I'm Afraid of Changeling (and other short stories)

by Cold in Gardez

Scorpion Days

Chiaroscuro pushed open the shop door with his shoulder and stepped inside. It was dark and smokey, and the transition from bright sunlight left him momentarily blind.

But the smells were the same – sandalwood, tobacco, oil, and metal. Each separate odor blended in his mind into the single flavor of days gone by. The scent of memory. He drew in a deep breath and held it, and tried for a moment to forget the years that weighed on his shoulders.

The cacophony of the Manehattan streets faded, replaced by the faint sound of steel scraping against stone. A conversation of snakes that paused, followed by the sound of hooves on creaking planks.

His eyes adjusted, and the dark shop lightened in steps. Knives, thousands of them, lined the walls, hanging from cords or balanced on pegs. Peelers, cleavers, razors and more all lay in ordered rows like soldiers. Sparks of lanternlight danced along their edges.

The curtain parted as the proprietor stepped through, his mouth already open to greet the customer. Instead he froze, and for a heartbeat they stared at each other in silence.

The shopkeep, an elderly unicorn, his muzzle dusted with silver, spoke first. The ghost of a smile twisted his lips and tinged his words. “Cherry. Here to apologize?”

Chiaroscuro snorted. He reached up and pulled his lapel aside, exposing the badge pinned to his vest. “Business.”

“Ah. Well, then, welcome, Detective Chiaroscuro, to Falling Leaf’s Knives. What can a humble businesspony do for you?”

Slowly, with far more care than the act normally deserved, Chiaroscuro retrieved a slim envelope from his saddlebags and set it on the counter with a quiet clink, not unlike that of coins in a purse. He stepped back, his lips wrinkling from the taste.

“Have you ever seen these?”

Falling Leaf tilted his head, his eyes darting back and forth between the envelope and the detective. When nothing more came, he shrugged and levitated the envelope. It was not sealed, and he unfolded the paper flap.

A pair of paper-thin blades dropped onto the counter. One landed on its corner and stuck, upright, in the soft wood.

“Hm.” Falling Leaf plucked the razor from the counter and spun it in the air. “Marble Industries surgical-grade steel safety razor with platinum plating. High quality, for a disposable item. Somepony has good taste.”

“You sell them here?”

“I do.” Falling Leaf’s horn glowed brighter, and a small box floated up from beneath the counter. “Twenty bits per dozen.”

“You go through a lot of them?”

He shook his head. “Mind if I ask what this is about, detective?”

“Yeah, I do mind.” The bitter words slipped out without thought. He covered with a cough and continued. “Somepony’s been sticking them on railings, park benches, lampposts. Most are found before anypony gets hurts, but a few ponies have gotten cut.”

“Anything serious?”

Chiaroscuro shook his head. “Not yet. Lotta blood, though. You know how razors are.”

“I do.” Falling Leaf held the envelope still and began flicking the razor back-and-forth across it in a smooth, practiced motion. The blade passed through the paper with barely even a sound, and flakes began to fall onto the counter in a small blizzard. Within seconds the envelope was gone.

“It’s happened before,” he continued. “Some colt, smaller than his fellows, a few years after his balls start to drop. Fascinated by knives, loves cutting things, maybe even himself. Then he discovers razors, and they are… amazing to him.”

Chiarscuro stared at the pile of confetti on the country. A bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Yeah.”

“Such a thin little thing.” Falling Leaf rotated the blade, and it seemed to vanish. “Like a piece of paper, but with so much power. That’s how the colt starts to think of himself. Small, weak, so easily bent, and yet now dangerous.”

Chiaroscuro cleared his throat. “You see any colts like that in here?”

A long moment followed. Finally, Falling Leaf snorted. “Not lately.”

Ah. The years seemed to return to his shoulders, and Chiaroscuro slumped. He could already feel the summer heat outside, waiting for him again. “Right. Keep an eye out, will you? Let us know.”

“Of course.” Falling Leaf set the two blades atop the box, and deftly wrapped the whole affair in a sheet of oiled paper. “For your trouble, detective.”

“Right.” Chiaroscuro slid the package into his saddlebags. The oiled paper tasted like childhood. He turned toward the exit.

“Son.” The word stopped him cold. He turned to see Falling Leaf, looking so much older now, a plaintive expression on his face.

Silence stretched out.

Falling Leaf looked down. “Nevermind,” he whispered.

Right. Chiaroscuro did that, and left.

Comments

[Fana Farouche]

Bloody hell! The terrible irony is that, if you had actually used a razor, I wouldn't have felt it.

I would know more.

A tired refrain I know, but when you insist on implied narrative, these things must be expected.

Anyway, this anthology must now be moved to the highest shelf in the library.

[Malandy]

So, they're father and son and something involving blades happened with them... Likely that stuff about "Some colt" is about Chiaroscuro...

“Cherry. Here to apologize?”

Well, there's something to apologize for, or he at least thinks there is... Actually missed that line on my first reading...

[horizon]

Good as always to see your work make the jump from the Writeoffs. Unfortunately, even with the enhanced context of added wordcount, I feel like I'm still missing something here. I get the implication (Chiaroscuro himself messed with razors in his younger days) and the hints around the edges of the relationship and some old tragedy, but I'm struggling to find the emotional beat that links everything firmly together. I wonder if this isn't being too subtle — not just for the Writeoff, but in general.

[SIGAWESOME]

7789969

I wonder if this isn't being too subtle — not just for the Writeoff, but in general.

I certainly agree there.

I felt like there is a bit of history and context missing from their interactions. I would love to see this expanded into a full story. This little snippet was intriguing, but far, far too short; just as I was getting drawn in *BAM!* it ended

[Shrink Laureate]

Chiarscuro stared at the pile of confetti on the country

"counter"?

[Cold in Gardez]

7998495

You're not the boss of me!

[Corejo]

Long drives in the backseat are the perfect time to catch up on pony words. Glad I got to these!

[PresentPerfect]

Wow, damn. :O

[Cold in Gardez]

9821995

You know I completely forgot writing this.

[PresentPerfect]

9822058
It wouldn't be a bad jumping-off point for a longer noir mystery!