//------------------------------//
// Once Upon a Time 
// Story: Magical Wizard Brony Detectives 
// by Laichonious the Grey 
//------------------------------//








It is a phrase used to start stories time and time again. It is, in fact, the only way to start a story if you happen to be one of the storytellers who forgets dates and places and all of the unimportant details that historians love. That is why everything a storyteller says goes into a storybook and everything a historian says goes into a history book, regardless of whether the story was completely true and the historian was lying. Stuff like that just happens, and it never gets recorded because the historians will never admit to lying and stories are, of course, just stories. When it starts doesn’t matter, only that it happened. Perhaps not in the same way a history book will say it happened, but in a way, a thousand hooves have touched under the moonlight, a thousand princesses have kissed a thousand Captains of the Guard, and a thousand princesses have summoned their most faithful students to the palace. Each one has a beginning, and each one has an end.
Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there was a beautiful city stubbornly built on the side of a mountain, and it was called Canterlot. Stories tended to start and end here, and they would until the city became a little less stubborn and loosened its grip. There was a lot of history made, too, but only the historians care about history.
 We’re here for the stories.

“Is it worth anything to say ’m sorry and won’t ever ever do it again?” a light khaki, polo-wearing type of voice sputtered; the kind of voice that wears glasses and uses too much hair gel each morning. There was an oof and the uneven cobblestones sliding underneath the voice told it how much its words were worth at the moment.
The guards of Canterlot were a serious bunch, and they prided themselves on tradition and duty. It was the kind of job where you had to be stupid, insane, or hyper nationalistic to volunteer for. It was the kind of job where no one comes out the same they came in. They weren’t quiet, not exactly, but it was what they didn’t say that answered the voice being dragged beside them. It was the Unsaid Things.
Unsaid Things from the Canterlot guard typically were always along the lines of, “You are in trouble”, “This job is very boring”, and “Keep making faces at me, punk. I’ve got the best poker-face in the whole city so we’ll be sitting here all day.”
Nothing was Unsaid, here. Just a bone-chilling quiet that filled up the empty streets like freezing river water. When something goes wrong in Canterlot, the citizens know to keep off the streets, even before the news reaches them. Their mystical sense had only failed them once, and this morning it didn’t.*
“I s’pose it’s perhaps, most-likely... probably maybe alright. It, ow, was only a misunderstanding and I can’t blame you blokes for doing your job like you’re s’posed to be doing it. Gotta keep all the riffraff out, eh? Ow.”
Silence -- not the usual silence of Things Unsaid, or even the noisy silence that comes from a mid-morning walk in the park, with birds and chipmunks yelling at you from every direction and the wind trying its best to knock you down. This kind of silence was the true silence of no sound. A vacuum of sound. Anti-sound.
“Erm.”
Silence!
“Was it five hunr’d sceptres or did I listen wrong? Has Celestia ever gotten a restraining order mmm... ‘gainst anypony else? No? Really? That’s actually pretty surprising, yunno. And could you be a bit more careful with my saddlebags there? Ow. Ooh, a train compartment all for us, or just me? You guys sure have connect- ow.”

Not all stories start in Canterlot, but this one does. Some stories start with a princess summoning a few subjects to her castle, and this one is just the opposite. Stories have a beginning and an end, and this one does not begin or end as a normal story would. It does not have any Captains of the Guard, nor does it have hooves touching in the moonlight. And it most definitely does not have indestructible hats. This story does have, however, wizards, and magic, and crime, and crime-solving. 
Good stories start with a princess or two, and this one starts with a princess realizing somepony has been watching her sleep.








A red unicorn sat dejected on a wooden slat bench. He was slouched in it with his hind legs dangling off of the front and his back against the scratchy slats. Other ponies in the train station looked at him askance as they passed -- clearly, they didn’t get the joke. The position was somewhat uncomfortable at first, but once his butt went numb, he stopped caring. To tell the truth, he found it hard to care about anything at the moment.
He sighed. It was a good thing there wasn’t a nocturne passing at that moment. He, or she, would likely have caught pneumonia from the depression housed in that single sound. It was the sort of sigh that one hears when a dream has been realized, or crushed, or both in quick succession, in that order, as was the case for this particular unicorn.
Saddlebags, made from a material never before seen in Equestria until recently, sat half-discarded, half-guarded, next to the unicorn. They contained very little. He regretted not giving himself enough time to gather a better assortment of useful things, then again, he had a hard time caring. Things left behind in Canterlot didn’t hurt quite so much as who he left behind in Canterlot. The red unicorn was so preoccupied with his daydreaming and self-pity that he didn't even notice the other pony sitting next to him, in exactly the same fashion as he.
“Well, this is awkward,” came the khaki voice from a similarly colored unicorn.
“F’GAH!” was the unconventional reply of the original occupier of the bench, who suddenly found himself deprived of his seat.
“Hahahaaa,” chuckled the intruder. “Fancy meetin’ you here, huh Laich?”
Laichonious, for that was the red unicorn’s name, picked himself up from off of the coarse concrete. “Sonofamotherlessgoat, Rets. Don’t you know better than to interrupt a pony while he’s brooding?”
“Pfft. Brooding,” Retsamoreh scoffed. “What do you have to brood about? Moreover, what are yah doin’ here?” The bedraggled tan pony scowled at the ornate structure in which the bench was bolted.
Laich barely gave the train station and its elaborate, artistic stone a second look. It really was a shame. If he had paid more attention to the artistry in the architecture, the pleasing lines of the hoof-carved columns, the fanciful representation of the city’s founding in sculptures around the platforms, the way the light of the morning sun filtered through the amber glass of the roof, bathing the interior in soft gold, he likely would have forgotten about his posterior complaining about being awoken so abruptly.
Instead, all he did was shake his head. “I could ask you the same thing,” he grumbled. Laich decided not to try and resume his position on the bench, the joke was getting old anyway.
“Hhm-umm. I asked you first. Pony up, dude.” Rets shook his head as well, still scowling at the station and its attempts to distract him from his disgruntlement.
Laich sighed. He found himself doing that a lot as of late. “I... got in trouble....”
At this point, the Grand Central Station of Manehattan gave up on trying to pull the two unicorns out of their obvious depression and instead concentrated its efforts on the other ponies, either arriving or leaving. Rets also gave up on silently berating the building for being so cheerful and focused all of his attention on the distracted runemaster. “Whad’daya mean you got in trouble? You never get in trouble, Laich. Pff, I remember when you stressed yourself out about how many books you had stuffed in your cart. ‘Cuz, yknow, none of the other brainy ones were, and you were the only one engaged in the illegal act of smuggling human knowledge into Equestria, and you were going to, wait, how’d you put it? ‘Most certainly would be caught and expelled from the exodus’ yeah, that’s what you said. You can’t handle being in trouble or even the concept of it.”
“I like how you being here isn’t a big surprise. What’d you do?” Laich thought himself quite clever for avoiding the question once again, a tiny smirk on his face.
The tan unicorn pushed himself from the bench with a grunt and surreptitiously rubbed at his sleepy rump with a hoof. “How long were you sitting here like that? It couldn’t have been too long but still, how’d you stand it?” Rets asked, wincing at the sight of the wooden slats.
Laich narrowed his eyes at the other unicorn. He couldn’t tell if the evasion was deliberate or not. “That’s the point, Rets. I didn’t. I was sitting.”
Rets gave him a flat look.
Laich rolled his eyes.
“Celestia filed an instant restraining order against me. Heh, I guess the paperwork would have been done by now, so it’s an official restraining order,” Rets said with a smirk.
The smirk wasn’t the result of what he actually said, rather, it was a response to Laich’s near inability to keep his jaw attached to his head. “Wh-wh-whaa...” It was at this moment that he noticed the grandeur of the station, albeit subconsciously. His brain simply needed something else to notice, one of the many fail-safes installed in the system. The station was gratified to have been noticed, even if in a small way.
The fail-safes did the trick, and soon Laich’s brain had returned to a functioning state. “Okay, we need to have a pow-wow, but not here.”
Rets screwed up his face in a way that should not have been possible for a pony but he did it anyway. “What do you mean ‘pow-wow’?”
“I mean,” Laich said, levitating his saddlebags to his back, “that you are gonna hit me with something amazing. How many bits do you have on yah?”
The other unicorn adopted a well-practiced expression that seemed to say ‘It must be a wizard thing’ and fished out his bag of golden bits from his own saddlebags. Laichonious waited for his buddy in banishment to finish counting his coins. In the meantime, he wondered why the station was so set on cheering him up.
"Fifty-eight, fifty-nine... sixty." Rets counted out his bits in a melancholy drone. "Tha's all I got. How 'bout you?"
"Uh, seventy-one, I think," Laichonious said with a shrug.
"Wait, why don't you have more? What about all of those makina sales, mate? Wasn't it just a couple days ago you were tellin' me how you were makin' bank on those?"
"Well, yeah, but the point of that is the bank, man. All of my money is in Canterlot. I have no idea if they have any kind of system for interbank loans. Even if they do, it could still take days, heck, maybe weeks, to get ahold of any money. What about you, money bags. Where's all your dough?" He leaned against the back of the bench, raising an eyebrow.
Rets snorted. "I was kinda livin' off the Palace dockett, if you will. I guess we're stuck." His stomach growled noisily in protest of the skipped breakfast.
"Good idea," Laich said, as Rets glanced at his own stomach. "Let's find some breakfast and think over our next move."
The two unicorns left the happy station through some very impressive, very tall,  very copper-plated doors that were slightly offended that the two bronies didn’t even pause to admire the finely wrought detail of their glorious facades. As they left, the station could only say to itself, ‘Can’t please everypony’ and went back to its daily task.
A short meandering walk that felt like it spanned miles for the hungry, tired, and crestfallen stallions, took them to a shady bar, nestled in the shadow of a skyscraper. Unlike the train station, the skyscraper didn’t take notice of the depressed duo and conducted itself in an aloof fashion that more than hinted at condescension.
Laichonious wouldn’t quite describe the bar as a ‘seedy’ place, whatever that expression truly meant. Instead, he would likely call it ignored. The large buildings to either side probably had a lot to do with that. It was a quaint little place, almost more like a diner than a bar, but the sign said it was a bar and society never progressed if it didn’t pay attention to signs. So it was that the two unicorns breezed into the bar to find that it was far more suitable to their current mood than the annoyingly bright and cheerful station. The light within the space was timid in that it liked to hide behind the shadows that ran rampant across the wooden-walled booths and red, felt-covered chairs. 
There were few patrons, and those few patrons paid little more attention to the newcomers than bits for the mugs of cheap apple cider they so jealously guarded. Little attention exchanged hooves in that bar, which was fine by the bronies and more than suited the bartender. Speaking of whom, the bartender, a light blue earth pony with a blonde-ish mane, called no greeting, neither did the two unicorns. Laich and Rets picked two seats at the end of the long counter of the bar and sat as if joining the many shadows that lingered there in a game of cards. Just like in a game of cards, the two unicorns softly tapped the counter, once each, ready to be dealt in. The bartender sniffed and filled two mugs with his best, not-so-fresh cider and slid them down the bar to the newcomers. 
Now that they were in, it was time to place their bets.
"So, Laich..." Rets mumbled.
"Yeah?" Laich replied in the same depressed tone.
"Well, aren't you gonna tell me what you did to get the boot?"
"Oh, uh, sure...." Laich sighed. "I... um... well, I decided to... take a break."
Rets snorted. “Hookay... so why did that get you in trouble?”
Laichonious squirmed in his seat. “It-it’s... well, it’s not complicated really... it’s simple, but--”
Rets tapped the counter. “Just spill it already, Laich.”
The red unicorn grimaced at his friend. “I... made Twilight angry...” he finally mumbled out in a rush.
“Whawazat?”
Laich squeezed his eyes shut as if the act might squeeze the memory from his brain. “I’m just hangin’ out here, y’know, ‘til tempers cool down and... and, well tempers cool down.”
The khaki unicorn pushed his mug of as of yet untouched cider in little circles on the counter. “So...--”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Uh-huh.”
The runemaster heaved another depression-heavy sigh. “At least she didn’t file a restraining order against me.”
Rets took a drink, winced, then put the mug down and raised an eyebrow at him. “That you know of....”










Two unicorns walked out of a bar. It sounded like the world’s greatest joke, and in the case of these two, it might’ve been. One was the color of a pith helmet, and the other was the color of that ugly red you see on a Scotsman's kilt. Saddlebags, one black and made of nylon, and the other brown and made of a material that made ponies gag when they learned what it was, were equipped. They were one hundred percent unready to face the new day.
Ideas have been described as droplets, falling through reality and into ponies’ heads, but they’re actually far more complex. For instance, the seemingly arbitrary statement of “We need hats!” could be attributed to the fact that the pair had passed a hat shop on the way to the bar, but it was actually the end of a series of complicated events, starting with a sugar-filled foal screaming at some birds, and ending with one of the bird’s excretion missing the head of a tan pony. Only then did he think about the hat store; not to mention that a curious number of ponies around were wearing a varying array of head apparel, all of them fedoras.
“We need hats!” Retsamoreh said.
“No we don’t,” Laich replied without looking, in the same manner that suggested the same conversation had occurred before. “We really, really do not need hats.”
“Yea we do, mate!” Rets said, jabbing a hoof in the direction of another early-riser. “Look! Everypony we’ve seen is wearing a fedora. Black, brown, striped and plaid. They’re all fedoras, and trust me, we need a hat.”
“To fit in, right?”
“Because the opposite of fitting in is standing out, Laicho’, my friend, and if this place is anything like it’s pun counterpart, and especially since they’re all wearing fedoras, we definitely shouldn’t be standing out. ‘Cause when were fedoras popular back then?” Rets announced, leaning into the street just far enough to see the large hat shop sign. It was in the shape of a brown fedora.
“Rets... well, not everypony is wearing a fedora. We might send off the wrong vibes.”
“Darn the vibes! I love hats! You know, I left my hat collection to come with you guys? Couldn’t bring a single one, otherwise they’d get squashed. Well, I mean, I brought the tourist hat, but only because that’s for tourism, and, uh, I thought it was a good joke at the time. Y-Yup. But you had to go and set it on fire,” he grumbled, marching in the direction of the shop. Laichonious rolled his eyes, but fell in-step behind him nonetheless.
“Aw, man, I said I was sorry!”
“Hatty was my best friend!” Rets cried, raising one hoof to his suddenly teary eyes. “And you lit him on fire to prove a point about your dreadful makina. Now we’re here and you’re paying for your own hat!” He stopped, turning to grin and reveal that he had not, in fact, actually been crying real tears. 
“Dude, we’re broke. Maybe when we get jobs we can get hats, alright?”
“We’re not going to get jobs without hats! I mean, what’s a good job without a hat, right? I mean, you’ve got cops, and, um... police... and... sheriffs... I’ll think of other jobs later. It’s basically a Catch Twenty-Two if we don’t buy a hat for ourselves. Both of ourselves, I mean. Not one hat for the two of us. Let’s just go,” Rets rattled off, yanking the shop door and trotting in. The overhead bell tinkled in greeting, and they entered the promised land for all hat-lovers.
Baseball caps, berets, bowlers, baker boys, fezzes, trappers, and top hats. They lined the walls in myriad colors, shapes, and sizes, from pink chef hats to white top hats, this store seemed to have everything and then some more stuck to the side like a tumor. A tinny, old voice from the back called out, “Welcome to Cavaneigh! I’ll be right with ‘ya!”
“You didn’t even check to see if it was open,” Laichonious grumbled, moving next to his companion. “Hooboy, that’s a lot of hats.”
“Infinite hats,” Rets breathed. “This is the best day ever. W-Well, when it comes to hats, not living... in, uh, in general because we got ousted from Canterlot and are, um, broke, but you know. When it comes to hats, this is the best.”
“Alright, alright. I get it, buddy, you like hats. Let’s just grab two of their cheapest fedoras and get to looking for a place to stay,” Laich replied, moving over to one of the hat racks. A pair of tiny hooves clip clopped their way over the pristine hardwood and stopped in front of Rets, who just gaped at the scenery.
“Welcome to the Cavaneigh! I’m Haber Dasher and it is an ab-so-lute pleasure to meet you gentlecolts!”
“Ohbloody’ell!” Rets sputtered, skittering back. He gasped, held it, and took the brief moment of respite to study the thin earth pony before him. Haber was true to his name, and looked something of a fabric-made accessory himself. Rolls of brown felt for legs, which stretched up to Ret’s barrel, all tied off at a wrinkled face with a short grey beard. Unicorn met earthpony, and unicorn gulped. “Mmrh. Sorry. Just startled me,” he said afterward.
“S’fine! Customers tell me I do that sometimes. Can’t ever help it.” Haber shuffled over to the left, heading for the front desk in a way that looked like he was ready to keel over before he arrived. “You two can have a look-see around! We’ve got just about every hat ever thought up by pony-kind, and a few other things tossed in the mix too! Ha ha heeee...”
“Um, yeah. Thanks, mate.” Quickly getting out of range, he shuffled away to the nearest aisle, and with trained precision, immediately pulled off a sole fedora. He twirled it in his levitation for a moment, studying the pristine brown felt and black band. Checking to see if anypony was looking, he carefully lifted up a hoof to stroke it. Then he put it on, and took a deep breath.
It is argued by some that Fate controls each and every life, and that there really is no free will. No matter what you do, if something is supposed to happen, it will happen, and there’s nothing you can do to change it despite madly scrambling and doing every possible thing to make it simply not occur. This theory isn’t necessarily true; Fate does meddle in pony lives, but only when they need a little extra push. Such a little push could be anything from stumbling into a mare, to just something telling a certain unicorn that he should buy a certain hat, even if it clashed with his coat. Something clicked.
“This’ll be it,” he whispered.
        “Well-” Haber started inches away, adjusting a pair of ancient bifocals.
        “AAHHHH!”
        “-and you can just come down to the desk when you’re ready, hmmkay!”
        Rets heaved, taking gulping breaths of air until his buddy came around the corner, eyebrow already raised. Eye twitching, he turned to Laichonious and frowned. “I am buying this hat and there’s nothing you can do about it. Shut up.”
        “Didn’t say anything,” Laich tittered, walking right past him and into the other aisle. A second passed, and he peeked around once again. “Oh, and I haven’t spotted a fedora for myself. Nice call, dude. Couldn’t you have picked a fedora store?”
        “Ah, shush. If you can’t find a fedora, buy something else, mate.”
        “Okay, okay! You go ahead and buy that one. I’ll keep looking.”
        “Mmmmmmheyup,” Rets slurred, cantering past Laich’s rolling eyes without a care in a^ world. He stopped at the ancient wooden desk, allowing a moment to scroll over its contents. A cash register, an older type, sat in the gleaming morning sunlight and stung his eyes the longer he looked at it. Otherwise there was a large assortment of pencils, business card holders, notepads, and all manner of things you’d probably expect to see at the front desk of a store. A particular black pen and brown notepad caught his eye, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. Fate was at work just as much as Haber Dasher was.
        “Les’see here. If my memory is correct, that’s actually our last one. Hm... sixteen bits will probably be good.”
        “Um... right,” Rets mumbled, whisking out his moneybag and keeping his eyes glued to the notepad and pen. Haber’s eyes followed his gaze, and chuckled when he noticed what they’d landed on. “Sorry for staring. I just... um, I know it’s not on sale, but how much for that note thingy and pen? I need one, and tho- well it’s a s-stupid excuse, sir, and-”
        “Ha!” Haber interrupted, shoving the two toward him. “I’ve had these for a year, and I haven’t writ a thing in ‘em. Wasted my bits, I say. They’re on the house, lad.”
        “Oh,” the unicorn said dumbly, whisking them into his pack and spilling the amount, plus two as a tip, of bits owed on the desk. Haber counted them, staring with narrowed eyes at each one as he put it into the register. A dismayed voice cried from the back of the store.
        “Rets! There are no fedoras!”
        “Just find one you like, then, I don’t care if it’s a wizard hat or something, just pick one out before rush-hour hits!”
        Haber snorted loudly, causing Rets turn fast enough to get whiplash, and looked up with sparkling eyes. “Did you say wizard hat? I have actually got one of those.”
        Air seemed to be sucked out of the room, and then it rushed back in full force when Laich peeked around the corner of an aisle, eyes wide. They looked past Rets, who wore the same expression of absolute disbelief, and straight into the smirking visage of the store owner. “You’re serious? Most ponies don’t even know what a wizard is. Cultural stuff relating to the bronies and all.”
        “Heh heeeeesnrckh, well I only know what I read, and I’ve got a big ‘ol pointy blue and gold hat stored over there, I... eh, it was a gift from one of my old family members... Lola... Lulu... Star... something like that, anyway, nopony ever wants to buy it, so it’s on the cheap. Ten bits and it’s yours.”
        “Yes,” Laichonious breathed, eyes glazed over even as Haber passed him.
        “How’d you know it was a wizard hat, though?” Rets asked, following the old earth pony with a curious look. Laich shook his head, muttered something, and trotted after them. Here was where the store got darker, and cobwebs got a little braver. It was the far corner. Seven eyes watched.
        And there it was. Large, pointed, navy blue, and laced with gold that sparkled even when light wasn’t touching it; embroidered on the front was a single bolded word. It was written in fancy, faded lettering that might’ve once been a bright industrial white, but now it was a dull grey and the threads were coming loose. The brim, as well as most of the other hats and surfaces around it, was covered in fine golden shinies that leaked off at the slightest touch. Murky light reflected the singular word off of Haber’s wide glasses, WIZZARD.
        “No way,” they said in unison.
        “She didn’t say much when she gave it to me. But she was family, and I’ve kept it ever since. Hhck, like I said, nopony ever wants-”
        “We’ll take it,” Laich blurted out, already levitating the bits from his pack.
        









Saddlebags somewhat lighter and heads considerably heavier, the two unicorns and their newly acquired hats left the Cavaneigh. It could have been the hats, or it could have been the ponies, but Laichonious felt a little less anxious about the city. He probably should have felt more anxious with something as gaudy as that hat on his head, but it had the opposite effect. There might just be something to this hat idea. The reason for his decreased anxiety was in fact due to Fate being satisfied with its work; most ponies disregard the idea of Fate as a ponification, they view it more as a thing and, therefore,  pay less attention to it. Fate, however, is a fastidious being and takes its job very seriously, regardless of the low wages in attention. As Fate moved off to meddle in other affairs, the two unicorns suddenly found themselves in need of a plan.
“Alright,” said Laichonious as they aimlessly walked down the street, “we have not very much money -- ninety-nine bits between us to be exact.”
Rets rolled his eyes. This was important to Fate, for it was this very moment It had been painstakingly preparing and meddling. Rets rolled his eyes and caught sight of something most peculiar. A group of ponies crowded around a very official-looking building that was giving off the air of a mare who had been rudely interrupted during her bath and subsequently had lard poured on top of her head. On top of all this, several of the ponies, pegasi to be exact, were hovering around snapping pictures of everything. Now it could be a point of debate if the building was indeed giving off that vibe, or Rets’ mind was just wired to lean in that direction. The true point is that pictures were being taken, and these ponyfolk didn’t take pictures of just any old thing.
“In any case,” Laich continued to ramble, oblivious to the pictures or the building, “we’re homeless and completely unprepared to have normal jobs. I mean, I could probably get us into a makina factory just with the rune designs but I don’t know if I’m actually allowed to do that yet. And of course, this would take time to find out.”
“Hey, Laich.” Rets slowed, his head pointing towards the enticing sound of cameras like iron filings to a lodestone.
“I’d have to send a letter to Princess Luna, or Princess Celestia, since I’m pretty sure that any letter I send to Twilight would get torn up and never read.” On he went, unaware of his friend’s sudden distraction. “That of course also takes money. Even though I’m pretty sure that Manehattan isn’t as rough as its counterpart in our world-”
“Laich,” persisted the tan unicorn.
“-I still don’t relish the act of sleeping outside. I’ve never really liked camping, y’know?”
“Laich.” Annoyance made its first appearance, much to the chagrin of the other emotions.
“But I guess I should get used to that, being a homeless equine and all -- hey, are they taking pictures over there?”
If Rets wasn’t currently using his legs to lean towards the building and the taking of pictures, he would have hit himself in the face, quite forcefully, with his own hoof. Which made no sense really. 
“Yeah, they’re taking pictures! Landsakes, mate. I was only trying to tell you for the past minute.”
“Hm, oooookay. Where do you think we would find employment?”
Rets stared at his single-minded friend. “You don’t get it. We should go over there and check it out. Pictures -- more importantly, pictures taken by ponies -- are worth checking out.”
Laich turned and regarded the building, adjusting the square spectacles on his nose. “There seems to be more than pictures to check out over there,” he said, trotting past a nonplussed Rets.
“What?” Rets followed in the runemaster’s wake.
“That’s a library. I bet we could find some good information in there, y’know, like where to get jobs and someplace to crash.”
Again, had Rets not needed all four hooves to walk, one of them would have been in his face.
The library was just that, and a large one. The Municipal Library of Manehattan was home to the second most extensive collection of written literature in Equestria, and possibly all of Sebbia. It was only surpassed by the Royal Archives in Canterlot, a fact that the librarians in Manehattan tried to ignore and the librarians in Canterlot liked to tease them about at the yearly Conventions. Being the runner up for a prestigious superlative like ‘most’ was either a huge honor or you just didn’t mention it. In the case of the library here, it could care less, for it was still having pictures taken of it with that proverbial bucket of lard slowly melting down its head. The two unicorns enjoyed one of the few perks allowed to bronies almost immediately. Laich and Rets were at the back of the crowd but their unusually long legs let them see over most of the other ponies’ heads.
The subject of their attention was in fact several things and most of them made little sense. Laichonious could feel a little part of himself die at the sight. Papers, their edges torn and ragged, lay depressingly on the unforgiving stone steps leading up to the library. Books, their contents savagely ripped from their tables and strewn about, lay empty on the cold granite. Other tomes and volumes were scattered around, probably counting their pages and blessings, thankful that they had not ended up like their less fortunate peers. The red unicorn slowly wandered around the crowd, horrified by the scene. Laich was so taken with the books in distress that he didn’t notice the hard-eyed stallion marching up to him in a hard-pressed navy blue jacket and tie. The red unicorn gingerly picked up one of the violated volumes and listened for a tiny voice. He didn’t know he was listening, but that is something bibliophiles just do on instinct.
“Hey! What do you think yer doing?!” said the hard eyed stallion.
Laichonious sat back on his haunches and clutched the ruined book. “I-I, uh,--”
“This is a crime scene, buster. You went and messed it up. I’m gonna have to bring you in for questioning now.” The stallion was bearing down on the red unicorn, despite Laich’s height, which really didn’t make that much of a difference anyway.
“I was jus--” Another explanation was cut short by his getaway driver.
“Laich!” Rets galloped to his aid, apparently he had been writing something on his handy dandy notebook, for it floated next to his head in a cloud of azure magic. “Sorry officer, I didn’t realize he had gotten away from me.” He gave an apologetic smile to the police pony. “You see, he, uh, gets confused sometimes and, well, h-he loves books, so naturally seeing books like this makes him even more confused.”
The officer in the navy blue jacket looked about as befuddled as a pony could get. This was only a momentary state, because it so happens the police pony soon invented two numbers, let’s call them both the number two, and put them together. You can likely guess what he got. The first number two was made up of two elements, a khaki unicorn and an expensive-looking felt fedora. The second number two was also comprised of two elements, a red unicorn and a strange hat. The second element of the second number two was perhaps the most important. If Laichonious ever discovered how to directly tap into the Aether and set his consciousness in line with Harmony, he would have gotten a glimpse into the other pony’s mind. It’s a good thing he can’t, his ego would be unbearable, even to itself. The police officer said to himself, Either this geddy is crazy, or he’s a bang up mage. Nopony in their right mind would walk around in a hat like that. At that precise moment Laichonious had the good fortune to forget to be confused and instead scrutinized the book he held in his hooves. This was the keystroke for sums in the police pony’s brain and his newfound, invented, knowledge caused him to perk up.
“Hey! You’re the PI’s we sent for!” He heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m Sergeant Buckles. Sorry about the misunderstanding earlier, it’s just that we got quite the puzzle on our hooves here.”
“Mhumm, yeah so we’ll be out of your mane here in a qui--whawaszat?” Rets took his turn at confusion and almost got dizzy.
“I’d say you have a puzzle,” Laichonious mumbled. “There’s books all over the place, but only three that I can see that have been vandalized. When did this happen?” Being of a singular mind has its advantages, like the ability to forget that you don’t belong somewhere as soon as a puzzle presents itself.
“Ah, well, we got witnesses that say it was only about an hour ago when it started. Nopony got a good look at the perps though.”
Laich nodded, still studying the steps to the library and the one broken window to the left of the large wooden doors. “Did you get that Rets?”
“Huh?” The tan pony was still getting his money’s worth out of that oscillating ride of confusion, the sort one would find in front of a supermarket on Earth.
“Did you get that? You’re the one with the notepad, after all,” he said as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
“Right.” Rets was up on the game now, and he was more than happy to play. He swiftly brought the notebook up in front and flipped it open to a blank page. His preloaded quill scratched across the page. This further placated the venerable Buckles.
Laichonious almost reverently laid the empty bookcover down on the ground and paced back and forth, three steps each way. “This will be especially tough,” he said, little fine flakes of gold sparkling around him. “You’ve already started to clean things up, we’re missing out on valuable clues there, but there isn’t much we can do about that.” 
Rets scratched away furiously at the page.
“There is a broken window, I saw, but the glass is strewn on the outside, so it must have been either an impromptu escape route or a result of librarian tempers going through the roof. You get that Rets?”
“...perturbed, pencil pushing ponies... broke the window with brandished books... Got it!”
Buckles grinned off to one side, observing his workload decrease dramatically. It wasn’t that he was lazy, The Mother knows, he worked as hard as anypony -- he had a wife and foals to feed. But it was indeed gratifying to see that no extra hours would be spent on this particular peculiar perpetration. “Well, there’s a lot more to be had down at the station. We already got a few of the librarians there and some witnesses still waiting to give their two bits. How’d you fine gentlecolts like to come with me? We can get you all squared away and up to speed on our procedures and stuff. Oh, and the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” Laich asked, in much the same way a dog would ask about neutering.
“Well sure, gotta have the paperwork if we’re gonna be paying you fellas,” said Buckles in an obviously serious voice.
“Pa--ah sure!” Rets said, stowing the pen and notebook in his saddlebag. “Yeah, we’ll come on down with yah, Sarge. Won’t we Laich?”
“Yes, yes of course,” he mumbled.
Sgt. Buckles beamed at the bronies and turned to lead them to the headquarters. With Buckles’ back now turned to the two most lucky luckless ponies in the world, Rets took the opportunity to tap his hat with a hoof, a satisfied smile splayed across his face.
Laich could only roll his eyes and follow in his friend’s smug wake.








A golden spyglass retracted, multiple parts falling in on themselves in a complicated rhythm of gears and mechanics. Bloodshot eyes blinked slowly, as if their owner had forgotten how. Growling, choking sounds came from the pony’s throat, and he retracted into his brown trench coat, where sickly coughs took place. Behind him was a lavish study, with books lining the walls and scrolls strewn about on a nearby desk. Candle-light and shadows danced about, and if one were to come from the other room they’d be confused as to if this was the right penthouse or not. Here, the story focused itself.
        “You were right, Eco. There are two of them, both unicorns; the ‘inventor’ and his useless assistant,” an intelligent voice, the kind that can pronounce semi-colons and over-enunciate any improper word into quotations, rumbled. A young, chiseled face retracted from the coat, and sniffed in a gurgling way, and he levitated the spyglass away. “They stumbled upon your little mess, too, but I don’t think they’ll do anything.”
        “They won’t. Even the police are stumped. There isn’t an incriminating thing there that wouldn’t take years to dig up,” another voice replied. “Them discovering it... may be a problem, however.”
        “Hhhhcchkk... snf. Why so, Eco? You assured me they wouldn’t ‘screw up’ our plans.”
        Eco, whose presence could only be noticed if one were to stare too long at an odd looking shadow in the corner, shifted. “They may appear blundering and naive, sir, but they show signs of deeper intelligence... and I do not like to underestimate my enemies. We have the upper hoof for now, but if they begin to dig... and if she helps them, they may have a chance to strike.”
        “Then get rid of ‘her’, Eco. I told you she would eventually try to seek out help.”
        “I will, and I am sorry for doubting you, sir.”
        “Yes, yes, yes, you are forgiven. Just make sure she isn’t able to ‘contact’ them, and all will be well. Judging from their past... they won’t pursue unless given incentive. We’ll need the inventor alive and cooperative if we want to include him, and his friend may make good, say, ‘fodder’. Go alert the rest of us.”
        “Yes, sir,” Eco hissed, and where there was once a shadow, there was light. The last pony in the penthouse grunted, or rather coughed, and slipped down into his chair with an ease that suggested to him, this was merely business, and boring business at that.
        “A hat named ‘Wizzard’,” the pony mumbled, gulping, “hah!”

        Not all stories have to have a villain, but most of them need conflict. Solving crimes, while an interesting subject for historians to put into one of their books, does not make for an interesting story. It could, if one were to tell it properly, but it would be less effective than solving the crime; the single greatest one that would occur and cause deep scars in Equestrian history books, and the historians would love it. 
There are antagonists, and then there are villains, and just like stories of heroes, a thousand evil laughs have burst forth from the darkness, a thousand goons have broken down the door, and a thousand betrayals have taken place at inopportune times. History wouldn’t report any of these, and that’s why we’re here.
        We’re here for the story.