getting clobbered with a chair myself. “So that's that, then?” I said. “Hold on--” Canter Zoom said. “Where's Trixie? Cutie Cue didn't--” “THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE SHALL DEIGN TO LEAVE HER DRESSING ROOM ONLY WHEN ALL HAZLENUT COFFEE IS REMOVED FROM THE BUILDING!” Say what you will about Trixie, but the pony could project. “I ... uh, I just thought I'd fill in?” Carrot Top offered. “I ... I'm a big fan.” “At least she's easier to work with.” Canter Zoom grumbled. “So that's that, then.” Miss Maple said. She nodded to her uniformed escort, and the two drug the chained Cutie Cue away. Another wave of her hoof got the rest of the cast to disperse-- Carrot Top and I took the opportunity to slink away-- only to find Miss Maple waiting for us at the back door. How she'd gotten there before us, I honestly couldn't say. “Ah, Flash. I just wanted to thank you.” Miss Maple said, smiling. “You missed quite a bit, but, well, your talents lie elsewhere, don't they?” “I suppose they do.” “As do yours.” Miss Maple just beamed at Carrot Top, who tensed up beside me. “How long have you been with the Equestrian Intelligence Office, darling?” “How did you--” “I didn't. Until now.” Miss Maple winked. “Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Consider it thanks for taking care of Cutie Cue, too. A fragile old lady like me wouldn't have lasted two seconds against somepony like Cutie Cue. At least, I wouldn't have if Cutie Cue didn't have ... other things to worry about. But, like Shaky Bill said, all's well that ends well, hm? Take care, you two. And try to stay out of trouble.” And with that final bit of advice, Miss Maple trotted back into the theater. Carrot Top's jaw dropped. “I can't believe it. She used us.” I tried to hold back my laughter, and summarily failed. “So now you know how it feels!” Carrot facehooved, and groaned. “The hell with this. I need a drink.” “I don't think either of us are in good enough condition to set hoof in a bar.” Carrot Top smiled again, and patted me on my non-wounded wing. “Good thing I've got a fresh jug of cider back at my place.” “I like the way you think.” -So ends the fifth volume of the Flash Sentry Papers