Case Eleven, Chapter Six: Whatever Remains
Daring and Phillip trotted up to the mouth of the cobblestone pathway that branched off of Generosity Avenue and paused, staring at the mansion before them. Lord Trade Wind’s home was a great bluestone edifice, the purple curtains in every window drawn despite the pleasant early afternoon sunshine.
What attracted their attention, however, was the topiary bushes placed around the lawn. Each of them was carved in the shape of a monster, real or mythical: cockatrices, manticores, and chimeras stood amongst sirens, sphinxes, cipactli, and worse. Every single bush was trimmed to a surprising level of detail that made them look like they were ready to pounce upon them if they took another step forward.
“It’s a wonder anypony visits this place,” Daring commented, passing by a snarling ahuizotl that reached out to grab at her with its forepaws and the claw on its tail. She studied the bush for a moment, then flew up to face the leafy reconstruction of one of the fabled priests of the Old Gods. Sniggering to herself, she booped the beast upon its snarling snout.
“Admire the scenery later,” Phillip said, striding up to the door. Shooting a glance up at three large branches shaped like the heads of a hydra glaring down at him from over the roof, he rang the doorbell.
“Still think we should be working with Deck on Lock’s phone records,” he grumbled.
“He can do it himself, he said so,” Daring replied. “I just want to check this guy out: don’t you think it’s a bit too much of a coincidence that he takes the Kyaltratek out to read the day before it’s stolen?”
Phillip let out a grunt of reluctant agreement.
It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, the grand doors opened and a butler with a pristine uniform and a light brown mustache that looked like it had been trimmed with a slide rule opened the door. “Yes?” he asked, managing to look down his snout at Finder despite being a full head shorter than him.
“Detectives Finder and Do,” Phillip introduced them, holding out his PI license. “Is Lord Wind at home?”
The butler sniffled. “This no doubt has to do with the theft of that ghastly book. I can assure you, Lord Wind was not involved. Goodbye.” He started to close the door.
Phillip calmly stopped the door with a hoof. “Lord Wind can talk to us, or he can talk to the police. His choice,” he grunted.
The butler scowled at him for a few seconds, then sniffed disdainfully again. “Very well.” He opened the door wider to allow them entry.
The main hall was almost large enough to contain the entire first floor of 221 Honeybee. A line of portraits along one wall depicted the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Wind family, dating all the way back to the reign of Faust. Trade Wind’s portrait was near the end, with some room left on the wall for his descendants; the painting depicted a young unicorn stallion with a cloud white coat, curly blue mane, and light blue eyes lit up in a faint, welcoming smile.
On the opposite wall was the Wind family coat of arms: a quartered blue shield with clouds in the top left and bottom right quarters, a sun on the top-right quarter, and a crescent moon in the bottom left.
“Please wait here while I inform Lord Wind of your visit,” the butler sniffed, glaring at them like they were a pair of dust bunnies as he exited.
“Well, at least the help is accommodating,” Daring commented, studying the coat of arms on the wall. “‘Ex Ventis, Progressus.’ ‘From winds, progress.’ You know, we should get a coat of arms. Something with a cool motto.”
“And hang it where?” Phillip commented with a roll of his eyes.
The door opened and the butler reentered, looking even less pleased to see them. “Lord Wind will see you in the living room,” he declared with an icy reluctance in his tone. “Please follow me.”
He guided them through a foyer and through another set of double doors into a grandiose sitting room. The place looked like the wing of a museum: everywhere there were bookcases stocked to bursting with bound books, glass cases displaying rare tomes so old and ragged that looked like they’d fall apart if somepony so much as breathed on them, and strange artifacts like twisted daggers, necklaces with strange symbols, and idols of various gods and spirits. Hanging from one wall was a massive painting depicting the Seven Pillars of Equestria facing down three serpentine sirens, the valley between them consumed by a terrible battlefield.
Lord Wind himself was sprawled across one of the two large blue sofas that sat in the middle of the room. An ornate oak coffee table with a marble ashtray and a vase of blue flowers sat between them. As the visitors entered, he raised a cigar to his mouth and took a long, slow puff, smoke curling around his face in a strangely artful manner.
“Thank you, Michael,” the unicorn nodded to the butler, dismissing him with an idle wave. The butler let out a final sniff and trotted off.
“Milord,” Phillip greeted their host with a small bow that Daring mimicked.
“Detectives,” Lord Wind nodded back, gesturing to the other sofa. “Please, take a seat.”
“You have quite a collection,” Daring commented, passing her gaze across the exhibits as she sat down on the couch. Her eyes settled on what looked like a bronze dagger with a pair of metal wings winding around the blade. “Is that a Shambler’s Dagger?”
“It is,” Lord Wind nodded. “And I assure you, it’s real: I had it checked by three different experts. I’ve always had a taste for the strange and bizarre. When I learned that this dagger was on the market, I had to have it. Of course, fakes are very common, so I had to be certain that it was the true article.” He took another puff on his cigar (Queen of Neighmark, three thousand bits a cigar, Phillip identified the odor). “But you didn’t come here to admire my collection of the arcane. What brings you to my home?”
“I’m sure you heard the Kyaltratek was stolen from the Royal Archives last night,” Phillip stated.
“Yes, and I was very upset when I heard,” Lord Wind nodded. “I have been attempting to purchase it for years.”
“Why?” Daring asked, unable to resist her curiosity. “You know its reputation.”
“Of course,” Lord Wind said. “The spellbook is legendary: equally as legendary are the stories surrounding it of ponies driven to madness, unlocking the secrets to untold power but paying horrible prices for it…” An excited tingle ran through his body and he had to suppress a smile. “How could I resist it? But no, I would not steal it from the archives. I get all of my goods fairly.”
“If you just want it as a collector’s item, why did you take it out yesterday?” Phillip asked, standing up and striding over to a bookshelf. He began to peruse the shelves as if idly curious.
“I’d have imagined that a pair of your reputed erudition could figure it for yourselves,” Wind sniffed. “The Kyaltratek is a spellbook. Ergo, I read it to learn about spells.”
“What spell?” Daring asked.
“A theory regarding magical foci,” Lord Wind replied. “I’m sure it’s beyond your comprehension, but I assure you, it’s not anything of any real danger.”
“Uh-huh,” Daring commented. “So what did Scarlet Letter want with it?”
Lord Wind started, his eyes widening. “How did you—?”
“Those cigarettes are Prench brand, the same kind she smokes,” Daring nodded to the burnt cigarette butts lying in the ashtray. “I noticed in this morning’s paper that there was a rumor that she’d been spotted in Canterlot yesterday. And there’s a dark red hair on this couch that smells like her perfume.” She plucked the offending strand of mane from the back of the sofa cushion and held it up for examination.
“So the real question is, why are you covering for her?” she asked coldly.
Lord Wind swallowed and slowly placed the cigar into the ashtray. “Well, you see…” he stammered, then cleared his throat. “She came to me the night before: she knew that I was a fan of her novels, especially her most recent story, The Mistletoe Masquerade.”
Sure enough, Phillip spotted the mystery novel on the shelf that he was perusing. Taking it from the shelf, he opened it up and read the inscription on the inner cover: To a wonderful fan and friend. XOXO, Scarlet Letter.
“So she wanted you to read a specific section of the Kyaltratek for her,” Daring filled in. “What for?”
“She claimed it was research for her next novel, another mystery,” Wind said. “She could not access the Restricted Section herself, not having a membership, but I could. I got the section she wanted and transcribed it for her. She requested that I not tell anypony that she was here, due to harassment from the police and paparazzi...and you two.” He frowned at Daring. “I do not know what grudge you have against her, but you will not drag me into your feud with a fine young lady like her.”
Daring’s scowl burned deep into her face and she had to bite down a scathing explanation of what exactly her problem with a murderer and thief like Scarlet was. “And the sex was just a bonus?” she commented with a scowl. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that hickey on your neck.”
Lord Wind scowled. “What did you think to gain coming here?” he snarled, standing up.
“Information,” Phillip replied. “Needed to be sure if you were or were not involved in this, what your motive was for taking the Kyaltratek out yesterday.”
Wind took in a deep breath. “I see. You weren’t sure if it was a coincidence that I took it out the day before it was stolen.”
“Still not,” Phillip replied, taking a book from one of the shelves. He turned the large red volume over in his hooves to study the simple cover. “Anneigh Kareneigh. Isn’t that the book Lock had last night, Daring?”
“It was,” Daring confirmed, her heartbeat increasing a few paces. Was it really so easy?
Phillip gently pulled the cover off of the book and immediately frowned. The cover of the book was a simple dark reddish-brown color with no decorations except for the title and author’s name printed on the spine in golden lettering. He flipped the book open and read an excerpt. “‘He stepped down, trying not to look long after her, as though she were the sun…’” He shook his head and placed the cover back on it, replacing it on the shelf. “Not it.”
“I am cleared of suspicion, then?” Lord Wind asked.
“That depends. Where’s Scarlet?” Daring pressed, her scowl deepening
“She left hours ago,” Lord Wind shrugged. “I imagine that she is on her way back to Ponyville as we speak.”
“Damn,” Daring growled.
Lord Wind stood. “I think that it is time for you to take your leave, detectives.”
Phillip grunted in agreement and nodded to Daring. She looked like she might protest for a moment, but then let out a low snarl and rose. Michael reappeared as if summoned and led them outside, firmly shutting the door behind them.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Daring mumbled, grabbing Phillip beneath the forelegs and taking off.
“If he had the Kyaltratek, he’d be showing it off,” Phillip stated, wriggling in her grasp. “He sees that eldritch stuff as collector's items to show off. And he wouldn’t have bought a copy from some black market dealer who was lucky enough to hear a rumor.”
“Okay, you were right,” Daring rolled her eyes. “Feel free to say ‘I told you so.’”
“Daring, your hunches are often worth following up on,” Phillip comforted her. “And even I’m wrong from time to time: the Amulet is proof of that. You were just off the mark on this one. I’m not gonna knock you for making a mistake.”
“What do you think Scarlet wanted that section for?” Daring pondered.
“Nothing good,” Phillip replied, watching the colorful parade of ponies clad in expensive suits passing beneath them in the concrete and asphalt river that was Canterlot’s too-pristine streets. “Head back to the precinct, let’s see what Deck has come up with.”
Canterlot Precinct on One Guard Plaza was a grand marble twelve-story edifice, its cube-shaped design speaking of its pragmatism. However, the eye was brought instantly to the two-story-tall Canterlot Police shield in gold alloy that hung off the side of the building.
Daring and Phillip proceeded inside the lobby and stepped up to a free desk sergeant that sat behind a large marble desk. “Is Detective Stacked Deck here?” Phillip asked.
“You just missed him, detectives,” the sergeant replied. “He headed out, but his office is down that way.” He pointed down a separate hall.
Phillip and Daring proceeded down the hall, past several doors with names painted onto frosted glass windows. It took them a few minutes, but they eventually found the door with “Stacked Deck” painted on it. This door was slightly open.
“Well, if we’re working with him, then he should be sharing info with us,” Daring reasoned, pushing the door open. Phillip sighed and followed her.
Deck’s office was fairly small, with most of the room taken up by a wide desk. A single shelf up on the wall had three framed photographs set upon it. One showed Deck amidst his police academy graduation class, while another had him shaking hooves with the police commissioner, a detective’s shield around his neck. The final photograph showed Deck kissing a male griffon on the cheek, a smiling colt sprawled across their laps.
Scattered across the desk were several photographs and notes, spread out from inside a manila folder. Phillip strode up and started studying them.
“Notes from the Kyaltratek case,” he noted. He studied one photograph of a phone booth sitting on a street corner, then drawing a hoof down a list of phone records. One line on the records was circled in red.
“Looks like Lock was called by his contact from this phone booth on Kindness and Hope,” he said. "On the night of the fourteenth, four days ago, around five PM."
“Here's a surveillance crystal pic from Kindness,” Daring reported. "
Daring muttered, going through the notes. “Okay, transcript of Lock’s interrogation...he dropped the book off in a trash can just before it was collected by custodians. Definitely means that whoever hired him knew a lot about the Palace workings."
"And of course, there're no surveillance crystals nearby," Daring commented, searching through the notes. "Okay, do have some testimonies from taxi drivers. This one says that they picked up some dude in a dark blue hooded cloak from near Bluechapel and brought them to Kindness Street. And this other guy says that they picked up a unicorn in a hooded cloak on Kindness Street."
Phillip glanced over her shoulder at the testimony report. "Says that the pony had a gift bag with them. Interesting." Finding a map of Canterlot's streets on the desk, he started running a hoof across the street names.
"Wait, what’s this?” Daring held up a set of forensic reports for Phillip to read.
“Looks like Deck took trace evidence from the staff at the Archive,” Phillip said. “Including samples from their horseshoes. Smart.”
“And hey…” Daring added, looking at a forensic report attached to the phone booth picture. “Look at this. There’s a note about the phone booth; looks like some coal-tar creosote spilled on the ground near the booth from a truck a couple days ago.”
Phillip looked between the notes, then nodded. “I see. It was him.”
“I guess I owe Deck an apology,” Daring admitted. “He’s not as dumb as he looks.”
“Does he have an address here?” Phillip muttered, scanning through the notes. “Yeah, here it is. Let’s go!”
“Yeah, here it is. Let’s go!”
Many miles away, Zugzwang looked up, his horn aglow and his ears still buzzing as the voice sounded in his ears. He sat in the midst of a chalk circle written on the creaking wooden floor of the empty condo that he’d borrowed; the arcane pattern stretched around him for several feet, chalk lines twisting and turning like a spiderweb. Currently, the strands that pointed towards the northwest, towards Guard Plaza, were glowing with a faint golden aura that seemed to shimmer like silk in the wind as the eavesdropping spell worked its magic.
“So he took it,” he nodded, smiling down at the small bundle of black hairs that he’d surreptitiously collected many weeks ago: the smell of his liebling’s flesh, the softness of his forehead against his lips still brought an excited tingle to his spine. “An intriguing plan: I wish I’d thought of it.”
He paused for a moment as if listening to some distant voice, then scowled. "No, I agree, Bruder. I should've tried harder to actually get the Kyaltratek out of the Palace and away from that damned hallowed ground, especially if I'd known about the Amulet of Ina'yk sooner."
A longer pause, then he let out a hiss through his clenched teeth. "Of course we don't need her. We don't need any of them!" He glared down at his hooves: with a pair of clicks, the hidden spring-loaded blades snapped out from beneath the sleeves.
"Of course that's why she wants it: of course she's trying to circumvent me." He let out a dry laugh. "It's ironic, I suppose: I, the turncoat, get backstabbed in turn. But no." He smiled, turning the blades so that he could admire the burnished edges, the knives so sharp that looking at them almost seemed to cut his eyes.
"You're right. No more rivals. No more pretenders on the board." Zugzwang smiled broadly, breathing deep through his nostrils as he recalled his liebling’s scent and called up the tracking spell. “This game was only meant for two players."
“I found him for you,” Blue Rose had called. “And Ocellus says thank you.”
The call had interrupted Flash’s lunch break and sent him, Bumblebee, and Prowl off through the light afternoon rain to the Gold Griffon’s Head. The trio of officers paused outside the doors of the bar, staring at the entrance. Flash traced a hoof over one of the bullet pockmarks that still remained in the old, badly stained threshold.
“You sure about this?” Prowl growled, pulling her cap down lower so that the water would drip off the brim. “I doubt that they’ll be happy to see police in here again.”
“We gotta try,” Flash said, listening to the music of multiple voices and clinking cutlery that was audible through the door. “Rose said that Tang would be here.”
“I’m willing to wait for him to come out,” Bumblebee offered.
“Hey, Flash! What’s up?” a blue pegasus called, descending from the sky to land in front of the group.
“Dash, stay out of this,” Flash replied, gently pushing her back. “This is gonna be dangerous.’
“Hey, taking on Monopoly was dangerous!” Rainbow Dash snapped back. “If this is about keeping Twilight safe, then I’m going to help!”
“But—” Flash started to protest, then cut himself off when he looked into her hard violet eyes and realized that no argument would persuade her. Turning back to Prowl, he shrugged helplessly.
“C’mon,” Prowl sighed, opening the door.
The Head was packed pretty full for the lunch rush, dockworkers and construction griffons crowded around the bar and tables. The scent of body odor and cigarette smoke clashed with alcohol and undercooked meat. The clamor that they’d heard from outside silenced as soon as they entered; the head of every creature inside turned towards them. Three dozen shining griffon eyes locked onto them.
Prowl scowled and raised a hoof towards her holsters, but Flash raised a hoof, stopping her. Nopony moved for a moment as Flash slowly scanned the room. Not spotting his target, he slowly approached the bar. Bumblebee and Prowl entered behind him, instinctively spreading out to cover more of the room with their eyes and give any attackers multiple targets. Rainbow Dash followed Flash closely. As they trotted further into the room, there came the sound of scuffing chairs and stools in their wake as patrons scuttled towards the door like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Bottgilia stood waiting behind the bar, having paused in his wiping down the bar. Sitting atop one of the creaky stools was Mavri, who was currently nursing a bottle of spiced mead and speaking quietly to a younger blue griffon. The blue griffon scowled heavily at Flash as he approached the bar.
“We’re looking for Tangsoppa,” Flash said to Bottgilia.
There was a brief silence where the bartender studied Flash’s face for several seconds, then slowly turned to the wall behind him. Flash and Dash both followed Bottgilia’s gaze and identified his object of interest as a framed black and white photograph of the Head’s opening, with a penciled notation that it was taken in 1903.
Just visible behind it was a bullet hole, the wood around the circumference of the hole cracked and worn with time.
Bottgilia slowly turned around and faced Flash, sighing deeply.
“Bottgilia, don’t,” the blue griffon urged him. “You know what Whitestone will do to you if—”
“Gallus,” Bottgilia interrupted, turning to face Mavri. The older brown griffon stared evenly back at him over his glass.
“We’re all tired of being scared,” Bottgilia nodded, then turned to Flash and nodded towards the stairs in the back. “He’s upstairs. Room three.”
“Thank you,” Flash said, nodding to his partners. “Dash, you wait here at the bottom of the stairs,” he instructed. “Don’t let anyone else come up—”
But his instructions proved pointless a moment later, for a figure descended the stairs and stopped a few steps short of the ground floor. The dark green griffon in the faded rain jacket stared back at the three officers, the wrinkles around his sharp brown eyes deepening with surprise.
“Tangsoppa?” Prowl asked, stepping forward.
The griffon hesitated for a moment, then turned and started to run back up the stairs.
He didn’t make it two steps before a blur of colors streaked across the room and tackled him to the ground. Tangsoppa bellowed out a curse and started to wrestle with Rainbow Dash, his talons digging at her flesh. Flash sprinted up to help.
A griffon suddenly leaped from his stool and tackled Prowl, dragging her to the floor. “Stop them!” the griffon howled, trying to press Prowl’s head down. “If Whitestone learns we let them get away, she’ll have all our heads!”
Flash hesitated in a moment of confusion and paid for it when a pool cue cracked itself over his skull. His head ringing with pain, he turned and drew his nightstick in one motion, driving the short end into his attacker’s gut and drawing a grunt of surprise. A twist of his hips sent the other end snapping into his foe’s jaw and the thin griffon tumbled to the floor, out cold.
A glance over Flash’s shoulder revealed that Bumblebee was currently brawling with a donkey, the dockworker’s heavily tattooed arms bashing against Bee’s blocks like battering rams against a castle wall. The griffon that had tackled Prowl reeled away with a screech of pain, clutching his bloody foreleg; spitting blood, Prowl knocked him off with a back elbow strike.
Mavri threw Gallus over the bar, where Bottgilia grabbed him and pulled him down, covering him with a wing. The elder griffon then threw himself with a grunt of effort at the donkey fighting Bumblebee, sending them both to the floor. Another griffon hesitated, then threw himself at Bumblebee whilst most of the rest of the patrons streamed out the door in a retreating tide.
Refocusing, Flash turned back to Dash and Tangsoppa and gasped as the shining silver blade of a long knife stabbed towards Rainbow Dash. Dash, with a smoothness that indicated many repetitions of practice, sidestepped and slapped the attack aside with a wing. Seizing his wrist, Dash countered with an elbow to the face, but her followup knee strike was absorbed as Tang ducked and plowed into her. Dash grunted in pain as she was smashed against the wall, collapsing atop her foe in a pile of limbs.
The knife slashed again, narrowly missing flesh, and Flash brought his nightstick down with a bark of “Drop it!” Wrist bones smashed and the blade clattering to the floor mixed with Tang’s screech of pain. Diving atop the mess, Flash scrabbled and managed to seize Tang’s unbroken limb, locking it down with an arm bar. Rainbow Dash slithered atop Tang, her head facing towards his tail, and wrapped her forelegs around his neck in a guillotine choke. The griffon choked and sputtered, clawing and flailing and flapping his wings in a desperate bid to escape: it took Rainbow and Flash’s combined strength to keep him on the floor.
Finally, his struggling slowed, then ceased as he sagged in their grasp. Flash seized Rainbow’s shoulder and shook her; Dash’s violet eyes were blazing with fury, focused on Tang’s body, breathing through gritted teeth. “Dash, he’s tapped out,” Flash said, shaking her roughly. “That’s enough.”
Dash shook her head and released Tang, crawling off him. “Sorry,” she muttered, checking her bruised wing.
There was a sudden familiar crack of a .22 and Flash whirled around, drawing his own weapon and shoving Dash down with a wing.
“I got him!” Prowl declared, slamming the pistol-wielding griffon to the ground and kicking the pistol out of his reach as her own pistol snapped into his face. The griffon gulped and raised his forelegs in surrender. The donkey and griffon that Bumblebee had been fighting were now sitting hoofcuffed on the floor; Mavri was standing a few feet back, panting, while a battered and panting Bee trotted over to help Prowl cuff the pirate sympathizer. Gallus and Bottgilia tentatively peeked up over the bar.
“Did that hit anypony?” Prowl asked, not taking her eyes off of the disarmed griffon.
“I’m fine,” Bumblebee reported, pulling out a spare set of hoofcuffs.
Flash patted himself down, then quickly scanned Rainbow Dash for any bullet wounds. “We’re good,” he nodded. “Mavri, you—?”
He froze. Mavri was standing still, chest heaving, eyes unfocused. Slowly, he reached up and touched his chest. When he pulled his claw away, it was slick with dark blood that was now leaking earnestly from the .22 hole in his chest.
“Minchia,” Mavri grunted, and collapsed.
“Mavri!” Bottgilia cried in horror. Gallus vaulted over the bar and hurried to the elder griffon’s side, seizing a tablecloth and pressing it against his wound.
“Mavri?” Gallus pleaded as Mavri began sucking for air. “Mavri, stay with us.”
“This is Prowl, 10-52 at Gold Griffon’s Head,” Prowl reported into her radio as others began to gather around the wounded griffon. “One GSW and four perps cuffed. Hurry!”
Mavri hissed in a breath, closing his eyes and sucking in the air. “Gallus?” he winced.
“Don’t speak, Mavri,” Gallus replied, pressing down harder on the wound. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“You remember what I told you, when I met you in that alley?” Mavri grunted. “You with the blade to your wrist?”
Gallus gulped and nodded. “It’s okay to be afraid,” he whispered.
“But living in fear isn’t living,” Mavri added, reaching out feebly towards the younger griffon. Gallus gripped Mavri’s claw in his own and squeezed.
“You’re a strong lad, Gallus,” Mavri continued. “And there’s strength in numbers. There are good creatures out there: they’ll look out for you. Just look out for them, and yourself.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mavri,” Bottgilia urged, wrapping ripped bandages around Mavri’s slowly heaving chest. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“Bottgilia,” Mavri wheezed. “Take care of Gallus.”
“I will,” Bottgilia nodded. “He’ll be safe here.”
Mavri sighed and closed his eyes. “Tired,” he groaned.
“Mavri, stay with us,” Bottgilia called, lightly slapping his cheeks.
But the elder griffon didn't respond.
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....definitely a few changes in fates. Definitely.
cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/543226845139697665/648001776544645120/StarWars-TheLastJedi-2.jpg
Dun Dun DUN!!!!
Sorry couldn't help it. Loved that character though, may he fish for eternity.
Rest in peace Mavri, and enjoy your eternity of fishing.