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// Chapter 12: The Candy Maker 
// Story: To Serve In Hell 
// by CoffeeMinion 
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Rarity plodded through the moonlit alleys with heavy hoofsteps. Inwardly she cursed each rough, arrhythmic scrape of hoof on stone, but her limbs didn’t seem to respond with their usual grace. Her breathing was still ragged from her encounter with the shadowy stallion, and the taste that lingered in her mouth remained acrid and sour.

She chuckled darkly at the thought that it may have been best to accept one of the stallion’s breath mints after all. But her heart held little room for mirth, and soon her head hung low as the thought faded into quiet sobbing over the would-be mugger whose light she’d seen snuffed out.

In the midst of her lamentations, a curious scent wafted past Rarity’s nose. She crinkled her muzzle, taking in the warm and smoky odor. She raised a hoof and wiped her tear-streaked face, noticing up ahead that the alley emptied out into a street passing by a tall, red-painted watchtower.

Rarity smiled. She knew the tower must mean she was, at long last, approaching her destination: the sweet shop at Sixth and Main. But then she furrowed her brow as she absorbed the sight of a few dozen ponies milling around the street past the end of the alley. Several more ponies dashed by as she watched, shouting something she couldn’t make out clearly. A low but powerful roaring sound, deeper and more subtle than the sounds of the gathering crowd, began to assert itself as she quieted her breath and listened.

Rarity pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she approached the end of the alley. She moved slowly, not wanting to draw undue attention. She peered out to the right, seeing more ponies running her way on the sidewalk.

Then she peered left and saw a quaint two-story home that was engulfed in flames.

—like a house on fire, he’d said.

Rarity’s mouth worked open soundlessly. She covered her mouth and felt hot tears welling in her eyes as she recalled the stallion’s exact words at their parting.

“No,” she said aloud. “He couldn’t have. Why would he…”

All at once, her memories of him came crashing back into her consciousness. There were recollections of seeing him taunt her after visiting Zecora, of his “jokes,” his pantomimed killing of Sassy, and of his all-too-real killing of the mugger. Doubt wracked her mind as she weighed the hope that his promises had filled her with against the death and fear that they’d been steeped in. The notion of fighting to rescue a lost wife who called to him from the fires of Tartarus still struck her as noble—even romantic—though its virtue was suspect when placed next to the grim reality of fiery torment that he’d just brought to earth.

A glint among the gathered crowd of gawkers in front of the sweet shop caught her eye. Rarity wiped away her tears and looked carefully, spotting a metal holding-tank mounted on a cart that was accompanied by a hoofful of nearby stallions in heavy and slick-looking red coats. Some of the firefighters seemed to be fussing with a pump apparatus next to the tank, while others were merely standing, seemingly content to let the building burn.

She felt a surge of indignation at the sight. It came as yet another reminder of how far the world had fallen. Yet in the face of her doubts about the shadowy stallion’s blood-soaked promises, the firefighters’ shiftlessness struck her as a situation where she felt confident that she could at least try to do some good.

After a few moments, another large cluster of ponies passed by the alley. Rarity seized the opportunity to flee out in their midst, keeping her hood pulled low, hoping they would mask her motions in case he was watching the scene. She let the wave of equine flesh carry her out into the greater throng of onlookers, and then meandered toward the firefighters on a path that she hoped would look more incidental than deliberate.

“You there!” she shouted at one of them as she approached the cart, struggling to make her voice heard over both the crowd and the roaring blaze. “Why aren’t you doing anything to put out the fire?!”

The heavyset stallion gave her a look of surprise above his bushy mustache. “Nothin’, m’am? There ain’t enough wind to make the fire jump for how far apart these buildings are. We’re just keepin’ track in case that changes.”

“But why aren’t you putting out this fire? There could still be ponies trapped inside!”

He scoffed. “Anypony caught in there’d be crispier’n a burnt batch of hayfries by now, ma’am. Whole place went up in a right big hurry. Reckon it’d have caught most anypony unawares.”

“Please, I cannot bear to stand by and see this continue unabated. You must at least try!”

The stallion shook his head. “Like I said, ma’am, we’ll step in if it looks like it’s gonna kick up. ’Til then, though, I mean no disrespect, but why don’t y’all just let us do our job?”

Rarity turned away from him. Guilt washed over her as she considered how the words she’d let slip about her destination had contributed to at least the candy maker’s death, plus however many ponies might’ve been in the shop when it went up. She could scarcely bring herself to ponder how many might’ve lived up in the building’s second floor.

“Are you certain there were no survivors at all?” Rarity asked.

The stallion shrugged. “Can’t say for sure, ma’am. I just know we ain’t seen anypony come out through the front since we got here.”

Rarity nodded slowly, as the the thought occurred to her that she could try the back. And so she broke away from the stallions, pushing as swiftly as she dared through the crowd toward the side of the building. As she moved closer to the inferno, the heat grew to stifling levels and she was forced to fight against the instinctual surges of panic that screamed at her to flee. But soon she exited the knot of ponies closest to the building and took off at full gallop down the alley running next to the building. At this distance she was sweating more from the flames than from her own nerves.

As Rarity came around to the back side of the shop, she spotted a door labeled as a service entrance. She lit her horn and cast a spell to delve for nearby life signs. Innumerable pinpricks of light sprang up in her mind’s eye from the heavily populated streets around the shop. None seemed to be coming from the shop itself, though.

The moments dragged on, and Rarity felt a growing ache in her horn from the effort of maintaining the spell. She turned her eyes downwards and touched a hoof to her brow, massaging it. But in doing so, she noticed a streak of red that had cut its way across the dirt and filth behind the shop and deeper into the darkness of the alley.

Rarity’s eyes widened as her spell lit up a single, dim life-sign somewhere in that alley.

“Hello?” Rarity called, stepping slowly down the crimson trail. She flared her horn-light, trying to cast a bit more illumination. Yet she also glanced upward and into a multitude of recessed doorways as she moved down the alley, any of which could be hiding a criminal or, worse, him.

She spotted movement near some bags of trash. Rarity approached cautiously, trying to build confidence as her horn-light gradually revealed more details.

The thing jerked suddenly, and Rarity gasped with surprise as she realized that it was a leg; specifically the hind leg of a pony, albeit with patches that were alternately blackened or raw. Rarity moved closer, seeing from the size and shape of the pony that it was a mare. Her yellow coat was matted with mud and filth in some places, and scorched in others. Her mane and tail were almost worse; they’d likely once been blue streaked with pink, but much of the hair was stained with ash or simply burned away.

“Who’s… there,” the mare rasped, before erupting into a series of pained coughs.

“Oh m… my goodness, you’re alive,” Rarity stammered. “Let’s see if we can keep you that way…”

The mare fixed her blue eyes on Rarity. They were red-rimmed, likely from smoke and pain, but they remained vivid and intense. “Closer,” she said, scrunching up her tear-streaked muzzle.

Rarity approached her. As she did, she noticed that the mare’s barrel was also marred with lines of livid, bubbling red. “You’ve been stabbed,” she said quietly, affecting deliberate calmness for the wounded mare’s sake. But on the inside she was wracked with mounting dread about the shadowy stallion and his favored tools.

The mare raised a bloody, shaking hoof toward Rarity, and she gripped the front of her cloak. Rarity felt herself pulled uncomfortably close to the mare’s blackened, spattered face by a grip that was like iron, despite her considerable injury. “Leave a message,” she breathed. “Starswirl… Fountain. Upper City. Find the loose stone. Leave a note… ‘He’s back.’”

“He…” Rarity’s stomach felt leaden again. “The message—”

The grip on Rarity’s cloak loosened as the mare slumped to the pavement, hissing through gritted teeth: “Just make it say, ‘he’s back!’”

Rarity nodded as she considered her options. Much as she didn’t want to risk being spotted by him, she also knew there was little chance of saving the wounded mare’s life without seeking help. “Wait here a moment,” she said, frowning. “Whatever you do, please try to stay conscious.”

“W… what…”

“I will not leave you to die.”

The mare struggled to rise again, but ultimately couldn’t. “No… just… the message…”

Ignoring the mare’s protests, Rarity galloped back down the alley, letting the purpose of her mission steel her against the raging heat of the inferno. She pushed into the crowd once more, and worked her way to where the heavyset firefighter was waiting by his cart. “Excuse me again, good sir?”

“Oh! Howdy, ma’am.”

“Yes, dreadfully sorry, but I wonder if you might have any other carts at hoof, besides your pump-wagon?”

He frowned. “I s’pose we do, ma’am. Why do you ask?”

Rarity fished out her billfold and discreetly counted off a sum of bits that made his eyebrows climb. “Do you suppose that you could have a cart come around to the alley behind this building?”

“Well ma’am, I reckon that a lot o’things are possible,” he said, taking the bits from her.

“Go then, please; time is of the essence! And bring a tarpaulin to cover the cart as well!”

She left him, once again braved the flames at the side of the building, then hurried to where the mare still lay groaning. “Thank goodness you’re still with us. I have good news: our transportation should be sorted. Though I never did properly make your acquaintance, miss…?”

“Bon Bon,” the mare croaked. “Baker… and candy maker.”

“Bon Bon. A pleasure to meet you, excepting the circumstances. You… likely recognize me, given what you do for Overseer Saddles?”

“Wait… did she—”

“She asked me to come.” But Rarity paused, noticing that something beyond just burns and dirt-stains looked amiss with Bon Bon’s flank. Amid a cutie mark that gave the appearance of three wrapped candies, one of those candies was… smudged. Not stained or injured, but smudged. As if it was painted on.

“Darling, what is this?” Rarity asked, raising a hoof and rubbing at the smudge. She examined her hoof, and her brow furrowed at the sight of yellow, pink, and blue paint flakes upon it.

“It’s… not…” Bon Bon said weakly.

Now curious and fascinated in equal measure, Rarity lifted a corner of her cloak and used it to continue rubbing at the ostensible cutie mark. Bon Bon’s protests diminished in their conviction, due to her fading consciousness. And as the paint flecked away, Rarity found herself entranced by what she discovered underneath: two thick, grayish, parallel lines. It was unlike any cutie mark that Rarity had seen before, and striking in its plainness.

Rarity couldn’t escape the thought that it resembled an equals sign.


END OF BOOK 1: HELL AWAITS