//------------------------------// // Case Ten, Chapter One: Abnormal Studies // Story: Ponyville Noire: Kriegspiel—Black, White, and Scarlet // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// Rain cascaded from the gray sky, pelting the ponies below as they sprinted for cover. The water pattered musically against the roofs of the police cruisers and plainclothes vehicles parked outside the two-story home that stood in the midst of an overgrown lawn boxed in by a faded white picket fence, one of many on the long, wide street. Trace Evidence walked out of the house, turning up the collar of his trenchcoat against the rain as he trotted down the concrete pathway to the sidewalk. He looked up at the gray blanket that smothered the sky, then glanced at his watch with a frown. “Where the hell are they?” he muttered to himself as the watch hands ticked past 9:20. At that moment, some of the clouds above him burst open and a golden angel descended from the skies, a stallion in a green vest clinging tight to her. “See?” Daring commented as she alighted on the ground, with Phillip clambering off her. “Flying above the clouds means we don’t get as wet.” “And I keep saying, a trolley doesn’t do sharp turns or dives,” Phillip grunted, pulling his hat down over his face to try to ward off the rain. Daring just scoffed and gave the clouds a disdainful look. “I’ll be glad when the Moon of Rain is over next week,” she muttered. “One good thing about it,” Trace stated, glancing around at the abandoned sidewalk. “Keeps the crowds away. C’mon, let’s go.” He led the two up the pathway towards the door. “What’s the story?” Phillip stated. “You told us that there was a kidnapping.” “Doctor Dusty Tome,” Trace stated, stepping over a potted plant that had been knocked down and lay across the pathway, soil and trampled tulips scattered across the concrete like roadkill. “Professor of ancient languages. His live-in student apprentice, Granite Tablet, called us and said he was missing about an hour ago. I attempted a location spell with a sample of his hair, but no luck. We thought you might want to take a look.” “Because you’re stumped,” Daring translated. “There’s a reason you were so fidgety waiting for us.” “Okay, fine, yes,” Trace grumbled as he climbed up onto the front step and paused in front of the blue door marred with Crime Scene: Do Not Cross tape. “Mind what you touch,” he commented and pushed the door open with his magic. The group proceeded into a foyer. Directly in front of them was a wide staircase that led up to the second floor; passageways to their left and right led into a sitting room and a kitchen respectively. The entire room was lit by a crystal chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. A coatstand with an umbrella bucket stood next to them, a small puddle still clinging to the floor beneath them. Phillip bent down, noting the faint dirty tracks that marred the white carpet going up the stairs. “Kidnappers?” he asked. “They lead from the back door up to the study, so probably,” Trace commented. “Two of them,” Phillip stated, slowly following the trail up the stairs. “Dirt, not mud: came in before rain started at around 10 PM.” He continued to follow them to the second floor, rounding the corner. Daring proceeded down the other way, trotting behind Trace towards the back door. The door was locked tight, but Daring was immediately interested in the panel of numbered switches on the wall next to it. “Silent alarm?” she noted. “Yup; apparently, the professor regularly deals in expensive artifacts,” Trace nodded. “It switches on from nine PM until eight AM: anytime somepony opens a door, they have to punch in the code. It didn’t go off last night. We’ve already checked it for oil traces and it looks like only the combination numbers have been touched.” A quick glance at the panel indicated that there was indeed light gray powder clinging to the 1, 3, and 6 buttons. “And no sign of forced entry on the door. So they knew the combination,” Daring mused. Opening up the door, she proceeded into the backyard. The small yard, boxed in by another section of pale white picket fencing, was bare, except for some leaves that had apparently blown in from other yards. On the other side of the fence was another road. “We tried a tracing wand, but the rain’s washed away all the magical traces from their tracks,” Trace explained. “There’s something I noticed,” Daring stated, starting to walk along the edge of the fence, scanning the ground. “There were tracks going in, but none coming back out. How’d they get out?” “We’re still working on that,” Trace stated. Daring proceeded to the back of the fence and started to walk along it, eyes panning over the mud and the fence. She paused and crouched down. “Some tracks here,” she commented. “Deep ones.” She glanced at the fence, then pulled a pair of tweezers from her vest. “Got a piece of fabric here,” she added, plucking a small sample of dark clinging to a splinter in the fence and placing it into a paper bag. “My guess: a car drove them up, they vaulted the fence, got in through the back door, and grabbed the professor,” Daring said. “You’re slipping, Trace. I’d have thought that you could’ve figured it out yourself.” “Yeah, we figured that part, too,” Trace nodded. Daring rolled her eyes. “Then why bother bringing us here? Wasn’t Cold Case bitching about the budget a couple of weeks ago?” She paused for a beat. “Granted, she’s always bitching, but still.” Trace was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Because of what Doctor Tome was working on,” he admitted. “He’s been working on some ancient artifacts that were dedicated to the Old Gods. He’s even got a translation of the Kyaltratek in his study.” Daring blinked. “As in, the Big Book of the Old Gods?” “Yeah,” Trace nodded slowly. “I don’t know how he got his hooves on one; they say that anypony who reads it goes crazy.” Daring laughed loudly. “You actually believe those old mares tales?” she snorted. “I read it, and I was fine.” Trace’s jaw dropped. “You read it?! How’d you get one?” “Don’t ask,” Daring replied, returning to her search. “And don’t ask me why I needed it. It was…” She shifted slightly. “Creepy, but those stories about it are just a bunch of superstition and hokum, like all the rest of this Old God nonsense. The Kyaltratek is just a hyped-up spellbook, nothing more.” Trace watched her silently walking back and forth across the yard for a few moments of silence, then stated, “You know, if you were crazy, you’d say you weren’t crazy anyway.” Daring rolled her eyes at him again. “Do I act like a crazy pony?” A smirk crawled up Trace’s face. “Shut up,” Daring cut him off preemptively with a scowl, returning to her search. Unfortunately, if there were any traces besides the ghosts of some hoofprints, the rain had long washed them away. Daring then returned her attention to the doorway, bending down to examine the lock with a magnifying glass. “I don’t see any sign that it was picked,” she concluded. “No scratches around the keyhole.” She frowned. “Knew the combination, had keys. They had somepony on the inside for this. Where’s that student?” “He’s inside, in his room,” Trace stated. “Officer Wheellock is watching him.” “I’m gonna consult with Phil,” Daring said, pushing the door open. Pausing in the back hallway to briefly shake herself off, she proceeded up the steps, being careful to avoid the dirty hoofsteps. Reaching the second floor, she followed the trail to the study, with Trace following behind her. She and Trace paused at the doorway, her eyes widening. It seemed that every inch of the study was covered in strange artifacts, images, and strange tomes. A trio of masks from zebra tribes hung on the wall, their abnormally wide eyes staring balefully at her. Yellowed scrolls were stacked on a shelf, covered in plastic wrap. A glass cabinet held several carved pearl and shell artwork from the hippogriff lands; another held gold and silver ceremonial griffon weapons from Griffonia and Thrussia. And in every corner, there were idols. Griffon, hippogriff, and yak gods, zebra spirits, the six alicorns, and the Old Gods, carved in stone, metal, jewels, pearl, and more, all of them turned to face inward. Phillip was currently doing a final walkaround of the room, studying the rooftop. He nodded to a desk on the opposite side of the room from the door. An ancient book lay open on the desk, with a pad covered in notes on its left and a stack of dictionaries of ancient languages on the other. The chair was pulled slightly away and turned towards the door; an expensive fountain pen and a glass lay on the floor, ink and milk staining the red carpet. “Professor was sitting here,” Phillip stated, gesturing to the chair. “Working. Heard the abductors come in and started to turn around. Guess they used a stunning spell, because he instantly fell over.” He nodded to the dropped pen and glass. “No other signs of struggle. Hoofsteps lead up to the desk, then vanish.” “Any idea how they got out?” Daring asked. “Did notice something,” Phillip said, bending down. He pointed to a small pile of crushed glass that was laying underneath one of the tables. “That doesn’t belong to anything in this room far as I can tell,” he stated, scooping some of the glass into a bag. “Teleportation crystal, you think?” Daring suggested. “Probably,” Phillip nodded. “Was anything taken?” “I allowed Granite Tablet to take a brief look from outside the room,” Trace replied. “He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think anything was gone. Professor Tome’s safe is in his bedroom, but there’s no sign anypony went in there.” Phillip nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s talk to Granite.” They descended down the stairs and into a guest bedroom at the end of the first floor hallway. The room was comfortable, if a tad spartan, featuring a small bed, a dresser, and a desk facing a window. The desk was littered with notes, pens, and stacks of books on ancient cultures and languages. A small Alicorn’s Witness shrine dedicated to Faust and Speranza was placed atop the dresser, next to a framed photo of a unicorn mare with a luscious blonde mane and aquamarine eyes. A poster on the wall depicted a pony standing atop a desert dune with ghostly images of the four Old Gods grinning down at them, the mortal looking as tiny as an ant next to the gargantuan deities. Granite Tablet himself was seated on the bed, staring at his hooves. He was a short unicorn stallion with a coat the color of granite, a heavily matted brown mane, and a cutie mark of a cracked tablet. Officer Wheellock stood to one side of the door; her emerald eyes kept darting to the poster as her hoof played at the rosary necklace that she’d pulled out from beneath her uniform shirt, lips faintly forming a prayer. “Mister Tablet, this is Detective Finder and Detective Do,” Trace introduced his partners. “They’re going to ask you some questions.” Granite Tablet looked up, trying to blink the red out of his hazel eyes. “Oh. Okay, yeah,” he nodded, his voice coming out raspy and dry. “You live here?” Phillip stated. “Yup,” Tablet nodded, grasping a bottle of water from the bed next to him and guzzling half of it in one go. “I’m doing my Masters in History under the professor.” “Talk us through what happened,” Phillip said. Granite Tablet took a breath. “It’s like I told Detective Evidence there,” he started, nodding to Trace. “I went out last night around seven PM, had dinner at Sweetcream Scoops, and came back around nine-thirty. I didn’t see the professor, but he had a habit of working late, so I just went to bed. When I woke up this morning, I came into the kitchen to find the professor gone. I looked all over the house for him, and then I called the police around eight.” He shrugged and lowered his head. “I didn’t see or hear anything weird, and I’m a light sleeper.” Phillip stared at him for a few beats, then scanned the room again. His eyes lingered on the dirt-stained horseshoes that sat on the carpet next to the dresser for a few moments, then he said, “Your jacket. It’s the light green one?” Granite blinked at him. “Uh...yeah. Yeah, it is,” he nodded. Phillip scowled at him. “Lying to the police is a crime,” he growled. Granite looked up with a jerk. “What?! I-I’m not lying!” “You didn’t come home at nine,” Phillip stated. “Your jacket was wet, there’s still a puddle on the floor. You came well after ten, when it was raining. Potting soil on your hooves matches pot from outside from when you stumbled into it, horseshoes are also wet. There’s a receipt from a taxi in the trash can; mileage is too close for Sweetcream Scoops'. That, and your red eyes and shaking hooves tell me you’re hungover.” Granite opened and closed his mouth several times, attempting to come up with a counter or explanation, but the four suspicious glares bearing down on him forced the truth from a vise. “Okay...every other night, I’ve been going down to the Midnight Oil to drink and shoot pool. The professor caught me once and told me that if he caught me coming back drunk again, he'd kick me out.” “Go on,” Phillip stated. “And, well…” Granite shifted. His eyes darted to the framed photo on the dresser. It was then that Daring noticed that the photo was turned away slightly so that it wasn’t facing the bed. Granite swallowed and licked his lips. “Look...you can’t tell Pond Jewel, okay?” He took a breath, then sighed. “Last night, I stayed out really late, because...I was sleeping with another mare,” he finally spat out. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have done it! But I hadn’t seen Pond in months, and well...I had needs, you know?” Daring rolled her eyes. “Stallions: two heads and only enough blood to think with one of them,” she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Wheellock trying to hide a smile. “When did you actually get back?” Phillip stated. “Closer to...midnight, I think,” Granite muttered. “Look, she approached me first, okay?” Phillip’s eyebrows raised a bit. “She approached you in the bar?” “Yes,” Granite nodded. “Who was she?” Phillip pressed. Granite thought for a few moments, then shook his head. “I don’t remember her name...I don’t even remember if she gave it. It was a white unicorn with blue hair and green eyes. Cutie mark was…” He shook his head again. “I don’t remember. All I know is, she approached me, we had a couple drinks, she took me upstairs, we had sex, and then I came back here and went straight to bed.” “You didn’t notice anything odd then?” Phillip asked. Granite shook his head. “I didn’t even turn the lights on. Just put my coat on the rack, punched in the code, and went straight to bed.” "I bet they snuck the key out and made a clay duplicate while they were fucking," Daring whispered to Phillip. Phillip grunted. “One other thing. Did you talk about the code to anypony?” “No…” Granite started to say, then sighed. “Okay, fine, there was this one time a week ago I was out drinking with some pool buddies at the Midnight Oil. We were all talking about Scarlet Letter, that writer, and how she hired all those security guards for her house. So I was talking about our security, mentioned that the Professor used his own birthday for the code.” This time, all four officers rolled their eyes. "In my defense, I was drunk, and I didn't think that any of them were really listening," Granite cut in, scowling. "Who were you at the bar with?" Phillip asked. Granite rubbed the back of his head. "I, uh...don't know 'em that well. They're just dudes I usually hang out with." "And anypony could've been listening," Daring pointed out. "That's probably how they got the code." “Give Trace a list of names and descriptions. The mare you slept with, did she hug you?” Phillip asked. “Yeah, she, uh…” Granite blushed and rubbed his mane again. “She got pretty close to me on the way upstairs.” “Good,” Phillip stated and exited the room. Daring followed him as he walked back into the front hall and proceeded to scan the coat hanging on the rack with a magnifying glass. “There,” he finally declared, plucking a long silky blue-green hair from the collar of the jacket. He sniffed it. “Hmm. Saint Megan number 4.” “What are you two thinking?” Trace asked, entering the room. “Some strange mare offers to sleep with him the night the professor is kidnapped? That’s too much of a coincidence,” Daring replied. “That mare had some stake in this.” “It’s not much,” Phillip declared. “But Suun might be able to make something of this.” Phillip stared at the photograph of Dusty Tome on the bulletin, studying the photograph of a gray unicorn with a light brown mane and pointed beard, green eyes peering out at him from behind a pair of pince-nez. A sketch of his cutie mark, an open book with an inkwell sitting atop it, accompanied the photograph. “Why kidnap him?” Daring pondered from over his shoulder, her voice mixing with the classical music emanating from the laboratory’s radio. “Can’t be a ransom; he doesn’t have that much.” “He has something that somepony wants,” Phillip stated. Daring scoffed. “What, some old scrolls with superstition written all over them? You can’t actually believe in any of that bullshit.” “I don’t. But somepony might,” Phillip said. “Or it might be something more material.” “Ah,” the zebra at the other end of the table declared, prompting them to look up. “Phillip Finder,” Suunkii declared, looking up from the microscope. “This is not a hair.” “It’s not?” Phillip asked. “It is setae; it appears like ordinary hair, but is actually made of chitin,” Suunkii declared. “I have only seen this once before.” He gave Phillip and Daring both a steady look. “This is from a changeling.” Phillip and Daring both looked at one another. “Suun, I need to know everything about that setae,” Phillip stated. “Please,” he added upon detection of a raised eyebrow. “Of course,” Suunkii said, returning to the scope. Both detectives retreated to a corner of the room. “We need to talk to Buzz,” Phillip whispered. “You can’t think he was part of this,” Daring glared. “I don’t," Phillip said. "His seta is a different color. But do you know any other changelings? He might know who this is.” Daring nodded. “Good point. Sugar Loaf’s farm isn’t far from here.” “Then let’s pay her a visit,” Phillip nodded. A flash of flame made both of them jump and they turned to see that Suunkii was jerking a section of setae away from a burner. The setae burnt bright orange for a moment, then flared out. “An old-fashioned and crude method, but effective,” the zebra commented, now bending over another sample of chitin that was sitting in a test tube full of blue liquid. Suunkii extracted an eyedropper full of the liquid and dispensed a bit into several smaller test tubes, each with a different colored liquid inside. Four of these turned a rusty brown color, while the last became milky white. Suunkii briefly considered an open notebook, then nodded. “The sample contains geological samples from the Everfree District, including fresh tobacco. It is likely that your target lives or works near the Tobacco Refinery on Burro Street.” “Thanks, Suun,” Phillip called as they exited. “May your search be fruitful,” Suunkii waved. The land to the north of Ponyville had been called the birth of the city before. It was those fertile lands, spreading westward from the Everfree Forest and south towards the Maresippi, that had been first settled by the Apples and Pears and the other farmers. The houses, silos, and barns that stood upon those rolling hills and watched over waving plains of crops were often as old as the city. What was now Sugar Loaf’s farm had once been a small patch of flat grassland, tossed aside after too many crops had rendered it infertile. However, it had proven perfect for a few acres of white artificial beehives, with a small stone cottage. The smoke that blossomed from the chimney mixed with the clouds that still poured rain down over the whole farm. A wooden sign that read “Sugar Loaf’s All-Natural Honey Products” hung next to the pathway leading up to the door, creaking as it slowly swung in the wind. Daring swooped from the skies and landed in front of the cottage, dropping Phil off next to her. Grunting in irritation, he strode up to the door and rang the doorbell. “Just a moment!” a female voice called from inside. “Not like we can get any wetter,” Daring muttered, glaring at the sky. After a minute, the door opened and a golden-white unicorn mare, her long yellow and black curls bouncing with every step, poked her head out. “Oh, hello!” Sugar Loaf declared, briefly glancing around. “Are you two here for some honey?” “We need to talk, Buzz,” Phillip said quietly. The smile disappeared from the mare’s face. “Come inside, quick,” she declared, ushering them in. They entered a cozy sitting room that featured a wide wooden table stocked with salads and cheeses, a trio of chairs, and a crackling fireplace, over which a quintet of honey-glazed loaves was baking. Daring sniffed appreciatively, a smile crossing her face despite herself. The unicorn walked over to the window and drew the curtains over them all, casting the room into darkness save for the fire and the hanging lamp. Then, she turned towards her visitors and closed her eyes. A moment later, Sugar Loaf, humble beekeeper, was shrouded in green flames. When they cleared, in her place stood a strange creature, a cross between an insect and a pony with a honey yellow body, iridescent white wings, and a crest-like blue fin for a "mane." Daring stepped back, eyes narrowed in suspicion, one hoof slowly rising towards her holster. “Buzz?” she asked. “Yeah, I’m Buzz,” the creature said, its voice now a low, androgynous buzz. “This is what we changelings look like when we’re well-fed. Last time you saw me in my natural form, I hadn’t had a decent feeding in weeks. But since everypony loves honey and Sugar Loaf, I’ve been getting enough love. So, what’d you need?” “Buzz, you’re the only changeling we know, and we need your help,” Phillip explained. “We’re looking for a changeling. They wear Saint Megan number 4, have a blue-green crest, and live or work near the tobacco refinery on Burro Street.” Buzz thought for a moment, then nodded. “I know who you mean,” they confirmed. “There’s a changeling who works as a prostitute in the refineries there; they call them Blue Rose. I met them a few times when I was investigating the mobs; gangs would use 'her' for blackmail and other small favors, but there was never any proof for a conviction.” “We can find ‘em there?” Daring asked. “Yes, but be careful,” Buzz warned. “Blue Rose survived by being smart and devious. That’s never a good combination.” “Well, we are, too,” Daring smirked. “Thanks for the help.” "Can I do anything else?" Buzz asked eagerly, eyes perking up slightly. "You've helped plenty," Phillip nodded. Buzz's face fell slightly like a balloon with a slow leak, but they shrugged. "Okay. Good luck with your search," they said, waving goodbye as the detectives exited. As soon as they were back into the rain, Daring snatched up Phillip beneath the forelegs and rocketed up into the air, heading southeast. “What’s wrong with the bloody trolley?” Phillip protested feebly, trying not to look at the ground shooting past beneath him. “Who needs it?” Daring smirked. “The game is afoot.” Phillip stopped wiggling in her grasp. “Once more unto the breach, then?” “Follow your spirit,” Daring quoted, banking around a cloud. “And upon this charge, cry,” “‘Our Mother for the Princesses, Equestria, and Saint Faust!’” both ponies declared.