//------------------------------//
// Pieces of Eight 
// Story: Magical Wizard Brony Detectives 
// by Laichonious the Grey 
//------------------------------//








As far as police stations went, this one was strange. First of all, it didn’t look like one, but this wasn’t entirely its fault. The station itself could care less about the carelessness with which it was seemingly built; it didn’t know any better. It led quite a happy life, to be honest, and it just didn’t think much on its grotesque exterior. It was unfortunately a victim of necessity, and it knew this—acutely. The ground floor was normal enough, it even sported the fluted concrete columns common to this part of the city. On the columns that lined the outside of the octagonal* structure sat statues reminiscent of gargoyles, that is if gargoyles were small and relatively happy creatures that looked to be an amalgam of a pony and an angel—not necessarily in that order. They couldn’t be called pegasi, the statues were far too angular, and to call one such would be insulting to pegasus, statue and carver alike. Indeed, the main floor was right at home among the other slightly art-deco-esque buildings in the heart of Manehattan. It was only when one’s gaze traveled upward that it began to have problems.
A second floor housed offices of various officers and officiators of the law and even some secretaries. This floor was also mostly normal-ish, if one were to ignore what was—or more specifically wasn’t—above its marble and glass facade. The building abruptly stopped at that point, yielding to empty space that wasn’t actually empty. It was in fact filled with air, eight steel girders and a staircase, the arrangement of which would absolutely baffle a pony not in the know. The Municipal Police Headquarters of the City-State of Manehattan doubled as the city’s High-Security Holding, which is where the eight steel girders come into play. Each girder stood at every vertex of the building, supporting another octagonal shape above it; the holding cells. Inside this aloft section of the building were sixteen cells, each one also an octagon. The sixteen cells had on each of them eight locks that required the use of eight keys—different combinations for each—that used an ingenious system of eight-sided iron rods impressed with a honeycomb pattern consisting of eight octagons on each side. Depending on the depth of the octagons impressed in the  keys, a series of sixty-four pins would slide into the key, allowing the lock to turn exactly eight degrees counterclockwise.
The specific reasons for this repetition are irrelevant when it comes down to it, especially where Laichonious was concerned, oblivious as he was and befuddled to say the least. As he entered the invitingly normal first floor of the building, he couldn’t help but wonder, why did the staircase have only nine steps? The question was soon wiped from his mind, however, for he suddenly felt the distinct absence of something very important. Both he and Rets stopped dead and gave an experimental sniff to the air. They couldn’t smell the difference, other than the heavy scent of ink and multi colored sprinkles, the sort one would find on a doughnut, between inside and outside. But something was very noticeably missing.
Sergeant Buckles paused and gave a chuckle, tossing his tawny, silver-streaked mane. “So, you geddys haven’t been in an octagon before have ya?”
“Nah,” breathed the red unicorn.
“Heh, well all you need to know is that octagons suppress Spectra. I don’t notice much of a difference m’self but I suppose to you, the difference is pretty big, mm?”
A shiver danced through Rets’ coat. “Feels too much like the Sickness to me... You remember that, Laich?”
“I try not to,” the runemaster replied flatly
While the two bronies were reminiscing and comparing, Buckles had exchanged a few words with the receptionist behind a handsomely made mahogany desk. It was startlingly red when taken into consideration with the rest of the room. The walls were painted a muted powder blue, so subtle that Laich almost mistook it for being off-white. The floors were tiled in alternating black and white octagons, which mildly upset the red unicorn. Everything else in the building was some shade of blue. So much blue in fact, that when a particularly colorful pony walked by, Laich had to blink twice in order to get over the sudden shock of color and subsequent rise and fall of Spectra as they passed.
Two manila folders appeared on the desk. Buckles picked them up with his teeth and mumbled a paper-inhibited, “Follow me.”
What Laich actually heard was “Fuhuh muh” but it was obvious what the stallion wanted. He swallowed hard and resolved to limit further exposure to the number eight in the future.









“And uh, wait just a moment and I’ll go grab the actual paperwork. I’ll just - there are your files, by the way. Just got them a week ago, from the, hm, mailpony I guess. I just remember I was the one who had to file everything away. I’ll be right back,” Sergeant Buckles rattled off in a vaguely New Yorker clip, walking into the adjacent room and leaving two neat folders labeled “Retsamoreh - U” and “Laichonious - U” on the lips. Placed exactly next to each other in the kind of neatness that just screamed to be messed with, they were mere inches away from the two chairbound unicorns.
        Retsamoreh stared.
        “It’s going to be in there,” he muttered at the volume of a bumblebee’s sneeze. “They’re going to know Celestia has a restraining order against me for sitting in her bedroom and watching her sleep for like, two nights in a row. We’ll get booted and arrested for framing the Private Investigators.”
        “Two nights?” Laich hissed back. “Holy cow, Rets, no wonder she-”
        “The first was an accident!” Retsamoreh yelped, ears tipped like spears. “I swear! The second one was totally on purpose, though. I couldn’t help it. It was like... a game, to see if I could get past the guards. I tell you what, too, it was easy. I suck at stealth. I must see!” he hissed, leaning over the desk. Slowly, as if it was sure it was wrong, the folder with his name on it rose, and opened up. 
        “Oh, snap,” Laich said, reading the words immediately on the page out loud. “Urgent. Yadda yadda. Celestia recently filed a restraining order, etcetera. Jeez, Canterlot couriers work fast. Your name is probably in every police station in Equestria by now.”
        Somewhere in Equestria, Retsamoreh could just imagine, a policepony was sniggering at the file as they spoke. He gulped, stared at the far wall with the eyes of a pony stepping up to the electric chair, and set the folder down without a moment to spare. His eyes had changed from manic to knowing in the time it took for the door to open, and Buckles reentered with two packets of stapled piles of paperwork between his teeth. Somehow, they stayed dry and were still pristine when he set them down on the desk. “Heh, now. I’ll just double-check your files while you two fill those out. Just, err, sign where it tells you to, and read the hours.” He flipped open Rets’s folder, smiling a big grin at the two. “Since you two technically are working with us, as well as the general public, we won’t be able to give you offices here, so you’ll be more like really important high-end consultants. So, oh, and on page twenty there’s the subject of your pay-”
        “Oh my Celestia, what’s that!” Rets screamed, pointing a hoof at the far wall. Laichonious and the Sergeant spun around, eyes wide and muscles tensed for anything that dared come their way. A paper shuffled, and Buckles snorted.
        “A spider?” he chuckled, stepping towards the harmless arachnid. It hung on a thread in the corner, spinning around and silently wondering why on earth everything was so much bigger than it, but silently appreciating its lot in life.
        “Don’t touch it!” Rets yelled, rushing over to bar the cop’s path. “I’d recognize that kind of spider anywhere! It’s the deadly... uhm... spider. Thing. I’mnotgoodwithnames!”
        “Looks like an orb weaver t’me. Kind of curious, I suppose, since I thought those were nocturnal-” he made a gurgling sound as Retsamoreh smashed it with a piece of paper and crumpled it up in one swift movement. “Err, you killed it,” he muttered, watching Retsamoreh’s smug smile as the paper coffin dropped into a wastebasket. “Could’ve just set it free, you know.”
        “They’re deadly. I’ve done the world a favor and probably saved a life or two. What if, like, I had set it free and it bit somepony? Trust me, we had tons of poisonous spiders where I lived. Not as much as Australia, but, uh, um. I’ll sit down,” the tan, fedora-topped unicorn sputtered, his lips stretched across his face in a polite smile, even if the raised eyebrows and twitching of the left eye made it look more than a little awkward. “So pape-”
        “Paperwork,” Buckles said.
        “Uh... paperwork,” Laich repeated, levitating his own stack and a quill. Rets coughed, moving to snag his own while Buckles slowly moved the files towards him. “So, Sergeant,” the scholar started, “what perks does being a consultant detective entail? Are we allowed access to evidence or given the ability to, hm, question witnesses?”
        “No, no, it’s mostly on your own,” Buckles replied, eyes flicking over one of the folder’s contents. “If one of our investigators hires you on a job, you’re allowed to ask for evidence, and they’re obliged to give you anything they can, just to make the case go smoother. Not like it matters, I think. We barely get cases like that. I... huh. You two are brownies.”
        “Bronies,” Rets coughed, signing his name on the page with a flurry of quill movements. He didn’t even look up from the pages, but he suspected Buckles had a perturbed look on his face.
        “That’s what, I, uh, said. Brow-nies.”
        “No, no,” Retsamoreh grunted, lowering the papers to face him. “You’re pronouncing it wrong. It’s-”
        “Give it a rest, Rets,” Laich warned, flipping another page. His tan companion grunted, and continued working. “Yes, officer, we’re bronies. Didn’t stay in Dreamvale, and didn’t stay in Canterlot, either. That’s, uh, one of the reasons we came as PIs.”
        “Well then!” Buckled bellowed, churning together a plastic smile. “I’m, er, sorry for calling you geddys, then. Somepony told me you folks aren’t exactly fond of that. No offense meant.”
        “None taken,” they replied in unison.
        “But! Since you are bronies, and I’ve heard a bit about where you were from, specifically that there was quite a higher crime rate there, I’m happy to have you with us. I guess it’d be stupid to ask if you were acquainted with how crime-solving works, but you do, right? Our way might be a tad different than yours, is what I’m saying, but new insight is welcome. Especially more experienced insight.”
        “We’ve had experience, yeah. Most of us bronies do, even if most didn’t pursue that line of work. It’s kind of a mandatory thing, knowing a bit about how crime solving works. A lot of our entertainment was, err, centered around the premise of crime-solving,” Laichonious said, peering over at the other unicorn. “No, no, Rets, you skipped one. Sign there.”
        “Got it.”
        “So you two, I suppose, are our newest teammembers. I can introduce you to the leads of each division, small as they are. You can understand, right? There’s not much of a need for police officers roaming the city twenty-four-seven. Usually we’re just ‘just in case’, if you get my drift. Whole li-”
        “Sorry, err, I sign with my full name here, right? Right here?”
        “Yes. And like I was saying. After this, I’ll give you two the grand tour of the place. We’re pretty excited, having actual PI’s with us now. Definitely a morale boost, since, er, lately crimes have been springing up everywhere. We’re kind of at loss as to why, and could use all the help we can get.”
        “We’re your stallions then,” Laichonious said, plopping the paperwork down on the table, letting them waft a pleasant fresh ink smell into the room. Rets snorted. “Pay is relevant to the importance of the case, correct? Is that how big the station considers it or how big the media considers it? Your paperwork didn’t exactly specify.”
        “Heheh, both, really. Maybe not, but if the media latches onto a case and you still manage to solve it, you’ll probably get a bonus. There’s also hours, don’t forget that. Big bits just come from nailing down the big stuff, I suppose. Hey, friend, your quill’s drying out. I can hear it from all the way over here.”
        “Yes, yes, I know! It’s been bloody forever and I still haven’t mastered using these sodding frigg’n blimey hayseed-”
        “Cool your jets, bro,” Laich coughed, smirking. Paperwork flopped, finished and ready for acceptance, onto the table, and Retsamoreh stuck his tongue out at the crimson unicorn next to him. “Right then. We’re both done, officer. Anything else we need to seal the deal on this?”
        “Do we have to sign a pentagram in blood?” Rets blurted out, grinning ear-to-ear. “That would be really awesome... or... not. Yeah. Equestrians never get the cool jokes.” His smile fell, and he slowly nudged the completed papers towards Buckles. “Th-eee-rr-eee you go, mate. Pleasure doing business with you.”
        “Erm. Right,” Buckles muttered, rolling his eyes and opening up a file drawer labeled “Consultants”. In their files went, woefully without any friends amidst their newfound home; the entire drawer was empty, except for two file folders in the back. “Just one last thing. What, specifically, are your job titles? You’re still consultants, it’s just... for formality’s sake. Labels and such,” he finished, sitting back behind the desk. His gaze drifted between their two pieces of headware, and their eyes followed his. 
An awkward silence came in, went to term, and had several little awkward moments before anypony said anything.
“Detective,” Retsamoreh said.
“Wizard,” Laichonious said.
Sergeant stared at detective and wizard for the briefest of awkward moments, and then his eyes swiveled to anything in the room that wasn’t them. “You two are pretty weird, but then again, this is Manehattan. We’ve had weirder. Welcome to the team, Mister Rets, and Mister Laich. I’ll-” he stopped, turning to look at the door. Whoever was behind it kindly responded with several more loud knocks. 
“Yo Buckles, you done with the newbloods in there? The rest of us want to meet them already!” a gruff voice called from behind the office door. Sergeant Buckles snorted, and crawled out of the chair.
“Yeah, yeah. Door is unlocked, Ma’am,” he said, snagging the two stacks of paperwork in his mouth. “I’ff gh’t th’ gh’ pttht.” He walked across the room, opening the door with one hoof and revealing the mysterious cop. In she walked, strutting like a peacock. Literally. Her feathers were sticking out in a fashion that either meant she didn’t care for her appearance or was just too fashionable to care what other non-fashionable ponies thought; if you could call her red-tinged feathers a fashion choice. Pinpoint sharp eagle claws clacked on the tile floor, followed in tandem by lion paws.
Most - not all, but most, because she still radiated an attitude that implied if you messed with her, you’d be a little deader than you were the minute before - of her menace was lost when she came over to the two, and still managed to be almost a head shorter.
“Um,” Rets said as they slipped from their seats, smiling the same smile you would see on a dorky teenager meeting his girlfriend’s parents.
“Lieutenant Murphy, Head of Special Investigations, AKA any magic-related or centered incidents. One of you is a wizard**, and both of you are unicorns, so don’t doubt we’ll be getting to know each other well enough, soon enough.”
“This is the best day,” Rets breathed, looking between Laichonious and the cop. If Murphy heard him, nothing showed.
“I’m just going to take you down to Daisy’s office, where a couple of  us are waiting to be introduced. You’re big news here, boys. Lap it up,” she continued.
“Wait,” Laich started, drawing her eye. “You’re the leading magical-incident investigator? But you’re not...”
“Not what?” the gryphon asked, using a tone that implied the wrong answer was every answer.
“A... uni-ma- meurmrmrmrm...” jerked a hoof over to his side to brush away errant gold flecks from his constantly disintegrating hat.
“That’s what I thought you were going to say,” Murphy growled, marched back out of the room. A raised eyebrow was pointed at Laich, and he shrugged like a helpless schoolcolt showing his parents his report card. “Now come on, kids. We’ve got work to do.”
“You know, Laich. My life is really, really weird,” Retsamoreh said, following after. Assured his coat was gold-speck free, the red runologist snorted. “C’mon.”
“You’re one to talk.”





“And that’s why we call her ‘Chief Commissioner’ instead of ‘Chief of Police’ or just ‘Commissioner’,” Murphy finished. The two tailing her let loose a breath they hadn’t known they’d been holding.
        “Wow. That story was... really amazing and inspirational,” the scholar said.
        “Yeah. I mean, I’d ask to hear it again, but I think it would ruin it. That’s a story you can only tell or hear once in your entire lifetime, and... well, huh, I don’t think I’d ever do it justice,” the detective said. Murphy grunted, and kept her gaze locked on the tiled hallway ahead.
        “It just kind of makes me want to think about things, you know? That story could change a pony’s life.”
        “I’d have to agree, because... I really pity anypony who has never heard it before.”
        “Yup.”
        “Well that’s a shame. She doesn’t like the story getting spread around, so you two are going to have to keep your mouths shut about it, m’kay?” Murphy said, coming up at a door smartly labeled as a meeting room.
        “Em-kay,” they agreed in unison, just as Murphy opened the room with a talon.
        Manehattan prided itself on being multicultural, and largely, that was true. There were no real barriers between ponies, griffons, goats, space bears, or anything that set foot, hoof, claw, or gelatinous mass inside their city boundaries. Ponies would share apartments with griffons, goats were paid the same amount as ponies, and so it went, rare as the other species were; but this was the The Municipal Police Headquarters of the City-State of Manehattan, it took any stereotypes and ground them into itty little bits that couldn’t be put together with the best magic or the most cunning repairpony. Granted, they were all still ponies besides Murphy, but they certainly looked weird. The table sat twelve, and six were occupied, crowding the mare at the end; she wore a stetson, the pony on her left wore a monocle, the pony on her right wore a light grey fedora. Everypony looked at them, and all the hats were different, one way or the other.
        “Uh. Hi,” Laichonious said slowly, as Murphy took a seat by a pony with an eyepatch.
        “Hello you two,” the cowpony announced, issuing forth a wave of assumed authority that subconsciously ordered the visitors to take a seat or get out. They obeyed, with Laich at the end seat and his friend to his left. “My name,” she continued, all eyes locked on them, “is Chief Commissioner Daisy Thorn, and I’m the one that runs this here hoe-down.”
        “Pleasure t’meetcha,” Rets said, nodding with a smile that kindly asked not to have the body it was attached to eaten.
        “Pleasure’s all mine, you two. We’ve been waiting ‘fer some assistance for a good... gee, two months, now. Only just got word that two PIs had picked up on our call and were headed this way. You know how hard it is to find a couple of PI’s in a country where crime basically does not happen? S’pretty darned hard,” she went on, in the same over-enunciated southern accent as before.
        “These group of ponies are going to be your bosses when we need you, but Ah’m their boss, so I’m your boss no matter which one puts you on their team. Speaking of the team, I think it’s time for introductions. These two handsome pieces of stallion are the top ranks under me, Inspector?” she asked, looking towards the pony bearing a grey and black-striped fedora.
        “Inspector Device, at your services, my friends.” She grinned a friendly smile. “I oversee the more complicated, large-scale investigations we have; some with my aid and Deputy-”
        “Deputy Inspect’r Spot, m’lads. Fine day to do this kind of thing,” the other said in a posh accent they normally received from Canterlot nobles, removing his monocle and revealing a brown spot underneath. “Introductions, that is. Especially with that most puzzling scene of destruction you found us at. I look forward to working with you two.”
        “Arr, as do I. And I be Captain Goodeye,” the gruff, yellowed pony with the eyepatch slurred, pointing at the pony across the table with a sexually ambiguous forearm. “This-here’s me mate, Cap’n Beaches.”
        “Sandy, Beaches,” another pony said, this one orange-colored, obviously female, and wearing a pair of flat, wide sunglasses. “And we’re not the only captains, just like Murphy and Mr. Marshall over there aren’t the only lieutenants. We’re just the only ones who could make it to the meeting on such short notice. As for the mess you two bore witness to earlier, we’ve got it covered. Just... come in, when you’re ready to get your jobs.”
        “Heh, don’t you fellas forget Old Marshall, here,” the last pony said, adjusting an old, light-grey hat that appeared to have been made over two hundred years ago. “Lieutenant, technically. But everypony calls me that, so I guess ‘yer free to as well.”
        “And, and,” Daisy cut in, rolling her eyes, “these two are... Detective Retsamoreh of Canterlot and Wizard Laichonious of Canterlot, and they’re on call from now on. Do you two have anywhere to stay in the city?”
        “No ma’am,” Laichonious said, glancing at Rets with a knowing look in his eyes. “We were looking for one when we came across you, actually.”
        “Heh, well shucks. Old Marshall here knows the city like the back of his hoof, so I’m sure he’ll direct you to a cheap apartment after this. Now, evening is coming up, and I’m sure you two are going to want some food, ‘cause I’m hankering for some lunch right now as well.”
        “We’d appreciate that, Chief Commissioner,” Retsamoreh said, grinning.
        “Oi! Right, heh, I forgot. Here’s your fee for being on call ‘fer us,” Daisy said, motioning to a large sack behind her. Protruding from it were bit-shaped lumps that looked a lot like bits. “Three thousand or so bits. Should getcha started with ‘n apartment.”
        “Oh,” they breathed. “Neat.”









The police ponies, and gryphon, were all very amicable. They all enjoyed some fresh daisy sandwiches, except for Murphy who contentedly munched on something crunchy and golden that looked suspiciously like chicken—this made Laich’s eye twitch with the feeling of a joke only half-remembered—and chatted pleasantly about the many cultures and ponies in the city. The Chief Commissioner watched them with a gaze that was not threatening yet carried a distinct feeling of observation, keen observation. As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, the heads of various departments found themselves needed elsewhere, whether they wanted to be or not, and soon it was only Buckles, Marshall, the bronies and the ever watchful Daisy in the meeting room. This made the room feel empty, and it hated that.
“Well, I gotta get home,” Buckles said with a glance out the window. “My shift’ll be up in a minute or two, an’ well, the Mrs. has somethin’ special planned for duh ev’nin’.” He got a twinkle in his eye that the red unicorn almost wanted to relieve him of—not the eye per se, but the twinkle annoyed him.
“Mm-hmm, yah don’t keep the likes of her waiting long, now do yah?” Marshall remarked with a chuckle.
“No sir.” Buckles smiled. “Not if I wanna sleep somewhere comftable anyway.” He turned to the door and gave a final wave before disappearing into the hall.
“I know a good place to set you boys up, I think.” Marshall rubbed his chin with a hoof and nodded. “Yeah, a good friend of mine, Squints, is landlord of a couple apartments not too far from here. Mind waitin’ here a sec for me to give him a call?”
“No prob, mate,” Rets quipped, eyeing the last daisy sandwich.
The jacketed pony trotted from the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. This was the Chief Commissioner’s cue.
“Well,” she practically barked at them, Rets jerked away from the sandwich and Laich just about swallowed his throat. “It seems you two’ve hit it off with the others. That’s good.” She circled them, not unlike a predator. “Ah run a tight order here, fellas, and Ah’m not too keen on repeating m’self so listen up.” The epic content of the story behind her title summoned itself to Laich’s mind. He listened to her every word like a field mouse listens for the owl. “Ah’ve read yer files,” Rets stiffened at this, “an’ I know Princess Luna considers the bronies her young and all.” She paused. Did she look at them a little too long? “Ah respect the Princess, an’ I’ll keep that in mind, but don’t expect special treatment. If anythin’, Ah have even higher expectations for yah.”
The following stare was so perfect, so powerful, that even the room found it hard to stay the same size and shrunk. The door swung open once again and the world snapped back to normalcy like the presence of another pony broke whatever spell the Chief Commissioner laid on the place.
“Yup, you two’ll love Squints, he’s got a few open apartments, and at generous rates.” Marshall smiled, apparently oblivious to the atmosphere of only a moment before.
“Yer in good hooves then,” Daisy said, heading for the door. “If yah have any questions, any at all, y’all know you can come into my office anytahm. Follow ol’ Marshall, he’ll get you set up.” A final glance was the hammerstroke that drove home her earlier point. Laich could feel it hit his psyche with a resounding thud.
“Man, I don’t want to get on her bad side,” Rets breathed.
Marshall chuckled, “Hehe, good plan.”





A dashing young yellow unicorn trotted confidently down the paved sidewalk of 66th Street. The warm light of the setting sun glittered down the street, bouncing all around the tall buildings and their obscene amounts of glass, brass, and shiny metal in general, just having a grand old time. The unicorn with the yellow coat, green mane, blue eyes and white teeth was known as Quick Pick. His special talent wasn’t being the first or second pick in polo games, no, he was a professional lock-breaker. Pick was actually a pretty awkward foal, he never got picked very quickly for the schoolyard games of polo. It is an interesting fact to have in mind, especially while observing the confidence he now carried around with him in his saddlebags. Security, and money, can do wonders for the morale of a pony.
He was under the direct employ of the Locksmith’s Guild in Canterlot as a registered lock-breaker. Every bit he has ever gotten was minted in Canterlot, and he has received a great deal of bits from Canterlot. He could live wherever he chose and he was guaranteed employment. Manehattan was as good a place as any, he didn’t care much for where he was as long as he was with Dulce. She wanted to live here, relatively close to relatives, even though she was a pegasus and he a unicorn. It was all the same to him. The apartment he shared with Dulce, a small space that was made a home only by her presence, greeted him around the bend in the road. It had a warm, inviting look to it, for all that it was a concrete box with a few bangles on the outside. Whistling a wordless tune, Quick Pick entered the bright foyer. He nodded to the bell-hop, standing resplendent in a red jacket with gold buttons and flat-topped cylindrical hat, but elected to take the stairs. He had to keep exercising and build up his endurance, they had a foal on the way and he wanted to be ready for all of the fun they would have together.
Three floors up and six doors down, he couldn’t help but smile at the hoof-made welcome mat made from cumulostratus. His hooves sunk into it of course, but it was a uniquely soothing sensation, much like Dulce’s hugs. He whistled his happy tune, thinking about coming up with some lyrics perhaps—unicorns were supposed to be poetically inclined and he had always heard lullabies and limericks his own father would make up on the spot—and chuckled at his use of keys to open his door.
The interior was dark with dusk, but not unusually so. What made him pause was the unexpected shadow of a pegasus who most certainly was not his wife. “H-” was as far as he got before the stars came out early. A hoof connected with his face, dislodging his vision and shaking it around savagely. He fell to the floor with a gurgle, the long-buried memories of a less than benevolent foalhood bubbling to the surface of the murky mire that became his thoughts. A cold ring slid over the horn attached to his bewildered head. He groaned. There was no need to look at the ring around his horn, he knew it would have eight sides and each side would have an octagonal opal. He also knew that the ring was made of anacadium and that he had no magic so long as it was around his horn. It probably wouldn’t have mattered for a minute or two anyway, that pegasus had hit him hard enough he wouldn’t have been able to weave a spell if he tried.
A few light coughs made their way to his ringing ears. “I told you... to watch the door, Eco.” The voice was scratchy but the words well cultured and perfectly formed.
“Sorry, sir,” was the gruff reply from the shadowy pegasus standing over the yellow unicorn.
A polite and well-placed sniffle came and went, leaving a complimentary moment of silence behind. A throat cleared, and so did Pick’s head. “Hum-mm, well now that I have your attention, Mr. Pick...”
“Wh-whaddayawant?” Pick slurred. “It... itdoesn’t matterwhakinna money... I-I get paid more-huh- more thanyoukinpayme.” His head was clearer, but his tongue was rather cluttered.
“Hahehehe-hurck ack ack...” coughed the cultured captor. Pick laboriously focused on his unwelcome guest. The owner of the voice wore a dark cloak and hood, odd for this time of year. “So, you think I’m here to buy you?”
“Nughuh,” muttered Pick.
The stranger in the cloak tisked at him. “I’m almost insulted,” he coughed lightly into a hoof, “Mmm, you see, I wish to make a trade. I require some services...”
Quick Pick shook his head, the shadowy pegasus took a step forward. “I... I can take contracts outside of the Guild, why not just call?”
“Ah, now you see my predicament,” the stranger coughed some more, “I can’t have you reporting to the Guild for this job, my young friend.”
Pick tried to rise, but a hoof between his shoulders thrust him back down to the floor. “Ooof! Nng! No deal!”
A picture frame floated over to the stranger in a cloud of pink telekinesis, inhibited as he was, Pick couldn’t see the leylines used, or to whom the lines were attached. The stranger sniffed and studied the picture. “Everypony has his price. Yours just happens to be quite... high.” The picture rotated in mid air and gently sailed to the floor. It stood, propped up on its stand, in front of Pick’s face.
The unicorn’s heart stopped. It was a portrait of Dulce. “What... What have you done with Dulce?” he breathed, dreading the answer.
The stranger again cleared his throat, stepping over to the window. “Nothing,” he said in a bored tone. “I understand she is at the movies with some marefriends at the moment...” He tapped on the windowsill. “This can be a rough town, sometimes. I’d hate for anything, untoward, to happen to her.”
Pick growled in his throat. “I swear, if you’ve laid so much as a hoof on her I’ll-”
The pegasus shoved the unicorn’s face into the floor, his nose hitting the portrait and knocking it over. “Now, now,” the pegasus grated, “do try to be polite.”
“That is quite enough, Eco.” the stranger said coldly.
The hoof let up from behind his head, the unicorn licked his lips, tasting blood from a bit tongue.
“Mr. Pick,” sighed the stranger, “it is late so I will put this very plainly. You agree to sign on with me, abide by my terms and in return, your wife will find her way home tonight. How does that sound?”
Quick Pick glanced at the portrait of Dulce, its glass now cracked from its fall. “Deal,” he moaned.
“There’s a smart lad. Now, first rule: Not a word to anypony,” The stranger hacked into the side of his cloak, “HMM-mm, I will know if and when you talk and what you say, I know where you go and what you do, so don’t try to wiggle out of your contract or the consequences will be... unpleasant.”
All the yellow unicorn could do was moan his agreement.