//------------------------------// // Act 2, Chapter 17: Hunka Hunka Burning Love // Story: Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale // by Chessie //------------------------------//  Starlight Over Detrot Chapter 39: Hunka Hunka Burning Love          How often ponies wish that we could take things back, unmake decisions, erase events. Historians do not particularly wish this. While those with considerable magical power are capable of limited time travel, most historians do not wish to have to ever again sift through paradoxes like those created by the Battle of the World Cuckoo, which earns the distinction of being the only engagement in the Crusades to literally have been over before it began. While actually deleting events is out of reach for all but the most powerful spellcasters, deleting records of those events is much more accessible and, in a lot of cases, nearly as good. The fact of the matter is that Equestria's recordkeeping system has not advanced much over the centuries. While magic sense-impression recorders exist, and the Academy has recently begun experimenting with arcanelectric methods of information storage, these have yet to bear fruit in any way that might be economical to the consumer, and thus, most records are still kept on paper, on scrolls, and in books. Even Detrot's vaunted File Cloud is still just a convenient method of moving paper documents and physical evidence about. Therefore, erasing these records is simply a matter of setting fire to the right location and making it look like an accident (which will otherwise generate more records), or finding the right pony and convincing them that the bits you have in your teeth are worth more than the continued existence of the police report describing your illicit encounter with a pool toy. Though while you can destroy paper, and thus the ability of authorities to independently verify that you embezzled enough funds from the local orphanage to stone a whale to death with the coinage, it is much harder to destroy memories. Even your attempt to destroy the paper may create more memories that you tried to destroy the paper. Try to destroy the pony with those memories, and you'll generate many, many more memories. Make no mistake: Every dark thing you do, somepony will remember. The question is whether or not they remember you. --The Scholar          Swift and I had to heave against the sewer grate together to get it to shift, but when it did, weights and counterweights hidden in the walls rattled the heavy metal bars open. We both emerged into the morning light to stand in a wide, damp gully beside the road leading up to the Castle.          Swift took a long-belated breath of freedom. In Detrot, freedom had a slight tinge of automobile fumes and hobo urine, but that didn't matter to my now-smiling partner. “I knew you were coming, Sir.”          “Couldn’t exactly leave you in there, could I?” I replied, glancing back at her. A few tears had gathered at the sides of her eyes, but she was grinning broadly.          “How did you know where I was?” she asked, tugging at the bandages around her injured wing with her teeth until they came free.          “A little bat flew right up and whispered it in my ear.” I snickered to myself. Swift looked, understandably, confused. “What?” “Kid, if I have to explain that on an empty stomach I don’t think the answer will make much more sense. Besides, we need to get your gear and find Limerence before he demonstrates, in spectacular fashion, his pessimistic analysis of my ability to get myself out of these situations.”         Swift gave my trenchcoat's hem a light tug, then flicked her wing at a spot across the street. A bit of bright yellow Night Trotter body-work stuck out from behind a set of dumpsters.          “There we are. Safe and sound,” I murmured. Gingerly, she tested her wing, wiggling her feather tips. “Oof… that’s going to ache, but I think I can fly.”          I nodded, hoisting myself out of the gully and peering down the street. “Try to keep out of the air for a few more hours. We’ll have the doctors at the Vivarium give you a look over and get you back in fighting shape.”          “I really hope I never end up in a cell again. That was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”          “Then don’t call the front line of the Detrot Police Department when they’re looking for you!” I snapped. “Have you never heard of a vocal trace talisman? Worse, you stuck around to see who’d show up, didn’t you?”          Swift’s ears drooped contritely, and she slid onto her behind. “I… I wasn’t thinking. It was all that excitement a-and-”          “You don’t do it again and we’ll call it ‘lesson learned’, alright?”          She bobbed her head and turned in a little circle at the bottom of the trench, holding up her forelegs, expectantly. I couldn’t hold in an amused chuckle when I realized she was stuck. She looked down at herself and huffed, “There’s nothing funny about being short, sir!” “Trust me, walk around without the benefit of feathers for long enough and this becomes real funny.” I leaned way down and caught her scruff in my teeth, hauling her up beside me. Dusting ourselves off, we strolled towards the car, side by side. Surprising as it may sound, it was a fantastic feeling to have the kid beside me again… but, as if sensing my comfort, that was when the keening wail of an alarm drifted over the walls of the Castle. We hurried a little faster. Taxi must have seen us coming half-way across the street, because the car’s engine blasted the road with thick arcs of lightning as she shoved the dumpster out of the way with the front bumper. I heard some shouts from up the street and broke into a gallop. “Sweets, I thought I told you to go find someplace to hole up!” I shouted, ripping open the car door and throwing myself in. “And I ignored you! What’s different from how we normally operate?” she shot back, turning a dial under the dash board as Swift rolled onto the seat, using her rear hoof to close the door. The engine roared, wreathing us in arcanelectric fire, then we were gone at speeds most ill advised. Behind us, police cruisers were just starting to gather themselves for a pursuit that was already a foregone conclusion. **** “How did you know I was even going to walk out of there?” I asked, both hooves up on the back of the seat. We were driving down mid-town, crossing a busy lane which was packed with other taxis. The perfect cover, despite having left behind our pursuers more than twenty minutes ago. I didn’t want to take chances. “If you were that easy to kill, I’m pretty sure Jade would have done it years ago. That or I would have,” Taxi answered. “Now, where’s the bookworm?” “I told him to contact the Don. Can we call the Archive?” “Loosely speaking, yes. Lim gave me a contact protocol for them, but it’s only one way.” Taxi passed me a hoof mic, twisted a couple of dials on the radio, then pressed a button. The soft hum of a ringing phone filled the car. After three rings, the line clicked and picked up. Nopony spoke, but the line was definitely open. I thought for a moment, then pressed the ‘send’ button on the mic and leaned down to speak. “Tell Limerence to meet us at the Nest.” The line clicked twice, then buzzed. I hoped that meant ‘message received’ and not ‘sending an assassin to eliminate all evidence of your existence.' The two are sometimes easily confused where these sorts of systems are concerned. Taxi took her mic and hung it on a hook by the steering wheel. “Alright, next stop?” “We’re going to get some food and give the Chief an hour or two to get back on her hooves and get Swift’s equipment to the Vivarium. Then we’ll go hope there’s not another angry, crazy unicorn waiting for us there.” **** There’s a certain persistent cliche about cops and donuts. I can’t say it’s not completely, totally true, which is unfortunate because such stereotypes can be hurtful in the wrong hooves. Granted, if you’re a cop, your skin had best be thick enough to enjoy your damn donuts with pride or you won’t last very long. Taxi, as if more proof was needed that "cop" was still etched somewhere on her soul, was on her third chocolate frosted devil cake and showing no signs of slowing down as we sat in the Night Trotter across from the little donut shop just inside the Heights. Swift sucked a bit of frosting off her toe and carefully selected a double-glaze with extra sprinkles, stuffing the whole thing into her muzzle. “Mmm… this… herp-” she coughed, spraying me with crumbs, then covered her mouth with her toe and chewed more carefully before she spoke again. “Mmmhmmm... this would only be better if I had some chicken to go with it. I wonder if I can find a bakery that will frost chicken.” “Don’t tell me if you do, kid. I don’t want to know.” I chewed on the business end of a kruller that would have made a decent pillow in a pinch. I’d already gone through the bagels, not having realized just how hungry a minor encounter with a psychotic being of unfathomable power will make a pony. “Hardy," said Taxi quietly, "something about what you said about these villains drugging the Chief or… I guess getting her to drug herself… just sounds… off, to me." “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” I agreed. “That’s not the first thing lately that’s felt like it was somehow… chaos for the sake of chaos. The tap on the Vivarium might have been a disaster by itself if that information had gotten out, not to mention the gang war that could have followed. Cosmo’s blackmail diary was a bomb, too.” “I wonder, sir,” Swift mused. “What… what if they’d taken her daughter, then… destroyed the Vivarium so Stella wasn’t keeping the Heights safe, then the Jewelers and the Cyclones started fighting for some reason and the Chief was too out of it to do anything. What would have happened if they somehow got the blackmail diary and all the Vivarium recordings… and… and released that then?” There was a collective swallow of fear. “We… don’t even know they knew about Cosmo’s diary, do we?” Taxi asked, voice tense with a sort of terror. “No, we don’t, but I think it’s an easy thing to put together that somepony with tentacles in as many places as he had his would need something like that,” I answered, tipping my hat back on my head and wiping my muzzle with one fetlock. “His death should have created a power vacuum, where ‘They’ -- whoever ‘They’ are -- could have installed somepony who was directly friendly to their aims. That pony would have had both the Vivarium tap and Cosmo’s blackmail diary, or at least, his extortion files...which I guess is more or less the same thing.” I sat a bit straighter as pieces began to assemble themselves into a coherent picture. A thought struck me. “Bari!” I exclaimed. “They’d have put Bari in Cosmo’s place; a puppet they could easily control. He would have gotten access to Cosmo’s extortion information… and maybe the diary, itself, too. Even a short list of all the ponies Cosmo had under his hoof could have turned this city upside down.” My driver’s lip twitched, as though she were afraid to say what was on her mind. When she finally spoke, it was with considerable trepidation. “He could have blamed the death of Cosmo on the Cyclones. That would have started a war, right? The death of a top level boss would have been a good reason to call a stomp. Except it wouldn’t just have been Cosmo’s Jewelers involved. It would have been all of the Jeweler families!” “If… we hadn’t given the blackmail book to Stella and he hadn’t taken the Monte Cheval and dispersed the Red Hoof…” Swift shuddered. I turned to look out the window, feeling a creeping chill that made the donuts I’d just gorged myself on feel like a stomach full of live eels. “Then if chaos was… the goal… we’d be up to our ears in blood and fire right now.” **** There was one fact that, even amidst the gravity of our talk, none of us felt like mentioning aloud; but it hung over our heads, quieting our conversations as we drove back to the Nest.          If the ponies or beings or... whatever they were... stayed true to form, they were likely to have multiple plans operating simultaneously. While a gang-war was certainly bad, such things have a tendency to find a balance relatively quickly and if the violence became severe, the Princesses could have intervened.          Unfortunately, much as I wanted to ride off and fight the beasties, I was stuck with one particular quest which, if successful, meant the Chief would no longer be pursuing me directly. The only reason I wasn’t ducking under the city’s carpets again was that I doubted my ability to continue running for more than a short period if the Chief did, in fact, devote all of her un-chemically altered brain power to finding me. That and the line of investigation put before me fit neatly into a direction I was already headed.          The ladybugs were likely to be a help, if it came to another of those unpleasant invasion missions or a need to get some secretive information from an unsuspecting individual. I’d no way of knowing if Queenie had been watching me. I searched my body as best as I could, but if there had been a ladybug about my person, it was long bored and off to see other things. But knowing the Collective, they probably had other eyes on me.          We needed to go see this pony Jade had tucked away, in case her days started raining pieces of her daughter, and the Burning Love was one of the few police safe houses I wasn’t feeling too sad to be going to. First things first, though.          ****          “Ah don’t think e’s had enough. Do ye think e’s had enough, Minox?”          “Celestia save me, I got her back, didn’t I?! Put me down!” I howled, kicking my forelegs.          “I zink ze Detective mebbe needs anoder reminder he iz to make sure ze birdy is safe,” the minotaur chuckled.          I dropped into the bucket positioned under my head with a wet splash. Water rushed up my nose. I coughed violently, then was pulled out by one rear leg.          “What’d Ah tell ye ‘bout gettin’ mah little birdy hurt?” A densely wrinkled face swung into view as I was turned to face Granny Glow. The bucket of water under my head only had about half of its contents left, the rest of which was mostly soaked into my mane and ears.          “She fell down some stairs!” I snapped. “I’m not responsible for that!”          “Ye let’er get locked up by that maniacal bitch what runs yer police department. Ye wanna tell me that wasn’t yer fault?”          “I... dammit, it wasn’t!”          splash         Hoofsteps echoed down the corridor, along with the voices of my partner and driver conversing with one another.          “Hey, Gran? I’m done with my shower and the healers fixed my wing...” They stopped in the doorway of the little room off one of the Vivarium corridors. There was a pause.  “Gran! You set him down right this instant!”          ****          “I’m sorry, sir…”          “That’s the sixth time you’ve said it, kid. Enough. I’m damp, I’m not dead. Your grandmare’s just protective.”          Swift sank back into the sullen silence she’d only broken with apologies since we’d left the Vivarium. Her tactical vest was back on, bunny patches and all, along with Masamane, but that didn’t seem to be bringing her terribly much comfort.          Updating Stella on our progress had taken longer than it should have, especially since Swift took a full ten minutes chewing out her grandmother for dunking me in the bucket, but in a way, I was grateful for the soak. Some masochistic part of my brain that had been felt I hadn't suffered sufficiently for my partner’s predicament a few hours earlier was now well and truly satisfied, and I couldn’t bear After Glow any particular ill will for the dousing, deserved or not.          Taxi hadn’t been pleased, though, and I had to physically restrain her from trying to do something stupid to Glow. Minox caught a knee in the groin for his participation, though after a short audience with Stella during which I gave him as much of recent events as I could, Taxi and Minox were once more cuddling like kittens in a basket.          ****          The return trip to the Nest had required us to duck several police cruisers, though even the ones I’m reasonably sure had made us seemed strangely disinterested. After the third one failed to give chase, I relaxed in my seat and closed my eyes. For the first time in a couple of days, I let my shoulders unwind as the streets passed by. A light shower from a nearby weather factory set up a spray off the front tires of the Night Trotter that made the world outside the car’s windows seem gray and diffuse, somehow not entirely real.          I listened to the tires and to Swift’s breath.          The file on the Lunar Passage lay across my lap. I hadn’t opened it. Part of me was dreading cracking that file.          Publicly approaching Astral Skylark was one thing, but for every pony who agreed with her publicly or wore the robes, there were likely a hundred who harbored private griefs and grievances they’d gladly point at Princess Celestia, whether or not she was responsible. The Jewelers, despite all of their vast resources, were relatively few in number compared to a religious group that spanned the city from end to end. Skylark’s program was a popular Monday morning radio spot.          Investigating her, if she was dirty, was tantamount to suicide. Too many ponies sympathized with her brand of insanity.          It was no wonder the Chief was inclined to devote an expendable asset to the effort.          Chaos. It was an odd thought that there would be ponies whose goal was to promote chaos within the city. Certainly, there must have been some underlying investment they were making, some long term plan which would develop out of the madness they seemed bent on creating, but damn me if I could see what it was. A gang war that would have lead to that quantity of death and violence would have affected every stratum of Detrot society, not even mentioning the release of all those secrets. That might have, single-hoofedly undermined every major institution from the police department right up to city hall. It was difficult to imagine what kind of a mind could have assembled such a plan. At the center of this web, that lawfirm continued to rear its head, but I couldn’t even begin to delve into their secrets until after Chief Jade’s daughter was safe. Deep in these thoughts, I barely registered the crossing into the Skids until the brakes almost jolted me out of my seat as we pulled up in front of the double gates leading down to the Nest.          Wisteria, her pregnant belly almost dragging the pavement, trotted around the corner just as I slid out onto the pavement. It lacked some of the verve of her usual entrance, but her presence was no less imposing.          “Ah, Crusada! De Aroyo be glad to be seein’ ja!” she called, stopping in front of me with a pleased smile on her face. “Dem Archivist ye be bringin’. He be already below.”          “Thank you for letting Limerence in, Wisteria.”          “We was almost not, until he foolish self, he say ye was going into de lair of de green she-beast of de cop-land and had charged he wid’ makin’ sure ye escape! I and I see ye have all of ye pieces. Must have been some escape, if ye be here and he ‘ave not left de Nest!”          “I’m pretty sure the kids will want to hear that one later, if I get the chance to sit down and tell it.” I pushed my hat back and looked out over the streets of the Skids, which were alive with various species coming and going from door to door, neighbor to neighbor. “Speaking of things that somepony will want to hear about, what do the Aroyos know about the Church of the Lunar Passage?”          Wisteria’s ears flattened and she drew in a slow breath. “Dey be… bad news, son. One of ours, she leave, she go join dem. Rose Thyme be her name. Rose, she go… she come back. When she come back, she speak in tongues and have no memory, but wander here. Strange t’ings she say, when she talk these days. She not talk often.” Swift edged up beside me. “What sort of things?” Another breath, and the Aroyo shuddered from head to hoof, like somepony had walked over her grave. “Rose… she say dey take her a place, show her t’ings she will not speak of… but she say a demon heads dem. A demon, wid wings and horn.” “An… alicorn?!” Taxi blanched. “Aye... if she be believed. De girl were mad. Her mind be walkabout.” “Where is this ‘Rose’? I'd like to speak to her,” I said. “She be wid de Ancestors now...” Wisteria’s lavender face sank. “I and I be sorry, Crusada, but dere be no speakin’ wid her.” “She’s… dead?” Swift whispered. “Wid de Ancestors,” Wisteria repeated, then turned to look at the sky. “I and I must be back to patrol. Ye be wary, Crusada. Ye be in danger most grave, if ye go against de Lunar Passage.” **** The Nest was a welcome rest, however little I might have of it. Swift turned the wheel on the vault-like door and stood back as it unsealed itself from the wall, revealing our living space. Seated at the make-shift table in the center of the pile of bean-bag chairs, Limerence had two screwdrivers grasped with his magic and was bent over a bundle of wires. He glanced up, then sat back with a pleased smile and set his project to one side. “Detective! I must say, strange as it might sound, that I am glad to see you.” He stood and trotted up to us, turning to Swift. “And with the package in tow, no less!” “The ‘package’ is fine, thanks for asking,” Swift grumped. “Do I dare ask why you’re so glad to see me?” I inquired. Nodding at the table, Limerence exhaled, unhappily. “Well, the bomb I was planning on using to open the dungeon cells came with a faulty detonator. What you get for buying on short notice, you know.” He grunted and used his horn to lift the wires off the table, dropping the entire mess into the garbage. “I thought to repair it, but found the timing device unreliable, so decided to replace it. I fear I may have lost track of time.” “Wait, did you say bomb?!” Taxi gasped, shying back from him. I took two involuntary steps back myself. “Oh, yes. Don’t worry, there is no explosive currently attached,” the librarian replied, setting his screwdrivers back in a small tool kit beside his work space. “I was waiting on a call from a friend of mine to see if he might supply some T.N.T. for the purpose. Even in these enlightened days, a pony must purchase his fireworks well ahead of time if he hopes to use them at his leisure. I suppose I will have to tell my friend his services are no longer needed.” “You...you were going to blow up the Detrot Police Department’s underground cells...to get us out?” I asked, incredulously. “It was to be a shaped charge. Damage would have been minimal.” Limerence said with a dismissive shake of his mane. “I think I’m either worried for your sanity or deeply touched. I’m not sure which.” I thought I saw a hint of a smile, but Limerence quickly cleared his throat and as his face slid back into its usual stoic impassivity. “The two are not mutually exclusive. As you are here and appear relatively unscathed, may I assume that Chief Iris Jade is, at least until we have achieved whatever task she must have set for us, off our immediate tail?” “Yes, and her daughter is the task,” I answered. “Before we start figuring out how to tackle that particular hydra, we’ve got a discovery process. Your favorite part, I’m certain.” “Research?” Limerence’s eyes flashed with interest. I pulled open my coat and tossed the file labeled ‘Church of the Lunar Passage’ onto the table in front of the librarian. “Research.” **** Three hours passed. Taxi, Swift and I passed most of that time with idle conversation and a few board games Swift found tucked away in one of the closets. I wasn’t especially good at any of them, although the one called ‘Enigmatic Plot Advancement Device!’ was lovely good fun. I won in the tenth round with ‘Celestia’ in the ‘Throne Room’ with the ‘Rainbow Ray Of Ultimate Blasting.' Limerence hadn’t left those files except to make a couple of phone calls to the Archive about half-way through. An Aroyo knocked on the vault door about thirty minutes after that with another stack of papers. An hour later, a gleam of predatory glee in his eyes, Limerence rose from his seat and left the room. An hour after that, he returned and bowed to us, declaring himself ‘prepared.' Prepared for what, he didn’t say; he simply led us into a spare room, in which he’d laid out a number of beanbag chairs and a set up a projector of some sort, then he bade us sit as he picked up a remote control. The projector clicked, clanked, then hummed to life. A picture lit up on the wall, depicting a crescent moon wrapped around a crowning sun; the emblem of the church. “The Church of the Lunar Passage!” Limerence declared, crossing in front of the project. The image played across his blue body, following his form as he walked across to face the three of us. “Thirty years ago, it was a non-entity. Today, it represents the single largest religious group in all of Detrot, aside the typified casual worship of the alicorn diarchy that the Princesses have been unsuccessful in stamping out, despite their best efforts.” The remote clicked and the image changed. A sea of ponies in blue, glittering robes stood together inside some type of large office building. At their head, barely recognizable at that distance, a mare’s shape stood with both forelegs upraised. “Their faith, at least from what we’ve gathered, appears to revolve around the usual acts of charity, forgiveness, and compassion. It has the unfortunate added wrinkle of including what could be termed ‘Lunar Dominionism’; the exaltation and dominance of Princess Luna and the things she represents over Princess Celestia and her demesne. This is a simplification, though the information we in the Archive have acquired from former members is often sketchy and vague. Not surprisingly, few but the innermost circle are likely aware of the true aims of the Church.” “Lim, we already know all of this,” I said, impatiently, half rising from my seat. “And beyond that, when in the world did you have time to make slides?” “I don’t have time to give you a placement test, so you’re getting the full monty, Detective,” Limerence retorted, using a little burst from his horn to push me back onto the beanbag chair. “The less time you spend protesting the quicker it will be over.” “Alright, alright…” I slumped. “Anyway, where did I leave off? Right!” He clicked the remote. The next picture was a familiar mare, resplendent in her hood and fancy robes. “The leader of the Lunar Passage is a pony of considerable wits and charisma, by the name of Astral Skylark.” “What’s wrong with her face?” Swift asked, before I could. Now I managed to get a good look, Skylark’s head did seem just like somepony had painted a dark mask or helmet right onto her violet pelt. The blackened pattern curled back around her eyes, then over her ears. Last I’d seen her, I’d been too wrapped up in my plans for escape to give her more than a cursory examination. “My files contain nothing on the significance of those markings. They are presumed to be some form of makeup or cosmetic spell with a religious meaning.” Limerence answered, tracing the shape over the mare’s eyes. “Could they be natural?” I asked. “'Natural...'" he mused, "is difficult to define, Detective, and the subject of another presentation altogether, which we may view later if you wish. I can state with certainty, however, that she was not born with those markings. " He tapped his remote again; the next picture was a mug-shot of a very young, very pretty Astral Skylark. She held her police number with a calm, cocky smirk. The strange markings were absent. “She’s a criminal?” I exclaimed. “How come I’ve never heard that tidbit before?” Limerence patted his mane smugly. “I had to dig quite deep for that answer. Astral Skylark was once known as the Ebon Kitten; Thief and small-to-middling cat-burglar who terrorized the wealthier streets of Canterlot. The Lunar Passage was founded after she had some form of mental breakdown, followed by an epiphany in which she claims Princess Luna spoke to her in a dream. The Princess herself has not publicly commented on the truth or falsehood of this. After those events, Skylark turned herself in, served a brief sentence, and was released, having built the core of her Church from a number of inmates she met inside Tartarus Correctional. Again, details are sketchy, and somepony went to considerable trouble to eliminate the records of that period of her life.” “Not surprising for somepony trying to start a religion...” Taxi muttered. “...But a little ironic when you consider that forgiveness and redemption became essential tenets of the Lunar Passage,” the librarian explained. “They believe they can be forgiven for all sin in much the same way Luna was forgiven when she returned from the Moon.” “And I assume they’ve got a nice, healthy list of sins to choose from, don’t they?” I grumbled. Limerence’s horn flickered and a sheaf of densely typed papers levitated off the concrete floor. “I’m fairly certain the list alone could break spines, to say nothing of attempting to actually live within these strictures. It should not surprise you, then, that 'forgiveness' is simply a matter of prayer, priestessly confession, and occasional healthy donations.” Taxi bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, murmuring just loud enough to be heard, “If forgiving oneself was that easy, I might be half-tempted to go get myself some sequins and a blue dressing gown to sew them to.” “None of this says ‘diabolical plan to cause chaos and mayhem across the city',” I said, contemplatively. “They’ve already got control of a big chunk. Ugly political undertones aside, the Jewelers would give quite a few eyes to be as publicly respected as this lot. Maybe even some of their own.” “The Church's charitable character has earned them quite a lot of forgiveness for past transgressions and they do, largely, attempt to keep their contempt for Celestia out of public these days,” Limerence added. “Alright, that’s… basic intel, then. Anything we can use? Negotiation levers? Thoughts on why they’d pay for the theft of the armor and the moon weapons?” “Aside the significance of the weapons and armor to Princess Luna, I have few conjectures,” the librarian said with a shrug of his slim shoulders. “There is...an interesting and little known fact which I have discovered, however.” “Go on! Oooh, finally something good!” Swift said, eagerly. “If what I have dug up is true, the horseshoes of Nightmare Moon were gifted to the griffins as a ceremonial gesture for their assistance during the Crusades. The helmet remains in Canterlot, so far as anypony knows.” Lim’s nose wrinkled. “For what reason the griffins should want such things I cannot imagine, but they are a peculiar species.” “Gifted to the griffins…” I mused, somberly. “So this Church can't be hoping to re-assemble the armor. I mean, stealing from a museum in a run-down city is one thing, but stealing directly from the Princesses and the griffins? The Church might be big, but even they don't have the kind of army they'd need to pull artifacts from the vaults of two major governments. It'd be… ridiculous. Suicidal.” “Quite. So we are back to square one, insofar as their motivations are concerned.” I pulled the diary of Ruby Blue out of my coat. I’d hidden it for days in the Nest, but it felt right that it should be in my hooves. The gem-stoned cover was still as enigmatic as ever, sealed against all but the most persistent of attackers. I doubted we had the time to pass it off to The Don. Not even the Academy was likely to crack it faster than the Archivists. “I guess that leaves us with this pony Jade is sending us to see. We could pursue the law-firm, but that reeks of ‘front’. They’ll be next on our list, though. Any thoughts on where we might find Cerise?”  Limerence nodded, clicking his remote again. The picture changed to a smiling young girl, who was a carbon copy of Jade except with a shorter mane-cut. “This is the most recent picture of the mare in question. If what Iris Jade says is to be believed, her daughter has joined one of the five convents of the Lunar Passage within the city.” Click. A map of Detrot appeared on the screen. Five points were marked with tiny gold stars. “She is most likely at one of these five locations. Unfortunately, invading any one, without prior knowledge of her whereabouts, will alert the church and give them time to move her. It will be extremely difficult to extract her thereafter should we ‘guess wrong.’” Taxi stuck the tip of her tongue out of one side of her muzzle and commented, “Now there’s a shitty creek…” I pulled myself out of the beanbag chair with a soft groan. “So, we gather information. We go see Jade’s lead. I haven’t been down to the Burning Love in a long time." **** Taxi brought the Night Trotter to a gliding stop and said over her shoulder, “You know, I haven’t seen him in a year and a half, and he’s getting on in years. You sure he still runs the place? Most ponies his age have retired and let their kids take over the show.” “Most ponies aren’t like him,” I replied, pressing my muzzle against the window. “I mean, can you think of anypony you know crazy enough to run a store that sells only two things?” The street was almost empty, save a few pawn shops and the odd, deserted coffee joint on the corner. They all had that sense that institutions get when the dying neighborhood just doesn’t have anything left to give, but sticking up like an especially gaudy rose in a garbage heap halfway down the street, a giant sign depicting a guitar resting against a toilet bowl rose out of one of the buildings. It was cornea-scarringly bright, but even the Crusades hadn’t damaged those fantastic glass tubes. In gigantic blue letters, the words ‘Burning Love Toiletries And Musical Majesty’ dripped at odd angles like they’d haphazardly fallen into that arrangement down the building’s facade. The front window was lined with an array of toilets in every size and shape, backed by gorgeous instruments, none of which strayed terribly far from type. Long necked, short-necked, ten string, twelve string; the Musical Majesties part of that title was a sight to behold. Some things in Detrot are timeless, either because they’re actually impossible to destroy - as in the case of the city morgue - or because they’re too weird to die. The Burning Love fell neatly into that second category. I smiled to myself as a memory unwound behind my eyes of my father bringing me down there many years ago. I’d sat on the owner’s spangly jumpsuited back, eating peanut butter and banana bagels until I was almost sick while he and my dad strummed instruments, talking about the ‘good old times.' “Sir, this place is silly,” Swift commented, stretching her wings and leaping out of the back seat through the window. “Hey, show some respect, filly! This shop has been here since before either of us were born and it’s seen this city through some dark times. I’d rather stakeout at the Burning Love than damn near any other cop-flop in the city. Criminals don’t walk this street because they know there’s a strong chance we’re in residence up there.” I pointed to the row of windows above and behind the sign. “That and the owner…” I turned to Taxi, who was adjusting her saddlebags. “You remember those Jewelers who tried to drive him out about ten years back?” “The Bronco Brothers. I busted them once for trying to sell Ace-loaded popsicles to school children. They beat that particular rap with four months in jail. Right pair of bastards. Whatever happened them? I never did hear,” Taxi asked. “Nopony is perfectly sure, but the Prince had himself some nice guitar cases up for sale about three weeks after they rousted his place. Said he got them from a ‘griffin friend’, because they were ‘genuine animal skin’.” I grinned and nodded towards the door. “At the time, nopony really wanted to ask why the Bronco Brothers had donated their cutie-marks for the griffins to make guitar cases out of.” “He made guitar cases out of-” Swift started with a horrified expression, but I cut her off. “Like I said, nopony is perfectly sure.” I added some extra emphasis to those last four words and she quickly got the message, letting her teeth click shut around her objections. “The Prince is one of the few ponies in this city the police department trusts implicitly.” “B-but why? And why do you call him the Prince? I mean, it’s just a plumbing and music store…” “Toilets and guitars,” Taxi put in. “He does toilets, he does guitars. You won’t find a drum or a sink in the whole building.” “His name is Precious,” I replied to Swift’s question. “Everypony just calls him the Prince. The Prince of Detrot. No actual royal connections that I know of, but there might as well be.” “There are some certain rules in Detrot which are incontrovertible on pain of...various, vaguely defined, terrible consequences," Limerence said, stepping out of the other side of the car and checking his pocket watch for the time. "These rules exist outside of the law, and outside of the normal order of things. One of those rules is that the Burning Love is always safe. If you are on the side of order, peace, and wise counsel, then you may shelter here. The Archivists have long been friends of the Prince.” “They say that, during the war, Precious made some kind of deal with the dragons to design and install central plumbing in the caves of their lords so they’d leave this place alone.” I explained, feeling a swell of nostalgia at seeing the old place still pumping with life. “Dozens of ponies, griffins, and zebras sheltered here when they couldn’t get to the bunkers. He saved a lot of lives. They say even Princess Celestia stays here when she’s in town and doesn’t want it known that she’s come visiting.” “S-so that’s why nopony knows what happened to the Bronco brothers?” Swift asked, warily, her wings clenching tighter to her sides as she looked up with new respect at the neon sign. “You got it, kid.”          ****          The little bell on the door jingled as I pushed it open and stepped into the Burning Love’s front room. A glass countertop with a register, but nopony attending it, ran along one wall. Behind it, in row after row of black and white pictures, dozens of famous ponies and beings of Detrot held guitars or sat on porcelain thrones, smiling for the camera.          I felt cocooned by the hundreds upon hundreds of instruments and bits of pipe dangling from strings on the ceiling as though they held absolutely equal appeal. Precious didn’t believe in aisles full of shelves, nor rummage bins of parts. His merchandise, much like his personality, was built on a philosophy of presentation and quality first, practicality second.          Stepping up to the counter, I tapped the bell with my toe. The sound rang through the entire building, reverberating off the toilet bowls in a way that was somehow more melodic. I turned and moved to one of the toilets that was actually at ground level, sliding onto the seat. Swift tilted her head, looking puzzled. “Are we...waiting for something, Sir?” “Precious likes to make an entrance, but it takes him a bit these days,” I answered, then settled in to wait. Five minutes later, we were still waiting when a moaning, wistful guitar chord split the air, sending everypony scrambling upright. A wind of indeterminate source whistled through the building, setting the dangling merchandize spinning and sending dancing, prismatic reflections off every surface. Hidden chimes made sweet music as they spun.          I glanced up to find Swift crouched against Taxi’s side, her gun bit in her mouth and her wings flared. I gave her a firm stare until she gulped and dropped her trigger.          Another guitar chord, followed by a beautiful little riff that put me in mind of buzzing bees, and the wall behind the counter slid back on both sides with a burst of light to reveal Precious, the Prince of Detrot, an electric guitar clutched in both hooves and a broad smile on his brilliantly white face.          “Laaadies and gentlecolts! M’dears, ah am so glad to see you here tonight! Why don’t you give yahselves a round of applause!” he declared, strumming the guitar so it let out a gorgeous tone.          I quickly stomped my hooves and Taxi did the same, while Limerence clapped politely with the tips of his toes. Swift just stood there, staring, open mouthed.          Precious looked much as he had the last time I’d seen him. Maybe a few pounds heavier around the middle and a few more gray hairs, but he still burned with life. His dark mane curled around the top of his head like a halo, spilling down the back of a suit studded in rhinestones from collar to cufflinks. Every inch of him glittered or shined, while a tiny tufted beard and mutton chops crowned a slightly chubby face that somehow managed to remain beautiful despite the added wrinkles. His eyes, as they had been since the day I’d met him when my father set me on his back, were milky white. He was like the Don, in that he didn’t show his age. It was there, most definitely, but his sheer zest for living seemed to beat back the years. Strutting out from behind the counter, the blind stallion turned one way and bowed, then the other. “Ah must say, ya’ll are a beautiful audience today! Now then, what can Precious get for ya?” “It’s me, Precious. Hard Boiled.” His pale eyes lit up and he put one hoof on the counter, swinging himself over it in one quick motion, punctuated by a very slight stumble on the landing which he covered with a sweep of his impressively hooficured toes down the lapels of his jacket. “Hard Boiled, mah son! Ah do declare, ah did not think to see ya back in these parts anytime soon! ‘Specially not after what they be saying about ya on the boob tube!” He cocked one ear then trotted up, tossing his forelegs around my neck. The old fellow smelled of tobacco and guitar oil. I hugged him warmly, then stepped back and he turned to my three companions. “And who are these folk ya brung me? Two fillies, onea whom smells like...little miss Sweet Shine!” he exclaimed. Taxi opened her forelegs in time to catch the elderly stallion in a big hug. “It’s good to see you too, Precious.” The stallion held her at leg’s length. “Ah, lovely as can be and never far from thought, mah girl!” My driver, against all the odds, turned bright red and ducked her head demurely as the Prince shifted his attention. “Mah sweet heaven, is that Limmy?” “Limerence, Precious, and yes. It’s agreeable to see you too.” Limerence took the obligatory hug with good grace, patting Precious on the back. “Father sends his regards.” “The Don’s a busy pony, but we got a chess match to finish!” Precious declared, brushing one hoof over his crew-cut mane. “Ah got’em on the ropes and he ain’t gonna weasel out of it this time!” Taxi caught Limerence’s eye and mouthed ‘Limmy?’ at him. He thumbed his nose at her with one hooftip and shook his head. Precious eased back from Lim and turned to Swift, who was wide-eyed and crouched on the floor. “Now, who, ah ask is this little thing? She don’t smell like no foal, but she ain’t no bigger’n a ukulele!” “C-can you see me?” Swift asked, wide eyed. The Prince’s ears twitched in her direction. “Shore’nuff, no, but ah hear ya, filly! Ah smell ya, and ah feel when ya walk.” My partner looked at her hooves, then sniffed her tactical jacket. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You don’t stink. His cutie-mark is an echoing toilet bowl with a guitar sitting in it. It’s how he learned to play without seeing. He feels vibration...and you’re standing in a room full of pipes that conduct vibration beautifully. The floors are ridden with pipe, pumping air and sound. This might be the most heavily plumbed building in Detrot… and it suits him well,” I explained to Swift. “Precious, I want you to meet my new partner. Swift, this is Precious, the Prince of Detrot.” The stallion bowed good and deep, lifting Swift’s hoof and giving it a light kiss with all the gentlemanly aplomb one might afford a visiting princess. “Mah little lady! Shorely, anypony that Detective Hard Boiled will dare call partner is somepony right special! Why, he ain’t called nopony that since ol’Juniper passed, bless his soul.” “Really?” she squeaked, her rear legs collapsing under her so she fell onto her behind. “Surely’nuff. It ain’t no common pony can be keepin’ up with our fine fellow, now is it?” Precious winked at me, then his tone turned formal and business-like as he straightened the collar of his high-necked jumpsuit. “Now then, what brung ya to mah door? Ah don’t see ya needin’ either mah instruments or my plumbin’, if the telly is right.” “It is. We’re working, off the books, for Chief Jade,” I said, tugging my badge out from under my coat and passing it to him. He turned it over in his hooves, then nodded and released the chain so it jangled against my chest. “Ya don’t go stickin’ ya’lls head up in a known cop-flop unless ya got the blessin’ of Miss Jade, ah suppose, telly or not. Lemme guess. Yer here about that mare she got hid away upstairs?” “Mare?” I asked. “Chief Jade said there was somepony here we should come see.” “Yeah, Jade, sweet soul she is, come in about a week ago with this pretty young thing in tow. She says ‘Precious, take good care of her!’ and so ah done. Funny girl. Won’t give me nor anypony her name Smelled like she were scared half out of her wits and just stays in her room, ‘cept to eat. Won’t talk much. Just sits there, listenin’ to them records ah gave her of mah performing days.” I sighed and rubbed the side of my neck. “Alright, you mind showing us the way up?” “Ya gonna be here for lunch? Ah gonna do mah special! Double fried bananas with a creamy sauce!” he purred. My stomach twitched and I looked sideways at Taxi who blew air into cheeks and made a face like she was about to explode. “Yeah, I think we can be convinced.” “Faaantastic! Well, come along then and we’ll get ya situated.” **** Precious led us behind the counter and through the hidden doors, walking with the confidence of a pony who has long since memorized his route and no longer needs to think of the specific number of steps involved. He had the courtesy to flick on the lights in the hall and stairwell as the four of us trailed along behind him, up one set of stairs and beyond his apartments to the third floor where the rentals lay. For a pony who liked people, Precious prefered to have few long term tenants, instead enjoying a continuous flow of temporary renters to keep his life interesting. Up another flight, we entered the back rooms. They were clean, but poorly lit, since Precious was usually the only one using them. Several of the light bulbs were out, but I’d gotten used to dark places, of late, and my eyes adjusted quickly. Down the hall, we stopped in front of one of the doors. It was like every other, except a soft tune and the lovely croon of Precious’s singing played on an old victrola seeped through. “Now, just so ya know, she ain’t too keen on visitors. Ya be gentle, ya hear?” Precious gave me a meaningful look and I nodded. “Of course. We’re not here to interrogate her. Just to talk.” “Well, mind ya manners. Girl is a mite fragile,” the stallion said, then tapped on the door twice. The music stopped, and a faint feminine voice said something I didn’t catch. “It’s me, Miss. Are ya decent? Ah gotta couple’o fine callers. Friends of mine. Good folk. Ya mind?” Again, the voice, too soft to hear. I made out that she was asking another question. “Yes’m. Ah be right out here. Ah promise, these ponies are here with mah okay. Word of the Prince.”          The lock on the other side of the door clicked.          “Go on in, and please try not to spook the little thing? Ah get the feelin’ she got enough problems as is,” Precious murmured, stepping back from the door and starting back toward the stairs.          “Thanks Precious. We’ll be down for food soon,” I assured him, then put my hoof on the door handle. It slid open and I gave it a light push.          The room had the smell of many years of occupation by many, many different species. The Burning Love might have been clean, but it was a hostel and if you let enough beings roost in any particular place over a long enough period of time, the scents get ground into the wood and layered under the carpets. It reminded me of one of my college dorms, minus the constant smell of Zap in the hallways.          There was a dresser, the victrola sitting in the corner, and a simple soldier’s cot with a lumpen shape on it covered by a heavy blanket.          “Miss?” I asked the seemingly empty room.          The blanket shifted slightly and the pony under it raised her head, still keeping the sheet tight against herself. I picked up a pair of soft, green eyes under there, but nothing else.          She whispered something, and I cocked an ear.          “I’m sorry, I missed that?”          “...what do you want?” she repeated, only slightly louder, still clutching the comforter to her chest.          “I’m here to ask you a few questions. Chief Jade sent me,” I said, adopting the tone one generally reserves for scared puppies and children.          “Did you find her?” she whispered, eyes widening hopefully. I glanced back at Swift, who shrugged and shook her head. I turned back to the hidden girl. “I’m… afraid I was sent here without much information. Chief Jade told us you might be able to help me with a case I’m working on for her.” The girl tilted her head. I couldn’t see her expression, but I didn’t need Precious’ super-powered nose to pick up that the room reeked of fear. “W-what’s your name?” Her voice was so faint I had to edge forward to hear it, but she just drew further away. “I’m...well, do you mind if I let my friends in first?” She made a motion that I took for a nod and I slid my hat off with one hoof, tossing it on top of the dresser as I made room for the remainder of my group to file in behind me. Limerence’s horn buzzed softly as he shut the door behind us. “There, cozy and safe, yes?” I murmured, touching one hoof to my breast. “I’m Detective Hard Boiled. These-” “D-Detective what?!” the girl let out a shrill yelp and all but launched herself off the bed. I found myself with a face full of flowing red mane crowning a complexion the sharp blue of a clear sky on a cold summer morning. I fell backwards, landing on my back as the girl stared down at me, her blanket bunched around her fetlocks. It was her. I knew, rationally, that it couldn’t be her. She was dead, but the resemblance was just too striking and for several seconds while my brain tried to find a fresh batch of uncooked grey matter to use, she was there. She’d haunted what few dreams hadn’t been nightmares and a few that had. Her broken body and that picture of her, side by side with a younger mare crept into my thoughts, day in, day out. During those seconds while my mind was sorting itself out, the girl that had started me on the path to eventual death and resurrection was there, in the room, her gentle, open face full of worry and hope. Ruby Blue. My lips formed the name, but I shook my head violently from side to side and rolled over, getting back to my hooves. “Miss. I... you’ll have to excuse me. I’m… afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” I said, formally. “Disadvantage? Sir, isn’t that Miss Blue’s sister?!” Swift put in, excitedly.          I slapped my forehead so hard that if I’d been any other color, I’d have had a glowing hoof-print shaped bruise for a month.          “Thank you, Swift...” I sighed. "Anyhow. Miss, I…"          I trailed off, suddenly realizing I was at a loss for words. Good words, at least. Everything I could think of saying sounded… wrong, somehow. I… what? I thought. I’ve been trying to find your dead sister’s killer? I’ve fought through hellfire and clawed my way out of the grave to meet you, because you might be sitting on the keys to a conspiracy spanning the entire city that has killed an as-yet-uncounted number of ponies? As I was shaking those thoughts away, the girl put her hooves up on my chest. “Please! I’ve been here for weeks trying to find anything and everything is crazy here! I just want to find Ruby and take her home! If you know anything that can help me find her, I’ll do anything! I just want out of this awful city!” I appraised the unicorn filly cooly, trying to gauge just how much was safe to say. It’s always an issue when dealing with a relative of a decedent. By telling them their loved one is dead you might get just the piece of information you need to give them peace, or you might send them into a crushing catatonic depression that they don’t climb out of for hours. The girl might have been a year or two younger than Swift; she was barely out of her teens. There was still some baby fat on her cheeks, but nopony could have mistaken her for a foal. I decided to try a gentle touch, taking her hooves off my chest and stepping back. “Alright, let’s take a seat. Now, you seem to know who I am, at least. Yes, I am Detective Hard Boiled. Did Chief Jade send a message ahead saying I would know something?” She shook her head, her rusty red mane falling down her neck in thick, curly waves. “No, it was… um… oh Celestia, this sounds so nuts.” Ruby’s twin turned in a frustrated circle, then hopped back onto her cot, dragging her blanket up under her chin and pressing both hooves over her eyes. “Do you know anything about my sister?” I hesitated, then said in a carefully neutral voice, “I think we should probably have something to eat. This has been a busy month, and for some reason, I think it just got a whole lot busier. What’s your name?” “I… I’m Lily. Lily Blue.” **** Precious arrived with a precariously balanced platter covered in a steel plate on his back and a package of paper plates in his muzzle. Limerence rushed to lift the platter with his horn while Taxi gently took the napkins from the aged stallion and opened them. “Awww, ya kids’er makin’ me feel old here. Granted, means ah don’t have to do any of the work…” the Prince chuckled, settling himself down on the carpet and adjusting his paunchy undercarriage with one hoof to get comfortable. Gingerly lifting the top off the platter, I set it aside and breathed in the burst of steam. Precious’s talent might have marked him for the happy life of a plumbing musician, but to my mind his real magic had always been behind a stove. “Sweet mercy, that’s what I need in my mouth parts…” I whimpered, snatching up one of the pieces of rich bread and dumping a spoon full of sliced banana on it, then drizzling the peanut sauce over the top. It tasted even better than it smelled.          Lily waited politely until everypony else had served themselves before coming forward and tearing off a piece of bread from the loaf, dunking it in the sauce and returning to her cot. She seemed reluctant to leave the safety of her blankets for longer than strictly necessary.          “Miss Blue-” I began.          “You... you can just call me Lily, Detective,” she said, after swallowing. “Do you mind if I call you ‘Detective’?”          “Lily. Alright, Lily, and yes, Detective is fine,” I replied. “I’m afraid, like I said before, you have me at something of a disadvantage. I… know some things about your sister and I want to tell you, but you sound like you know me and I’m certain we haven’t met.”          The filly sucked her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled on it, pensively. “I don’t know who to trust right now, but…” Lily reached over to the nightstand and slid it open, pulling out a much folded envelope and letter. I recognized it as the paper she’d had with her when I saw her in the Museum’s security footage. “...I think this means I can trust you, Detective.”          Taking the envelope, I opened it and turned it over in my hooves. The paper inside was ragged around the edges, tear-stained and with a few crusty brown droplets on the bottom half of the page. I pointed at the spot. “Is this yours?”          Lily shook her head. “It came like that. I don’t know what that is.”          I had a sneaking suspicion I did know, and it threatened to ruin the delicious meal. Despite that, I sniffed at the paper. Yep. Dried blood.          Lovely.          Turning the letter over, I unfolded it and spread it out on the carpet. It was written on expensive stationary that said ‘High Step Hotel’ in the upper right corner.          “What’s it say, Sir?” Swift asked, poking her nose over my shoulder.          I took a deep breath and read.          ****          Dear Lily, I don’t know how long I have to write this, so I’ll write as fast as I can. I think she’s asleep or somewhere else or something. She comes and goes. I can hear her in the back of my head. She whispers. She’s keeping my horn from writing her name.          I’m sorry, Lily. I’m so sorry. It’s all gone wrong. I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to meet them. I left you another letter in the curio, but I think she made me write it. She picked the words just for Him, so He would... investigate. She makes me do all these things and half of them don’t make any sense at all. Maybe she’s making me write this too. I can’t tell where she stops and I begin anymore. I know this doesn’t make any sense. She told me you’d come. She knows things. She looks into the things that are coming and when she does, sometimes I can see too. She wants things, but I don’t know what. My diary is the key. I know that for sure, but I don’t even know what’s in it anymore. She keeps taking things from my mind! Stealing them, when I’m not looking! I won’t let her have this, though. The bitch won’t have this. Today, I’ll fight. She wants me to just let her hide and let all the horrible things happen! She doesn’t get to hide, this time. Maybe that’s part of her plan too. Tears and blood spattered the paper, like somepony had suffered a spontaneous nose-bleed. When they began again, the horn-writing was more composed. I will be so glad when this is over. I’m so tired. If she makes me go to the History Museum and stand there while she tries to get into that stupid armor box again, I think I might go crazy. Maybe I already have. She talks to herself, you know? She says these two words, again and again. ‘Random Factor’. She says if I don’t do what she says, you die, and I believe her. She showed me you dying, again and again, in all these ways...Oh Lily! It was awful! She keeps changing things in my head, again and again! I think there’s somepony who can change things. I think he’s a pony who can make this all right again. Maybe she’s just making me think this. Maybe it’s all a trick. Maybe I already wrote all this in the other letter and she just took the memory! I don’t know anymore. When you reach Detrot, I know you’ll hunt around. I can’t stop you and I think bad things happen if I try. If nothing goes right and you get my things first, just bury my jewelry box somewhere. Toss it in the lake. If you go to the police, be careful. There are many, many eyes. They’re watching. A lot of those paths end in...bad things. If you’ve exhausted all your other options, you’ll have to try the police. Find one of the outlying precincts Don’t go to the headquarters. Tell them to call ‘Miss Jade’. Damnit. Everything that awful witch has left in my head is bits and broken pieces. Don’t show Miss Jade this letter, but tell her you’re looking for The Detective and you have some information that might help her...you have to say it like this, okay? Tell her ‘You have information for The Detective that can help cut her strings’. Say it just like that, you hear? You can’t trust Miss Jade, but she’ll help you find him, I think. I hope he can make things right, because whenever she says ‘random factor’, his name is floating there. She sees so many things, but I think it’s too much even for her. The name of the pony you’re looking for is Hard Boiled. My diary is keyed so if you and he hold it and say my name, it’ll open. If you never meet him I don’t know what’ll happen. Nothing good, I think. The bitch thinks she’s the only one who can manipulate. She thinks she’s playing Hard Boiled. Screw her. I saw the paths, same as she did. If things go like I think they will, he’ll have my diary. I... hope she doesn’t take this from my mind. Everything is so confused. I’m sorry to put this on you, but I don’t think there’s any other way. What’s coming is bigger than me. I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’ll see you again, but I swear, I’m doing this to protect you. If She isn’t lying to me, then it has to be this way. Find Hard Boiled. He’ll help. I think. I love you, sis. Your sister, Ruby Blue.