A pile of books lay on the table in the centre of a shelf lined room. One by one, a delicate claw reached down and grabbed a book. A pair of reptilian eyes would scan the code, and a dragon brain would recall the correct place for that book with the ease of repetition. A pair of purple legs would trot across the floor, and the library became one step closer to being clean.
It was, Spike mused as he continued on his task, ultimately a futile effort. In a few hours, Twilight would return from wherever she had gone and take down a completely different set of books. She would leave them out tomorrow, and he would be doing the same thing at the same time. He was pushing a boulder up a hill, and every day it would roll back down to the bottom.
Not that Spike minded. This was his duty, and he would do it day in and day out until the day (if it ever came) when Twilight no longer required him. Then, he would…
Spike paused, his claw reaching down towards another tome. What would he do without Twilight to take care of? What else was there for a young dragon in Equestria like him?
As if to answer his question, he felt the familiar swelling in his belly that foretold an incoming letter. However, it lacked the comforting roundness of the usual scrolls Twilight and Celestia passed back and forth. It was rougher, but not unknown by any means.
If Twilight had been around, he would have scurried to the washroom to disgorge the message in private. Since he was alone in the house, he let the feeling rise in his gullet until it forced its way out with a belch. Green sparkling smoke poured from beneath his teeth, spiraling into the air. As he had many time before, he snatched up the square of parchment before it hit the ground.
On it was written a word and a number, both in a carefully generic script. Fillydelphia was the word, and 10,000 was the number.
Spike stared at the paper for a few seconds, and then headed upstairs towards his bed. He pushed the cushion out of the way and stuck two claws between the floor boards underneath it. He pulled, and the board bent upwards and pivoted to the side. Underneath lay a plain brown sack, carefully tucked closed.
Spike reached into the hollow area and grabbed the bag by the lip. He pulled it up onto the ground next to him, and examined the contents.
The bag was partially full of golden bits, a fortune by nearly anypony’s standards. Spike, however, seemed dissatisfied. “Five… maybe six thousand” he muttered.
Spike did a few rough mental calculations, silently thanking Twilight for those hated arithmetic drills when he was younger. Five thousand was good for around 10 months, by his math. Of course, that was assuming his housemate didn’t do something foalish with it, which was by no means a guarantee.
Spike believed to his very core that Twilight was a genius, but it was undeniable that she was less than clever in some areas. Finances, for example, had always been a bit of a blind spot for her. She could do math that would make most pony's head spin, but for some reason, once you brought bits into the equation, she became completely clueless. She had no sense of financial responsibility, probably from being raised in the castle with everything she needed at her beck and call.
As such, it had fallen to Spike to watch over the finances. This proved to be difficult, however. Twilight’s pay as a librarian was modest at best, and she lived well beyond those means. Always going out for lunch with her friends, or buying a new dress from Rarity, or loaning Rainbow some money… it added up, and did so alarmingly fast.
So Spike was forced to supplement their income. He placed the bag back into its place and levered the floor boards back into place. He kicked his bed back over them, and grabbed a quill off the nightstand. Flipping the square of paper over, he scribbled “7 – tonight” on the back and incinerated it with his breath.
The deed was done, and he had a job.
The chariot landed outside the library at precisely seven o’clock, pulled by two royal guards. Twilight kissed Spike on the forehead before ushering him out the door. “Have fun in Canterlot!” she shouted at his retreating back. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Spike hopped through the carriage door and turned to wave at Twilight. She waved back, and headed into the house. Once she was inside, Spike placed the converted saddlebag he sometimes wore on the seat beside him and reached under the opposite bench. As always, a case around the size of a large book sat closed underneath.
He grabbed the box and pulled it onto his lap. He flicked the latches open with his thumbs and grabbed the file inside. A quick flip through told him all he needed to know. The stallion worked until 6, when he came home to his two story house. He lived alone, except for his housekeeper, and this was her day off. He was known to sit in his living room and read until bedtime.
Ten thousand was low for a job, but now Spike knew why. This was child’s play, he could do this with his eyes closed. Not that he would, of course. Cockiness only ever lead to mistakes, a lesson he had almost learned the hard way.
The file also named a hotel – “The Wayside” – and said that a reservation had been made there under the name “Scale”. Spike frowned at the cheesy name, but at least he had a place to sleep tonight.
He tossed the file aside and grabbed the metal object that had been concealed under it. It fit his claw perfectly, as if it had been made for it. That was probably because it had been. Celestia had them made specially for him. There was no point selling them in Equestria, since they couldn’t be operated with a hoof. A unicorn might be able to use one with magic, but Spike doubted the average unicorn had the strength or dexterity needed. Twilight could, of course, but she was a special case.
As he checked the weapon for irregularities, he idly wondered who had invented it. Couldn’t have been a pony; what was the point of creating something you couldn’t use? Celestia had been very evasive when he’d asked, saying only that they came from far away. Spike suspected the griffins; they had the right kind of claws to use one, and they weren’t on great terms with ponies, which would explain why it was completely unknown in Equestria.
Pushing the unproductive thoughts from his head, Spike checked the safety was on before shoving it in his bag. File read and weapon secured, he settled down for a nap.
The little dragon was jerked awake by the sudden landing of the carriage. Rubbing at sleepy eyes, he stepped down into the shadows streets of Fillydelphia. “See you tomorrow” one of the guards said in a friendly tone, prompting a grunt from Spike.
The carriage took off, leaving him standing alone in a pool of lantern light. He stepped out of the light to hurry along his night vision. With a squinting look at the nearest street sign, he discovered he was only a few blocks from his destination.
As he walked briskly through the dark streets, he slipped a claw into his bag and wrapped it around the comforting metal grip of his weapon. Not many ponies would try anything on a creature they didn’t recognize, but he was still small, and some ponies didn’t have a lot of common sense.
He arrived at the given address without incident, however. He glanced around before approaching the door, making sure he was unwatched. That was where a pony would have had the advantage on him – his silhouette was very distinct. A pony might not be able to identify him as a baby dragon, bit they’d know he was bipedal, and that might be enough for the police ponies to track him down.
He reached up and tried the knob. It was locked, and he cursed under his breath. He grabbed one of Twilights hair clips he had pilfered out of his bag and pushed it into the lock. He had taught himself to pick locks from one of Twilight’s books when he was very young, a skill that had ended up being extremely useful. He had just learned it so he could sneak out while Twilight was asleep sometimes.
He glanced around nervously as he fiddled with the lock. This was greatly increasing the chance of somepony seeing him. Celestia had made it very clear long ago that if he got caught on a job, she could not help him. Spike would be on his own. He hadn’t been caught yet, but he had had a few close calls.
The lock clicked and the dragon let out a sigh of relief before easing the door open. He stepped on silent claws into the foyer. The flickering light of a burning fire poured out of an adjacent room, and he peeked inside.
The back of a ponies head was just visible over an armchair facing light source. The mane and fur color matched the description, and Spike eased the weapon out of his bag. He leveled it at the back of the pony’s head, and readied his thumb over the safety.
The click of the safety and the roar of the shot came nearly simultaneously. A red spot appeared on the back of the pony’s head, and it rocked forwards from the force. Spike stuck the weapon back into his bag and walked briskly out the door.
He was two blocks away when the screaming started.
Spike sat on the patio of the Wayside and sipped a glass of orange juice. The headline of the newspaper he had bought read, rather predictably, ‘Pony Murdered in Own Home!’ in large, eye-catching font. He thought the subtitle (‘are any of us safe?’) was a nice touch. Disguise the fear mongering as a question, very clever.
The article painted him as a monster, as they always did. He was used to that, and it didn’t bother him. Celestia had explained to him long ago why what he did was right. Sometimes a pony would speak out against her, or against Equestria. It wasn’t about her, or even about the pony, it was about Equestria. Even if they pony didn’t know it, he or she was endangering Equestria by spreading doubt, and that had to be stopped by any means necessary. He was those means.
The means of death had been hoof-waved as a unicorn spell. That was generally the answer the police ponies reached; anything strange was generally explained away as magic.
He finished off his orange juice and jumped down from his chair, grabbing his bag on the way. He walked two blocks from the hotel and leaned against a building to wait, flipping through the newspaper.
A few minutes later, a pair of royal guards descended from the sky, carriage behind them. Spike headed to the back, but was stopped by a gold-clad hoof. “Job done?” the guard asked.
“When has it not been?” Spike asked rhetorically, showing the pony the newspaper’s headline. The guard searched the article for a name, found it, and nodded.
“Money’s in the back” he grunted. “Good job.”
Spike hopped into the carriage and pulled a case out from underneath a seat. He flipped it open, revealing the small fortune inside. He filtered through it – not that the princess would stiff him, of course, but better safe than sorry – and found the amount to his liking. He poured the gold into his bag, placed the weapon in the case, and shoved it back under the seat.
With a sigh of relief, he flipped the paper open to the sports section.
When he returned home, the door was closed, but not locked. A note was pinned to the door in Twilight’s looping script.
Spike
Went out to lunch with Rarity. Be back later.
There is a new box of books by my bed. Please label them, put them away, and pay the bill.
Thank you!
Twilight
Spike let out a noise of frustration and pushed the door open. Twilight may not be good with money, but if there was one area where she was horrible with it, it was when it came to books. As soon as she saw an old tome she wanted, all concept of price left her mind.
He trotted upstairs and kicked his bed aside. The floor boards creaked up, and gold poured from one bag to another. The bed slid back into place, and Spike headed over to the nearby crate of books.
He plucked the scrap of paper from its top, and groaned at the amount. A quarter of his night’s work, gone in one swoop. She must have found something really old and famous.
With a frown and a head full of fiscal calculations, he levered the top off the crate and set to work sorting the books inside.