Chapter 9: Not That Kind of Shipping
Starlight Over Detrot Chapter 9: Not That Kind of Shipping
Detrot is a trade city. Therefore, it is home to a wide variety of cultures. Cultures, like ponies, breed. And for cultures, there is no petri dish in Equestria better than the poor areas of Detrot.
Immigrants from dozens of lands took residency in Detrot during the jewel boom years, and in the poor areas those immigrants were sometimes forced to occupy, they banded together and formed enclaves. They spoke their languages, built restaurants for their cuisine, and otherwise maintained their cultures in Equestrian lands.
But they did so right next to one another. Just one block over from your griffin barbecue would be a zebra Zedoun shrine; Next door to your Appleloosan tavern complete with swinging door would be a Neighponese-style dojo.
Poorer ponies have a marked tendency to adopt the things that they like from other cultures, or make things in their own more extreme, which wards against outside influences and binds a given community closer together. It generates a solidarity sometimes needed in crime-ridden areas where the police can’t have a continuous presence. However, over time and between generations, these intermingling influences often spawn entirely new cultural results.
--The Scholar
I shoved the morgue’s front door open with my head and squeezed out sideways, trying not to tip the limp rookie onto the pavement. With impeccable timing, Taxi was just returning from her little trip downtown to deliver Cosmo’s file back to Telly. She pulled to a stop at the curb, waiting while I hefted my unconscious burden higher on my shoulders and shambled over to the car.
I dumped Swift on her back across the hood, then wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead, feeling a slight burn in my neck muscles. The kid wasn’t light, flier or not.
“What’d that gross bastard do this time?” Taxi asked with a scowl that could make a basilisk cry at fifty paces.
“Eyeball on a stick.”
Taxi blanched. “Why hasn’t he been put on notice or fired or something?” She asked, getting out of the car, a stick of incense already smoking in her teeth.
“Look at it this way: About the only reason I can ever see for hoping that pony gets married or breeds is so there’s somepony else just as enthusiastic as he is to keep the morgue staffed. Do you want the job? Does anypony besides Slip Stitch?”
Taxi left my rhetorical question hanging there as she waved the smoldering incense under the pegasus’ nose. Swift coughed, spasmed, sat up abruptly, then grabbed me around the neck with desperate energy, pulling my head down until I was nose to nose with her.
“Sir! Sir, help! They’ve got a mad pony running the morgue!” She cried, shaking my head. “You’ve got to believe me! He was singing and then I wanted grape and my popsicle stared at me!”
I put one hoof on her chest and gently pushed her away. Now did not feel like the time to be the reality-filled syringe in her veins. “Kid, listen to yourself. You got some fumes in the morgue and passed out. All those chemicals probably got to you. You’re okay.”
Her gaze fixed on the doors over the coroner’s office over my shoulder, then she slowly shook her head. “I... uh... yeah... Sorry, sir.” She released her hold on my throat and stumbled off the car, her wings sagging under their own weight. “Heehee... Oh... sir, you wouldn’t believe what I thought I saw...”
“I just might. We’ve still got a little time before we’re supposed to head to Azure Rose’s place, so get yourself straight first.”
“Ugh, what is this stuff all over me?” She sniffed at the disgusting dampness on her uniform shirt then stuck her tongue out. “Blech, it’s foul...”
“I think it’s embalming fluid.” At least, I hope it is. “You’ll be fine. You can change as soon as we hit the Vivarium. Are you ready to go?”
Extending her plumage to full, impressive length, she did a quick push-up, then reared back and snapped off a smart salute with one wing. “I think so, sir!”
Not being the finest example of mental health Equestria has ever seen, I couldn’t say precisely how wise it was to let her believe the entire thing had been in her head, but for now I decided to let it go. We had work, and the work comes before the sanity.
“I’ve got the report from Slip Stitch right here and-” I started.
“Oooh, gimme!” Taxi eagerly pounced on me, shoving her hooves into my pockets and digging through the top layer of the assorted items; for someone who found Slip Stitch so repulsive, she sure found his reports fascinating. I shoved her off of me, and hopped backwards several steps as she prepared to make another advance.
“Hey, no! Errand first, then Sweet Shine’s curiosity. Nothing in that report will be worth a damn thing if the Heights is on fire.” I said, tugging out the clipboard and holding it to my chest. Taxi looked about ready to tear my leg off to get to it. “In the car. You can read it in the car while you wait for us to handle this situation.”
Instantly, she was behind the wheel with the engine thundering. “Let’s go then!”
As I opened the door and hopped in, Swift leapt into the back seat through the opposite rear window. She turned three times, then settled down and fished out a piece of jerky to chew on from whichever place she’d secreted it. Teaching her to use doors was going on my ‘to-do’ list, but the carnivorous snacking didn’t seem correctable. I mean, what exactly was I supposed to do? Rub her nose in some roadkill?
I tossed the forensics and the blood workup on the seat beside Taxi, then pulled the folded envelope on which I’d written down Azure Rose’s address out of my pocket. It wasn’t a familiar part of town.
“Hey, do you know where Capriole street is?” I asked.
She did; and I could tell because her ears quickly splayed backwards on her head. “Oh, that is some piss in this day’s wine...”
“Why? Where is it?”
“The Skids.” She answered, digging through the glovebox for one of the thousand maps she kept there. This particular one was of the entire city and covered in highlighter of various colors. When she finally found Capriole street she put a hoof on a spot in an ocean of red marker. “It’s right in the middle of Cyclone territory, last I checked.”
“Ehhh...” I glanced out the window for a quick second, contemplating whether or not another visit with Slip Stitch would be preferable. It was a close thing. “Alright, the Cyclones don’t usually screw with cops directly unless we go in there with our manes on fire. We’re doing one thing then leaving. Keep the blues and twos off.”
****
The Tranquil Cadence Residential Housing Project; known to everypony in the city as ‘The Skids,’ occupied a section of the old city, centered around the largest reservoir outside the bay. Intended to provide affordable, mass produced, and cheap to maintain housing to give even the poorest pony in Detrot a place to rest their head, it was yet another attempt to save a town whose soul was rotting from the inside.
I can’t attest to its power as a mode of salvation, but it did end up succeeding in one respect; The destitute flocked to the identical square blockhouses en masse. Thousands of ponies crammed themselves into tiny flats, but over the last twenty years the densely populated area became a haven for gang warfare. Street groups fought one another for dominance, eventually finding themselves fighting together against both the police and their greater foe, the Jewelers.
Over time, like any group of persecuted misanthropes, they developed an ideology and became a collective; The Cyclones.
That the largest portion of The Cyclones were pegasi was a matter of changing demographics. When the weather factories opened, the pegasi workers coming in from the countryside needed their own community. The Skids offered cloud homes at dirt cheap prices and ground homes even cheaper.
Yet nothing about The Skids said ‘Welcome Home.’
There was practically a line in the pavement between the relative safety of Detrot’s mostly police owned streets and the more volatile Cyclone stomping grounds. We hit that line along with a pothole that made the rear suspension shriek and actually managed to send the otherwise impeccably balanced Swift tumbling onto the floor.
The buildings themselves seemed to leer and lean towards us, shattered windows and boarded doors lending them all the appearance of patiently angling monsters watching for their next prey to wander too close. Colorful monsters, mind. Most of the city graffiti stopped at street level, but in the Skids, the Cyclones took a certain delight in covering the high up walls with obscenities and their ubiquitous motto ‘Ever Free’.
We drove in mutually agreed upon silence.
An occasional sunken-eyed equine face would appear in a window, surprised by the wheeled invader to their impoverished Tartarean underworld. Their hollow gazes would follow us until we passed, then they would duck back out of sight, heading back to activities no decent pony wants to imagine.
Many-colored feathers blew through the gutters, swept up in tiny eddies of wind and never decently cleaned up. The sense of pervading menace in the Skids had even Swift huddling below window level instead of peering out. Taxi drove us deeper and I could hear her forcing her breathing calm.
It was the graffiti that first alerted me to something being off about the area we were passing through. Normal Cyclone scrawling was slowly being replaced with a mixture of arcane symbols and iconography I wasn’t much familiar with.
“Taxi, what’s up with the decorations?” I asked, pointing at a stuffed, straw doll of a pony dangling from a telephone wire. It had a rictus skeletal grin in black paint across its stitched face.
“We just passed into the territory of another group of Cyclones.” Taxi answered, very nearly in a whisper. “I don’t know this end of town very well. There are lots of different ones out here.”
“I thought they were all one gang?” asked Swift.
“Not a chance. They’ll roll together against the Jewelers and the police... but there are a lot of different sects of Cyclones. Let’s just hope this isn’t one of the really sick ones.”
We drove on, passing through more empty avenues.
****
“S-sir? We’re being followed.” Swift whispered, tapping me on the shoulder.
“I know.” I replied. I’d seen the darting shadows rushing back and forth between the buildings several minutes ago. They were getting closer, and still we drove on, bumping over holes in the road and dodging empty shopping carts that’d been left in the streets. The sidewalks were deserted but for a few stray bits of garbage.
I was about to call this little trip off and get us out of there when Taxi slammed on the brakes, bringing us to a sharp halt.
“Hardy, don’t move. Swift, take off your hardware and stow it under the seat. There’s a compartment down there you can stick it in.” Taxi said out of one corner of her mouth.
“What’s going on?” I asked, raising my head slightly so I could see out of the windshield. Our driver pointed towards a figure standing in the road.
A lone pegasus stood in the middle of the lonely lane underneath the sole functioning street light, one wing raised towards us. Her pelt was a dull lavender, and she was nude except for a tiny bag hanging from her neck. A series of absolutely brutal looking scars or burns criss-crossed her chest in intricate, almost ritualistic patterns.
“Cyclones. Just shut up and do as I tell you, or we’ll be lucky if they just take the car.” Taxi replied, her jaw set firmly. “Dammit, Hardy... I know this is important, but you’re an ass.”
“The hay did I do?”
“You got us into this! Now can it!” She snarled, turning the key. The engine died with a soft hiss.
Moving with great deliberation, Taxi pushed open the car door and stepped out, keeping her hooves apart and her tail down. The pegasus didn’t move except to lower her wing.
“Sir, what... did Taxi mean about ‘just taking the car?’” Swift kept her voice low, unstrapping Masamane from her shoulder harness and fiddling under the driver’s chair until she found the little box then slipping it inside.
“I don’t work Organized Crime, remember? We don’t get calls for bodies in the Skids. If somepony dies here they usually drive the corpse elsewhere. They’re not shooting, though, so I’m calling this a diplomatic cross examination. They’re curious.”
Outside, Taxi was turning in a slow circle. I couldn’t peg an age on the mare examining her, but she moved with a certain self-assurance, like a soldier. She eventually seemed satisfied, and turned to the vehicle.
“Duo in de backseat.” The Cyclone pony called out. “Git out da car. If ye be armed, keep dem in plain sight.”
Her voice was calm and controlled; no malice. If she was from the same group of ponies that wrote that silly manifesto Gypsy had read on the radio last night, she was definitely not what I imagined.
I pushed open the door and made a show of easing out. For once, Swift decided not to use the window. As the Cyclone saw my partner’s crisp uniform she stiffened and her attention flipped towards the air above us. I tilted my head back and saw four more pegasi drifting lazily in a synchronized circle overhead, each one clutching a blackened thunderhead in their forehooves.
I’d seen a pony struck by lightning during a middling-vicious pegasus attack before. Most of her fur was singed off and she hadn’t been able to talk without drooling for about six months afterwards. I didn’t fancy the idea of finding out just how accurate those thunderheads could be.
“Yer on de wrong side of de tracks, copper.” The mare said, her voice tight as she stared a whole cutlery shop at Swift, who shrank back, clearly wishing her shooter was on her leg.
Taxi murmured, “Be polite, Hardy. She’s their leader and it’s disrespectful if you acknowledge the lesser ponies while she’s talking to you. They can turn us into grease stains and nopony within a five block radius will claim to have seen a thing.”
I took a few steps towards her. A warning crackle of lightning snapped down and hit the ground in front of my right foreleg, leaving a scorched hole. I stopped; an idea percolated from the murky brown depths of my psyche.
“The rookie is with me. You talk to me.” I shouted, punctuating each of the last three words with a hoofstomp.
The mare seemed, for a moment, taken aback. Her eyes danced towards her guards then she nodded and bowed her head in acknowledgement. “We recognize ye, Detective Hard Boiled. Hero cop. Yer badge be not a shield here, but ye found de killer of Scallop. Fer that, we give ye time to explain yer presence.” She replied, turning one eye then the other to look at me.
Scallop. I went back in my memory a few years and found an image of a dead colt in his late teens with a shell for a cutie-mark. He’d been raped, killed, and tossed in a sewer grate. Juniper and I had chased down the fat buck that did it through a mound of witness statements over the course of four months. When we caught him, Juniper’s gun officially ‘misfired’ and the bullet ‘just happened’ to ‘ricochet’ and rip the slimy manure-sucker’s scrotum off; my cutie mark didn’t so much as twitch.
“I remember Scallop.” I affirmed, lips curling at the memory. I could feel many unseen eyes in the buildings on either side of us tracking over my back. “We’re here on police business.”
“Yer ‘police business’ be no concern of ours, copper. Ye leaves. Now.” The mare replied, her neck tensing, which made the spider-web of scars on her breast dance in the weak morning sunlight.
“We’re here because a filly was murdered. She lived here. Capriole street.”
Gritting her teeth the pegasus pointed back the way we’d come. “Ye leaves!”
“We believe it may have been King Cosmo.”
At this, the mare hesitated, her expression forming an intrigued rictus. “De King of Ace?”
I wasn’t familiar with that moniker, but nodded anyway. “The same. We’re here to get evidence that could let us arrest him. We might even break his organization. I hear the Cyclones have been having a rough time of it lately with the Jewelers.” That was a bluff. I hadn’t actually kept track of the state of the local criminal syndicates, but it was a safe bet; the Jewelers and Cyclones were always at each others’ throats. The pegasus didn’t fight me on it.
Her shoulders slumped slightly and she lowered her head. “Dey moves in on us worse den ever.” She replied, subdued. “We wants to be left alone. De Aroyo Cyclones is just lookin’ after we own. Dem mad stompers what want de rest of de city, dey be not welcome here.”
“I’m not here for you or any of the Aroyo Cyclones, whoever they are, but... if you let us through, I will hunt Cosmo.” I promised, holding my coat closed against a burst of wind that swept trash around my ankles. “All you have to do is step aside and let us find this dead filly’s apartment.” Taking several measured steps closer, I brought my forelegs close together and stuck my chest out, daring her escort to strike me down.
She leveled her green eyes on me, and kept staring into mine as she put one hoof on the small bag hanging on a string around her neck, her lips moving as though she was talking to it. After some consideration and what sounded like a lot of muttered recriminations, she dropped her leg and spoke with a bit of reluctance.
“De ancestors say ye have one day to go walkabout in de Aroyo territory. Capriole is one block over. De car will be safe. Hunt, Detective Hard boiled. Hunt the King of Ace and don’t come back unless he be dead or on his knees. If ye lay him low, Aroyo will owe ye.”
She took off with a twirl, beating her wings with slow, purposeful sweeps as she called out, “Cyclones! Fly!”
Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and the sky was empty.
I had to give it to those ‘Aroyo’ Cyclones. They were damn flashy.
****
“I have no idea how you got us out of that, Hardy, but that was... pretty amazing.” My driver said, holding her car keys to her bosom like they might run away. “I’ve dealt with the Cyclones before. Most of them are crazy poor kids dealing Zap off a street corner. That bunch was just scary.” She was breathing heavily, her braided tail flicking back and forth to slap against her sides as she tried to let out the tension.
Swift was still sitting there on the pavement, her wings popped up, staring where the nameless pony no longer was. “Sir, w-what just happened?”
“We got ourselves a day.” I said, holding the car door open for her as we retreated to the cab. “If Azure Rose is holed up here then she must have had a good reason. This is not a bunch of ponies that are easy to get taken into, but it fits our profile of somepony running from something. The Jewelers would have a heckuva time getting in here.”
My partner slid into the back seat and made room for me. Taxi turned the ignition; the roar of magical arcanolectrics coming to life sounded just a little too loud for comfort.
I murmured a quick prayer of thanks to Celestia, and we were off.
****
The blockhouse Azure Rose had chosen to make her home was one of the five story survivors whose exterior was much worse than its interior. Most of the windows below the third floor were boarded, but those on the higher levels were in decent shape and somepony had made an attempt at some point in the last century to scrub the worst obscenities off the front door. Some of them were pretty creative; I’d never heard anypony suggest that particular use for peanut butter and razorblades.
Taxi, despite the Cyclone’s assurances that the car would be alright, decided to circle the block while we were inside rather than find a place to park. I couldn’t say I much blamed her. Eyes glittered in some of the alleyways, giving us lascivious stares that made me wonder if they’d stop with just rolling us and leaving us in a gutter.
Taxi caught my tail with her hoof as I stepped out; I turned to see those bright pink eyes giving me a meaningful look. “Hardy, be careful in there.”
“You know me, Sweets. I’m always careful.” I replied, straightening my gun harness.
She sighed irritably, her forehead conferencing with her steering wheel. “Alright, be alive when you get back.”
****
Swift petted Masamane like a long lost pet, wiggling her leg to make sure its easy weight was still there as we marched up the steps of the apartment block. “Sir, why did Taxi tell me to take off my gun?” She asked.
“Have you looked at that weapon?” I answered, jabbing a hoof against its silvered and polished barrel. “It’s probably worth more than the car. Never trust gangsters if they have the upper hand. They’ll take what they can from you unless it benefits them not to.”
I opened the front door and stood aside so Swift could go in first. I figured, this being a pegasi friendly part of town, that it might not hurt terribly to have one lead the way.
The lobby reminded me of what would happen if somepony were to let Granny Glow get into interior design. A thin haze of soft green smoke gathered near the ceiling. A thick necked vermillion stallion with a mane the color of lumped lard sat behind the bullet proofed reception window, the root and leaves of a Zap apple tree sticking out of the end of his pipe as he thumbed through a magazine called ‘Stud Party.’
The doorbell dinged softly as we came in and he looked up. When he saw my badge hanging around my neck and sorted out the ecstatic coloration of my partner from her uniform, he began choking violently, spitting out the Zap and then furiously patting at his lap to put out the colorfully smoldering, sparkling embers.
“As you were... we aren’t here with narcotics. Can you direct us to the apartment of a miss ‘Azure Rose?’” I asked, trying to work a friendly smile, which was a tough thing to generate when the stink coming off that foul plant is trying to claw your sinuses out.
He hesitated then popped his pipe back into the corner of his mouth. “Aye, Azure Rose? Dunno anypony by that name...”
Picking the envelope out of my front pocket I looked at it briefly. “Apartment one-oh-eight?”
“Bein’ renovated. Nopony livin’ there.” He blasted twin rings of smoke out of his nostrils.
Swift tilted her head to one side, stepping closer to his booth. “Renovated? Here?” There wasn’t any menace in her tone, but the manager nonetheless drew back, looking very much like he wished he weren’t sitting in a tiny box with no exits except past two armed cops.
The lack of cooperation wasn’t unexpected considering the part of town he lived in. Managers who turn in their tenants don’t last long in the poorer parts of the city. I decided to try a little gambit. “We’re here on the blessing of the Aroyos.”
His mouth dropped open and the cornpipe tumbled to the floor. “I’m paid up through next week!”
I rolled my eyes and assured him; “We don’t work for them. We’re just here to check the apartment. You want to let us through?”
Putting a hoof on his desk he lifted himself with some effort and pressed a button on the wall. The metal door beside him buzzed loudly and he waved us through. “Go on up... and tell Wisteria I let you in without a fuss! I pay enough protection!”
****
A thin, pink colt in his mid-teens sat in the stairwell, too spaced out to notice as Swift and I edged past him. My partner stopped for a second, looking into his wide, staring eyes. He didn’t respond but he was, at least, breathing. A thin streamer of drool ran untended down to his chin.
“Sir, shouldn’t we call... I don’t know, an ambulance or something?” She asked, shaking his shoulder lightly.
I tugged out the Ace syringe poking out of the boy’s rear hoof and set it to one side. “He’s stoned. He’ll live. Leave him be. We’ve got better things to do.”
We moved on. Swift seemed inordinately quiet, but it was to be expected.
The walls weren’t exactly ‘clean,’ but they weren’t the kind of scummy I usually associate with flophouses like this. If Azure Rose had to pick a dump, she’d picked one of the better ones, particularly if the owner could afford a regular protection payment on top of his Zap habit.
It was at the landing on the first floor that I sensed something was amiss. I couldn’t discern what, but I wouldn’t be alive if I didn’t listen to the occasional instinct. I stopped, grabbed Swift, swung back onto the stairs, then reached into my coat and pulled out a tiny mirror. My partner took the hint and kept her muzzle shut, picking up her trigger bit and nosing the safety on her gun into the ‘off’ position.
I eased the reflector up into the hallway and turned it in a half circle, taking in everything. At the far end, a bunch of boards had been torn off the window, leaving a hole out onto a rickety fire-escape. One of the apartment’s doors was slightly cracked. I counted off from the end of the corridor nearest us; It was the eighth down. The nameplate said ‘Charity Soul.’
A trail of broken glass lead right up to it. Stealth was going right out the window the second one of us set hoof on the carpet.
“Stay here. Keep look out. I think our spy is already in there.” I whispered. Swift nodded and slid further down the stairs.
Stepping gingerly over the remains of the shattered window, I managed to make it right up to the door before dropping my heel squarely on a bit of sharp glass. I tried to keep the noise to a gasp of discomfort but inside the room something shifted, then there was silence. I lay one ear against the door, holding my breath.
A hole the size of a bowling ball exploded inches from my face, sending wooden shrapnel all over my neck. One inch lower and it would have broken my neck like a twig, earth pony or not. It snapped the door’s top half from the bottom cleanly.
I stopped bothering with subtle. Swinging my rear hooves around I blasted the remaining wood with a two legged buck, slamming it right off its hinges. A grunt of pain told me I’d struck a solid blow. I threw myself into the room just as my assailant was picking himself up off the floor.
It was a mess in there. The bed lay in one corner, slashed open. A curio in the corner was snapped and the trinkets spilled across the floor. He’d even knocked a couple of holes in each wall. It was a classic search-and-toss, professionally accomplished.
I absorbed all that in an instant, but it was the perp who got my immediate attention. He was a blushing cherry color and... dear Celestia, the size of five brick shithouses stacked together. His shoulders were as big across as my whole body was long. He was just recovering as I brought my gun around, snatching the trigger in my teeth.
“Halt!” I shouted. Police everywhere are thankful that it’s a word that’s relatively easy to say with something in your mouth.
He dragged himself from under the busted doorway then, faster than I could track, kicked a vase off the floor at my face. I tried to dodge but it hammered across my forehead, splitting into a hundred fragments and knocking me backwards. Then he was on me, throwing himself forward in a well practiced front-line hoofball charge.
The attack was lightning fast, hitting me at chest height. If I’d been anything but an earth pony, my spine would have been turned into an accordion. Even as it was, it felt like I’d been hit by a piano fired out of a cannon. Agony bloomed in my chest as all the air in my lungs decided it had better places to be.
I flew against the wall, leaving a sizeable dent in the drywall, my ribs creaking as he pressed the attack. We stood, chest to chest, his bloodshot eyes inches from mine.
‘How do you get muscles in your cheeks?’ It was a wholly appropriate thought, considering my sternum felt like it was inches from caving under the incredible power he was bringing to bear.
Everything seemed to slow down as he pushed forward. My vision greyed around the edges and pain exploded around my eye-sockets.
I snapped at his nose with my teeth, catching his upper lip and drawing blood. It may not have been the most honorable of combat tactics, but show me an unwaveringly honorable pony in Detrot, and I’ll show you a dead one. He let out a growl, going slack for just a second. I was too slow to take advantage. That or he was simply too fast. He let it be known that was a mistake by barreling his forehead into mine.
Stubbornness aside, my lights were pretty close to out as he stepped back. I slid straight to the floor. He gave me a firm kick in the stomach for good measure, then galloped out into the hall.
I was inclined to just lay there. Screw the Vivarium. My organs felt like I’d gone through a spin cycle in an industrial washing machine full of ball bearings.
Still... paperwork. I’d probably have to do a lot of that explaining this if I had nothing to show for it.
Spurred on less by desire for justice than fear of red tape, I dragged myself towards the door, hoping I could at least get a shot off on one of his knees. Pushing my bit into my mouth I discovered he’d somehow managed to snap the strap. Despite the amount of force he’d put into crushing my ribcage, I couldn’t feel any actual damage beyond some nice deep bruising. My breathing was starting to even out a little. I had no good way of measuring time except those breaths. I could have laid there five seconds or five minutes.
I pulled myself to my hooves and stumbled into the doorway, intent on at least seeing which way he’d gone. Maybe, with luck, Taxi would be on the street and be able to take him out with the cab. I doubted she’d risk a stallion through her windshield, particularly one the size of the taxi itself, but at that moment respiration felt like an optimistic endeavor, and if I was managing that, then perhaps luck was on my side.
A little voice in the back of my head admonished my optimism. Luck doesn’t feel like fractured ribs, dumbass.
The towering heap of studly red brawn was standing in the hallway, facing apartment 108. Just standing. His hooves planted, his eyes forward, he stood and watched me. He seemed like a sculpture, barely moving even to breathe. I lifted my gun, prepared to fan the hammer with my tongue if I had to, but he didn’t so much as twitch except to glance at the weapon and allow a contemptuous sneer to spread over his lips.
Swift’s bright orange head popped up over his left shoulder, her trigger-bit clenched in her teeth. She was mounted on the big bastard’s back, balancing on all four hooves with Masamane’s intimidating barrel pressed firmly against the base of his neck.
“Shir? Do joo have hoofcuffsh? Ah can’t work dem an hode mah gun.”
I began to laugh... and that hurt too. I didn’t care.
****
After some significant wrestling back and forth and trading off who was covering the stallion with which gun, we managed to get a pair of hoofcuffs on him. He refused to say a word but sat there stolidly, staring at us. Examining his flank, I noticed his cutie-mark was a pair of golden hoofboxing gloves. No wonder he’d put me through the wringer.
“Sir, shouldn’t we be going now?” Swift asked, glancing towards the door.
“We came here with a purpose. He got here before us, so I figure the worst we can do is finish what he started.”
****
I began sifting through the mess. The room had been relatively simple but appointed with a certain ostentatious character. The pony living there obviously treated the space as her ‘retreat.’ The bed was an expensive model covered in a dirt cheap sheet to hide the quality. Several of the knick-knacks in the curio were the sort of thing one wouldn’t find in a second-hoof store. Most of the little objects were a friendly blue, tasteful and pleasing to the eye.
A gigantic travel trunk sat in one corner. It looked staggeringly out of place in a squalid flophouse; it’s surface was studded with gems arranged in complex patterns. I struggled with the top, trying to wrench it off without much luck. It was when I started poking around the thing for an opening mechanism that I finally noticed the maker’s mark on one hinge: ‘Falter’s Mystical Intercontinental Impedimenta.’ A few scuff marks around the hinges showed where somepony else had tried to get in, with similar lack of success.
Magic luggage. Brilliant. I’d forgotten, momentarily, that we were dealing with a dead unicorn.
Swift, at the same time, was hopping around the room with her notepad out, scribbling away like mad. She seemed intent on documenting the position of everything, her wings flapping and flaring excitedly each time she came across something new. If nothing else, the Chief would have a thorough documentation of all the reasons she was going to fire and/or hang us.
Leaving the damned arcane box where it was, I kicked through some of the detritus, hunting for some evidence of its owner.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to help?” I asked with a look toward the stallion in the corner. He snorted and tugged at his cuffs, making them jingle. “Right, thought not.”
I poked through the curio. It was a glass fronted faux-antique job with several shelves inside; during our little fight I’d stumbled over it in my flight backwards. I was going to be picking grains of glass out of my hooves all night, which was always a fun game. Flipping it over, I noticed the wood comprising the top of it had dropped a few inches, revealing a golden glimmer. Reaching in, I carefully wrenched it out.
It was a jewelry box, elaborately detailed and studded on three sides with enough gems to buy a nice summer home. Gold inlays detailed scenes of animals with tiny diamonds for eyes dancing in sylvan vales. It was locked, but the lock hadn’t got a keyhole. Still, it’d been hidden and for that reason alone was interesting.
“I think I found what our lumpen lummox here was looking for.” I announced.
“What is it, sir?” My partner asked, leaping over a pile of broken wood.
The stallion in the corner shot up, took one step forward, and his nose hit the carpet.
“Oh, yep, we did. Jackpot.” I said with a smile, setting the box in front of Swift.
“That’s not yours!” The enormous oaf snarled, righting himself as best he could with his foreknees bound tightly together.
“Ahhh, it speaks!” I answered, cheerfully poking him in his barreled chest. He made to nip me but only ended up with his muzzle in the rug again. “Now then, I somehow doubt this is yours either. So we’re going to take this along with us and you’re coming too. I have a sweet old grandmare who’d just love to spend the night asking you questions.”
He cocked an eye at me skeptically then pushed me back with his forehead on my chest. “You can go straight to Tartarus! Let me out of these cuffs and I’ll send you there myself.” His voice was deep, like a ringing bell, but a bit dull. He spoke slowly, with a poorly learned accent. I took all of this in and slowly a minor profile began to form: Bodyguard. Low intelligence. Required for social functions to appear to be able to hold a conversation without embarrassing whoever was holding his leash. Purchased for his brawn rather than social skills.
Oddly, though, he didn’t look like an actual mob enforcer. He was too clean cut. His mane of streaked blonde was cut back to shoulder length, but he wore no identifying marks. Mobsters like ponies to know they’re mob. That’s part of what makes mob fear tactics effective; a mafia grunt might be one stallion, but you know that if you screw with or shoot him, there’s... well... a mob of others willing to take his place and pick apart your life in excruciating detail.
It was very tempting to give him a bloody nose considering the lump growing on my forehead, but in the interests of diplomacy I decided against bucking him in the face.
“I don’t think you were ordered to kill anypony, and somehow doubt you would even if you had been.” I said, shoving my muzzle into his face.
His neck musculature swelled and I leapt back as he tried to headbutt me again. He was obviously not a fast learner.
Settling on the cut open remains of the bed, I stroked the top of the jewelry box. It was a stunning thing. The craftspony who made it clearly loved her art. I couldn’t imagine a male having put his hoof to it. Everything about the design was feminine and elegant.
As I was having these contemplations a piece of paper that fit neatly into the underside slid out, dropping onto the sheet. I picked it up, flipping it over. It was blank but inside it there was a much folded photograph of two very pretty mares standing side by side. One of them looked like slightly younger than the other, but they both shared the same cool, sky colored pelt and flowing, ruddy cardinal mane. They held each other in a sisterly embrace, one leg around each other’s necks, smiling at the camera. Behind them there was an idyllic lake scene with towering pines and a small cabin in the distance.
“Kid, check me on this... the taller one? That’s our Jane Pony, right?”
I passed her the picture and she examined it closely. “It is. Sir! We did it!”
Despite the lack of monochrome, the older pony was definitely our victim. In life she’d been a real creature of beauty and seeing her there, grinning cheerfully, it made my heart sink to think she was sitting in a freezer.
Still, a piece of this vile puzzle was finally taking shape! I didn’t want to burst Swift’s bubble, but the day wasn’t over.
“Unless the ox over there killed her, which I somehow doubt-” I waved towards our prisoner.. “-we’ve got nothing but a picture and... huh... mmm...” I picked up the blank sheet of paper, holding it up to the light.
The paper glowed, then flashed, almost searing my eyes with a burst of sparks that spilled all over the bed, leaving smoking holes in the sheets. I dropped it quickly, blowing on my burnt hooftips.
“Foul-flanked, sewer-swilling magic slingers!” I cursed.
“Sir, are you alright?” Swift asked, waving a wing over my hooves.
“Yes, I’m fine... dammit.”
As we watched, thin, looping hornwriting spilled down the page like ink pouring out of a bottle, arranging itself into sentences as the spell unwound. Picking up the paper I held it carefully in case it decided to do a repeat performance. It was a letter, disguised with magic. What I’d done to set it off was a mystery, but I decided to give it a read anyway:
I don’t know if you’ll get this letter or if I’ll have time to send it. I might not. If I don’t then you’ll probably find it. I’m hiding it in the old curio in the place we used to trade things back and forth when we were living at home. I know you’ll check that.
If my jewelry box is still there, it has my diary in it. Just leave it. You can’t open it. It wasn’t for you anyway and I don’t really want everypony back home to know about my life here.
Tell Mom and Dad I miss them. I’m sorry if I don’t make it home. I’ll try to send the money whether or not I do. I miss you so much, sis. This whole thing just turned out so wrong. Please, take care of yourself.
Love,
Your sister,
Ruby Blue
“Huh... that’s our identification.” I murmured. It was, like every other part of this case, rife with enough vague innuendo to make a pony insane.
As I finished reading, something clicked behind me. I turned, noticing the top of the enormous box had popped open a few millimeters. “Magical... luggage. Right.” I mused.
Reaching over, I carefully re-closed the lock, then ran through the letter one more time. As I reached the girl’s name, the clasp popped open again. I closed it and thought the name in the direction of the box. Nothing happened. I read the letter once more and there was that same, satisfying click of the bolt sliding back. “Huh... Not the most secure system I’ve ever heard of, but I guess it works for somepony who has more identities than most professional criminals.”
Swift took the letter and read it, lips moving over each word. “So her name is-”
I hastily shoved my hoof into her mouth and pointed at the thug in the corner, who was trying desperately to angle his head so he could see the the letter.
“I think until we’ve got him someplace secure we’d best keep mum on that.” I said, removing my horseshoe from her lips. She coughed, her cheeks coloring.
“Sorry, sir.”
“It’s fine. We’re on a schedule, so I’d like to get us back to the Vivarium as soon as possible. I’m a bit vague on how we’re going to carry him though.” I jabbed my leg at the mound of muscle in the corner. “I don’t think he’s coming willingly and I don’t want a rematch.”
“You’re damn right! Lemme out of these cuffs, you stinking pig!” He yowled, trying to take a step towards me. He managed to hobble a few inches before he was on his face.
I sniffed my under-legs then pointed at Swift. “I’m not the one who stinks. By the way, we’re getting you a wash as soon as we hit the Vivarium, kid.”
Swift blushed ferociously, then sought a distraction from that topic by looking thoughtfully over at the trunk. She shoved the top open and poked her head in. “Um... there’s nothing in here, sir. It even looks arcanely reinforced.”
My mind spent a moment seeking any reason that we couldn’t do that. It was probably against regulations as some form of cruelty to... something or other, but damned if I could figure out what. “I... we... hmmm...”
Real fear blossomed in the thug’s face as he looked back and forth between Swift, the box, and I. “Y-you... you wouldn’t!”
****
It was the work of a further ten minutes to figure out the luggage could only be opened by reading the name off of that letter, followed by a few minutes colt-handling the struggling heavyweight into the trunk.
I finally resorted to the gentle encouragement of ‘accidentally’ kicking him in the testicles after he tried to hit me with his hard-ass forehead again. It settled him considerably so we could fit the top back in place while he cringed and clutched at his genitals. I made sure the box wasn’t airtight; If it were, the trip would have been complicated. I snapped the lock shut and gave the luggage a good kick. “Hey, you okay in there Mr. Gloves?”
“Screw you, copper!”
“That’s a yes. Kid, whichever side of your family gave you your imagination was a bunch of bad, bad ponies. They’re getting a Hearth’s Warming Eve Card from me this year, though.”
A flicker of proud smugness crept across her face but she masked it well. “Just using operational resources creatively, sir.”
“Hah. Grab the jewelry box and let’s go. I think we’re done here. I want to see if I can get into that diary later on and maybe get some insight into what our filly’s last few days were like. If nothing else we can get a sense of what she’s been doing lately and maybe find some additional suspects.”
I gave the box a rough shove towards the door. To my surprise it slid quite easily, eliciting a fresh round of very creative swearing from the trapped bodyguard. Why a pony on the run who’d descended to working in a whorehouse wouldn’t have long since pawned the magic box was a good question, but one I’d have to leave for another time.
Pressing my forehead against the end, I guided it through the doorway. It rocked a little as its angry prisoner tried to buck his way out, but whatever enchantments had been laid on it to make it lighter made it inordinately structurally sound.
In the hallway, a few curious eyes peeked out from cracked doorways, then quickly slammed as we passed, our cussing, surly burden rocking the box violently.
We got to the top of the second landing stairs without incident, but then a problem presented itself. The first landing was a short distance down, but the second one was quite a bit longer and lined up with the lobby door. I doubted Swift was strong enough to hold the heavy side, weight enchantment or no. At the same time, I didn’t really want to try to back down the stairs.
“Say, kid, could you get down there and hold that open?” I asked, pointing at the metal stairway door.
The pegasus eagerly hopped down and swung it back before the question even occurred to her. “Erm... sir, what are you going to do?”
“Bowling. Hey, Mr. Gloves! You might wanna brace yourself.”
“What?!” The trapped pony shouted back.
I whirled around and gave the trunk a kick with both rear hooves, doing my best to keep it tracking true as it slid down the steps. I’d expected it to at least catch on the doorway, but my aim was better than I’d expected; it passed right through, and as it did a set of four wheels popped out of the bottom, lifting it a few inches off the carpet and allowing its considerable momentum to carry it on a merry glide through the lobby, nearly pasting an old brown earth pony.
I galloped across the lobby after it while the apoplectic stallion inside abandoned the effort of finding new ways to denigrate my lineage in favor of just trying to kick his way out; anything besides magic would have been slag under that assault. His merry ride only came to an abrupt end when the trunk collided with the closed front door of the building.
Swift and I passed the manager, who was still sitting in his reception booth, his mouth agape. A curl of smoke rose from his crotch, but he didn’t seem to take any immediate notice of this.
I tipped my hat. “The City of Detrot thanks you for your cooperation.”
****
Getting the trunk full of pissed-off pugilist onto the curb was comparatively trivial, thanks to the wheels; Taxi swung around the corner just as we got him into position. She braked hard, threw open the passenger side door and yelled, “What the hay is that?! Hardy, tell me you didn’t...”
I smacked the trunk and ‘Glovey’ screeched something semi-incoherent about my mother and Cerberus. “One packaged spy’s accomplice ready for transport. You think we can fit him and the luggage in the boot? I don’t really want to get him out until we get where we’re going and I can have Minox sit on him.”
We ended up tipping the trunk up on one end slightly, then grappling it into the back seat, putting Swift in beside it and myself in the front with Taxi. Our passenger howled and shrieked the entire time, only quieting when Taxi threatened to drag him behind us on a tow-chain. Considering the abuse the box had survived thus far, it would probably have made it, but he didn’t seem inclined to test this as much as we were.
Taxi’s curiosity was brimming. “Did we get an identification on our victim?”
I reached into the backseat, grabbed the jewelry box from Swift, and set it in my lap along with the picture and letter. “We most definitely did.” I passed her the letter and she braced it on the steering wheel, reading it and looking out the windshield at the same time.
The trunk's lid clicked but Swift was already on it, holding the lock shut even as Gloves tried to shove the top off again.
Tossing the letter back into my forelegs she asked, “Are we sure that’s her real name?”
“I’m pretty sure. Our dirtbag here doesn’t know it yet and something is telling me that’s a good thing. Let’s keep it that way.”
Nodding, she gave us an extra squirt of speed. Somehow.
As we were leaving the Aroyos’ turf I caught a glimpse of a lavender pegasus standing on a rooftop, following us with her eyes. I could have been wrong from that distance, but her expression seemed almost sad as we drove out of her dominion, into the comforting embrace of familiar streets.
****
The drive back to the Vivarium involved an unfortunate detour around roadworks, so it was closer to half past one in the afternoon by the time the Unity statue came into sight. Taxi was driving a little faster than was probably wise, but the NightTrotter didn’t seem terribly offended. It just rumbled like an aroused bear as ponies coming off their lunch hours rushed off crosswalks to get out of our way.
We hit the parking lot outside the club, drawing more than a few eyes, possibly because we hadn’t slowed down, and because Taxi was aggressively blind to concepts like ‘pedestrian right of way,’ even on the sidewalk. Three top-hatted fops in matching wing-tipped horseshoes were nearly victims of Taxi’s predatory front grill; they leapt out of the way, backing up against the wall of the nightclub as we mounted the curb, all four tires protesting as we skidded to a gut-wrenching halt.
Minox, back in his cleanly pressed tux, was back on duty outside before a somewhat lengthened line of customers. Taxi’s attention must have done him good, because he looked a bit more relaxed. At least, he did until he saw us almost flatten the trio of noble-ponies and leave tire marks on his nice clean sidewalk.
He charged away from the door, leaping over the rope. “Joo find ze place to park or I toss zat heap in ze bay!” He bellowed.
My driver stuck her head out the window and winked at him. “Delivery for After Glow and Miss Stella!”
The minotaur hesitated then pressed his hand against his breast-pocket and spoke in a low voice. I couldn’t hear the reply but he tapped the pocket again then pointed around the side of the building. “Go around ze back.”
Taxi revved the engine before calling out, “That’s what I kept asking you to do but nooo, you had to work!”
Minox’s face blazed as he made his way back to his position by the door, crossing his arms and trying to look gruff, an attempt that just barely failed to hide an embarrassed grin as we rounded the the building.
****
After Glow was waiting for us beside a maintenance door disguised as part of the brickwork. She was lighting a second cigar off of the nub of the first one, her wrinkled green face bunched in concentration as she blew on the ember. Swift leapt out of the window before it pulled to a stop, landing beside her grandmare.
“Gran, you know the doctor said chain smoking is bad for you!” She said, batting the second cigar away with a wingtip. Glow caught it again with her horn before it could land in a puddle.
“It’s damn near the only thing with chains ah got left these days!” Her grandmare replied, disappointed. She tucked away the extra smoke and trotted around the end of the car, putting one hoof up on the window and peering in. “Yah bring us a damn trunk?!”
Pulling open the back door, I gave the box a solid kick. “Hey, Gloves! You alive in there? We’re gonna dump you in the bay, if that’s alright with you.”
This commenced a thumping and coarse language such as few ponies have ever had the pleasure of hearing. I turned to Granny Glow, tapping the trunk. “You have a cart we can put this guy on? The box is enchanted so it’s lighter than it looks, but I still don’t feel like carrying it.”
“Awww, come on, yah whinin’ puss. Give’er here.” Her horn lighting, Glow tore the trunk out of the back seat, juggling it in one levitation field whilst discretely pulling out her cigar and lighting it with another. Gloves was not pleased.
“Sir, do you think I could go use one of the showers and clean my uniform?” Swift asked, straightening her combat vest and sniffing at it a little.
“Yes, please.” Taxi added. “Being cooped up in the car with that smell is giving me a stomach ache.”
“Alright. You waiting here?” I asked.
“Not a chance! Things are just getting good. You pulled me into this, so I want to at least watch.” My driver replied, closing the car door, whipping her braid around one hoof and hiking up her saddlebags. “Besides, it’s not like my karma can get any worse today. You saw to that. Don’t think I won’t take it out of your hide later.”
Grabbing my hat off the front seat, I set it back in place and turned to After Glow. “I take it you’ve got a place we can take care of our little ‘issue’ here?”
Glow spun the trunk in mid-air and shoved it through the maintenance door ahead of her as she answered, “Ye’ve proved yer colors enough fer me, bucko. The lizard can fire me iffen’ he wants, but Ah’m layin’ mah trust on ye. We’ve got a place.”
****
The back entrance lead to a janitor’s hallway with a smaller, more cramped mining elevator dating back probably fifty years, whose solidity left a lot to be desired. The bottom of it looked like it’d been built of ancient railroad ties and there was no roof. It was a hoof-operated job or, in this case, horn operated. Glow set the trunk on it then grabbed the huge crank wheel set in the center of the floor with her magic. Swift stepped onto the platform, looking down to see between the slats.
“Gran, where does this go? I didn’t even know there was a second elevator in the Vivarium.”
“Ye’ll see, little bird.” After Glow answered, floating a beer-can out of the purse slung around her neck and spitting into it. “Yer about to see some of the best kept secrets we got. Ah wanted to show ’em to ye earlier but... well, yer dad’s a giant prig.”
Swift snickered and flipped one ear back against her head. “Daddy is just looking out for me.”
Grabbing the wheel in a flash of telekinesis, the old unicorn tapped a hoof impatiently. “You two goin’ down or not?”
That statement made me realize I hadn’t yet actually gotten onto the elevator. My sense of self-preservation was waiting to see what happened with the weight of three ponies on it. If she trusted her granddaughter’s health to it, though, I eventually decided I could trust mine. Taxi and I stepped onto the platform; it creaked, but held firm.
Glow released the brake, and we descended on the archaic mining platform. There was no light except that given off by Glow’s horn, which cast everything in a disturbing lime. Darkness quickly consumed both the sounds of the street and what little illumination came from above. The walls would glisten once in awhile when we passed a layer of shale in the roughly blasted bedrock.
I couldn’t estimate how far down we were going, but from the wind whistling up between the slats and the creeping chill, it felt like a pretty deep trip; deeper even than the central chambers of the club.
Gloves was getting antsy and started kicking the wall of the box again, this time in a more measured and intent sort of way; less ‘frantic bucking,’ more ‘battering ram.’
“Trust me, mate.” I stage whispered to him. “You really don’t want to get out of there right now. There’s a unicorn out here who would love it if you did, if only so she could find out whether or not it’s possible to interrogate somepony once they’ve been turned inside out.”
Glow seemed to appreciate that, allowing herself a small smirk, but for some reason this assessment didn’t to appear make Gloves any happier. He whimpered, but decided further kicking was probably unwise.
****
After what felt like a thousand years, the elevator ground to a halt at the bottom of the shaft. Echoes of dripping water seemed to come from everywhere at once. Scarlet rounded the corner with a torch attached to his forehead by a little strap, fanning the cone of light over us and our package. His gaze lingered on me for about five seconds longer than it needed to.
“Scarlet, get the damn light outta our faces, wouldja? These here ponies don’t need ya blindin’ em.” Glow growled.
“I told the mistress you’d be down soon. Minox said he’d send Master Snow Coy in a few minutes if you need him.” He replied, still sneaking little glances at me out of the corner of one eye.
The extra illumination let me see where we’d come to rest. Stone hallways branched off in all directions from the elevator. Most were only large enough for a pony and perhaps a mine-cart, though the one Scarlet stood in seemed much wider. A double set of badly rusted railroad tracks went deep into the darkness.
“Who is ‘Snow Coy?’” Taxi asked, raising her eartips. Normally I’m leery of my compatriots asking too much about the methods employed by those existing in any legal grey area, but we’d left ‘reasonable deniability’ sitting on a street corner in the Skids around the time I decided parcel post was the best way to transport a suspect.
Glow shoved Scarlet to one side of the hall with her magic and set off. “Ye wanted to know how we git them mob boys to stay out? Snow Coy and his family be how. They’ve got a gift what goes back generations.” The trunk rose off the elevator and followed her. “Ye’ll see iffen’ we need him to break this idjit.”
She let one corner of it bang against the wall, making Gloves snarl, “Hey, watch it!”
“Heh, few bruises is the least of yer worries bucko.” Turning to me, Glow lowered her voice. “Speakin’ of worries... didja... is... is Azure Rose yer girl?” I plucked the picture from my jacket and held it out. She took it and scanned the image then passed it back. “Aye, that’s our miss Rose...”
“She’s the one.” I replied, affirmatively. ”Also, now that we’re here and I don’t think the male mountain is going anywhere, I feel safe in telling you her real name wasn’t Azure Rose.”
“Not-... now wait a damn minute!” Glow brought us up short, swinging around and taking a threatening step towards me. “Yer not sayin’ ye were holdin’ out on us are ye?”
I started to rebut with something about crotchety crones and busted ribs, but Swift stepped between us. “No, gran. Nopony knew. Her name is Ruby Blue.” She hesitated, then sadly amended, “Was.”
“She’s got more names than a phonebook. Our filly knew somebody was chasing her.” I added, wincing as I caught a drip from a stone spike hanging from the ceiling right down my neck. Glow squinted at me for a moment then swung back to the tunnel.
The intense humidity had us all sweating despite the cold. In the close, subterranean air the only smell that made it through the sweat and cigar smoke was the embalming fluid drenching Swift’s uniform.
“Ugh, kid, do you mind going back up and handling your hygiene? I’ll fill you in when we’re done.” I promised, nudging the pegasus back up the passage.
Scarlet nickered softly, sniffling at my partner. His lip curled and plucked at her shirt lightly. “Ugh... Swift, that’s you? Were you rolling around in ammonia and garbage? I thought the pony in the carry-on was just a particularly smelly sort!”
“Hey! I’ve got standards, ya pricks! Professionals don’t smell like that!” Mr. Gloves shouted back.
My partner’s face flushed angrily and she gave the box a boot, making it swing in circles until Glow righted it. “I-it’s not my fault! I fell in some stuff at the morgue...”
“The morgue?!” Scarlet exclaimed. “We’re going back up stairs this instant and I am going to scrub you with a wire brush and a sand blaster!” Grabbing her short tail in his teeth, he began dragging her off down a side passage.
“Sir! Help!” She pleaded, beating her wings at him. He dodged and wove, giving her a shake like a dog with a toy.
“No help here, stinky.” I smiled, shooing her with a hoof. “Get cleaned up and we’ll meet you afterwards.”
Taxi covered her nose with her leg. “Really, sweety, you reek like a dead cat left in the sun.”
Swift let herself be carted off by the escort which, unfortunately, left us without a light. Glow popped a tiny ball of glowing sparks from her horn that spat and crackled, hanging over her head. It was uneven illumination and the going was a little perilous. The unhewn rocks made for a stumbling journey.
After the fourth or fifth time I tripped and almost landed on my chin, I was about to ask Glow how much farther we had to go when the hallway abruptly stopped as a smooth, stone wall. It looked like fitted rocks had been piled together.
“Did we take a wrong turn?” I asked.
Our unicorn guide let out a guffaw. “Boyo, mah sense of direction ain’t gone yet.” Grabbing a stalagmite in one hoof she wrenched it sideways like a lever. It rattled on a well disguised gear and hidden equipment groaned to life, sprinkling dust and gravel on my ears as the entire wall dropped outward on a well-oiled hinge, revealing Stella’s private home.
I don’t know what I expected. Stella’s audience chamber upstairs was very ‘dragon’ in its appointment. The gems and the ridiculously tasteless mosaic were just enough of an exhibition to convince everypony who might see it they were dealing with a barely tamed beast, civilized only by the threat of a PACT team dropping in on his heavily groomed head.
Here then, was the truth. Stella was civilization. Public mendacity aside, in his private lair I think I’d have felt comfortable entertaining the Princesses themselves.
The cavern stretched over a hoofball field’s length into the distance, and would have been lost to sight but for a ring of gemstones set in the ceiling, all of which shined brightly. Moving water created a comforting background noise. A throne in the style of a Pegasopolian fainting couch occupied an entire stretch of wall, sitting in a pool with water splashing against its legs. The underground lake would have worn me out on one good lap from one side to the other.
Most of the room’s furnishings, including a vanity with a gargantuan mirror, were scaled to serpent size, except a low platform with short steps leading up to the throne. The platform spanned the cave from one end to the other, just above the water, and seemed climbable by ponies. On it, a series of magnificent marble counters displayed an incredible array of curiosities from every corner of history and the world.
I recognized a first model telephone from fifty years back and a refrigerator my great grandfather would have owned. A zebra mask leered at us with the word ‘Welcome’ underneath in big black letters. At the foot of the throne lay a small tea table and chairs made of blood red timberwolf heartwood; a wood so hard to come by that the biggest thing I’d ever seen made out of it was a spoon.
After Glow turned to us and hacked up something black, spitting it over the side into the pool. “Lizard likes his fancy shit, don’t he? Don’t let it bother yah none. He scratches his scaly ass in the mornin’ same as the rest of us.”
Taxi was already on the catwalk, rushing from one little exhibit to the next, oohing and ahhing over the highlights of the impressive little collection. “Oh, Hardy, I wish I’d known we were going to a museum!”
A great voice reverberated off the ceiling: “Way to make me feel old, dahling.”
Stella rose almost soundlessly out of the waters at the side of the platform, his ample violet body slithering up with much less show than the day before, but the sight was no less arresting. His make-up had been redone and his flukes freshly polished; they glistened as water dripped off of them.
The purple serpent’s golden eyes gleamed with pleasure as he followed the Taxi’s progress down the row of displays.
“Most of those are things I’ve seen ponies create.” He said, fondly. “I’ve seen the Princesses raise the sun and lower the moon over a hundred thousand times, and yet these little genius magics of science and culture, mundane and beautiful, are what amaze me.”
My driver rushed over and put her forehooves up on his elbow excitedly. “You have an entire collection of Daring Do books! Even the reprints!”
Reaching out with two clawtips he lifted one of the tomes off its place on the shelf, flipping it open and pointing to the publisher’s mark as he laid it back in her eager hooves.
Taxi almost fainted on the spot, holding the book in both legs like it was made of gold. “First editions! Oh my...wherever did you get these?”
Stella slid his split tongue out and tapped it obscenely against his chin. “Miss Do came through Detrot once and needed some... relief. Every few months from then until she died, she’d spend an evening with us. When she passed on...” His expression saddened. “...she left me this in her Last Will and Testament. She’d signed it for me on her deathbed.”
I looked over my driver’s shoulder, examining the well loved novel. A hoof-written note on the front page said, ‘To Stella, My Biggest Fan, from D.D. Keep my spot warm. Who knows? I might be back!’
Taxi carefully shut the page, pressed her forehead against it, then set it back on the shelf.
“I never took you for a Daring Do fan, Sweets.” I murmured.
“There are still a few things you don’t know about me, Hardy.” She retorted, stepping back and sitting down on a chaise lounge up against the railing.
After Glow stepped to one side, floating the trunk forward and dropping it unceremoniously with a loud thump in front of Stella. Its occupant slammed the top with all four legs, but it held tight.
“Hey, jerks! Some of us have bones!” Gloves called out.
I climbed on top of the box. “We got our spy’s little friend. You should know, your employee... she’s dead.”
Stella’s expression darkened. “Was it this creature that killed her?” He said, ominously clicking two fangs together.
I shook my head. “Doubt it. He’s a trained monkey. Big, stupid, and I think relatively harmless.” Wincing, I felt one of my ribs shift back into place. “Mostly. We found him searching her apartment for something. Pretty sure we found it or at least, part of it. There’s also a letter to her sister. I’ll make sure that gets delivered if I can. Intercity record keeping is still a mess so finding her might be a trick.”
“I see... and Azure Rose?” The dragon murmured, his frown deepening. There’s something existentially unnerving about seeing a displeased dragon; nothing in that expression said ‘happy days and sunshine are coming your way.’ In fact, had I been the object of that displeasure, I’m pretty sure I’d be improvising methods of killing myself with a first edition Daring Do, because that would be less painful than whatever he was concocting.
“An alias. She used several.” I replied, leaping off the box. “Her real name was Ruby. Ruby Blue.”
“Miss Ruby Blue.” Stella considered this, the large fin on the side of his throat bobbing lazily. “If you can discover her family’s identity, I will see she gets full benefits and burial paid for. Anonymously, of course. I take care of my ponies.”
Something that’d been bothering me finally came to the fore. I knew it was a bad time but couldn’t continue without saying it.
I trotted over and hooked my legs over the railing beside him, looking down into the deep, black waters. “Speaking of ‘taking care’... This game to get the identity of your spy. You played me, Stella.”
“My, my, first names now? Isn’t that a little familiar?” He chuckled.
My tail lashed against my cutie-mark and I growled, “I don’t like being played.”
“Pawns usually don’t.”
The air had become thick with tension. Even Gloves had quieted while the exchange took place.
“Are you saying I’m a pawn?” I asked, seething internally.
“You’re either a pawn or a player, and right now you don’t even know the shape of the board you’re on. You dance to my tune and you hate it, but you’ll still do it because you’re not ready to take the lives of others in your hooves. Another player is moving against me; King Cosmo is canny and I believe he has dangerous friends lurking behind the curtain. Regardless, I need him eliminated. Now, you get a choice, which is a thing rarely afforded to the pieces on the field...”
He raised both claws, holding them out to me. Bobbing his left taloned hand, he said, “In the one, the life of everypony in the Heights and the Vivarium. The continued peace, for however it may last.” He raised the right. “In the other, your pride. Choose, Hardy. I’m leaving it to you. If you say so, I will release this fool in the box and let him walk out of here. You may condemn us, but I know I won’t get your cooperation if I don’t give you this choice.”
There it was, once again. I could practically feel the dragon pulling my strings.
A voice somewhere in that closed off, sickened part of my psyche said: Screw it... let it all burn.
The taste of guilt followed immediately. Its flavor wasn’t to my liking. It wasn’t a worthy thought, and Swift would never forgive me. For some reason, that mattered a lot just then. I’d known her for two days but didn’t want her to think badly of me. Damn. Getting old. Must be.
“Stella... whatever happens from here on, you will owe me. Period. Your word.”
The dragon nodded. “My word. Now, let’s see this thing you’ve brought me.”
Turning to the container full of bodyguard I pulled the letter from Ruby Blue to her sister from my coat and read it to myself. The lock popped open.
“Finally! You rat bastards are gonna pa-” The stallion I’d been calling Gloves stopped in mid-sentence as he took in the dragon’s bulk leering down at him from overhead, licking his painted lips.
I fell back from the box, covering my nose. “Agh... damnit, Stella! I’m not cleaning that up!”
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I like the Scholar starting each chapter off, I feel mildly intelligent for a short period of time.
Honestly this has never occurred to me that sub communities become extreme as a defense measure. Interesting.
Now this is interesting, mostly because I don’t know much about greek mythology but once I looked up that Basilisks have the power to cause death at a single glance (to quote the word of wiki), this is a nice little reference which fits in pretty well in a world of magical ponies.
Bluff check successful! Poor Swift.
Interesting street name and if the free dictionary is anything to go by it means thus:
“1. An upward leap made by a trained horse without going forward and with a backward kick of the hind legs at the height of the leap.
2. A playful leap or jump; a caper.”
Again another neat little ponification that isn’t too in your face.
Haha I knew what this meant and didn’t have to look it up!
*smug face*
Oooh spooky, and also another neat mythology reference to Tartarus.
Thunderheads as weapons? Interesting, I wonder what other kinds of weather can be used in gang warfare. I mean if thunderclouds can be used maybe other types of cloud could be. hmmm
I think Thor would be jealous.
Huh, now I have flashbacks to my own flat I just moved out of, had some homeless folks occasionally stay in a shed at the bottom I think due to the door of the building not work. :/
And now I feel poor again.
Eyup looks like the neighbourhood is living up to it’s intimidating name. Also pianos fired out of cannons? Must ask Pinkie pie about this one. Again awesome wordplay here.
I lol’d.
Yo dawg I heard you like boxing
XD
Oh my.
aaand it's safe to say i enjoyed that chapter. And a return to the vivarium as well, granny Glow is just awesome.
As for Stella's little speech, an interesting reveal of a much wider conflict. I get the feeling something biiig is going to happen. Can't figure out what though.
I love this story more, and more for every chapter that come's out. Also are scarlet and hardy going to be anything
would just like to know. Chapter was great loved every second of it cant wait for more.
As always, read on the spot
Search for "it's" and take out the apostrophe every time it doesn't mean 'it is'- it's troubling when the chapter doesn't have its basic grammar ducks in a row. It's understandable that stuff gets by you, but the only way you develop a true writer's facility with English is by hammering away at its little details. Its construction "its" can mean it IS or 'thing it HAS' (i.e. possessive), and when we're talking about its apostrophe-less form it's 'it has' we are using, not 'it is'.
1394476
Bucking hell...
Yeah, I was hyper busy these last two weeks, but that's no excuse for missing THAT many of something so utterly basic.
Okay, that's it. Amateur Editing Technique Refinement Time. I'm creating a checklist of those most common mistakes and not releasing shit until I search down every one.
--CEO Kasen
1394919
I do just that! Mine consists of a grep search for "Period instead of comma." said the character- and Bon Bon not being hypenated
When I finally give in and train myself to use em-dashes—like a gentlepony—rather than hyphenspace, then I will have another thing to watch out for.
Remember we all got our checklists. I also get paranoid about too many adverbs ending in 'ly' (particularly as most do), and when they start to bunch up on me, I go and hunt them down.
Ruthlessly.
dammit! dammit!
1394151 Heh, Scarlet is mostly just Hardy's bitch. That would be ADORABLE but, yeah, no... not unless you wanna write the story that happens in. Feel free. Scarlet's a cutie. Maybe Hardy drinks too much one night?
1394476 I... know I have an editor but that's no excuse. I'll try to fix that stuff as I go along. I'm getting better but I think even the finest professional writers have to do multiple drafts and we, unfortunately, don't have the luxury considering the release cycle we're on. We basically get ONE draft and that's it.
-Chessie
I have to say I'm somewhat disappointed in myself - How did I miss such an overwhelmingly good story? Looking forward to seeing what happens next!
Waaaait a minute. Stella is Stephen Magnet, isn't he? Or at least based on him or something. How did I miss that.
1392882
I'm reading all of The Scholar's notes in Twilight's voice.
All of my Yes.
Our victim is a whole new bucket of intrigue and mystery now. I'd guessed before that she was someone well-off whose luck had taken a drastic downturn and she was acting out of desperation and fear, but now I see there's a scheming mind in there and whatever was after her had even more schemes. I like, and want to pick it apart like a dead frog.
And the Aroyo clan? BAD. ASS. Their face member had this wonderfully menacing Jamaica-Haiti-Caribbean accent in my head. I hope Hardy gets a chance to sic 'em on something.
This is the greatest simile in the history of the written word.
In other news, this story continues to be crazy awesome.
1395339 Big, purple, and VERY fabulous? Yes!
1395693 I giggled over that one too.
1395638 Feel free to postulate!
-Chessie
I'll start with the boring technicality: there was a space missing in between two words somewhere, but I can't seem to find where, seeing as it is just one (well, two, but yeah) of the 12599 words. I hope somepony can trawl this one out. It'd probably take a re-read of the entire thing, though I think it wasn't in the last quarter.
Now for the impressions: as usual, after reading Starlight's update I want to hang up my writing implements (in this case, a computer, which might present some difficulty). I think I could refer to your work in order to write descriptions that dont make readers become the new Rainbow Dash. Still such a long way to go.
Suddenly, a somewhat tribal pegasus! Thought Taxi'd be more curious or know something, but I guess the community culture there became extreme enough to defy her knowledge. And, well, lightning clouds probably helped.
Boxing the boxer now, are we? The entire thing made me laugh.
Stella knows how to impress the guests. I think an exclamation of 'horseapples!' could've been more appropriate than ever at the end.
1395339
You know, I tried reading the Chapter 8 note in Twilight's voice. Her "Dear Princess Celestia" voice.
I didn't get far without laughing. Hard.
1397064
As always, you flatter us! Such kind words!
--CEO Kasen
1394919
Eww no sorry don't swing that way, just asking because it sounded like you would. Sorry if I sent the wrong message. You do come up with some crazy characters though is there any inspiration behind them.
1395339
Kinda odd that you missed that, yeah.
Great, now I'm doing it. Except, it's more like 50% Twilight, and 50% Christopher Walken, because that blind reading at Canterlot Gardens impressed "Twilight Sparkle with Christipher Walken's voice" onto me.
1398838 Fair warning, many of my characters are gender-benders, gay, or just plain WEIRD. I'm pan-sexual so if I cross any enormous lines in believability just tap me. The gender thing just doesn't occur to me.
I will say I haven't planned any sex scenes of any kind in the main story. I figured that would just be uncomfortable to write. That might change, but somehow I doubt it. Everything I do has been about the characters and I don't see how writing a drawn out clop scene will improve them or their interaction with each other enormously. Again, that might change... but I doubt it.
1398888 Stella's personality is based on mine heavily. Yes, I'm really like that only frequently more perverse. He's the closest thing to an author-self insertion there is.
No, I don't have scales, yes, I have been known to use my more staunchly conservative acquaintance's brains for playthings.
-Chessie
1399176
Looking back though the comments (shame there's so little of them), I found 1197585, which I had misremembered as you saying Stella was based off of Stephan. (Either that, or it was something else that was said slightly earlier, which I couldn't find)
1395339
Well that's an interesting way of doing things :-p
1399176
Yeah, I helped insert him as a Chessiecature. Chessie the Cat is very large, cleverly manipulative, deeply perverse, and wanted for running equine prostitution centers.
Well, it wouldn't surprise me.
--CEO Kasen
It feels like I'm nitpicking but when you call the Cyclones "persecuted misanthropes" in the section introducing the skids... well Anthropos has everything to do with humans and nothing to do with horses. Though I'm not entirely sure what you'd call hatred of horses. Misequusy? Maybe you could just call them racists/speciesists.
Bah, the important thing is people understand what you're trying to communicate, and misanthropy works there I guess.
Edit. De Arroyo Cyclones scream of Fallout 2 tribals. Dat mare in particular I read as having Sulik's voice despite de gender disparity. That consulting the ancestors line clinched it. Now if only she had said something about "grampy bone".
Ever Free.
1401109 Honestly, if I were to look up the precise etymology of every word I write for this then insanity would set in very quickly. I kid you not, I looked up the structure of equine feet just to make sure they had heels. I was pleasantly surprised, at the same time, to discover they have toes. I'm afraid that I'd have to start making up words far worse than I already have if I wanted to avoid this.
Yeah, I finished Fallout 2 a few weeks ago. Good catch on that!
-Chessie
1399176 Thanks for the heads up not a big fan of clop fic. Also big fan of all your characters so far there hilarious and blend well together.
1401244 Heh, a tiny, deeply conceited part of me wants that on a t-shirt.
-Chessie
These last two chapters seem a bit Pratchetesque to me.
God, those gang members were creepy. Characters like that always make me want to burn things.
1412029 They are, by far, not the creepiest thing we have planned. They're meant to be on the mild end of the spectrum.
Yes, Pratchet is one of our influences. He does world-building in a way I never will be able to if I write for a hundred years.
Sykes was actually a reference to Charles Dicken's character 'Bill Sykes'. I always loved that character's accent as Dickens wrote it. I wanted to try a really thick accent on a character Sykes was the name that came to mind.
-Chessie
Took me a week after finding this story to catch up, and I loved every letter of it. Really hope the next chapter comes out soon. This is absolutely fantastic.
1456566 We're on a two week release cycle. I'm kinda wondering if I should set up some kind of 'countdown' to the next chapter just so people know where things stand.
-Chessie
1459690
Would be nice, but it's your story. You don't have to say a word, and someone will still find it.
EDIT: Categorized.
...whoa. Daring Do isn't a fictional pony in this universe? That's a first. Interesting.
Random grammar notes:
For this to be grammatically correct, you'd need an "it" before "occupied". Otherwise the sentence after the semicolon doesn't have an object.
"Wants" should be "wanted" to match the tense of the rest of the paragraph.
Presumably, "boiled" should be capitalized, since it's part of a proper name.
This should either be "which is a tough thing..." or "...that foul plant was...". Otherwise the two tenses clash.
"Associate" should be "associated" to match tense with the rest of the paragraph. Also, the comma should be outside of the single quotes.
"Keep a look out" would make more sense, unless Hardy's being purposely terse.
"It's" should be "its", since expanding it to "it is" doesn't make any sense in this context.
There should probably be a space between "much" and "luck".
The quote should end in a comma, and for some reason the quote that starts the next sentence is a closing quote rather than an opening one.
Grammar rule: If you have a dependent clause after a quote (usually beginning with some variant of "he said"), you need to attach that clause to the preceding quote. This means that a) if the quote ends in a period, it should end in a comma, and b) if the word immediately after the quote wouldn't otherwise be capitalized (i.e. if it's not "I" or a proper name), it should stay that way.
Examples in this chapter:
A frozen eyeball. An eye-scream popsicle if you will...
We prefer the term "carriage tenderised hors d'œuvres".
Will not the Battenberg markings be a dead give-away though?
Fly, fly, FLY!
I see what you did there ^.^
Chapter 9: "Not That Kind of Shipping" - I don't think this is anything. Maybe a little joke to "moving" the guy around like a package. But beyond that, I got nothing.
I'm not completely sure why, but my brain keeps giving Scarlet the voice of Mr. slave from South Park. (With a very little bit of Big Gay Al)
Is it only me or does this make no sense? I believe something is amiss here.
Gah. I'm so late to the game on this amazing fic, and I hate to add critiques this late, as well, but might as well. If it makes any difference, I am obsessed with this fic, and I'm barely scratching it's surface. The world building and characterization is just overall amazing.
With that said, about this chapter, the accent and speech of the leader for the Cyclones is off. I know it's supposed to sound Caribbean, and it probably wouldn't occur to anyone who didn't know anything at all about how it is spoken or written out, but it was just very jarring, and took me out of the character a few times. The way her patois is written out could use some tweaking. It seems... erm... not real... or maybe "well-structured" is a better phrase?
Otherwise, frikkin amazing chapter. I love the Cyclones, and the entire scene in the Skids. So badass.
Watch out, guys! We have Master Ruseman here!
8848037
Error's still here.
..oh right hardy's been walking wounded this whole time. Wait does he ever get those fixed...?
...Earth magic?