From Dusk to Night

by KuroiTsubasaTenshi

10 - Among Thieves

The sun had just begun its descent, framing Hoofington in a warm glow as the city came into view. Its pale purple structures formed a rough rectangle, with the nearby river giving it a gentle curve; the water itself was dotted with dozens of boats, all turning in for the day.

A large cluster of bright blue-and-white striped tents sat in the very centre of the city. They caught the remaining light just right, such that the reflections twinkled, like some sort of collective beacon; a beacon that belied just what was going on within the shadows beneath the flaps.

I locked my wings, starting a slow glide toward the city proper. These would be my last moments of peace for the rest of the weekend. I wanted so badly to drink in that beauty, no matter how fake it was. But my mind was all business. My eyes wandered the city, mapping out the general layout of the festival and the surrounding streets. While I did recognize a few of the streets, the years since my last visit left it a strange and unfamiliar place. As I got closer and closer, my focus only intensified.

Near the middle of the rectangle formation, just a little closer to the water, was another rectangle. This one was a smooth stone wall surrounding a large, gated park. Wide paths cut through the walls in the middle of each side—a necessity for such a massive public area.

Even though I was still quite far away, I could make out the raised mounds of snow; they weren’t especially tall, but just enough to act as both a stage and division. They were arrayed in a bit of a lopsided grid, patiently awaiting both ice and sculptors.

Not that I planned on being inside the park at any point, but it would serve as a very convenient landmark should things get hectic.

Plus, the warehouses I was looking for couldn’t be too far away. There was supposed to be a trio of them, the middle of which would be where the ice was stored. It didn’t take me too long to spot them; they were all in a neat little line, running along the waterfront.

Of course, I’d have to leave them be for the moment. The festival wasn’t due to start until the morning and with the Cartel involved, just knowing the layout wasn’t enough to act on. In order for this to be a true success, not only would I have to keep myself safe, but I’d also have to remain undetected. It was for that reason that I planned to dedicate the next day to scoping out the finer details, including any suspicious individuals.

The intensity of the task would require me to be well-rested and so I would need to find an inn. I didn’t bother considering anywhere near the festival itself, instead opting to check the outskirts of the city. Anything closeby would have been either long picked over or far out of my price range.

So I took to the streets in search of a homebase for one “Indigo Strands”, as indicated by my ‘alternate’ ID. Even if the air usually offered a wider view, it was also easier for untoward characters to spot me.

As I wandered from block to block, my eyes traversed each building, flitting over the occasional festival sign. A breeze swept through the town and the flickering of shadows drew my gaze skyward. My heart made a false start, stopping only two steps in.

A pang of annoyance washed over me, settling as a warmth in my cheeks. I was getting jumpy again. The culprit was nothing more than a decorative flag and a couple balloons tied to a nearby lamppost. This setup was strategically duplicated every third post.

Once my nerves had settled, I began to realize just how different Hoofington felt. Fetlock had been the young, excited child, eager to please, if only someone would come see. Hoofington was the older, patient child who knew the ropes; there was clear effort put into the decor, but it wasn’t aggressive, instead waiting for the inevitable crowd.

The first three hotels were busts, with the ragged receptionists generally giving me noncommittal shrugs and apologies. To be perfectly fair, the idea of being able to walk in during an event like this was bordering on unreasonable. I imagined they must have already turned away dozens of far less-polite people.

With the night wearing on, I was starting to get desperate, wondering if I’d have to find a nice outcropping to camp out under. That’s when the fourth hotel came into view.

It was one of those rugged travel hotels, the two-story kind that was all one building with rows and rows of identical green doors. An ample, snow-dusted space, nearly as large as the building itself, sat between the doors and the road. Several dozen carts were lined up outside many of the doors, quietly sleeping as they awaited their owners’ return.

While the hotel was far from fancy, that same fact gave me hope—hope that the other festival goers had overlooked this little cart stop.

As I pushed my way through the heavy wooden door, I was treated to a small, white reception hall. The walls were completely bare with only an age-scarred desk and a pair of those potted plastic plants to keep them company.

Behind the desk sat an elderly earth pony mare. Her drooping eyes slid between a set of spectacles to an open magazine—Photo’s Fashions, if my eyes didn’t deceive me. She looked up as the door swung shut.

“You’re in luck,” she said, cutting straight to the chase. “I had someone cancel earlier today.”

I nodded, resisting all temptation to smile. “How much?”

“Fifteen bits.” She tilted her glasses, the fatigue giving way to what can only be described as business.

Frowning inwardly, I nodded again. “I’ll take it.”

The price was clearly inflated, but in this climate, bartering was right out of the question. I could even hear my father in the back of my mind, urging me not to press my luck.

Once the paperwork was taken care of, I trudged up the beaten path to my room. I found it buried about halfway down that unending line of doors—an expected trial of any stay at a cart stop.

The inside was cramped, but surprisingly clean. My biggest gripe was that it only had a single candle. With proper lighting, even the fifty-year-old furniture might have looked more than a little inviting.

Still, the bed seemed clean enough under the covers. Not that I was going to sleep just yet; my quest for a room hadn’t taken that long.

My first temptation was to go out to gather information, perhaps find a bar. But I quickly discarded the idea as too risky. The streets were too sparsely populated at the moment, not to mention that even amongst a crowd, establishments like that were more likely to draw 'off-duty' Cartel.

Whatever general rumours I could possibly scrape together simply weren’t worth the possibility of alerting them to my presence. The next day would be far more valuable, both for gathering information and if things went well, exploring the warehouse. I was making the right decision.

And yet the uncertainty still crept in, my mind chastising me for all the unknowns in my plan. Reality and imagination clashed. The warehouse became a fortress, complete with thick stone wall and a regiment of security guards. Then the crowd—every one of them—was Cartel; all eyes turning toward me, boring straight into my soul. I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Frowning, I swatted away the thoughts, but they were persistent, returning shortly thereafter.

My mother’s stern face flashed across the front of my mind. I sighed, knowing what I had to do.

After checking to ensure the door was bolted, I found the widest space in the room and closed my eyes.

Calm. I moved my lips, though the voice in my head was my mother’s.

The darkness is your friend.

Focusing on nothing but that empty void, I took a deep breath. And then another.

You’re in control. That’s all that matters.

I pushed all thoughts aside, leaving only feeling. With nothing to cling to, it drifted away, slowly, but surely, becoming irrelevant. A shiver ran down my spine as the fear—and its absurdity—escaped my body.

With the irrationality distilled away, I opened my eyes. There was, of course, truth to some of the thoughts. I needed to be focused and on point tomorrow. Even with more mundane ideas filling in the blanks, the fact remained that I was still working partially on the fly. There would be no room for mistakes in my execution.

My wing absently caressed my flight satchel, where Ruby’s solution lay tucked away. Her instructions drifted through my mind. Just pour it on anything suspicious. If you’re correct, the ice will melt and turn green.

I’d make it work. I had to make it work; for both my friends’ and my own sake.

---

Some of the night’s chill lingered, leaving the morning air crisp and borderline uncomfortable. As the wind flung bits of fresh powder against me, I was grateful for my cloak. Of course, it wasn’t just for protection from the weather—I wanted to hide as much of myself as possible without arousing suspicion. This necessitated leaving the hood down, as unless the weather got much worse, it would merely draw more attention. I would just have to rely on the crowd itself to conceal my face.

Even with the festivities well underway, there was a certain unease, a coldness that went far beyond something as simple as the temperature. There were guards everywhere, their stony gazes covering just about every inch of the grounds. If the Cartel was going to pull a Fetlock here, they were going to need a solid plan. I didn’t know if this made me more or less confident in my ability to sneak in first.

The crowd was still milling around, laughing, talking, content to pretend that everything was just fine. Ironically, it was this attempt to act natural that made everything feel stiffer and on-edge. The guards simply didn’t fit into their safe little world and the wide berth they gave each guard was rather telling.

Looking back, if I had wanted to get philosophical, I could have found such behaviour quite worrisome. However, with more than a few other things on my mind, I was just grateful that I could hide more easily within the compacted, wilfully ignorant crowd.

I let the crowd carry me down the main path. It cut through a series of game tents, then forked almost immediately. Straight ahead was the park entrance, while the right turn led to more games. The crowd started out splitting quite evenly, although the ones headed for the park didn't get far.

A couple guards—ones who couldn’t be pointedly ignored—barred the park's gate. Most of the crowd was turned away, grumbling as they doubled back. However, there were a few exceptions, and going by their heavier clothing, from boots to toques, they were most likely contestants.

I supposed it made sense to keep the area closed to the general public until the contestants had had a chance to make some headway. If nothing else, I imagined the average person would get awfully bored looking at a pile of ice blocks for more than a few minutes.

Turning my attention to the booths, I allowed the crowd to divert me down the other path. Similarly to Fetlock, this section housed the standard carnival games with the usual array of cheap pop culture prizes.

I stopped at the balloon-popping booth, which wasn’t too far from the fork and had a pretty good angle to the park entrance. It was a decent enough area to monitor things from, but those same strengths meant that loitering for extended periods of time was either going to be suspicious or expensive.

Loud, hearty chuckles pulled my attention to the game and its players. Two stallions were taking turns ineffectively tossing darts at the wall. They laughed, poking fun at each other as dart after dart deflected off of the impenetrable rubber. When the darts ran out with little more than a couple balloons popped, they left, ribbing each other all the while.

A wave of melancholy washed over me. I knew going in that this whole affair would be a lonely little quest, but now… the whole festival just felt empty. With a shake of my head, I kept walking. This was no time for distractions.

After circling the entire games section a couple times, I decided it was time to move on. The players were all too engrossed in their games and the carnies too busy keeping them there. If any of them were working for the Cartel, they probably weren’t on the clock yet.

The path to the next section took me along the lengthier side of the park wall. Booths gave way to small, permanent buildings. Several branches broke off from the road, each running to larger structures in the back.

Unlike the booths, these buildings were purple, although a liberal application of blue banners and flags helped them fit in. Each fork boasted a tall, colourful sign that summarized which exhibits were on its path.

I tilted my head. Even if I had time to go see things, I wasn’t sure if such strange or basic topics as The Ultimate Apple Corer, The Making of Snow or The Legend of the Windigos would interest me. I couldn’t help but smirk at the one advertising the Fleece Expo, though.

In any event, I was glad this section was mostly indoors. Very few windows faced the park’s gate, leaving only one good area to watch from. Said area was a wide, open space, consisting of clusters of umbrella-sheltered benches and tables. With no signage or nearby stand, I could only guess that it was a sort of general lounge for any people who needed to rest their feet or hooves. And unlike the games area, people were expected to loiter there.

Moving on, I knew what the next booths held before I even got close. A myriad of scents, from fries to pasta to ‘elephant ears’, slammed into my nostrils.

The booths closest to the exhibits were the quick-and-easy fast food, but it was quite telling that the festival had decided it was worth bringing in larger tents for restaurant-quality vendors.

Each establishment had its own set of sheltered tables and cushions, in a similar fashion to the exhibit’s lounges. Most were completely unoccupied, though I was certain that would change in about half an hour.

The pasta, burrito and pizza tents all tempted me toward an early lunch as I passed by; their sweet aromas were certainly more persuasive than any carny’s sales pitch, in any event.

However, all thoughts of food faded away when I reached the sandwich shop in the back. Not that there was anything wrong with it; the smell was just as tempting as the others and the layout of the dining area was just the same.

No, it was what was across the street that demanded my attention: the trio of warehouses. As my eyes settled on the middle one, I was both embarrassed and relieved to note that it was distinctly lacking in military fortification.

The only thing that came close was the ceremonial Guard cart, the kind that looked like a golden chariot with wings and bore a jeweled emblem of the sun; it was parked out front in a clear statement to potential troublemakers.

For the moment, the situation didn’t look too bad. Absurd day dreams aside, the festival itself had me worried about just how many guards would be lurking around the warehouses. While I had no intention of fighting anyone, that isn’t the only thing affected by numbers. The more guards I had to convince, the greater the risk of someone questioning my cover story. After all, Ruby’s solution would be all but impossible to use if someone was looking over my shoulder.

Still, I’d have to be perfect when I made my move and there was no guarantee things would stay this way once night fell. And then there was the Cartel.

I’d just have to be patient and keep an eye on things. As I continued to glance around, I got this weird feeling, like the festival itself had somehow taken pity on me. In addition to being across from the warehouses, the tables offered a clear, if distant, view of the park entrance.

I had a feeling I’d be buying a tea or three from this fine establishment.

Comments

[mosshadow]

I'm confused , how does this relate to the previous story? Other than a flashback I haven't seen any of the old characters.

[KuroiTsubasaTenshi]

5321051
Without spoiling too much, this is sort of the big picture long game to the story Dusky started telling. The characters as they were by the end of the first story lacked the raw power to force a resolution. Let's just say that when they return to Pasture to finish things, the journey in-between will have significant pay-off for them.

[SIGAWESOME]

5321628
That certainly is good to hear.
I am (was) in the same boat as Moss, scratching my confused head as to how this story tied in to the previous one.

[Zephyr Ward]

5321628

Ok, I'm glad the these two stories have more than just a character in common.

[AppleTank]

Hope Ivory appears. She was cool.

wow, that looks weird in retrospect of her full name.

[KuroiTsubasaTenshi]

6522119
Hehe, it was especially weird for me, since I'm used to sometimes seeing asian names written that way. Ivory will definitely make a return, though—maybe even before Dusky is ready to help bring her conflict to a close.