//------------------------------// // Quiet Quill, Lost in Thought, with the Pen // Story: Murder on the Friendship Express! // by Shahrazad //------------------------------// The rest of the group was already in the next car when Pinkie half dragged Whistle Stop in. The car felt cozy, with all of the bunks set against the walls. Whistle Stop put a hoof to his head and massaged his temple. “Oh boy, I think I’m going to pass out. I need to take my nitroglycerin.” Pinkie opened his vest pocket and took out a bottle of pills. Whistle Stop swallowed two of them dry, and with Pinkie’s help, climbed into his bunk. He sank into the pillow and sighed. “Thanks, I’ll be okay in a minute.” Pinkie looked around the car. Unlike the sleeping cars designed for the customers, the bunks here bore signs of personalization. Whistle Stop’s bunk had a clock set near his head. Ol’ Bitty sat near Whistle Stop on the only open chair. Slate watched Ignis, Hot Shot, and Tiny while the three of them stood in the middle of the car, looking down. Quiet Quill still scribbled in her diary, half-hidden in a shadowed corner of the car. “Can I borrow that?” Pinkie asked, pointing to the notebook. Quill hugged her diary like it was a foal, while her lower lip quivered. “I promise I’ll give it back. You’re the key to helping me find out who the guilty party is! Heh, guilty party. That sounds like fun, maybe I could make a new kind of party…” Pinkie put a hoof to her chin. She didn't even notice the diary until it touched her shoulder. “Huh? Oh, thank you! I promise I’ll take good care of it.” Pinkie took the offered diary from Quill and stuffed it into her mane. Quill stuck close to Pinkie as she trotted to the middle of the car. “Another hoofprint!” Hot Shot exclaimed. The three ponies stood around what appeared to be a bloody hoofprint. It was smeared on the ground, as if whoever left it there did so in a hurry. Pinkie nodded and put on her hat and mustache. She pulled out her magnifying glass and aimed it at the print. “Hmmm…” “See anything?” Slate asked. “Yep, there’s a little feather stuck to the print.” Pinkie said quietly. Still looking through the magnifying glass, she meandered about the room. “YOU!” Slate whirled on Hot Shot. “Is he the one?” Slate asked, his eyes locked on the pegasus. “Maybe, but I still need to talk to—what’s this…?” Pinkie aimed her sight at the corner of the room. She whipped out her pipe and blew a few bubbles. “Undone by a feather. You and I is havin’ words,” Slate growled as he advanced on Hot Shot. Hot Shot’s superior agility wouldn't serve him in the cramped quarters of the sleeping car, and he couldn't dive out of the portholes. “S-stay back! I’m warning you!” he stammered, as he backed away from the muscular Slate. “I don’t want to—” he backed up all the way into the wall near the entryway. There was a click, and the entire car went black. “HEY! Who turned out the lights?!” “Hots, turn the lights back on.” “Not again…” “Ow, who was that?” “Turn the lights back on, there’s a killer in here!” “Everypony freeze!” Click The lights flickered back on. Pinkie had her flank pressed against the door at the front of the car, and Hot Shot, unintentionally, blocked the door at the back. Pinkie nodded and said, “Whew, at least nopony got out of the car. Now then, Slate, would you check the bunk next to that hoofprint? I think we found Felix.” “We did?” Bitty asked. Pinkie bounced on her hooves and chirped, “Yepperooni! I’m almost sure of it. There’s one other possibility, but since I see what looks like blood leaking out of that bunk…” Every eye snapped to the bunk just to the right of the hoofprint. There was a thin, red line that made several ponies gulp. Slate slowly walked to it. He pulled back the curtain slowly, and ducked his head to look in. He backpedaled and put a hoof to his mouth, retching. “Urg, I hope that’s not Felix.” The other ponies looked away while Pinkie bounced cheerfully to the bunk in question. “Hmmm…” She looked inside the same way she might look at a common flower. Inside the bunk, Pinkie saw something most ponies only see in nightmares. It appeared to be a pony lying on the bunk, but his or her age, height, weight, and other details would be difficult to ascertain. The pony’s body had been badly beaten, the skull had been caved in, and there was a great deal of blood. Pinkie didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest as she used her magnifying glass to look over the grisly scene. She sniffed, while wafting any odors from the bunk with a hoof. “Aren't you grossed out?” Tiny asked from far away. “Nahh, I’m okay. Plus, there’s another clue here.” “How many clues do you need? Aren't we done? Haven’t yous figured out who done it yet?” Slate asked. Pinkie smiled. “You know, there are so many ponies in this car, and so many possibilities. Back when we started, I realized all of you could have done it. You all have a motive, and had plenty of time before dinner to set things up. Or mess things up. There’s almost no way to tell who did what, when, especially because I can’t easily believe anything anypony says.” Slate’s shoulders slumped. “So… You can’t find the money?” “You mean the killer?” Hot Shot deadpanned at him. “Finding one means finding the other,” Pinkie replied. “Although, the killer might not have the bond anymore. I can figure it out with THIS!” Pinkie reached into her mane and pulled out something she had never found in her mane before… Nothing. “Hey! Where did the diary go?” Pinkie huffed. “Come on, give it back,” she said, as she crept toward Quiet Quill like a stalking cat. Quill darted away from Pinkie, who gave chase. They ran around the car, while the rest of the group looked on in awe. Quiet Quill’s ability to dodge was uncanny. She feinted left, then went right. She couldn't get out of the cramped quarters, so she didn't get far, but when Pinkie tried to tackle her, she bounced and sailed over her head. “Get her!” Slate cried. “Wow, I didn't think anypony could bounce like me! Can I take lessons?” Pinkie asked, as she chased the frightened mare down the aisle. There were four ponies in the middle of the car, and they all tried to catch the elusive Quill. With a jump, flip, and tumble, a maneuver that would make a gymnast proud, she slipped by all four of them! “How is she doing that?!” Slate hollered. She reached the other end of the car, lunging for the door. With a swift motion, Ol’ Bitty stuck out her cane, and Quill went from agile gymnast to a flurry of pony limbs. Pinkie burst out of the bunk opposite in the aisle and tackled Quill before she could hit the ground. Slate looked behind him, then back to the other end of the car. “How did you do that?” Pinkie wrestled with Quill, without success. Quill’s grip on her diary was ironclad. “Don’t make me pull out my secret weapon!” Pinkie cried. Quill hugged her diary even harder, creasing the paper. “You asked for it!” Pinkie said with a mischievous grin. “Oh, please don’t hurt her,” Bitty requested, as she watched the two young ponies fight over the notebook. “Oh don’t worry, I’d never hurt anypony,” Pinkie replied. Then, she promptly jammed both forehooves into Quill’s sides. “TICKLE TIME!” “HAHAHA!” Quill let out a loud, musical laugh. Her grip instantly faltered, and it was all Pinkie needed to snatch the diary. “Got it!” Pinkie called, as she trotted away. Quill stood and followed close behind, her lower lip quivering, and tears welling in her eyes. “Like I said, I won’t reveal your deepest, darkest secrets. I just need to know what happened this evening.” Pinkie opened the book, and after flipping through a few pages, began to read out loud. Dear Diary, This mare next to me won’t stop trying to sell me makeup. I hate talking, and I don’t want other ponies to look at me, so why buy makeup? I can hear the train, thank Celestia. Maybe I can get some peace and quiet on the way. I need some time alone after… him. Goddess, I still can’t stop thinking about him. Soft, tan fur, chocolate tail and mane. Plus his silver tongue. Oh, the things he could do with his tongue! Pinkie blushed, but continued to read. He could heal and help with just words. Wrap a pony in soft silk with his speech. Nopony knew just how cruel he could be when we were alone. His words turned into knives, cutting at my soul. I just didn't realize how bad it got until I couldn't write anymore. He blamed me, of course. Writer’s block was all my fault, all in my head. It wasn't until I left him that the words came back. My muse has returned! But the words are a trickle compared to the river that I once had. This trip to the coast could do me so much good. It might help me write again! The train is here, I hope things go smoothly. Pinkie turned the page. This flankhole won’t leave me alone. The rest of the ponies on the train are okay, even that crazy pink one, but this Felix guy. Urg! He’s got to go. He thinks he’s so smooth, but I've seen his type before. He won’t steal my muse, oh no, not again. He’s got soft, tan fur, and a silver tongue, too. He keeps following me around, even when I leave for another car. I tried slipping into the kitchen, but the nice conductor pony’s in there making dinner. I don’t want to bother him. I can’t stay in the sleeping car, that couple is in there, and I don’t want to listen to them. I saw a pony in the luggage car as well. I’m pretty sure it was the old mare with all that stuff, looking for something. She’s got too much luggage for one trip, that’s for sure. So here I am, hiding in the storeroom, trying to write. Wait, I hear something… Oh no, here he comes again. Goddess, his eyes. Always following me, watching, crawling over my flank. I know what he wants. He offered to take care of me, knowing I was a poor writer. Go to Tartarus, you flankhole! I’m not a whore, I don’t need you! You’re all the same, you just take take take. Well, you try to take from me, and I’ll give you something you’ll never forget! I’m going into the caboose. There’ll be other ponies there; I should be safer in a group. Goddess, I hate being in a crowd, but what other choice do I have? I’m just a poor, lone mare. It’s just me, and I don’t have anypony to protect me. Pinkie turned the page and continued. What’s going on? The lights went out, and there was yelling and screaming. Now that jerk is missing, and there’s blood left where he was sitting. No pony deserves that, not even this Felix character. I hope he’s okay. We keep moving through the train, looking for clues. There’s definitely a murderer among us. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this, but honestly? I’m not worried about the killer. If somepony tries anything funny, I’ll mess them up! I’m a survivor, I’ve seen worse, I’ll never give up. I’ve watched the other ponies on the train. The old mare with the cane? She’s tricky, that’s for sure. She’s not mean or anything, but there’s more to her than meets the eye. The couple that keeps kissing each other? I don’t think they’re killers, but they’re hiding something, too. The mare of the couple is especially keen. The little unicorn that kept yammering at me on the train platform? She’s got an explosive temper, but as long as she’s got her head on straight, she’s actually quite cunning. Don’t even get me started on Felix’s bodyguard. That stallion is a stone-cold killer. I don’t see why he’d kill his client, but I could easily see him killing anypony else. Then there’s this hyperactive pink pony. I can’t see her hurting a fly, but… let’s just say we’re never going to be friends. And then there’s the conductor, Whistle Stop. “Um… why did you use a heart to dot the ‘i’ in his name?” Pinkie asked. Quill blushed and looked away, while Pinkie continued to read. So cute, and nice! I could watch him all day. He tried to talk to me, but didn't force me to say anything! Diary, do you know how rare that is? How hard it is to keep up a conversation with weak, stupid me? If we get out of here, I want him near me. When he’s near, all sorts of nice words come into my head. I might even start that novel, for real this time. Maybe I should skip the coast and just keep riding the train, watching him instead of the waves on the beach. Quiet Quill tugged on Pinkie’s tail, pointing toward the back of the car, but Pinkie ignored her and flipped the page. “Hmmm…” Pinkie mumbled. “A little more about Whistle Stop here. I don’t know if it’s necessary to read that out loud. Or THAT out loud!” Pinkie blushed as she flipped the diary closed. “What’s so important? Uh oh…” Pinkie finally turned and looked at what Quill was pointing at: Whistle Stop, asleep in his bunk. He looked pale. Pinkie galloped to him and put a hoof to his forehead. She sighed and said, “He’s alive.” The other ponies in the car let out a breath. “What’s wrong with him?” Ol’ Bitty asked. Pinkie turned and looked at her with a glare. “Oh, you don’t know?” She pulled out the pill bottle from his jacket pocket. She read the bottle carefully and shook it once. There were only two pills left inside. “Tell me, Bitty. How important is it to take your medication?” Ol’ Bitty tilted her head at Pinkie and replied, “Very important, I suppose. I only take a vitamin with my breakfast, it’s kept me healthy.” Pinkie nodded slowly before she turned and looked at the final door to the last car. “We need to talk to the engineer, quickly. I need to get the medical kit and give Whistle Stop something for his heart, or we might have two dead ponies.”