"No!" Gleaming Shield said, looking aghast. "No, not just no, Tartarus, no! What the buck is wrong with you two? You are not going to steal an embalmed pegasus corpse, set it on fire, or try to pass off the charred remains as a jailed trooper! How the blue hades were you going to explain how he got out of his jail cell? Or were you going to just burn Fort Gharne down?"
The two of them had found Shield with her entourage, returning from the airdocks. She was currently dressing them down in the courtyard outside the quarters. In front of the guards, and the major's own entourage, who were looking on with fascination.
"Well, I was thinking of arranging a breakout attempt, and then maybe lead them to a prepared warehouse-" Ping said, trying to explain his brilliant idea. Or maybe it had been Gilda's. Look, he hadn't slept for a couple days.
"Oh, my Celestia, no! Ping, I expect these sorts of wild starts from Gilda - although I thought you were getting better, Gilda, and we're gonna talk about that afterwards - but from you?" The major looked pityingly at Ping, and his tufted ears burned.
I thought it was a brilliant idea? Darkness damn it, he'd been trying to avoid the condemning glares of his night-time superiors, why was he getting it from his daywalker now?
"You look like death warmed over, by the way, corporal. So does Gilda, but I know her limits. How much sleep have you gotten?"
"Uh, maybe ten hours?"
"In the last week?"
"How long has it been since the first of the year?"
"WHAT?"
"Look, thestrals don't need much sleep-"
"Not as far as I can tell from the discipline records," Gilda interjected unhelpfully.
"Gah! No wonder. Ping, this is a direct order. Go get eight solid hours of sleep. Uninterrupted."
"But-"
"I don't care. I need a squadron clerk who isn't psychopathic from sleep deprivation. Go on, get."
Ping failed to get, and tried again. "But Major, what are we going to do about Bob?" He wasn't that bad, was he? It had been a while since he'd gotten a full night. Of the usual two hours REM. And it was a small price to pay, to not have to explain why he'd burned the matrons, cut their legs out from under them, fed them to the inquisitors… It's just that I can't remember why I thought it was a good idea now…
"I have an idea or two," snapped Ping's unicorn superior. "Why is it that every solution with you, Gilda, is some sort of felony?"
"This one was all Ping's," the master sergeant said, sulkily, like a foal in time-out.
Liar!
"Gilda, you've been a bad influence on the poor colt. He was a perfectly obedient and law-abiding pony when the 93/1st had him." Not so much, but what the officers and senior non-coms didn't know, wouldn't get Ping arrested and thrown into Liveryworth for the rest of his natural born lifespan.
"To our knowledge, major ma'am."
"Don't you start, Gilda, you're on thin ice!"
"But major ma'am…"
"If you hadn't had that clever idea, I'd be thinking of taking back those master sergeant's stripes."
"Uh, the one about the letter of marque and-"
"No, not that part, that was stupid. We don't need Duchess Cadance's permission to play wargames with our own ship and our own ponies. It's an EUP affair, we need to keep things separate. I meant the battle-capture thing. That's got promise."
"Uh, thank you, major ma'am."
"Which is why you're going to get together the officers and start making the plans. Just the lieutenants and Bell, for now."
"Isn't that your-"
"I need to collect Lyra, and go see my uncle. The way to deal with a pony stuck in the system, is to find your leverage in the system. Not burn it down and try to escape in the chaos."
Ping's major stared up into the darkness above the garrison's bright glaring lights.
"Embalmed corpses, I swear to Harmony…"
"Why do you need me again, Twiggles?" Lyra asked, fiddling with her official magus hat.
It always itched.
"Don't call me that. I need an authority, to trap the Concordotti into obeying the letter of the law."
And then it was time to shut up, as they were passed through the guarded gate of Fort Gharne with a minimum of fuss. Lyra sweated as the fortress’s own guards checked the Sixth Guards party through. She always felt like a prat wearing her stupid cloak and hat.
Gleaming Shield's escort of four griffons, smartly dressed in their sharp regimentals, were left in a waiting chamber just off the main courtyard of the fortress, instructed to wait on a summons, or Shield and Lyra's return, whichever came first.
"They hate being called that, 'Concordotti'" Lyra said, picking up the dropped conversation from outside the gates. "They prefer 'Agents of the Concordat'. Also, there is no letter of the law when it comes to batponies and the Concordat. It's all oral agreement and ambiguity. It's why everypony keeps a healthy distance from the Night Shift and oneiromancy. You know what the healthy distance from oneiromancy is?"
"Don't ever do it?" Shield snarked at her.
"Exactly! There is no minimum safe distance from the Concordotti. They're maniacs! They just disappear ponies. I'm kind of amazed that Bob isn't already as much of a nonpony as those two horrorshows are. Thanks ever so much for not waking me up and letting me know that there were some honest to Celestia corrupted matrons in the fortress, by the way. I wanted to see!"
They passed through another checkpoint, and began the climb up into the administrative block of the fortress.
"I thought you said there was no minimum safe distance?" Shield returned to the topic at hoof.
"You know me, 'Shield'. I have no sense of self-preservation. Why are we doing this, like this? Directly?"
"Because the other methods suggested were imbecilic, and the direct route is usually the fastest way through a mess."
"I heard a rumor that plan A was to steal a corpse and set it on fire or something like that?"
"You shouldn't listen to rumors. Rumor is a lying nag."
That wasn't a denial, Lyra thought to herself. "So, instead we're bearding the Concordotti in their own lair?"
"No, thankfully. There is no Concordat prison here. They're keeping Bob in the dungeons under Gharne. The dungeons that my uncle has authority over. There he is. Be polite. For a change."
"Shield! I'm always the very pattern of civility."
"Only if complete chaos is a pattern. Ah, Uncle Brassard, good to see you." Shield waved at a distinguished elder gentlecolt as they entered the front of a block of much less distinguished offices. "This is Magus Lyra Heartstrings, an expert that Princess Celestia sent us to deal with a serious problem she's helping us with. Lyra, this is my uncle, Colonel Burnished Brassard. The Provost Marshal for Her Majesty's Armed Forces in the Griffish Isles."
The elder member of the House of Sparkle was a well-seasoned old stallion, distinguished and handsome in his EUP undress uniform, his mane more silver than purple, untroubled by hat or helmet.
"Good to meet you, Magus Heartstrings. Twilie, I'm not sure that-"
"Uncle! You know I don't answer to that any more."
"Gleaming Shield…" the old stallion looked down at his niece, a conflicted look on his muzzle. "It's lovely how much you've done to keep the memory of Shining, but I'm not sure that-"
"Sir. I'm not that little filly anymore. Please, respect my choices. At least in front of others."
He sighed, and then turned to Lyra, who was trying hard to not listen to what had turned unexpectedly familial. She'd been a childhood friend of Twilight's, not a member of the family.
"So you're the expert that can determine whether this criminal trooper is corrupted? If you can do that, why aren't you working for the Concordat?"
"Dual-use technology, Colonel Brassard," Lyra extemporized. "There's a number of techniques which can be used to demonstrate whether this pony is hopelessly compromised, and thus grist for the Concordat's grinder, or just a misbehaving colt who is in need of correction and the strong right hoof of his loving superiors."
Actually, Lyra had been meaning to complain that none of this was in her wheelhouse, but she'd run out of time for that.
The provost marshal, his formally-dressed niece in her glittering felt slouch-hat and feather, and Lyra passed back down through the guts of the dark fortress, Lyra chattering a mile a minute about the supposed techniques she was going to use to prove that poor Bob didn't belong in the distinctly not loving clutches of the Concordotti.
Lyra would have to remember not to call them that to their faces.
And there they were, standing outside the cell block, the corporal of the guard standing with his cell-door keys in his mouth.
Better to not have to talk to the dread agents of the shadowy Concordat for the Harmonization of the Heavens, at all!
"Hey, there, Charleyhorse!" Lyra belted out cheerfully. "How're they hanging?" I guess we're not doing that, then.
The two stone-faced ponies looked at each other, and then back at Lyra.
"Not talking today? That's fine. We can catch up later."
"Do you know this mare?" the thestral asked the earth pony.
"No. Do you?" he replied, almost forming an expression.
"Of course not," the batpony mare almost sniffed. "You are Major Gleaming Shield?" she asked Lyra's friend, apparently deciding to ignore Lyra's attempts to wind them up.
"Yes, good to meet you, Miss…" Shield stood there with her hoof out, waiting for the Concordotti to shake it, or give her name, or to show any sign of basic courtesy.
She'd be waiting a long time. Lyra reached out and gently pushed her friend's foreleg down. They'd be here forever if Shield expected any sort of equine behavior out of Concordotti.
"OK, I think we have a stallion to evaluate, and hopefully send him back to his unit! Or, you know, send him into what black hell you maniacs reserve for your victims," Lyra chirped. "Colonel, can we go in and see the victim?"
"I think not," the earth pony said, stepping forward to keep Lyra from the locked door into the cell block. "We have full authority over this subject, and will not be allowing external evaluation or assessment."
"It is a violation of our charter," his partner chimed in.
"The trooper is ours," the stallion continued. "Go away."
"Funny thing," Colonel Brassard said, speaking for the first time. "I seem to be the pony who has custody of this particular subject."
"He is simply in your facility," the thestral mare said.
"His physical location is no more relevant than if he was in the high-security ward in the infirmary upstairs," said the earth pony stallion.
"I'm not Lieutenant Colonel Slow Drip, and this isn't the Gharne isolation wards. It's my jail. And I have possession of this colt's corpus. Gleaming Shield! What percentage is possession in practical military law?"
"Sir! 100%!" Shield barked out, bracing like she was back in the academy.
"I thought it was 90%?" Lyra said, delivering the straight line.
"In theory!" snapped Shield. "In practice, there is nothing else! Possession is the whole of the law."
"Sounds a bit extreme," Colonel Brassard said, measuredly. "But it's generally a quite large percentage, you all will grant? And I have this colt under lock and key. And that corporal over there answers to the Provost Marshal, if I'm not mistaken. Iron Bar!"
"Yeph fir!"
"Spit those keys out, Bar. Who do you answer to?"
"Lieutenant Hard Cheese, sir!" the stallion said, bracing like Shield. Lyra wondered if she should follow suit.
Nah, they'd think she was making fun of them.
"Corporal… who does Cheese answer to?"
"You, sir!"
"OK, I think we've established the chain of command, here. Do I need to start laying about me with it, sir, ma'am?"
"You will find it will go badly with you if you interfere in Concordat business, Colonel," warned the thestral mare.
"You will find that I'm one year from retirement, and my pension is quite thoroughly vested. I literally do not have to care what you think of me. You can't mess with my dreams, and you can't toss me into your mystery prison because I barely have any magic to my name, let alone any of the spooky crap you all claim is your bailiwick."
The aged stallion turned to his niece. "Major Shield, have your expert enter the cell, and conduct her evaluations."
"We insist on registering our objections!" the earth pony stallion barked.
"You have that right, and that authority," the unicorn provost marshal granted. "Report and be damned."
"We insist on observing these supposed novel techniques!" the thestral demanded.
The provost marshal turned to Lyra. "Do you have any objections, magus?"
Lyra turned her head to the side, thinking. "I can't see how it'd be a problem. Sure, why not. How much space is in there? It might get crowded if everypony troops in to watch."
"Corporal Bar, go move the prisoner into the large interrogation room. Uh, magus, will anything you do be difficult to see through silvered glass?"
Lyra thought over the tricks she was planning on using. "Uh,maybe? Let me know after we get going how things look. Some illusions don't make it through mirrored interfaces. Not sure how the techniques I use will propagate through silver."
"Illusions?!" demand the thestral.
"Well, yeah, I need some way to project my scans. I don't have the enormous ensorcelled apparati they have back at the Academy. And even those technically use projection magic, which is a form of illusion. But really, garbage in, garbage out. It doesn't synthesize fictions from nothing, I swear. I assume you two have actual Concordat proprietary tech of some sort, right? You aren't just randomly making shit up based on gut feelings or something like that?"
"Of course not!" barked the earth pony.
Lyra gave him the hairy eyeball. Earth pony sorcerers weren't totally unheard of, but they tended to be incredibly rare.
"Go get the spectacles," the thestral mare said, and Lyra thought the mare might actually have rolled her eyes.
Just a little.
One pair of errands, the jailor for his charge, and the Concordotti stallion for their equipment, and the group had regrouped in an interrogation room which managed to have enough space for both Concordotti and the three unicorns.
Well, and the prisoner, whose hoof had been chained to a heavy iron table in the middle of the room, his other three hobbled around a chair.
"Well, that's a bit extreme," noted Lyra, looking over the almost-spread-eagled Trooper Bob. "How are ya, Bob?" She walked up to her subject, and laid her heavy, sagging hat on the even heavier interrogation room table.
"Been beffel, Lyla," the thestral said through the heavy bit and bridle locked around his muzzle.
"Objection!" rapped out the thestral Concordotti. "The magus clearly knows the subject!"
"It's why I'm useful," Lyra said, talking fast, and pulling beads, braces, staves and clamps out of the pocket woven into her hat, below the crown but above the brim. "I already have a baseline scan of this guy. I've been evaluating most of Shield's squadron. It's why I'm here in Trottingham in the first place. Here, look."
Lyra took a glass bead from the scrambled pile of stuff, and used it to project the 'baseline scan' illusion she had stored on it. "See? That's Bob's soul from three weeks ago."
The rest of the group looked at it in varying shades of disgust, astonishment, and fascination. Lyra could never be sure how ponies would react to the projection of a pony's soul. As far as she could tell, it reflected the actual meat of a pony's nervous system, and that could be a bit unsettling to a herbivore unused to viscera and suchlike.
Still, it was essentially glasslike, so at least the scan didn't pulse, ooze, or look all that icky, tendrils and nodes and the like aside.
"This is Bob, baseline. Note how clear it is. This was very unusual for thestrals like Bob. Most batponies have a certain underlying or standard-issue curse-corruption going on. Even earth ponies and pegasi aren't generally pristine, but for some reason thestrals are usually crapped up like unicorns with academic-level magic talents. Bob was unusually clear for a thestral, he looks more like an earth pony, and a young one at that.
"This was before he had any contact with the turul whose cursed object was the subject of my investigations at the time. I was planning on taking another scan of Bob and the rest of his lance after they had interacted with the turul and her coronet, but I hadn't gotten back around to Bob before, y'know, the whole mess in the courtyard with the weird sisters we're not talking about anymore."
The two Concordotti glared at her, and Lyra carried on.
"Right. Normally, I'd expect a series of sprays of curse-affect over a soul after it had encountered an object like the turul heir's coronet. Looks like someone splattered affected souls with mud. Dried mud, if it's old, it tends to fleck off or fade with time.
"So! Let's take a scan of today's Bob, and see what we're looking at here. He's had contact with the turul, it should show that at the very least."
Lyra assembled the little projector from the pile of stuff scattered across the table. She cast the prepared spell on the trooper with the rickety apparatus, and the illusion burst out of his head like his brain exploding out of the back of his skull. The projection swirled a bit before it resolved properly, and then settled into a mostly glassy-clear colored floating model of Bob's brain and spinal cord. In faint pastels glittering in the stark half-lighted interrogation room.
"Now that is interesting," Lyra said, approvingly.
"You can see the mud, like you said," Gleaming Shield said, circling the floating, glowing illusion. "Layers and layers. Is this what my mind looks like?"
"Nah, you've got that mental block thing going, when it's active, it looks like your brain is encased in ice. When you dispel it, the 'mud' goes with it. Ah-ha! Look at that!" Lyra waved a magnifying glass over the projection, and brought the detail into view.
"The… it looks like someone was scribbling on his frontal lobe with a stick of charcoal. Or a pencil," Shield said.
"Exactly! That's not right. Definitely outside influence."
"What!?" demanded the thestral mare. She grabbed one of the spectacles her partner had brought with him, and put them over her cats-eyes. She squinted at the actual pony's forehead, her magnified slit-eyes made enormous behind the thick glass. "I don't see anything."
"Well, it is pretty faint," Lyra granted. "And it's starting to fade. Better take a snapshot before it's gone entirely, the next time I scan Bob here, I think it'll be gone."
Lyra picked out a fresh glass bead from the pile, and waved it through the projection stream with her hornglow, imprinting the image on the storage device.
"What does it mean?" asked Colonel Brassard.
"Mmm. Something dark-magic-ish interacted with Bob's brain. I have no idea what. Like I said, that cursed coronet leaves phantasmic mud on ponies' minds. Whatever this was, it was like somepony chalking up a sidewalk. Pretty minor, really. Like the chalked up sidewalk, the next big rainstorm will wash it off. Sorta."
"A rainstorm will wash Bob's brain?" Shield asked, skeptically.
"Well, metaphorically speaking. To be honest, whatever it was, was pretty minor. You wouldn't believe how messy Princess Cadance's influence can be, seen through this technique."
"He's clearly been influenced! We must have him, he's been compromised!" the earth pony stallion said, heatedly.
"Like I said, half of the population probably has influences like this, at least in places like Canterlot where Cadance and the matrons are in operation. Somepony maybe gave him a doctored dream, something like that."
"Is he programmed? Dangerous?" asked Colonel Brassard.
"Is anypony with Cadance-influence programmed or dangerous?" Lyra asked, knowing what a bomb she was throwing into the conversation.
The resulting shrapnel tore the discussion into pieces. Lyra almost regretted the mess she'd made.
But in the end, they got their trooper back, and that was the point wasn't it?
Shield's griffon guards were summoned from their limbo up by the main gates of the fortress, and Bob and his hobbles were extracted from the octopus-like entangled embrace of the interrogation room's table and chair. The guards took custody of Bob, his hobbles, and the keys thereof, and the entire procession moved upwards out of that mortal Tartarus, slow-marching to the pace of the slowest, hobbled member of the column.
As they escaped Trottish Tartarus, Lyra resisted the urge to look backwards, Eurydice-like, at the no-doubt-glaring Concordotti, and thought about her exposure from this little escapade. She rather suspected that now was probably a good time to get out of town, before it occurred to the Concordotti that it was a good idea to proactively foalnap her for her innovative new mind-mapping technology.
Before anypony else did, of course. For Lyra's own good.
Maybe she should have written her little trick up into a proper paper instead of just keeping it for her own studies. Less chance of being sealed away in some unharmonious secret agency's own dungeons, intent on monopolizing her idiot ideas for their own nefarious purposes.
Maybe she should have ‘forgotten’ her hat in that interrogation room, in the hope that the Concordotti could reverse-engineer her little tricks from the collection of kibble, rubbish and tools squirreled away in its pockets and leave her alone.
Nah, they’re not that clever. And I wasn’t that smart.
No, better to be somewhere those jerks couldn’t get ahold of her. Good thing she was currently embedded in an entire squadron's worth of bodyguards.