//------------------------------// // Worth Searching For Pt 1 // Story: These City Walls // by KitsuneRisu //------------------------------// I have got two really really lovely gifts of art from a reader. Thank you very much, Knife_Party! Check out his submissions... and more, in the Gallery. CHAPTER 3: Perchance a time on life's long road you come upon a choice To find out what it is to you that speaks with loudest voice And thereupon your lofty shoulders you raise up and hoist - The inkling deep inside That opens up your eyes To find a purpose in this world is sparking a sensation And when you venture forth unto the whole of our creation You find variety of life a dastard deviation But still it makes you pick Just one to which you'll stick For be it money, gains and treasure, riches for all ever Or seeking skills or expertise to make your oneself better Or simply being honest in the deals of daily matters What object of desire Will set your heart on fire? One might look a thousand days, one might take a second You'll never know until you find the thing your heart doth beckon And when you find the key you'll undergo a realisation That just behind the door Are the things [Worth Searching For] There exists a phrase that ponies said sometimes, that Berry never understood. 'I hate to be right'. Usually it was followed by a 'but', and that by itself usually followed with some particularly unglamorous news. 'I hate to be right, but our cart's wheel just broke.' 'I hate to be right, but you're just about as ugly as I imagined.' Things like that. The reason why Berry never understood it was for the fact that she never thought being correct about anything was something to be ashamed of. There was never any misfortune in being right, no matter what the news was. In fact, it was usually the guesses that came true which helped in life - it helped to prepare for the future and helped to make sure you'd be less likely to be surprised by some upcoming eventuality. Despite her beliefs, though, she found herself hating the fact that Flare was right, and there about her came a sort of clashing set of feelings in her head that made her dizzy and unable to think for a while. She would have never known, reasoned Berry, that this pony was in fact, the one to be victim of a heinous crime. She would have never known that she would be the next recipient. She would have never known a million things and a half, all of which had unfortunately led to them being barely an hour too late. But Flare had guessed, and she was correct. And Berry hated it. Berry led Flare down the streets to the shop that held the body of the late Mr. Meadowland; Baker. They'd decided to walk. Silver had disappeared ever since she took off with Canary and Blitz, and everypony else was under strict orders from Staff Sergeant Blue to hunker down in the base and not leave. That left a lot of itchy heads, but Blue told her that he'd sort things out, and there shouldn't be any problems outside of the obvious fact that ponies don't really like to be told that they might die sometime within the next two days or so. And as they approached the store, both of them got a little sinking feeling, because they knew that something was entirely wrong. Or, in this case, entirely right. It was funny how things changed depending on how you look at them. There was the usual crowd for this area of Canterlot; a long market street which rivalled in popularity to the one that Duriandal's shop was on, and it wasn't to say that this shop was incredibly bad, but there was no need for the vapid crowd that lingered outside the front windows. Berry caught on at once that this was the bad kind of crowd. The kind that nopony wants to have. It was a murmuring crowd. Happy crowds were noisy crowds, and when voices dipped down low, there was something to watch. Even as upper-class as they were, with their feathers in their hats and flowers in their lapels, everypony whispers when there's a show on. They approached the gang from the back, stopping before a sea of flanks and hushed waves rippling upon the beach. "Are you doing alright?" asked Berry, to the side. Flare wouldn't answer. She felt a shiver run through her spine, the kind one gets when one has a strange thought or premonition that sends a scattering of goose bumps over the skin and down into the inner reaches of the body. The kind that makes you feel cold, even when a warm breeze is blowing; the kind that makes you turn away, even when there's nothing to see. Why it would come to this... Would there be any, any solace at all in knowing that it wasn't her fault? Her thoughts cascaded down, overwhelmingly smothering her rationality, and destroying whatever sanity she had left to spare for an occasion such as this. And then it stopped. All of a sudden, it turned black, a switch turning off, a blanket thrown over the entangled web of worms. A new feeling erupted, from the pit of her stomach - a pulsing, breathing living feeling that pushed against her insides and fought for too much personal space. Flare blinked, as one would when something is stuck in one's eye, and a clear drop of liquid gathered and streaked down the side of her cheek. "Hey, Hey, it's alright, it's alright," said Berry, noticing. She wanted to say something at this point. 'We don't know if it's him', maybe. Or 'it could be something else'. But everything was just a sentence thrown in the face of certainty, carrying no form or function. "Do you need to take a moment?" asked Berry, settling for doing what she could to make her feel better. "What... m... me? No, of course not," Flare scoffed at the thought. "Alright, but... alright. Keep your wits up, ok?" "Yeah... of course... I'm always on... on the ball," Flare shook her head, blue hair flying in all directions at once. She pushed off the feelings and dulled her head. She felt a headache coming on, but she wasn't going to allow something stupid like emotions block her progress, oh no. There wasn't any time for that. "Ok, here we go." The ones who noticed first were the ones at the back, obviously, the bright red light shining down and flashing up every few microseconds. They turned, looked behind them, and ducked their heads as they parted, as if guilty of standing there. Slowly, as the crowd gave way piece by piece, whispers started to fly up into the air hailing the presence of the police, and including them in the business of gossip. But slowly as it was, part they did in entirety, and never in any other crowd would you find the coordination required for a hundred or so strangers to move in complete unison all at once, giving way to somepony that was actually supposed to be there. And moment by moment, like a plenitude of curtains parting before a stage, the stage was finally revealed as the last few ponies stepped aside and let Berry through, where she turned off her helmet for the opening act. The ponies at the far behind had the mind to disperse; once the police were involved only the most curious or the most foolhardy stuck around, which meant at least 80% of the crowd still remained. "Where'd you suppose Celestia's guards are?" asked Flare, looking around and trying to avoid having to look into the store itself. "Usually for this kind of thing..." "I dunno," shrugged Berry. "Mebbie I think Sergeant Canary had something to do with it or whatever, but after the first scene they just stopped showing up. Makes me wish they did come though, what with this crowd." "Hey, I could, you know. Uh... Stay out here..." offered Flare. "Keep the crowd out, and all." "Yeah... yeah, that's a good idea," nodded Berry, floating her saddlebags off her back and placing them on the sidewalk in front of the store. "If you can, try to give us some space out here in the front as well. Grab some police tape from my bag..." "O... ok." "And before I go in? Your... acquaintance. Just so I know. What... did he look like?" "He was... a Pegasus Pony. But you already know that. Gold mane. Um... grass-green coat. I haven't seen him in a while, but... that should be it, yeah." The store looked foreboding. It was dark inside. The lights were probably out. Rather than the normal circular, wide-spaced style of Canterlot's building regular, these shops were all joined together in a long, squarish block, like a sweep of terrace houses all joined at the hip. Two rows on either side made up the street, and the shop fronts were all rather quaint and untoward. There weren't even any proper glass windows in the storefront, unlike normal shops you'd have nowadays. All there was were the doors, which, being made of glass themselves, provided the only view inside. The rest was all painted brick, with the shop's name - The Rising Dough - painted to one side of the doorway. The other side looked like it had the exhaust end of the oven built right into it, and you didn't have to be Duriandal to be able to tell that it was, thanks to the smell of burnt bread pouring out with heavy acrid-and-walnut overtones. It made sensible use of the space, and had no flash. The bread that was baked probably spoke for itself. And Berry felt, as she pushed the door open with a little bit of magic, that the bread was the only thing left inside that had anything to say. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   Muffled. Blunt. Non-invasive. This was a good way to be. This was a good way of communication with the environment and the ponies that lived in it. This was a good way of escaping the pressures of thought. I should consider investment in one, thought Duriandal, as she surfaced for air from the bubbly surface of the waters that filled the luxurious tub that she sank herself in, allowing the sounds, sights and smells of real life to come flowing back in a burst. The lush, soothing waters gently stroked her skin as they rippled against the sides of the tub; that odd blue pony with the strange foreign accent adding fragranced crystals to the bath from little clay jars. It was all very soothing in so many ways. The relaxation it brought to the little broken poppet went so far as to make her start to use contractions in natural speech again. "How does that feel? asked Twilight Sparkle, gazing at Duriandal from the edge of the wooden slats that bordered the pool. "It's perfectly adequate," responded Duriandal, a slight curling of the lips occurring at the edges of her mouth without her permission. "Simply... simply adequate?" challenged Rarity. "Not even brilliant or luscious?" "Oh, it is... perfectly adequate," explained Duriandal, surprised. "It is to say, it is at the height of its agreement with me. Not a single element detracts from my enjoyment; that is to say, it is perfect, as opposed to being a little adequate or not at all adequate." "Ah..." trailed off Rarity. "That's... an interesting way... of seeing things," said Twilight. "I guess that means you're enjoying yourself then?" "It is calming. And now that I am no longer under duress I believe that I owe you quite the apology, or at least, an explanation as to my earlier behaviour." "Ah... no, don't worry about it! Why don't you just take some time to..." Ahem. "... to unwind a bit and we can talk..." Ahem. "What is it, Spike?" Twilight turned to the little dragon who was poking her in the side with a scaly elbow. "I know you don't really need an apology, but you didn't have to mop up all the sick, did you?" Spike said. "Of course. I rightfully give my concessions for that matter," Duriandal continued, "and I might explain that my sense of smell is rather acute. That particular combination of ammonia and eucalyptus triggered a gag reflex that caused me to expel my..." "Is she actually apologizing? I can't tell," said Spike, grumpily. "Spike, be nice!" Twilight scolded him, turning back to Duriandal. "I'm sorry for his behaviour... he's..." "No, it is perfectly understandable," nodded Duriandal, a bit of water splashing at the movement. "After all, it was he who had to clean up the undesirable. I hope this will not sully our further relationships." "Of course it won't, right Spike?" "Yeah yeah," the dragon said. "Anyway, before all that, what was with all the pointing and everything? That's what I wanna know!" "Well, as I have come to understand, from the reactions of Miss Twilight Sparkle earlier, she genuinely seemed to not recollect our previous meeting." "Previous meeting? We'd only just met for the first time an hour ago," said Twilight. "As I surmised." "Have you... seen me before?" "I believe... both yes and no." "I don't understand. How could you have done both before?" "Mmmmm! Enough of this for now!" declared Rarity suddenly. "You, darling, have been in there far too long. You're going to wrinkle up, and your hair is going to sop. We need to get you out of there this instant and get you back to the boutique!" She remained immobile for a moment, considering the options, but then slowly raised up to step out of the tub. "But before we go, dear, would you like a facial?" "A facial? What is that?" asked Duriandal quizzically. "Well you take some mud and put it onto your face..." "No!" And with that, she left a rather perplexed Rarity behind as she rushed to leave. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   "So, what's your deal, anyway?" yelled Canary, once again finding it hard to maintain normal conversation through rushing winds. They were at the back of Silver's cart, which was being hauled one-way to Ponyville via express. Silver was told to go along and stay there with them; they figured the fewer ponies left in Canterlot the better, and Silver was in fact one of the more rogue-like members of the precinct, making her a bigger target. Only Canary was strapped down to the bench - another Pegasus barely needed a safety harness, and Blitz was pretty much flying down there by herself anyway. With the heavy load, Silver's speed was brought down to a much more manageable level. "My deal?" asked Blitz, back at the question. "I'm not sure what you're referring to!" "Well, you're pretty handy with your words, and you're pretty calm all the time. You some kind of monk or something?" "No, no, far from it! Although admittedly I do enjoy the odd spot of meditation once in a while!" "Was that a joke?" "Yes it was, Canary!" "Good! I hate monks!" "Why?" "Can't tell what they're thinking!" The cart was brought lower, and Canary felt the sudden dip and acceleration. It was a veritable roller-coaster ride that she didn't have to pay for. "Is that important to you?" shouted Blitz. "What?" "Knowing what other ponies are thinking all the time?" "Oh no, you're not trying that mind stuff on me again, are you?" "What mind stuff?" "Don't act..." Another dip cut her short. "Don't act innocent! Like what you did back at the station! Narrowing down problems and then nailing it to the wall just like that!" "Isn't that what you do, Officer?" "Oh, very good, very good! Yeah, difference is, it's my job! It isn't your job to go around shrinking other ponies' heads, is it? Or are you a part-time sculptor, part-time whack?" "Nothing of the sort, I assure you! I just happen to know what to say, I think! It certainly isn't my talent, though!" "Yeah? Pull the other one! That was some work you did with that Flare character! In all honesty, I didn't expect you'd actually talk to her!" "Don't worry, she was annoying me too!" "Nice to know you can get annoyed!" The pair of them split up momentarily as Blitz veered left to avoid an oncoming cloud, but joined shortly later. They were nearly at the ground now. "Silver!" yelled Canary, louder, to reach the pony at the forefront of the wind. "Over there! On your right! See that round building with the pillars? Set us there!" "What's that building?" asked Blitz, as the cart suddenly changed directions to head toward the building that was pointed out. Their speed had dropped dramatically, which came as relief to Blitz, who naturally hated shouting. "Beats me," said Canary. "Why there, then?" "Looks official. From up high you can see how the town was planned out. Every building always radiates outward from where the town first starts. We're looking for the roots, because the important people live in the roots." Blitz considered that. It was a pretty sound reasoning. "There's two roots here in this town. One's this building, and one's that open empty space just across from it. Obviously some kind of market square or something. Communal area. But this building here, has the best vantage point, is really tall, and the most important thing..." "What's that?" "It's hideous. Looks like it was made out of manure and sticks. That's government if you ever saw it." "Huh." "Yeah. You said it." The cart came to a sudden stop at the second level of the round, triple-stacked building. Railings all around each level and wooden columns propping up each balcony really did give this building a rather official look to it, and most certainly it was the home of a pony that they needed to contact first. The doors rattled on their hinges as the cart came to a bumpy rest on solid ground. Already, and this was of course, unavoidable, a few of the locals had come to gather 'round to point and whisper. Never was there a more exciting Wednesday late-afternoon than a strange cart come down from the sky and visited upon them right, yee-haw. Surely, there'll be tales told around the campfires tonight while we're cookin' up our beans n' roadkill over that there fire about them fancy people come from the clouds, you betcha! Almost as if Blitz was reading Canary's mind, she jutted in with a quick observation of her own. "Well, it's not as bad as I would have thought, is it now? Surely, it's not a big city, but the ponies here look friendly and they seem to have reasonable amenities." "Yeah..." Canary drawled. "We'll see soon, won't we?" The doors to the town hall creaked open, and a bespectacled elderly pony appeared from behind the warm glow of firelight that fell out of the crack. "Oh hello there, may I help you?" "Yes," said Canary, in her official tone. "We'd like to speak to the official in charge of this lovely town, if you may." "Oh... oh yes, I am the Mayor here, in fact." "Offff course you are," smiled Canary, not a single bit of the sardonicism on her mind playing in her voice and expression. "What can I do for you?" The Mayor responded, cheerfully. "May we step inside?" asked Canary. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   Two things were obvious in the dark. Two noises, clear in the empty space that the shop sang. One was the bell that rang as the door closed behind Berry. There was one of those contraptions above the frame that held a small tinkling chime which cried whenever the door hit it. The second was a low sizzling popping sound, flaked with ticks and crackles and other such static. A third noise joined - the sound of Berry's own breath exhaling from her lungs. She blinked. Looked down. To the right. Time to get to work, Berry. Go on. Figures were the only things that were lit up by the glow of the oven that lay behind the counter to her immediate right. Everything in the room was shapes. All of them flowing and morphing and changing with the dancing fires, shadows entwined with light in a duet of flowing movements and invisible curtains. She removed her helmet, bringing it down to her hooves and placing it gently on the floor with a 'tink', and with one final exhale, lit up the room with a blast of light from her horn. It didn't help much, but it did help make the featureless blobs gain form, and also let her see that all the candles and lanterns that normally would have made the store a much cheerier place were all unlit. Perhaps they had been extinguished in a struggle, or perhaps on purpose? Berry couldn't tell just yet. Splitting the room in half was a counter that stretched from just beside the door to the far end of the shop. Everything on the side that Berry was standing on were for the patrons - a few tables here and there on wooden parquet flooring and not much else. The whole feeling about it said that it wasn't the kind of place set up to really let customers mill about. It was closed off, stuffy and really rather unfriendly. The tables seemed unnecessary; maybe even put there for form over function. Perhaps that might have just been a trick of the light though, and Berry didn't want to just set that in stone just yet. Behind the dividing partition was the chef's area. The oven was set right into the front wall, as was seen from the outside, and all of the natural light in the room was coming from deep within its brick recesses. The rest of his space was preparation. There was a cold box in the far corner, metal tables lining the wall with flour and dough roughly dotting the landscape, and trays upon trays of unbaked and baked goods ready for their further destinations. However, the real centrepiece of the shop was the counter itself. With a till near the oven, everything else was simply baked goods of all sorts displayed rather haphazardly. With no time to set things up in a fashionable way, the trays of finished bread were simply dropped onto the counter, where, assumedly, ponies would simply grab what they wanted off the trays and bring them to the till to be rung up. It seemed that the one pony did everything himself. The placement of things seemed to indicate that, Berry thought. There was no time to make things look nice, so everything had to balance on the quality of the goods. Especially in a shop row like this, with high-class snobberies partaking of the wares, this certainly wasn't a place to be caught in without due reason, and the reason had to simply be that the bread was just that good. Everything was also placed to focus around the one area; the door. Looking at it, Berry could definitely put herself at that location the most. It had the best vantage point, had access to the till, the oven and everything else. It was, perhaps, the single most important area of the room. And preliminary observations, inasmuch as she could see, was done, just like that. Nothing more to report, because there wasn't anything else that she could discern. Despite the odd smell that hung in the air and the overall mood of disease, it seemed as if she could have just simply walked into a shop that wasn't open. "I dunno, Canary," she said out loud to herself, with a nervous voice. "It doesn't look like there was a struggle, or anything..." Well, what does that mean, Berry? "Maybe... maybe... I dunno, Sarge..." The lights, Berry. The lights. "The lights... oh!" They were off. Of course. But why? There weren't any signs of disturbance and that must have been the point. "I see, they got the drop on him when he came in to open. They were here first." That's right. What else? "We're in the middle of a busy shopping street. There's no way in or out of this building except through the front door. There must be..." Berry's head jerked up toward the doors. "... somepony who saw something. Right, Sarge?" ... "Sarge?" ... "Ah, drat." Probably better that she stopped talking to herself, anyway. Didn't seem quite sane, even to somepony like Berry. Aren't you forgetting something? "Ah!" Berry squeaked. Ok, don't go crazy, Berry! You're in charge, alright? You don't need another pony to lead you by the hoof... although it would be really great if somepony did. Could I call somepony else from the station? Maybe... no... not him... no... not her either... Berry! Oh Colt what's going on oh no what in Celestia's name The body, Berry! The body! "Oh, Right." The body. Forgotten all about it. Better start finding it, then. Shouldn't take too long. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   Canary sneezed. "Bless you," said the Mayor. "Thank you," replied Canary. "Somepony's talking about you," commented Blitz. "Sure," said Canary. "Anyway, pardon me. As I was about to say, I come on behalf of Canterlot PD. I'm investigating a... pretty important case for Princess Celestia..." If you were going to drop names, best to do it early and fast. "... and we were hoping we could get some cooperation from the town of Ponyville." "Oooh, Princess Celestia, why of course!" declared the Mayor. "And we're definitely willing to help the law around here. Please, tell me what you need!" "That... that's it?" asked Canary. "Um... sure?" said the Mayor, slightly perplexed. "No... need for lengthy explanations? No offensively long paperwork? No delays until next week?" "Ah... no?" "... I really miss the country, sometimes." "Thank you?" said the Mayor, even more confused as ever. "Not a problem, Mayor. Anyway, here's what we need. Do you have old town planning charts and blueprints?" "Oh yes, yes, we do." "And how far back do they stretch?" "Why, since the town began, I believe." "Excellent. We'd like to see them, please." "Of course, they're just upstairs in the old planning room. They should all be still there, filed by date. Do please be careful with some of them, they can be rather old." "We'll be extra gentle, Miss Mayor. And thank you very much." "Yes, thank you," added Blitz. "Not a problem. I'll be right here in my office if you need me for anything!" The process went by much more smoothly than Canary could have ever believed. There was just something in this town that made its inhabitants open and friendly and trusting. Canary figured it was something in the water. They made their way up the spiral staircase that led to the upper terraces of the Town Hall building, Blitz taking the time to admire the wooden craftwork laid into the fixtures and the sideboards. Even the stairs had their own fanciful carvings - a reflection of how nobility was shown hundreds of years ago. Things surely moved away from that. "I didn't know you were from the country," said Blitz, as they entered the planning room. "I almost forgot myself," replied Canary, taking a look around. A huge drawing table with odd devices scattered around it took up the center, and little cubbyholes addressed the walls on both sides. Along the far end, along the curved wall beyond which was the outside of the building, were two simple windows adorned with curtains. Rolls and rolls of paper stuck out of the cubbies like eels. A single lit candle gave illumination, and it was plenty with the sunlight streaming through. "There's many puzzling things about you, Canary..." "Yeah? Like what?" "Like how you're going to be terribly annoyed if I shared, but how much more terribly annoyed you'd be if I didn't, now that I've just said it." "I..." "Shall we get searching? What is it that you need us to find?" "... Alright. Fine. Just this once, I'm going to let somepony pry into my personal life. Alright? It has nothing to do with anything." "Perish the thought, Canary." "Hurry up before I lose interest," she muttered, walking over to the holes. Thankfully, they were all labelled with little brass plates that told the date of creation. "Take for example, that I'd have never pegged you for somepony that came out from the country, Canary." "That was a long time ago. I've left it behind. Hey, go check on the other side of the room. What's the earliest date you can find?" "Ah... about two hundred years ago. And It just occurs to me that it's not the only thing you left behind." "What are you talkin' about?" "Constable Berry. You know she worships you?" "Don't be stupid." "And it's not just because of your working relationship. She really truly has something for you. Did you have a history with her?" "A history? What are you talking about?" Canary repeated. "New girl on the block came in a year ago or whatever. Claimed to be looking for me specifically. She was just dumped on me. Never seen her before then!" "Interesting." "I don't see what's so interesting about it. Anyway, what are you trying to say? Do you know us or something?" "No, not at all. Just something I've been observing." "Yeah? What's it to you then? Meddling with other ponies' lives?" "I just like solving puzzles." "Tell you what, why don't we focus on this puzzle we have in front of us right now, alright? My life is not a puzzle for you to crack." "Of course not. It's not a puzzle until all the pieces are in place." "And just what does that mean? Are you trying to upset me?" "Little bit, yeah." "What... why!?" "Well, from what I see, you seem to think best when your blood's rushing a little." "Y... ok, enough of this. Let's get back to the charts, alright?" "Of course. What do you need me to get?" "And I'll tell you something else, too," added Canary. "There isn't anything missing, alright? I haven't forgotten anything." And just for a moment, right there. Inside that fraction within a fraction, that light at the bottom of the well twinkled again, and just for that moment, Canary doubted what she said, before it disappeared back into the inky depths. "I... haven't forgotten anything," she reconfirmed to herself. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   "So, what you're saying is... you saw me in your shop on the day of the first incident?" asked Twilight, as a frilly-brimmed sun hat flew past her face. "Oh, try this one on, dear! It would look ever so nice with your hair, I think!" cried Rarity, plonking the yellow Frisbee onto Duriandal's head. "Ah... yes. It wasn't... you, correct?" "No no, entirely clashes with your tones, darling. You're definitely not a 'summer'," Rarity stated, disappointedly as the hat joined the others in the pile of rejects that slowly grew in size as the minutes rolled by. "No, it wasn't," said Twilight. "And that's really troubling, honestly. I don't know any reason why anypony would want to impersonate me. Not to mention to find out about the victim, too." "Spike, Spike dear? Bring the next batch!" The dragon walked in with a stack of hats far taller than he was, himself. "Here, Rarity!" he said, placing them in a pile at her hooves. "My assumption is that somepony intends to frame you for some reason," explained Duriandal. "It seems to be a rather big coincidence that you are the one who in fact, summoned me with your letter." "Actually, I think the letter was the thing that was a coincidence," said Twilight. "Oh, a shawl," said Rarity. "Of course, it must be!" "I was trying out a new spell... one that I had never done before. I was trying to make the scroll appear before the one most closely related to the crime. Hopefully... the criminal himself. But it seems that what happened was that it appeared before the closest pony who was related to the crime instead." "You were trying to summon the murderer?" "Yeaaaahhh... sorta!" "Twilight Sparkle!" scolded Rarity, as she tied a length of cloth around Duriandal's head. "You should know better than to invite murderers around to your house!" "I know! I know, alright? I wasn't really thinking very straight." "It was those books again," explained Spike. "They mess with her head." "And you were rather ill-prepared for a visit," elaborated Duriandal, standing there like a plaything being dressed up for imaginary tea. "Had I truly been the murderer, you might have been in a lot of danger." "See, Twilight? Princess Celestia knows what she's talking about! You should really keep out of it," said Spike, trying again to convince her to remove herself before she got in too deep. "Alright, alright. I'll stay out of it," grumbled the curious unicorn. "But still, I'm honestly kind of weirded out by the fact that you saw me in your shop. They certainly didn't tell me that fact when they dragged me to the police station." "No, no, terrible!" Rarity yanked the scarf off. "I cannot explain it either, but definitely, you were there. I recognize you, and you told me your name. Twilight Sparkle. It was very deliberate. You said you were looking for what was to become the first victim." "Sounds like a set up to me," Spike threw in his two cents. "But who'd want to frame me? And why?" "That is a mystery," said Duriandal. "I can't find a hat for you!" wailed Rarity. "This has never happened before!" "Uh... Rarity, maybe a hat's not what she needs?" suggested Twilight. "Of... of course! Brilliance! Oh, Twilight, I could just kiss you!" "Ah... I think that was my idea," said Spike. "What is... ah... happening now?" asked Duriandal. "Don't go anywhere! I shall be right back!" Rarity zoomed off into her sewing room. "Don't worry about it. Just keep standing there," said Twilight. "Anyway, why'd you decide to come down here? Shouldn't you be in Canterlot?" "It... it was a bit overwhelming for me," explained Duriandal. "There was too many things happening, and... I just... wanted... wanted to leave." "That's alright. You're our guest, ok? Stay as long as you like." "You have my thanks for your hospitality and patience," sighed Duriandal, sadly, as if her presence suddenly was an incredible burden. "Is... everything alright?" "Ah... yes. Yes. Yes it is." "Ok, but if there's anything you need... please don't hesitate to ask." "I shall not." "Tell you what, if you want to get your mind off things, why don't we go for a little walk after Rarity comes back and does what she wants to do?" "Where do you intend to go?" "I just thought I'd show you around. And anyway, earlier when I threw... ah... the stinky stuff out the window, it kind of landed near my friend's farm. I don't think I should leave it there. She might not like the idea of stinky apples for her next crop." "Oh, and I think I can help you with that," nodded Duriandal. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   Berry turned suddenly, her eyes flying open with shock as the door bell rang again, and the creaking of the hinges marked an entry into the store. She was standing behind the counter when it happened, and she froze out of self-preservation instinct, which was running rampant through the ones she learnt in training. "Hey! Hey, you can't go in there you crazy old stallion! I'm talking to you!" a voice trailed in. That belonged to the self-appointed guard, Berry recognized. But an old stallion? Who... "Hey, Canary, no ride today? What, they not feeding Silver enough?" came a gruff old voice. Once again, Berry froze. This time, because she knew who the crazy old stallion was, and she knew that Mr. Bowler, the coroner, did not like her very much. "I said no entry!" yelled Flare, as she pushed past the pony who didn't so much as care about her presence. "Canary! You in here? What's with the volunteer force?" Berry closed her eyes. Took in two deep breaths and then stood up. "Mister Bowler, Sergeant Canary is off on other official business. It's just me today." "Oh you... you gotta be kidding me. I came all this way for this?" "Mister Bowler, I..." "Shouldn't have made the trip, should I?" "Now, Mister Bowler..." "Where's the real officer in charge?" "MISTER BOWLER!" The door clicked close as Night Flare made the wise decision to leave again. "Now, you... you LISTEN!" railed Berry, her voice reaching pitches that would have made mice take notice. "Sergeant Canary is NOT HERE! Alright? I am! And that means that I am in charge of this crime scene, whether you like it or not! And... and I don't care if you hate me, and I don't care what you say to others behind my back, but when you step into... into my crime scene you better respect me, and if you don't, at least respect the legband! Now, I don't... I don't care how much longer you've been working with the police, but at this moment I outrank you and if you don't want to do your damn flanking job then that is your choice but not mine, and whatever hate you have you can just leave it at... at..." She raised a leg and pointed for effect. "... at the door!" Bowler, the coroner, smirked. But behind his beard it was hard to tell. It was pretty hard to faze him, he was the one who really saw so much that it numbed most of his faculties. "Got that off your chest, have ya?" "The door!!" reasserted Berry. "Nice to see there's a little fire in you after all. Might make a good officer yet." "Mister Bowler, I'm not here for you to discuss my place in the police station or how my personal behaviour affects it. Right now, what I need is a coroner. Are you going to be that pony?" "Alright, P.C. Berry. Where's the stiff?" "The victim is here, Mister Bowler. I haven't touched anything. I wasn't going to until you arrived, but I'm wondering how you actually came here, considering I don't remember calling for you." "Word gets around, Berry. After the last two, ponies are on edge out there. Seeing how I got the news before I got a visit from Silver, I figured something was up. Anyway, I had something kinda urgent I needed to tell Canary, too." "Whatever you need to tell her, you can tell me. I will relay all information to her. She will not be back for a while." "Yeah, alright. Who's the yutz at the door?" "Civilian hire. Canary's orders. She's involved in this case deep." "She isn't doing a good job, y'know." "She isn't really supposed to be doing anything, I don't think." "Alright, let's take a look at the body, now." "Right through here, Mister Bowler," she stepped aside for him to enter through the little gap in the counter between the display case and the cashier. "Wow. That's a piece of art," said Bowler, as he turned the corner and caught sight of the corpse. "Yes. I suppose it is," said Berry. "So... you'll get to work. I'll be checking out the rest of the scene. Let me know if you find anything unusual. And... thank you for the help. I'm sorry for swearing earlier." "Don't spoil it," replied the husky elder, as he leaned down to observe the body more closely. "Anyway, listen up. Something happened at the morgue earlier. Don't know how it fits in, but you definitely want to know about it." "I'm listening," said Berry. ,---(*< ~---, '---------------'   There were few things that shocked Bowler nowadays, or even upset him. It was just day after day of seeing accidents, murders or whatever... it didn't matter. If it was dead and a body he saw it. He wasn't specifically a police pony either, so he didn't only handle the criminal parts. He was involved in pretty much any sort of passing away that occurred across Canterlot, and by jove there were a few of them. The strange thing was that the accidental ones were always far more stomach-turning than the sinister ones. It was the first time a dead body caused him to take notice long after the body was found, cleaned up and stored. Morgues, by right, are quiet, peaceful places. There's nopony to hang around to make a noise, and none of the residents should really be complaining about the lodgings and cramped quarters and lack of facilities. That's why Bowler heard it, clearly and sharply, coming from the drawers he set aside for this particular case. Two drawers for two bodies, and a certain shifting noise was certainly coming from the first one. It sounded particular, but like nothing that he had ever really heard before. The closest that he could put to it was the sound of two pieces of fabric rubbing against each other, but far louder than the equivalent. And then it stopped. He wasn't afraid, or even rather alarmed, but he was on guard because the last time he opened a drawer with noises in it, it turned out that the pony inside had swallowed some sort of rat and it had finally chewed its way free. That was a story to tell. And so was this. For when the drawer was opened, rather than the pristine, preserved corpse he had prepared, by himself, mind you, a day ago, he found, lying in a bed of soil and sand and old rags and dust, a rather old and yellow set of bones. There was nothing quite surprising about it, of course, not to him. As plainly as it was to be described, was how Mr. Bowler reacted when he saw it for himself. But gingerly, he reached out with a wizened hoof to touch one of the bones, and before him, the entire set flaked away piece by piece, and crumbled to ash. Now. Now there was something wrong.