Secret of the Sunken Church Part Three: Testify
The Scout 101’s engine purred beneath Daring Do as they took a right around the Ponyville Theater, smoothly gliding through the thick traffic of Ponyville’s uptown. She glided through the air on sun-kissed zephyrs, smiling as the wind ran through her mane, undoing the bun that she had forced it into and freeing it to wave out behind her. Her bow tie undid itself and began to flap around; she pulled it off with a grunt of irritation and shoved it into her pocket.
“So what did the Order of the Sphinx tell you when they hired you?” she asked, having to raise her voice over the background bustle of overlapping vehicles as the residents of the uptown apartments tried to make their way home from work.
“One of their members showed up at my home this morning; recognized their lapel,” Phillip answered, pausing at a stop sign. “Told me that Family Tree was supposed to meet them yesterday for a project. Evasive on details. Said they tried to get in touch with her and couldn’t find her. Hired me to find her.”
Doubt needled at the back of Daring’s mind, like a splinter in her skull. “You trust them?” she asked.
“Not sure yet,” Phillip answered, continuing through the intersection. “You think that she was right about the catacombs and the Prism?”
“I don’t know,” Daring admitted. “There’s no real proof…but it’s pretty clear that Family Tree believed it.”
Phil let out a quiet grunt in reply.
They crossed the stone bridge over the azure of the Great Valley River, the uptown windmill giving them a lackadaisical salute with its creaking blades as they continued east. Concrete and steel were replaced with wood and stone; the office buildings and businesses of downtown were overtaken by cottages and small family-owned stores that stood on their own blocks, surrounded by well-tended lawns and flowerbeds. The constant chatter of traffic and overlapping voices faded away, allowing the music of rustling leaves and singing birds to filter through.
“There it is,” Daring said, pointing at an upcoming sign that marked a side street that cleaved through a set of thick woods. Church of the Seven Pillars read the sign, accompanied by an icon of a star with a pair of wings.
Phillip slowed and turned onto the road, the trees and bushes that bordered the well-trod dirt pathway whispering to hail their entrance. The brown and red leaves that were scattered across the road crunched beneath his tires as they proceeded toward their target. In a clearing up ahead was a white church, its steeple reaching just above the trees that surrounded it. Over the doors was a circular stained glass window depicting Faust, her wings outspread in welcome.
As Phillip neared the unpaved lot, he abruptly parked and turned to his left with a frown. “Hang on,” he said, dropping the kickstand and dismounting.
“What is it?” Daring asked, pausing in midair as Phillip crouched at the edge of the road, studying the ground.
“Tire tracks here,” Phillip said, pointing to two faint tracks running off the road and into the woods. “And branches are broken here,” he added, pointing out several small branches and brushes that had been flattened or broken.
Phil took out a measuring tape and measured the width of the tracks and the length between them. “Right size for a Chevroneigh sedan,” he mused, carefully proceeding into the woods. He paused next to a tree, crouching to study the trunk. “Paint scrape here,” he reported, pointing at a faint mark of color on the tree.
Daring squinted at the little scraping. It was only a couple of centimeters long, but her eyes quickly picked out the deep blue with a tinge of green against the light brown of the trunk.
Casting her gaze about, she spotted something snagged in a nearby bush. “Over here,” she called, floating over and picking at the clump of long, graying brown hair.
“She was here,” Daring said, a tumult of hope and despair churning in her gut. A clue, a tangible clue as
to the fate of her colleague was now in her grasp; and yet, it provided no real answers. Why had Family
Tree come here, and why did she feel the need to hide her vehicle? Where had she gone? Why had she
not come home?
Phillip studied the hair, then pulled out a small plastic bag and put the hair into it. “Good eye,” he complimented her.
A couple of pale lights, light pink and heliotrope, danced through the woods a few yards to their right, briefly catching Daring’s attention. “Breezies,” she commented. “Maybe they saw something.”
Phillip considered this for a moment, then whistled softly through his teeth. The lights paused, then floated over to him. As they came closer, the two breezies came into focus: tiny, furry little beings with long antennae and gossamer wings, blinking up at Phil in polite confusion.
“A bheil…thu..às an set–no, sorry–an set seo?” Phillip asked haltingly, stumbling over a few syllables. The breezies both nodded.
Daring’s eyebrows raised. “You speak Breezespeak?”
“Not fluently,” Phillip admitted.
“Kinda guessed,” Daring replied with a small smile.
“Am…faca…tu dad…am-har-a-sach a-raoir?” Phillip continued.
The two breezies glanced at each other, then the heliotrope one squeaked out a reply, shaking their head.
“No,” Phillip answered, having clearly expected that reply. “They don’t like going out at night, and they didn’t see anything weird during the day.” He shrugged and thanked the breezies, who returned to collecting pollen and twigs. “Worth a shot.”
He then scanned the dirt floor, frowning and shaking his head. “Ground’s too trampled. No good prints.” He scanned the trail of broken stems that led to the clearing, marking the intruder’s path toward their target, then let out an irritated grunt. “Nothing helpful. Should check the church.”
He returned to his bike and drove it the last few yards into the empty patch of flattened, barren dirt that
served as the church’s parking lot, switching off the engine and dismounting. He and Daring looked about the clearing as he traded his helmet for his trilby.
The church was built of blocks of solid gray stone and topped with red shingles; though time and weather had done their work on the structure, it appeared to be well-maintained nonetheless, with fresh paint adorning the doors and the shutters and the rooftop. Next to the church was a humble cottage built of the same stone, apparently serving as the sexton’s quarters. Smoke rose from the battered chimney and lights shone in the small windows. A pair of cars were parked next to the cottage.
Daring and Phillip proceeded to the front doors of the church and pushed them open, entering a carpeted welcoming lobby. A rack of pamphlets offered information on the church, its membership and activities, and the Alicorn’s Witnesses; one pamphlet announced that the church held services every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday night at seven PM. A box invited donations, while stairs on either side led up to the second floor, which, according to a sign, housed balcony seating and classrooms for Sunday school. Adorning the wall in between the two doors that led to the sanctuary was a large wooden seal depicting the symbol of the Alicorn’s Witnesses: a four-pointed star with a pair of wings arcing from it, topped by a crown.
The duo passed into the sanctuary proper and paused to admire the architecture. Wooden pews lined the huge nave, all facing the raised chancel at the front. The altar was covered with a rainbow-colored cloth and held three golden candlesticks, each adorned with a plaque with a cutie mark on it: a sun on the left, an inkpot and quill in the center, and a crescent moon on the right. On the wall behind the altar was a tapestry of the three alicorns: Faust in the center, with Celestia on the left and Luna on the right. On the balcony above the altar was a huge old pipe organ of brass, so large that Daring was briefly amazed that the balcony wasn’t straining to bear its weight.
The main draw of the sanctuary, however, was the stained glass windows on either side that depicted the Seven Pillars. On the left were four windows displaying Rockhoof, Flash Magnus, Stygian, and Starswirl; on the right were Mage Meadowbrook, Somnambula, and Mistmane.
“Crikey,” Phillip breathed in admiration.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Daring acknowledged, studying the window of Mage Meadowbrook. “This looks like Gerwhin craftponyship…judging by the style, I’d say it was made around 1890. Maybe they bought it from–”
Phillip cleared his throat, derailing Daring’s train of thought. “Right, sorry,” she said, shaking her head.
They proceeded through a door at the other end of the sanctuary and entered a hallway with doors on either side, leading to a kitchen and playroom for the children. Voices filtered up from an open door at the end of the hallway that revealed a set of stairs leading down. Phil and Daring headed down the stairs, the wood creaking beneath their steps.
As they descended, Daring observed a distinct line where the stone walls changed from carefully spaced gray stones to haphazardly placed stones of irregular size, shape, and color. Scorch marks ran across the walls and the low ceiling.
“These are the original foundations,” Daring observed as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The cellar was made of the same stone. The open space before them carried old furniture, racks of robes, and boxes of holiday decorations.
The voices were coming from farther down the basement, accompanied by the sound of hammering. As the duo proceeded forward, Daring paused to examine a faint etching of a beetle on the wall. “Looks like ancient Saddle Arabian style,” she mused, gently brushing some dirt away from the carving in the stone. “A scarab: symbol of transformation and rebirth. Probably been here since the Temple was founded.” She cast her gaze over the stones. “Yeah, there are more carvings scattered along the walls. Interesting…I wonder what their thinking was when they added those symbols. Was there a pattern to it or–?”
Phil coughed sharply as he moved on into another room. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Daring groused, following him.
They entered another chamber that served as a boiler room, with an old boiler and a water heater thrumming away in one corner. Pipes and other devices ran along the walls and the ceiling in an intricate pattern. A set of stone stairs led up to a back door.
Two ponies were currently hard at work replacing the door which, like the frame, was freshly painted and stained brown. One was a tall green unicorn with flaxen hair and a thin beard, wearing the black shirt and stiff collar of an Alicorn’s Witness reverend. His cutie mark was an open book with a sun and a moon on the pages.
“Are you…nearly done, Driver?” he panted, his reddened face twisted in strain. Sweat was running down his high, slanted forehead as his horn glowed a pale gold. An aura of the same color surrounded the door held in the doorframe.
The second pony was a short and thin earth pony with long, pointed ears, his coat a burnished orange and his hair a coal black. His cutie mark was a screwdriver and a collection of nuts and bolts and he wore a well-used utility belt laden with tools around his waist.
“Jesh a lil lunger, ‘everen,” the short pony was saying through the screwdriver clenched in his mouth as he screwed the bottom hinge into the doorframe. “Almosh…dere!” He pulled back with a grin.
The reverend sighed in relief as he doused his horn. The door creaked slightly as gravity took hold, but held onto the frame.
“Danks, ‘everen,” the sexton said, pulling another screw from a pocket on his toolbelt and inserting it into the top hinge. “I’ll finis dis up ‘ere.”
“Thank you, Driver,” the reverend said, turning to face his guests. “Sorry about that. I am Reverend Good Word, the current reverend of the Church of the Seven Pillars. This is Screw Driver, the current sexton.”
“Hi,” Screw Driver said through his namesake still clutched in his teeth.
“Phillip Finder, private detective,” Phillip introduced himself. “And this is Professor Dar–” He turned and frowned to see that Daring had crossed to the other side of the room and was studying some more hieroglyphs etched into the wall.
“That’s the eye of Ra,” she mused, studying a stylized eye partially hidden by the dust and spiderwebs of years. “And this one…” She paused over a hieroglyph that resembled an upside-down bowl with two strands, one shorter than the other, dangling from it. “That’s Amenta, which represents the land of the dead…”
She turned around to spot the others staring at her. “Oh, right,” she said with a sheepish smile. “Daring Do, professor of archaeology and ancient history at Golden Oaks University. Sorry, I was just admiring the hieroglyphs here.”
“Those have been here since the foundation was first set,” Reverend Word explained. “When the church was being reconstructed, the builders discussed sanding them away, but decided it wasn’t worth the time and effort.” He gave a small smile. “If nothing else, it’s an interesting talking point.”
“We came here looking for Family Tree,” Daring Do asked.
Reverend Word sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I might have guessed. I’ve seen far too much of her over the past months.”
“When was she last here?” Phillip said.
“Monday evening,” Reverend Word replied. “She’d been coming here for many weeks now to talk about the church’s…former history, like so many before her. I quickly became tired of going over the same questions over and over again, like so many other ‘theorists’ after the alleged catacombs. She asked to review records dating back to the church’s…former history, but I told her that we didn’t have any here; they were sold long ago to a group of historians, I believe.”
“What happened on Monday?” Daring asked.
“She was babbling even more than normal, claiming that she’d finally figured out the entrance to the catacombs: something about cuneiforms and knocking,” the reverend replied. “I told her I wasn’t interested in listening to her and sent her away. She became angry, almost violent, and I had to tell her that I would call the police if she continued like this to get her to leave.”
“You don’t believe in the catacombs?” Daring asked.
“Professor,” Reverend Word said with a heavy weariness in his voice. “I’ve tended to this church for the past twenty years. At times, I feel as though half of my job is dealing with conspiracy theorists who are convinced that they can find the Temple’s catacombs. Every stone has been pressed, every corner knocked for secret passageways. Some of them have even gone so far as to perform profane rituals in this basement.” His face twisted in disgust, his silver eyes glittering darkly as he lifted the bangles on his left hoof and kissed the dangling icons.
“Of course, most of them don’t break in,” Screw Driver added, rising up onto his hind legs so he could reach the top hinge on the doorframe.
Phillip raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
“Somepony broke into the church Monday night,” Reverend Word sighed. “They pried open the back door with a crowbar. We filed a police report, but they didn’t take anything, so the police weren’t too concerned.”
“And I had to install a whole new door and frame,” Screw Driver grumbled as he finished screwing in the hinges. He tested opening and closing the door a few times and hopped back down to all fours.
“Naturally, we…suspect Professor Tree, but we can’t prove it,” Reverend Word stated. “It seems that she came here looking for the catacombs herself, but like everyone else, she didn’t find it.”
“And good thing, too,” Screw Driver said, replacing his tool on his left hip and making his way over to the boiler. “Some things shouldn’t be sought. Or found.”
“It won’t be found because it doesn’t exist,” Reverend Word chastised the sexton.
“Well, she was sure interested in it,” Screw Driver replied. “Her and her two friends.”
Daring Do’s ears perked up. “What friends?”
“On Tuesday afternoon, two ponies came here asking if we’d seen Professor Tree,” Reverend Word explained. “I told them the same as I have told you: she was here on Monday and I told her to leave.”
“Who were they?” Daring asked.
“I do not know,” Reverend Word replied. “They did not introduce themselves and simply left when I told them what I knew.”
While they were talking, Phillip had made a circuit of the boiler room. He glanced over the doorway, made a circle of the area, bent down to study the floor, and studied the wall with the hieroglyphs on it. “Hmm,” he mused.
“Can I ‘elp oo?” Screw Driver asked around the screwdriver in his mouth, frowning up at the detective that was getting in the way of his work.
“Sorry, mate,” Phillip said. “Seen what I need to see. Get out of your way now.”
“Uh…you sure?” Daring asked.
“Yes,” Phillip nodded.
“I hope that you find Professor Tree,” the reverend said as they exited the basement.
“And tell her to drop looking for the catacombs already,” Screw Driver added.
Daring and Phillip climbed back up the stairs and exited the church. “What did you find?” Daring asked as soon as they were outside.
“Wait,” Phillip said, walking over to the cottage where the sexton and reverend lived. He bent down to study two sets of boots resting on a mud tray, lifting each boot up to study the soles, then scraping off samples of the soil into plastic bags that he extracted from his vest.
“The floor of the basement had been cleaned,” Phillip finally said with a frown. “A pathway from the back door to the wall with the hieroglyphs. Could smell the cleaner.”
“Just a path on the floor?” Daring asked.
“Yes,” Phillip nodded. “Sand on boots looks like from the reservoir. Not sure which one is which; both sets same size.”
He let out a long breath, walking over and leaning against his Scout 101. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket and extracted a single fag. “Mind?”
“Nah,” Daring replied.
“Bonzer,” Phillip said, placing the fag in his mouth. He lit the end and closed his eyes as he took a long draw on it, then turned and exhaled a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke away from her. The flowery scent of mintdust tickled Daring’s nose.
“Okay, so let’s go over what we know,” Daring said, pacing in a small circle in front of Phillip. “We know that Family Tree came here on Monday afternoon. She said that she had figured out a way into the catacombs, but got sent off. Later that night, she came back here and broke in.”
“Evidence suggests that,” Phillip said.
“Apparently, she left in her car and just disappeared,” Daring continued. “And I’m guessing that she was supposed to meet up with the Sacred Order, since they showed up looking for her the day after.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Whatever happened in the church, somepony there cleaned up the floor between the door and the wall,” Daring said. “So what did they clean up and why did they just clean that part? And why would they go to the reservoir…?”
Phillip took another puff of the cigarette and stared at her. Daring continued to pace for a few moments as the gears turned in her head.
“Maybe…maybe she found the door,” she mused. “Opened it somehow…but that doesn’t explain how, or why the floor was cleaned.”
Except that she did know why. The possibility burned in her mind, the caustic question burning on her tongue. She swallowed and took a breath as she tried to order the thoughts.
“You…you don’t think that she’s still alive, do you?” she asked, barely speaking above a whisper, as if afraid that voicing it aloud might make it true.
Phillip was silent for a long moment before sighing and shaking his head. “Doesn’t seem likely. I’m sorry.”
Grief ran down Daring’s body like ice water down her spine. Family Tree, who had mentored her during her first years at the university when she was still trying to pick up the pieces of her life. Family Tree, whose mane she had watched turn gray and her face leathery with time, though her spirit never dimmed. Family Tree, who would sit in the teacher’s lounge for hours, discussing the history of Ponyville. Family Tree, whose eyes would sparkle as she giggled over tales of her student’s antics. Family Tree, always with a kind word for anyone, student or faculty, who came through her door.
Gone.
Daring took in a slow inhalation, damming off the sorrow and burying it, simmering it in her gut until it turned into anger. “Let’s just find whoever did this,” she hissed.
Phillip grunted.
“Should we go to the police?” Daring suggested.
Phillip sighed. “Don’t have enough evidence. Would just file a missing pony report. Need more evidence.”
Daring grunted. “Well, whatever happened to her, it probably happened in the catacombs. We should find a way to open it. But how…” She thought for a moment before an idea sparked in her head. “One thing’s for sure: the Sacred Order helped her out, and they know more than they let you on. We should ask them about it.”
A genuine smile spread across Phillip’s face for the first time. “Aces. Your blood’s worth bottling, Daring,” he said, dropping the cigarette onto the ground and grinding it out beneath his hoof.
Daring raised an eyebrow. “So…that something Aushaylians do? Collect creatures’ blood like vintage wine?” she asked.
Phillip paused in the act of strapping his helmet on. “Means you’re useful.”
“Oh, like I’m a tool or something?” she asked.
“No, it’s…” Phillip paused when he noticed a smile spreading across Daring’s face.
“Ah, you’re too easy,” Daring smirked, taking flight. “So, where we headed?”
“The Sacred Order of the Golden Dawn’s Ponyville lodge,” Phillip said, kicking the bike to life.
He turned and drove the bike back up the pathway, with Daring following behind him. Once they reached the road, he turned to the right and headed back into the city proper, with the golden pegasus right on his tail.
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So the Breezies speak Gaelic? Irish, Scots, or Manx?
I always thought that Breezy in the episode had some sort of Scandinavian accent.
11592500
Scottish, as Gaelic alone wasn't an option on Google Translate.
Their voices in the show are a mixture of Swedish and Scottish, but TV Tropes insisted that Seabreeze (was that his name?) had a Scottish accent, so I decided to go with that.
11592511
Swedish and Scottish? (I thought it was more Norwegian, though I have absolutely no idea why I thought this.)
Must be something like Norn (now extinct) or Shetlandic (assuming they're not the same).
You know, for Irish Gaelic you just put in "Irish."
Interesting… very interesting indeed…
11592500
Oh yeah, but that's also how we Minnisotans tend ta talk, don'cha know.