I checked the griffons’ bedroom—just Girard, playing charades with me over a sore throat.
I checked the library—just the familiar hiss.
I checked the kitchen—just Grid, deafening himself on a portable music player while waiting on water to boil.
I checked the foyer—no one.
She certainly had a way of lying low when she wanted to, that bird. The changeling could take lessons.
Against all reason, something in my gut told me to check the library again. Old mares’ tales would have it that earth ponies like myself had these uncanny hunches from time to time. I rarely bought into such superstitions, but I had to admit, this one had never done me wrong.
And neither did it disappoint today—there I found Gloria, right outside the library.
She was carrying herself at a bounding pace down the corridor, but upon seeing me, stopped in her tracks to give me a lively, full-bodied curtsy. “Detective,” she greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Interesting. Could she have guessed that I was not merely passing by? Did she see it in my eyes that I sought to confront her? “Do you have a minute, Gloria?”
“Oh why yes, of course.”
“But I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I fished. “Am I?”
“Nothing important, simply some reading. A diplomat’s studies are never-ending!” she exclaimed. “… Oh dear, am I making a broken record of myself?”
“Reading?” I said. “In the library, I take it?”
She nodded buoyantly. “It is truly the best place to study in peace!”
“Fascinating.”
Truly fascinating. Once again, the changeling could take lessons.
Gloria’s cheerfulness faltered, once she seemed to realize. “Oh, hm, but if you happened to be looking for me but a moment ago, I did step out for a brief spell in order to—”
“Let me guess, use the restroom? Grab a snack? Or maybe just take a breather?” I said. “Actually, don’t bother. One excuse is as good as any other. No matter which you choose, I still wouldn’t believe you. And anyway, it’s not what I’m here for.”
“Hmph, well then,” she pouted, disdain creeping into her voice. It was hard to tell if this was a genuine display, or still part of an act. “You should get to the point, Detective, so that I can remedy whatever misunderstandings you may have about me, and we can return to a more polite discourse.”
With pleasure. “Explain the book, Gloria.”
She gave a picture-perfect shrug. “I don’t follow.”
“You’d do best to stop burying yourself,” I warned. “I can give you a minute to come up with a believable explanation, if you need.”
“I’m afraid you’re setting yourself up to have quite the egg on your face, Detective, because I truly haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re talking about.” She shook her head. “This is unfortunate. You’re an officer of the peace, and I’m an aspiring peacemaker. My instincts tell me we should be working with each other, and not against. May we discuss this more constructively? I remember you asking me something feverish about a book just before the changeling attacked—does this have to do with that? If you might explain what exactly you—”
I took a menacing step forward, loudly and closely enough to make her retreat a step of her own. “I’m not kidding around, Gloria.”
It was shameful, to a degree, that I was pulling out all the stops for the interrogation of a girl half my age. But when it came to her, I sensed that nothing less would suffice.
“Don’t get me wrong, you hid that book well,” I continued. “So well in fact that I never found it, and probably never will. But, I did get ahold of a copy of it.”
I glared at her. For the very first time, I could tell I was making progress, because for the very first time, she didn’t have anything to say.
“In the end, I think you just got unlucky. It wasn’t a mistake you could’ve predicted. As far as spur-of-the-moment plans go, yours was almost flawless… But do you know what the key word is there?”
Her silence was music to my ears.
Her jaw clenched tightly as I continued, “You just couldn’t have known that the Vivant family organizes the books on their shelves according to the Farrier Classification Schema. You couldn’t have known that the Farrier numbers of the books directly to the left and to the right of the one you removed left only a single-number gap between them, and so uniquely identified the missing book. And you couldn’t have known that I would be so paranoid as to phone a librarian in Canterlot to look up and magically transcribe a full copy of that book and have it sent here by dragonfire-imbued parchment.”
I reached into my trench coat to pull out a thick sheaf of dark, weathered pages. I proudly aligned their edges against the cannon of my other hoof.
“Like I said, I can give you a minute to come up with a believable explanation.”
Gloria chuffed, and had a false start to speak before closing her beak once more. She paused, then chuffed again while repeating her picture-perfect shrug. “I don’t see why a future dignitary would need any explanation to possess a book of royal seals. It will be quite essential to my job one day, you should know.”
A book of royal seals, huh? My plan was bearing fruit.
In reality, the Vivant family library wasn’t organized in any consistent manner that would’ve allowed me to uniquely identify a missing book. And in reality, it would’ve been prohibitively expensive to transcribe and mail an entire book via dragonfire-imbued parchment on less than twenty-four hours’ notice. Indeed, the parchment I currently straightened against my hoof was simply a prop to the interrogation; more specifically, it was a ream of blank paper on loan from Blanche’s personal stock.
But I hadn’t gotten away with it yet, because I still didn’t know the full story. I was in the midst of the most difficult part of my ploy—I had to bluff that I already knew the answer to a mystery I was still ignorant of.
“I have to admit,” I countered, “that was the first thing that crossed my mind when I first learned the title over the phone: Why would she think she had to hide this? I asked the librarian if she hadn’t made a mistake looking it up, but she was sure. You know, that book probably would’ve flown right under my radar if you had just been an honest creature about it in the first place!”
Gloria stared at me in scornful analysis. It was clear I had her on the defensive, but above all I needed to induce her to preempt me with a defense of her actions, and quickly.
“So once my copy arrived, I read its contents closely, and I put the two-and-two together.” I paced around her like a shark circling its prey. “Now I understand exactly why you thought you had to hide it. I’m not an idiot, Gloria, and I recommend you stop treating me like one.”
Her beak opened a sliver at this latest slight, and I could tell she wanted to lash out with an immediate rejoinder. But she caught herself, and seemed to slip back into her cold, calculating silence. It wasn’t a good sign—I needed her to think with her amygdala, not her cerebrum.
Time was of the essence. Every second that passed could only make my vague accusations stand out all the more for their lack of details. So I took a calculated risk, and thrusted at what I could merely hope was a weak point:
“It all makes sense to me now, why you treat your cousin the way you do—that is, if he even is your cousin.”
The payoff arrived. The last remaining layers of a prim and proper princess all but melted off of the bird as the corners of her beak curled up into a sneer. She held a claw up to her face, but too little and too late to conceal a downright insidious expression.
She loosed a chuckle, shaking her head from side to side.
“Pesco, you are indeed no idiot,” she spoke up, “but for as much as you’ve gotten right, you’ve gotten just as much entirely, utterly, pathetically wrong.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Apparently, you know enough to recognize that it would be inappropriate for me as a diplomat to be studying a craftsmare’s manual on official seals. You know that in my career I myself would never be expected to know the painstakingly exact technical specifications of this or that authority’s wax stamps or watermarks. No, that’s the skillset for a very certain kind of bureaucrat… or forger, perhaps. I’m not ashamed to say it.
“And that’s because despite that big brain of yours, despite your years as a civil servant, it’s clear you know nothing about the way the world really works these days.
“It’s clear you know nothing about the circumstances I and my cousin grew up in.
“And above all…
“It’s clear you know nothing about the inflamed, hemorrhoidal pain in the ass it is to save my cousin from his own constant stream of fuck-ups.”
I stopped my circling. Perhaps my mouth hung open as I stood there, simply staring at her. I had to admit, it was the first time I had witnessed a suspect take command of a conversation mere seconds after an admission of guilt.
“Apologies for the language,” she continued. Her refined speech had returned, but something vile still lingered. “It was unbecoming of me, though it was an intentional breach of etiquette—I needed you to understand the gravity of my frustrations here, if I have no choice but to tell you the truth.”
“I’m just glad we’re finally meeting the real Gloria,” I said. “But why don’t you start from the beginning, just so I can be sure who exactly that is.”
“I’m afraid you may not like the real me any more than the fake me, but I’ll introduce you all the same.”
She cleared her throat, and clutched at the pendant of her necklace as she launched into oratory:
“Kralle-Karom, the place I call my happy home, is in truth a bleak and desolate place. Neighbors will let neighbors starve in times of famine, and the very earth itself seems to reject us. Whether royal or peasant, in that godforsaken land one learns very quickly the difference between the ideal and the real.
“King Grayson—their ruler, my father—is not a good griffon. He and the rest of our family usurped power after a civil war, shortly before I was born. And haven’t you heard? Apples don’t fall far from the tree. Our whole family is irredeemable. Girard and I grew up together, and we watched one by one as our siblings and our cousins all fell victim to the trappings of ill-obtained opulence. They lost any sense of compassion for their fellow griff. Their moral fibers putrefied from the inside out like rotting fruit, and soon we were the only ones left disgusted by the smell.”
I considered very carefully how much of this I believed.
“And truly,” she continued, “there is more than a resemblance between my castle and this very villa. Both are a waste of the world’s limited resources, as I see it. I’m sure it’s not lost on you, Detective, that you could work for a hundred lifetimes and never afford the decadent lifestyle these kids are addicted to.
“That said, I’m not blameless in this. For a time, I let my father control me. I let him dictate what I could and could not do. I let him decide who were my friends, and who were my enemies. I was given my script, and I read my lines well. Even if I hated my father and had my own visions for change once he was in the grave, it began to feel like less and less of an act I had to put on for him. I grew bolder with my priorities, and I grew short with griffs who I perceived to be useless to me.
“In other words, I grew short with griffs like Girard. It was at that point I realized that I was putrefying, and that I needed to leave sooner rather than later.”
“But you couldn’t bear to part with your beloved ‘hemorrhoid’ of a cousin, apparently,” I tested.
She tipped her claw. “I’m glad to see you’re listening closely,” she said. “The thing with putrefaction is there’s really no reversing it. I can recognize that Girard is a purer soul than me. Don’t you? But it would be villainous of me to abandon him, because it would mean his undoing—like I said, decadence is an addiction, and in his state, I don’t think he would survive withdrawal. Still, his good intentions don’t make his… screw-ups… any more sufferable to someone like me.”
“Yeah, and wouldn't you know something about screwing up?” I spat. “What has he ever done wrong?”
I didn’t know what to make of it, that it felt like she was insulting my family rather than her own. I'd had a single conversation with Girard, and I was incensed on his behalf. Ask anyone: I was only ever incensed on my own behalf.
“What hasn’t he, really. You’ve met him. He can’t survive on his own, and actively contributes to his own failings.” She glared at me. “Like saying imbecilic things in front of the police. I only care because it makes things harder for him, and by extension, me. I’m sure you don’t care to waste resources investigating the innocent, either.”
“Let us worry about such things, Your Majesty,” I assured her, maximally sardonic. “All I can say is, if your idea of an insufferable screw-up is needing some extra tutoring at school and being overly honest, I think you really have putre—”
Gloria burst out laughing, in a much more genuine gesture than her earlier chuckling. “Oh, your juxtaposition slays me, Detective,” she said. “He clearly hasn’t been very honest if, according to him, all the help he’s gotten from me on the academic side is some extra tutoring.”
I tried not to let her irk me. I thought back to her admission about the forgery. “So what you’re saying is, it goes behind helping him with his homework, or even doing it all yourself. I’d say either bribery or cooking the books, if I had to guess based on your character.”
“Correct, but more the latter than the former. Money is the epoxy that keeps every beak and muzzle shut, but I prefer to be more discreet in my approach.”
I’d had just about enough of her teenage philosophy. “And what makes you think I’ll be discreet about all this?”
“So this is my reward for finally being honest, huh?” She shrugged. “I’m not really surprised. Although if your angle was only to acquire ammunition against me to use after your current assignment of, you know, outing the changeling among us, I would’ve at least expected you to wait longer before calling your shot.”
I retired my blank papers back into my trench coat. I have my ways of getting the ammo when I need it. “I can work on two cases at once,” I told her. “If you cooperate with me on this one, maybe I could could take it easier on you in the one yet to come.”
“Oh? Quid pro quo? Somehow I don’t think your clawshakes under the table are worth very much, Detective,” she said. “But as long as our cats are out of the bag, I’m fine answering any innocent questions you might have.”
“That’s fine. One innocent question is all I have.” For now, anyway. “Let’s just say I get similar vibes from you and the changeling. A remorseless commitment to your plans, and deception that’s nested several layers thick.”
“So I’m your prime suspect.” She tutted under her breath. “I suppose that’s just what they call a bad hunch.”
“That’s not what I meant. Given your presence during the changeling attack, you’re actually at the very bottom of my list of suspects, if you’re on it at all.” Funny how that worked out. “And given your testimony regarding Girard at the time Blanche discovered the wing fragment, it’s only natural to remove any suspicion from your cousin, as well.” Even funnier. “I would only like to ask your opinion, as someone whose spirit animal is probably a changeling—who do you think the bug is?”
“Ah, is that all? I’m flattered you would ask,” she said. “Easy: Grid. And if not Grid, then Zorn. In fact, I’ve been wondering why you haven’t simply stuck Grid with the syringe, and moved to arrest Zorn if there was no result.”
“Bold suggestions,” I commented. “It sounds like you’ve thought this over.”
“I have, actually. Have you? Just narrow down the already small suspect pool with logic. We’ve agreed it’s not me or my cousin, yes? That leaves four. Blanche wouldn’t call the police on herself if she were the changeling. Down to three. Bon is Blanche’s twin brother, which would be a strong enough alibi even if it weren’t for all his pretentious little party tricks that I don’t think anyone else in Equestria—or the changeling Hive—could faithfully replicate. Thus, the two.
“And really, if you haven’t been suspecting them already, I would have to question your career competencies. I’ve already spoken my piece about Grid in the kitchen. But Zorn… you are aware just how badly he may be playing you, right?”
The serum, she must have been hinting at. Zorn actually was near the bottom of my list, but I had to admit, I’d yet to fully trust his gift to me. “Let’s say I’m unaware.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard he gave you this ‘magic-suppressant.’ Very convenient silver bullet, don’t you think? I believed it even less when he was the one found outside after the attack, and he proceeded to specifically request that you jab him.”
“So you think that was all an act? Because you think it’s not actually a magic-suppressant he gave me?”
“Yes, I think that’s most likely. As for how he could have faked those tests, why Bon and Blanche couldn’t levitate it, it’s obvious that…”
She had strutted so confidently into her latest sentence, but stumbled in completing it. She bit her cheek for a moment, as if struggling to recall.
“… Well, obviously he faked them, right? Somehow. Doesn’t matter how.” Another picture-perfect shrug. It was clear she practiced these gestures. “But let’s even assume I’m wrong. Zorn is enough of a weirdo that maybe all his actions thus far are just par for his course. We’ll just take him at his word that the serum is authentic, and inject Grid with it. If it reveals the changeling, then hurray! If it has no effect, then it either means Grid isn’t the changeling, or Zorn was lying about the serum. In either case, a perfectly good reason to assume Zorn is the impostor.”
She seemed to be anticipating my reaction. I chose to keep her waiting.
“So, let’s just stick Grid. It’s case closed either way. Don’t you agree, Detective?”
It was, in my professional opinion, the purest example of moon logic—an argument that made sense on its face, but which came from no earthly place. But that was fine; if nothing else, her opinions told me a lot about herself. I flapped my trench coat and said, “You really don’t consider a single person here to be your friend, do you, Gloria?”
Her eyes beaded up in frustration. “I think I’ve had about enough abuse for one night,” she said. “If you intend to investigate me after this is all over, that’s your right. But until then, I heartily advise you to focus on—”
She stopped mid-tirade. She looked down at my hooves with a curious expression.
“Oh, Detective? What is that?”
I broke eye contact with her for the first time since the conversation had started, and scanned the area where I was standing. There was what looked to be a square of paper lying on the ground, ripped at the edges and small enough to fit into an envelope without folding.
I could tell it wasn’t from any of the papers I had used to dupe Gloria—this one had writing on it. And I knew it wasn’t from Gloria—this time, I had made sure to keep my eyes on her for any funny business. It must have simply fallen out of my back pocket; how it had gotten there was the real mystery.
I picked it up and held it close to my chest as I read it…
It was an anonymous note. Or rather, as it claimed to be, a note from the changeling themself.
What was written was not important.
I tried just as quickly to forget the words I’d read.
It was a coherent sentence with something to say, but one that I knew to ignore. I was a professional, after all, and my instincts were never—
“What’s that scribbled out on the back!?”
Following Gloria’s prompt, I turned the letter over. On the back was some sort of message, crossed out to the point of soaking the paper through with the ink. I held it at an angle against the light and squinted my eyes, trying to read the rescinded text… a couple letters could be made out, and nothing more.
But I was a professional. I already had my means in mind.
“I appreciate your time, Gloria. I’ll find you again, if and when I need to.”
Celestia knew it wouldn’t be when I wanted to.