//------------------------------// // Case Twenty-Three, Chapter Three: Hawk's Field, Lion's Den // Story: Ponyville Noire: Rising Nightmares // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// The back of Daring’s neck suddenly prickled, an instinctual alarm gifted to her by her prehistoric ancestors, honed by years of practice: a warning that a predator was watching her. Her nerves all screamed at her to duck.  It saved her life.  She dodged just as a crack split the air, the distinct sound of a supersonic bullet rushing past. She felt a weight zip past her as though the air had suddenly solidified. Something struck the base of General Sure Muster’s memorial, sending fragments of stone flying off. Ponies all about them instinctually froze at the sound, whirling about with wide eyes. “Sniper!” Daring warned as the thump of the actual gunshot pounded the air like a drumbeat on the heels of the bullet.  At her cry and the sound, creatures all about them began to run in every direction in search of cover, screams of panic filling the night sky.  Strider grabbed Phillip and dove for the cover of the statue as Daring took cover behind a stone pillar that a streetlamp was perched upon.  “Shot came from over there!” Strider shouted, pointing towards the west. Daring had already identified the closest cover: a twenty-four-hour bar with a set of glass doors, through which figures were already rushing in search of safety.  “There!” she barked, pointing towards the door. “On three!” Strider nodded and grabbed Phillip by the back of his vest. Phil tensed and shot him a brief glare, but did not struggle. “One, two, three!” Daring shouted and charged for the door in a blur of golden wings. Strider took to the air and darted after her, carrying Phillip beneath him.  There was a trill and the nighthawk dove out of the sky, aiming at Strider; in the harsh artificial light of the streetlamps, the blades affixed to its talons glowed like fire.  The RBI agent saw the bird coming and tried to adjust course, only to cry out in shocked agony as the knives dug into his foreleg. The pain forced him to release Phillip, who hit the asphalt with a grunt, instinctively tucking and rolling. His trilby fell off, but he ignored it, sprinting for the cover of the building.  The attacking nighthawk’s beak thrust at Strider’s face and instinct forced Strider to flinch, raising a foreleg to shield his face and stalling his flight. Black eyes blazing with hate, the nighthawk swooped around to attack Phillip, aiming for his hind legs.  “Phil, look out!” Strider warned, flying in to try to catch up. Phillip glanced over his shoulder and tried to dodge to one side, but the hunting bird stayed with him, locked onto his hind legs like a missile. Knives glittered in the night, preparing to hobble their target.  A whip struck the air with an earsplitting thunderclap. The nighthawk let out a piercing squawk of pain and tumbled to the ground in a pitiful bundle.  Daring Do lunged forward from the door and grabbed her husband in a blur of gold and gray just as the crack of another bullet tore through the air, sending debris flying from the ground inches from where Phillip had been standing. Even before the drumbeat of the gunshot thumped against the sky, she had banked around, seized Strider with her free hoof, and tore through the door of the bar, sending it crashing to the ground.  Creatures were huddled inside, crouched beneath tables and behind the bar, hunkering down next to the brick wall. The bartender was quivering beneath the bar, clutching the phone to his ear.  Daring dropped the stallions in the corner near the door, far away from any windows. She sagged to the floor, panting and sweating.  “You two okay?” she gasped out, her wide eyes sweeping over Phillip’s body.  “I’m aces,” Phillip replied, exhaling. “Thanks, both of you.” “All in the line of duty,” Strider replied, pulling out a small first aid kit and wrapping gauze around the cuts on his foreleg.  “Sit and stay cool,” Daring advised him. “That might be poisoned. Anything out of the ordinary, let us know.” “Oh. Thanks for putting that in my head,” Strider said calmly, settling back. For a few minutes, there was a tense, close silence, prey animals huddling in the grass in hopes that the predators would leave. Then came the blessed howl of sirens as an army of Manehattan Police cruisers screeched into the street, followed by a loud buzzing sound as a pair of helicopters raced in, snapping on spotlights to aid in the search.  Police officers rushed into the room, sweeping the area with semiautomatic rifles. The civilians in the bar yelped and cowered, covering their heads or raising their hooves and talons. “East! Plaza Hotel!” Phillip reported.  The grim-faced thestral sergeant did a minor double-take at the sight of the two detectives, pale orange eyes widening in surprise, then nodded and relayed the information through his walkie-talkie, sweeping the room for any sign of threats or serious injuries. “Okay, people, just keep your heads down until we give the all-clear,” he declared in a voice like thunder. “We’ll take care of the wounded once we know that it’s safe.” He beckoned to his partner and quickly hustled out the door to rejoin the others in sweeping the area. A few civilians decided to try to rush for help, but most of the others remained where they were, fearfully whispering amongst each other.  Daring’s wings twitched in agitation and she stood up with a growl. “We should go out there and--” “We’d just get in the way,” Phillip cut her off. “Let the cops deal with this.”  Daring Do scowled at him but sat back down with a huff.  It took nearly half an hour for the police officers to return. “All clear!” the thestral sergeant from earlier reported. “All right, folks, head out in an orderly fashion. We’ll check you for wounds and take your statements. Just work with us and take it easy and we’ll all get to go home soon.” “You get him?” Daring asked the sergeant as the terrified civilians hustled out the door.  “No, he ran off,” the sergeant gravely shook his head.  “Shit,” Daring cursed as she exited with the others. The streets glowed with flashing reds and blues of emergency lights, like some bizarre overdone Hearth’s Warming light display. Ambulances tended to the few injured creatures, most of whom had been trampled or hurt in the initial stampede for cover; thankfully, there were no serious injuries. Police swarmed over the Plaza and the surrounding area, checking for any evidence and questioning witnesses. Helicopters swarmed overhead, spotlights sweeping the ground beneath.  “I’m fine, I swear,” Strider reassured the paramedic who was checking his blood pressure and listening to his chest with a stethoscope. “Your pulse and pressure are both highly elevated,” the young hippogriff responded, frowning in concentration as he pressed his stethoscope harder against Strider’s chest.  Strider fixed him with a level stare. “That might have something to do with the fact that I was being shot at not too long ago,” he deadpanned.  “Oh. That would do it,” the paramedic blushed, recovering his equipment and scurrying on.  Phillip sighed in relief. “Least it wasn’t poisoned. But take it easy regardless, mate.” “If I wanted to take it easy, I’d take my wife and daughter on a vacation to Haywaii,” Strider smiled back, putting his jacket and fedora back on.  “Oh, look who it is,” Daring scowled at the ash-colored earth pony approaching, his suit rumpled as though he’d thrown it on on his way out the door.  Swampfire looked over the three investigators with a scowl. “So. Somepony tried to kill you. I’m sure there must be a pretty narrow suspect list,” he declared, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable.  Daring replied with a Flying Feather. “You mind letting us swab your hooves for residue?” “Hey, hey, easy,” Strider cut them both off, stepping between them like the referee at a boxing match sending the fighters back to their corners. Daring and Swampfire glared at each other, then slowly backed down with a simultaneous snort.  “Do have an idea,” Phillip said, stalking over and glaring at the dead nighthawk on the ground, scowling at the blades attached to the talons.  “Plague Doctor,” he grunted.  “Guess he’s expanding his operation,” Daring said. “How’d he manage to find and catch up to us so fast?” Phillip reached down and tugged a small bracelet from the bird’s talon, tilting it to reveal a small emerald embedded into it, faintly glowing with magic. “Tracking gem,” he snarled.  “Give me that,” Strider said, snatching it and putting it in an evidence bag.  “So where does that leave us?” Strider asked.  “We do at least have a lead,” Phillip said. “That son of a bitch who called us,” Daring snarled. “Led us right into that ambush.” “Might not have been a trap,” Phillip pointed out. “Plague Doctor had the bird following us.” He slowly looked up and studied a metal tower nearby. A set of surveillance crystals were perched atop it, staring down at them like cyclopean metal birds of prey, crystalline eyes staring.  “Need to find the phone he called us from,” he said aloud.  “There’s probably a few hundred pay phones that he could have called us from,” Swampfire pointed out. “How are you going to narrow it down?” “I need quiet,” Phillip stated simply, walking over to a corner of the bar and sitting down. He took a slow breath and closed his eyes, reaching up to cover his ears with his hooves.  He inhaled and exhaled slowly, his heartbeat steadying in response. He forgot the cold, hard stone beneath him, the bite of the frosty wind bringing a potpourri of unidentifiable odors to his nose, forgot the distant noise all around him.  He was back in the hotel room, listening intently to Salmon’s nervous, panting voice over the phone.  “Uh, Salmon. Listen, I can tell you about the murders. I…I was part of it. I drove the van and made the soup.” “Where are you?” A faint clattering. A muffled voice. “L-look, I…I think I’m being followed. I’m calling you from a public phone because for all I know, they’re tapping my home phone…” Phillip frowned and rewound his mental recording, focusing on the strange noise in the background. A metallic clacking…wheels. A muffled voice… He replayed the sound again. And again. And gradually, the words resolved themselves into language.  “Now boarding, 9th and Rockhoof. Next stop, 15th and Rockhoof.” Phillip snapped his eyes open. “Map.” Strider fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a map of Manehattan, spreading it on the table before him. Phillip ran a hoof over the table.  “Here,” he said, pointing. “He called us from 9th and Rockhoof: I heard a trolley in the background. There have to be surveillance crystals nearby. Strider, you got that…”  “SCPUD: Surveillance Crystal Portable Uplink Device,” Strider explained, holding out the circular rune-marked stone.  “I’m just gonna call it a spud,” Daring said, earning a brief frown from Strider. “C’mon!” She grabbed Phillip beneath the forelegs and took off, with Strider following. “Hey! Where are you going? Get back here!” Swampfire protested.  “Sorry! Got better things to do than stand around!” Daring shouted as they headed north. Swampfire glared after them, shaking his head in frustration.  “There’s something else bothering me,” Strider pointed out with a frown as they flew on. “How did he know which hotel we were staying at?” Daring frowned, then turned and looked back over her shoulder.  “No way,” Strider replied. “He’s an idiot and stuck-up, but he’s not a killer.” “You sure about that?” Daring answered.  Strider opened his mouth to reply but closed it. They made the rest of the journey in silence.  “There you are,” Strider smirked, holding up the device to allow his companions to view the projected image.  An earth pony with a faint pinkish coat and short, silvery hair stood frozen in the phone booth, head turned towards the security crystal. The fear in his aquamarine eyes was palpable, even in the semi-transparent image. He wore a simple, tattered jacket and his cutie mark was a fish on a chopping block.  “So that’s our informant,” Phillip said. “Where’d he go?” Strider fast-forwarded through the playback. Salmon rapidly spoke into the phone, head swiveling back and forth as he danced in place. As the trolley in the background was clattering past, he hung up, swung his leg up onto the dark blue bicycle resting against the booth, and headed south down the street.  “So where can we get one of these?” Daring asked as the trio proceeded south.  “You could start by being a federal agent,” Strider replied.  “Would I have to wear a blouse?” Daring asked.  “Probably,” Strider smirked. “And I don’t think the pith helmet would be allowed.” “Ugh. No thanks,” Daring grimaced.  Strider checked the surveillance crystal at the next intersection and confirmed that Salmon had biked through, then led them down to the next intersection. The playback from the crystal showed that Salmon had turned to head west.  “Darn it. No crystal at that street,” Strider frowned as they paused at the next intersection.  “Try down there,” Phillip suggested, pointing to another tower of crystals at the next intersection, nearly a third of a mile down the street.  Strider hustled down the collection and held the SCPUD up to the crystals, the runes blinking green light as they connected to the enchanted stone. He rewound the playback to the proper time but frowned when their target did not appear.  “Looks like he didn’t head down this street,” he reported.  “I’ll check the alleys, see if I can find anything,” Daring said, taking to the sky. She began to circle the area, glaring down at the alleys and side streets below.  A glimmer of blue in the shadows of one alley made her pause. Was that…? Daring stuck her hoof in her mouth and whistled to her companions. “I found his bike!” The other two followed her guidance to find a dark blue bicycle left lying on the ground. The two pegasi hovered over the scene, careful not to damage the crime scene. Phillip scanned the area with his flashlight, sniffing.  “Cordite,” he scowled. “And…blood.” He bent down and angled his flashlight to reveal dark red spots painted across the ground. Turning his flashlight up revealed more blood painted across the wall behind them, each centered around a cluster of bullet holes.  “High-caliber,” Phil noted. “Probably .44 or .45.” “We’re probably not going to get good ballistics off of that,” Strider commented, frowning at the bullet holes.  Phillip followed a trail of blood drops and drag marks to the mouth of the alleyway, where it exited on a narrow, close street with brick walls on either side, most of their darkened windows boarded over. The blood trail led to the side of the road, with some larger drops on the asphalt indicating where Salmon’s body had been loaded into the trunk of a car.  “G’day,” Phillip mused, focusing his attention on a lamp post that stood on the sidewalk right next to the blood trail, the light flickering on and off. “Scrape mark here.” He shone the light closer to reveal some paint scrapings embedded into the scratch, the light purple marks contrasting against the dark green paint of the post.  Phil took out a tape measure and measured the distance from the ground to the scratch mark. “Sixteen inches,” he reported.  “I see a callbox,” Strider said, looking towards a blue metal box standing on the corner, graffiti littering the surface of the device. “I’ll call this in.” “No sleep tonight, I see,” Daring grumbled. “I thought it was the wicked that get no rest.” The sun hung at its zenith overhead, peering down through a thickening layer of gray clouds upon a city alive with noise and rushing colors. Vehicles, pedestrians, and wings bustled through the city streets. No corpses had been left displayed in an alleyway this morning, but still, citizens were hurrying back and forth with the alacrity of subdued fear, dodging around each other with nervous glances. On the rare occasion that eye contact was made, both participants could see the same question in each other’s eyes: “Who’s going to be next?” The five-story apartment building sat in the middle of a block in a southwestern neighborhood, not far from the coast. The brownstone building faced the narrow, cracked street, windows impassively staring down. Snow and slush clung to the barren trees lining the mostly barren sidewalk; the only figure in sight was a turquoise unicorn retiree sitting on one of the staircases, smoking a cigarette and staring at the empty streets as she reminisced over past days when foals would have gleeful snowball fights and made snowponies and snow angels on the embankments. She puffed out a cloud of smoke and sighed.  The sound of approaching tires made her look up. Her eyes widened at the sight of an unmarked car with a spinning red light planted on the roof. The car parked in front of the apartment and the doors opened to reveal an entourage of four ponies.  Her cigarette tumbled from her open mouth. A golden pegasus in a pith helmet and a stallion in a gray trilby exited one of the cars, looking up at the apartment building. Both of them proceeded up the other set of stairs, the stallion giving her a nod and a brief salute as they passed.  “Well, I’ll be,” she breathed, allowing herself to feel hope again.  Phillip and Daring followed Strider and Swampfire into the lobby and up a set of claustrophobic stairs to the third floor. A young blue hippogriff stood fidgeting in front of one of the doors, the keys in his claws jingling with every motion.  A scowling Swampfire pulled a warrant out of his coat and held it out for the landlord to review. “Open it up,” he ordered.  The hippogriff swallowed, his eyes widening at the sight of the judge’s signature and seal on the official document, but nodded and bent to the door. After some brief fumbling with the keys, he managed to unlock the door and swung it open with a creak. The scent of spices, broth, and cooked meat wafted faintly out of the door, making the visitors’ mouths water and stomachs grumble.  “Salmon Fillet’s always been a good tenant,” the landlord protested, stepping back. “Never gave us any reason to complain. W-what did he do?” “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Strider said plainly as they entered the apartment.  The tiny apartment’s combination living room, dining room, and kitchen showed little signs of being used: the wide table, its surface marked with knife gouges, ancient food stains, and burn marks, took up most of the area aside from the sink, icebox, and the well-used stove and oven. A couple of chairs and a desk littered with papers completed the humble ensemble.  “You’re sure that this is the guy who called you?” Swampfire asked.  “We didn’t spend all night and this morning prowling around passing out those damned flyers and poring over records just to make shots in the dark,” Daring groused back, giving him a glare that accentuated the heavy bags under her eyes.  Swampfire just grunted and leaned against the wall next to the door. “So who the hell is this guy, anyway? All we got on him was a driver’s license and an address. No criminal records, nothing.” Phillip opened up the icebox and frowned at the sight of the frozen boxes of soup within. His eyes then went to a bottle of sleeping pills placed on top of a nearby shelf. “We might have found our potager,” he declared, checking through the rest of the cabinets. The cabinets were heavily stocked with spices, cans of stock and vegetables, and other ingredients, but nothing else of interest was to be found.   “So who was he working for?” Strider wondered aloud. He started to dig through the trash can next to the oven, rummaging through the rubbish for clues. “Hey, what’s this?”  He pulled out a crumpled-up sheet of paper and unballed it to reveal a typewritten list. “‘Food Truck Schedule,’” he read out loud. “‘Sunday, Gold Crescent. Monday, Salmon Fillet. Tuesday, Red Rover…’” “There a letterhead or something?” Daring asked, hustling over to look.  The top part of the paper was torn off at an angle. Only the bottom part of a logo could be seen: a coat of arms split in half vertically, with one half decorated with stars and the other decorated with a sun. The only part of the letterhead remaining was the word “Manehattan.” “Well, that narrows it down,” Daring commented dryly.  “Maybe the other half’s in here somewhere,” Strider said, resuming his search.  Phillip proceeded into the bedroom, which was equally spartan as the rest of the apartment; there was only the rickety bed, a dresser, and a closet, the walls bare of any decoration save for one: set facedown atop the dresser was an old framed photograph. Phillip turned it over to reveal a faded picture of a younger Salmon smiling at the camera.  Next to him was an elder earth pony with a light blue coat, her foreleg draped over her son’s shoulders. Her sea-green mane was streaked with gray, but her sunshine yellow eyes shone with happiness. The two were posed in front of a guard rail overlooking the water.  Phillip’s attention went to the building to their left. All that could be seen was a corner of the brick wall, but there was part of a sign visible: a bulletin board with a coat of arms on display. The shield was split into quarters, each holding a different symbol; a quill and inkpot, a rainbow, the sun, and a crescent moon. A set of wings flanked either side of the shield, and a horn crowned the symbol.  “An Alicorn’s Witness church,” Phillip mused aloud as Daring entered.  She squinted at the bulletin board. “Hey, I think that that’s the same icon as the schedule that Strider found,” she said. “Strider, bring that letter in here.” “Dang, can’t find the other piece of this,” Strider said, pulling his head from the trash can and joining the others in the bedroom. Spotting the coat of arms on the bulletin board, he pulled out the torn schedule that he’d found.  “That looks like a match,” he mused. “But where is it?” “There’s an island in the background there,” Daring said, leaning forward and pointing at the dark spot in the background, tracing over the high, angular perimeter. “Is that…?” “Clovenworth,” Phillip confirmed with a scowl. “That should narrow down locations.” “Locations for what?” Swampfire asked.  “Think we found the church that the food truck is from,” Phillip explained. “Should find it and look around.” “You do what you gotta do,” Swampfire grunted, already turning to leave. “I got other things to take care of while you’re off on a scavenger hunt. Like getting more info on this church or whatever.” “Yeah, thanks for the help!” Daring shouted down the stairs at him. Swampfire made no reply, turning the landing and disappearing from sight, the sound of his hoofsteps soon silencing.  Phillip had already grabbed a phone book and a map, tracing a hoof over the Manehattan coast. “Got you now.” The Church of Saint Goldleaf was a brick building that sat perched on a hill overlooking the bay, its old steeple stretching up towards the sky. An old dirt road led up the slope to the doors, which appeared to have stood since the city of Manehattan was a fledgling port town. The small parking lot next to the road felt more like an afterthought.  Daring Do dropped Phillip onto the crest of the hill and landed next to him, looking out over the blue waves of the coast. Far off in the distance, Clovenworth Island sat like a dark stormcloud on the horizon, the sharp angles of its towers and high, barbed wire-topped walls instantly drawing the eye.  “Scarlet’s there,” she commented, primarily to herself, as Strider landed next to them. She let out a long breath that turned to vapor, floating up to join the gray clouds that were gradually covering the sky.  “Don’t have time for a visit,” Phillip said, proceeding to the door. Muffled voices and pipe organ music could be heard from within.  “You do realize that we might be walking into the lion’s den here?” Strider commented, looking up at the steeple high overhead. It seemed to loom over them, a huge and imposing shadow. The stained glass window beneath the bell tower displayed Faust and Speranza back to back, wings outstretched as they looked down upon the visitors. In the shadows cast from the overcast sky, their gazes, intended to be welcoming and peaceful, now seemed baleful and threatening, as if warning them off.  “Well, you know what they say about lions,” Daring commented, giving Strider a smirk. “You don’t have to outrun the lion, you just have to outrun the other guy.” “That’s bears,” Strider flatly replied.  Phillip cleared his throat. “We’ll be careful,” he said, opening the door.  They proceeded through a foyer and followed the sound of the organ music up a creaking set of stairs into the sanctuary. The stone sanctuary was lined on both sides by stained glass images of the six alicorns watching over ponies tending to their tasks. The graying light filtering in through the windows was augmented by the flickering candles set in the chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.  The wooden benches lining the sanctuary could have seated more than a hundred, but the cushions that lined the pews were mostly coated in dust, testifying to their lack of general usage. The sixteen creatures that were occupying the pews appeared focused on their own meditations and most of them did not look up at the entrance of the intruders. At the head of the room was a large stone altar covered with a rainbow-colored cloth. The music was coming from a massive pipe organ set on a balcony over the front of the room; a thestral in a white cloak was practicing at the keyboard, his focus absolute. The music bounced off the stone walls, blending with itself to produce strange echoes and reverbs that sounded like groans and muffled whispers.  Daring flew up for a closer look at one of the stained-glass windows that was set high off the floor, studying the composition of Cadenza smiling down on a pair of lovers watching their young foals playing beneath a grove of apple trees. “This is forest glass,” she mused aloud. “From western Prance, if I’m not mistaken…there’s a maker’s mark here.” She whistled admirably. “Made in 1560, and this place is older than that.” “Indeed; Saint Goldleaf’s church is one of the oldest churches in the city,” a female voice declared. A light yellow unicorn mare with red streaks running through her brown mane approached the group, her rosary necklace jingling with every step. She wore a set of flowing white robes and carried a crosier tipped with a golden set of wings and a horn. “We once served nearly the entirety of the city, but now that the city’s expanded, our membership has fallen a bit. The builders didn’t consider how inconvenient it might be to drive up a hill to get here.” She smiled and bowed at the waist slightly to greet them. “Blessings. I am Cardinal Blessed Raconteur. And I believe I have the pleasure of addressing the famous Daring Do and Phillip Finder.” “G’day, Cardinal,” Phillip nodded. “This is Agent Strider. Do you know a Salmon Fillet?” “Oh, yes, Salmon,” Cardinal Raconteur nodded with a smile. “He had been coming here since he was a child with his parents, working our food shelf even before we expanded to the mobile shelf.” Strider narrowed his eyes. “‘Had been?’” “And about that mobile shelf,” Daring scowled, landing next to the Cardinal. “Mind if we see the van?” “That won’t be necessary,” the cardinal replied. Her smile broadened, but her eyes darkened, taking on a sinister glow. At the same time, the organ music deepened, the instrument producing low rumbles that did not belong to a normal instrument.  “Salmon was so quiet, so unassuming,” Raconteur continued. “Simply doing his tasks, attending the services, making the soup, driving the van. He took the first sacrifice himself, you know; all I needed to do was point and he obeyed.” She sighed. “I really should have seen his betrayal coming. I was a fool to assume that he would just follow without the same…coaxing that I gave some of his brothers and sisters. Oh, serpent heart hid with a flowering face." The door slammed shut and the three investigators looked up to see a bulky griffon placing a bar over the door, glaring at them. The other attendants were slowly standing up, their faces cold as they drew knives, clubs, and guns from beneath their coats.  “The traitor has served his role in death,” the cardinal declared, her voice blending with the crescendo of the organ music that made the trio’s skin crawl with every note. “He has drawn the Stormbringers into our web. The eyes of our masters are upon you, brothers and sisters, and their hooves now guide your limbs. We have worked so long for this; we shall not fail here!” She thumped the crosier against the floor and the golden icon ignited with terrible greenish flames reflected in her mad scarlet eyes. Strider and Daring both cried out as an aura of similar color surrounded their wings, the familiar tingling of their flight magic evaporating in an instant. “Kill them.”