//------------------------------// // 09 - Lay The Shroud... // Story: Outsider's Game: Night King // by Bluecho //------------------------------// Ch. 9 - Lay The Shroud... Present “Do you have the last piece?” “Yes.” The last jagged fragment was placed on the table. It sat among several others, formed into a curling horn. Several ponies stood around the table, gazing longingly at the collection. Garbed in thick black robes, they smiled in anticipation. One sat at the head, standing up straight. “Then the next phase shall begin. Upon the next dark moon, we shall perform the rite. For this, we shall require...sacrifices. “Go forth, my brothers and sisters! Bring us the ones whose blood shall bring about our shadowy miracle!” “We hear and obey!” the group responded in unison, before dashing off in all directions. The leader smiled, extending a hoof to the ceiling. “For Darkness!” “Your highness. It is lovely to see you two nights in a row. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Princess Luna stood at the door. “Dougal Dempsey, are you...doing anything tonight?” “Tonight?” Dougal said, cocking his head slightly. He looked behind him. A single, thick book lay on a plain glass coffee table. Next to it were the daily Baltimare newspaper, and a mug of warmed blood. Aside from the two guards milling about the kitchen, trading stories, the apartment was empty. Dougal turned back. “...not...especially. Is there a reason you needed me, Princess?” She coughed. “...I actually...have tickets to the local...theater. Would you...like to go along?” “Theater?” Dougal stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I have no objections, if that is what you wish...but why me? You do not like or trust me.” Luna coughed again. “Well...you see, my sister received free tickets to the Baltimare cultural festival. But...work has kept her busy this season, and she was unable to attend.” In truth, Celestia did not care for the theater house director. Partly for being not a very pleasant individual, and partly because every time she goes anywhere it becomes a scene. But she received tickets every year regardless, and looked for excuses not to go. Luna smiled nervously. “So...she has given me the three tickets, that I may attend. And since you are in the neighborhood...” Dougal smiled. “Of course, your highness.” He scratched his head. He was terribly bored as it was, and it was the weekend, so he had no business to attend to. Then he stopped. “...three...tickets?” “Hello! My name is Twilight Sparkle. It's wonderful to meet you.” Three individuals stood on the platform of the Baltimare train line. The vampire looked upon the lavender-colored alicorn that stood before him. She was...smaller than the alicorns he was familiar with. Dougal smiled. “Nice to meet you, Twilight Sparkle.” He extended a hand, bending over in order to do so. “I am Dougal Dempsey.” Twilight extended her hoof and shook it with Dougal. “Nice to meet you, Dougal Dempsey. Is it true you're a real live vampire?” “For a certain value of 'live', yes,” Dougal said, nodding. “Is it true you are a Princess?” “Yes! Princess of Friendship.” Twilight nodded. “I used to be Princess Celestia's number one student, until I became an alicorn and got upgraded to Princess.” “Dougal cocked on eyebrow. “Really?” he said. “Regular ponies can transform into alicorns? I was unaware of this. My researches into the lore of your world have been...well, they sort of dance around the issue of just what an alicorn is or how they come about.” He turned to Luna. “Princess Luna, is this how you came into your own?” “Uh...no, I was born an alicorn,” Luna said. “It is a very rare development. The latest born alicorn is Princess Cadence.” “Interesting.” “Isn't it?” Twilight said, jumping up and down with a broad smile on her face. “Lately I've found myself learning so much I never even thought possible.” “By chance, how...many alicorn princesses are there?” Dougal asked, scratching his head. “Just those four, that I know of,” Twilight said. “Celestia, Luna, Cadence, and myself. That's of course not counting the non-alicorn royalty, princes and princesses.” “...and those use the same honorifics and titles?” “It is...complicated...” Luna said, rubbing her elbow. “Should we not be going?” “Oh, yes!” Twilight said. She levitated the bags at her side, placing them on a conveniently placed trolly. “Didn't your friends come with you, Twilight?” Luna said, head jerking in either direction. “Mmhmm,” Twilight nodded. “I told the others I would be seeing you, Luna, and that they should go to the hotel without me. I'll meet up with them later.” “Alright,” Luna said, motioning one of the ever-present guards to get the trolly. “We have a carriage waiting this way.” Twilight looked up at Dougal. “And on the way, you can tell me all about yourself.” She clapped her hooves together. “This is going to be so fun!” Dougal tilted his head, then sighed, smiling. “Very well. What would you like to know first, your highness?” “Uh...have you ever heard of the Skull Heart?” “Princess Luna asked that of me too,” Dougal said. “I have never heard of it.” “...uh...the Canopy Kingdom?” “No.” “...where do you come from?” “The United States of America. Specifically I was born in the state of Missouri, on the North American continent.” “...um...” “Wherever you think I am from,” Dougal said, looking down at the diminutive royal, “perhaps it can best be said that I am not. From whence are you getting these questions?” “Well,” Twilight said, rubbing the back of her neck. Luna looked back at them both, staring at Twilight. Their eyes met. She seemed to say “later”. “...um...how about we change to some other topic?” Twilight said. “If you wish,” Dougal said, though his eyes drifted over to the dark blue princess. Was there something these ponies were keeping from him? “What would you like to know?” “How much blood do you need to consume to survive?” Twilight asked, her face brightening up. “Ah, that I can answer. It often varies depending on certain factors, but to wake up each evening, I need...” February 1955 “...huff...huff...huff...” His feet smacked against the concrete, leaving steadily fading prints in scarlet. As he approached a street lamp, he sprinted towards it. Sweat dripped in a torrent across his skin, drenching his dirtied suit. He had to get to the light. With a final burst of speed, he embraced the light, sickly yellow and flickering slightly as it was. He doubled over, gasping for breath. His shaking fingers ran through his slick black hair. He brushed locks from his face. Wheezing, he turned tentatively to look behind. The alley he had just come from was devoid of pursuers. He could see none in the darkness beyond the lamp that illuminated him. Nor did he hear anything from back where he came. “Lovely evening, isn't it?” Dougal jumped back, looking furtively around. “Ah...who...who's there?” There, in the dark in front of him. Dougal spied him, though he neither saw him before, nor heard him approach. It was a tall fellow, perhaps have a head taller than Dougal. He was a stocky man too, though the effect may owe more to the large, thick overcoat he wore. It was a gray-black, the coat, coming down to the man's knees. The man had long hair, reaching to his shoulders and black as obsidian. He stood just beyond the light, so his face was obscured. But Dougal could almost make out a scraggly beard. Atop his head was a bowler hat that matched his overcoat. Strong, shadowed hands clutched a cane. “...please, you've got to help me,” Dougal said, standing up straight. He pointed behind him. “There are these...oh God...these things back there...” “Oh, I know all about them.” Voice, chill as midnight, gravely by just a bit. He might have smiled, in that darkness. “Nasty stuff, out in the dark. The night is full of them.” “...I...I...what?” Dougal said, straining in a vain attempt to see the man's face. “You look tired,” said the man, tilting his head to the side. “Are you feeling well?” “...no...no, I'm not,” said Dougal, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, who are you? How do you...?” “Know what those things are?” The man turned sideways, throwing wide his arm. “I will tell you, if you follow me.” Dougal blinked, several times. “Your name is...Dempsey, is it not?” “...I...how do you know my name?” “I have been...keeping tabs on you, for quite some time,” the man said. “I also have it in good authority you don't have a place to stay for the night. Would you like one?” “A place to stay?” “And...answers,” said the man. He turned around, beginning to walk away. “Follow me, Dougal Dempsey, and I will give you all the answers you could ever want.” He walked a few steps, moving further into the darkness. Then he stopped. “You don't have to, of course. You can go your own way, forget about tonight. About monsters. About who I am and what I want. I won't stop you. “But...you will never know.” He began walking again. Dougal stared at the retreating figure. Licked his lips, tasting the salt from sweat and tears. The darkness frightened him greatly. Somewhere in the distance, behind him, he could hear a series of roars. “...w-wait!” Dougal ran forward. “Wait for me!” Present “Do you have theater where you come from, Mr. Dempsey?” The three sat snugly in a row, among rapidly filling seats. Well-dressed ponies sat all around them, though many stole glances at the royals in attendance. Some dispensed with the charade entirely, and stared openly. Many excited conversations could be heard among them, gossiping of the presence of Princesses. Others cast more concerned glances, and exchanged rapid, more fearful words. No one had failed to notice the predator in their midst. Dougal caught one staring at him. He stared right back, meeting the earth pony stallion's eyes. The pony ducked behind his seat, shrinking down and covering his head. Sometimes categorical menace had its advantages. Dougal rubbed his hands together. “I'm...sorry, what was your question, Princess Sparkle?” “Just call me Twilight, please,” Twilight said. “And I asked if you had theater in your world.” “Oh yes, of course we do,” Dougal said. “It's been supplanted as the medium of popular entertainment as of late, but it has hardly disappeared...I was never a particular fan of theater, understand. The most I ever saw was in high school, when we studied the plays of Shakespeare.” “Shakespeare?” “Said to be the greatest writer in the English language,” Dougal said. “He wrote many plays, most of which are so famous as to be ubiquitous. For most, Shakespeare IS theater, and his plays are always being performed.” “What were his plays like?” “Tragedies, mostly, back when people had a taste for tragedies. Comedies as well, but his tragedies are known best. In school we read Hamlet, Julius Caesar, Romeo And Juliet...but there was only one I really remember. It wasn't one of his really famous works. It was, rather, one of his last. It was called The Tempest.” “What was that about?” Twilight said, leaning in to listen intently. “The Tempest is about the Duke of Milan, a man named Prospero.” Dougal raised his hand. “He was a great scholar...kind of like you, Twilight Sparkle. He loved his books...esoteric books, of mysticism and theurgy.” “Oooh!” Twilight said, now in rapt attention. “But the Duke had his duties, running Milan. As he sequestered himself in his library, his brother Antonio stepped in more and more, running things as he saw fit. For most men, being de facto ruler would be sufficient, but for Antonio it was simply not enough. So he usurped the throne in full, forcing Prospero and his baby daughter Miranda onto a boat, set out to sea.” “That's horrible.” “Indeed,” Dougal said, nodding. “What happened next?” “Prospero came upon an island uninhabited by humans,” Dougal said. “But Prospero, a mighty sorcerer, used his magic to bend the local spirits to his will, as servants. He had many umbrood under his command, but two were greatest: the beastial Caliban, primal child of the island, and wind sprite Ariel. The one labored under Prospero with discontent, rebelling in every way he could, while the other served dutifully, though he longed to have his service over and done with.” “...he forced them into compliance?” Twilight said. “That seems...kind of evil...” “Perhaps,” Dougal said, splaying his hands and shrugging. “Eventually, Prospero's brother Antonio, and number of noblemen of Milan, the young Ferdinand, and Ferdinand's father the King of Naples, were passing by the island by ship. By Prospero's orders, Ariel whipped up a storm and forced the ship to crash on the island. Then...shenanigans happened, I don't quite remember.” Twilight frowned. “What? It's been decades since I read The Tempest,” Dougal said. “Be glad I remember so much as it is...anyway, it ends with Prospero having his brother Antonio at his mercy...but forgiving him. Ferdinand and the adult Miranda are to be married. Ariel is freed of his duty, just as his master promised. And Prospero himself regained his Dukedom once more, snapping his wand and renouncing magic forever.” Twilight gaped. “He...gave up magic forever? I...why?” Twilight clutched her head, face contorted in confusion. “I get forgiving his brother and reclaiming his throne, but...he gave up magic? How is that a happy ending?” “It is a happy ending,” Dougal said, lacing his fingers, “to an audience of Catholics.” He fished his crucifix from his pocket. “You must understand that magic is a rare, hidden thing in my world. So hidden that most do not even believe it exists.” Twilight's jaw dropped. Dougal continued. “And in Shakespeare's day, his audience were devout in their religious devotion. A devotion that does not look kindly on magic, seeing it as an affront to God, a perversion of his designs. Shakespeare himself was, I think, secretly Catholic – the country of England made Catholicism illegal during that time – and no Catholic could in good conscience abide a sorcerer as their ruler. Could not be a party to magic in general...” He looked gravely at his crucifix. “...that is...no 'good' Catholic...” He frowned. February 1955 “Here we are.” Dougal looked up at the tall hotel before him. “This is it?” “It's where I'm staying,” said the man, continuing his walk to the door. “And where I have a room set up for you, too. Come along. The night will not last forever.” “Ah! Coming!” Dougal jogged along after the man, glancing one last time at the glowing sign above the entrance. He noted its Art Deco design. Inside, the lobby was fairly well lit, though one or two bulbs flared and sputtered randomly. The Deco design from out front was reflected in the ornate, angular wall designs, and the metal grates on various doors. The man passed the front desk, merely casting a glance at the man behind. The clerk looked at the man wearily, leaning back and gulping. The clerk looked from the man in the overcoat to Dougal. “He's with me,” said Dougal's guide, not even pausing. Dougal followed behind, nodding to the clerk as he went. He noted how the clerk merely frowned, fingering his collar. The two walk through a narrow corridor to the elevator doors. The man pressed the button. Dougal looked at the man. Despite the light in the room – irregular as it was – the man's face was still wreathed in shadow. Dougal could make out his neck, though, and noted how both it and the man's hands were unusually pale. Contrasted harshly with the man's pitch black hair. The man's hand lay on the cane. His fingers, white and body, drummed nervously on the silver handle. Dougal gulped. “...I'm sorry, but I don't think I ever got your name.” “Huh?” grunted the man, jerking his head to the side. Still, his features were obscured by shadow. The barest outline of an upturned, sneering lip could be made out. “Oh...right...” Ping. The elevator door opened. The inside was rather poorly lit. Practically dark. “My name is Espinosa,” the man said. He stepped inside. “Antonio Espinosa.” He motioned for Dougal to enter. Dougal gulped. He felt a great, inescapable dread, that left his mouth dry as a bone. As if passing into the elevator meant crossing a threshold he could never return from. How much did he really want to know? … ...what did he truly have left to lose? … He got on, taking his place beside the man. Antonio Espinosa reached out and thumbed the seventeenth floor button. The door began to close. “...you, however..” The two metal sheets closed in, the glow from outside the elevator fading. “...may call me...master!” The lights dimmed to nothing. The man was at Dougal's throat the moment the doors closed shut.