//------------------------------// // 4: The Interested Parties // Story: Do Changelings Dream of Twinkling Stars? // by Sharp Spark //------------------------------// I woke up in an unfamiliar bed. The room was dim. No windows. At least I had to assume – too dark to see the walls. The only light came from a bare bulb above me, but I could see a chair at the edge of view. And in that chair, she sat waiting. Watching. Of course it would be her. No sense complaining about the getting the tiger’s attention when you’re the one who’s pulled its tail. See, Tangled Weave was, hooves down, the most dangerous pony in Canterlot. You wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She could have passed for someone’s grandmother. Gold-rimmed reading glasses, mane a faded grey, the kind of dresses that went out of style when I was still investigating the finer points of ‘the pig says oink’. They say she always wore the dresses to hide her cutie mark. That no one had ever seen it and lived to talk. That it was a web. Or eight eyes. Or that blue mark that gave star spiders their moniker. Lots of arachnid imagery, basically. That’s what they called her – “The Spider” – but only muttered as a curse among close friends, never where there might be ears that could get it back to her. She didn’t care for the comparison, and ponies in the habit of using it also had a tendency to suddenly go missing. Not anything she did directly. No blood on her hooves, nothing so crass. She’d simply whisper a few words in the right ear and the next day somepony would find they had a new special talent. Growing daisies in an unmarked field out of town. From below. She probably encouraged the rumors. The aging mare came across as unthreatening in person, but I knew the score as well as anypony. Tangled Weave ran the underside of Canterlot. Gambling, smuggling, racketeering – if it was of questionable legality and unquestionable profitability, somewhere along the line she had her hoof in the pie. But never so far in that it could be traced back to her, either. She kept exactly the right distance so when someone else took a fall she wouldn’t be caught in the splash. My counterparts over in organized crime probably had a file on her the size of a small library, waiting for her to slip up. But if I had to put bits down, I’d wager they’d still be waiting for a long time to come. It meant she was a pony who knew things. And if she didn’t have the answers, she’d know how to get them. As long as I could afford the price or convince her that it was somehow in her own interests. Oh. And there was one further matter that complicated things. She was Paisley Pastel’s mother. Noting my return to the realm of the waking, she smiled at me, muzzle offering a hint of matronly concern. “Feeling better, Mr. Slate?” The sharp pain had faded away to a muted stinging. I reached up to feel stitches across what had been a deep gash above my eye. “I’m not dead, at any rate.” “No. No, you are not.” She stood, moving slowly, deliberately. “Yet, you are not quite alive, either.” Her voice was friendly, light, as she made her way to the bed. “I have this nephew, delightful boy, working on a physics degree, who told me of the most interesting experiment. There is this box, you see, and inside there is… an animal of some sort? Hm.” “A cat?” “Very good! You have heard of it, then. Yes, you are like this cat in the box. Perhaps we will find that you are alive and well. Perhaps you will have died, lonely and forgotten in a back-alley last night. And perhaps, we will open the box and you will simply cease to exist. Wouldn’t that be exciting?” “Not so much for me.” “Oh yes, that’s true.” She reached out with a hoof to smooth down the blanket at the edge of the bed. “You’ll simply have to keep that from happening then, hm?” “That’s my intention. So what happens now?” “You tell me your story, Mr. Slate. And you hope very strongly that it’s a good one.” I nodded. I knew better than to try to be clever. “Yesterday afternoon, I walked into your daughter’s office and arrested her on the grounds of being a changeling.” I caught the flinty sharpness in her eyes. Slight surprise, mostly appraising. “Your honesty is refreshing.” “Don’t tell me this is news to you.” “Hardly. I have eyes in the places I need them. But I am indeed interested as to why the papers tell a different story.” That was news to me. She caught the look on my face and inclined her head slightly. A figure stepped out of the shadows next to us and a copy of the Canterlot Courier dropped onto the bed. The figure moved back and was gone before I could get anything more than a vague outline. I glanced at the headline. Changeling Conspiracy! Head of PHAIR Under Arrest! Underneath, Rising Star’s mug shared space with an old publicity shot of Paisley. I skimmed the text. He hadn’t just gotten the credit for my collar. No. They had named him the new Chief of DEqSec. “So I’m cut out entirely.” “They saved some room for you, page five. Rogue arsonist on the run. It’s… less flattering.” “It was a setup. All of it.” “What makes you say that?” “The stitches over my eye, among other things.” I grimaced. “What else could it be?” “It does certainly seems like somepony out there doesn’t like you.” “I could think of a few. But if I knew the players, I wouldn’t have knocked on your door. Point me to the stallion in the other corner and I’ll come out swinging but right now I’m fighting blind.” “Oh?” “I need answers. There’s too many blanks to fill in.” “You’re hardly in the position to be making requests,” she murmured. “I didn’t come empty-hoofed.” “I presume you’re referring to this?” It gleamed in Tangled Weave’s hoof. A small vial holding a bright green fluid, practically glowing in the dim light. It was Paisley’s final gift to me, slipped into my pocket while mind and mouth were otherwise occupied. “Yeah. I’m not sure what it is, but figured it’d be of interest to you.” “Mmm.” She held the vial up to examine in detail. “I admit a certain curiosity as to how this came into your possession, at least here in Canterlot. They call it Chrys.” “A drug?” “Of sorts. A cocktail of crystallized emotion, laced with certain tailored hormones. For changelings, it’s like injecting pure, unconditional love. Dangerous, but makes them faster, tougher, able to effortlessly shift forms… and more than a little crazy.” “What does it do to ponies?” She paused, eyes tracing over me as she contemplated her next words. “Nothing. Or at least nothing good, maybe some nausea and pain from the body rejecting foreign matter. Only…” The liquid was thick and shifted slowly as she rotated the vial in her hoof. It gleamed that same green, light coming from within. I gave her a moment but when no more words seemed forthcoming, prodded further. “Only?” “Only word is that someone’s been working on a new formula. Something that incorporates enough changeling genetic material to render it effective for ponies. To make it something beyond just a high for a very limited audience. To make it a tool.” Genetic material. A light flickered on in my head. “Useful,” I said. She hoofed the vial over to me. “Less so than you’d think. Who knows if it really works? And for that much trouble, might as well hire a real changeling. I sure hope that’s not your big offer.” I was quiet. More pieces of the puzzle had clicked into place, but for each question answered, three more took its place. Why was I involved here? And the bigger picture. Blueblood’s ugly mug floated to the fore. Something else was happening behind the scenes. I needed to know more, about what really mattered. But Paisley had given me the vial for a reason – she had given me the lead. I knew what door to knock on next. “I need your help,” I said. “Of course you do,” she said dryly. “But I’m not certain why I should bother. It has been a delight working through your personal crises, Mr. Slate, but what reason do I have not to just toss you back? Maybe the law will even spare me a favor for my trouble.” “Something big is in the works. You’ve got eyes and ears. You know it’s true. Probably much better than I do.” She peered over those glasses at me. “Perhaps.” “Maybe when it all comes to a boil, it’s duck soup for you, as the griffons say. But then again, maybe not. Someone’s behind this. A pony doesn’t go to all the trouble of flipping the board if they know they’ll still be losing when the pieces are set back up.” The smile had dropped from her face. But she was still listening. I pushed forward. “You’ve got a good thing here. Any kind of shake-up’s going to be bad for business. So say you wind me up and send me off. Worst case scenario, I get busted, light up the sky and things proceed as normal for you. But say I figure things out. Gum up the works for somepony else. Maybe that goes on the board in your column.” I took a breath and played my trump card. “And maybe I can find Pasley. Get her out of this.” Interest flickered in her eyes. “You really think you can do all that?” she asked. “You’re a wanted stallion and you think you can fix this all on your own? Clear Paisley, stop whatever’s coming down the pike?” “I don’t know,” I said. “But I figure I can break a few well-deserving teeth.” She was quiet for a long time. “You present an interesting proposition, Mr. Slate. You understand better than most just what position my daughter is in. She’s of enough import for there to be Royal interest. Even with the resources at hoof, I find myself unable to do much in relieving that situation favorably.” “Then help me save her.” “You really think you can?” I gritted my teeth. “No. But I’m going to damn well do my best.” “I shall hold you to that, then. But I will caution you: if you intend to drag me into your own downward spiral, you’ll find that a difficult task.” “Of course.” “So tell me. What is it that you need?” “Information. There’s a pony I’d like to talk to.” Tangled Weave provided me with a name, an address, and a firm push out the door. That was square with me. I didn’t want any more red in my ledger than absolutely necessary. And I didn’t concern myself with asking how to find her again. She would find me, probably sooner than I’d like. My jacket was singed ‘round the edges but I had paid well for something that’d hold up and it did just that. It was a shame to have to hock it to a bum two blocks over in exchange for a threadbare sweater and a derby that had seen better days. Both carried the smell of booze that had gone down rough and come back up rougher. I would be a sap to be caught anywhere near my old place, much as I’d have liked to go back to see if my hat made it through the commotion intact. The derby would do. I still felt better with something covering my horn. And most of all, I looked like a street stiff. Ponies in this town learn very early on never to make eye contact with a bum – look aside and step smartly on. I didn’t know how much heat was on me, but the fewer ponies giving me the curious eye the better. That’s why I stuck to side alleys on the way to the address I had been given. I fell into a shambling gait, dropping the starched-and-straight cop stride, and kept to the shadows. The trail led me to a Hightown intersection. Midday the streets were sparse. Most ponies were still punching the clock, overgrown ants in the hive of bland office buildings that stretched towards the sky. The only fixture on the street was a stallion hoofing out flyers for a pizza place three blocks over. I ambled over to him. He gave me a once over and didn’t approve of what he saw. “Beat it, pal.” “Pass me five bits and I’ll take over on that stack of papers,” I offered. He gave that more consideration. “Who’s to say you don’t take the money and vanish as soon as I turn the corner?” “Who’s to say you should care? You wouldn’t rather skip out for a drink?” That got a snort out of him. “What the hell. If you make it for three. They don’t pay me enough for this.” “They never do.” Ponies learn to avoid looking at anypony who wants a hoofout, alright. But they tend to be equally proficient at blowing off someone giving a hoofout. And somepony who could go either way? I might as well have had an invisibility spell strapped on. I only had to wait around half an hour before she strolled out of the the office building two doors down on my side of the street. She walked right past me without batting an eye. Raven was the name, if my information was to be trusted. And Tangled didn’t make mistakes. She was indisputably the pony I wanted, the bespectacled secretary from the offices the other day and Paisley’s number two at PHAIR. She had the muscled goon from downstairs with her. I decided to give them some space. Wasn’t sure that she’d be pleased to see me and I was in no mind to start a scene. The flyers went in the nearest bin and I tailed them from a block back. It wasn’t hard. They were oblivious. The unexpected part was I wasn’t the only pony interested. A pegasus skulked after them, coat a dusky crimson and uncovered cutie mark a stalk of ripening wheat. It was twice in as many days that I had seen the familiar face, but I still was in the dark on his motives.  Between staking out the offices and tailing their secretary, Red Harvest must have been on the clock for someone with some serious interest in PHAIR’s higher ups. I wondered if it was arrogant to worry that he had switched to shading them to rope me. I didn’t figure it worth finding out for sure. He knew what he was doing, but I kept my distance, and he was too focused on his marks to pick up on me. I took the lesson to heart and kept one eye on him and one eye open in case I had picked up a follower of my own. Paranoia is a healthy attitude in this sort of business. Our little parade wound its way through Hightown, heading further and further south until we reached some more familiar territory on the verge of Market District. When they stopped in front of a cafe I knew, Red went slack, pausing at a newsstand to peruse their wares. They had ended up at an unassuming place that I knew had a certain reputation, an establishment where the coffee was hot and the help knew when to stay away from a conversation. Raven was meeting someone. I pushed the lingering questions aside and took a post of my own loitering in the entrance to a shuttered store, eyes sharp. Eventually an earth pony showed up. Green on green, a patch of grass on his skinny flank, lacking that normal earth pony robustness. Not a pony I had ever seen before, and I labeled him ‘Weedy’ in my head as I watched him give a stilted nod as a greeting to Raven. They moved inside, and Red made no move to follow, content to stake out the place from the front. I didn’t have much of an option. I had to get in somehow, but I didn’t want to risk setting off Red. So I went back to an old trick, and stepped into an alley briefly to talk business with one of the ubiquitous streetponies. I told him I was playing a prank on an old buddy. I doubt he believed me, but his eyes lit up at the coin I flashed. A few minutes later, Red found his attention abruptly taken by a dirty pony looking for a few bits. The situation went south in a hurry, with my accomplice pulling off an unbalanced screaming meltdown that seemed uncomfortably genuine. Red bodily dragged him out of the main street, not thrilled at the spectacle, and I had my opportunity to step lively to the cafe. I knew it wouldn’t be long before the bum let something slip and Red would realize something was up, enough to make a better offer to spill the plan and my profile. That’d put me on his radar, if I wasn’t already, but it was worth it to get past him. If everything went as planned, I’d be out of there without him ever laying eye on me. Upon hitting the inside, I found that I was in luck – the waitress hanging out at the front was an old friend. I could tell from the cautious look she threw my way that she had heard about my current disagreements with the law, but she was nothing if not a professional. She’d keep her mouth shut. I slipped her a few bits in a familiar transaction that meant I was there for business and wanted to be left alone. She spirited them away and I had never been there in the first place. I could see my friends had grabbed a spot near the back. Raven was clever enough to take a seat that gave her a clear view of the entrance, but looked to be too wrapped up in her conversation to claim the benefit. I slipped into the adjoining booth, ears flicking. They were working in low whispers, but with only the seat behind me in the way, I could make out the highlights. Particularly since the gabbing quickly began to get a little steamed. “What do you want me to do? I told you. He’s gone rogue.” “Get him in line, Ms. Raven.” That voice had to be Weedy, a halting, nasally whine that didn’t do him any favors. “We allowed your plan to proceed because it aligned with our interests. But you didn’t follow through with your end of the bargain. There’s a problem here that you need to fix.” “I can’t fix this. The whole plan’s been shot.” “Then find a new plan. Or are you incapable of doing so? Do I need to talk with… someone higher up?” “No. No, of course not.” “We are on a very strict timetable.” “Don’t you try to bully me. I could bring all of this crashing down, you know? I know things! I could talk!” A silence grew. My ears swiveled, straining to pick up a response.. It finally came in a whisper. “That would be unwise. We assumed you could be trusted.” “I— I’m just saying. Tell her it’s fine. I’ll think of something. Tell her I need more time.” “Very well.” There was a soft noise as somepony stood up. “That’s it?” “Yes. Just a warning. Don’t disappoint us, Raven.” I kept my head down and the derby shadowing my eyes as Weedy moved past me and towards the front. I didn’t look up until I heard the jingle of the door’s bell. Raven and her muscular friend were still there. I could try and make a run at tailing their departing friend, but that’d be heading right into Red’s hooves. And this was probably the best opportunity I’d have at talking to the lady without any itching ears around.. I stood and trotted to their table. The heavy bristled immediately. Raven was preoccupied toying with her straw. “Someone here order a hayfries?” I said. “No. Go away, we didn’t—” Her eyes flicked up to me and she did a doubletake. “Why are you here?” “The sparkling conversation.” I motioned to the big guy. “Dust off, biceps. Me and the lady need to exchange words.” He growled at me. “He’s not going anywhere,” Raven snapped. I figured she needed a good reason to change her mind. My hoof dipped into a pocket and I flashed the vial of changeling juice at her. From the look of shock that flashed across her muzzle, it struck a nerve. She put her poker face back on. “Weights, take a walk around the block. I’ll call you if whatever.” He started to put up a fuss but from the look she stabbed him with, quickly thought better of it. He made sure to ‘accidentally’ slam his shoulder into me on the way out. I slid into the seat opposite Raven. “Where did you get that?” she hissed. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk about, actually. One Paisley Pastel.” “What about her?” “Yesterday. Paisley’s no changeling. The whole setup was fishier than Tuna Tuesday at the Beak & Talon. But you know that, don’t you? In fact, I bet you know exactly who was behind it all.” “Oh?” A smirk crossed her face. “Oh. I see where this is going. You’re going to accuse me of setting her up. She takes the fall, and there I’m free to move in and take her place.” “Nah, I had another name in mind.” She rolled her eyes. “Then tell me, Detective. Who framed Paisley Pastel?” I leaned back in my seat, smiling. “She framed herself.”