Chapter 2: Inciting Incident
Deep Pockets sat in my dressing room's single chair, eyes wide in shock. His head lolled back at an impossible angle, with a spreading dark bruise at the center of his throat. Unsure of what to do, I opted for the extent of my medical knowledge.
I poked him.
The chair rotated slightly, and Deep Pockets slumped further into a boneless slouch. Yep. He was dead alright. For most ponies, the first instinct upon sight of a dead body is to panic. Lucky for me, I am an awful pony.
You see, I'm a craven coward at heart, and so my first thought on seeing the corpse was a relieved “better him than me.” You don't have to fly faster than the dragon, as the saying goes. It was the voice behind me, however, that nearly made me have a heart attack.
“Sentry? Thank Celestia it's you.” Carrot Top said, with uncharacteristic relief.
I blinked, and looked away from Deep Pockets' body, over to where Carrot Top was lurking just beyond the doorway, only now relaxing from a hoof-to-hoof combat stance. I glanced behind me, and then very slowly shut the door to my dressing room, as quietly as I could.
“What in blazes is going on here?” I kept my voice at a low, conspiring volume.
“He was like that when I got here.” Carrot Top said.
“Of course he was.” I nodded, already fitting the pieces together. “For the good of Equestria, I'm sure.”
Carrot Top's jaw dropped. “I didn't kill him.”
“Right.” I winked, and looked around. “I just wish you'd told me about this earlier. Now, where can we hide the body--”
“Sentry.” Carrot Top took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Listen. This isn't an op. I don't know what's going on here.”
Now that was enough for an all too familiar feel of impending horror burble up through my guts. Anything that could throw Special Agent Golden Harvest off her game was the sort of thing that would grind a cowardly buffoon like me up without so much as a second thought. Carrot Top must have seen my sudden, wide-eyed look of terror, because she let me go.
“I ... I see.” I managed. I skirted around the edge of my dressing room (between me, Carrot Top, and the corpse, the place was getting crowded) and rummaged out the bottle of emergency brandy I'd squirreled away. Be prepared, and all that. I unscrewed the top, gulped down a swig, and handed the bottle to Carrot Top, who did the same. “This ... this isn't anything we can't handle.” I said, even as the sweet and firey liquor slid into my belly. “We're professionals, right? Or, well, you're a professional and somehow I manage to keep up.”
And that was enough to make Carrot Top smile-- a lovely sight, and a welcome distraction from the dead body. She set the brandy bottle on top of a pile of scripts, and nodded. “Any ideas?”
“If we can get to the roof, I can carry you to the rail station-- should be easy to catch the next train to ... anywhere, really.”
“No.” Carrot Top shook her head. “We can't run. That'll just make us look guilty.” She shook her head. “Maybe ... maybe we just need to get away from the body, then let someone else find Mr. Pockets here, and then we'll have to ... “ she pulled in a seething breath, and grumbled. “Improvise.”
“Ah, I'm good at that part.”
“I know.” Carrot Top groaned.
“If I've learned anything from everything you've put me through, it's how to save my own skin. So just stay close, and we'll come out of this smelling like roses. Proverbially speaking, that is. We may need to escape through the sewers if things get really bad.”
“Dammit Sentry, that almost sounded encouraging.” She smiled, wanly, and headed for the door. “Now keep quiet, and maybe we can get downstairs without anypony--”
As Carrot Top eased the door open, we found ourselves staring at none other than Juniper Montage.
“Oh! Mister Sentry!” She chirped, enthusiastic. “My uncle sent me to--” she trailed off as she looked past me and Carrot Top, to Deep Pockets' limp body, still sprawled out in the dressing room's single chair.
Juniper screamed.
A theater is a study in chaos in the best of times-- throwing a dead producer into the mix is akin to tossing a dead fish into the workings of an enormous clock. Things get messy.
By the time Carrot Top and I bustled Juniper down the stairs, the whole theater was in an uproar. A small battalion's worth of extras and stage-hooves waited for us, with Canter Zoom at their head. I saw Spotlight along the periphery, looking just as befuddled as the rest of us.
“Juniper, are you alright?” He said, and I eased the frantic mare into her uncle's arms. “What happened?”
“It's Mr. Pockets!” Juniper sobbed. “He- he's ... “
“Dead.” I said, flatly. A murmur immediately rose up amongst the cast and crew. “He ... must have fallen and hit his head or something. Terribly rickety, these stairs.” It wasn't the greatest lie I'd ever told, but it did the job. “Carrot Top and I just found him like that, and then Miss Montage found us. We should probably summon the authorities.”
“Cutie Cue!” Canter Zoom called out with surprising authority. “Where's Cutie Cue?”
“Here, sir.” The stage manager elbowed her way up from the back of the crowd.
“We ... we do have emergency plans for this sort of thing, right?” Canter Zoom said.
“Already done, sir.” Cutie Cuetook a moment to listen to something on her radio headset, and then looked up. “I've already sent Marker Tape to get help-- they should be here soon.”
“Good.” Canter Zoom tightened his foreleg around Juniper Montage, protective. “As for the rest of you ... uh ... “
“Perhaps it would be best if the cast and crew stuck around to make statements?” Cutie Cue said.
“Yeah, that.” Canter Zoom said.
“Very good, sir.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Trixie waved a hoof above her head, and shoved her way through the crowd. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has a question?”
“What?” Canter Zoom said.
“We're still putting on the show, right?” Trixie said. “I mean, it's not like there's a ... curse on this show or anything, is there? You know, isn't that why they call this 'The Pegasus Play?*'”
*A common superstition of the time, likely inspired by the untimely disappearance of the real Flash Magnus. Alternately, for a more pedestrian explanation, it's worth noting that the number of scene changes and effects necessary for a 'proper' production of The Life and Times of Flash Magnus are enough to bankrupt a theater company that does not sell enough tickets.
Another murmur spread through the crowd.
“There's no such thing as a cursed play.” Canter Zoom grumbled. “Juniper and I will be in my office-- let me know as soon as the authorities get here. As for the rest of you, go do something ... productive. We've still got a show to put on.” And with that, Canter Zoom guided his still-sniffling niece away.
“You heard the pony!” Cutie Cue snapped out, and then pointed to two particularly burly stage-hooves. “You two, stay here, and make sure nopony gets into that dressing room.”
I frowned, murmuring to myself. “Damn, left my emergency brandy in there.”
Carrot Top elbowed me. I probably deserved it.
Less than half an hour later, the proper authorities showed up. There were grim-looking ponies with badges, and grimmer looking stretcher-bearers in white. But, at the center of it all was an incongruous sight. A little old earth pony mare with some kind of leaf for a cutie mark bustled about with a notebook and pen, chatting with one pony after another. With her cloche hat and her lace collar, the old biddy looked more suited for a Sunday game of bridge, rather than a police investigation.
“You must be Flash Sentry.” She said with a smile that showcased the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
“You seem to have the advantage of me, Miss--”
“Maple. Inspector Maple, if you're feeling official. But Miss Maple will do in a pinch.” She smiled up at me, all sweet and matronly. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Flash?”
“Oh, uh. Of course not.” I said.
“Wonderful! Canter Zoom's letting me use his office for the time being. Come with me, please?” It was the most politely any authority figure has asked me to do anything, which in turn made it the most intimidating time any authority figure has asked me to do anything. It was then I noted that Carrot Top had slipped off elsewhere without me so much as noticing. Good on her-- she knew how to keep a low profile. Admittedly, this often meant using me as a distraction, but I suppose I couldn't blame her, as I can be quite distracting.
Miss Maple ushered me into Canter Zoom's office, a windowless, closetlike room stuffed with shelves and filing cabinets, which in turn were stuffed with books and scripts and random bits of paper. Miss Maple sat primly in the chair behind Canter Zoom's desk, briefly taking a moment to tidy up some of the notebooks and receipts carpeting the desktop. She squinted at one particular reciept for a moment, and then laid it aside, turning her attention onto me.
“Now then, Flash-- how are you liking the theater?”
“Not as much as I thought I would, now.” I said, settling down into the rickety chair across from her.
“Mmmm, yes. You've had quite the career outside of drama, haven't you?”
“I'm a soldier, yes.”
“And quite a decorated one. There aren't many ponies brave enough to earn the Celestial Cross. Fewer still who aren't awarded it posthumously.”
“You've done your research, Inspector.” I said as levelly as I could. Even still, the back of my neck began to itch as I wondered just how much research she'd done. Just from the few minutes I'd met her, Miss Maple seemed like the canny sort-- would she be the one to see through my overinflated reputation and out me for the coward I was?
“I wouldn't say that. I've just heard bits and pieces in passing. Gossip is a vice of mine-- though useful in this line of work. Was it true that you really led the Charge of the Flight Brigade?*”
*See: Sentry at the Charge.
“I ... was there, yes.” I said, reflexively going for heroic humility. “But it was the Wonderbolts who carried the day.”
“Of course, of course. But they had to pin the medal on somepony, didn't they?” Miss Maple shook her head. “But, well, enough of that. I've got a lot of ponies to talk to-- standard procedure, of course. I understand you and you and Miss Top were the first ones to find Deep Pockets, yes?”
“Er, yes. Quite tragic.”
“And, well, forgive my bluntness, but what is the relationship between you and Miss Top?”
“We're, ah ... close.” I said, clearing my throat slightly.
“I see. “Miss Maple smiled like a kindly matron expecting grandchildren in the near future. “And you and Miss Top entered your dressing room at the same time?”
“Yes.” I lied. While having my own cowardice exposed in Miss Maple's investigation would be bad enough, I couldn't fathom what would happen if she found out Carrot Top was secretly Special Agent Golden Harvest.
“I see. And how did you find Mr. Pockets?”
“Dead.” I said, bluntly. “Quite dead.”
“I see. And you think he fell and broke his neck?”
“He must have. Somehow. I understand these theaters are terribly dangerous, after all. Accidents do happen.”
“Mmm. Yes. They do.” Miss Maple scribbled something down on her notepad, and then looked up at me. “Can I trust you, Flash Sentry?”
“Absolutely.” Another lie, but one I'd had plenty of practice at.
“Good. It is of the utmost importance you keep this a secret.” Miss Maple leaned across the desk. “I have reason to believe this was not an accident.”
“No?” I said, playing dumb.
“No.” Miss Maple said with a little sigh. “In fact, I have reason to believe Deep Pockets was murdered.”
“Murdered?” I did my best to sound incredulous.
“Quite thoroughly murdered, in fact. Based on my observation, Mr. Pockets' neck was broken by a single, quick strike to his throat.” She jabbed a dainty hoof at me, and I flinched, ever so slightly. “We'll have to wait for the autopsy to be certain, but I read about a case like this many years ago. To make such a precise, clean strike would not only require a pony in peak physical condition, but also one who's had the benefit of years of martial training. You wouldn't happen to know anyone like that, would you, Flash?” Miss Maple's matronly mien dissolved into a far steelier expression.
Over the years, I've faced every kind of ravenous monster you can think of, and quite a few more that you're best off not knowing. Yet, of all those horrific experiences, looking into Miss Maple's eyes was one of the most terrifying moments of my sordid career. This was a pony with purpose, not to mention years upon years of experience, meaning a shamming wretch like me wouldn't stand a chance.
I swallowed, finding my mouth suddenly very dry. “I ... couldn't say.”
“No?” Miss Maple arched a brow, and leaned back in her chair. Her flash of resolute determination switched back to her friendlier mask. “That is a pity. It seems I'm going to have to keep looking. Of course, if I were lazy, I could go for the simplest solution-- a battle hardened veteran of the Royal Guard, in a fit of passion, lashes out and kills another pony inside his dressing room.”
“What?” I sputtered. “I didn't-- I mean, I never-- I--”
Miss Maple held up a hoof, and I shut up.
“As I said, that is the lazy solution. It's too pat. After all, Deep Pockets is the one who put you in the theater to begin with. You've got no motive. Unless, of course, there's anything else I'm unaware of? Any arguments about money, perhaps? Or ... no, you wouldn't kill anyone over money.” She said it more to herself, than to me. “But ... a mare, perhaps? Jealousy can run deep in even the best of ponies.”
“I ... try to be a better pony than that.” I said, with not nearly as much conviction as I would have liked.
“Let's hope so.” Miss Maple flipped her little notebook shut, and walked over towards the door. “You're lucky I'm a perfectionist, Flash. A less meticulous detective would have you in shackles by now.” She opened up the door, and gestured for me to leave. “But do be a dear, and let me know if you can think of anything else, if you would.”
“Of course.” I stumbled over my hooves as I left, reining myself in from speeding away in a frantic dash.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Miss Maple said, as kindly as if she were asking for someone to help her across the street. “Would you send in Spotlight? I'm sure the loss of her husband's come as quite a shock. I'm sure the poor dear needs someone to talk to.”
I forced a grin. “Ah. Of course.”
“Wait! Nevermind--” Miss Maple craned her head up, looking down the hallway, to where Spotlight passed by, talking to Canter Zoom. “There she is. Take care!” And with a too-cheery wave, Miss Maple tottered off after the director and freshly-minted-widow.
“How did it go?” Carrot Top said, appearing from around a corner in her typically unobtrusive manner.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure Miss Maple was out of earshot, and looked back to Carrot Top. “We need to talk.”
With that, we ducked back into Canter Zoom's office. I shut the door behind me, and pulled the blinds shut. I closed my eyes to keep myself from looking at Carrot Top's hooves, lest I see telltale flecks of blood upon them.
“Carrot Top.” I said, very slowly, as I realized I'd just put myself in an enclosed room with the deadliest pony I'd ever met. “I just want you to know, if you did--”
“I didn't.” Carrot Top cut me off before I could finish. “I told you I didn't. Don't you trust me?”
“I do.” I slumped against the door, suddenly very, very tired. “That's what I'm afraid of. Miss Maple says that it was a trained killer that did Deep Pockets, and ... “ I trailed off.
“Sentry.” Carrot Top looked downward. “You need to know, I couldn't have killed him.”
“I've seen you in action. You certainly could.”
“No, you don't understand. There's a lot I can do with my bare hooves, but even I couldn't break a pony's neck as cleanly as Deep Pockets' was. To do that, you'd have to use a secret technique called the No-Shadow hoof. I've ... heard of it, but it's something beyond even my training.”
I blinked. “Wait, so you're saying--”
“Whoever killed Deep Pockets is a better fighter than I am.” She sounded almost embarrassed as she said it.
“Why didn't you tell me before?”
“There wasn't any time.” Carrot Top shook her head. “But now ... I don't know what to do.”
“I'll tell you what we need to do.” I delicately draped one hoof over Carrot Top's shoulders. “We're going to have to find out who the actual killer is, before Miss Maple starts piecing things together and throws the both of us in jail.”
“I could break us out.” Carrot Top said, by reflex.
Despite myself, I laughed, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “I know. But I'd rather not have to.”
Carrot Top smiled-- though this time, it was the sort of grim smirk she put on right before throwing herself into mortal danger (usually with me close in tow). “Alright, Sentry-- we need to get to work. You should talk to everypony you can, see what you can find out. I'll stay out of the way, and see what I can dig up myself. But whatever you do, don't confront the killer on your own. Just play dumb until we can get together and make a plan to bring them in.”
I thought back to the sight of Deep Pockets, sprawled out in my dressing-chair with a shattered neck. “I ... don't think that'll be a problem.”
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I think the obvious answer is Spotlight, being as she came on to Flash moments before the death was found, and my thought is she wanted to seduce him so she could accuse him of doing it. "It was a sordid affair, and when Canter found out, he obviously tried to fight Flash! Buy Flash, with his military training, killed him by accident! It was a crime of passion!" ..or something like that.
Obviously I'm drawing a conclusion too early, but without the rest of the facts... well, work off of what you got, right?
I see what you did there.
Accurate.
That, is bad.
Hey, he's alive, proof that it works.
Accurate.
Oh wow...
Wrinkles. Also, she's probably involved in all this.
Who knows.
Naturally.
Maybe, but while Flash is a coward, he's NOT that bad a guy.
Wonder if she's the killer? Spotlight, that is.
That's, intimidating.
HAH!
Most certainly it was a murder. Actually, forget that, it was an accident. Somepony WAS trying to kill him, but some piece of the stage got him first and the murderer-to-be just put him into his chair. I'd say it was his wife, trying to seduce Flash to put the blame on him, but that would be too obvious.
I think this is the first time I've seen Miss Marple adapted into a pony story, and it makes me kind of sad that it hadn't ever happened before. In any case, with murder most foul (and Equestrian) to investigate, just about anyone's a suspect. For now, my money's on secret ninja Juniper Montage.
Awww yeaaah! More FSP shenanigans. Let the nay sayers neigh, this stuff is awesome.
8679510
I agree. So far the evidence points towards Spotlight, specially the timing of her advances. That would too easy though, wouldn't it?
Maybe she is in cahoots with someone else? Perhaps an annoyed, abused, downright humiliated director who saw it fit to regain complete control of the production and protect his career? Maybe his mysteriously mobile niece for similar reasons, she's shown unusual skills already...
Let's face it though, it was probably the butler.
I'm very excited to be reading yet another installment in this series, and I look forward to the change of pace. I suppose it remains to be seen exactly how different this story will be compared to the others, considering how easy it would be to switch into the fast-paced adventures that the others contained, but the reference to Agatha Christie (and the classic discovery of a murdered pony) has me hopeful that the mystery elements will play a slightly larger roles than in the previous installments.
I eagerly await the next chapter.
Holy cow flash gordon, and miss marple references in the same story. Going to have to dig out the VCR I am pretty sure I still got some of that stuff on tape.
>.>
<.<
Anyone got a coax to hdmi adapter?
On the one hand, I adore scenarios where the protagonist is a suspect and the detectives hound them. As long as they're not really overly abusive about it, that is.
On the other hand, Miss Maple is probably too smart to suspect Flash for very long. Sentry isn't a good actor. He's leaving lots of tells, but they're not quite the right tells.
What do You mean by "The Pegasus Play"? Any human analogue, that exists in English, but not in Russian?
10657721
It's a Ponyfied reference to "The Scottish Play", aka "Shakespear's MacBeth". There's an old, old superstition amongst actors that actually using the name "Macbeth" whilst intending to perform in it brings bad luck, so they just call it "The Scottish Play". At least, that's the story I've always heard, I can't say if it's true.
The is a little old lady who solves mysteries as a hobby on the case? This is the point who ever is behind this should either give up and try to beg for mercy, or start running for it and hope to be in another jurisdiction before anypony catches up.
10927435
This is basically accurate. "Macbeth" is a play which is going by nature to be prone to causing accidental injuries or even deaths. (It also does come with the costs mentioned in the fictional analogue here, but they're not the major problem.) Either a little bit of carelessness or plain bad luck can result in a chain of near-misses (at best) over the course of a single production. Not too surprising there'd be a superstition about it.