“...por un beso de la flaca,
Daría lo que fuera,
Por un beso de ella
Aunque sólo uno fuera.…”
Consciousness slowly returned to Daring Do, her vision coming to her in blurs of colors as the broadcasted music pulled her from the realm of sleep. Immediately, she winced as pain radiated across her sore muscles. “Ow,” she mumbled, slowly rising. “Ow!” she cried again when her head smacked against something hard.
She looked around to see that she was now locked inside a small cage. She grabbed the padlock securing the door and rattled it, growling as she examined the thick, magic-proof construction.
She reached around to run a hoof through her tail, only to find that her lock pick had been removed. As had her clothes and other gear. “Dammit,” she snarled to herself.
“Ow, what happened?” a voice said to her left.
Squinting around the dark room, Daring saw Phillip in the cage next to her, slowly getting back to his hooves. A scan of the rest of the room revealed Red, Flash, and Strider, all trapped in other cages, similarly locked, all of them stripped of their gear.
“Where are we?” Flash groaned.
“In the murder basement, looks like,” Red replied. “Dammit, we should’ve called for backup.”
“Your car has a tracking device, right?” Strider whispered. “They’ll know your last position.” He looked around the room. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a cage, honestly. Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this.”
“Like to hear about that one, too,” Daring replied.
The door lock clacked as it began to open. “Shit, here they come,” Red muttered.
Light flooded into the room as the door opened wide. Three figures stepped inside, all of them armed with riot shotguns.
“You two,” the apparent leader, a large red unicorn with a black mustache and the cutie mark of a set of hoofcuffs, said as he approached Phil’s cage. “El jefe wants to talk to you. Don’t try anything or we’ll shoot your friends.”
Phillip glared daggers at him but stepped back from the door as the leader reached into the pocket of his vest and extracted a key. The padlock rattled as he unlocked it; the entire time, the other two thugs kept their guns raised and aimed at Phillip.
The door squeaked open. “Out,” the large red unicorn grunted.
Phillip slowly stepped out of the cage, his eyes darting to the other two gunponies. The thugs shifted nervously, the beads on their barrels shivering as though a cold, rainy draft had blown into the room.
“Face the wall,” the leader commanded him. Phillip glared, but turned and faced the wall in silence. The taller of the two gunponies kept her weapon at his back, being careful to stay far out of reach. Phillip glanced at her over his shoulder; the earth mare gulped and thrust the barrel at his head, her grip on the pump tightening so much that her wrist turned white.
The red unicorn’s horn lit up the same shade of scarlet as the magical snare that had seized the prisoners as he pulled out a coil of rope and hobbled Phillip’s forelegs together with a short length, then tied another length around his neck like a leash, securing the other end to his own hoof.
This completed, the unicorn unlocked Daring’s cage, his brown thestral partner keeping his trembling weapon on her the entire time. She gave them both a scowl as she slowly emerged from her cage.
“What about our friends?” she asked as the unicorn secured her wings and front hooves with more rope.
“They stay here,” the red pony grunted as he secured another leash around Daring’s neck. He placed his hoof through the holding strap of his .44 Magneigh and held it on them with a steady, professional aim. “You two come.”
Phillip’s gaze slowly panned over the three thugs. The mare and the thestral were both still tightly holding their riot shotguns upon them, their weapons shaking and their eyes wide. Thugs. A superstitious, cowardly lot. Not a serious problem.
The unicorn holding their leashes was the real threat. Calm, steady hooves. Holding the gun like he knew what he was doing. And most definitely not scared of them.
Phillip glanced at Flash, considering his options. He and Daring might be able to take them under normal circumstances, but one stray shot…
“It’s okay, Phil,” Flash said with a tight, nervous grin. “We’ll be fine.”
“Move,” the unicorn barked, tugging the leashes. Phil and Daring grunted as their balance was stolen from them, stumbling on their hobbled forelegs.
“Keep your vest on, we’re coming,” Daring snarled, following along. She gave her companions one final glance as the two thugs with shotguns followed them out, catching Flash’s nervous eyes over his forced smile.
Then the door slammed shut behind them and locked. The unicorn tugged them down the hallway, which was decorated with ancient paintings, tapestries, and tattered scrolls and maps. Speakers were set in corners, crooning out La Flaca. The cloud-brick floor, enchanted to carry the weight of non-pegasi, flexed slightly beneath their hooves as they walked, each step coming as a barely audible puff.
They passed a window, which revealed an evening sky covered with dark purple clouds, gold tingeing the eastern sky. The cover seethed and rolled slowly, like a churning sea. Beneath them, the borders of the cloud house stretched out for several yards; unlike the swooping, grandiose architecture of most pegasus constructions, this house was relatively plain and simple, a sloping shape similar to a large houseboat. A set of masts stretched up above to the sky, the sails on them wrapped up for the night. Daring frowned at the starless sky as they passed.
A tug from the leash convinced her to move on. They turned a corner and reached a set of double doors. The red unicorn rapped at them, the knocking sound somewhat muffled.
“Enter,” a male voice sounded from within.
The door unlocked and squeaked open. Daring gasped at what she saw inside.
The large, windowless room was like a massive museum of artifacts. Everywhere the eye went, there was gold and silver, ancient ceramic and china, suits of armor and statues, weapons and paintings and tapestries from every culture. Most were locked in glass cabinets, and all of them appeared to have been carefully tended to; none of the paintings were faded or tattered in the slightest, and every piece of metal gleamed like it was fresh from the forge.
Set upon one of the far walls was a fragment of reddish stone with figures painted upon it. Upon one side, dark bony beasts rushed towards a village of huts, with a sun...no, an eye, a burning, angry reddish-yellow, glaring down upon them from the sky.
From the other side, gray clouds brought rain, lightning crackling beneath them. Figures strode upon the clouds, glaring down upon the invaders with glowing white eyes, crowns of lightning around their heads.
Before the painting was a familiar pony wearing an olive vest and an ascot, his gaze moving from the Aborigineigh artwork to the two objects in his hoof as he discussed something with a pale green unicorn with parchment-colored hair and the cutie mark of a scroll and a paintbrush.
“Those are ours,” Daring glowered at him. “They were gifts from our mother.”
Doctor Caballeron looked up at them with a small smirk. “Fret not,” he declared, handing the wandjina totem necklaces to the unicorn. “I merely want to study your equipment and weapons, to understand your connection to the worlds beyond ours.” He nodded to his partner. “Ponlos con el resto de su equipo,” he instructed the other stallion. The other pony nodded, blue eyes blinking owlishly through thick glasses, and took them through a door into an adjoining room; Daring and Phillip caught a brief glimpse of more artifacts in glass cabinets before the door closed.
Doctor Caballeron smiled and bowed to his two captives. “Buenas noches, Señor Finder, Señora Do. Doctor Caballeron at your service.”
“Pleasure, ‘Mister Martingale,’” Daring growled. “You always lock your guests in cages and point guns at them?” She nodded at the three thugs still surrounding them, weapons aimed at their backs and sides.
“Only the ones that show up to my home uninvited,” Caballeron replied, moving to a small nearby table. Sitting upon it was a tall bottle filled with a black liquid and three shot glasses. Caballeron unpopped the bottle and filled one of the glasses with the liquid. The scent of alcohol blended with coffee and vanilla.
“Kahlúa?” Caballeron offered them. “I find business easier to discuss over drinks.”
Two glares provided an answer. “Your loss,” he shrugged, taking a slow sip and smacking his lips appreciatively.
A radiotelephone set on the wall suddenly chirped. “Un momento,” Caballeron sighed, putting his glass down and crossing to the hoofset, lifting it off the cradle. “Hello?”
As Caballeron listened to the pony on the other end, Daring and Phillip cast their gazes around the room. The green unicorn emerged from the other room, giving them an expressionless gaze as he stood by the door. The unicorn holding their leashes by his hoof had his gun on them, the barrel unmoving; by contrast, the shotguns held by the other two thugs were quivering in their hooves, their owners staring at them wide-eyed.
The objects in a nearby cabinet caught Daring’s eye. She studied the contents: a set of twisted candlestick holders, all of them warped and bent at bizarre angles like they’d been smashed and randomly welded back together, a set of fragmented mirrors, and something that looked like a flute glued to a bell with some strings on it.
“Discord cultist ritual instruments,” she muttered to herself. She studied the item in an adjoining cabinet: a ceramic jar decorated with winding serpents, most of them with far too many eyes set into their bodies, all of them exhaling clouds of smoke.
“Is he sure? Talons of Glory are not easy to make,” Caballeron muttered into the phone. He listened to the other party for a few moments of silence, then sighed. “Fine. He can send su cuervo for it. Just get that painting.” He hung up the phone and turned around with a sigh.
“Ah, the Plague Jar,” he said, nodding to the item. “A cursed artifact made in the worship of Discord by a cult in the Frozen North. It is believed to spread diseases when properly activated--”
“And it was stolen from a museum in Neighples,” Daring scowled at him. “Where it belongs.”
“Please,” Caballeron scoffed. “A weapon such as that is doing nopony any good in a museum. Consider the candlesticks.” He nodded to the twisted constructions. “When lit with the proper rites, they can summon shadowy beasts to hunt your enemies. Imagine the possibilities for such a device! It should be used, not just left to gather dust in a museum while pendejos stare at it.” He turned to her with a small smirk. "And besides, isn’t that what you used to do?”
Daring scowled at him. “A part of my life that I’d give anything to take back,” she spat. “Stealing treasures was one thing, but giving them to madponies like you is another.”
Caballeron’s emerald eyes turned hard and ugly. “You are guests in my home, Señora Do. I have been quite polite to you, all things considered. You would be wise to return the favor.”
Daring bared her teeth at him, but the red unicorn raised his pistol slightly, the black barrel aimed at her head. Phillip shook his head at her and she relented. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“That's better,” Caballeron nodded.
"Question," Phillip stated. "How did you find the Kyaltratek?"
"The former Zugzwang had it in his hideout," Caballeron explained.
"How did you find it?" Phillip scowled. "Took us moons to find the place; layers of magical protection on the place."
"I used my last wishing coin," Caballeron replied.
"Impossible," Daring Do cut in. "Wishing coins are a myth."
“Incredibly rare," Caballeron smirked. "But not a myth. Now, to the reason why you’re here.” He took a sip of the Kahlúa and sighed.
“I’ve been authorized to negotiate with you on behalf of...my employer,” Caballeron said, noticeably flinching at the last word. A brief shudder ran down the spines of the other thugs.
“The Plague Doctor, right?” Phillip asked.
“Well...yes and no,” Caballeron admitted, tugging at the ascot. “We are both working for a...different benefactor.”
“Who?” Phillip pressed.
“It matters not,” Caballeron shrugged it off. “What matters is this: they have seen great potential in you both.”
“Oh, I see,” Daring deadpanned. “How about you do us all a favor and skip to the part where we tell you to take your job offer and stick it up your ass?”
“You might want to hear me out first,” Caballeron stated. “My employer can be...very persuasive when he wants to be, but I convinced him to let me try a gentler approach first. And please consider the fact that we have your friends hostage and that the Ponyville Police don’t know where you are. And yes, we’ve already taken care of the mirror.
“Now, hear me out. There are perks to joining us. Not just money, I know you are not that simple. Nor even power. But the most important thing in the world: knowledge.”
He gestured around the room. “You think of me now as a thief. But my current activities are merely a necessity for my true pursuit,” Caballeron replied, strolling past the cabinet with the Plague Jar. “A seeker of knowledge. A quester towards the unknown.”
He gestured at the Aborigineigh paintings on the wall. “In this case, the truth behind the legends of gods. Including your wandjina spirits.”
“Wow, doc. You’re even better than warm milk,” Daring drawled, making a show of looking bored and sleepy. Phillip nudged her sharply.
“As I was saying…” Caballeron scowled. “I earned my doctorate in archeology in my home country of Mexicolt, excavating ancient Hayan ruins in the jungle. It was there that I first found traces of the truth. Icons of ancient figures and deities. I found myself fascinated by the gods of ancient cultures, of their worship.
“And the more cultures I studied, the more parallels I drew,” he continued, looking up at the painting up on the wall. “The wandjina. Rain gods of Aborigineigh mythology. According to the legends of your ancestors, Detective Finder, they descended from the sky, crowned with lightning, and made a covenant with the Aborigineigh: rain and protection in exchange for worship.”
“The point?” Phillip grunted.
“Allow me to direct your attention to this photograph taken from rock carvings in the Frozen North,” Caballeron continued, pointing to another framed photograph on the wall next to the stolen wandjina painting.
The picture showed the silhouettes of two quadrupeds. Both of them had arched domes around their heads, with what looked like lightning shooting out of them. They appeared to be standing on clouds with their forelegs raised as if warding something off. Above, a dark, shapeless form with three green eyes glared down at them; skeletal figures seemed to be racing towards the dome-headed figures.
“¿Que piensas?” Caballeron asked. “The resemblance is--”
“Non-existent,” Phillip interrupted. “It’s merely a coincidence.”
“Is that truly what you think?” Caballeron replied, shaking his head. “Do you know nothing of history? Look around you! Similar art in two different cultures might be a coincidence, but to see similar designs in four, five, even eight different cultures around the world? I believe you would call that ‘evidence.’”
Daring panned her gaze around the room, frowning as she studied the artifacts placed around the room. She recognized Hayan, ancient Chineighse and Japonese, Coltish, Neighgyptian; then other species, from griffons, thestrals, and hippogriffs to buffalo, yak, and kirin. There were even a few frescoes and carvings that looked like they were from changeling hives.
And indeed, the more she looked, the more connections she saw. A depiction of the evil Storm King looming over Mount Aris on a hippogriff tapestry had some similarities to a shadowy silhouette on a Neighgyptian stone fragment; a blindfolded griffon painted on a Coltish platter reminded her of Fantisera, the Griffonese goddess of death and dreams. A carving of Haebak, the goddess of the sun who had granted the kirin their fire, depicted a yellow kirin with a long, flowing mane the color of the sunrise; it reminded her of the painting of the Aborigineigh goddess Yhi that she’d seen in Cathedral Gorge moons ago.
On top of that, there were the images of the Old Gods. The three venomous green eyes of Nightmare Moon in a shadowy mist, the angry yellow orbit of Daybreaker amidst storms and fire, Tirek’s blood-red eyes glaring out of mountains of corpses, and Discord’s serpentine body with its smiling, eyeless face were depicted everywhere, in every culture, often with the gods or other mythological heroes standing in defiance of them.
“Okay, maybe you have something there,” she admitted. “But what’s the point here?”
“The point is that this is evidence that the same beings have visited our world multiple times,” Caballeron stated as if explaining that two and two were four. “Beings of superior power and technology to ours, who gifted us with knowledge and tools in exchange for worship. Consider the number of artifacts around us now, weapons and tools that defy our understanding of magic. Is that not proof that they were made by beings that are not from this world? That are from a society more advanced than--”
“Wait,” Daring interrupted, raising a hoof. “You think...that the gods were aliens?”
Caballeron frowned. “A crude manner of putting it, but yes. It is clear that the beings that we once knelt before in worship are from other worlds. Worlds on a higher level than ours, with greater power, greater magic, greater knowledge. And I, Doctor Caballeron, shall be known as the stallion who found true proof of this!”
Daring and Phillip both glanced at each other. Daring’s lip twitched; Phillip let out a brief cough.
A moment later, both of them had collapsed into raucous laughter, leaning against one another as their howls mixed with the music still playing through the speakers.
Their laughter was halted a moment later by the bark of a gunshot. Smoke rose from the red unicorn’s pistol, which he was now aiming back at them, his expression darkening by the moment.
“I’d be very careful about laughing at the doc if I were you,” he growled, his low voice making the threat far more chilling.
“I was mocked for my beliefs when I first began,” Caballeron continued, a scowl etching his way into his face. “I lost my credibility. My funding. My position. I was forced to resort to other methods to search for the truth. And yes, I did find myself working alongside terrorists. But if you think I have any real love for my...current investors, you’re quite incorrect. It is an alliance of convenience, nothing more.”
“I’m sure that’s some comfort to Rough Diamond,” Phillip said coldly.
Caballeron frowned. “A necessity. If the idiota hadn’t attempted to steal from us, she wouldn’t have needed to suffer.”
“Is she still alive?” Phillip pressed.
“We are not barbarians, detective,” Caballeron scoffed. “But this is all beside the point.”
He looked them both in the eye. “The fact of the matter is, we have important work to do. And we cannot allow you to interfere. There is one way you are able to get out of this alive: join us. You will be well-rewarded: money, power, whatever your hearts desire.”
“My heart’s desire is to see you in a cell and everything you stole put back where it belongs,” Daring snapped back.
Caballeron sighed. “I knew that you’d be unreasonable,” he shook his head. “But need I remind you that we have your friends? You may not want to work for us willingly, but in exchange for your friends’ lives…” He let the implication hang in the air for a moment; the music over the speakers seemed to fade away under the weight of the threat.
“I have seen what the Plague Doctor can do to ponies,” he added in a lower voice. “The screams that they make. Do you really want to do that to your amigos?”
Phillip scowled, his tail twitching slightly in agitation as he mulled the threat over in his mind. His tail brushed against Daring’s for a moment; she tugged at the appendage slightly, as though seeking comfort from his touch.
“How about we make a counteroffer?” Daring stated. “You let us and our friends go, and we won’t have to kill any of you.”
The red unicorn let out a low, rumbling laugh, nervously echoed by the two thugs with shotguns even as they backed away slightly. Caballeron chuckled.
“I admire your spirit, Daring Do,” Caballeron smirked. “But what makes you think that you are in any position to make threats?”
The muffled crack of a gunshot suddenly pierced the air, followed by several thumps of returning gunfire, echoing from down the hall. The thugs’ heads all turned in alarm towards the door.
As one, Phillip and Daring moved. Caballeron’s eyes had just enough time to widen slightly in horror as his two prisoners seized their leashes in their hobbled forelegs and pulled.
“Fuck!” the startled red unicorn cried as he was helplessly pulled towards them, his horn lighting up in preparation to cast a spell.
The preparation proved to be for naught, for his nose collided with Phillip’s forehead at the same moment that Daring’s elbow smashed into his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs so thoroughly that he couldn’t even scream in pain as blood exploded from his face.
By the time that Caballeron and the other three thugs returned their attention to their prisoners, a crack announced that Daring had snapped the unicorn’s wrist, tugging the pistol from his grasp. She spun around and opened fire, bullets pinging off of the bulletproof glass cabinets as her foes ducked for cover.
“No! Don’t destroy my collection!” Caballeron wailed.
“I’m trying to shoot you, not them!” Daring replied.
The red unicorn at their hooves snarled as he tried to rise, only to cough as Phillip’s knee battered his chest. Seizing his foe’s head, Phillip grunted and slammed it against the glass cabinet holding the Discord cult artifacts; the glass smashed open and the thug slumped to the ground, blood trickling from his head.
As Daring kept their foes down with more gunfire, Phillip slashed the ropes hobbling his forelegs on the glass, then quickly cut the ropes binding Daring with a loose shard.
“Stop them, stop them!” Caballeron barked, poking his head out only to receive a couple of shots in his direction that forced him back behind cover with a yelp.
The thestral shotgunner poked his head out of cover, just in time to see Phillip vaulting a container of Hayan gold coins, hind hooves first. The blow sent the thug crashing to the floor, his head bouncing against the carpet. “Wanker,” Phillip snarled, yanking the shotgun out of his enemy’s hooves and smashing the stock against his head.
Buckshot cracked the glass of the container next to Phillip. The stallion ducked, stealing the thestral’s weapon for himself as Caballeron pulled out a pistol and opened fire at him.
The white unicorn's horn glowed gold as he tried to tug the gun from Daring’s hoof. Daring grunted, seizing the weapon in both hooves.
“Let go, girl,” the unicorn snarled.
Daring looked at the cracked-open case of artifacts beside her and her eyes settled on the bell-like instrument. Out of desperation, she grabbed the instrument and flung it at the unicorn, who ducked too late to avoid being struck in the head.
There were no words in any language Daring knew to adequately describe the sound it made. It combined something close to a deep gonging that echoed around her skull, a kind of ringing that she felt in her blood rather than heard in her ears, a sharp whistling-screeching that made her teeth ache, and beneath it all, she swore she heard screaming.
When Daring recovered, she realized that every pony in the room was on their knees, clutching their ears. Shaking her head, she grabbed Phillip and hauled him back to his hooves. “C’mon, Phil!” she shouted, her own words sounding faint and distant. The two detectives stumbled into the room that the unicorn had been guarding and slammed the door behind them.
A heavy shelf next to the door carried a collection of faded papyrus scrolls and crumbling manuscripts with flaking illustrations. With a grunt, Phillip seized the shelf and pulled it over onto its side with a great crash, barricading the door.
Daring winced as she saw the ancient texts tumble to the floor, the centuries-old paper tearing and crumbling. “Aw, c’mon, there wasn’t a lock?” she grumbled, then winced again as faint waves of pain radiated across her tired muscles.
“You okay?” Phillip asked, concern flashing across his face.
Daring took a breath and forced the pain into the back of her mind. “I’m good,” she nodded, looking around the room.
The room that they found themselves in appeared to be the workshop of Caballeron’s museum of stolen artifacts; items waited on shelves, counters, and worktables to be analyzed and categorized. Many of them had a sinister air; upon one shelf towards the back rested a unicorn’s skull with runes carved into the bone, a twisted dagger with a golden hoofguard, and a multi-faceted emerald. Daring had to tear her eyes away from the gem; she thought she saw something slithering within it, turning to look back at her.
The one source of light was muted starlight coming in through an open window set high up in the wall; the window also admitted a chill wind that made them both shiver. The door that Phillip had barricaded was the only other entrance; they could hear muted voices and gunshots from the other side, carrying along with the music over the speakers.
Something green caught Daring’s eye. Hanging up on one wall was a familiar set of gear: a green fishing vest, a green cargo shirt, a pith helmet, a gray trilby, a stockwhip, a carved wooden club, a set of boomerangs, and two wandjina totem necklaces.
“Jackpot!” Daring grinned, seizing her shirt and helmet and throwing them both back on, tossing Phillip his own clothing. She placed Awely-Awely around her neck; the carved wood felt comfortingly cool against her skin as she tucked it beneath her shirt, giving her a small sense of peace.
“Looks like they raided most of the rest of our gear,” Daring frowned, patting down her empty pockets. All she found was the disabling gem she used for picking locks and the container with her enchanted night-vision contacts. “Dammit,” she grumbled, pocketing them.
“We’ll manage,” Phillip grunted, glaring at the door as he heard pounding against the cloud-wood construction. He checked the shotgun. “Seven rounds left,” he grunted.
He looked around the rest of the room. Sitting in one corner was a blank easel, awaiting something to be placed upon it. Next to it was a table littered with test tubes, all filled with various chemicals and compounds and a notebook with scrawls, chemical formulae, and what looked like recipes covering every inch of it. At the very center was a larger jar filled with a semi-transparent pale blue liquid, with a paintbrush placed in it and the number 23 written on it. Stacks of books were on another nearby table, all of them with dog-eared pages; a quick glance at the titles confirmed that they were all about Artiste Fou. One book, entitled The Writings of Artiste Fou: the Mad Artist in His Own Words, was particularly well-read, judging by the state of its pages.
Phillip glanced at the notebook and noticed that one section was circled: 23 es la mezcla correcta. Estoy seguro.
"Hmm," Phillip mused. Taking an empty test tube with a stopper, he quickly poured some of the contents of Number 23 into it, stoppered it, and tucked it into his vest.
Something gold on a table caught his eye. Phillip turned around and gasped.
“The Rings!” he cried, striding forward. His gaze swept over the three golden constructs spread over the table. The smallest of the three was four feet in diameter and all of them were polished to a fiery burnish, the better to reveal the indigenous symbols and runes etched into them.
Phillip reached out to take the smallest one, grunting at the unexpected weight: the ring weighed far more than it should, at least twenty pounds. “Too heavy,” he grunted, setting it back down. Spotting some notes scribbled down on a pad of paper next to the Rings, he snatched these up and pocketed them.
A shuffling of wings at the window caught his attention. Phillip looked up and met the beady black eyes of a raven with a red mark on its chest, staring back at him through the open window.
“Shit!” he gasped, ducking as the bird rushed at him, the metal blades on its claws flashing in the moonlight. The raven swooped over his head and snatched at something laying on another workbench. Phillip caught a brief glimpse of the object as it sailed over his head: a mummified griffon’s talon with a black candle stuck in its withered claws.
Then the raven had vanished out the window, disappearing into the darkness towards the south.
“Shit,” Phillip cursed. “Daring, we gotta--”
He turned around to see Daring slowly striding forward towards the back of the room, her jaw slack and her eyes wide. He looked over to identify the object of her fascination: a book laying open on a small display shelf.
A book with yellowed, ancient pages covered in scrawled, uneven, writing that looked like it had been written by a frenzied madpony. Writing in a language he did not understand, but that he recognized from before.
“Daring!” Phillip barked, lunging forward to slam the book shut and stuffing it into his vest. He barely gave the cover a glance: the etching of a serpent winding about a dagger piercing the sun and the moon was familiar to him.
Daring stared for a moment at the stand where the Kyaltratek had lain, her eyes still wide and her jaw still hanging open, then blinked and shook her head. “What happened?” she asked.
“We gotta move,” Phillip grunted, glaring at the barricaded door. “Can you carry me out--?”
Voices and flapping wings came from outside, carried on the frosty wind. “Fuck. Hide,” Phillip snapped, diving underneath one of the tables and pulling a box in front of him.
Daring jumped behind another crate just as two pegasi entered the room, sweeping the area with the flashlights attached to the barrels of their submachine gun. The beams passed over the box where Daring hid but did not stop.
“The fuck did they go?” the smaller blue colt asked.
“Maybe they got out the window already,” the taller red mare replied.
“Not so fast,” a creamy yellow unicorn declared, floating in through a window on a golden aura, a pistol strapped to one hoof. He lit up his horn, sending waves of golden energy through the room.
Another source of light illuminated the room. Daring glanced down at her hoof and gasped to find that her entire body was glowing gold. And a glance up revealed that she could see Phillip’s silhouette through his cover.
“There they are!” the unicorn declared, yanking the box that Phillip was hiding behind out and tugging the shotgun from his hooves as the two pegasi rounded Daring's crate.
The shout had barely made it out of the thug’s mouth before Phillip bowled into him, the two ponies crashing to the ground as his pistol barked, sending one round into the ceiling before it was ripped from its owner’s foreleg and tossed aside. The two pegasi turned at the crash.
They paid for their mistake a moment later when Daring’s whip snatched the blue one’s gun from his hooves.
“Hey!” the red mare barked, whirling around only to meet an elbow to the jaw. Daring smacked the smaller colt in the face with the barrel of the gun, sending him to the ground with a howl as he clutched his bloodied face, teeth falling from his hooves.
With a roar, the red mare tackled Daring up into the air; Daring slammed into the wall with a cough as the air was knocked from her lungs, driven further by furious jackhammer blows into her sides. The submachine gun tumbled from her hooves and to the ground.
The unicorn squirmed beneath Phillip, his hooves glowing golden as he swung at the detective. Slipping an attempt at a choke, Phillip reached for the strap that Rarity had sewn into his vest mere weeks ago.
With a well-practiced snap, his waddy emerged from its sheath, the narrow end jamming into the unicorn’s ribs. His foe grunted, his spell fizzing out of existence.
Phillip headbutted his foe in the nose, sneering as hot blood rushed over his face with a crack, then reared back and swung. The waddy’s weighted end smacked across the unicorn’s horn with a sharp snap; sparks flew from the appendage as the unicorn writhed in agony, clutching his head and screaming. His howls were cut off when Phillip struck him on the head with the waddy.
Phillip looked up and gasped as he saw that Daring was trapped against the wall, the red mare’s hooves around her neck; Daring’s wings beat futilely as she tried to escape, her face drawn in fatigue as she struggled to draw breath.
Phillip’s wrist moved on its own. The boomerang whistled through the air and struck the red mare in the back of the head, the heavy blow dazing her. Daring battered her opponent in the chest with her knee, slipping out of her grasp.
The red mare dove for the ground, hooves outstretched for Phillip’s discarded shotgun.
“No, you don’t!” Daring barked, her whip swooshing through the air with a snap and ensnaring her target’s hind legs. The goon yelped as she was pulled back towards Daring.
“Bitch!” she croaked out, driving both hooves into the mare’s chest and sending her crashing to the floor, where she lay unmoving with a groan.
The blue stallion, groaning through his bloodied mouth, spotted the dropped gun and scrambled for it.
Crack!
The thug drew away with a yelp, clutching his reddened hoof.
“I wouldn’t,” Daring smirked at him, panting as she landed.
Double-checking to make sure that the other two thugs were still unconscious, Phillip stalked over to the trembling blue pegasus and pinned him to the ground with a hoof to the back. “Where are our friends?” he growled, his voice as low as a thunderclap.
“Uh...uh...uh…” the blue pony stammered, staring up at him with wide eyes.
The walkie-talkies on the thugs’ shoulders abruptly crackled to life. “They're in the cafeteria! Move in!”
Phillip leaned down at his trembling prey. “Cafeteria. Where?”
The thug gulped. “Down the hall!” he said, pointing. “Two rooms down! Big windows!”
“Is Rough Diamond here?” Phillip snarled.
The thug nodded rapidly. “Her cell is just down the hall from the cafeteria! Door next to the kitchen and on the right!”
“Thank you,” Phil nodded, then stomped on the pegasus’ head. He grunted once and was still.
Daring grabbed the shotgun and tossed it to Phillip, taking one of the submachine guns for herself.
“You okay to fly?” Phillip asked, strapping the unicorn’s pistol to his hoof.
“I’m good enough to get us there,” Daring replied, climbing up onto the table and spreading her wings. “I’ll--”
A click behind them. Phillip spun around to meet the glaring eyes of the unicorn, shaded in the darkness, staring at him over the barrel of the other submachine gun.
The crack of a gunshot mixed with the sudden blaring of guitars and trumpets over the speakers. The unicorn thumped to the floor, a hole drilled into his forehead.
Smoke rose from Daring’s weapon as she adjusted the strap. “C’mon!” she called to Phillip, grabbing him beneath the forelegs and soaring out the window. Snow assailed them both as Daring flew through the chill night air, banking around to follow the outside walls of the cloud house.
“If you take a life, do you know what you’ll give…?”
Lights glared through the darkness from the enlarged windows of the cafeteria; the muffled cracks of gunshots could be heard from within. Daring set Phillip down on the ground outside, then smashed the glass with the stock of her submachine gun, glaring through the hole.
The cafeteria was a wide room with several long tables and chairs; more art and trophies were displayed on the white walls, including a long scroll depicting a medieval battle over the shutters leading into the kitchen.
Red, Flash, and Strider, all armed with stolen guns, were backed up against one wall, crouching several overturned tables. Caballeron himself was leading a ten-strong squadron of goons that had surrounded them in an arc.
The chattering of Daring’s submachine gun mixing with the thunderclaps of Phil’s shotgun. Three of the gunponies had fallen before the others turned, momentarily frozen in shock.
“Keep their heads down!” the red unicorn from before barked to his comrades as his horn lit up, projecting a shimmering red dome in front of him. The shield rang out almost melodiously as the detectives’ bullets pinged off the construct; the surviving goons crouched down behind his shield.
The unicorn sneered and opened fire. His tiny Zezi machine pistol let out its distinctive purring as its bullets shattered the window, forcing Phil and Daring to duck.
“Wanker,” Phillip grunted, pulling out one of his recovered boomerangs. He poked his head up to the crack; another salvo of hot bullets screamed past his face and he drew back with a hiss that turned into a grunt as he snapped his wrist.
The boomerang smashed the window on its entry, whistling through the air as it banked around past their enemy’s shield, then swung around to smack him in the back of the head. The red unicorn grunted, his shield flickering as his focus was broken.
A moment later, he screamed in agony as buckshot ripped into his side, tearing away his flesh. He fell to the floor, his blood staining the tiled floor as Daring’s salvo struck down his comrades behind him.
Catching the returning boomerang in his teeth, Phillip racked the shotgun, sliding the bead over to the red unicorn’s face. Vicious green eyes blazed with defiance as the trigger began to bend beneath Phil’s hoof.
“No! Immaych tlytu!” Caballeron screamed, throwing himself in front of his fallen comrades with one hoof raised.
The shotgun let out its fury in a clash of sound and thunder, sending buckshot towards Caballeron.
Confetti rained down upon the disgraced archeologist.
“What the--?” Phillip gaped.
Held in Caballeron’s trembling hoof was a small idol of Discord, the eyeless face sneering as though mocking them. The eyes in the palms of the beast’s paws glowed yellow and red; as the detectives watched, the veins in Caballeron’s foreleg began to blacken, as though his blood had been replaced with ink.
“Arm yourself, because no one else here will save you…”
“Fall back!” Caballeron ordered his crew. Two of the less-injured thugs picked up the red unicorn and joined their comrades in retreating back through the door. The former prisoners all opened fire at the retreating group, only for every round to turn into confetti or flowers before they struck their targets.
“You’re going to be all right, Security!” Caballeron cried as he pushed through the door, slamming it shut behind them.
Daring and Phillip both vaulted in through the window as Flash, Red, and Strider stood up. “You guys okay?” Daring panted, checking her magazine, then grabbing a couple of fresh ones from a dead Caballeron thug.
“Yeah, you?” Flash panted, briefly gripping Phillip’s arm. Phillip nodded and offered the younger pegasus a tight smile as he tossed aside his empty shotgun, taking a dropped pistol for himself.
“How’d you get out?” Daring asked, massaging her sore wings.
“The old feather lockpick trick,” Strider grinned back. “Should’ve used combination locks.”
“The what?” Daring asked.
Strider cocked one eyebrow. “You didn’t know that you can use feathers as a lockpick?” he replied.
Daring just stared at him in surprise. “Ha!” Strider grinned. “I got one up on the great Daring Do!"
“Rough Diamond is here,” Phillip announced, pushing through the door leading into the huge, well-kept kitchen. “She’s just down the hall from here. Come on.”
“And here I thought that we were going to get out of here,” Red muttered as they followed him.
Phillip cautiously opened the door leading into the hall and glanced up and down the darkened passageway, his pistol at the ready. Seeing no one, he beckoned the others through. They headed down the hall towards the single window at the end, vaguely illuminated by the last vestiges of sunlight.
Daring opened the next door down and found a short hallway with no windows, a single door on either wall.
“Door on the right,” she declared, proceeding inside with Flash and Strider. Red and Phillip remained at the head of the hall, guns at the ready.
“I’ve seen this diamond cut through harder men
Than you yourself, but if you must pretend…”
“Locked,” Daring grunted, glaring at the padlock.
“Move,” Strider replied, extending his wing and plucking out two of the smaller feathers. He ran the shafts through his teeth to smooth them out, then inserted them into the keyhole and began to dig around, the tumblers and pins rattling as he began to work at the lock.
“You’re teaching me how to do that when we get out of here,” Daring muttered, a jealous scowl forming across her face.
“Get in line!” Flash said, grinning as he watched the agent work.
The lock snapped open and Strider shoved the door open. The room inside was small and dark, with only one hanging light that illuminated the sole occupant: a turquoise unicorn mare laying strapped to a table, her white mane hiding her face.
“Diamond?” Flash called, striding forward. He began tugging at the straps, undoing the hostage’s bonds.
Diamond moaned feebly and turned her head towards her rescuer. Flash gasped, pausing in his work for a moment.
The mare’s bloodshot left eye stared past him, unfocused and bleary. Her right eye was gone; all that remained was the bloodied socket, pus leaking out of the hole surrounded by inflamed, reddish skin.
“No...no…” Diamond whimpered croakily, struggling feebly in her straps.
“It’s okay,” Flash said, undoing the rest of Diamond’s bonds. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?”
Diamond let out a low, horrid moaning noise, like a feeble attempt at a scream, and retreated from him, curling up into a ball.
“Take that as a no,” Flash said, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulders; she dissolved into feeble whimpers and half-formed pleas but did not struggle. “All right, I got her! Let’s get out of here!”
There was a bark from down the halls and a clattering noise echoed across the floor. Clouds of gray gas hissed through the passageway, accompanied by the sounds of hoofsteps.
“Tear gas!” Red warned, already starting to cough as bullets screamed past him and Phillip.
The group retreated down the narrow hall towards the window at the end of the main hall, sending shots into the advancing cloud, coughing with every step as the gas began to irritate their senses.
Strider started to open the window, then paused as a shadow briefly crossed the window. “Gunponies outside!” he warned.
Daring glanced back as bullets flew past her ear, smashing the glass behind her; cold air blew into the hall, making the clouds of gas around them dance in the wind. Her breath came heavy as pain radiated across her muscles and she started coughing and hacking as the tear gas caught up to them. Rough Diamond was clutching her throat, wheezing for air.
“I’ve got an idea!” Red wheezed out. “Blow the gas in their faces!”
He started flapping his wings towards the window, with Flash and Strider joining in as Daring and Phillip continued firing blindly at their unseen attackers through tear-streaked eyes. Tear gas blew through the window, and soon enough, they heard coughing from outside.
“Strider!” Red barked, jumping through the window and turning to the left.
Strider followed him, turning to the right. The two thugs standing on either side of the window, blinded by the gas and startled by their targets’ boldness, stood no chance; blood blossomed from their bodies as they were felled.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Red barked as the others followed him through the window, gasping and wiping their eyes in the cold winter night.
“Stop them!” a muffled voice barked from inside.
“You can’t deny the prize, it may never fulfill you…”
“I’m spent,” Daring panted, her wings sagging in exhaustion.
“Get on my back,” Strider said, stooping slightly to allow Daring to climb up onto his shoulders. Phillip hopped onto Red’s back as Flash adjusted the barely conscious Rough Diamond’s grip over his shoulders.
As one, the three pegasi spread their wings and leaped off the edge of the cloud house.
"Go east!" Phillip ordered Red. "Need to get back to the city! Warn police!"
Tearing off his own mask, Caballeron rushed to the edge of his cloud house and watched as his former prisoners fled into the night.
Daring Do looked up and shot a defiant grin and a Flying Feather back at him, holding her pith helmet to her head with one hoof.
And then a cloud covered them and they were gone. Caballeron stood where he was, listening to the music howling over the speakers:
“You know my name!
You know my name!
You know my name…!”