"Your ten o'clock is here," said Belle Weather, Thunderhoof's secretary.
"Bring her in," said Thunderhoof.
An emerald-green unicorn mare entered and sat down opposite the investigator's desk.
"What did you find?" asked the mare, anxiously.
Thunderhoof reached for a file and slid it across the desk. "I observed your husband at his job," he said, indicating a picture of a cream unicorn sitting at a cubicle desk. "He's been doing quite a lot of overtime." Thunderhoof then indicated a photograph of the same stallion, looking at something through the glass of a jewelry store. "Usually, he stops to look at the jewelry. But yesterday, he made a purchase. A twenty-four carat gold necklace..."
The mare started shaking. "Oh, I knew it was that! He's seeing somepony else, isn't he? Who is she? Show me her face, that..." She burst into tears, and never finished his sentence.
"Madam, please," said Thunderhoof, in a calm voice. "I don't have any pictures of anypony seeing your husband."
"Why?"
"He hasn't seen anypony else," explained Thunderhoof. "Nor has he been communicating with anypony. He hasn't been anywhere near the post office, and I checked with the company he works for; they don't have fire-courier services. So it's virtually impossible that he's been sending letters to anypony. "
"How can you be so sure?" asked the mare, holding back her tears. "Maybe he knew that he was being followed!"
"Look," said Thunderhoof. "First of all, I know a cheating husband when I see one. I've worked dozens of these cases in the past. But if my word isn't enough, know that if he actually knew that I was following him and he was cheating on you, he wouldn't ever have been anywhere near that jewelry store, let alone bought anything from it."
"So... you're saying he's innocent?" asked the mare, her eyes glistening with tears.
"Essentially," said Thunderhoof. "My best guess is that your husband's been working overtime so he can afford that necklace. And, if I'm right, you're the intended recipient."
The mare yelled with joy, so hard that Thunderhoof put his ears backwards. "Sir, I don't know how to thank you!"
"It's okay, madam," said Thunderhoof. "Please just pay my fee. The total's here in black and white." He gave her the bill.
The mare promptly exited Thunderhoof's office and paid the bill at Belle Weather's desk.
"Any other appointments for the day?" asked Thunderhoof.
"No, sir," answered Belle.
"Good. I'll be leaving, now. Have a nice day."
"Wha- yes, sir," said the secretary, surprised.
"Don't 'sir' me, Belle," said Thunderhoof. "I'm not an army pony anymore."
"Right, sir- I mean Thunderhoof. Sorry, sir. Oh damn. Sorry," said Belle Weather, sheepishly.
Thunderhoof chuckled, and left the room. He went down the stairs, and onto the pavement. As he was walking down the street to his favourite coffee shop, under the bleak samey sky, Thunderhoof's head started spinning around some questions.
"Octavia Melody," he thought, picturing the gray mare. "Where have I heard that name before?"
Walking down the street, Thunderhoof started mentally reciting his old regiment's hymn: The Griffish Grenadiers:
"Some talk of Flash Magnus, and some of Hoofcules,
Of Rockhoof and Neighsander, and such great names as these.
But of all the bravest heroes, there are none that can compare,
To the tow row row row row, of the Griffish Grenadiers."
It was something he did whenever he felt the urge to do so. Soon enough, he arrived at the coffee shop.
"Tea, please. Black," said Thunderhoof, sitting down at the counter and removing his hat.
"I thought you were more the Neighrish coffee type," answered the barrista.
"What, at ten o'clock?" asked Thunderhoof. "I'm not a factory worker, Yelly. Never liked coffee anyway." He picked up the copy of The Canterlot Gazette which lay on the counter. He hadn't had the time to read it yet.
"PAN-EQUESTRIAN COURT ESTABLISHED: ZEBRICAN CRIMINALS ON THE RUN," read the tag line.
"Two months ago, the Equestrian Security Council (ESC) gave the green light for the Equestrian parliament's resolution number 955, which moved for the creation of the Special Court for Kudanda (SCK). It was officially opened yesterday at noon, with aim of prosecuting the perpetrators of the different crimes against equines (among other atrocities) committed during the war that plagued Kudanda more than three years ago. The prosecutor of the court, Canta del Pronto, told us that many of the suspects of such crimes were still on the run.
The official aim of the SCK, according to the text of resolution 955, is to reconcile the different ethnic groups that took a part in the war by judging only the equines responsible for the execution of the aforementioned atrocities, therefore placing the blame on individuals rather than groups.
However, there has been a not-so-silent minority of ponies who are unhappy with Equestria's involvement in the war and in the application of Pan-Equestrian law to a country that is technically beyond Equestria.
One such pony is the leader of the Equestria First Party (EFP), Ozzy Mozzy1, who voiced his displeasure, claiming that 'Equestrian law should not be applied to such backwards savages as the Zebras'. He elaborated, saying that 'the savages of Zebrica should get off their lazy rumps and invent their own laws instead of usurping ours'. On the opposite side of the political spectrum, the Equal Equines Party (EEP) released a statement claiming that Equestria has 'no right to interfere in affairs that do not concern them, let alone judge extra-equestrian criminals of a war that doesn't concern them based on laws that Equestria itself dictated'. However, they added that they 'approve of the Pan-Equestrian Charter and the Geneighva Conventions', but that 'they are being usurped for Celestial Imperialism'.
Given these far yet not-so-distant statements, one thing is for certain: this is one of these times when the far-right and the far-left actually agree on something.
Other complaints about the SCK have come from the ruling Fieldist Party and the opposition's Stableist party, Whinnston Chestnut and Clem Saddlee agreeing that Equestrian bureaucracy has slowed down the establishment of the court, which should ideally have been established just after the end of the Kuduandan war, not three years after."
"Well, look at that," said Thunderhoof. "The world is yet again going crazy."
"Eeyup," answered Yelly. "I don't read the papers no more, so I just assume it's crazy everyday." He served Thunderhoof's tea, and went to tend the bar someplace else.
Thunderhoof put down the paper, and drank his tea whilst thinking of ways to discredit both the EFP and the EEP's views on the subject of the war. Having fought in the Kudandan War as a member of the Royal Expeditionary Force, Thunderhoof knew first-hoof what had actually happened. And in his mind, neither party had a clue what they were talking about.
But his thoughts on the war soon again got obstructed by his mental image of Octavia. Who was she? And how did she know his name? Civilians usually didn't know the names of contemporary soldiers. If he'd been a general or a colonel, like General Delherbe, he could have understood. But, except for his distinctions and medals earned during the Kudandan war, there was absolutely no way to find out who and what he was. Had Octavia memorized the list of Celestia Cross and Star of Valour recipients? That seemed unlikely.
"I've got to get to the bottom of this," thought Thunderhoof. He finished his drink, put his hat back on, and left the café, walking at a brisk pace.
"Right," he thought. "First step, find Octavia." Thunderhoof knew that looking for one pony in Canterlot was like trying to find an absurdist at an existentialist gathering, but he was still a soldier at heart: if he was going to fail at something, it wouldn't be for lack of trying. At the same time, he realized that what he was about to do was stalking, if one was to go by the legal definition. But he still confidently marched forward, thinking along the way.
Judging by her cutie mark and her sheer skill with her instrument, Octavia Melody was almost certainly a professional cellist. That, and the fact that she had been in such a rush to leave the night before told Thunderhoof that Octavia was probably long-gone by now. Meaning that any leads that Thunderhoof could potentially get were back at Hoofington's. So that was where Thunderhoof was to go.
"Well hey, if it ain't my cat Thunderhoof!" said Hoofington from behind the bar, as he saw his Pegasus friend walk in through the doorway.
"Hello," answered Thunderhoof, casually and calmly shaking the rain off his wings like any true Trottinghamite. "It's raining."
"No hay," replied Hoofington. "Drink?"
Thunderhoof looked at his pocket watch. It was eleven o'clock. "Might as well," he said, sitting down at the bar.
"Might as well. Heh," chuckled Hoofington. "You should have that on your headstone. So, what'll it be?"
"Erm..." Thunderhoof wasn't really a lunchtime drinker. "A pint of mild, please," he finished, saying the first thing that came to mind.
"Mild it is," said Hoofington. He got a pint glass, pressed the dark beer into it, and put the glass in front of Thunderhoof. "Something wrong?"
"Why?" asked Thunderhoof, taking a gulp.
"In one year, I've never seen you here at eleven o'clock, that's why."
"Well, sometimes, being a private investigator in Canterlot can be lucrative," said Thunderhoof. "That, and cumulative army pensions, it gives you the urge to burn some money."
"Well, I'm not complaining," said Hoofington. He picked up a copy of 'The Political Pone' which was sitting discarded on the bar, read the first few lines of the front page, and tutted loudly. "Look at that," he commented. "Stableists are up five percent."
"Better them than the Equalists," said Thunderhoof, after another sip.
"Imagine that," said Hoofington. "Violent revolution, Equalists taking over... People like your dad, and probably you, you'll all be shackled against a wall and stoned to death. Next to Princess Celestia, Luna, Cadance, and Twilight. Maybe even that Octavia cat."
"About her-" started Thunderhoof, remembering why he was there.
"Heh. And me, owner of a night club, traitor to my class, I'll be up there with y'all."
"You're not a traitor to your class, Hoofy," said Thunderhoof. "You're just an example of what your class can achieve. But anyway, I wanted to ask you some questions about Octavia."
"You haven't changed since Zebrica, haven't ya, Major?" asked Hoofington. He had served under Thunderhoof in the REF, and they had developed a bond of sorts after a particularly rough skirmish, before Hoofington had left the army to start a Gentlecolts' club. "You never let anything go."
"We're soldiers, Hoofy," said Thunderhoof. "If we fail, it isn't..."
"...For lack of trying, I know," said Hoofington, finishing his friend's sentence. "But I'm telling ya. Let go of her. She isn't worth the trouble."
"She knew my name, Hoofy," said Thunderhoof. "She knew who I was. I've got to know why."
"Fine," sighed Hoofington. "What do you want to know?"
"Do you have a way to reach her?" asked Thunderhoof.
"Yeah," answered Hoofington "But you ain't gonna get into much contact." He produced a business card from under the bar.
'Octavia MELODY- Cellist.
For weddings or formal ceremonies.
To reserve, please contact the Alezan Artistic Agency, at least 15 days before the event.
Can possibly come at short notice, but no guarantees can be made.
11, Neighson Street, 36842, Trottingham, Equestria.'
"You ain't gonna get much outta her agent," said Hoofington. "I don't think you wanna hoof it to Trottingham anyways."
"Where did she sleep for the night?" asked Thunderhoof. "If she did sleep in Canterlot."
"Now, this is just between you and me, Thunderhoof," whispered Hoofington. He looked around, checking to see if anyone was there. "When I asked for Octavia to come to my club, the agent told me her fees. You know, no biggie, because I'd heard some good things about her. By luck, she was free the night I wanted her. So then, she asks if I usually provide rooms in my club. So I tell them that I usually don't, they tell me that I'll have to make an exception for Octavia. She absolutely had to sleep in my club the night before she climbed on stage. Plus, they offered a five percent discount if I did accept, so..."
Thunderhoof looked out of the window at the hotel across the street. "Was she... expensive?"
"Well, she didn't come cheap, especially at such short notice, but that Octavia broad was worth it," said Hoofington. "I'm getting more and more reservations."
"I see," said the investigator, draining his glass. "How much exactly?"
"Well," answered Hoofington. "It was gonna be seventeen thousand five hundred bits, but factoring in the five percent discount, it came to sixteen thousand six hundred and twenty five." He'd always been good with numbers. "With a difference of eight hundred and seventy five bits."
Thunderhoof looked across the street at the hotel. On the front door, some large letters said 'Room for one: 564 B'. "Huh," he said. "Hotel's cheaper, yet she asks to be here. Why, though?" he thought.
"Anything else you wanna bother me with?" asked Hoofington, suddenly realizing that his friend wasn't there for the company.
"I assume you don't really have a red book for ponies who actually stay here?" asked Thunderhoof in return.
"Nope." And just as Thunderhoof was about to open his mouth, Hoofington chucked a key across the counter. "Her room's upstairs, second door on the left. Yeah, I know you were gonna ask for it."
Thunderhoof, while surprised at Hoofington's accurate prediction, shrugged it off by thinking it was an easy assumption to make. He entered the elevator, and pressed the button for the third level, Hoofington's enormous, ten-room penthouse.
"Maybe he is a traitor to his class after all," thought Thunderhoof, opening the penthouse's door and stepping onto the Vanhoover maple floorboards, waxed to a mirror sheen by what he assumed was an army of Unicorn soubrettes. On the wall was a tapestry, with a family coat of hooves that Hoofington had probably improvised sometime recently. "So he's decided he's old money, now, eh?" thought Thunderhoof, taking in the golden horseshoe that was the centerpiece of the seal, and the chivalrous pony armour helm, on a background of crossed halberds. "Yep, definitely a class traitor."
Thunderhoof stopped in front of the second door to the right, and tried to push it open. After a few tries, he realized that it was one of those doors that slides. Behind it lay a bedroom that looked like something out of the tales of Mistmane: oriental bed very close to the floor, miniature fountain at the corner, with its signature trickling noise that seemed to fill anypony with relaxation, and walls made of thin wood that weren't very good for insulation but sure as hay looked pretty.
Time to look for some clues.
Near the centre of the room was a black mark on the clear floor left by Octavia's cello's endpiece, indicating that this was indeed Octavia's room. But other than that, nothing else could really be established by just looking at the room. Octavia having stayed there just the night, she probably hadn't unpacked anything in the room. Therefore, no point in checking the wardrobe. However, the single waste basket of the room hadn't been emptied in a while, so if there was anything in the room that would lead Thunderhoof to Octavia, that bin was probably the place he'd be most likely to find some clues.
"Time for some garbology 2," thought Thunderhoof.
Hoofington didn't receive many guests, so all of the waste that Thunderhoof poured out of the basket was presumably Octavia's: a few used paper towels that had a slight smell of varnish, an old cloth, and a used train ticket. The ticket was the only item that was worthy of any interest to Thunderhoof.
'Equestrian Rail Company
Class: Standard.
Ticket type: one way.
From: Ponyville Station.
To: Canterlot Central Station.'
The ticket's validation date indicated that it had been bought the day before yesterday. It coincided with Octavia's arrival at the club. Furthermore, Hoofington claimed that Octavia had arrived on short notice, so Ponyville was quite possibly her place of residence. However, the fact that she had bought a one-way ticket and not a return indicated that she had other places to be, and she wouldn't be back in Ponyville for some time.
"Ponyville, huh," thought Thunderhoof. If he remembered his schedule properly, he didn't have any more pending cases or appointments with potential customers. "Might as well..."