The Runaway Bodyguard

by scifipony

Chapter 51 — Pony of Mystery

After my morning run and back at the boarding house breakfast table, I found myself still irritated by the smooth talker. The mares kept their distance and their tongues. On the other hoof, I got four further assignments one after another that took me all over the outskirts of Baltimare. I couldn't complain. I could afford to buy lots of nice new furniture, and I spent every last bit. Between Broomhill Dare's working with me on my magical incompetencies and a C.A.-provided instructor who liked that I could now get Force to work, even if only at least once in any session, I felt I was on a roll.

Then came my fifth assignment.

It was the most far afield, yet. The first not to involve Baltimare at all. I'd pickup up a pony of mystery who'd arrive via skiff on Cliffwood Beach. That was across Rarity Bay from Hooflyn. I'd escort him through the Cheesequake Park to the Cranberry Junction railway depot, southeast of Prancetown.

I got to request my team. I chose Citron as my second, with Crystal "The Knife" Skies and Pig Pen as muscle. I liked ponies that could think; I'd worked with too many that relied on gut or emotion. For whatever reason, none could meet me before dawn on the appointed day, at the outlet to Whale Creek and the west end of the beach. I suspected Citron at least would be studying maps of the area surrounding our meetup. I had no choice to research everything myself while planning how to brief the team on the necessary little details just before the pick up.

Not a pain in the flank—a challenge. Keep thinking that, Aurora.

I camped the evening before beside a couple of homeless ponies in the Veteran Memorial Park, sharing bargain last-week quarter-bale of hay I brought, a rubbish can fire, and the homeless pony security system. I slept well and hustled to the outlet from Whale Creek as the first light seeped over the oceanic horizon on a beautiful clear day. The wood and gravel path through the park had been well kept. I saw a nice boardwalk to my west, crossing Rarity Beach, and some early ponies jogging on it. Trees to my right concealed some expensive whitewashed grey-trimmed beach houses, but they were far enough away I doubted anypony would notice us, or care. The ocean lapped lazily up and down dark sand beach, hissing and roaring loud enough to conceal any casual sound.

Orange sunlight hit the tops of the Hooflyn Bridge across the bay, and a couple of tall spires in Manehatten a few leagues beyond that. My mouth dropped open. Over the next minute, the grey-blue opposite shoreline and dark rectangular silhouettes of tall buildings burst into luminous liquid color. Light sparkled off of windows. Waves rolling on the ocean suddenly turned blue, throwing enough glints and glimmers to make me squint.

I gasped when I heard hooves in the sand, jumping around with Push instantaneously queued. Citron wore a greyrunning suit, but it was hard not to be blinded by the yellow fur of his neck and face.

He wore a deep scowl as an accessory. He looked around with the whites of his eyes more visible that usual and his ears plastered forward.

"What the Tartarus, Grimoire? A homie banged on my Mom's door at midnight, telling me to meet you here."

A chill went down my back, setting my tail a-swish. "That's odd."

"Yes, odd. Mom didn't like the look of da dude. I keep my hobby on da down low and need ta know."

"I asked for you a week ago, if that's any consolation."

He gave me a spooked look, which I returned. We nodded at each other, both shooting a look to the boardwalk where a sharp-winged blue pegasus landed beside a brown earth pony who had been sipping some coffee. He took the paper cup from him with a curled wing and downed it. They began walking our direction as the wind started blowing. The ponies' bangs blew across their eyes. Mine did, too.

"Gangs all here," I said, waving.

Pig Pen had circles under his eyes; even his chain jangled lackadaisically. Crystal Skies had his usual cool above-the-fray attitude that made him hard to read.

I pursed my lips before asking, "I suppose you just learned about the job last night?"

"This morning," Crystal Skies said. "3:21 AM, actually."

"We were together on vacation in a hotel in Hooflyn, having—" Pig Pen added, before the pegasus swatted him upside the head with a wing.

"Hey!"

"Hay is for breakfast, earth pony."

"We?" He looked from him, to me, to him again. "I meant to say I was on vacation."

Crystal Skies sighed. "We weren't getting any sleep anyway."

Pig Pen grinned up at Crystal Skies before his friend swatted him again.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his ear gingerly, checking for feather cuts. "We barely caught the 4 AM at Pen Station or Knifey would have had to fly here and give my excuses."

I said, "Something stupid happened."

"That's saying a mouthful."

"Not optimal," I continued. "I don't suppose anypony beside me knows anything about the terrain between here and Cranberry Junction."

I drew blank stares.

"Prancetown?"

Pig Pen said, "I visited a cousin who had a dorm there, once."

"Tartarus," Citron swore, and we all nodded.

As I led us south to Clifftown beach, I recited the roads that led to the railroad depot and levitated over a full fare train pass to each pony. If one of us delivered the pony of mystery to any depot, he or she could be hustled aboard. I sketched out the path I'd planned through the various townships and parks, using the byways I'd researched. I never took maps with me. Best not to leave clues if we got waylaid. Such things happened, had been made to have happened—the memory of the corrupt detective, Mr. Nopony, and a shootout making my hide tick. I told Citron to buy a map if we got separated, nevertheless, as the route was way too difficult for him to remember without having studied it ahead of time. No time for perfect when good-enough would do.

I spotted a rowboat at the crest of the sea grass berm of the beach. Surf and wind had partially erased the drag track from the water's edge. It could be no more than an hour old.

"Watchers?" I murmured.

"On it," Crystal Skies said, a blue feather fluttering down as he whooshed upward. My companions moved away from my side to frustrate any pony targeting us.

Citron said, "Five pony lengths south on the berm." The shadow in the grass lifted a hoof. "I'll check it out," he added, a yellow aura faint in the dawn light pulsed around his horn.

Ears rotated forward, I heard, "Do you think it snows here much?" The offbeat weather reference was a pass phrase.

Pig Pen who had stopped ahead of me, looking the way we came, asked, "You really trust your friend, don't you."

"Friendship is a delusion," I replied. "Don't confuse it with work."

"Um— I mean, Citron is kind of young. He's grown hoof-lengths in the few months I've know him."

"How old do you think I am?"

The brown stallion blinked, pushed up his lips thoughtfully. "Twenty, maybe?"

"Flatterer. He's trainable. His family situation, not unlike mine, may have matured him. I trust him as much as I would anypony."

"Not much?"

"Based on performance."

Citron trotted up behind a pony with definite Saddle Arabian ancestry. Tall. Fine boned. He wore a hooded full cloak not unlike mine. With my costuming background, I spotted the bad indigo-blue dye job from the stains on his hooves where it had dripped from his shaggy fetlocks. What little mane poked out, turquoise and blue, made me think wig. His tail matched, but looked too long for a stallion. Probably hair-pieces that only mares wore. The hood hid his face up to his muzzle, safeguarding his identity, which I appreciated. No need to have answers to questions that might later be asked. The taut peak confirmed he was a unicorn, however.

I said, "You are Turquoise, Turk if I need to pretend we're close. Let's say we are new exercise buddies on a long hike. If anypony says "Down!," you duck and cover. If anypony says "Run!," you follow us at a gallop, or, if you lose us, you keep running, then hide. Stay in the middle. No small talk. Understand?"

I got a curt nod.

Well, that was refreshing. He didn't look at all nervous and he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

"Are we protecting you from the good guys or the bad guys?"

"Both," he said in a voice so breathy I suspected it was really a loud whisper. Was that a grin?

"Sheesh," said Crystal Skies as he landed, sounding crestfallen. "Nopony's paying us any attention."

I took a moment to share some gum I had chewed, eliciting an odd look from Turk when I did. I then led to the south end of the beach. Knifey did as he was wont, hovering, going up, circling, then returning to trot beside us, repeating. Were he to dive unexpectedly, that would indicate company.

We trotted along a short boardwalk, then cut through the Veteran's Memorial Park. I approached the panhandler at the entrance. I'd talked to and slept next to him. I floated two dozen coppers into the scruffy red-furred blond fellow's tin cup and said in passing, "Git yah'self a snoot full oy grub. Do i'now."

As our hooves hit the cobbles, I heard, "Aye aye, Capt'n."

We took Lakeshore. The ruffian saluted when I glanced back to see him taking Greenwood, ensuring there were no immediate witnesses to our passing waiting to be questioned.

We kept to residential streets in a tree-filled, almost park-like setting. That left us exposed to early risers looking out their front windows, but only for 20 minutes before we trotted under the trees in Cheesequake Provincial Park. I knew which trails to take to keep us hidden for the the maximum amount possible before we were forced to use main roads, and eventually to take a public bus or two if it became clear walking was too much for our charge or I thought we might have been seen.

Turk said, "We can stop here."

I whinnied and stopped. Everypony stopped. Crystal Skies swooped down from a tree branch, immediately wary.

He had fully voiced his command; he hadn't whispered it. I recognized his voice instantly.

"Safe!" I almost shouted. "You horse's flank!"

He lowered his hood, revealing his scarred jaw line and his blue eyes. A fake unicorn horn on a blue headband slid off, too. "Safe is my work name, everypony. For the record, not an adjective or a noun." He winked at me and smiled.

"You know this horse's flank, Grimoire?" asked Crystal Skies.

"More like threatened to break his handsome face if I saw him again," I growled, stepping forward on three-legs, hoof raised.

"Gangsta move," said Citron, horn alight in the dappled early light. He stepped between Safe and myself. "What I wanna to know what's da game he's playing."

"Not playing a game. I'm here because Carne Asada wants new bodyguards. Grimsy thought you three colts were the best candidates to promote with her."

"I did?" I sputtered. "Not. I mean, I would. But. What? You're putting words in my—!"

"The boss agreed. Tag, you're it. I'm here to train you all."

Crystal Skies hovered, shaking his head. "I don't like this one bit."

"Hear me out." Safe sat and crossed his forelegs, addressing my team, not me. "First off, the pay's excellent. You trade-off shifts with other teams, usually a week on and a week off."

The pegasus huffed. "Less freedom. I like getting assignments on irregular schedules."

"What Carne Asada wants, she usually gets." The stallion smiled slyly. His ears flicked as he pointed at me, "Oh, yeah, Grimoire. You can't get pregnant. Her rules—"

Crystal Skies came down, wings flared and slashing before Safe's face, but I intercepted with Shield and pushed him off by transforming the spell to repel on the inside, then gently grabbing him.

Reflex.

As I set the pegasus down, I found Pig Pen glaring at Safe, too, having stalked up on my left side, his blackened chain rattling.

It hit me and I hissed. When had I acquired a herd?

I cleared my throat loudly. That got everypony's attention before I said, "He's trying to get my goat."

Before Citron could counter my movement from the right, I'd stepped around him. I didn't give Pig Pen a chance to react. I stopped with a hoof close enough to Safe's pulsing nose that he could smell the mud smeared on my horseshoe. His eyes widened, and he did sniff, but he did not flinch. His ears flicked, though.

I smiled. "Tell Carne Asada there's a spell for that. Also, I don't have a goat nor a lawn for him to mow." Not north of Sire's Hollow, anyway.

"If you really want me to, I will. You four are going to get to know each other really well. For instance, our mystery mare has other secrets, doesn't she?"

Citron dragged me back with a hoof on my withers. I let him.

Safe added, "She goes by many names—"

"Gelding?" Citron offered. "That's old news."

"How about Princess Grim?"

Pig Pen whirled around. "Wait, whaaat!?" He began to bounce on his hooves. "Of course. Gotta be. It explains everything! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!"

I turned around slowly, my eyes narrowed. "Fanboi on me just a bit more, and I'll loosen a few teeth with a hoof."

"Okay by me if you'll autograph them." The brown earth pony gave me a big wide grin, then turned to Crystal Skies and added, "She's really her!"

I stood there blinking, nonplussed. "You're not thinking. You can't mean that!?"

He turned back and grinned wider. Then again, he had joined a gang and wore a heavy black chain around his withers.

"I still don't like it," Crystal Skies said, taking to the air again. "Not one bit. I like our life as it is. Come on, Pig Pen, let's go."

Pig Pen's expression sobered. He glanced at me, then turned away.

"I'm here to train you," Safe said, quickly.

"Well good for you!" Crystal Skies spat.

His right ear flicked and his lips compressed. "Let me put this somewhat differently, in a way that will keep your attention. You four have been well paid for a live-fire training session. You've already missed who's stalking us. They won't be trying to kill you. Well, at least the unicorns will be using Stun. The others—" He shrugged. "I think you'd better hear me out before they find us."

The fur on the back of my neck stood. Between having lived amongst homeless, in a hostel's shared dormitory, and becoming a champion prizefighter, when instinct rang the bell, you acted and asked questions later.

I yelled, "Hot potato!"

Author's Note:

Next: Live-fire training exercise, or an invitation to murder?