//------------------------------// // XXIII // Story: Stories of a Warden // by Rosencranz //------------------------------// XXIII “To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows, We drained a hundred jugs of wine. A splendid night it was . . . . In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed.” -Li Bai, A Mountain Revelry When Roads first awoke he was still drunk. The floor beneath him felt like it was moving, rolling with the gentle motions of a boat at sea. The room was still dark; apparently it was nighttime. That was strange. He felt like he’d been asleep for ages, and he wasn’t tired at— Wait. Why was he on the floor? He pushed himself up off the wooden deck with one foreleg. His other was caught up above him on the bed, entangled in blankets and trapped under the sleeping form of a mare. Resting on his haunches, he blinked, clearing his eyes, and realized who it was. Summer? he thought hazily. Why is she in my bed...? Did we...? But, wait, that wasn’t his bed. In fact, it wasn’t a bed at all—it was a hammock, suspended over the still-moving floor. And, he realized, he was sober. The floor really was moving, and the hammock was swaying with it. He slid his hoof out from beneath Summer and stood up. The floor rose up beneath him as he did, sending him toppling into the hammock. Summer’s eyes flew open. “What the—Roads!” she cried. “Good morning,” he said as she pushed him off of her. He realized he had fallen asleep fully clothed, boots, overcoat, and all. Summer sat up, one hoof on her stomach. “Goddess. I think I’m gonna be sick,” she groaned. “Why did I do this to myself?” She flopped back down on the hammock. Roads had once heard somepony describe drinking as “borrowing happiness from tomorrow.” That hadn’t been true for him since he graduated. He rarely got hungover anymore, his body was too used to the alcohol. His headaches went away within a few minutes of waking. He supposed the same couldn’t be said for Summer. “Wait,” she asked, flopping a foreleg over her face, so that the inside of her elbow covered her eyes. “What are you even doing here? Did I sleep over? I can’t remember...” “Does this look like a room in the Castle?” Roads asked, gesturing around. “You think Celestia sleeps in hammocks?” “I dunno. I figured maybe they put you in the Guards’ barracks or something. It’s what I would’ve done.” “No. I got a great room—and this isn’t it.” “Well then,” she started, sitting up. She looked around, squinting despite the fact that there was hardly any light. “Where the hell are we?” Just then, there came two quick knocks at the door. “Docking in ten minutes, be in the hallway,” someone said, then walked away. “Hold on, I recognize that voice,” Roads said, listening as the same knock and alert were repeated down the hall from their room. Though to call it a room would be generous. It was more like a closet, just wide enough for a hammock, and not deep enough for a second one. “Docking?” Summer asked. “How the hell did we end up on a boat?” Roads scratched his head, thinking. Where had he heard that voice before? It seemed like it was ages ago but—Jim. That was it. The ticketmaster from the Equestrian River ferry. “I don’t know, but I think I have an idea of where we are,” Roads said, digging through his pockets. His hoof brushed across a thin slip of paper, and he pulled it out, inspecting it. Below the date were a list of ferry stops, each with small boxes beside them. He skimmed through them. Radha Beach, Fillydelphia, Brynn, Canterlot, Appaloosa—ah, there it was. Ponyville . And of course, a small hole was punched in the box next to it. “Last night we decided to come to Ponyville. Goddess knows why.” An image flashed through his head. He and Summer, stumbling down Alver Street, forelegs around each others shoulders. Not so much out of affection, more so that neither will fall. A stallion in a white robe is walking the opposite way down the street. He stares at them for a moment as they wobble around. His eyes meet Summers’, and then he passes them and they are alone on the pavement. They stop under a streetlamp, steadying themselves. “You rrrreally wanna... see it?” he asks. “I’ve wanted to... my uhh... mmmy wholelife,” she replied. “‘Cause we’cn go. We’cn go righ now, f’you want.” “Seriously?” “Nnnot even joking. The ferry’s... Uh... The ferry’s right down the street. Wecould be in Ponyville by, um, by... later.” “You know what? Why not... Wait. Lemme go get my things... from mm’room.” “Nahhhhh,” Roads slurs back. “We donnnneven need that shit. Letsjuss go. Letsjuss get on the ferry and go. Right. Nnnow.” “To Everfree!” Roads buried his face in his hooves. “Wait, no, I remember the reason.” “What was it?” “You wanted to see the Everfree Forest.” Summer pressed a hooftip to the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Dammit. Well,” she said, looking down and finding her pack on the floor beneath her. “I guess I’ll have to buy a ticket back.” “What, you’d rather be back in the city than out seeing the Everfree?” “No—but I’ve got expedition reports and expense logs to write. It’s a pain, but it’s more hours I can bill, and it looks like I’m gonna need the bits.” “Alright, then. I guess this is goodbye—I’ve gotta get to work figuring this stuff out,” he said, and reached into his coat to draw out tiny crystal vial full of opaque pink liquid. He held it up, showing it to her. “What is that?” she asked. “Lotus essence. I wanted to test some in an alchemy lab and Aspen had some on him. He said he didn’t think he’d need it in Equestria.” “Why do you have that with you? We never went back to your room.” she asked flatly. “I was in a hurry to get dressed and forgot to take it out of my pocket before I left last night.” “ You brought knockout drugs on a date? Creepy bastard.” “You had an eight inch long knife on you the whole time. We’re even.” “Well yeah, never go into the Underbelly without one. Now,” she said, rooting through her bag. “Where the hell is my—” her face fell as she lifted up a small, empty pouch to the light. “Coinpurse... Dammit! I went out last night with a hundred bits!” She pressed a hoof to her forehead. “How the hell am I gonna get back to Canterlot?” “Relax, I’ll pay for it,” Roads said, reaching for his own coinpurse. Then he felt how much it weighed and his heart sank. “Or I would, if I had any money on me.” “You’re broke, too?” He held up a coin marked .5. “All I’ve got is a halfling. That’s just fourteen and a half bits short.” Summer groaned. “I’ve got more money at the house though. Come with me, we’ll get the bits, and then you can head out tomorrow morning. When’s your next assignment?” he asked. “I dunno. Usually they give me a few days to recuperate between expeditions, so probably three days. A week at most.” “Well then, surely you have a day to spare.” Summer sighed. “Doesn’t look like I’ve got much of a choice.” “Well,” Roads said, “Let’s head out.” The two picked up their bags and stepped out into the hallway, standing in between a trio of earth ponies in ragged clothes who smelled of sweat, dirt, and steel mills, and an elderly unicorn couple who bickered quietly with each other. The wife was talking when Roads took his place in the line to exit the ferry, exposing the tiny, evenly set teeth behind her overfull lips, her small, upturned nose wrinkled. “I’m telling you Argent, you have to find somewhere else on the way back. What would people think if they saw us in there?” she asked, and her voice dropped lower as she brushed a strand of thinning blonde mane from her face. “This boat is full of earth ponies. This is why travel agents exist.” “This was as early as I could make plans,” her husband replied flatly. He ran one hoof through his wispy mane, then began packing a well-polished wooden pipe full of tobacco, his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “But this was the best I could do on short notice.” “It would’ve been better not to come, then,” she murmured. “I mean, just look around, it’s like they let anypony on board.” In front of Roads, the earth ponies were snickering, turning every so often to eye the diminutive mare. “Shh, shh, here he comes,” Roads heard one, the shortest of the lot, whisper. “Mmmm,” replied her husband, striking a match and lighting his pipe. He drew out a fresh newspaper from his gleaming, embossed leather pack. Roads scanned the front page as the unicorn opened it to one of the articles in the middle. Class Warfare! Labor Party Legislators Demand Progressive Tax System, read the main headline of the “Millar Avenue Journal.” Earth Pony Riots Break Out in Brynn, read another. Just then, a light brown, pockmarked earth pony emerged from a door down the hall and, trying to join the other three, tried to squeeze beside the unicorn couple. Just as he passed the mare, the ferry swayed to the right and he half-stumbled, bumping into her. She let out an indignant snort. “Watch where you’re going, mule!” she shrieked at him. Roads cringed. ‘Mule’ was as offensive as ‘bird,’ as far as Equestrian slurs went. The earth pony turned, frowning, and surprised Roads, who had expected anger on his part. “Ah’m sorry miss, Ah guess Ah’m just clumsy,” he said, head bowed remorsefully. “Won’t happen again.” The unicorn, expecting the same as Roads, was taken aback. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she opened her mouth again. “Uh, yes,” she said, then cleared her throat. “See that it doesn’t.” Then she turned away, and the earth pony stepped dexterously between Roads and Summer to join his friends. “I got it,” Roads heard him murmur to his friends, accentless. “She never even noticed.” He surreptitiously passed a fluffy pink coinpurse, bulging with bits, to the short earth pony beside him. Roads and Summer exchanged glances. “Did you see it?” “No, you?” “No. I should ask him to teach me.” “You’re a terrible person,” Roads whispered back. The mare behind them piped up again. “You know,” she said. “I ran into Fleur yesterday at the luncheon.” “Mmmm?” “Did you know, she’s been having some trouble with the gardener...?” Roads stopped eavesdropping as the hatch at the top of the stairs before him opened, revealing Jim’s leathery, weatherbeaten face. “We’re here,” he said. “Everypony who’s going to Ponyville, time to get off my boat.” The earth ponies started up the stairs, Roads and Summer following them. When they had reached the top of the stairs, where there was a gap between the stairs and the deck, Jim offered Summer his foreleg. She didn’t take it, but Roads did. The mare behind them did as well, but not before putting a glove on. Roads trudged across the rickety deck, blinking in the light, welcoming the familiar sight of Ponyville. It was refreshing, after being in the city. There here were no walls here—unlike Canterlot. To the north was the capital itself, standing between them and incursions from the Frozen North. In the west, there was nothing but miles and miles of forest and farmland, and the Chrystal Sea, so named for its lack of wind, and lack of activity. To the west, Baltimare stood between them and the Gryphons of the Eastern Ocean. And to the south was Everfree, sprawled across the land, utterly impenetrable. Most of the time, this was more curse than gift. The mysterious guardian forest itself was what they feared more than any foreign invader. What did it matter to them that the intrepid ranks of farmers who lived at its edges took it upon themselves to beat back the occasional, wayward dangers that strayed out of the woods? What did it matter to them that there were miles of inhabited land between them and the first knotted limb of the first gnarled tree at the nearest reaches of the forest? What did it matter to them how many papers Roads published declaring the forests essentially safe, at least during the daytime? There was a reason they were called “irrational” fears. As such, the southernmost walls of the southernmost buildings in the village were built a little thicker than the rest, and spaced a little closer. At the southern entry by road, there was even a waist high gate. It even had a latch. No one minded that the gate only stretched to either side of the road, nor that the latch was the was the width of a chopstick and had rusted into redundancy years ago. This was an idyllic little town, and that was all they needed to sleep easily at night. And the idyllic look suited Ponyville. The houses and marketspaces were built no higher than two stories. Their roofs, whether thatched or wood shingled (there were no slate or sheet metal roofs here, as in Canterlot), were all painted light, cheery colors, with the exception of one building, the nameless tavern that served as Ponyville’s only bar. The owner had intended for it to be painted with blue and red stripes, but due to a misunderstanding with roofers, had ended up with a solid, foreboding black that stood out between its pink and bright green neighbors. As the tavern had been built just beside what city officials referred to as a ‘port’ but was really just two large, public docks, Roads pointed out all of this to Summer. She was less taken with the black-roofed tavern than he was, and stared at him blankly. “Why do you know so much about the roofs in Ponyville?” she asked him flatly. She hadn’t even looked at them yet, because her hooves had not yet left her aching eyes. He shrugged. “I’m a pegasus, I see them more than anything else.” “You’re giving me a headache.” “Actually, I think that’s the sun.” “Nopony likes a smartass. Is there anywhere we can rent a sky-carriage in this town? From what you’ve told me, walking to your house would take all day.” “Yeah, there’s a travel station around here.” “Where?” “It’s right next to the tavern.” “I’m rolling my eyes. You can’t see it, but I am.” “Dunno how we’re gonna pay for a ride though.” “Is there a pawn shop in Ponyville?” “Yeah.” “Where?” “Next to the travel station.” Squinting, Summer lowered her hooves, then elbowed Roads when she saw neither the pawn shop, nor the travel station. “Hilarious, Roads,” she said. “Are any of them actually here?” “Yeah, just right—” He was cut off by a peal of anguish somewhere off to his right, in the midst of the throng that had gathered near the narrow gap in the ferry’s railing that opened onto the dock. It was the old unicorn again. It seemed she had discovered the theft. Roads looked around, searching for the group of earth ponies, and saw that they had already disembarked. They were now headed away from the docks, into the Ponyville marketplace. Roads and Summer joined the crowd, trying to get off the boat—and to gawk at the old mare, who demanded that the thieves be “drawn and quartered in the public square.” As more ponies stepped out onto the dock, they drew closer to the exit, and to the woman. Soon Roads wasn’t the only one surreptitiously watching the couple. Roads tried to step past her without meeting her eyes as she alternately shouted slurs at the long-gone criminals, and reproaches to her unphased husband. “Why don’t you care!?” she demanded. “That’s your money the dirty mules are running off with!” He turned a page lazily and puffed contentedly on his pipe. “What am I supposed to do?” “Go after them!” “Chase them? Hrmmm. I haven’t broken a jog in decades, he said, blowing a large, thick smoke ring for emphasis. The mare reddened. “Fine. I’m going to the local Guard! And I’ll do it without your help,” she said and then, pushing bystanders away with unexpected force for such a frail old unicorn, marched off the boat. “Good luck,” the stallion replied, watching her stride off towards the Guard station. Roads and Summer stepped off after her. “Well how about that?” “Wish we got a show with every ferry ride. Now, where’s the pawn shop?” Roads looked around. It had been a while since he had navigated Ponyville by hoof—usually he found his way around by looking at the tops of the buildings. Directly ahead of them was the tavern, at the intersection of Main Street, which ran directly into town, and Portside, which followed alongside the river. The pawn shop, he knew, was on the southern side of the village, crouched between the joint bail bond and bounty hunting agency, and the liquor store. Southern Ponyville, where the cobblestones gave way to gravel paths, was the town’s own little Underbelly. It was a block and a half long, consisting only of a small arms dealership, low-end apartments, three small shacks whose residents changed by the year, and the aforementioned businesses. It was this part of town that housed Ponyville’s criminal element, made up entirely of three petty thieves, a five-man gambling ring, the town drunk, and a self-pronounced assassin who, to his perpetual embarrassment, had never killed anything larger than a beetle. There had once been a forger as well, but he had left town last year. The local Guard reported his absence as a ten percent drop in crime rates. “The pawn shop is that way,” Roads said, pointing down Portside. “So,” he asked. “What’re you gonna pawn? A trip out to my house should be about, oh, ten bits or so.” “That’s almost as much as a ferry ticket... I might as well just buy one and head back.” “Yeah, but then you couldn’t buy your stuff back tomorrow morning.” “True. Let’s see...” Summer unshouldered her pack and rooted through it. “I’ve got my knife, I guess, it’s nice enough to get five bits. The money pouch, worthless... toiletries, worthless... ID and Aggregate papers, illegal to sell... lip balm, worthless—” “Lip balm? What’s lip balm?” “What, really?” “What?” “You don’t know what lip balm is? Do you live under a rock?” “No, in the middle of a forest. Is it like lipstick?” “No. It’s to keep your lips from getting dry.” “That’s what saliva is for.” “That just makes it worse, idiot. Trust me, I need this stuff. My lips crack up and bleed without it. It’s some kind of condition. Everypony in my family’s got it.” “Well, what else’ve you got?” “What’ve you got, huh? I wouldn’t even be stuck here if it weren’t for you.” “I’ve got a halfling, and my clothes. You can have the halfling—I’m keeping the clothes.” “Hrm,” Summer grumbled, still sifting through the bag. “Oh!” She said, bringing something tiny, silver, and gleaming into the light. “My earrings. They’ve gotta be worth at least five more bits” “That should be enough for the sky carriage. Let’s get—” He was cut off by a hoof on his shoulder. Roads and Summer turned around to see the old stallion from the ferry standing before them, now wearing a fantastically unfashionable hat. Roads looked him over. The unicorn was balding; his thinning grey mane grew only on the sides of his head. His eyes were magnified to comic proportions by a thick pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, which rested atop the large, wrinkled muzzle that matched his large, wrinkled ears. In accordance with the fashion trends of fifty years ago, he wore a green coat that nearly brushed the ground, over a plaid-patterned pair of pleated pants. He gave them a snaggletoothed grin. “Excuse me,” he said, in a voice with the faintest tinge of a northeastern accent. The northeasterners, who lived in and around Manehattan, were the type to pronounce “me” as “mae” and “tomato” as “to-mah-to.” This old stallion had mostly lost his accent, but because Cloudsdale, for some reason, was often toured by vacationing Manehattanites, Roads still picked up on it. “I hate to eavesdrop,” he continued, adjusting his hat, “but I happened to overhear that the two of you are in a spot of trouble, and I think I can help.” He stretched a withered hoof out to them. “Argent Heart,” he said. “Vice Regional Sub-Executive of Finance, Walthers Travel.” Roads’ ears perked up at that as he took the unicorn’s hoof and introduced himself and Summer. Walther Travel was a company that owned ferries, sky-taxi stations, protopteryx stables, and railways all over the country. Even now, there was talk of them constructing something they called a “Maglev” between Ponyville and Canterlot. “Walthers Travel...” Summer echoed. “You wouldn’t happen to have any connection to the travel station in town, would you?” “I would. Glad you recognized the company. Our ad agency is earning their keep, after all. Come on down to the station with me, I’ll see if I can get you a sky carriage.” Roads raised his eyebrows, taken aback. The unicorn hadn’t seemed the random-act-of-charity type. “Oh... thank you sir, that’s very generous—” “But we’re okay, thanks,” Summer finished for him. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want you to have to sell your things, not when I can take five minutes out of my day to get you a free trip.” Beside him, Summer narrowed her eyes. “But why help us?” she asked. Argent chucked. “Try not to sound so suspicious, young lady.” He rubbed the side of his head with one hoof. “I’m just bored. What’s there to do around here? A stallion needs something to get through the day.” He turned, walking down Main Street, towards the travel station. They exchanged glances, and followed him. “These are trying times. The Celestenes say philanthropy is good for the soul. ‘He who feeds the beggar enacts my will; in will enacted I walk the Earth. Book 2 verse 45.’” “Are you religious, Mr. Heart?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “I mostly just need somepony to talk to. I’m new in town, I’m afraid.” “Here on business?” Roads asked. “Pleasure,” he replied. “My wife and I—mostly my wife—needed to get away from the city for a while, get some peace and quiet and fresh air. They say Ponyville is the most tranquil town in Equestria. I think they might be right. Do you two live here?” “Nope,” Summer responded. “Roads lives out in the Everfree, and I... don’t really live anywhere in particular.” “Oh? And why is that?” “Work. I’m a cartographer for the REA.” “Oh, yes, I’m familiar with them—they commission our ferries and protopteryx sometimes. And what about you? You work for the Aggregate as well?” he asked, turning to Roads as they stepped into the town marketplace. It was busy out, as busy as Ponyville got. There were nearly two dozen shoppers in the bazaar today. “Umm...” Roads said. “Not exactly.” “He’s something of a contractor.” “I see. So what’s your day job?” “Magical research,” Roads said reluctantly, waiting for the inevitable judgement. “Hrmm. A pegasus doing arcane research,” he said. Neutrally, which intrigued Roads. “How very interesting. I expect there aren’t many more like you in the field?” he asked. “No, sir.” “Yes, yes. I always ask people what they do when I first meet them. You can tell a lot about a person from their choice of careers.” He whirled on Roads, pointing a gnarled hooftip. “You, for instance, are something of an isolationist. I’m right, aren’t I?” “Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that,” Roads said, thinking it over. Beside him, Summer rolled her eyes. “He is.” “You don’t tend to go with the flow of everypony else around you and would rather follow your own passions. You may not have much interest in ponies or society at large, but you follow your passions with vigor.” “Kind of vague,” Summer murmured. “But not wrong,” Roads said. “You’re rather bookish, and prefer to stay indoors, but there’s an adventurous streak in you somewhere, even if you’d rather not acknowledge it.” He had spoken rapidly, and when he was finished, a pause filled the air. “Well?” he asked. “How did I do?” Roads stared at him. “Pretty well.” Summer wasn’t as impressed. “Well,” she said. “A walking horoscope. Although Roads is pretty easily pidgeonholed.” “If you’re skeptical, I can do you too. It’s all about the career choice.” “Try me.” “Hrmmm,” Argent murmured, a hoof on his chin. It took a moment for him to speak up again. “Well, you have a fondness for the outdoors and an excellent sense of direction.” “Like every other REA worker,” Summer pointed out. “You’re skilled in the art of survival, and have a knack for pragmatic solutions to real-world problems.” “Sounds about right,” Roads said. “However, you have difficulties staying in one place and settling down, probably due to your lust for novelty,” he said, one grey, bushy eyebrow cocked. He looked pleased with himself. A flicker of annoyance passed over Summer’s face; whether it was directed at her own transparency or Argent’s perceptiveness, he couldn’t tell. “Neat trick. You must be a hit at parties.” “I haven’t been to a party in six years, young lady.” “To old?” “Not interested. All I’m ever invited to are ‘business cocktails,’ but why go if I’m happy with the job I have now? I could’ve already retired if I wanted to.” “Why haven’t you?” Roads asked. “My work is all I have. That and conversations with random ponies on the street.” “Sounds lonely...” Roads murmured. He doubted the old stallion heard him. “Not enjoying your family life?” Summer asked with the slightest of smirks. “Summer!” Roads objected. Why was she goading him? He seemed like a nice pony, not to mention their ticket to a free ride back to his house. Argent was the only reason she wasn’t pawing her remaining possessions right now. At the moment, he was leading the way to the Walthers franchise, a half-step in front of Roads, so he couldn’t see the stallion’s face. A painful, apprehensive second passed in silence. He was sure the unicorn was angry. Then Argent looked over his shoulder at them, and Roads saw only amusement on his wrinkled face. “Is that supposed to be a subtle dig at my wife?” he asked, a trace of humor in his voice. “Not very subtle,” Roads said. “Sorry,” Summer replied, her confrontational facade slipping for a moment. “I guess I’m just wondering how, if you’re such a great judge of character, you ended up with someone so, uh...” “Spirited?” “That’s one way of putting it.” “I wouldn’t judge her too harshly if I were you. Today isn’t a good day for her.” “What’s she like on a good day?” Roads asked. He was brimming with secondhand embarrassment for Summer, and wanted nothing more than to change the track this conversation was going down. “The most loving, understanding woman I’ve ever met,” Argent replied, mopping at his brow with a white handkerchief. He was getting out of breath. They had been walking for a while now, and were almost to the other side of town. “The only problem is she hasn’t had a good day in six years.” There was that number again. If they wanted to exaggerate or approximate, most folks would use five years, not six. It felt more even, more rounded. Six was specific, and, intentionally or not, the old man had dropped it twice now. Roads’ sense of curiosity prickled, and he ached to know what had happened to him and his wife. But nopony wanted to discuss tragedy with strangers. And of course Roads wasn’t improprietous enough to ask. But Summer was. “So what happened?” she asked. Argent paused, thinking. “You remember BMK? The earth pony serial killer?” he asked finally. “Yeah,” she replied. She had suddenly gone pale. “My son was in the Guard. He was off duty when he saw one of the murders taking place. He intervened. The stallion killed him.” “Oh,” Summer replied. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was that—” “Don’t trouble yourself, young lady. I’m the one spilling my life story to strangers. Hrmmm,” he mused, stroking his beard with his free hoof. “How forward of me. But I guess when you’ve lived seven decades observing propriety, eventually you earn the right to stop caring.” “Sorry for your loss, sir,” Roads murmured anyway. “So there you have it,” he said, striking a match and lighting his pipe once more. “My wife hates earth ponies, and I give all my money away to strangers—or I would, anyway, if it hadn’t been stolen. Everypony copes differently I guess.” “It’s too bad about the robbery,” Roads said. “You’ve got bad luck, Argent.” The old stallion waved a hoof and blew a roiling smoke ring. “Bah, it’s nothing. Golden Heart carries her money around in halflings, to make the purse look bigger. I’ll just have make a trip to the bank when it opens tomorrow.” “Wish I could be that carefree with my bits,” Summer said. “Hrmm. Spend a couple decades toiling away for a wealthy company, then. They say money can’t buy happiness, but indifference is nearly as good.” “If only the Aggregate were more profitable.” The unicorn stopped then, and turned the corner around a building marked “Stein’s Fences & Gates.” He pivoted to face them and gestured to a small, run down stable affixed to a grey brick building bearing an iron post from which a sign hung reading “Walthers Travel.” “This is it,” he said to them, then looked more closely at the building. “Hrmm. I remember it being cleaner...” “When was the last time you were here?” Roads asked. “Oh, about twenty years.” “That probably why,” Summer told him. They followed him through the thin wooden door into the main—and only—room of the grey brick building. A bomb packed with garbage seemed to have exploded inside. There was one clear path to a rickety receptionist’s desk, on either side of which was a jumble of chariot-wheels, cart shafts, saddlebags, packs, cloaks, bags stuffed full of God-knows-what, reins, broken oil lamps, protopteryxhoes, boots, goggles, pitchforks, regular forks, wire brushes, hammers, nails, plyboard, oats, sandwich wrappers, half-eaten sandwiches, ants (going after the sandwiches), and two copper tenth coins Roads was sure to pick up on the way to the desk. Everything was covered in straw. The receptionist, a snaggletoothed, bespectacled pegasus reading by the light of a cracked lamp and a misshapen candle, sat before them with his hind hooves wedged on the corner of the desk so that his chair stood on only two legs. He didn’t hear the door open, and didn’t even notice them until Argent walked up to the desk and rang the and rang the call bell. Startled, he slammed the book closed and put his hooves down, the front legs of the chair meeting the ground with a loud crack. He was tipped forward so forcefully that his straight-templed glasses slipped from his head onto the surface of the desk. “A customer!” he squeaked, scrambling to open the massive business ledger that sat before him with one hoof as he grabbed at his glasses with the other. “So sorry folks! We haven’t had anypony come in in days!” “No problem,” Roads said. “Now,” he said as he flipped the ledger to the right page and put his glasses back on. “Ready Spark, what can I help you with today?” He looked up at them expectantly. The right lens of his glasses was now cracked. The old man extended his hoof. “Hello Ready. Argent Heart. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” “Umm,” Ready replied, scratching his head. “I don’t think so... should I have?” “Hrmm. How lackadaisical. I’m the Walthers Vice Regional Sub-Executive of Finance! Your boss’s boss’s boss.” “Ohhh,” Ready said, awed. He took Argent’s hoof, shaking it vigorously. “Well, I don’t really have a boss! Sorry, I don’t actually work here, I’m just filling in for my older brother. He’s ill. Nice to meet you, sir!” “You too,” Argent replied. He glanced around. “So, who’s responsible for all this mess?” Ready shrugged. “I dunno. The real employees, probably.” “Well... who’s the manager? How could he let this happen?” “I dunno.” “What do you know?” “Uhh... I dunno?” Argent sighed. “I think corporate will need to hear about this. Ready, write a letter for me to headquarters, tell them what’s going on here.” “Okay. What’s the address?” “142 North Grove Lane, Canterlot.” “Okay. What do you want me to tell them?” “Just let them know Argent Heart wants someone down to this franchise for an inspection.” “I can do that.” Ready glanced around. “Ummm... do you know where the paper is around here?” “On second thought, I’ll do it myself. Later. Right now, I want you to give these two—” he gestured to Roads and Summer, “—a sky carriage, right away, and send another—when do you leave?” he asked, turning to Summer. “Tomorrow,” she replied. “Tomorrow,” he finished. Ready scratched his head. “Umm... We don’t really have any sky taxis available right now. What about a protopteryx?” “Fine. They’ll take two, for two days.” “Actually,” Roads cut in. “I don’t have anywhere safe I can keep them overnight. I wouldn’t want something from the forest to get them. Just let us use them today—I’m assuming they know how to get back here on their own?” “Oh, yes. The protopteryx are quite intelligent, and very well trained.” Ready pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Or at least I think they are, anyway. Alright, that’ll be ten bits each.” “Actually,” Argent replied. “These will be on the company.” “Umm... I don’t know if I can do that, sir...” “Has the manager been in since you started working here?” “No, sir.” “Then you can do whatever you want. Come on, let’s go out to the stables.” All four of them passed through a doorway on the side of the room. At one point, there had been a door there, but all that remained now were a pair of rusted hinges. Ready lead them into the stables, a large, foul smelling enclosure that could have housed sixteen protopteryx but at present only kept three. As they walked through the doorway, the protopteryx stood, peering over the high wooden walls of their enclosures to inspect the new arrivals. Their cold, beady eyes sized them up. The protopteryx much like their more developed cousins, the opteryx, were quadrupedal reptiles, dark brown in color, with bird-like beaks and eyes. Though they were less intelligent and lacked wings, they were far larger, almost nine feet in length, and moved much faster on land. Across the rural parts of Equestria, where sky-carriages pulled by pegasi weren’t available, the ultra-light chariots were fitted to the lizards. In areas with well maintained roads, multiple protopteryx could work together to pull larger carriages, but around here they required the increased mobility of small, one pony chariots. When they weren’t overburdened, they were not only faster than ponies, but had far greater stamina, and could run for days without tiring. “Well, looks like most of the protopteryx are out on rental,” Argent observed. “At least this franchise is doing something right.” He lit another pipeful of tobacco. Ready shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Actually,” he said, fidgeting. “That’s all the protopteryx we have.” Argent sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “And this was supposed to be a vacation... Just give them the best two. I think it’s time I went for a drink.” He turned to Roads and Summer. “Best of luck to the both of you. Thanks for keeping an old stallion company.” “No problem,” Summer said. “Thanks for helping us out.” “And nice meeting you,” Roads added. Argent didn’t seem to hear him. “Anytime, miss. If you’re back in town sometime and need anything else, ask for me at hotel... hrm...” He puffed on the pipe and rolled his eyes upward, thinking. “Ah, well, I’ve forgotten the name. Well, there’s only one hotel here anyway. That’s where I’ll be.” “Sure thing,” Summer replied. “Bye.” “Good day,” he said, then turned and left. It was only after the front door closed behind him that it occurred that there were, in fact, three hotels in Ponyville. And then they were alone with Ready. “So, which of these are the best?” Summer asked. “Well, I didn’t want to mention this in front of Mr. Heart, but one of them has a sprained back and can’t pull any riders right now...” “We’ll take the other two, then.” “All right.” He set to work securing them to their harnesses, then went to fetch the reins and dressage whips. When he was finished, Roads and Summer mounted up, thanked him, and guided the protopteryx out of the stables. Well, Summer guided hers out of the stable. Roads’ just followed hers. He had never ridden behind a protoperyx before, and had no idea what to do. There was no way he could’ve asked Ready any questions. He didn’t want to look stupid. Well, it was too late for that—he was sure he looked like an idiot jerking around with every step his protopteryx took, a nervous look painted across his face as the pair left town. It was worse than flying. The carriage jolted this way and that, dipping through potholes and drainage ditches due to his complete inability to guide the protopteryx. For the first time since returning to Equestria, he wished he still had functioning wings. It certainly didn’t help that the animal largely ignored him. Twice on their way out of town, it had stopped in the middle of the road to sit down and bask in patches of sunlight. Once, it nearly got them hit by a passing carriage. Roads nudged its tail with the tip of his dressage whip, but it just stood there, chewing lazily. It only moved when Summer turned and called it. “You big, stupid animal,” Roads whispered at it when it finally started moving again. It didn’t seem to mind. Finally, the pair came to the edge of town and rounded the little south-facing gate, stepping from cobblestone to dirt path. And then, seeing that there were no pedestrians around to get in its way, Roads’ protopteryx took off. It broke into a gallop, sprinting off the road and down the hill it was build on, into a nearby corn field. Roads pulled at the reins, shouting at it to stop, but it paid no mind. “Dammit! Stop!” Roads screamed as it trampled corn stalk after corn stalk. “Stop you bastard! You son of a lizard whore! Your father was a lizard alcoholic and your sister works in a lizard brothel! Stop! Stop!” Then he caught the sound of hoofsteps behind him and turned to see Summer riding up alongside him. She gained on him slowly until she was right beside him, then reached out, snatched the reins from his hooves, and jerked them, hard, forcing the beast’s beak sideways. The protopteryx came to a stop. Summer stared at him and shook her head. “Never ridden before, have you?” “How’d you know?” “Mine’s a lot more docile. D’you wanna trade?” “Yes. A thousand times yes.” They both dismounted and swapped chariots, and Roads found himself behind a protopteryx that was physically identical to the one he had ridden before—which had now, under Summer’s hooves, become the picture of obedience. “Sorry about that,” Roads said. “I’d always just flown everywhere.” “Yeah, I figured. What’s it like? Not being able to fly, I mean.” “It’s... kinda weird.” “When my magic got blocked on the island, it really got under my skin.” “I’m getting used to it,” Roads replied. “Besides, it’s worth it to be able to use magic. I’ve always wanted to, you know?” “Really? Never would have guessed. Bet you got a lot of shit for that back in Cloudsdale, huh?” Roads gaze slipped to the ground. “Yeah,” he said. “You don’t know the half of it.” Their protopteryx finally made it back to the path that wound around the edges of the farmlands. Just three more miles ‘till we get to the edge of the Everfree, Roads thought. It would be nice to get back. To feel at home again. He knew Ponyville pretty well, after all, but it wasn’t home. He only made trips into town once a month, at most. “Well, at least now you’re finally profiting off of it,” Summer said, breaking his train of thought. “Yeah, it—wait, what do you mean?” “What, you don’t remember?” “Uh... no?” “Come on, you weren’t that drunk. Remember? Last night, when you cheated all those suckers at the poker table?” Hazy memories were starting to float back to him. “Wait... I think I do remember that.” It is dark, and loud. Music plays somewhere, there’s a crowd around them. Summer, pushing him against the wall, leaning seductively into him. He feels her hoof on his the inside of his jacket, then she slips something into his inside pocket. She is warm. Soft. He feels her breath on his neck. His face reddens and his heart races. Then she whispers quietly into his ear— “Okay, I just slipped you a pack of cards. You’re not too drunk to do magic are you?” He blinks. “Um... no?” “Listen, we’re about to go into the back for a poker game with some of the higher-ups in the Syndicate.” He paled. “W-what?” “Everypony’s gonna be cheating,” she whispers. “With them, it’s more about the cheating than the game itself. If we don’t cheat, we’re gonna lose a lot of bits. The boss of the whole thing, Lucky Chance, she uses invisibility and telekinesis to sneak winning cards onto the table, and losing cards off. Can you copy her lines?” “If I can touch her, yes.” “Good. Okay, watch me after the hands get dealt. I’ll be drumming my hooves on the table, ‘idly.’ There’ll be so much going on in there, they won’t notice. Count how many times I do—and that’s card I want you to send me. One is an ace, two is a two, and so on. Then, I’ll check my hand again by folding the backs of each of the cards up. Whichever one I look at first, I want you to replace. Got it?” “Yeah,” Roads nodded, his head spinning. “Okay, so pick out the card I need, make it invisible, float it across the table, then slide it under the card I want replaced. Then, make that card invisible and bring it back to your deck. Hey, are you listening?” “What? Oh, yeah. I am.” “Also, make sure you don’t drink too much, or you won’t be able to cast properly anymore. Oh, and if they offer you something to smoke, don’t take it.” She leads him through the crowd, between the blackjack tables and the stage where scantily clad stallions and mares dance with fluid, sensuous movements. They move past the bar, and turn down a long hallway ending in an inauspicious metal door. A female earth pony nearly as huge and muscular as Chief, with a flat face and an enormous mane, stands before the door. Her face breaks from a stalwart scowl into a wide smile when she sees Summer coming down the hallway. “Summer!” she says. “How’re you doin’, girl?” “Hey, Justice!” Summer replies. “Long time no see.” “You’re tellin’ me,” the mare says. “‘Bout time you showed up back here, where’ve you been? The boss’s been askin’ ‘bout you.” They reach the end of the hallway, and when Summer is close enough, she and Justice lock hooves, then Summer is pulled into an engulfing bear-hug. “I think that might be because of the money I owe her, not because she misses me,” Summer says as she draws away. “C’mon, you know the boss likes you. Prob’ly ‘cause she wants to get in your pants,” she said with a laugh. “Speakin’ of which, who’s the little guy?” “I’m Roads, nice to meet you,” he says, extending a foreleg. She shakes it, then ruffles his mane patronizingly. “Oooh, he’s cute isn’t he? Where’d’ja find him?” “Work,” Summer replies. Justice shakes her head, blows air through her teeth. “Tch, one of these days you’re gonna get in trouble doin’ that stuff, girl.” “What, you don’t go after the dancers here?” “One of them skinny little buggers? Uh-uh. I’d break one’ve ‘em. I need me a man with some meat on his bones.” “You know, I was just thinking that myself,” Summer replies. “Alright, you better get in there, they’re still between games. You’ve got good timin’.” “You know it.” Justice steps aside and opened the metal door for them, and as Roads steps through the doorway, he sees it is three inches thick, and its other side is covered in locks. He gulps as he enters the much brighter room. “Hold on,” he said to Summer after realizing what had happened. “Those were members of the Syndicate we were playing against. You tried to make me cheat organized criminals out of money!” Summer laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s not such a big deal. They want you to cheat. That’s the whole point. Nopony cares who’s the best poker player—they all want to know who can cheat the best. Besides, we’re both still here aren’t we?” “Only because we didn’t get caught.” “Roads, I’m pretty sure we did get caught. That’s why we don’t have any money.” “Yeah,” Roads tells her. “I remember now, I got too messed up to cast. I’m surprised all they did was take our money.” “Oh, they weren’t even mad. Chance’s a friend, she expected as much. Besides, she was doing the same thing—or did you think she got three straight flushes because she’s lucky?” “I just can’t believe you’re that close to the Syndicate. How are you not afraid of getting mixed up in all that? What if the Guard had come in for a raid that night? Or one of the other Underbelly gangs? What would have happened to us?” Summer waved a hoof. “No gang is crazy enough to attack the Syndicate. They’d wipe out everypony in it by the next morning. And the Guard’d never gonna raid the Syndicate. They’d never get any charges to stick. Besides, the Guard probably likes the arm Chance runs. She told you herself, but I guess you’ve forgotten.” Chance... Another image finally begins to take shape in his head. He is drunk. Too drunk. The game has gone on for an hour now and they’ve been drinking the entire time. There is a large pile of bits in front of him. There’s one in front of Summer, too. Someone passes him a pipe giving off wisps of blue smoke. He takes it without thinking and inhales. His head spins. The card that he had been sliding across the table pops into visibility. A burly pegasus beside him with a bald head and a flat nose laughs and points it out. “Well, boss, would you look at that,” he says. “A pegasus who can cast.” At the end of the table sits a slim, hawk-eyed unicorn, her dark red mane in a pixie cut, her forelegs folded beneath a light blue blazer. She has small hooves, a slight build, and an angular, coltish face. One of the dancers, a slender earth pony in a thong and a blue cap, sits in her lap. He doesn’t look much older than Roads. She raises her thin, arched eyebrows, the nostrils of her sharp nose flaring. “Well, that’s new,” she says. “Good for you, Summer. Where’d you find him?” “Work,” Summer replies. “Well, better keep him off the pipe next time. Looks like you’re out of the game. Steel Aegis, why don’t you take their bits and show them back out to the lounge...” Aside from his entrance and his exit, Roads didn’t remember much of anything that happened in the back room of the Founder’s Lounge, and he told her so. “Look, it’s like this. There are some parts of the Syndicate that are better than others—they all run different hustles, get it? All Chance runs is illegal gambling and a protection racket, with maybe a little bootlegging on the side. Oh, and tax evasion. She’s a genius at getting ponies out of taxes. Chance’s probably the best thing to ever happen to the Underbelly. Honestly, the Guard wants her there.” “What? Why?” “Because the Syndicate can do what the Guard can’t. The Canterlot government gave up on the Underbelly a decade ago. The Guards down there get no funding, and no horsepower. If it weren’t for Chance’s branch of the Syndicate, it’d be anarchy.” “What do you mean?” “The Syndicate basically owns the Census Agency’s offices in the Shipping District. Whenever they get word there’s somepony new in their territory, they send in some Syndicate boys. They give the new tenants a deal—twenty percent of their income goes to the Syndicate, and they never have to worry about criminals, Guards, or tax collectors again. Or, if they turn the deal down, the Syndicate itself targets them. But of course, most ponies don’t go that route. “It’s a lot easier living under their protection. Nopony’s stupid enough to steal from someone with Syndicate connections, and no Guard is gonna poke a hornet’s nest by hassling them.” “How does anypony afford to pay taxes to them and the city?” “They don’t, because of the Census Agency. They’re in charge of tax collection, and Chance’s in charge of them. She’s got a million different ways to cook those books to keep the central branch off their backs..” Summer explained. Roads scratched his head. “How are they getting away with that? Surely central realizes that they’re taking in way less money than they should be.” Summer laughed. “Oh, they do, alright. But it’s tough for them to prove the Syndicate’s behind it, even tougher to make the charges stick, and ponies who try to bring Syndicate members to court have a nasty habit of turning up dead.” “You’d think that kind of thing would get a lot of press. How have I not heard of it before.” “They do, you live under a rock. This has been going on since before we were even born. And before it was the Syndicate, it was the crime families who would eventually become the Syndicate.” “Sounds like they’re good friends to have.” “Well... the Syndicate’s not all sunshine and flowers, obviously. A lot of crazy stuff goes down in its other branches. Drugs, extortion, hits, prostitution, heists, counterfeiting If it’s illegal and profitable, they’re doing it. It’s just that’s not Chance’s area of expertise is all.” Roads shuddered. “I don’t think I could survive, living in the Underbelly.” “Oh, I know you couldn’t survive down there,” Summer said as they passed into the shadows cast by the first trees on the outskirts of the Everfree. She stopped the protopteryx to look up at them, then peer into the darkness of the forest. The canopy and foliage was thick, wrapping around the sides and top of the trail as if threatening to engulf it in any moment. A slight breeze moved through the trees, stirring the dark plants into a chorus of whispers. “So,” she said. “This is it, then?” “Yeah,” Roads replied as they continued down the path. The Everfree looked a lot more grim from this angle. He was used to seeing the trees from above. Summer whistled. “So, the rumors aren’t far off,” she said, looking around. “This place is foreboding as hell.” “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” Roads murmured. “So how far is it from here to your house?” “Oh, about eleven miles.” “Is that by hoof or air?” “Uh... air. I’m not used to thinking of it the other way around,” Roads said, leaning sideways to avoid being clotheslined by a low hanging vine. “How long do you think it is by hoof?” “Well, I’ve never traveled any of the paths in the Everfree... but from the maps, I’d say it can’t be more than thirteen miles.” “Damn. This is gonna take a few hours.” “Yeah, well, at least we’re not walking.” “I guess.” Roads took the vial of Lotus extract out of his pocket, rolling it in his hooves, inspecting it carefully. He held it up to the light. “I really can’t wait to get this into the alchemy lab. I’ve gotta figure out how this stuff works.” “D’you think that’s why you can use magic? The extract?” “I think it has something to do with it, but there’s really no way to know what effects it has exactly. I doubt it’s only the Lotus though—Chief had some too, and he’s the same as ever.” “Yeah, but you had more than Chief did.” “True. Either way, I should be able to find out within the next few days.” “Oh!” Summer said suddenly. She stopped the protopteryx, unshouldered her pack and reached into it. “Speaking of stuff we found on the island, do you have any idea what this might be?” She drew out an orb, such a deep, perfect black that it nearly looked flat, and offered it to him. A deep sense of dread settled into his stomach, similar to that he had felt reaching for the flask on the island. He took it hesitantly, and immediately dropped it. The orb was freezing, so cold it burned his hooves, and incredibly heavy as well. It must have weighed well over forty pounds. “It’s so cold!” he cried. He stepped off the chariot and crouched down to inspect it. “How could you hold it?” Summer dismounted as well, bent down, and picked it up. She held it casually in one hoof. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Feels fine to me...” Roads’ eyes widened. Whatever this thing was, he had a very bad feeling about it. And, naturally, that made him incredibly curious. “Does it not feel heavy to you, either?” “Uh, no, not really.” Roads reached out and touched it with the tip of his hoof. He withdrew it quickly as it burned him once more. “Where did you get this?” he asked, removing his coat. He took the orb from her, holding it in his folded jacket. Now, it didn’t feel cold at all, though he still strained to hold it. “I found it rolled up in Princess’ map after we got back to Canterlot. No idea how it got there.” Roads stared deeply into it, eyebrows furrowed. The longer he looked, the more he thought he saw faint, inscrutable shapes moving deep below the surface of the orb. He raised it to his face, squinting, trying to make them out more clearly. The closer to his face he brought it, the more the feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach grew. His blood began to pound in his ears as his heart raced. Between the deep sanguine thudding and his own shallow breaths he heard heard—or thought he heard—a whispery, indecipherable chanting, so faint he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it. But, there was definitely something there, something he needed to see. Something he couldn’t let Summer see. He leaned closer, until his nose nearly touched it. What were those shapes? They kind of looked like— Taking a deep breath, as though he had just emerged from underwater, he ripped his eyes from the orb. It had been sitting in his hooves long enough that he could feel the cold through his jacket. He gave the orb back to Summer, and put his coat back on. “I don’t know what that is,” he told her. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it.” “Really? I kinda like it. It looks neat.” She held it up to the light, inspecting it. “I figure it had to be Princess’ at one point, and it was in her treasury, so it must have been important to her. But what does it do? Maybe it’s just some kind of gemstone.” “No. I think it’s magic. And I’m going to find out what it is as soon as we get back. I’ve never heard of anything like it before.” Which means, he thought, knowing he couldn’t mention this to Summer, it belongs in a very, very unstudied branch of magic. So either it’s an incredibly obscure arcane artifact, or... No, it couldn’t be. He wasn’t even going to let himself think the word. It was simply unheard of, how could they get mixed up in it? “We’d better get going then. I don’t think we have more than four hours of daylight left.” “Yeah,” Roads agreed. “You’re right. It’d best to be inside by the time it gets dark.” Summer stuck the orb back in her bag, and the pair got back on their chariots. Summer turned the lizards back around and guided them deeper into the shadowed wood, past the fringes to the point where the sun was invisible from the forest floor... ____________________________________________________________ Today was turning out to be a peculiar day for Tillage Greenhoof. First there was the hysterical, horrible old unicorn who had fainted at the police station, and cursed her “filthy farmer’s hooves” when Till had revived her, and now... this. She’d spent six years as a medical examiner at Ponyville General Hospital, and four as a resident in Canterlot, and she had only ever seen something like this once. And that wasn’t even her case, that was just something a colleague had consulted her on, seven years ago. She sat on her haunches next to the metal table her “subject” had been laid on, pressed a hoof to her head, and sighed. It was hot in here. Stuffy, too. It was a warm day today, for winter. Sixty degrees. And of course, stuck in the basement of Ponyville General, it was inching closer to eighty. If only they had windows down here. Maybe then she could have a smoke. Princesses knew she needed one. Her subject today was an old unicorn, in his seventies, she guessed, who seemed to be in relatively good health—except for the gaping, perfectly circular hole in his chest, and his total lack of a face. She peered down at his exposed skull, looking at the edges of his muzzle and neck, where burned bits of skin gave way to open muscle and bone. Except these weren’t normal burns—this looked more like a chemical burn than anything else. Stranger still, the two local guards who had found the body had brought him in completely naked—underneath the white sheet they had used to keep him out of the eyes of the public. Whomever had murdered him—and she was sure he had been murdered—had left not only his coinpurse, but also his pocket watch, which was solid gold. At first, she had thought the killer had burned his face to prevent the body from being identified, but on the back of the watch was etched “Argent Heart.” The killer had taken the time to undress him, take his clothes, burn his face off, but hadn’t made sure his name was absent from any personal effects? This was bad. In all her time in Ponyville, she’d seen precisely five murders. All of them had been unmediated, spur of the moment acts resulting in open and shut police cases. In four of the cases, by the time the body even got to her table, the guards had collected statements from multiple witnesses. But this... this was different. The body had been found in a back alley near the tavern, half-hidden beneath a pile of rubbish, as if the killer had wanted him found. The guards found no sign of a struggle, no hoofprints, no blood trail, no weapon, no witnesses, nothing. And they were just local boys, too, not real guards from Canterlot In peacetime, the Military Police branch of the Equestrian Guard worked as a vast hierarchy. Every single true guard, every “Royal Guard,” was trained extensively in Canterlot, and only Canterlot. Only the the three largest cities, Canterlot, Manehattan, and Fillydelphia, had an entire force of true guards. Then, there were the groups of “Regional Guards,” fourteen divisions in all, who held jurisdiction over the fourteen Equestrian states. Whenever the local guards got in over their heads, they called in the Regionals. One rung below in the hierarchy were the local guards. These were ordinary ponies from the immediate vicinity, who had never been to Canterlot, but were instead trained and overseen by royal guards dispatched from the capital. The smaller the town, the higher the proportion of local guards to royal guards. Cities like Brynn worked at a 2:1 ratio. Ponyville, however, only had two royal guards. And one was mostly retired. The other, Captain Jacobs, was—or should have been—en-route to Till’s office, at the moment. She had sent one of the two locals who had seen the body to fetch him. The other was currently posted outside her door, keeping visitors out. She had made it clear to both of them that they weren’t to speak with anypony but her and Jacobs about this case. It had probably been unnecessary. The local guards knew this was above their pay grade. Really, it should have been them giving her the orders—but no one gave Tillage Greenhoof orders. She was a tall, fierce looking earth pony, her long mane twisted into an intricate series of massive dreadlocks, her wide face and sharp brown eyes capable of the most intimidating of stares. And she wasn’t just tall, she was big, covered in a thick layer of fat, and below that, an even thicker layer of muscle. She wasn’t obese, nor even fat, exactly, but as her mother put it, “built like a brick shithouse.” Till was farmer’s stock, born from a line of ancestors who had worked the same fields and the same crops for hundreds of years. They had lived on the southern border of Equestria, a border flexible enough that they had at times been considered Sothenlanders, and had the rich, black coat to show for it. Her mother, her mother’s mother, and many generations more had lived on that border, growing beans, agave, chili peppers, and squash, undaunted by the brutal heat and the Sothenlands lawlessness. Till had grown up doing just the same, until her mother had made the remarkable discovery that, unlike her brothers, and her father, but much like her grandmother, she had a “helluva brain,” and damn well knew how to use it. And so, home taught, she had moved first to Brynn, then to Canterlot on money scrounged by her family, to study medicine. And, determined to make her family’s sacrifice worthwhile, she had studied and memorized and worked hard enough to earn the credentials as a general practitioner. All this, despite the unceasing efforts of a society determined never to let her dream beyond fields and guard work, in which a farm mare from the far south setting hoof in a hospital as a nurse was far-fetched, and as a doctor, beyond belief. She had gone through a crucible of ignorance to earn her degrees, and after that, there wasn’t a local guard or a hospital administrator alive that give her an order. She worked hard, and diligently, earning a slowly climbing paycheck and faster growing respect from her peers, and now had returned her family’s investment tenfold. She had worked as an ME for a time in Canterlot, and for even longer in Ponyville, worked with paramedics, EMTs, firestallions and military police, earned their cooperation, seen everything there was to see in forensic pathology. Or, she thought she had, anyway. But this was something else. This sent chills running through her stomach. It wasn’t out of her league, exactly, for as far as she was concerned, nothing was, but above her head, for sure. She had seen murders before, and rapes, and arsons, and suicides, but this was different, because she could think of only one explanation for what was going on here. But that was almost unthinkable. Almost. But then, what else could it be? What else could explain the corpse without a face—or a heart? The the flagrancy of the act, the absence of clothes, but presence of valuables, it all added up to one thing. But until Captain Jacobs got here, she wasn’t going to let herself even think of that one, dreaded word. She was going to think of every other possibility first. Just ‘til the Captain got here. She didn’t have to wait long. She there was hardly enough time to sit back down in the rickety old chair next to the examination table before the glass door on the other side of the room slid open. Captain Jacobs stepped in, finishing an order to one of the locals before closing the door. “...and I want her in my office by the time I get back. Go!” “Captain,” she said as she moved over to meet him. She extended her hoof, looking him over. It had been a while since they last met. He looked the same as ever. As far as appearances went, she and Jacobs were polar opposites. Where she was tall and dark, he was short and white-coated. Her mane was long and curly, her body and face all smooth and rounded. His mane was short and spiky, everything about him hard lines and sharp angles. He had narrow, beady eyes, a straight, pointed nose, and thin, pursed lips. She was heavy, even for an earth pony. Jacobs was a rail-thin pegasus. Till rolled and lumbered, swinging gracefully to her own internal rhythms; Jacobs’ movements were all quick, efficient, and precise. He wasted no words, no energy, and no time. A hawk-like model of military efficiency. “Till,” he said. “PFC Towne already filled me in on the victim’s ID and injuries. Tell me you’ve got more.” Till blew a puff of air through tightened lips. “Nothing you’ll want to hear. Not much that’s all that helpful.” “Give it to me anyway. What’s the T.O.D.?” “Five to seven hours. Blood work gave us nothing. No drugs, no alcohol, no poisons.” Jacobs glanced at the body on the table. “I didn’t think he was poisoned,” he said, looking pointedly at the hole in the stallion’s chest. What else’ve you got?” “The burns on the face were pre-mortem. It’s the wound to the chest that killed him. Come look at this,” she said, leading him over to the table. She pointed to the edges of the perfectly circular wound in his chest. “No jagged edges, or abrasions, hardly any swelling. Whatever did this killed him quick and clean. What kind of weapon do you think makes a wound like that?” “Nothing conventional. Magic?” “Could be, but I really hope not.” “Why?” “His heart is gone.” He didn’t say anything, but she felt him stiffen beside her. “It gets worse. The burns on the face were made by acid, not fire. And look at the pattern they left. A slightly irregular circle, with more severe damage at the perimeter?” Jacobs was going pale. “A hoof print.” “Yep.” The Captain sighed, running a hoof through his short, greying beard. “Celestia help us. I never thought I’d have to deal with this again. It’s the reason I asked to be reassigned to Ponyville in the first place. I talked to his wife, you know?” She looked at him sharply. “What? When?” “A bit before noon. A Mrs. Golden Heart came into the station, demanded to talk to the highest ranking officer. Unfortunately, that was me. She reported a theft of her purse while disboarding the ferry from Canterlot. Reported a lot of other things too, including a fight with her husband—“Argie”—just before coming in.” “Where is she now?” “Last I saw, the hospital. She worked herself up so much she passed out.” “Oh, I know who you’re talking about. I had the fortune of treating her.” “And?” “Smelling salts and a discharge. I dunno where she is now.” “Great.” He checked his watch. “It’s 5:14 right now. He must’ve died right after he got off the boat.” “Or before.” For a moment, he said nothing. He just stared at the body, rubbing his temples, thinking. “You really think that’s it?” “No clothes, no face, and no heart? What else could it be?” “How do you even know about the skinthief spell?” “Same reason you do. I was working in Canterlot six years ago.” Jacobs sat down, looking grim. “Princesses...” he murmured. “A necromancer in Ponyville...”