Case Nine, Chapter Eleven: Rainfall
Thunder roared, shaking a sky that was now blanketed in dark gray clouds. A flicker of lightning dashed across the sky, causing all the ponies standing outside City Hall to flinch. The street had been cordoned off by police barricades, and like flies attracted by the malodor of carrion, reporters and curious bystanders were now flocking to the outside of the perimeter, watching as officers gathered at the bottom of the great marble steps. Amidst the gathered cruisers, a large gray truck with spinning red lights stood parked across both lanes of the street. Painted on the sides of the vehicle was “POLICE BOMB DISPOSAL UNIT.”
Pushing through the crowds gathered outside the barricades, Phillip raced up to the concrete steps, joining the assembly of officers. All of the officers, clutching their rainjackets against the rain and wind, looked up at Captain Hewn Oak, who was pacing atop the steps. Next to him stood a light reddish-orange unicorn mare with a long blonde mane, shivering in the rain and clutching her fedora down onto her head. Behind him, more officers were escorting a stream of ponies out of the doors, the civilians’ eyes wide with confusion as they saw the assembly of officers.
“The bomb we are searching for will be fairly large,” the captain was saying, looking them over like a general overseeing his troops. “Detective Matchstick estimates that based on the amount of napalm and explosives that must have been in the bomb, the device is approximately the size of a large book. Clearly, it’s not going to be too difficult to find, but we still need to work quickly.”
“Which is why we need to get in there, Captain, all due respect!” Matchstick shouted, squinting against the rain.
“Right,” Hewn Oak nodded. “We shall start in the basement and work our way up, searching from floor to ceiling. Leave no stone unturned! Let us move!”
The entire team moved forward, charging up the stairs to the doors of City Hall. Phillip followed the flow of officers up the stairs into City Hall. As he reached the top of the steps, another flicker of lightning raced across the sky, accompanied by a roar of thunder that sounded like the bellowing of some bygone deity. The rain increased, hammering down on the ponies beneath like bullets from hundreds of guns.
A gust of wind nearly blew Phillip’s trilby from his head and he jammed it back down with a hoof. Suunkii’s right. If mom were here, she’d say that the wandjina are pissed about something.
Phillip tested his injured foreleg and nodded grimly when he felt no pain across his shoulder. Grasping the knot of the sling in his teeth, he undid it, freeing his limb. The foreleg functioned perfectly, and he smiled briefly at being able to walk with all four legs again.
Hewn Oak shoved open the massive doors and they surged into the main hall like a single living organism, hoofsteps clopping loudly against the stone replica of the city seal: the only sound in the strangely, disturbingly empty building. “Doors to the basement are in the back, move!” the captain shouted, pointing.
The first officers to reach the doors in the very back pushed them open and they headed downstairs in single file, heading down a narrow set of wooden stairs that creaked in protest beneath their weight. Somepony slapped a light switch as they descended, allowing them to see.
When they reached the bottom floor, the officers found themselves in a massive storeroom. Hanging lamps illuminated shelves stuffed with cardboard boxes, sagging and groaning under the weight. Dust clung to nearly every surface, and the floor had not been waxed in years. Doors led to more storerooms.
“Aw, we gotta search all these?” one hippogriff officer groaned.
“Remind yourself what oath you took when you put on that badge, son,” Hewn Oak commented. “Sergeants, divide everypony up into teams and take up sectors.”
MacWillard pointed to several different officers, including Phillip. “All right, you lot, with me!” He led them through a side door into another storage room. This one was littered with cardboard boxes, so many that they covered the floor, leaving little room to walk around.
Phillip sighed. “This is gonna take a while.”
The rain continued to pour down as the hours passed, never relenting for a moment; the constant hammering of droplets against the rooftop and windows marked the movement of seconds.
The officers cleared the basement, and the first, second, third and fourth floors, with no sign of the bomb. The energy that had permeated the group had dissipated long ago and the officers trudged up to the fourth floor with slumped shoulders and heavy breaths.
“Almost to the end, brave warriors,” Captain Oak declared as he reached the top of the great stairs that wound up to the top floor.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and the bomb’s not here,” Matchstick commented, massaging the knees of her forelegs as she completed the climb.
“We still need to be sure,” Oak stated.
Phillip sighed and mopped some sweat from his brow. The gears turned slowly in his tired mind. If the bomb is here, then why hasn’t it gone off already? It’d have to have been here since yesterday at the latest; why’d he wait so long?
They reached the long marble hallway with the elevator next to them and the doorway to the Mayor’s office at the other end. Matchstick started scanning the wall and floor with her magic, casting a bright red beam like a spotlight across the stone. MacWillard and two other officers forced open the elevator doors and began searching the elevator shaft.
Phillip followed a few more officers into the reception area. A few officers peeled off from the group to start searching the receptionist room, turning over the desk and pulling back the carpet to get access to the floor. Phillip proceeded into the office with Hewn Oak and two other unicorn officers.
The office was bare, a thin layer of dust already forming on the desk. Rain streaked down the window; as soon as Phillip entered, another lightning strike lit up the sky and cast the room in strange shadows for a moment.
Phillip glanced up at the gray sky. Okay, wandjina, you’ve made your point.
“Right, you two lads start with the carpet,” Hewn Oak declared, proceeding to the desk. “Finder, start checking the ceiling.”
Taking a chair, Phillip started in the corner, lifting up the ceiling tile and peering inside with the aid of a flashlight and his hoof mirror. There was nothing within the ceiling compartment except dust bunnies and some wires.
The group proceeded to search the office, with other officers filtering in to aid them, but they found no trace of the bomb. Not in the desks, not beneath the floorboards or behind the portraits of past mayors, and not in the ceiling.
Matchstick shrugged her shoulders and wiped her brow. “Well, maybe he didn’t get a chance to plant it,” she sighed in relief.
“Indeed, the alicorns were looking down upon us favorably this day,” Hewn Oak nodded. “Come, let us return and give the all clear.”
The ponies started to trudge out the door. Phillip paused to cast his eyes over the room. The desk with its scattered items spilling out of the open drawers stood in one corner; the carpet was overturned and cut up to expose the floor. The door to the personal bathroom was partially cracked open.
Something made his stomach twist inside him, but he ignored it; exhaustion from the past hours overruled the strange warning he was getting. Shrugging with a sigh, he turned and headed for the door.
But as he reached the door, another crash of thunder roared against the window, and for some reason, this bade him turn around. And that’s when he saw a short golden tail inside the bathroom.
Ignoring Hewn Oak’s tail retreating out the main door, Phillip proceeded to the bathroom and pushed the door open with a creak. The blonde-maned unicorn officer inside looked up from the sink he was examining.
“Finder,” the officer nodded.
Phillip looked him over. The polished nametag on his shirt read “Goldenrod.” He was around thirty years old, with the cutie mark of a bouquet of golden flowers, and his uniform was firmly pressed and clean, uniform belt tightly buckled around his waist.
“You doing here, mate?” Phillip asked, his eyes panning up and down the officer’s body.
“Just making one last check of the bathroom,” Goldenrod said, walking around Finder. “Can’t ever be too sure, right? Nothing in there, though. C’mon, let’s just get outta here.”
“You buggered?” Phillip asked.
“Been working since shift change,” Goldenrod grumbled, heading for the door of the office. “I need a big, cold lager.”
But as Goldenrod reached the door, he heard a click behind him and froze. Slowly turning, he saw Phillip aiming a revolver at his head.
“Nice try, Zugzwang,” Phillip grunted, his eyes narrowed.
Goldenrod stared for a moment, then a smile lit up his face. His horn lit up with a golden glow and the illusion spell faded away; the blonde mane turned to dark brown, the coat lightened into a tan, and the pupils seemed to grow to cover the blue until all was black. The sight of Zugzwang in a police uniform made Phillip’s stomach curdle.
“Liebling,” Zugzwang purred, his tail swishing from side to side like a contented cat. “What gave me away?”
“Your shoes,” Phillip answered, keeping the gun trained on him. “Said you were on since shift change at one-thirty. Shoes are perfectly polished, still shiny. They’d be scuffed by now, it’s almost five.”
Zugzwang giggled; it sounded like bones rattling in the wind. “Oh, I should’ve known you’d notice something like that, Phillip,” he breathed. “You solved my little puzzle.” He giggled again, doing a little dance in place like an excited foal. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me, to have an equal!”
“Ride that all the way to prison,” Phillip snarled. “Oak, get in here!”
But as the shout left his throat, a spell fired from Zugzwang’s horn, the time between preparation and casting a mere half of an eyeblink. Phillip’s pistol was yanked to one side, tugged from his grasp. At the same moment, a golden shield blossomed around the door, blocking any entrance.
His smile broadening, Zugzwang fired another spell at Phillip. The golden light of the projectile reflected in the black irides of his gaze as it streaked towards its target.
Time seemed to slow for Phillip; he focused upon the beam headed towards his chest, thoughts racing across his mind between the beats of his heart. No room to dodge, no time to duck. He was going to get hit.
The ward. The image of the magical symbol that Twilight had burned into his vest flashed before Phillip’s mind.
“A special word or phrase,” Twilight’s words echoed inside his skull. “Something meaningful to you….you have to believe, wholly and completely, that it will work.”
The rain tapped against the window, and his mind went once again to the wandjina. He’d grown up on the stories of his mother’s native ancestors, and chief among her legends, the ones that had stayed with him, were the stories of the wandjina, creator spirits who brought the rain to ensure that the crops would grow, and thunder and lightning to scare away wicked spirits.
This will work, he told himself, a spark of will, of fury, growing in his chest. Twilight made this spell; it definitely will work.
The castfire was mere inches away now. He glared at Zugzwang and drew in air. The spark inside him grew into a fire, blazing its way up from his gut to his throat, and he let out the air in a roar like thunder.
“WANDJINA!”
The destructive spell raced towards him; but just an inch away from his flesh, the golden light seemed to strike an invisible wall, splashing around a bubble in the air before him.
A thrill of excitement rushed down Phillip’s spine at the success, and he charged towards the unicorn, his right hoof going to a pocket in his vest and drawing his baton with a snap of his wrist. Zugzwang had frozen in disbelief, the smile replaced by slack-jawed confusion. Phillip could read his thoughts in his wide black eyes: “Oh, scheisse.”
And then his baton was crashing into Zugzwang’s jaw, and Phillip was smiling as he followed up with an elbow strike, relishing the sound and sensation of bones fracturing and teeth grinding beneath his blows. Zugzwang reeled away, trying to escape, and Phillip moved with him. Locking his baton around the back of Zugzwang’s neck, he drove his knees into the unicorn’s stomach and ribs, shouting with every blow that knocked the wind from his foe’s lungs. The golden aura blocking the door flickered as Zugzwang’s concentration on his spell wavered; hooves hammered against the wood, muffled voices shouting from outside.
Suddenly, Zugzwang braced off the back wall and charged into Phillip, his shoulder driving into his chest. Phillip grunted and planted his hooves, but a blow hammered into his kidney and he cried out as agony raced up his side.
Zugzwang slipped from his grasp and looped his forelegs around the back of Phillip’s knees. Before he could react, Phillip was toppling backward and he slammed into the carpeted floor.
Exhale, roll with it. Just like he’d practiced a thousand times before. Kicking his leg loose, Phillip tumbled away from Zugzwang, popping back to his hooves. A flurry of offensive spells rocketed towards him, each golden sphere giving off a deep, angry hum like enormous bees.
“Wandjina!” he shouted again, and the spells hammered into his shield like punches from a minotaur, pushing him back a few inches.
Zugzwang backed away, his eyes still wide, and his horn glowed with a golden aura, sparks and lightning bursting from the tip.
“No!” Phillip shouted, charging forward just as Zugzwang’s horn flared. He dived into the midst of the golden light and his hooves found flesh just as the light surrounded them both.
A moment later, both stallions had disappeared from the room.
“They’re both gone!” Hewn Oak cried, peering through the doorknob. “We must get through this door!”
Matchstick fired another spell at the golden aura, but her scarlet beam only bounced off. “Ugh, no fucking use!” she grunted. “You think somepony could go get Twilight?”
“There’s no time!” Hewn Oak cried. He peered into the keyhole again. “Wait...there’s a window that’s not covered! MacWillard!”
“On it, sir!” MacWillard shouted, grasping Matchstick from underneath the forelegs and shooting out of the hallway with a blur of feathers.
“Hey!” Matchstick cried in protest as MacWillard flew into the stair landing, wriggling within his grasp. “Put me down!”
“You planning on getting a ladder?” MacWillard deadpanned.
“It had crossed my mind!” Matchstick snapped. “It’d be preferable to your claws digging into my skin! And seriously, get a mint!”
“Just open the damn window,” MacWillard grunted, nodding at the rain-streaked window before them.
Scowling, Matchstick opened the window with a flicker of her horn and MacWillard carried her outside, where the wind and rain assaulted them both.
“You know, this was the one day I forgot to pack my umbrella,” Matchstick grumbled as they flew around to the other side of the building. Reaching the window that led into the Mayoral office, Matchstick opened it up with another spell and they swung inside.
“Okay,” Matchstick nodded, lighting up her horn. The crimson spotlight once again painted the walls as she searched the area. As her horn passed over the bathroom, a golden glow shone from within the room.
“There it is,” she declared, proceeding into the bathroom. The glow was coming from the tank of the toilet. Frowning in thought, Matchstick tilted her head from side to side for a moment, then slowly lifted the top of the tank off.
Inside, sitting inside the water, was the bomb, planted by the disguised Zugzwang once the others had their backs turned. It was a crude construction, consisting of a couple of quarter sticks of dynamite bundled together and bound to a cheap silver pocketwatch. Attached to the dynamite via a pair of wires was a pair of glass jars filled with a thick black liquid. More wires rigged it to the flapper valve.
“Looks like this is set to go off after the Mayor flushes,” Matchstick observed. “That’s genius. Also horrifying, and kinda darkly funny.”
“Can you disarm it?” MacWillard asked, shifting nervously as he stood in the doorway.
“Please,” Matchstick rolled her eyes. “A kid could take this apart. It’ll be easy--”
Suddenly, the pocketwatch attached to the bomb glowed, and the hands began to move on their own, rotating around to stop at three minutes to twelve. A muffled ticking sounded from within.
“Uh-oh,” Matchstick muttered and grabbed a multitool from her pocket. “This would be a good time for y’all to run.”
MacWillard didn’t need to be told twice.
Phillip had teleported before, with other unicorn officers. It had never been a comfortable experience: being teleported felt like being forced down a narrow tunnel that twisted and turned violently, filled with steam and crackling lightning. He was vaguely aware of golden light blurring across his face, but he was clutching Zugzwang, forelegs tight around his barrel, and he refused to let go.
He heard Zugzwang scream in frustration, felt him wrench against his grasp, and then they were both falling, spinning downwards. The golden light vanished, and he crashed down onto wet stone with a grunt, forcing himself to roll away.
Gasping for air, Phillip looked around. The first thing that arrested his vision was a massive bronze bell, hanging from a great belfry. Rain and wind kissed his skin, and the stone was slick beneath his hooves. It took a moment, but he realized that he was standing at the top of City Hall’s clocktower, four stone arches exposing the great bell, a short wall a token attempt to prevent workers from falling off.
Hearing movement behind him, Phillip turned to see Zugzwang laying on the ground. In his hoof was a silver stopwatch, which was glowing with a faint golden power. Zugzwang was turning the crown of the watch, the hands turning rapidly towards twelve.
Something told Phillip he didn’t want that to happen and he charged. With an instinctive gesture, he seized his boomerang out of his pocket and tossed it at Zugzwang’s foreleg. The weapon struck Zugzwang’s wrist, knocking the watch from his grasp and sending it skittering across the stone, faceup: it was stuck at three minutes to twelve.
A moment later, his hoof crashed into Zugzwang’s jaw and the unicorn was rolling over, limbs flopping like dead fish. Phillip lunged for the foreleg, trying to grasp the limb to pin him down.
A metallic snick sounded in his ears and he jumped back just as the spring-loaded blade beneath Zugzwang’s sleeve lunged at his leg.
Grunting, Zugzwang rolled away, tumbling beneath the bell, and popped back to his hooves, horn already glowing gold. Phillip leaped to the side, tumbling head over tail as the heat and static of the spell missed him by inches.
“Stay still!” Zugzwang snapped, firing another spell at him. Phillip ducked, the spell missing by several inches, and sprinted forward, sliding beneath the bell.
And then he heard the spell bounce off the arch behind him with a hissing sound and felt it streaking towards him. He ducked just in time; the ricocheting spell burnt off the mane on the back of his neck and then struck the inside of the bell, causing the entire bell to resound with a low rumble.
The sound of hoofsteps alerted him and he raised a foreleg. Bone smashed against bone as his block deflected Zugzwang's punch and he thrust forward. Phillip's forehead crashed into Zugzwang’s nose, and he relished the feeling of warm blood running down his face, the sharp bark of Zugzwang’s cry.
Striking Zugzwang’s side with the baton, Phillip lunged back, dodging another wild swing of the blade that seemed to cleave the raindrops in half. He seized Zugzwang’s wrist with an iron grip, then stuck out his left hind leg and pivoted around on his right hoof.
Zugzwang grunted in surprise as he tripped over Phillip’s leg and his eyes widened as he realized he was hurtling helplessly towards the bell. He crashed into the metal and the entire bell let out a reverberation that echoed in both stallions’ heads.
Pushing through the pain, Zugzwang jerked his elbow back. Phillip ducked to avoid the blow, stumbling over his hooves, shaking his head, and Zugzwang bucked him in the gut. Phillip’s baton smacked down onto Zugzwang’s limb, but his hoof still rammed into Phillip's flesh, and Phillip grunted in pain, stumbling back.
With a shout, Zugzwang fired a golden cannonball from his horn. “Wandji--!” Phillip cried again, but the spell slammed into his half-formed shield, sending him rolling across the slick concrete, wheezing.
Turning, Zugzwang spotted the watch again. Grinning, he seized it in his magic and pulled it towards his extended hoof. Just a simple turn and he’d be able to get something out of this escapade…
And then something whistled past his ear and struck the watch, sending it flying over the edge of the clocktower and down to the ground below. The boomerang arced around towards his head, and Zugzwang shot it out of the sky in a burst of golden fire.
But then a baton smashed into the crown of his head again and a hoof impacted against his jaw, sending him tumbling.
Phillip fell onto Zugzwang in a rain of blows, his baton, hooves, elbows, knees, and head all ramming into the bastard’s flesh. The unicorn tried to defend himself, but Phillip blocked most of his attacks, and the few that slipped past his defenses, he barely noticed, adrenaline and rage blocking out what little pain he should have registered. Whenever Zugzwang tried to pull away, he moved with him; letting his foe get an ounce of breathing room could mean his end.
He hit Zugzwang with a hook to the jaw and his target reeled away. Phillip lunged forward, raising his baton for the finishing blow, but then his hoof skidded on a puddle and he cried out as his balance was yanked away from him, arms flailing.
The knife blade lunged at his face, and he tried to pull away, but too slow; fire spread across his face as the blade pierced his cheek. Sneering, Zugzwang drove a body blow into Phillip’s gut and the wind rushed out of his lungs as his balance failed completely. Phillip tucked into a backward roll, tumbling over the wet concrete and seizing the wall to haul himself back up. He looked up to see black eyes glaring at him from three feet away, golden light reflecting in the pools.
Dodge!
Flinging his forelegs upward, Phillip jumped back into the air, tucking his hind knees up to his chest and spinning into a backflip as a wave of scorching heat passed by inches beneath him. His hat tumbled off his head, flopping on the stone. As he whirled through the air, his hoof snatched an interior pocket of his vest, seizing a small ball of tinfoil.
The unicorn came into view, spinning down from the top of his vision, horn glowing as he charged up another spell. Phillip threw the smoke bomb he’d snatched. The bomb struck Zugzwang in the chest, detonating in a cloud of smoke. Zugzwang reeled back with a roar of fury and confusion, coughing on the fumes.
Phillip landed on the wall, caught his balance as the winds threatened to yank him off the tower, then leaped, soaring towards his blinded target. As he reached the apex of his jump, Zugzwang looked up and his eyes met Phillip’s.
Time seemed to pause for just a moment around him. Lightning flashed behind Phillip and a thunderclap sounded like the roar of a dozen enraged beasts. Phillip looked down at the bastard who’d threatened his friends, who’d murdered good ponies and taunted him for a laugh, and saw a beautiful sight: an expression of wide-eyed fear frozen on the unicorn’s face.
An ecstatic yell rushed out of his grinning mouth and Phillip swung the baton down with both hooves towards Zugzwang’s skull.
But just before the impact, there was a flash of golden light and Zugzwang vanished. Phillip crashed down onto the stone with a grunt, looking around in fury. Through the rain, he caught a brief glimpse of a flash of golden light on a nearby rooftop, but it vanished a moment later.
“Fuck!” he shouted, stamping his hind hoof. Growling, he closed the baton and replaced it in his pocket. He paused, breathing heavily until his heart rate slowed; the rain pattering against his skin seemed to calm the fires within him, washing away the blood on his face.
Stooping, Phillip retrieved his trilby and replaced it on his head. He glanced down at the vest and smiled briefly. “Thanks, Twilight,” he said quietly. A low rumble of thunder from the sky seemed to answer him.
Finding the trapdoor that led back inside, Phillip kicked it open, then grasped the ladder and slid back down inside.
Panting and huffing through their helmets, a pair of stallions adorned in heavy body armor jogged up the stairs of City Hall. The mass of tools and equipment they had strapped to their belts and chest webs jangled and rang with every step.
Sweat streaking down their faces, the bomb disposal ponies finally reached the top floor. A final jog brought them to the door, which no longer had the golden aura blocking it. The lead pony shoved through it with his shoulder. The stallions entered the office and paused.
Matchstick stood in front of them, grinning broadly and carrying a stopwatch and a stick of dynamite bundled together with wires in her magic.
“I’d be careful with the napalm,” she remarked, plucking the blasting cap from the stick of dynamite and dropping the disarmed explosive on the floor as she walked past her colleagues. “Water won’t stop that stuff from going off if you’re not careful. Neither of you are smokers, right? Good. I need a cig.”
And with that, she trotted down the stairs, leaving her dumbfounded colleagues staring after her.
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Now that... was awesome. For such a long-awaited confrontation, worth the wait.
Awesome chapter. Amazing fight scene.
So it was a double bluff. Luckily Philip has got friends on the other side
Also, we get to see how much magic depends on will. Zungwang had been able to hold down the entire team with his telekinesis - but here he lost control of the events, and with his confidence gone, he is just a very strong unicorn.
What happened to Philip's bumerang?
9617093
Zugzwang vaporized it. Don't worry, Phil's got more.
And yes, will is a massive part of magic. I've always tried to emphasize the fact that Zugzwang relies very heavily on magic to win: with that advantage taken away from him here, he's left dealing with an enemy who's faster, stronger, tougher, and more experienced and skilled at H2H than him.
9616756
Thank you!
9617110
oh? with the mental link Phil had with it, I though it was a one of a kind personal item. (and then we find out that AJ has a closet full of identical hats)
9617155
Nah, he can create others and form bonds with them.
That is bloody genius. Hide it in the bathroom. Is this a metaphor for something!?
Also, amazing fight scene, it was a thrilling read.
Also, are we going to see more of Scarlet Letter?
9617618
Just wait and see.
Don't let up Phillip, but don't get greedy either.