The Truth About "Pokey" Pierce

by Chris

In which the inexorable passage of time claims another victim

The Truth About "Pokey" Pierce

Part 7: In which the inexorable passage of time claims another victim

Pierce fidgeted nervously in the fire’s dim light. This was his least favorite part of the day; the brief period when he didn’t feel powerful and important, but stupid and ineffectual. Clearing his throat, he addressed the pile of blankets that lay by the hearth.

“I made my usual rounds at 7:30 and 8:30, and didn’t hear any relevant talk. I found a hiding place behind Sugarcube Corner for a brief while after that, but Pinkie found me and chased me off before I heard any news. During the school’s recess, I was able to eavesdrop on a conversation between Blueberry and some of her friends. It seems they’re planning a sleepover for the weekend. I’ve already added it to the calender.”

Pierce’s recounting was interrupted by a wet hacking sound emanating from the blankets. After a moment it quieted, then ceased. Once he was sure the coughing fit had passed, Pierce continued.

“I took my lunch out of town off the main road to the south, in hopes that I’d be able to observe any travelers who’s arrival might precipitate a celebration or other work stoppage. I made my usual rounds again at 2:30, without incident. I was going to try the bakery again, but it was closed early. There was no sign, but I found a discarded invitation by rooting through their trash bin. Apparently, Pinkie had planned a ‘Monday Mini-Mixer’ for seven o’clock tonight at the Jinxed Jester.” Unsure whether Canker was familiar with the name, Pierce clarified, “It’s the new store specializing in gear for practical jokes. They opened last month.

“I made my usual 4:30 rounds, then snuck into the Jester. By the time I arrived, the shop was closed and I was able to enter undetected. While alone inside, I found and dealt with sufficient materials to host a small party, and blocked up the front doors.” Pierce didn’t mention that the back door was still perfectly accessible to anyone with a key; Canker’s views on property damage and disturbance in the line of work were somewhat different than his own, and he’d learned long ago not to press the issue. “Once that was done, I came back here.”

There was a long silence. At length, a brittle, raspy voice wormed its way out from under the pile of blankets. “So, are you telling me you’re finished for the day?”

Pierce stiffened. He’d recognized the direction of Canker’s question; he’d missed something important. He racked his brain for some task or duty which he might have forgotten, but could think of nothing. Although he knew it was the wrong answer, he replied with a simple “Yes,” and awaited the verbal lashing which he knew was coming.

There was another round of hacking from the blankets. At length, Canker spoke again. “Three years...for three years, you’ve been working under me...how can you still be so incompetent?”

Another long pause.

“You went by Sugarcube Corner twice. The first time, Pinkie chased you off immediately. That was your first clue. She was looking for you, therefor there was something she didn’t want you to overhear.

“Your second hint was that Sugarcube Corner was closed early. By that time, you should have suspected something big was afoot.

“Your third clue was the invitation. I’ll bet it was sitting right on top of all the garbage in plain sight, wasn’t it?”

Pierce winced. “Yes, it was.”

“And even though the bakery never closes except for major events, you didn’t even blink when you found ‘sufficient materials for a small party’ at the Jester. You didn’t even think to question why the place was empty if there was supposed to be a party there this evening. Pokey, you are truly a marvel of idiocy.”

“Then the party at the Jester was a red herring. That must mean there’s another party going on right now. The real party, the one they didn’t want me to find out about.”

The pile of blankets huffed. “You don’t get credit for figuring that out after I dragged all the clues in front of you. You need to be able to do this without my mollycoddling. Now can you handle this on your own, or do I need to get up and do this myself?”

Pierce frowned, thinking over what he knew. “It will be a big party, so there’s only a few venues large enough to hold it. It will be on the other side of the town from the Jester, and it won’t be one of the spots on my normal route. They’ll want somewhere reasonably large, that wouldn’t normally be considered a party spot, on the north end of town.” After a moment, he concluded, “The only place I can think of that fits is the library. The main room can hold at least fifty ponies comfortably, if they take out the tables.”

“Sixty-six, including room for refreshments. Not bad for an imbecile. Now get over there and stop that party in its tracks. This has Pinkie’s hoofprints all over it, and she’ll be on the lookout for you. Try not to screw up too badly.”

Pierce turned to go, then stopped. Taking a few tentative steps towards the fire, he asked again, “Can I please call Nurse Redheart? Somepony needs to come take a look at that cough of yours. It’s getting worse...”

It was a question he’d asked on several occasions over the last week, and the reply was no different than the other times. “If I wanted your opinion, Pokey, I’d beat it out of you. Now go do your blasted job, or I’ll knock you within an inch of your miserable life and deal with it myself.” Despite his threats, the black stallion showed no signs of rising from where he lay.

Not knowing what else to do, Pierce left the old pony alone, shutting the cottage door behind him as he left. He made his way towards the library, already considering how to break up the celebration. Pinkie Pie was clever, and a constant source of irritation for him and Canker, but Pierce hadn’t yet met the party he couldn’t crash.

*****

The dance was in full swing at the Ponyville Public Library. While the music played inside and young fillies and colts strutted about the makeshift dance floor, others sat outside in small groups, chatting amongst themselves and enjoying the festive atmosphere. It wouldn’t be easy to get close.

Of course, Pierce had spent the last three years learning how to get into places where he wasn’t wanted. Scant minutes after he’d come within sight of the library, he had made his way onto the second story balcony, unnoticed by the ponies below.

The balcony door was locked of course, but that was no matter. Age had not brought Pierce any increase in magical aptitude, but he had developed a repertoire of simple yet practical spells which had proven very useful in his line of work. He put his head next to the lock and concentrated, the tip of his horn beginning to glow with lambent energy. After a moment, the lock clicked.

Pierce was about to enter, but something made him hesitate. A year ago, he might have shook off the feeling and gone on with his work, but hard-earned experience had taught him to trust his instincts. He began to examine the door, looking for something out of place.

There. A tiny thread of copper wire glinting in the low light. Pierce smirked, recognizing the setup. No doubt the wire led to a bell or other noisemaker which would alert the party-goers to his arrival. Pinkie wasn’t showing much originality.

With another whisper of magic, Pierce slowly unbound the wire from the doorhandle and moved it to one side, careful not to jerk or jiggle it too much. Confidently, he opened the door and strode inside.

Entering the upstairs study, he made a quick sweep of the room, wary of any other surprises Pinkie might have left. Finding none, he approached the inner door. It was slightly ajar, giving Pierce the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the party going on below.

Surveying the ponies beneath him, Pierce considered his options. It was too late to simply disturb preparations; the party was already in full swing. The crowd was too large to intimidate or browbeat. He’d have to find some way to create a major disruption.

At length, his eyes settled on the bookshelves themselves. They were built into the wall, so pulling them down by force was right out. In any case, the crowd was tight enough that it would have been impossible to do so without the risk of crushing some of the ponies underneath. As Canker always put it, “The only thing less productive than a partying pony is a paralyzed pony.” Pierce smiled as he remembered the quote; it was as close as the old stallion ever came to cracking a joke.

No, he couldn’t pull down the bookcases, but the shelves themselves...

Brow furrowed in concentration, Pierce focused on the wall of shelves opposite him. He meticulously identified the joints of each board, located every nail in his mind’s eye. He didn’t have enough energy for more than a single casting of this magnitude; he’d have to do it perfectly on his first try.

It took several minutes, but at last he was ready. With a brilliant flash from his horn, the spell he’d woven took effect. As one, every nail which held the dusty shelves together leapt free of its moorings. With a dull but voluminous rumble, the combined contents of the bookcases which lined the far wall sloughed to the ground, burying the room (and many of its occupants) in an avalanche of mouldy tomes.

Although he was exhausted, Pierce didn’t waste any time admiring his handiwork. He rushed back to the balcony and, descending as quickly as he dared, fled back to Canker’s shack. He heard insults and epithets shouted after him, but he paid them no heed; his job done, he no longer had any need for secrecy.
Now he was finished for the day.

*****

“...And then he comes to the library even though nopony said anything about a party at the library (they’d better not have said anything about a party at the library, I told them not to say anything about a party at the library!) and even though we’re already in full-on A-double-plus party mode he still can’t just let us have our fun, nooooo, he has to come in through the roof (how’d he get in through the roof anyway, I had all the doors and windows rigged!) and he just...”

Applejack sighed, but dutifully continued mending the library shelves. She knew that Pinkie would calm down eventually, but that didn’t make the present cavalcade of invective and stream-of-consciousness digressions any more tolerable. It was the same tired pattern, over and over again: Pinkie plans a party. Pokey ruins party. Pinkie complains to Applejack for hours (at least, it feels like hours, she thought to herself). Then Pinkie decides to throw another party, and everything begins again.

Applejack was really starting to hate parties.

*****

The next morning, Canker took a turn for the worse.

Pierce brought him some water, but the black pony didn’t seem able to swallow. He hadn’t taken any food since the day before last. His chest rose and fell slowly, irregularly.

“That’s it,” said Pierce, “I’m bringing nurse Redheart. You need medical attention, now.”

Canker made a wheezing sound that might have been an attempt to respond. He gave another wet cough, but it was weaker now. Pierce rose from where he’d been kneeling beside the old stallion to go to the door, but a gnarled black hoof stopped him.

“Wait.” Canker wheezed, his voice barely intelligible through his natural rasp and the fetid dampness that clung to his lungs. “Read this.” From under the covers, he produced a parchment, and gave it to Pierce.

Pierce examined the paper. It was covered in hacked-up mucus and phlegm; the inevitable result of any non-unicorn trying to write while suffering from a chest infection. Still, the writing was legible. As Canker sunk back into his blankets, Pierce read:

Blast it all, you ignorant dung pile,

I’ve been forced to spend my precious and rapidly fleeting time writing this letter instead of making myself comfortable because if there’s one thing I can count on, it’s your incompetence. When you see me in the morning, you’re no doubt going to demand I see a doctor or somesuch. Since I can barely speak anymore, I have to pen this out for you so you don’t go off and make my last hours even more miserable than they already are. If you cared two bits about my life, you’d have forced me to seek medical attention a week ago. If you cared two bits about what I WANT, you wouldn’t be bringing up doctors at all.

I’m dying. In case that fact hasn’t penetrated your thick skull yet.

That being the case, the least you could do is let me go out on my own terms. I despise everypony in this Celestia-forsaken town, and the last thing I want is to be surrounded by a bunch of ignorant, mush-minded simpletons in my waning hours. After all I’ve done for you, after bringing you into the DPM, after all the training, the LEAST you can do to repay me is to let me die with a little dignity.

Now, go do your morning rounds. Assuming I’m not gone by then, I’ll be waiting for your report this evening. Try not to screw up too badly.

Pierce set the letter down on the table and walked out the door. Canker gave no sign that he was aware of the younger pony’s leaving.

Before he began his rounds, Pierce went to the Ponyville clinic. He stood outside for several minutes, oblivious to the stares and whispers of passers-by. Eventually, nurse Redheart came out, a look of apprehension and distrust on her face.

“Is there something you need, Pokey? I don’t want any trouble with you.”

Pierce shook his head mutely. Turning aside, he began his morning rounds.

*****

By mid-afternoon, it had begun to rain. It was already dark when Pierce arrived back at the cottage, shivering from the cold.
In his heart, he knew the truth even before he entered the shack. Still, he refused to accept what his instincts told him until he’d gone to Canker’s body, until he’d felt its coolness with his own hooves. Only then did he concede to himself that the old stallion was dead.

*****

Dawn was breaking as Pierce stood beside the unmarked grave. Canker’s will had been very clear on that point; he wanted no headstone, no plaque, nothing to indicate that a pony had been laid to rest on this spot.

In Equestria, it was traditional for burials to take place during the night. Then, on the following morn, friends and family would come to the grave site to say their last goodbyes. To watch the sun rise together, one last time.

Pierce stood alone among the headstones, the sole visitor to the graveyard.

As he watched the sunrise, he thought back to the words which Canker had spoken when the black pony had first offered him a job as DPM field agent:

There’s nopony in this whole flea-bitten, rot-infested town that cares two bits who you are or what you do. You have no friends, your parents don’t care about you, your teacher thinks you’re an idiot, and there’s not one pony in Equestria that could look you in the eye and say ‘I love you’ with a straight face.

...and ten minutes after you’re dead, nopony will even remember your name.

Pierce slowly swept his gaze across the empty graveyard. He wondered if anypony would wait for dawn by his grave. He wondered if Canker had ever stood in a lonely cemetery, and if the black stallion had ever asked himself those same questions.

It was that thought which made him weep.

*****

After the sun had risen, Pierce left the graveyard. Whispering promises to Canker as he walked, he set off to begin his usual morning rounds.

Comments

[Inquisitor M]

Now those brackets I dislike a lot. It's clearly Pinkie's fault.