The Murder of Starswirl the Bearded

by Inky Scrolls

I. La scène est définie

"What a beautiful day!"

I smiled contentedly, basking in the early autumn sun. Along with my mentor, Clover de Velours - aka Princess Twilight Sparkle - I was strolling gently along the Rue de Chamelôt towards the Château de Corrigéville, where we were expected for tea. There was one further member of our party - Velvet's idol, Starswirl the Bearded, with whom she was deep in conversation.

This was not unusual. Since our arrival at Starswirl's door some seven weeks ago, he and Clover had spent a lot of time in evidently intense discussion about... something. For all his magical wisdom and knowledge of past, present, and even a little of the future, Starswirl could not speak Modern Equestrian. How could he, for the language was still in its earliest form, Old Earthponese, and was not yet the common language of the land. So instead, we had to accommodate him, speaking in his own language, Early Prench. This was not a problem for Clover, who had gained native-like fluency from years of study under Princess Celestia in our own present, but for me... this was rather difficult. My own understanding even of Modern Prench was shaky, and I often found it difficult to keep up with the flow of their conversations.

Seeing I was unlikely to garner a response from either of them, I continued walking in silence. The weather truly was delightful, however, a sign that unicorn-pegasus diplomatic relations were currently on a stable footing. Both Clover and I, however, were aware that this could not last for ever. The arrival of the Winter of Windigoes was just a few months away and, though no-one native to this time could have known it, a new nation, founded upon mutual friendship and trust, was shortly to be born.

For now, however, all seemed peaceful. The birds were singing, light, fluffy white clouds were scattered pleasingly across the cornflower-blue sky, and under the shade of the trees I could hear a pattering brook, babbling almost silently to itself as it glided over the pebbles. Shifting my gaze to the near distance, I could just about make out the line of a chimney, peeping above the topmost branches of a graceful oak. Turning to my companions, I coughed to catch their attention. "Hmm! Clover, Starswirl? I think we might be there."

Breaking off their conversation, Clover translated for Starswirl. He nodded, smiling. "Oui oui, nous sommes presque là."

After a moment I understood, replying, "Excellent!"

As we rounded the next sweeping curve of the path, leaving the stream behind, more of the house came into view. 'House' really isn't the right term, for the building was almost castle-like in its majesty. With towers and coronets, small, wooden-framed windows, a large, sturdy front door, a long gravel drive through very inviting looking gardens bordered with meticulously crafted box-hedge topiaries, and an imposing outer wall and gate - complete with gatehouse - the name of Château de Corrigéville was truly deserved. I couldn't help but gasp in awe at the wonderful visage now presented to us. Starswirl - or rather Étoire du Magique, in his native tongue - smiled again, evidently proud of his friend's place of residence, and pleased with my reaction.

Presently, we arrived at the front gate. Starswirl called out to the unseen gatekeeper in a comradely manner. "Monsieur Baude Vieillart, comment ça va?"

At these words the gatekeeper hove into view, plodding over to unlock the gates. He was a donkey, and seemed incredibly old and crotchety. He appeared most annoying at having been disturbed, evidently from a nap. "Bonjour, Monsieur Magique", he muttered in his hoarse voice. "Au moins il ne pleut pas."

This was beyond me, so Clover translated for me, grinning. "He says 'at least it isn't raining'!"

Vieillart seemed to take a short eternity to get those gates open. I was tempted to offer to help, but Starswirl caught my eye as I made to step forward, and almost imperceptibly shook his head. Apparently Monsieur Vieillart didn't take kindly to suggestions that he wasn't a perfectly adequate gate-opener. Eventually the gates were open far enough for us all to step through, and we passed into the secluded grounds of the estate.

We trotted at a comfortable pace along the finely gravelled drive. This was lined with innumerable weeping-willows, which draped downwards to caress the soft grass verge at the path's edge, forming a pleasantly verdant allée. The driveway up to the front door was longer than it at first appeared, and the château even more imposing. As we mounted the twelve shallow steps to the door, it opened before us, revealing a sombre-faced hoofman, and an even more serious-looking butler. "Bonjour, mesdames et monsieur," he intoned. "Si vous souhaitez mar-"

He was interrupted by the arrival of a fabulously beautiful mare whom I could only assume was to be our hostess. "Ah, c'est magnifique! Vous êtes tous arrivés. Bonjour Monsieur Étoire, bonjour mesdames!"

This most effusive of personalities was indeed the Marquise Clémentine de Platine, the unmarried daughter of the late Marquis de Platine, second-cousin of the Dauphin, and fourth in line for the unicorn throne. She had a perfectly pure white coat, a deep blue mane, sparkling blue but determined eyes, and was probably the most gorgeous mare I had ever laid captivated eyes on. I could easily imagine her as a teller of tall but true tales, being charismatic and charming, yet melodramatic and attention-seeking. She seemed to me, in fact, not so very different from one of my own friends back in the present, Rarity. Of course, I kept all of these thoughts to myself.

I was also wondering whether I ought to bow or curtsy or not, seeing as I was in the presence of partial royalty, but that question was fortunately made unnecessary by her immediately inviting us all inside. "Entre, entre, s'il vous plaît!" So we stepped over the threshold, blinking in the sudden relative darkness. Seeing our discomfitude, the Marquise gave us a moment for our eyes to adjust, smiling warmly at us in silence.

When she judged we were fully adjusted, she spoke again. "Je suis si heureux que vous puissiez tous venir." As she paused for a moment, Clover immediately began translating for me, for which I was thankful. I was beginning to wonder if the visit might become rather awkward, if the conversation had to be broken into every few seconds for la traduction, but fortunately at that moment the Marquise, evidently realising my difficulty, repeated what she had said in a form of Old Earthponese. "Ai! Zou speakest not ze Prench, non? I only said 'I am so glad zou wast able to come!"

I murmured my gratitude, relieved that I wouldn't have as hard a time of it as I had at first feared. How useful that the Marquis spoke Earthponese - and oh, her accent! Never before had I heard such an endearing way of speaking my native tongue. I listened, enthralled, as she insisted we call her Clémentine, and entreated us to accompany her to the gardens.

After clopping through a veritable maze of hallways and corridors, almost like Twilight's castle in their complexity, she brought us to the conservatory, and out through the Prench windows into the southern garden. This was at its best at this time of day, shortly before tea on a sunny afternoon in late autumn, and made for a most impressive scene. A long, close-cropped lawn stretched away into the distance, flanked by scores of elms, laburnums and larches. To the left and right of this main feature could be seen a variety of kitchen gardens for feeding the family, water gardens with fountains and pools, beds with dozens of species of flowers and, at the centre of it all, a ancient, regal oak, standing proud and tall above the surrounding landscape.

All of this I took in within a few seconds, as we were swiftly led to meet our fellow guest. "Zis," announced Clémentine, charmingly mispronouncing her 'th's', "is Herr Kommandant Dreist von Orkan, Leiter von Bewölktestal." She giggled lightly at my confusion, and continued, "but zou canst call him Herr Kommandant. We are all friends here!"

The Kommandant nodded his head in agreement as Clémentine introduced us to him in turn. His coat was a lightish blue, and he had a rainbow mane similar to Rainbow Dash's, though not quite as varied or as vibrant. He seemed a pleasant enough sort, though perhaps a little blunt. By way of greeting he thrust his hoof at mine and hoofbumped rather too firmly. Having greeted Clover in the same manner, he uttered a brief monosyllable to Starswirl, to which the latter smiled in understanding. Evidently the two were old acquaintances, though not perhaps on quite the best of terms.

At this juncture a loud gong rang out from indoors, and Clémentine raised her head expectantly. "Allons nous!" she exclaimed, "Nous allons dîner." And so the five of us went in to dine - the Marquise Clémentine, Herr Kommandant von Orkan, Étoire de Magique, Clover de Velours, and myself.

Author's Note:

Two chapters in a day, you are lucky.

By the way, if anyone spots any errors in my Prench, please do not hesitate to correct me.