//------------------------------// // Act 2, Chapter 7: Executor of the Estate // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------// Starlight Over Detrot Act 2, Chapter 7: Executor of the Estate A certain Dr. Hooves is attributed with the saying that a pony is the sum of his or her memories. If this is the case, Equestria is similarly the sum of its history. Therefore, the preservation of that history is of paramount importance to ponykind's identity and progress. It is theorized that one of the greatest periods of loss in our nation's identity is the period of Discord's reign, when countless words were eaten and libraries converted into armored giraffes for the sake of a cheap laugh; a foul period of destructive whims during which numerous powerful artifacts, magnificent spells, ingenious devices, and the methodology behind their creation faded from knowledge and into legend. Ponykind has been rediscovering them, and themselves, ever since, often approaching from ignorance with unfortunate results. Consider the following: Recovered texts documenting the Paleopony period demonstrate that even during that primitive time, equinekind's knowledge of mechanical devices had enabled the production of functional unicycles; It's unguessable how far Discord set Equestria back. Given the technological acceleration of the last sixty years, Equestria might well be colonizing space by this point had it not been for the interference of that entropic abomination. The Princesses, or at least somepony or ponies close to them, are aware of the price potentially paid by the loss of history, and have taken steps to preserve it through academies and museums, but even these well-intentioned institutions have their detractors... and saboteurs. -The Scholar          Tome and I walked through the library, side by side, enjoying a friendly silence. We’d strolled into a deeper section of the immense building, passing under signs that said ‘Restricted Access’ until, finally, we reached a small wooden door tucked into another quiet alcove between two shelves labeled ‘Amusing Anecdotes That Almost Destroyed Countries’ and ‘Planetary Domination Plans For Kitchen Use.’ The simple, silver nameplate said ‘Curator Of Tomes.' Tome led me into a comfortable office that put me most closely in mind of an old professor’s study, rather than the leading light of one of the most esteemed criminal institutions in Detrot. His plate of cookies was already waiting on the desk and a sort of controlled chaos held sway over the stacked books and curiosities on every surface. Books packed every wall, most in sealed glass cases. A ladder was propped against the shelves for reaching the higher collections. Many ponies might have felt uncomfortable amongst that much clutter, but I found myself relaxed. It was like home, back when home was home instead of a pile of ashes I couldn’t even visit lest there be killers watching. He shut the door, and exhaled, his shoulders unknotting. Something about the space just said ‘safety’ in big, friendly letters. Trotting around the desk, Tome hauled himself up into his chair, offering me the posh, red velvet stool on the other side, which I took, gratefully.          “Heh... Detective, you may be half my age, but I believe when I say ‘I’m getting too old for this, you have some idea what I really mean,” the Don mused, giving me a half-hearted smile.          “Yeah, yeah, I do,” I replied, doffing my hat and laying it on the cushion. “So... now the others are out of the room, you want to tell me the real reason you brought me in on this? Particularly with your sons involved?”          Tome picked up a cookie and spent a long time studying the chips before he spoke. “Do you know what it’s like to have sons, Detective?”          “Can’t say I do, no. Ponies like me don’t have foals,” I replied.          “At one time, I thought that zebras like myself didn’t bear children either.” He bit into his treat, crunching noisily. “You can’t have failed to notice that Limerence isn’t mine, at least, by blood.” “I was meaning to ask about that, but didn’t know how without sounding like a bigger prick than usual,” I answered. “He’s the child of my second wife’s first marriage. Ahhh, what a lovely thing she was...” He gave me a mildly lecherous grin, then covered it with a second bite of cookie. “I’d never had a child of my own. By the time she passed, I had grown attached to the boy. You must excuse his demeanor. While he took to the business side like a fish to water, I can’t say the same for his public face. He tends to prefer the back rooms, surrounded by books of forbidden knowledge.” “What about... what’s his name? Zefu? What’s wrong with his legs?” “Yeees... Zefu. Sad. Truly sad.” The Don lowered his eyes, guiltily. “That may be my fault, I’m afraid.” I half-closed one eye, leaning closer. “How so?” “Zefu was born of my third wife. She was a unicorn. He grew up strong, though his magic never grew with his body. He still struggles with pencils and light spells.” Raising his chin, he straightened his dark vest. “I pushed those boys hard... and I should have given him some leeway, methinks.” Guilt snuck into his face, deepening his wrinkles such that, for a second, he looked his actual age. “It was a simple thing, really. When he was in his middle teens, he and Limerence were studying a channeling artifact I gave the two of them. He became... frustrated with it, and drew on his anger to power his magic.” “Oooh...yikes.” I winced. “I investigated a death of a unicorn a few years ago. Charred to death, extra crispy. Turned out he got peeved prepping for a fancy dinner party and tried to make a magical oven heat faster. Didn’t go so well.” The Don shut his eyes against the old sadness. “Zefu was, I suppose, lucky to have survived, but his muscles no longer obey him quite so well as once they did, hence, the walking stick.”          “Taxi certainly thought he looked pretty good,” I remarked, peering over my shoulder on the off chance she happened to be standing behind me. “Granted, her taste in males has always run towards the... exotic.”          “He enjoys having the muscles, whether they work for him consistently or not. It was part of his rehabilitation.” Pushing his plate aside, Tome scooted his chair underneath his desk and pulled an envelope out of the top drawer, laying it between his forehooves. “Regardless, you are right; I did wish to speak to you alone. We are now coming to the part where you balk.” “You sound pretty sure about that.” Tome pushed the envelope across the table. “This is my last will and testament.”          I hesitated for a long moment, then carefully picked up the envelope and opened it. The parchment inside was crisp and freshly sealed with red wax and the Archivist seal, a book overlaid with a staff of some kind. Closing it, I laid it back on the desk.          “You aren’t planning on this being used sometime soon, are you?” I asked, unable to hide my worry.          “As I said, I am very old, Detective. Very... old.” He slumped over his desk, letting his chin fall onto his crossed legs. In that position, he looked gaunt and exhausted. “I have watched this city grow from a pitiful little outpost into the mightiest trading center outside of Canterlot herself.” Looking down at the envelope, he turned it over. It said, across the front, ‘To Detective Hard Boiled’, in the Don’s twisting mouth script. “I was considering this well before last month. You and Juniper dealt with me honestly, and… this must be done. So, you will hold on to this for me, won’t you?”          “I can, sure... but why me? Why not your sons?”          “That is... a complicated question.” Tome clenched his teeth slightly, sucking air through them. “Are you aware of the zebra laws of succession?”          I shrugged and nodded. “I’ve heard of them, sure. Why?”          “Children succeed their parents... but in my case, that is not a simple matter. Limerence is, by all rights, my son. He is the elder, he should be the head of the Archivists. Zefu is my blood. He has a claim as well.” The Don worked the joint in his right foreleg in a circle for something to do besides look at me. “I am left with a more... Equestrian solution.” “How do you mean?” I asked, feeling that I wasn’t much going to like the answer to that question. He rose, coming around the desk and settling his hips against one side. Laying one foreknee atop the other, he gave me a look of quiet wonder. “Equestrians.” He murmured, shaking his head as though trying to explain sunlight to a blind pony. “You know, when I first came to this country, I still rhymed every other sentence? ‘I must wake up or I’ll be late! Then whatever will be my fate?’ Trust me, when your brain is blueprinted in Zebra, it takes forever to get over things like that.” “I knew you were from the homeland. That’s about it, though. I don’t ask for someone’s history unless they’re under investigation, and, as a matter of course, you’re not,”  I replied, still trying to work out what must be coming that the Don was sure I would resist. Nothing was springing to mind. “I came here as part of the Academy Arcanum. My former colleagues were too wrapped up in their duties to see the growing dangers of allowing Equestrians the secrets of alchemical mechanization with no checks or balances,” Tome continued, his upper lip lifting into a quiet snarl. “I knew...even before the Crusades… that were there no-one protecting ponykind from unwise exploitation of artifact magic. It was facing its own extinction. Now, I am faced with passing on the greatest trove of these destructive powers in the whole of Equestria, to one, or the other of my sons. I cannot split the collection between them, nor dare I let them rule jointly.” “Makes sense. I’ve seen what happens when two managers try to work together with personalities as different as those two. Nothing good,” I commented, trying to conceal the fact that every additional moment it took him to get to the point made my nerves twitch. Out of habit, I began checking my gun straps to make sure they were all tight. “True.” Tome clapped his forehooves on the floor in a ‘down to business’ sort of way. “So, to my Equestrian solution! You ponies are very fond of ‘tests’. I’ve found them very useful in childrearing… but now is the time to to put away childish things. I wish, truly, that I could give this to both Juniper and yourself, together. He was a great detective.” I pressed my hoof against my forehead as an unwelcome surge of emotion made me momentarily light headed. Again, that smell of gun metal and coffee drifted through my nose and I fought to control my breathing. Choking up in front of Tome would have done irreversible damage to what little dignity I liked to think I had left. “That he was,” I answered, pulling my hat brim low over my eyes. “So what’s the test, then?” “It comes in two parts. Firstly, you’ll investigate the disappearances of my contacts. Thus far, I am aware of only three who have gone missing.” He opened his desk once more and took out a library slip. In the place one would normally have written the title of a book, followed by its due-date, there were the words ‘Moonfire Weapons’ and ‘Contact After Lunch.' “The latest is the curator of the Celestial Museum of History. He has or had, in his keeping, a series of Crusades-era weapons prototypes. They are designed around magic fire principles. None of them are especially dangerous on a city-wide scale, but they are important precursors to...other things.” He paused, his eyes sliding down towards my knee before he jerked them back up and went on, “They charge in moonlight and fire a beam which can slice through wood, brick, and police issue armor like it was warm butter.”          “So that thing you said about ‘don’t get shot-'”          “Goes doubly for these, yes.”          “Lovely,” I cursed. “Any weaknesses? Anything that could help if I get in a firefight?”          “The reason they remained mere prototypes is that their effective range is about five meters,” he replied, holding his hooves close together. “Very short. Somewhere after that, the beam becomes moonlight again. A glorified flashlight.”  “Alright, I think I can deal with that. I’m not digging my hooves in, yet. What’s the second bit?” “You’re taking Limerence with you.” I balked. I balked hard. “Oh, no no no, I’ve already got a green as snot rookie with scary teeth! At least she knows which end of a gun makes the death noises!” I exclaimed, pushing myself up in my chair, “I don’t need a damn librarian tagging along and getting himself blown full of holes if things get loud!” “Limerence is combat proficient,” the Don said, quietly. I didn’t bother to hide my surprise. “Him?!” “I insisted both of my sons be trained in the martial combat systems of the homeland, though Limerence favors a more Equestrian style. It is a dangerous world, and even moreso for those who would send their children into it. I chose not to send them unarmed.” I fell silent for several seconds, then pointed at this envelope. “Equestrian method. This is it, isn’t it? You’re testing him and Zefu. So what’s Zefu’s test?” “Zefu works best with others,” Tome said, waving one hoof at the door as though Zefu was behind it. “He leads. He follows. He is a pony, forever climbing the ladders of both my approval and society at large. It’s a byproduct of his heritage. There are still many prejudices where inter-species breedings are concerned and overcoming them is his ultimate goal.” “He said his plate was full, didn’t he? What’s he been up to?” “Truth be told, I don’t keep a complete set of tabs on my sons. I could, easily, but they live their own lives. Limerence chooses to live here. His speciality is Equestrian magic theory and ancient history. His brother, on the other hoof, travels more or less constantly. He consults, professionally, with groups who want information on safe use of alchemical constructs and...” The Don’s nostrils flared slightly. “...necromancy.” “I thought death magic was...” I caught myself before I said something monumentally stupid in this context, like ‘illegal.’ “Right, never mind.” “I may not approve of his hobbies, but neither would I deny my sons knowledge. It is the only gift I can pass down which I feel is truly safer in their hooves than out. If I had my choice, I would see my collection annihilated rather than shift this burden onto one of them….” “...But we both know that’s not an option,” I murmured.  The Don traced one of the stripes on his foreleg with his toe, as though making sure it was still there. “Of course not. Anyway, Zefu has always relied on his contacts, his finances, and those he could make use of to fulfill his goals. That is his test. When faced with this adversity, he must solve it alone, without other ponies, nor with any form of financial assistance other than basic living expenses. If he manages it, he will have proven to me that he is capable of leading the Archivists.” Grabbing my hat, I stuffed it over my ears, “What about Limerence?” “Limerence... is not so cold as he likes to seem, but he deals poorly with the public.” The Don touched the edge of a picture on his desk, stroking the frame. I edged sideways, until I could see a black and white image of a very pretty young mare and a tiny unicorn foal. “Y'know, you've seen my press clippings, Tome. You might have noticed I don’t deal well with the public either. I haven’t earned myself many friends doing this job.” “On the contrary, you deal brilliantly with the public. You achieve your ends through force, intimidation, deduction, and careful exercise of authority. The public might not like you, but ponies do as you say, and that is all that is required.” The old zebra shifted in his seat. “Limerence has yet to learn the fine art of getting what he wants without risking an attack upon his person in almost every circumstance.” “So his test is to work with me and mine. Have you informed him and his brother that this whole ‘mission’ is a test for the succession?” I asked, dubiously. “Not at all. For now, they should both think this is just one more in a long line of tests I have given the both of them.” Tome’s lip quirked. “You are up to foalsitting one simple librarian for a few days, no?” Favors. Moon-damned favors. They’re more valuable than gold and more binding than any contract written up by a lawyer. Worse, I owed Tome my life. All he was asking was that I participate in his goofy little test. “I think this is where my partner would start spouting something about regulations... but I’m not employed with DPD anymore, so I guess that’s a moot point.” I sighed, holding out my hoof. The Don laid the envelope across it. “Fine. We’re square after this, right?” “Never, my friend. There cannot be a debtless world. You will always owe me, and I will always owe you... and thus is the world kept in motion.” He went to the door, opened it, and held out his hoof for me. “Now, you should rest. Tomorrow, you’ll be meeting Limerence in the afternoon at three o'clock sharp at Cafe De Farasi, on Gorgon Street. From there, I leave it in your capable hooves.” **** Taxi and Swift were curled up together in a stack of unshelved books tucked into a far corner of the library. My partner was laying on her back, a book balanced on her chest, using another one as a pillow as she turned the pages of yet another trashy adventure novel. Meanwhile, Taxi sipped a fluted stemmed glass of something that smelled like grapes and flipped through a magazine of occult ‘news.' They both looked up as I stepped out of the rows of books. “Sir? We got scones and cheese and they even have a griffin librarian here who let me have some of her turkey!” Swift exclaimed, rolling and carefully marking her place with a bookmark, then tucking the book under one wing. “Yeees, and a more disgusting sight I’ve never seen,” Taxi murmured, setting her magazine back on a table that said 'Returns' via a tiny sign. “Did you manage to convince Zefu to give you a romp, Sweets?” I asked, with an impudent grin. My driver, no longer under the spell of estrogen, gave me a dirty look. “I said I was sorry! Besides, can you blame me?” I gave my flank a hearty scratch, now that I wasn’t likely to offend anypony. “I think you’d have better taste in stallions, frankly. Something has had my cutie-mark doing a double-step on my ass since we got here. I mean, I know it's a criminal den, but still. Something's not right.” Taxi narrowed her eyes, looking worried. “You think the Don is playing us?” “Tome?” I shook my head. “Nahhh. He doesn’t enjoy politics and backstabbing. He’s damn good at it, but if he can, he’ll play it straight. Besides, he gave me his Will.” “As in... Last and Testament?” My driver’s voice reflected the incredulity I was still feeling. “That’s right.” “Why... you? I mean, wouldn’t it be better off with a lawyer or something?” Taxi ask as she pulled herself onto her stomach, getting her hooves under her. “It’s not the kind of thing you ask a pony, Sweets. The Don’s not senile. He has reasons for everything he does.” I laid my hoof on the front pocket of my jacket. “Besides, I think he’s foisting the decision as to who takes over this place off on me.” “You?!” Swift gasped. “Wouldn’t be the first time a father couldn’t decide between his sons. Either way, let’s get back to the Nest. The Don seems to think we might find ourselves a lead as to who was running Cosmo while we’re helping with his investigation. He’s right a frightening amount of the time, so we’re meeting that ‘Limerence’ pony tomorrow morning. He’ll be working with us.” Taxi looked crestfallen. “Not Zefu?” “I don’t think we’d be able to do the job if you were juicing your tail every time he looked at you sideways.” I checked my pocket again, making sure I had the Don’s envelope, before pointing us towards the nearest wall. “Let’s go home. I think we have a big day ahead of us and I need some sleep.” **** Finding one’s way out of the Library of Magnificent Mind is easier than finding your way in. Just walk in a direction until you find a wall, then turn right or left, depending on which way you think might be closer to the door. You’ll inevitably be wrong and have to walk a much further way around than you thought, but you’ll make it eventually. Swift was still partially agog at the size of the place, but was high stepping cheerfully with a whole stack of books balanced carefully between her shoulderblades, wings outstretched for stability. By the time we found the door, she was panting under the weight, but I didn’t feel like lending a shoulder and Taxi was still grumpy over the pigeon. **** My little ponies, my fine zebras, my griffin loves, buffalo friends, and those few dragons I’m sure are listening! This is Gypsy, coming to you as live as can possibly be! I am your communicating vessel to the stars! We’ve got an update here, people! Oooh, boy! This is a neat one. As it turns out this upcoming Summer Sun Celebration here soon, the Princesses will be performing some pretty spectacular cosmic maintenance. You see, my sweets, the Princesses must realign the sun and moon. I know, crazy, right? It hasn’t been done since Princess Luna was locked away in the moon, but finally they’re taking the opportunity to straighten out the moon’s orbit properly. That requires two ponies, apparently, although I’m a bit vague on the details. What it does mean is we’re going to get one of the most incredible and rare celestial events in Equestrian history; a full, day-long solar eclipse! Now, this is a bit different from your standard eclipse, gentle-beings, so nobody panic. The Princesses will be working their magic, and this should spread darkness across the whole of Equestria for a good twelve hours, but then the sun will rise again! Keep your eyes to the sky on the first day of the Summer Sun Celebration! This is going to be spectacular! **** The phone in the street-corner box rang five times before somepony picked it up. “Telly!  What’s the news?” An indrawn breath. “Dear sweet soul of the sun, you wretched scumbag! What did you do?!” “What do you mean ‘What did I do?' I quit. Did you think I’d do it without at least getting one back for the home team?” “Chief Jade was one inch from calling all cars to hunt you down and drag you back here without your legs! She burned your pension paperwork with spellfire and mounted your badge on the wall! There’s an empty plaque there beside it that says ‘Hard Boiled’s Head.' I don’t even know where you get a plaque like that!” "I'm more surprised that it didn't come out sooner. Remember when we switched her medication for fruit snacks?" “It’s serious this time, dammit! I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” “Well bless your little heart for picking up then. I need a favor.” “What, like the fifteen thousand others? You’re not a cop anymore! What makes you think you get favors from me?” “Because you know I wouldn’t risk that psychotic witch tracing me unless it was important.” “...Fiiine… what is it this time?” “I need you to run a record check with the PACT. Keep it quiet, if you can. Check into a pony named ‘Grapeshot.' I want his recent records and training history.” “Ugh…if this costs me my job, I will personally hunt you down and that ‘psychotic witch’ will get her trophy.” “Thanks Telly. Radio Taxi. Our call sign is Cupcake Alicorn Rodeo Picklebarrel.” “I’ll send you what I have tomorrow.” “Thanks, Telly.” “I hope you die, Hardy.” “Been there, done that.” "Encore." **** Back in the Nest, we closed up the bunker’s doors, sealed it all tight, and bedded down for the evening. Swift crawled into one of the hammocks strung between two pillars and was shortly sound asleep. I lay beside one of the wall sockets, topping off my batteries out of a paranoid worry that I might find myself suddenly running out in my sleep. It was silly, really, but try having power stones embedded in your chest and see how many risks you want to take. Taxi curled up on her side next to me, her head in my forelegs, reading one of Swift’s novels. “Sweets?” “Hmmm? What is it?” “I come back this morning, and we’re already on the case again. No down time. No rest. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think there was somepony driving us forward here.” Letting her book drop, she held it open with one toe on the line she’d been reading. “I... keep expecting to wake up and get another of those calls from Slip Stitch asking if he can finally started breaking you down for parts or not. I felt like I’d aged twenty years there, but here you are… and here we are, following this insane case because… well, because it’s the only thing any of us can do.” “Yeah. I wish we could afford to rest. Say, do you think… well...” I ran a hoof through Taxi’s mane. “Sorry. I can’t stop thinking about the case. You know me. I’m not so good at taking rest periods.” “No, it’s fine. You want a sounding board, go ahead. I haven’t seen you in almost a whole month.” Chuckling, I patted her shoulder. “You and I didn’t talk for longer when you were off running around with the zebras. That was almost a year and a half, remember?” “Yeah, but you weren’t dead then. I knew we could talk and all I’d have to do was go find you. So come on, then. What’s on your mind?” I gnawed at my lip for a second. “I was just wondering if the Don’s vault keepers vanishing has anything to do with your contacts who weren’t calling back. I guess it’s just one of those connections you draw right before you sleep.” “Maybe. I don’t want to think about that too hard. Vast criminal conspiracies give me heartburn and that’ll make sleeping miserable. I will say that Limerence pony worries me, though.” “How do you mean?” I asked. “I don’t know. It’s not my intuition or anything like that. I got a worse ‘feeling’ from Zefu, but that’s nothing unusual when I’m attracted to somepony. Limerence just strikes me as so... distant. Cold, even.” “Can’t be any colder than anypony else we’ve worked with.” I replied, feeling the slight tingling in my chest that signified a full charge. “That Svelte bitch at the Vivarium was a right basket of ice-in-her-veins crazy. The egghead just sounds like he’s got a stick wedged up his back passage sideways.” Taxi couldn’t hold in a girlish giggle, “It’s true. No worse than you, some days. Alright, I’ll play nice. I’m exhausted, though.” Tugging the plug out of its socket, I began coiling the wire back up and stuffing it away in my coat pocket. My driver very gently zipped up the pocket on my chest for me. “Me too. Ugh, I hope things are quiet tomorrow.” “G’night, Hardy.” “Good night, Sweets.” **** As it turned out, twelve hours rest was about what all three of us needed. I’d intended to get an early start, but that wasn’t happening. I’d come back from the dead and Swift from a severe case of the crazy, all in a very short few days. Sleep was what we needed, and it was a dreamless, world-weary sag into unconsciousness that I hadn’t had in months without heavy drink. Even so, I found myself waking feeling like somepony had set a lead weight on each of my eyelids. Taxi and I had barely managed to crawl into the bean-bag chairs before sleep chased us to ground. If my dear, beloved little partner hadn’t summarily shoved a gallon mug of coffee under my nose along with a heaping platter of bagels, I think I might have just gone ahead with one of my long considered, early morning suicide attempts. As it was, I buried my face in the first of several rings of tasty dough. Foregoing a knife entirely, I grabbed a stick of butter and used it to smear a second bagel while I finished the first, then tossed down half the coffee in one scalding gulp, holding up my cup for a top-off. After a good half hour with the three of us eating together, I began to feel less like sucking on my own gun. Breakfast done, I hunted around until I found a twenty-pony shower with lukewarm water behind one of the myriad doors of the Nest. I hadn’t chosen the name, but that was what Wisteria called it and the three of us hadn’t come up with anything better. Standing under the stream, I washed off a healthy portion of my remaining self-destructive impulses, then dried off and pulled on my gun harness and weapon. “Hardy, today is the first day of the rest of your life,” I murmured to myself, looking in a small mirror over one of the bathroom sinks. “Yeah, and it’s going to be a short one if you keep talking to yourself.” I whirled, looking for the source of this second voice. I was alone. “Right here, rookie.” Slowly, I turned back to the mirror. Juniper was grinning at me impishly from behind the glass, his olive green features a little blurred by the steam from the shower. “Well, you did say you’d be in touch,” I groaned, rubbing my temples with both hooves. “Is this going to be the kind of touch that makes me want an adult?” “Could be,” he sniggered, putting one hoof on the mirror. I found myself mirroring the gesture, wishing I could actually feel him there. Sadly, my toe just hit cold glass. “I guess it would be impertinent to ask if this is a bad case of whacky in the head meats...” I said, softly. Juniper shook one ear a little. It was that one tell he’d never broken after years at a poker table, and nopony in the office had been willing to tell him he did that whenever he held a hand he wasn’t sure how to play. “Crazy is relative, rookie. Besides, we faced plenty of crazy things and you never came out the other side with bugs in your brain box. Why should you have them this time?” “I never died any of those other times. Could be my ol’ brain finally wore out, you know?” “Could be,” he repeated. “Speaking of worn out... you really think this favor for Tome is a good idea?” I turned on the water in the sink, washing the taste of sleep out of my muzzle, “What choice have I got?” “Not much of one, but go on. Lets hear what’s ticking over in that rusty, rookie’s brain of yours.” “What? On the case? Don’t you know?” I asked, a bit confused. “Sure, I do. I just want to see if you do.” He grinned a little wider. Snatching a threadbare towel off the rack, I dried my mouth and mane, then slung it across my neck. “Truth? My partner’s eating pigeons, and I’m going to be dropped into a role as babysitter and executor of the estate for a pony who could one day be in control of what amounts to city destroying magics. On the case, I’ve got no good leads. The Don wasn’t nearly as helpful as I hoped he’d be.” Juniper blew a breath through one corner of his ethereal lips. “Still thick as concrete, I see. I taught you better than this.” “Well excuse me if having a bullet pass through your chest doesn’t leave your cognitive skills in tip-top shape, but I haven’t exactly had a chance to sit down and think here! I don’t have the convenience of being dead!” I snapped, slamming my hoof angrily against the mirror. It cracked around my shoe. “Sir? Who are you talking to?” It was Swift, just outside the door. Juniper was frowning at me, his face fractured into a thousand tiny pieces. Without looking back, I turned and trotted out of the bathroom. I could still feel my dead friend’s eyes following me from the shattered mirror. My partner was standing in the hallway with a towel over her leg, looking a bit worried. “Just talking to myself, kid. Us old ponies do that. Go on, get your shower.” ****          The Cafe De Farasi wasn’t my kind of place. Knowing The Don, he’d picked it for precisely that reason. He likes to believe he’s ‘broadening the world’s horizons,' one pony at a time. In another life, he’d have been a pretty good life coach. As it was, he was a sometimes very irritating mob boss.          Hence, I’d been sent to meet his son at a place where the word ‘cafe’ was a generous misnomer. De Farasi was a rich pony’s greasy spoon with aspirations and politics. The facade gave the general impression that a giant overgrown bush had sprung up in the middle of a row of businesses. Vines spilled from the roof down to street level, ringing two sliding glass doors into a brightly lit dining room in which a small afternoon crowd of ponies wearing only the latest fashions sat at petite tables, sipping exotic coffees from all corners of the globe. Swift, Taxi, and I paused on the stoop, looking at a sign beside the door that said ‘Notice’, followed by a staggeringly long list of things they didn’t serve. Swift began reading the list, her lips moving over the words. “...meat, cheese, dairy, non-free trade, non-organic, non-plant-cruelty free, genetically modified, magically modified, processed...” “What exactly do they serve here?” I grumbled, grabbing one of the vines in my teeth and giving it an experimental nibble. I quickly spat it out when it turned out to be bitter. Figures. “I...guess coffee? Maybe? I usually write in coffee shops that smell like clove cigarettes and sweat. This place feels like a surgeon’s waiting room,” Swift murmured, positioning herself in front of the glass doors. They slid soundlessly open. Soft piano music played through hidden speakers. Nopony so much as glanced up at us in the pristine, white coffee bar, except the barista behind the counter who was wearing a perfectly clean apron and a smile carved from granite. Even taking in our ragamuffin appearance, his avocado colored face didn’t so much as twitch. Taxi leaned close to me. “Hardy, please watch me while we’re in here. Last time I was in a place like this, I almost killed a waiter.” I wiped my hooves on the mat, feeling very conscious of my tattered coat and unbrushed mane. “We’re just here to get Limerence and leave. Don’t get us arrested.” “Easy for you to say...” Instead of a reply, I headed over to the coffee bar and grabbed one of the heavily padded stools, sliding it under my rear end as I spoke to the manically smiling garcon, “We’re here to see a pony named Limerence. You know him?” The mouth moved, but the eyes didn’t show any recognition that there was somepony in front of him. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know anypony by that name. Can I get you something to drink?” “No. I’m supposed to meet this pony here in-” I glanced up at the clock on the wall above and behind the barista’s head, "-five minutes ago. Stiff looking character, unicorn, blonde mane, light blue body, wears a vest with a pocket watch and some specs?” “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t seen anypony by that description. Can I get you something to drink?” I edged forward slightly and began waving my hoof in front of the barista’s face. His eyes followed my toe, but otherwise, he didn’t react. “Can I get you something to drink?” he repeated. “Otherwise, I would ask you to leave so other customers in line can place their orders.” I stole a glance over my shoulder, searching for a line that did not exist. “You’ve been given money to tell us that Limerence isn’t here, so he can make it look like we never showed up, haven’t you?” I asked, resting one hoof on the bar. The barista’s stoney smile never wavered. “I am going to have to ask you to leave so other customers in line can place their orders.” Reaching back, I grabbed Swift’s foreleg with my rear one, dragging her forward and lifting her up onto the barstool beside me. “Kid?” “Yes, sir?” “This pony is being difficult. Give him your ‘cooperation face,' would you?” Swift turned to the barista and spread her lips back in the friendliest, widest grin her sweet little face could manage. I’m sure the bit of red jam from breakfast still stuck between her left canine and the adjoining tooth helped. That irritatingly stolid smile vanished and the coffee pony backed into the counter behind him, upending a carafe of milk that sloshed across his hooves. Raising one shaking leg, he pointed towards the far corner of the room, to a curtained booth with the curtains drawn shut. I gave him a tip of the hat and Taxi shot him a wink. “Thank you kindly, sir,” Swift added, giggling to herself as we left the stunned barista with wet toes and a pressing need to find himself a bathroom. **** We stopped outside the curtained booth. “I suppose hints will be inadequate, then," said a soft, but masculine voice from inside. The curtain slid back, revealing Limerence sitting there with a wooden puzzlebox on the table in front of him and a stack of rolled scrolls beside. He looked freshly showered, his mane still damp. An untouched cup of something brown with a purple tinge wisped steam that curled around the ceiling. “You mind if we join you?” I asked, politely. “I’d rather initiate a stabbing,” he replied, shortly, pulling his spectacles off with a flicker of magic and polishing them on the edge of his vest, “but since my only relevant options are stabbing myself or you, one of which would hurt and the other of which would make Father cross and dirty the lovely booths of the cafe where I break my morning fast several times a week, I will simply have to accept that some ponies are too thick to understand when they’re not wanted. By all means, sit.” I slid into the booth across from the librarian, followed by my companions. Picking up his puzzle-cube with his horn, Limerence resumed fiddling with it, ignoring the three of us. After a long, awkward moment of silence, I rested my forehooves on the table. “Your father wants us to work together. You think you can manage that?” “I think I have few other choices,” he answered, his puzzle twisting in his magical grip. It gave off a soft click, then the lid snapped back. The interior was empty. “Damn...” He muttered, tossing it onto the table beside his scrolls. Swift, ever set on making friends, scooted forward, “You solved it? Isn’t that good?” “A solved puzzle is meaningless.” Limerence pulled a face, his thin nose wrinkled with distaste as he glared at the open box. “A puzzle is only a puzzle before it’s solved. Once solved, it has no purpose, no use, no meaning.” “So why try to solve it at all?” my partner asked. Limerence gave her a quick glance, then pulled his cup over and sipped it, “Why solve any puzzle? They become meaningless once solved, and yet if you don’t try, they’re equally meaningless. What say you, Officer Swift Cuddles?” He turned to my driver, “Or you, Sweet Shine?” he turned to me, “Or you? You, Detective Hard Boiled Junior. You, I assume, have some opinion on the virtues of puzzles, since you’ve made it your life's work to solve them.” Taxi pulled her saddlebag around, extracted the last of her bonbons, and munched on a couple of them, glancing at me. “You sure we want this one? He does his research. I’ll give him that. He’s going to make you want to strangle him.” “So do you, now and then.” I immediately picked up on the trick, giving her a cocky smirk as we both ignored Limerence’s irritated glare at being spoken of as though he wasn’t there. “If he’s useless, I guess we can always send him back to his father. It’s not like we need a tag-along who doesn’t know the score.” My driver crushed a candy between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, waving one hoof in the librarian’s general direction. “Could do.” I gave her an exaggerated shrug. “We-” “Alright, enough!” Limerence smacked a blue hoof on the tabletop. Swift jumped, baring her teeth at him, but quickly shutting her lips before he could notice the sharp back rows. “I do not understand why my father would even think of bringing you into this, nor what possible motivation you could have to accede to it! You might have simply left today and let me work this as I prefer, Father’s wishes or not. What is your purpose here, Detective?!” I kept my voice as calm and even as I could. “Your father is an old friend of mine. He needed my help. What more do you need to know?” "I need to know whether that's true. That explanation feels too simplistic for such… colorful characters." Limerence pulled his papers close to him with his horn, lifting the top one and turning it around. It was my police file, with added notes from Iris Jade along the bottom. "If even a fifth of this file is reliable, you are a professional miscreant, Detective. The only reason you aren’t a kingpin on the other side of the law is that, for some reason, destiny saw fit to give you a talent which dictates you seek justice.” He flipped over the next one, a picture of a younger, slightly heavier and less toothy Swift trying to hide an eager smile in the corner, “Officer Cuddles, if I may draw your attention to the bottom of this paper, you will see the police department psychologist expects to be discharging you for ‘cowardice under fire’ within six months.” Swift narrowed her eyes and angrily swatted the file out of his magical grip with one wing. It settled back on the table. Limerence didn’t get the chance to open his mouth when he raised Taxi's file. He found his face being held firmly against the table by a fuming mare, her hoof braced against the back of his horn in the one place a unicorn never wants to find themselves. “Drop it,” she growled. He very carefully laid the paper back on the table. “I see,” he murmured in a perfect imitation of his father. “Please, do look down, Miss Shine.” “My name is Taxi,” she snapped. “Yes, Miss Taxi, of course. Now, if you please?” My driver held his cheek harder into the table for an instant, then glanced at her stomach. A short, bladed weapon of some kind hung an inch below her navel, suspended in mid-air by a soft glitter of magic. It’s front end was heavier than the back, curved slightly like some kind of farming tool. It pressed very gently against her belly-fur. “Sweets, get off him,” I ordered, putting my hoof on my driver’s shoulder. “He pulls that crap again, he won’t get a warning before I kick his head off.” My driver snarled, shoving herself away from Tome’s son. The knife vanished up the back of Limerence’s vest, sliding with a satisfying *snick* into some hidden holster. “Oh, and just so we understand each other-” I nodded down at my leg. Holding my trigger bit wrapped around the tip of my other hoof, I gave it a light tug, just enough for the trigger to whisper against the safety. “You die if you pull a knife on one of my people again, Tome’s child or not. Clear?” “Certainly, Detective. My father would have it no other way.” Limerence folded his papers, stuffing them into a long pocket of his vest. His tone was far more respectful, almost formal, as though we’d been speaking to an entirely different pony twenty seconds ago. “I only wish to establish why we’re working together. Father seems convinced you are able-bodied and worthy of respect, but your handling of the King of Ace left much to be desired. There will not likely be another changeling heart which we can install should one of us find ourselves at death’s door during this enterprise.”          “So you want me to justify myself to you?” I cocked my chin at him, but didn't waiting for an answer. “Your father is being stolen from and thinks it may help with discovering the identity of whoever ordered the death of the King of Ace and myself.”          “And what, pray tell, leads him to that conclusion?” the stallion asked, his spectacles sliding to the tip of his nose.          “I’ve absolutely no idea. You know what he’s like.” Limerence’s eyes took on a shadowy cast. “Yes, I do. Father never says all he knows... and he always knows far more than you think he ever should. His judgement is excellent, but I do not ever like involving myself with law enforcement.” “Why is that?” Swift asked, holding up one hoof. “Don’t you have something worked out with the city so you keep everypony safe from illegal magical artifacts?” I slapped my forehead with my foreknee. “Kid, you sound like a comic book character sometimes.” “Sorry, sir...” The librarian studied Swift for a moment, apparently finding something therein that he liked. He gave her a tolerant smile and replied, “That is only a portion of what we do, Miss Cuddles. We-” Limerence was cut off when Swift out a low hissing noise that was far too reptilian for my taste. My partner’s wings flew half-out from her back, smacking me in the side. I winced, then shoved her back into the seat. “You really don’t want to call her that. Swift is fine. Hardy works for me.” Limerence sipped his coffee or whatever it was, nodding politely to Swift, who settled herself back, refolding her wings, “Swift then. You may, for ease of reference, call me Lim. And as I was saying, Miss Swift, we don’t just monitor illegal artifacts. We trade in them. Law enforcement takes a dim view, whether or not our mission charter is to prevent the most dangerous ones from reaching the hooves of those that might do real damage with them.”          “Speaking of that, what was in those ‘instructions’ Tome mentioned? The ones he said were in your letterbox? Anything I need to know?” I asked.          Pulling a post-card sized envelope from his inner vest pocket, Lim laid it on the table. “Aside that he expects me to work with you... very little of which you are unaware.  I would have strongly preferred us to meet as ships passing in the night, investigating upon divergent paths. Had you simply left, I might have claimed you abandoned your charge or a mistake had been made, then gone about my business.”          “Why did you even show up if you were going to pull that trick?” Taxi asked, keeping her fury in careful check.          “When I am on a mission, Father does tend to... look in on me from time to time.” Limerence chewed on his upper lip, not bothering to hide his discontent. “I’m uncertain precisely how, but he has a certain awareness when I am not following the letter of his requests.”          “You think Tome would have bought the idea that we just showed up, didn’t find you, and left?”          Lim set his coffee down and sighed, “Perhaps not.” “Can I expect you to be trying a runner on me every time my back is turned? Because if that’s the case, you can leave now. I need ponies I can rely on watching my back.” I gave Swift a light bump with my hip and she ducked her head, hiding a smile behind one wing.          Limerence shook himself and worked his shoulders in circles, trying to release some inner tension. “You needn't worry. Much as it pains me, I will abide by my father’s wishes, for now.” From a thin, black wallet floating out of his pocket, he laid a fifty bit piece on the table underneath his empty mug. The barista appeared, spiriting the money and his mug away while shooting Swift some nervy looks. “I am acquainted with the curator of the Museum. I have already called his staff and they haven’t seen him for nearly four days. To that end, we will search his offices.” Standing, I put one hoof on his chest before he could leave. “I run the show, Lim. Period. You work with us, I give the orders. Are we clear?” The librarian looked down at my toe, then used his magic to gently push it off of his breast. “Certainly, Detective. I will follow, unless I believe your orders threaten myself or my mission.” “Our mission.” “Of course.” ****          Limerence, for some strange reason, opted to ride in the back of the Night Trotter with Swift and I. He sat against the window in total silence, having sunk into a deep meditative trance that even Taxi would envy. My partner stared at him for some time with one of those incisive looks that only cats and children can really manage, trying to fathom our newest companion. He wasn’t making it easy. After five minutes of this, his horn glowed, wrapped a field of magic around her muzzle and forcibly turned her face towards the front of the cab.          With an indignant sniff, Swift dug her novel out of her tactical vest’s front ammo pocket and buried her face in it. Limerence squinted through one eye, read the title, grunted, then lowered his head between his forehooves and seemed to fall into a light doze.          Out of the corner of my vision, I watched my partner and the librarian. For two ponies so similar in age, they couldn’t be more different. Limerence seemed to project a firmly entrenched, world weary cynicism, whereas Swift, despite the violence of the last month and the sometimes questionable nature of her grandmother’s child-rearing methods, still clung to notions like heroes and happy endings.          What a world we live in, that the young should have to clutch their innocence to themselves, lest it be stolen.  I let my head sag against the window-sill and tried to rest easy.  At least we were just going to a museum.  Nothing exciting there.   ****          Traffic.          Sweet mercy of Celestia, save us all from traffic.          More to the point, save us from Taxi and traffic. Nothing good happens when the two get together.          For a pony striving for internal serenity, my driver is an angry mare when she’s not able to wedge the gas pedal to the floor to get where we need to go.          “Oh, fine! Just pull right out then, you stupid piss-drinking sister-lover!” Taxi barked out the window as another cab drew parallel and hopped into our lane, causing her to slam on the brakes for the fifth time in as many minutes. I could see the sweeping arches of the Classical History Museum up ahead, but there seemed to be an enormous crowd lining the streets between us and it. I couldn’t make out more than a few sparse details, but what I could see made me squirm in my seat. Most of the ponies out there were wearing knee length, dark blue robes covered in starry sequins; the Church of the Lunar Passage was out in force.          A few police cars were parked up on the curbs, keeping the protesters from storming the museum’s front door, but with them there nopony was getting in the front entrance. The traffic was composed largely of rubberneckers hoping for a fight between the cops and the nutters in the robes.          “You still all ‘peace and light’ for the Loonies, Sweets?” I snarked. Taxi glared a whole kitchen drawer full of cutlery at me in the side-view mirror.          “Shut up, Hardy! I swear, I will put you back in that cooler and let Slip Stitch use you for spare parts if you give me crap while I’m trying to park in this!” she shouted, using her body weight to wrench the wheel to one side. Whatever handling packages she’d managed to attach to the vehicle responded by snaking us neatly into a space that wasn’t there half a second ago, slotting us in where a rickety rickshaw carrying an old couple was just pulling out. Another cab, late and having just watched my driver snatch an impossible parking spot, honked his horn furiously. Taxi pressed her flank against the window as he passed. “Too slow, Arty!” she yelled to the other cabbie. “Screw you, Taxi!” the pony I presumed to be Arty called back. “You wish!” **** Oh, to have time to spend in the Museum. Many times I wished I might find myself on a case that would lead me there, just so I could spend a few hours cooling my heels, enjoying the quiet and beauty. If Canterlot had the Royal Archives and Canterlot Gardens, Detrot’s greatest wonder was unquestionably the Celestial Museum Of Classical History. Whereas lots of Detrot’s civil infrastructure was fraying around the edges, the Museum was funded by the one source unlikely to run out anytime soon: the Princesses themselves.         I don’t know when the Princesses decided they could steer Equestria with culture rather than force of arms, but most of the time, I’m glad they did. While Detrot may not be the most successful example of this principle, we have been given one of the most glorious demonstrations of it.          The Museum was, at one time, home to some royal with a thing for picture windows, high ceilings, and vast rooms with enough carpet that the place was once used in the testing of the Cloudhammer Lightning Cannon’s early prototypes. I hear they involved wearing heavy wool sweaters and shuffling hooves. The collection was, at least initially, composed of transplanted art reclaimed from the dragons as part of the peace agreement at the end of the Crusades. Over time it grew and changed, becoming a more permanent fixture of the city. Outside, it looked like a reserved mansion, built in the modern style, all sharp angles and white wash with black tinted windows. It might have been an office building if not for the enormous, faux wood doors across the front that were normally thrown open invitingly to the public. On that day, however, the doors were shut tight. “Have these pricks seriously been here all friggin’ month?!” I groused as we edged out of the car onto the crowded sidewalk across from the protest. “Once a week, every Monday. Monday, moon-day, you know?” Taxi replied, carefully buckling her saddlebag against possible pickpockets roving the dense crowds. “They sing songs of praise to Princess Luna for about an hour, then on with the shouting for the next six.” “What are they protesting?” Swift wanted to know, sidling backwards from a large, silver maned stallion who gave her a nasty look as she bumped into him. “Far as I can tell? Anything having to do with ponies remembering Nightmare Moon. They’ve got some idea that the whole thing was a power-grab conspiracy by Princess Celestia,” I explained, shouldering my way between two deeply oblivious ponies standing on the curbside, watching the proceedings. The Loonies were a diverse bunch, old and young, male and female, but I didn’t see a single non-pony species amongst them. This was odd, considering the makeup of Detrot’s social fabric, though it might have been incidental to the group there on that particular day. They were all draped in the cult’s weird sparkling robes, holding signs in unicorn magic or taped to their bodies. I squinted, trying to read a few of the picket cards. ‘Don’t Shame Our Princess!’ said one, while another was, ‘Down With The Sun Tyrant!’          I felt a hoof on my back and glanced behind me. Limerence was there, pointing towards the alley between the museum and the adjacent tenement. “There is another way, unless you wish to traverse that imbecilic throng of religious simpletons.”          I did not. “Lead the way,” I said, and stepped into line behind the smaller stallion.          It was strange watching him move through the crowd. Swift and even Taxi were having trouble making much headway without the judicious application of knees to a few ribcages, but Limerence seemed completely at ease, moving between bodies like a gust of wind. Putting one hoof on a colt’s forehead to keep him from dashing under me, I pushed him back under his mother’s skirt and finally reached the brick frontage of the building behind the pack of ponies with nothing better to do than watch the Loonies make fools of themselves. A moment later Swift stumbled out of the crowd, followed by my driver looking mussed and irritable.          “Where’s this other way in?” I asked. Limerence’s response was to simply set off again, the rest of us in tow, moving around the outside edges of the crowd. To that end, a walk that should have taken us thirty seconds ended up taking nearly fifteen minutes. We circled around, crossing the busy street, dodging between cars and carriages, until the four of us finally made it to a narrow side-street running up the side of the museum. A police cruiser was blocking it, but the two uniforms inside were preoccupied with paperwork. I pulled my hat over my face so as not to be recognized as Swift flashed them the police markings on her tactical vest; they moved the car a bit so we could squeeze by.          Once in the alley, away from all those jostling bodies and shouting ponies, I let myself breathe. I’ve never relished being up to my ears in other beings, ponies or not. Every group that size gets my cutie-mark buzzing with all the secret evils they’ve committed that nopony will ever be able to find or fix.          Limerence was standing in front of a door marked ‘Fire Exit,’ waiting for us. His horn glowed and a flicker of light seeped from the top panel, then he shoved it open. Stepping back, he held out one leg for us to go through ahead of him.          “Shouldn’t that have set off... I don’t know...  an alarm of some kind?” Swift asked.          “In an ideal world, yes,” Limerence replied. “However, as we do not to live in an ideal world, we instead have ourselves a perfect point of ingress.”          “Alright, then. Let's see if we can do this without making a fuss,” I murmured.          “Sir, making a fuss seems to be almost all we do these days,” Swift remarked.          “Then let’s keep the fuss from devolving into gunfire.”          I stepped through the fire escape and straight into a fierce-eyed griffin’s claws, his spear upraised to drive straight into my freshly repaired heart.