3. The Adventure of the Canterlot Colleges
It was a bright, crisp December morning, and the snow of the previous day still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the winter sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown, crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and on the edges of the footpath it lay as white and pure as when it fell. The pavement itself had been scraped clean, but it was still perilously slippery and icy. The fact that it had been raining that morning turned the road into slush.
The cart that bore me to number 22 that morning skidded to a halt. The driver gave a nervous snort as he pulled up, his hooves kicking up a small spray of white as he fought for traction on the ice-laden cobblestones. The steel capped workshoes that most tradesponies wore around Canterlot were not well-suited to ice at the best of times, let alone the black sort that had melted and refrozen in the rather sunny winter we were having. It was for this very reason that I stepped from the cab with caution - after all, it would not do to slip and end up on my rump like a newborn foal, least of all on a busy thoroughfare where my error might be noticed the most.
Having succeeded in keeping on all fours, I paid the apprehensive cabpony, and as he trundled away I found myself on the embarking point of many of my adventures - the oak doorway of my temporary, and soon to be former residence. It was exceedingly strange to me, looking at that door from the outside, and thinking that I might not pass through its homely threshold after today...
I had not stood there for longer than a moment when suddenly, the handle of the door turned and swung inward.
Before me stood a well-dressed mare. In fact, it was her dress that I noticed first, for it was such a gorgeous blend of deep blue and pink silk that it struck me as most beautiful. It ran from the tip of her jet-black hooves, finely-shoed and barely visible beneath the hem of the great gown, up to the top of her chest, where it formed a deep V-neck. It met around her back in a slender, rose-coloured bow, and was sequinned with fine buttons of navy blue. She also wore a pink petticoat over the top of the ensemble so as to keep out the cold, which she wore from the waist down, and flowed down her back legs. Juxtaposed against her dress and her very own coat (which was a similiar, yet darker hue of rose) she struck me as someone well to-do, and to reinforce my thoughts, around her neck hung a rather ostentacious gold chain. It was not the flash of the metal that attracted my eyes, though, so much as the enormous fire-red ruby that hung from it, cut in an elongated oval.
Her attire must have cost a small fortune, I thought to myself!
In my few months with Pones, I have learned a few of his more curious methods of observation. He reminded me of them so frequently that they could not help but be burned into my mind, and as I gazed at that dress, the words taught me well. Always observe the shoes, then the cuffs, and then their coats. I saw, in my momentary glance, that the hem of her dress - despite its long and luxurious nature - was completely dry, as if no snow had fallen upon it, and that her sleeves bore no salt marks from touching the powder either.
I did not think much of it at the time, for my brief examination lasted only a split-second, and my attention became drawn wholly to the pretty face the dress belonged to. I had not seen it at first, for she had over her eyes a fascinator of the same deep blue as her dress, set with a tricolour of roses. The hat tilted up when she realised that somepony was in her way... And immediately I was help captive by her stare.
My fiancee sits behind me making disapproving noises as I write. Jealously, thy name is mare indeed - though who among us, stallion or mare could not be envious of such a set of eyes!
I was almost confident she gave me a once-over, as if sizing me up. Her irises were a light forest-green, though her eyes were half-lidded and shaded with mascara. I should have thought the look to be very sultry and flirtatious were it not for the fact that a snap-second later, they widened a little, and she let out a small gasp of surprise.
"Doctor Trotson! How are you?"
So enthusiastic was her greeting - and indeed, she leaned in and kissed me on both cheeks in the manner of a good friend - that I instantly broke into a state of nervousness. I had absolutely no idea who she was, though her wealthy attire and the whiff of a Prench perfume on her neck made me think she might have been a client of mine.
"Very well, and you yourself?" I replied, deciding to play my bluff.
"Ah, well, I have just been up to see Pones." here, she crinkled her nose momentarily in a gleeful smile. "Did you know he has not had a case for almost a month?"
Admittedly, I had visited Pones several times since the conclusion of our last mystery. Every time, he had been either drunk or sleeping, and his room was in such a total state of disarray it disgusted me. It did not take a genius like him to see that he had fallen into a slump.
"Yes, he's been a little quiet lately, though it is nothing unusual for him. Often, his lack of work is of his own choosing, and he merely waits for the right opportunity to come by." Here, I could not help but frown a little at the thought of my companion's idle mind.
"He waits for life to kiss him on the lips," the stranger replied with a wry smile. I was somewhat confused by the analogy, but smiled politely and nodded in agreement. She was quite correct.
"And when is the wedding?" the mare added sweetly.
The smile dropped from my face. This, then, was somepony who knew me personally, and I had done her the discourtesy of forgetting not only her name, but her face too.
"Uhh... The twenty-third of January."
She let out a small cry of disappointment.
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry, but I'm in Dodge Junction all weekend for work." Her face fell into a frown. I was quite stunned, and my mind still raced to place her in my head.
"Oh, that's alright," I replied with a small wave of my hoof. Perhaps she was one of Felicia's colleagues, I reasoned to myself. But then why would she need to travel all the way to Dodge Junction?
"I'll send a gift," she said sincerely, as though she had not believed my pardon. "Really, I am truly sorry to miss Felicia's dream-come-true." She sighed a little, drawing her coat tighter around herself.
"I've heard that before," I said with a smile, rolling my eyes a little. Aha, I thought to myself. She knows my wife. I don't have to remember her name, and therefore am in the clear. My internal monologue was given some reprieve.
"Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat," she said, her gaze unfaltering, "But I've got to canter off to some other business in Whitechapel. Can you tell her I said hello?"
Horsefeathers.
"Certainly," I lied. "Do send a letter if you can suddenly make it, won't you?"
"Absolutely I will, dear!" She kissed me on both cheeks again. "Do take care of yourself, won't you?"
"I'll try," I jested, stepping aside as the Mare walked out onto the snowy porch. Before she could take more then a few steps, though, she turned her keen green eyes to me again.
"By the way, do you know if Pones will be in Ponyville for your wedding?"
"I most certainly hope so."
"Excellent!" she said, and I noticed her features brighten visibly. "Good day, Doctor!"
"Good day," I replied, smiling and nodding.
The mysterious mare then departed, leaving me alone once more, feeling immensely confused.
_____
I trudged up the carpeted stairs to my familiar room. There was not much more to be done, and today marked the final day I would need to fully remove my belongings from my solitary abode.
It took some convincing on Felicia's part to seperate me from Pones. While Canterlot was not particularly dear to me, and indeed the charms of the small country town were something I longed for in my life, I was not entirely willing to say goodbye to my dear friend.
The adventures we'd had were by far some of the most interesting things I'd ever done, and I knew I would miss him dearly for all his queerness. Not that Ponyville was particularly far from Canterlot - as he and I had discussed, a casual visit was only ever a few hours away. He had looked morose when I told him of my intentions to join my fiancee in Ponyville, though he nodded and smiled bravely at the news.
"As expected, old boy."
He had been excited about attending the wedding at first. I could tell that he was so, for the restless energy that he poured into his studies and cases increased twofold in the November and early December since he heard. But as the impending date of my departure drew nearer, I could see in him a slight resentment for her. I did not ever entertain the thought that he might have been jealous of her, but I knew that my own acquaintance to Pones had endeared him to me, and I hoped for him to feel similiarly.
I had decided long ago that this would be my last instance in number 22 as his roommate, and it embittered me to rap twice on the study door. It was an unusual reply that greeted me, though - not one of the usual, solemn command of 'enter', or complete silence. Instead, there was a loud clanging sound, followed by the soft utterance of an oath, and then, a hastily spoken welcome.
"Is that you, Trotson? Come in, come in!"
I did as I was obliged, pulling the door open a little and sticking my head in. This was a precautionary measure on my part - unusual noises from Pones' room could have meant any number of things. Usually they were thanks to Pones testing some of his more ingenious inventions - some of which were fascinating, and others of which were more lethal.
It was not a scene of total disaster that greeted my eyes as I panned them once around the room. Pones was sitting comfortably on the leather recliner, smiling politely at me. All around there were scattered the vague intricacies of his creations, though none of them were smoking, buzzing or crackling - a good sign. In one of his hooves was a steel poker for the fire, and I guessed that his surprise was what had made him drop it, though I knew not why he would be alarmed at my presence.
Indeed, it was I who was first astonished - primarily because there seemed to be nothing amiss, and secondly because the room looked a good deal less messier than when I had last seen it. I expressed my surprise succinctly.
"Did Mrs. Emerald finally get tired of your junk and throw half of it away?"
"None of this," Pones said, gesturing around with a hoof, "Is junk. It is organised. Everything is exactly where I want it."
I came into the room fully, and was a little disheartened to see that my companion did not rise to greet me. Instead, he continued to sit on the recliner.
"Come to get your things then?" He asked coldly, his auburn stare penetrating me. I understood straight away why he had not risen to greet me.
"Yes. I just had the cutlery left to collect," I replied. My eyes strayed to the scene immediately in front of Pones idly. It felt bad to hold his gaze for more then a moment.
And that was when I saw it.
"Is... that my bowl?"
Pones had pretended not to hear me. It was impossible, of course - I knew well that his hearing was incredibly keen.
"Hmm?" he asked, looking inconspicuous.
"That," I said, pointing at the shallow, square dish between us. It was a rather expensive gift that I had recieved from a friend of mine in celebration of my wedding. It was oriental by design, and I was somewhat irritated that my friend had been using it to eat nuts out of. Upon reflection, that was probably its original intention, but all the same, my room had been locked, and my indignance was well-placed.
"Did you get that out of my room?" I pressed. Pones shook his head, a thoughtful frown on his face.
"No, I did not get it out of your room," he replied earnestly, shifting his weight slightly on the couch.
Something jingled behind his back. It was only at this point that I realised that he had been making gestures one-hoofed, and that his other hoof was concealed behind his back.
My eyes narrowed.
"...What are you doing back there?"
"Testing."
I was not sure which particular combination of elements clued me into Pones' unfortunate position, but I glanced around curiously once more. I was expecting something to detonate or somepony to jump out at me, but instead my eyes fell upon something much more conclusive.
On top of Pones' desk was a bold, colour daugerrot type photo of a mare. She was an almost complete replica of the stranger who had greeted me at the door, and whose name had eluded me, but her attire had changed. Gone was the magnificent blue gown - it had been replaced by a short-cut black negligee. She wore the same enticing look that she had before, but she had undone her mane, letting it sprawl behind her as she laid back upon a long crimson settee. A sly grin was on her face as she smiled at the camera.
As I saw it standing on the desk, I noticed two things - one was the colour of her mane, which I had not noted, for it had been tied back underneath her hat when I had seen it, and the second were the words that ran underneath
To Pones. Mwah. Xoxo, C-L.
"C-L" I repeated meditatively. Pones' ears pricked a little in slight alarm. "Is that?..." I gestured to the desk, where the framed photo of the lilac and rose-maned mare stood. Pones turned a slight shade of rose himself.
"No, it is not," he said, no longer even trying to hide his attempts to free himself from the cuffs that bound his foreleg.
A malicious grin spread across my face.
"Alright," I declared, after a moment's thought. "What's going on here?" Pones paled a little at my announcement, and picked up the poker, holding it to himself as though it were a sword, and I meant him harm.
"I will say nothing."
"Then you will be stuck there quite a while!" I said with glee, strolling over to the desk and picking up the small brass key that lay in front of the photo frame.
He glared at me sternly as I twirled the keychain on one hoof, lazily slumping onto of the red armchairs. It did not take him long to realise the futility of resisting (and how much I was enjoying it), and he subsequently caved.
"I knew there was something more to you two," I said as he sighed, resting his head on his spare hoof. "I chose not to press it, but her turning up here proves it."
"It proves nothing, dear Trotson," Pones replied wearily. "She has a job for me."
"I'll bet she does."
"Don't be so crass."
I snorted.
"You're the one who's cuffed to the furniture."
"As I said before, I am testing."
"Testing without a key?"
"I am practicing a very ancient method of escaping handcuffs," he said, twisting his hoof awkwardly. "It was simple enough to do with the old model, but these new spring-loaded ones can be somewhat difficult to defeat."
I affixed him with a cynical glare.
"I think we both know that is a lie," I said.
"Certainly not," he replied, unblinking. "The spring-loaded model is by far superior to the old design."
"Pones."
Sensing impending defeat, he held the poker out warningly. The tip of the metal rod swished before my nose, where it remained, quivered a mere inch away from me in feigned menace. I screwed up my snout in irritation, impassive and unflinching.
"Get that out of my face," I said, attempting to brush it aside. The end of the poker did a neat U-turn around the top of my forehoof, coming back to rest at the tip of my muzzle.
"It's not in your face, it's in my hoof."
"Get what's in your hoof out of my face."
He paused. For a moment, the poker waned, and then it fell away altogether as Pones dropped it, beginning to savagely wrestle with the cuffs once more.
"You have no way of proving anything," he added hastily, still trying to extricate himself from the shackles.
"The defense of the guilty stallion!"
"A perfectly legal defense."
"And you are not a lawyer."
Here, we both paused, locking eyes across the small hand-table.
"You broke into my room and took my bowl," I said quietly. He grimaced, and gave up trying to free himself.
"No, that was she."
"I could have sworn that I left it locked."
"You did."
I blinked stupidly at this revelation.
"Do you mean to say that a schoolteacher broke into my room?"
Pones laughed at my statement, slapping the spare hoof on his knee in mirth.
"And here I thought that you had worked it all out for yourself, Trotson!"
"What do you mean?"
"She is obviously not a schoolteacher," he said, his tongue escaping to the corner of his lips as he fidgeted with the cuffs on his wrist. "What sort of schoolteacher wears clothes like that?"
I picked up the small wooden frame that encased his dismay, and waved it at him.
"I assume you are referring to her appearance today, and not in this... photo of yours?"
Pones paused from his task, his eyes flickering to the lascivious picture for the briefest of moments before returning to me.
"Of course."
Here, I got to all fours briefly once more, walking over to the desk and retrieving a small slip of paper. Returning to the imprisoned Pones, I laid it down on the ornate hand-table before him, retrieving a small pencil from my coat-pocket and putting it down on top of the parchment. He looked upset at the sight of it, presumably aware of what I wanted from him. A slight frown came over his face as he looked at me.
"How much do you require me to tell?" He asked quietly.
"Everything," I replied insistently, pushing the table towards him.