From Dusk to Night

by KuroiTsubasaTenshi

11 - Old Habits

As I approached the warehouse, I felt my chest tighten with each step. Night had fallen, there was no one else around and the Guard’s cart was even gone. It was perfect, almost too perfect.

There was no way they knew I was coming, but I couldn’t help but feel the whole situation was a set up. Perhaps not for me, but traps have been known to catch things other than their intended prey.

Still, I had to make my move early that night, as to wait would invariably give the advantage to my enemy. The Cartel was more likely to act tomorrow, drastically increasing the risk of us running into each other and more than negating the advantages of an additional day’s reconnaissance. Similarly, the night’s darkest hours meant fewer non-Cartel factors at the risk of the Cartel either getting in before or at the same time as me.

This gave me exactly one shot. I had to be smooth and convincing in the face of suspicion. While this was far from my first time bluffing my way through a situation, the stakes were high enough that even a strong prop like my ID did little to ease my edginess.

As I trudged up the stairs, they were as lookouts, creaking and groaning to their masters. The heavy, oaken door, called forth by its companions, loomed over me, all too eager to judge.

Bracing myself, I pushed on into what was some sort of office-reception combination. Each corner was populated by a desk with accompanying name plate, chair and filing cabinet. Currently, only the desk to my immediate left was occupied by a light blue unicorn mare. ‘Even Flow’, according to her plate.

Along the left wall was another wooden door, this time watched over by an earth pony guard. I could already feel his eyes on me, even though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

Half of me was relieved that security was so light; the other was pondering just how many they’d have waiting in or around the warehouse proper.

Even Flow was hunched over a stack of paperwork. She applied a stamp to the current form as she glanced up. While she looked tired, her smile was a far warmer welcome than the guard’s.

She tapped a hoof on her desk. “ID, miss?”

I looked down at my badge, which had flipped around to its blank backside. Giving it an annoyed look, I nudged the string until the picture was facing forward.

“You’re here awfully late, Miss Strands.” Even Flow raised an eyebrow.

I held my head high as I nodded. “I was delayed, so I’m getting into the competition late. I’d like to claim some of the good ice before the next day starts.

A lump formed in my throat; this was the crucial moment.

Some people may ask why the festival doesn’t just keep pegasi on-site to create ice as required. I was among those people until I started looking for my ticket in. While making ice is easy, making consistent, high-quality, competition-grade ice is time-consuming, precise and even unreliable. It’s no wonder that the officials would play things safe and place an order with Cloudsdale months in advance.

Despite all the precaution, the very nature of crafting by hoof meant that the product wouldn’t all be equal, even if the margin of error was relatively small. The big question was whether I seemed hardcore enough to fuss over that.

Even Flow stared at me for a couple seconds before finally replying, “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, miss. Our competitions involve only the choicest of ice. However, if it would ease your mind, you may mark off that which you intend to use.”

I did my best to play up my gratefulness, which wasn’t too hard, given that the majority of it was genuine. Still, it never hurt to stick to the role. “It would. Thank you.”

“All right. Go on in, then.” Even Flow motioned me toward the door.

The guard stepped aside, though he kept his eyes on me, his stare reaching an uncomfortable intensity. I made a mental note to get well away from the door before trying anything with the ice.

I stepped out into the chill of the warehouse and was greeted by ice, ice and more ice. While the closest section held a few stacks of blocks, the majority of them were gone, their pallet-shaped gaps outlined by a mess of tiny, crystalline shards. The light from the hanging lamps danced over the frozen refuse, only serving to emphasize the dull grey of the concrete cavities. Everything smelled clean and fresh, the kind of scent that always came after a morning’s snowfall.

As my eyes continued toward the back, the gaps became full pallets, with each row housing a set of six. The farthest pallets blended together, giving the impression of one giant block of ice. Part of me just wanted to fly over and carve out an elaborate fort.

For every few rows, there was a pair of overhead doors on the left and right, leading to the street and docks, respectively.

One thing that immediately struck me was the lack of additional guards; none stood nearby and not so much as a single hoofstep reached my ears.

The doubt nagging at the back of my mind grew. This was too easy, too light, even for a trap. It was more like a calculated gap, open to allow a certain organization to operate without much fuss.

I swallowed, my senses involuntarily heightening. My first instinct was to rush forward, to complete everything as quickly as I could. The logical part berated me. This was my only opportunity, and the opposition had just unknowingly given me a golden opportunity. To draw attention by acting rashly would only leave me exposed and empty-hooved.

No, I needed to keep the act up, at least until I could get to the far end. There, I could perform the test while concealed, then slip out the rear exit. I took a deep breath.

As the anxiety left my body, I walked toward the closest pile, pretending to take interest in some blemish or another.

My first few steps upon the crystal shards crunched deafeningly, the echos filling the entirety of the warehouse. I cringed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost have thought the Cartel was already here, a dozen of their hammers grinding the stockpile into powder.

But there was no further noise, leaving me rubbing at my ears. Once they were done ringing, I swiveled one behind me, just in case my ‘hosts’ were drawing their own conclusions. Their voices were a bit muffled, but it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks.

“Is this really necessary?” the guard asked.

“Come on, Crag, you heard about Fetlock, didn’t you?” Even Flow sounded exhausted, as though she’d just repeated herself for the fiftieth time.

“Yeah, but now we know what they’re up to. Who risks that much for a pile of uncarved ice?”

“Well, we do have more security at the park for a reason. And hey, if nothing happens over here, it’s an easy paycheck.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Upon realizing they weren’t even paying attention to me, I trotted toward the back. It was time for the hard part: figuring out which blocks were the Cartel cargo.

At first, I was convinced that it couldn’t be anything near the street-side doors because there was too much risk of someone else running off with the tainted ice. However, once I reached the end, I changed my mind.

Two pallets, which were fully-stocked and closest to the the door, were each marked with a crude mess of yellow tape streaming from a wooden sign. Lulamoon was scrawled across both signs in bright blue ink.

They may as well have read I’m the shipment!

After taking a quick glance around me, I set to work, fishing Ruby’s solution out of my flight satchel. It was a large flask with one of those fancy turn spouts that was supposedly made for those of us using our mouths. It still took me three tries to get it through a full counter-clockwise rotation.

The liquid itself was clear as water, a convenient excuse that I was glad I hadn’t had to use. While it would have technically been safe to drink in order to ‘prove’ that it was water, Ruby had warned me that it might throw my stomach off.

Eagerly, I tilted the flask, splattering half-aimed solution all over the nearest block. Nothing happened. Furrowing my brow, I poured a bit more. Five seconds went by, then ten.

I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. If I was right, the solution should have already started working. But somehow, this ‘obvious’ ice wasn’t having any of that.

Spinning around, I looked for something, anything that could be a tell amongst the icy walls. But there was nothing, just endless white-blue staring back at me.

I slumped. There was no way I had enough solution to test every pallet.

That’s when I noticed a small line of green worming its way through the shards on the floor. I watched as one fragment out of a clump of five melted away.

Stepping back, I frowned. What am I missing?

Then it hit me. The Lulamoon pallets weren’t meant to prevent themselves from being taken away; they were marked off to discourage anyone from choosing the ten behind them. Most people would be taking the pallets closest to the street and then working their way in while the door was still open. Not only did this setup completely counter that tendency, but gave the Cartel clear and easy access to their ice from the dock’s side.

Hurriedly, I swung round to the nearest unmarked pallet and applied Ruby’s solution. Within seconds, the ice began to creak and groan, deforming as the liquid flowed among its crevices. The end result was a small, sickly green pool at the top of the block.

A sardonic smile crept up my lips as I realized my first instinct had actually been right.

Closing the flask, I tucked it away, trading it for an empty, handled tube and long cork. This design was a bit less unwieldy to hold, but was tougher to open without spilling its contents. Thankfully, I didn’t anticipate needing to pry it open anytime soon.

With one more glance behind me, I scooped up my sample, filling the tube as much as I could. I took one more pass, just to be sure. Pinning the tube against the next nearest block with my forehoof, I gingerly eased the cork into place. Quite frankly, despite all the concessions these bottles made, it was a wonder any earth ponies or pegasi ever chose to become chemists.

Just as I was finishing up, a dull crash, followed by several shouts, worked their way through the warehouse. I got my wing down just in time, my primaries only barely preventing my prize from being smashed against the concrete floor.

My eyes flitted over to the office. I chastised myself for even considering checking it out; more than my own well-being was riding on this information.

As I tucked the vial away in my bag, I headed for the rear exit. It was an innocuous, pony-sized door, just beside the farthest dockside overhead.

If the day’s observations were correct, the door would take me out into the alley. From there, I’d have any number of ways to slip away without being seen.

But as I pushed out into the cold night air, I just about ran headlong into a pair of stallions and their cart. One was an orangey-brown and the other a deep yellow. Both were wearing light cloaks with the hoods down, as well as leaning up against the back of the cart.

“Hey, that was quick. You really are good with the ladies,” said the yellow one as he stood up straight.

“Wait a second.” The orange-brown stallion cocked his head. “That ain’t Crag.”

Shit.

I was off without a second thought, hoping to Celestia that there weren’t any Cartel on the street. If I could get back to the festival, perhaps the presence of the Guard would scare my pursuers away. Failing that, there were plenty of places to hide, including the crowd.

“After her!” the orange-brown stallion yelled.

Adrenaline cut in and I felt myself gaining speed, to the point that I was afraid I’d trip over myself. But I somehow kept my balance, blasting out of the alleyway and straight through the parking lot.

There were no Cartel on the street; in fact, there wasn’t anyone at all.

The heavy, grimy scent of smoke invaded my nostrils just as I spotted the ring of onlookers. They were crammed, flank-to-flank, into the restaurant area. Some distance away that was almost assuredly not far enough to be safe, flames licked up toward the sky, trying to catch the roiling grey clouds before they could escape.

My heart fell. There was no way I was going to fit into that crowd, nevermind getting through it. I could fly, but if the rising heat didn’t cook me, the smoke would make it impossible for me to see incoming threats. And if I doubled back, I’d be painting a target on my back for any Cartel fliers in the area. Nonetheless, they were currently my best options and I had about ten seconds to make up my mind.

Eyes moving a million miles a minute, I searched desperately for something less likely to get me killed. A bitter salvation awaited.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before, but not only was the park gate still open, but there were no Guard present. Changing direction immediately, I headed for the opening.

While it was quite likely that the Cartel had already infiltrated the park, the sheer size alone would allow me to hide more easily. Plus, if I found a chance to take wing, the trajectory would be far preferable to my other options.

Skidding around the corner, I held myself low, looking for something, anything to hide behind. The park was generous enough to offer my choice of several long, snow-caked sections of bushes.

I headed for the closest set, sticking to the main path as long as I could. Turning off into the bushes, I spread a wing, hurriedly dusting off my tracks as I went.

Time slowed down as I took my new surroundings in. The faint scent of iron, each creak of the snow, each hoofprint and its freshness; my mind documented it all. These next few moments were crucial and the bushes could hide anyone else just as easily as I.

Granted, they would have to be trying to hide too, but the thought wasn’t so far-fetched; the Cartel clearly wanted to keep attention off their agents, otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered with the distraction.

Luckily for me, it was unlikely that those on vandalism duty would be back anytime soon. The two sculptures that used to stand in this section had already been reduced to a shattered mess.

I also doubted that smashing sculptures could be done effectively by anyone who wasn’t drawing themselves to their full height. If the sound didn’t give them away, I should have been able to spot the top of the silhouettes.

Still, it was likely they’d posted lookouts and those other goons wouldn’t be far behind me. If I didn’t want to get hemmed in, I’d have to somehow move both quickly and quietly.

I scanned the snow mounds and bushes for any larger, better hiding places. Ideally, I’d find a nice, innocuous spot and stay there until everything blew over. Unfortunately, the festival organizers seemed to have converted the whole area into a perpetual stage.

Even having seen the entire area from above, I never could have anticipated just how low and awkwardly I’d have to move to keep myself entirely behind the bushes. It wasn’t quite a belly-crawl, but my body was constantly complaining that my joints shouldn’t bend that way.

Slipping up against the farthest bushes, I poked my head around the corner—and nearly yelped. A Guard’s head, beaten and swollen under his golden helmet, protruded from the right side bushes; they bulged as they struggled to contain his body. A shallow pool of crimson congealed under his head, with individual strands escaping down the contours of the snow like bloody tears.

For a moment, I saw the silhouette of Silent Vigil. I blinked. When I opened my eyes, he was the other guard again—another name on the Cartel’s long list of victims. I stumbled as my stomach wretched, getting my forehoof back in place just in time to avoid a spill. I had to look away, but I couldn’t.

Stop! Focus! my mind demanded. I shook the haze away, but the damage had already been done.

A heavy crunch in the snow sent me whirling. I faced that yellow thug just in time to see him lunge. I barely sidestepped as he whooshed by.

With my position already compromised, I decided there was little point in trying to find a new hiding spot on the ground. Jumping forward, I spread my wings. But my cloak refused to move and I gagged as it clung to my throat.

The thug turned, his head wrapped in my cloak, and wildly swung a forehoof my way. I hardly had to move for him to whiff, but I wasn’t getting anywhere with him tangled up with me. I tugged a couple more times, but to no avail.

Desperate for alternatives, I flicked a wing at the clasp, but it didn’t budge. With a grunt of frustration, I brought my forehead down, smashing it into the bulge where his ear should be. Just to be sure, I leapt forward, driving what could barely qualify as a body slam into the front of his face. I was aiming for the snoot, but I’d settle for anything that might throw him off.

The muffled scream was my cue to duck my head, holding my muzzle up, keeping it aligned with my neck. The fit was a bit tight, but I felt the cloak slip up and over my face.

I lashed out my hind leg for good measure, not even sure where I was aiming. For a split-second, I felt it dig into something, before deflecting off to the side.

Breaking into a run, I flared my wings, flapping furiously to get myself primed. It didn’t take long; the adrenaline did far more for me than my preemptive efforts.

As I launched into the air, I expected Cartel aerial sentries to come straight for me. But while I did catch a few loitering fliers out of the corner of my eye, they hardly seemed to react until I was already several seconds out of the city.

Somehow, they must have missed the fight below. Of course, there was a lot going on and I even allowed myself a smirk as I entertained the thought that the Cartel’s own diversion had covered my escape.

But I wasn’t about to let myself get complacent, keeping myself vigilant for the next few minutes. In fact, I didn’t even let myself relax until I was halfway back to Canterlot.

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[AppleTank]

[Titan Commander Sebaste]

Holy throne....