Puzzle Piece
This one raced down the nighttime Freeport streets. Moonlight shone in the puddles created by the latest tropical downpour before this one splashed through them. This one sped past several individuals who yelled at this one as it whirled by them without any kind of apology. This one didn’t have time for courtesy. Several ritualistic murders had already been committed in Freeport over the last couple of weeks, and if this one was right then another innocent was about to become the next victim of a mad cult that had taken to stalking Freeport’s streets.
The outlandish nature of the murders had been widely publicized, and their sensational nature had scared many people. As a result, the Council had ordered that the perpetrators brought to justice. After a week’s investigation, this one had discovered evidence of a cult based at least partially in an old religion called the Golden Path. The Golden Path had ruled Freeport many centuries ago, with several spirits inhabiting mortal bodies acting as the heads of state. It had been a spectacular failure, with an oppressive and dogmatic religious hierarchy turning the whole populace into virtual slaves for their so-called divine rulers. In the end, the Golden Order collapsed when their false gods were destroyed and the Zebrican Empire invaded to topple their wavering government. Not that the end of their oppressive rule had helped Freeport much in the end.
And now it seemed that some remnants of the Golden Path had survived, or as this one suspected, some group claiming to be a remnant of that defunct religion to serve their own ends. According to the experts this one had consulted with, the murders were definitely part of a summoning ritual, but what they were summoning wasn’t one of the spirits of justice used in the past. The only question was whether the cult knew that or had been tricked by some spirit into summoning it. Either way, they needed to be stopped.
This one had gotten lucky when it captured one of the cultists. But the cultist had been difficult to break, taking more time than this one liked to finally get anything useful out of him. He had been thoroughly indoctrinated and was of a zealous mindset, and this one was reasonably certain that magical blocks had been placed in his mind. This one got what it wanted out of him in the end, but the issue was how precious little time there was before the next—and final—sacrifice. The condottieri were assembling, but it would take too long before a suitable force could be gathered and deployed.
Thus this one approached an old manor sitting alongside the shore. Made of grey stone, the manor had an older style that dated back to when gargoyles, looming arches, and stained glass windows had been popular. Its dark interiors whispered of secrets that echoed through time as venerable old families of influence plotted and schemed. Within the dark hallways glowing orbs moved, briefly casting light through the windows—patrols most likely. Considering there should have been more guards patrolling outside the manor than the interior, this one was all the more confident that the information it had gotten out of its prisoner was correct.
Knowing that time was ticking, this one flew over the manor's fence when it felt sure no one was watching it. This one landed on the manor wall, and after checking a couple of windows, found one to be unlocked. Opening it, this one crawled in through the window into a study that was illuminated only by the moon and stars.
The sound of hoofsteps on wood flooring echoed through the closed door, and this one saw an opportunity present itself. This one hid itself behind where the door would swing over, its black carapace blending in with the shadows, and then with a push of telekinesis knocked over a vase on the far side of the room. The resulting crash was almost painfully loud in the quiet manor, and it had the desired results.
The door all but slammed open as a large, heavyset earth pony stallion barged into the study. “Who's there?!” he barked out, casting his lantern about to see how the vase had been knocked over. Unfortunately for him, he was looking in the wrong direction when this one emerged from the shadows cast by the door. Still, to his credit he sensed that this one was coming and spun to face this one. He opened his mouth, either to shout out a warning or demand to know what this one was doing there, but this one silenced him with a jab to the throat. His eyes widened as his hooves instinctively clutched at his throat. This one didn’t give him any chance to recover before quickly giving him a bodyshot to the liver and a kick to the inside of his knee. The knee popped out of place and he fell to the floor, disabled by the pain and debilitating nature of his injuries.
Not having any time to waste on this guard, this one roughly dragged him to the wall, sticking him there by spitting up some resin and closing his mouth in a similar manner. That done, this one picked up the lantern and transformed to appear exactly like the guard before proceeding further into the manor.
Listening carefully, this one followed the hallways that led to the loudest noises. This one opened a door and found itself on the second floor looking down at a garden enclosed within the manor. Several individuals milled about below while dark clouds roiled above. Before this one could study what was going on, another guard glanced over his shoulder at this one.
“Everything okay?” he asked. He sounded bored, though there was a hint of wariness. Probably because his fellow guard wasn’t supposed to be here.
This one approached him from behind as though nothing was amiss. “Nothing to worry about.” Before he had a chance to react, all in one motion this one’s arms wrapped around his head and neck, and it dragged the guard down below the railing so no one below could see what was happening. This one cut off the blood flow to his brain, and it wasn’t long before his eyes fluttered into unconsciousness. Making sure he wasn’t faking being knocked out, this one took out a pair of manacles and locked him to one of the stone pickets of the railing.
That little matter taken care of, this one took position behind a pillar to examine the courtyard below. In the center was a decorative stone slab onto which a female gryphon had been tied down. Her eyes fluttered and she moved around languidly, probably either having been drugged or put under some sort of mind magic. Standing at the head of the stone slab was a figure clad in white and gold robes rhythmically chanting arcane words, their features obscured from this one’s vantage point. On the ground around them was an intricately carved and precisely measured magic circle, its lines filled with a variety of powers and the spaces filled with a seemingly random assortment of objects, a dagger in one spot, a feather in another, and piles of dust and bones in others. Several more thuggish figures milled about the courtyard, the only major consistency between them being that each was armed and each were being careful not to disrupt the circle and their apparent master.
A sudden burst of wind swirled about the courtyard with such strength that it blew off this one’s recently procured hat, and in turn the clouds above crackled with energy. The cloaked figure's esoteric words raised in crescendo as he picked up a dagger from beside the head of his latest victim. It seemed this one had arrived just in time.
No time to waste, this one considered the best course of action. Briefly this one considered clearing out the ground floor with fire gems, but quickly dismissed the idea. That was liable to kill the hostage, and there might be more prisoners within the building. None of these people looked like they belonged in the manor, and they certainly didn’t carry themselves like mere servants. That meant the staff and owners were probably inside. What’s more, this one could taste the magic in the air from the ritual down below. Introducing something as volatile as a firegem to this equation could have all sorts of nasty effects, including possibly even ripping a hole in the fabric of reality that could unleash whatever they were trying to summon, or maybe something else entirely. But the ritual was reaching completion now and there wasn’t time to wait for the reinforcements that were coming. That meant that this one had to act aggressively, even if that came with a great deal of potential personal risk for itself. But then again, this one wasn’t one of the foremost agents of the Masks for no reason.
This one pulled out several vials from a pouch at its side. It downed three of them in quick succession and fought down the instinct to cough and hack at their unpleasant taste. What this one would have paid to anyone who could make the more potent potions this one used more palatable. But this one kept the potions down and their alchemical power went to work. Sights and sounds became sharper even as everything around it seemed to slow. This one pulled out a pair of batons from its side, reverted to its natural form, and took careful note of where everyone was in the courtyard.
Leaping into action, this one tossed the other four vials about the courtyard, and cries of shocks and confusion echoed. Glass broke and a grey gas exploded out to obscure the whole area. This one came down on one of the thugs, and cracked a baton against the back of his head to bring him down. Flying forward with its momentum, this one reached the next thug, who spun to face this one. He swung sloppily at this one, but it easily dodged to the side and swung its baton into his knee. It gave out, and he tried to bring his club up to block, but this one simply smacked him across the ankle to break his grip, jabbed and struck him across the ribs and head to bring him down as well.
This one ran for the center of the garden, only for the two thugs closest to their master to intercept it. The zebra and gryphon each carried a club as well, probably the best weapon they could find that could also both be relatively easily hidden and used inconspicuously. Worse still was that they carried themselves like they knew how to use them. Based on their stances, they had learned their craft on the street, and their attacks would be simple and efficient.
The gryphon came on first, his club coming down for this one’s head. This one raised its batons with its magic in a crossguard to catch the attack and deflected it to the left. This one’s right baton then snapped out to strike him across the shoulder with the intention of taking the strength out of the arm. This one would have kept up the attack, but the gryphon’s compatriot stepped in to make a jab with his own club, driving this one back a step. He pressed on with a whirling series of attacks that flowed into one another, forcing this one into a rapid exchange of blows. The action bought his friend enough breathing room to recover, and while his next attacks were slower, the both of them kept this one moving, attacking, and blocking, and far too busy to continue the advance on their leader.
This one could feel the trickle of sand in the hourglass in the back of its mind, and to add to this one’s trouble, it heard someone else approaching it from behind. Now in danger of being overwhelmed, this one pulled out a gemstone from its pouches. Picking its moment, it struck at its opponents’ clubs as hard as it could to sweep them aside for a precious second. This one closed its eyes, flattened its ears, and tossed the thunderflash stone behind it at the attacker that threatened to flank it.
The roar of thunder and light was painful, especially with the enhanced senses granted to this one thanks to its potions. But at least this one had been ready for it, unlike its opponents. This one forcefully blinked through the spots in its vision and ignored the ringing in its ears as it reorientated itself. Seeing the pony previously coming up behind it now staggering, this one pulled out a dagger and tossed it. It flew true and sunk into the thug’s leg, and he howled in pain, falling to the ground to clutch at his wound. The gryphon swung his club wildly trying to keep this one busy while he recovered. This one stepped inside one klutzy swing and struck him across the wrists to make him drop the club. Next this one’s batons slammed into his throat and then the back of his head in quick succession to send him to the floor.
This one tried to eliminate the zebra thug, but he recovered from the thunderflash stone quicker than this one would have liked. This one’s batons flew in a blur of attacks as this one tried to break his defense, but he was fast and readily gave ground as he regained his bearings, expertly deflecting one attack after another to the side. Adding to this one’s annoyance, the last thug this one had identified emerged out of the slowly dissipating smoke, a crossbow at the ready.
Not wanting to get shot, this one stepped closer to the zebra, and one of its batons met the club. This one slid its baton down along the side of the club and then turned it to hook his arm. Having caught him, this one grabbed his other arm and twisted it to force him off balance and place him between it and the crossbow right as it fired. The bolt slammed into the zebra’s shoulder, and this one swept his legs out from under him with its free baton. The crossbow wielder jerkily tried to reload, but this one tossed its baton at him. It tumbled end over end before striking him right between the eyes, sending him to the ground with a pained groan.
The way clear at last, this one bolted for the leader of the cult and their latest would-be victim. The cloaked figure raised their dagger over the heart of the writhing captive as magic crackled in the air. This one snapped out one of its own daggers and threw it at the cult leader. The leader’s head jerked in the direction of the impending threat to her life, and a magical golden shield appeared to intercept the dagger. Unfortunately for cult leader, this one had thrown a specially enchanted dagger intended to breach such defenses, and it to slip right through the shield like air. It sunk into the flesh of the foreleg holding the sacrificial dagger, and it clattered harmlessly to the floor.
The cult leader clutched at her wound, and her cowl fell back to reveal the pained expression of a unicorn mare of blue coat and purple mane. She started to cast another spell, but this one threw its remaining baton to strike her horn. Sparks erupted from the horn as the spell was disrupted, and this one closed the distance between it and its quarry. This one grabbed her injured leg with the intent of twisting her to the ground, but right as this one was in the middle of doing so it caught a flash of something metallic within the robes of her good arm out of the corner of its eye. That was all the warning this one got before a blade flashed out right at this one’s neck. This one’s hoof impacted her wrist, the surprise attack was deflected just a hair's breadth away from this one’s neck.
Not wanting to risk her pulling any more nasty tricks, this one tied our arms together, and pushed her against the stone slab. The cult leader snarled and her horn lit once again, but this one was already in the process of casting its own, far simpler spell. Some more telekinesis had another one of this one’s daggers slashing out and then pressing to the cult leader’s throat.
“This one wouldn’t recommend doing that,” this one warned her coldly, pressing the dagger close enough to nearly shed blood. “Drop the spell, or this is going to end very quickly for you.”
The cult leader glared at this one with a primal hatred. “Would you commit blasphemy by killing the herald of the gods?”
This one shrugged. “This one doesn’t worship your gods, or whatever spirits you claim to worship. If killing you is what this one needs to do then this one won’t lose any sleep over it.”
In truth, this one has a rather practical approach to such things. Gods and spirits could make themselves useful, but this one could just make do without them. After all, the creator of the Free Minds hated her rogue creations and would see us wiped from the face of the earth. No sense feeling beholden to a creature such as that. And any being that required the sacrifices of innocents in order to appear probably wasn’t who you wanted to invite over from another plane of existence, regardless of whatever promises they might offer.
The cult leader didn’t lose any fight in her eyes as she refused to be cowed. “Fool, do you think you can stop the will of the gods?”
“This one doesn’t need to stop the gods.” This one pressed the dagger just a bit more to draw a tiny trickle of blood. “Only mere mortals. Mortals who can very much die.”
“Then know you would send me to an eternal paradise from where I will recieve my just rewards for my service.” Her eyes flicked to her minions, a couple of whom were stirring themselves, but they didn’t seem particularly ready for another fight just yet.
This one detected the slightest quiver of doubt behind her zeal. “If you’re particularly eager to meet your god then this one can accommodate you. This one’s orders were to take you prisoner for trial, but sometimes these things just can’t be helped. But if you're actually not so sure about that, this one suggests you call off the minions and tell them to surrender. This one isn’t about to turn its back to you if they want a round two with it.”
There was a flash of recognition behind her eyes of the realization that this one was very serious about killing her, and her voice took on a more conciliatory tone. “Why do you work for the Council? Don’t you see how corrupt this nation has become under their rule? With the gods we could bring Freeport back into a golden age of justice and prosperity.”
“To answer your first question, because the Council is still a better alternative than a lot of options. And as for your second...” This one nodded to the murmuring, disoriented victim of the cult. “How is it justice to sacrifice another for your benefit?”
The cult leader stiffened. “An unfortunate but necessary measure to bring about change.”
This one tsked and shook its head. “This one is sure we can do better than placating some blood-mad god and asking it to rule over us. Now then, if you’re quite done, please surrender before this one has to cut your throat. That is, unless you’re particularly eager to see your god sooner rather than later.”
As this one suspected, this cult leader was quick to sacrifice others for her cause, but as was so often the case with such figures she was unwilling to consider herself such a disposable asset. Sacrificing for the gods was something for other people to do, not those with the vision and will to see that those things got done, such as herself. She surrendered.
A little less than an hour later the condottieri belatedly stormed the manor with the usual military professionalism shown by the clanponies of the Striker and Doo Clans. There was the banging of doors being slammed open by mercenaries going room by room in the manor to make sure it was secure, and to deal with any remaining threats while freeing any prisoners. It didn’t take them long to take control of the garden considering this one already had the situation under control. This one still had its dagger to the throat of the cult leader, who had gone silent after surrendering despite this one’s attempts to get more information out of her. Her minions were all shackled together and under the watch of the crossbow this one had confiscated from them. The condottieri didn’t waste any time in seizing all of them and escorting them out of the manor.
That was all well and good, though there was one little matter that needed to be taken care of before this one could leave. An earth pony stallion with a dark blue coat and dual-stripes of green in his mane approached this one, every bit as well armed as this one and the mercenaries he accompanied. Though I knew that this individual wasn’t really a pony. No, he was a fellow agent of the Masks and a Free Mind like this one.
Cold Comfort was his name, and he was a rival of this one within the Masks. The two of us had entered Freeport’s intelligence organization around the same time, and as two up-and-comer agents we had competed for accolades and promotions. He was, if this one had to be honest, a good agent; methodical in his conduct, good at combing through and organizing available intel, and as one of the best at putting together an operation, he tended to get the job done. Professionally, this one’s main criticism of him was that he was a bit too methodical and ponderous for this one’s liking. He didn’t like to strike until everything was just right, and would stay his strike until that moment came. He tended to let unexpected opportunities slip through his hooves, either ignoring or missing them since they weren't part of his thorough planning. Still, he was an otherwise fine addition to the Masks.
A far bigger problem was that we just didn’t get along, at all. He always took offense whenever this one ever beat him and was very quick to criticize this one. Cold always liked to hold himself up to a high standard, and it always irked him to be second best; his pride just didn’t allow for it. And no small part of this one liked showing him up, and to be the one to get the accolades of beating whatever case had fallen into our laps. Our boss even encouraged this rivalry, letting it push us to do better instead of becoming content with our stations. Though the paranoid part of this one’s mind wondered if The Mask also encouraged our rivalry in order to prevent us from ever combining forces against it. The Mask had held its position for a very long time for very good reasons. But at the time that hardly seemed a serious worry.
More immediately concerning was the deep scowl Cold fixed this one with. “You were reckless, Puzzle.”
This one rolled its eyes. “And you were too slow. As this one said, there wasn’t time to wait for the condottieri. The ritual was nearly complete right when this one had gotten here. If this one hadn’t been here they would have succeeded.”
After this one had cracked its prisoner during interrogation we’d been left the options of either going immediately to the manor ourselves or martialing the full power of the condottieri to deal with this cult. Believing that there wasn’t time to wait, this one had chosen the former. Cold chose the latter.
Cold frowned as he watched the condottieri escort their prisoners away. “You were outnumbered, and didn’t know what you were going to be up against. It’s only dumb luck that you weren’t killed.”
This one waved him off. “If it turned out to be too much this one would have waited for reinforcements. This one scouted its opponents, weighed the risks against what was about to happen, and made a decision. In the end, this one was right, the victim was saved, and the cult captured.”
Cold snorted. “You’re also lucky the cult didn’t get away while you were playing hero. What would we have done if they had ran for it the second you showed up?”
“Gone after their leader and beheaded the organization,” this one answered cooly. “This one is confident this whole cult is merely one of personality. Without their leader, the whole cult will fall apart.”
“So you claim.” Cold knew this one was right, but he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. After all, it wouldn’t pay to give his rival a compliment, and there were always endless nitpicks and minor recriminations to level against the job another did. At the end of the day, criticism is easy; actually doing the job is hard.
This one decided to needle its rival. It had been a long day and it was already tired of his naysaying. “And if you were so concerned about this one going in alone you should have come with it when you had the chance. It wouldn’t have hurt to have some backup.”
Cold’s nostrils flared. He could never stand the idea of being anyone’s backup. “This one was right in gathering the condottieri. The fact you managed to win despite your recklessness doesn’t mean you’re right after the fact.”
“And if the cult had managed to fully summon their god because you took too long?”
“Still nothing the condottieri couldn’t have handled,” Cold immediately dismissed. “It’s what they’re for. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d dealt with some rampaging spirit, and it wouldn’t be the last.”
This one sighed. It seemed Cold was once again determined to fight this one for every inch of crest there was to be had in this. “And quite likely they would have suffered casualties. Even if you wanted to argue that they’re only mercenaries who were paid to put their lives in danger, what about her?” This one pointed to the gryphon who had been the cult’s latest attempted sacrifice. She was quivering as the condetteroiri tried to question her.
“She might belong to the cult,” Cold said, stubbornly unwilling to admit defeat. “She’ll need to be thoroughly questioned and investigated to know what her role in this is.”
He was right about that much. No sense in getting sloppy in a case with multiple murders, but this one’s patience was at an end where Cold and his petty criticisms were concerned. That being the case, this one turned from him and headed for the exit to the manor. “Goodbye, Cold. Try and make sure to gather all the evidence on the cult and to not lose any of our prisoners. We do want to make sure we squash this cult once and for all.”
Cold glowered at this one’s back as it walked away. “And exactly where do you think you are going?”
This one flashed him a toothy grin over its shoulder. “This one has a report to make.”
“You need to learn your place in the world,” Cold called after this one, determined to have the last word in the conversation. “Someday this one going to show it to you.”
This one ignored him.
As befitting the headquarters of Freeport’s intelligence agency, the building in which the Masks’ resided was as non-descript as a building could be, completely indistinguishable between the other offices that surrounded it. It didn’t even have a sign announcing what its purpose was. But then the Masks were supposed to be unnoticed, by and large. There, but faded into the background. The Masks dated all the way back to the earliest days of the Council, back even before Torch’s Rebellion and the official rise of the Council to power, when the Council was still freeing slaves and fighting against the Necrocrat’s rule.
Once inside, this one headed to the office of The Mask, the leader of our organization. It was a distinguished space with darkwood furniture, old sterling, pottery, and some old photographs and paintings decorating the walls. The office held all the signs of being the workplace of the same single individual for a long time. Personal items lay here and there, nearly forgotten in the daily grind, and the dirt had appropriately accumulated to accommodate the furniture.
Sitting in its office chair was The Mask itself, Double Dilemma. It was an older changeling, in the process of crossing the threshold from late middle age into the truly elderly, though there was still a brightness burning behind its eyes even if it lacked the vigor of yesteryears. Double had led the Masks for a long time. Likely it could have used its influence to join the Council quite some time ago if it had wanted to, but it preferred its role as The Mask and had controlled the organization with a deft hoof for decades, a rare accomplishment. As members of the Council rose and fell it was only natural they would want to put their own supporters in possession of such an important position within Freeport, but Double had countered all attempts to remove it from power. In addition to its competence in running the organization, this one suspected it had survived the various changing of the guards within the Council by always keeping odd bits of blackmail on key members, not that Double would ever admit to such a thing out loud.
But there was one master that all eventually had to bow to: time. Double was a long way from young, and it was starting to show. It had been some time since The Mask had entered the field itself, and it had been increasingly depending on agents like this one and Cold to take care of the organization’s daily affairs.
Kukri groaned. “This is confusing. So the leader of the Masks is also called ‘The Mask’?”
Puzzle chuckled at my apprentice's displeasure. “It’s all quite intentional to be confusing to outsiders. You have the organization of the Masks, The Mask leads the Masks, a mask can be a disguise, or mean an agent within the Masks.”
“Doesn’t that ever get confusing?” Kukri asked.
Puzzle shrugged. “Context within a conversation usually helps.”
“Double, this one has returned,” this one said as it approached The Mask’s desk.
Double took in this one’s appearance before tsking. “And didn't bother with taking a shower before coming back here, too. The custodians have to clean up the halls after you leave hoofprints, you know.” It smiled despite the light chiding. Admittedly, this one could perhaps have taken some more time to clean up before reporting. There had been another tropical downpour while this one had been walking here, and it had collected quite a bit of grime over the course of the past couple days trying to bring down the cult.
But this one decided to brush off the minor mess it was creating with its presence. “Given the circumstances, this one presumed you would want a report right away.”
Double shrugged and stood from its desk. “True, people were getting upset with that cult's activities.” It walked over to a liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of rum. Likely he already knew something of what happened, or at least suspected, and wanted a little something to celebrate the capture of the cult’s leader. “You want any?”
“Certainly, thank you.” After the long days this one had been through, a drink sounded pretty good. Not enough to debilitate oneself, but a little bit in celebration was fine by this one.
Double poured a glass of rum and gave it to this one. “So then, how did it go?”
“A bit messy,” this one said. This one could have colored the truth in its favor, but this one knew Double valued honest and straightforward information. “If this one had gone at the pace Cold and the condottieri wanted to set it wouldn't have made it in time to stop the sacrifice from happening. Thankfully, it decided to exercise a bit of initiative, and this one managed to capture the cult’s leader and six of her followers. They should be getting locked away as we speak and will be ready for interrogation at our pleasure.”
Double took a sip and grinned. “That’s one of the reasons this one likes you. You know when it's time to show patience and when to gets your rear in motion. So I take it you stopped their ritual?”
This one nodded. “Of course. We saved their prisoner from being sacrificed as well.”
“Excellent.” This one’s boss sat back behind its desk. “No loose ends then? I'd hate to have to deal with this damned cult again later.”
This one took a sip of its glass. “The matter should be well in hoof. We should be able to find out if there were any others involved from interrogating the prisoners. From there it’s just a matter of rounding up any stragglers.”
“That sounds right.” Double swirled its drink. “This looks like another case of a charismatic individual bringing together a cult. Without her the whole cult should fall apart. Still, there is the matter of justice for their victims, plus we don’t want some other charismatic lunatic sweeping them up for more mischief.”
“Agreed. Best to pull this problem up by the root before it becomes an issue again.”
Double sighed and nodded. “You would think people would know when to leave a bad idea dead in the past. The Golden Path were nothing but trouble back in their day.” It shrugged and took a sip. “No accounting for some people. Anyways, this one will send a couple of agents to make sure everything is cleaned up. The Council will decide what to do with their leader after all the trouble she's caused. This case was so sensational that it got everyone in an uproar, so the Council wants a personal hoof in her punishment.”
“Doubtless they’ll decide on some form of execution.” This one studied its drink as it considered how that might go. “Ideally something quiet, just so nobody can think she's a martyr. No use getting rid of this cult if a dozen copycats end up inspired by her example.”
“That's what this one will be recommending.” The Mask frowned as it leaned back in its seat. “Though that might be a bit problematic. There are a lot of angry people right now—people that have lost friends and loved ones. They’re gonna want the Council to give them blood in answer for their own that got hurt by these fanatics.”
This one thought of a potential solution to that issue. “Perhaps it could be a private execution viewable only for those closest to the victims. That should keep things relatively quiet while still satisfying those most vocal about punishing the members of this cult.”
Double rubbed its chin. “Not a bad idea. This one will run it by the Council later.” It shot this one a grin and raised its glass. “Good thing this one has capable agents like yourself. Otherwise this one would have some very unpleasant questions to answer for the Council.”
This one clinked glasses with it. “This one certainly likes to think it does its part.”
In truth, Double’s words made this one’s chest swell with pride. This one greatly admired its boss and the work it had done for Freeport. This one’s father had done some jobs for Double, and this one had caught Double’s eye when it had been a grub and so it had convinced this one to join the Masks. It had mentored this one and taught it much of what it knew, and this one had risen up the ranks of the Masks as a result.
This one would miss having Double around here in a couple of months.
“So you have, and you’ve done good by me over the years.” Double smiled as it settled in with its drink. “This one will miss this job. You know that? But it's just time for this one to move on.”
This one sat opposite of it. “Well, at least you know they'll be in good hooves after you retire.”
This one’s boss’ eyes swept over some old photographs hanging near his desk. “That's why this one's been mentoring others to be able to take over once it's gone. If this one has done its job, everything will keep persisting as it has even once this one’s retired.”
“This one is sure it will be.” This one gave it a proud smile. “You’ve certainly done a good job with this one.”
Double snorted. “This one hopes so. It put a lot of time and effort into making you the agent you are today.” It mulled over its drink. “Though at this point it’s just a matter of who the Council will end up picking to replace me. This one's been at this job so long that it’s almost hard to remember a time when it hasn’t been in charge.”
Seeing a potential opportunity, this one said, “Doubtless your recommendation will carry considerable weight for who replaces you. The Council has seen fit to keep you in charge of the Masks for a reason.”
Double snorted. “It probably would, yes.” He turned a wry grin this one’s way. “Looking to replace your old boss?”
“Why not?” this one asked. “This one is one of your best agents. You trained this one, mentored it, and this one thinks it could really do a good job as The Mask. It’s worked hard, and done jobs you wouldn't trust to anyone else.”
And this one would dearly have liked to become The Mask, naturally. Both because it knew it could do the job, but also because it was a good stepping stone to joining the Council someday. The position possessed the type of influence and importance that would make it much easier to aim for such heights. This one enjoyed being a part of the Masks, but this one also wanted to make a better Freeport, and the best way to do that was as part of the Council.
Double smirked at it studied this one for a time. “Admittedly, this one could leave the Masks in worse hooves.” It tapped the top of its desk as it thought. “Well, this one will see if it can bring the topic up with the Council tomorrow when it gives its report on the Golden Path cult. Naturally your name will have to come up in the report, and this one would prefer if a candidate of its choice replaced it.”
“There is the factor to consider that you can either promote your own pick, or let the Council pick someone purely for political reasons,” this one said. “And the position of The Mask really is too important to leave in the hooves of someone who can’t do the job, right?”
Double snorted. “The Masks hardly need some political appointee who doesn’t know the first thing about spycraft.” It leaned forward over its desk, grinning at this one. “So, how about you give me all the details of what happened? No doubt the Council's going to want to know how the latest threat to Freeport got dealt with.”
“Sure thing.”
This one spent the next day on one of the less pleasant aspects of its job: paperwork. No good deed went unpunished, and everything this one did for the Masks had to be recorded, accounted for, and reviewed meticulously. When this one was younger it’d been surprised just how much of its time was spent filling out forms, reports, and other paperwork instead of being out in the field. But there was nothing to be done about it, and so this one made sure to be thorough in its current report. Considering how notorious the Golden Path murders were, people would be especially keen on looking through every aspect of this case.
While this one was in the middle of its work it received a summons from Double Dilemma. Naturally curious why it was being called on, this one made its way to Double’s office. But what this one saw when it got there was not at all what it expected. The Mask’s office was all but empty, the dusty outlines of furniture obvious as a few porters removed the last of Double’s personal possessions. Confusion flashed through this one, and this one nearly grabbed one of the porters to demand what they were doing. It seemed somehow profane for Double’s things to be so coldly removed from a place this one had always associated with its mentor, but this one kept its control and thought carefully.
A hopeful smile spread over this one’s face as it instead considered a possibility it very much liked the sound of. Had this one been promoted? That would explain the unexpected summons and Double’s office being empty. It would certainly be a surprise, as this one’s boss wasn’t set to retire for another couple of months. But perhaps Double wanted to set this one up in its place and have a couple months where it would still be around to watch over this one as it got used to its new duties.
A door leading to the back portion of Double’s office opened, but instead of Double walking out as this one expected, Cold Comfort emerged, holding a file it was perusing. He closed the folder and smiled at this one in a way it already didn’t like. “Puzzle, this one sees you answered its summons.”
This one raised an eyebrow. “Your summons?”
“Ah, I see you haven't heard the good news yet.” Cold stood up straighter as it made its announcement. “This one's the new Mask.”
This one’s heart sank at the news, and for the first time in this one’s life it was at a complete loss for words. How had this happened? Where was Double? How had Cold of all changelings come to be The Mask? These and a dozen other questions whirled through this one’s mind.
This one must have been carrying quite the dejected look on its face, because Cold chuckled. “Yes, this one was quite thrilled by the news as well. It seems that the Council, in their infinite wisdom, decided to grant Dilemma's retirement early, including a sizeable severance package as a reward for its long and capable service for Freeport. And they knew exactly who they wished to replace Dilemma with.” He bowed immodestly for this one.
“Evidently so.” This one did its best to recover and absorb this new information. Cold could now make life very hard for this one if it wanted to. Still, this was recoverable if this one played its cards right. Cold was the new Mask. Fine, this one could work with that, it was a loyal agent of the Masks. Perhaps declaring this one’s allegiances would help smooth over any issues there were between us. After all, this one could make itself useful to Cold, especially for this difficult transition phase as he took charge. If Cold came to rely on this one then its career might still prosper despite our past history.
This one smiled pleasantly for Cold. “Congratulations are in order for your promotion, it would seem.”
“So there are,” Cold said, his delight palatable at this one congratulating him. “This one would invite you to the celebration party, but sadly, duty calls. As one of the Masks' best agents, this one has an important assignment for you.”
Dread crept into this one. “Oh?”
Cold nodded and pulled out a map he then pinned to the wall. “Dilemma had an eye for detail, but this one thinks it had an oversight where Freeport's interests are concerned.” He tapped the map to the southwest of the Freeport Archipelagoes, and just off the coast of the continent. “Are you familiar with Port Nowhere?”
This one’s dread increased. “The Zebrican port city that’s on the far edge of their control?”
“Exactly, and one Freeport has a long claim to. We once owned that island, and this one would like to see that happen again.” Cold’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he continued. “Thus this one is sending one of our best agents there to see if that can happen.”
The story Cold was weaving was an obvious lie. Freeport had only taken the island around Port Nowhere under very unique circumstances. The Zebrican Empire had been badly overstretched and vulnerable due to civil war from one of its periodic succession crises, and that was with Equestrian aid. In the end Freeport lost the island after becoming distracted by its own internal instabilities when the Necrocrats had fallen. Without allies, Freeport would never risk war with Zebrica. While Zebrica wasn’t as strong as it once was, it was far from a power to trifle with. Besides, the island had almost no real value in any case. There were no natural resources in Port Nowhere that Freeport didn’t already have in abundance, and its strategic value to Freeport’s security was negligible. It just wouldn’t be worth the cost of taking and holding, especially when Zebrica would always seek to take the islands back as a matter of national prestige.
But this one knew what this was really was: exile. Cold was trying to get rid of this one by sending it to the most remote and isolated post he could find. As Double Dilemma had once told this one, whoever had said that you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer either didn’t have very many enemies or they were weak ones. Keeping an enemy close was a great way to suddenly find six inches of sharpened steel in your back. No, Cold was placing this one someplace where it couldn’t cause him serious trouble, far from this one’s own allies and support base, isolated.
This one thought over its words carefully, the next couple of minutes were going to be critical. “This one will see what it can do. It will, of course, need time to prepare for such a long journey and important mission, as well as considerable resources.”
Things were bad, but this one still had options. This one had allies, favors, and resources to call upon. Given some time this one could maybe even get some strings pulled to get it out of this situation. If worse came to worst, this one could quit the Masks. That would be ... regretful, but it was better than being forced into exile.
Cold tsked and shook his head. “This one is sorry to say that until the Council authorizes the expenditure of such resources, there isn't anything in the budget to assist you. It was all this one could do to scrape enough together to buy you a ticket to Port Nowhere. Perhaps in time, once this one has the influence to convince them to do so, the Council will loosen the purse strings to allow the Masks to give you more resources.”
This one’s brow furrowed. “This one sees. And when will it be departing?”
Cold clapped his hooves together twice, and a half dozen Mask agents emerged from the back portion of the office. They moved to surround this one, and this one recognized some of Cold’s allies and friends. “Immediately. No doubt it will take you some time to build up an information network from nothing, and the only ship heading out Port Nowhere's way anytime soon is leaving the harbor in but a couple of hours. This one knows it’s a great burden to you, but sometimes we have to work under ... adverse circumstances.”
This one grimaced, but it couldn't see any way out of this now that Cold had called on his reinforcements. Even if this one managed to kill Cold with a surprise attack, something this one very much wanted to do right at that moment, six against one were bad odds. No, this game had been rigged from the start. Cold had planned out every detail, and he wasn’t leaving this one any wiggle room to work with.
“Very well, this one will pack its things,” this one said through gritted teeth.
“Quickly now.” Cold’s smile took on an ugly light. “This one would hate to think you're defying a direct order by missing your ship. What would people think if an agent of the Masks went rogue? Naturally we couldn't have that, now could we?”
The threat there was obvious. If this one didn’t toe the line it would be declared a rogue agent and thus able to be eliminated as a danger to national security. “Naturally. Do not worry, this one will make its voyage on time.” This one stared him right in the eyes as it spoke slowly and deliberately. “And once its mission is finished, it will return to Freeport to conclude any unfinished business.”
If Cold was at all worried about this one’s threat, he didn’t show it. “Don't worry, this one will make sure that all your business in Freeport is well taken care of in your absence. After all, this mission is likely to take a long time. In fact, you should consider this an indefinite assignment until told otherwise, and then only by this one. Understood?”
“Understood,” this one growled.
“Good. This one will make sure to tell everyone that you had good reasons for missing the party.” Cold gave this one a patronizing pat to the cheek. “Now off with you. You know your place in the world now, don't you, Puzzle?”
This one’s voice tightened as it saw all its hopes and dreams for the future come crumbling down around it. “Yes. This one does.”
“Well that explains a few things,” I said as Puzzle finished up that part of the story. “Particularly about your background and stuff. I mean, I'm not surprised you were a spy considering you're an information broker now. Just finding it out for sure versus suspecting it was something like that.”
Puzzle shrugged, a bit solemn at that moment. “Fair enough, you don't get this one's skill set from just anywhere.”
I pressed with some more questions. “So you used to work for Freeport's version of the EIS?”
“This one did.” A wistful smile found its way to Puzzle’s face. “This one liked its job in the Masks, and it was good at what it did. Before, well...”
I frowned and nodded. It wasn’t hard to figure out why Puzzle had been so reluctant to talk about this topic. Getting exiled like he did must’ve been humiliating for him. I knew I didn’t like bringing up the whole story about how I’d ended up in Freeport, and if Puzzle was completely honest, he hadn’t even deserved what happened to him. He’d just been outmaneuvered by a scheming coworker. “Office politics left you in pretty rotten shape.”
“To put it lightly.” Puzzle’s eyes narrowed and I saw something flash behind his eyes that I’d rarely seen in him: genuine hate. It took something like when Strumming had been shot or talking about Chrysalis to get a look like that in his eyes. “This one's entire career was destroyed in a matter of minutes, and it was dumped in one of the most appropriately named ports in the world to rot and die. This one has never been able to prove it, but it would bet a million ducats that Cold told every enemy this one had in Freeport that it was open season for this one in Port Nowhere. It would explain exactly why so many bounty hunters suddenly arrived looking for this one’s head. Best of all for Cold, it’d be a convenient way for him to quietly get rid of this one for good without having to get his hooves dirty.”
“Sounds like that guy was a jerk,” I said. “Well, at least you bounced back.”
Puzzle took a deep breath before nodding. “So this one did, eventually.”
Sensing a loose end, I asked, “So did you get around to ... dealing with him?”
Obviously Puzzle had come back to Freeport at some point, and he was pretty big enemies with Cold. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Puzzle might have done something proactive about his old colleague in the Masks. As Puzzle had always told me, you didn’t let enemies remain in a condition where they could hurt you if you could do something about it, and Puzzle did as he preached.
Puzzle’s ear twitched. “Cold is ... doing far better than this one likes to think about.”
Now that was an interesting answer. Maybe as head of the Masks Cold had been untouchable by Puzzle, too far out of his reach. That was one of the few explanations I could come up with for how Puzzle and Cold could stand to be in the same city together. Though maybe there was another explanation considering Puzzle had said that Cold was doing very well for himself...
Kukri frowned as she crossed her arms over her chest. “But how did Cold get promoted over you? You’re way better than he is. And what happened to Double Dilemma? Wasn’t he supposed to ask you to take his place? And how did you come back from exile? Wouldn’t that bastard Cold have tried to have you killed if you returned to Freeport?”
“This one is afraid that is a story for another day.” Puzzle nodded to the setting sun on the horizon. “It’s already getting late, and we still have this story to finish.” He grinned wryly down at Kukri. “Unless you want to wait to finish the story of the City of Giants until later.”
“Nonono!” Kukri shook her head vigorously. “Please finish the story!”
I was pretty sure Puzzle was diverting the conversation, but he’d set some pretty good bait to avoid whatever it was he didn’t want to talk about. But there was always tomorrow to probe for more answers. “Yeah. So what happened after the weird dream-vision quest?”
This one lay on its cot in the cabin-cum-holding cell until it was dumped off at its personal prison of Port Nowhere. What else was there to do? Cold was in control of the Masks and doing everything in his power to make sure this one’s career was over in all but name. This one would never be able to get off of Port Nowhere unless it wanted to be censured and made an outright enemy of the Masks. How long would this one last even if it attempted to fight Cold? What was the point? This one had lost. There was no coming back from this. It was over. This one was just winding down the clock until it stopped forever. It was hopeless.
This one lay on that cot for ... what did it matter? After some inconsequential amount of time had passed there came a commotion outside that had nothing to do with this one. Then its door slammed open and one of Cold’s agents flew to the floor, landing next to this one’s cot with a pained groan. The Do-mare came flying in after this one’s so-called bodyguard, and landed on top of him, glowering down at him to make sure he was staying down.
This one briefly glanced at her before flopping back down. “Oh. It's you.”
Daring frowned down at this one. “Well don't rush to get out of here or anything. I'm sure we'll have all day before this guy gets back up again.” She kicked Cold’s agent in the ribs.
This one let out a long sigh. This was so bothersome. “Get out? And do what?”
“Stop Ephemera for one.” Daring shook this one by the shoulder. “Remember? The whole thing where we’re trying to stop her from potentially stealing a bunch of evil artifacts to do evil with?”
“And then what?”
The Do-mare raised an eyebrow. “Once Ephemera’s been stopped, maybe see if we can find some artifacts to save. At least if they aren’t cursed or anything like that, and then see about getting back home.”
“Home?” This one scoffed bitterly. “What is home to this one? I’ve been exiled. There is no going back, no home.”
The Do-mare glowered down at this one. “So what if you got exiled from home, you can always go find a new one! Lots of ponies do that when they’ve been kicked out.”
“And then lose it again?” This one rolled to turn its back to her. “What’s the point?”
The Do-mare shook her head. “If you want something you need to fight for it. You can’t just lie around and mope, otherwise nothing will get done.”
“If this one fights, it loses.” Why couldn’t she just leave this one alone? Why was she bothering?
The Do-mare let out an annoyed huff and sat down next to this one. “Hey, you can win. You're tough and smart.”
“And so are the others,” this one said. “And they have more resources, more men, knowledge of the terrain, and more magic.”
“Then you just have to be better than them anyway.” The Do-mare rubbed this one’s shoulder. “You can pull through this. We can do this. What else are you going to do? Lie here and mope? You gotta get back in the fight. Otherwise they win.”
“They've already won.” This one was doomed. This whole expedition was doomed. There was no recovering from this disaster.
“No. They. Haven't.” The Do-mare hopped back to her hooves, her wings shooting out. “We're a long way from being out of this race. I’m not saying that it’ll be easy, but the best things in the world tend to be the hardest to achieve.”
This one groaned and wrapped its pillow around its head. “This one would be wiser to not waste any more time on a forlorn hope.”
The Do-mare stomped a hoof down on the planks. “So what is it you want in life?”
This one was so tired, it just wanted to go asleep, but the Do-mare just wouldn’t leave this one to die. “To make a difference. To make Freeport better. Foolish things.”
“Doesn't sound foolish to me,” the Do-mare said. “Nothing wrong with wanting to make your nation better. Just means you're a decent guy.”
“And a failure. All this one can do is fail,” this one insisted. “Look how this one has botched everything thus far, if not made everything worse. Ephemera wouldn’t have gotten this far without this one. It would be better if this one just stayed here and starved.”
The Do-mare frowned as she sat back down next to this one. “I don't think so. I think you're better than that. I can see it in you. Some people have that spark to make a difference, and you have it.”
This one looked over its shoulder to look at the Do-mare. “What if you're wrong?”
The Do-mare flashed this one a smile. “Better to have tried and failed than to have never tried. What I’ve always said. I didn't get as far as I’ve gotten without falling a time or several. Sometimes life kicks you down. All you can do is get back up again, and tackle the world.”
This one frowned as it thought that over. “This one has heard that before.” But where? This one wasn’t sure. Despair continued to press in on this one, but... Something seemed off.
“You don't strike me as a quitter.” The Do-mare offered a hoof to help this one up. “So get up and help me.”
This one wasn’t sure if it should take that hoof. “Will we win?”
The Do-mare’s eyes sparkled as she grinned confidently. “I'm sure we can. I'm not about to let a creep like Ephemera stop us.”
This one’s ears drooped and it’s gaze fell to the floor. “And if we fail?”
“We won't.” The Do-mare prodded this one’s side. “And what’s with this defeatist attitude? This doesn’t seem like you. There’re a few things I could call you, but a quitter isn’t one of them. Aren’t you curious about what’s going on here?”
This one felt a moment of confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” The Do-mare glanced around, frowning at the walls of the cabin. “How did we even get onto this ship? What ship is this even?”
“It’s...” This one grimaced as a piercing pain lanced through this one’s head. Despite the pain several questions suddenly pressed themselves forward, and this one tried to make itself think through the pain. How had this one gotten here? Wait, Cold’s agents had escorted it to the ship, but that was before this one had met the Do-mare. That didn’t make sense. This one had already arrived in Port Nowhere. They’d then left this one to its exile, their mission complete. And then there was the long trip to the land of the Dromaed to seek out the City of Giants. So why was this one back on this accursed ship?
The pain became a white hot flash that consumed this one’s world. When it finally receded just enough to let this one think, this one found itself on the cabin floor, blinking spots out of its vision. The Do-mare and the Idea-stallion were both standing over this one with concerned faces.
The Do-mare placed a cautious hoof on this one’s shoulder. “Puzzle, you okay? You just started screaming and fell to the floor.”
This one held its head, the pain starting to subside, if far more slowly than this one liked. “T-this one—I think so.” This one reached out to them. “I need some fresh air. Need to be able to think.”
“Careful there, good chap,” the Idea-stallion said as this one got onto unsteady hooves. “You’re looking a bit pale.”
“Another good reason to get some fresh air.” This one wanted out of that cabin immediately. It didn’t know why, but it just needed to be away and somewhere, anywhere else.
Daring gave her companion a questioning look but shrugged. She took position next to this one and helped it out of the cabin towards the deck. “Okay, but just to warn you, it’s going to be a bit weird once we get outside.”
This one staggered as a moment of vertigo made the whole world turn upside down. It felt like this one had gone a week without any sleep, gone on a bender, and then ended the whole episode with a boxing match with a minotaur—that it lost, badly. “Ugh, what do you mean?”
“Probably easier to show you than explain,” the Do-mare said as she helped this one pick its way over the rest of the unconscious guards on the floor.
This one saw what she meant when we reached the deck. It did indeed seem like we were on the ship that had carried it to Port Nowhere, but that was far from the weirdest thing about this. All around us was an infinite nighttime sky, the ship floating on a sea of twinkling stars. There was nothing but the void beyond.
This one blinked and suddenly felt much more sober. “Oh, this could be a problem.”