• Published 7th Nov 2021
  • 1,707 Views, 57 Comments

Catch Us If You Can - Miller Minus



King Sombra and Troubleshoes Clyde travel across Equestria to find Sombra’s missing horn. Twilight Sparkle follows their trail.

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1 - Appleloosa

Princess Twilight Sparkle had reason to believe that the dreaded King Sombra, malevolent stallion of yesteryear, blackhearted enslaver of the Crystal Empire, had returned. In fact, she had three reasons. They were, in order of emergence:

  1. Five days ago, the magic observers in Canterlot had reported a shockwave of revivification magic originating somewhere to the southeast.
  2. King Sombra’s horn had started quivering inside its safe box within the Crystal Castle, almost as if trying to get out. No matter how you oriented the box, the horn rolled towards the south.
  3. After interrogating Discord (see: getting Fluttershy to ask him nicely), he had sworn on his mother’s grave that he hadn’t revived Sombra. Again. And Discord definitely didn’t have a mother.

And now, thanks to a crack team of crystal magic experts (see: Sunburst and a couple of his interns), who had applied some advanced trigonometry (see: they drew a couple lines on a map), she had made a quick scouting trip to Appleloosa—the estimated source of the magic wave—where she now stood next to a fourth reason to believe the evil stallion had returned:

4. A giant crystal fortress had appeared in the forests outside Appleloosa.

“Remind me again,” Twilight asked her guide, “who was it you said lived here?”

“Uh,” said Braeburn, fiddling with the edges of the hat he held against his chest. “Troubleshoes Clyde is his name, Your Majesty.”

“And has this… Troubleshoes… ever taken an interest in crystal magic?” Twilight peered up at the fortress again, standing high above the tall evergreens. The day was grey and cold, but if there’d been a storm right now, the lightning would be flashing menacingly overhead, casting the fortress in a terrifying silhouette. Oh, yes. Twilight knew a sinister building when she saw one.

“Or crystal architecture, for that matter?” she appended to her question.

“Oh, no, Your Majesty, Ma’am, not at all. At least, not as far as I’m aware. But Clyde’s a reclusive sort, see…” The meek countrypony shrugged and put his hat back on. “All’s I know is this here plot o’ land is where his old house once stood, and, uh…”

“I see,” Twilight interrupted. “Well, thank you, Braeburn. I’m going to see if your friend Troubleshoes is home.”

“Oh. Do you need back-up?” Braeburn asked.

Twilight made to answer before she noticed a chattering sound behind her. She looked back at her guide and saw it was his teeth.

She smiled. “No, I think I’ll be alright. But thank you for your concern.”

“Right! O-of course you will be. I’ll just… be over… there.”

Braeburn failed to gesture in any direction.

“Over where?” Twilight asked.

“Over… Back in town. See ya ’round!”

And Braeburn took off toward the trees on three hooves—the fourth holding his hat firmly on his head.

Twilight sucked her teeth, turned, and approached the hulking fortress. Ripples of light expanded from the porch steps where she touched them with her hooves.

“Neat,” she murmured.

She knocked on the door. No response. She knocked a second time. There came a response:

“Just a moment.” The voice was quiet. Unhurried.

Just a minute, Your Majesty, Twilight corrected in her head, then she shook it. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be that kind of royalty.

Kicking her hooves on the stone-like crystal, she waited as the owner of the voice made his way to the door and opened it.

He was a sweet-looking pony, with a scruffy chin and big, glassy eyes, and Sweet Celestia on High, was he tall. Twilight had been growing during her short time on Equestria’s throne, marking little notches on her bedpost in the castle like she had when she was a filly, but this stallion still had a few inches on her.

“My, Princess Twilight Sparkle,” said the stallion. “What a pleasant surprise.” His voice sounded neither pleasant nor surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Twilight cleared her throat. “Good morning, Troubleshoes. I—um… You are Troubleshoes Clyde, yes?”

“Surely.”

“Good! Er… Troubleshoes. Good morning.”

“Reckon it’s past noon.”

“Er—Good afternoon, then.”

The giant stallion shrugged his giant shoulders. “One greeting’s as good as another.”

Twilight smiled with her mouth and her eyes. “Well, I don’t want to trouble you too long,” she said. “It’s just, well, there’s been an… incident. My magic scouts have reason to believe that…”

King Sombra’s name became stuck in Twilight’s throat. The sudden appearance of this fortress had unsettled Appleloosa, if Braeburn was any indication, and she didn’t want to go around causing a panic.

“…I’m looking for a stallion,” she finished.

Troubleshoes frowned and rubbed his chin. “You have magic scouts that tell you when you’re looking for somepony?”

Twilight laughed awkwardly. “Yes, sorry, that was a weird way to put it. Have you seen anypony suspicious lately?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“No? Nopony who looks…” Twilight rolled her eyes at that brilliant blue structure surrounding them. “…out of place?”

“Not really,” Clyde answered blankly. “Not unless we’re countin’ yourself.”

Twilight laughed again. “Riiiiight. Well, don’t worry. This… fugitive might not even be around here, so it makes sense if you haven’t seen him.”

Troubleshoes nodded. “It’s good to know what’s an established fact and what ain’t,” he said. “That’s what Mama Clyde always said.”

“Sure,” agreed Twilight. “Me too.”

Twilight craned her head around his big shoulders to peer inside the fortress, but Troubleshoes followed her head with his own, blocking her view. An uncomfortable silence settled over them.

“…Where’d you get the house, Troubleshoes?” ventured Twilight.

“Built it just a few weeks back.”

“You built it! Well, that’s impressive.”

“Kind of you to say.”

“What made you decide on, er… crystal?”

Troubleshoes peered at the crystal door jamb and rested a hoof on it like a proud builder. “Welp. It’s a good moisture barrier, sturdy, and it ain’t a half-bad insulator from the elements, neither.” He tapped the crystal, and it shimmered.

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “And what… tools does one use to make a crystal house?”

“Oh, mostly just these here two hooves.” Clyde clapped his hooves together, but softly. Too soft to be seen as a show of force.

Twilight had always been a pretty good judge of character, and she already had this one figured out. Large but gentle, unable to hurt a fruitfly. Think Big Mac, but simpler. And, like Big Mac, if Troubleshoes ever came off as threatening, she knew, it was accidental.

Importantly, he had no green glowing eyes or purple smoke pouring out of his ears. He was in control of his faculties. Such as they were.

“Well, it’s a lovely home,” Twilight said.

“Thank you kindly.”

“Mind if I come inside?”

“’Fraid so.”

“…And why is that?”

“Place is a bit of a mess. I’d love to entertain you, but I’d be mortified to let a pony of your state and stature see the mess we’ve made.”

“We’ve?”

“I’ve.”

“You said ‘we’ve.’ ”

“Don’t think so, Your Majesty. I ain’t got experience in weaving. No looms in here, neither, that I can assure you.”

Twilight smiled and let out a little hum. Like she thought. Simple. Unless that really was a mistake, and Troubleshoes Clyde was harboring King Sombra in there.

What a ridiculous idea.

“Okay, Troubleshoes. Thank you for your time. I have all the info I need.”

Troubleshoes nodded. “Best of luck with your fugitive.” And the door was closed.

Twilight turned and walked back down the steps, listening to the subtle ping of the crystal underhoof. A few flecks of snow were falling, but not accumulating. She watched the grey clouds pass overhead. One cloud was as good as another, she thought.

She turned and tried to see through a window, but it was opaque. She wondered if it was a one-way mirror like they had in Manehattan police stations.

In her head, the story finally clicked. King Sombra did indeed cast this house—that much was certain—but by now he was long gone—abandoned the place when he realized he needed to retrieve his horn from the Crystal Empire. And Troubleshoes, whose home had been destroyed by Sombra’s magic while he was away, was now illegally squatting in this newly empty fortress, pretending it was his.

And really, more power to him. The housing market was frankly out of control.

As she vanished out of the chilly air, one thing was certain. She may have had plenty reason to believe King Sombra had returned, but she had no reason whatsoever to believe he was in there.


“Is she gone?”

Troubleshoes Clyde stepped back from the window feeling like his heart was fit to jump out his throat and leave him for good.

“Clyde. Answer me!”

Either his heart or his breakfast.

“CLYDE!”

Clyde whirled to see Sombra creeping down the stairs, hiding behind the balustrade and looking entirely conspicuous. He looked like a caged animal—complete with fur as grey as ash, and eyes as red as fresh blood. Not to mention the fangs.

Clyde eased a little, seeing him, remembering why he’d just lied to the Ruler of Equestria. Well, not lied. Fibbed. Stretched the truth something severe.

He had always been a decent judge of character, had Clyde. And in Princess Twilight Sparkle he saw a pony fixing to wipe Sombra off the face of the planet without so much as a second chance. And everypony deserved a second chance. That’s what Mama Clyde always said.

“Morning,” drawled Clyde.

Sombra growled his way down the rest of the stairs. “I asked you a question,” he said. “Is. She. Gone?

“Surely.”

“Hah!” Sombra pushed Clyde out of the way and pressed his nose against the glass. “COME BACK WITH A WARRANT NEXT TIIii—Oh, she’s gone.”

“Reckon that’s a good thing, too,” said Clyde. “She probably would have heard you through the window, shoutin’ like that.”

“Do not question my creation. This house is completely soundproof.”

From outside, the cry of a gull was heard.

Clyde couldn’t help but grin. “That so?”

Sombra whirled on him, but shot out a hoof against the window to support himself. A ripple of light expanded from where he’d placed it.

“Urp,” he said.

“Y’alright?”

“Yes.”

“Y’sure?”

“Oh, of course I’m not alright, you cur,” Sombra groaned. “I’ve been resurrected leagues away from my home, by a pony who can’t even use magic, and, in case you haven’t heard me complain about it the first hundred times, I am without my horn!”

Sombra waved a hoof over the empty space above his brows to prove his point, but he must have forgotten his crown was there because he knocked it clean off his head. Clyde winced as it loudly clanged against the floor.

“Oh, that’s alright,” said Clyde. “Life ain’t so bad without a horn.”

“Silence.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sombra pushed away from the window and snatched his crown from the floor, placing it back on his head. It slid down his nose, and he pushed it up like it was a pair of spectacles.

“I’ve had quite enough of you,” Sombra announced.

Clyde could only nod. It sure seemed that way.

Sombra marched over to the front door. With a wave of his hoof it opened automatically.

“However,” Sombra said. He gave a loud sigh. “Clyde?”

“That’d be me.”

“I do not say this very often, so listen carefully.”

“Alright.”

“I thank you for your aid.”

Well, how about that? Clyde felt like pinching himself.

“You mean it?”

“Yes, Clyde. Not only have you brought me back to life—as unspectacular a job as you did—” and he waved his hoof over his forehead again “—and for as little sense as it makes.”

“Oh, it weren’t nothin’ more than followin’ a recipe,” Clyde said, gesturing to the spellbook on a nearby table.

“Quit saying that. In any case, I must thank you for that, and for throwing Twilight Sparkle off my tail.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” Clyde took off his hat, held it to his chest. “Reckon you’d’ve done the same for me.”

Sombra scoffed, then threw his head back and gave a single “HAH!” Added: “Clyde, I would throw you to a pack of wolves if it would shine my greaves.”

Clyde hung his head down low. He could only agree.

“The point is that I am releasing you from your service to me. Goodbye forever.”

And before Clyde could answer, the big door swung open and went shut, leaving nothing behind but a cough of cold air.


Sombra stood in the frigid breeze, straightened his chestplate, fluffed his cape, and sighed out a visible breath.

So.

He had no horn, no throne; most of his magic stores had been wasted on conjuring a stupid giant house for a giant stupid pony, and an unknown number of miles stood between him and his horn.

Piece of cake.

These sorts of problems were to be tackled one step at a time, Sombra always said, so he took a step. Then a few more. Soon he was on the dirt road a few feet from the front porch. Things were going great, except that he was breathing through his mouth. And his armor was loose against his skin. And the air was slicing right through his armor into his very bones.

“Y’alright?”

Sombra felt a hoof over his shoulder and smacked it away like it was a blade.

“Clyde, when I say ‘Goodbye forever,’ I do mean forever.”

“Reckon that was pretty short for forever.”

Sombra winced. Was that sass on this workhorse’s tongue? Slowly he turned on the fool, hoping he looked terribly bemused. Clyde, for his part, looked at him the same way.

“You sure you’re alright?” Clyde said, with a touch of impatience to him.

“Of course!” Sombra snapped. “Never… better.”

“Because with all due respect, Mr. Sombra, I reckon you’re going to have a hard time gettin’ to where you’re goin’ if some porch steps are leavin’ you winded.”

“Nonsense. I—”

“And you were walkin’ down the steps.”

Sombra grit his teeth. Blast him, the workhorse had made a good point.

“What’s goin’ on, anyhow?” Clyde continued. “You weren’t in this state when we first met.”

Sombra noticed Clyde’s gaze was sick with worry.

“I’ve never existed without my horn,” Sombra said. “I… suspect it was what restored my power as I used it. Either way, the longer I spend away from it, the weaker I am getting.” He swallowed. “Conjuring this building was a poor idea.”

Utter foolishness. To tell this to somepony who could still reveal themselves to be an enemy. But… strange as it was, Sombra felt he could trust Clyde. He had always been a brilliant judge of character, after all. And he noticed, now, a new sickness spreading across Clyde’s face. The sickness of guilt.

Sombra could use that.

“How far is it to the Crystal Empire?” he asked.

“’Bout eight hundred miles.”

Sombra laughed weakly. “Wow,” he said. “I’m going to die.”

“I-it’s okay, Mr. Sombra! I have an idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“I could take you there.”

Sombra laughed even weakly-er.

“I mean it, sir! Listen, I’m well acquainted with long journeys! Me and my Mama Clyde used to travel all over Equestria in my youth. Besides, I reckon the train ain’t gonna be an option for, uh… Somepony of your particular notoriety. Am I right?”

Sombra nodded. “Yes. And?”

“A-and I have a vehicle of my own, see. I could take you there. And you’ll be hidden from all eyes.”

Sombra blinked, straightened. “You have a chariot?”

Clyde swallowed. It was a loud, yet timid sound. “Sure,” he responded. “Chariot. You could call it that.”

“Bring it here.”

A big smile drew across Clyde’s big face as he turned and ran around to the other side of the house. Sombra smiled back until he was out of sight, then groaned and sat himself on the steps.

The trees were only twenty paces away. Sombra could simply flee. It was the smarter play, after all. But, now that he’d sat down, he felt strangely comfortable. Sombra knew he was tall, but he had never before found standing to be such a long way up.

There came a sound from around the corner: of wood rattling against itself, followed by a twinkling of small pieces of metal. It threw Sombra’s mind back to the chains in Crystal Palace’s dungeons. Were they coming back to claim him once and for all…?

Clyde came back around, hitched to a metal-and-wooden saddle.

“Finally. I was beginning to—that is a wagon,” Sombra snarled.

“Sure is,” Clyde said, beaming with pride. “Never once let me down.”

It looked like it was ready to. Most of it was covered in a big blue tarp, tied down to a platform surrounded by four knee-high wooden fences.

Sombra’s incredulity gave him the strength to stand, approach the wagon, and rip off the tarp. Well, it gave him the strength to do two of those things. He only managed to paw at the tarp.

Clyde unhitched himself from the wagon and undid the tarp, which he whipped back like a showpony revealing the stage for his magic trick.

“See, look, you’ve got a bed—”

There was a single blue blanket decorated with bright yellow ducks along its edges.

“—and protection from the elements—”

Four walls of rotting planks, held together by rusting steel.

“—and some light entertainment.”

A pile of trash to one side.

Clyde leaned against the hunk of depressing material, but it listed terribly under his weight, and he thought better of it. He moved to pat the thing, but didn’t even give that a try.

Sombra stared at the giant galumph before him and bared his fangs. “If you think I’m getting in here—”

“—I’d be completely correct,” Clyde said. “Because I reckon you’ve got no other choice.”

Before Sombra could respond, Clyde turned away and strode to the back of the wagon. He gave it a hard bump with his hip, and the back wall fell open.

“Your chariot awaits, Mr. Sombra.”

Sombra’s mind calculated wildly, looking for another way to get to the Empire. But he had none. And so King Sombra, baron of evil, baleful ruler of all that lived and breathed, climbed into the wagon and laid on the blanket with the ducks on it. His cape, at least, made for some extra padding.

“Cozy?” Clyde asked, holding his hat against his chest.

“Ask that again and die.”

Clyde laughed and reinstated his hat on his head. “Welp, I know it ain’t a ride fit enough for a king, but you just let me know if there’s anything I can do to make it comfier, and I’ll do my best to accomodate.”

Sombra groaned and rolled his eyes. Then flashed them at Clyde quick enough to make the big pony jump.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Anythin’.”

“Well, you could… destroy my enemies. Wipe the world clean of those who oppose me and seat me on the throne of Equestria where I belong. Would you do that for me, Clyde?”

Clyde blinked very slowly. “Is there anythin’ I can do ’sides that?”

“Certainly. You could lose that ridiculous accent.”

Clyde tilted his head and squinted. “What was the first thing again?”

Sombra dropped his head against the wood with a thump.

“Just march,” he commanded.

“Aye,” Clyde said. “That I can do.”