To Serve In Hell

by CoffeeMinion

Chapter 19: Even Worse

Hunger gnawed at Rarity’s gut as she trotted into the small, empty, out-of-the-way square housing Starswirl Fountain. She fought to suppress the feeling, instead focusing on the fountain itself, which gave the appearance of an oversized stone pointy wizard hat, of all things. Water cascaded down from its tip to its brim, and flowed over a set of stone bells hanging above the surface of the circular brick-lined pool surrounding it.

Rarity moved closer, then circled it, seeing that no other decorations adorned it, save for a tarnished bronze plaque set in one side. She looked up at the nearby buildings and didn’t see many lights on, so she turned back to the fountain, touching her hoof along its bricks, trying to feel for a loose one.

She contemplated lighting her horn and trying to delve for any kind of magical residue, but she didn’t want to risk drawing more attention to herself from unseen viewers. Instead she moved back to the plaque, and pressed at it with her hoof. As expected, it didn’t budge. But as she regarded it for several moments, she noticed that a bit of the mortar along its bottom edge had flaked away. She nudged the brick directly underneath the plaque and felt a small thrill as the thing moved.

Yet tugging it out with just her hoof seemed like it would take forever. Rarity raised her head and glanced around, confirming there was nopony in plain sight. Then she lit her horn, levered the brick out swiftly with her magic, and bent down to inspect the small space she’d revealed. Seeing that it couldn’t accommodate much, she glanced down at the brick itself, and saw how a long notch had been ground away in its middle, which let the brick sit flush while leaving room for something small to be left within.

The note would only need to say, “He’s back.” But after feeling about herself, she frowned; she hadn’t thought to bring any paper.

Her hoof touched her billfold, and a grin worked its way across her face. She took it out, then riffled through it and brought out the smallest denomination of paper currency she had on her. The smile deepened as she found a pen tucked in the billfold as well. She lit her horn again, drew up the pen to write, and—

Hesitated. Writing the note would commit her to a course of action that the mysterious stallion had absolutely forbidden. The prospect of making a true enemy of him filled her stomach with butterflies, in part because of her revulsion at the methods that she’d seen him use.

Doubt assailed her as she pondered whether the vision she’d seen back at Filthy’s had been real, and what it might mean if it was—and what it might mean if it was but a figment of her nervous imagination. In that vein, she wracked her brain in pursuit of any but the most obvious explanation for the sudden inferno that had engulfed Bon Bon’s sweet shop.

“He said that he could kill the Nightmare,” she whispered. “He wants to save his wife, and other innocents like Scootaloo and poor Diamond Tiara, from Tartarus. But why resort to such egregious violence against a mere informant of Sassy’s?”

Her mind’s eye grew crowded with visions from her recent past, which changed each time she blinked. Sometimes it was a glimpse of the hellishly grinning mare in Filthy’s window; sometimes it would be the cloaked stallion holding a knife; and other times she’d see Zecora, either in the moment of her condemnation to Tartarus, or in the long torment that she’d suffered in the Mistress’ dungeons. Rarity touched a hoof to her head, wishing that she could banish the visions, but finding only that her body would respond by coursing with still more adrenaline. The sheer nervous energy was enough to make her forelegs twitch and her teeth chatter.

“I can’t trust him. I can’t. If he truly knows of such a threat to the Nightmare, why wouldn’t he share more?”

A sound asserted itself above the clacking of her own teeth, and Rarity shook herself out of the long reverie she’d fallen into, standing there holding the brick. Her ear twitched as she tried to discern it more clearly.

It was rhythmic, and creaking, and had elements of wood and iron in it.

Rarity cursed herself for waiting too long. She hastily pushed the brick back into place, then bolted for the mouth of the nearest alley.

From her hiding place behind a broken crate, she kept her eyes fixed on the fountain across the way, and shivered in the vain hope of dispelling the chill of both her own cold sweat and the city by night. But soon a pony entered the square pulling a small cart that was hitched around her midsection. The newcomer had a mare’s build and a yellow coat covered largely by a long black garment. She wore glasses below a unicorn horn and a mane of purple-streaked red.

She slowed to a halt in front of the fountain.

Rarity counted moments in beats of her hammering heart as she watched the mare simply stand there, seemingly waiting. The pause gave Rarity a chance to examine the mare’s open-topped cart from a distance, and to note the four or five books lying on its bed. It was hardly what she would’ve imagined for some sort of shadowy agent, though she also considered that deceptive appearances might be rather the point.

The mare glanced around a few times, but evidently missed seeing Rarity. Eventually she lit her horn, cast a brief spell… but then let her hornglow fade and set off again, resuming her path across and out of the square.

A long rush of breath drew up into Rarity’s lungs. She couldn’t rationalize what she’d just seen as a coincidence; it struck her that this must’ve been Bon Bon’s next connection, and one perhaps worth following.

Rarity pursued the mare slowly but decisively, letting herself keep to the sidewalk proper but using the natural cover afforded by doorways and pillars as they presented themselves. Passersby noticed her more when she did, but Rarity kept her hood over her head and moved to blend in with other ponies when cover was unavailable.

Their brief journey took them through one of Canterlot’s best remaining residential districts, bordering the ruins of its judicial buildings. Rarity’s brow furrowed as she tried to think of what they had been turned into since the Longest Night had fallen. Much of the apparatus of government had been rendered unnecessary in the face of a stronger and more violent military presence, and of the fell Mistress who wielded her forces as a blunt instrument without care for those who couldn’t care for themselves.

Rarity’s heart sunk at the reminder that her service might’ve enabled the Nightmare to do these things. Seeing Canterlot with her own eyes always made her question what good she’d truly done by caring for those survivors of Ponyville who ended up near the castle.

She shook her head at the thought, and glanced now and again at the well-maintained mansions bordered with tall, pointed gates. Many of their once-beautiful lawns were in varying states of conversion to rock gardens; some even looked as if they’d been converted to food production, with long beds of tilled earth presided over by gardeners working to try to raise mushrooms or hardier succulents. A few of the mansions had obvious guardspony contingents stationed at them, though they didn’t pay Rarity much heed.

And yet there were a few mansions here and there that had fared less well since the Longest Night began. Such devastating signs as twisted gates, collapsed roofs, or dark edifices with all windows shattered had been left as a lasting reminder that those who defied the Nightmare did so at risk of paying the ultimate price. And at intervals among the devastation of the homes themselves, Rarity saw the skeletal remains of ponies next to, or sometimes still hanging from, the poles that they had been impaled on.

Death had become a more popular punishment after the Guardian came to hold sway over the gates of Tartarus.

Up ahead, the mare turned another corner, placing her on a side street that ran past the old four-storey grey stone courthouse that had been converted into a new Royal Archive. When Rarity took the corner as well, she caught a glimpse of the mare pulling the cart into a small parking area behind it. Rarity stayed close to a wall and moved to a better vantage point by the next corner, then watched surreptitiously as the mare unhitched herself, gathered the small bunch of books together in her magic, and headed up a short set of steps to the Archive’s side entrance.

Rarity set her jaw and trotted across the distance to the Archive, keeping her eyes on the side entrance—but nopony came back out. She debated whether she should follow through that entrance or simply head up the broad set of stone steps to its front. Not wanting to risk looking out of place inside the Archive, she decided on a direct approach.

The steps were of the same smooth grey stone as the rest of the edifice. The doorway was of ornate brass, though it bore a scratched-out inscription above the lintel. Rarity eyed it as she passed through the propped-open door, but it was too defaced to discern more than that one of its words had been “justice.”

Warmth flooded her as she passed into the front lobby, and in an instant her nervous shivering had been replaced by nascent sweat beading on the inside of her clothes. She thought the sensation was more than just heat, though; a tingle at the base of her skull buzzed with intuition that the building might be magically warded. Against what, she couldn’t say; thought it helped in that moment for her to explain away the apparent absence of guardsponies from what would surely be a valuable asset.

She looked around, briefly studying the lobby’s austere dark-wood walls, brass mage-light fixtures, and dark green carpet. A few rows of small benches still remained from the days when this would’ve been a waiting room at the courthouse, and now stood empty, serving neither those who might seek restitution, nor those simply seeking a comfortable place to read.

In a corner at the far side was what would have served as a check-in spot for those awaiting court cases. Part of the wall there had been knocked out, leaving a wider opening with a broader working surface that now seemed to serve as the Archive’s front desk. Behind it, Rarity saw a white-coated, dark-maned stallion gathering a few things off the desk and into a saddlebag. She also saw the same yellow-coated, sweater-wearing mare that she’d followed to the Archive—and had to fight down thrills of both fear at the prospect of discovery, and joy at the successful pursuit of her quarry. The mare and the stallion spoke in quiet voices as the latter seemed to be making ready to depart.

The stallion moved out of Rarity’s sight, but then emerged from a door next to the desk area. He paused, eyes wide with surprise, as he spotted Rarity still in the doorway. “Oh, madam, my apologies.” He turned to the side and whispered loudly: “Moonie! Customer!”

“Hm? Oh!” The mare lit her horn and raised the books that had been strewn out before her, which Rarity felt sure might be the same books she’d seen her transporting earlier. That done, she pushed her glasses higher on her muzzle, cleared her throat, and set her features into a tight-lipped, clearly forced smile. “How may I help you, ma’am?”

“Pardon me there; things to see, ponies to do,” the stallion said, dipping his head and moving past Rarity to the door.

The mare squinted and leaned a bit closer. “Ma’am, if you don’t mind my saying, you seem a bit familiar?”

With a sigh, Rarity lit her horn and lowered her hood. The mare’s eyes widened, and she pointed with a shaky hoof. “Seneschal Rarity! My goodness, you must be here in town with Overseer Saddles. How may I help you?”

Rarity wondered how much the mare might’ve heard about their mission, and decided to take a slow and cautious approach. “Thank you, Miss…?”

“Moondancer.”

“Thank you, Miss Moondancer. Yes, I’m here on business with the Overseer, as part of our joint efforts in the city.”

Moondancer nodded. “I hope what I gave her was helpful. Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting her to follow-up so soon… did she have questions about the books?”

“N… not yet,” Rarity said, furrowing her brow at the unexpected connection. She decided to reach for another lie in the hopes of learning more: “Though neither did she have time to brief me about them in much detail.”

“I’ll tell you what…” Moondancer turned away, then ducked around through to the lobby door. “If you’d like to come inside. I can take you to the section on historical legends that we’ve started from the Governor’s donations.”

Rarity followed her through the door and into a similarly decorated hallway lined with doors, presumably leading to courtrooms and the like. “While we’re on the subject…” Rarity said, flicking an ear. She weighed her options quickly, and decided to see how far she could push the mare’s fortuitous connection to Sassy. “In fact, the Overseer did ask me to continue pressing on the questions that she’d discussed with you.”

Moondancer stopped in front of a door like many others. “Seneschal, I don’t mean any disrespect, but I also don’t know what else to say. I already told her that I don’t know where he’s getting them from, and that’s the honest truth. But if you want to have a look for yourself, feel free; a lot of the more ‘interesting’ ones are in here.”

“Of course.” Rarity gave Moondancer a warm, if artificial, smile. “Sorry to interrupt your work.”

Moondancer returned a nervous grin, then headed back toward the lobby.

Rarity turned the doorknob in her hoof. Indeed, what she found beyond looked to have been converted from a rather large courtroom. Gone were the expected benches for the gallery and jury, as well as the judge’s bench; in their place were rows and rows of ceiling-height bookshelves. The ones nearest the door were full; those a bit further down were closer to half-full; while toward the end of the room there were a few empty shelves.

Rarity focused on the bookshelves nearest the door. Among them was one lined in red velvet. She rose up on her hind legs to reach it and studied it closer. The few books on the shelf ran the gamut from tall to short, broad to thick. And while most appeared to be rather old based on their broken spines and fraying edges, a few seemed almost brand new, with unblemished, glossy covers of the style that had been in common use before the coming of the Nightmare. Unsure where to start, Rarity lit her horn and plucked one of the oldest and most battered volumes from the shelf: a thick red tome with two bronze clasps running perpendicular to the spine.

She brought it down into view, noting the stylized bronze horse-head logo embossed onto the front. Wordlessly she flipped it open, scanning briefly for anything that—

Rarity paused and flipped the pages backward again. There, in the middle of a page, was a diagram illustrating five stone orbs. Something about them tickled at the edges of her recollection, and long moments passed as she wracked her brain trying to think of where she might’ve seen or known them from before.

As the memory continued to elude her, she flipped back to the inside cover of the book and checked its title: The Elements of Harmony: A Reference Guide.

She sucked a large breath as the recollection hit her. Not only had she seen them before, but they’d caught her attention the last time she’d been in the Mistress’ treasure room. She marveled at the realization that she’d been standing in the presence of the most powerful weapons the world had ever conceived, and which were now under the Nightmare’s control.

Rarity closed the book and fought to suppress the chill that overtook her at the thought of the Nightmare’s power being even further amplified by such things. She levitated the book down to the floor, planning to read more later if she had time. She craned her neck while also cocking her head to the side, studying the books’ spines and trying to make out what she could of their titles. Eventually she gave up and settled for pulling a few more of the oldest and most worn-looking ones down with her magic.

The first one she opened purported to be a reference guide to Tartarus—though Rarity noted from its age that it had been written long before the Nightmare’s return, and she questioned its value given the onset of fire, madness, and the Guardian who had subsequently overtaken it. The next book was also about Tartarus, and also likely outdated, but this one was heavily dog-eared. Rarity flipped through its pages and gathered from it the impressions of a curious bestiary. She glanced back at its title page: Prisoners of Tartarus. She then examined a few of the deeper dog-ears, but found little similarity between the beings caged within… unless the prison itself had been the reader’s focus.

Rarity rubbed her eyes, trying to banish a mild hornache and eye strain caused by her rapid perusal of the books. She then looked back up at the shelf and focused on the books that appeared to be newer; helpfully, these tended to have clearly printed titles on their spines.

Among them, Rarity located a slim volume titled Returned From Tartarus, which bore clear signs of wear along its edges and spine despite its otherwise newish sheen. She opened it and checked the title page—and noted the absence of information such as a publication date, author name, or the publishing house. It struck her as likely that she was holding a book printed after the Nightmare’s return, and the crackdowns that followed.

She scanned the first few pages. It seemed to be laid out as an interview with an eyewitness of Tartarus itself, though prefaced with a warning that the interviewee was close to catatonic and had needed chemical intervention to be brought into a state where they could speak. Once past the introduction, Rarity felt that fire and confusion seemed to be the prevailing themes of their account, which spoke of ponies being tortured, transformed, or immolated, seemingly according to unseen and inexplicable whims. The Guardian itself—or here, referred to as she—was described as a frightening force that would descend on ponies seemingly at random and pluck them up out of the bedlam, taking them nopony-knew-where.

“Her grasp was painful, terrifying,” Rarity read aloud quietly. “Her countenance razor-toothed, and not quite equine, as she snatched me up into some kind of sleep…”

Rarity closed the book. Her brow furrowed. It was beyond strange to think of Blueblood reading such things, much less to consider that there was an entire roomful of more, and presumably with additional books coming with some regularity.

Thoughts about Moondancer and the note reasserted themselves. A taut feeling spread through her muscles as she grappled with the question of whether to continue looking through the trove of information that she’d stumbled upon, or whether she should remain vigilant and seek some other kind of lead from Moondancer.

Deciding to split the difference, Rarity again levitated The Elements of Harmony: A Reference Guide, as well as Returned From Tartarus, and carried them back out into the hallway, heading toward the lobby. As she approached it, she saw Moondancer standing by the desk, writing in a large tome and shifting the new books around.

“Excuse me,” Rarity called. “Would you mind if I sat out here and read a while? The atmosphere in there is rather solitary.”

Moondancer turned, smiling broadly at Rarity; but the expression immediately caused Rarity’s hackles to rise. The smile was deep and artificial; indulgent was the word that sprang to mind. Seeing such an expression on a pony who didn’t seem predisposed to many social graces gave Rarity the feeling that something was out of place.

“Oh, sure! Anywhere you like, it’s no problem,” Moondancer said—again, too cheerfully.

Rarity looked past Moondancer through the opening to the lobby proper and spotted a few figures sitting idly. They weren’t uniformed or armored, but they were generally square-jawed and muscular—precisely the sort she’d expect to see as guards. Or, quite possibly, as toughs.

One stallion in a heavy cloak glanced up and met her eyes, then quickly looked away.

She swallowed. “Well, I suppose there must be reading rooms down here as well? It’s no trouble, I can choose one myself.”

“You don’t have to do that, ma’am. I’d be happy to show you to one!”

“Really, it’s no trouble.” Rarity applied a false smile of her own, then turned away, swallowing hard, and looking from door to door for any clues about what might constitute a safe space… presuming that she was now in danger, and that her nerves weren’t simply getting the better of her.

An immediate problem was the lack of apparent difference in several of the doors. The distances at which they were set apart suggested that they led to fairly large former courtrooms, but she didn’t know if there might be other paths or exits that she could take advantage of.

But as her mind raced through myriad possibilities, Rarity realized that something else was out of place. Sassy had referred her to Bon Bon, then Bon Bon sent her to the fountain, and finally Moondancer led her from the fountain to the Archive. If each link in the chain had been loyal to the Mistress, she should have nothing to fear. But she did feel fear. Neither Sassy nor the Nightmare were the kinds of ponies to prefer lying in wait when there were doors to be kicked-in.

No, these ponies couldn’t be loyal to Sassy or the Nightmare at all.

Rarity felt her pulse quicken even faster at the thought. She turned a corner, striving to make mental connections as she headed down another hall full of doors. She considered that Nightmare Moon might take an interest in locating and confiscating information about how to stop her, and that the same might go for details about how her influence had reshaped Tartarus, but there was no reason for her to funnel such information through the Governor and allow it to be placed in the publicly accessible Royal Archive. The only ponies who’d have an interest in making such information available would be those who’d want to use it against her, or who didn’t see its value… which the Governor must’ve, given the sheer effort it would take to assemble such a grand collection of obscure or banned tomes.

She stopped in place, eyes widening at the realization that Governor Blueblood might have aligned himself with the Resistance.

Her next thought was of Sassy, who might very well be in danger by virtue of being under the Governor’s “protection.” Her mind then followed the chain of recent events backwards, re-framing the trail she’d followed from Bon Bon as one of ponies loyal to the Resistance, not to the Nightmare… all the way back to Filthy.

The image of Filthy’s reaction to Bon Bon played through her head again. She cursed under her breath; it should’ve been clear that he’d recognized her. But then her blood ran cold as she considered that she’d come close to delivering the Resistance a warning about the cloaked stallion, which was the one thing he’d insisted she not do.

Part of her wished very much that she had, though. She could never trust him again, given what he’d done with the information about Bon Bon that she’d let slip.

A muffled thumping noise from one of the nearby doors broke her out of her thoughts. She eyed it cautiously. It was a simple door, smaller than many of the others, and it bore a bronze plaque labeled: SUPPLIES. Rarity furrowed her brow, then lit her horn and cast a minor spell to tell her if anypony was behind the door.

Immediately, her horn sparked with feedback from something repelling her spell; she jumped with a mix of pain, surprise, and confusion. But when the pain cleared, she realized that the spell had picked up on something more subtle but insidious surrounding her. It left her with a dull, throbbing ache in her horn; one that she recognized would be consistent with detecting a generalized monitoring field. One that might, for instance, tell when ponies came and went, and that might even be able to discern who they were.

She recalled the warm buzzing sensation she’d felt when she first stepped into the Archive, and chided herself mentally for brushing off that feeling.

Rarity was about to step away from the door when the thumping noise repeated. Feeling sure that she’d rather not leave some unknown danger behind her, she reached out with a trembling hoof, turning the doorknob—

The door jerked open, and she saw an all-too familiar hooded, grinning stallion in the shadows.

“Supplies!” he shouted as he reached out, gripped her barrel, and pulled her bodily into the pitch-black room beyond.

END OF BOOK 2: BY THE PALE MOONLIGHT

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

3x Weird Al Reference Combo!

[CoffeeMinion]

9316034
I'm sure I don't know what you're implying.

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[MisterNick]

It was then Rarity discovered that the turtle was nature's suction cup.