//------------------------------// // Spurs of Blood Ch 1 // Story: Spurs of Blood // by LlamaLlumps //------------------------------// By LlamaLlumps Llama neither owns, nor cLlaims ownership of My LlittLle Pony; Friendship Is Magic. Its setting, characters, concept and art are the soLle property of Hasbro Inc. PLlease don't sue Llama's wooLly haunches into obLlivion. Llama seeks onLly to amuse and entertain his Bronies with a taLle of mystery, mischief and daring-do. Warning, this narrative features bawdy humor, aduLlt concepts Llike: drug use, sexuaLl innuendo and death. If you fear Grim/lite, or disLlike RibaLld jests, perhaps a different seLlection couLld be made. On a further note, this taLle wiLl incLlude narratives from very different sociaLl, poLliticaLl, cuLlturaLl and reLligious perspectives. This may seem schizophrenic at the start, but trust Llama, aLl wiLl be made cLlear. Now on to the story! Spurs of Blood: Prologue Beneath wildly flashing lights, Canterlot's young and hip shook their haunches on the insanely crowded dance floor. A fit and handsome unicorn stallion smiled winningly at the young mare dancing before him, her wide grin revealing a coating of pale, glimmering blue dust on her muzzle and coating her teeth. “You like that don't you sweetheart? Want some more, care to follow me back to my place?” She nodded mutely, her eyes wide and glinting with a faint whitish glow, as her horn began sparkling with undirected magic. Heading for the door, she barely noticed her wing-fillies attempts to intercept the pair. “Where is she going?” “Who is that colt?” “Does she look odd to anypony else?” These questions and more swirled around the tight knot of fillies, as they chased the newly formed duo towards the door of the club. They had agreed at the beginning of the night to remain close together, as they all were freshmares at Canterlot University and all believed in the three universal truths every college filly knew: Friendship is, in fact, magic. Fillies just wanna have fun. Colts only want one thing, and don't always care how they get it. Now sweet, shy, bookish Moonflower was following some strange, handsome stallion into the night- alone. “Is her horn sparking?” Asked Opal Haze, peering at the retreating pair through the press of ponies. With renewed vigor the five mares began forcing their way through to the exit. Reaching the cool dimness of the street, they spotted their friend, stumbling slightly as she was led into the predawn darkness. “Moonflower! Wait up!” Turning dazedly at the familiar call, she paused. The golden maned unicorn stallion snorted in frustration at their interruption of his plans for the evening. “G- girls...?”, she stammered in a confused, slurred voice, her bleary eyed face illuminated by the increasingly frequent flashes of random magic from her horn. As her friends dew close she wavered on her hooves and then slumped to the cobblestones in a heap of creamy white and feebly twitching legs. Her escort took one glance, and bolted into the early morning shadows, vanishing like a ghost. “Moonflower!” the fillies screamed as they charged to the fallen young mare. “Somepony call a doctor! She's not breathing!” ….................................................................... Spurs of Blood Ch 1 I was in the main office of the Big Apple Barrel's branch of Celestia's personal guard, and it fairly reeked of authority and permanence. Like every public building in Manehattan, it had once been a grand testament to Celestia's rule, but was now showing its age. Countless layers of beige paint coated every wooden surface, with dents and dings showing through from the strata below. The floors and stairs were subtly concave from many decades of pony hooves passing over them. The old structure was still solid, and gave back the echoes of my hoof fall with firm and resolute clippity-clops. Long hallways and corridors were nearly empty of traffic, despite the dozens of ponies working in the offices on either side. The most cosmopolitan city in Equestria had little need for guards, most of the business being transacted dealt with permits and trade regulations, not crime. In the magical land of Equestria crime was in its infancy, while law enforcement's parents were still fumbling towards second base. In contrast, bureaucracy had its PhD in Pain In My Rump Studies, a nice fat research grant dedicated to making my life difficult and a highly motivated staff of thousands. My destination was the open double door at the end of the corridor. The office belonged to Captain Ironhoof, named for his unique method of locomotion. That stalwart old war-pony was magically bound to a specially constructed steel leg, since being savaged by a rampaging hydra many years before. Despite the loss of his right front leg above the knee, the Captain, in his heart, was still a pony of action. His enforced semi-retirement to the post of Head of the City Guard detachment made him irksome and brusque on the best of days. Any summons to the Captain's office was to be punctually obeyed, if that pony did not want to feel the jagged edge of the old soldier's tongue. I was no exception, despite being the only Detective and the only zebra on the force. I coughed quietly at the door to announce myself and was rewarded with a curt nod to enter. “Good morning Neigh-quee-mee.” He butchered my name horribly; even so it was better than what the rest of the force, and most of the ponies in the city, called me behind my back and often to my face. “We have a problem that calls for your- special talents, in Canterlot. The youngsters are using some kind of intoxicating potion or drug that we have never seen before, they call it ‘Spur’ on the streets and it's really getting out of hoof up there.” I stamped the floor in agitation at this news. “I've heard of it, but we haven't seen it here, yet. Nopony seems to know where it comes from or where it's made.” Equestria had very little in the way of a criminal element, so keeping tabs on developments was blessedly straightforward. Seriously, there was even a trade magazine, published semi-monthly by Equestria Daily, under a discrete masthead that bore no mention of the Old Grey Mare. Rustlers and Reprobates was less well known than Pony of Fortune, and had a much smaller circulation than PlayPegasus (and fewer wingboners), but was invaluable to my job. That month's cover story was a poorly veiled exercise in journalism as advertisement, or perhaps the other way around. The magazine dedicated five pages to the rise of Spur as the drug of choice for Canterlot's young unicorn elite. It detailed how to use the drug, without revealing much more about it. The Captain fixed me with a stare which brooked no questions. “That's why we, (and by we, I mean the Highest Authority) are sending you to investigate. Her Highness, Princess Luna asked for you specifically to be assigned to this case. It seems she heard how you resolved the Cloppingham murders, and thinks you are the po- sorry, zebra for the job.” Cloppingham: that was a bit of ugly business I would rather have forgotten. A mad cult of Nightmare Moon worshipers, who believed that grisly pony sacrifices could return Princess Luna to her former dark personality. Their insane plan seemed to be intended to bring about night eternal. Three innocent fillies were horribly slaughtered before I tracked down the cultists. I am not proud of what I did to end their terror spree, but neither do I regret it. Justice must be swift and unswerving at times, even in this gentle land. The Captain must have seen the look in my eyes, because he pushed on quickly with his orders, not giving me time to ponder that dark day not so very long ago. “You need to pack your gear and head out immediately, Her Highness wants this off her hooves as soon as possible, Celestia be with you.” I know a dismissal when I hear one, and I beat hooves out and down the stairs. I passed offices, where clerks could be heard whispering the familiar refrain. “Hey is that...?” “Don't say it, he'll hear you, he's got ears like a bat!” “I heard he's one bad mother-” “Shut your mouth!” “I'm just talkin' about-” I'd heard it all before, just as I knew they were all straining to get a look at my cutie marks under the traveling cloak I always wore to hide them. Once in the streets I felt a little less obvious. Zebras are rare, even in Manehattan but outside headquarters and with my hood up, I at least had the illusion of anonymity. Once in my apartment, I began filling my saddle bags quickly. I rented a small first floor studio, whose only real advantage was that its back wall was a bank of large windows, opening onto a patio and garden, which lead directly into Central Pasture. Manehattanites simply called it the Park: a swath of rolling parkland, with ponds, light forests and even a fair sized lake. For reasons I could not understand, apartments overlooking the park were ridiculously costly, but any that let directly onto its cool, moist grass could be had for a song. Sure, it was not uncommon to wake after a long night-shift, to find the faces of fillies and colts pressed against my windows, as though I were a display at the menagerie, but zebras have a different idea of what privacy entails and the thought of living in a high, enclosed box above the city did not appeal to my savanna-bred sensibilities. It did not take long to pack my traveling bags: my waterproof rain-cloak of tightly woven wool, a few bags of oats, barley, corn and dried fruits, spare horseshoes and my shoeing kit. On a whim I loaded up my carved ebony Justicar's mask and staff scale. The latter was a leg length rod, carved with traditional totems and images, topped with a functional balance scale for settling trade disputes. Every zebra Justicar carried one, as the badge and sign-board of the trade. Finally with a twinge of memory, my baobab wood hoof-clubs, made from the knobbed and iron-hard roots of that slow growing tree from my distant home. Even though I knew I had cleaned them thoroughly, it still seemed as though I could feel the greasy taint from their last use. They seemed to grow heavier every time I picked them up. Since I was already wearing my traveling cloak of dust colored linen it was time to be off. The law givers of my land always traveled light. My road led south through Hoofington, past Fillydelphia just visible in the east. Turning west, I cantered into the heartland of Equestria. A trip of three, or maybe four days trot in fair weather, if nothing arose on the road. But then Equestria always had fair weather, and seldom did unpleasantness ever intrude on her tranquil highways and byways. To most zebra Lawgivers, this country would be a nightmare of boredom and ease. I had seen enough horror, violence and crime on my long journey to this peaceful land's borders to last me a lifetime and well beyond. Spending my time settling disputes between shopkeepers and their customers made up the bulk of my duties in Manehattan, and that was just fine for me. The farther I trotted from The City That Only Occasionally Sleeps, the more stares I gathered while passing through tranquil hamlets and farming villages. Most travelers did not wear any clothing at all on the road, so my cloak was cause for some comment. Without it though, fillies and colts would stare gape mouthed at my black and white striped coat and spiky mane. Their elders, however would be disturbed by the scars of my initiation ritual, oblong ridges of scar tissue running in horizontal stripes across my neck. To any zebra, this ritual scarification was as telling of my trade as the mask and staff protruding from my saddlebags. Of course, to Equestrians, they simply looked wild and savage, but my collar bearing the badge of Celestia's Royal Guard at my throatlatch eased their fears without fail. No folk I had ever seen trusted their ruler with the unquestioned faith of these ponies. It pleased me to serve a monarch so guileless and honorable, that even the idea of doubting her guards was as foreign as- well, as foreign as I myself was. Passing farther into the interior, houses, farms and villages became scarce. Habitation giving way to green rolling fields, and clusters of forest. It was good country, green and cool, crossed by smooth, level roads. Equestria's rivers were spanned by majestic bridges of stone, while small streams could be crossed on charming wooden covered bridges. In the distance stood isolated farms and orchards. Uncrowded villages without protective walls appeared at the end of each days travel. These tranquil hamlets were welcoming and open to all ponies. I too would be welcome, were I to doff my cloak and show my badge of office. I however, preferred to sleep under the stars. I took pleasure even in the carefully scheduled rainstorms, which the weather pegasi marched in orderly lines across the countryside to water the farms. After two days of quick trotting, Canterlot could be seen in the distance, high on its mountain. I despised mountains, so steep and high, always cold and breezy. Like most of my kin, my distaste for heights was ingrained. A youth spent on rolling grasslands, under the warm tropical sun, made the idea of mountains seem slightly unnatural. We have them in zebra lands of course, and some zebra folk live among them, just not me or my kin. In turn, those mountain bred zebras I had met on my travels seemed to be as uncomfortable in my wide open plains as I was in their mountain fastness. Not far from the feet of the mountain stood a small town, which my map labeled Ponyville- creative name choice. It would make a good stop to resupply, and buy some extra blankets before making the last push to Canterlot in the morning. A pegasus-pulled chariot could have gotten me to Canterlot in three hours, instead of four days by hoof. Royal orders or not, nothing was going to get my sweet flanks in one of those flying death traps! Two hour's easy trot down hill brought me to the outskirts of town, It was quaintly charming but something was off about this place. I could not escape the feeling of- I had no idea what the feeling was. Ponies of all ages strolled the streets, or gathered in clusters to talk and gossip. Fillies and colts gamboled in the park just off the town square, flying their kites and playing tag with shrill cries of joy. House painters were painting, bakers were baking and carpenters were- carping? Equestrian seemed quite a silly language at times. Yet this strange feeling was almost oppressive, something was deeply wrong here. Pulling my hood closer, I made my way deeper into town. Then it hit me, nopony was staring at me! Not at my striped legs with their bronze, brass and gold rings, nor at my subtly patterned Zebra cloak. I had not felt this in so long, not since my Justicar's mark appeared on my haunches when I was just a colt. Even in zebra lands the sight of a Lawgiver was cause for comment by honest folk, and fear for wrongdoers. Suddenly, the sensation ended, replaced by a feeling I was quite familiar with. The tingling down my mane told me I was being watched- no, stalked by something. My ears pivoted and nostrils flared, but the town was too full of scents and sounds to pick out my stalker. Still, the feeling persisted, growing ever stronger as I walked towards the square. Without warning, instinct took over and I spun, whipping off my cloak. An unknown assailant flew from a nearby shrub, leaping at my back! Whirling my cloak, I quickly entangled and bound my would be assassin. Rearing with a whinny of rage, I moved to stomp and trample my bundled attacker with an iron shod hoof, and halted just in time. Poking from my cloak were the blank flanks of a tiny yellow filly! Muffled deep within the folds, a sweet twangy voice called out; “Goooolee' Zecora, you never pulled that move a-fore! Y'all wanna' let me out now? its kinda' stuffy in here!” she yelled. Now everypony was looking at me, looking on in horror! Few introductions to a new town are as unwelcome as nearly pounding a local filly to a pulp in the village square. Stallions and mares from every corner and shop stopped, and stampeded towards me with wild eyes to defend the little filly still squirming her way out of my cloak. “Gee Zecora, you smell funny today- Zecora?” A large red bow and the yellow head of a tiny pony finally wriggled out. “Yer' not Zecora!” she yelped, frightened now, she began to cry piteously. Her weeping made the ring of angry stamping ponies surrounding me even less welcoming than before; which is to say they went from hostile to murderous! “Calm down pony-folk, your filly was playing a joke! Your child is still unhurt, don't look at me like I'm the jerk!” I facehooved, slipping into my native rhyming pattern was not a good way to defuse this. Ponies found those rhyming couplets confusing at best and they were certainly not at their best just now. From above, a pastel yellow and pink streak swooped down to stand over the still struggling filly, fixing me with a glare more fearsome than any I had ever encountered. The voice from behind that stare was smooth and sweet, like a silken cloth, wrapped around a flint edged knife of raw protective fury. “Stay away from Apple Bloom! Stay back or I’ll... I'll... I'll do something and you won't like it mister! Just what do you think you’re doing? Scaring my friends is unacceptable behavior, a full grown zebra should know better!” As disconcerting as that stare was to me, it had a chilling effect on the ponies surrounding our tableau as well, like an unscheduled rainstorm at a picnic. The stamping hooves stopped and the herd began to disperse a little. “I did not mean to hurt your filly, but sneaking up gave me the willies! My actions were not in anger, but she should not leap upon a stranger! By Celestia's sun-marked hiney, why is my speech still so rhymey!?” “Ohhh! You’re good Mr. Zebra!” I heard from behind, turning slightly I saw an earth pony so pink, so flamboyant, so utterly without a shred of seriousness, even the lambent glare of the yellow pegasus could not cast a pall over her. She seemed to vibrate and bounce, even when standing still. Behind her stood four more young mares: another earth pony, two unicorns and a pegasus. Their presence finished defusing the angry mob surrounding me, as though these young mares were a detachment of Celestia's guard, come to resolve the issue. From her position behind the firm planted hooves and flared wings of the glaring pegasus, my 'attacker' was telling the phalanx of young mares her story. “I thought he was Zecora. We were playing Cutie Mark Crusaders Ninja Warriors with her- but he's not Zecora! Then everything went black, and I was so scared!” So piteous was her face, even I began to grow angry. Until I remembered who the miscreant in question happened to be... that was awkward. Now that these six mares were on the scene, the crowd rapidly began to withdraw, apparently satisfied that they were more than a match for any trouble a lone zebra could unleash. I was still under the pegasus' baleful stare, so I could not question the truth of it. “Apple Bloom, Sweety Belle, Scootaloo, y'all stay back behind Fluttershy now, let the big ponies handle this.” drawled the orange earth pony with apple cutie marks. Indeed there were now three fillies peeking from under that feathered bulwark. “Ah' am a big pony!” the yellow filly protested feebly, still sniffling and wiping at her puffy eyes with the back of a hoof. “Citizens of Ponyville, I come in peace, and mean no ill. My journey has been very long, and I regret nearly doing wrong.” even after years in this country my speech was still unreliable under stress. “Rhyme some more, rhyme some more!” the prancing pink pony chanted with indefatigable joy. She seemed even more enthusiastic than before, if that could be possible. “The pink one sees I mean no harm, I came here to buy something warm. Young fillies will play their silly pranks, let us end this trouble and you’ll have my thanks.” mastering my compulsion for verse, I managed to spit out my next statement without rhymes. “ I am Nquem'eah, Detective Constable of Celestia's royal guard, on detachment to Princess Luna, my mission in Canterlot must not be delayed.” The ponies seemed puzzled by my words, despite my lack of rhyming couplets. “Detective?” asked the yellow earth pony. “Constable?” puzzled the white unicorn mare. “Nee qweeemee?” My exuberant pink pony queried. I was beginning to like her, Celestia buck me if I could understand why. “I investigate unusual occurrences and enforce the law when it has been violated; my badge of office is- tangled up in my cloak on the ground there.” this was not my day, and the looks in the eyes of most of these mares seemed to hold little promise of an improvement in my lot. “But what's an een qween mee?” pressed the pony whose mane looked like a mass of cotton candy. Ponies were lovely and cheerful creatures, though they possessed a few cultural blind spots. Their difficulty with the native, rhyming cadence of zebra speech was one. Even more challenging, was their inability to relate to names without a direct and obvious description, or tangible relation to the bearer. Oh, and cutie marks, their damnable cutie mark fixation! “Nquem'eah, that is my name.” I received blank looks from all around. I knew where this was going and I was not a fan. Despite my personal feelings on the matter, I had little choice. 'When in Roan, do as the Roanans do' was the old saying. “Ok, you can call me Ebony Shaft.” I said, with a long suffering sigh. This was familiar territory after so long in Equestria. “Ahhh! Ebony Shaft, that makes sense!” they said in near unison. I had been through this many times before, and knew what was coming next. The mares were already staring at the Justicar's marks on my haunches. I wished I had time to replace my concealing cloak, but one cannot un-ring a bell. With long experience, I could even tell which one would say what I knew was coming next. It would be the blue pegasus with the rainbow mane, she looked to be the type. I watched her draw a breath to speak and cringed. Her voice was pleasantly rough and husky, her stare was open and frank. This was not going to be subtle. “Ebony Shaft huh? Is that why your cutie marks look like colt parts? So what does that mean about your special talent?” as she spoke, her wings raised behind her, displaying their full plumage impressively. The two unicorns, and the yellow pegasus blushed and looked away, while the orange earth pony scolded her friend. “Dash! The girls are right here! y'all can't be sayin' stuff like that in front of them! An' fold yer' dang wings!” The cerulean pegasus waved her off dismissively, while blushing fiercely. “Yeah, yeah, you were thinking it too! I just asked first!” it seemed as though she had to struggle to lower her wings back to her sides. “I wasn’t thinking it... but I am now!” the irrepressible pink one chimed in. “Why do you have the very stallioniest of stalliony parts as cutie marks?” her huge, limpid blue eyes trembled with curiosity and innocent wonder. Despite the cringe-worthy nature of the question, I nearly answered, such was the power of her gaze. Barely in time, I halted myself. I was NOT going to get pulled into this again! I tossed my cloak over my back and settled my badge in plain view. “I am going to buy supplies now, if you wish to file a complaint with the guard against me, that is your privilege. The markings on my person however, are not open for public debate.” each in turn peered closely at my badge, seeking to find fault with it, perhaps hoping to find a reason to doubt its validity. The purple unicorn snorted in frustration, finally deigning to speak, “That badge looks legitimate. But you can rest assured that if it turns out to be anything but the real thing-”. The earthpony in the battered cowcolt hat pushed to the front, interrupting her friend while glaring at me angrily. “Badge or no badge pardner', ain't no excuse fer' buckin' little fillies, specially' my sister. We have a nice peaceful town here abouts an' ah, don't cotton to you, not one bit.” she pressed forward, violating my personal space uncomfortably. “Ah'm gonna' keep my eye on you, and if you make any trouble ah'm gonna buck you between yer' cutie marks until they start callin' you Ebony Gelding, you hear me?” having said her piece, she withdrew to the edge of the crowd and continued to shoot me withering glares; while stretching out her bucking muscles. Just under an hour later, I was on my way out of town. Though I was still under the watchful gaze of everypony around, particularly that of the apple marked earth pony. I would be avoiding this town from now on I decided. Darkness fell as I climbed the mountain, forcing me to make camp in a small meadow just off the road. It was a pleasant little glade, with a splendid view of the countryside and the night sky. I made no fire, satisfying my hunger with cold rations from my saddlebags, before slipping into restive slumber. Once again I dreamed of Cloppingham, of the faces of the missing fillies. Three had returned to their homes, traumatized and emotionally scarred, but otherwise unharmed. My dream was of the three for whom no help came in time. The flickering ring of torches, feminine screams ripping through the night as I ran down the narrow forest trail. A trail which, in my dreams at least, grew ever longer as I ran. I saw again the clearing, with its crude stone altar and three bodies, their hearts cut cruelly from their chests. Ten wild eyed cultists, and the mad priest with his obsidian knife, still gleaming wetly as he approached the helpless unicorn filly bound to the stone. Worst of all was the song of blood-lust and rage I sang, as I stomped, bucked, bit, and clubbed my way through the cultists. Finally, the stark terror in the three remaining victims, their horror shared equally between the remains of their tormentors, and the gore spattered and ghoulish nightmare I had become that night. As always, I awoke from that dream with a pounding ache in my head and a weight on my heart. Gazing at the moon, still high overhead I knew I would not be sleeping more that night. Worse still was the knowledge that the robed and cowled priest had vanished into the darkness that night, and remained at large and unidentified. After spending a chilly and restless night on the shoulders of the mountain, I trotted through the gates of Canterlot a few hours after dawn on the fourth day since departing Manehattan. I was ushered directly into a small sitting room to await Princess Luna's summons. I had expected to at least be shown to my quarters to unpack and dust off first, but if the Princess wanted to see me in my travel-stained state who was I to question? Her Highness, Princess Luna of Equestria, Ruler of the Night and Monarch of the Moon, bustled in with a short stack of scrolls levitating behind her. She looked me up and down appraisingly and seemed satisfied. I was glad now that I had kept my cloak on, despite the castle butler's insistent requests to take it. If the Princess asked about my marks I would have a harder time dodging the question than with those pesky young mares in Ponyville. What a Princess she was! Her deep midnight blue coat was glossy and smooth. Her mane of almost blue black was draped smoothly across her shoulders. Even more impressively, her regal rump featured a crescent moon on a field of deepest blue, spangled with a galaxy of winking eldritch stars. In contrast, while her mane and tail were shadowy and dark, her keen intellect burned brightly behind eyes as deep as the eternal night itself. Her smile was cool and refreshing, like a breeze at nightfall after a warm day. My people had no royal class, but if we did, I would hope for a Princess like this. Settling herself on a cushion of deepest blue and glimmering silver damask with a sigh, Her Highness offered me a plate of elegant cookies and tidbits which I declined as politely as I could. My last experiment with the cuisine favored by Equestria's elite had resulted in an embarrassing display of digestive dysfunction. Just one spicy prune croquette with fig compote was clearly sufficient to bring a grown zebra to his knees. Niceties satisfied, she wasted little time getting down to business. “It's well past my bedtime Constable, so I am going to keep this brief. These scrolls detail all we currently know about Spur and its distribution, and there is not much. All we know for certain is that there are four young ponies in comas at the university hospital from using the stuff, and one mare dead from overdose. This drug seems to be of magical origin, and is growing in popularity at the university, especially with the more... privileged students on campus.” The Princess of the night took a more diplomatic tone, while absently toying with an elegant lapis lazuli and rosewood abacus set in a place of honor on the low table serving as her desk. “I know you work alone as a rule, but I thought it would be helpful to have a small team of young ponies, who might move more freely among the students and cause less comment, than yourself. My sister and I trust them implicitly, and I believe they will be of great help to you. As an added benefit, giving them some insight into your particular talents may be helpful to Equestria in the future. You will find the six of them in a small town at the foot of the mountain.” A groan escaped my lips “Your Majesty is too generous by far, but I typically prefer to operate alone. If you will indulge my curiosity however, please let me guess, in Ponyville: two earth ponies, two unicorns and a pair of pegasi.” She looked surprised, “Exactly, how did you know?” my mirthless smile seemed to take her slightly aback. “Just my luck, your Highness. Is this an order, working with the ponies I mean?” I asked, hoping for a way out. “Do I have to make it an order, Constable?” she fixed me with one cool, piercing eye, while the abacus accelerated its quiet clicking. “As you wish Highness, I will do my best to serve you and Equestria.” this case was rapidly spiraling out of control, and I had yet to even lay a hoof on the files. Princess Luna slid one more scroll into the stack with a small smile that warmed my heart. “Here is a brief dossier on the ponies in question. I believe you will need an edge when you meet them, they can be a hoof full at times. I am certain you will find them gathered at the Ponyville library when you arrive, good luck Constable.” once more she graced me with her smile, it was like pouring moonlight into a forest glade during a warm summer night. “Rest assured that you will have my full support and confidence during this investigation, without regard for where it leads. Celestia will be keeping strictly hooves off however. In Canterlot, politics and money connect everything, my special situation makes me apolitical and free from, we shall call them, entanglements.” As she rose to leave she turned once more to smile at me; I could never tire of that. “Quarters have been arranged at the university for yourself and your new staff, you will be under cover as a visiting scholar, the dossiers will detail their individual cover stories. I also suggest that you take at least a day or two to get to know your team and train them in your methods, good luck Nquem'eah.” she spoke my name with perfect intonation, accent and cadence. What a princess indeed! She departed, leaving the scrolls on the table for me, but carrying away the abacus in the violet glimmer of her telekinetic field. Most ponies would have felt slighted at the lack of formal introductions, small talk and the exchange of names. I guessed she had done her homework and knew how awkward I felt in that very situation. Her Highness had breezed past that awkward exchange with class and elegance. She never even tried to get a look at my marks, something ponies seemed obsessed with as a rule. Cutie marks, their own, others, mine, it was a topic for which all ponies seemed to have an insatiable appetite. If only mine weren’t- but there was nothing to be done for them, the hoof of fate can never be turned away, no matter how much one wishes for it.