I read a novel about a mobster that took place by the Sale River in a duchy called Salerno east of Prance, far from Equestria. A dark romance story, populated by overly proud Salernitano ponies, it turned out. Always elegantly tall, both the mares and stallions, with dark eyes and black ears and mane. I thought it would be safe to read in that I wouldn't learn what Carne Asada really did, only what ponies did half-a-century ago. I might learn something about the culture I supported while trying to insulate myself.
Like all good stories, it was an allegory for modern Equestria. Taxes and monopolistic oppression of the common folk abounded, if I understood protection rackets and the peddling of vices properly. Cutie marks and your station at birth pretty much determined your fate, unless you bucked the system and then somepony better, richer, or stronger than you would smash you down. Equality didn't exist. You could be a mobster or a bureaucrat, the author implied. The difference was the level of brutality.
I'd chosen brutality. Peripherally. It did shock me that the giggly peasant filly protagonist ended up murdering her lover when he betrayed the organization.
The story made me doubly wary of learning what Carne Asada did to earn her bits. I went further and told my team to do the same. I knew I had a lot to learn, yet, and wasn't yet ready to make my break. I didn't want other ponies to make further mistakes on my account.
Carne Asada continued to send me out to deliver messages for her. I ended up meeting dozens of ponies, including those I had met during my first solo delivery fiasco. Surprising how few ponies let me kiss them.
I got a kick out of trying, though.
These meetings entailed miscellaneous discussions about general niceties. There might be prancing around the subject of the message with me working to avoid any actual details of the work involved. Proper Step had taught me to state the problem, then wait and listen. Usually, this involved letting somepony like Waddles Worth do the hoof work, but still, wait and listen applied here. Most of the time, Carne Asada's problem children received the message and found their solution.
One enterprising fellow treated me to a fine restaurant meal afterwards and what looked like would prove an instructional sleepover. Unfortunately, that ended up with a hoof in his stallion parts and a lot of disappointment.
Carne Asada did remark though that he afterward became one of her most loyal ponies. Go figure.
Other messages didn't go over so well. I never had to fight free, even when one lieutenant changed gang affiliation after our heated argument.
Delivering messages to rival gangs excited me less. Ecology and Economy were two sides of a similar coin. Limited resources supported limited consumers. Carne Asada demanded that her competitor starve themselves. Timberwolves don't take well to losing their forests.
Only my undeserved reputation and Carne Asada's reputedly well-earned fight-beyond-any-reason reputation saved me from any kill-the-messenger situation. Maybe she hoped I'd teleport away?
That had to be it. I was her safety net. I gave her the courage to tighten the reins on all her holdings in northeastern Equestria, and she was doing it. If that meant rival gangs fought her, she didn't care.
I cared. It made my work more interesting and not in a good way. I might actually need to put my skills to the test.
Sometimes you get what you ask for.
It was a hot summer; the evening sun shined along the streets like a fiery beacon. Buildings in this part of town weren't anywhere as tall as in adjacent Manehatten, but for a pony from Grin Having, it did feel like I walked in a canyon. The heat and humidity made me sweat in the business suit I wore. I understood why the teenagers I'd seen in the previous block had broken a fire hydrant and danced in the resultant fountain.
I paced Carne Asada. My team paced me and her two high level associates. Their cadre paced them, and various gang members looking variously disreputable followed along or led the way through the garment district. Vibrant by day, all the shops were closed up now with steel roll-ups over their storefronts, like armor. There was a deli here, a newsstand there, a few salt licks, and ponies trotting in to them. Interspersed were doorways to various walk-up flats above the businesses, next to the warehouses.
We passed a hotel, but I noted "Residential" in the name and realized it was a by the week or by the hour affair as a down-and-out pony or a frisky couple might require. Ponies, this side of town and wherever I escorted m'lady, sensed we were trouble and kept their distance. Those that loitered, found newspapers to read or a horseshoe that needed cleaning.
A convenient thing about cleaning a horseshoe: while a top notch farrier had specialized curved rasps, nippers, scissors, and scrapes for a hoof-a-cure, most ponies simply used a knife for the task and nopony thought a wit about it. Mind you, going at it in public was particularly crass and low-brow, and my inclination was to actively ignore such behavior like somepony picking his nose.
The shiny new little convex traffic mirror mounted at the lintel was a tad strange, however. It didn't register until the blue pegasus had already flung himself into motion.
We had stepped past the doorway. I was on Carne Asada's right and the doorway on the left. I reacted by trying to push her down and out of my way, triggering a Shove from my queue at the same time.
Inertia won. Carne Asada's horseshoes scraped the pavement and her hidden wings reflexively balanced her. She didn't go down, but twisted into a better target.
He plunged the knife into her neck above her scapula with his wings. My spell threw the assailant head over hindquarters over us into the street, trailing blue feathers gouged out by my overpowering the magic, apparently because saving somepony's life made such things possible. I heard a bang and a crack. The pegasus had meant to rip her open to her ear by barreling her over with his momentum while dragging the knife, but the assassin had lost his wing grip on the hilt and left the knife embedded where it had gone in.
Small favors.
Carne Asada tensed, her eyes growing wide and wild. I expected any moment to see a fatal pulsing spray of blood, but that didn't happen. The knife remained stuck. I needed her calm while all around us mayhem ensued.
Street covers erupted, then fell, rattling like giant bits rolling then landing on their sides. Out flooded gang members. Hooflyn had far more unicorns than Baltimare, and they joined gangs. Satin capes whipped out from under tee-shirts. Others galloped and soared in. As luck would have it, the Marvel Gang swiftly matched our two dozen with two dozen of their own soldiers.
If they managed a coup d'état, that blue pegasus would be infamous. I had to prevent that. I had to prevent Carne Asada from dying, first.
Carne Asada bared her fangs and screamed, "Kill that Boludo! Kill him! Kill him!" She went off in pure Equidorian after that, rearing, and shouting. Her veins showed through her skin as she did, and blood actively leaked from around the knife she either could not feel, or couldn't care about.
I flicked a side-hoof against her head and she crumpled into my waiting Levitate spell.
A golden Force bolt shot past me followed by an answering squealing whinny. Citron interposed himself and used his sweaty teenage flank to back me into the doorway the assassin had lurked in. Flicking his tail angrily, he said, "Don't get us both killed protecting you."
"I won't," I said.
He glanced at Carne Asada, lips compressing, and leapt back into the fray.
I thought about the residential hotel. The convex traffic mirror helped me confirm my recollections as to where it was across the street not far away. Sitting, I clamped Carne Asada's nose and mouth shut and cast Teleport.
I popped into a dim apartment. The sun had started to fade, but it left the tweed rug and brown sofa looking orange instead of slightly dirty. The overhead light cast a wane bluish light that might seem brighter later in the evening.
"Excuse me," said an older unicorn in a sleeveless tee-shirt, levitating a bottle of cheap cider and a sports section. He stood in front of a ratty chair, eyes growing wider. His eyes flicked from me, to Carne Asada, to the knife in her neck and the blood dripping toward the floor.
He looked away. "I'll just stay at my brother-in-law's in Queens, tonight," he said, walking out with the bottle and the newspaper, not even locking the door behind him. I was in 5F-West.
I believed him. I doubted he'd call the constabulary. Ponies knew what was good for them.
I took the rest of the newspaper and laid it down to catch the blood, then took off my saddlebags, laying out my first aid kit. My heart was racing, and for a moment I wondered if I needed a sedative, first. I'd seen blood before, mine more than others. I also knew pony anatomy. I'd been tutored.
Tutored. I had been taught from when I woke to when I had fallen into my bed exhausted, every day of my life as an earl. Now. Because of my newer profession, I'd actually refreshed what I'd learned.
I felt really bad. I couldn't believe I'd let this happen. The one time we had been attacked, I'd failed my job.
"Stop it!"
I took a deep breath. I looked at Carne Asada. I could see what the blue pegasus had intended. Maybe my actions had helped. He had wanted to slice up and down, perpendicular to the axis of her body, or side to side. I had caused him instead to rotate the blade downward so he inserted the knife parallel to her skin and toward her scapula. The point had bounced off the bone, protecting her vitals and major blood vessels.
Had to hurt, though. All my fault.
I started to shake. Fortunately, that didn't affect the accuracy of my Levitate spells. I applied antiseptic. I shaved around the wound. I wadded bandages as sponges. Got sutures and needles threaded, and bandages rolled out. Her red dress kept her wings pinned, but I'd have to bandage around her neck. I set to work with the sharp but too small implements meant for working with the bandages.
Wings better suited to a bat slumped out. Denuded of feathers. Leathery. With a center claw and an end claw that might be pretty useful, if it somehow compensated for her not being able to fly. I checked her eyes and hoped I hadn't given her a bad concussion, but she breathed normally. One bad spasm, a roll to the side, or movement of a wing and she could sever something.
I settled my magic around the hilt, hoping that if I could pull it out the magic would not let me harm her. My theory, anyway. The curse on my magic ought to be useful for something.
Up. Up. Up. Carne Asada moaned. The small hunting knife clattered on the floor.
I pressed wadded bandages to staunch the flow, but I'd had worse bleeders. Bleeding was bad, but cut tendons took a long time to heal. In any case, Carne Asada would remember my failures. I sewed, bandaged, and applied pressure for the length of the entire wound.
I sewed then applied med-thorns. I was well aware that the blue pegasus had been cleaning his hooves prior to the attack. Sepsis was more deadly than poison due to a lack of an antidote.
I wiped the perspiration away that dripped into my eyes. The mare had mumbled. Though I couldn't understand a word, I felt certain she said, "Kill him."
Even if Carne Asada survived, the Marvel Gang lieutenant would be infamous. My reading of the Salerno novel made me think recruiting would go through the roof.
I trotted to the window and looked into the street. I tensed. I felt a bit scattered, but I'd gotten her bandaged in no more than five minutes. I dragged away the sofa to get a better angle closer to the building, to see that more ponies had arrived. Reinforcements. Both sides. I wasn't aware C.A. had reinforcements. Well, of course not. I made a point of such things not being my department.
Wagons in the street were on fire. Shops had been torn open; ponies used metal awnings as shields to fight behind. I spotted the blue pegasus. The miscreant fluttered, dodging a force bolt, gesturing for others to move. The leader. The planner.
The assassin.
"Kill him," I heard. Carne Asada lay unconscious, breathing regularly, her mauve leathery wings twitching. I ought to stay monitoring her. Her dress lay cut to rags beside her. I focused on her drop of blood cutie mark.
I had let this happen. I owed her.
I stepped over, calculating the math for two spells as I queued them into my horn. My heart beat strongly as my passions rose. I knew my magic well. Made of rainbows or whatever, made to grant wishes, it needed to be managed properly. I bent my neck and brought my limbs to the floor and clamped my teeth around the hilt of the knife.
I positioned it with my tongue so it pointed out. A crust dissolved and tasted salty.
A part of me wanted to be disgusted. A part of me gathered strength instead.
I couldn't keep two spells in mind at once. No I couldn't, but in my current state of certitude, I came very close. I remembered what it looked like have been there on the street, where the blue pegasus had launched himself from the doorway. I knew every detail of that doorway, the surrounding sidewalk, and the closed shops on either side. I knew the position to within a hoof-length.
My in-teleport made a loud bang as I showed up where Citron had pushed me, where the blue pegasus had waited. Frost steamed up as I calmly cast and felt the math of Don't Look, Don't See, Don't Hear balance. The numbers spun blue and red, particularly shiny as the sun neared the horizon and buildings blocked the light. I looked around, confirming what I remembered, adding it to my mental map. I glanced into the traffic mirror, confirming my surroundings and the fighting. The yelling and battle had hid my in-teleport bang, or nopony felt the need to investigate.
I ventured out.
I saw him.
He fluttered down, three storefronts to my left onto an overturned smoking wagon. All I had to do was not get hit by stray magic or thrown pavement. I crept forward, rolling the knife in my mouth to ensure that the cutting edge would be the direction I would strike.
I would make an example of this pony, exactly as Carne Asada wanted me to.
I had to step over an unconscious red earth pony, one of ours I didn't recognize. He bled from a cut across his eyes. His chest moved, so the sooner I got this over, the better.
Another Marvel gang member galloped up, gesturing to the right. The pegasus laughed. Nopony looked where I was. Best I could tell, the fighting had moved half a block away.
All I had to do was rear and hug him. If I did that, I'd repay what he had intended for Carne Asada. If I did it right—and since I'd been tutored in anatomy I was pretty sure I could aim this right—he'd be gone in one heartbeat.
I froze.
He would feel nothing? I was being... nice?
He had shown no mercy.
There were more important things to a pony than his life.
I reared as the pegasus flared his wings and I ducked my head as feathers whooshed past my ears and missed smacking my horn. He bent his legs to take off, but I was a trained fighter. I thrust forward, with my shoulders and neck, the curved razor-edge of the hunting knife. I didn't miss. In fact, I was aided by the uplift of his wing, his baring and stretching tendons and clearly revealing the joint.
My illusion spell, of course, broke the instant I chose to strike. It had to do so as that's how my magic worked. I saw his magenta eyes as he turned his head, reacting reflexively to my sudden appearance and furious motion. I'm sure he recognized Carne Asada's daughter, even as he tried to torque himself away.
It didn't help. I had worked incessantly to make Grape's training part of my muscle memory and I shifted unerringly as he did. I felt the impact against my teeth and lips.
It... crackled.
Cartilage.
I didn't cut deep. I didn't have to. I couldn't have as tendons are very rubbery and resilient. I did slice the artery, though, and the spray blinded me. Saved me from more than glimpsing muscles displacing unrestrained bone—
His scream would live with me forever.
What had I done!?
Moments later, a pony meteor barreled into me. By all rights, it ought to have been a Marvel gang member who then should have torn my head off. Instead it was Safe.
"You crazy Mare! Oh, Sweet Celestia!" I felt him whirl away from the horror. "What did you do?"
I curled into a ball and started retching. I heard Twee! Twee! It was a block or so away, but the constabulary had finally arrived.
"Newbies," he spat, catching me up and throwing me over his back. "Don't cut me with that thing! Don't drop it, either. It's evidence of a crime."
I had the knife in my mouth. I couldn't see. In the arena, I'd been sprayed in the eyes with blood more that once, but it had never stung this bad.
He asked, "Where's the boss?"
"In the Residential," I said around the hilt, then started heaving again, my ribs pumping. So glad I'd skipped lunch! "5C-West. I sewed her up."
"Good filly."
I corrected him, saying, "Bad pony," and began to cry.
Now I was The Monster.
#
Broomhill Dare stayed with me when we got to the hotel suite. She kept me standing as I stumbled into the wall and smashed my shoulder into the door frame, then nearly brained myself on the porcelain sink. The knife clattered to the white tiles. She kept me from drowning myself in the commode for my lack of strength. Or I unconsciously wanted...
The orange mare evidently didn't think I was a danger to myself because she eventually left me jittering and jerking on the floor as if I'd had too much caffeine. She flushed the toilet and said, "I'll make a pot of chamomile."
Maybe it had to do with me telling her that I would set her on fire if she hugged me.
I lifted myself up to the sink. I saw my green eyes, but my face was painted in brown. Not red. Of course not. It had dried. Scabby brown.
I retched anew.
It took five minutes before I returned to the sink and it felt like I had sprained my diaphragm and burnt my throat raw. I looked into my eyes. Each blink I saw either a spray of red or a flash of lightning.
Monster.
I swallowed.
I ripped off the ruined tan suit with my magic, then reached with a hoof for the swan wing spigots. I began to wash. I washed my hooves. I washed my legs. I washed my muzzle. I washed my face. I washed my neck. I bent forward and washed my mane.
I washed my hooves. I washed my legs. I washed my muzzle. I washed my face. I washed my neck. I bent forward and washed my mane.
I washed my hooves. I washed my legs. I washed my muzzle...
Eventually I had to stop. I'd used up the tiny hoof soap, and the microscopic bath soap, and the little bottle of shampoo. Nothing I did made me feel clean.
I had been tutored in pony psychology. It was that friendship thing again, wasn't it? Easy answers to difficult questions, and I had broken those rules. I knew I had a lot to learn, especially certain lessons I knew I'd neglected simply because I mistrusted them. I knew they were wrong. I admit that I didn't know what was right, either.
I felt certain I could not ever be clean.
The hunting knife stood bright and sparkling on the drainboard behind the puking swan spigot. I'd cleaned it too in my mania. That was the term, I knew. The tool was razor sharp. I could shave fur down to the skin with that. The thing could be used to find truffles, dig magical roots, trim rope, protect against tassle-worms. Or to commit murder.
The knife clattered into the sink, my Levitate spell broken.
Of course it broke. My magic wouldn't let me jab it into the base of my horn no matter how much I thought doing so might protect other ponies from harm.
I turned away. I needed a different plan, a more friendly plan.
The orange pony standing there had turned ashen. She slapped me so hard it loosened a tooth. She said, "You try that again and I'm going to kill you!"
I tilted my head, a bit confused, before she hugged me taking my breath away. The warmth and contact made a difference. Didn't make me feel cleaner, though. It merely made the pieces of crazed pottery feel glued together better.
Eventually she asked me a question. It wasn't what I expected.
"Carne Asada isn't in 3C-West. Did you remember the right room number? Safe doesn't want to tear the place apart—"
"Oh, shoot..."