Under A Silver Moon

by Danger Beans


Ivory Tower

Something was wrong.

Luna had felt it from the moment she had brought forth the night. When the Moon had refused to shed her guiding light over Equestria, remaining dark, as if in mourning, Luna had not been concerned. But when the stars had likewise refused to shed their light, leaving the night sky a dead and empty sea, Luna had felt a dreadful certainty come over her: that this black night was an omen.

An omen of what, she did not yet know.

But as she circled above the white stone tower, she began to suspect.

During the daylight hours the tower would have seemed a grand sight to behold: marble walls gleaming in the sunlight like white gold, stretching off into the sky, a monument of Canterlot’s prosperity. On any other night, the tower would have seemed a warm and inviting place to take refuge from the wintry cold. A safe place. A sanctuary. A haven.

On any other night.

But under the darkness of this mendacious night, it seemed a place forsaken. This grand tower of marble became a thing of nightmare, a monolith built of skulls, every dark window a pitted socket, every iron balcony a grinning mouth, screaming madly in tune with the wind.

“Princess Luna!” One of the pegasus guiding her chariot spoke, pulling Princess Luna out of her contemplation. “Where would you like us to set down?”

“Upon the rooftop,” Luna said, silently thankful for these soldiers; they knew the city of Canterlot far better than she.

The top of the tower was rounded and, aside from a set of double doors on one edge, completely flat. It looked almost designed for such a purpose. Luna’s chariot alighted smoothly and softly.

“Would you like us to accompany you, Princess?” The same pegasus asked as she stepped off the chariot.

“No. Remain here and await my return. I may have need of you again before this night is up.”

“Yes, Princess,” the guards pulled the chariot to the edge of the roof, and remained at attention.

Luna walked across the gelid stone to the double doors, which she now recognized as belonging to one of the moving boxes—elevator—she corrected herself. She was looking for the contraption that would summon the box when, to her surprise, the doors slid open, and a stallion stepped out.

At first, Luna nearly mistook him for a mare. He was tall and slender, with delicate features and a narrow muzzle. His mane was black, his coat white, his eyes grey.

“Hello, Princess!” said the stallion, smiling like a harlequin. His voice, like his other features, was slightly effeminate.

Luna took a step back. “Um, hello. Do I . . . know you?”

“No. No you don’t. In fact, we’ve never met before,” the stallion replied, still smiling. “But may I just say that it is an utmost pleasure to finally meet you!”

Luna took another step back. “You must forgive me, stallion, but who are you?”

“Who am I? Why, I am your handler, or course.”

“Handler?”

“Yes. Handler, noun: a pony, person, or thing who handles. It is actually one of several dozen words that were taken from the Minos language and incorporated into contemporary Equestrian following the mass influx of minotaur immigrants to Equestria during the war between Taurus and Pan.”

Luna stared at the stallion, scrutinizing him. “What is your name, stallion?”

Again, a hint of surprise flickered on the stallion’s face, then he bowed down until his nose almost touched the stone. “I am Smith, Your Majesty. Word Smith. Of Your Majesty’s Royal Investigation Service.” The stallion bowed deeply to her. “I was under the impression that you were aware of my presence here.”

“Oh. Yes. Forgive me.” Luna motioned for the stallion to rise. “The summons that I received made mention that I was to liaison with a ‘wordsmith,’ but I did not realize that it was referring to your name.” She held out her hoof to him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“It is quite all right, Your Majesty,” Word Smith said, touching the tip of his nose to her hoof. “My name is in fact quite commonly misconstrued as a title. It doesn’t bother me inasmuch as my name and occupation are in truth very nearly interchangeable.”

“Please, If we are to work together, address me as Luna.”

“As you wish . . . Luna.” Word Smith said courteously. “But if we are to address each other in the informal, then I must likewise request to be addressed simply as Smith.”

Luna smiled, “As you wish, Smith.”

Word Smith gestured to the open doors. “Good. Now that the social niceties of mutual acquaintance have all been properly observed, shall we begin?”

Luna nodded, and followed the stallion into the elevator.

“May I ask why I have been summoned here?” Luna asked.

Word Smith paused a moment before answering. “You mean you aren’t already aware?” he asked. “But you received an epistle requesting you to come here to the Ivory Tower. Surely it gave you cause as to why?”

Luna shook her head. “No. I was in Manehatten when I received the summons: a letter stating that my presence was urgently needed at the Ivory Tower Resort in Canterlot, and that I was to liaison with a “wordsmith” on the roof. The letter made no mention of why I was needed.”

Word Smith didn’t look at her. “I included a preliminary report of the current situation with my request for aid. If you did not receive at the very least a rough summarization, then I find that fact most . . . disconcerting. I do hope that this is merely a product of sapient error, rather than gross incompetence. As one is far easier to correct than the other. But I digress, I requested your presence to investigate a death.”

“Death?”

“Yes, death: noun, the cessation of all vital functions necessary to the maintenance of bodily function.”

“Has there been an accident?”

“No, no accident,” Word Smith said. “A murder.”

BING. The elevator doors opened up onto a spacious, lavishly decorated hallway. Neither Word Smith nor Princess Luna made any motion to leave.

“Is . . . something wrong, Luna?” Word Smith asked slowly.

Luna shook her head. “No. Nothing is wrong,” she lied, as cold talons of dread raked across her chest.

Time passed. The elevator doors slid closed with a sigh.

Murder.

It was not a word used often in Equestria. Even before her fall from grace, murder had been scarce both in word and deed. More so even now, in this time of peace and passivity. “Murder,” she said. The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

“Yes. Murder: crime, the act of killing another sapient being—either with or without malice aforethought. By design or happenstance.” Word Smith paused for a moment, then, “I was under the impression that you are something of an expert in the field of thanatology. Was I mistaken?”

Luna sighed.

“No. There has been no mistake. In times long past, I was known as a mistress in the art of death. I should think that I still am. Now show me to this . . . murder.

“Splendid! It’s at the end of this hallway—first door on the left.”

Wordlessly, Luna followed Smith down the hallway to a cracked oaken door.

“Halt!” she exclaimed, stepping in front of the stallion.

“What is the matter?” Word Smith asked.

“There was magic here,” Luna said, looking over the door. “A ward. Very powerful. It has been destroyed.”

“Ah . . . yes . . . that was our fault, I’m afraid.” Word Smith said.

Luna turned to look at him. “Explain.”

“This complex is known as the Ivory Tower. It is one of a number of establishments which provide luxury accommodations to those wealthy ponies who do not have permanent residences within the city of Canterlot. Each floor is comprised of two luxury suites,” Word Smith gestured to the wall behind them, “Divided by a central corridor.”

Luna looked down the hallway. End to end, it was easily over five-hundred hoof lengths. “I fail to see how this is relevant, Smith.”

“Yes. I was getting to that. You see, each suite is cleaned once a week by a dedicated custodial staff for the duration of each tenant’s stay. It was early this morning, that one such crew came to clean this room and found that the door to Suite 37 was quite impassable. A magical barrier—a ward of immense strength—had been placed over the door, barring entry by any persons or ponies on the outside.

“Obstructing entry into a suite by any means either mundane or magical by any staff member of the Ivory Tower constitutes a violation of the lease agreement, so the staff summoned the local constabulary, who were unable to remove the ward despite their best efforts. They, in turn, summoned the city watch, whom were likewise unable to remove the offending obstruction. In a last ditch effort to do away with the barrier, a contingent of the royal guard was dispatched. They neutralized the barrier in short order and made their way into the suite . . . where they discovered the body.”

Luna felt hot anger wash across her face. “Destroying the ward in such a manner was a reckless mistake. Whatever magic once presided over the threshold of this apartment has been razed beyond recognition, as were any clues it might have held. Why was not a proper mage summoned?”

“I couldn’t say. It was shortly after the guards found the body that I myself was brought to the scene,” Word Smith said. “But I surmise that they were not expecting to be embroiled in a murder investigation.”

“Where are these the guards now?”

“In the tower lobby, interviewing the other guests. If you don’t mind my asking, what clues, pray tell, could the ward have offered us if it had remained whole?”

“Nothing now,” Luna huffed, and pushed past the door.

The room was extravagant in the extreme: large and spacious, the trappings of wealth adorning every wall. “Luxurious indeed,” Luna said. “Where is the body?”

“In the bedroom. Last door on the left. Follow me, please.” Word Smith set down the rightmost hallway.

The carpeting was soft, almost silken, and lush. Perfect for muffling approaching footfalls. Any being with a mind for murder would not have had much difficulty in catching their victim unawares.

“Was anything stolen from the room?” Luna asked.

“Not as far as we’ve been able to discern. Which, in view of the amount of mammon on display here, is rather startling. I received a full inventory of all the furnishings that this suite was stocked with, and they’re all accounted for. Granted, that doesn’t dismiss the possibility that the victim brought an item or items of value to their suite, and those were then subsequently taken in the aftermath of the murder, but it is unlikely. The Ivory Tower provides each tenant with a private safe-deposit box to store any valuables in the Tower Vault.” The stallion didn’t look at her as he spoke, staring straight ahead.

“And the victim had one of these boxes?”

“Yes. The acting manager doesn’t have the means to open it currently, and the Tower doesn’t keep an inventory of what their guests store in the boxes—in order to better guarantee discretion—but I’ve contacted the proprietor, he is on his way with a passe-partout to open the victim’s box on the off chance that it contains any clues as to why he was killed.”

“You have certainly been thorough, Smith,” Luna said appreciatively. “Have you been involved in many such investigations?”

“I haven’t, actually.” Word Smith stopped suddenly in front of her. Luna nearly ran into him. “Here we are. The bedroom.” He turned to her and gestured through the door with a hoof, “After you, Luna.”

Luna nodded, took a breath, and pushed the door open.

From the moment that Word Smith had mentioned murder, Luna had not believed—not truly—that a murder had been committed. In the back of her mind, there had been a tiny seed of doubt.

But as soon as Luna saw what was laying on the floor, her doubts fell to the floor like shattered glass.

“Mother Epona . . .” she gasped, staring at it.

The victim was a stallion. Luna could tell from the set of the shoulders and the thickness of the legs and chest. But that was as much as she was able to process before the horror of the situation froze her thoughts.

The head had been cut off.

And so had the skin.

Luna was no stranger to death; she had seen much of it in her time, but this pony had not been murdered, they had been butchered.

Luna felt a swell of nausea swell up in her breast. She turned away and fought it down. This was far worse a death than she had seen in centuries.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Luna started and spun around. “Who is there?” No answer. “Reveal yourself!”

There came a laugh, “Oh Luna . . . have you forgotten me already?” And then, impossibly, two eyes appeared in the center of the far wall. “It’s only been what, a thousand years?” Two rows of uneven white teeth folded out of the wood below the eyes. “You wound me, Luna.”

Discord! Luna spat. Her horn began to blaze and her wings stretched out at her sides. “Are you responsible for this atrocity!?”

A wooden nose joined the eyes and teeth and they all tilted to one side. “ ‘Atrocity?’ Do you mean this brutally murdered pony on the carpet, this tastelessly decorated room, or this horribly ugly tower? Because you really do need to be more specific.”

“Do not toy with me, draconequus. Now answer my question or I will—”

“You’ll what? Blast me? Fight me? Spit on me? Because those all worked so well last time.” Two mismatched limbs sprouted out of the woodwork and crossed themselves. “No. I had no hoof or talon or paw in the your little pony’s demise.” The teeth widened into a disembodied smile. “Honest.”

Luna snorted. “Then tell me, what is your purpose here, draconequus?”

“Celestia asked me to come help solve this murder.”

Luna couldn’t have been more surprised if he had slapped her.

“What!?”

“He said that Princess Celestia asked him to—” Word Smith began.

“Silence Smith!” Luna yelled, covering his face with her tail. To Discord, she said, “Tis a lie! My sister would never resort to requesting aid from you!”

“Really?” Discord asked. His head bulged out of the wall, and he scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I find that a little surprising, I mean, she’s never ‘resorted’ to requesting my help before. Oh wait! She did! When Lord Tirek escaped from Tartarus.”

“And you betrayed us! Betrayed Equestria!”

Discord rolled his eyes. “I said I was sorry about that, didn’t I? And besides, everything worked out in the end, didn’t it? I don’t see why you’re being so cross about this. I thought ‘Love and Tolerate’ was the Equestrian way, and right now you aren’t being very loving or tolerant.”

“If you wished to be treated with civility, then you should not have stabbed us in the back when we were at our weakest!” Luna growled at him. Her horn was still blazing, ready to unleash her wrath upon Discord at the slightest provocation.

Discord sighed. “Celestia thought you might need a little convincing, so she gave me this.” A scroll popped into Discord’s talon, he held it out to Luna.

Her sister’s name gave Luna pause, and she snatched the scroll out of his talon, and opened it. It read thus:

My Dearest Luna,
I apologize for not informing you of this in advance, Little Sister. It was never my intention to deceive you. As I write this letter, only scant minutes have passed since I sent you the summons, but I have just received a report of the murder, and if what I have read is true, then circumstances have changed. This must be dealt as hastily and quietly as possible. To this end I have asked for Discord’s assistance in this matter. I have made it clear to him that he is to defer to your judgment and abide by your will until you bring the perpetrator of this crime to justice. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I did not think that it would be for the best. I meant no deception, and pray you will forgive me this trespass.
Yours Truly
~ Celestia

Luna read the letter a second time, a third, a fourth. The letter was marked with her sister’s seal, written in her sister’s hornscript, and sported the pitiable tone which Celestia had always used whenever asking Luna to do something unpleasant.

“It would seem that my sister wishes us to work . . . together,” Luna said, disbelieving.

Discord clapped his paw and talon together. “Oh this will be great! You’ll see! We’ll be like Sherlock Hooves and Professor Mareiarty!”

“I have not the slightest idea those are.”

“Sherlock Hooves and Professor Mareiarty are fictional characters from—”

“Silence, Smith!”

Luna felt the sides of her face twitching in anger. “Because of your actions, the whole of Equestria was very nearly enslaved to the will of an insane centaur!”

Discord cocked an eyebrow. “And because of your previous actions, the whole of the world nearly froze to death in night eternal.”

Luna went still. “You . . . you . . . you beast! I will accept no help from you, nor will I have anything to do with you! Now I command you to be gone from this place at once!”

“Wait just one moment please!” Word Smith exclaimed, wrestling with Luna’s tail. “With all due respect, Princess Luna, I must say that I disagree with this course of action most vehemently. There has been a murder, Princess Luna. We need every resource available to us if we are to solve this crime, and I think it would be a grievous mistake to dismiss him.

Luna looked at him incredulously. “You cannot be serious. He is the spirit of chaos!”

“I fail to see how that has any relevance to a murder investigation. The average rate of murder in among ponies in Equestria is one incident every three years. It’s slightly higher for the other citizen races—about one incident every year per species—but the fact is that murder is scarce in Equestria. A murder like this, wherein the victim has been flayed and decapitated, is almost unheard of.

“The last time a murder even remotely similar was committed in Equestria was almost eighty years ago, when a gang of ponies calling themselves the Wyld Stallyns took it upon themselves to rid Equestria of inequine immigrants by way of trampling them to death.”

“I—” Luna tried to say.

“The last known instance of a pony ending the life of another pony on Equestrian soil was during last Nightmare Night, And it could hardly even be called a murder—some injudicious unicorn dressed up as a monster for Nightmare Night and tried to scare his mare friend. She bucked him in the face and broke his neck.”

Word Smith pointed down at the body.

“This pony was flayed, Luna. Flayed and decapitated. When I arrived here most of the guards were either vomiting or sobbing, and one had even soiled himself. The ones that were still capable of something like rationale, only had the presence of mind to notify your sister and ask her for help. So I decided sent them downstairs. They are inexperienced with violence and I myself am inexperienced with murder, Luna, so I daresay that we cannot afford the luxury of choosing our company. We need every resource available to us if we are to solve this crime, and bring the perpetrator to justice.”

“I’m glad to see somepony here is thinking clearly,” Discord said. “The albinoid is right, Luna. This little paradise that you’ve built for yourselves doesn’t have a lot of bloody murders, and your sister tends to get a little uppity when ponies start losing their heads. We don’t have to go frolicking through the flowers, we just have to work together until this is over and done with. Then we can get out of each other’s way.”

Luna didn’t speak at first, just stared at Word Smith while she gathered herself.

“You are correct, Smith,” she finally said, slowly. “We need every resource available to us is we are to solve this crime.” She turned to Discord. “I apologize for my outburst and untoward conduct, Discord.”

“Apology accepted,” Discord said smugly, and held out a paw, “Put ‘er there partner.”

Luna pushed his paw down with her hoof, “No. Not partner. Assistant. You are here to assist me. And that is what I expect you to do. Understood?”

Discord rolled his eyes. “Of course, my dear. How then, would you like me to assist you?”

Luna conjured a notepad and quill and thrust them at him. “Take notes.”

“Actually that won’t be necessary,” Word Smith said, walking up from behind them. “I possess an eidetic memory; I’ll be filling out a full report complete with transcripts of all spoken conversation after we depart. Any additional transcriptions would be superfluous.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him. “Thank you for informing me of that, Smith. I would not want to waste Discord’s valuable time with superfluous note taking.”

“Oh that’s quite all right!” Smith said cheerily. He turned to Discord and held out an arm. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Word Smith, Royal Lexicographer and occasional special investigator.”

Discord pulled himself out of the wall and took Smith’s arm enthusiastically. “Discord, Royal Pain, and occasional traitor to the nation. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Luna sighed, closed her eyes, and took a breath. That was when she noticed the smell.

A forest, she thought. The room smelled like a forest. Oak and pine and fir and birch trees, all amalgamated into one arboreal perfume. It should smell of death in here. Why doesn’t it? The answer came immediately.

“Smith!” she spoke sharply. “When did you arrive at this tower?”

“At half past nine of the clock. A little over an hour and a half ago.”

“And when you arrived here, what did it smell like?”

“Smell like? Oh yes! The smell. When I arrived here, it smelled of pine and birch, not unlike the scented candles we used to light in the archives before they burned down. To tell the truth I wasn’t expecting the scene of a murder to be so . . . aromatic.”

“None do,” Luna said. “It is the pony’s magic leaving the body—dispersing into the surrounding area.”

“Magic leaving the body?”

Luna nodded. “Yes. When a creature of magic dies, its body does not decay immediately, the magic within its body acts as a . . . ah . . . preservative that prevents the corpse from decaying.”

“But the magic doesn’t stay in the body,” Discord said. “It evaporates into the air, like water.”

“This pony, was he strong in the arcane arts?” Luna asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Word Smith said after a slight pause. “Why do you ask?”

“Because, my sesquipedalian friend,” Discord said, throwing an arm over Smith’s shoulder. “The more magic that something has in it, the longer it takes to dissipate after that thing dies. Rabbits and birds take hours, ponies take days, and dragons can remain perfectly preserved for centuries after they croak.”

“This pony has not been dead long,” Luna said. “It takes between three and five nights for a pony’s magic to leave the body. He has not even begun to rot.”

She looked up. “Smith, I want the city watch mobilized and present at every train station and aero port by first light tomorrow. Have them be on the lookout for anypony or body traveling alone, with a look of nervousness about them.”

“You think that the killer is still in Canterlot?” Word Smith asked.

Luna shook her head. “I think nothing, Smith. But if they are, then we would do well not to make it an easy thing for them to depart.”

Word Smith nodded his assent. “Any species in particular, Luna?”

Luna lowered her head closer to the body. “This pony was beheaded with a single blow. That would require both a fine blade and great strength. The killer could have been a unicorn wielding a greatsword or poleaxe, but I have seen minotaur cleave the heads off bison with blades thinner than my horn. And a grim wolf, diamond dog, or dandy lion could have done this with only slightly less ease.”

“Well, that will complicate matters,” Smith said. “What shall the guards do if they find one such being?”

“Detain them, question them, make an account of their whereabouts over the nights previous. I assume that Canterlot’s finest are capable of that, at least?”

“I believe so,” Smith said.

“Good,” Luna said, turning back to the body. “What was the victim’s name?”

“I’m afraid that the guest registry is kept in the vault during the night hours,” Smith said. “So until the property owner arrives to open the vault, we have no way to identify the body.”

“Discord,” Luna said.

Discord snapped his talons together and a sheaf of paper popped into his open paw. “Oh, look. The guest registry. How convenient.” He flipped through the several pages. “According to this, the tenant of this suite is one ‘Baron von Oakenhoof.’ ”

“A baron?” Luna asked. “I thought my sister dissolved the noble lines.”

“She did,” Discord replied. “It’s his name, not his title.”

Luna turned to Smith, “Does the name hold any significance to you?”

“I’m afraid not. It is quite a common practice to take the royal titles as monikers among the established wealthy. I’ll check the citizen registry at the Equestrian Tax Office come tomorrow morning.”

“I’d be willing to bet that whoever killed him did so because he’s rich,” Discord said indifferently.

Luna turned to him. “How do you mean?”

“Look at this house, at this room,” Discord gestured grandly around them. “Looks to me like Mister von Oakenhoof is a one very wealthy pony, and wealthy ponies tend to die more horribly than most. A lot of money can make a lot of enemies. Remember the Canterlot riots back in King Coal’s day?”

Luna did. “Yes. But this pony was not dragged out of his home and bucked to death in the street. His skin and head were cut off. Such a thing would take time and effort and patience. That denotes premeditation, and a strong desire to not merely kill him, but to defile him. Make him less than equine. Whoever it was that killed him also knew him, and more than likely hated him.”

“Or they were just insane,” Discord said.

“No,” Luna said, glaring at him. “An insane pony would not go through the trouble of committing such an act and then leave the evidence of their work on the carpet. They would . . . dress it up. Leave it on the bed, or the table. A place of significance.”

“What about blood magic?” Word Smith asked.

Luna turned to him. “What would you know about blood magic, Smith?”

“I know that blood magic rituals require an element of sacrifice.”

Discord spoke up, “Remember the dark ages? It was all the rage to grab a nice virgin mare and bash her brains out all over the nearest alter.”

Luna shook her head, “No. In rituals of blood magic, the sacrifice is the centerpiece, the heart of the ritual. After the sacrifice is made, the subject becomes a kind of totem, holy, akin to sacred. To remove it would profane the ritual. No practitioner would do such a thing.”

Discord looked genuinely impressed. “My, my . . . you’re like a macabre little Twilight Sparkle.”

“It is not by choice,” Luna said, staring down at the body.

“Twilight Sparkle? The newly crowned princess of friendship?” Word Smith asked.

“No. The other Twilight Sparkle, newly crowned princess of books.”

“Are you . . . being sardonic?”

“Where is the head?” Luna asked suddenly.

Word Smith blinked. “The head?”

“Yes. Where is the victim’s head?”

“We haven’t found it.”

Luna held his gaze for a moment, and turn. “Discord?”

The draconequus shrugged. “It’s not here. I’d know if it were.”

Luna’s horn flashed, and a blue silken blanket shone into existence over the corpse. “From the amount of blood on the carpet, I believe that he was dead by the time his head was cut off. I don’t believe that the decapitation took place in the bedroom, either. Look at the walls, the ceiling. The force required to remove a head in a single blow would have left blood spatter. He was brought here after the fact.”

“I find it highly unlikely that someone would murder a pony and then deposit him in a luxury suite,” Word Smith said. “So he was in all likelihood separated from his head in another area of the suite.”

“Agreed. Word Smith, you said that this tower supplies accommodation to wealthy ponies whom do not live in Canterlot?”

Smith nodded. “Yes. From what I understand, the majority of tenants hold estates outside of Canterlot, and reside here most commonly to attend social functions such as the Grand Galloping Gala and Midnight Masquerade.”

“Discord, go to the citizen registry and find where this Oakenhoof usually resides.”

“Your wish is my command.” Discord clapped twice, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Silence descended over the room.

“Word Smith,” Luna finally said, turning to the stallion. “Are you afraid of dogs?”

“Dogs? No. Why do you ask?”

“What about wolves?”

Word Smith shook his head again. “I don’t believe so. Not unless I have some heretofore unknown childhood trauma that I have repressed. Which is improbable.”

“Good.” Luna pointed to the far corner of the room, “Now stand there, and do not move until I say otherwise. I am going to search for the killer’s scent.”

“Scent?” Word Smith asked.

Luna didn’t reply. Her horn began to blaze; she felt her body grow hot, and the change began.

Her hooves changed first, cracking and splitting into claws. Next, her hocks flattened into paws. Her coat and mane grew long and shaggy. Her horn sunk into her head, and her wings merged into her body. Her ribs and spine cracked and popped as they restructured themselves. Her nuzzle suddenly felt too small as her teeth grew larger and sharper. Finally, her ethereal tail coalesced into a thick and furry cord of muscle.

Where Princess Luna had stood only minutes before, now stood a blue dire wolf.

“Princess Luna?”

Luna looked over, to see Word Smith staring at her, smiling impeccably.

“You metamorphosed into a wolf,” he said. “Canis druis, if I am not mistaken—more commonly known as the dire wolf.”

Unable to speak in her current form, Luna nodded.

“I didn’t know that therianthropy was in your repertoire of abilities,” Word Smith said, examining her. “Simply fascinating. I can’t help but notice that you have retained your midnight-blue coloring. Are you incapable of chromatic metamorphosis as well, or were you simply unwilling to change your color?” Suddenly, Smith’s eyes grew wide. “Scent! You said that you were going to search for the killer’s scent! Does that mean you have access to the sensory capabilities of the animal’s which you transform into!?”

Luna stared at him, and shook herself. Academics, she thought. Their heads always so full of questions, it is a wonder they can walk upright without tipping over.

She gestured with a paw to the corner of the room, then at Word Smith. It didn’t take the stallion long to grasp her meaning.

“Oh, yes. You said for me to stand in the corner and not to move until you say otherwise. Your lycanthropic metamorphosis ‘threw me off my game,’ to use a contemporary aphorism. My apologies.” Word Smith walked over to the corner. “Proceed with all due course.”

Luna walked over to the stallion, and sniffed him. Paper. Ink. Quills. Word Smith smelled of books and parchment. In short, like a librarian. But he doesn’t smell of fear, Luna noted with interest. The part of her that was a wolf didn’t like that. He was a pony and she was a wolf. But the part of her that wasn’t a wolf was intrigued. Word Smith wasn’t afraid. Nor did he smell of anxiety, or disquiet. He smelled perfectly calm. Of course my sister would not send me a fool. But you are more than you appear, Word Smith. Luna stepped to his side, and observed his flank. His mark was curious: two rows of simple black squares, intersecting at a right angle. Luna found it familiar, but could not recall from where.

“I would assume that you are taking my scent, then?” Word Smith asked as she circled him. “So you can establish a control variable with which to deduce the killer’s scent?”

Luna nodded again, and turned to the wall form which Discord had emerged. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Discord smelled like a menagerie, like something that shouldn’t exist. The wolf disliked his smell even more so than Smith’s. A growl rose in her throat, unbidden.

“Is something the matter, Luna?” Smith asked from the corner.

Luna silenced herself and shook her head. The wolf wanted to run, get away before this . . . thing returned.

Luna shook herself again, and sneezed to expel the offending odor, and lowered her head to the ground and began to sniff fervently. The scents assailed her: the scent of magic: of trees and leaves, and old wood moist with morning dew, were the most readily apparent. But underneath, there were other scents: blood, sweat, fear, bile and excrement. And farther still beneath those, were the scents of individual ponies. The body beneath the sheet only smelled of blood and magic—without its skin, it lacked any telling scents—but Luna quickly picked up what she thought was the victim’s scent from the other areas of the suite. It permeated every room, and it was far stronger than the others. She found several scents which most likely belonged to the royal guards—they had a far lesser presence in the suite, and were most concentrated in the bedchambers—and several other old scents, which probably belonged to past guests and service staff. She did not find any inequine scents.

Luna traced the scent trails through the suite, and in doing so began to develop a picture of the murdered pony’s life. He rarely ate in—his scent was all but absent in the kitchen and dining room—but he spent a lot of time in the bathroom and closet. He used the parlor quite often, and always sat in the same chair. He almost exclusively drank raspberry tea, but on occasion would partake of something stronger. He wore cologne. He polished his hooves. He dyed his mane. Luna smelled no fear in his scent. No anger or nervousness. He almost certainly knew the killer. And had no idea that the killer harbored such malicious intentions.

In her mind’s eye, she imagined it: the killer knocks on the door, the victim opens it and lets him in. They talk, and drink and be merry. The killer is patient. He waits for his chance, smiling and laughing all the while. Eventually it happens: Oakenhoof turns to use the lavatory or to refill his decanter, and the killer strikes. A single, swift blow to the head to render him unconscious, then comes the kill. Bloodless. Drags him into the bedroom and places a pillow over his face to suffocate him. Quick, and painless. The killer doesn’t want him to suffer, but at the same time cannot let him die peacefully. He has to deface him. In death make him less than he was in life. But how?

The question had an easy answer. Luna walked into the kitchen, her eyes searching the counter. As she had expected, a knife rack lay next to the stove. Rows of knives rested within their niches like sleeping gargoyles. Their handles black as obsidian, their blades glinting in the candlelight.

Of course an establishment such as this would spare no expense in offering its guests only the finest. Doubtless there are several gourmets on call at all hours, day or night. And they would never have the food prepared and brought up. No. This is not some common hotel, it is the Ivory Tower. The gourmet himself would arrive in person to prepare a guest’s meal. And of course, that would necessitate that only the finest accoutrements be present in the kitchen. The freshest produce, the purest water. The sharpest knives. Only the finest. Because anything less is unacceptable. You came into the kitchen, saw these pristine knives laying in there cradle, and a plan took shape. You took two blades: a filleting knife and a cleaver. Did you already know what horror you were going to enact when you pulled the knives from their niches? Did you imagine yourself bringing the cleaver down on his neck? Slowly peeling the skin away from his flesh? Did you keep them as trophies? Grisly reminders of your triumph? What could this pony have possibly done to you? What are you feeling now? Regret? Release? Exhilaration? Will you kill again, now that you have tasted blood?

She thought she knew the answer. She hoped that she was wrong.

When Luna returned to the bedroom, Word Smith was still standing in the corner. “Any luck?” he asked her.

Luna shook her head.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with a slight frown.

Luna tried to shrug, which proved difficult in her wolf form, and decided to shed the wolf skin.

“Our victim was a socialite in every sense of the word,” Luna said, after she had regained her form. “He entertained frequently. But scrupulously. This room smells of unicorns. Several unions’ worth have visited this suite in the past weeks.

“So we are looking for a unicorn, then?”

“It is more than likely, but to assume such a thing without credible evidence would be folly.” Luna walked over to the covered body and stared down at it.

“Princess Luna, is everything all right?”

Luna sighed resignedly. “Since my return from exile, I have longed for familiarity in this strange new world, and now I have found it. So much has changed in the last millennia, but murder remains much the same.”

“Be careful what you wish for, right?” came a voice from above them.

Luna started, and looked up. Discord’s head was sticking out of the ceiling, grinning like a mad fool. “Discord!” Luna spat. “How long have you been watching us!?”

“I’ve been back for a while, but you looked busy, so I didn’t want to interrupt. By the way, you would not believe what the couple up here is capable of. I think they must be gymnasts!”

“Get down here this instant!” Luna shrieked.

Discord slithered out of the ceiling and flew down next to Luna. “A pony has been murdered, Discord,” Luna said, fuming. “Skinned and decapitated and left here to rot like a slab of meat. Do you even care? Is this all but a game to you? Are the lives of ponies so insignificant to you that–”

“There’s a room behind the wardrobe,” Discord said quickly.

“. . . what?”

“A room, behind the wardrobe.” Discord pointed to the far end of the room, where the large oaken wardrobe sat, like a wooden sentry. “When I was upstairs watching that couple doing their tawdry gymnastics, I noticed that their suite is exactly the same as this one, with one exception.” Discord flew over the armoire and placed a paw on it. “That there’s no wardrobe in the above suite. Instead they have another closet. To wit, that’s two closets. His and Hers. It’s cute.”

Luna examined the armoire. It was small but ornate, filled with a collection of formalwear that was no doubt worth its weight in gold. She had run her nose along every surface of it, and found nothing. Lighting her horn, she engulfed the armoire in her aura, and lifted it off the floor.

Standing behind, like a stranger in the shadows, was a black iron door.

“Why, Discord, thanks to your exceptional powers of observation, we have found this no doubt eminently important clue! Thank you so much!” Discord gushed behind Luna.

Luna grunted, but said nothing.

“This constitutes another violation of the lease-agreement. I do hope Mr. Oakenhoof’s estate does not expect their security-deposit to be returned to them.” Word Smith said. He turned to Discord. “It was very perspicacious of you to notice this hidden doorway.”

“Why, thank you! I do try.”

“Quiet! Both of you!” Luna hissed. She could feel a strong magic upon the door. Strong, but volatile. It most likely had been cast by a one who either did not know, or did not care what they were doing. Such spells could be dangerous.

Slowly, she touched the door with the tip of her horn. The effect was immediate: power burst out through the door, wild and crackling like tongues of electric flame. The door screeched like a wounded animal and as the metal began to grow hot and warped. With a sudden CRACK the door split down the middle and collapsed into a sagging, smoking heap.

“You know,” Discord said, one eyebrow cocked. “I could have removed that spell quite easily for you.”

Luna glared at him.

“Or not,” Discord relented.

“An incendiary ward,” Luna said, taking the metal in horn and moving it out of their way. “Meant to immolate any would-be intruders. I might have dispelled it, but it was too unbalanced, so I reflected its power into the cold iron, where it would not be harmful.”

“Oh.” Smith said. “That is most . . . interesting.”

“Discord,” Luna said sharply.

“Yes?”

She gestured to the open doorway, “Search the room beyond for any more such traps, and dispel any you find.”

Discord smirked, and suddenly a cutlass appeared in his talon. “Tally-ho!” he exclaimed, waving the cutlass over his head, and flew into the darkened room.

“He is quite theatrical, isn’t he?” Word Smith asked beside her.

“When he wishes to be.” We are going to have words, when next we meet, Sister.

Minutes passed.

Discord stuck his head out of the doorway, grinning like a fox. “You’re going to like this, Princess,” he said, and disappeared back into the darkness.

“After you, Luna,” Word Smith said, gesturing to the door.

Wordlessly, she crossed the threshold.

The lights snapped on, blinding her for a second. She held up a wing to shield her eyes from the glaring light.

“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to Fluttershy,” Discord said softly.

“What are you on about now, draconequus?” Luna asked, blinking the light out of her eyes. She looked up, and froze. This room, like every room in the suite, was spacious, to put it mildly. It could have comfortably housed a family of four. But it wasn’t a closet.

It was a dungeon.

Whips and chains hung in racks along the walls, coiled like vipers awaiting prey. In the center of the room was a single wooden post. A whipping post.

“I should do favors for your sister more often, Luna,” Discord said, chuckling. “This is turning out to so much more interesting than I thought it would be.”

“It would seem that the late Baron von Oakenhoof, is—was—something of a sexual deviant,” Smith said, looking around the room.

“Lovely. It’s always the rich ones, isn’t it? Next Grand Galloping Gala, come out to the statue garden around midnight. You will not believe how many of the glitterati sneak out to rut themselves silly. The stories I could tell.”

“What do you mean, Oakenhoof was a ‘sexual deviant?’” Luna asked.

“Well, this is a dungeon,” Smith replied.

“Yes. I can see that.”

Word Smith shook his head, “Pardon me, Luna. This is not a dungeon in the sense that it is a place where ponies are kept against their will, it is a place where ponies who suffer from sadomasochistic tendencies can act out their desires in private.”

“It’s a sex dungeon,” said Discord.

Luna stared at them. “Explain.”

Word Smith cleared his throat. “Bondage, noun: the state of being physically restrained by rope, chain, or other means, for the purposes of sexual gratification. Sadomasochism, noun: a psychiatric condition in which sexual gratification can only be achieved by the reception on infliction of physical and/or mental pain.”

A pause. “You mean to say that these ponies tortured themselves in order to have . . . relations?” she finally asked.

“Oh, no. For sadomasochists, carnal release is achieved through either the infliction or reception of pain. The act of coitus is rarely enacted.”

Luna unfurled her wings slightly to cover herself. “Is this widely practiced in Equestria?”

“No. It’s actually illegal.”

“Illegal?”

“Yes. Unlike homosexuality or even xenosexuality, which, why frowned upon by some facets of the Equestrian populace, can be argued to further the ideals of love and tolerance around which our culture is centered, the practice of sadomasochism involves inflicting and receiving pain, and enjoying it. Such a thing runs contrary to Equestrian values. The practice was outlawed in Equestria by Princess Celestia some three hundred years ago.” Word Smith spoke with an academic’s tone, as if explaining the difference between a diamond dog and a grim wolf.

“And it’s not even the weirdest thing that they’ve come up with in the last thousand years,” Discord said from above them. He was standing in the air, riding crop in paw, fencing with an animate cat o’ nine tails. “Look up apotemnophilia next time you’re in the library. It’s a real conversation starter.”

Luna ignored him.

She found this aspect of the victim’s life to be . . . troubling, but otherwise unhelpful. She looked over the stables in the new light of her knowledge as to their true intentions. Each was large enough for several ponies. One by one, she searched them. Within each there was a different means of restraint: from manacles, to a metal saddle, to contraptions that Luna could not begin to guess the function of. The room had been swept clean. Luna could feel the residual magic in the air. There was no dust, no smells of sex and musk. Everything was pristine as only magic could make it. Still, Luna searched. Through it all, Word Smith followed behind her, a smiling sentry, clad in the colors of a chess board.

After what felt like hours of searching through the hidden chamber with nothing to show for their efforts beyond a horrified fascination of sadomasochism, Luna closed her eyes and sighed. A pony mutilated beyond recognition, a concealed chamber of carnal agony, a deranged draconequus, a stoically cheerful stallion, and not the slightest idea of who—or what—had committed this crime. Why was nothing ever simple?

“I don not understand how could anypony take pleasure in . . . this?” Luna asked aloud, examining a muzzle with a rubber ball in place of a bit.

“Maybe they got spanked once too often and took a liking to it,” Discord said. Thus far, he had made no movements to aid them in the search of the perverse place, and Luna had been content to leave him to his own devices. “For all we know, short-stop might have been trying out a new toy when he lost his head.”

Luna made to reply, then stopped. “You are absolutely right!” she said.

Discord blinked. “I am?”

“Of course, how could I not have seen it before,” Luna said excitedly. “There were no signs of struggle, no scents of fear or anger. No deep wounds on the body, and so little blood for such a pitiless method of murder.”

“Hold on, Luna. Just what are you going on about?” Discord asked.

Luna stopped and looked up at him. “I do not believe that Oakenhoof took pleasure in inflicting pain, but in receiving it!”

“You’ve lost me.”

“You believe that the killer was the victim’s lover.” Word Smith said suddenly.

Luna looked over at him, slightly surprised. “Yes. I believe that this room may have been where that stallion was killed.”

His smile did not fall, but his silver eyes grew unfocused, darting back and forth like marbles. “It would make perfect sense: judging from the lack of arterial blood, it’s veritably certain that the victim’s mutilation was enacted postmortem. You suspect that the killer and the victim possessed consanguinity. Statistically speaking, nine in every ten murders are committed by a being of close emotional acquaintance to the victim, and of those, the culprit is a lover, wife, girlfriend, etcetera, in about half the cases. And if they had a sexual relationship it stands to reason that it would not have been overly difficult for this alleged paramour to convince the victim to engage in some form of dalliance.”

“Lured to his death with words of love,” Luna said. She opened one of the stable doors, revealing a black saddle that when worn, would have rendered the wearer all but immobile. “Like a fly into the spider’s web. An old tactic, but no less effective with the passage of time.”

Word Smith was smiling again. “And once ensnared firmly within one of these contraptions, the victim would have been at the killer’s mercy. But the question remains as to why? What motive could have driven Oakenhoof’s lover to murder him in such a brutal fashion?”

Discord landed between them with a thump. “You really have to ask?” he said contemptuously. “Ever heard the saying, ‘Tartarus hath no fury like a mare spurned?’ He’s rich and he’s a stallion. That combination doesn’t hardly lends itself towards chivalry. Add a mare with a fetish for whips, chains, and cries of pain to the mix, and you have a recipe for murder. A la king.”

“He is right,” Luna conceded. “Look around us, any pony with a mind for murder would find it trivial in a place such as this—where implements of pain are so conveniently collected.”

Word Smith didn’t reply. He was staring around them, silver eyes flicking from between the rows of macabre apparatuses. “You misunderstand me, Luna. I am not referring to the motive behind the murder itself, but the subsequent flaying. That is the question to which I have preoccupied.”

“The flaying?” Luna asked. She recalled everything that she had glimpsed about the body. Like the decapitation, it had been cleanly done. There had been little damage to the muscles beneath. The skinner had been steady of horn and clear of mind. Precise.

“What about it?” Discord asked, crossing his arms together.

Word Smith ran a hoof along the saddle. “Why would the killer lure the victim, here?” he asked. “Doesn’t it seem slightly inconvenient?”

“We are dealing with a pony versed in the perverse. Their motives are rarely easy to guess at,” Luna replied.

Word Smith gestured to the wall beside them, “This dungeon is lined with stainless steel—so named because of its resistance to rust and discoloration. You said that the force of decapitation would have left spatters of blood and that the victim could only have been dead for a few days, but what evidence do we have that the victim was quickly dispatched? Once ensconced within one of these bindings, our killer would have had Oakenhoof at their mercy. Potentially, for as long as they could wish.”

With dawning horror, Luna said, “She may have tortured him before she murdered him.”

“At the very least, we have to consider the possibility.”

“The plot thickens . . .” Discord said, before turning to Luna. “And to think, I was going to spend tonight building winter burrows for bunnies.”

Luna would have much preferred the bunnies. A thought came to her then. “Discord,” she said suddenly, “What did you find about Oakenhoof in the tax office? Where does he live normally?”

Discord paused, and conjured forth a scroll of parchment. He held it out to her. “Baron von Oakenhoof’s property tax records, as requested.”

Luna scanned the paper. “He has properties all over Equestria, but it would appear that his primary residence is listed in Horsemouth.” Furling the scroll, she said, “Discord, you will accompany me to Horsemouth. Oakenhoof surely has servants there, they may have a notion as to the identity of Oakenhoof’s lover.”

Discord shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Luna turned to Smith. “Word Smith, while Discord and I go to horsemouth, you and I shall proceed to lobby. I wish to question the guards that first arrived here, and the staff. I should think that nopony has been permitted to leave the building?”

Word Smith shook his head, “No. No one has been allowed entry or departure from the building since the body was discovered.”

“Good. While we are thus engaged, I will look into the matter of this possible lover.”

A pause. “Princess, forgive me if I seem crass, but you sound as if you intend to accompany Discord and myself on our respective investigations . . . simultaneously.

Luna held Smith’s silver gaze for a second, and then lit her horn. The light grew in its intensity until her entire body grew white and hot from the magic. Finally, there was one final blinding corona of energy, and the light faded.

Where previously a single Princess Luna had stood, now stood three.

“That is because I do,” said the center Luna.