11. Teamwork
My partner was slow to rouse the following morning. It took several nudges to the barrel to get him upright—some quite forceful—and he now took his sweet time rubbing his eyes and yawning. I could only imagine he was halfway to retinal damage, by this point.
“You said you wanted to interview Girard first thing in the morning, yes?” I said, tapping my forehoof on the divan. “Let’s not make liars of ourselves.”
“A bright and cheery morning to you too, Detective!” he said. “I’ve heard of sleeping on the job, but waking up on it? That’s just brutal.” He gave one final yawn and fluttered his eyelids. “Sorry, though, I didn’t have quite a full night’s sleep, and—woah.”
He was looking into my own eyes, now.
“You not sleep well, either?” he asked.
I blinked. There was a burning warmth under my eyelids. Judging by my partner’s reaction, I could safely assume my eyes were bloodshot. “I spent a few hours this morning searching for the book, while you were still asleep. Suffice to say…”
I didn’t find it.
“A few hours?” My partner looked at a nearby grandfather clock. “It’s eight o’clock!”
“Yes. Now are we going?”
My partner shrugged, hopped off the divan and bounced to his hooves. “Yessiree!”
As we walked over to the spiral staircase which would lead to the griffons’ bedroom, my stomach let out a growl. I was content to ignore it; my partner, not so much.
“Heh, what do you think’s the chance we could compliment our way to a complimentary breakfast, courtesy of our gracious host?” he asked.
“Despite his ego: Not very likely, at present. Bon’s not awake yet, and his room stank of alcohol when I passed by.” I had taken the liberty of discreetly checking up on everyone’s rooms in the early morning hours. “Only his sister seems to be up at this hour, attending to her writing.”
My mention of Bon’s condition seemed to have stirred something in Bluebird. “Oh. Say, Pesco, about my night’s sleep, I actually had a little chat with—”
“Hm, let me guess,” I preempted as we ascended the stairs.
Even most of the night that I had been on the couch, I had not been sleeping, but instead turning over the facts of the case in my head. At one point Grid snuck past us in the foyer (my guess was the kitchen or the gym), and didn’t come back for an hour. In the meantime, my partner had woken up and departed in the same direction for an unusually long bathroom break.
I hypothesized, “Bon made an unsuccessful pass at Grid late last night, hence his third visit to the wine cellar immediately thereafter, resulting in his current hangover. Grid is still oblivious to Bon’s affection, and emotionally compromised by the changeling situation, and so is mixing the two stressors together in his head. I imagine you spent the lion’s share of your time simply calming him down.” I turned to my partner as we summited the staircase. “That about right?”
He gave a whistle of applause. “Shoot, you’re right on the money! Ahah, I can only imagine your brain on a full eight hours of sleep.”
“Imagine it on more than three.” Truth be told, I operated at my peak in such conditions, and my partner knew this well.
“Well, while you’re on a roll, Pesco, there’s a couple things I want to run by you. A couple things that came up when I was chatting with Grid.” Bluebird paused for a moment, perhaps expecting me to read his mind again. Alas, my deductions had their limits. “So the first thing is… Why do you think the changeling hasn’t jumped ship yet? He doesn’t honestly expect to escape the Royal Guard, does he? … Or she?”
I had respect for my colleague’s question. It was a puzzle which my idle mind had toyed with since the beginning of the case, and whose solution still eluded me. “Escape” and “unfinished business” were the only two viable options I saw. Indeed, one reason I had insisted on sleeping in the foyer was to catch a changeling who would try to run off or accomplish some mission in the night.
After much deliberation during my insomnia, I had settled on my preferred explanation. “The changeling wants to flee, but cannot—it needs time to prepare. Leaving the Crystal Mountains by the common roads would require passing through a series of checkpoints, and the changeling has to assume these checkpoints are on high alert for suspicious travelers. That only leaves the ‘uncommon’ roads, where there are roads or trails at all—and an underprepared fugitive hiking randomly through the Crystal Mountains is not long for this world.”
Bluebird considered my words, weighing their plausibility. Despite my own confidence in the reasoning, I still highly valued my partner’s take on the matter.
“Hm, yeah, I think that tracks,” he agreed. “Suppose we should be on the lookout for the next few days for anybody trying to hoard supplies or consult maps?”
“Precisely.”
“Anyway, my second question—or maybe, ahah, it’s not so much a question as a pet theory I just wanted to run by you—what if the changeling hasn’t replaced anyone? That is, one of these six friends has been a changeling all along and everyone else just… never knew? Ahah.” Bluebird cleared his throat. “Do you think that’s a possibility?”
As his long-time mentor, I felt I knew where my partner’s “pet theory” was coming from. It was his enduring belief in the good of ponykind, and even bugkind. His hope that not everything was as dire as could be feared, even when all the writing on the wall contradicted him.
In this case, however, I actually agreed with him. “Yes, I consider that the premier possibility.”
My partner’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Indeed. The lack of memory and personality discrepancies strongly suggests as much,” I explained. “Now, let me run my own pet theory past you…”
I had my partner’s undivided attention.
“Fancy this: We’re dealing with a disgraced changeling exile.”
I gave him a moment to chew on the idea for himself. It seemed to strike him as something novel, something acceptable. “That could explain some things, yeah!”
“Such as, its potential long-term presence among the group. Blanche said that Chrysalis doesn’t deploy her spies as sleeper agents—but an exile, of course, is bound by no such orders.”
“Right! This changeling, he’s not here to hurt anybody or steal anything!” Bluebird exclaimed. At this point, he was taking my theory into his own hooves. “He just fell out of the queen’s good graces. Ahah, maybe he wasn’t evil enough? And ever since then, he’s only been trying to carve out a quiet life for himself among ponies… I mean, hypothetically. Could that be it?”
A hasty profiling of the perp, I had to think. It was a fanciful, if intuitive continuation of my theory, but one that left several uncomfortable questions without an answer:
Why would it out itself now with the wing fragment?
With its choice of long-term role to assume, why would it choose that of an adolescent?
Why would Zorn give me a weapon against it, if he could believe in peaceful intent?
If I’d wanted to burst Bluebird’s bubble, I might have voiced my own subtheory: The changeling wanted nothing more than to return to its previous life—no matter the means. We knew it held high status at one point because of the royal jelly, and chances were it was still loyal to Chrysalis. It had been biding its time for years among the young Canterlot elite for an opportunity to win back the queen’s favor, and now, somehow, it had contrived a plan to do so via Blanche’s book… Maybe its plan was still in progress, or maybe it had already failed. Regardless, Zorn (if he wasn’t the changeling himself; he and Grid made good candidates) was aware of but would tolerate the creature’s selfish plan for so long as nobody got hurt.
But my narrative had its own problems, and by now the griffons’ bedroom was only steps away. So instead, I abstained from judgment: “Hypothetically, it could go either way.”
I approached the door and lifted my hoof. My partner put his own over mine before I could knock. “Wait, Pesco, what’s our game plan with Girard, exactly?”
“He’s fragile. We should be able to draw anything we want out of him, as long as he doesn’t lock up.” I suggested, “How about some good cop, bad cop?”
That is, my partner would get a friendly hoof in the door, and then I would step in. The tactic suited us, and almost always yielded results. And yet: “Hm, that one is a classic, but… maybe we could try it this time without the bad cop?”
“If you wanted to interview him alone, you could’ve told me earlier.”
“That’s not what I meant, just… ah, fine. Let’s just be gentle with things, all right?”
Bluebird removed his hoof from mine. I gave the door a stern three raps, and we waited patiently for one of the two griffons to greet us.
The door opened, and I was a little bit surprised to see Girard standing on the other side. Perhaps I had expected his “keeper” to answer on his behalf. I wasn’t complaining.
“Oh, h-h-”—the griffon choked on his own saliva, and paused to swallow—“Um, hello. Bluebird. Pesco.” He bowed politely to each of us.
“Heya Girard!” my partner began. “Sorry we’re a bit late. In fact, you’re kinda the last person we’ve gotten around to speaking with privately. But hey, here we are!”
“The very last one?” he echoed. “Heh, that never bodes well, does it…?”
I understood it as an attempt at dark humor, and so did my partner: “Hogwash! This visit is basically a formality!”
“Right, right…” I could make out the hint of a smile in the corner of his beak.
I peered past Girard and into the room. A double bedroom as expected, split into three chambers by doorless dividers; the center chamber where Girard now stood to greet us acted as a small lounge, and to the left and the right were the griffons’ respective sleeping quarters.
Not a whole lot of privacy. “We should relocate,” I suggested. “We wouldn’t want to disturb your cousin if she’s still sleeping.”
The smile perished. “Oh, she’s not.” His eyes wandered to the bedroom on the right. “I’m alone.”
“Alone?” I repeated.
“Y-yes. I guess she’s already, already up and about. Just my guess, but, I don’t really know. I don’t want to say anything that’s not strictly true but I just got up and she’s not here so… so that’s just what I think.” The griffon lifted a claw to cover part of his face as he turned to leave. He headed toward the bedroom on the left.
“So… you’re good with us coming in?” my partner double-checked. “We’ll conduct the interview in your room?”
“Oh, yes,” Girard whispered back. “If that’s all right. With you.”
My partner gave a shrug and moseyed into Girard’s bedroom.
Myself, I took a quick detour and peeked into Gloria’s bedroom. As her cousin had indicated, she was nowhere to be found. Her room was nondescript, but pristine; her bed covers were folded perfectly, and only a handful of personal effects lay about. It doesn’t even look like anyone slept here. I could’ve been convinced I was standing in a freshly serviced hotel room.
But I didn’t dawdle. I returned to Bluebird and Girard in the opposite bedroom, and took a seat in an empty desk chair. Girard was stifling a hacking cough as I entered, while Bluebird—who sat next to Girard on his bed—appeared to still be soaking in the contents of the bird’s living quarters.
And there was certainly a lot more to soak in, as compared to his cousin’s bedroom; Girard’s was a scene of squalor and neglect. Dirty clothes tumbled out of the closet, and half of his bed covers draped down onto the floor. Two out of three lightbulbs in the ceiling fixture were missing, and melted candle wax accumulated on his nightstand.
Gloria preens you in public, but is content to let you live in your own filth in private?
The only possessions of his that were in any semblance of order were the dozen or so books in the headboard of his bed, arranged snugly and in alphabetical order. Gloria's book was not among them, by what I recognized of its color and approximate size. All the books on Girard’s shelf appeared to be creative fiction, anyway.
“All righty then, just some basic questions to start.” My partner pulled out his security blanket of a notepad. “Now Girard, do you remember what you might have been doing yesterday morning? Anything at all?” My partner and I, of course, already knew what his answer needed to be.
“…”
“Girard?”
“Oh?”
“I asked, do you remember where you were yesterday morning?”
“Oh.” He shook his head, and took a deep breath. “I-I was with Gloria. I think. We were playing Griffonstone draughts, I remember.”
“How many games of draughts, would you say?” I interjected. It wasn’t time for Bad Cop to act, but the opportunity coaxed me.
“…”
“Girard.”
The griffon flinched at my tone, and embraced himself in a hug to rub his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m paying attention, I just, just… I h-have to say the right thing, don't I? And it’s, it’s like, if I misremember, I’ll have s-screwed it all up, won’t I? … I’ve screwed it all up, haven’t I…”
Girard took a deep breath, and lowered his claws back to his sides.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he brooded.
I frowned. “I suppose you’ll want us to come back later, then?”
“No, no, I know this needs to happen. Seize the day, Gloria tells me. I can get through it, it’s just, I’m not usually up this early, I have a morning routine with my t-tea, and…” He trailed off, then coughed. “I’m sorry. I can continue if you can.”
“Nonsense!” my partner exclaimed. “If it’s tea you want, it’s tea you’ll get. One of us can fetch it for you.”
“You’d be so kind?” Girard asked.
I looked down and grinned, impressed with my partner's maneuvering. It was obvious that he pursued this offer in pursuit of fulfilling the good cop role—if I left to get the tea, he could still take credit for the friendly gesture while also securing some valuable alone time with the bird. By the time I returned, he would be all served up and ready for me to spike.
I began to stand up, and was just opening my mouth to volunteer myself when Bluebird interrupted me:
“Yep, I’ll go and get it! In the kitchen, right? Up to you in the meantime, Pesco!” He all but galloped out of the room, but not before a wink and a whisper: “ … Up to you, good cop.”
With that, he was gone. I glanced at Girard, who had returned to his self-soothing body language, and currently fixated on his hind paws hanging off the bed. I understood that my partner had played me; I was all but forced to play the good cop, now. To play the bad cop would result in the bird’s surefire lockup.
I sighed internally, but got to work going through the motions:
I picked myself up out of my chair. Stretched, feigning satisfaction. Tenderly returned the chair to where I’d found it. Found eye contact with the bird, nodded; dropped eye contact, strolled over to him. Finally, I assumed Bluebird’s former position on the bed. At a respectful, but intimate, distance. With a respectful, but intimate, posture.
All the motions were complete.
I…
I soon realized I was missing the words. I soon realized I could not come up with the words. And the words were the most important part. In this mood, with this warmth under my eyelids, the only words known to me were far too harsh, slashing, incisive, decisive. Words for criminal kingpins, not sensitive schoolbirds.
Girard looked at me uneasily. It was a testament to my floundering that the timid griffon beat me to the first sentence: “Pesco, um, I remember… it was only the one.”
“Huh?”
“You asked about the draughts, with Gloria, how many games I played with her. I r-remember, it was only the one.”
“Oh… Hm… Appreciate it.” I was counting down the seconds until Bluebird returned.
Girard wrenched his head away from me, sparing me from a violent sneeze. He apologized and reached for a nearby tissue box, and sniffled while cleaning his beak.
“Feeling a bit under the weather, huh?”
I had said it with the desire to be empathetic, but I realized I may have had ulterior motives.
“I… I know how bad it looks,” he said.
Did he really pick up on it? “How bad what looks?”
“Me, coming down with a c-cold at a time like this. I know you must think I come across as a basketcase, because I sort of am, but, I c-can read social cues, I’ve realized. I’m just garbage at responding to them,” he confessed. “You think I’m suffering from love malaise.”
“Love what?”
“Um, it’s the term for a changeling in withdrawal,” he explained. “You must be thinking, there’s not a lot of love around here recently, a changeling must be starving, and oh look, the quiet one has fallen ill… And, um, I just don’t know what to say to that. Nothing I can think to say sounds good.”
I crossed my legs. “You could just say you caught whatever Zorn has. That’s all I figured it was,” I lied.
Girard smiled darkly to himself. “Two officers enter, one leaves. C’mon, Pesco, I’ve read enough detective stories to know the, k-know the maneuver… The suspect is sick, he’s shaking like a leaf, he can’t answer questions in a timely manner… Heck, even I would arrest me!”
He forced a chuckle, which triggered a coughing fit.
“Like my partner said, this is just a formality,” I assured, after waiting for him to recover. “You already have an airtight alibi, after all.”
“You mean, about the draughts?”
“Yes, Gloria gave her account. She said you two were—”
“But you don’t trust Gloria.”
He uttered this accusation readily, but without a trace of ire. I could only imagine he must have noticed my briefest of stops in her bedroom before I came to his, or else he had observed something about my verbal or nonverbal cues that even I was unaware of.
It was uncanny, these bold and skillful observations coming from a creature of such meager self-confidence. In a way, he almost reminded me of… No, it was no time to reminisce.
He looked at me, awaiting my response. With his eyes, he seemed to plead that I simply be honest with him.
I could do honest. “No, I don’t.”
Girard frowned, but his shoulders visibly relaxed.
“In fact,” I continued, “I would go so far as to say the changeling’s not the only monster hiding in plain sight around here.”
Too far, I realized too late.
His shoulders tensed back up. A full-blown grimace from the griffon as he ground his teeth together. “Please, I… I know what you might think of her. That she has a, a certain charming side, the side that she shows to everyone else. And on the other side, it’s…” He buried his head in his claws. “It’s all my fault…”
“Gloria’s bad side is your fault?” I repeated, duly incredulous.
“Yes.” He took a long pause to steady his breathing. He gave a few sniffles, his emotions exacerbating the symptoms of his illness. “She d-didn’t always used to be like this. It used to be, used to be just the one side… You don’t know how much she’s done for me, still does for me. You don’t know how much help I need. You don’t know how much I s-s-screw it all up anyway…”
“What do you think you’ve screwed up?” I said, a little robotically. It was all I could do to attenuate the skepticism in my tone.
Girard ignored my question. Under his breath, he muttered various self-deprecations and apologies, only growing quieter and more disjointed over time.
This wasn’t good: I recognized these as the signs of a lockup.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken of Gloria like that. It was ignorant of me,” I said. “It’s clear that she goes through a lot for you, and I don’t know the half of it.”
“I don’t know how to get by in, in this whole world, really… When it comes to academics, it’s only a miracle I haven’t dropped out; Gloria all but does my coursework for me. When it comes to a social life, I have no friends of my own; I’m just Gloria’s plus-one.” He sighed. “What little I have, I owe to her. So if you’re going to blame her for anything… please, it’ll hurt less if you just blame me instead.”
A certain comparison struck me for the second time, now.
“W-why are you smiling?” he asked. If I was smiling, it was something close to imperceptible.
“I just find it funny, is all. You remind me of someone.”
A sickly chuckle. “A real loser, they must be.”
“You could say that: You remind me of myself, when I was your age,” I said. “Only, I didn’t drop out from high school—I called it quits before I finished middle school. And I didn’t have any friends, as a plus-one or otherwise—the ponies I hung out with, we were what was known as ‘a crowd.’ And let's just say, I eventually recognized my true calling, but only thanks to how often I happened to interact with the ponies in blue.”
“So, you were an underachiever, too, you mean? But, the cooler kind, sounds like…”
“Cooler kind? Hardly. It was an issue of self-worth for each and every one of us.” I gestured to the empty air above my withers and grinned. “You see this chip on my shoulder? If you think it’s big now, you should’ve seen it back then.”
For the first time since I’d met him, Girard laughed with levity. “I don’t see anything at all, Pesco!”
“Maybe I finally got rid of it, somewhere along the way. But I’m sure you’ll agree, the bitterness has stuck with me,” I said. “Girard, this may come across as unrelated to the current conversation, but I have a couple questions for you about this case. None of them involve you; I just want to broach your thoughts on them.”
He looked confused, and no small part of his anxiety seemed to resurface, but he nodded his consent.
“First question: Why do you think the changeling is still among us?” I asked. “Why don’t they run while they still has time? Do they expect to survive long once the Royal Guard gets here?”
“Oh, no, of course not. At least, I wouldn’t expect he does,” Girard responded without missing a beat. “Because, well, how could he have left already? We’re surrounded by some f-fifteen miles of mountains in every, every direction! And where’s he going to go afterward? It would be a d-death sentence without some time to prepare! It’d be a long and hard march by hoof, since wings in flight will quickly f-freeze, buffeted by these harsh winds… And all the more since changelings are an insectoid species… because, you should know, they don’t withstand the cold nearly as well as you mammals…”
Impressive. I didn’t even factor in that last bit.
Wait…
“‘You mammals’?” I repeated.
“… Are griffons mammals?”
An awkward silence soon made it abundantly clear that both of us could have used some more schooling.
“Never mind,” I said. “Second, and last, question: What is the changeling doing here in the first place?”
This time, Girard took a moment to process the question. “Um… Guess I don’t have as g-good of a guess, about that one. I guess.”
“Just say what comes to mind. No right or wrong answers.”
“Well… You would think, you would think he’s here on Chrysalis’s orders, right? But that doesn’t make a lot of sense, since changelings, um, every changeling case I’ve h-heard of, it was someone they took recently, like a few days at most, and we’ve been at the villa for weeks now… They don’t stick around for long, they want to minimize their chance of capture… So, so they also tend to target loners, people that other people don’t care about, I guess like me, haha… But they also target valuable people, um, quite unlike me…” His voice gave out. He tenderly massaged his lymph nodes.
“Girard, I don’t think you give yourself nearly enough credit.” I looked the griffon straight in the eyes. If he was truly so capable of telling what I thought, he would know that I was being completely earnest. “You have the mind of a detective.”
Girard’s cheeks reddened. “Oh please, I t-told you, I just read a lot of mystery novels…”
“Heck, so did I! Back in the day, they were literally the only books I read,” I said. “Trust me, yours is a talent that would make most of my colleagues blush.”
This one simple compliment did him in. Girard’s gaze left mine, and he looked every which way about the room with the stupidest grin imaginable.
Once more, he began to sniffle; and then, he began to cry.
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Heartwarming as it is to see Girard get some emotional catharsis, this is throwing up all kinds of flags, red and otherwise. Looking forward to further developments.
Maybe this missing book is the changeling. Anybody stop to consider that?
I remember speculating on something like this back at the start of the story, and it's still a valid enough theory now as it was then...but I'm suspecting there's probably more to the changeling's reasons for staying here than just that now.
See, this is why I kinda have to question if the Scolus snippets from the past two chapters, as interesting as they were, were really wise, because now that we have that insight into Scolus's character, we can be confident enough that Pesco's wrong about his criticisms on this to just dismiss it out of hand, and it sort of raises the question of why do we even need to linger on this topic if we the readers are already so confident of that?
I mean, yeah, the argument can be made that these are still just assumptions on our part and not foregone conclusions (for all we know, Scolus's experiences in his hive only embittered him and turned him into a villain and not ally as we've been inclined to assume) just yet, but it still gives us readers a clear bias anyway, and it sort of ruins the mystery if some of the mystery is resolved in our eyes nonetheless. And if we are somehow assuming incorrectly, then it runs the risk of us wasting time chasing a theory that we never should've spent so much time chasing, getting attached to it to the point of being disappointed if the expectation isn't delivered in the end.
I suppose I'm not so much criticizing here as I am trying to give suggestions for consideration in the future here. Nor am I saying the Scolus sections ruined anything or anything like that--there's still plenty more mystery to solve. I just fear it weakens the suspense a little in a story that's otherwise been very keen to keep that suspense going, and I just kinda want to point that out especially to the writer, since it could mean building an even stronger story in the future.
I'm still thinking it wants to be found, but in a discreet and controlled manner, out of fear of repercussions by those that would not want it doing as such, and this is it's solution to that problem.
Either that or, if we're right about there being a second changeling, that second changeling is the one dropping the clues, trying to force the first to be discovered and force a confrontation, maybe to get them caught by the ponies and thus in trouble, to urge them to drop the cause and return to the hive, or just to prove a point such as that coexistence can't happen like the first 'ling thinks it can.
It might just have been happenstance, and that was what was needed to fit in with the circumstances it fell into. Either that, or, as was proposed by...someone, I forget who now...earlier, adolescents are the age where the most obvious personality changes tend to manifest, and it was using that as an excuse to cover for any discrepancies in its own disguise as it worked to fit into the role.
Because, like you Pesco, he still can't rule out the possibility that this judgment is in error, and the changeling still means some kind of ill-intent on someone or someones, seeing we still don't quite know what their motives for being here at all are--there's still a chance, albeit small, that we're misjudging the 'ling's intentions entirely, and so long as that remains a possibility, it would be unwise to be off our guard.
Besides, we may yet reach a point where the 'ling wants to continue remaining in hiding, but hiding is only further exasperating the situation for the worst, so forcing it to reveal itself could help accelerate things towards a needed resolution.
Good choice. Not to say Girard was lying or to throw doubt in Gloria's direction, but we already know she's...we'll stick with "overprotective" for now...so I wouldn't have ruled out a deception so Gloria could continue to discreetly meddle in the matter.
He's reminding me of my sister a little here, who also has the unfortunate tendency to overthink and constantly second-guess herself in stressful circumstances like this.
Best thing to do in such an instance is reassure them that such second-guessing isn't necessary, and to support and encourage confidence in the statements or choices they make, particularly if they themselves feel some level of confidence about it.
Ooh, you just got played, Pesco!
Well! Girard's more perceptive than he looks.
Either that, or Pesco's much more obvious than he thinks. Either's possible.
.....yeeaaaaah, that's not actually helping to improve my opinions of Gloria any, Girard. If anything, you're making it worse. Something is not right in Gloria-town indeed, changeling or not, and if nothing else, I hope something can be done to help correct that for the better.
But if nothing else, Girard, you're concealing yourself in Gloria's shadow too much. You need to step up and stand for yourself, do things for yourself, show both to her and yourself that you're capable of both, for both of your sakes. Because you may not think it, Girard, but you definitely do have that capability within you--you just need to choose to tap into it.
Oh, poor, poor, Girard. Not getting nearly enough love and encouragement in your life. You need a more positive environment to live in, I think.
Speaking of Girard...
He's the changeling.
He has to be.
Has to be.
HAS.
TO.
BE.
I will be genuinely SHOCKED if he's not, I'm that confident of it.
But on that same subject, and looping back around to the idea of there being a second changeling...
What if Gloria's the second changeling? That could mean, if Girard truly is the first changeling, then Gloria-ling may be there to keep him on a leash, make sure he continues operating in a Chrysalis-approved manner...and it's wearing him down?
Hmmm. Not a lot of development this time around, but I suppose rushing the whole story would be bad for pacing. After the revelations we had these last couple chapters, it was definitely time to take a step back and ruminate to build up the suspense again. On that note, I still haven't read anything to disprove my theory that Grid Iron is the changeling, (still, assuming there's only one here for now). I also just remembered that he's the only one who didn't get into that prestigious academy for his intellect. Rather, it was athleticism that any changeling could emulate with ease, as evidenced by the chapter in which the confrontation with it occurred. Can't wait to learn more!
I think we've found Scolus. Now we need to find the hunter.
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I'm still undecided, but I am leaning in favor of it being Grid Iron.
(De facto spoiler tags for everything below)
I am pretty sure at this point that it's one of the two G boys, though. Zorn technically remains a candidate, but in name only. It's very hard for me to believe it's Bon or Blanche, and Gloria is eliminated as a suspect as long as we're only dealing with a single changeling.
Why do I think it's Grid? A couple of narrative reasons, a couple of meta-narrative reasons.
Narrative reasons:
Meta-narrative reasons:
So, all of this in service of the Grid theory. I think others have already touched on the points of the Girard theory, which sums up to something just a bit less convincing, IMO.
11238593
No, with respect, I don't believe it's Grid. In every scene he's had and talked about the changeling, he's come across as too convincing, and seems uncertain about what the changeling's motives beyond the usual changeling stereotypes that aren't totally accurate.
Yes, one could argue that Grid's just playing the fool to avoid detection, but that would suggest a strong skill at doing so...but we now have those Scolus flashbacks showing what his character is like...and it doesn't line up with Grid. Scolus is not that confident, or that tactically skilled. Further, Scolus lacks confidence in himself, coming across as constantly uncertain. Grid, meanwhile, is fairly resolute once he puts his mind to something.
And no changeling is that good an actor--even Chrysalis couldn't keep her own Chrysalis...ness...from showing while in disguise, and if we're right in assuming Scolus was always that one creature in disguise, then the identity was likely invented from the start, so why wouldn't Scolus let some of his own personality show through? That'd be an easier to cover to maintain long term than one that goes strictly against his usual personality. So I'd expect there'd still be some telltale of Scolus showing in whatever disguise he's assumed, and I don't get that with Grid.
Whereas I do with Girard. Further, in just a manner of a couple short paragraphs, Girard's shown a surprising amount of insight towards changeling procedure, as well as changeling physiology, such as the "you mammals" slip-up--griffons may not constitute mammals technically, but I would expect they are warm-blooded, which was the point Girard seemed to be making in that.
Girard's also tentative and unsure, matching Scolus to a T, especially when you consider that uncertainty and shame probably doubled after being foolish enough to get caught and likely exiled (or at least given punishment, but that's a bigger and separate theory for another comment), further damaging his confidence.
And we know a fair bit about Grid and his backstory, which has all thus far largely matched up with everybody else's...but we STILL know relatively little about Girard's, leaving big questions still.
Additionally, I mentioned a couple chapters back that I'd notice Girard was a character who was always seen "just passing by," at moments where it struck me as suspect, especially considering the one time our changeling showed itself, Girard happened to be seen passing by that same area just a matter of minutes earlier. (Of course, this could just as easily be the still-theoretical second changeling [while I'm on the subject, if the second changeling is real, I'll bet real money that it's Clypeus, giving the flashbacks earlier additional relevance] but still worth noting)
Finally, you argue its Grid because Grid's the one who wants to be the most proactive about doing something about the changeling threat, but that's probably the biggest reason why I think it's NOT Grid. This changeling is here to hide, not make a scene, and Scolus was demonstrably very submissive, not one to stand up for himself, much less be proactive like that against a threat--he'd either just take the abuse or try and hide from it, hope it blows over. Again, Girard fits that to a T.
Finally, any changeling in disguise being questioned about it by creature sent explicitly to find him and potentially arrest him would be very nervous, enough that it could show if they aren't careful. And I think it's not debated that Girard is the most nervous creature in the whole building.
Granted, this doesn't guarantee that it IS Girard...but I have been given no solid evidence to convince me otherwise as of yet, and with every passing chapter, I just become more and more confident of such.
Besides, the flashbacks with Scolus were implied to be a dream...a dream that was taking place at the same time Grid was awake and talking with Bluebird. And seeing its kinda hard to do that and be dreaming at the same time, that alone rules out Grid IMO.
11238630
Yeah, all of that is very true. I think I've advocated harder for Grid than I actually believe (it's probably a 60/30/10 split in my mind, the Grid/Girard/Other outcomes) just for the sake of discussion.
If the Grid theory is true, then Scolus has necessarily changed as a result of his exile/punishment. He might not have become a villain bent on winning back Chrysalis's favor like Pesco suggests, but his betrayal and the aftermath might hardened his heart a little bit, or at least made him less naive, less trusting. And as a result, maybe he's dealing with some cognitive dissonance, just like... well, it seems everyone in this story! A quote like this:
seems to suggest a mixed-up psyche, all told.
As for making a scene, I will point out that every one of Grid's little talks have been in private, after everyone has left. The mofo even lingered after the meeting in Chapter 1 in order to speak to the detectives. (The only time he's made a scene was in Chapter 1, to get Bon to shut up about the cellar-imprisonment strategy that for all we know totally would have worked.) The timeframe of the dream/recollection is also ambiguous to me; we aren't given any more "here's what Scolus was doing..." lines after the first one, so I would understand if the dream was only chopped up for pacing, not because it actually endured the length that Bluebird and Grid were awake and active.
Since some of my earlier points are given answers here, I'll keep this one short. Suspicion still stands as is, even with Girard beginning to open up.
In fact, I'll not comment anything about the mystery for now, partly because I don't want to repeat myself all the time, but also because... it's poignant. The reversal of Pesco having to play good cop here gets both interviewer and interviewee out of their element. Both make mistakes, and it's all the more heartwarming (or heartbreaking) for it. And that anticipation of finally getting to meet Girard in private does pay off in... well, an unexpected way. Maybe I should've expected it, given that I suspected that, changeling or not, Girard has some serious confidence issues, but breaking down at being given a small compliment...
Well, I'll leave it at that (and the constant reminder of Zorn's comments about abuse... perhaps Girard used to abuse her, and now he's being the abused, or if he's the changeling, it's a kind of self-punishment). Changeling or not, I do hope Girard makes it out okay.