Sherclop Pones and the Adventure of Pinkie's Cupcakes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 6: The Pageboy

“Billy?” Pones and I cried.

“Mr. Pones,” said the boy after having caught his breath. “a message for you, sir!”

He then took the paper from his mouth and presented it to Pones. It was an envelope.

Pones then took it from him. It was of the typical type material of an envelope that one receives. Though, something stood out from it in which I had noted to be quite queer—there was no a postmark that indicated its origin.

“Hum,” said Pones, examining the envelope with minute attention, no doubt perceiving my observations as well. “How, may I ask, did you receive this letter?” said he, turning to the page.

Billy, whom had already opened his mouth to answer, seemed to have refrained himself, and stared at our client with a look of utter bewilderment.

“Sweet Celestia!” said the lad, as he pointed at our client’s flank, stammering incoherent ejaculations of surprise.

Ms. Hooves, who appeared to be in a trance-like fugue: simply smiling and staring at the pink bubble ever since we took our seats, glared at the boy with a look of annoyance upon her features.

“Breathe, young lad,” said Sherclop Pones in the soothing voice he applies to troubled individuals. He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when he wished. He then placed a long, thin, nervous hoof upon the troubled page. "What troubles you?”

My friend’s soothing way of words evidently had an effect upon Billy, for the lad had regained his composure.

“Oh, it’s trivial, Mr. Pones,” said he, glancing at our client with narrowed eyes. “It’s really trivial.”

“To a great mind nothing is little,” said Sherclop Pones; “Now, my dear lad, kindly tell me what troubles you.”

Billy glanced at the direction of our client before he ever answered. “I’ve come in such a hurry, sir, for I hoped I hoped to catch you before you catch the train for a package arrived not long after your departure, and that it was addressed to you, sir.”

“But why the pointing of your hoof at our dear client here?” said Pones as he darted his eyes at the direction of Ms. Hooves.

A dark expression came over the page’s face. “Well, because, sir, I had the most bizarre of experiences.”

Pones pricked up his ears. “Would you be so kind to narrate that experience?”

Billy thought for a while. He took another nervous glance at Ms. Hooves, before looking back at Pones with certain kind of searching expression. The page then motioned him to lean closer, to which the latter obliged. They then had a long conversation in which was spoken in complete whispers.

I had attempted to at least catch a snatch of it, but was only able to get Pones’ occasional interjections and Billy’s quick glances at our client. The page seemed to do most of the talking while my friend did the listening. There were several remarks or sentences, however, in which luck itself permitted me to catch. Those being—

So much alike, sir!

Or—

A twin or some sort

And—

At Ponyville Delivery Service

Our client, Ms. Hooves, took naturally an interest upon the whispered conversation, leaning forward to be in a better ear range. At some point in doing so, she had evidently caught something I overheard, for her eyes widened, and had let out a gasp, in which seemed more like of hiss. I, in turn, took a quick look and found the Pegasus in a clear state of great discomfort for her form seemed rigid and clay-like.

The conversation, as it seemed, had eventually come to an end, for the whispers had ceased.

Pones, who had been listening with the utmost attention to the page’s statement (whatever it may be), had turned to the client and was about to say something. Whatever it was, I may never know for Pones had refrained himself and turned back to Billy.

“Well, your theory does quite settle it, does it not?” he remarked. “But it does not, however, explain the excitement...”

Billy thought for a while before answering. “Well, Mr. Pones,” said he, hesitantly as he motioned yet once more to lean closer.

Pones, who had seemed to be himself troubled, obliged.

Another conversation spoken in whispers then ensured, only that this time they were both answering an equal amount of questions and answers.

I had only caught a single part of it. It was Pones'.

“Her Mark?” said he, inquiringly.

Billy nodded. They then continued their conversation.

Leaning even closer, I had heard Billy remark something, though I wasn’t able to make it out. But I was certain he did indeed remark something, for almost immediately, Pones had remained motionless for some minutes with a vacant expression. He then, like the page, stared at our client. While I, who sensed something of importance in doing so, endeavored to follow suit. I followed Pones’ gaze and found out that it was directly upon Ms. Hooves’ Cutie Mark. In glancing at Pones’ expression, I was able to deduce that whatever was arresting his attention was found in the Mark. I then, despite not knowing what to look for, did the same, vainly attempting to note for anything that may be of importance.

I was about to ask what seemed to amuse him, but the blow of a whistle broke me off.

“The train!” I cried, tugging my friend’s sleeve as the train slowly came into view.

“Billy,” said Pones, rising from the bench and turning to the page; “quick, swear upon the fact that the mare whom you had conversed with shares the same Mark to that of Ms. Hooves here!"

“I swear, sir.”

“Excellent! Now, run along, my lad. Watcolt, we may at last embark upon our adventure...”

As I watched the lad run off and eventually disappear amongst the forming traffic of crowds, the train pulled into a grating stop, its hot steam smoldering our faces.

Comments

[Slamp5000XL-3-0]

Si, los changelings están metidos en esto