//------------------------------// // Case Twenty-Two, Chapter Two: Groundwork // Story: Ponyville Noire: Rising Nightmares // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// The buzzing of engines pervaded the cabin and hallways of the airship, even with the soundproof materials. Daring Do looked out the window of the simple cabin, watching the dark, churning waters of the Lunar Sea far beneath them.  “Ugh,” she groaned, popping another pair of airsickness pills. “Be glad when we’re out of this contraption.”  Strider sniggered. “The great Daring Do gets airsick?” he taunted.  Daring flipped him the Flying Feather as she washed down her medicine with a glass of Manticore Rare. “Forgive me if I don’t really enjoy being in a vehicle that I’m not in control of,” she grunted. “Especially not a huge wood and metal coffin that floats on a balloon filled with explosive gas.”  “Oh, that’s cheerful,” Autumn Blaze said, glancing up at the ceiling. “I know I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”  Strider glanced at her nervously. “Relax, agent,” Autumn said. “I’m thinking cool thoughts. Cool…non-firey…definitely not gonna die…thoughts,” she said slowly, looking up at the ceiling again.  “Should focus on the case,” Phillip said. “What do we know?”  “Yesterday evening at about six PM, two of Caballeron’s thugs, Biff and Withers, entered the Historical Society at Portsbeak,” Strider said, opening his briefcase and taking out the radiofaxed documents that he’d picked up from the RBI office in Fillydelphia. He spread the reports and grainy photographs out onto the table of the cabin. “The curator, Angela Coastline, met them when they entered. Biff tried to buy the journal from her, but she refused. While they were talking, Withers managed to pickpocket the key from her, entered her office, and opened the safe in her office, taking the ship’s log and leaving.”  He pointed to a grainy black-and-white still showing an earth pony in a suit and sunglasses trotting down a hallway.  “Local police started a search, but they weren’t able to find any trace of them,” Strider continued. “They did find one witness that mentioned that he thought he saw a cloud house outside the town that day, but that’s it.”  “If they left any trace, we’ll find it,” Phillip stated confidently.  “They’re probably looking for the wreck of the Merry Celestia,” Daring posited. “If we can find it first, or at least figure out where they’re heading, we might be able to head them off…and find whatever it is they’re looking for.”  “What’s so important about a sunken ship?” Autumn queried. “Ooh, was it carrying treasure?”  “That’s the mystery, Autumn,” Daring replied, taking Sunken Ships and Treasures out of her bag. She flipped through it until she reached the chapter that she was looking for.  “There she is,” she said, laying the book on the table and spinning it about to show off an old etching of a brigantine sailing upon calm blue waters, bearing the flag of the Griffish Isles: red stars forming the Big Dipper against a blue background, with a square containing a white and red cross in the upper left corner. “The Merry Celestia was a merchant ship that traveled between the Griffish Isles and Equestria and the Crystal Empire,” Daring explained. “In the Moon of Hunters of 1872, they set off from Portsbeak to Fillydelphia, carrying a shipment of denatured alcohol. In the Moon of Frost, another ship, the Speranza Gloria found a single lifeboat with the ship’s log inside. No survivors were ever found, and the ship wasn’t found. Of course, there are the general rumors of ghost sightings, sea monster attacks, et cetera.”  “Oooh,” Autumn said. “Spooky! So what happened to the log?”  “Hang on…” Strider shuffled through the report. “Okay, according to Amanda, the log was taken by the Speranza Gloria’s captain, who kept it hidden in his basement. When he died last month, she bought it at his estate sale. She said…’I had to keep it safe.’”  “Oooh, I love this!” Autumn chirped, clapping her hooves. “Ghost ships, treasure hunting mercenaries, intrigue!”  Strider gave Phillip a querying look over Autumn’s shoulder. Phillip shrugged.  Autumn was now pawing at the surveillance stills from the historical society, squinting at the two thieves. “Biff and Withers,” she said out loud. “What do we know about these guys?”  “We’ve got files on most of Caballeron’s thugs,” Strider stated, pulling out another folder. He placed the collection of mug shots on the table for study.  “First up: Biff Tandem,” he said, tapping a photo of a square-jawed stallion in a fedora. “He was a boxer in Las Pegasus until he got caught throwing fights. He went down to Mexicolt to pursue a college degree; he was one of Caballeron’s last students before he was kicked out. When Caballeron left the university in 1942, Biff left with him and has been following him around ever since.”  “Guess he got suckered in by his talk of aliens,” Daring sniggered.  “Wait, what?” Autumn asked. “Aliens?”  “Tell you later,” Daring said.  “Next up: Withers,” Strider continued, flipping over to reveal a mug shot of a white stallion with black hair and unfocused blue eyes, smirking at the camera. “Partially blind from foalhood due to juvenile macular degeneration; those sunglasses he wears are enchanted to give him some sight back. He used to be a regular conpony in Fillydelphia, running confidence hustles and scams using his blindness to take advantage of ponies. Caballeron hired him to steal some enchanted coins from a collector and he’s been with him ever since.”  “I wouldn’t think that a blind pony would be much of a threat,” Autumn said.  “Don’t underestimate him,” Strider warned. “He’s smart as a fox and slippery as an eel.”  “Brains are more dangerous than brawn,” Phillip stated.  “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Strider nodded, flipping to the next sheet, showing a large green earth pony with a scruffy red mane. “Next up, Rogue O’Rattail. The youngest son of an upper-class family from Trotland, he actually searched Caballeron out when he went to Prance to steal a painting from a collector. There are lots of rumors that his family is involved in Discord cultists, but nothing’s been confirmed. What has been confirmed is that Rogue has a long list of vicious assaults and murders on his hooves.”  He winced at a photograph of a trio of bloodstained corpses sprawled across the rummage of a room that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. “He likes using his hooves,” he said, moving on.  “What about the mare that helped him with Not to be Remade or the unicorn that I saw at his hideout?” Daring asked.  “The mare is Open Lock,” Strider said, taking out two more photographs. “Long string of burglaries and B&E across Equestria. She joined the gang around ‘47. The other unicorn is Doctor Papyrus Scroll. Formerly a professor of ancient languages at the University of Trottingham and a contemporary of Caballeron. He joined up with him a year after Caballeron was kicked out. He doesn’t usually work on the heists, he seems to be more concerned with restoring the artifacts that they steal.”  Autumn Blaze looked over the mug shots closely, committing them to her memory. “I’ll keep these guys in the forefront of my mind,” she said.  “Right,” Strider said slowly, closing the folder. He yawned and stretched his wings. “We’d better get some sleep before we get to Portsbeak tomorrow morning.”  “Aces,” Phillip nodded, yawning and flopping down on the cabin’s bed. “See you in the morning.”  “G'night!” Autumn chirped, heading off to the cabin that she and Strider were sharing for the night. “So, Agent, how’d you get into the force? What was your strangest case? What do you do when off duty? You have a family back home?”  Strider gave Phil and Daring a befuddled expression. Daring smiled wearily and gestured him on. Resignation crossed Strider’s face as he sighed and reluctantly followed Autumn down the hall.  Daring took off her own shirt and hung it up on the rack with the rest of their clothes, but took her holster and her stockwhip and laid them on one of the bedside tables; Phillip had placed his own holster and waddy on the other table, well within reach.  Daring climbed up onto the bed and curled up next to Phillip, letting out a quiet hum as his arms wrapped around her body and pulled her forehead against his; his warm breath caressed her face as he nuzzled her and pulled the sheets up over them both. One of her hooves raised up to brush against the totem of Awely-Awely around her neck, taking comfort from the touch of the cool wood; she could feel a faint tingling of power within the totem, the wisp of cloud inside calm at the moment. The tap of a hoof against wood told her that Phillip was stroking his Angkakert totem as well.  For a moment, a vision of half-buried stones beneath alien stars danced before their eyes. The miasma of choking rot clogged their nostrils and a roar from a long-dead throat sounded in their ears.  Daring wrapped her wing around Phillip and pulled him closer beneath the sheets, both seeking to give and to gain comfort. The carriage rattled faintly in a sudden rush of turbulence and she moaned.  “Easy,” Phillip soothed. “Just…try to get some rest.”  Daring groaned and nestled up against the pillow, ordering her mind to sleep. “Sooner we get to Portsbeak, the better,” she sighed, allowing sleep to creep up her body.  Night had descended across Ponyville, the lights of the city competing with the star and moonlight overhead. Red stared at the window of his office, his breath frosting the glass.  “Okay, one at a time,” he said, turning around to face the crowd of detectives before him. “Rivers.”  “I found a record saying that the Sealight Delight had docked in Griffonstone in the Moon of Snow, as scheduled,” Detective Rivers reported, holding up a radiofaxed report. “From what I could figure out, it was supposed to pick up another cargo to take back to Manehattan the day after it arrived, but it left sometime the next night before the cargo could be loaded. Dockmaster was pissed as hell.”  “You get records on the crew?” Red asked.  “What do you take me for, a rookie?” Rivers snorted, holding up another list. “I’ve sent out BOLO notices to the police in Griffonstone and surrounding port cities. We’re still waiting on any responses.”  “It’s a start,” Red grunted. “Folder.”  “Took a lot of digging, but I managed to find the ponies who made the two hideouts we found,” Hidden Folder reported. “Two different construction and landscaping companies who had gotten the bids to deconstruct the abandoned properties. Both of them have ties to the old mob groups, especially Monopoly. All I got from them was that they got hired by some anonymous benefactor last spring: just told them to make the hideouts with the hidden entrances while they were working on tearing the places down. They didn’t ask any questions and got paid.” He snorted. “Just like the good old days.”  “Did they tell you anything about any other hideouts?” Flash asked, rubbing his shadowed eyes.  “Unfortunately, no,” Folder replied. “But I’m going to keep leaning on them and any other construction companies in town.”  “Good,” Red nodded. “Asphalt?”  “Steel Bar is where he’s always been,” Detective Asphalt reported. “Up at his mansion on Foundry Street. We tried to get in to talk to him about the Delight, since he runs the company that owns the ship, but his bodyguards blocked us off, told us to come back with a warrant. From the looks of it, there are at least five bodyguards there, plus one secretary and some other staff.”  Red snorted. “Not gonna have much luck getting a warrant without any proof,” he admitted. “Dawn?”  “No one was willing to talk much,” Rising Dawn admitted. “They’re all too scared of the Plague Doctor or of Bar. The most useful info I got was that there was scuttlebutt that somepony had made a deal with Bar after Whitestone was killed: something in exchange for help getting control of the Dockside.”  “That might explain why the leaders of the Dock Snakes all vanished not long after Whitestone died last spring,” Red muttered.  “In any case, since that quadruple murder last autumn, I think the word’s gotten around, and they’re all scared shitless,” Dawn continued.  “Got pretty much the same at the docks,” Flash admitted.  Red Herring stroked his chin, glaring down at the folder with Steel Bar’s photograph on it. “There’s gotta be something we can get to put pressure on the old bastard,” he said. “You all keep looking. Something’s gotta give if we push hard enough.”  “Yeah. Us,” Detective Rivers grumbled.  “Don’t talk like that, Rivers,” Red scolded. “This is our city, and no freak in a Nightmare Night mask is gonna take that away from us.”  “You got it, boss!” Rising Dawn chirped. “Ponyville Police, whoo!” She pumped her hoof into the air and looked around with a wide grin that quickly became forced when she realized that no one else was joining in her cheer.  Flash chuckled. “Uh, yeah. What she said,” he said.  “Just get out there and get to it,” Red sighed, dismissing them all with a wave.  The detectives all exited his office, chattering amongst themselves as they left, leaving Flash and Red alone in the office.  “You’re awful eager to get this guy,” Flash observed.  His senior partner looked up at him, then sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Kid…not that long ago, I’d given up,” he admitted. “I thought that Silvertongue, Monopoly, Scarlet had all won. That they’d be in charge no matter what and there was nothing we could do about it except put bandages on the cuts. You proved me wrong. You and Twilight and Phil and Daring: you proved to me and Trace that the bad guys didn’t have to win. That this could be a safe place for ponies like my wife and son.” He glared at the sheets of paper before him. “Which is why this wannabe can’t be allowed to win.”  Flash found himself beaming. “I…thanks, Red,” he said.  “Don’t mention it,” Red waved it off. He looked around as if checking that they were truly alone, then leaned in closer. “Flash…you been having weird dreams?” he asked quietly.  Flash rubbed the back of his mane and swallowed. “Well…I…” he started to say, even as the visions danced before him: a dark sky full of stars of anomalous colors that formed bizarre constellations, a field of half-buried ruins, and the distant, disembodied howls of “EHI! EHI! AHUIZOTL!” summoning that awful, rotting limb from the ground… Red looked at him for a moment. “Poker really ain’t your game, kid,” he said. “I’ve…been having weird dreams, too. They’re just…hazy visions and voices, but…” He rubbed his forehead. His eyes narrowed. “It’s got something to do with that damn map, doesn’t it? I know you and Twilight were helping Finder and Do on some research project.”  Flash swallowed, his eyes darting around everywhere for a moment, then sighed. “I…we’re looking for a city of deer called Thicket,” he explained. “It’s all because Daring had a vision in a buffalo ritual of her rain goddess telling her that--”  “Stop,” Red cut him off, holding up a hoof. “I can already tell that whatever the answer is, it’s only going to give me a headache. Just…tell me that you’re working on whatever monster is gonna crawl out of the abyss this time.”  “We are,” Flash nodded.  “Good,” Red sighed. “Means we can focus on shutting down the Plague Doctor’s pipeline.”  Flash nodded, but his eyes went to the window, watching the stars up above. The white dots were all in their proper places, twinkling down at him with comforting, if distant, warmth.  But still, he shuddered at the thought of the thing that lay waiting in the forest.  What does it matter if you catch this guy? That thing is still going to wake up, and then what? Flash scowled and shook his head, reaching up one hoof to touch the Navahist icon beneath his coat. It matters because it’s the right thing to do. It’s my duty, he replied.  “I’ll spend some time trying to think of a plan,” Red said. “You need to get home and get some sleep.”  “You sure?” Flash asked. “I can--”  “Flash. Gonna need you at full capacity tomorrow, and that means you get some sleep,” Red replied. “Go. I’ll be fine.”  Flash half-smiled. “Thanks, Red,” he nodded, heading for the door.  But as he exited the office and headed for the stairs, his smile faded as he thought of what awaited him in his dreams…and in the Forest.  “Thanks, Marcus,” Gallus nodded, taking the sausage patty from the vendor’s cart and repaying him with a couple of bits.  “Anything for the PPD,” the gray burro nodded back, running a rag over his gleaming food cart, steam rising from the grill.  Gallus took a bite out of the patty and let out a groan of delight as the flavors washed over his tongue. “Damn, that’s good,” he admitted as he cleared some snow off a bench and sat down next to one of his partners. “Told ya,” Bumblebee grinned at him, licking ketchup from his extra-large carrot dog off his lips. “Best grill in the city.”  “I think you love it a little too much, Bee,” Prowl teased, giving Bumblebee’s belly a smirk as she extracted a small box from her pocket.  Bumblebee stuck his tongue out at her. “First of all, Arc says that it’s just more fluff to love,” he said. “Second, you’re the one munching on chocolate-covered grasshoppers.”  Prowl paused in pulling the snack from the box, then shrugged and tossed it into the air, expertly catching it in her mouth. “I’m allowed a little pick-me-up once in a while,” she replied. “Especially after dealing with you two on night shift.”  “So when are you two gonna kiss?” Gallus snarked through a beakful of meat, prompting his two partners to dissolve into snickers. The trio dissolved into a comfortable silence, watching the traffic of Main and Railroad passing by, the multicolored cars the blood in the veins of the Financial Section of Ponyville.  “So,” Bumblebee asked through a mouthful of carrotdog. “How long until something happens?”  “Well, we just sat down to a hot meal on a Thursday night shift, so…” Prowl exhaled a jet of mist. “I think we’ve got about two minutes, max.”  “Better finish this quick, then,” Bumblebee said, washing down his bite with a long draught of coffee.  “Hey, c’mon,” Gallus protested. “It’s been qui--uh, calm all day,” he quickly caught himself when both of his partners glared at him. “There’s no--”  “Any available unit, suicide reported at 26 Foundry Street, Code Two,” the radios on the three officers’ belts all buzzed.  Bumblebee and Prowl both shook their heads at Gallus as Prowl grabbed her radio. “Copy, Rook Two en route,” she reported. “C’mon, boys.”  Gallus and Bumblebee snatched down a few more bites and gulps before throwing the remainder of the food into a trash can and hurrying towards their waiting cruiser while Prowl spread her wings and took off. Bumblebee slid into the driver’s seat and had the cruiser moving, lights spinning and siren howling as he followed Prowl up the slush-covered street at a steady speed.  “Just my luck,” Gallus grumbled as Bumblebee turned up Foundry Street, which many considered to be the border between the Financial and Industrial Districts. On one side of the road were lower-class housing and stores for construction equipment; on the other were banks, jewelry stores, and upper-class housing. “Get dinner interrupted for a suicide.”  “That’s still somepony who had a family that just died, Gallus,” Bumblebee replied, cars swerving out of the way of their cruiser. “Try to put on a professional face.” His face twisted “Twenty-six Foundry…why does that sound familiar?”  Twenty-six Foundry Street turned out to be a ritzy two-story house, sitting alone in the center of its own block of perfectly smoothed snow atop a trimmed lawn. A long gravel pathway led up to the building. A trio of vividly colored luxury cars was parked in the driveway, all polished to gleaming.  Almost before Bumblebee had parked the cruiser, a young red-headed unicorn mare in an emerald blouse with the cutie mark of an open notepad and a golden pen was hurrying out of the front door, panic splashed across her freckled face. “He’s dead, he’s dead!” she wailed to Prowl as she landed.  “Calm down, ma’am,” Prowl said, gently taking the mare by the shoulders. “Who’s dead?”  “My, my boss,” the mare gasped out. “He…he killed himself! Oh, it’s awful! Please, I…he’s in here!”  She hurried back to the door with Prowl behind her. Bumblebee and Gallus followed; Gallus let out a quiet groan as he trudged through the snow, earning a reproving glare from Bumblebee.  The entrance hall was small but opulent with its maple wood construction and massive chandelier hanging overhead. Their hoofsteps were almost completely muted by the ostentatiously colored rug, melting snow dripping from their hooves.  “I’m Steno Pad,” the mare explained as she led them up the stairs. “I started working here a couple of years ago. My boss, he…this is his home.”  “We’re sorry for your loss,” Prowl said with professional detachment as they headed down a long hallway with red oak walls bearing expensive artwork and shelves of books that, judging by the pristine covers, had not once been opened. “When did you discover his body?”  “Just a few minutes ago,” Steno swallowed, opening a door at the end of the hall. This revealed a small interior office and waiting room: chairs with overstuffed cushions, calming landscape paintings on the wall, tables with magazines. A secretary’s desk sat at the end of the room, the papers, telephone, typewriter, and stationery atop it all neatly stacked and sorted; another door was set into the wall behind the desk. Gallus frowned at the other pony in the room. The stocky blue hippogriff standing at the door stood at ease, fixing the intruders with a disapproving scowl. The dark suit that he wore failed to fully conceal his shoulder holster. He gave Steno Pad a glare, then stepped aside and opened the door.  The office inside was just as opulent as the rest of the building, with a massive desk in the center of the carpeted room. The windows opposite the door opened to a backyard with a row of perfectly trimmed hedges covered in snow; between the windows was a large portrait of a bearded dark gray unicorn in a black suit, the lifelike blue eyes staring imperiously at any visitors that dared enter his realm.  The subject of the portrait was lying facedown on the desk, his head turned to one side and his eyes closed as if asleep. Blood from his slit throat was pooling around his neck, staining the paperwork that he had been working on.  Bumblebee blinked, the lightbulb above his head flashing. “Steel Bar,” he said aloud.  Prowl walked around the desk and bent down, noting a silver dagger-like letter opener on the floor next to the desk, the blade stained with blood.  “Has anyone come into this room since you found him?” she asked Steno Pad.  “No, officer,” Steno Pad gulped. “I…I just went in to check on him because it was almost dinnertime and he hadn’t said anything in hours, not since his meeting with Iron Forge. I knocked and there was no answer, so I opened the door and…” She swallowed and sniffled.  “I made sure that no one came in,” the hippogriff bodyguard grunted. “Know how you coppers like clean crime scenes.”  Prowl exchanged glances with her two partners. “Gallus, get to the cruiser. Call in a bus and Doctor Mortis,” she ordered. “Bumblebee, I want you to question all the staff here.”  “Got it, boss,” Bumblebee saluted.  “You say so,” Gallus shrugged, heading back downstairs.  “So some rich hotshot slits his own throat,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Big fucking whoop.”