CMC Investigations: The Creature of Canterlot

by AidanofVT

Chapter Three.

The Swig’s thin wooden door swung wide with a soft creek and the three mares strode in, wearing their most nonchalant faces. At mid-day the place was mostly empty, and they had no competition for seats at the bar. At the sound of the door opening the large, earth-pony bartender raised his gaze from the newspaper he had been reading and turned to them, apparently slightly surprised. “Hello there,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting any… new customers.” He was clearly flustered.

“Well,” replied Sweetie Belle , “Hopefully it’s not too much of a shock.”

“Hey,” said Scootaloo, “You don’t have to worry about us,”

The stallion maintained his look of suspicion for a moment more before seeming to make up his mind and allowing his complexion to relax. “Well then ladies, what’ll it be?”

Sweetie piped up first: “Whatever your favorite thing for under ten bits is.”

“Well,” said the bartender, “for a nice lass like you we’ll make it fifteen, ay?”

Sweetie blushed subtly. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Hey, I don’t often get new customers, so when I do I like to keep ‘em.” He turned his attention to Apple Bloom.

“Whiskey.”

“Alright.”

Scootaloo hesitated before making her request: “Could I just get some seltzer with one of those little umbrellas?”

The bartender rolled his eyes slightly as he turned away from them. “To each their own,” he muttered.

After a minute he returned with their drinks. Sweetie received a softly glowing drink which smelled like evergreens. She took a sip, and found that it tasted just as it smelled. ”Oh, I like that,” she said. Sweetie decided to take the opportunity to make an inquiry: “So, we heard we might find a pony by the name of Shady here.” The bartender froze. “We’re not cops.” That didn’t seem to relax him much; instead of answering he just nodded to their left. They turned, leaning forward to see past one another, and found, sitting just inches away from Sweetie, a pony who had somehow escaped their notice until now. It was easy to see why: she was of a boring grey color, with a boring, slightly-darker-grey mane and tail. She was easy to overlook, but once she was noticed she was, ironically, quite striking in her plainness.

She spoke to them in a quiet voice, but did not turn to look at them, instead staring at a point somewhere past the inner edge of the bar: “Well, if you’re not cops, who are you?”

All three did a slight double-take, but Sweetie quickly responded with a practiced greeting: “The Center for Magical Curiosities, at you service.”

“The CMC, huh?” she replied, now slowly turning to face them. They could now see that ever her irises were unprovocative: a dull beige. “‘Sounds like something I would have heard of.”

“We… keep a low profile,” said Sweetie.

She was clearly unconvinced: “Right. So, what does the… Center for Magical Curiosities want with me?”

“We just have a few questions for you.”

“Heh, a lot of people have questions for me.”

“Really? Why is that?”

Shady stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether or not she was hearing sarcasm or witty-banter. Her face relaxed into a pitying expression. “Wow,” she said, “you guys really aren’t cops, are you?” Behind Sweetie’s shoulder she could see Scootaloo slowly shaking her head in a confused no. “Okay. Who told you told me about me, and what did they say?”

“Your boss, Pastry,” said Sweetie, “and he wouldn’t say anything, actually. He just seemed to imply that you knew things.”

“Yeah I know things. So here’s my question: what’s the Center for Magical Curiosities doing with Pastry?”

“We’re in Canterlot investigating some reports of paranormal activity.”

“Well yeah, I’d expect so.” She said, turning her gaze downward and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “But Pastry?” she muttered, “Paranormal activity…” suddenly she clapped her hoof down on the bar and fixed them with a mirthful expression: “Ha! You’re here for his ghost story, aren’t you?!”

“Yes, actually. We’re trying to determine if it is just a story after all. Your boss seems pretty convinced it’s true.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say that managing a royal kitchen is not exactly conducive to mental well-being.”

“So you think it’s complete fiction?”

“You really want to know about the ghost? I’ll tell you all about the ghost, but first you gotta tell me something. Normally I’d set the price low for… civilians, but I bet that the Center for Magical Curiosities has some really juicy scraps.”

“Wait a minute,” said Apple Bloom, speaking up for the first time, “Are you an information broker?”

“Well… yeah; if we’re speaking frankly,” said Shady, “What did you think?”

Apple Bloom simply shrugged in response.

“So,” said Sweetie Belle, “we tell you a secret, and you tell us what you know about the ghost?” She turned and gave her friends an appraising look, then turned back to Shady. “Like what?”

“Well,” said Shady, “some secrets are secrets because they’re obscure; some are secrets because nopony cares… but that’s not really what I’m all about. The best kind of secrets are the ones that are secret because somepony doesn’t want them revealed. That’s really what I’m looking for.”

“Well, we’ve been through a thing or two. I’m sure we’ve got a ton of secrets,” said Sweetie, “I mean, you might have to excuse us for a minute while we pick one, but-”

“Wait,” interrupted Scootaloo, “how about this: I’ll show you the most amazing magic trick you’ve ever seen, and in exchange you tell us what you know.”

Shady smirked: “Hey, what do you take me for? A going-concern’s gotta have some product, right? Can you imagine if my product consisted of stories about that time I saw this-or-that party trick? I wouldn’t be sitting here, that’s for sure.

Scootaloo leaned forward, peaking her head around Sweetie. It looked like she was taking charge of the negotiations: “You seemed to be implying that you would be giving us common knowledge, so it seems like a fair trade to me.”

“It’s a really good magic trick, too,” Sweetie added.

“Oh, the best,” said Apple Bloom with a knowing, half-sarcastic tone.

Shady took a beat to appraise their offer, then the smirk re-appeared. “Okay,” she said, “you’ve got a deal. If you can really impress me, I’ll tell you about the ghost.”

Scootaloo didn’t hesitate for a moment. She lit her ears and pulled a pencil and notepad out of one of her duster’s interior pockets. She thrust them before Shady and let them clatter on the bar. “Your turn.”

Shady’s expression didn’t shift a bit, as though she wasn’t quite ready to comprehend what she had seen. “Do it again,” she requested.

“What?” said Scootaloo.

“Do it again. I didn’t see it.”

With an air of exasperation Scootaloo again levitated the objects. Using the pencil, she scrawled the word magic onto the notepad and held the message next to her face like a label. “See?”

For a full ten seconds Shady squinted at Scootaloo, trying to spot the trick. She looked at her for a solid ten seconds, trying to spot the trick, before turning her attention towards Sweetie Belle, who was the obvious accomplice. Failing to discover any visible deception, she leaned back in her posture and cracked a smile. “Well,” she said, “I can imagine how you did it, but the execution is spot-on, so I guess I’ll give it to you.”

Scootaloo set down her props. “Wait a minute, I’m curious: how did I do it?”

“Well it’s obviously some kind of illusion,” said Shady, “Most tricks are. Either it’s actually a unicorn under an illusionist’s disguise, OR...” and here she directed a wide eyed, accusatory stare at Sweetie Belle, “...the actual magician is a unicorn nearby. So which was it?”

“A good performer never reveals their technique,” responded Scootaloo. Shady gave a dismissive wave.

“Whatever,” she said.

“So then, how about that ghost?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Fine,” said Shady, “Everypony knows it’s Celestia.”

“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Sweetie.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” said Shady, “but who else could it be?”

“Who or what,” responded Sweetie, “Besides, they’re her cakes anyway. Why would she steal from herself?”

“Pride. She has an image to maintain. After that stint… (Fifteen? Twenty years ago now?) the only way she can appear sufficiently regal is to hide her gluttonous habits. You don’t keep a personality for thousands of years and then just change it overnight.”

“So you’re saying that Princess Celestia eats twenty cakes a night, and she’s created the myth of a horrific ghost to scare ponies away so that she can commit the act in secret?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Gee, thanks a lot.” scoffed Sweetie. The look on Shady’s face made it very evident that she did not appreciate being scoffed at.

Apple Bloom intervened with a question: “You know that if you’re right, that would mean that Celestia scared one of her own staff out of the job?”

“More like payed-off. Once the story got started it took off on it’s own, but it needed something to catalyze it first,” said Shady, “That’s my theory, at least. Some ponies do think she actually did do something to scare the mare half to death, but I don’t think it’s in her nature.”

“Her name was Floral Flourish, right?” asked Scootaloo.

“Yeah, it was. And no, I don’t know where she is. She was before my time. All I know is that she split town.”

“Okay, well, thanks for the info, I guess,” said Scootaloo. She chugged down the rest of her seltzer in preparation to leave, but then remembered that her companions wouldn’t be able to finish so quickly. Shady was throwing off a strong vibe: their conversation was over. Scootaloo spent a couple awkward minutes twirling her cocktail umbrella between her hooves, waiting for Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom to finish. To their credit, they wrapped up as fast as they could. The trio paid the bill and rushed outside to debrief.

“Well, what did you guys think?” asked Sweetie.

“I think she’s patronizing us,” responded Apple Bloom.

“Really? I thought she was telling the truth. I mean, she does tell the truth for a living,” said Sweetie.

“I don’t know if she tells the truth to ponies like us,” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo jumped in: “Regardless of whether she was taking us for a ride with her story, she did make a good point: if the ghost started appearing before she worked in the kitchen, she’s probably not involved.”

“Yeah, probably,” said Apple Bloom, “but let’s not rule her out.”

“That’s true,” said Scootaloo, “she could have gotten involved later on.”

“I really don’t think so,” retorted Sweetie Belle, “Shady seems like a profit-oriented kind of gal, and gobbling up cakes isn’t profitable for anyone.”

“Unless you’re selling baking ingredients to the castle.”

“I mean… I guess that could be happening, but it’s just seems really out-there, ya know?”

Scootaloo shrugged. “Two hundred thousand bits isn’t chump change. It would be a pretty weird way to make a bit, but it could work.”

“Sooo,” began Apple Bloom, “should we go find Princess Celestia and ask her if she’s secretly a specter with a penchant for cakes?”

“I don’t know if she’d tell us, even if she was,” said Sweetie, “And anyway, isn’t it like, illegal to be mean to the princesses?”

“Well, I doubt the law is worded that way,” said Scootaloo, “But I see where you’re coming from.”

“We should probably just take a nap,” said Apple Bloom.

“Take a nap?” questioned Sweetie.

“We’re gonna be up all night, right?”

“Oh, right.”

“It’s probably a good idea, but how should we do that?” asked Scootaloo, “I mean, it would be pretty weird to check into a motel just for the afternoon.”

“There’s gotta be a park close by,” said Sweetie, “I don’t think it would be too strange if we just lay down on a lawn and closed our eyes.”

“When are we supposed to be there?”

“I don’t think Pastry gave a time. He said ‘tonight, so I guess we should probably show up at sun-down.”

“How will we know when to wake up?” asked Apple Bloom, “I don’t have an alarm-clock on me.”

“We could… try not to oversleep?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They overslept. Sure enough, nopony seemed to question the three pairs of legs sticking out from beneath sturdy dusters on a gentle slope in the middle of the eleventh-avenue park. Their sun-warmed bodies fell asleep, and stayed asleep, all too readily. Apple Bloom was briefly awakened by the four-o-clock chiming of a nearby clock tower, but only really became lucid when she snapped awake several hours later and saw a dark sky and an empty park. She turned and shook Scootaloo. Scootaloo pulled the edges of her coat under her like a blanket, fortifying herself against the chill of the night.

“Guh...” she mumbled, eyes closed.

“Are you cold?” said Apple Bloom, “In August? What kind of pegasus are you?”

“Mhh. What time is it?”

“Late enough for me not to be able to see the clocktower.” Scootaloo sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Give Sweetie a shake.”

“I’m awake,” mumbled Sweetie Belle from underneath her coat.

“We’d better get going,” said Apple Bloom.

“What time are we supposed to be there?” asked Sweetie, rousing herself from recumbency. Apple Bloom shrugged in response, but Sweetie couldn’t see it through a squinting yawn.

“I don’t think he gave a time,” said Scootaloo.

“Right, right.”

“Even if he did, as I said, we can’t tell the time.”

Apple Bloom stared at the unlit structure in question. “Yeah, you’d think there’d be a light on that thing. I wonder if I could patent that…”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, it seems like the kind of thing where if somepony had thought of it, everypony would be doing it by now.”

Sweetie stretched to her feet and began stumbling in the direction of the castle. “C’mon girls,” she said, “We make money by finding ghosts, not by lighting giant clocks.” Apple Bloom and Scootaloo jumped into a trot behind her.

“Well, what I’m saying is, maybe we could make money by lighting giant clocks.”

“Even if you are the first one to think of this, you’d have to enforce the patent pretty well, because I’m pretty sure there are some pegasi who would out-compete you in a day if you gave them the chance.”

“Yet another use for a jet-pack,” retorted Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo laughed at the image: “Hah! Would you set up a storefront? Your motto could be: For all your Giant-Clock Illuminating Needs!”

“I guess I see what you mean,” said Apple Bloom, “Most towns only have one clock-tower. There wouldn’t be much business.”

“On the contrary,” said Scootaloo, “Every time the town clock’s bulb burned out, you’d have a repeat customer!” Apple Bloom decided to let herself be entertained by Scootaloo’s farse. She giggled. Scootaloo guffawed.

“Shhhh,” hissed Sweetie Belle from a pace in front of them, “Ponies are probably sleeping.”

Scootaloo retained a thin smile for another minute, but they spent the rest of their short walk in silence. When they entered the Castle through the staff entrance, they found that the security desk was now occupied by a short mare, who sat with her head tilted back, staring at the ceiling in boredom. It seemed to take her a couple moments to break her stupor and turn her attention to the ponies before her. Apparently, the super-proffesionalist attitude of the guard upstairs was not present here. Scootaloo took a peek at her nametag. Drifter, it said.

"Are you guys the, uh..." she levitated a note from under the counter and scrutinized it, "Curious Magic Center?"

"... Yes," said Scootaloo.

"Okay, well, there's a few things here for you. This looks like directions to... maybe the kitchens?"

"Thanks," said Scootaloo, taking the page from Drifter's levitation. They were, in fact, directions. So many directions that they spilled over onto the back of the page. At the top there was a small message:

Good luck.

- Pastry

Scootaloo nodded past Drifter: "So do we just.."

"Yup, just go on ahead."

"If you don't mind me asking," said Apple Bloom, "what happened to all the tight-security stuff?"

"I guess you guys were here earlier? Somepony a couple shifts ago sent a message to princess Twilight for verification, and she said that an orange mare, a white mare, and a beige mare were here on her behalf. So, all the doors are open for you guys now."

"Great," said Apple Bloom.

"Oh! But you'll need to take these." She levitated three sheets of stationary across the desk, passing them into Sweetie Belle's aura.

"From the desk of Princess Twilight Sparkle," Sweetie read, "They're copies of the same letter." It was hard to read the legalese, but they appeared to be a sort of letter of recommendation. She passed them to Scootaloo, who passed them to Apple Bloom, not bothering to look up from her examination of Pastry's directions.

"Yup," confirmed Drifter, "Those should get you wherever you need to go."

"Yeah, thanks for your help," said Scootaloo. She led her friends around the desk, considering the first of many instructions on the page before her. She lit her ears and levitated the page so that she could walk more easily. Without somepony to guide them it took even longer to navigate the maze, but the directions were clear enough and they managed to stay on course. Somewhere near the bottom of the first page they passed a staff cafeteria and decided to stop in for some coffee. They were well-slept for now, but they would need the caffeine later. Soon afterwards, they found themselves at a familiar pair of polished metal swing-doors. Through the round windows of the doors, they could see that the main kitchen was still lit.

"Somepony must be working late," said Sweetie Belle.

"Or waiting for us," added Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo tucked their written directions into a pocket and pushed through the doors. "Hello? Anypony there?" she said loudly. There was no response. "Maybe Pastry just left the lights on for us."

"Well then, we should probably turn them off," said Apple Bloom, "it might scare away the ghost."

"Right," said Sweetie. She quickly glanced around for a light switch, and found ten of them immediately to her left. She lit her horn and shoved all of them down into the off position, briefly smiling at the sound of many clicks combining into one satisfying chunk. With the lights of the main kitchen off, they could see light coming from under the door to the bakery; those lights had been left on as well.

"Hold on," said Scootaloo, "if the ceiling lights scare away the ghost, then our job is done!"

"Right," said Sweetie, reaching again for the switches. This time she would push them in sequence; perhaps she could create a buzz or something. She bit her tongue in concentration.

"No, no, no," said Apple Bloom, "One variable at a time. Suppose that we leave the lights on, and the ghost doesn't come tonight. We wouldn't know if it was the lights that scared it away, or us. Or, alternatively, that there is no ghost."

"Fair enough," said Scootaloo. Sweetie removed her aura from the panel.

They progressed into the bakery and took a moment to examine the scene. Everything had been cleaned to a chrome-like polish. Although it was, in some respects, a room dedicated to comestibles, only two examples of food (or anything else organic, for that matter) could be found. The first was a plate on a counter near the door, piled high with sugar-cookies, with a note signed by Pastry bidding them to "Enjoy!" ("Aw, that's so nice of him," said Sweetie.) The second was the cake rack, now loaded with dozens of cakes.

"Well, there's our ward," said Scootaloo.

Sweetie hit the lights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours passed in the dark, occasionally punctuated by swathes of light as they magically illuminated the rack for periodic inspections. The cakes remained whole and undisturbed. There was only one chair (the one Pastry had been sitting in earlier) so they sat on the hard floor. It wasn't very comfortable, but equine anatomy lends itself to sitting on hard surfaces, so it wasn't particularly uncomfortable either. It was certainly made easier by the cookies that had been left for them. Soon after they started, they realized that they ought to have a clock with them, so as to record the time of the ghost's appearance, if it did appear. This was the second time that night that they had found themselves in need of time. Scootaloo resolved to buy a watch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You know," whispered Sweetie Belle, "We could probably just eat one of those cakes; 'say it was the ghost."

Apple Bloom finished off her cold coffee with a large swig. "Probably," she replied. She crushed the foam cup between her hooves and tucked it into her coat, resolving to trash it later.

"Really, guys?" said Scootaloo, "That half-ton of cookies wasn't enough for you?"

Sweetie looked up at the rack from the floor, where she lay, having some time ago surrendered her head to gravity and sleepiness. "I'm looking at that short white one on the top self. I bet that one has a real good frosting-to-cake ratio."

"I can't see anything. It's too dark," said Apple Bloom.

"I can't either, I'm just remembering it," said Sweetie. "Here," she lit her horn and directed a beam of light towards the top of the rack. The cake in question floated off the rack.

"No, Sweetie, Scootaloo's right: we really shouldn't," said Apple Bloom, turning to see that Sweetie had lifted her head and was staring, eyes bulging, at the cake.

"I'm not doing that," Sweetie whispered.

The trio stared in silence as the cake first floated off the rack, then appeared to be devoured by an invisible mouth; chunks disappearing into nothingness. When none of the cake remained, the plate was set back on the rack, and the process was repeated with a larger, cherry-topped chocolate cake immediately to the right.

"Are you seeing this?!" hissed Sweetie.

"I... think so?" replied Apple Bloom.

"What should we do?" whispered Sweetie.

"Watch, I guess," said Scootaloo, "It doesn't seem scared of us."

"I mean, I've seen some top-shelf paranormal stuff," said Sweetie, "but this is just bizarre. A hungry ghost?"

"Very hungry," added Sweetie as the second cake's demise was completed. The plate was replaced and a chunk disappeared from a third cake, this time still on the rack.

"I wish we knew what time it was," said Scootaloo, "I feel very unprofessional; showing up to document an event and not having the tools to document it."

"It feels like about three o'clock to me," said Sweetie.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," responded Scootaloo.

"We could try the lights," said Apple Bloom.

"We're already shining lights on it, and we're not whispering,” said Sweetie Belle, “I doubt the ceiling lights would make a difference." She reached towards the switches with her magic, intending to demonstrate her point. The instant she turned on the lights, the plate floating in their midst fell to the floor with a nerve-rattling CRASH!

"Or not?"

The room was filled with a quiet rumbling, and then a louder moaning. The ceiling lights flickered, then one of them exploded with a blinding flash and the room went dark. Their ears were assaulted with a cacophony of screams and screeches. Sweetie grabbed Scootaloo. "I can't see anything," she whimpered.

"Just stay calm, it can't hurt us," said Scootaloo, trying to sound confident.

As though in response, the cake rack was suddenly brought violently back into their vision, it's form erupting in crimson flame. From this conflagration blossomed an even more shocking sight: a shadowy maw, filled with teeth and lightning, roared into existence. It was easily large enough to engulf a pony whole. Sweetie Belle clutched Scootaloo, and Scootaloo held on to Sweetie much harder than would a pony who was modeling calm and self control. Somehow Apple Bloom wound up entangled in the arrangement. The roaring, groaning noise that filled the room was deafening. Everything seemed to bend towards the anomaly. The ponies couldn't tell whether the hole lunged at them, or whether they were pulled towards it, but somehow the distance between them and the horror abruptly closed until all they could perceive was blackness and the sensation of each other limbs, and then nothing at all.