Midnight Tides
“So, the other Lunas, are they ancillary constructs, or do they think and operate independently?”
Luna pursed her lips. It had been only a scant few minutes since her other selves had departed, and no sooner had they than the scriblarian had begun to question her. Incessantly. Strange
“Luna, did you hear my question? I asked you if–”
“The latter.”
“Fascinating.”
Luna didn’t look at him, staring ahead at the dial which displayed their position in the tower.
“Would you be able to play Old Mare with yourself, without either of yourselves knowing what cards the other held?”
“Yes. We do not share our thoughts while separate.”
“And I assume that the experiences of your bodies will amalgamate upon your recombination?”
“Yes.”
“That is quite a useful ability that you have, Luna. I can only imagine the efficiency with which it could be used. Is this why you were such an accomplished investigator in the days before you became Nightmare Moon?”
“Is there a point to these questions, Smith?” Luna snapped, suddenly finding Smith’s ever present smile annoying.
“Yes, yes they do. If we are to have a healthy working relationship, then it would be to our mutual benefit to have some cursory knowledge of each other. If you no longer wish to answer my questions, Luna, then perhaps you would like to query me about something or other?”
The dial ticked down to 30. “What does your mark represent?” Luna asked, gesturing to the L of black squares upon Smith’s flank.
“Letterboxes,” said Smith. If he was either pleased or disappointed at Luna’s question, he didn’t show it.
“Letter boxes?”
“Yes, letterboxes.”
“Your talent lies in taking out the post?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Not letter boxes—which, today, are more commonly referred to as mail boxes—letterboxes. One word. They are used to indicate how many letters each word has in a crossword puzzle.”
It took a moment for Luna to place the word. “Those lopsided chess boards in the news paper? That is your talent?”
“Yes. I acquired my cutie mark in a national crossword competition, in which I placed first.” There was no pride in his tone, just the same odd gaiety.
The dial ticked past 20. A sudden image of her sister, breaking her fast, newspaper spread out in front of her, rose into Luna’s mind. “I would not expect a stallion whose talent is the solving of word puzzles to be a special investigator.”
“Nor would I expect it of a mare whose talent is to raise the Moon,” Word Smith replied.
Luna felt the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. “No. I suppose you would not. How then did you come to be a special investigator, Smith? I intend no offense, but you hardly seem the type.”
“No offense taken. I was offered an informal position within the Royal Investigative Service shortly after I began my tenure as the Royal Lexicographer. I believe that my sister may have had something to do with the offer. I know for a fact that it was her recommendation which led to my placement as the Royal Lexicographer.”
“Who is your sister?” Luna asked, imagining a gangly and disheveled mare.
“Raven Quill.”
The dial ticked 10.
“Raven Quill,” Luna said slowly. “Your sister is my sister’s . . . personal aide?”
“Yes.”
Luna knew Raven Quill, and from what she had seen, so too did most everypony who worked within the castle. Everything about her was neat and ordered and radiated a kind warmth. Raven had a chocolate brown mane, which she always kept neatly wound into a bun. Word Smith’s mane was as black as midnight, and hung down over his neck like an oily shadow. Raven’s coat was the color cream, always brushed to a polish; Smith’s coat looked like sallow bone, not quite white, but pale.
“You are siblings by blood?” Luna asked tentatively.
“Yes. Fraternal twins.”
Siblings. Twins. Sister and brother. Yet one is an open window, the other a black mirror.
“Celestia speaks very highly of her. You must be proud.”
The dial stopped ticking, and the elevator doors slide open with a pleasant BING.
“And now we must return to our unpleasant task,” Word Smith said, stepping out of the elevator. “We shall have to resume this conversation some other time, perhaps.”
“Of, course, Smith,” Luna said amicably. “It is no problem at all.”
“Halt! Who goes there!” A royal guard stepped around the corner. Upon seeing them, his eyes bulged and his mouth fell open, looking to Luna not unlike a fish.
“Princess Luna!” the stallion yelped, and threw himself into a clumsy bow. “My deepest apologies, Princess, I didn’t know that you were here.”
“Rise, stallion. All is forgiven.” Hesitantly, the guard rose to his hooves. Luna held out her hoof to him. He stared at it for a moment, and nudged it slightly with his own.
“I shall have your name and rank.”
The stallion placed hoof to head in a slightly nervous salute. “Soft Sand, Private First Class in Her Majesty’s Royal Dawn Guard.”
“Take me to your superior officer, Private,” she said curtly.
Private Sand paled. Nevertheless, he spun on his hooves and said, “Yes, Princess. Right this way!” His voice came out a near yell, and cracked on the last word.
“Oh, there is no need for you to leave your post, Private,” Word Smith spoke up suddenly. “I can show the Princess to the captain myself. They are still in the conference room, I trust?”
Private Sand nodded vigorously.
“Thank you, Private Sand,” Luna said. “You are dismissed, I have no further need of you.”
The private all but collapsed in relief, managed a hasty salute, and trotted briskly away from them.
“My, my, for a member of the dawn guard, he seemed quite uneasy in your presence, Luna,” Word Smith said, after the private was out of sight.
“He may be clad in gold, but he is barely more than a colt. I can no more fault him for being nervous in my presence than I can any other child.”
Word Smith started forward down the hallway and Luna followed. “Is that also why you did point out his breach of etiquette?”
“You noticed?” Luna asked, surprised.
“Yes. I’m surprised that you did not correct his behavior.”
“As I said before, he is young still, I can forgive one minor infraction.”
Word Smith looked back at her. Silver eyes met blue. “By my count the young private committed no fewer than three transgressions of improper conduct. Do you intend to forgive those as well?”
“I do indeed,” Luna said, frowning. “What does it matter to you?”
“It doesn’t. Merely idle curiosity.”
There were several dozen stallions milling about the lobby. Some were Dawn Guard, most were clad in the beaten gold of the city watch. When they saw Princess Luna, they froze, still as toy soldiers, before one of them had the presence of mind to bow, leading the others to follow his example.
Smith led her to a plain set of double doors emblazoned with the word CONFERENCE. Word Smith knocked once, and pushed the door open.
Inside, several older stallions were seated at a long meeting table, deep in discussion. They all glanced up with surprise when the doors opened, but to their credit, all of them immediately rose out of their chairs and fell into proper bows.
Luna bowed her own head. “Rise, all. I wish to speak with the senior most officer present.”
“Princess.” One of the dawn guard stallions said. “I am Sergeant Lance Head, of Your Majesty’s Royal Dawn Guard.” He gestured to the stallion directly across from him. “This is Captain Bodega of the Canterlot City Night Watch.” He is technically the highest ranking officer here.”
The slight emphasis with which the sergeant said ‘technically’ was not lost on Luna. “Thank you, Sergeant. Smith, please brief Captain Bodega of our findings and the surveillance I ordered, then return to me. I wish to speak with Sergeant Lance, alone.”
The room was empty save for Luna and the Sergeant in less than a minute.
“Permission to speak, Princess?”
“Denied,” Luna said tersely. “I know a border dispute when I see one, Sergeant. This murder occurred within the City of Canterlot, and therefore falls within the jurisdiction of the city’s watch. I will brook no argument to this. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Princess.” Lance said stoically. “It won’t be a problem.”
“Good. Now, sit.” Luna took a seat at the head of the table. “I have questions that I would like for you to answer. The sergeant wordlessly took a seat to her right.
Luna lit her horn; one of the quills on the table became animate. It dipped itself in the nearest inkwell and hovered patiently over a blank scroll. “Describe, from the moment before you were summoned here, to the moment before Agent Smith and I entered this room, the events as they have occurred in as much detail as you are able to garner. Do not be concerned with speaking too fast; the quill will keep pace.”
Lance Head looked from Luna to the quill, and back again.
“Speak as you would to a friend or equal. Nothing you say will offend me, Sergeant,” Luna pressed.
“I got the call about three hours ago,” he began, pausing to stare at the quill when it began writing. “The city watch wrote to tell us that they had a barrier they couldn’t bust, it got pushed straight to me. When Shining Armor was captain, he’d usually be the one who’d handle it; that stallion was almost as good at breaking down barriers as he was at building them up. ‘Course, he’s gone now. So I guess I’m the next best thing.”
“Do you have much experience with breaking barriers?” Luna asked.
Lance Head shrugged. “Not really. I can cast a lance that’ll pierce dragonhide. So I guess that makes me the closest thing to an expert we have in the Dawn Guard now that Armor’s gone.”
“Did Prince Armor handle every instance of wayward barriers?”
“Yeah. Mostly. Canterlot’s a city of unicorns, and between Celestia’s school for gifted unicorns and the more specialized academies, it was more common than you might expect. Mostly it was domestic stuff; girl would catch her beau smooching another mare and seal them both in a bubble, students trapping themselves in their own shields, that kinda thing.
“Every time it happened, Captain Armor would trot out, give it a tap with his horn, and it’d pop like a bubble. He made it look easier than anything.” Lance Head paused for a moment, before continuing. “Occasionally we’d get a call that was more serious. I remember one time when a little filly wandered away from her mom at the bank near closing time and got herself locked in the vault. Now the vault was on a timer; once it closed, it was closed until opening time next day. I remember when we came on the scene: mother was in hysterics, half the city in the street, watching the spectacle. And this wasn’t just any off-the-shelf-safe,” Lance shook his head. “No. This was the real deal. This was the National Bank of Equestria’s vault, top of the line. Enchanted by the strongest spells money can buy and maintained by an entire team of mages. To put it plainly, impenetrable. At least, that’s what we all thought.
“I remember when he walked in. The captain was usually a pretty friendly guy. There were a few ponies who thought that he was too young to be a captain, but most everypony who knew him liked him. But when he walked into that bank, the look he had on his face would have given a twelve-headed-hydra second thoughts before getting in his way. He said two words to us: get back. And that was it.” Lance Head’s eyes grew distant. “What he did then could’ve put the fear of the Father in you. His eyes started glowing white, and suddenly it was like we were in the middle of a windstorm. He ripped the door right off its hinges. He might’ve been pulling off a bandage for all we knew.
“That day, I don’t think that there was a one of us who thought he was too young to be a captain. Hell, I don’t think that there was a one of us who wouldn’t have followed him straight down into Tartarus after that day.”
The quill was scribbling furiously, dipping itself into the inkwell every now and again. Twice, Luna had replaced the paper on which it was writing. “So after Prince Armor left the Dawn Guard, you were the one tasked with removing errant wards and barriers?”
Lance Head nodded. “That’s the gist of it. Before Captain Armor left, he cherry picked some of the best and brightest we had to join his new crystal guard. A few of us volunteered, too. Lieutenant Stone Tone, who had been in line to replace him as captain of the Dawn Guard, volunteered, and he didn’t even get a promotion to show for it! He actually made a crystal mare the captain. Went by the name of Straight Edge. I met her once, during one of Princess Celestia’s visits to the Empire.” He shook his head. “Finest looking mare I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a few—but she had a look in her eyes that said ‘You better not mess with me if you want kids, because I’ll make damn sure you never have any.’”
Luna nodded. “Would you like a drink, Lance?”
“Yes, please, Princess. All this talking’s dried me out.”
Luna smiled, “Would you prefer coffee or tea?”
“Just an ice water would be fine.”
“Of course,” Luna said. She pulled a blank paper from the table and willed the quill to write: Smith, I require you to bring me one cup of black coffee, as hot as it is possible to make it, and one cup of iced water. Place the coffee before me, the water before the sergeant, and leave. Do not speak, and make as little noise as possible. Luna cast a quick spell on the paper. It folded itself in half, flew towards the conference room door, slipped through the crack between wood and carpet, and was gone.
“Were you disappointed that Shining Armor did not request you to join with him?” Luna asked, returning her attention to the sergeant.
Lance Head seemed slightly surprised by the question. “No. After Captain Armor left the guard, there was a huge gap in the ranks. I was a private first class when Captain Armor left; I got promoted two ranks. The only problem I have is with the green apples.”
“Green apples?”
“New recruits,” Lance head clarified. “We had to bring in a lot of fresh produce to fill the vacancies. Most all of them are young studs, so us veterans took to calling them green apples. When I got the message about a barrier, I thought it would be a good training exercise. Break and enter, search and secure. It’s a textbook operation, and it went off without a hitch . . . at first. Then the screaming started.” Lance Head’s features grew ashen. “I’ve seen some bad things in the guard, but nothing like what was in that bedroom.”
“I know that this will not be pleasant for you, Sergeant,” Luna said sympathetically. “But I need you to tell me the events as they happened from your eyes. Start with the barrier.”
“Not much to tell, really.” Lance Head said with an air of resignation. “It was a solid job. I could tell right away why we got the call. In a city like Canterlot, a spot on the watch is a pretty cushy job. I mean, except for the changeling invasion a few years back. And the night watch is even easier. Canterlot ponies don’t like to stay up late. Guess all that partying and primping really tires them out.”
“Return to the barrier, please,” Luna said gently.
“Oh, right. Sorry. The barrier. Where was I on that?”
“You said that it was a very solid job.”
“Right, right. Yeah. That it was. Pale yellow, spanned the length of the frame. Could just barely make out the door on the other side. I went down the line of protocols: tried to dispel it, but the lattice was something like three layers deep; way above my pay grade. Then we tried to depower it.” The sergeant shook his head. “What a mess that turned out to be. We had three suck sticks with us—one between every squad–”
“Pardon me a moment, Sergeant, but what is a ‘suck stick?’” Luna asked.
A pause. “They’re like, magic vacuums, that suck up and store magical energy. They’re standard excursion gear. We mostly use ‘em to drain the odd drunk unicorn or depower spells and enchantments that have been improperly maintained. They look like small wooden sticks, which is where the name comes from. Also, you can use one as a club in a pinch.”
“Talismans of enervation,” Luna said in understanding. “In the days before the Long Night, we used amulets made up of silver and gemstone; we called them spell drinkers.”
Sergeant Lance whistled appreciatively. “They sure knew how to do it in those days. But as I was saying, we put a sucker up to that barrier and it blew up in our faces. Literally.” The sergeant made an exploding gesture with his arms. “Never seen anything like it. It ain’t easy to fill up a suck stick. Sometimes we can go for months between defills. We put the other two up and the same thing happens.” Lance shook his head disbelievingly. “The only other pony I’ve ever seen put that kind of juice into a spell was Captain Armor.”
“So you think that the ward was created by somepony of great magical ability?”
“I don’t know how anypony else could have. I mean, putting that kind of power behind a spell isn’t too difficult; even a weak unicorn could store the energy in gemstones over time till they had enough. But making a three-layered spell lattice takes skill. Serious skill.”
Yes it does, Luna thought. But to maintain three auras around one’s horn for a duration requires more than just raw power and magical ability, but also prodigious strength of the mind.
At that moment, the doors opened, and Agent Word Smith entered the conference room, carrying a small tray in his teeth. He set the tray down, placed their drinks in front of them, and left silently.
Sergeant Lance Head eyed Smith’s narrow frame until the doors were again closed.
Luna’s eyes measured the sergeant. He was young. In the latter half of his first century. Armor bright and polished but also dented and scarred. Eyes cold and hard, like blue diamonds. This stallion had been tempered by the crucible of service. If there was yet any softness in him, it was buried deep.
“What is your opinion of Agent Smith, Sergeant?” she asked suddenly.
The question had the desired effect: eyes widened, ears perked, lips parted slightly. “Oh, uh, how do you mean?” he asked, playing for time. He had dropped his guard, and her spear had pierced flesh.
“I mean exactly what I said, Sergeant. What is your opinion of Agent Word Smith?” Another blow to keep him disbalanced. “I would very much like to know your thoughts about him.”
“It’s hardly my place to judge a pony that I’ve just met. But why do you ask?” Deflection and counterattack. He was better at this than she would have guessed. It would have to be poison, then.
“Because Agent Word Smith wished to punish one of the soldiers under your command. Severely.”
Sergeant Lance Head went still. “May I ask which soldier, and for what?”
“Private Soft Sand. For three counts of misconduct.”
“Misconduct?”
Luna kept her face blank. “Upon exiting the elevator, Private Sand addressed me as Princess Luna before properly introducing himself. When I proffered my hoof, he touched it with his own hoof, and when introducing himself, he said that he was of Her Majesty’s Royal Dawn Guard.”
As Luna spoke each offense, Lance Head winced, slightly.
“And what are your thoughts about Private Sand’s misconduct, Princess?” Lance Head asked, lips pursed into a thin line.
“I think that the private has had a most trying night. After what he has endured, it would be cruel of me to pursue such a petty vendetta.”
The Sergeant’s relief was almost palpable. “I appreciate that, Princess. I swear it won’t happen again.”
Luna smiled, “Such a lapse is a small thing to forgive, Sergeant. They have more than earned it. I find it admirable that they remain so vigilant in the face of such a trial.”
“They’re a little rough right now, but the potential’s there. They just need time and training.” Lance Head spoke with obvious pride.
“But that is why I wish to know your opinion of the stallion, Sergeant. Such a thing seemed . . . unusual under the current circumstances.”
There was a long pause.
“I’ve only had the pleasure to work with two other RIS agents before now. The first time was during a murder investigation in lower Las Pegasus. Went by the name of Bentgrass. Agrostis Bentgrass. Real smarmy character. Smiled a lot. Like he knew something that the rest of us didn’t, and there was something wrong with one of his eyes. I don’t think he was in there for more than five minutes before every stallion in that place, myself included, wanted to buck him in the face.
“The second one I met in Manehattan. This guy was a different story altogether. Agent Fine Crime. Nopony wanted to buck him in the face. Heck, nopony even wanted to talk to the guy. He had this . . . intensity about him. Like he was just waiting for an excuse to rip your face off.” Lance Head pause, as if unsure quite what to say next. “But Smith, well, there’s something off about him. Something . . . creepy.”
Luna tilted her head to one side. “And what about Agent Smith do you find ‘creepy’ exactly?”
Lance Head stared at his iced water. Luna watched his eyes follow a droplet down from the rim of the cup to where it joined a growing pool on the table.
“When he came up to the room,” the sergeant said at last, “I didn’t believe that he was RIS at first. No badge. No papers. Couldn’t understand half the things that were coming out of his mouth. I could tell that there was something not quite right about him. And I don’t mean how he looks like a plague victim either.” He shook his head. “I’m not ashamed to say that when I saw that . . . body, up there, I just about lost my dinner. What was done to that pony would make anypony or body sick. But when Agent Smith saw the body . . .”
Luna leaned forward slightly. “What did he do, Sergeant?”
“He . . . he just kept smiling. Staring and smiling. His expression never changed. Not when he entered the suite, not when he saw the body, and not when he looked up at me and said that it was ‘highly probable’ that a murder had been committed. He just kept smiling. Like he was just having a pleasant stroll through downtown.” Lance Head shook himself. “You want my opinion of Agent Smith, Princess? There’s something wrong with him. There’s something wrong with the entire damn investigation service. Those ponies ain’t right.”
Luna remembered Word Smith’s scent. How she had not smelled even the faintest trace of fear or discomfort, when even she had felt her gorge rise upon seeing that mutilated corpse.
“Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your honesty. I do not believe that I will need to ask you any more questions.” Luna rose up out of her chair.
“Permission to speak freely, Princess?” Sergeant Lance Head said suddenly.
Luna paused for a moment. “Granted.”
“When the Agent Smith sent us down here, he mentioned that he was waiting for a liaison from headquarters. Are you that liaison?”
“Indeed I am, Sergeant. I will be leading the investigation hence, until its conclusion. Agent Smith is to be my ‘handler.’”
Sergeant Lance blew out a blustery sigh. “It’s not my place to question your orders, Princess, but if you’re involved in this investigation, then you should have the stallions of the royal guard by your side.”
Luna was momentarily taken aback by his brazenness. “You are correct, Sergeant, it is not your place to question my will. And I believe that your stallions have done enough thus far.”
The sergeant said nothing; his face was a stony mask.
“But I appreciate your concern for my well being,” she said more gently. “Thank you for your time, Sergeant. I am sorry for what you and your soldiers had to see tonight. Hopefully they will not see such again hence forth.”
Lance Head got out of his chair and bowed to her, but said nothing.
When Luna opened the conference room door, Word Smith was waiting for her. Beside him was a nervous portly stallion. “Hello, Luna. You had a productive palaver, I hope?” Smith said with his usual cheeriness.
“In a way,” Luna replied. Looking to the stallion next to him, she asked, “Who are you?”
“This is Pot Luck, proprietor and general manager of the Ivory Tower luxury resort,” Word Smith said. “He arrived shortly before your request for liquid refreshment reached me. It is, I must confess, the reason for the delay.”
Pot Luck bowed down as far as his rotund form would allow. “Princess Luna, may I just say that it is an utmost honor to bask in your presence.”
“Have the preparations been made?” Luna asked Smith.
“Yes. Captain Bodega is organizing the effort now.”
“Good.”
“Will you be needing to speak to the Captain in private as well?”
“There is no need.” She turned to Pot Luck. “Fat one, you can open the chamber of lock boxes, yes?”
Pot Luck’s face went from pale yellow to pale red. “Uh, um, ugh. Yes.”
“Then do so. I wish to know what wealth he has sequestered here.”
Pot Luck’s mouth worked furiously, but silently for a few seconds, until Word Smith spoke up. “Luna, you might be interested to know that there is a tenant living in the other suite on Oakenhoof’s floor.”
Luna stared at Smith. “I thought you had said that the suite across from his was vacant.”
“I did. But it turns out that I was relaying misinformation passed to me from the acting manager at the time.” Smith shrugged. “Simple equine error, I’m afraid. This new information has only recently come to light during my converse with Mr. Pot Luck.”
She turned back to Pot Luck. “Is this true, fat one?”
Pot Luck’s immense frame seemed to shrink before her gaze. “Yes.”
“And for how long has this tenant inhabited the adjacent suite?”
“A month, maybe?”
“What is the name of this tenant?”
“Prism. She’s an artist.”
“Do you know where she can be found?”
“She’s probably still in her suite,” said the withering Pot Luck. “She’s not a real outdoorsy type.”
Silence.
“Smith,” Luna said.
“Yes?” Smith said.
“When the body was discovered, did the ponies of either the City Watch or the Dawn Guard bother to knock upon the door of the adjacent suite?” By this time, most of the stallions from both groups had gathered close enough to hear their conversation. From their collective expressions, Luna did not need to wait for Word Smith’s answer.
“INCOMPETENT WORMS!” she screamed in the Royal Voice. The force of her exclamation shattered every window in the lobby and sent the assorted stallions running like frightened rabbits.
“Would you like for me to tell you a joke, Luna?”
The problem with elevators, Luna decided, was that they took far too long to take a pony where they needed to go.
Luna had left the opening and cataloging of Oakenhoof’s safe-box to Sergeant Lance Head and the ponies of the Dawn Guard. In the face of their bumbling, and her use of the Royal Voice, they had been eager to placate her. And so she had once again come to be in an elevator with Agent Word Smith.
“You wish to tell me a joke, Word Smith?”
“Yes. Joke, noun–”
“I know what a joke is, Smith, but I hardly think that this is the time or place for humor.”
“Oh, I disagree. The sharing of humorous anecdotes is a very effective form of stress relief, albeit temporarily.” Smith had not seemed the least bit perturbed by her anger. After her outburst, he had shaken himself briefly, and then said, “If there is indeed a possible witness to the crime, then she must be interviewed immediately,” with all the aplomb of a wooly mammoth making its way across the tundra. Luna had liked that. If nothing else, it meant that he was not one to be rattled easily.
“Very well, Smith, speak your joke.”
“Splendid!” Word Smith cleared his throat and said, “Why did the stallion bring with him into the lavatory, a bee?”
Luna blinked. “A bee?”
“Yes,” Smith said placidly. “A common honey bee.”
“I do not know. Why?”
“Because he was taking apis.”
Silence.
“I . . . am afraid that I do not understand.”
“It’s wordplay. The Old Equestrian name for the genus of the honey bee is apis, and it is phonetically similar to the latter half of the dysphemism for urination, to take a piss. So you see, by bringing the bee into the lavatory, the stallion was literally taking apis into the lavatory. It is not quite grammatically correct, but owing to the intrinsic hilarity of lavatories—and all things tangentially related therein—quite humorous. Wouldn’t you say so?”
Luna stared at the smiling stallion. “Yes. That was quite a . . . humorous anecdote.”
“Would you like me to tell you another?”
Luna shook her head. “No. I would like to ask you a question. Smith, are you familiar with the name Agrostis Bentgrass?”
“Why, yes, I am. Agrostis Bentgrass is one of the most successful agents within the whole of the Royal Investigation Service. He has more closed cases than any other agent to date. If he were not otherwise occupied at present, he would have most likely been the agent assigned to this case.”
Interesting, Luna thought. Smith had answered her question quickly and concisely, without the slightest pause or hint of annoyance. “Where is he now?”
“Agent Bentgrass is currently on a case in Manehattan. I do not know the specifics; such things are kept on a need-to-know basis within the ranks.”
Luna considered this. “What about the name Fine Crime?”
“Also a highly decorated agent of the RIS, though in a much different capacity. Agent Fine Crime spends much of his time investigating possible foreign threats along and beyond Equestria’s borders. He has logged more hours outside of Equestria than any other agent in the RIS.” Word Smith looked at her curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Luna said dismissively. “Theirs are the only names that I have heard in regards to the RIS.” A fine script thou art reading, Smith. The soft and supple ponies of this city must feel like foals at the teat when you read it.
“I’m not surprised. Agents Bentgrass and Fine Crime are two of only five permanent agents within the service. So it is only natural that their names would have penetrated the social barrier of common knowledge.”
“You only have five permanent agents upon retainer?” Luna asked, genuinely surprised. “Is that sufficient?”
“More often than not it’s abundant,” Smith said. “It is why most of us work in other occupations when we are not involved in a case.”
“Such as a lexicographer?”
Smith nodded slightly. “Exactly. Another example would be Agent Yearling. When not engaged in cases, she previously served the crown as the Royal Historian. She has since retired from that position to write a series of children’s adventure novels. But even though Agent Yearling has retired from her duties in the official capacity, she continues to work for the RIS in the provisional capacity whenever archeological or historical expertise is needed.”
Luna was willing to bet that Smith had answered many such questions before; his manner of speaking had changed slightly, become more academic. She cast her eyes down. “How terribly ignorant I must seem to you. I hold the title of princess, yet how little I know of mine own country.”
This time, Word Smith’s answer came only after a slight pause. “Think nothing of it, Luna. It is as the great philosopher Carabas Cube once said: Ignorance is merely the state of being uninformed. Take a scholar to farm and a farmer to university, and there will be not a difference between them.”
Luna allowed herself a small smile. A fine answer, Word Smith.
BING.
Once again the elevators opened onto Oakenhoof’s floor. As before, the corridor was silent, but now the silence felt foreboding. As if the shadow of death had fallen over this hallway, pressing slim and fallow hooves to the air. The pair made their way to the door opposite Oakenhoof’s.
“Smith,” Luna said, looking at the door apprehensively. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to do the lion’s share of the conversing. I tend to . . . frighten ponies.”
“Of course, Luna. Think nothing of it.” Word Smith knocked on the door. They waited for several moments, which became several minutes, and Word Smith knocked again.
“Coming!” a thin voice yelled from behind the door. Luna and Smith traded a glance.
Finally the door cracked open, and a pale pink eye peeked out at them. “H-Hello?”
“Hello!” Smith sang out. “Am I correct in my assumption that you are Ms. Prism, the tenant of this suite?”
There was a pause. “Yes?” it sounded more like a question than an answer.
“I am Agent Word Smith, from the Royal Investigative Service. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Smith stuck out a hoof to the cracked doorway. The eye shrank back and the door inched slightly closed.
“I . . . I pay my taxes.”
“And I have no doubt to your sincerity, Ms. Prism. It is your neighbor, Baron von Oakenhoof, that I wish to question you about.”
The door opened slightly further, revealing the face of a white unicorn. “Baron? Did . . . did he do something?”
“Yes. We have reason to believe that Mr. Oakenhoof was not paying a full tenth of his income every month. As you no doubt know, it is the responsibility of every pony and body residing in Equestria to pay a tenth of their income to the crown, which so dutifully provides us with security and safety, on the first of every month. Now, if a citizen of Equestria up and decided that they were no longer going to pay their required allotment of tax, then that would be most unfair to those hard working ponies that do pay their taxes. Ponies like you, upstanding citizens working to better yourselves, shouldn’t be victim to one pony’s avarice. Wouldn’t you agree?” These lines too sounded scripted and rehearsed, but Smith’s tone remained polite.
The mare behind the door didn’t say anything for a long moment. She looked as if she would rather have been anywhere else at that moment. “Um . . . yes?”
“May we come in? I would very much like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor.”
“Oh, um. Okay?” The young mare looked like a rabbit that had just invited a fox into its burrow. “Please come . . . in.”
Luna decided to make her presence known. “Thank you, young one. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”
Prism looked up, and made a noise somewhere between a scream and a strangled yelp. “You’re Princess Luna,” she said, staring dumbly at Luna.
“Yes.”
The poor mare looked as if she might faint. Word Smith spoke up, “Yes, tax evasion is a very serious crime in Equestria.”
This seemed to snap Prism out of her stupor. “What? Oh! Tax evasion! Yes! Come in, please!” She pulled open the door and ushered them inside.
Prism’s suite looked much the same as Oakenhoof’s; the only difference being that it was inverted. Prism was dressed in a tarnished brown robe.
Prism led them to her sitting room. “Would . . . would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“That will not be necessary, Miss,” Luna said, taking a seat.
“Likewise,” Smith said.
“Oh . . . okay.” Prism stood there, motionless. “Wha-what is this about?”
“Please, have a seat,” Luna said.”
Slowly, Prism sat down in her own chair. “Am I in trouble?” she asked timidly.
“Not at all,” Word Smith said. “I only wish to ask you a few questions about the good Baron.”
“What’s . . . what’s going to happen to him?”
Word Smith made a dismissive gesture. “Tax evasion is a minor crime. If convicted, Baron von Oakenhoof will be charged a fine amounting to half the sum total of his unpaid taxes.”
Her pink eyes flashed to Luna.
“Princess Luna is here merely to observe, Miss Prism. As part of her reintegration into Equestrian government. Were you very well acquainted with your neighbor?” he asked her.
Prism shook her head. “No. I don’t think that I even spoke to him more than a mouthful of times!” She looked like she was on the edge of hysterics.
“Enough of this,” Luna said, rising to her hooves. She lit her horn and fired a blast of blue light into Prism’s face. “Sleep.” Prism’s eyes grew wide, shining a bright purple as the magic took hold, and she crumpled into Luna’s aura.
“Was that really necessary?” Smith asked, looking completely unperturbed by the unconscious mare floating in front of him.
“Yes.”
“This is going to make my forthcoming account of events much more time consuming. I’ll have to file a report for magical incapacitation.”
“This is not to go into your report, Smith. Understood?”
Word Smith stared at her. “It’s not?”
“No. It is not.”
“Oh.” Word Smith was silent for a moment. “In that case, I shall take this opportunity to make a search and seizure of her refrigerated beverages. I am slightly parched.”
“Good stallion.” Luna carried Prism to the bedchamber, and set her down gently upon the mattress. Celestia would not approve if she learned of this, but it was always so much easier to put them to sleep. Luna touched the tip of her horn to Prism’s. “Dream now, young one.”
Luna closed her eyes, and the world disappeared on a wave of blue ethera.
In an instant Luna knew that Prism was not the killer.
The mare’s heart was pure; innocence radiating from her in showers of golden light. But also shut, like a rose in late bloom. Not unlike the soft voiced one—Fluttershy. Cast in this light, Prism’s manner in their presence made sense. The poor mare was a wallflower. But unlike Fluttershy, this one’s heart had not been opened by friendship. Perhaps when this current trial is over, I shall return to you.
But there was still a task to be carried out. Luna opened her eyes, and found herself standing upon a beach; the full moon and a panoply of stars reflected in the water. Directly in front of her, was a window, suspended in space, and beyond this window, looking in on her, was Prism. Without her brown cloak on, Luna could see that her mark was of a painter’s tray and brush. But they lacked color of any kind. An albino? That explain her pallor, and mannerism.
“Hello,” she said through the window. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you a new addition to the gallery?”
Luna looked back at her quizzically. New addition? What did she mean—I am in a painting! Luna realized. It was a novel notion. She had never been a painting before. But it made sense. Those that were shy of heart, usually did not dream of talking to other ponies. Looking back to Prism, she said “You are correct, I am indeed a new addition. I am on loan from a museum in Trottingham.”
“You’re quite breathtaking,” Prism said. She seemed a wholly different mare form the one who had greeted her in the waking world. “Your back and foregrounds are both so dark, but still manage to strike such a visible contrast, and your field of depth is so large.”
Luna blushed and put a hand to her muzzle. “You flatter me, truly. I was painted by a minor artist during the turn of the last century. He actually considered me to be one of his lesser works.
Prism gasped. “A lesser work!? I would go so far as to say that you are a masterpiece.” She stopped, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I’m Prism, by the way. It is nice to meet you.”
Luna bowed her head. “Midnight Tides. It is likewise a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Tell me, Prism, do you come to this gallery often?”
“Oh, yes! I try to visit as often as I can. But every time I come, it seems like they’ve added a dozen more paintings.” She shook her head ruefully. “I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to see them all.”
Luna giggled. “What fun would that be, then? It is not an adventure to take the road less traveled if you know what lays down it.”
Prism turned her head to the side, covering her face with her mane. “I’m . . . not really the type of pony that goes on adventures.”
Luna pressed her muzzle closer to the window. “And what kind of pony are you, Prism?”
Prism pawed at the floor idly. “I’m just . . . me. A boring, regular pony. Nothing special at all.”
She almost completely immersed now. Luna could feel it. She just needed a little push. “There are many kinds of adventures, just as there are many kinds of ponies. Perhaps you would like to go on an adventure with me?”
“With you?”
“Yes.” Luna reached out, and pushed her arm through the painting. “With me.”
Prism stared at her hoof, mouth open. Slowly, she reached out, and took Luna’s arm in her own.
Luna smiled and, with a thought, pulled Prism into the painting. She landed on the wet sand with an “Oof!” and scrambled to her hooves.
“Oh my gosh! I’m in a painting!” she yelled, holding her face in her hooves. She spun around, “I can’t believe I’m actually in a painting!” she began hopping excitedly. “This is so amazing!”
“We can visit any painting you wish.”
Prism froze, mid-hop. “Any painting!? Any painting at all?”
Luna nodded. “Yes. Any painting whose name you know, my dear. You need only speak it. Or is this too adventurous for you?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Prism said ecstatically. “This, this is better than any adventure that I could ever dream of!”
Apparently so. But she still wasn’t quite there yet. “Then speak the name of a painting, and away we shall go.”
Prism bit her lip nervously. “I think . . . I think that I would like to see Moonlight Palaver. It’s a political satire. It portrays some of the greatest leaders in the world, gathered around a table, playing poker.” She giggled. “I’ve always wanted to see it, but I’d have to go all the way to Prance, and . . .” she broke off. “Well, I have enough trouble just coming to Canterlot for a gallery opening.”
“Have no fear,” Luna said knowingly. She lit her horn, and the beach around them disappeared as Prism’s mind reshaped their surroundings.
Luna found herself standing in front of a large wooden table. Seated at the table, was a motley assortment of beings. An elderly ewe, a donkey, a buffalo, a stag, a dragon, and, on the last chair, a small golden crown . . .
Luna’s breath caught in her throat; she knew these beings. Or rather, she had known them. Fairy Floss, Burro Delver, Gellert Fivecrags, Bullwalda Greenhorn, the Fire Queen, and The Capricious Crown. Before her fall from grace, these had been the rulers of Equestria’s neighboring countries. In the time between then and now, they had all passed into the hereafter. Then, before she realized that it was happening, her own memories bled into the dream, animating it.
Burro Delver slammed his hooves into the table. “That’s the last straw, Crown! There are not five aces in a deck of cards, and it is most certainly not called a capricious flush!”
The Crowns multifaceted jewels flashed. “My country, my rules! And in Capra, the first rule is the Crown always wins!”
“Why you–”
“He’s right, Donkey,” said Fairy Floss. “We did decide to have this conference in Capra, after all. It’s nothing to start a war over.”
Luna turned her attention away from them, looking for Prism. She was in the far corner of the room, painting the scene. Luna smiled. The white mare was fully immersed in the dream, following the script of her own desire. Which left Luna free to proceed.
“Unimportant Servant 207616,” said the Crown. “Deposit my winnings in the treasury. You may then return to whatever it is you do when not basking in my presence.”
The ibex swept the coins off the table, and made towards the exit. Luna stepped in front of him. “What is your name?” she asked the ibex.
The ibex stared up at her, expressionless. “Prism,” it said at last, in a dull monotone.
“Good. Now, where do you live, Prism?”
“In Manehattan.”
“Good. Now, why are you staying at the Ivory Tower?”
“Art show.”
“Good. Now, do you know who Baron von Oakenhoof is?”
A pause. “Neighbor.”
“Good. Now, did Oakenhoof—your neighbor—ever invite you into his suite?”
“Yes.”
“Did you accept the invitation?”
There was a longer pause, this time. “No.”
“Good. Now, why did you not accept?”
“Scared.”
“You were scared of Oakenhoof or you were scared to enter his suite?”
The ibex didn’t respond.
Luna took a breath. Talking directly to a pony’s subconscious mind was a delicate affair, and could even be dangerous if one was not careful.
“Prism, did you ever see anypony else enter Oakenhoof’s suite?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, was this pony a mare?”
“No.”
“It was a stallion?”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a pony?”
“No.”
Luna took another breath. She would have to take a risk.
“Can you describe the being you saw enter Oakenhoof’s suite?”
“Many.”
This time the pause was Luna’s.
“How many?”
“Many.”
“He had many guests?”
“Many.”
“Many gatherings?”
“Many.”
“He had many gatherings, with many guests?”
“Guests. Many. Party.”
“Good. Now, did you ever see Oakenhoof enter his suite with only a single being, pony or otherwise?”
The ibex took a long time to answer, so long that Luna begun to think that it wouldn’t. “No.”
Luna returned to the waking world. She left Prism lying in the bed and smiling warmly, and entered the kitchen, where she found Agent Word Smith sipping a glass of iced tea. “How long have I been away?”
‘No more than a few minutes, by my count. Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” she told him of what she had gleaned from Prism’s mind.
“Having a surplus of guests whom share the victim’s perversion would certainly account for the excess of stables we found in his closest. What do you think it means?” Word Smith asked.
“I think,” said Luna grimly, “that our killer was not alone in this venture. I believe that they may have an accomplice.”
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I love your writing.
The beans have struck gold with creativity, in other words, Luna!
Very interesting story, I'm not one for murder mysteries yet you've captivated my attention. I am drawn by your characterizations and descriptions of the events.
I await to see what else is in store .
5961887
Why, thank you.
5962817
I really wish that there was a Luna emoticon that I could use to reply to this comment.
5962937
There are only two things that I truly believe I am good at when it comes to writing: characterization, and describing shit. I play to my strengths.
5963835 You and me both, Luna needs appreciation too.
Really reminded me of Murder on the Orient Express.
You have a great interpretation of Luna here, and showing that she's one of the few protagonists from the show that can be involved with more mature writing.
Princess Luna: ACE DETECTIVE!
You do a great job of capturing the atmosphere of this style of murder mystery. Should be interesting to see where this goes.
5964963
I said that Under A Luminous Sky was one of my primary inspirations, well the other would be Agatha Christie. So that is a HUGE compliment to me.
Aw man, I'm loving this so far! Luna fits into the 'Hercule Poirot'-esque detective role surprisingly well. I really wish FimFic had a "Mystery" tag so I could find stories like this easier.
Anyways, keep up the good work. Will be following this one closely.
You accidentally a word.
Lower-case and comma, not a period.
You accidentally added an extra quotation mark.
You accidentally a quotation mark.
Comma, not period.
Carabas, you're a butthead
I'm definitely enjoying the story, but it still feels really sloppy.
6159303
As unpleasant as it is to admit one’s own failings, you are right. I obviously didn't spend enough time going over this. If I had, you wouldn't have had so many emboldened errors in your comments. But to paraphrase Alfred Pennyworth: the reason we fall is to get back up again. So I thank you for your perspicacity.
Giving 10% of one's income sounds fair —— if one is a libertarian:
Taking 10% of the income of someone making minimum wage to mean not making rent and becoming homeless. The formula is thus:
t = n / 10
t equals tax. n equals income. Try this instead:
t = ( n / m ) - ( c + d )
t equals tax. n equals income. m is a constant. c is a constant. d is deductibles. Let us put some dummy numbers into the equation:
m = 2
c = 10,000. U$D
d = 0
If one earns less that 20,000.00 U$D, one does not pay tax. If one earns less than 20,000.00 U$D, one receives income-assistance (mincome). The super rich pretty much pay a flat tax. If your computer has a graphing calculator or you have a graphing calculator, you can see for yourself:
y=(x/2)-10000
That should be "hoof", not "hand".