• 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 43: The Screaming Tells You It's Working

Starlight Over Detrot
Act 2, Chapter 43: The Screaming Tells You It's Working

“Know thy route, and know thyself; in a hundred deliveries you shall never be in peril.”

Neighponese mailbags made during the mid-Solar Millenium were often inscribed with inspirational sayings such as this; references to a moral and strategic code known to modern equipology as Poshido, the way of the deliverer. Another, “Neither rain, nor snow, nor dragonfire, nor disembowelment, nor cheesewheels shall keep these couriers from their rounds,” was adopted as the motto of the Royal Equestrian Mail Service, despite some of it being anachronistic; There have only been two recorded disembowelment epidemics in the last millennium and only one cheesewheel breakout not directly related to Discord.

This may seem pompous, but the Royal Mailponies are not a bunch of clerks and menial laborers with an inflated sense of importance. A primary concern of any civilization is getting objects from one place to another, and Equestria’s hostile magic and megafauna-laden environment complicates this, as do the remote locations of some of its citizens. Thusly, mailponies are no common ponies; they must possess a diverse set of skills, knowledge and equipment in order to survive their tasks unscathed. Simply being armed can be insufficient preparation; a particular delivery between two towns can require combat reflexes, asbestos clothing, expendable furniture, musical instruments and ricotta cheese.

Fortunately, all the training mailponies perform to protect them from monsters and hostile environments make them very safe from being robbed by simple bandits; ‘Stage coach’ robbery, prevalent in southern bovine civilizations, was tried exactly once, because the only perpetrator was found lying on the road to Dodge Junction with a dislocated torso and a detailed note.

It is said: “You steal the mail when it arrives, you steal the mail before it leaves, but nopony steals from a mail carrier's bag.” There's a record of an incident where a new mail carrier left her bag (presumably by accident, but this has never been verified) in a remote train station. To the best of anypony’s knowledge, it is still there, sheltered under a propped up umbrella, waiting for somepony with sufficient authority to pick it up. As trifling with the mail means trifling with the Royal Equestrian Mail Service, nopony has stepped up to take the risk.

There are some goods, however, that the REMS does not transport; among them corpses, unshielded magical artifacts, and, notably, Illegal baked goods; Unauthorized delivery of Equestrian pastries is considered a weapons violation by several major international arms treaties, including the Geneighva Convention.

For those seeking to transport less than legal goods, there are other routes with mail carriers just as - if not more - zealous in their appointed rounds.

-The Scholar


You ever see a pony lose all their skin?

I’m sad to say I have, and it’s nothing to laugh at.

You ever see a pony think they’ve lost all their skin?

Funniest thing in the world.

****

“Oh dear Celestia, why am I aliiiive!?”

The unicorn leading the group of Cyclone intruders shrieked as he ran in little circles, his tail slapping back and forth against his flanks.

His three friends lay on their backs, howling for their mothers. Their weapons and combat saddles lay discarded around their hooves, having been the first thing they tried to wiggle out of when the spell took effect.

I was stalled halfway to snatching Lim’s tail with the intent of pulling him out of harm’s way while he looked on, watching the helpless caterwauling gangsters with a frigid lack of emotion. There’s only been a pause of about three seconds while the Cyclones looked back and forth at each other in confusion when the runes flickered to life around them. It was just long enough for them to look a bit smug and take aim with their weapons again.

Then the pegasus who’d taken wing to get aerial advantage pitched out of the sky onto his muzzle and began flailing at the ground, shouting something about his pelt being on fire. His friends had only an instant before it hit them, before they were rolling around in the street, tearing at their clothing and trying to free themselves from their gun harnesses.

The revolving door creaked open and Swift trotted out to join us, her trigger still clenched in her mouth.

“Uh...Lim? What’d you do to them?” she asked, scratching her mane.

“A fairly simple, but extremely powerful pre-programmed illusion. It works on the mind and the nerve endings. I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m told it’s about as unpleasant as a taser with no lasting physical effects.”

“You... made them think their skin vanished?”

“I do suppose when I told them ‘skin’, I was suggesting only the top several layers of flesh. I’m told this makes it appear that all subcutaneous fats have also gone.”

I sighed and sat on the stoop, watching the four stallions wriggling about on the pavement. One of them was blubbering for his ‘fleshy-hug-thing’, while the big unicorn had stopped running in circles and curled up in the fetal position near a sewer cover.

“Isn’t... I mean... shouldn’t you make it stop, now?” she asked, after a long moment.

“Considering how your grandmother handles ponies who invade the Stiletto’s territory, believe me, this is a kindness. Besides, this isn’t the worst I could have done to them. One of the spells in our system can make a pony think they’ve eaten their own hooves. The psychological damage of that one is supposed to be spectacular.”

I rubbed my jaw for a moment, thinking. The unicorn was trying to shove his head into an empty trashcan at one side of the road, sobbing about never finding another mare who’d want a stallion with a skinless...anatomy.

There was a certain appeal to interrogating them with a bottle of lemon juice in one hoof. Still...

“Yeah, alright. Kid, go get their guns. Lim... shut it off.”

He shrugged and gave his horn a little flick. “I suppose. I am... mmm…” He swallowed and glanced back at the Archive, pensively. The runes hidden in the cement glimmered and vanished. He started to say something, stopped, then lowered his head. “I fear I am still compromised at this moment and will be unable to ask questions effectively. Would you object to conducting this?”

“No problem. I’ll try to keep it short. We still need to help Stitch move the bodies and then decide what we’re going to do.”

“We must examine Father’s office. He kept information there which only the leader of the Archivists can access,” he replied, patting the front pocket of his vest where his father’s Will lay. “I suspect that is now... me.”

“Alright, it’s a direction at least... Swift, stop messing with that damn lightning cannon! It looks like it was built out of tinker toys.”

“But I waaant iiit!”

****

The four Cyclones sat in a sullen circle in the lobby of the Archive. Limerence had tricked up the internal defenses to glow in an especially menacing fashion, so they were all surrounded by nasty pink runes, reinforcing what a bad idea it would be to try anything cute.

“Lets try this again,” I growled, poking the big unicorn in the forehead. He snapped at my hoof and I gave him a little swat on the tip of the horn that made him wince. “Who... sent you?”

He looked like he wasn’t going to answer, so I glanced at Limerence, who let his horn sparkle a little.

“Don’t know they name!” one of the pegasi blurted, his eyes wide with fear. “They only be speakin’ through dead drop!”

The big unicorn leaned over and smacked his friend in the head. “Give over, idiot! You wanna be dead?!”

“Rather be dead than have no skin, scummer!” the pegasus snapped, swiping at his leader.

“Since I don’t think it requires any ongoing power-” I looked to Limerence standing at my back for confirmation and he shook his head, “-for my friend to let the security system run through its entire repertoire of terrible psychological horrors, I’ve got to tell you...the old stripe was my friend. Locking the lot of you in a closet and letting the Archive eat your brains would really suit me just fine, right now.”

All four of them shivered involuntarily and edged away from me.

“Eh...he be right,” the unicorn sighed in defeat, gesturing at me with his horn. “They be some big shots in dis city. I ain’t know much. They always know stuff. Tell us things. Tell us when the Jeweler move or when cops is out hunting. Today, we gets a call, says come and see before the Jewelers do. Either we lay claim, or they do. We was closest.”

“Where do you make these dead drops?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at them.

“Downtown. Courier from Pony Quick or one of them services drops’em.”

Swift groaned, dropping her pencil out of her muzzle and flexing her jaw as she finished jotting down notes. “Ugh, Sir, we’d have better luck asking one of the Cyclone bosses directly than trying to get confidential information out of one of the courier services. Even with a warrant, they don’t usually know what they’re carrying. They’ll pick up at one dead drop and leave it at another. All it takes is a stupid phone call.”

“I know...damn. What exactly did they tell you?” I inquired.

The unicorn frowned, thinking. “I gots the message in my saddle-bag, you wanna go get it.”

****

After Swift retrieved the saddlebags and the combat saddles from the street, we crowded around the Cyclone’s belongings. They had quite a few extra ammo cartridges for their guns, plus a nice selection of grenades, flash-bangs, and other fun stuff. The unicorn snarled and pawed the carpet as I pocketed his bit-purse and a half ounce of premium Zap, but Limerence gave him a firm poke in the rear end with his brother’s staff and he quieted down nicely.

Near the bottom of the bag, I finally found the note. It was printed in untraceable typewriter script on expensive stationary, like one might get only from a printer or a top-end hotel.

It was short, and to the point:

‘The Don of the Archivists will be dead. Base will be vulnerable. Proceed to Tenth Librum Publicum. Take weaponry. Destroy all comers and claim location for Cyclones.’

I turned the paper over, looking for some sign of who it might be from, then peered up at the Cyclone leader.

“So...what then? Some anonymous pony writes you a note and you trot your heels down here loaded for bear, just like that?” I asked, incredulously.

“Ain’t never been wrong before,” he replied, shrugging his massive shoulders.

“You want to clarify that?”

He hesitated and Limerence made a peeling gesture with his hooves.

“Uh...them boys started talkin’ to us like, five or six years ago. Mostly give tips. They letting Cyclones know what all moves in Detrot. Told us which ponies to kill and which places we oughta go take ‘afore the Jewelers could, yahknow?”

“It never struck you as suspicious that somepony would just be handing you sections of the city?” Taxi asked.

“The tips always panned out, so ain’t got no reason to question, savvy?”

I read the paper again, scratching at my jaw. “This says ‘The Don will be dead’. Somepony sent this before the attack...”

The head Cyclone picked at his nose and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember that big election back two year ago? The mayor had that stupid colt runnin’ against him what wanted to shake up everything. Get rid o’corruption or whatever, remember? He were gonna piss in everypony’s pie.”

“I remember,” Swift murmured. “Candidate Cotton Poke. He was from the Heights. I thought he was really nice. I wanted to vote for him.”

“Yeah, you remember what done happen to Mister Cotton?”

Swift lowered her ears. “Yes…”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly ‘on the wagon’ two years ago,” I said. “What happened to this Cotton Poke guy?”

“Um... he... he was found at a hotel by a journalist with a... a little filly…” Swift muttered, shamefacedly.

“Sounds like no big loss,” I shrugged. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“What them press ponies never say... she were a Cyclone filly,” the big guy chuckled, stroking the tribal tattoos on his right foreleg with his left toe. “We gots a note what say, ‘send one of your girls, nice and young, out that’away’. All she gots to do be walk in the hotel room, sit down, and wait. Twenty minutes later, this Cotton Poke burke walks in all exhausted like and almost collapses on the floor. He looks up and asks who in Tartarus let her into his room...and then goes to tell the hotel staff to get her to clear out. He take one step out of that hotel room and there’s a thousand cameras...and our girl smilin’ and wigglin’ her flank for them!”

He guffawed, loudly, slapping the carpet. “That boyo, ain’t never seen the light of day since! She ain’t even had her first bleed, and there she be, gigglin’ and wavin’ her tail around for the pretty flashbulbs!”

Swift’s mouth was hanging open as he finished his story.

“You... you beasts!” she squeaked. “Cotton Poke... Cotton Poke was a good pony!”

“Yeah, well, ain’t nopony stand in front of all them cameras and say he ain’t done what they think he done. After that, Snifter was a shoe-in!”

My partner’s hoof wavered a little closer to her gun-bit and I reached out, gently putting my toe over hers.

“No shooting the prisoners,” I warned.

“Sir, I promise I can totally miss in a way that hurts a lot.”

I considered that for a second, then shook my head. “We can cause them all manner of horrible pain later if we get bored. Right now, we just need information.” I turned back to the thugs. “Last question, then. Any smart punk is going to have some resources. Information, spies, and gossip. I want to know what’s moving in the underworld right now. Something must have preceded this. Nopony just slaughters one of the most influential gangs in the city on a whim.”

The four gangsters exchanged a few looks, then the pegasus on the left, who was slightly shorter than his friends and had a dappled green mane spoke up, “What ain’t movin’ in the underworld these days? There’s war comin’. Somepony with biiig honkin’...” he paused, glanced at Taxi and Swift, realized he was in the presence of a couple of girls and stammered, “-uh...big...courage...things...somepony brave is making things change. Old bosses are dying like crazy and ‘young bucks’ lookin’ to prove theyselves is steppin’ up, you know? Rumor is that them what is dying might not be dying too natural like, savvy?”

“Assassinations?”

Their leader sucked a breath. “It ain’t good luck to talk of them, says I. Death have a funny way of finding ponies with loose lips about the Biters.”

“What are the... the Biters?” Swift asked, nervously.

“Nopony knows,” he replied, waggling his hooves at her like he was telling a ghost story. “Stupid rumors, thinks I... but then, Boss Droll from the Top Street Roller Demons... them is another Cyclone Clan... anyway, he die real nasty like. Coulda just been some... whatchamacalit... ’Internal affair’ or whatever, but they says his body all tore up like a pack o’ timberwolves got to it. A few days later, the boss of the Trottingham Road Lords die. Now, they is at each other’s throats, but both they bosses been... chewed, you know? Rumor be, it were demon ponies with biiig teeth what done it.”

My partner glanced at me, then stepped forward and peeled her lips back in a feral grimace that showed off far too many points. “Like thiff?”

****

To his credit, the unicorn Cyclone only fainted for a minute or two. Two of his friends screamed like little fillies and crashed headfirst into one another with a sound like two coconuts banging together, while the third simply rolled onto his back and lay there moaning.

After that, there was no way we were going to get anything else out of them, so we bundled them up and shoved them out the front door of the Archive with instructions that they had five minutes to be out of Archivist territory before the external defenses came back on and they spent the rest of their lives in a mental hospital, thinking they’d gnawed their own limbs off. Swift was making apologies the whole way until I told her to knock it off.

I did keep the lovely shotgun. It fit my holster beautifully, with a well oiled oaken stock and all the trimmings. Chrome might not be to my particular taste, but I can appreciate a well maintained firearm, particularly when it comes at such a low cost and with such a satisfying story.

****

As the revolving door swung around behind me and I breathed a sigh of relief, I finally noticed Catalona’s body was no longer laying in the lobby. How had I missed that?

“Where’s Slip Stitch?” I asked and Limerence put his hoof to his ear.

“He’s... four rows over and twelve in,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “He’s...somehow moved almost thirty bodies there in this short period of time. By himself...”

“We’ll be both happier not asking how he’s managed that. Do you want to check on them?”

He took a very deep breath and shook his head. “I suppose we must. I would rather we simply moved on to my father’s office. The dead... by the zebra practices, they have moved on already. My father’s soul is safe. There is nothing I can do for him or for them, but I can kill the responsible parties for myself and for the city. Father would want that.”

“Your father would want you to kill ponies?” Taxi asked, disapprovingly.

Limerence was unfazed and his voice didn’t waver from that chilly monotone.

“My father would want me to keep the city safe. He was a zebra of restraint and careful thought, but those who made themselves his enemies didn’t get the chance to do harm to this city or his goals. As to my revenge; it coincides with our mission. That I will take pleasure in it is entirely my own business.”

His determination was certainly admirable.

It reminded me of a much younger, much stupider Hard Boiled. I might even have said it was a good thing, if it hadn’t gotten my first partner killed. Death has a way of giving you a fresh perspective on things like that, be it your own or someone else’s.

I flicked an ear and said, quietly, “Taxi...could you take Swift and go see how Slip Stitch is doing? I need to have a little conversation.”

Taxi tossed her mane and turned on her heels. “Come on. Lets go see the other crazy pony while these two crazy ponies work this out.”

“Huh? Oh... right,” Swift chewed her lip as she followed Taxi off between the aisles.

I waited until they’d both gone, then took three steps up to Limerence and tore the internal defense’s monitoring talisman out of his ear with one toe, simultaneously bowling him over with my superior strength and shoving him onto his back, pinning him down with my chest against his. The other hoof came up to press against the base of his horn, gently resting on the artery which fed both magic and blood into the point.

He was so surprised the one knife he’d managed to yank out in his magical grip clattered onto the carpet. I held him there, my gaze burning into his as he tried futilely to push me off with his rear legs.

Smart ponies don’t pin a pony down and stand over directly them. It’s a good way to get kicked in the testicles. Instead, I was off to one side, simply using my body to keep him balanced on his back so he couldn’t flip over as I pressed against his horn.

I waited a good fifteen seconds for him to evaluate the situation and decide there was no escape. Fight an earth pony in close combat and you will lose.

He glared up at me, defiantly, with his lips pressed into a thin line, saying nothing.

“Alright,” I growled. “You and I are going to make a deal, here and now. This is not the kind of deal where we negotiate or compromise. I’m going to tell you how things are going to be, and you’re going to nod, or I’m going to coldcock you, have Taxi come back and make sure you don’t wake up, then take you to a secret government facility just outside of the city and leave you in an anti-magic cell designed to hold draconic spies and commandos. When this is all over, I’ll come and tell you what happened. I promised your father I would keep you safe, so if you decide to break this deal, that’s where you go. Nod your head now, so I know whether or not you want to listen to the rest of my deal.”

Limerence’s glare had lost none of its fury, but there was a touch of curiosity there as well. His alternative was unconsciousness. He slowly dropped his chin, just once.

“Here is my deal,” I continued. “I will help you find the ponies who killed your father. He was my friend and more. We will hunt them and we will make sure they pay. If it comes to killing them and keeping them alive is not an option, I’ll step back and let you take the shot.”

His squinted slightly. He was surely beginning to wonder what the catch was. I had him on the hook, though, and that was what mattered. It was a crucial moment and I really didn’t want to lose Limerence. He’d proven himself too competent to really do without. That and I liked him; frequently despite his best efforts.

“My rule from now on is that I decide who dies. Me. Not you. You hold the crossbow, but I point the arrow. You are a nonlethal weapon, until I say otherwise. Unless somepony tries to kill you, you wait until I say so before you start stacking up corpses. You get exactly zero chances to screw this up. If I even think you might kill somepony who is not posing an imminent, immediate threat to your health, I will not hesitate to put you down.” I released his horn, stepped back, and kicked his fallen knife over to him. He levitated it into the air and held it there, the point flashing dangerously back and forth a few inches from the end of my muzzle. He made no move to stand. “Do we have an accord?”

I couldn’t read his expression. It was somewhere between confusion and disbelief. After a minute or two just laying there, looking up at me, he rolled onto his side and got to his hooves, slipping the knife into a fold of his vest. Giving him a bit of range might be a mistake. Young ponies tend to be unpredictable, especially after a death in the family. Trust is important, though, particularly between friends.

“Father spoke of you only once I remember before the day we met, Detective,” he said, in a voice so soft I had to lean forward to listen. His eyes were rimmed with tears, but his words were steady.

“You never mentioned that,” I murmured.

“I’d forgotten until just now, and I suppose it will seem somewhat oblique to you, but I remember his exact words.”

“What did he say about me?”

“Father said, ‘There might come a day you think your existence can not sink any lower. On that day, you will find a pony there at the bottom of life, in the muck and refuse of the world. He swims through the swill and dregs of being, giving guidance to the dispossessed. When you meet him, he will give you an instruction and in that moment, no matter your desires, no matter your pride or feelings, you must listen… for he is Death, and unless you are a fool, you will listen when Death gives you a chance to live.” He paused, then raised his head. “What is your instruction, Detective?”

That set me back a little bit. Has anypony ever come up with something you can say in reply to a friend calling you ‘Death’? I patted my coat pocket, wishing I had some candy.

Mental note, go get some candy, I thought. Get all the candy in the world.

“Just...for your father’s sake, don’t be too eager to get more blood on your hooves. We’ve got enough shades following us around,” I said, turning in what I thought was the direction Taxi and Swift departed. “We understand one another and the others will be wondering where we’ve gotten off to. Come on.”

****

The bodies of the Archivists were laid out side by side, end to end in a grid, with each one tagged with a form containing time of death, how they’d died, and any identifying features Stitch could come up with. Each was tucked safely inside a body-bag with blue and yellow balloons stenciled on the front. It did nothing for the smell of burnt fur and flesh, but it was an improvement over leaving them laying about. There was the added benefit that the bodybags had mouth-handles.

It did leave the question of how Stitch had managed to find all the corpses and gather them into one place so quickly. Taxi and Swift were just helping him bring in the last bag, laying it alongside the others.

“Mister Limerence. Detective. I must say, you’ve presented me with an incredible amount to do for the next several days,” Stitch commented as we joined him. He was going down a list of what looked like party supplies, but I did notice the words ‘extra scalpels’ on there. “I shan't be bored, at least! I’ll be doing my very best to make certain these souls are well on their way.”

“If you could take samples of fur as well as identify colors and species, it would be very much appreciated,” Lim said, softly. “Zebra culture mandates remembrance of the dead’s accomplishments, and I will need to do some...some research...into those who have died here today.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to get in touch with the remaining Archivists?” Swift asked, wiping her muzzle with the back of her hoof. She was drooling just a little. I hoped it was just an involuntary reaction to being around so much burned meat; she was already a bit too carnivorous for my taste, without craving pony meat.

“Eventually, yes,” Limerence replied, “For now, they will take their vaults and disappear. Expect several missing pony reports tomorrow.” He considered his words, then added, “I suppose I should say ‘several more’.”

“What do we do about... you know, about this place, then? We can’t leave it unguarded…”

He sighed and plucked at his pocket, them remembered again that he’d left his watch out for repair. “I... I will simply turn the Archive’s defenses on. Any who approach should be driven away with mind magics and the internal defenses will kill any who fail to heed the warning and enter.”

It seemed an awful shame to leave such a heavily secured building just sitting, but we had a base, and several fall backs. The place was well defended.

“Alright. I hate it, but I think you might be right. Can you lock this place down right now? There might be Jewelers on the way who want to poke around, too.”

Limerence wiggled his hoof in my direction, heaving his brother’s staff up against his neck. “My monitoring talisman was damaged... somehow... so I will need to get another, but for now, the external defenses should be adequate to the task of discouraging visitors. We should check father’s office. He may have left me some instructions and there are his personal vaults. We must retrieve those before we leave.”

“Personal vaults? As in, artifacts the Don of the Archivists thought were too dangerous to trust to anypony else?” Taxi asked, nervously.

“Too dangerous, or too useful,” Lim answered. “I do not know what they contain, but we will see.”

“That sounds like a plan, then. Celestia knows we could use one. I’m still considering spending the other half of this day drunk,” I said.

“Ah, of course, of course. I must be on my way, too,” Slip Stitch chimed in. He had a funny way of being invisible when he wasn’t the center of attention. “Before you get on to that, may I have a hoof carrying the celebrants out to Big Betty? I have much work to be done! After all, we must see if there is any forensic evidence to be lifted for Mister Limerence’s vengeance and I have many cakes as will need baking!”

****

Lift. Heave. Haul. Stop. Breathe.

Lift. Heave. Haul. Stop. Breathe.

Lift. Heave. Haul. Stop. Breathe.

Damn and blast.

Lifting bodies shouldn’t become routine. Hauling the corpses of the Archivists was a miserable, emotionally exhausting affair, but there was something comforting in letting it become dull and monotonous. It takes some of the horrible bite out of the activity if you can just think of it as necessary labor.

I didn’t ask which bag the Don’s body was in. I suppose a part of me just didn’t want to know. The amount of pain sloshing around in my head was nicely numbed at that moment by a sprinkling of denial, an ounce of shock, and a spoonful of duty. Duty makes everything simpler.

Between the five of us, we managed to get it done inside of an hour, but we were drenched in sweat by the time the last corpse was found, bagged, and deposited in the back of Big Betty’s freezer. Death by inches or death by miles, it’s all death.

****

I slumped against the side of the giant pink truck, one hoof pressed against my chest, breathing heavily. My heart-rate was dead normal, but I felt like I should be out of breath and those age-old psychosomatic responses are tough to get rid of. Not being tired was a bit creepy, particularly when Swift lay on her back beside me, panting like a dog.

One of the trays inside the truck rattled and Slip Stitch swung down out of the back, as chipper and cheerful as ever. He sat at my side and wiped his forehead with one hoof, despite having only the lightest sheen of perspiration there. “My, my, what an awful lot of exercise! Truly, this will be a party for all time! I must get on with the planning. My helium supplies are somewhat low and I must have Thalassemia get us balloons.”

“I’m glad you’re having... ah... fun…” Taxi snarled, dropping onto the pavement behind him. “Now can you... ah... go and... whoo... take care of the dead? Preferably somewhere else?”

Completely unperturbed by my driver’s attitude, Stitch patted her on the back. “My sweet Miss Shine, you must excuse my good cheer. I am not unaware of the tragedy that has occurred here. It’s just that I do miss the company of friends who can hold a two-sided conversation and with all the busy goings on in town lately, few ponies have time for the dead.”

Taxi brushed his hoof away and pulled her saddlebags up on her hips. “You have no idea how much I want to hurt you right now...” she grumbled.

“Oh, I know, Miss Shine and believe me, I would normally relish the opportunity to find out just how much you wanted to hurt me. Ponies with serious lives must have serious demeanors, after all. Alas, our love may never be. I must be off! Much to do! Death waits for no one!”

With that, Slip Stitch seized my driver, tipped her back over one foreleg and gave her the kind of kiss you see only in movies. It was a three act romance with flowers, foals, and fairy dust. I wish I’d gotten a picture. Her eyes almost popped out of her head and she was so shocked she didn’t even have the gumption to pull away.

After a full ten seconds, he set her carefully back on her hooves, gave her a friendly wink, then leapt into the cab of Big Betty. The engine turned over with a sound like a farting dragon, and I jumped away from the massive wheels as he released the brakes. He stuck his head out the window and called back, “You know, I envy you, Detective!”

“What’s to envy?” I shouted back over the sound of the engine.

“A life of beautiful mares, glorious adventure, and what may be the greatest parties this city has seen since the Crusades! Good luck, my friends! I hope to see you again soon! Adieu!”

With that, he kicked the massive truck into reverse and plowed backwards down the street at enormous speed. A moment later, the jingle started up, gradually fading as Slip Stitch retreated into the twilight.

I turned to look at Taxi who was just standing there, her muzzle slightly open and her eyes glazed. I couldn’t read her expression, but it might best have been described as ‘dreamy’.

“Sweets?”

“Buh... oh…” She shook her head violently and smoothed her braid. “Phew...what is it?”

“Sooo... what was it like?” Swift asked.

Taxi snorted, turning her nose in the air. “What was what like?”

“Inopportune timing aside, I find myself somewhat curious as well,” Limerence murmured, getting back to his hooves. He glanced at me. “Detective, should I be worried for my own mental health? It seems very strange that I should be so drained and yet I have curiosity left over to wonder what kissing that maniac was like.”

“I’m not the king of mental health you want to ask, Lim. We’re going to go home after we check your father’s office and... try to make a plan again,” I flicked one ear at Taxi. “Still, I want an answer. What was it like?”

My driver’s mouth twitched and she forced a frown onto lips that were dangerously close to a smile. “It...it was…I...um...” She huffed and stomped a hoof, shaking her braid. “It was weird, okay? He just...just pounced on me! Is anypony going to bring that up, at least? I was...was violated here!”

I smirked and nudged her with my hip. “At least tell us what it tasted like...”

“Mint ice-cream and happiness, dammit!” she blurted, then paused and slapped both hooves over her muzzle. Her eyes narrowed and she jabbed a hoof at my sternum. “You...will never tell anypony as long as you live, or I swear, they will never!... find!... your body!” She whirled on Limerence and Swift, snarling, “That goes for you, too!”

****

Absent all the corpses, the Archive was somehow even emptier. It was strange that dead bodies might make a place feel inhabited. Worse, it was just the four of us, alone amongst all that knowledge and the spirits of all those ponies and zebras who’d been alive just that morning.

Limerence and Swift both crowded close to my side, though I don’t think either one was aware they were doing it. Every now and then, Limerence let out a discreet sniffle, but every time I looked at him, he seemed as emotionless as ever.

As we drifted into the darker parts of the Archive, closer to Tome’s office, Limerence’s hoofsteps slowed until he dropped back a few steps. None of us were in any hurry, since the Archive was a pretty safe place to be, populated or not, so I stopped with him. His head drooped low and his blond mane piled down across his eyes.

“I don’t... I don’t know if I can do this, Detective,” he whispered.

“You can hang back, if you want to and we’ll look-”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted. “It’s Father. Seeing him again so soon…It will be very difficult.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. Slip Stitch took your father with him, right?”

“Ah... yes. I suppose it will be simpler just to show you. I must get this done at some point.”

Trotting on ahead, we passed under a ‘Restricted access’ sign and then arrived at the door to Tome’s private office. I glanced at the bookshelf on one side and noticed that gone was ‘Amusing Anecdotes that Almost Destroyed Countries’, replaced with ‘Oddball Adventures in Cheese-making.' Huh.

Limerence stopped outside of the door, shutting his eyes and just letting one toe rest against the aged wood. I could almost hear his thoughts just then. The sadness, the emptiness, the directionless sensation of not knowing where to go or what to do. His slim shoulders slackened as though a heavy weight were suddenly dropped around his neck and he gave the door a light shove. It swung open on darkness.

“We’re with you, Lim,” Taxi said, sliding her leg around his shoulders.

Stepping forward, Limerence’s horn glowed as he flicked the light switch.

The lights came up on a scene of devastation.

****

If you’ve ever tried to search an area quickly, for a pair of lost keys or a wallet, you can frequently find yourself coming home to a gigantic mess you hadn’t realized you’d made. Searching someplace that isn’t yours and whose occupant is dead, particularly when you’re on a time frame, can make for some spectacular destruction.

****

Don Tome’s desk was the only thing in the room that hadn’t been overturned. His books lay in heaps on the floor, his chair was turned on its side with the stuffing torn out, and every artifact on every shelf was gone or in bits on the carpet.

It was a fairly expert search and smash, but the disrespect made my guts churn.

Limerence trotted into the middle of the room, turning in a slow circle as he examined the damage. He slowly nodded, then moved around behind the desk and righted his father’s chair with a quick burst from his horn.

“Oh, Lim... I’m so sorry,” Swift whispered, picking up a piece of a stone bust in both hooves and setting it back on a shelf.

He hummed a soft tune to himself and shrugged. “This? Please, Miss Swift. My father was always prepared for somepony to attempt to rifle his personal effects. Stand back.”

Reaching under his father’s desk, he pressed something that let out a faint click.

The room wiggled. There was no better way to describe it. Every surface juddered like a reflection in a still pond when somepony tossed a stone in the middle of it, ripples spreading out from the center until everything seemed to be in motion.

As it settled, we were back in the Don’s office, though not the broken wreck we’d been standing in a moment ago. The office seemed to be entirely back the way it had been when I’d met with the Don and he’d passed me his Will. His chair was back in place, as well as the artifacts on the walls. The wood paneling was unscuffed, the desk once more covered in bits of paper and ancient artifacts, and the walls lined with original editions of dozens of ancient books and scrolls.

Swift poked at the sideboard, as though expecting it to vanish.

“Was... was that an illusion that somepony rolled?” Taxi asked.

“Yes, and no,” Limerence replied, unhelpfully. “It was real, insofar as most of that room could be interacted with, but it contained none of father’s personal effects. The room which we just entered is usually in one of the underground storage lockers. It is full of replicas of things which are most commonly associated with Father. I designed it and father helped acquire the magics for it.”

“So...did we teleport?” Swift asked, glancing out the door. The hallway looked the same, but there are so many kinds of illusion magic that it’s not worth expecting reality to stay consistent if you don’t have a horn. “I’ve never teleported before…”

“Ah, no. The room teleported around you. If I wished, we could flick the switch the other way and we would be sent to the storage locker, but I simply brought the room to us. Its function is tied into our defenses, such that in the event of a lockdown, it would hide father’s office entirely.”

“That’s…paranoid and over-complicated even for Tome,” I said, moving around the gigantic desk and inspecting the various books on the shelves.

Limerence sniffed, indignantly, and lifted himself into his father’s chair, pulling open one of the desk’s drawers. Levitating out a little box of cookies, he took a couple and set them on a tiny plate, then laid it on the desk in the place Tome always did.

“I’m aware it is somewhat ridiculous, but it was a birthday gift from a very young, very ambitious colt to his father. Realism matters little to a child with ‘big ideas’. Father didn’t use it so much for security purposes as an occasional retreat when he wanted to escape his subordinates to spend some time with his more bookish child.”

“So... what? Nopony besides you and your dad knew about this?” I asked.

“A secret for the two of us. Father went to great lengths to make me feel like family, though we share no genetics.”

Opening his vest, he pulled out his father’s Last Will and Testament, then plucked a knife from his collection and very carefully broke the red wax seal. He quickly scanned the paper, then nodded to himself before setting it aside and getting back to his hooves.

“Detective, you’re going to need to let Father know of your decision, if you wish me to head the Archivists.”

He said that like it should make sense of some kind.

“I’m just going to stand here until you explain that,” I replied.

“Well... Father was aware of the possibility that he might pass on before he was able to officially name an heir. He left...provisions,” Limerence explained, passing the Will across the desk.

I flattened it with my hooves. It was all in a lawyer’s neat, tight hoofwriting with the Don’s name signed at the bottom in what I thought might be brown ink. I sniffed at it for a second, then recoiled.

“Why did your father sign this in blood?”

“It is his blood. I can think of few more secure methods of identification. Besides, it’s part of the spell,” Limerence answered, sweeping up the paper with his horn. The magic around his horn built in intensity, until with a weirdly wet sounding pop, the Will disappeared.

There was several seconds of silence as Limerence stared at me and I stared back.

Was he staring at me? No, he was staring over my shoulder.

Behind me, somepony coughed, politely.

I kicked my trigger and whirled, catching it in my teeth on the upswing as I came around to find myself face to face with a dead zebra.

Don Tome stood there behind me as I aimed down the barrel of my revolver at his forehead, a slightly bashful expression on his face. I was so glad to see him, I didn’t really think about what I was doing as I threw myself forward to hug the old stallion and passed right on through, stumbling a couple of steps beyond.

Not real.

Damn.

I can’t be blamed for trying to hug it. There are plenty of magics which might have let me see and interact with a dead body, so it wasn’t inconceivable that he’d employed one to somehow survive the death of his gang, but no, it was just an illusion. It tends to leave one with hope when your friends die.

It sure looked like my friend, though. Every detail, right down to the grey tuft of hairs on his chin, the faded pattern of his stripes, and the barely discernable wrinkles around his eyes was picture perfect. Even the best illusions tend to break down a little on closer inspection, but that one was a masterpiece.

“It’s good to see you, too, Detective, all public displays of affection aside,” the Don said, with a calming smile. “Though, I must assume, since I am the one seeing you, that my ‘better half’ has not survived recent events?”

“Your better half?” Swift asked, letting her trigger drop. I hadn’t seen her grab it, but it was a good impulse.

“The body, of course,” he explained, patting himself on the chest. He trotted between us to the desk and attempted to pick up a cookie from the plate, remembering only at the last moment that he wasn’t exactly corporeal. “This construct is designed only to become active in the event that I have died before passing on full knowledge of the Archive to one of my sons. Sad. I’m going to miss cookies. They are one of those pony inventions we zebra never managed to get precisely right...”

Taxi poked at the construct’s flank, tilting her head as her toe passed through it. “Are...are you like Professor Fizzle’s guide at the Museum?”

“Yes, and no,” he chuckled. “The Professor certainly helped in the creation, although he was unaware of exactly what he was helping build. As to you, my son, may I ask what exactly the method of my death was?”

I cocked my head. “Why does it matter? I mean, you’re not...alive, are you?”

The Don’s smile widened slightly. “I am intelligent, if that’s what you’re asking. I might conceivably raise any number of eyebrows at the Office for the Regulation of Sentient Constructs.... Am I your dead friend? No. Am I alive? Not even slightly. I am his personality, a significant portion of his memories, and a considerable segment of his knowledge.”

I had a thought, then snapped my head around to find Swift looking down at the bright red crescent shape burned into her chest, rubbing it lightly.

“Kid...are you alright?”

She nibbled at her lower lip and said, “I...I don’t know, Sir. I’ve got this weird feeling in my chest and head. It’s like I’m trying to get angry, but there’s this sort of...sucking sensation that’s draining it away. I don’t feel like I usually do around Essy’s. I wonder if Tourniquet is doing something...”

“She did say she could drain and control magic at range if somepony was wearing her mark, right?”

Swift nodded.

“Maybe she’s siphoning off whatever makes you go crazy?”

She scratched at the moon-shaped mark. “I dunno. I’ll ask her the next time I get a minute. Whatever it is, it feels really strange, but... it doesn’t hurt or anything. I think I’m okay.”

I turned back to the image of Don Tome, who was looking back and forth between the two of us with great interest “Alright, so, not to be rude, but why does it matter how you died?”

He rolled his neck in a zebra version of a shrug. “Curiosity. Few creatures ever get to ask exactly how they died, now do they? Present company excepted, of course,” he said, gesturing to my chest.

“A traitor in our ranks killed you, using advanced knowledge of our defensive systems,” Limerence muttered, turning his eyes towards the carpet. Unlimbering his brother’s staff, he laid it on the carpet at the Don’s hooves.. “The Archivists are... are dead. My... my brother is dead. I am the last of our line.”

The construct absorbed that information and his expression slowly fell. He closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged. “It was too much to hope for a heart attack. I should have laid off the calisthenics ten years ago and let my pastry addiction be my end...” He drew in a breath, then dropped onto the carpet, letting his eyes slide shut “You’ll pardon me if I need to sit down for a moment. I wish I’d thought to program my chair into this simulation. Standing constantly will be as undignified as slumping on the rug.”

An awkward silence stretched out in the room like an inconveniently snoozing cat and nopony seemed inclined to shift it. I leaned on the edge of the Don’s desk, pawing at the carpet while Swift sat down and began quietly preening.

“Are you alright?” I asked, awkwardly, at last.

The construct didn’t look up or move, but simply shook his head. “No, Detective. My life’s work is dead. My son is dead. I am dead. I think the word ‘alright’ may never again apply. I am simply wallowing briefly in the comforting knowledge that there is very little in the world that can make this situation worse.”

That caused an awful lot of nervous shuffling of hooves and looking at one another with quietly distressed expressions.

The Don’s ears twitched a little and he glanced from face to face.

“This is where you tell me that I am right and there are no further great excitements for me this day,” he stated, cooly.

“Um…” I ran a toe around the brim of my hat, thinking. “I really, really wish I could say that.”

Hauling himself up into a sitting position, the Don’s lips formed a thin line. “Do go on?”

There was nothing for it. A good presentation tends to be a waste of time, particularly where creatures like Don Tome are concerned.

“Ehhh... Astral Skylark and the entire inner circle of the Church of the Lunar Passage are dead or imprisoned,” I said, finally.

The Don’s hackles rose, but that frigid composure remained carefully in place, so I hurried on.

“They were using... necromancy... to capture the souls of the dead in parts of their bodies to power the Supermax prison’s magic, which was... basically a gigantic brain-washing system. Somepony tried to do the same thing to you, for some reason. The other you. Your body. The traitor cut off your leg and-”

“And I am certain they found themselves extremely disappointed in the attempt,” he chuckled, putting one hoof on his chest. “I was protected against necromancy by blessings of the tribal lords of the zebra nation. I am guaranteed the final death and passage into the next life. That does not explain what is making the four of you look like foals caught with your hooves caught in the cookie jar.”

“Speaking of cookies...is there anything to eat around here?“ Taxi asked.

I swatted in her direction with my tail. “Bad timing, Sweets…”

My own stomach chose that moment to let out a loud rumble. Moving all those corpses was hungry work.

“Eh...heh...maybe...we should go get something.”

****

It was a pleasing discovery that the Archive had a decently stocked larder. The little pantry had enough provisions to last a decent length siege, so long as you didn’t mind subsisting on tea, biscuits, coffee, and cookies. I did manage to dig out some fairly delicious snacks and Taxi loaded her saddlebags full of provisions. While I didn’t usually like to excuse her looting habits, she only tended to loot things from the dead. I don’t know if that makes it better or not, but it saved us a trip to the grocery store.

After gathering up enough munchies, we returned to the Don’s office.

It was a morbid little party, sitting there with the ghost or magic construct or whatever he was. I knew, intellectually, that my friend was cooling in a freezer somewhere, but the logical bits of my mind were very, very worn out and unless I actually touched him, he seemed in every respect to be Don Tome.

Limerence lit a fire in the tiny fireplace hidden behind a wall panel next to the Don’s desk and the five of us gathered around on little pillows with our picnic.

For a long time, there was just the sound of ponies chewing on things. None of us seemed to know exactly where to start, but after awhile, I swept the crumbs off my chest and started at the beginning.

Don Tome sat there, staring into the merrily crackling fire, asking no questions. He simply listened as the four of us recounted the last few days worth of events in as much detail as we could remember. Most of the time, I was the one telling the story, but Taxi interrupted for some information on the movements of the various gangs in the city and Limerence broke in for some technical details on Supermax. Swift presented her notes when asked.

It’d felt like an awfully long couple of days, but by the same virtue, no time at all. I talked about the cult of Nightmare Moon, Tourniquet, and what Taxi’s father told us. I told him of Skylark’s history and about Lily Blue.

It wasn’t until the very end that he finally reacted.

“-and then I opened the box. Inside we found...the helm of Nightmare Moon,” I finished.

Tome’s eyes jerked open and he stared at me. “You found the what?”

“Nightmare Moon’s hat,” Swift explained. “It was wrapped in a sheet like the ones at Supermax and we think Ruby must have taken it when she escaped from-”

“Where is it?” he said, cutting her short..

“It’s in the car,” I said. “We were bringing it here to see if you could hide it while we figured out what to do. Did Limerence not tell you that?”

Lim nodded. “I told... oh... I told Father. This construct must be regularly updated, else its knowledge only extends to the last time information was input. Father mustn’t have updated it today.”

Tome pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Detective, are you telling me that you left part of the single most dangerous artifact in all of Equestrian history... sitting in a cab?”

“Well, it’s not as though I had any good place to store it, now did I?” I replied, defensively.

“You have a dragon’s hoard, a bunker, the sturdiest ice-cream factory mayhap of all time, the most secure prison on the planet, and a police station that survived the war. Am I missing anything?”

Swift raised a hoof and added, “He knows some bat ponies from a secret group of spies who have a hidden warehouse in the wilderness full of crazy inventions from the Crusades that nopony has seen in forever...”

“Right, thank you Swift,” I groaned, pushing her hoof down with my leg. “I am aware this might not have been the best thought out of all my plans, but I was on a short timeframe! I needed somepony who knew something about these artifacts and I needed to talk to you. Your thing is making artifacts disappear, right?”

Was, Detective,” Tome corrected, sweeping his hoof towards the door of the office. “My ‘thing’ was making certain artifacts of a destructive nature were never allowed to cause permanent damage to our society. Even the blackest magics that have come through my hooves down through the years cannot compare with the sheer latent potential of the armor of Nightmare Moon. That armor is composed of unknown materials and imbued with spellwork that came from things beyond this world. When Princess Luna donned it, she ceased to be our beloved leader. She became Death, destroyer of worlds.”

“But... we can’t contact the Princesses,” I protested. “I mean, we can, but I don’t know how we’d do it without alerting the ponies we’re chasing to our presence. Besides, they’ve already stolen the helm and the chest-plate once before. What’s to stop them from stealing either one again?”

The Don’s jaw tightened and he ran his hoof across one of the few wrinkles on his forehead, smoothing it flat. It was the closest to genuine consternation that I’d ever seen him in all the years we’d known one another. It was not helping my state of mind.

“I... suppose I must concede this is a poor situation we find ourselves in,” Tome sighed. “Of course, there is one pony who might help us. Heh... or not.”

My friends and I were left with an awful lot of puzzled looks.

“Who?” Swift asked.

Tome waved a hoof, as though to clear a bit of smoke from his face.

“A... passing fancy of mine in life. Pay it no mind,” he laughed, raising his hooves towards the warmth of the fire, although I couldn’t be sure whether or not he could actually feel it.

“Tome, if there’s somepony out there who can help us, you better lay it on the table,” I demanded.

“Detective, must you insist on making an old pony tread through sad histories? Oh, very well. It is a brief tale,” The Don squared his shoulders and took a preparatory breath. “There was a time, decades ago, when Equestria was possessed of four royal alicorns. Princess Cadance, Regent and High Lady of the Crystal Empire. The Diarchs Princess Luna and Princess Celestia... and a fourth, whose name was all but stricken from history by her own hoof.”

“Why have we never heard of this?” I asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

“Ah... that is a matter of some speculation, I suppose. My sources indicate she was dedicated in some manner to the unification of ponies. Her presence lead to a Golden Age that lasted... all too brief a time. During the Crusades, she and those closest to her withdrew from the limelight and... this is something I am certain of... she cast a spell.”

“What sort of spell?”

“The gentlest of magics,” he murmured. “A spell that blanketed Equestria and the world beyond, from end to end. A memory spell that gradually swept her away on the sands of time. Your dead friend conducted his research with me to remind him of exactly what he was doing. The spell only affects the living, after all.”

“So... what’d it do?”

“It made the world forget,” he replied, tapping the side of his head. “Slowly. Gradually. Over time, she simply faded from memory, drifting out of the thoughts of everyone. The few excerpts and reports which remain from that time suggest a pony of unparalleled power, who stood for all that was right and good in the Equestrian nature.”

I looked around at my friends, then shook my head. “Alright, that...sounds promising and completely insane, but I suppose it’s not the worst thing I’ve heard lately. What was this pony’s name?”

Tome’s shoulders rose, then fell, but I couldn’t see his face as he watched the fire.

“Her name... was Twilight Sparkle.”

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