In Canterlot, as in Manehattan, ponies wore clothing more often than in other cities. Those who did were professionals or members of the upper class. Except for athletic uniforms, occasional sweaters, or rare tides of fashion, average students rarely wore anything other than their saddlebags or a messenger bag. Of course, no student remarked about the few smartly dressed aristocrats who also attended Celestia's school. Most exposed their hindquarters, for at our age ponies were proud of newly acquired cutie marks. I was proud I didn't have one, but today I needed to hide that fact.
As I listened to Sunset Shimmer grumbling while she dragged her aching body out of bed, I rapidly dressed a few floors below and dashed out into the early morning chill.
I caused rather a stir when I appeared at school, first in the cafeteria making a fragrant Earl Greymare bergamot tea, with three spoons of sugar, and afterward while sauntering through the halls.
Nopony recognized me. A young baroness greeted me politely. I remembered my manners, stressed my eastern accent, and used proper elocution, deferring to her with proper forms of address to explain who I was. Proper Step would have been proud his lessons stuck, though not that I had deferred to a baroness.
Clothing made the mare.
My history teacher smiled as I managed my ensemble with practiced ease, crossing the front of the classroom before my fellow students, then parading down the aisle to my desk. I imagined Ms Lookback thought her lesson the day before had struck a chord. It had, though not in the way she thought.
Nopony jeered when they figured out it was me. Most stared agape as I removed the big floppy straw sunhat with the diaphanous daffodil yellow and pink scarf tied around it, revealing my mane tied into a bun sprayed stiff with hair gloss so it hid the green stripes. I slid the hat under the chair and took off a canary yellow messenger bag, from which I slid the sole notebook that fit inside the petite basket-weave accessory, placing the bag in the desk and closing the top. I positioned my notebook perfectly centered on the pine desktop with my new pink feather quill parallel to the top edge, also centered. I arranged the tail bustle of the yellow cotton dress through the back of the chair together with my tail and flounced down with nothing out of place, demonstrating that I had practice moving in fabric.
The actually kind-of-plain two piece outfit had a slightly pinkish white-collared ruffle neckline, with butterfly sleeves trimmed with matching lace, from which fell daffodil yellow bell-bottom culottes that dropped to my fetlock. The pink ribbon at my dock matched the antique pink sparkle of the polish on my hooves above the bright lemon yellow of my horseshoes.
With the hat, the ensemble hid me completely. Considering my upbringing, I could carry it off with a correct amount of poise sufficient to confuse everypony who stared trying to reconcile today-Starlight with yesterday-Starlight.
Even with the shoes—and the quick tailoring necessary to fit the close-out discovery in order to make it possible to fight or gallop in it (by lifting a few hems and darting a few seams that I had to point out to the seamstress)—it only cost me two gold bits and five-and-twenty silver.
Fellows didn't show up until mid-lunch.
Decked-out in full aristocratic daytime costume, I merged into the crowd near the bank like some upper crust mare out shopping on the town. My presence in the crowd, like a large rock in a brook, merited a few paces clearance on all sides.
I wondered if the detective had more than one suit; he still wore his tan one, this time with a creme color tie in an overly tight four-in-hoof knot. And the same brown bowler. I watched him stop, nudge up the brim, and look at the school—from no more than a pony-length behind him, hiding in plain sight as it were. I studied him as he stared across the boulevard. His sliced ear added to an already square-jawed ruggedness, especially when he flicked it. Were he to pierce his ragged ear with a diamond stud, a kind of pirate fashion popular this year for stallions, he might even look dashing enough to pursue for a ride.
Time to get on with it.
My heart beat too rapidly; this gambit could cost me everything. I prepared Stun as I approached. My horn held up the brim of my floppy hat, leaving it free of obstruction. The sides of the hat drooped down to my neckline and the collar rose high. I crossed in front of him, but he saw neither my distinctive mane nor my pink-lavender fur. He reflexively stepped back from the curb to give me room. A few paces beyond, I glanced back and saw him sigh, turning coincidentally to follow me, not coincidentally heading to the constabulary.
His heavy horseshoes rang against the pavement and he muttered to himself. I stayed a few paces ahead of him until we strolled out of sight of the school. We passed the few restaurants frequented by students, going three blocks to a department store with wide glass windows filled with shiny appliances and seasonal clothes. Good enough for what I'd planned.
As his shoes clopped very close, I purposely backed into his way, causing him to nudge me in the rear. "I say!"
"Excuse me, m'lady," he said.
In return, I said quietly, "Running Mead."
"Wait, what?"
"Keep it down." My heart jumped into my throat. "Don't stare at me. You are not the only pony watching."
"I—"
"Pretend to look interested in the merchandise in the window. Walk ahead. Don't look back. I'll follow and talk."
"Yes, m'la— Grimoire?"
"Walk, okay?" I hissed.
He passed me, stopping to stare at a black Trottingham-cut suit. After a pair of mares in red business dresses trotted by, I said, "I quit the business."
"So I heard."
"What?" Playing my own game, I breathlessly passed him and stopped before a display of Hearth's Warming Eve tree ornaments. The Running of the Leaves was a week away, but retail had its own rules.
He stopped a pace behind me and said, "Rye Bald sent me a letter."
"A nice one, I hope." In my messenger bag, I had the letter he'd posted me from Ponyville's Golden Oak Library, sent to Sunset Shimmer's less than a week after I'd healed him. I went nowhere without my insurance.
"One about how you were used, and that you obviously didn't want to commit assault, but that doesn't mean you weren't committing a criminal act."
"I can get you Running Mead. Might that allow you to overlook what you saw at the Quill and Sofas warehouse?"
"It might," he said. He continued after we swapped places and I looked in at foal's clothes. "But he's a slippery son of a dragon. The few times we thought we'd bridled him, he slipped away."
"He uses a mind control spell."
Fellows perked up and I could see enough of his reflection to know he looked toward me. I had mentioned dangerous capital dark magic.
"Manners!" I warned loudly.
He looked away. "That would explain much."
"I'd rather not experience it again, but I'm sure I can arrange to have him dealing drugs. He might even attempt to murder me, just to make a point. Would that work?"
"That surely would."
"One night, at sunset, probably less than a week from now, I'll head into the Lower. Don't worry. You'll recognize me. I'll be with Sunset Shimmer. Follow discreetly and don't lose us."
"Or I could just arrest you now."
I blinked at his audacity. Average-sized for a unicorn stallion and not visibly muscly...
His horn wasn't lit! His only advantage, gone.
Stupidly for him, he was also well within hoof length. I didn't underestimate his hoof-to-hoof training, nor that I had only recently gotten serious again about my training regime—but I was well inside his defenses. I'd could sweep him over into the window, head butt him unconscious because unicorns instinctively didn't parry with their horn, or clean his clock with a bare hoof upper cut to the chin—all within the limits of the dress I'd custom-tailored.
I raised an eyebrow as I asked, "Do you really think you could do that? I've nothing to lose except an attempt to bring Running Mead to justice. I could be gone and you'll never see me again. Literally. Instantly. You've fought me. You know. Try me, Detective Fellows. Better yet, trust me."
"Fine. I'll give you a week."
"Don't threaten me. I want this as much as you do, and you won't catch me if you try. I know how to disappear. You had nothing on Running Mead until now, so be patient. Prepare." My accent had thickened on its own, so I stressed it. "On my honor, sir, I swear I will deliver when the moment of opportunity presents itself. It shall present itself."
"I shall endeavor to be patient, m'lady." He bowed his head slightly, doffing his bowler and placing it over his heart.
Giving the barest curtsy appropriate to his office due from me, I tipped my hat so he got a good look at my face and that weird double-star around my horn that was beginning to grow in. "How gallant of you, kind sir," I said and winked.
With that, I strode off. I almost couldn't hear for the pounding of my heart and the taxi and lorry traffic in the street, but I didn't hear his horseshoes against the pavement, nor had he moved when I glanced back after crossing the boulevard.
I would carry out my part.
Would he carry out his part? If I were wrong about that, I suspected nopony would find my corpse.