//------------------------------// // Chapter 11: I Don't Kill Ponies // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers // by scifipony //------------------------------// It felt like one of those dreams where you become aware that you were dreaming and you feel like you've woken up. You get to make choices, talk, do things but realize you can't move and you have no control, and realize that you've woken up in another dream, the worst kind of dream, where the routine becomes nightmarish and your life depends on the outcome. Mine was based on fire and broken things, and my heart beat rapidly in my chest, and my throat felt scorched like after running a race. And real. Because, it was real. I awoke finding myself mid-leap between wooden crates and cloth-covered sofas. In that frozen second, I found myself triggering a full prep spell (not a quick draw). Trapped between metal shelves stocked with boxes, stood a wide-eyed mauve unicorn with a white blaze to match the white center streak of his violet mane. My victim was trapped, targeted, and had no place to run or dodge. He was casting no defense spell. The sleepwalker's force spell triggered. I had woken myself in time to witness an act of murder, or— Sunset Shimmer still hadn't taught me how to cancel, so I twisted, starting with a hard jerk of my neck that would transmit through my body. The green bolt shaved off the tip of his left ear and burnt off locks of his mane as it continued upward, shearing through shelving, setting boxes on fire, and finally scoring and blackening a plastered ceiling, not ending before it sliced a water pipe that managed to spray the stallion and the wreckage, but totally missed the boxes I'd set alight. I found myself screaming, "No!", as I began rolling and yawing through the air, spine forward, toward shadowed obstacles, none of which were likely soft. There were many ways to cripple oneself in a fight. Spell backfire was only one. I did have some quick draw spells lined up. I instinctively knew better than to teleport when I didn't know my position, velocity, or orientation in space. I triggered force with as much of a Barthemule omega transform I could apply to it. Paradoxically, I found myself already in an expanding sphere of green, forced to complete the calculation using the transform as I collided with an end-table and a crate, one full of horseshoes from the clatter it made as it was shoved aside. As I hit the floor, the barrier proved rather too elastic and since the end table was shoved against an immovable wooden bench, it still struck my rump, bruisingly. Worse, the rebound sent me spinning off like a billiard ball toward a high stack of crates. Once again, the spell conformed itself, sliding like a deflated ball on the actual floor rather than keeping me centered in a sphere. Fur rubbed off as I collided, rear hooves forword, into the crates, which not unexpectedly proceeded to fall over since I'd shoved the bottom one rather hard. A searing pain shot through my right rear leg from the knee, the leg I'd sprained earlier thanks to my reaction to Streak's dive-bomb landing. This time, something tore, and I felt it happen. As the boxes toppled, I had sufficient presence of mind to scrabble away. On impact, the fading spell squirted me a foot clear, but I still got pelted by splintered wood and a coffee mug. "Ow, ow, ow!" I heard myself crying as the sound of bouncing earthenware shards came to an end. I heard the sssish of streaming water and the smell of smoke drifting together with the dust my crash had lofted in the air. The warehouse in which we fought became otherwise deadly quiet. Fellows spoke up. "You had me square on, chap. Why did you intentionally miss the shot?" It sounded like a taunt, but I knew he was ranging—trying to discover my location, whether it was safe to run. The tactic worked both ways, and it did tell me it was safe enough for me to lever myself up on three legs and prepare to defend myself. I wobbled like an arthritic grandmother and was sweating. Was I bleeding or burnt? Who knew what had happened when I was sleepwalking! A quick glance uncovered no blood. I felt beat up and horribly exhausted. I saw tumbled-over furniture, exploded cartons, and scorches in every direction. How long had we been fighting? I'd run out of strength once in Baltimare and had barely escaped with my life. Also, 232 Canton was on a street packed tightly with brick two-story walkups, essentially what in a better neighborhood might be called toy townhouses. Warehouses lay at least three blocks further uptown. Worse, did I track him here, chase him here, or get chased here? I shouted in the opposite direction from which I'd heard his voice, hoping the sound reflection would throw off his sense of my direction. "I don't kill ponies." The moment that finished coming out of my mouth, I couldn't believe I'd said it. Grimoire wouldn't have. My side began to stiffen as the bruising set in. I added, more because I was tired than anything else, "And I don't like to hurt ponies, either." That got a response. "Lady Grimoire is it?" Celestia on Rollerskates! I'd forgotten the Grimoire voice, and now my head began to spin, too. He had moved, but not far because I heard a splashing sound. I hazarded a glance around a teakwood breakfront, and through glass saw water levitate from the cleft pipe to extinguish the burning boxes. At the sound of a sudden crimp, I ducked. The spraying water stopped. An average unicorn could not levitate flowing water. His levitation magic was also strong enough to crimp a copper pipe. I prepared a stun spell. I had to put him down quickly and get away before I became unable to function. I nevertheless lowered my voice. "I'm here to scare you into leaving Canterlot. Did I do that?" "You are scary, but that isn't what you said after you ambushed me." "What did I say?" I asked. That made him pause. I took the moment to examine my surroundings and to hobble, and I mean painfully hobble, out of a position I could easily be cornered in. I felt my ears swiveling as I tried to hear if he moved, and thanked myself for taking the time to properly ensure my horseshoes would help me move silently. I could now see three spots, one he had vacated between the aisle of shelves, another in a castle of stacked sofas, and another atop a catwalk that I could teleport to. I prepared quick draw transforms for all of them. The upper level of the warehouse, behind me, had dirty windows that I now realized admitted the orangey light of dawn. Being up over 24 hours accounted for my being tired. He said, "For starters—" He'd moved. I crouched reflexively, putting down my lame leg. I saw stars and nearly fell over, but I kept my spells. I kept my spells because I'd burnt the need into my brain, like breathing. Keeping your spells could save your life. "For starters, you said you were going to rip me limb from limb and roast me on a pyre to discourage nosey ponies from putting their muzzle where it didn't belong." "Huh? Really?" "Indeed." He'd come to my north, judging by the windows. I teleported to the sofa area for better cover, then replied. "That's a good one. I'm going to have to write that one down." From my new vantage point in a bunker of sofas, some yellow, some brown, all corduroy, I still couldn't see exits. The windows didn't show a neighboring roof line. I couldn't just teleport blindly to the opposite side of the wall. I might teleport below ground level or three-stories up, or there might be traffic I'd strike, or another building with walls I might materialize within. Sleepwalking Grimoire might have known where she was, but I'd lost that information. "The way you delivered the threat certainly convinced me to believe what you said." "I've had practice." "I've read reports of Grimoire the Enforcer, but not any murders connected to him. Perhaps you're good at that so we haven't—?" "—I don't kill ponies. My boss—" "—Running Mead?" "Are you a constable?" "So you don't kill ponies. You could have fooled me, considering how you blasted down my door and chased me around town all night. I will concede that nopony got hurt—" "That proves it." "You're acting like a foal— Wait, you're barely a mare, aren't you?" I checked my voice; still at the proper register. "You are a constable." "Detective Fellows, and logically, Lady Grimoire, you should surrender. By now, I'm sure last night's mayhem has been traced here. At the very least, when the Sofa and Quill opens up and workers enter the factory floor, they will call for help." He teleported where I'd crashed into the tower of crates. An instant later, I teleported into the shelving area, splashing down in puddles of water mixed with burnt shredded cardboard. A second teleport sent me against the wall, behind the end of the shelves. If he could teleport, that raised his magic level even higher. So. I was at the Sofa and Quill on Chestnut near Elm. I'd slept in an alley off of Elm, about a block away, across from Blueblood park where I had grazed at night due to lack of money. The warehouse and factory outlet was at the edge of Cliffside, and I was sure that meant I was on ground level. It also meant I might find quills. As the first light of dawn streamed in above, I looked up up up and across the aisle to find boxes decorated with swirled letters. It contained cut, calligraphy nib quills, which I levitated under my cloak into my saddlebags. He saw my magic. It was complete luck that I realized he'd chucked a dozen broken chowder mugs (from the crate that had nearly crashed on my head). I caught the shadows whizzing down at me and reflexively triggered a teleport. I landed squarely on the crane catwalk, nary a clank on the metal lattice to announce my appearance. However, I'd caught a whizzing earthenware shard in my magic. It cut across my back at my withers, slit the fabric of the cloak, drawing blood and a gasp. I cast Don't See Don't Hear Don't Look and let all the rest of my spell prep dissipate so that I could hold the spell steadily. The shard that had drawn blood clattered against the body of the crane hook, bounced and hit the metal siding of the far wall, then ricocheted a pony-length into a china cabinet, shattering the glass in front and the mirror in the back. As glass tinkled to the ground, Fellows moved. I could see him positioned to peer down the row of shelves my sleepwalking-self had cornered him in. He jerked and looked a number of aisles beyond my position, but not up. He did not look up, even though the suspended walkway swayed, and to my dismay, squeaked ever-so-slightly. It was difficult to balance on three legs. My spell held. I saw the harshly lit, steeply inclined shed roof of a building on the opposite side of Chestnut Street. I could teleport there, but would I be able to do a second before sliding to my death? No good. I stood essentially in the middle of a long warehouse. I saw a steel fire door exit equidistant on either end, neither open. I might be able to aim a teleport into a pony-sized square implied by the sweep of the door, but at this distance, I might miss, or misjudge the thickness of the door. Could Fellows cast Force? He'd thrown things instead of blasting me. Certainly, he could stun—a third spell average ponies often learned, after Light and Levitate, was Stun, if they needed a self-defense skill. The candystripe-maned stallion picked his way silently around the furniture, entering my abandoned bunker of corduroy sofas. He wasn't coming close enough to my vantage point that I could hit him with a full strength stun bolt, and I wasn't going to use a force spell, not now. If he wanted to hurt me, he would throw things. I carefully reached around and shoved my face into my saddlebag to retrieve a mouthful of quills, avoiding the feather part because the last thing I needed was for them to make me sneeze. I waited until he had passed under the catwalk, taking my time to select where I would make my last stand. My magic was indeed weakening, and I was going to have to charge him if I were to stun him. I decided that the stacks of wooden chairs next to a dozen mattresses set on their edge would work best. I dropped the quills over the side, hoping that he wouldn't see the fluttering things in his peripheral vision. I immediately let go of my spell. Visible again, I quickly queued a teleport spell and levitation. The stallion and my falling feather quills gave me the five seconds I needed. I caught the feathers as they settled on the furniture and, like arrows, shot them at the unsuspecting detective. Unlike last time, to see the aura around my horn he'd have needed to look up, and I had let the quills fall below eye-level just to assure he wouldn't look up. Calligraphy nibs are blunt. These hit their mark before he could even flinch, and caused him to jump into the air with a loud whinny, then roll away as if avoiding bees. He bucked over a dresser. I teleported to my hidey-hole, knowing for a moment he'd be completely distracted and might not even figure out where I'd appeared. And I appeared on target, a thick wall of mattresses between him and me. I quickly levitated more quills across the floor to a decoy location—and sat down as I needed a rest, rolling on to my left haunch. It hurt. I leaned into a mattress with my shoulder and left a smear of blood. I heard him knock over something that gave a loud wooden crack when it fell, then silence. I knew the mattress would muffle my voice toward him, and make it appear as if I were elsewhere. I said, "Surely by now Detective Fellows, if that's your name, I have sufficiently frightened you so that we may agree I've done my job, and that you've done your job. Certainly, you know your cover is blown. Can we call it a day and go our respective ways?" "But, Lady Grimoire, I so wanted to meet you." I chuckled. Back in Grin Having, before I ran away, adults referred to me by that title and it was hollow, hollow—hollow now that my soulmate had abandoned me to realize the life-wreaking reality of his cutie mark. The fact of the matter was that nopony wanted to meet the real me, not even myself. Though he tried to move quietly, I felt my ears move as I caught Fellows' hoof beats echoing off the walls to either side of the mattress. I could not have picked a better hunting blind. Time to do a course correction. I levitated more quills and flung them in the direction I suspected he was, from where I wanted him to think I was. I was rewarded with a "Yow!" and a swear word I'd yet to learn. It sounded like one, anyway. I also heard something heavy fall and clatter metallically. He'd been levitating missiles just as I suspected. Speaking so the echo would convince him of my decoy position, I said, "It's a game. I put on a show—" "A show? Really? Do you not remember chasing me all over Canterlot, stunning a constable—" "Stunning, Fellows, stunning. And no, believe it or not, I don't remember. Whether you believe it or not, I put on an act. I break a few things, scare a few ponies into fulfilling their commitments. I get bits. I move on. I refuse to sell product—drugs—and I don't want to know where or how the boss carries on his business. So, can we call it quits?" I realized I'd let the Grimoire voice slip. With the pain I was feeling, and a bead of blood running down my right leg from my shoulder, I didn't care, either. "I can't do that, Lady. I will tell the judge that you didn't shoot when you could have. That'll be in your favor." Wait for it... He was nearly in position. I queued a teleport, a force spell with a Barthemule transform, a stun spell, and finally a levitation spell that didn't need to be at all accurate. On top of everything else, a searing pain shot from between my eyes to the top of my skull as I pushed myself to my limits. The numbers whirled like paper-on-fire caught in a tornado. I was unsure if the blur was me having trouble staying conscious or the strain of the quick draw calculations trying to make my horn explode. Wait for it... I used the levitation spell to shove furniture, and a chair jerked a lot closer than I would have hoped. No matter. I triggered the teleport. Of all the rotten luck! I appeared desk-level three pony lengths from the mauve stallion's right shoulder, catching him winding up to throw an assortment of pot metal horseshoe coasters and stock pots. I fell, and despite bending my knees in time, I only had three that were good. The fourth spiked me with pain that took my breath away; I collapsed in a quarter-turn corkscrew. Fellows shook his head and with barely a smile—what might be described as a satisfied workpony's expression—rounded the ten hovering objects around his head and threw them toward mine. He did not trust me not to try to kill him, I guess, and felt justified using deadly force. I was no ordinary unicorn. Only the shock of pain delayed me from triggering the rest of my quick draw queue. The omega transform went smoother than ever. The force spell triggered even before I was about to want to do so. The expanding green bubble moved at the speed of a trot, intercepting the pots and paper weights barely half-way to their target, flinging them upward arcing overhead to hit the wall behind. The bubble hit the mattresses behind me, knocking them down like dominoes. It swept up chairs, sofas, and a few left over quills. Before me, it caught Fellows, stunned by the sight of my spell, like the cow catcher on a locomotive. He toppled toward me, then bounced off the rubbery surface like a plastic horse doll. He landed, rather adorably I might add, hooves up on a white and paisley red sofa with mahogany trim, his best parts visible for all to see. Simultaneously with the spell bubble popping, I cast a single Stun at him. The blue-white lightning zapped him in the chest and surrounded him in a brief electrical glow, snapping and crackling, leaving the smell of an imminent thunderstorm in its wake. A mini-thunder crack echoed across the warehouse. I checked that my cloak was properly in place, then grunted, shaking as I got up. I half-staggered toward him, limping badly with an iron taste in my mouth. I was bleeding from my lip because of how I'd just fallen. To him, Lady Grimoire had to look particularly grim. I looked into his magenta eyes. He blinked. Just because he jerked and wasn't able to move, didn't mean he couldn't hear or wouldn't understand. I said, "I said I don't kill ponies, and I meant it. Hopefully, you'll take the hint and leave the Lower alone. The one thing I do know is that my boss has other enforcers. I'm just the most economically efficient one. You seem like a nice pony, mostly. Let's not meet again." With that, I limped toward the closest fire door. I felt like I might keel over any moment, and might be sick on top of it from what the pain was doing to my stomach. Nonetheless, I prepared a stun spell and a teleport. Good thing, too.