//------------------------------// // Chapter Three // Story: Cape and Cowl III: Showdown // by Artimae //------------------------------// 1 “He hates you, you know,” Pelleas said, glaring icily at Calias. He was trembling, and his chest hurt from the frequent vomiting that came with his body detoxifying itself. More than that, however, was his fury, impotent as it was. What I wouldn’t give to reach beyond these bars and wring your smug little neck, he thought. “He wants nothing more than to see you fail. To raise your hopes and crush them under his hoof. To make himself feel better.” “If that really is the case, he can join the queue,” Calias said, offering a halfhearted shrugged. “My old man told me he wanted me to succeed, but I know I’m not good enough, and so does he. He’s always known I wasn’t ready. Not yet. But at the very least I won’t end up a drug-addled wastel like you.” “Why don’tcha let me out of here?” Pelleas asked, pressing his face up against the bars. “I can help you. You could be so much better than a Guard.” “Yeah, because you’ve achieved so much,” Calias rolled his eyes. “If you’re out of here in less than ten years, you should consider yourself lucky.” “It won’t take that long,” Pelleas said with a menacing tone. “Once Abacus comes back, we’ll run this city. You can either be with us, or be dead.” “Abacus was hit with the same type of poisoned bolt that killed that poor mare,” Calias said coldly, turning away. “You won’t be seeing her again for a long, long time… though if you don’t straighten yourself out, it might not be all that long at all. That drug you’re on is killing you.” Pelleas blanched. “No… no, I don’t believe you,” he said, trying to remain calm. “You’re trying to confuse me. She’ll come back. I know she will.” “She’s dead. The sooner you accept that, the better. It’s not like you meant anything to her, anyway. You saw the way she treated you back there. You might as well have been dead, to her.” “Liar!” Pelleas snapped, showing his fangs in a snarl. “She won’t die! She can’t!” “She’s gone, whether you accept it or not,” Calias turned away with a shrug. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve wasted enough time with you.” Why were you even in here in the first place? Guess anything would be better than admitting to your superior officer that they scare the crap out of you… why did I have to be paired with a Fulake anyways? “You’re just like him! Smug! Arrogant! A filthy shitblood traitor to the Guard!” Calias simply stood there, unphased. “Nice,” he said, trying not to smile at the Fulake’s total lack of self awareness. “You know, I should thank you. For making me realize something.” “And what’s that?” “Flyntt deserves much better than you. I’ve decided I’m going to give it to him. I’m going to be everything he wished you were. I’d spit in your face, but that might get me discharged.” Calias walked away, holding his head high. Yes, he’d prove that his Lieutenant was a damned fine mentor. And he’d prove that he belonged here with the rest of the Guard. First thing’s first, he thought, stepping outside to meet up with Flyntt. “Sir? We still have a thief to track down.” 2 “Special delivery,” Deorsa said, pulling a small wagon behind him. Pick Pocket nodded with approval, opening one of the crates held in the wagon, reveling in the sweet aroma of the freshly-picked fruit. “Is it enough? I could possibly sneak another crate or two, if we need it.” Pick Pocket looked around, frowning. Technically the building they were in was abandoned - just a derelict shell of what was once some sort of business. He and his small group had converted it into a shelter for the poor, the lost, the vagabonds of Manehattan. It wasn’t exactly recognized as an official homeless shelter, but the Guard always seemed to turn a blind eye to the place. Around them both were a hoard of said vagabonds, left with nowhere to go other than the compassionate embrace of caring hooves. “Three crates should be plenty,” Pick Pocket said, making a quick mental count of those around him. Less than a hundred, which was good. The bad part is there’s still more out in the streets. “Maybe even enough for seconds.” “Alright, then. Mind lending me a hoof?” Deorsa asked, unlocking the other crates. “Of course.” Pick Pocket reached in, grabbing a pair of the freshest tangerines he could find. “Maybe tonight I’ll get her to eat,” he said grimly. “Good luck,” Deorsa said as Pick walked off into the crowd. Luna knows you’ll need it. * * * “Come on now, you gotta eat something,” Pick Pocket said, fighting to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “It’s been two days.” “No.” The mare covered herself with her ragged blanket, as if that would make him go away. “Maelstrom, please!” Pick Pocket sighed, shaking his head. “You’re acting like a little filly. Being stubborn isn’t helping anypony.” “I don’t deserve it,” Maelstrom said with a muffled voice. “Now that’s just silly. Everypony deserves to eat! If it makes you feel any better, she’s fine. I talked to her earlier.” There was a shifting from beneath the blanket. Maelstrom removed the cover from her face, and she looked up at Pick Pocket with puffy, bloodshot eyes. “You did…?” “Yes. I promise you she’s safe. And the Guard is doing everything possible to find the Oranges.” He placed a tentative hoof on her shoulder, smiling warmly. “None of it is your fault.” “Try telling that to someone who will actually believe it...” she muttered, facing away from him. “I know it’s hard for you to think back on, but you did what you needed to. You did them a-” “Did them what!?” Maelstrom yelled, “A ‘favor’!? Just shut up and save it!” Pick Pocket sighed. “Would you just eat already? I didn’t get these for nothing!” he chided. Maelstrom begrudgingly reached up, grabbing a tangerine. After a moment of silence, she spoke up. “Do you have any foals?” Pick Pocket blinked, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Mm, none that I know of. But it’s not impossible… I’ve been known to wake up next to a strange mare every now and then.” He gave a lighthearted chuckle, but Maelstrom simply stared at the piece of fruit in her hooves. “I looked my son straight in the eye when I told him that he and his sister were going to live with a new family. I told him they’d provide where I couldn’t - I wasn’t even able to afford myself, let alone children. I told him that they would give him and his sister both the lives they deserved. But most importantly, I told him the Oranges would keep them safe. I promised him… I promised them both...” There it is. “You and I both know what happened was a freak accident.” Pick Pocket remembered that night clearly. Not from any personal investment, but from how Maelstrom nearly became a raving lunatic. Nothing had seemed to work in calming her down. “But if I didn’t give them up-” She looked up at him, her eyes swimming, hoping for affirmation or possibly even answers. “Then they would be cold and starving on the streets with you,” Pick Pocket said matter-of-factly. “And they both might be dead… and possibly you with them.” Maelstrom did not respond, allowing a pregnant silence to permeate the air between them. “... Does she even know I exist?” Maelstrom asked finally, afraid of the answer that might come. Pick Pocket shook his head. Maelstrom responded by dropping her own head, seemingly content with staring at the floor. I could tell her, Pick Pocket thought bitterly as Maelstrom focused on peeling away the orange. Hunger had won out against stubbornness, and that was good. I can imagine it now- ‘Hey Snow Storm, guess what? I found your mom! No, not Mrs. Orange. Your real mom- the one who popped you out. The one who pretty much gave up everything so you could live comfortably. I bet you never once gave her a second thought, did you?’ Sweet Epona I wish Deorsa hadn’t gotten me involved in this. “... having a home.” “I’m sorry?” Pick Pocket shook his head, sending the thoughts away. It wouldn’t do any good to be bitter, even on Maelstrom’s behalf. And for all he knew, Snow Storm thought about her every single night. “I said, the smell, the feel, the taste…” Maelstrom popped an orange slice into her mouth, making a face of almost comical bliss as the piece of fruit exploded in her mouth. “It’s almost like I remember having a home.” Pick Pocket smiled. “I’m sure it is. Here, you can have mine. I have to go back out. I have work to do.” “Stay safe… I guess,” Maelstrom said as she took the offered fruit, almost putting a motherly tone with her words. Almost. “And you stay eating. When you meet your daughter, you’re going to need all the strength you can get.” He smirked. “She’s as bullheaded as you are.” Maelstrom chuckled weakly, and that was almost as good as her finally eating. She might be saved yet, Pick Pocket thought, giving her a hug before leaving. She just might. 3 Flyntt blinked, trotting to keep up with Calias. “Kid, not to make a bad pun, but the trail’s gone cold. How in Tartarus do you hope to find one bagsnatcher in a city full of ‘em?” “It’s the principle of it, Sir.” Calias smiled. “Besides, whether we find that particular thief or another, at least we’ll have solved one case. And right now, that’s more than what we’ve managed. If we can’t deal with the biggest criminals around, we should at least try to do something about the little guys.” Despite his optimism, it had been a fruitless night of searching. Bagsnatchers were common, though the description the elderly mare had given had stuck with him for some reason. And he attacked her, too… I can’t let that kind of cruelty go unpunished. “Well maybe if one of us wears a purse, he’ll show up?” Flyntt suggested humorously, winking at the cadet. “Hmm… it certainly wouldn’t hurt to head to the market out of uniform carrying a wallet in a clumsy way.” he considered, smiling slightly. “You just know somebody’s gonna try their luck out there. Better one arrested criminal than nothing to show for our efforts, right?” “Kid, I was joking.” Flyntt’s face grew serious. “I heard you and that waste of oxygen speaking. Why?” “...I guess I just wanted to know for sure whether it was your fault he became the way he is or not. Honestly, I was planning on asking for reassignment if I had felt you had let him down,” he replied with surprising bluntness. Flyntt winced, but he couldn’t blame the kid. Not in the slightest. “And what’s your verdict?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “He was never cut out to be a Guard in the first place. The only way in which you failed him was in not picking that up before he managed to get himself hurt. And really? From what I’ve seen, at the end of the day I think he was the only person he managed to hurt, contrary to what everyone says. I honestly don’t think locking him up for a few decades is the right thing to do. He’s clearly unbalanced.” “He’ll get help,” Flyntt said, trying not to sound too relieved at Calias’ judgement. “Once the Diamond Eyes are out of his system completely. It’s a hell of a drug, kid.” “So I’ve heard,” he shuddered hard at that before stopping in his tracks. “What’s the matter?” Flyntt asked, strolling up next to the kid. Calias peered down, squinting his eyes at the sidewalk. For all the good that’d do at night, Flyntt thought with amusement. “This is about where the dam was attacked, right?” Calias asked, moving his muzzle closer to the concrete. Flyntt looked around, nodding. “I’d say so, yeah. Why?” Calias sighed, sitting down for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s just a hair. I thought I could get on to something big. Unravel the thread and all that.” “Kid…” Flyntt shook his head, resting a hoof on Calias’ shoulder. The cadet looked back at Flyntt, fighting back the frustration he was feeling. “Look, I get it. This is something you need to do. You’re just dying to catch this guy. And trust me, we will.” “He could be around here,” Calias said, trying to sound observant and not desperate. “What if he likes to hang out around here? Wait for targets?” “It’s possible,” Flyntt admitted, rubbing his chin in thought. “But he might’ve moved on since then.” “I doubt it,” Calias said, feeling his ears twitch. “They taught us to look for patterns at the Academy. Who knows how many ponies he’s hit here? It could be a safe haven for him.” “Reasonable,” Flyntt said, understanding where the kid was coming from but not quite believing it himself. Sorry, Cal, but the real world doesn’t run on logic and patterns like that. If it did, we wouldn’t need any Guards. Calias continued his search, becoming increasingly more frustrated as his efforts bore no fruit. Damn it all! What am I going to have to do to catch this guy!? he thought, staring hard at the ground he had been walking on, hoping he had possibly overlooked something. After a good deal of time passed, Flyntt spoke up. “Look kid, I think you’ve done enough for one night. Searching the same area over and over and wishing something to pop up isn’t gonna make it happen,” Flyntt stated. “Just… give me a little longer,” Calias said, giving an irritated sigh. “How much longer is ‘longer’ going to be, Calias?” “I- I don’t know, alright!?” Calias barked, unappreciative of his superior’s impatience. “Easy, easy, I’m not trying to upset you,” Flyntt said. “You’re lucky I’m not a dick like some of the other officers and pull rank on you for that,” he stated firmly. “Let me ask you this- what are you hoping to find? What are you expecting to be here?” Flyntt questioned. Calias opened his mouth and sighed. “I… I’m not sure, sir. I guess I was hoping for something, anything that can lead us back to this guy,” Calias admitted. Flyntt then smirked. “If there’s one thing I’m happy about here cadet, it’s seeing that you refuse to give up, even when there may be nothing to find. You have the determination and the force of will to get this guy. You understand that justice will not have been served until this guy is found and brought in. As long as you maintain that drive and keep it focused on what’s right and not what’s easy, sooner or later we’re gonna get him, and then we’ll be able to bring him to justice,” Flyntt said, placing a hoof on the cadet’s shoulder. “Yeah… thank you, sir,” Calias said, feeling a little more positive. “Don’t worry about it, kid. What kind of a superior officer would I be if I did nothing but misguide you? We’ve got enough officers that don’t know what they’re doing, the last thing we need is one more,” Flyntt said sardonically. “Also… how about I make you a deal, kid?” Flyntt added, getting a glint in his eye. “A deal, sir?” “We tell the Wings what this guy looks like… and maybe slip a note to the Weather Ponies while we’re at it. Where better to look from than the skies?” Calias’ eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly. “That… that’s brilliant! They get a better view of the city than anypony else, not to mention their airspace is unrestricted so they can go just about anywhere! With the Weather Ponies on our side, there’ll be nowhere for this guy to hide!” “I have to admit, we’ll be taking a pretty big shot in the dark with this. I mean, the Wings have been scouting for the Red Hoof’s base for ten years. How good can those pigeons really be?” “Well, you never know, we may find that thread after all, sir. It never hurts to have a bunch of sets of eyes all looking for the same thing, right?” Calias reasoned. Flyntt smirked. “Fair point. And now could we please get back to our route? Walking keeps me warm… and I’m fairly certain the Headless Horse is in our path. I could use a drink.” “Sure thing, sir,” Calias said, following his superior back towards their scheduled route. 4 Pick Pocket sighed deeply, wondering yet again just how he had let Deorsa talk him into this jumbled mess. The two had been friends for years - even before the Fulake had found a respectable job plucking fruits from trees. Pick, meanwhile, had stayed a phantom on the streets, doing what he could to survive and build up his own little network of spies. Maybe it wasn’t as impressive as the Red Hoof’s vast web of connections, but it served its purpose. He didn’t care what that overblown mobster said - Pick Pocket was the true king of the streets. Unfortunately for him, Deorsa had a heart big enough that he seemed to have given Pick more than a fair chunk. The ponies living on the streets caused him more grief than he cared to admit. It was a young colt begging for scraps that finally made him do something about it. The worst part was that it actually felt good. He wasn’t quite up to the level of full-blown soup kitchen just yet, but he made do with abandoned buildings and whatever food they could scrounge up. * * * “I need your help,” Deorsa had said, pulling Pick Pocket aside one night. The Fulake was almost always stoic, and the emotion in his face was enough to convince Pick that it was serious. “I need your connections.” “It’s about the Orange family, isn’t it?” Deorsa nodded. “The Red Hoof has them. I know it.” Pick Pocket had shrugged at that point. “Then tell the Guard. I’m sure they’ll-” “No! They probably already know anyway. No, I need your help, friend. You can go where they can’t. You can even go where she can’t.” “‘She’? You mean the Mare do Well, don’t you? What does she have to do with all of this?” “She…” The image of Deorsa’s face rose up in Pick’s mind. Eyes clenched, lips thin and trembling. It was as if he had been struggling between betraying her secret and the need for an outsider to join in this mad hunt. “She’s their adopted daughter.” Pick Pocket had blinked then, trying to rationalize several different ways to get out of what Deorsa was asking. I barely know the Oranges. I don’t know their kid at all. I will not go against the Red Hoof. I won’t help him, but I won’t hurt him either. He doesn’t even know I exist, and I intend to keep it that way. “Please, you’re the only one who I can rely on for this!” “How can you be so sure you know where they are?” “I have a hunch that-” “Look, I’m not gonna risk my hide by picking a fight with the Red Hoof based on a ‘hunch’! Unless you can give me proof or make the deal sweet enough for me to overlook it, I ain’t interested.” “I’m asking as a friend. I never ask for anything. You know this.” “You may not ever ask for anything, but the one time you do, you’re basically asking me to risk my life! Do you know what the Hoof’ll do to me if I get involved in his business?” “... I can get us food. Enough food to keep everypony happy and healthy.” Any other argument was instantly quelled. Pick looked at his friend curiously. “How much are we talking, here?” “Three crates. A week. Two normals and one Nightfruit. Luna knows even my own kind roam the streets, too.” * * * Pick silently slipped through the crowded side-streets, heading toward his destination. He kept his head low, his hoodie pulled over his head as to not alert any pony that may recognize him to his presence. The offer Deorsa had made was too good to pass up. But it wasn’t just the food, was it, Pick? You went soft, too. Soft for that mare. Yes. Maelstrom. He had gone soft for her. Definitely not love, but some sort of pity. Even in a group of miserable outcasts, she looked more miserable than all of them combined. When they had first met, some months ago, she was in so deep a depression that Pick was sure nothing would pull her out. Deorsa had been the first one to really cast any sort of lifeline her way. * * * “I… I know that mare,” he had said, nudging Pick hard in the ribs and pointing to the emaciated white mare. “Watch it, bud,” Pick retorted lightheartedly, rubbing his chest. “She some old marefriend?” “No. Excuse me.” He then quickly made his way up to her. The weary, broken mare looked up at him, her eyes widening. “Maelstrom?” “...Deorsa…?” It was then the mare leapt into his forelegs, sobbing to the point of being inconsolable. They talked for what seemed like innumerable hours. She cried through all of it. Hell, Pick had thought, she looks like she’s been crying her whole life. It was in that moment that he began to feel the first stirrings of pity. Nopony deserved to go through whatever it was she had. He could only imagine the type of hell she had experienced to put her in that state, a thought he quickly forced from his mind. “Well? Who is she?” Moments later, the greatest cosmic joke came crashing down all around Pick Pocket’s ears. The sheer impossibility of it nearly made his own brain click off for good. Deorsa had looked up at him then. “She’s Snow Storm’s mother. Her real one.” * * * Pick sighed. He remembered the sorrowful expression on Deorsa’s face. These ponies obviously meant something to him, and Pick himself wasn’t heartless. He felt that as long as Deorsa kept up his side of the bargain, he wouldn’t have too much of an issue with it- that is, until he found himself actively seeking out the Red Hoof. I swear if this gets me killed I’m gonna haunt that old fart until he dies, and then once he’s there I’ll kick his ass! Pick grumbled internally as he made a left, silently slipping into an alley. “Psst!” The noise came from one of the many interconnecting sides of the alley. “You there.” Here goes… Pick thought. “You the guy?” he said, keeping his voice low. “Maybe.” He sniffed and spat onto the ground. “You seem to fit the description of somepony who’s been asking an awful lot of questions lately. Questions to very important someponies.” “I’ve only been asking questions to get you guys’ attention... I want in,” Pick said. If these guys buy this… “That so?” The stallion nodded at one of his companions, who had silently moved to Pick’s flank. “Whatcha think? He a filthy Guard? You’re good at sniffing them out.” “Bud, the only thing on me that smells like a Guard, is this sack of bits I lifted off of one,” Pick said smugly, holding up a small satchel of bits. “Ain’t no Guard,” the one to Pick’s left said. “Good, yeah, that’s good. Just a filthy street rat looking to join the big boys, huh?” “I don’t wanna be just anypony, I wanna be somepony, and in this town, the only way to do it is if you work for the Hoof,” Pick said, lying through his teeth. What goons, they’re eating it up! “You may got a point there.” The stallion sneered. “Tell you what: gimme that sack of bits and maybe I’ll talk to the big guy about you. Fair?” “I can do you one better,” Pick said. “Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, disappearing around a corner. He sighed heavily. I’m not doing this ‘cause I want to! I’m doing it to prove a point! he thought, eyeing the crowd for potential targets. Approximately ten minutes later, Pick reappeared. He emptied out the contents of his hoodie, revealing he had stolen three wallets, a hoof bracelet, an engagement earring and another bag of bits. “That good enough for ya?” “Heheh, not bad,” the stallion admitted, rummaging through the stuff. “But the Big Guy needs a little more than a snatcher. He needs a pony with guts - especially now. You got guts?” “Do I got guts? I stole from a Royal Guardscolt, that doesn’t just take guts- it takes nuts pal,” Pick said with a small scowl. The stallion laughed. “I like that! What the hay, I even like you. I just got one last question. I just gotta be sure of one little thing. You understand.” “Name it,” Pick said. “How much do you hate the Mare do Well?” Pick froze. He had to choose his words carefully, or risk blowing the whole thing. Of all questions… “The Mare do Well?” Pick asked, a false smile creeping across his face. “That’s easy…” “Yeah?” the stallion said, raising an eyebrow. Pick then turned to face him. “I want her dead.”