The rain continued to patter down as this one approached the Free Companions’ Freeport office. The building was painted in bright (some would say garish) stripes of red, white, and blue. A pair of banners—also in red, white, and blue with a sword and torch intersected in the middle—flapped as the wind and rain beat at them. The merc company owned a whole island as well as a formidable and extremely elaborate castle they had managed to seize from a Necrocrat many centuries ago, but the office was intended to allow for easy access to anyone that wished to hire the Free Companions’ services.
This one had chosen whose service it wanted to hire carefully. The Striker and Doo Clans were often good merc companies to hire, but they weren’t quite what this one needed right at this moment. While the Strikers were certainly formidable fighters, they tended to lack a certain subtlety and adaptability this one would require. The Doos were expert bodyguards, but skullduggery wasn’t exactly their normal cup of tea. This one was forced to disqualify companies such as the True Heirs and the Blood Stripes due to past history and not being ideal for what this one wanted.
The Free Companions were the best suited for what this one needed. They specialized in small unit missions, and were experienced in dealing with a wide range of jobs that often included some of the stranger assignments out there. Many likened them to a semi-organized rabble of adventurers, but the Free Companions had been around for a long time. They had existed since before there was a Council or even a Free Mind species, and possessed a long and storied history. While their services wouldn’t be cheap, they were what this one needed. Their quality would make up for the costs, especially considering the tumultuous days this one had ahead of it.
As this one approached the front door, it transformed back into its natural form. That was a bit uncomfortable given how vulnerable it made this one feel to prying eyes, but it seemed best to approach the merc company openly. Soldiers often valued honesty, especially from those they dealt directly with.
Two fancily dressed guards flanked the door. Each wore breastplates with baggy leggings in bright stripes of red, white, and blue that ran up and down their legs. Their helmets had a plume flowing out of them, and they were equipped with halberds that they clearly knew how to use expertly. The zebra mare of the pair had a sergeant’s stripes and smiled as this one approached. “Hello, Puzzle. What brings you by?”
This one gave them a pleasant smile. “This one would like to hire the Free Companions' services.”
“Well, if you're a client we'll be glad to have you. Come with me.” The sergeant opened the door and escorted this one inside.
On the way to the office, we made our way through the building’s trophy hall. On either flank were multiple suits of armor, displays of weapons, captured banners and those of the Companions, as well as a variety of other trophies ranging from cups, necklaces, and the skulls of monsters. It was no doubt intended to impress anyone seeking to hire the Free Companions, showing a guest both their history and accomplishments as well as help convince them the prices they were going to pay would be worth the cost.
This one decided to play on their pride a bit. Considering this one was going to be hiring their services, it seemed wise to get on their good side. “This is always a fun room to walk through. There’s so much history here. Everything here has a tale to tell. It reminds this one of everything the Free Companions have accomplished during their history.”
The sergeant smiled. Military types always liked to have the accomplishments of their organizations complimented. “Exactly, the history of our company and its triumphs.”
“And there are many.” This one nodded to a painting depicting the Free Companions valiantly fighting against a horde of undead. “Like the time you helped Torch during his rebellion.”
“One of our proudest moments.”
“So this one noticed.” This one pointed at a set of bat-themed plate-armor and a couple banners once belonging to now long-dead Necrocrat houses. “Of course, you have good reasons to be. You did help win the war against the Necrocrats and set up the Council to rule Freeport. Freeport is certainly better off with slavery being brought to an end and the Necrocrats gone, and Torch couldn’t have pulled it off with the Free Companions.”
The guard’s chest swelled. “Yes, and as much as the clans love to brag about Torch being one of theirs, we stood with him too.”
“And at a critical time, too.” In truth, the whole situation had been more complicated than some liked to portray it. For example, while the clans liked to boast that Torch was one of their own, just a decade before Torch’s Rebellion they had helped to almost completely wipe out the Charger Clan as part of an internal Necrocrat plot. While the clans ended up supporting the Last Charger’s cause, that was only after several rather important events transpired to enable it. But while that was a fascinating part of history: it tended to be far more complicated than surface impressions tended to make it.
Before we finished getting to the end of the trophy hall, the familiar form of a female hippogryph stepped out of the office. General Platinum Peacock looked every inch the roguish mercenary adventurer. Like her fellow Companions, she was dressed in a baggy shirt and pants with bright stripes, with colorful jewelry decorating her ears, neck, and talons. Her feathers were as white as snow, with them gradually getting darker until they were a silver at the edges, and her beak and hindleg fur were a near blackish grey.
Platinum smiled widely at the sight of this one. “Puzzle, what a pleasure!” She offered a talon this one readily took, and the two of us embraced in a friendly hug. The two of us had known each other for some time, all the way back to when this one had been an agent of the Masks and we had worked together to deal with a band of fey that had started to disrupt the flow of trade in and out of Freeport. We had the type of bond that only came with two people fighting back to back.
“It's been too long,” this one said as we broke the embrace.
“It really has been.” Platinum slapped this one on the shoulder. “We should work together more often.” She shot this one a wry grin. “Even if I still haven't completely forgiven you for taking away my chance to recruit Sunset Shimmer.”
This one grinned back. “Sorry about that, but this one had a job at the time.”
“I suppose I can forgive you for that.” She poked this one in the chest. “This time.”
“Then perhaps this one can get back in your good graces with a new contract?”
Platinum waved for us to enter her office. “Money heals ... well not all wounds, but it'll do for this one.”
“Good to hear.” This one entered an office that was at least as ostentatious as the trophy hall, no doubt to wow any visitor. Every possible spot along the floor and walls were filled with luxurious and expensive furniture, banners, paintings depicting the Companions’ greatest exploits and past leaders of the company, every imaginable type of war trophy from medals, rings, scepters, and even a couple of crowns. The Companions were not a subtle or modest merc company where such displays were concerned.
While this one would have liked to go into pleasantries with its friend, time pressed. “This one guesses you know something of this one's plight?”
Platinum grimaced as she closed the door behind us, giving us magically protected privacy. “Kind of hard to miss the ongoing gang wars. From everything I’ve heard, your lieutenants have been causing quite a bit of trouble around town.”
“What do you know about it?” This one was desperate for any intel it could get by this point. “From the sounds of things, this one's lieutenants just started fighting one another suddenly sometime after it left.”
Platinum shrugged. “I can't really say what the immediate cause of your organization's collapse was, but that's not important anyway.”
This one’s brow furrowed. This hadn’t been the turn this one had expected for the conversation. “What do you mean? Considering this one needs to clean up this mess, it seems pretty damn important to it.”
“I say this as a friend: if it wasn't one thing, it would've been another that tore your organization apart. You were setting yourself up for trouble sooner or later.” She leaned against her desk as she folded her arms over her chest. “In the end, it all boils down to simple entropy. Answer me this, what holds your organization together when you're not there?”
This one frowned as it guessed the direction this conversation was going. “This one thought mutual profit, protection, and the knowledge that this one would eventually return would help with that.”
Platinum sighed and shook her head. “Mutual profit only works as long as nobody thinks they can profit more by backstabbing. As far as you coming back ... there are ways around that.” She ran a talon across her throat. “At the end of the day, the only thing holding your group together is you, and you aren’t going to be around forever. Even if you live to be an old, old changeling, sooner or later, the inevitable will happen.”
This one didn’t like the judgment she had laid out, but this one didn’t have a strong argument against it. These were problems that had been plaguing this one’s thoughts for some time. That only increased this one’s frustrations. This one didn’t like conundrums that it couldn’t find an acceptable solution to.
“What else was this one to do?” This one’s ear twitched. “This one thought it'd gotten all of them to work together nicely and gave them good reasons to work together, but it all fell apart the minute this one wasn't around to ride herd.”
“The problem is that your organization was never anything more than your organization.” Platinum poked a talon between this one’s eyes. “It doesn’t even have a name other than its relationship to you. It never meant anything beyond mutual profit.”
This one let out a huff. “Little hard to build a criminal empire on anything more than mutual profit.”
“And criminal empires aren't known for lasting,” Platinum pointed out.
“No, they aren't.” This one plopped down on a cushion and shook its head. “This one has to wonder how badly it has erred when it looks at this whole mess. Becoming some sort of crime boss sure feels like a mistake right now.”
“So why did you?”
After thinking it over, this one decided to be honest. “When this one finally got to return from exile, this one decided the best way to reestablish itself in Freeport was to become an information broker. That involved spinning webs all over the place, including into the criminal underworld. While spreading its web of contacts and informers, this one found its influence spread as well. Especially when ... do you remember old Brickwall?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he was pretty notorious for all he got up to back in the day. He had a hoof in just about every criminal racket there was in Freeport. I take it the fact his sudden and mysterious disappearance isn’t a coincidence when your own organization got started up at the same time?”
“That’s certainly a good guess.” This one took a deep breath. “The thing with Brickwall suddenly disappearing was that it created a vacuum, and power vacuums are dangerous. So... this one filled the void to keep from making a problem worse than it created, or at least part of the void. There were parts of Brickwall’s business this one didn’t want any part of, and others picked up where he left off. Next thing this one knew, it was running its own criminal organization. It even allowed this one to gather even more information than it had previously. So it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“The problem being you built a new home on a foundation of sand.”
“It certainly looks like it now.” This one rubbed the side of its brow. “This one had thought it was making all the right moves: carefully building up its influence, its wealth, the size and power of its organization...”
“It was a smart move.” A slight grin showed on her beak. “You just got tripped up by the fact that you don't want to be a crime lord.”
“So it seems.”
This one sighed and nodded. She was right; this one had never been entirely comfortable with being a crime lord. Sure, it let this one do some good and made it easier to gain information, but it wasn’t what this one wanted to be doing. This one hadn’t even been working that hard to build it up after the initial rush of work in establishing itself. Most of the money this one made from its organization went to its more legitimate businesses to expand in that direction, but gradual growth and the odd advantageous opportunity for an aggressive takeover here and there added up after a few years.
Perhaps it was simple nostalgia, but this one missed its days back in the Masks. This one dearly missed its adventures with the Do-mare, for that matter. This one even liked being an information broker and problem-solver. But how to move forward?
This one stood up and looked out at the rain drenched streets. “This one might need to rethink things. Its organization seems like it's unworkable, at least without some significant changes.”
Platinum moved to stand next to this one, also looking outside. “Right, you don’t want a mess like this to be your legacy.” She placed a claw on this one’s shoulder. “Legacies are the most important thing we can make.”
This one sensed that this was something she really wanted to talk about. Perhaps the point she wanted to get to from the start? “You know something about that, do you?”
Platinum waved a claw to encompass the room full of trophies. “Yes. Legacy is part of what separates the Free Companions from petty criminal organizations and the merc companies that don’t survive the passage of time. We might seek profit, but that isn’t all we fight for. We have a greater purpose we also strive for. We seek to preserve our legacy, what it means to be companions and be a part of the Free Companions. We have history, a legacy we’ve been given to pass on to those that come after us.”
“Whereas this one’s organization does not.” This one frowned as it chewed that over amidst the trophies gathered around us. One could dismiss them as so many glittering trinkets gathered by a group of magpies, but the objects gathered around this one were more than that. They were part of a legacy that went back centuries. The Companions fought for more than just coin.
This one’s eyes drifted to a glass case featuring a replica of Torch’s armor and his sword, Chainbreaker. “Given all this talk of legacy, this one can’t help but remember that your family has been a part of the Free Companions for quite some time.”
Platinum grinned widely. “Since Torch’s Rebellion. I’ve got the genealogical family tree to show it. I basically grew up with a blade in my claw. Part of why they put me in charge of the company.” She waggled her eyebrows. “In addition to my devilish good looks, naturally, but I cheat on that front.”
“Use what you’ve got,” this one said. “That is what this one does every day.”
“So have I given you something to think about?” She poked this one’s side. “You’re a smart guy, Puzzle, and I like you. So I’d hate for your legacy to be something you wouldn’t want it to be. I think you can do better.”
What was the legacy this one wanted to leave? This one had its goals certainly, but after how things went in Northmarch and everything after its return to Freeport, this one couldn’t help but reflect on its mortality. There was a chance this one would never live long enough to complete its goals. Taking those facts into account, this one had to consider how its work would be carried on—what its ultimate legacy would be. Leaving behind nothing more than chaos in the streets certainly wouldn’t do. No, this one wanted to leave something far grander behind in its wake.
This one turned from the window. “This one needs to get back control of its organization. No sense making long term plans if the Council decides this one is more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Good point.” Platinum’s eyes flicked away from this one before refocusing on it. “Be careful. You might have a friend on the Council, but you've got enemies too.”
‘A’ friend? That was a curious statement. “So this one is aware. More than one member of the Council would prefer if this one were disposed of. Which is why this one is here: this one wants to hire backup. It's too vulnerable alone against the rest of its organization. Some muscle would go a long way to help with that imbalance on the scales.”
“What do you have planned? No offense, but I like to know what I’m sending my fellow Companions into before signing a contract. I trust you, but trust is best verified.” Platinum grinned. “Not to mention we need you alive to pay us. I do so hate a client who makes it difficult to keep them breathing.”
It seemed best to tell her at least some of what this one was going to do. It would show a measure of trust toward her and help her decide which bodyguards to give this one. “This one can assure you, it very much wants to keep breathing. This one is already formulating a plan for how to bring its organization back under control. Right now there are two things this one wants to do.” This one ruffled through its bags and pulled out a copper dragonfly inside of a small bottle. “First, this will take a message to the Alya-mare. It's bonded to her and this one has a passphrase that will tell her that it's this one. This one will write a letter saying it wants to meet with her in a neutral location.”
Platinum rubbed her chin. “Risky. If you meet with Alya, there’s a chance you might get drawn into an ambush. But if you want to salvage anything, you'll have to get them to start following orders again.”
This one didn’t voice what the alternative would have to be if they weren’t willing to go back to following this one’s instructions.
“You’re right about this being risky, but we don't have all the time in the world,” this one said. “Sooner or later the Council will lose its patience, or some other faction will move in. We're going to need to take some risks to get anywhere. This one has known the Alya-mare the longest, so she’s the best choice to approach first.”
“Makes sense. And you mentioned there was something else you wanted to do?”
This one pulled out some ink and a pen to start writing its message. “While we wait for the Alya-mare's response, this one wanted to head to the condottieri barracks. An assassin attacked this one at the docks when it got back to Freeport. He's now being held there, as well as some of Blackwing's agents that caused this one some trouble earlier. This one would like to ask them some questions, as well as see if the condottieri know anything about this one's office being burned down or the Penny-mare's kidnapping. With some luck, this one will get a lead or several to follow up on.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Platinum sat behind her desk and pulled out some forms. “Now then, how about we get to the hard numbers and work out the details of this contract?”
This one headed into the condottieri barracks with a squad of Free Companions around it. With their permission, this one also wore the same colorful striped baggy clothes as they did. This one had even painted its normally black scale mail armor white to aid in the disguise. This one had transformed into a rough-looking unicorn stallion to complete the disguise.
We had decided that this one being disguised as a Free Companion was the best way for this one to move about town. Considering there were Companions all about the city, it would be quite difficult to tell which one of them was this one. Even if someone who wished this one ill knew this one was disguised as a Companion, only the most reckless would attack random members of a mercenary company in the hopes that they were actually attacking this one. There were some risks to the strategy—someone might very well be stupid enough to risk that kind of retaliation, but overall we considered the benefits of the disguise to be worth the risk.
Sergeant Straight Arrow was at the head of this one’s guard. As brightly dressed as any Companion, the pegasus stallion had a turquoise coat and a short-cropped white-and-sky-blue striped mane. He seemed like a competent soldier, bearing his weapon like someone who knew how to use it, even if he was perhaps not a great talker. But this one could see in his eyes that he’d seen his fair share of fights.
With this one transformed into a rough-looking unicorn stallion and everyone donning identical grey cloaks to guard against the rain, it approached the receptionist desk. The pegasus behind the desk was in a condottieri uniform and looked bored as he dealt with the bane of guards all around the world: paperwork. This one cleared its throat as it approached to get his attention. “We're here to interrogate the assassin who was arrested earlier today at the docks.”
He looked up from the form as though this one were a mere irritation. “And you are?”
“Puzzle Piece.”
This one’s name caused his eyebrow to rise. “If you’ll give me a couple of minutes, sir.”
“Of course.” This one let him go, even if there was something about the way he said and moved in a slightly stilted manner that unsettled this one a bit. Had this one’s reputation within the condottieri fallen so much? It wouldn’t be all that surprising if the battle between the organization’s lieutenants were causing them undue trouble.
After waiting a few minutes within the barrack’s lobby, a door opened and a short pink pegasus mare made her way towards this one with a determined step. This one turned to face her, and she shot this one a disapproving glower as she ran a toothpick along her lips. “You Puzzle Piece?”
This one nodded as it did its best to sound cordial. “I am.”
“I’m Detective Gazing Gander.” She tossed her dual-blue mane to get it out of her eyes. “Tell me why I shouldn't arrest your plot right here and now?”
Well, this conversation was starting in a wonderful direction. “Because I haven't broken the law.”
The Gander-mare scoffed. “Do I look stupid to you, Puzzle?”
“No.”
“Then why're you trying to give me such a stupid lie?”
This one raised its eyebrows. “What laws have I broken then?”
“From what I've heard: murder, larceny, robbery, theft, assault, arson, battery, smuggling, and tax fraud.” The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Shall I go on?”
This one was indeed technically guilty of a great many crimes, but this one was hardly going to admit them right here in the middle of the condottieri barracks in front of everyone.
This one met her steely gaze with its own. “Those are serious accusations, Detective. I would be very offended if you said things like that about me without any evidence to substantiate the claim.”
The Gander-mare rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, so offended, I’m sure. You’re just a big softie who breaks down sobbing whenever his feelings are hurt and needs a good hug to feel better. Please. You're lucky to have friends in high places and very well-paid lawyers, or I would have busted you years ago.”
“Careful Detective,” this one said. “You wouldn't want to get in trouble for slander.”
The Gander-mare let out a short bark of a laugh. “You have to prove that I've caused you financial damage for that to stick and we both know it. Unless I go gabbing to the press about unsubstantiated reports about what you’ve done, you don’t have anything on me where a court’s concerned.”
This one wondered why the detective was pressing it in such a hostile manner. Was she trying to rattle this one? Blow off some steam over being unable to touch this one? Something else entirely? Despite her threat, she wasn’t in that much of a rush to put this one in chains and march it to the nearest cell. But then, this one did have very good lawyers. This one had seen the inside of a prison cell more than once, but nothing serious had ever come of it.
She probably knew it. “Are you sure you want to continue down this road instead of accomplishing something more productive?” this one asked. “While you might find this amusing, I’m very busy and don’t have time to waste.”
The detective ran her toothpick over her lips as she thought. “Fine, so tell me why you're here.”
“Someone tried to kill me,” this one said. “Naturally, this one has a personal investment in knowing why.”
The Gander-mare grunted. “Then I’m sorry to tell you that you’re not going to have much luck talking to your assassin. Or the thugs you beat into the dirt, for that matter.”
“And why is that?”
The Gander-mare watched this one carefully as she spoke with slow deliberation. “Because they’re dead. All of them.”
For the briest moment, this one thought the detective must have been playing with this one, yanking its chain to see how it’d react. But no, this one could see in her eyes she was serious. “What happened?”
“You're the information broker. Didn't you know that they all fell over dead during dinner?”
This one shook its head. “No, I hadn't heard about it yet.” This one probably wouldn’t have wasted its time coming here if it had known, at least if it knew the circumstances for how they had died, which this one very much wanted to know.
“Well they did.” Her wings flickered. “And the way I see it, you're the uniting link between all of them. You tasseled with all of them, and then a few hours later they all end up dead on their cell floors. Can't say that's a coincidence.”
Ah, she thought this one might have killed them. Time to disabuse her of the notion. “I'm not interested in the tools as much as the one who wields them. You don’t win the game by taking pawns—you win it by taking the king. These pawns had been isolated and taken out of the game. What’s more, I wanted to talk with them to find out what they knew. Doesn't it seem more likely that whoever hired them killed them off so they wouldn't talk?”
The Gander-mare crossed her arms over her chest. “Another reason why I haven't busted you yet. It'd be awful dumb of you to show up here if you'd had them killed. You may be scum, but you don’t seem like the type of scum to gloat stupidly.”
This one ignored her proddings. “How did they die?”
“Follow me.” The Gander-mare turned, but then stopped to point at the Companions. “Leave them behind, I don’t need them messing around where they’re not supposed to be.”
Sergeant Arrow looked to this one, and this one nodded for him to follow her directions. Sure, this might be a gambit on the detective’s part to arrest this one, but it doubted she was the type to go through such theatrics. This one had literally just walked into the condottieri barracks. She could have brought the whole place down on this one’s head if she really wanted to. There really wasn’t a need to draw this one further into the belly of the beast and risk this one sensing something was wrong and running for it.
The detective led this one to the coroner's office. It was a simple arrangement, cold and professional with its desk, tools of the trade, and coolers intended to keep corpses preserved. The Gander-mare shot this one a suspicious glower. “The coroner hasn't had a chance to properly process the bodies yet, so don’t touch anything or I will bust you for it. Got it?”
“Don't worry, I'll follow the rules,” this one assured her. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been here.” Indeed, as Freeport’s foremost information broker, this one had sold its services to the condottieri many times. It was among the reasons why the condottieri generally never bothered this one.
The Gander-mare led this one to a table where the assassin from the docks was now lying. “Do you know who this guy is?”
This one looked him over. This one was pretty sure it knew who it was back at the docks, but between the rain and the adrenaline this one’s brain might have been muddled. But one good look at the corpse confirmed this one’s initial identification. “A killer for hire. Goes by the name of Pyrolash.”
“There’s a stupid name for you.” The Gander-mare frowned down at the corpse. “Guess he wasn't very good at his job.”
“He's good at his job, but not good enough for me. Plus he had other things working against him.” This one pointed to his leg, the one where there was the telltale scarring from surgery. “He had a bad knee. Probably broke it during a fight or an accident. In truth, he was getting old for his line of work. By his age, most killers for hire retire and use the money they’ve collected to start a small business to carry them through their later years or else take up apprentices to do all the running around suited for the young. Pyrolash liked his vices a bit too much—the type of vices that eat up money.”
“And then he took a job to kill little old you. Thanks for saving me the trouble of figuring out who our Doe is.” The Gander-mare picked up a file next to the desk and started scanning its contents. “Preliminary report says this guy probably died from poison. You're pretty familiar with those, right? All these guys got the same meal—vegetable soup and crackers, and they suddenly collapsed as their throats swelled up and then killed them through suffocation. A spell showed the soup to be poisoned.”
This one looked the corpse over, careful not to touch it and attract the detective’s ire. “Widowmaker, most likely. Nasty way to die. It’s an ingestion poison, one that swells up the throat and balloons the whole esophagus. Once the symptoms show, it's too late.”
“Gathered as much.” The Gander-mare grimaced as she looked down at the coroner’s report. “The barrack nurses couldn’t do anything for them once they got to their cells. Someone really wanted them dead.”
“This one would say so.” This one shook its head, frustration growing as its investigation hit another dead end. “Widowmaker isn’t a cheap poison, it requires the work of a master alchemist to make.”
The Gander-mare’s eyes narrowed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t your mom a master alchemist?”
This one scowled at her as its patience started to run out. This one had a high tolerance for suspicion being cast in its direction, but insinuating this one’s mother was involved in a criminal activity... “My mom is a legitimate businessmare. Also, she’s retired. But even when she worked, she didn’t deal in poisons.”
Besides, there was quite the list of alchemists who had the skill to make such a poison. The Alya-mare could have made some, and she could have sold it to any of this one’s lieutenants before their falling out. They could have bought it from other parties as well, or any number of this one’s enemies.
“So you say.” The detective snapped the folder close. “So if you didn't kill them, who did?”
“Considering how they were poisoned, it must have been someone on your staff,” this one pointed out. “Probably either a cook or one of the guards.”
“They’re the only ones who even got their hooves on the food trays,” she conceded. “I’ve grilled them all, but nobody’s cracking.” Her wings flittered with irritation. “I can’t keep the entire kitchen staff in a cell forever, and I’m not winning any friends within the condottieri by asking pointed questions about if any of them were involved in a murder.”
This one sensed it had a grasp on the reason for the Gander-mare’s irritability. She was clearly on this case, and it wasn’t going anywhere. Four prisoners were dead within the barrack’s jail, and that had the makings of a scandal. It might blow over if none of the four dead prisoners had anyone to push the issue for how and why they died, but the papers—always desperate for a juicy story—might very well seize upon another chance to embarrass the condottieri to sell more prints. Things would be all the worse if they couldn’t figure out who was responsible. Add to that the trouble this one was causing them with its organization...
“This one doubts you’ll get whoever is responsible to confess despite whatever pressure you put on them,” this one said. “Not unless you’ve got solid proof they did it. Most likely you’re dealing with a professional. They’ll know how to do their job without getting caught, and how to deal with being interrogated. In addition to doing dirty deeds for their employer, they’re probably spying on the condottieri.”
“Well you've just made my day,” she grumbled.
“Considering someone tried to kill me, I think my day's worse.”
“Everypony just has to brag about how they have it worse than everybody else,” the Gander-mare grumbled again, her ears twitching. “Okay, I’ll do what I can here to figure out who did this, but I want to nab whoever is responsible for all of this. I’m not talking about the tool used to do the deed, I mean who put out the order to kill four individuals within the condottieri’s very own barracks and right under our noses.”
“That's what I would like to find out too.” This one crossed its arms as it thought. “It would need to be someone with resources—someone who could set up a spy within the condottieri and keep them in place. Recruiting someone already within the condottieri would have been ideal, considering they would have passed any inspection before being subverted. Then the poison itself would have cost money, something I doubt a guard’s salary could easily pay for. What’s more, they had a system in place where they could quickly contact their agent and get them to poison these people before I could question them.”
“So, do you have any names to go with all those fancy facts?” the Gander-mare groused.
“No,” this one lied. It had at least some ideas for who might be behind this, but it wasn’t about to list them in front of her. Considering any one of this one’s lieutenants could be wrapped up in this, it didn’t seem wise to mention them considering the detective was obviously inclined to arrest this one for working with them. Not to mention everyone else on that list were the type of people with the sort of power, wealth, and influence that made it precarious to level accusations, especially without solid evidence to back up those claims.
The detective let out a huff. “A whole lot of good you’ve been then. Anything actually helpful to add?”
“I'll look into it from my end,” this one said. “There are some other leads I can follow.”
She frowned. “And are you going to tell me what you find?”
“We'll see.” Considering how things were going, this one probably wasn’t going to be working closely with the Gander-mare. No sense getting this one in more trouble than it was already in, after all. Pulling this one’s organization back together was going to be difficult enough as it was without getting thrown into a cell.
The Gander-mare crossed her arms. “So never, then. Typical.”
While this one could sympathize with her frustrations, this one already had more than enough of its own to deal with, so it concentrated on more pragmatic issues. “I don't suppose you can tell me anything about my office burning down or my secretary's whereabouts?”
The detective fixed this one with a sour glower. “Why should I help you?”
“First, because my property was burned down, which is a crime,” this one said. “Second and more importantly, my secretary Merry Penny was kidnapped. If I have a lead, I might be able to find her.”
She stared at this one for a long moment. “You know what the chances are of finding someone alive after twenty-four hours after a kidnapping? It’s been way more than that since she went missing.”
This one squared its jaw. “Yes, I’m aware. But I’m still going to try.” And if something had been done to the Penny-mare, then this one was going to make those responsible very much regret it.
The Gander-mare let out a long breath. “Okay, fine, follow me. I wasn't on that case, but I can pull out the file for it.”
“Thank you.”
Once we reached the file room, the Gander-mare held up a hoof to stop this one. “Give me a few minutes. Only staff can pull files.”
“That’s fine, I can wait.” This one took a seat at a desk and picked up a newspaper someone had left there. There was a general hum of activity in the room, mainly members of the condottieri, along with some lawyers coming in and out on business.
It wasn’t too long before the Gander-mare returned, and judging by her deep scowl she was even less happy than when she’d left. “The file's gone.”
This one raised an eyebrow. “Gone?”
“Like I said, it’s gone—not here, disappeared.” The Gander-mare stomped a hoof in frustration. “I went looking for it, but it's not where it's supposed to be. I checked the whole damn filing cabinet to make sure it wasn't misplaced, but there’s nothing.”
This one stroked its cheek as it considered the implications of that. “That's ... inconvenient.”
The detective growled. “This stinks. I smell a rot, and it's right here within the condottieri. I'm getting the feeling someone's trying really hard to keep you in the dark. It seems you have some enemies in high places in addition to friends.”
This one was growing tired of this really quickly. This trip to the barracks should have given this one a wealth of information, but instead it was only getting trickles of anything useful, and a whole bunch of new questions. There was a conspiracy in the works against this one. The only question was who was at the bottom of it and how to stop them.
“What about the detective that was on this case?” this one asked. “Can we talk to him about the arson and kidnapping?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s not in town.” A deep frown tugged at her lips. “He won a contest for an all-expense paid, month-long vacation to Westmarch. Funny thing now that I think about it, he mentioned he hadn’t even remembered entering the contest. Not that he was about to tell whoever was running things they’d made a mistake. But now I’m thinking this wasn’t some funny little coincidence.”
“Coincidences can happen, but I’ve learned not to trust them,” this one said. “Especially not given the circumstances.”
“So what’s next for you?” the Gander-mare asked. “Sounds like the both of us are in a hole.”
This one stood from the desk and stretched. “I intend to get my organization back under control.”
“Seems like it’s a whole lot more trouble than it’s worth. But I guess you just can’t say no to the money, no matter the trouble it causes you and everyone else.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, I've heard the argument before you can get on your high horse. Organized crime is better than anarchy on the streets, but the lesser of two evils is still evil.”
This one let out an exasperated sigh. “Well now you have anarchy. How do you like it?”
The detective turned her head to the side as she replied. “How should any decent pony feel about people dying in the street? And what about you? Don't people like you ever feel like you're just a part of the problem? Doesn’t it bother you that you’re just making everything worse over time?”
“Freeport's not a nice place,” this one said. “If you want to survive and climb your way to the top of the pile, sometimes you have to get your hooves a little dirty. And mine are still cleaner than those of all the rivals I've taken down.”
The Gander-mare’s ear twitched. “Yeah, you're a real saint with your hooves covered in blood.” She turned her back to this one and started to walk away. “Better get hopping. From what I hear, the Council's being patient with you. But we both know how the Council's patience doesn't last forever.”
“Yes, we do.” This one started to follow her out of the file room. “Though one thing: I recommend you drop this case.”
Her head snapped in this one’s direction. “Excuse me? Is that some sort of threat?”
This one shook its head. “No, it’s a warning. Someone very badly wants to keep me in the dark about what’s happening in Freeport, and they’re willing to kill to make sure they get their way. If you dig too deep into this, they might decide you’re a loose end that needs to be cut.”
While the Gander-mare might have been irritable towards this one at best, it didn’t wish her harm. But this one had a feeling whoever was on the other team wasn’t going to let moral considerations stop them from achieving their goals. There were too many dead bodies for this one to think otherwise.
She frowned. “I’m not afraid.”
“I didn’t say you were,” it assured her. “But whoever is behind this is playing hardball, and I’d prefer if you didn’t get yourself or anyone you’re working with killed accomplishing nothing. What's more, they’re in the midst of the condottieri itself.” This one nodded at a coffee pot as we passed. “Keep in mind that they know what you eat and drink, and exactly how our assassin died.”
Detective Gazing Gander didn’t have a ready answer for that.
“So how did it go?” Sergeant Arrow asked as we departed the barracks.
This one pulled up the hood of its cloak to guard against the rain. The sun was setting, and the fading light only added to the gloom hugging the streets. “Not nearly as well as this one hoped.”
We moved to where a roof overhang saved us from the worst of the rain, and this one explained the basics of what it found out. This one was just getting to the part about the missing documents involving the Penny-mare when a bronze dragonfly messenger flew into its vision. It landed on this one’s upraised hoof, and then this one withdrew the message tube it was carrying. Carefully in case it was trapped, this one removed the small scroll within and then read it.
“Anything good?” the Arrow-stallion asked.
“Potentially,” this one said as it reread the message. “The Alya-mare wants to meet with this one.”