Abruption

by TracTix

II.

Corvus awoke to the blinds of his bedroom window painted orange by the sun. A glance at his clock told him that it was eight twenty-three, a pleasant surprise for Corvus. Most of the time, the awkward feeling of the bed would be too much for him, and he would get up at six or five in the morning.

He flung the quilt off of himself. Setting four hooves on the ground, he made his way to the bathroom. The image of a turquoise stallion looked back at him in the mirror. A clump of his mane stuck up, stubbornly defying gravity. He redirected his cloak to smooth out the patch of hair. That was one benefit of the cloak, at least.

Corvus trekked downstairs, steeling himself for what, in his opinion, was one of the most disgusting moments of his day: eating pony food. It was necessary to keep up the illusion of being a pony, according to the Queen, but Corvus hated it nonetheless. At least the other changelings were in the same boat as him.

Today, however, he opened the refrigerator to find that it was completely empty, save for an apple and a bundle of hay. It was only enough for the morning, and certainly not for the rest of the day. He would have to buy some more food later.

Corvus forced the tasteless meal down his throat, rinsing out the taste with some water. He dumped his plate and his glass into the sink, slung a saddle bag over his back – something he genuinely wished existed back home at the Hive – and left his house.

Outside the concealment of his home, Corvus adopted the standard protocol for changelings in hiding. He plastered a smile on his face, relaxed his gait, and greeted as many ponies as he could with a friendly wave.

“Hello, Lily! Nice mane today, Dart! Good to see you, Kit!”

Not every pony returned his pleasantness; one pony in particular, Rook, glared at Corvus and remained silent when he greeted him. But the others replied with the same friendliness as Corvus, and, in the process, allowed him to feed off the positive energy surrounding them. This was Corvus’s real breakfast.

He arrived at the market. Going through the same routine with the vendors, he bought his groceries for the week. Corvus didn’t really care what he bought; everything tasted the same to him in the end. He did, however, make sure to buy some eggs. For him, eggs were one of the few tolerable items of pony cuisine.

Corvus was paying the last vendor when he noticed an odd-looking pony in his peripheral vision. Physically, the stallion was completely ordinary: black coat, blue mane, and what the ponies called a ‘cutie mark’ on his flank. But he was also gazing intently in Corvus’s direction.

When Corvus turned his head to get a better look at the pony, the stallion quickly averted his eyes and began talking with a vendor selling hay bundles.

“Here’s your change, sir,” Corvus’s vendor said. Corvus returned his attention to her. The mare slid two gold discs across the stall.

“Ah, thank you.” The cloaked changeling took the coins and dropped them into his saddlebag. He looked back at where the black pony had been, but he had vanished. Corvus rotated his head, doing a slow scan of the stalls and crowd around him.

There! A tuft of blue poked out ahead of Corvus. He forced his way through the crowd, fervently apologizing to the ponies he had to squeeze or push past. A gap in the stream of ponies allowed Corvus to better see his target. The black stallion was turning left into an alleyway.

Corvus was about to continue forward until a hoof grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. His protests were cut short by the familiar sight of Acrisius, whose cloaked form had an orange coat.

“Argos!” Corvus said, using Acrisius’s adopted pony name. “What are you doing? I’m busy right –”

“It’s for her!” Acrisius interrupted. The other changeling shoved a piece of paper into Corvus’s saddlebag before he could react.

“Read it at home!” Acrisius said. Then he left without another word.

Corvus tried to say something, to ask what this was all about, but Acrisius had already disappeared into the crowd. He looked back at the alleyway the black stallion had gone into. It was empty. Corvus had lost him.

Dejected, Corvus left the market and began the walk home. He pushed open the door, closed it, and immediately dropped his saddlebag onto the floor. He rustled through it, pushing aside groceries, until he found the paper Acrisius had given him. After flattening out the creases, Corvus read the words written on it:

6 Sunset Street

Tonight

Last chance

– E.

A job. Corvus found it hard to believe that, after Sicarius’s message the previous night, he had been assigned another target to eliminate. He didn’t even want it. His nerves were already frayed from the incident in the market.

But the note had said ‘Last chance’. Unless he wanted to completely lose all credibility, Corvus would have to go to 6 Sunset Street tonight and kill the unfortunate pony there.

He left at nine fifteen, slipping quietly out of his home. Corvus shivered as the night air bit into him. These northern countries were always deathly cold at the beginning and end of the year. And while Corvus had heard about ponies magically controlling their weather, he hadn’t heard about them controlling the temperatures.

According to the map of the town he had studied, Sunset Street was about two blocks from his house. It was a walk of fifteen minutes normally, but Corvus took considerably longer. The changeling had to make detours around the pools of light created by lampposts, and full-out stopped several times to let a pony or two pass by ahead of him. Corvus also looked behind him several times, just to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

He arrived at his destination without incident. 6 Sunset Street was a white two-storied house, one of the newer ones in the town. Corvus didn’t see any lights in the house. He crept across the lawn, eyes trained on the door, ready to bolt if it suddenly opened.

Corvus set his hoof on the door’s handle, inhaling deeply, preparing for the next few adrenaline-rushed minutes. Then he pushed down on the handle.

His hoof promptly stalled after moving three millimetres.

Corvus continued pushing, but the handle refused to budge. He pushed again and got the same result.

“Come on!” he hissed to himself. Cold sweat broke out on Corvus’s brow. He took a closer look at the lock. It was one of those new electric locks, the ones that needed a special card instead of a key. They were much stronger than the old ones Corvus was used to. Those were flimsy to the point of nonexistence, but this one would be considerably tougher to break.

He tried, though. Up and down the handle went, in its miniscule motion, a loud rattling sound coming from the lock as it fought Corvus’s attempts.

A light flicked on in the second story window of the house. Corvus looked at it with dread. Maybe he could get through the door in time…

Another light appeared. Corvus let go of the handle. It was too late. He had to get out of here before a pony spotted him, or worse.

Corvus dashed away from the house, putting as much distance as he could between him and the pony who lived there. He heard the door open behind him, and the target’s questioning call at the night. His target, who was still alive.

Corvus grimaced, a bitter taste in his mouth. He looked back at 6 Sunset Street – and was just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a four-legged silhouette.

Was someone following him after all?

Corvus continued walking with his head forward as if nothing had happened. He strained his ears, trying to tell whether or not his pursuer had continued following him. Then he whirled around, hoping to catch the pony off-guard.

But, as far as he could tell, he was the only one outside.

When he reached his home, Corvus had never been more relieved to see it.