Bug in a Blizzard

by Paracompact

19. Cavalry Call

My head felt like it weighed a metric ton—and at least half of that weight was in my eyelids. I had done my best to keep my mind on the case, but now that the sun had set, I could no longer deny my body its basic biological needs. I knew even before my head hit the pillow that my time until unconsciousness would be best measured in seconds.

In other words, it would be a deep, rejuvenating sleep. But as wonderful as that sounded, it was also a liability to my ability to be woken up in an emergency. A liability which I minimized by placing the beacon on the very same pillow my head rested on, inches away from my face. Zero inches, to be exact, as the spherical crystal butted up against my cheeks and lips, refusing to stabilize anywhere else on the pillow’s surface.

On any other night, I would have found a less irritating placement for the object before trying to fall asleep. On this night, my fatigue made it a moot point.

---

A ringing. My eyes shot open. And yet, I awoke only to silence, darkness, and a completely inert beacon.

Even in my sleep my adrenal response was on a hair trigger. The ringing I had heard—that I thought I had heard—had me up and alert faster than smelling salt. I had had a deep and dreamless sleep that had felt like it lasted only seconds. Only the stiffness and soreness of my joints informed me that I had been out for several hours, at the least.

I fought against that stiffness to bring my head upright as I scanned my surroundings. Nothing was amiss in the darkness of the guest bedroom. Had I simply imagined it? A dream, a hypnogogic hallucination? Just as quickly as the adrenaline had awoken me, I felt it begin to leave me as I lowered my head back onto the pillow…

The ringing again. This was not a hallucination—it was the telephone, sounding off from somewhere in the hallway. I was surprised to hear it so clearly through my closed door. It might not have been the beacon signaling my trap had sprung, but a call at this hour was almost as urgent. It could’ve been from my superiors.

I cast off the stiffness as I rose to my hooves and trotted to the exit. I reached out with my hoof to undo the locking knob, but my stomach sank when I noticed it was unnecessary—my door was already ajar.

Someone had broken in. I had been tired, but not so tired as to leave my door wide open. Has the changeling learned how to pick locks after all?

The phone’s ringing resumed, demanding an answer. My bedroom needed to be investigated, but this call was a time-sensitive opportunity. Gritting my teeth against the possibility that this was some sort of trap, I took a bludgeoning grip on my crystal beacon as I peered out into the dim hallway.

On the fourth ring, I could clearly echolocate the phone’s position down the corridor. It was a ways away in the opposite direction of my partner’s bedroom. Not knowing how many rings were left until the call would expire, I picked up my pace. As I was about to round the last corner, the phone sounded for a fifth time… but it failed to complete its cycle. It was strangled mid-ring with a click from the receiver.

“Hello?”

I recognized the voice: Skulking about this fine evening was none other than Gloria. I relaxed my grip on the crystal, but only slightly. Meanwhile, the voice on the other end of the line was too faint to make out beyond that of a harsh, masculine tone.

“Why, the detective?” Gloria said. Even without line of sight, I could clearly picture that exaggerated body language of hers. “I’m afraid he’s settled down for the night. I would hate to disturb his rest. You should know he’s very much earned it these past two days, he and his partner likewise. But make no mistake, I could certainly—”

The voice cut her off with a gruff question.

“Oh, beg your pardon, Commander. My name is Gloria, and I’m one of the witnesses to this case. And I was just saying, ahem, make no mistake, I could certainly pass on a message for the detective come morning time. Truly, it would be no bother at all—”

A much more vociferous protest from the other end, now. Through all the yelling, I could make out some choice words, choice enough to bring a smile to my lips. Nonetheless, I decided to step in—the call was meant for me, and Gloria’s current handling of it was not going anywhere.

I rounded the corner, and Gloria startled as she directed her attention away from the obscenity-laden phone call and toward me. Her unamused glower would have me believe she regretted this whole exchange.

“It’s for you.” She opened her claw and the handset took a plunge. I barely caught it before it struck the floor. By the time I stood back up to thank Her Highness, she had already disappeared. Just as well.

I raised the phone up to my ear. It seemed the shouting from the other end had died down in the interim. “Yes?” I spoke up.

“And who the buck is this,” the voice replied.

“Pesco Margherita. Senior detective issuing from Canterlot PD. Badge number oh-two-six-three. At your service.”

“Now there we go!” he crackled. The quality of the call was poor, and I could hear a din of other voices in the background. “Commander Brightdawn, Canterlot Royal Guard. Are you alone, Detective?”

I looked around. I was at a juncture of three corridors with rooms and corners all around. A nearby clock informed me it was a quarter to midnight. “As far as I’m aware. Is it sensitive information?”

“Not really. Butcha can’t ever be too careful with these buggers, can you? Anyway, I’m heading the platoon that’s been dispatched from HQ to handle this mess. I take it you’ve— … shut it, Lance, can’t you see I’m…! —I take it you’ve been briefed on this, Detective?”

“Briefly,” I echoed. “My partner and I were told your company was up to a week out from arriving.”

“Yeah, we were! That’s what has us calling. The storm cleared up sooner than expected, so me and my colts have made good time through the mountains, I’m proud to say. We’re quartered at some poor schmuck’s inn nearby, just a dozen clicks down the pass from your location. We expect to reach the villa tomorrow morning by, oh, twelve-hundred hours or so. Eh? Yes, Private, twelve-hundred hours! That means up and bright-eyed at oh-six-hundred! What’s the matter, did you think you were enlisting into a sleep study?”

“Great to hear,” I inserted.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyhow, that’s all I really called to report. How is your end of things? What can we expect to walk in on? Any prisoners? Any bodies?”

I recounted the scant facts of the case in my head. I had plenty of theories, and my gut told me the perp was within hoof’s reach. But I had a feeling that none of my delicate speculations would be of relevance to a sledgehammer like the commander. “No arrests yet. I have my leads, but the perp is still at large and on the premises. Everyone is safe and sound.”

“Mmmhhh,” he sighed, blowing a deafening wave of static into the receiver. “Say, Detective, give it to me straight: What do you think is the over-under on this being a big, fat, glorious waste of time for everypony involved?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“I mean, Detective, please tell me the first thing you thought when you got put on this case was that this was just a bunch of yuppie upper-crusters playing a prank. And if there still aren’t no bodies around, frankly that just makes the kid’s story all the harder to swallow. Anyway, I heard you and your pal got pulled off vacation leave for this. Bear with me, I’ll be blunt: You two haven’t already chalked this up to a false alarm and are just milking it for the hazard pay, are ya?”

As if. As far as our wasted hotel bookings were concerned, we were losing money on this assignment. A cold gust of air passed over me (or at least I imagined as much) as I phrased it unequivocally: “No. This case is tricky, but it is no false alarm.”

I was hasty to defend my honor, and so I realized a moment too late: I could have said something else.

“Eh? And how can you be sure?”

I have another opportunity.

I thought it over, gave it my deepest reflection. But in the end, I only continued to tell the truth. “We’ve seen the changeling with our own eyes. They attacked my partner. They’re actively engaging in subterfuge against the investigation. They’re real, Commander, and despite what you might think, we’ve spent every minute of our time on this case trying to bring them to justice.”

It may not have been the full truth—I wondered if I needed to say “I” instead of “we.”

“All right all right, I hear you. Just wanted to be sure,” he relented.

I nestled the phone deeper into my shoulder, about to make another comment. But a foreign sensation on my muzzle gave me pause: I felt a smudge of something wet brush up against my cheek.

“But really, I’m glad to hear that,” the commander continued.

I pulled the handset away from my face to take a closer look. Anybody would have recognized it, but I had a career of experience with it—blood. Fresh, too. Just a little bit, no more than a milliliter smeared across the handset and now my cheek. But it was there, and any amount of it was enough to be concerning.

“We might not be going home early, but it sounds like me and my colts can at least look forward to some action, now can’t we! … Hey, you still there, Detective?”

Comments

[Scyphi]

Someone had broken in. I had been tired, but not so tired as to leave my door wide open. Has the changeling learned how to pick locks after all?

Well, either that or Bluebird got up for some reason--bathroom break, I'd assume--and forgot to properly latch it again upon returning.

Her unamused glower would have me believe she regretted this whole exchange.

To be honest, I for once can't blame her in the slightest. Here she was trying to be actually somewhat polite about it, and she gets chewed up one end and down the other for her efforts. I mean, I'm sure it's important and the call can't wait until morning regardless, but c'mon, that doesn't excuse at least a little civility.

“I mean, Detective, please tell me the first thing you thought when you got put on this case was that this was just a bunch of yuppie upper-crusters playing a prank."

Well, there you go then, Bluebird, there's your way to get the changeling a happy(ish) ending. Though I suppose somebody would have to take the fall for being the supposed "prankster" (I nominate Gloria, because I'm sure she'd just love that ).

[Alondro]

Alondro tastes the blood. "Hmmm... type P-diagonal. A Pie relative!"