Canterlot.
It was market-day in Equestria’s capital, as even the most unknowing visitor could tell from the large number of brightly-colored carts from which all manner of fruits, vegetables, trinkets, and the occasional precious items dangled. Vendors jostled with each other to place their carts in the best spaces along the best streets of the city, jealously guarding whatever bit of turf they could grasp from the never-ending influx of newer and seemingly brighter carts. Indeed, there was no need for the pegasi to provide a rainbow over the city that day, as the brilliant-hued tarps filled the sunlit sky with all the color it could require. Indeed, if you were visiting the city on this day, you would swear that the city streets were not paved in grey stone as in other cities, but were blue and green and purple and red and gold. For wherever you would look, those are the colors that you would see.
And the ponies themselves were equally colorful, to match their carts. Now, of course, the population of Canterlot was very colorful already, but on market days they all came out wearing fine clothes that made their natural colors seem all the more vibrant. The vendors at each of the carts in particular tried to outdo each other in the number and variety of colors that they wore, as every one of them hoped to bedazzle the citizens away from the competition. Among the citizens themselves, a festive atmosphere prevailed. They reveled in the bright colors and rushed this way and that, trying to see everything that was for sale. It seemed impossible to move much of the time, as there were ponies everywhere one would seek to go. Some other industrious types – actors, musicians, and acrobats – had found spaces in which to entertain curious passersby (for the right amount of bits, of course). So too were the purveyors of cider ready to take advantage of thirsty throats, and somehow it seemed that they had gotten fine spots on every corner despite the widespread competition. In short, everything that a pony could want or need in Equestria could be found somewhere within the happy chaos of the crowd.
This was the scene which greeted three weary travelers as they sped through the city gates. Weary they were indeed, but this was not a time for weariness. It was a time, they sensed, for action.
Scootaloo brought her scooter to a screeching halt right in the middle of the street. But Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle did not even wait for it to stop. Both jumped from the scooter and spun off in opposite directions, hitting the ground and throwing themselves into barrel rolls. As she got into a position halfway between crouching and kneeling, Sweetie Belle slung her shooter around from her back and used her magic to aim it and the nearest target. Apple Bloom, for her part, had grabbed two apple-bombs from her saddle bags. They dangled by the stems from her mouth, and only needed a good toss to cause some major property damage.
“Alright, don’t try to make any suspicious moves,” Sweetie Belle called out to the ponies locked in her sights.
Apple Bloom tried to say something but found it hard to speak with the stems still in her mouth. This was a recurring problem for her, and one that she had never found a way around.
“Yeah, you’ll be sorry if you try anything remotely threatening,” Scootaloo said, putting her hoof upon the scooter’s “fire” button, her mounted cannon already facing several other ponies.
Apple Bloom repeated her exclamation, more urgently this time, but she still could not get coherent words out.
“Trust us,” Sweetie Belle said as the shooter flew up to her shoulder and began to zero in, “we won’t think twice about using these.”
“So don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Scootaloo added.
Controlling her frustration, Apple Bloom lowered her head and gently laid down the apple-bombs. Now she could speak, “Um, guys, Ah don’t think that’s exactly called for.”
These words gave Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo pause. They looked to each other, and then back to their respective targets.
Sweetie Belle smiled in embarrassment as she realized that she was aiming her pea-shooter right in the sweet, young, green-beret crowned faces of the local filly scouts. They all stood motionless and wide-eyed, wondering no doubt what it was about their current offering of cookies that could have inspired such hostility.
Scootaloo chuckled nervously as she looked to her own target, a stall where a very dapper stallion was helping a few others try on dinner jackets. They were all now clinging to their velvet jackets as though these were suits of armor that would somehow save them. They shivered even more than the filly-scouts did, but that is no wonder. Filly-scouts are trained for handling disagreeable situations, after all, and twits are not.
Sweetie Belle quickly lowered her gun. “Sorry,” she said.
“I-I gu-guess this means you… don’t want to b-buy any cook-cookies, then?” said one brave filly-scout, perhaps hoping to finally earn a ‘face down a crazed gun-pony’ merit badge.
“Maybe another time,” Sweetie Belle answered. “But no hard feelings. I used to be a filly-scout, you know.”
Somehow, this seemed to provide absolutely no comfort to the foal who had so recently had the barrel of a rifle staring her down.
Scootaloo, for her part, only managed a small, “Sorry,” to the dandies she had just frightened.
Apple Bloom looked around. It seemed as though the whole crowd had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the three newcomers. If the Crusaders had ever had a chance to keep their cover from being blown, Apple Bloom knew that it had just gone straight out the window.
This called for quick thinking and – though she might not have the natural brainpower of a Twilight Sparkle – Apple Bloom could think as quickly as anyone when the situation called for it.
She threw her forelegs around Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo and pulled them near her. Then she threw out her forelegs again and shouted, “Ta-da!”
Her fellow Crusaders quickly got the drift and also threw out their forelegs with a big “Ta-da!”
That did the trick. After a moment of incomprehension, the crowd began to nod and mutter approvingly and some of them even began to bang their hooves on the ground. Another moment more and all the denizens of Canterlot had gone back to what they had been doing before the Crusaders arrived.
“That was close,” Sweetie Belle said. “Thanks, Apple Bloom.”
Scootaloo began to fold up her scooter. “And I was sure they’d have the royal guards out in force when we got here. Some trap this turned out to be!”
“We don’t know that the trap ain’t out there yet,” Apple Bloom said. “So we gotta still be careful.”
“But maybe not ‘point guns at the first people we see’ kind of careful, huh?” Scootaloo observed. She slung a large sack over her back along with the scooter. “I guess we won’t get to try these out right away, then.”
“More guns probably ain’t the best idea,” Apple Bloom observed. “Instead, let’s just play it cool and look for Willow Tree. Got the picture, Sweetie Belle?”
In response, a small photo flew in front of Apple Bloom’s face, a photo of an Earth pony with a bright blue body and dark green mane, as well as eyes the color of gold. Overall, she presented a nice enough portrait, if not for the hint of a scowl across her features.
“Okay, y’all keep a look-out for any pony lookin’ like this,” Apple Bloom said.
Sweetie Belle nodded as she moved the picture back into her saddle-bag and then began to scan the crowd. “Will do. We’ll keep a look out for her. We won’t stop looking until we’ve found – Fried apples!”
“Fried apples?” Apple Bloom and Scootaloo said together.
“Fried apples on sticks!” Sweetie Belle pointed her hoof to one cart where the unicorn vendor was frying apples, cutting them up, and making them into shish-kabobs.
“Hey, guys, you think it would be alright if we picked up a few?” Sweetie Belle asked. “We’ve barely had anything to eat in days!”
Apple Bloom just stared at her. “Seriously?”
“Come on, Apple Bloom, she’s right,” Scootaloo said. “We’re all starving. We’d be able to search better once we had full stomachs.”
Apple Bloom considered this logic for a moment. “Well, y’all know it won’t be nearly as good as mah family makes, right?”
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo nodded impatiently, the looks on their faces suggesting that they were both thinking, Who cares?
“Ah guess it’s okay,” Apple Bloom said at last. “But just get some for yerselves. Ah don’t eat any apples but what mah family grows.”
“That’s why you haven’t actually eaten an apple in ten years,” Scootaloo remarked as she and Sweetie Belle rushed over to the apple-cart.
With a sigh, Apple Bloom followed.
Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo hungrily looked over the various treats on offer, while the vendor watched them carefully, every so often turning nervous glances toward the offensive weaponry each was carrying over their shoulders. Neither noticed. Apple Bloom soon joined in the surveying of the apple-products. Even she had to admit, despite her inherent sense of Apple Family superiority in all things apple-related, that the various apple-treats on display looked awfully appetizing. She knew that this was the hunger speaking, but she could not help feeling a twinge of guilt over it.
Suddenly, a voice behind them said, “The apples looking good today?”
“Sure do,” Sweetie Belle said without looking away from a fritter that had caught her attention.
“Hmm, must be nice to have the time to really look them over. Not busy at all?”
“What business of it is yours?” Scootaloo responded, also without looking. She flapped her wings in a waving motion, telling the intruder to get lost.
“If ya don’t mind, we’re just trying to have a look here,” Apple Bloom added.
“Oh, I understand. I just thought it was funny that the Cutie Mark Crusaders would have nothing better to do than go shopping for lunch at a time like this.”
The Crusaders immediately spun around on their hooves. The blood in each Crusader ran cold. It was as though they had just been dropped into a bath of ice-water, for each felt too frozen to speak or act. They could not even look to each other to see what the others were doing.
And then, their eyes rested on the one who had done the speaking. It was a blue Earth pony. She was wearing a small drab cloak over her head, but underneath, her dark green mane and golden eyes were still visible, as was the little scowl beneath them. Even with the cloak, it was also quite apparent that she did not have a cutie mark. This must be Willow Tree.
A loud “Shhhhhh!” – which probably attracted more attention from passersby that Willow Tree’s original words – was the first thing to come out of the Crusaders when the realized that they had not fallen into a trap.
Willow Tree shook her head. “For being national fugitives, you three sure seem pretty unconcerned about who sees you and where.”
“How’d ya know it was us?” Apple Bloom asked.
Willow Tree tapped her hoof against the rifle on Sweetie Belle’s back. “Call it a hunch.”
“Yeah, we’re not usually this careless with the weapons,” Scootaloo said, opening up her wings to try and hide the scooter and sack of artillery from view.
“Doubt it,” Willow Tree responded.
“Hey, we thought it was a trap!”
“Oh, so you three don’t trust me, eh? When I’m the client who is in serious trouble, so serious that she has to hire three mercenaries who the papers describe as ruthless murderers, you don’t trust me!”
“We didn’t mean it like that at all, ma’am,” Apple Bloom said swiftly. “It’s just, like you said, we’re national fugitives. We gotta be careful coming some place like Canterlot.”
Willow Tree just shook her head disapprovingly. Apple Bloom glanced at her compatriots, who gave her a knowing look back. It was one of those moments where the three could agree on something without saying a word about it. And what they agreed was that this pony seemed familiar. It was not in how she looked, not even in what she said, but somehow she seemed familiar. None of them could place it, since they had never known a pony like this before, but there was just something in the way she carried herself – her movements seemed rather cautious and sometimes distracted – that gave them all the sense that they had met someone like her somewhere before.
“Are we ready to talk business or do you desperately need to eat something?” Willow Tree snapped.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Sweetie Belle said as she turned back to the apple-cart, only to discover that both vendor and cart had decided to make a getaway while the three heavily-armed youths had been distracted.
“We’re ready, ma’am,” Apple Bloom said. She then put her hoof out to where a broken-hearted Sweetie Belle was staring at the spot where the apple-cart had once been. When waving the hoof in front of Sweetie Belle’s face produced no reaction, she put it on her shoulder and gently shook Sweetie Belle back to reality.
Willow Tree could barely even wait for this small diversion.
“Okay, then, follow me. We’ll walk and talk.” The tone of Willow Tree’s voice told the Crusaders that this was not a suggestion, but a command. And none of them felt much like disobeying.
“So, ma’am, what do ya need us for?” Apple Bloom asked as the Crusaders followed Willow Tree as the mare dashed and zigzagged through the crowded streets. “Ya didn’t give us a whole lot of information when ya hired us.”
Willow Tree now stopped at one of the stalls. She did not answer. Her whole concentration seemed to have been arrested by a particularly large watermelon. After staring at it for what seemed like several minutes, she took her hoof and prodded it repeatedly.
“Um, ma’am?” Apple Bloom asked, trying to get her attention.
If Willow Tree heard Apple Bloom, she showed no indication of it. Instead, the blue mare turned toward the vendor and said, “This watermelon isn’t organically-grown! You’ve been using magic on it, haven’t you?”
The vendor, a large, burly unicorn, came over and said, “What’da ya mean? That watermelon is 110% organic! No magic got anywhere near it!”
“Mmm-hmm,” Willow responded, “then how do you explain the size? Watermelons do not grow this large by themselves.”
“That just proves how good my all-organic process is!” said the vendor. “I put so much love and care into growing ’em that they naturally come out bigger!”
“That would make sense, if it weren’t the size of a wagon-wheel!” Willow Tree responded, raising her voice just enough to convey her displeasure.
“Now look here!” snapped the vendor as the watermelon rose above his head. “See this? This is all natur-…. Uh-oh….”
The watermelon shook and shattered, covering the vendor and his various fruits in pink juice. Willow Tree smiled.
“See, too much magic. It’s been fed too much magic. Just that single touch of magic now was enough to overload and break it. Should have thought about that before using your horn to lift it up, shouldn’t you?”
Her point proven, she turned and walked away, her head held high in triumph.
“You sure know a lot about magic… or watermelons… or something,” Sweetie Belle said.
“I’m a merchant. I have to know about all the tricks the vendors try to pull before I buy anything, or else it could lose me a week’s worth of bits,” Willow Tree explained matter-of-factly.
“Be that as it may, ma’am,” Apple Bloom said, “we really should be discussing the gig ya need us for.”
“Aren’t we impatient?” Willow Tree muttered.
“Yeah, we kinda are,” Scootaloo said, “seeing as how royal guards could swarm this place any minute.”
Willow Tree laughed a mean, mirthless laugh. “If you knew what you were doing, they would never be able to get a single glimpse of you in this crowd.”
“Somebody’s got an attitude problem,” Scootaloo remarked quietly to her fellow Crusaders. Sweetie Belle could not help but laugh. Apple Bloom was tempted as well, but stopped when she saw the look on Willow Tree’s face. The ever-present scowl had deepened considerably and the golden eyes seemed to burn as they focused on Scootaloo.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Apple Bloom quickly said. “She gets antsy after long trips sometimes.”
“You want to get down to business so badly?” Willow said. “Then follow me. And no more smart remarks! I know the perfect place for doing deals.”
Within a few minutes, the Crusaders were sitting at a table hastily set up beside one of the many cider carts in the city. Across from them sat Willow Tree, but she was not having cider. Instead, coffee was her pleasure, and she made a point of carefully sipping a coffee – her hooves having clear difficulty keeping hold of the fine porcelain cup. The vendors were working to get cider and coffee out to customers at an amazing pace, but the three Crusaders had suddenly found themselves without appetites. nearby, a rugged stallion on a mat played a sweet melody with a lute.
The three kept exchanging nervous glances. The place was pleasant enough, and the soft, trailing music provided by a limber colt sitting on a nearby mat could easily lure any of them off to a peaceful slumber. Still, they could not relax; each of them recognized the danger that sitting so clearly in the open posed. But what could they do? They had no other way of getting Willow Tree to discuss the job. She was the client, she held all the cards. And the blue mare was clearly enjoying making them wait, deliberately taking in long sips so that they could not possibly get a conversation going.
Finally, she put the empty cup down and began to dig through her saddle-bag. With alarming speed, she threw a folder to the Crusaders – or at them, actually.
“Everything you need is in there,” she said.
Sweetie Belle’s horn levitated the folder and its documents before them, but the three could not tell what they were supposed to be looking at. There was just too much there; it was all a jumble.
“Maybe it would help, ma’am, if ya explained what it is ya want us to do,” Apple Bloom said, trying very hard to remain polite and respectful.
“I thought it would be all perfectly obvious, but I guess I should not make assumptions around simple minds,” Willow Tree responded as she clapped her hooves together a few times.
Both Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle’s faces contorted into angry scowls. “Just a little longer, girls,” Apple Bloom whispered to them. “Remember the four-thousand bits.”
Meanwhile, Willow Tree began her explanation, “As you know, I’m a merchant by trade, and a rather successful one if I do say so myself – though, of course, I hate to brag about it. Canterlot’s my home, but one of my most profitable trading hubs has always been Ponyville. That is, until recently.”
“What happened?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“See that picture there, of the Earth pony?”
Sweetie Belle lifted it up for the others to see. “You mean, the one with the dull orange coat and the brown mane?”
“That’s what happened.”
“Who is he?”
“Big-Shot Bigsby.” The words practically dripped off of Willow Tree’s tongue. “I thought that you would recognize him.”
“No,” Apple Bloom said. “Can’t say that Ah do.”
Sweetie Belle shook her head. “Me neither.”
But then, suddenly, Scootaloo’s wings began to flutter. She clapped her hooves together, making the other two jump. “Biggy Bigsby!” she said. “You girls remember Biggy Bigsby, don’t you?”
Both Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle shook their heads.
“Sure you do. His family moved to Ponyville a short time before… before we left…. Remember?”
The other two just stared at Scootaloo like she was insane.
“Miss Cherilee had him do a presentation introducing himself to the class.”
“We must’a been absent that day,” Apple Bloom said.
“That was probably the day Rarity and Applejack got into a fight because Applejack spilled cider on Rarity’s new dress,” Sweetie Belle observed. “Remember, Apple Bloom? We spent the whole day trying to keep them from killing each other.”
“Don’t remind me,” Apple Bloom said.
“I can’t believe I’m the only one who remembers Biggy Bigsby,” Scootaloo said. “I mean, he was alright. Never hung out with the rest of us or anything, always just did his own thing. But he was cool. What’s he done? Did he steal some of your watermelons? Or did he unscrew the wheels of one of your carts?”
“He’s a deranged psychopathic killer,” Willow Tree answered.
“A what?” Scootaloo said, her wings flapping out behind her and nearly knocking the table over. “I thought he was just shy!”
“Calm down, Scoots,” Apple Bloom said. “That was ten years ago. Lots a’ things change in ten years.”
“He’s also probably the one who blew up Diamond Tiara and framed you three for it,” Willow Tree said, introducing this bit of information as casually as though she was talking about the fine Canterlot weather.
“I guess some things don’t change in ten years,” Sweetie Belle observed.
“So, Biggy Bigsby was the one who framed us,” Scootaloo said, the shock giving way to a relish for revenge. “So, you want us to go down there and teach the punk a lesson?”
Willow Tree grinned. “Precisely.”
“Hold on a second,” Sweetie Belle said. “Maybe I’m missing something, but what does our being framed by this Big-Shot pony have to do with you?”
Willow huffed in frustration. “I think I made it pretty obvious. Big-Shot has taken over the town of Ponyville and now he demands protection-money from everyone who wants to do business down there. Trade’s a tricky game at even the best of times, and losing money to that hoodlum could ruin me during a downturn.”
“But if he’s such a bad deal, why didn’t you just get the royal guards or the police to take care of him? Why hire us?” Scootaloo asked.
Willow clapped her hooves together again. Her tone of voice was like that of a school-teacher (not Cherilee, but a much harsher school-teacher) explaining an easy problem to a particularly dull student. “Because, here in Equestria, we have something called a justice system. The police can’t just arrest whoever they want. They need proof. But Big-Shot’s too smart to leave any just lying around. He covers his tracks. Even though everypony knows what he’s really up to, the law can’t touch him. But you three can.”
Scootaloo nodded. “Okay, so you want us to take him out. Sounds easy enough, right, girls?”
“No!” Willow shouted as she reared up quickly, causing the three Crusaders to nearly fall out of their chairs. As they steadied themselves, they could not help but stare at them in surprise.
Willow gave an embarrassed little smile – her first smile at all toward them – and then quickly sat back down. “I mean, what I want is for you three to get the evidence necessary to arrest him and put him on trial. I understand that that sort of thing is your specialty.”
“It is, sorta, but why do ya care?” Apple Bloom responded. “Why’d ya care what we do to him, so long as he’s gone?”
Willow lifted her head up proudly. “Because I am an honest, upstanding merchant and a fine citizen of this great nation! My business would be ruined if it got out that I ordered a hit on anyone, even someone as odious as Big-Shot Bigsby.”
“Plus, you could go to jail,” Scootaloo remarked, as though that was a minor problem only.
Ah guess that all makes sense,” Apple Bloom said after she had spent some time considering the idea.
“Besides,” Willow Tree said, “you three wouldn’t want to kill Bigbsy, would you?”
“Why not?” Scootaloo demanded.
“Because, if you kill him, you’ll have no way of proving your innocence, will you? He’s more useful to you alive than dead.”
“That’s true,” Scootaloo answered. “Alright, we’ll take the job!”
“Scootaloo!” Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle shouted together.
“Well, we are going to take it, aren’t we?” Scootaloo replied. “You said it yourself, Apple Bloom. We can’t pass up this opportunity to prove our innocence.”
Apple Bloom sighed. “I guess yer right. We’ll take the job.”
Sweetie Belle said nothing, but the look in her eyes showed that she knew it was useless to argue.
Willow Tree got up. “Good. There’s also some information about how to contact me in that folder. When you get something, let me know and I’ll take it from there. But, of course, don’t let anybody even get the slightest suspicion that you three work for me. Got it?”
“We got it, ma’am,” Apple Bloom said.
Willow Tree began to trot away. “Just get me the evidence we need and you’ll get your money. Then the whole thing will be behind us all for good.”
“And we’ll get ya yer cutie mark,” Apple Bloom said.
“What?” Willow said, looking back blankly at the Crusaders over her shoulder.
“Yer cutie mark,” Apple Bloom said, feeling a little humiliated by the fact that she even had to bring it up. “When a client doesn’t have a cutie mark, it’s our duty to help them get theirs.”
“It comes packaged in with our other services,” Sweetie Belle added.
“Oh, yes,” Willow Tree said without much enthusiasm. “My cutie mark…. Yes…. Sometimes I even forget I don’t have one! But really, don’t worry about it. Just get Big-Shot Bigsby. That’s all I care about.”
“And I thought a merchant like you would appreciate the value of a two-for-one deal!” Scootaloo said sharply, all too happy to repay Willow for the many caustic digs she had made the three endure. “Maybe your lack of cutie mark is telling you that you’re not meant to be a merchant!”
“Quite,” Willow Tree said, unamused. “Just do the job I’m paying you for. Don’t get distracted by anything else.”
A moment later and she had disappeared into the crowd.
The three Crusaders just stared into the distance, none of them knowing quite what to say. Finally, Sweetie Belle spoke, “I still say there’s something weird going on here.”
“I’ll say there’s something weird going on,” Scootaloo responded, turning her attention fully to Sweetie Belle. “Like, since when were you a filly scout?”
“Just over the summer once,” Sweetie Belle answered. “Rarity made me join because she liked the uniforms. She wanted to get the contract for designing the new ones.”
Scootaloo still was having trouble processing the information. “How come you never told us?”
Sweetie Belle turned away from the other two. “It did not end well. I try to forget that it ever happened, mostly.”
“Oh, so just like me and Fillydelphia!” Scootaloo responded.
“We all try to forget Fillydelphia,” Sweetie Belle said quietly.
“Okay, c’mon, enough chit-chat,” Apple Bloom said, cutting through the reminiscences.
The other two did not need to ask what she meant. All three rose at once to their hooves.
Apple Bloom looked from Sweetie Belle to Scootaloo and said, “Girls, we’ve got work to do.”
Would this new mission truly be as simple as it first seemed?
Read on.