Enigma

by steampunkwatchman

Chapter 4: Beady Eyes and an Iron Shell

The train that Twilight arranged for me... wasn't the best. You have to work with what ya got, though. Really the only good thing that came from riding on this steel monstrosity would be the fact that not a single being would talk to or question me, as long as I kept my head down, of course.

I arrived late in the afternoon, the sun just beginning it’s descent into hues of oranges, pinks, and purples. Appaloosa wasn't exactly what the name suggested. There were still descendants of the original farmers, but things changed with the discovery of valuable minerals under the town. With that discovery, the town boomed and exploded towards progress, even though sometimes progress isn't good. Now all that was left was clouded skies, smoke filled streets, and one of the most lawless towns in the country, which was fine for what I needed. The only real good thing I can say about the place was that you weren't judged (much), so even with my brass leather bound wings I was still welcome-ish to this industrial smog machine.

The first thing I always do when on a case is to try to picture what I would do if I were the convict. So I went for a drink. To a place called the Dusty Egos. Ah, how the name just rolled off your tongue. It was a charming place, with only two broken windows and one missing floorboard, and bartender to match! A big fella with a scar across his face and chipped tooth, who spoke in a harsh southern accent.

“Pick ya poison.”

“Cider,” I quickly replied as he began pouring the drink.

“Ya know, ‘tain't wise bein’ here,” he whispered, “Your kind ain't taken kindly to ‘round here,” he said, flatly splitting a bit.

“Aye, but I've got a job to do,” I retorted.

“What kind’r a job?” His beady eyes stared at me scornfully; inquisitively.

My mind scoured for a quick and believable lie, and I prayed he didn’t see the sweat forming around my brow
“Um… just inspecting the town to make sure it’s in regulations,” I spat out, a bit too quickly.

“Hmf!” He grunted. “Well as you can see, Mr. Inspector, we are well within our regulations,” he replied, stretching some of the syllables, mocking me.

“Yes you appear to be.” I swallowed the knot in my throat. “I guess I’ll just be on my way now.”

When I was leaving I could of swore I saw something in the corner of my eye, but I didn't dare turn around, because I knew that those beady eyes were getting ready to pounce if I didn't play this right. So as soon as I got out of there, I made a mad dash towards the only place a griffon could hide in a town like this, the saloon (the other saloon).

This place was filled with drunkards and fools, who spend so much on the very substance that holds them down. It was as you’d expect from a dirty saloon, with rigged games, watered-down drinks, and pretty mares that’ll just as soon kiss you as kill you. Was it dangerous and dilapidated? Absolutely. Was it a place where ponies would care what you did? Not so much. It was an outlaws safe haven; as long as you didn't cause trouble, you were fine. So I made myself blend. I even joined in a game, called Fates.

The my opponents were a one-eyed changeling, a fiery red-haired mare with a temper, and a gentlecolt with nearly half his body replaced by an iron shell of its former natural glory. The game, as far as I understood, was a cross between Poker and War, with aces being the top tier, and 2’s the bottom. It worked as, you bet a certain amount of bits per each set of cards, and everypony would put a card face down and then flip it up, revealing what they had. The player with the most would take the cards, and if you lost all your cards, and depending on what you bet, you could lose money, property, or even your life. But if you won you could get it all. It was basically War with gambling.

“Bets please,” said the gentlecolt. He turned to me, “Your bet, sir?”

“I’d like to play for information.”

“Well that certainly changes the game, doesn’t it? What do you want to know?”

“What is this?” I said, setting my sample on the table, “And where does it come from?”

“That?” said the mare, “That just looks like plant juice.”

“I think I know what it is,” said the gentlecolt, adjusting his bowtie that I never mentioned before. “If you’d like to know, you must bet a very high price indeed.”

“Well then.” A devilish smile overtook my beak.

“I’m all in.”

The game had begun.

Author's Note:

Hey there! I hope you've enjoyed this story so far and would appreciate any feedback.

Comments

[steampunkwatchman]

3844168 Young and I am finding someone to do that for me currently. Although how bad was the grammar? Did I make it unreadable or is it only small parts of it I need to fix.

[A Random Guy]

3844182 I can understand it, but there's a few places where commas are needed. There was a good amount of misused words. For instance, "I guess none needs a detective to get your problems solved". The none should be no one. It's mostly things like that.

[steampunkwatchman]

3844441 Alright I'll look through it today and fix some of that thank you for your help