//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Twilight Holmes: The Mystery of Basil Bones // by bats //------------------------------// “Why isn’t Rarity home?” Twilight whined, thumping her hooves on the door of Carousel Boutique. She grimaced and sunk to her haunches. Her friend’s home looked normal and inviting at her approach, but after knocking three times she noticed the curtains were drawn. Either Rarity had somepony in a back room to take measurements or she wasn’t there, and after knocking another six times the latter seemed more likely. Twilight groaned and thumped her head against the door. “Darn it, where’d she go?” “Canterlot,” Sweetie Belle chimed. Twilight eeped and whipped around, finding Sweetie standing directly behind her. Sweetie grinned. Twilight cleared her throat and shook her head. “Oh, Sweetie Belle. You surprised me.” “Oops. So why’re you looking for Rarity?” Twilight cleared her throat again. “I wanted to ask her advice about … some things. Doesn’t matter, if she’s in Canterlot …” “Yeah,” Sweetie Belle sighed. “She was supposed to show me how to make doll patterns today. She said she’d be back tomorrow, though. Something about really cool fabric in Canterlot she had to get.” Twilight smiled. “Sounds like Rarity. Well, thank you for telling me, Sweetie.” She looked over her shoulder at the boutique and folded her ears flat. “I guess I have to wait for tomorrow, too.” “You’re welcome! Now, if only I can find—” “Make way!” Scootaloo shouted. Sweetie and Twilight looked up the hill to see Scootaloo in her scooter, pulling a cart with Apple Bloom riding inside. Or maybe the cart was pulling Scootaloo. It teetered back and forth behind the scooter with violent swings, dragging the two of them all over the grass. Twilight’s eyes widened and she pressed herself up against Rarity’s door. Sweetie let out a yipe and dove next to Twilight. Scootaloo slammed her hooves into the path and grit her teeth, grinding the scooter to a halt. The cart disagreed, swung a wide arc a bare inch from Twilight’s chest, and flipped over. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom spilled out on the ground as the cart and scooter went end over end past Rarity’s house and hitched up against a tree. Twilight let out a long breath, feeling her heartbeat in her ears. “Are you girls okay?” Apple Bloom sat up and shook sense back into her head. “I’m all right.” “Oof,” Scootaloo groaned. She pulled herself up. “That … was awesome.” Apple Bloom shot her a glare. “You’re nuttier’n a fruitcake.” “Duh. That’s why all the stuff I do is so cool.” Twilight smirked and rubbed her forehead. “I’m glad nopony’s hurt.” Sweetie stepped away from the safety of the wall and nuzzled Scootaloo’s cheek. “Why were you pulling it? I thought for sure you and AB would walk it over.” Scootaloo stepped out of the nuzzle and swept a hoof through her mane. “Walking’s boring.” She cleared her throat and shot Twilight a sidelong glance, then darted to the spilled cart. “I didn’t know it’d ride like that though. It was only missing one little wheel.” Twilight raised a brow. The red wagon, which Twilight suspected had seen better days back in Applejack’s youth, lay up with both axles off the ground. Three wheels still spun in the air, but the fourth spot sat empty. She rubbed her eye and shook her head. Sweetie scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re crazy.” She turned to Apple Bloom. “And you’re extra crazy for riding in that thing.” Apple Bloom opened her mouth and pointed a hoof at Sweetie, paused, then bowed her head. “Yeah, I got nothin’. The thing was rollin’ okay when I pulled it, didn’t think it’d be that bad.” She stood up and dusted herself off. “I ain’t gonna do that again, no way. So’d ya find it?” Sweetie shook her head. “I haven’t really looked yet. I was talking to Twilight. Plus I wasn’t expecting you to get here for a few minutes since sane ponies would walk over.” She looked over her shoulder at Scootaloo as she stressed ‘sane,’ then turned back towards Rarity’s house. “I don’t think it’s outside, though. Unless—Twilight, you didn’t see a wheel anywhere, did you?” Twilight shook her head, then stepped back from the door. “Not that I noticed. I take it you lost one somewhere?” Scootaloo brought her scooter back to standing and dragged the cart upright. “Yeah. It’s really weird. It had all four the other day when we left it at the treehouse, but today one was just gone.” Apple Bloom huffed. “A danged wheel don’t up and run away, it must’ve fallen off somewhere ‘n we didn’t notice.” “I would notice,” Scootaloo grumbled. “We looked all over the treehouse,” Sweetie said, “but we didn’t find anything.” Scootaloo giggled. “Oh, come on, we found lots of stuff.” Apple Bloom gave her a flat look, then turned it on Sweetie Belle. “Y’all need to pick up after yourselves better.” “We didn’t find anything that was a wheel for the wagon.” Sweetie rubbed her chin in thought. “I bet it’s somewhere in Scoots’ yard.” “Why my yard?” “Because nopony ever cuts your grass.” “Hey! I do! Sometimes …” Apple Bloom sniggered. “Might find a whole lost treasure in there.” Scootaloo grumbled and scuffed her hooves on the path. “Well, we’re here already, might as well check first. Maybe Rarity found it somewhere and put it away.” She turned towards the door. “I mean … if we’re not getting in your way, Twilight.” Twilight chuckled and shook her head. “I was look—” “She was looking for my sister for advice,” Sweetie cut in, “but Rarity’s in Canterlot.” “Ooh, what kind of advice? Can we help?” Scootaloo grinned at Twilight. Twilight folded her ears flat. “I wonder if we can get cutie marks helping ponies somehow.” Apple Bloom frowned. “Helpin’ ponies? Like, with an advice column or somethin’? That sounds boring.” Sweetie shrugged. “Maybe we’d be good at it. It’s worth trying.” She grinned expectantly at Twilight. Apple Bloom shrugged and joined in with her own smile. Twilight swallowed the lump in her throat as she was stared down by the three fillies. “Uh … That … that’s okay, girls. I wouldn’t want to keep you from looking for that wheel.” She forced a grin to match them. “Wheel, shmeel,” Scootaloo said. “We’ll find it around here somewhere, it can wait. So what’s up?” Sweetie nodded. “Yeah, from the way you were knocking it looked like it was really important.” Twilight clenched her jaw and looked out the corner of her vision for a way out. A flash of green on the top of the hill hit her with a wave of relief for a split second, but when she turned to look her stomach sank. “Oh no, not now,” she muttered. Basil Bones strode confidently down the path, over the grooves of sod torn up by the runaway wagon, making his way towards town. He had his pipe out in front of his face, suspended in magic, and tamped down the bowl as he walked. The three fillies swiveled to follow Twilight’s gaze. Scoots bounced in place. “Oh, wow, that’s that Basil Bones guy, isn’t it? Maybe he can help us find—” Twilight grit her teeth and opened her mouth to interrupt, but Basil stopped to regard the group, pipe back in mouth. “A precocious group of young mares are in need of my service, I see.” A spark flashed and a curl of smoke rose from the pipe bowl. “What trifle plagues you—wait, don’t tell me.” Basil slid over to the scooter and wagon, and the three followed. Twilight felt a mixture of relief and annoyance. “This is just what today needed.” She lifted a hoof, ready to take advantage of the exit that had opened up, but held still and frowned. She sat down again and watched Basil closely. “What is your game?” she muttered. Rainbow Dash darted from one cloud to another, paused, and craned her neck to scan the ground. She grumbled to herself over how crowded Ponyville could be, but through the sea of ponies she couldn’t see much purple. She flew to the next bit of cover and hopped her way around the outskirts of town. With one last burst of speed she plowed across an open stretch of sky and clattered onto the balcony. She cast a look down at the road, let out a sigh, and sat on her haunches with a satisfied smirk. Any other day, Golden Oaks Library would be the worst place to try and avoid Twilight Sparkle. She congratulated herself for being so amazingly clever, popped open the door, and sauntered into Twilight’s bedroom. It was the perfect plan, and she could get a nap in, too. She flew up to the loft and pumped a hoof. “Aw, yeah!” Spike called out in surprise, flinging comics everywhere, and tumbled out of his basket. “I’m working, I swear!” Rainbow grit her teeth and rubbed her forehead. “Right. Spike’s here,” she muttered to herself, then raised her voice. “It’s just me, Spike, you can go back to slacking.” Spike looked up from stuffing comics under his blanket—what she could see of the covers looked like some of Crank Thriller’s more violent titles—and gave her a guilty smile. “Oh, Rainbow Dash. I thought you were … right.” He cleared his throat. “I was … getting to the laundry.” He yanked his blanket free and scattered the floor again. “Relax, dude, I’m not checking on you.” She ran a hoof through her mane and scanned the room, looking for something to catch her eye. “I just came here to … um …” Spike let the blanket fall to the floor as she grasped at straws. “… Are you avoiding Twilight?” “What? No! I just …” She laid her ears flat. The darn room was too clean and organized for anything to come to mind aside from reading, which didn’t sound like it would fly. Her eyes widened and she hid a smirk. “Basil Bones! Twi said that Basil’s all famous and stuff, and there’re a ton of newspaper articles about him. Libraries have old newspapers, right?” “Well yeah, we got a big archive of ‘em in the basement.” Spike rubbed his chin and drew his brows together. “Twilight send you to look for something in particular?” “No. I thought of it on my own. Because …” She shifted weight from one hoof to another. “Because, like, this guy’s supposed to be awesome at figuring stuff out, and then when we meet him, he sucks. That’s weird, right? So, like, maybe looking at stuff about him in a newspaper might help us figure out what’s going on.” As she said it, it sounded like a really good idea. She straightened up and smiled at her own cleverness. Spike shrugged. “Maybe. If you think it’s worth a shot, I can help you find a few.” He walked to the stairs and waited for Rainbow. “Thanks, Spike. I’ll help you get the laundry together after.” She followed him downstairs, to the bottom loft, but he stopped and groaned. “What?” “I wasn’t thinking. The newspapers are all organized by dates, and I dunno what we’d be looking for. Do you know the last time he did anything?” “I didn’t know who he was until this morning.” Spike tapped his chin and grimaced. “We could probably find something, but it might take a while. Like, a long while. There are a lot of newspapers, and we don’t have those fancy magical projector rolls that the Canterlot library has, we’ve just got boxes full of folded up paper.” Rainbow’s ears fell and she sighed. “Dang. That sounds … super boring. Nevermind, I guess, I don’t wanna spend all day digging through moldy old boxes.” “They’re not moldy. More dusty.” He shrugged and turned back towards the stairs, then stopped in his tracks and snapped his claws. “Oh, I have an idea. Didn’t Basil just do something recently?” “Beats me.” “C’mon.” He reversed direction and hurried down to the main floor of the library. Rainbow lifted off the ground and hovered behind him, past the big central room and into the kitchen. “What’re we doing?” “The archive’s really full and we’d be looking forever, but I swear I remember seeing a big, front page article about something or other Basil did about a week ago.” He opened one of the pantries and cleared off a large box on the bottom shelf, then grabbed it and heaved, dragging it out to the middle of the floor. “This is where we put the newer issues before Twilight moves them to the basement.” He flipped it open. Rainbow peered over the lid at a grainy photo of Princess Celestia, sitting at some fancy dinner thing and laughing with a guard. Beneath her, the headline declared, ‘Princess Celestia’s Secret and Forbidden Tryst.’ Rainbow smirked and rolled her eyes. “If I’m right, we should find at least one thing in here about Basil, and I swear it was a front page article.” Rainbow grinned and sat down on the other side of it from Spike. “Okay, cool, that doesn’t sound too bad.” They dug through the box, Spike carefully checking and then smoothing issues back into a tidy pile next to him and Rainbow flopping hers out like she was getting ready to paint the ceiling. Halfway down the box, Rainbow came face to face with Basil, looking around half a decade younger and with a much longer mane, giving her a smug look. “Sweet! That was easy. Thanks, Spike!” “You’re welcome!” He grabbed his stack and slid it back into the box, then turned to grab Rainbow’s, which wasn’t so much a stack as an avalanche. “...You know the archive’s so somepony can read these if they need to, right?” “Um … right.” She coughed and set the Basil issue on the table, then helped Spike repack the box. Spike slid it back away in the pantry, wiped his brow, and drooped his shoulders. “Ugh, I should probably do my chores now.” “Psh, screw that, go read comics.” She returned to the issue on the kitchen table. The headline read, ‘Bold Burglary Bested by Basil Bones.’ The article’s author was listed as Basil himself. She folded her ears flat. “Ugh. This is why I don’t read newspapers.” Spike looked at the headline, grinned, and shook his head. “Oh, yeah, it did have a dumb name. Anyway, lemme know if you need more help, Rainbow. Check for the dates of other stuff he did, that’ll make looking through the archive easier.” Groaning, Rainbow shook her head. “If this one doesn’t help I’m not gonna look for more.” He chuckled and headed out of the room while she started in on the article. I preface with an apology for the lack of correspondence with you, dear reader, as it has been a frightfully long few weeks since last I could share of my travels, and wish to jump into the retelling without delay. To begin, allow me to paint in vivid detail the setting of my arrival in the vibrant city of Trottingham. In such modern times of expedience and commerce, it has become expected for most ponies to prefer travel by train, but long-time vigilant readers of mine will be well acquainted with my soft spot for carriages, and it was by— “Oh, Luna, kill me,” Rainbow moaned. She skipped down four or five paragraphs to the last one before the article cut off, but he was still blathering about cobblestones and the architecture of some dumb museum, so she flipped forward a few pages to where it picked up again. It was then I made my presence known to the constabulary as they stood flummoxed at the empty jewel case. I was met with a mixture of gratitude and annoyance, a concoction I’ve come to expect and even rely upon when going about my methods. Aggression fuels the pony’s mind with a desire to prove themselves superior, or at least refute inferiority, and gratitude loosens their tongues. Speaking charitably, they seek either resolution to that which plagues them, or to if nothing else provide me enough rope with which to hang myself. I am counting on this. “Geeze, dude, shut up, you’re worse than Hercules Yoke.” Rainbow glared at the article. “Get to the good stuff.” Her skimming slowed down when at last he began detailing the burglary itself, a priceless griffin statuette carved by claw and given to some rich pony as a wedding gift way back before the princesses or even Discord were around. The cops couldn’t figure it out, because the case had a magical seal that made it impossible to open. Whoever cast the spell—some great-great-great-blah, blah, blah-great granddaughter of the original owner—was the only pony who could undo it, but the statue went missing anyway. And the owner couldn’t have stolen it, because it went missing while she was at some fancy dinner party. Rainbow frowned and nodded in appreciation. She’d read that book, it sounded cool. And here, gentle reader, we arrive at the turn. I have outlined the scene as it had presented itself to the constabulary, but to truly understand the solution I must elucidate the details which could only be uncovered by one such as me. First, upon close inspection of the case, an outline in dust of the missing statuette’s base could be discerned on the platform. A brief inspection of other items proved to be free of such dust, many of them in similarly warded cases. Second, after factoring out the typical odors of a museum, as well as the overpowering lily water cologne the chief inspector applied to himself, my olfactory senses detected the faint trace of expended magic on the air—magic different from the spell used to maintain the lock. Third, Mademoiselle Idle Riche struck me as peculiar, in both her bearing and her choice of words, towards the members of the constabulary present, and myself as well. A certain openness and suggestibility not normally observed among mares in her station. Rainbow smirked. “C’mon, Baz, call her a hooker.” As openness is not a truly remarkable character affectation, upon further scrutiny, it became clear to me that her adornments were either fabrics of excellent vintage that were growing threadbare, or were newer but of inferior manufacture. These observations defined her character, an upper-class noble who has fallen upon a dearth of liquid assets and forced to maintain appearances in as inexpensive a manner as possible, and her affectation posits the cause squarely at the hooves of a vice that strikes the upper and lower class alike. Gambling. While this might now explain the motivation of the crime, and deliver to us the perpetrator, the method remains obscured, as Mademoiselle Riche had already been ruled out as a suspect. Or perhaps not. The most astute among you might pause within your reading to formulate your own hypothesis now, as has become a tradition within my correspondences. The pieces have all been put into play. The article cut off to a later page again. “Time travel!” Rainbow blurted out, slamming her hooves on the table. “That Idle Riche lady went to her stupid dinner thing, then traveled back in time and stole it when nopony was looking!” She fluttered her wings and flopped back in the chair, then ruffled through the pages for the next part of the article. Pencils down, most esteemed reader, it is now that I shall endeavor to transcribe my speech to those present verbatim and reveal the solution to our paradoxical puzzle, though concessions must be made in regards to exact words and cadence; hoof-held recording devices are strictly forbidden within the Trottingham Museum of Antiquities. “Well, my good members of the constabulary, you, as they say, have been had. I shall reveal the location of the missing griffin, as indeed the griffin is within this very room. Chief inspector, to walk through my thought process, first we must accept that it is axiomatic that the locking spell was neither fooled, nor removed and replaced afterwards. We accept this because the spell was in fact disabled by Mademoiselle Riche at your inquest today, were a replacement spell placed, it could only be removed by the caster. We must also accept that Mademoiselle Riche was not present to disable the spell and remove the statuette herself, considering the score of witnesses placing her at the charity banquet for lost colts. As these two facts are immiscible, there can only be one conclusion. That theft never occurred at all!” Rainbow raised an eyebrow. “Wha? That’s dumb. It’s not in the magical case thingie.” She frowned and read on. I was met with protestations of confusion and disbelief, protestations you, most cherished reader, may feel yourself. I called for silence and insisted a search be performed of Mademoiselle Idle Riche’s belongings, and there among her imitation bags lay the griffin statue. You, caring reader, might also be wondering if I have lost my faculties to have insisted a theft never occurred only to uncover the thief in the same breath, but allow us to review the facts. The Lock-Tight spell is well renowned as unbreakable without a calamitous effect, and while not impossible for a skilled enough practitioner of the arcane to devise a new method, such a feat would be remarkably unusual, and we do not work in a realm of remarkability. Mundanity rules the world of trifles, and to assume such an event has occurred when a more rational explanation is at hoof is to behave foolishly. The detected presence of an additional spell and the gathered dust, likely attracted by the slight electrical discharge of low level magical frequencies, could very well be evidence pointing to the engineering of a new safe-breaking spell. But it could also be evidence of a time-delayed invisibility charm. In considering the nature of the dust itself, which had gathered at such a time as the statuette was still within the case, the evidence becomes overwhelming. Such a spell was placed at a time when Miss Idle Riche had access but no alibi, and set to activate when she had an alibi but no access. A theft without a theft. Then, when the constabulary came to bear upon the crime, the Lock-Tight spell confirmed as active and non-tampered, and her alibi accepted, she could lower the defense and pocket the invisible statue quietly while her witnesses were distracted by the theft apparent. A simple sleight-of-hoof confidence game trick, hidden inside the illusion of a magical crime of the century. A perfect crime, save for the telltale dust-motes, resulting in a baffling puzzle for some, but a mere trifle for me. Had luck been more benevolent, I would not have happened upon such a trifle as it unfolded and miss Riche would be counting her insurance money, with her family heirloom safely hidden away for a time. And at that thrilling conclusion, I bid you adieu until next time, most effervescent reader. Stay vigilant. —Basil Bones. Rainbow noticed she was grinning, and scowled. Stupid Basil Bones making himself sound cool. He totally screwed up the pacing, but that book would have been great, and she half wanted to dig back through the box of newspapers to find more mini detective stories to read. “This doesn’t make sense,” she grumbled. “If he’s really this awesome, why’s he so bad at it now?” She flipped back to the front page and looked at the photo again. He’d put on a few years since it had been taken, and gotten a severe manecut that didn’t help, but there was no mistaking him. It wasn’t like the guy running around Ponyville could just be a lookalike. “Maybe something happened to him and he got messed up?” She squinted at the inset photo of a mare being led away in hoofcuffs, raised her brows, and jumped down to the note beneath the photo. She flexed her jaw and scowled. “… Or maybe he’s always been like this,” she hissed. She rolled the paper up and stuck it under her wing. Spike lurched into the kitchen, wobbling back and forth under a mountain of sheets, blankets, curtains, and the odd piece of clothing or saddlebag. “Gang way, Rainbow Dash, I can’t see anything.” “That just makes me wanna trip you,” she teased as she gave him a wide berth. “Need help? I said I would.” “Nah, this is all of it, just need to—” The pile swayed and Spike bumped into a cabinet to keep everything from tumbling to the floor. “… Okay, would you mind getting the tub out?” She chuckled and she dragged the laundry basin from a closet to the middle of the floor for him. He sighed in relief and dumped the wad of fabric inside. “Whew, thanks.” She shrugged. “Got tired of reading comics, huh?” “I wish. It’s just getting close to when Twilight usually checks on me, and if you weren’t here to do it, that means she will.” He glared and crossed his arms over his chest. “She never trusts me to get my chores done. So I just make sure I’m in the middle of something when she shows up.” Rainbow swallowed the lump in her throat. “… Twi’s gonna be here soon?” “Probably. She always checks on me.” “… I gotta go. I—” She snapped her jaw shut, then whipped the newspaper out from under her wing. “I got some stuff about Basil I gotta check on! It might help us figure out what’s up. When you see Twi, tell her … um …” Spike smirked. “That you weren’t here?” She looked at him sidelong and he raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not asking what it’s about, but c’mon, it’s really obvious.” “Um …” She cleared her throat and pawed the floor. “Just … I need time to … If you wanna put some of your comics with my stuff, I’ll make sure Twi can’t throw ‘em away.” “You so weren’t here I’ve never seen you before.” She forced a grin and ruffled the frill on top of his head. A clock chimed somewhere upstairs and her hackles raised. “Gotta go. See ya, Spike.” Before he could say goodbye, she raced up the stairs and back on the balcony, then whipped through the air to land on a cloud. She scanned the ground, let out a sigh of relief, and flopped onto her back. After a moment she unfolded the paper and glared at the quote. “Okay, Rainbow Dash, how do we prove it?” She rolled back over and watched Ponyville from above, looking for a hint of green or a short, white mane.