The castle stood atop a low, sloping hill, looming over the surrounding land at the pinnacle of the rolling plane as though it had been forced out of the earth itself. That design had probably been intentional on the part of its original creators: to display dominance and power throughout the region. Its builders, though, had long-since faded into obscurity, as had any claim of dominance that their creation had once possessed.
Its original purpose had been lost to history- -whether it had originally been meant as a distant redoubt of some ancient and vanished empire, or perhaps been assembled strictly as a seat of regional power over fertile land, or even once been a beautiful palace- -all of it had been forgotten. Now, even at a distance, it was apparent that the castle was now crumbling. Its façade was cracked and overgrown with thick vines, and several of the outer towers had been allowed to collapse. Its walls had begun to disintegrate, and any ornamentation it had been built with had eroded decades if not centuries prior. Yet, despite all of this, dim lights still burned in some of its empty windows, staring out like yellowed, aged eyes over the perfectly dark landscape.
The land around the castle had once been a verdant center of agriculture, perhaps even within the lifetimes of some ponies still living. Now, though, no one remained to tend to the crops; the land had been overgrown by low spiny bushes and other scrub plants that had crept in from the arid planes that stretched uninterrupted for hundreds of miles in every direction. Farmhouses and barns had fared worse than the castle; they had crumbled and collapsed, being reduced to piles of dry wood and rusted metal. Only decaying fences remained to mark the land that had once been the thriving homes of many.
Yet, curiously, the roads that ran through this town were far less decrepit than the rest of it. They were maintained and kept clear, and their surfaces bore tracks indicative of carts loaded with unusually heavy loads. All of these tracks led uphill: toward the crumbling castle.
Although the roads were still functional, the pair of dark-clad figures that approached the castle did not use them. They instead passed quickly through the fields, their path bizarrely silent as they both pushed through the scrub and spurge, causing it to move no more than if it had been blown by the mild breeze that swept over the land each night. They bore no lights, relying instead on Luna’s moon to guide their path, and though the pair progressed many meters from each other in silence each knew the exact location of the other.
Scouts had been placed- -largely gruff-looking earth-ponies bearing lanterns and stern but tired expressions. They patrolled, but not with particular gusto; the sun had only set three hours prior, but they were already beginning to grow ever more ready for bed in yet another temperate but warm Andalusian night.
The figures took advantage of this, converging from opposite ends of the castle and easily avoiding the understaffed controls. The henchponies had been lazy and ignored parts where the antiquated castle wall was still intact, neglecting to even consider the fact that two thirds of the pony population were capable of flight. Both of the figures were; scaling the walls presented no difficulty for either of them.
They moved swiftly through what might once have been considered gardens, but were now overgrown with weeds and dry, half dead trees that had been allowed to grow far too large for their dry environment. They provided cover, but their thorny branches also made motion more difficult. By far the worst obstacle, though, was the silence. Apart from the wind, there were nearly no sounds to cover the motion of two ponies. The gardens were long-dead; not a single bird or animal was present to fill the night with song or the haphazard rustling.
Within less than a minute they had breached the castle itself, the smaller of the two figures now taking the lead as they penetrated the long corridors within. Although they had entered through an abandoned portion of the castle near its partially collapsed section, it quickly became apparent as they moved deeper that the castle was, in fact, inhabited. In fact, the inside of many of the key hallways were of far superior quality to those of the outside. They were indeed old, but the imported hardwood floors had been maintained perfectly, and although the stucco in some places was cracked not a speck of dust could be found within the building. Most noticeable of all, though, were the decorations: as the air grew cooler, an extensive collection of artwork and artifacts became visible. There were paintings of every type, laid out with a distinctly organized pattern, as well as various statues on pedestals and under bell-jars. The two ponies moving swiftly through the halls took note of them but dismissed them as relatively inconsequential- -although the smaller of the two took note on the distinct irony of them being there.
Suddenly, the pair of them detected hoofsteps. In unison, they moved upward, climbing the walls until they were located in the high, dark corners at the top of the corridor. They did not break their pace, and instead stabilized their motion with their wings. Below, a group of unshaven, harsh-looking henchponies marched by, in the middle of a vehement argument about the best flavor of cheesecake. They did not look up, and the two intruders passed by them with ease.
The two black-clad ponies landed back on the floor as the group of guards passed into a perpendicular hallway that likely led to the kitchen. As the larger of the pair set his hoof down on the dry wood, though, a high squeak rang out through the empty hall. Nightingale floors had not been listed on the available schematics, nor would they have been expected in an Andalusian manor-house. They were a recent addition.
“Whoa,” said one of the voices down the perpendicular hallway. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” said another.
“The floor just went off. Sweet Celestia, I bet it’s Rosebud. ‘On a diet’ my left rear hoof!”
“Come on, Gaillo, you know he likes to be called ‘Thorn’.”
“I’m not calling him ‘Thorn’. It’s stupid. I mean, come on! They guy’s got a giant rose on his rump! Talk about girly…”
One of the ponies came around the corner, holding his lantern out in front of him. In an instant, the larger of the two black-clad figures had crossed the span between them. With one blow, he struck the earth-pony in the neck, instantly knocking out both his wind and his voice. A second, hard blow to the space between his shoulder and neck sent him to the ground unconscious.
The pair of intruders immediately altered their plan, seamlessly integrating a new set of protocols and paths into their design without a single word. Both of them pushed into the small group of ponies and neutralized them before a single one could scream for help. Apart from that, though, they no longer bothered with stealth. Time was now of the essence.
Apart from the aberrant floors, the majority of the intelligence was correct. The pair swiftly reached their destination, and found it to be sealed by a large and heavy door. The larger of the two prepared himself to break through, but his superior silently signaled for him to stop before ramming it. She instead held out a large key she had retrieved from one of the numerous henchponies who now lay unconscious throughout the halls of the castle beneath various pieces expensive but gauche modern artwork.
She slid the key into the lock, turning it softly as the pair of them pushed through. The night and the castle along with it had grown cold; as they entered, a cold draft came with them, rustling their dark cloaks. Warm air escaped from within, bearing the smells of finely prepared food.
Several ponies were present the sparkly adorned dining room, but only one of them was eating. Several others stood by, seemingly watching: a pale blue mare with a short-cropped mane and an eyepatch, a massive looking ginger stallion with mutton chops, and several others. Although the two Pegasi took account of all of them, they had immediately dismissed all of them as irrelevant. Only the pony at the table mattered in the grand scope of their mission.
He stared back at them with almost the same intensity that they stared at him, except with a substantial but well-hidden level of surprise and contempt. He, like the majority of ponies he employed, were earth-ponies- -and he appeared just as threatening as all of them, if not more so. His dark mane had been greased and pushed back over his head, with only a small gray curl allowed to hang freely over his thick, pointed eyebrows. Though he wore a pressed collared shirt and an exquisite silken ascot, he did not seem to have bothered to shave, and had allowed dark stubble to grow over much of his face.
The stallion set down his fork and stood, his chair squeaking as it was pushed back across the wooden floor. “What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded- -not from the pair of Pegasi now standing before him, but from the ponies who stood behind him. They cowered at the sound of his raised voice. “After the expense, the trouble I went through to hire all of you! You can’t even permit me to eat a meal without interruption?! YOU!” He pointed at the stallion with mutton chops. “I put you in charge of security!”
“Boss, it’s not his fault,” said the blue mare with the eyepatch. “I set the patrols, I know they- -”
“Doctor Pontrancio Caballeron,” said the female Pegasus, reminding him that she and her associate were, in fact, still present.
Caballeron turned slowly, his expression changing back to a smile but the contempt and rage not leaving his eyes. “And you. You’ve clearly gone through a great deal of effort to bother finding me- -and to trespass on my land.” He gently placed one of his hooves on the table. He was wearing an extremely expensive wristwatch. “And as much as I detest being inhospitable to my guests, I’m afraid I’m in no mood to entertain. I have work to do. I have some restaffing to manage…”
The various ponies winced, looking at each other nervously and nearly in a panic, mentally questioning which one of them was going to be fired.
“Your wristwatch,” said the female Pegasus. “It has no hands.”
Caballeron laughed and smiled, dismissing the strange observation with all the grace of the aristocracy he was descended from, even if, like his ancestral manor, it had grown course and rude over time. Still, his eyes betrayed him. He knew exactly what she was referring to.
“Because it’s not a watch,” said the Pegasus. “It’s the shell of one. Containing a Phoenix Star.”
Caballeron’s eyes narrowed. “How could you know that?”
The Pegasus reached beneath her cloak and into a pocket of the armor beneath. She withdrew a watch identical to the one that Caballeron wore. “Because we had it removed last week.”
Caballeron’s eyes went wide and his head snapped downward as he stared at his watch. His expression fell as he realized that the one he was wearing- -and had been wearing- -was fake. That look of surprise quickly turned to one of fear as he came to understand the implications of the loss: that the Pegasus standing across from him was now the one pointing a Phoenix Star at him, rather than the other way around.
“How did you- -that’s not- -”
The Pegasus drew back the watch, and Caballeron flinched- -only to have the watch thrown with perfect accuracy into the bowl of custard that he had just moments before been planning to enjoy after his salad.
“Wha- -do you have any idea how much that costs?!” he cried. Then, as he picked it up and realized that the Star was still fully intact and operational, “…and how much damage this could do?”
“I do. To both questions.” The female Pegasus stepped forward. “But, curiously, I took account of the possessions you have in your house. All lavishly expensive…but so far, that Phoenix star is the only artifact with any antiquity I have yet witnessed. The rest is distinctly modern.”
Caballeron did not bother picking the watch out of the custard, not wanting to make himself seem desperate- -but knowing that it was within arm’s should he need it. Somehow, though, he did not find that fact as comforting as he should have. Regardless, he sat back down and chuckled softly.
“Curious, you say? I do not see how such a thing is so very strange. Tell me. Do I look like a fool to you?” Neither of the intruders answered. “I assure you, I am not. Would you expect me to live in a museum of dusty statuettes and moldering tomes? If you came to find me, you understand what I do, but not why, perhaps? What good would it do me to horde my wares for myself? Especially considering how dangerous many of them can be…”
“We know who you are. And what you do.”
“Then you have me at a disadvantage,” snapped Caballeron in response. “And in all honestly I am growing both tired and hungry. Whoever you are, you seem to have gotten into my home quite easily. I wonder if you find leaving as unchallenging?”
The Pegasus removed her hood. She was no one that Caballeron knew or knew of, with only piqued his curiosity further. Her coat was white, as was her mane, and unfortunate combination that was only worsened by her remarkably striking red eyes. When she had removed her hood, the stallion beside her had moved in almost exact unison. Apart from being a stallion, he was identical to her in every way.
“Is that supposed to be an introduction?” sneered Caballeron. “What, do you not have names?”
“We do not,” said the female. “Nor would you need to know them if we did.”
“Now you’re just trying to sound mysterious.”
“We are representatives of an anonymous businessman with a substantial interest in collecting exceedingly rare artifacts.”
Caballeron smiled and sat back in his chair. A great deal of the tension went out of the room, even if much of it still remained. A thin black, white, and orange cat jumped onto the table. Caballeron stroked its back gently before allowing it to finish part of what was supposed to have been his supper. It had grown cold, and he no longer wanted it.
“So this is business, then. You are aware that there are proper channels for this?”
“We are. And we chose not to use them.” She made a subtle motion with her eyes and the silent male beside her responded immediately. He stepped forward, and all of Caballeron’s guards tensed, ready to defend him at any cost. The albino stallion did not seem to care, but he did not do anything that could be considered threatening. Instead, he reached under his cloak to where his saddlebags were located. From them, he withdrew a large, metal-clad binder. He carefully set it on the table and pushed it across to Caballeron. Caballeron took it, momentarily looking up at the unpigmented eyes that were staring at him without blinking. For just a moment, he caught the fact that one of them was different from the other- -and could have sworn that he saw its pupil narrow in response to the turning of many hundreds of tiny, red gears.
“What is this?” he said, taking the binder and opening it. Inside was a number of leaves of fragile paper with strange but extensive pencil drawings on them: hieroglyphs, ideograms, pictures and diagrams, and a text that made Caballeron’s blood run cold. It was a type that he had only managed to see once before, and that he had never thought that he would ever be able to witness a second time.
“We do not know,” said the female Pegasus. “We were told you would.”
“Of course I would,” grumbled Caballeron. “Unlike a great many ponies, ‘Doctor’ is not simply my first name. I worked very hard to earn that title.” He flipped through the binder. “These are rubbings, of a relief of some sort. Old ones.” He reached the end. The last of the pages, it seemed, had been torn out. The last remaining pages were spattered with a dark, rusty form of ink that Caballeron knew all too well. He looked up over the book. “And part of it is missing.”
“Retrieving these images entailed some…difficulties. This was all that could be recovered.”
The light blue mare with the eye-patch approached. “What is it?”
“It looks like…a book,” said the redheaded stallion, also pushing forward. The cat, looking up from its custard, hissed at them, and both jumped back and stood almost at attention.
“It’s instructions,” said Caballaron. “Or part of them.” He looked up at the albino Pegasus. “And…?”
“You are in the business of collecting artifacts for those of discerning tastes. I assure you. Our employer’s tastes are DISTINCTLY discerning.”
Caballeron chuckled. “Of course, of course! It is something I am so very familiar with! A fatal flaw in those among us with the means to have whatever they want at their slightest whim. When anything can be made for you, what meaning does any of it have?” He leaned forward. “It leads the wealthiest among us to seek out that which is irreplaceable, that which is exquisitely rare. That which only they can posess.”
“Real poetic, boss.”
“Shut up, Rogue! Can’t you see I’m trying to do BUSINESS?” Rouge fell silent and stepped back, as did the blue mare. She patted him on the shoulder, trying to cheer him up, as he appeared to be on the verge of tears. Caballeron sighed. “As you can see, good help is so very difficult to find. I am not, at the moment, one of such means. Alas, a simple workman. But I am very good at my job. And that quality comes at a price.”
“Of course.”
Seemingly without receiving a signal, the white stallion produced a tiny box and set it before Caballeron. Caballeron took only one glance at it and recoiled in disgust. He glared at the white mare. “Is this a joke?! Do you have even the slightest conception of what you are asking of me, how much work and resources go into funding an expedition like this? And you offer me THIS? Do you know who I am? I am Pontracio Caballeron! I have a PhD in applied archeology, and ANOTHER in ancient history, as well as a master’s degree in- -and also a master’s degree!”
“Open the box.”
“To see what? Some paltry sum of bits your cheapskate ‘employer’ things I’ll- -”
“OPEN. IT.”
Caballeron shivered, although he did not know why. Something in the mare’s gaze had grown cold, as if this whole affair was growing increasingly tiring to a pony who was far more used to much less civil business interactions. Caballeron did as he was told, and the mare smiled as she watched as Caballeron’s eyes grew as wide as saucers and as his face was illuminated by the glow from within.
“These…these…”
“Are four Crystal Empire crystalling crystals, all flawless-magnificent grade. Their value is approximately six times that of this castle and the land surrounding it. Each.”
Caballeron looked back down at them again, still unable to hide his surprise- -and his greed. “These- -these- -”
“Are a down-payment. Deliver us the artifact in question, and our employer is willing to pay you ten times the value of those crystals in whatever denomination you choose. Bits, gold bullion, liquid vod, griffon grubles if you want them. More than enough for you to rebuild your ancestral home.”
“My ‘ancestral home’ can collapse into Tartarus for all I care! With that much- -I’ll build a NEW one! On a beach, staffed entirely by beautiful zebra maidens instead of…well…you’ve seen what my current employees look like.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “And what would happen if I simply took these crystals and never returned with this artifact?”
“Then good luck liquidating them without our help. Unless you would like to end up in Princess Cadence’s private dungeon.”
“I’ve heard it isn’t that bad,” whispered the mare with the eyepatch.
Caballeron did not even bother to chastise her. He instead stared down at the incomplete book of aged rubbings, and at the box of crystals.
“If that is not enough, we have been authorized to disburse several units of equipment at your discursion. As much as you need. Or employer will give you whatever you need to get the job done.”
“Enough that I suppose I am not to ask questions, I suppose?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” lied Caballeron. “As I said. My clients have the greatest discursion. And I am discrete. You have tasked me to find a specific relic, and that is what I do.” He looked up, and his dark eyes met her red ones. “And I am the very best at it. You can consider it a deal.”
“Excellent.” The white stallion stepped back, returning to the doorway. The mare, though, walked forward. A cold smile had crossed her face, one that had no sign of emotion and made Caballeron feel deeply uncomfortable. “On behalf of my employer, thank you. And, before we go, one last gift. To bolster your trust in us, I suppose. Here.” She threw a manila envelope onto the table. Several pictures partially slid out- -pictures of a pale blue mare with yellow eyes.
“What is this?” asked Caballeron, picking up the folder.
“That mare,” she said, pointing at the one standing behind Caballeron, “is an agent for Committee of Research and Unusual Threats.”
“What?!” cried the mare, jumping back at the accusation. “What, no! You get over here, whitey, I’ll give you some nice blue color ‘round your eyes for a lie like that!”
Caballeron looked up from the dossier and stared at her harshly. “Hold her,” he said.
The others obeyed absolutely. They grabbed her, holding her tightly. She sruggled somewhat, but mostly turned her large yellow eye toward Caballeron, pleading.
“Boss!” she cried. “Boss, you know me! I’ve been working with you for two years! The jungle- -you remember the jungle? When I helped the guys pull you out of quicksand after Daring- -”
“We do NOT mention HER name here,” hissed Caballeron. He put his hoof to his brow and tried to regain his composure. “What is this, then?” he threw the dossier at her feet. Pictures of her spilled out, as well as information and documents that no pony could possibly possess. Caballeron shook his head, and then, of all things, laughed. “Striker, Striker…you know I am not an unreasonable stallion. I took you off the street, a starving little girl…or so I thought.” He reached out and tore off her eyepatch. The eye underneath it was golden and perfect, just like the other. “This organization,” he said, “runs on LOYALTY. Do you ever wonder why I never hire ponies smart enough to replace me?” He shook his head. “And you know what we do to ponies who are disloyal here.”
Striker stiffened, and dropped the act completely. She knew she had been found out, and her expression hardened. “You won’t make me talk, Caballeron.”
“I don’t intend to make you talk. In fact, it’s better if you don’t. Or else they’ll get into your mouth.” He glared at the henchponies who were holding her. They had grown pale, knowing what they were about to do to a pony who they had thought was their friend. “You know what to do.”
“R- -right, boss. We know.”
Caballeron sighed. A headache was already starting in his head as they pulled the blue mare away and as others measured some ropes to tie her with. Hopefully their skill with knots had increased; their record with binding mares successfully was abysmal.
“Well,” he said at last, turning back toward the table. “As much of a blow as this is to my feelings of security, I suppose I should thank you…”
He looked at the door, and saw that while it was open, the two albino ponies had vanished. Sitting in the chair where he had just been was a zebra in an orange dress, crunching on an apple with surprisingly long and pointed teeth. Her blue-green eyes flicked to Caballeron.
“Herr Doktor,” she said. “They have departed. This was no gift. It was meant to be a distraction.”
The two exited as easily as they had entered. Caballeron’s threat, it seemed, had been empty. In fact, departing was even easier, as the pair chose to use the front exit. As they walked over the cracked cobblestones of the main drive, a sound caught the stallion’s attention. The rush of wings drew his attention upward, and as he looked into the massively overgrown but still somehow dead and decaying trees, he saw what the source of the sound had been. Hundreds of crows filled the trees, perched on the dead branches and watching with sickly, yellow eyes in silence, observing the black-clad white ponies passing beneath them. As if they knew.
“Sister,” he said, not taking his eyes off the crows. “I do not like this.”
“Neither do I, brother,” replied the mare. “But this is the way it has to be.”