Ponyville Noire: Tails of Two Private Eyes

by PonyJosiah13

Case Six, Prologue: Blood in the Snow

Snow fell from the cloud-streaked night sky, covering the streets of Ponyville with a light dusting of white that glowed beneath the light of the street lamps. Cars pushed through the plowed streets, half-melted sleet and snow hissing beneath their tires; pedestrians walked back and forth along the sidewalks, passing by businesses that were adorned with glowing decorations—wreaths, silver and gold bells, candy canes, gingerbread ponies, smiling Santa Hooves with his flying reindeer, and blinking lights. A group of ponies wearing long blue robes stood on a street corner, a collection bucket sitting on the sidewalk next to them.

“One of these days, I am going to redesign these robes,” Rarity complained, frowning at the hems of her outfit. “They drag on the ground and pick up mud and snow! Look at them, they’re filthy!”

“Rarity, ponies have been wearing these robes for generations,” Fluttershy pointed out meekly. “It hasn’t been a problem for them…”

“Perhaps they simply did not voice those concerns,” Rarity countered, lifting up the robes with her magic.

“Ladies, please,” Toe Tapper interrupted. “We are the Ponytones, and we’re collecting for our church! Pastor Sound is counting on us! We can’t let a little snow and mud get in the way of this!”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you Toe?” Torch Song asked, rolling her eyes a bit.

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agreed, taciturn as always.

“Yes, yes, right,” Rarity said quickly, drying off her robe with a quick spell. “Toe Tapper is quite right; this collection for the Temple will be used to provide for the less fortunate of this city. And if it puts food in the bellies of some poor foals, then by the Mother, we are going to sing our hearts out!”

Torch Song gave Rarity a deadpan stare. “Now you’re laying it on thick.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac agreed.

Rarity cleared her throat and smoothed out her mane. “In any case, shall we get back to it? What shall we sing next?”

“Ooh, could we do Faust Rest Ye Merry Gentleponies? I like that one,” Fluttershy suggested.

“Any objections?” Rarity asked, looking around with a smile. When none came, she nodded. “Right then.” Taking out a pitch pipe, she blew a note, ringing clearly out into the frosty air. The other members of the church choir hummed in tune. As one, the group drew a breath and began:

“Faust rest ye merry gentleponies
Let nothing you dismay
Remember beloved Equestria
Was founded on this day
To save us from cold winter’s power
And guide us on our way
O, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!”

A donkey in a white winter jacket and a golden and blue scarf walked past, holding a suitcase in one hoof. This donkey had a dark brown coat and a full chocolate brown beard; his blue eyes squinted against the icy wind that whispered down the street. Passing by the Ponytones, he paused and dropped a few bits into the collection bucket, earning a thankful smile and wink from Rarity. He nodded back and walked on.

Why had he bothered with that? Josephus pondered just how much three bits would go towards whatever charity that choir represented, especially in a city like this. He grimaced and glanced down at a homeless beggar, a donkey like him with long, untidy gray hair and beard, sitting on the curb with his hoof extended out in pleading. Josephus noted with distaste the red needle marks on his foreleg and walked on.

He hated this city: Ponyville was a festering wound on the face of Equestria, a rotting fruit left on the sidewalk that nopony bothered to pick up, even though it reeked. He sometimes wondered why Celestia couldn’t just send an army down here to clean up the mess, but it wasn’t his place to question the Princess. It was his duty to go where she sent him, and if she sent him to the city of corruption and despair to pick up a message, then he would go there.

He paused at a curb, looking up and down the street. The sooner he could get back to Canterlot and to his wife and daughters, the better. He could still faintly hear the choir behind him:

“From three tribes come together
The Fire of Friendship born;
It sent away the windigoes
And brought a brand new morn
To ears of all the ponies
These glad messages were borne:
O, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy!
O, tidings of comfort and joy!”

Josephus sighed and decided that the white unicorn mare’s smile had goaded him into donating his bits. He checked his mental map and examined the street sign above him: if he was right, the train station was—

He froze, then looked away. That pony across the street; he was following him. He knew it; he’d seen that same windbreaker a half hour ago when he was leaving the shipyards with his message.

Panic flooded Josephus’ mind. What did he do? He struggled to remember his training. Don’t look at the pursuer! If they know you’re onto them, they’ll become even harder to shake! He looked away from the other pony, his frosted breath blowing clouds of frost into the air.

Lose them. He had to lose them. They had to be after his suitcase. He walked down a different street, away from the train station. He’d lose them in the alleys. He turned a corner, glanced behind to make sure that the other pony wasn’t behind him, then ducked into an alley.

The alley was small and badly lit. Bags of garbage sat on the stone, outside a side door to a Chineighse restaurant. Shivering and drawing his scarf closer, Josephus walked into the alley, skirting around the bags of garbage. The dirt and soot on the ground clung to his hooves as he walked. He noticed a wanted poster on the brick wall next to him: a tan unicorn with chestnut brown hair and black eyes stared at him from the photograph.

Shaking his head, he walked past the poster and down the alley. He’d cut through here, then double back to make sure he wasn’t being followed before heading to the station. He had lost him already; there was no way he…

Josephus’ heart froze in his chest. A griffon in a heavy trenchcoat and floppy black hat was approaching him. He glanced at the brownish beak, the gray-blue plumage, and the glaring brown eyes before focusing on the main threat: the Griffonese pistol in the mugger’s claw. The .38 revolver looked as big as a cannon on a battleship’s deck.

“Money. Jewelry. Suitcase. Now,” the griffon growled, his voice thick with a Thrussian accent.

Nodding numbly, Josephus reached into his jacket and extracted his bag of bits, tossing them at the ground at the mugger’s claws. The griffon snatched the bag up with a wing, never taking his eye nor his gun off his target.

Slowly, Josephus reached up with one hoof and unclasped the necklace with the silver wedding ring around his neck. He tossed this on the ground as well, silently begging Clarabelle for forgiveness. The griffon snatched this up as well, then gestured with his head. “Suitcase,” he grunted.

Josephus backed up, clutching the briefcase protectively to his chest. The Princess’ message was inside; being mugged was one thing, but how could he ever face the mistress of the sun again if he were to give up the message?

“Suitcase!” the griffon barked, jerking his gun towards him.

Josephus hesitated, his mind desperately spinning as he struggled to come up with a plan; in the distance, he could still faintly hear the choir:

“Now stoke the flames of friendship
All you within this place
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace:
Equestria and Hearth’s Warming
All quarrels doth deface
O, tidings of comfort and joy—”

He drew in a frosty breath in preparation to shout for help, but that quickly proved unnecessary, for the griffon’s claw twitched three times and three successive claps of thunder erupted from the weapon. Josephus’ body jerked with each impact; he felt as though he was being punched by a minotaur, the breath exploding from his chest.

His legs failed him and he tumbled back onto the cold, hard ground. The ice and snow seeped into his bones, chilling the blood in his veins. His slow, heavy breaths echoed in his head; the world turned gray and the sounds of the street, the distant cries of shock, and the heavy footfalls of the mugger became slurred, slowly sliding down his ears like molasses.

He tried to cry out, to call for help, but his throat was constricted: all that he could manage was some feeble gasps. Darkness slowly slipped over his vision like a falling curtain, and he faintly heard, from ten miles away, the approaching wail of a police cruiser.

“Clarabelle…” he whispered. And the darkness took him.

Author's Note:

It begins. The finale to Volume One starts here with a murder and a message. I hope you're looking forward to the conclusion of this story!

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Comments

[Enduring Man-Child]

I don't want to sound like a smart aleck, and realize that you might have chosen to rename her, but in the show the other mare in the Ponytones was named Torch Song.

::Sigh:: WHY do they always go down alleys? "Somebody suspicious is following me. I'll lose them by ducking into this small, unilluminated, grimy (and usually dead end) alley!" Honestly! I'm a country boy, and even I know to avoid alleys!

[The Bricklayer]

Okay, so the endgame is near, and boy... That's one way to begin a finale. (Also, love the chapter title. -Almost as good as "Blood on the Tracks" (Bob Dylan album)- Got me hooked soon as I read it.)

[Chayn]

8915263
You'd better.)

[ScopingLandscape]

I really like this chapter, doubly so when you have music in it, triply so when it is "God Rest Ye Marry Gentlemen".

[Titan Commander Sebaste]

Oh...shit...

[BirdsBooksBrownies]

8915222
First part of your comment, perhaps they picked up a new member? Second part, I know right?