The Siren

by McPoodle

Chapter 8

The two ponies faced each other on the rain-slicked street.

“The name’s Rarity, the local fashion designer,” the white unicorn said to the newcomer, presenting a hoof clad in a yellow rainboot.

“Lemon Peel, medium-term visitor,” the earth pony replied, bumping it with her own forehoof boot.

As she made herself presentable, Rarity took the moment to fully take in what Lemon Peel was wearing: a white beret, a black sleeveless top, a pair of white leggings on the rear legs ending with two black stripes at the cuff, and two pairs of white rain boots with black stripes in front. The top had been stained and scuffed in the battle, the leggings needed to be un-bunched, and the boots only needed polishing. An easy job for Rarity.

(The beret was pristine.)

Lemon Peel walked over to a corner, putting her pannier over her withers. A case the size of her torso was then lightly tossed onto her back. “My portable typewriter,” she explained to Rarity. “I’m a magazine columnist for Mare Trotting Monthly.”

Rarity began to walk towards Carousel Boutique, with Mrs. Peel by her side. “Out of Trottingham?” she guessed.

“Yes. Was it the accent?”

“That, and the ensemble. Eye Bait’s fashions are unmistakable.”

Peel smiled. “I have an exclusive contract to wear his creations for a month before they officially go on the market.”

“Then you are a mare of means, as well of action,” Rarity commented. Having reached her place of business, she proceeded to unlock it, letting Peel inside.

“Action first, before means,” Peel replied. Having reached Rarity’s work area, she stepped behind a screen for a moment, returning with her removed clothing. Rarity meanwhile removed her rain attire and freshened up her mane and tail with a spell.

Rarity then put Peel’s whites in the washer, adding the necessary cleansers. She pressed her horn to the crystal to get it started.

Lemon Peel looked over at a nearby clock. “Do you mind if I get some writing done? I have to get this next article sent off by noon. I have it all in here”—she gestured at her head—“but I need to get it on paper.”

“Oh, go right ahead,” said Rarity. “I have to get the shop opened up anyway.”

As Rarity went around opening windows and setting up ponykins displaying her latest fashions, she cast the occasional glance towards her guest. She saw her set up the typewriter on a desk, put some paper in, and immediately start typing. Line after line of text came out of her like she was some sort of machine, her lips moving silently, her eyes focused intently. When one page was finished, it was deftly pulled out with her mouth and put face down on a stack. Then another page was inserted, and the process continued.

When she finished, Mrs. Peel looked over to see Rarity watching, mesmerized. “I hope I didn’t distract you from anything important,” she said lightly.

“Oh, nothing of the sort!” Rarity replied. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the washer was finished. Whites went into the dryer, blacks went into the washer, and both machines were soon started up. “So, what have you been writing about?” She leaned over to take a look at the completed manuscripts. She failed to spot a single error in the conversational article.

(She also failed to spot the report that was encoded within the article. Lemon Peel, with her decade of experience as an agent of the Griffon Isles Protectorate, had been sneaking reports into her articles so many times that she could do it on the fly now, with no reduction in her typing speed.)

Peel tapped lightly at the pile of typed pages. “Well, this is my last article on Canterlot, which is where I was first staying before Applejack invited me to stay with her. I could write an article or two about you next.”

“Moi?” Rarity asked, pointing at herself. “What about me interests you?”

“I believe I have you to thank for the sun’s continued operation.”

“I can’t give you an interview on that,” Rarity said curtly. “At least not with just me. Nightmare Moon was a group operation. We have agreed to have all interviews of our experiences that night collectively.” She put on a sympathetic expression. “I hope that doesn’t come across as too demanding. We’ve unfortunately had an experience where our separate recollections did not precisely match, and that fact was used by an unscrupulous source to try and prove that we were a pack of liars.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” said Mrs. Peel. “If you could suggest a time and place, I would be happy to accommodate.”

“I’ll speak with them and let you know,” Rarity said. “Are you still interested in an interview, Lemon, on something other than that?”

"Mrs. Peel,” the disguised changeling said, her lips pursed.

“Beg pardon?” Rarity asked awkwardly.

“Please call me Mrs. Peel. Not Lemon. It’s…it’s probably not as necessary here in Equestria as it was in the Isles,” Mrs. Peel explained. “Things are much more…male-oriented there. If a stallion or tercel, or even a mare, called me ‘Lemon’ instead of ‘Peel’, that tended to mean that I was something less in their eyes. Children and females there are called by their first names, even strangers. Males are always called by their last names, and only they deserved respect. I am Mrs. Peel, and if only because I am married, I am worthy of being considered an equal with any Mister.”

Rarity was taken back by the passion conveyed by the pony before her. “I see,” she said. “Then I will certainly respect your wishes, Mrs. Peel. My question from before still stands: can I assist you with anything other than The Night That Never Ended?”

“There is one thing you might be able to help me explain to my readers, as a ‘pony on the street’.” She reached into her pannier and pulled out a copy of the same poster she had spotted on the train ride from Canterlot:

WANTED

B10,000 REWARD

FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE ARREST
OF THE GANG OF PONIES KNOWN AS

“THE MUTES”

ADULT MARES AND STALLIONS OF ALL BREEDS, WEARING TAN CLOAKS
AS WELL AS THEIR LEADER, THE PONY KNOWN AS

“THE BASILISK”

ADULT MARE, PROBABLY A UNICORN, MEDIUM BUILD.

WANTED FOR AT LEAST 56 ARMED ROBBERIES
(IN EVERY STATION ON THE LINE,
INCLUDING MANEHATTAN AND CANTERLOT)
AND FOR 87 COUNTS OF BRAINWASHING
UNARMED, BUT CONSIDERED TO BE EXTREMELY DANGEROUS
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPREHEND YOURSELF. CONTACT THE NEAREST RAILWAY OFFICIAL

“My readers were under the impression that crime of any sort was unknown in Equestria. What do you have to say to that?”

Rarity squirmed a bit under the leading question, then saw the glint of a smile in her interviewer’s eye. “Well, I would say that Equestria, while superior in many ways to our neighbors, is not in fact perfect. Criminals such as the ones depicted here are rare, but they are not completely unknown. If I might dare to turn this interview around, what do you think of the poster?”

Taken off guard, Mrs. Peel gave the poster a onceover. “Why? Is this one of your works?”

“Oh no,” Rarity said. “I do hope that my style will shine through in anything I create, in whatever media. I just wanted to know: As somepony who came from a place with more crime than Equestria, what do you think of the poster?”

“Well frankly I think it’s a joke,” Peel replied. “I can understand being vague about members of the gang, as their membership might vary, but to say so little about the ringleader? There is no identifying information given whatsoever! Even her breed is a guess. Why waste the illustration on the pony in the cloak? And finally, I would think that the ‘brainwashing’ charge should receive considerably more attention than the robberies.”

Rarity smiled. “For the most part, those were the same points I brought up with the Equestria Railway officials when they first put up that poster. Despite being one of the Basilisk’s victims, I was ignored.”

“You’ve seen this character?”

“Oh yes,” said Rarity, leaning back. “We had quite a lengthy conversation on the subject of color-matching in fabric before she revealed herself as the infamous ‘Basilisk’.”

“Then you know what she looks like.”

“Oh no, I have no idea what she truly looks like. You see, the actual pony I thought I was conversing with lives far off of the rail lines and has multiple witnesses affirming that she was in her shop the entire day of the robbery.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When she decided to rob the train, she looked different. In fact, she looked identical to me, although her voice didn’t change.” Rarity looked Mrs. Peel straight in the eye, eager to see how she would react to this revelation.

Lemon Peel froze, absolutely paralyzed with fear. “She…she can change her appearance?” she finally whispered. A rogue changeling, she thought, the worst possible thing to happen to us. Why now, of all possible times?

“Oh yes, completely at will,” Rarity said lightly, showing no sign that she took Mrs. Peel’s extreme reaction as anything other than normal. “Quite a useful ‘special talent’ for a pony in the train-robbing business to have, don’t you think?”

“Y…yes. Quite a special talent!”

“The authorities refuse to reveal that fact. Afraid of sparking a panic.”

“Indeed,” said Peel, her nightmare of changelings in Equestria revealed flashing before her eyes.

“Hence the vague illustration.”

“But what about the brainwashing?” Peel asked, desperate to change the topic.

“A complete lie,” Rarity said with a smile. “This ‘Basilisk’ figure is a very compelling speaker—no magic involved there; I can assure you. She has a well-practiced spiel, that I got to hear spoken from my own mouth, about what she’s spending all of the stolen loot on. She’s founded some sort of paradise outside Equestria, a place for every misfit creature in the world to ‘live as themselves, free from all of the lies.’ A couple of ponies took her up on her offer on the robbery I witnessed, escaping with her at the next station. They undoubtedly became ‘Mutes’ for the next robbery. She had some smoke bombs to cover her tracks. Good old, non-magical smoke bombs.”

Peel nodded. “The kind that smells like moldy hay?”

“The same,” said Rarity.

“That’s a Knight Industries product,” Peel said.

“The Canterlot novelty company?”

“No, the Trottingham novelty company of the same name. Founded by my father, Questing Knight. Rather confusing to have the same name for two entirely different things, depending on which part of the world you live in. We get mail misaddressed to the other company constantly. Technically I run the company now, although I do it through proxy. I prefer my current ‘action’ profession to being a CEO.

"So why the charge of ‘brainwashing’? Sensationalism?”

“No, pressure from the families,” Rarity replied. “Many of these volunteers belong to rich families, and they bring a portion of their riches with them when they defect. Now I believe the reason why these individuals are disaffected, the reason why they chose to join the Mutes, is because of their families, if you get my meaning. But the families are certainly not going to admit that when they pony up a substantial part of that 10,000-bit reward to get them back. So Equestrian Rail is forced to add that charge of ‘brainwashing’. In tiny print.”

Peel laughed, somewhat bitterly. “I understand exactly what you’re talking about when it comes to the unfair pressure a wealthy family can put upon you. Thank you, Rarity. I should be able to craft an excellent article from this interview. Now hold on while I finish my notes.”

Rarity finished cleaning the reporter’s clothing while she worked, getting a good look at the mare’s boots. They certainly gave her some ideas for her upcoming winter line.

And after that the pair discussed Trottingham fashions for hours.

---

As soon as she had the chance, Lemon Peel made her way back to Sweet Apple Acres. She saw Granny Smith napping in the living room, and rocked her gently to wake her.

“Eh, what’s going on?”

“I need to ask you about something, Granny.”

Granny’s eyes focused on Mrs. Peel. “Oh, it’s you. What’s your question?”

“What does the Apple Clan know about The Basilisk?” Peel asked, showing Granny the poster.

“Who?” She put a pair of spectacles on. “Oh…her. I can see why you’d be worried. I had some Apples take a lot of train rides until they were robbed by her. She’s just a pony, not a changeling.”

Peel breathed a sigh of relief, but then thought of something else. “But still—she can change her shape.”

“No, she can’t. It’s some kind of illusion magic. Apple Strudel told me that one of her disguises flickered a bit when the light was really strong.”

Peel nodded. “Alright. Then she’s not a threat to us.”

“Well…she’s the same threat to us as she is to any other pony. Catching her makes for a more-peaceful Equestria. And a peaceful Equestria is a loving Equestria.”

“True. Very true. I wonder why she calls herself ‘The Basilisk’.”

Granny laughed. “Because she’s got a brain in her head, that’s why. She’s not Twilight Sparkle, which means that she probably only has the one magical power. A villain that names themselves after their one and only power is not going to last very long. I guarantee you that the one thing ‘The Basilisk’ absolutely can’t do, is anything that a real basilisk can do.”

“Alright.” She then remembered something that she had forgotten to ask Rarity. “Do you happen to know why her gang are called ‘The Mutes’?”

Granny nodded with a wry smile. “More cleverness. They commit their crimes in complete silence, letting this Basilisk character do all the talking. But not just that. Do you see that vial hanging around the pony’s neck on the poster?”

“Yes?”

“That’s the Basilisk’s insurance policy. You see, a Mute doesn’t have any special tricks to avoid being caught, so the train ponies catch one or two every year. Do you know what happens then?”

“What happens?”

“The Mute breaks that vial. Somehow or other, it contains all of their memories before they joined. All of their memories before they learned any of the Basilisk’s secrets or plans. With the vial broken, the memories of being a Mute are replaced by memories of when they were wanting to be a Mute.”

“Wait…” Peel said as she worked out the consequences of what Granny was saying. “Does that mean that they lost their memories of their past life when they became a Mute? When their vial was created?”

“Maybe. Maybe,” said Granny. “My changelings certainly never saw anything other than absolute loyalty in any Mute they encountered.”

“That’s diabolical!” exclaimed Mrs. Peel. “Rarity was wrong—there certainly is brainwashing going on. It’s just happening after recruitment instead of before.”

Author's Note:

Here are the notes for this chapter.