• Published 26th Jun 2012
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Starlight Over Detrot: A Noir Tale - Chessie



In the decaying metropolis of Detrot, 60 years and one war after Luna's return, Detective Hard Boiled and friends must solve the mystery behind a unicorn's death in a film noir-inspired tale of ponies, hard cider, conspiracy, and murder.

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Act 2, Chapter 6: All Quiet in the Library

Starlight Over Detrot

Act 2, Chapter 6: All Quiet In The Library

When History judges Celestia's reign amidst the monster attacks and lunar relocation controversies, one of the marks strongly in her favor will be that she understood the positive effects of knowledge and learning. She went to great lengths to keep Equestria's libraries open and free to the public, even going so far as to put them in the care of some of her most highly regarded advisors.

It is unfortunate that many ponies do not choose to avail themselves of such knowledge, except in emergencies; More than one librarian has been flummoxed by time-sensitive requests to cross-reference "Grain Thresher" and "That pink nubbly thing what supposed to be in Granny's torso."

It can be more unfortunate, however, when they do avail themselves of certain kinds of knowledge; One may recall the story of Second Chance, the unicorn foal who, distraught over the passing of his parakeet, got a hold of an occult tome and inadvertently reanimated all the pets who had ever died on his block. Anypony who has ever been distressed by a dog attempting to mate with his or her foreleg has likely not had the experience of being accosted so by a dog missing much of its flesh.

Incidentally, Second Chance maintains a place of prominence in the Celestial Register for having Equestria's most disturbing cutie mark.

Because of how directly and dramatically knowledge can translate into power, such incidents forced Celestia to put barriers in front of certain kind of knowledge; Academic or government credentials are often necessary to access high-security and/or unsavory spellcraft.

Naturally, such barriers led to a black market in forbidden occult data, but never let it be said that the black market completely lacks the awareness that a tentacular apocalypse would be bad for the underground trade. To prevent said trade from being washed away by a sea of fire, sparkles, or extradimensional horrors, they had developed their own forms of self-regulation.

-The Scholar.


“Sir, I am entirely uncomfortable with this.”

“You want comfortable, you go back and give Jade your resume. Be prepared to throw yourself at her hooves and give them a big ol' tongue bath. Otherwise, quit complaining.”

“But... why do I have to leave my gun! I don’t want to leave my gun! I like my gun! I just got it back, along with my sanity, and I don’t want to give up either one again!”

“Kid, the Archivist knows me, but he doesn’t know you and he doesn’t like ponies he doesn’t know, especially when they’re armed. Don’t worry. We introduce you and he’ll warm up to you quick. Besides, I’m leaving my bullets here, but he won’t let you in carrying a piece if he doesn’t know you, loaded or not.”

“You weren’t this nice with Miss Stella...”

“I didn’t know the lizard. I know the Don. When Juniper died, he sent me a bottle of scotch and some roses. Besides, unless you want that cannon to melt on your leg, you don’t want to try to take it into the Archive without his permission. They’ve got magical artifacts on every door that will turn unauthorized mechanical weapons into super-heated goo.”

“What about yours?”

“It’s a magical weapon. They’ve got other ways of dealing with ponies who get frisky with magic. Now, this isn’t a discussion. Put your gun in the glove box.”

“But I just got it back!

“It’s either this, or I’ll go buy you a coffee and you can sit there and never meet the pony who managed to resurrect me from the dead. You’ll wonder, every day, just what interesting things he might have told you about your little dental issues and the PACT... that you missed. It’ll hang in the back of your mind, an eternal question, squatting in your brain forever-”

“Sir, that’s not fair!”

“Fair? Really? You want to talk to me about what’s fair?”

“...right ...sorry, sir...”

****

The Library Of The Magnificent Mind.

Most ponies thought of it as an aspirational title, but few realized that Magnificent Mind had been the architect’s name. I knew this only because I did an eighth grade project in which I had to pick a building in Detrot and write up its history. At the time, I think I was hoping for suck-up points with the teacher since I knew at least nine of my fellow class-mates were writing histories of the Morgue, in hopes of a class trip and some free ice-cream.

Magnificent Mind, born ‘Cheese Doodle’ before he changed it for professional purposes, was a bonafide genius and The Detrot Tenth Librum Publicum was his masterpiece. Sadly, his grasp of economics - or, for that matter, reality - never quite measured up to his grasp of architecture.

While feasibility, insanity, and arrogance all worked against Magnificent Mind, in the end it was money that left the last library built in Detrot, since the start of the war, in its sad final condition. Most ponies weren’t even aware Detrot had a ‘Tenth Archive Librum Publicum’, as the plaque on the door called it.

I certainly wasn’t when I started that project all those years ago. It did earn me a ‘B.’

****

“Sir, I... heard of these ‘Archivists’ in the police academy. Aren’t they criminals?” Swift asked, shutting the car door as she got out.

“Technically, yes.”

“So why isn’t there anypony trying to arrest them?”

“You mean other than the Academy, Customs officials, the Essy Office now and then, and every major illegal magical contraband task force Detrot PD has ever assembled?” I kicked a pebble off the curb, looking up at the hideous building hanging over us. “The Don is real careful and real smart. He’d give Stella a run for his scaly money if he actually cared about expanding his empire.”

“I knew about him from my days in Organized Crime, but you sound like you’re old buddies. How did that happen?” Taxi asked, standing on her rear hooves and adjusting her saddlebag so it hid her scars more completely.

“Juniper and I got on the case of some smugglers who were moving timber-wolf wood across borders and reassembling it to harass some local farmers. They’d killed a couple and made it look like timber-wolf attacks, but the Don came to us when he heard about the deaths. He’d helped them move the wood,” I explained.

“But... you can’t... I mean, everypony knows they’re here! How can all of those groups want to arrest them and-” Swift sputtered.

“Kid, when I say The Don is smart, I don’t just mean ‘smart’. Those groups might want to arrest the Archivists, but there’s a general consensus that it would be a very very bad idea to actually do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, every time somepony finds something big, magical, and nasty, they take it to the Academy... right?”

“I guess so. I don’t really know. What does that have to do with these smugglers?” Swift looked up at the Archive with a bit of disgust.

“Well, criminals find magical things, too. Sometimes they want to sell them, sometimes they want to steal them, sometimes they want to destroy them... Hell, sometimes they don’t know what the damn things are, and if they’re going to catastrophically explode or make waffles. They can't take it to the Academy without a bunch of inconvenient questions on record, so either they have to let something possibly valuable go un-looked at, or have to start poking it and hope it does something. It’s a problem they used to solve by having underlings or loan shark debtors push the buttons firsthand in an abandoned warehouse or decaying slum, and, let’s face it, the testers weren’t always treated to a delicious breakfast.” Swift grimaced. I continued. “In short, ponies who can’t really go to the major institutions within Detrot need someplace to go that’s safe, discreet, and smarter than they are. That’s where The Don comes in.”

“So he just gives criminals information on artifacts?”

“Not so much. First, he charges. Second, he filters everything. If somepony finds one of Equestria’s truly dangerous magics, he buys it from them and stores it here, in the Archive... or... well, maybe not here, here, but he has places. If they refuse... Well, let’s just say the DPD has gotten its share of anonymous tips about dangerous artifacts.”

Swift pursed her lips, scrunching up her face as she worked through the reasoning. “That’s why they don’t get arrested? Criminals bring magical things here and the ‘Don’ takes them and makes sure they don’t have to mess with them to find out what they do?”

“Exactly. Some lower-rent parts of Detrot would be smoking purple craters several times over if it weren’t for him.”

“Okay, I... guess I understand. I... well, sir... I’m just nervous. Is this building safe?” She wanted to know as she peered up at the structure in front of us.

“Safe is a relative term, kid. The guy who built this place was an idiot. Brilliant, but pants-on-head stupid.”

“How about safe relative to a school haunted by an enchanted boiler? It looks like somepony threw tinker toys into a big glob of peanut butter...”

Swift, for all the description might have lacked lingual flair, wasn’t wrong.

Built between two industrial estates only twenty or so blocks down from Sunny Days Juvenile Foster Care, Detrot’s tenth public library wasn’t a looker. I guess it’s hard to be beautiful with only half your skin.

Many ponies had tried to describe the building when it was first opened to the public and their attempts always came back around to different, synonymous terms for ‘poop with stuff in it.' It sat on the street like a big dog-dropping. The only concessions to style or taste were the expensive glass revolving doors positioned about halfway across the front.

“The exterior isn’t finished. The Don likes it like that, for some reason,” Taxi said, arming the car’s security system. We started up the stairs to the revolving doors at the front of the building.

“I don’t know much about construction, but I’m pretty sure you build the ground floor walls before you start designing the lobby!” Swift protested.

“Like I said, the architect was a genius, but his favorite childhood drink was probably drain cleaner."

****

The revolving doors squealed on unoiled bearings as I pushed through and Swift came in behind, with Taxi loosely trailing.

An itch on my flank had begun to bother me. Yes, my cutie mark was telling me there was Injustice ahoof - but telling me that in what was, whatever else, a den of criminal activity was kind of like having a smoke alarm over a dragon's nest. Not exactly helpful. I discreetly tried to scratch it on one edge of the doorframe. Fortunately, Swift's eyes were elsewhere.

"That's impossible!" Swift squeaked as she glanced around the library's lobby.

The Archive stretched out before us in all directions like a bibliophile’s dream writ large. Row upon row of wooden shelves, lit by enormous crystal chandeliers hanging from the domed ceilings. Brilliant frescoes stretched out along the edges of the walls, dipping down all the way to the carpets, outlining some of the greatest moments of Equestrian history. Not a speck of dust hung in the air, nor a hint of humidity. It was a welcome change from Stella’s steamy grotto, but it was also, as Swift said, quite impossible.

“If it helps, think of it as an illusion.” I murmured to my partner.

“But, Sir! It can’t be! This... this isn’t illusion magic! There’s no fragmentation at the edges of vision! No spatial distortions! It’s...it’s really bigger on the inside!” she complained, pounding both front hooves on the carpet as though demanding the world explain itself.

I shrugged, sweeping one leg towards the ceiling to encompass the beautiful images and the vast shelves of endless books. “The story goes that nopony told the architect you can’t build a bigger building inside of a smaller one... so he just sort of... did. Look, it’s really best not think on it too hard. You just got your mind back in some kind of order and trying to get your head around this place would probably send you off the deep end again.”

My partner looked like she was about to say something else but was interrupted by my driver, and a hard thump on the flank.

Swift’s spatial dilemma had left her in a halt half-way out of the pony-sized cell, blocking it with her stunned, hoof-waving frame; While not all that heavy, she provided more than enough unexpected inertia to stop the door and make Taxi hit her nose squarely on the pane, an event punctuated by more of Taxi’s foreign invective.

"That's the second time in a month some flying damn thing has busted my damn nose! First that goddess-damned ball in the locker room at the school and now-” Taxi snarled, forcing the revolving door open with both hooves.

“Sorry, sorry!” Swift yelped, leaping backwards from my irate friend.

“Oh, you will be sorry when I get my hooves on you!” Taxi lunged for her and my partner dodged backwards, bumping heavily into a chest-high stack of encyclopedias.

“Sweets! Knock it off! It was an acciden-” I started. I didn’t have the opportunity to finish.

The change was sudden and altogether distressing.

All sound vanished in an instant. My two companions paused in their melee, Swift half-way through a take-down as Taxi started into one of her combat katas. My driver opened her mouth and said... something, then Swift held her hoof up to her ear. Taxi shook her head and pointed to her muzzle.

I couldn’t even hear my own heart beat. Quiet is one thing, but that was a sort of silence that made me think very uncomfortably of being back in the morgue’s cooler.

Surrounding us on all sides, a bubble of distorted light clung to each of us. Raising my leg, I waved it back and forth in front of my face a few times. I turned one way, then the other, I searched for the source of the strange phenomena. It took me a minute to find it.

Standing some distance away between two long rows of books, a young unicorn stallion, perhaps a few years Swift’s senior, was glowering at the three of us. He wore a tiny pair of silver rimmed glasses with circular lenses sitting so far down his nose I was surprised they didn’t drop onto the book of ‘Ancient Equestrian Poetry’ floating in front of his chin.

His royal blue features were gaunt, almost emaciated, with prominent cheekbones and a mane cut that spilled over his shoulders in a smooth, blonde wave. He could be called handsome, though something about his appearance reminded me of Taxi’s carefully cultivated air of personal negligence. His thin vest and pocket watch chain seemed like they’d be more at home on a noble of some kind, but he wore a zebra bangle around his left forelock.

His face was pinched with irritation as he lifted one leg up at a sign hanging between two bookshelves. It said ‘Shhh...’ in simple block letters.

Taxi, Swift, and I peered at one another, then back at the librarian. I gave him an exaggerated nod.

Sound returned in a rush and my head momentarily ached; even my own breathing felt very loud. Swift clenched her teeth tightly, then shook her head like a bee had buzzed right into her ear.

The librarian backed up, turning to disappear into the stacks again. I hurried over and said, in a low voice, “Excuse me... we’re here to see The Archivist.”

Cocking his head, the stallion seemed to consider this, then pushed his spectacles higher on his nose and beckoned us to follow. I trotted after him as he turned down a row of books. Reaching the end, I caught a glimpse of his cutie-mark, a silver bell with a crack up the middle of it, vanishing around the corner.

He didn’t seem to be galloping, but as my companions and I followed him deeper into the stacks, I started to lose track and have to pick up speed. The carpets muffled hoof-falls and the eerie emptiness of all those rows of books seemed to swallow us. A few times as we moved further, I saw a few ponies, and several zebras, all reading quietly in various nooks and crannies, but by and large, the place seemed almost deserted. We passed a closed museum case full of books and Swift stopped to stare at it, but Taxi gave her a little push to keep her moving. Eventually we were pounding down the carpets at something close to top speed.

It was the tenth time I’d lost sight of the librarian, only see his long mane flashing around the end of a pile of books, when I felt a mouth on my tail, yanking me to a halt. Taxi was breathing hard and even Swift’s sides were heaving just a little.

“Hardy... haah... how are you... not tired?” my driver panted. “We’ve been running for the last... haah... fifteen minutes!”

I looked down at myself, then shook my head. I didn’t feel tired. I wasn’t even sweating. In fact, now she mentioned it, I’d completely lost track of how long we’d been going. “No idea, but I get the distinct impression we’re being screwed with.”

“W-what do you mean, Sir?” Swift asked, putting a hoof on her chest.

I pointed to one of the signs overhead. “We’ve passed Romantic Historical Comedic Fictions already. Three times.”

“Awww, no way. It’s barely as big as the front of the Vivarium outside! T-this place can’t be that big...” Swift whimpered. “It’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, impossible. You said that already.” Raising my voice, I shouted over the towering bookcases, “Don Tome, you righteous bastard! It’s Hard Boiled! You asked to see me, dammit!”

“No need to yell, Detective. I am right here.”

I whirled, almost smacking Swift across the nose with my tail. She fell onto her behind as Taxi reared half into a fighting stance, both front hooves in the air, standing on one rear leg.

Don Tome, The Archivist, Librarian To The Underworld, sat in an enormous, high backed armchair, set before a roaring fire that we’d somehow missed when we’d first come this way. A dusty book was propped across his foreknees and his satin suit draped loosely on his wasted frame. A glass of milk and plate of cookies, one with a bite out of it, sat on a table beside him. The zebra’s ageless eyes twinkled with amusement.

He might have been only a little older than myself, or he might have been three times my age. His joints didn’t creak when he moved, but when he did it was with a deliberation that only comes from long years.

Closing his book, he laid it on the tea table and adjusted one of the heavy golden rings dragging down both of his ear-lobes. Tugging out a pocket watch, he checked it, then snapped it shut smartly and shoved it back into his vest pocket.

"You're just on time," he murmured in a voice that sounded like rustling parchment. Waving his dark hoof, he gestured towards three smaller seats arrayed beside him. “Please, sit. We have many things to discuss and it is my bed time soon.”

“Good to see you, Tome,” I said, stepping forward and offering him my hoof, which he took and gave a little shake. I did my best to tamp down my annoyance at the little game we’d just been unwilling participants in. “What’s with the wild goose chase?”

The Don raised his chin and his smile widened. “How else would you have been on time?” He chuckled, his laughter like old leaves blowing in the wind. “I jest. My son is... very protective of me, and lately there have been some... issues... which have caused me no end of consternation. My security is tight at the moment.”

“I see... so what’s this little meeting going to cost me?” I said, mentally filing away the comment about his son. “I know you, Tome. Nothing comes free.” I patted my chest with one leg. “I owe you one for getting me on my hooves, but you know my policies on ‘favors’. There are limits.”

“We... heh... we’ll get to that, Detective. I believe you’ll find my terms most acceptable, and relatively inexpensive,” he replied, picking up one of his cookies, studying it briefly, then taking a ginger bite. Laying it back on the plate, he pointed at Swift with his hooftip. “Come here, little one. Sit beside me. It is very unusual that a pegasus deigns to come into my library.”

Swift, whom I hadn’t been paying attention to, had been busily examining some of the books on the shelf beside her. She lifted her head, realizing she was being addressed. “I... I’m sorry, what did you say? I was just-”

“It is fine, dear child. I was just asking you to come sit with me,” he repeated, ushering her over.

My partner’s face brightened, then she remembered precisely who and what she was talking to. She drew away slightly. I planted one hoof on her rear and gave her a light push. “Go on, kid. He doesn’t bite. Ponies come in all flavors on both sides of the law. Some better than others. You’re safe enough here.”

She gave me an uncertain look, then tried to smile as she trotted over and pulled herself onto the seat nearest the Don.

“You like my collection?” the old zebra asked with an expression like a proud grandfather bragging about his children.

“It’s... amazing!" Swift exclaimed, her nervousness momentarily forgotten and her excitement raising her right up onto the tips of her hooves. "You have all of Love And Horseshoes! Even some I haven’t read yet! I could spend forever in here!”

“Ahhh, I am always pleased to have a fellow reader here. We get so few who are on anything but... a less savory business. I assume my friend, the Detective, has told you about me, my young officer of the law? May I know your name?”

My partner’s enthusiasm was very quickly dampened. “Yes, sir. I’m, Swift. I... mmm... I’m still learning. I’m... not an officer of the law right now. I don’t even have my badge...”

“You may not be working for the police department, but believe me, if you are with that stallion over there, you are an officer of the law in every way that matters.” The Don chuckled, flipping his hoof in my direction. He sobered quickly. “Now, why don’t you tell me precisely what is wrong with your jaw?”

Swift’s ears flatten against her head and she almost fell off the chair. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with-”

The Don, with surprising speed for a pony his age, picked up one of his cookies and flung it at her. I expected her to duck or shy away, a typical equine response to something flying at your face, but Swift snapped the cookie out of mid-air with frightening accuracy, her wolfen teeth turning it into a fountain of crumbs.

“Ahhh... most interesting,” the zebra murmured.

Realizing what she’d done, my partner quickly pulled her lips shut. I rested my face on my hoof. “That particular cat was coming out of the bag eventually anyway. I’d hoped I could get some answers first, though.”

“How’d you know?” Swift asked, munching the remains of the cookie self-consciously.

“I have been spying on you since you came into my library. You are very carefully keeping your mouth closed where anypony can see you,” the Don answered with an indulgent grin.

“You’ve been watching us?!” she squeaked.

“But of course. I know the others; Hard Boiled is a good pony, and Miss Taxi... well, she means well. You, however,... are a fresh enigma. I am aware that, of recent, you had some hoof in the demise of the pony known as ‘King Cosmo.’ Miss Taxi gave me that particular story, though there are some parts I believe only you can fill in. May I see your teeth, child?”

I crawled onto the chair on the Don’s other side and helped myself to one of his cookies. “Go on and show him, kid. Whatever he has to say can only help. We’ve got time.”

Reluctantly, Swift used one toe to pull back her lips on one side, then the other. Adjusting his spectacles, the Don leaned forward. He reminded me of an old pediatrician I’d once had, who was capable of putting both patients and parents at their ease. I guess that’s a skill you develop when you work with high magics that can level entire city blocks if somepony gets panicky with them.

Most... interesting.” Tome pulled off his glasses and laid them on top of his book as he sat back in his large, comfortable chair, sipping his milk. He bowed his head and seemed to sink into a deep meditative contemplation. He was so still that after a minute, I wasn’t sure if he was still meditating or if he’d simply fallen asleep, so I gently nudged his leg. Without moving, he grumbled, “Patience is going to be one of your virtues, Detective Boiled, even if the cosmos has to hammer it into you with nail and maul.”

“That might be,” I remarked, “but I know it doesn’t take you that long to run through what you know, vast as that might be. You’re just deciding on a price.”

He sighed, brushing his hooftip lovingly over the book he’d been reading. “Ponies are so much more difficult than books. I wish, sincerely, that I didn’t need to ask for remuneration and that the knowledge would be its own reward. However, this isn’t the world we live in. So, to that end, both of you will owe me and I will collect here, today... but first, I will at least give you my thoughts, once I have heard your story. Agreed?”

Swift glanced at me and I shrugged. “Hey, we’re here. I can’t think of anywhere else we might get information on our little issue.”

My partner turned back to the Don and lifted her leg, which he lightly touched with his own. “Agreed,” she whispered.

“Tell me, then, what do you know about how you acquired those beautiful dentata?”

“I... don’t know much of anything,” she began, hesitantly. “There was a spell on me. It made me want meat. I still want meat. It made me want to follow orders. Everything over the last month is sort of... fuzzy, like I was drunk. It’s gone... and I just feel kind of numb.”

“Numb,” the Don nodded to himself, then said, “You’re still in shock, child. That’s good, for now. Please, do go on.”

“Tell him about Grape Shot,” I said. Taxi looked curious. I realized neither of us had thought to inform her of that particular wrinkle.

“Sir, I... I don’t think that’s really-”

Pressing my hoof to her chest, I gave her a hard look. There was terrible fear in those wide, blue eyes. “Kid, you want to know why all of this happened, we need that information. I know you’re scared... but this is the safest place I know of, Stella’s place included. No-one here thinks you’re weak.”

“Y-yes, sir.” She hung her head, pressing her hoof against the cheerful looking rabbit emblazoned on her tactical vest’s chestplate for strength. After several seconds, she raised her eyes and spoke directly to the Don, “Mister Tome... I used to be a trainee with the PACT. Even... even before that I had a friend I went to Flight Camp with. We were both in PACT training together. He was amazing.” Tears started to gather at the sides of her eyes as Swift continued but the ancient zebra just waited as she inhaled a few times, fighting them back, “I... I washed out. I’m... I’m too small. My friend stayed in and... and he became a lieutenant inside a month. His... his name was Grape Shot. He was a strong pony. He was smart and fast and he worked so hard!”

“He sounds like quite the good soul,” Tome commented.

“He was. When a cockatrice got free in training, he leaped in front of it when it came after me and got turned to stone instead! I chased it down and... made it unstone him and everyone else, but he was the real hero... and the stupid newspapers only wanted to talk to me!” My partner’s breathing was getting heavier as she tried to keep control of herself.

“I did read an article about that, not so long ago, I believe. If I remember correctly, you kicked a cockatrice until it cried, child. I don’t believe you should sell that short,” the Don said, his lips sweeping into a pleasant smile.

Swift shook her head, her tears flowing freely now, dripping onto her legs. “It... it was him, though. He gave me the courage, every time, in Flight School and then again... when he leapt in front of that cockatrice.”

Reaching out, the zebra rested his hoof over top of Swift’s. “I can’t believe I am going to say this, because I strive to avoid tropes of cheap novellas, but the courage was yours and the actions were yours. Your friend just gave you a reason to be brave.”

“I... sir... when we were fighting the King of Ace... somepony shot Hardy.” Her shoulders shook with emotion. “I chased him and I caught him. He was wearing a g-gas mask. He...he...started to shoot me. I stopped. I hesitated, darn me...and he hesitated. Then I fired my gun. I killed the one who shot my partner. It was right, wasn’t it?” Her voice had risen to borderline hysteria.

“It is always right to protect yourself or your friends, Officer Swift.” The Don said in a kind voice.

Swift was gasping now, her sides spasming as the pain started to win. “I-I t-took off his... his gas mask. T-t-the p-pony I k-killed was... was... was Grape Shot!”

She buried her face against the seatcover and covered her head with both shaking wings.

Taxi moved over to her side and put one leg around her. I exhaled, moving my chair closer and putting my knee over her neck. I’m a damn marshmallow where crying fillies are concerned, but I was surprised to see the Don reach over and gently rest his hoof on my partner’s shoulder.

“I see...” was all the old zebra said. No judgement. No condemnation. Just quiet acceptance of the facts. Ten years since I’d first met him and every time I came back to his softly snapping fire in the warm little alcove someplace in the endless repository of knowledge, I asked myself why the heavens would see fit to put us on opposing sides. I did tend look for father figures in all the wrong places after I'd lost my real one, and Don Tome was nothing if not fatherly.

For some moments, we all sat in silence as Swift composed herself. A package of tissues appeared from somewhere, lying on the Don’s night stand. I hadn’t seen the deliverer come or go, but Tome just picked up the packet, tore it open, and began lightly blotting my partner’s face. She hiccuped a few times, then held her breath until they went away before gently taking the tissue from him and using it to wipe her eyes.

“Sorry...”

“No need to apologize, child. Old stripes like myself are used to tears. A long life will have many and the young deserve the chance to cry when the world is dark,” he said, comfortingly, then pushed himself back into his chair and folded his hooves, one over the other. “I don’t wish to distress you, but was there... something more?”

She nodded, sniffling a little. “Yeah... yeah, there was. It’s...I don’t know. I was kind of out of it, but I’m pretty sure. G-grape Shot’s teeth were like mine, except it was all of them. The ones in front, too.”

“Mmmhmmm... I thought that might be the case,” he replied, picking up his reading glasses. A second book had appeared on top of the first, again delivered by unseen agency. This one was black-covered, wrinkled at the edges from long years of daily use. Opening the book, he ran down several pages before finding the one he was looking for. “Let me see...ahhh. This may be small comfort, I’m afraid. There have been several magics passing through the city which might have caused elements of your condition if it were simply one of a kind... but none which would turn a pony into an assassin, nor which work collectively without heavy modifications.”

“They used an arcane conservancy.” Taxi put in. “I read the dispeller’s notes. It was very strong magic.”

“Miss Stella’s Stilettos do employ some very competent magicians,” the Don agreed.

“Wait...how do you-” I began, then paused. “Right. I don’t know why I’m surprised. You knew I’d taken down Cosmo and that he was moving on The Vivarium. That was enough, wasn’t it?”

“Information is my stock and trade, Detective. Stella doesn’t interfere with my business, and I have a certain respect for any creature who can promote any kind of order in a city as ripely corrupt as this one.”

“Alright, so what about the spells? I need whatever you can give me, right now.”

The Don shifted his weight against the armrest, draping one foreleg over it. “I am afraid, then, that the news is not good. This particular arcane conservancy is one composed of several magics. A few of them are in my lists,” he admitted, tapping a couple of entries with his toe. “I believe the spell which has affected this sweet child’s teeth is a simple cosmetic alteration, but it was meant to be temporary and has obviously been modified by somepony of considerable knowledge. It was sold to me by a magic dealer who left for the zebra homeland not long after and bought less than three days later by an anonymous purchaser.”

“What, so you don’t have any records of the pony who came to pick it up?” Taxi asked, half rising in her seat.

“Cash paid, courier pick-up from a dead drop, no receipt asked for.” The Don shrugged his slim shoulders, making the act look like a dance move with its well-practiced grace. “I believe you said this other pony was a member of the PACT? Why do you not start there?”

“Because I’m not a cop anymore, and accusing Broadside of turning his troopers into magical assassins without proof is a great way to make sure I’m never a cop again,” I replied, studying the fire. “I’m not even sure it’s him, anyway. If I’m going to investigate him, I need an evidence trail. But you already knew that.”

“Yes... and unfortunately, I am afraid I may be less than helpful.” The Don shook his head, sadly. “Whosoever was arranging the transfer of these spells did so months ago, piecemeal. They used over a dozen courier services for each one, legal and otherwise. I have several pings on my network... but tracking down the destination or origin of even a single element would be the work of many weeks. If you have that kind of time, I can certainly-”

“We don’t.” I exhaled, pulling my knees under my body. “Whoever shot me is bound to send another assassin when they hear I’m rolling the streets again. We needed that information a month ago and if our perps are anything like competent, the couriers themselves probably didn’t know what they were carrying.”

“Very likely,” the Don agreed. “Of course, I mean to set you on a path that may provide you some answers along the way. I have reason to believe my recent troubles could be related.”

“How so? We’re not getting involved with gangsters again, are we?” Taxi asked, pushing herself up on her forelegs. “I mean, I know we owe you and Hardy’s heart wasn’t cheap-

“Dear girl, ‘cheap’ describes things bought for money.” The Don stopped her, holding up his hoof. “That heart bought the life of a child once and, lately, the life of one of the very small number of beings in this world I would consider truly decent. It was very inexpensive to my mind. However, there must be balance in all things and for a life saved, there is a price.”

“A price?” Swift asked, lowering one ear, with a look of disappointment. “Isn’t doing the right thing enough?”

“You would be stunned at how often I ask myself that.” Don Tome propped his head on his chin, giving her a slightly sad smile as he explained, “Consider that were I to extract no price, pony nature would dictate that I give until I have nothing left, and therefrom I have nothing left to give. However, by extracting a price and investing wisely, over time I grow that which I have to give.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, kid, don’t let this old stripey charmer try to feed you his line about altruism. He’s all sweetness and joy, until you miss a payment.”

"It's all so my generosity may continue to build! If I have to dislocate a shoulder or two in the name of that generosity, so be it!” Tome snickered, tapping his hooftips together. Swift looked briefly horrified, her wings springing out from her back, so he went on, quickly, “Besides, Hardy and I get along because I have a sincere belief that no-one need die or be permanently crippled to repay a debt of bits. Besides, both of these often impact their ability to repay those bits. That doesn’t mean their lives have to be pleasant until it’s done.”

My partner still looked a bit uncomfortable with that, but somewhat mollified.

“Speaking of this... heart. You want to tell me how you just so happened to have the magical knowhow to convert a bug’s heart to run on power gems?” I asked, my stomach growling at me. “Oh, and can I have some more of those cookies?”

“To the second question, of course.” Clapping his hooves, the zebra pointed at me and a plate of cookies fell across my forelegs, steam still rising from them. Nopony had come or gone, but then, The Don has a very classical understanding of luxury and that ‘the help’ should be less seen than felt.

“To the first... Your heart was a simple matter, if I am being truthful,” Tome explained, flipping one of my cookies into his mouth with the tip of his toe. I covered my plate protectively with my hoof, only for Taxi to snatch one from the other side. I shot my driver a nasty look and she just grinned around my snack as the Don continued. “In the zebra homelands, we have our own problems with changelings. We discovered, long ago, that they can siphon off the emotional magics of others to power their own abilities. This power is centered in their ‘heart’ organ. We handled our problems quite elegantly: by reversing the predator/prey dynamic. They make excellent subjects for organ transplants. Very adaptable, after all.”

Taxi made a revolted face. “You hunted them?!”

“Quid pro quo, girl. They have no problem with feeding off of us,” the Don said with a soft snort. “What you brought me was... well... one unfortunate side-effect of these ‘hunts.’ The less savory elements of the zebra underworld will often sell the hearts of dead changelings with necromantic modifications to desperate ponies, then siphon off the love of friends and family themselves, using the heart as a conduit. What you brought me was one such device. Miss Taxi filled me in on where you procured it.”

My hackles rose. “You mean the moon-blighted bastard who sold that heart to Cosmo-”

“Yes, he was stealing the love of The King of Ace’s parents. It led to the mother’s death, the son’s, and in all likelihood the madness that befell the King himself. Either way, replacing the worst of the enchantments was no issue, but you may find yourself subject to certain influences when in the presence of intense emotional magics. Your ‘passenger’, for instance, may become more active.”

“Gale,” I murmured, munching on one of my cookies. I glanced down and noticed another one gone, then heard soft crunching beside me. Swift was looking very smug.

“Is that his name? Appropriate, I suppose, considering the whirlwind that is your life.” The Don covered a soft chuckle at his own joke with a cough, then went on, “He is a shadow of the child who once owned that heart. Treat him kindly. He does control your cardiovascular system.”

“I think we have an arrangement worked out. He’s been working beautifully. Better than the original, actually. I’m pretty sure the healing magics are still pumping, too. A cut on my leg closed up in a few seconds this morning.”

“Yeah, and didn’t I give you a black eye earlier when you puked in my mane?” Taxi said, poking at my cheek with her toe lightly. “I thought I nailed you good, too.”

Reaching up, I touched the flesh around my eye, finding it perfectly unbruised and painless. “Huh... bonus.”

The Don nodded to himself. “I left those magics intact. Be aware, when you’re injured, it will drain your magical reserves much more quickly. Anything more than superficial injury, like, say, serious bullet wounds, will leave you scraping the bottoms of your ‘tank’ unless you happen to be standing next to an electrical outlet. You’re likely to have a heart attack before the ambulance can arrive.”

“Right. Don’t get shot. My recent track record isn’t good,” I said, scratching at my chest over the socket. “Fine. What’s my tab at right now?”

“Meteoric, my friend,” the Don replied, with a quirk of his thin, black lips. “Were you paying me my usual prices to consult for Detrot Police Department, I’d have put Chief Jade out of her office and be picking out wallpaper.”

“I’m scared to ask what you charge by the hour.”

“You ask dangerous questions, Detective Hard Boiled. Dangerous questions have costly answers. Speaking of which, I believe it is time for this question you have been ‘saving’? Do go ahead.” He squared his chest, as though preparing for a trial, but he was smiling faintly. “I can’t take the suspense.”

I shut my eyes and inhaled a calming breath, trying to temper my anticipation. The Don’s mind held secrets that could unravel the very fabric of Detrot. His vaults contained a wealth of magics that could, given the right impetus, scour the city down to bedrock. He’d saved more lives than anypony would ever know and remained content to sit on his secret throne; an old zebra in a library, reading by the fire with a plate of cookies and milk.

And he’d just offered me answers. It wasn’t an opportunity to be wasted.

Reaching into my front pocket, I extracted Ruby Blue’s diary, laying it on the ottoman. I used my chin to indicate Taxi’s saddlebags. “Sweets, you still have that scroll we got from Cosmo’s place?”

“Sure. Just be glad I was too out of it this month to clean my bags.” She pulled her saddlebag up and rifled through it until she found the rolled paper. She set it beside the diary.

“We were tracking Cosmo’s safe-house.” I began, lifting the book with the edge of my shoe, “This diary was owned by a pony who stole... something. They chased her off a building, and I think the key to whatever she took is inside it. It’s locked and I haven’t been able to get into it.”

The Don picked up the diary, turning it over several times, studying the jewels inlaid on the surface. “Magical locks may be a speciality of mine, but if you, as you say, wish it open in a timely fashion and without damaging the contents... then you will likely have to find the key.”

“I... damn. I was afraid you were going to say that. Alright, take a look at this, then.” Picking up the scroll, I unfurled it and ran my toe under the three words printed thereon. “We found the scroll in this sort of safe-house Cosmo had where he was hiding his father. He was looking for something. Maybe what our dead girl took, maybe not. Don’t know.”

“Let’s see...” Returning his reading glasses to his nose, Tome lay the diary back in my lap then moved on to the scroll. He read the words to himself several times under his breath, then swept his hoof back through his thin mane. “This is a very odd pre-classical Equestrian dialect. ‘Lunaric.’ Very unusual. Dead as a doornail. It was one of the ‘royal’ languages, used only by the clergy and nobility.”

“Can you read it?” I asked.

“Hrm....this first word is ‘to choose’ or ‘to desire to choose’. Optare. That translates cleanly into modern Equestrian as ‘wish’. The others... are part of a tonal segment. If we apply Lunaris grammatical structure and work around the pre-classical Equestrian...this would seem to mean something like-” The Don’s clenched his lower jaw and squinted in concentration, “-’Lattice Of Dark Wishes.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I grunted.

“I’m afraid I’ve absolutely no idea.” The Don laughed, holding up both hooves. “Apologies, detective. My knowledge of this world is still incomplete.”

“Gotcha. Alright-” I paused as I glanced at my driver.

Taxi had her tongue between her teeth, making one of her ‘thinking’ faces.

“Sweets? You have something to add?” I asked.

She shook her head, then hesitated for just a second before saying, “Um...This might be unrelated, maybe, but...back when I was in school, I remember a story about the days when Princess Luna and Princess Celestia started fighting. Princess Luna was so angry, the sky started to twist itself to suit her ‘dark wishes’. They say it... looked like spiderwebs.”

Tome peered at the paper again, then nodded. “I suppose ‘lattice’ could also be taken to mean ‘web’.” Pulling his glasses down, he looked over them at Taxi. “That is a bit of a leap, mind you. Where did that come from?”

“I...” My driver’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the praise. She’d never been especially good at taking a compliment. “Cosmo was trying to make a wish, I think. Dark wishes. He had all this research about criminals who suddenly had good things happen to them. The ‘web’ of dark wishes-”

“Hah! Yes! That makes a certain sense, then.” Turning back to me, The Don pushed the paper back. “What you have there, I’m afraid, is a piece of ancient history.”

I picked up the scroll and jammed it into my front pocket. “That’s less than I hoped for, but fine. When I brought him the diary, he almost pissed himself with glee. Rang up this law firm here in town. Umbra, Animus, and Armature? You know them?”

The Don sharply sucked in a breath. “Ahhh...deary me, I am aware of them, yes. It is difficult to be in my profession and not ‘aware’ of Umbra, Animus, and Armature.”

“You don’t sound like you’re happy with that,” Swift commented, raising one wing and quietly going about the process of fixing feathers with her teeth. It was a very different process with a mouth full of blades, more related to combing than preening.

“Less than most of those who exist on the grey and bleeding edge of the law.” Tome pulled at the hem of his vest, self-consciously. “There is not one significant criminal presence in this city, myself excluded, who doesn’t keep them on retainer. They have... resources. Massive resources. I can’t remember the last time I heard of one of their clients actually facing a court-room.”

“Not surprising, then. They were pulling Cosmo’s strings. You know anything about the law firm itself? Who runs them?”

The Don shifted in his chair, tapping his hooftips together. A thin folder dropped out of mid-air, landing open across his legs. Turning over one page, then another, he took a swig of his milk. His eyes never left the paper.

“They ‘appeared’ in the city about seventy years ago. When I say ‘appeared’, I do mean appeared. Overnight, in fact.” His lips slanted downward as he studied the page. He checked the opposite side, which was blank. “My city records before the Crusades are less specific than either of us might like, but Umbra, Animus, and Armature are apparently the names of the founding senior partners; a familial trio, two brothers and a sister. Prior address unknown, prior relationships unknown, prior associations unknown. In fact, I have no records of them to speak of, which is unusual by itself. They have not been seen in public in some years, if they are still alive at all.”

“Gotcha... erg. Investigating them directly would probably be a bad idea, no?” I asked.

“If you have a strong desire to find out if it’s actually possible to sue someone into the grave, then yes, by all means... march into their offices.” The Don traced one of the stripes on his foreleg with his opposite toe as he spoke, “Your best course of action is likely to be patience. If they care so much about whatever it is that is in that diary, they will come to you.”

“Comforting thoughts.” I hopped off my seat and stood in front of Tome, giving him a slightly melodramatic salute. “Well, that’s all I had. You need me. I’m here. What’s the grand total, between my heart and this particular Q and A?”

He laughed heartily, which was a noise like gears splitting in an old washing machine. “You could always give me your gun, you know. That would square us. I do love a fine piece of magical equipment and I would love, ever so much, to study it.”

I drew my weapon close to my chest, patting the barrel. “Every time I come by here, you ask that. Afraid my answer’s going to have to be the same."

“You can't blame me for trying, my friend," the Don said, showing two rows of perfectly white teeth, in an expression that narrowly fell short of a ‘smile.’

"You said wherever you’re sending us might have some answers?”

"I... that I can’t guarantee, but it strikes me as a better option than hunkering down and waiting for someone to start shooting at you.” Tome stacked the folder of information on the law-firm beside his book on the table, smoothed his waistcoat, and slid down from his armchair. “Detective, may I introduce my sons?”

****

It’s odd that, even years into working as a police pony, some things still get under my skin a bit. The idea that gangsters, even relatively benign ones like Tome, should have families is just a little strange, especially when I don’t.

Cosmo’s father was less ‘family’ and more ‘evidence of severe mental health problems’, but the principle remained the same. It’s easier to think of criminals as being numbers on a court docket and if you’re going to arrest them day in, day out, a certain distance is necessary. Hence, though I’d known The Don for many years, it never occurred to me that he had children.

****

Since some ponies have a tendency to breed more or less indiscriminately with who-or-whatever gives a wink and a nudge, it’s a bit strange that I so rarely ran into zonies. I knew, in the back of my head, that they existed, and that the cross-breeds possessed their own relatively healthy subculture, but those subcultures tend to stay out of police involvement whenever they can. I could count the number of zony suspects I’d ever hauled in on both hooves.

The particular zony leaning casually against one of the book cases was a sight, too.

He was handsome on a scale most ponies don’t even touch. Nearly a full head taller than myself, he was thickly muscled, but in a way that seemed to accentuate the natural curves and lines of the body. His face had the chiseled jaw that the papers love and he possessed a casual, easy smile most politicians would envy. Black stripes started behind his ears, diving down his sides and the rest of his brown pelt. They weren’t as well defined as The Don’s, but they seemed to fit the picture of slightly unusual amiability that he projected. The only thing marring his face was a very stubby unicorn horn poking out from between two locks of his tightly trimmed mane.

I heard Taxi make a little noise in the back of her throat and shift her rear legs closer to one another, sweeping her tail down between them.

A square medallion or amulet of some kind dangled from his neck, inlaid with an array of simple gems and he clutched a short staff or walking stick in his foreleg, holding it lightly against the side of his neck. Zebra runes wound around the staff from the base up to a notch around half-way up.

The zony nodded his head towards us, then bowed to his father and spoke in a voice smooth as rich velvet, “You called, Father? I have been very busy, affirming our business relationships in the Eastern Wilderness. You said it was urgent?”

“Yes, very.” Tome raised one eyebrow, waving his hoof at the spot beside the zony. “If I may, where is Limerence? Was he not here some minutes ago?”

“I’ve no idea, I’m afraid,” the stallion said, with a shrug. “Creeping around somewhere, no doubt. He hasn’t the proper respect for a call-”

“I’m here, Zefu.”

The voice came from someplace behind one of the tall rows of books. A faint hum of magic cut out and papers shifted against themselves. In total silence, a spindly frame drifted into view, stepping along with great care, as though the carpet might be made of explosives that could be set off by an incautious step.

It was a familiar face; the unicorn who’d led us a chase through the entire library not fifteen minutes ago. His straw-colored mane was drawn back in a tail as he padded in, making less noise than a kitten wearing slippers, and sat before the fire, staring into it.

I hadn’t had much chance to study him before, but now I got to see him up close.

If Zefu was a tower of masculine charisma, this ‘Limerence’ was his direct opposite. His body was nearly as thin as Chief Jade’s. He had some muscle, but it was the wiry sort had by somepony who works out as a necessity rather than the dedicated bulk and ripped abdominals of his brother. He was also, most definitely, a unicorn. Nothing of his face or features genetically reflected the Don in the least, but there was something in the set of his shoulders and the peaceful, cool expression on his face that set me distinctly in mind of the old zebra.

The Don held out his hooves and his sons moved over in front of him, facing me. I noticed Zefu moved with a slight limp, leaning heavily on his staff. “My sons, I wish to introduce you to three ponies of considerable importance. Detective Hard Boiled, Officer Swift, and Miss Taxi.” Tome declared. “These are my boys, Zefu and Limerence.”

Zefu held out his hoof, “Detective Hard Boiled! I have heard of your escapades! I found them very entertaining. Tell me, did you ever make any headway on that poor girl found in the alley?”

“I’m afraid not and my trail is cold. I wasn’t aware the Don had sons.” I gave the Don a fond grin. “Keeping secrets again, Tome?”

“Always,” he replied, shifting his attention to Limerence, who was staring fixedly at his own toes. “Zefu and Limerence, I have missions for the both of you and would like you to sit in on this.”

“Of course, Father,” Limerence replied, immediately. His voice was so soft, I found myself leaning forward to hear it.

Zefu seemed somewhat hesitant. “Sir, I am afraid my plate is currently full. Another mission-”

Tome gave him an uncharacteristic sharp glare. “Zefu, I would not call you for anything but the most important of situations. Clear your plate.”

Chastised, the zony bowed his head again, though I did catch a hint of irritation in his expression.

“Now then,” Tome began, sweeping his hooves out to encompass all of those gathered. “Detective... my sons... Miss Swift, and Miss Taxi. I have gathered you today, with the express intent of revealing some unfortunate circumstances which have befallen the Archivists.”

Did I fail to mention the Don likes a bit of drama? He and Stella would get along beautifully.

“What is it, father?” Zefu asked, working his rear down to the carpet. It took a bit of doing, seeing as his legs seemed not to operate very well. That wasn’t changing the look of undisguised lust in Taxi’s eyes. I gave her a little bump with my hip and she jumped, then frantically started studying the ceiling.

“The long and short of it?” Tome leaned back in his armchair, shaking his mane out so it flipped against his side. “Several of my local contacts have dropped out of sight. I have made attempts to get in touch, some more aggressive than others, but received no replies. Worse... it is my belief that objects of power have been targeted for theft.”

Taxi’s ears shot into the air and she sat forward, “Wait...somepony is stealing from you?!”

“Truth be?” The Don shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Many of these vaults are not designed with security in mind, but obscurity. Some are simply shoe-boxes in someone’s closet.”

Swift’s face went rigid and her left eye twitched. “That’s crazy!” she blurted, pushing herself up on her front hooves. “I... how do you keep anything safe?! I thought the vault was like...a magically reinforced super bunker with big steel doors and-”

Tome laughed, heartily. “Dear child... you do have an imagination, don’t you? Good. Keep that close.” Pursing his mouth, he waved at the roof of the archive. “But, no...There are far too many objects in my care to keep them in one place. I built my network on trust, bribery, and threats of imminent violence, but maintaining a vast network of magical vaults would be both prohibitively expensive and calling more attention to myself than I like. I would be forced to centralize my storage and that would leave many more of these objects vulnerable. Some... do not interact well with others. As it is, I am the only one with a complete knowledge of where these vaults are located and who holds them.”

I scratched my lower lip with my top row of teeth. I was going to need a trim at some point. “Hmmm...what about these two?” I said, nodding towards the zony and the unicorn.

Limerence gave me a look that I had trouble interpreting. Somewhere between distaste and derision, garnished with irritation and a bit of curiosity. “Our knowledge is closely regulated. My father is not stupid.” He turned to The Don and asked, “Father, why do we require this... interloper? A police pony? Really?”

“Hey, just asking questions here,” I said, gruffly. “You want me to handle this-”

“I do not 'want you to handle this.'” Limerence bit back. “Father’s friend or not, you do not understand the complexities of our business, and after what I heard of your activities at the Monte Cheval-”

“That will do, Lim,” Tome interrupted.

“But-”

“That... will do,” he repeated, and the younger stallion quieted, his yellow mane falling across one half of his face as he glowered at the carpet. “I have brought the good Detective in on this for several reasons, not the least of which is that I trust his abilities and his character.”

“Yes... father.” Limerence seemed thereafter content to slip into a barely controlled sulk.

Zefu flicked his mane to the other side. “Father, if you don’t mind me asking... what was stolen?”

“At the moment? I am uncertain.” The Don shook himself, pulling his watch out and checking it again before continuing, “That... is your mission. Discover what is happening to my contacts and secure their vaults. There are two envelopes in your letter boxes. They will detail your instructions.”

“Yes, father,” the two stallions said, almost in unison.

“Now, it is soon time for me to retire... and I wish to have a moment alone with the Detective. Take Miss Swift and Miss Taxi to the kitchen. Get them something to eat more substantial than some cookies.”

Zefu smiled broadly, offering Taxi his foreleg. “Gladly. Dear lady, will you allow me to escort you?”

I swear, my driver went right from canary yellow to tomato red.

“O-o-okay...” she breathed. “...p-please sleep with me...”

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