“They seem to be taking this well.” I peered out the window of Appeloosa's only jail-- the front window, mind you. The back window (with its accompanying iron bars) was reserved for Kid Cobra, who was still sleeping off a chandelier-induced hangover. Outside, the ponies of Appleoosa went about their morning business, albeit with a sort of grim purpose to their step. I'd been on enough campaigns to recognize that look of ponies getting ready for an imminent battle (usually one that inevitably started once Yours Truly got thrown at the most dangerous part of it).
I turned away from the window. “The townsponies, that is. If somepony had gotten murdered like that in Ponyville, the whole town would be in a panic.”
“Don't remind me.” Carrot Top said from beneath the brim of her frankly ridiculous frontier-hat.
“Did they not ... like, Sheriff Silverstar, perhaps?”
“No, they loved him.” Carrot Top shook her head. “But life's harder out on the frontier. Seems like they lose somebody every month or two, from the cholera, or the sandstorms, or the--”
“--outlaws.” I said, and looked back at Kid Cobra, who kept snoring. The strange hiss-snort sounds he made were enough to make me wonder if he was faking it.
“Right. So when things get tough, Appleoosan ponies get ... fighty.”
“Which means they can fend for themselves, right?” I said.
“Which means they need somebody to keep an eye on them before they go off and do something stupid. Last time something like this happened, they nearly started a war.”
“And who usually keeps things under control?”
“Sheriff Silverstar.” Carrot Top said.
“Of course.” My stomach churned as an all too familiar feeling of impending doom set in. “And now that he's dead--”
“They're looking to you for leadership.”
“As per the usual.” I groaned and shook my head. “They're not ... they're not going to expect me to live out here, are they? I'm a pony of culture! I have to live someplace civilized, not some dusty backwater of a town where the bartender barely knows the difference between a dry red and a sweet white.”
“Either the ponies of Appleoosa will pick somepony for the job, or they might even hire somebody from back East. Of course, they won't do that until all of this has blown over. Or blown up to the point where they need to send in troops-- or worse yet, a Princess. But we won't let it come to that, will we, Sentry?”
“I--” whatever sarcastic reply I had ready was cut short as Braeburn burst in through the jail's swinging doors.
“Mister Sentry!” he said. “Come quick!”
And without s much as waiting for me to reply, he turned and galloped off again. Carrot Top sprang to her hooves and followed him-- at which point I followed her. Which, of course, meant I was dashing towards the danger instead of away from it-- but it's not as if I could have rabbited right then anyhow (as much as I wanted to). At least trailing behind Carrot Top offered some small modicum of safety, what, with her being one of the deadliest ponies alive and all. And since she'd apparently already roughed up a couple of buffalo in front of Appleoosa's populace, maybe she wouldn't be too shy about dispensing savage beatings as needed. Maybe Carrot Top could just apply some tactical violence right off the bat and we'd could catch the next train back to Canterlot.
Maybe.
The three of us charged out to the outskirts of town, where a small rabble of ponies had gathered. They paced and muttered amongst themselves, warily sizing up Appleoosa's newest 'visitors.' The crowd parted once they realized I was there, and practically shoved me up to the proverbial front line. Thankfully, it was too early in the morning for torches and pitchforks.
Nopony had to tell me which one was Boss Hiss. The snakeman stood head and stooped shoulders taller than his fellows, and had shoulders about twice as broad. His dark shirt was stitched with a serpent pattern in silver thread, and the broad belt around his waist had an ornate belt buckle the size of a serving platter. Boss Hiss' black tongue flickered out from between his scaled lips as he stared down the ponies. Behind him, the rest of the Rattler gang milled about, either on foot, or astride hulking, quadruped reptile-creatures fitted with tack and saddle.* There must have been a small squadron's worth of them. Nothing that could slow down a proper military expedition (or one properly motivated Princess), but still more than enough to raze a rural town like Appleoosa if they really put their minds to it.
*Based on Sentry's (admittedly brief) description, these were most likely a subspecies of sand-drake, a distant (and non-sapient) relative to dragonkind.
“Where's my brother?” Boss Hiss spoke surprisingly clearly for a creature with 'hiss' in his name. His voice was deep and resonant, enough that I could practically feel the vibrations in my chest as he spoke. Then again, that might've just been my own heart doing its damndest tro leap out of my ribcage.
“We got 'im in jail. He's gonna stand trial.” One idiotically brave pony (who was standing behind me, I might add) yelled out in reply. “For murder!”
“Murder? Guess that explains why Silverstar ain't here. So who's in charge of you grass-eaters now?” Boss Hiss' lips curled back in a fanged smile as he sighted in on me. Even if I wasn't still wearing a (somewhat rumpled) uniform, those damn yokels literally pointed to me, ensuring the horrible snake-creature was fixated on Yours Truly. “You got a name, pony?”
“Lieutenant Flash Sentry.” I faked a brave tone, which certainly is no substitute for the real thing, at least when you're the one speaking. “I'm ... just passing through, honestly. As I hope you are, too.”
“Passing through? Hah!” Boss Hiss slapped his denim-clad thigh. “I think we're on the same page there, pardner. So I'll tell you what-- you just set my brother loose, and then I'll forget any of this ever happened.”
Damn it all, I would have done it, if those Appleoosa idiots hadn't immediately launched into shouts and obscenities. Boss Hiss endured the booing with casual aplomb, even going so far as to roll his eyes. Once the angry mobbing died down, Boss Hiss shrugged, and pushed back the brim of his hat. “Figured you'd say that. But since you're new in town, city-slicker, I'll give you a chance to reconsider. You've got 'til twelve-o-clock noon tomorrow to let Kid Cobra go. And if you don't? We'll settle this, creature-to-creature. If you're not yellow, that is.”
My mouth went dry. Could he see through my facade? Did he have some kind of serpentine sense that let him smell fear? As if he did, I'd be positively pungent. I opened my mouth to spout some kind of trite, face-saving bit of bravado-- but then Boss Hiss decided to show off.
Technically, he had to have moved. But as I saw it, it was like a film with a couple of frames missing. One moment he was standing with his thumbs in his belt, as casual as could be-- and the next, his clawed hand was splayed out in front of him, and there was a hissing, venomous snake writhing in the sand between my hooves.
My ensuing high-pitched squeal of terror was overshadowed by Boss Hiss' deep, basso laughter. “Noon tomorrow, city-slicker!” The snakeman grabbed the saddle-horn on one of the weird lizard-things and swung up into the saddle. “Next time, I won't miss!”
I took to the air by instinct, taking myself out of snake-striking distance, then a little further than that, just to be sure. The Rattler Gang cackled as they mounted up. The strange beasts they rode proved much faster than they looked, as soon left the assembled Appleoosans in a cloud of sandy dust.
I beat my wings a few times to clear the air, then settled down on the ground again, well away from the snake Boss Hiss had thrown at me. Not that I needed to; Carrot Top already done her work, striking the sidewinder so hard with a front hoof hard enough to separate its head from its body. She kept her hoof on the dead snake, holding it down as its body lashed back and forth in its death spasms. Beside her, Braeburn looked on with a shocked expression on his face. Which honestly was unwarranted-- compared to some of the other feats of mayhem Special Agent Golden Harvest was capable of, bisecting a venomous snake with the edge of her hoof was downright mundane.
Looking past Braeburn, I realized the rest of those ponies had their eyes on me. Again. Had they seen me flinch? Had they heard me squeal in terror? Did they get a glimpse into what a worthless coward I really was? There was part of me that hoped they did. That'd at least relieve me of any sort of responsibility for their well being, so when Boss Hiss came a calling once more, I'd be free to fly off in the opposite direction.
And then, one of the old codgers had to go and speak. “Damn, that were a dirty trick! Lousy polecat tried to get the drop on ya while you was doin' a par-lay!”
“Good thing Mister Sentry here was too quick! He dodged outta the way just in time!” Said a pony in a dusty top hat.
And it all came clicking together. Boss Hiss was so fast that the damn idiot peasant ponies of Appleoosa didn't see that he threw the sidewinder at my hooves-- they just registered that I was still alive and, therefore, I must have somehow dodged the sidewinder at the last moment. And since I was so distracting in my uniform and all, nopony other than Braeburn saw Carrot Top dispatch the sidewinder once it hit the ground.
“Next time, you'll be ready for 'em!” The bearded old pony said. “Don't you worry none, Mister Sentry! We'll whip up a coupla pies for y'all, and then that dang outlaw won't know what hit 'im!”
“Pies?” I said, blinking.
That just got the earth ponies laughing.
Never a good sign, that.
Take a cast-iron pie tin, one about two hoof-fulls across. Solid enough to hold together, but not so heavy that you can't hold it in one hoof. Then, fill the thing about a quarter full with dynamite-clay, and put in a couple of pressure-activated blasting caps. Then, the next time you see something you don't like, huck the whole damn thing at it. If you've laid out the dynamite evenly, the pan will fly straight, and then the heavy cast iron will direct the ensuing explosion to ensure that whatever the pan landed on has a bad day.
This is, of course, insane.
This is an Appleoosa Pie.*
*Sentry's account, while certainly outlandish, has some basis in fact. Given the prevalence of mining and prospectors in the first wave of Appleoosan settlers, it is entirely possible they would have a stockpile of explosive material. Additionally, there have been some accounts of 'battle pies' in other historical accounts. However, given the lack of detail otherwise, most interpretations of these accounts tends towards the literal, often for slapstick reasons. Sentry's description here certainly makes the Appleoosa Pie seem much more formidable as a weapon-- though this in turn raises certain concerns when one factors in the accounts that the Appleoosans started providing the local Buffalo tribes with 'pies' as part of their peace treaty. Whether or not Sentry's account is true, the matter certainly is ripe for further research.
I stared at the row of explosive 'pastries' with no small degree of trepidation. Normally, the prospect of a weapon offered at least some tiny degree of comfort to my cowardly self. I can't count the number of times something so simple as a kitchen knife or an empty wine bottle has saved my life, much less something more impressive like a crossbow or a spear. But I knew the 'Appleoosa Pie' was just as likely to blow me to bits. That they'd laid them out across Sheriff Silverstar's desk in the town jail just made sure I couldn't avoid them. Hell, I was afraid to rummage through the desk drawers in search of emergency whiskey, lest I set one of the damn things off. Then again, that might have been the point.
“Sssssso. You're making piessss?” Kid Cobra clutched the bars of his cell and leaned forward. “Then you mussssst have sssssspoken with my brother.”
“Quiet, you.” I huffed. Carrot Top had disappeared off on her typical cloak-and-dagger business, leaving me to keep an eye on the prisoner.
“If you don't want to lisssten, all you have to do isss let me go. I promissse I won't hurt you.”
“Or maybe I should just kill you now and have done with it.” I said in what I hoped was a convincingly merciless tone of voice. In truth, Kid Cobra was in no immediate danger. It wasn't that I had any moral qualms about it so much as practical ones; I couldn't think of a good way to off the outlaw without anypony else noticing. An Appleoosan Pie would be too loud (provided I didn't blow myself up in the process) and any sort of hoof-to-claw fracas was out of the question. That sort of thing was Carrot Top's purview, not mine.
Still, my glower must have been convincing enough, as Kid Cobra shut up, however temporarily. Which at least made Kid Cobra better company than the rest of Appleoosa's populace. It's one thing when ponies think you're a hero for some damnfool reason, and something else entirely when they expect you to do something about it. Since Boss Hiss had taunted me that morning, every pony in town greeted me with far-too-enthusiastic well-wishing, each compliment and bit of praise a new nail in my soon-to-be-filled coffin.
And then Carrot Top showed up, the shadow of her powerful figure looming in the jail's doorway.
“Sentry, we need to talk.” Carrot Top's green eyes flickered over to where Kid Cobra stood in his cell. “Alone.”
“Ah, right.” I got out of my chair and gave the desk full of explosive pies a wide berth. “But, uh, should we just leave him there?”
“I've got that handled.” Carrot Top put her hoof to her lips and whistled, at which point a pair of burly (even by earth pony standards) Appleoosans followed her into the jail. The two silently moved to take up positions on either side of the door, glowering at Kid Cobra.
“And just who are they?” I asked.
“Volunteers.” Carrot Top said. “Most of the town's eager to help out ... in their own way. I just found the two biggest guys in town to keep an eye on the prisoner while you ... survey the terrain.”
“Right-o, then.” I said, and followed Carrot Top out into the afternoon sun. We meandered along, casual, tipping our hats to various Appleoosans as we passed. Our path finally took us behind the general store, out of sight of the main thoroughfare. Carrot Top leaned in, murmur-close.
“I've got a plan.” She said.
“We let Kid Cobra escape, and pretend this never happened?”
Carrot Top shook her head. “If we do, the Appleoosans will still be out for blood-- they might even try chasing the gang down themselves.”
“Oh.” I said. “So what do we do?”
“This is what you do.” Carrot Top reached into her saddlebag and gave me a strip of paper.
“What's this?”
“A train schedule. At four-o-clock in the morning, an overnight mail express will be passing through Appleoosa station. You need to be on that train.”
“Right, I need to-- what?” I blinked. “Hold on, what's the catch?”
“What do you mean, what's the catch?”
“This has got to be the first time you've told me to do the sensible thing and run away. So there has to be a catch. Is somepony going to try to rob the train? Is it transporting some ancient and malicious magical artifact? Is the train ... I don't know, haunted or something?”
“This train's the fastest route back to Canterlot-- the only route back to Canterlot, if you're not carrying enough water. Because if you stay in town--” Carrot Top's stern, special agent voice faltered, just for a moment. “Boss Hiss will kill you.”
“Which is about par for the course--”
“Sentry, you idiot.” Carrot Top stepped out in front of me and poked me in the chest with a hoof. “I'm telling you, this is different. This isn't something you can just improvise your way out of. I saw how fast Boss Hiss is. He will kill you, and there's not a damn thing I--- not a damn thing you'll be able to do about it.”
“But--”
“Do you know how sidewinder venom works, Sentry?” Tears began to form in the corners of Carrot Top's eyes. “Once the snake bites you, your blood vessels will carry the venom through your body-- and wherever the venom goes, it'll attack your nervous system. It'll feel like you're being burned alive, from the inside. You'll keep on burning until the nerves controlling your lungs and heartbeat stop, at which point you'll basically suffocate and have a stroke at the same time. It's an awful way to die, Sentry, and I ... I can't--” And all of her special agent professionalism threatened to drop away.
“Ah.” I put a hesitant hoof around her shoulders and pulled Carrot Top closer. She buried her face in my neck and gave a short, shuddering sob. “Say no more. We'll just catch the train and--”
“No. No 'we.'” Carrot Top pushed away and wiped her face with the back of her hoof. “I can't go with you. I have work to do.”
“What? No-- that's stupid. After everything you just said, after as insanely dangerous as all this is, what could you possibly have to do?”
“I'm going to sneak into Boss Hiss' camp and kill him in his sleep.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “That ... is a rather direct way to handle things.”
“It's going to be a delicate operation. Last thing I need is you getting underhoof and bungling it. Which is why you're going to get on that train.”
“But it doesn't make any sense-- if you're going to just go ... dispose of this fellow, why do I need to get out of town?”
“So you can claim credit for it.” Carrot Top said. “Just tell the townsfolk you went off to face Boss Hiss alone, so they wouldn't get hurt. You're good at lying, you'll think of something.”
“The more you tell me about it, the more this seems like a bad plan.”
“Which is about par for the course.” Carrot Top sniffed, then forced out a short, mirthless laugh. “Now promise me you'll be on that train, or else I'll knock you out and stuff you in a mail sack.”
“But--”
“Promise.”
“Fine. I promise I'll get on that train-- but you have to promise you're not going to go off and get yourself killed for a bunch of uncouth, pie-flinging peasants.”
“You really don't get it, do you, Sentry?” Without warning, Carrot Top pulled me in for a kiss lengthy enough to set my head to spinning. After a short, blissful eternity, she pulled back, then reached up to cup my cheek with her left hoof. “I'm not doing it for them.”
Before I could get my breath back, she was off, slipping away on stealthy hooves.
It wasn't until she was out of sight I realized she hadn't promised me a damn thing.
That was a sobering thought, which was why I made it a priory to become not-sober. Which was harder than it should have been, to be honest. It wasn't as if I could slip off for a proper bender with the whole of Appleoosa looking to me for leadership. At least the two bravos Carrot Top had rounded up were doing a good job of watching Kid Cobra. Not that he needed much watching-- apparently he was content to just lay back and sleep more often than not, confident that his brother would break him out.
And so, I waited 'til sundown before I slipped off into the night. I “requisitioned” a bottle of halfway decent whiskey from the back room of the general store (Appleoosa being a quiet enough town that they didn't bother locking their doors) and then alighted to the top of the Appleoosa train station, taking refuge in the shadow a chimney.
And so, thusly equipped with a bottle, a train schedule, and a moonlit view of Appleoosa's clock tower, I settled in to wait.
And drink.
But mostly wait.
Over the span of my career, I have suffered nearly every injury and indignity a pony can think of, and several more besides. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten, burned, betrayed, defenestrated, and Discord'ed-- not to mention countless near-misses where I've nearly been decapitated, dismembered, or disemboweled. And yet, of all the myriad tortures and abuses that have been heaped upon me (only a fraction of which I actually deserved), one of the worst was sitting there, on that rooftop. I stared off into the dark wilderness, knowing full well that the bravest, deadliest, most beautiful pony I'd ever met was off doing Celestia-knows-what, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.
I may have cried, just a bit.
Appleoosan whiskey makes me maudlin.
For perhaps the first time in my life, I felt legitimately guilty. Normally, if somepony told me they were going to charge off into danger (as, say, Princess Twilight Sparkle and her ilk often did), I'd normally just snap off something like “good luck and godspeed” and discreetly make my way to the back of the room as soon as possible. But when it was Carrot Top doing it-- on behalf of my worthless hide, no less. If ever there was proof 'justice' or 'karma' were nothing more than fancy words, there you had it. And yet, I'd made a promise to get on that train-- and again, perhaps for the first time in my life, I meant to keep it.
Minute by minute, time ticked by. Swig by swig, the bottle emptied.
Eventually, I thought to compare the train schedule to the town clock-- and sure enough, the train was late.
Hours late.
Oh yes, I was drinking (and justifiably so), but I wasn't nearly to the point where I could have missed several hundred tons of steam-driven metal chugging down the track. And as the sun began to rise in the east, I realized the train wasn't coming. And neither was Carrot Top, for that matter.
Which meant I'd have to fight Boss Hiss after all.
Which meant I was going to die.