The crowd around Daring was noisy, like crowds naturally are, but she’d managed to tune most of the noise out. She was being carried by the slow but steady current of the thick river of bodies, her head lowered and covered with a floppy sunhat: a welcome relief from the heat of the setting sun.
The crowd carried her towards the wide gilded glass doors of Ponyville Theater, a white domed brick building that sat near the border of the Industrial and Dockside districts: blinking red and yellow lights surrounded by the massive sign over the door, illuminating the golden tragedy and comedy masks. As she passed the door, she glanced up at a poster plastered up on the wall next to her. The logo on the dark blue background was a saxophone, a trumpet, and what looked like a long stick with tribal painting running around the circumference, all overlapping one another.
“THE OUTBACKERS!” the poster announced in bright red letters. “Aushaylian Swing Band. Open dance floor. 7:30 PM, 8-12 Moon of Grain, 1950.”
As Daring entered the theater, she presented her ticket to one of the ushers, who nodded and allowed her entry. She proceeded with the rest of the crowd into the brightly lit lobby, sighing as the air conditioning kissed her skin and made her light dress ripple slightly. She managed to break away from the crowd as it began to disperse, walking towards a snack stand.
Her eye caught a familiar pair of unicorns, one of whom had a familiar purple dragon sitting atop her withers. “Hey, Twi, Spike, Rarity,” she greeted them as she approached. “How’s the head, kid?”
“Much better, thanks,” Spike smiled, briefly rubbing at the red spot on his forehead. “I haven’t had a headache in days now.”
“Good to hear,” Daring nodded.
“Oh, Daring, Twilight and I were just discussing our latest project for you and your beau,” Rarity stated, smirking a bit at Daring’s frown at her choice of adjective. “We should have it all ready by tomorrow morning.” She patted Spike’s head gently with a fond smile. “Spikey-boo here has been most helpful.”
“Anything for you, Rarity,” Spike said: Daring could almost see the hearts floating around his head as he stared vaguely at the alabaster unicorn, who giggled as she stroked his scales.
“Thanks,” Daring nodded. “It’ll be good to have some extra protection.”
“I also did some touch-ups on your wards,” Twilight announced. “Your shields should be easier to activate and last longer now.”
“If I can ever activate it,” Daring muttered.
“You’re still practicing with circles, right?” Twilight asked.
“Yeah, but it’s still hard,” Daring grumbled.
“All it takes is practice,” Twilight reassured her.
“Tell that to Phil,” Daring grumbled. “He can throw that thing up no problem.”
“Well, if he suddenly grew wings, I doubt that he’d know how to use them right off the bat,” Twilight said with a smile, cueing a round of laughter from the group.
“True, true,” Daring acknowledged.
“We can see if it works better next time I come over for practice,” Twilight said.
“Ladies and gentleponies, the show is about to start. Please take your seats,” a voice announced over the PA. At the signal, the few attendants that were still milling about the lobby started to head into the larger doors into the theater.
“See you inside!” Rarity chirped, following the crowd. Daring followed after Twilight and Spike through the doors.
Ponyville Theater might not have been too outstanding from the outside, but the interior more than made up for it. The grandiose ceiling stretched overhead, almost seeming to stretch to the limits of the horizon: the entire thing was decorated with frescoes depicting scenes from classic plays. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling; the light from it made the glow from the recessed lamps around the theater seem like matchsticks next to the sunrise.
The massive stage was covered by a great red curtain, which was currently shaking slightly from movement behind it. The polished walnut of the dance floor in front of the stage gleamed beneath the lights, large enough to carry maybe thirty couples.
Daring took a seat near the front, keeping her head lowered. The crowd filed in around her, some of them heading to the dance floor already. After a few minutes of chatter, the lights started to dim. With a chorus of shushing, the attendees fell silent.
After a few moments, a noise floated into the quiet: a low droning sound that slowly grew in volume. The sound began to rise and fall, the notes vibrating in Daring’s bones.
The curtain rose and the droning noise was interrupted by the crash of cymbals that announced a drum solo. The crowd’s cheering mixed with the arrival of piano, brass, and guitar as the lights came up, and the Outbackers were revealed in their full glory.
Hours earlier:
“I haven’t seen you this excited since I brought home that belly dancer outfit,” Daring smirked at Phillip as the two stood on the pier.
“That wasn’t excitement,” Phillip muttered, his ears turning faintly red even though his wide smile never faded; his eyes remained locked on the incoming blue sailboat that was slowly riding the current towards them. “And can you blame me? I haven’t seen my parents or the band in a year.”
“I guess,” Daring nodded, taking one final drag on her cigarette and flicking it down to the ground where it joined the rest of the burnt joints. She plucked her flask from her side and flicked the cap open to take a long drink of the bourbon inside, keeping her eyes on the sailboat. The boat, she noted, was a double-deck sailboat, its cloud white sails fluttering in the wind: as it came within the last few yards, dodging around a buoy, she could hear them flapping.
“You’re nervous,” Phillip observed.
Daring rolled her eyes. “You really are the greatest detective in this city,” she deadpanned.
“You’ll see,” Phillip said with a comforting smile, draping a foreleg over her shoulders. “They’ll like you, all of them will.” He looked up as the ship made its final approach. “There’s one now.”
A light gold pegasus emerged onto the bow, a white Akubra hat atop his long gray mane, which had been drawn back into a ponytail. His cutie mark was what looked like a yellow circle with a slice removed and a feather. He grinned and waved at Phillip, then grabbed a pair of ropes off of the bow and flew down onto the dock.
“Give us a hoof, Phil,” he said in an Equestrian accent, tossing him one of the ropes. The two stallions pulled the boat—the Billabong Melody, declared the white letters painted across the hull—up to the pier and tied it off.
“Good to see you, Bitz,” Phillip said, slapping the pegasus on the back.
“You too, Phil,” Bitz nodded back as a gangplank was lowered from the ship. “You been practicing?”
“Every night,” Phillip replied as other ponies began to disembark from the ship. “Hope you’ve been doing the same.”
“Phillip!” a joyful voice called, and Phillip looked up with a broad grin as two ponies hurried down the gangplank.
The tall, robust red earth pony with the curly blue and white ponytail, blue eyes that were still bright despite the encroaching wrinkles, and cutie mark of a trumpet reached him first, the two seizing each other in a tight embrace.
Daring raised her eyebrows in surprise at the mare that quickly joined their hug. She was striped like a zebra, with a long black and white striped mane and tail, but her coat was colored in shades of gray. Her eyes, alive with joy and love, were a grassy green and she had a cutie mark of a rain cloud with a long, intricately decorated wooden tube—a didgeridoo, Daring recalled from a faintly recollected book.
“How you been, son?” the stallion asked, ruffling Phillip’s mane as he playfully tried to squirm out of his grasp. His voice, every syllable gruff with an Aushaylian accent, was even deeper than his son’s, and much louder.
“Aces now that you’re here, dad,” Phillip replied as the mare kissed him on the cheek.
Daring fidgeted in place, then started to back up slightly. None of them had noticed her, maybe…
The zebra mare turned towards her, fixing with her a welcoming gaze that made her pause. “You must be Daring Do,” she said in a soft Aushaylian accent, striding forward with a calm grace. “I’m Phillip’s mother, Rain Rhythm.”
Some of the nerves that had been shivering in Daring’s gut returned. Forcing a smile to her face, she stepped forward and extended her hoof. “Hi,” she said. “It’s an honor to meet—”
Rain grasped Daring’s hoof—Daring instantly took note of the confident strength behind her grip—then, before Daring could react or protest, pulled her into a tight hug. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!” Rain cried, kissing her on both cheeks.
Some of the butterflies in Daring’s stomach flew away at her warm response. A moment later, the rest of them were squeezed out, along with her breath, when Phillip’s father seized her in an iron grip that was somewhere on the border between “warm embrace” and “murder attempt.”
“G’day!” the stallion declared right into her ear. “I’m Bobby Baseline, and it’s ripper to meet the mare that my son finally settled on!”
“Dad, ease off,” Phillip said, prompting Bobby to release a gasping Daring.
Daring considered Rain for a moment, then turned to Phillip. “You never mentioned you were part Aborigineigh,” she said. “You certainly don’t look it.”
“Who do you think taught me how to carve and throw boomerangs?” Phillip said. “I was born with stripes, but they faded out when I got older. Don’t know why.” He gestured around at the rest of the ponies, who were now waiting for introductions.
“You’ve met my parents: Dad’s the leader and trumpeter, mom plays didgeridoo and clarinet. This is Playbitz, bass guitar (the tan pegasus saluted with a large wing); Siren Bliss, Bitz’s wife and lead vocals (a petite brown unicorn mare with a cutie mark of a purple heart and an eighth note, her chestnut mane and tail drawn into loose ponytails, waved from next to Bitz); Sax City, saxophonist (a green unicorn with scruffy red hair and the cutie mark of a saxophone made into an eighth note winked from behind his thick glasses); Charlie Ivory, pianist (a charcoal pegasus with a white beard and sunglasses nodded in her general direction); Giana Krupa, drummer (the bright orange griffon with reddish plumage waved enthusiastically); Rock String—”
“I’m Roll, you silly bugger,” said one of the two bright blue-coated, red-maned hippogriff mares. The only difference between them that Daring could see was that the speaker had her mane parted on the left and the other had her mane parted to the right.
“Sorry: Roll String, upright bass, and her sister Rock, lead guitar,” Phillip rolled his eyes. “And finally, Slide Fortissimo, trombonist, borrowed from the Ponyville Jazz Ensemble,” he indicated the red pegasus with the mussy brown mane and bright smile.
“Nice to meet you all,” Daring nodded, allowing the band members to walk up and shake her hoof.
“We were really starting to wonder when Phil was gonna stallion up and get a mare,” Sax City said with a wink as he pumped Daring’s hoof.
“Rack off, Sax,” Phillip stated.
“So how’d you meet?” Slide asked eagerly, his voice carrying a Ponyville accent.
“Was it romantic?” Rock prodded.
“Was he a complete dork?” Roll smirked.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a given with him!” Bliss giggled, prompting a brief glare from Phillip.
“No, Charlie, to your left,” Phillip said to the pianist, who was currently trotting towards him with a hoof extended. Charlie quickly corrected himself and trotted up to Daring, managing to take her hoof on his third try.
“Yes, they’re always like this,” Charlie said to Daring, his gaze floating a few inches over her head. “You get used to it after a few years.”
“That flask will probably help,” Giana commented, nodding at the canteen attached to Daring’s hip.
“Great minds do think alike,” Daring nodded, stepping back and unhooking her flask.
“Sorry about this,” Phillip said, glancing around at the smirking band. “They’re just taking the piss out of me because of you.”
“It’s fine: I take the piss out of you every day,” Daring smirked. “And a little more than that at least once a week.”
A round of giggling rose from the band as Phillip’s ears turned scarlet. Chuckling to herself, Daring lifted the flask to her lips and started to drink. Focused on the heady, smoky flavor of Manticore Rare, she didn’t notice a sly grin sliding up Rain’s face.
“So,” Rain asked with a wink, “When are you two gonna give me some grandfoals?”
Daring choked, then spat out her drink in a fountain of shock, her wings snapping open as all her blood rushed up to her face.
“Mom!” Phillip cried in horror, his face turning stop-light red as the rest of the group howled with laughter. Rain gave him an unrepenting grin.
“Ah, she’s just joking, my ankle-biters,” Bobby said, heartily slapping Phillip and Daring on the back. “We know it’ll come along naturally.” He leaned in a bit closer. “Though, if it could naturally come a bit sooner rather than later, that’d be ripper. We’re not getting any younger, Phil,” he stage-whispered.
Phillip and Daring both exchanged reflecting looks from heavily blushing faces. “Okay, dad, I think it’s time for you and the mates to head to the Hall and get set up,” Phillip said quickly, pulling his father away.
“Oh, hold on, I didn’t give you your gifts!” Rain cried.
“I’ll go get ‘em,” Slide announced, flapping back onto the Billabong Melody. He came back a moment later with a small wooden box with Aborigineigh carvings decorating the top.
“Thanks, Slide,” Rain smiled as she took the box. She opened it up and revealed two necklaces. Hanging from each cord was a simple wooden carving of what looked like a zebra, but all dark gray and black with wide white eyes that seemed to shine faintly, wings, and no mouths or cutie marks. Elaborate headdresses apparently made of lightning and clouds adorned their heads.
“Oh, crikey,” Phillip said in happy surprise, taking the one that appeared to be a stallion with a bushy beard, his mane pulled into a short ponytail.
“That’s, er...interesting,” Daring commented, taking the other one. This one appeared to be a mare, judging by her long, flowing mane that swept down past her knees like a waterfall. Judging by the weight, the little idol was hollow; strangely, she felt a very faint buzzing of energy inside it.
“It’s a wandjina,” Phillip explained.
“Oh, that’s what they look like?” Daring asked, studying the mouthless face. “I’m guessing they’re not big on talking.”
“Heh, no,” Rain chuckled. “Wandjina are amongst the most powerful spirits in the Dreaming: during the creation, they carved the lands with the rains, but their voices are so powerful that making an image of them with their mouths can carry too much power. Still today they bring the rain and thunder to protect us, nourishing the land and frightening away evil spirits. I carved these figures of Angkakert and Awely-Awely, the king and queen of the wandjina: I even placed some storm clouds inside them to add a bit of magical power to them. I hope that these might bring you some protection.”
“Thanks, mom,” Phillip said, placing the necklace over his head and tucking the wandjina carving beneath his shirt.
Daring frowned at the carving. A little wooden trinket wouldn’t stop a bullet...but it was a gift from Phillip’s mother. It was worth that much, at least. Forcing a smile, she placed it over her head. The wooden facsimile bounced against her chest, and for a moment, she thought she felt it tingle slightly.
“Thanks, Rain,” she nodded.
“Right then,” Bobby chuckled. “We’ll see you later, Daring Do!”
Gathering up their instruments, the rest of the Outbackers bid their goodbyes to Daring and departed eastwards. Daring was left standing on the pier, a flask in her hoof and a broad smile on her face.
Phillip had talked often about the band’s talent, the palpable energy that exuded from their music. And now, Daring could feel it for herself. The rising and falling of the brass instruments sent electric tingles up and down her spine and she found herself suddenly itching to stand up, to move, to let the music guide her.
Each of the Outbackers was dressed in a black vest and a red bowtie, the clothes flapping as they moved in time to the rhythm. Rock and Roll flanked the stage, plucking at their respective instruments. Charlie was manipulating the keys of the piano with supreme confidence, an ivory smile splitting his face: Giana was pounding at the drumset with barely restrained energy, striking the drums and cymbals so hard that it seemed like her drumsticks would snap. Siren Bliss and Playbitz were currently dancing across the forefront of the stage, the microphone floating alongside Siren. The others had formed a line, Rain having set aside her didgeridoo on a stand and taken up her clarinet. Phillip was standing in between his father and Sax City: he gave Daring a brief wink as he swung into the next measure.
Bliss twirled away from her husband and brought the microphone to her lips to sing: “When you feel your bones a-shaking!”
“Feel your bones a-shaking!” the rest of the band echoed.
“And the desert winds are rising!”
“Desert winds are rising!”
“And the groove begins to move you!”
“Groove beings to move you!”
“It’s Outback Swing!” Siren Bliss declared.
“Outback Swing!” the others repeated, intentionally emphasizing their accents.
“When you see those fires burning!”
“See those fires burning!”
“The coolibah start swaying!”
“Coolibah start swaying!”
“And the dingoes start a-howling!”
“Dingoes start a-howling!”
“It’s Outback Swing!” the entire crew declared as one and the music whirled back into a tempest once more, drawing cheers from the crowd.
Ponies had already started to move towards the dance floor. The first ones there were Sirba, Muziqaa, and a collection of zebras from their dance troupe, stamping and jumping in an impromptu but elegant performance: as Daring watched, Muziqaa sprinted up to his mother, who tossed him up into a double backflip that carried him up before the stage. He landed in a backward hoofspring, then dashed over to his father and started to eagerly urge him towards the troupe.
Others began to join the dancers: Twilight allowed Flash to guide her onto the floor and they began a two-step, their steps slow with awkwardness and inexperience at first but becoming faster and more fluid as inhibition gave way to youthful joy. Rara was laughing as Applejack attempted to lead her in a square dance in time to the rushing beat, whilst Fluttershy was dancing with a green earth pony with red dreadlocks. Looking around, Daring briefly spotted Red Herring sitting with a smiling pegasus mare, a young colt with a lion-like mane bouncing energetically in the seat next to theirs.
So many familiar faces stuck out from the crowd around Daring as she turned. Pinkie Pie, Rarity with what she assumed was her family, Pastor Sound tapping her cane against the floor, Sugar Loaf, Maple Leaf, Prowl happily bouncing a giggling Skysong, Silvertongue, Bumblebee and Arc—
Wait, what?!
Daring whirled back around and scanned the crowds again, eyes darting around for any sign of the silvery mane and blue eyes that she’d caught a glimpse of. But the apparition, much like Neighquo’s ghost, had vanished. She frowned, reviewing her mental playback.
Okay, that pony did look kind of like Silvertongue, with their silver mane and bluish coat, but she couldn’t imagine Silvertongue wearing sunglasses and a hooded sweatshirt, or showing up in a commoner’s entertainment venue for a commoner’s show.
And besides. Silvertongue had been dead for over half a year now.
It had to have been a trick of the light.
The music swelled, triggering a surge of energy through Daring and she forgot all about the hallucination. Getting up, she let out a cheer that was echoed by many others around her as Phillip and his mother launched into a didgeridoo and sax duet.
Forget the rest of the city. For a little while, this was all that mattered.
The crimson unicorn shoved the door open with his magic, dragging Rosey behind him. Panting and gasping, he tossed the wounded mare into the room, then slammed the door shut behind them, ramming the latch shut and ensuring the locks were all secure.
It took a few moments of heaving breath for him to realize that he was gripping the revolver so tightly that the hoofgrip was cracking. Sucking in air to calm himself, he tucked the large pistol into his shoulder holster and bustled over to his partner. “You okay?” Red Clover asked breathlessly, shaking his green and brown mane from his eyes.
“Fucking shite, my leg!” Rosey Turn grunted, the unicorn grasping her injured limb. Blood seeped from where the bullet had tunneled into her flesh: a glance revealed to Clover that the round had carved into her bone.
He sucked in a breath. “It’s bad. You’re gonna need to see a doctor,” he confirmed, tearing a strip from his trenchcoat and dressing the injury as best as he could.
Rosey laughed, a low, rusty noise like glass splintering. “We need more than a doctor,” she said through a grin that was too wide for her face. “Did you see what he did to Diamond Jack? He ripped his fucking heart out! And then did you see what Jack did?”
“I saw what Jack did,” Clover replied, looking around to get his bearings as he tried to push the images out of his head. The packets of poppydust and their other merchandise lay on plastic tables, ready to be stuffed into the false bottoms of the barrels of tar, which stood in a line in the corner. There was the exit in the back: if they could get out there, they could leg it to the van and get out of here…
“He just bloody got back up!” Rosey hissed through her teeth, seizing him and pulling him down to stare into her eyes, each of them as wide as platters. “He got back up! With a fucking hole where his heart should be!”
There came the sound of hoofsteps from behind the latched door and both ponies froze, staring. The doorknob rattled: Clover held his breath, while Rosey squeaked out what she could remember of a prayer.
The doorknob ceased moving. The hoofsteps moved away. Both ponies sighed in relief.
And then the door crashed open, turning into a shower of wooden shrapnel that stabbed into the two ponies, the concussion wave knocking them flat. Clover looked up in horror to see a red earth pony trotting through the doorway, his long blue mane hanging over his emotionless face. Black ooze ran the circumference of the baseball-sized hole in his chest where his heart used to be.
“Jack?” Clover pleaded, crawling away. “Jack? It’s me, Red Clover!”
Jack gave no sign that he had even heard him, instead simply striding into the room and pulling out a knife. Clover recognized the large, black hunting knife: how many times had he and Jack laughed about him getting it to compensate for his other shortcomings?
The barking of a .38 snapped Clover back to the moment and he whirled around to see that Rosey had whipped out her sidearm and was advancing on the intruder, firing with every step. Every round struck flesh, but no blood flowed from the wounds; the thing that had been Jack merely turned towards the screaming mare, face as expressionless as ever.
The gun clicked on empty. “Fucking die!” Rosey screeched, tossing the weapon aside and lunging for Jack’s neck.
The knife flashed. A scream became a wet, choking gasp. Clover lay still and watched in silent, helpless horror as Rosey staggered, clutching at her throat in a vain attempt to stem the flowing crimson tide. She stumbled, then fell to the floor, choking. Her pupils focused on his, begging for help, but he could only stare helplessly as the light faded from them. She twitched a couple of times, then was still.
Clover slowly realized that he wasn’t breathing, and he started sucking in air once again, staring up at what had been Jack. He was standing over Rosey’s body, her blood still dripping from his knife. Slowly, he turned and stared at Clover, head quizzically tilted to one side.
Then came the hoofsteps. Clover forgot how to breathe once again as he entered the room. The black eyes focused on Clover’s, cold and empty despite the wide smile on his face. Adjusting his tie and the glowing jade necklace around his neck, he turned and stared at the corpse on the ground. His golden horn lit up and swirled with red and black magic.
Rosey blinked. Then blinked again. Her jaw opened and closed, then she stood up, her joints cracking faintly as she moved with a stiff slowness. Clover stared in silent, quaking terror as what had been Rosey Turn turned to stare at him with a cold, blank gaze. A last few drops of blood fell from her slit throat: the thudding as they hit the ground roared like gunshots in the silence.
“Live and serve,” Zugzwang declared coldly. “Or die and serve.”
There came the sound of other hoofsteps approaching, and Clover gasped as the others appeared, marching into the room. Flying Ace, Loaded Dice, East Wind...their bodies. But not them. Staring at him with their cold dead eyes.
Tears blurring his vision, breathing in short gasps and choked sobs, Red Clover prostrated himself before his king.
“This should be sufficient,” Zugzwang mused to himself, having already forgotten his new employee. “You’re right, bruder: it will take all of them to get back at die rote Hure and her crew.” He scowled for a moment. “Yes, I’ve felt them trying to find the statues. If we don’t get the gems, they’ll succeed eventually.”
He abruptly shuddered. “We...we need to get moving. They’re looking again. You. Come with us.”
Zugzwang galloped over to the door in the back and inserted a blue key into the lock. The door unlatched and opened to reveal a dark red glow. The corpses began to shuffle their way through the threshold. Clover stared in numb horror at the impossible space, his hooves refusing to take another step towards the door. Maybe he could run now...
“Come,” Zugzwang ordered, his empty black orbs flashing dangerously.
His choices were cold black and cold red. He chose red. With a gulp, he followed the line of the dead through the doorway.