//------------------------------// // The Current State of Things, Continued // Story: The Secret Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes // by Paper_mate_Pony //------------------------------// The Current State of Things, Part the Second The face who challenged us through the threshold maintained its bearing for a few breaths, unfazed by Holmes’ sincere offering of feality. This equine’s face was blue, like a twilight sky, and its structure seemed, to me, more wholesome in its resemblance to some of our own breeds of horse. Despite this, the yoke that adorned her slender neck spoke measures of this fellow’s humanity: of some fine metallic form, it’s featured article was a crescent moon of pearl that dominated the piece. Miss Dash balked at this fine show of Holmes’ deductive strength, and mouthed her approval before focusing upon the newcomer: it seemed that an equally awe-inspiring reception was anticipated. Feeling isolated from the engagement, I took to Miss Dash’s side with the propensity of my species: we are creatures keen of drama, and here was an altercation promising to be one of the most dramatic form. However, much to my surprise, the face did not twist itself into a frown, or scowl or any sort of emotion at all. Her eye’s twitched—a nervous spring releasing pressure—but for that miniscule feature, her face may well have been dead had not a lascivious smile spread across the royal’s lips—who I recalled must have been the ‘Luna’ mentioned earlier. She crawled from within the knee high threshold out into the grotto itself, taking care to arch her back away from the low frame and to keep her voluptuous, effervescent mane in order. She, like Miss Sparkle, sported a horn the same hue as her coat. However, while Miss Sparkle’s was a mere stump, the horn the royal, Luna, possessed was perhaps the size of my forearm. Further, as her lengthy body was removed from its priest's hole, it became quite apparent that she was also in possession of a pair of wings. Regarding Luna’s mane, nota bene: having seen what we had that night, I believe it should have taken some momentous effort to produce from us a further exclamation of awe. However, of all we had seen, and of all the more we were to see, this mane possessed a unique rank among the curiosities. It was stunningly gorgeous, and in tones of both the deepest night and the earliest dawn, shimmering with the aid of a million stars waylaid throughout its bulk. It was also completely translucent, a small factor I was slow to take in, and which only occurred to me upon noticing my own reflection in the mirror of the basin behind her. Standing to her full height, this Luna dwarfed the other ponies we had seen that day to the point where a tete-a-tete discussion could be carried out without much hassle. Her face still carried a sultry smile as she rounded about the room, taking in both the threshold for the grotto itself, Holmes and Miss Dash. However, upon catching my eye, her smile dissolved completely. She remained still and silent for a moment, before turning to Miss Dash. “There were two of them?” she asked impudently, tossing a blank glance her way. Her gaze then hardened as a recollection formed within her mind’s eye, and said she to Miss Dash, “That cannot be right. Rainbow Dash, there was only one! You have managed to bring to me the wrong ones! How?” Miss Dash’s eyes darted between her face, which had turned and whose features I could not see, and the face of Holmes, who stood with his usual, indisputable presence. Luna cut her response off at the bud, and rounded upon Holmes with speed. “Yet you knew it all. You... y-you knew everything,” cried she with soft eyes and a hard jaw. “You have a twin, then? There are, indeed, two of you! No, thats impossible! I saw you with my own eyes that day. Rainbow Dash, explain!” She rang with authority at every point, yet underneath the hard intonation a smaller fluctuation of her voice was quite discernible, and it struck me as a desperate wail. “Perhaps, Your Highness, It would be wise if you were to explain, “spoke Holmes as he crossed his hands behind his back. “Miss Dash here was simply going about the duties you bestowed, and so there is little fault laying at her door. You are making little sense as it is, and shifting blame to the feet of those around you is going to make precious little difference. Now, I do believe we are in a position to help you, Your Highnes—” “Help me! Pah! I challenge you to try!” cried she, facing up to Holmes and jabbing a silver crested hoof thrice into his breast. Upon the fourth, however, his deft hand caught her hoof around it’s fetlocks and he dragged it to his hip, bringing her face toward his—making an effort as he did so to avoid the daunting length of horn that accompanied it. The gaze or Sherlock Holmes hardened and he spoke with the sincere veracity of a man sure of himself and his claims, but in two tones of voice too subtle for myself or Miss Dash to make any sense of the matter. However, his features were agitated and I could see the sides of his mouth twitching momentarily, as did the corners of his eyes and the muscles behind his cheek bones—traits I had never noticed before. After an extended pause, he let her hoof slid to the floor, and she paced backward, eyeing him from his hawkish, clean-shaven chin to his sodden and mud strewn high-street boots. “Are you certain it is the very same individual?” she asked finally. Holmes nodded with eyes shut tight, as if the ferocity with which he governed them added weight to his claim. “And you can henceforth find this busybody?” she inquired with fervor. “If that is the name by which you title him him, by all means. But first, we must be privy to the whole account as it is through your eyes,” Holmes assured her. She nodded solemnly, and then looked to both her left and right. “And Twilight is at the bridge once again?” she asked of Miss Dash, who nodded frankly. “There’s another one of these guys there as well. Some old dude. Bit tubby,” she added quickly. “Quite. So, gentlefellows, please take a seat as I have much to tell. Tea?” At this, I realised how little I had had to consume. The last item to have passed the threshold of my lips had been a shred of mutton, and I mustn’t have had anything to drink since I took coffee with my lunch in Baker street. “Please. We are simply famished,” said I, nodding enthusiastically. HRH Luna nodded sagely toward Miss Dash, who glanced at us with a tired shrug, before furrowing into the depths of the priest's hole. Holmes shut his eyes tightly once again, before countering the inquisitive gaze of HRH Luna with a disparaging wave of his hand. “I needn't impose upon your hospitality, my dear. We are merely here on business, and the tea should simply encroach. We shall abstain.” Miss Dash emerged from the shadows, with tea leaves dotted around her muzzle. “No tea?” “Holmes!” I insisted, “It has been hours since we last drank anything. Please, Miss Dash, for the sake of our health.” “Tea it is, then,” she shrugged with a sigh, before disappearing into the dark. “Watson, it has only been twenty four hours since last you drank. Surely you can abstain for the precious little interim while HRH Luna here continues with her narrative. No tea, Miss Dash.” A heavy sigh sounded from within the chamber, “Fine, no tea!” “Holmes!” I cried, “I simply must protest, if not for my health, than yours! I was able to rest my weary bones, at least! You have had no such comforts and as a practitioner of good repute, Sherlock Holmes will be taking tea under my direction, Miss Dash!” “Right! Thats it!” cried Miss Dash as she stormed from within the threshold, ramming the basin closed over the priest's hole with her hind legs, “You make the freaking tea, I’m done!”. She glowered at us from behind her now sopping mane, which formed an uneven fringe across her brow. The front of her coat was stained a deeper shade, almost approaching that of lime green, and the sodden hairs upon her chest formed bristles as droplets of liquid were rent to the floor. My cheeks began to glow with heat, and Holmes bit his lips in irritation. I lowered my head in shame, while Holmes wrenched his eyes shut once more. HRH Luna giggled angelically, before taking a saintly sip from a bone china cup, decoratively fashioned with ornate red patterns in the forms of clouds and the wind. Holmes and I started simultaneously, shocked to find not only the steaming beverage held within HRH Luna’s magical grasp, but three equally ornate cups and saucers elegantly resting upon the table. Miss Dash digested the information while biting her lips, before throwing her forelegs into the air with a soundless yell. “One does not hold the elemental powers of night and the heavens without learning first to brew one’s own tea. Please, sit or stand, and listen. “The mourning process was... well. They discovered me in the throne room—the sizeable hall in desolate condition you no doubt saw upon your entry—surrounded by shards of glass, and...” Her face clouded over. Holmes and I placed out cups down in haste, and even Miss Dash dropped her forelegs, crossed out of spite. Yet, HRH Luna swallowed deeply, shook her head, and then continued with the story. “I was completely in grief; inconsolable. In an attempt to construe even the most minor of details, I just couldn’t face it. Them, I mean. I-I couldn’t face them.” “My dear,” Holmes raised his hand to silence to royal, “I must ask you to start at the very beginning. We are here for the miscreants, and as important as the story of your unfortunate demise undoubtedly is, you must start with their involvement first.” She nodded reluctantly. “Quite, quite. You wish to hear from the very beginning and as such I must oblige, if indeed you are as certain of the outcome as you say you are. “We, my sister Celestia and I, were the unquestionable rulers of this land. She was the elder, I the younger. I say unquestionable, because this is the first incident in perhaps a thousand years wherein an alicorn”—she flared her immense wings—“has not sat upon the throne. “This rule, and the unquestioning fealty of the ponies around us, was sworn in an age ago. I do not remember much about truth surrounding our proclamations or our origins or even the actual events that took place, but the books all say we bested the spirit of disharmony itself. This spirit, whom we named Discord, has been a feature of most recent events starting perhaps only a decade ago. But more of that later. “My sister and I, having defeated this oppressive tyrant, were entrusted by the ponies to restore complete order. We were to have power over everything, from the ponies to the seasons and even the heavens themselves. Thankfully, for reasons I’m sure lie lost in the fog of the past, we were dutifully up to the task. My sister, being the elder of us, took power over the day, and thus the sun. She was the giver of life: providence. I, being younger and less able, took power over the moon and the night: a post void of much responsibility at the time.” She breathed deeply, swirling the cup in her ethereal grasp. I listened along with Miss Dash, and we shared similar enraptured features. Holmes creased his brow and scratched his breast before balancing his chin upon his finger momentarily. “My dear, might I clarify, briefly, a few certain particulars. You say a spirit of disharmony, by which you gave a name. My understanding of the term ‘spirit’ is the, shall we say, nonphysical part of the individual—the soul or conscious or what have you. And yet, disharmony is a concept, or at least it is in my understanding, and so you’re speaking of... an incarnation?” My ears pricked, “Perhaps some kind of demon?” I postulated, as Holmes and I shared a glance, “With the tail of a snake and the paw of a lion among other, grotesque, traits?” HRH Luna blinked rapidly as she pursed her lips. “The head of a goat, the wings of a bat and a bird. Yes... that is him exactly, how did you come upon such knowledge? He’s been missing s-since, well, the night for which you seek clarification.” “We are acquainted with an acquaintance of his,” said Holmes, tapping his knees. HRH Luna nodded subtly, before the muscles of her face convulsed in silence. “Further,” continued Holmes, “to best a spirit, you must have been in possession of some considerable strength. Surely you could have called upon it again in this most recent calamity?” HRH Luna shook her head solemnly, flattening the ears upon her head as she did so. “No. Not quite. The books say we ourselves found, or perhaps forged, a congregation of artifacts called the elements of harmony.”—as she said these lines, Miss Dash beamed—“They were the most powerful faculties we could draw upon, and they worked to utter perfection. Discord was locked into stone before the break of his chaotic day, and from that moment, Celestia and I were to become the upkeepers of this land. And have been, for a millenia.” “And why could you not, then, turn to these elements upon the night of which you speak?” inquired Holmes, extending his snake-like torso across the table. HRH Luna faltered and she looked to the floor. Raising her head, her red-rimmed eyes bore into ours, and she looked as if she was going to scream out some vile admission, before Miss Dash spoke, uneasily, upon her behalf. “Some things happened, and the princess was... not able to carry them. I mean, sure, they’re hardly heavy themselves, but its the power they hold, y’know? And so while the two of ‘em could handle three each without too much trouble, handling all six was just way much for one pony; even if that one pony was the Princess of the Day. So they were locked away until they were needed once again, and only if six bearers, each embodying one of the elements, were to need the use of them” said she, turning to catch the bashful gaze of HRH Luna, who mouthed ‘thank you’. “It seems to me you know quite a bit about these ‘elements’, Miss Dash,” said I “As the element of loyalty, she should,” said HRH Luna, directing her gaze back across the table. “Miss Sparkle is the element of magic, and there are... were others, as of yet unaccounted for.” “Unaccounted for? You mean to say you’re still searching for six bearers, after all these years?” I asked. The comment caught both ponies like a full broadside battery. Both shot each other worried looks, as if unsure whether it was a simple question, or an accusation. “Perhaps it is a story for another time?” HRH Luna offered finally, drawing attention back to herself as she laid the tea cup back into its bone china saucer. Holmes had remained silent the throughout the tangential conversation, examining the faces of HRH Luna and Miss Dash in turn. Presently, however, he took a long drag upon his own tea cup—it had previously sat untouched—and extended to his full height. “Indeed so. Now, if you haven’t any more to say, may you please continue with your narrative?” “Yes, but of course. These are all vital details. “In recent years—seven by my count—he quite abruptly escaped, and we were forced to bring the elements back. It was a simple event, however, and the immensity of their collective power was assured. Before the afternoon of his freedom, he was already locked into his prison of stone. Celestia had very little to do with the entire altercation. She mentioned to me that this was her test for the elements against a true threat. If the bearers were to be incapacitated forthwith, she and I were to step in without delay. “Thankfully, such an eventuality never arose, and as I gathered from her, the elements faired swimmingly. Either way, we had proven, once and for all, that Discord was no match for us. And so began my sister’s little scheme. “She came to me, five years to the day, and interrupted a certain meeting with the minister for inquiries. “‘Luna! Luna, I know what must be done!’ she cried as she burst through the doors to the dressing room we were using. Hmm, you know, the poor minister had quite a shock seeing my sister enter like that! Jumping from one hoof to the other, squealing like a little filly and embracing me as her sister. His jaw just hit to floor with astoundment! She didn’t even attempt to put on any airs or graces in his presence either. Referred to him by his first name, even! “‘Oh, and a pleasant morning to you, Dotted!’—his name was Dotted Eye—’I’m really sorry, but might I run off with my sister for just a moment? She’ll be back within the hour, without even a scratch! Come on, Luna!’ and she grabbed me by the tail with her teeth and hauled me away. “Once we were safe behind locked doors, I asked her, “‘’Tia, what are you doing!? That was the Minister for Inquiries! You know how the nobles hate it when you act like a pony!’ “‘Oh, Luna, Dotted Eye’s the perfect gentlecolt! Besides, blow the nobleponies! You know they’re way past their time! Anyway, I’ve had the most brilliant idea!’ “‘Being?’ I pushed, prepared for both a deeply philosophical solution to the wide spread class divide, and her opinion on whether the maids should have bright pink knickerbockers as part of their uniforms—both have been proposed by her to me at various points in our past under the guise of a ‘most brilliant idea’. My sister was a very amiable soul in her private life, and quite spectacularly eccentric at the best of times. “‘We must reform Discord! We simply must!’ she cried, holding me by the shoulders and leaping from one hoof to the other. “‘Tia, are you... sure?’ I asked cautiously. “‘Of course! Why would I not be sure?’ “I needn’t now explain why I gazed upon her with both incredulity and concern. I even treated her to a pregnant pause, but her sparkling face never wilted. It seemed that, while keen to ask my advice, she was not overly responsive to it. Either way, it was a whole minute before her unbridled passion for her new idea swayed me. “‘Who, then, is to do the reforming? Surely not us.’ “‘Why ever not us? We can be... persuasive.’ She stuck out her tongue and I rolled my eyes. “‘Tia. If you are being serious—’ “‘When have I ever not been serious?’ she interjected, with a pursed lip and cocked brow. “‘If you are being serious about reforming—and truly reforming, not persuading him to swap sides for a few days—are we, his true and only antagonists, the right ponies for the job?’ “Her lips remained pursed, but her brow softened as her eyes searched the air above my head. “‘Good point. Who, then?” she ruminated, as she sat gracefully upon a cushion, ceasing the excited jittering of her hind quarters. ‘Twilight and the elements?’ “‘Well, if what you say about them is true, would that not be an even poorer course of action? They’re exceptional, I must grant that you know how to pick your students, but is that wise?’ “‘They locked him into stone! He remembers their power, and he’s scared of them. We, he knows what we can do. But them? They’re just simple ponies, and yet he was completely overwhelmed! If I was him, I would be more afraid of what he doesn't know about them, than what he does about us!’ “Her logic struck me as a bit strained, but I understood her underlying reasoning. If an allegory might suffice: it is not the darkness we fear, but that which lies beneath it. Either way, I could tell that she had become completely taken with the idea of using the bearers to tame him: whenever I tried to offer an argument, instead of debating or outright refuting it, she would calmly nod and ask ‘oh yes?’ or ‘Indeed?’, sure signs that she was no longer even listening. “The very next day his statue had disappeared from the castle maze, as had the Elements from the vault behind the throne. By midmorning, Celestia had returned. I met her from the carriage, partly out of sisterly care and partly to scare off many of the wanton members of the press—it seems that, post my own reformation, I’ve become so dull the mere sight of me ruins any possibility of a story that’s going to sell. “Alighting from the carriage, she appeared as regal as ever in the public spheres. However, as soon as we had departed behind closed and locked doors, the facade dropped completely. Throughout lunch, she didn’t even touch a nibble; beads of sweat collected in the fur behind her ears. They say Celestia has an alabaster white coat because she never paled at a challenge, yet I know when she’s pallid, and I saw it that day. “She would gaze, momentarily, across the valley toward the little town of Ponyville—it is where Twilight Sparkle is based—before catching my eyes and snapping toward some other trinket in the room, before turning back seconds after. She was deathly nervous, I could tell. However, I dared not mention it, least of all to her; she didn’t deserve my provocation. Instead, I took the liberty of having a full outfit of guards prepared, in readiness for the eventuality she so feared. “Her angst perpetuated for two days, until one morning the fateful letter arrived. She had obviously received it upon her waking, because by the time I myself had awoken her sun was already firmly supporting its day, and my moon was nestled deep within the night beyond. In recent years she had taken to setting my moon as well—old habits die hard, it seems—and, while I should have been irate, I figured that had this letter boded ill she surely would have sought my company. “Still, I readied the outfit and cleared the day’s schedule. The press, once again, clamoured around the castle walls. I had the staff prepare them cakes and drinks to keep them content with the lack of action they were receiving, but the reprieve would only last a few hours and I was forced to face them around noon. “They were well mannered—they always are—and had been sated within the matter of perhaps... half an hour? They were generally quite blasé about their questions, though. Some asked me if the Princess would be back before nightfall, others asked if this had anything to do with the Equestrian Games inspectors we had entertained some weeks beforehoof. ‘Why had we been turning away so many official visitors lately?’ was a question, well echoed by those present, asked by a persnickety fellow in a black dinner jacket. But, they were just looking for something that could sell papers. All one in the same, and as such fairly easy to disappoint. “Actually, no. As I recall, there was one young stallion who struck me as quite removed from the others. He didn’t seem to have a lithographer with him, or even an artist. He didn’t even wear the standard uniform of a journalist or reporter, nor anything else at all. He did have a brown and blue woolen scarf wrapped lazily around his neck, and a wiry pince-nez sitting atop his snout, but nothing else. “He didn’t ask one question, either. He just stood there, among the throng, and gazed up at me breezily, as if he were attending a public concert. Once the rest of them were happy, or hungry enough to leave their posts for the sandwiches waiting outside, he stayed, until very last. The others trotted off briskly, with the standard parade of ‘Y’highness’ or ‘Your Grace’ but he remained, silently watching by the door. “I departed the throne, with a formulated plan in mind to go and have a look at Ponyville through my telescope—it sits in the second tallest tower, above the library—before a polite coughing from one of my guards caught my attention. He was silently darting his eyes between me and this fellow by the door, who had not quite caught my attention before hoof. “‘You should have asked your question sooner, subject!’ said I, as warmly as I could manage. “‘M’ not here to question you.’ he monotoned. “‘Then, please, kindly take your leave. We must welcome ou—’ “‘Ah bup bup bup buh,’ he interjected, ‘said I wan’t ‘ere to ask you a question, no’ that I have nothin’ t’say. Thizzis your last... mistak—’ “The guard present snapped quickly to his right, dashed down the platform and hurled the fellow to the ground within two breaths. I doubt the poor young fellow had much of a warning, given his poor eyesight and all. “Regardless, a threat is a threat and must be treated with the harshest measures. The guard had the stallion between his forelegs, caught is a crossed sword type strangle hold with one hoof pressed sharply against his spine. “‘Ahhh, gahh!’ he yelped. ‘C’lestia’s sake, m’not dangerous! Ahhh!’ “I marched toward the guard and his charge, forcing all warmth from my voice—you know, I’ve tried so hard lately to be much more amiable, and such events conspire against me! “‘Remarking to anypony, let alone a member of the royal sisterhood, that any act is one last mistake seems hardly innocuous!’ “‘Aghh, for m’szzak... aughh! Hes’a bloody sp’rit! ‘Sif any pony could control ‘im!’ “I started, and waved the guard off. He took the pressure off his back and released his crossed forelegs from across the fellow’s neck, but still straddled him menacingly. “‘How do you... how could you possibly know know that!’ “‘Well, it don’ seem too ‘ard to fig’r tha’ out! M’ponyville raised! S’in m’blood and m’bread. I know ‘wo that gan’ly sod is from a m’le ‘way, wot wit’ what he did t’the place! Y’can’t bet’er a soul like tha’!’ “I glared hard at him for the best part of a few moments. Ponyville is quite far away, and if his story really was as important It felt strange that he would have come all this way on the off chance a meeting was to be held. Then again, his accent was hardly one of the intelligentsia and his very presence at such a meet was enough for me to guess his opportunistic motives for attending. “In the end, I let the poor fellow go with a warning and a few bits in his muzzle for the trouble we caused him. Besides, that afternoon my sister returned, bearing the happiest of news. It had been done! Discord, the very essence of disharmony himself, had been tamed!” Holmes clapped his hands with a merry cheer, breaking myself and Miss Dash from our fascinated reveries. “Excellent, excellent! My, you must have been proud of yourselves!” Holmes cried, walking over to her side and taking a knee. She nodded, glancing at me as if unsure whether Holmes’ sudden ejaculation was perfectly sound, or if it bode ill. “Now, my dear, shall I assume this merry little tale brings us happily toward the sheer tragedy you deftly avoided beforehand?” HRH Luna’s face drooped. “Quite,” said Holmes, his eyes level with hers. “May I also assume that, having had the pleasure of our acquaintance, you are now more comfortable to speaking of it freely?” She regarded him intently, mulling over what he had said. “I... I should think so. B-but I’m hardly certain if I can, in full. Without breaking down, I mean,” she hastened to add. “Aye, I thought not. Well, as worthy of my trust as you are, I simply cannot accept a description that might contain the slightest hints of doubt or untruths. You understand, yes?” “Yes, yes of course. Well, I can promise you I will try my h-hardest to be truthful.” “That may not be appropriate, I’m afraid.” He stood, and a wave of uncertainty washed over HRH Luna’s face. “You see, while even if it is in your best intentions, such a heart wrenching trauma can indeed cloud the mind to details, especially if such feelings of angst or fear come from orating them. What if you were to write them down, as a statement?” She considered this with her teeth clenched upon her cheeks. “I suppose t-that would be fine.” “Capitol!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands a second time as he rounded upon her. “Take every measure you need to ensure a level state of mind. Might I suggest finding comfort in your delightful little alcove?” He stretched his palm towards it, as if ushering her into a hotel room. “Y-yes, thank you. I have all the stationary I need, I think. This should take only a few minutes.” “Take as much time as you need, please.” said Holmes, swinging the basin around as she squeezed her lithe body through it’s threshold. The instant it closed, he spun around with a glint in his eye. His piercing gaze fell upon Miss Dash, who was pruning the feathers of her striking wings. It seemed to be a habitual pastime of hers—she had absent mindedly taken to it thrice throughout HRH Luna’s narrative, even as she gave the royal her rapt attention. Upon noting our collective gaze, and the feathers within her mouth, she started, wrenching the wing from her teeth. “Mmph!” she quietly squealed, curling her face as she tentatively placed her wing to her side. Holmes crossed the room like a winter wind, swiftly gliding across the floor. “Miss Dash,” whispered he as he leveled with her, “Watson and I—and you and Miss Sparkle and, dare I say, even Mr Harrington—are going to need you to tell us what, exactly, the good princess meant by her ‘reformation’. No, no, don’t look so surprised, Miss Dash, she let slip those exact words: ‘my reformation’. Further, there is obviously a great deal which you both seem to be withholding from myself and Watson. With her, I can permit it: she is obviously troubled. But you...” The pause that followed was punctuated only by the scratching of a quill beyond the basin’s threshold. Miss Dash ran her tongue across her top jaw, and her eyes examined the face of Sherlock Holmes critically. She would have come off as insubordinately nonchalant had the soft coat above her snout not turned a fainter shade of blue. Finally, she exhaled sharply through the nose. “Right. What you want to know is hardly going to work in her favor. I’ll support her either way—I mean, duh, I’m here, right? But I just don’t know what o-or how you’re ‘gonna use what I tell you. And... its a loyalty thing, y’know? I-its her past, and I don’t wanna’ go on—” “Don’t.” Holmes extended his finger, and shut his eyes tight as he tapped it against his temples. “You needn’t make excuses for her; I am most certain she would do a fine job of her own defence. What I need is an explanation.” “So... you aren’t going to bring this back onto her, ever?” “Only if we need to, which is an eventuality I find improbable.” “Okay, well.” Miss Dash sniffed, and then exhaled again. “Princess Luna was, the-the goddess of the moon, working under her sister, who, you know: goddess of the sun and all. And, one day, she just got jealous, plain and simple! Her night, her beautiful creation, was slept through and avoided, while her sister’s was celebrated! Something changed in her—this was about a thousand years ago, by the way—something changed and simple jealousy became all out rage. She just got evil, like, super villain evil; to the point where she’d pretty much become a new pony all together.” Miss Dash glanced toward the basin, before ushering us closer to her muzzle. “The legends called her the ‘Night Mare’ ‘cus, I-it sounded cool, I guess, but she’d become a nasty piece of work. I mean, she wanted to pretty much kill her sister, and bring about eternal night and all that sort of stuff. Celestia just couldn’t let that happen, family or not. So, she used these elements to—they’re like these gemstones, by the way—to lock Luna, or the Night Mare, into the moon for a thousand years. “It pretty much crippled Celestia—I mean, those little gems are powerful, and I only have to wear one! And this is me we’re talking about here! So, thats what the bearers thing is about; Celestia just couldn’t handle the power, and so she needed six ponies who could donate the course of their lives to the cause—but only when needed. “She’d realised pretty early on that having these ultimate gems just lying around was pretty bad for security, so she locked them away too. The ponies would not only have to prove to her, but to the stones themselves, that they were worthy of the elements. “Anyway, about a thousand years later, Twi came along. She was pretty special, even before the whole ‘element of magic’ thing; you know, Celestia doesn’t name just anypony as her personal student! Anyway, I guess Celestia realised the Night Mare was going to be coming back imminently, so she realised that Twilight was probably going to need the elements to get her back under control. Which also meant she was going to need some bearers. “She sent Twilight to Ponyville, under the guise of some study into the ‘magic of friendship’ or whatever, and she found me and a few others, and we became the bearers. Which is pretty cool: I mean, I was pretty much a hero of the nation before my twentieth birthday! “So the Night Mare returned, we fought a bit, and then, well, reformed her. It wasn’t really that hard; just a blast from the elements was all that we needed. I guess it was more about the journey than the resolution, but I digress. So, yeah, tears were shed, chasms were fixed, and two sisters were reunited to take upon themselves the mantle of responsibility once more. That’s what she meant by reformation.” Holmes sunk his chin into his breast as he digested the information. I, however, desired some clarification. “You said there were ‘others’. Now, I was under the impression that you had yet to find all the elements, even after all these years—for which I apologize—but could you not elaborate?” said I, turning to her and tracing the rim of my tea-cup with my finger. “Oh!” she intoned, curiously surprised. “You want to know about that?” “Why, yes. It could all become important, and It hardly seems as if we are to be leaving anytime soon.” Indeed, the quill upon parchment had yet to cease in its intensity, and neither of our absent company had returned. Miss Dash sized up her options as she bobbed her head hither and thither. “Yeah, alright. I suppose we can talk about that. But, like Luna said, thats a story for another time. There were six of us; Twilight and I—well, duh—but there was also Applejack, and Rarity. Now they were the Elements of Honesty and Generosity. Followed by Pinkie Pie”—a wide smile warmed her face—”and I don’t need to tell you about Pinks, you’ll learn about her soon enough trust me. She was the Element of Laughter. “They’re not the elements any more, though. Like a lot of things, once Celestia was gone and Luna was out of the game, we all became antiquated artefacts. Now, Pinks: she didn’t really leave, and we’re still great friends, so I can’t fault her for that. Nor did Applejack, to be fair, but its been like, three months since I saw that filly last so who even cares, ha! Then there’s Rarity, who just straight up and left a while ago, actually. She followed the money all the way to Manehattan, and set up there. Rarity’s doing well from what the papers say, though it would be nice to have heard it from her own lips. But whatever: that was her choice, I guess.” “And the sixth?” Miss Dash blinked. “Oh yeah, true. Well, there’s Magic and Loyalty, Laughter and Honesty, and then ‘Generosity’ and K-kindness. Now Kindness was...” her voice cracked. A glassy sheen covered her eyes and she shut her mouth very tightly. I could see her tongue searching the interior of her cheeks, and her teeth biting her lips methodically. “Then theres, uhm... F-fluttershy.” Her voice cracked again, and her ears fell limply by her cheekbones. She breathed rhythmically, and attempted to say something more, before shutting her eyes tight. “Excuse me, please,” and she stood up and left, without another word. I was simply shocked at the speed by which her emotions had attacked her. Talking about Pinkie Pie and Twilight—and herself—she had been pleasantly disposed. When she had mentioned the other two, Applejack and Rarity, while not overtly disparaging, she hadn’t treated her memories of them with any emotion at all, aside from a snide grimace every time she said the name ‘Rarity’. But this mention of Fluttershy had destroyed her resolve entirely, if not instantly. Miss Dash struck me as quite a rough soul; capable of harsh duress. And yet, the simple, absent minded mentioning of this name seemed to be enough to reduce her to wretchedness. And what a queer name Fluttershy was. It struck me as soothing and warm, as one feels when one listens to Saint-Saens. Perhaps it was the timbre of the vowels and syllables, eloquent in their make up and through which emotion had been given a gate to pass. Or, perhaps it was the words themselves: flutter, to do as a butterfly does, and shy, the nature of true beauty. Indeed, the emotion present in Miss Dash was no doubt a matter of cause and effect: it was the memory of this ‘Fluttershy’ girl, and indeed what horrid end did befall her, that wrought tears from her dry eyes. Sherlock Holmes, in contrast to his own nature, offered very little reaction to this new circumstance: he simply lifted his chin from his breast for a moment, studied her form briefly before sinking back into his state of reconciliation. Devoid of a conversation partner, I too quickly sunk into a melancholic reverie. My past worry, regarding our presence here, rose to the forefront of my conscious once again. Thankfully, I had plenty of other material to mull upon before falling indebtedly into lethargy: there was the nature of the sundial and its presence, and the nature of this queer little empire with its, ultimately, sad disposition and still, dead air. Further, there was Holmes’ dogged determination to hide from me his ultimate theory, and whatever connection he forged between all that I had seen that night. But the presence of this bulbous headed man! I attempted to rake through my memories, to find any individual of note who bore such features. But, as hard as I tried, the further the truth alluded me: as I had said before, there simply wasn’t a man alive who fit such a description! A master craftsman of crime? It had been years since any such accolade could thoroughly portray any member of the great, London crimatocracy. An eel or trout, seeking refuge behind stirred silt? Perhaps, but none that really made any allusion to the first particular. My mind reached for the clear memory surrounding my chase through the Somerset downs. I saw the face of the miscreant; bold and crisp, as if printed upon a lithograph. There was one feature which struck me, like a single, lonesome wrong note within a scale: his forehead. When I had been told, by Holmes and Harrington, that our miscreant was in possession of a great bulbous white head, I immediately imagined a creature with a swelling mound, covered limply with vitreous skin like some wretched beast of the ocean. But, the pallor of the fellow who shot Holmes was almost pearly, and his forehead was quite smooth. Infact, I should rather have described it as a great white dome. And then, suddenly, I was accosted by a most severe clarity of mind. I knew this man! Of course I knew him! I had used those exact words to describe him almost two decades ago! And when I had said before that there simply wasn’t a man alive such as that, I was right. But, in a strange moment of what some might say is the twisted humor of the universe, so was Holmes: this man was dead, a disservice done to him by the hands of Holmes himself! I started with a frightful jump, catching a broad smile caressing the lips of Sherlock Holmes as he gazed at me cheerfully. “So, was it my description of his bulbous head that threw you, friend Watson? Or was it simply that you, as I, believed the napoleon of crime rested somewhere beneath the swirling cauldron of Reichenbach Falls? Or indeed, was it the sundial of Durham university—his university—that finally pricked your mind?” I cared not for how he had so deftly read my thoughts—it was a trick he had become fond of parading before me, as of late—because the name that I had conjured, the name that had resurfaced from the deep fog of my well cluttered mind, took all precedence at that moment. The honorable, intelligent, and blisteringly vile Professor James Moriarty.