Fillydelphia private eye Looking Glass is hired by a new client to find her fiancé, Silver Coin.
Fillydelphia private eye Looking Glass is hired by a beautiful new client to find her missing fiancé, Silver Coin. However, the simple missing pony case gets complicated quickly, and the hard-luck gumhoof soon finds himself embroiled in a plot that could have consequences for all of Equestria.
It all started on a slow, muggy afternoon in downtown Fillydelphia. I was leaned back in my chair, hooves kicked up on the desk, staring at a half-empty bottle of apple brandy and the stack of unpaid bills it was keeping company. My ceiling fan creaked steadily as the two remaining blades spun through their orbit like a couple of bellicose drunks. I was staring at the brandy, weighing the pros and cons of finishing it off, when I heard the groan of a hoof sinking into the floorboards outside my office. A moment later, the little bell over my door rang, and she stepped in.
She looked like the kind of filly who made her living by being pretty. Her cherry coat shimmered slightly, and her dark red mane was expertly tousled to look respectable or inviting, depending on her expression. Some type of long-petaled pink flower bloomed on her flanks. She paused halfway through the door and looked around my office with surprise.
“Excuse me,” she said, “this is the office of Mr. Glass, yes?”
“Sure is,” I replied. I swung my hooves down from the desk and rested my elbows on it instead, trying to look a little more businesslike. “How can I help you, miss?”
“Well,” she said, still looking unsure, “it's just that I had heard some marvelous things about your work, and I rather expected... ”
I self-consciously took the bottle of brandy and stuck it in a drawer. “It's not a glamorous life, miss, but it generally pays the bills. How can I help you?”
“Ah, yes.” She cleared her throat and stepped fully into my office, butting the door gently closed behind her. She inspected the ancient wooden chair I reserved for my guests and wisely decided to remain standing. “I am given to understand that you specialize in missing pony cases.”
That wasn't strictly true, but they were the main reason anypony knew me. “That's right, miss. Is somepony missing?”
“Well... yes.” Her lips pursed and I could clearly see the strain in her sapphire eyes. “It's my fiancé, Mr. Glass. He has been missing for two days.”
A lonely little part of me sighed at the word “fiancé,” but I nodded. “Just Glass, miss, if you'd prefer. Have you already contacted the police?”
“Well... no,” she said. Her hoof scratched the floorboards nervously. “I mean, it's just, he is a very important pony, you see, and it simply wouldn't do to have a common policepony searching the city for him.”
That was a new one. These Manehattan-wannabe types tended to indulge in their classism, but this was ridiculous. Granted, I didn't have the utmost faith in the cops around here, but I had some good reasons. “Miss, the F.P.D might not having a sterling reputation, but I’m sure they could keep it low-profile. I have a friend on the force with some pull, she might be able to... ”
“Mr. Glass,” she interrupted sharply, “I do not wish the police involved. Is that clear?”
I let out a breath. “Miss, may I ask you a question?”
She hesitated a second before she nodded.
“Why come to me?”
“I’m sorry?”
I leaned back and looked her in the eye. “You’re obviously wealthy. Your mane, your coat, your voice, they all say money. There are other P.I’s in Fillydelphia, miss; hell, I know a mare uptown who runs a whole freaking agency. She could have half a dozen gumhoofs swarming this town for any sign of your fiancé. I’m just one colt.”
Her face was a mask. “Are you saying that you will not take the case?”
I shook my head. “I’ll take it, and I’ll do everything in my power to find your stallion, but I need to know I’m not getting involved in something shady. If you can’t be honest with me, there’s not a lot I can do to help you.”
“Fine,” she said after a moment. “I do not have access to my fiancé’s accounts, and my personal fortune is significantly less robust. You have a good reputation and reasonable rates. And so I am here.”
“Ah.” Interesting. I hadn’t taken the filly for a gold digger; she pulled off the “old money” routine pretty well. “Well, thank you. Now, I need to ask you some questions about your fiancé.”
“Certainly.”
I dug into my top drawer for a notepad and pencil. "Whaf hif num?"
“Pardon?”
I spit the pencil out. “What's his name?"
"Silver Coin. Perhaps you've heard of him?"
“Sorry, miss, but I don't often get to brush shoulders with the Fillydelphia elite.”
She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Don't you read the newspapers?”
“Uh... parts of them.” I waved vaguely towards the paper on my desk. “I'm not a big fan of politics. I've got enough to worry about in my own little corner of Equestria. Could you describe him?"
“He is a large stallion, four and a half hands tall, with a gray coat and a silver mane. His eyes are gold. His cutie mark consists of three stacks of silver coins, the central one tallest.”
I wrote that down. "When waf the laft tum you faw hum?"
She tried to cover a grin. "The pencil, Mr. Glass."
Dammit. "When was the last time you saw him?"
“Two nights ago, at supper. After we dined, he told me that he was going to the Horn and Feather for a nip. He did not return.”
“Does he go there often?”
“Yes, he occasionally meets some of his business acquaintances there.”
“Do you know who he was meeting this time?”
“Not specifically, no.”
I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Unspecifically?”
“Probably the same group he met with regularly,” she answered with a shrug.
“Does he have any enemies? Old rivals? Debts owed?”
“He's a rather successful pony, Mr. Glass. He has stepped on a few hooves to get to where he is. But he's a good stallion at heart, I assure you."
I picked the pencil back up and scribbled down some notes. “How is your relationship with your fiancé?”
“I beg your pardon?” She sounded a bit offended..
“I'm not trying to be too intrusive, but this sort of information can help in an investigation. You two are living together?”
“Yes.” She looked a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
“Have you been living together long?”
“Since shortly after we were engaged.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Six months.”
I nodded and scribbled down some more notes. “Has there been any trouble in your relationship recently? Any fights, arguments? Maybe suspicions of diloyalty?”
A hint of a grin touched her face. “I am fairly certain that Silver wasn't cheating on me, Mr. Glass.”
I had to admit, anypony who threw her to the side was blind or stupid... but hardly ruled the possibility out. Well, no sense breaking her heart just yet. “Sorry, miss, but we have to explore every possibility here. Are you absolutely certain?”
“I'm sure if he'd decided to run off with another mare, he'd have left a note or something.”
“Sure.” Because stallions are always so polite in situations like that. I took a moment to scribble down the basics of what she'd told me. Silver Coin. Horn and Feather. Rich. Potential enemies. Probably ran off with some filly for the weekend. “I'll start looking into this right away, miss.”
“Ah... about your fees,” she began, her cheeks flushing a bit.
“Standard rates are fifteen bits an hour, plus expenses. I'll keep a log of everything and give it to you along with the bill. How should I contact you?”
“We reside at 3803 High Canter Boulevard. Ask the doorcolt for Miss Calla.”
I wrote that down as well, and then trotted around the desk to place my hoof reassuringly on her shoulder. “Don't worry, miss. I'll find your fiancé as soon as I can. Should I call you a taxi?”
The simple gesture looked like it had almost brought her to tears, but she swallowed them and shook her mane. “I will be fine. Thank you, Mr. Glass.”
I offered her my best smile, and leaned on the desk as I watched her leave. I had to admit, there were worse ways to spend time. Then I threw on my coat and hat, stuffed my notepad and pencil into a pocket, and set out to find where Silver Coin was spending his time.
People from out of town tell me that Fillydelphia stinks, especially in the afternoon. I guess it does, but I can usually shrug it off; I was born and raised here, and while the stench of piss, booze, rotten food, burning paper, leaky sewage pipes and unwashed ponies never becomes what I'd call pleasant, you learn to deal with it. On a muggy afternoon like that one, though, with the sky overcast and the breeze struggling to navigate the maze of old buildings, it can get hard to even breathe.
I immediately regretted bringing my heavy canvas duster, but the Weather Union had promised a hell of a storm that night, whenever they got around to it. Yeah, the strike had just ended, and they claimed that they were still getting back into the swing of things, but come on. If you asked any pegasus in town, they'd tell you the same thing: the Union knew they had city council over the barrel, and they were milking the hell out of it.
Freaking politics.
The Horn and Feather was on pretty much the opposite side of town and walking in this heat wasn't going to be pleasant, but since I hadn't pushed Miss Calla for an advance, springing for a taxi was out of the question. On the bright side, since I had to hoof it anyway, I could make a few stops along the way.
My corner of downtown Fillydelphia was home to the main F.P.D. headquarters. It was an old, flat building squatting amidst the crumbling apartments and failed businesses that spring up around this town like weeds. It hadn't been painted in years, except for the occasional splotches to cover graffiti, but the simple fact that all the windows and doors were intact made it the prettiest piece of architecture on the block. As usual, several police wagons were parked outside in the main lot, and a few uniformed cops were standing a city-mandated ten freet from the front doors while they smoked and bitched about the heat.
"Gentlecolts," I said, nodding at them as I passed. They gave me a distrustful look matched with only the slightest of nods. I paused to address one of them in particular, an earth pony with a bright orange coat and scarlet mane. “Chase.”
"Glass," he grunted. "What's up?"
"Working a case. Cammy in?"
"Yeah, think so."
I paused. "You think so?"
He shrugged. "Hey, she's not my problem anymore."
I just stared at him. "Hadn't heard you'd had broken up."
He met my eyes for a second, then looked away. "Yeah, things... didn't work out."
I kept staring, just long enough to make him start fidgeting. It felt good. Then I snorted and brushed past him.
The interior of F.P.D. headquarters matched the exterior, though it was a little cleaner and paint had been applied within the last decade or so. The floors were a simple white tile, chipped and cracked in most places from the thousands of hooves that have tread its surface, and the walls were some sort of brownish carpeting that couldn't have possibly ever been in style. The main lobby wass mostly a waiting room, with chairs that weren't designed for pony comfort and a small play area with an assortment of ancient toys, most of them missing important parts. A counter lined the space between two hallways; one lead to the holding cells, the other to the bullpen where the cops did their deskwork.
Behind the counter sat a very pretty filly, with a tan coat and pink mane. She glared at me with tired malice from behind a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles.
"Cammy," I said, throwing her my most dashing grin.
"Looky."
"How's it going? Long time no see. I heard you split with Sgt. Scene. What, your conscience finally catch up with you?”
She rolled her eyes. "Just tell me what you want."
"A second chance, Camellia!" I said with a theatrical sigh, raising my hoof to my forehead. "Let us forgive past grievances, and embrace our true, destined love!"
She sighed and hid her eyes behind her hoof. "Are you seriously just here to annoy me?"
"I have this thing with fillies who cheat on me," I replied. "For some reason, I feel compelled to be an obnoxious dick to them. Weird, right?"
She just stared at me.
"I need to know if some high-hoof named Silver Coin's been picked up in the last couple of days."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Silver Coin? The railroad magnate?"
"Sure, I guess?"
"You're looking for him, and you don't even know who he is?"
I shrugged, getting a little embarrassed. "His fiance hired me to find him."
"You are the worst private eye."
I shot her a glare. "So, no, he hasn't been picked up."
"Correct."
"Thanks, Cammy," I said, turning sidelong. "I'll let you get back to your adultery. Work! I mean work."
She gave an angry snort and turned back to her paperwork. "You are such a child, Glass."
I didn't bother responding; she was right, and I knew it. What happened between us was years in the past, and any mature pony would have put it all behind him and moved on. But no matter how hard I tried, the hurt came back fresh every time I looked into those rose-colored eyes.
I pushed aside my rueful ruminations as I left the building. That was one lead followed. Whatever Silver Coin was doing, it hadn't landed him in the clink. The next logical stop was the hospital.
Healing Hooves Hospital was the biggest in Fillydelphia, and located just a few blocks from the F.D.P. H.Q. Those blocks made a difference, though; just a few streets down the road, and life started returning to the city. There were small novelty shops, a few hole-in-the-wall restaurants only the locals knew about, and even a small park that only occasionally doubled as a drug trade flea market.
I made my way across the park, dodging a small pack of young ponies who were chasing an annoyed-looking squirrel, and up the steps to the hospital proper. Inside, it was all white floors and pale, pastel walls. A fountain gurgled in the center of the waiting room, the brightly colored fish within mesmerizing a couple of foals.
The mare staffing the reception counter was matronly and plump, her gray mane pulled up into a bun on which her uniform's hat perched precariously. She greeted me with a bright smile. "Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?"
I dipped my mouth into my coat and produced my identification, a small card with an official stamp listing me as a licensed private detective. "I'm just wondering, ma'am, if a stallion named Silver Coin has checked in here."
"Silver Coin?" she said in surprise. "Why, no, sir! Surely the media would be swarming the building if he had!" She leaned forward eagerly. "Why, has something happened to him?"
I bit my card and tucked it back into my coat. "Thanks for your information, ma'am."
"Has he been in some accident?" she pressed, her voice an urgent whisper. "Is he missing? Did they get him?"
I paused. "They?"
She looked quickly around her, and then leaned forward again. "Hadn't you heard? Silver Coin was leading the fight against the Weather Union's strike! He gave a speech calling them all sorts of terrible things... blackmailers, brigands, barbarians... lots of 'B' words. Don't you read the news?"
"Just, you know, parts of it."
"Well, I heard that Nightingale herself put a bounty on him! Ten thousand bits, alive or dead!"
"Uh... huh."
"And I heard that Mr. Coin hired this famous mercenary as a bodyguard!"
"Look, ma'am, thank you for your time... "
"Oh, this is so juicy! I can't wait to tell Dr. Tourniquet."
I hustled out of the hospital while the nurse was distracted with her one-pony gossip hour. As I crossed the park again, I thought over what I'd learned. Clearly, this Silver Coin was a bigger name in the city than I had assumed, maybe even a borderline celebrity. I needed to learn more about him before I started asking questions, if only so I wouldn't seem like such a clueless idiot.
I needed somepony who knew the local bigwigs, who kept up with their goings-on, and who could tell me everything I might need to know about Silver Coin and the enemies he had made on his way to the top. Fortunately, in Fillydelphia, you can find anything you need... for a price.
Fillydelphia doesn't have a lot going for it, but one thing it's never been accused of lacking is booze. You can find a bar, tavern or saloon on almost every street corner, split about halfway between joints catering only to a certain ethnic group and those willing to take money from anypony. On the rich side of town, you've got places like the Horn and Feather, where everything's white marble and tuxedos and velvet carpets. Down in the slums–also known as “the rest of the city”–you've got dives like the Bloody Foal (griffons only), Bad Ass (donkeys and ponies who can stand terrible puns only), and the Rat Hole, which serves as sort of an all-purpose hive of scum and villainy.
I always tried to stay out of those places. I'd been a detective of one type or another for more than fifteen years, and I'd put away some of those peoples' friends. I could throw a punch and take a few in return, but I didn't go looking for beatings.
Instead, I headed to just about the most middle-of-the-ground bar in town: the Chestnut Mane. It was a nice enough joint, just classy enough to keep out the riff-raff, but not too classy to keep out thirsty P.I.'s looking for information. Years ago, it started as a tiny hole-in-the-wall sitting roughly halfway between the worst parts of town and the comparatively nice ones. Its location, quality, and entrepreneurial owner helped it grow to include the floors above it and the buildings on either side. During the evening it was a bustling place, but the number of old walls and support pillars made it easy to have a quiet conversation where nopony could see you.
The bell chimed as I pulled open the door and stepped in from the sweltering street. I paused there for a minute, letting my eyes adjust and enjoying the stale coolness of the air. It being pretty early afternoon, the place was all but empty, aside from a handful of hopeless drunks and the unicorn owner and proprietor. I knew him as Smilin' Steed, though I doubted that was his real name. As usual, he was dressed in an old-timey barkeep's outfit that clashed sharply with his turquoise coat and lime green mane. He stood watching over his collection of silent patrons while using his magic to polish a whiskey glass. When my eyes met his, he nodded and motioned to an empty corner of the bar, then set about pouring me a drink.
I took a seat and waited patiently until he thunked my usual–cherry whiskey, on the rocks–down on the bar in front of me. He picked up another glass and began polishing it, never looking at me as he asked, “What ken I do ye for, Glass?”
I took a sip and winced as it burned a trail down my throat. “Information, Steed. What do you know about Silver Coin?”
“Aye?” He paused in his cleaning and arched an eyebrow at me. “The railroad-”
“The railroad magnate, yes,” I interrupted tiredly.
He blew on his glass and resumed wiping it. “What're ye needin' to know?”
“Anything and everything.”
“He's a powerful pony, Glass. I know a lot.”
I sighed, dug into my duster pocket, and produced a few bits. Without even looking at them, Steed swiped them into his apron. “Well, fer starters, ye know already he owns the Grand Eastern Railway, aye?”
I didn't–freaking politics–but I nodded anyway. The Grand Eastern ran from Manehattan to Canterlot, and included Fillydelphia and several smaller towns on its route. I'd never really worried about the pony behind the railway, but the more I acted like I knew, the less Steed would end up charging me.
“Well, then ye also know that he owns massive tracts o' land on either side of the rails, all through the countryside. Most anything built on that land is his, or at least pays him rent. That includes a big chunk o' the city, naturally.”
I motioned for him to get on with it. “Okay, he's really freaking rich. I already knew that.”
“Well, see, that's only part of it. He didn't build the Grand Eastern, his father did. But almost as soon as the final spike was pounded inta the groun', ol' Gold Coin had himself a mysterious accident an' Silver inherited the whole shebang.”
I whistled. “You saying he... ?”
Steed shook his head. “I ain't sayin' anything, Glass, just pointin' out coincidence. But needless ta say, a lot of his da's old business partners didn't much trust him after.”
I pulled out my notepad and scribbled a few things down. “What else?”
Steed coughed and looked theatrically thoughtful. I sighed and tossed him a few more bits.
“He's in good with the First Equestrian Bank, an' ye know how much power they throw around in this city.”
“Sure,” I only half lied. Everyone knew the First Equestrian had their hooves in everything that happened in Fillydelphia, though rumors of their influence ranged from simple corruption to plans for world domination, mwa ha ha.
“In fact, the First Equestrian's president is a unicorn named Crown Jewel, who was also the only one of ol' Gold Coin's associates to stick with Silver after the accident.”
“Okay, so Silver was involved in some shadowy stuff and had enemies among the Fillydelphia elite. What about the Weather Union?”
Steed looked at me in surprise. “Had?”
Crap. I'd just tipped my hoof to the city's most notorious information broker. I liked Steed well enough, but I had no illusions that he'd keep his mouth shut when there was money to be made. I sighed. “He's missing. His fiancé hired me to look for him.”
Steed still looked surprised. “Fiancé?”
“Huh?”
“What d'ye mean, 'fiancé?' That pony's a famous bachelor. And a bit of a lech, I hear.”
“She called herself 'Miss Calla... '”
Steed burst out laughing. “Calla Lily?! The escort?!”
“Escort? Wait, you mean she’s a-”
“Yer getting' played from the get-go, Glass,” Steed laughed, loud enough to draw looks from the drunks in the room. He sounded like a hiccuping donkey; I had to resist an impulse to flatten his muzzle across his face. After a long minute, he quieted and leaned on the bar conspiratorially. “So, she pointed ye at the Union?”
I shook my head. “No, that's just my main lead. He had a dust-up with them over the strike, and I wouldn't put it past them to knock him off.”
“Ye got that right,” he said with a shrug, “but Silver Coin's a powerful pony. The Union's a lot o' roughnecks, but they've more brains than to just go killin' influential members o' high society.”
“Something you know that I don't?” I asked, reaching into my pocket again.
Steed shook his head. “Nothin' worth payin' fer, Glass. Just strikes me as a dumb move, is all.”
I nodded. “Well, it's a lead, so I'm not going to drop it. Still, you're right... maybe I should be looking into this Crown Jewel guy.”
Steed snorted. “Good luck with that. Silver tried to keep his private life low profile, but Crown Jewel borders on paranoid. No one ever even sees him leave his mansion; rumor says he's got some sort o' tunnel that goes straight from his home to his office at the bank. Or that he just lives there somewhere.”
I scribbled down a few more notes. “Nnythung mlse?”
“Pardon?”
I spat the pencil out with a sigh. “Anything else?”
“Always, Glass, but it'll cost ye.”
I felt in my pocket. Barely enough left for dinner. “Yeah, I think I'll manage.”
“Aye, I'm sure ye will. Luck, Glass.”
I grunted some sort of reply, downed the rest of my drink, and left. Now that I knew more about the missing pony, it was time to start actually looking for him.
I made my way to a nearby diner and ordered hibiscus and gravy–simply, hearty, and cheap. By the time I left, the sun was sinking somewhere behind the clouds, and thick, heavy drops of rain were starting to hit the streets and canvas awnings like changelings bashing through a ceiling. I turned the collar of my duster up and pulled my fedora down closer to my eyes. So much for beating the storm.
I had a decent walk ahead of me, so I put my hooves on autopilot and turned my thoughts to what I had learned so far.
Miss Calla–Calla Lily, apparently–probably wasn't Silver's fiancé. It was possible that the stallion could've fallen for a young, beautiful pony with a sob story and a hard-knock life, but if so, why would he have hidden his engagement? Calla would hardly be the first filly promoted from prostitute to privileged elite, scandalous as it may be. Something was going on there; my client clearly hadn’t been entirely honest with me.
Silver himself sounded like a real piece of work. Whether he'd knocked his father off or not, he'd certainly benefited from the old stallion's demise. Add in his antagonizing of the Union, and there was no shortage of ponies who wouldn't mind seeing him dead. But, like Steed said, the Weather Union didn't get where it was by being stupid. From all reports, the Union's boss, Nightingale, was one of the sharpest knives in the Fillydelphia underworld's drawer. A smart pony wouldn't risk everything she'd built on petty revenge, would she? Probably not. That made it more likely that Gold Coin's old friends were involved, or might know somepony else who was.
And what about Crown Jewel? If half the rumors about the First Equestrian were true, he could have made Celestia herself disappear without a trace. But what motive would he have for disposing of an apparent ally? Well, money, obviously. Not that you'd think he'd need any more of that, but one of the defining features of the rich is that they always want to be richer.
Dammit. I had too many questions to ask, and not enough ponies to answer them. I could start by confronting Miss Calla in the morning and demanding some straight answers. Hell, if she didn't want to give them, I could just drop the case and walk away. No fur off my flank if no one ever finds Silver Coin's body. And surely another case would find its way into my office before the repo ponies arrived.
Right?
I sighed. I'd think about my next step in the morning. I had one more lead to check out, and then I'd head home for a shot of brandy and a few hours' shut-eye.
The Horn and Feather was famous around town as being the classiest and most exclusive bar in Fillydelphia. In fact, it didn't even want to be called a bar; it was a “gentlecolt's club.” I could hear classical music, played by no less than a full orchestra, drifting down well-paved streets and across perfectly-manicured lawns from blocks away. The steadily intensifying downpour distorted it slightly, making it distant and ethereal. Over the scent of rain falling on freshly cut grass and pristine roses, I could smell a wondrous bouquet of hot food and warm cider. My hibiscus and gravy suddenly seemed pretty dull and disappointing.
The club itself was built like an ancient pegasi temple, only with stone instead of clouds. Thick and intricately carved columns of polished, white marble rose three stories into the sky to hold up a stone roof that extended about twenty feet past the doors. Simple but no doubt extravagantly expensive tapestries were draped symmetrically about its face, all scarlet red and emblazoned with gold symbols from the old pegasi language. Twin alicorn statues rose out of wide fountains at the top of the wide marble stairs that led up to the doors, water shooting from each of their horns in a wide arc to land in the other's basin. A pair of guards, dressed like Canterlot soldiers as imagined by a troupe of Chippenhoof dancers, stood rigidly at attention as they stared out into the storm.
“Celestia's teats,” I grumbled. “Somepony’s compensating.”
I idly fixed the collar of my coat as I clopped up the stairs. I knew from experience that the best way to get where you weren't supposed to go was to pretend you were supposed to be there, so I kept my head down and avoided making eye contact with the guards as I headed for the door. My progress was brought to an abrupt halt when a freaking halberd, shining with a golden aura of magic, dropped in front of me.
I glanced over at the unicorn guard. “Excuse me?”
He glared at me. His partner, a pegasus, stomped a hoof and snorted in challenge.
“I have someone expecting me,” I said in my best Manehattan voice.
They didn't look impressed. The pegasus nodded towards my coat. “Yer in violation of the dress code,” he rumbled in a decidedly non-Manehattan voice.
“My good pony, I'm rather in a hurry, and I demand that you--”
The halberd swung around so that the shaft was pressing against my chest, and I found myself being pushed back by the unicorn's magic. I dug in my hooves, but the smoothly polished marble made it impossible to find purchase.
“Get lost,” he growled.
“Very well,” I huffed, turning my nose up, “but I shall inform Crown Jewel of this travesty, mark my words!”
The guards looked at eachother in mild surprise. The pegasus looked back at me, then back to his partner, and shook his head.
“I said get lost,” the unicorn said again, the halberd swinging upright to punctuate his words.
Dammit. Nothing worse than smart guards.
I retreated down the street and rounded a corner to break the guards' line of sight, then ducked down an alley between a posh-looking cafe and a jewelry shop. There, I found enough carbage cans and old boxes to build myself a makeshift staircase, and clambered up top to get a look at the Horn and Feather's flank.
As I suspected, the sides and rear of the building hadn't received as much love as the impressively ostentatious front. Plain brick-and-mortar walls ran the length, broken up by a few doors, windows, and gutters.
I hopped over the wall and made my way to the one of the rear windows. It was slightly ajar, and not too high off the ground for me to climb through. Bingo.
I clambered through and found myself in what passed for a restroom in this place. Again, white marble or red velvet covered every available surface, aside from the faucets, which were–of course–plated with gold. This place was seriously starting to make me sick.
Well, first thing first. I set about cleaning the dirt off my hooves and trying to make myself look respectable–tough to do in an old canvas duster and a sweat-stained shirt, but I did what I could. As I worked, I went over my plan: make some inquiries about Silver Coin and the “associates” Calla said he'd been on his way to meet, try to get some names, and maybe even corner one or two of 'em if I was lucky enough. I'd need to keep a low profile and avoid drawing attention to myself, but hopefully, the owners stationed the two smart guards out front and kept the idiots inside.
The door suddenly slammed open, and I jumped. My hoof went to the heavy, iron horseshoe I keep in my coat for emergencies. Instead of a squadron of armed guards, though, in stumbled a clearly intoxicated unicorn in a tuxedo. He was exceptionally skinny and had yellow coat, a graying mane and a thin mustache, both with a few hints of green still in them. The unruly lay of his jacket revealed a large balloon carrying a basket as his cutie mark. He stumbled past me, green eyes unfocused, and into one of the stalls. He didn't even bother to close the door before he started peeing.
I eased my hoof back out of my pocket and waited for him to finish. If I was going to start asking questions, I may as well start here, right?
When the old stallion finally finished and started stumbling back towards the door, I stepped in front of him. “Aren't you gonna wash your hooves?”
He blinked at me in drunken confusion. “I'm sorry?”
I nodded towards the sink. He seemed to grasp the concept, staggered over, and began washing. When he was just about finished, a stuck a hoof under the faucet and splashed a burst of cold water into his face. He sputtered and fell back against the stalls, coughing and cursing incomprehensibly.
I extended my dripping hoof. “Looking Glass, private eye.”
The shock of cold water seemed to have penetrated his inebriated haze, and after a moment's surprise, he responded in kind. “Glass?" he mused thoughtfully. "That sounds familiar... Oh, yes! I recognize you. From the papers. I do believe you saved those young foals a year or two back?”
I rubbed the back of my head. “The ones that I could, yeah.”
The stallion got back to his hooves, dusting himself off and adjusting his tuxedo. “Nasty business, that. Bloody griffons. Can't trust them, I say. Should drive the lot of them out of Equestria.”
I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. Instead, I changed tack. “And you are... ?”
He cleared his throat. “Ah, my apologies, I assumed you might recognize me. Hot Air, founder and owner of Equestria Air, manufacturers of the finest zeppelins, gliders, gondolas, and, of course, hot air balloons in Equestria.”
“Oh, of course, I knew you looked familiar,” I lied.
“Yes, well,” he harrumphed. “What brings you here, detective? Hot on the trail of a murderer? Searching, perhaps, for a stolen heirloom?”
“Missing pony, actually. Do you know Silver Coin?”
Hot Air's face went through several different expressions in the blink of an eye, but ended in surprise. “Why, yes! Of course! I knew something foul had happened to him, but the others... ”
I quirked an eyebrow. “You were one of his associates?”
“One of his father's, really, but young Silver was attempting to rebuild the bridges burnt after Gold's unfortunate demise. I never believed him involved with the accident, of course, but the others... ”
I pulled out my notepad–despite my waterproof pockets, the corners were soaked and wilting–and began scribbling notes. Hot Air put a hoof on my foreleg to stop me. “Please, this is no place for a conversation. Come, we'll speak inside.”
It seems redundant at this point to describe the Horn and Feather's interior. White marble, red velvet, plenty of gold, ostentatious as hell, yadda yadda. To my surprise, however, the balconies ringing the central foyer and bar were done in more of a traditional unicorn style, with crenelations and chandeliers and what have you. They were still white marble, but apparently the architect figured he'd done enough Feather and really needed to include some Horn. At least it was a slight change of scenery.
Hot Air led me to one such balcony, located directly above the orchestra pit where a team of musically-inclined ponies were playing something stuffy, boring, and with too much violin. A young filly, around Miss Calla's age but in shades of green rather than red, was waiting for him. He whispered a few words to her and she departed, giggling quietly. He motioned for me to take a seat opposite him, then hunkered down and leaned towards me intently. “What can I do to help, detective?”
I readied my notepad. “Why wus Hlvr Kn meetung wif you?”
“Pardon?”
What I wouldn't give to be a unicorn. I spat out the pencil. “Why was Silver Coin meeting with you the night he disappeared?”
“He'd... been making overtures to us for several months. He said that he was deeply sorry for the rift his father's death had caused between us, and that he wanted to make amends. He seemed to have some sort of project that he'd hoped we would support him with. The night we were to meet, he said that he would give us all of the details.”
“But he no-showed.”
“Indeed.”
I paused to scribble a few notes down, then placed the pencil down with annoyed deliberateness. “What exactly happened to Gold Coin, anyway?”
“Ah, a sad story,” Hot Air replied, looking a bit misty. “It was about twelve years ago. He and Crown were avid collectors of antiquities. Ancient weapons, pieces of art, essentially anything dating to before the foundation of Equestria. He took Crown, Silver, and a few guards and local guides on an expedition into the Everfree Forest, looking for the unicorns' ancestral home. Unfortunately, he lost his footing on a steep cliff and fell to his death. One of the guides, a pegasus, tried to save him, but was too late. Upon their return, Silver inherited his father's holdings.”
“So Crown Jewel and Gold Coin were friends?”
He nodded. “Almost like brothers, really.”
I cocked my head. “This all sounds pretty straightforward. Why did it cause a rift between you?”
“Well... this pegasus guide was the only other pony besides Crown and Silver who saw the fall. But on the way back, she apparently ran afoul of an owlbear and was slain. It seemed a bit suspicious. That, and Crown's behavior towards Silver afterwards... keeping council with him constantly, advising him on how to manage his father's businesses... it struck us as... odd.” He shrugged. “As it were, we had something of a collective 'gut feeling' about the matter, but we simply could not prove anything.”
I nodded. “Yeah, sounds pretty fishy. Especially given all the stories about the First Equestrian.”
“Indeed.”
“So after, what, twelve years of silence, Silver just contacted you out of the blue?”
“Not complete silence, but yes, approximately six months ago he sent a letter to my dear friend, Coal–Coal Black, a mining magnate of some reknown, perhaps you've heard of him?–asking for a meeting with his father's old partners. We eventually began meeting here with increasing regularity.”
I made a few more notes. “Did Silver mention anything about trouble with the Weather Union?”
Hot Air shook his head. “Nothing serious, merely complaints about their recalcitrance and the damage their greed was doing to common ponies.”
“Okay, yeah. Seems like that lead's going nowhere,” I muttered. “What about Crown Jewel? What can you tell me about him?”
“Well, there's rather a lot to say about him... and yet, rather little of relevance, I'm afraid,” the elder pony said apologetically. “He was always the most ambitious of our group, and always the most willing to do what was necessary to advance his ends. It's why we suspected him capable of foul play. Of course, since we broke ties with him, he's been very reclusive. He's hardly ever seen outside his home or his bank anymore. I'm sure he kept in close contact with Silver, of course; he always doted on the colt. 'Uncle Crown,' Silver used to call him. And if they shared the secret of Gold's demise, well, naturally they would conspire together.”
I nodded. “Alright. One more question, if I may: do you know a Miss Calla, or Calla Lily?”
Hot Air chewed his lip thoughtfully. “The name sounds vaguely familiar. A... seamstress, I believe? Or perhaps a jeweler.”
“Sure. Well, she's the one who hired me. She claimed to be Silver's fiancé.”
He shook his head. “I'm afraid that if that's true, Silver never mentioned her.”
“Okay.” I scribbled a few final notes down, and flipped my notebook closed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Air. You've been extremely helpful. Would you mind if I contacted you if I have further questions?”
“Of course not,” Hot Air replied grandly. “Gold was a dear friend of mine, and I've come to believe that Silver was a truer son than I'd feared. If it is within my power to help you find and recover him safely, you need but ask.” His horn glowed green as he used his magic to scribble his address with an impressive flourish. “Now, if you'll excuse me... ”
I nodded, stood up, and extended a hoof. “I'll do everything I can to find Silver, sir.”
He shook it. “I wish you good fortune, detective.”
I left the balcony, my head turning over the new information like a tumbler full of ping pong balls. It seemed like I was learning more about Gold Coin than I was about his son, and while it was interesting, it wasn't terribly helpful. Silver didn't seem to be having the kind of trouble with the Union that gets a pony killed, and he was making amends with the stallions who had the most reason to want revenge. That left, what? Some kind of conspiracy by Crown Jewel, who apparently “doted” on him? Or maybe Calla killed him... but why would she, if she was going to marry the stallion and presumably only be able to access his fortune afterward? Or, hell, maybe it was all just a random mugging gone terribly wrong.
My spinning thoughts were just starting to settle when I ran nearly head first into the green mare who'd been waiting for Hot Air. I stammered an apology, but before I could, she pulled me behind a nearby tapestry and began whispering urgently into my ear.
“I heard you talking,” she said. “I know Calla.”
I tried not to draw attention with my surprise. “And you are... ?”
“Not important,” she stated flatly. “I used to work with her. About six months ago, some rich pony bought her contract. Haven't seen her since.”
Ah. Another “escort.” “Do you know his name, or... ?”
She shook her head. “No. But be careful who you mention her to. If she's been hiding... ”
I grinned as winningly as I could. “Lips are sealed.”
Except, of course, for all the ponies I'd already mentioned her to.
Despite my worries for Miss Calla, I brushed past the door guards with a self-satisfied smirk; the pegasus guard rumbled some sort of protest, but it was lost in a low roll of thunder. The wind was blowing hard now, the rain coming down in sideways sheets that were scraping the cobblestones clean. I hunkered down as much as I could under my duster. This was not going to be a pleasant walk home.
I considered swinging by the address Calla gave me to make sure she was alright. I didn't trust her, but she'd hired me, and it's hard to collect standard rates from a dead pony. Given the severity of the storm, however, I figured any assassin or thug with an ounce of wits would put off a hit until morning. Besides, while word traveled fast through the Fillydelphia underworld, it's not like I'd told anyone where Calla was.
Yeah, fine. I was cold, wet, and I wanted to go home. So sue me.
Of course, I'd barely made it across the street before a gust of wind nearly took me off my hooves. This was immediately followed by a solid wall of rain that hammered into me like a brick wall. I staggered into an alley to take cover until things settled down.
I sat there for around ten minutes, miserable and soaked, going over everything in my head and trying to put pieces together. Silver was trying to make amends with his father's friends. He'd started around six months ago. Some rich pony bought Calla Lily's contract around six months ago, too. It wasn't much of a deductive leap to figure the pony in question was Silver. So he bought Calla to be his own private escort, and then kept her secluded in his mansion for half a year. That sounded an awful lot like slavery. Good motive for murder.
But then, if Calla was behind this, why would she have come to me? And maybe she was a great actress, but she honestly did seem worried about her squeeze. So maybe this was a “true love” sort of thing after all. But then, what was the connection between buying Calla and contacting Gold Coin's buddies?
I needed to talk to Calla, that much was obvious. And I would, first thing in the morning. Until then, I just needed to... get... home...
Across the alleyway, sitting in a growing puddle near the mouth of a gutter, I noticed something glistening in the near-darkness. I nudged it over to the small sliver of light from a nearby street lamp, and bent down to get a better look. It was a button... no, a cufflink. Silver. Engraved with three stacks of coins.
I'd like to point out that, despite what you may read in Daring Do or Sherclop Hooves, this kind of thing does not happen to us private eyes in the real world. A detective has to go out looking for clues. Even if he catches a lucky break, like I did with Hot Air, it's a result of initiative and action. You never just stumble onto an important clue.
Except, you know, for this one.
I couldn't see much in the alley, but now that I'd realized that this was a crime scene, the faint, coppery odor that I hadn't realized was tickling my nostrils came to the forefront. I sniffed around near where I found the cufflink. Sure enough, blood. Not a lot of it; somepony probably cleaned what they could. But definitely blood.
Things didn't look good for Silver Coin.
I pocketed the cufflink and tried to pinpoint my location on my mental map of the city. I'd be back here tomorrow, maybe even before I talked to Calla, to see what I could find with the sun up. The wind was dying back down now, so I braced myself for misery and headed back into the storm.
I made awful time getting back to my apartment. It's a few blocks from my office, deep in one of the only moderately crappy parts of town. Every once in awhile, I had to find shelter from another burst of hurricane-strength wind, and wait it out until I could venture back out. I made a few new friends among the homeless community, at least.
I was just five blocks from home when I realized I was getting jumped.
It started when I first noticed a pair of pegasi, both larger than me, trotting along a block or so behind. I'm not overly paranoid, but you don't live in Fillydelphia for long without picking up a few survival instincts. I ducked down the alley behind my favorite grocer's, turned down another, and then ducked behind a stack of crates to watch. Sure enough, the pegasi followed me in. They paused at the fork to have a quick discussion and decided to split up.
That evened the odds. But I don't fight fair if I can help it.
I waited until the pegasus was almost on me. He had just enough time to see me before my hooves hit him square in the chest with a satisfying crack.
I'm not a big stallion, but I'm still an earth pony. When we buck, we buck.
The pegasus went flying and smashed into the wall opposite me with a crunch of bone and cartilage. That was at least one of his wings; he wouldn't be chasing me. The noise tipped off the other one, though, and I heard him shout something; the words were lost in the wind, but I got the gist.
Time to run.
I bolted out of the alley at a full gallop. I know Fillydelphia pretty damn well, but I've made sure to learn every possibly shortcut, blind spot, and ambush point around my home. This was my terrain, and I had the advantage.
Unless, of course, I was facing ponies who could fly.
I glanced up as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. There were at least half a dozen pegasi following my progress from above and descending quickly. They'd be on me well before I reached my apartment.
Crap. Well, time to improvise.
As I reached the side door to a nearby apartment building, I suddenly spun on my front hooves and used the momentum to launch a massive kick. The lower half of the door exploded in a shower of wood splinters. The latch stayed intact, but then, if anyone invested in anything around here, it was good locks. I squeezed under the broken wood, ignoring the jabs of pain as splinters stabbed through my coat, and scurried inside.
As soon as I moved out of the meager light shining through the broken door, I stopped. Just a few seconds later, there was a heavy thump as one of the pegasi landed outside. His head appeared as he tried to squeeze through the broken door, his wings complicating the process. I stepped into the light, grinned at him, and bucked him hard enough to smash his muzzle flat across his face.
I heard his buddies landing soon after. I didn't wait around for them; that trick wouldn't work twice. Instead, I headed for the nearest set of stairs and started galloping up them. I'd only gotten a couple of floors up when I heard wood splinter and smash; they'd decided to break the door down rather than facing another ambush.
I ran as fast as I could. I could hear them coming up the stairs behind me; fortunately, the stairwell was too narrow for them to get any use out of their wings. Pegasi had their advantages, but take away their flight and they're just ponies like any other.
I reached the roof and slammed the door behind me. Then I raced for the side nearest home and leapt. I had a panicked moment of free-fall, when I suddenly wasn't sure that I was where I thought I was, but that vanished the moment I hit canvas. The herbalist who owned this building believed firmly in the power of awnings to draw customers, and had one of a different color on each floor.
I landed pretty badly, taking too much of my weight on my right front shoulder. I gritted my teeth through the sharp, burning pain and moved to the awning's edge. I carefully dropped down a one level at a time, confident that any noise I was making would be masked by the storm. As I reached the second floor awning, I hazarded a glance up; two of the pegasi were standing on the edge of the roof I'd jumped from, looking around in confusion. I'd given them the slip.
Until one of them happened to look down.
“Dammit!” I cursed. I hurriedly slid down to the final awning, and then on to the street. I didn't have to look up to know that the remaining five or six or more pegasi would be dropping from the roof. It was a straight shot home from here; all I had to do was gallop faster than the pegasi could fly.
So I was screwed.
And then the wind kicked up.
I barely heard the shatter of glass over the howl of the gale, but I looked up to see that one of the nearest pegasi had been blown right into the herbalist shop, and the other was now tangled in the lowest awning. The pegasi further up hesitated, trying to stay afloat. I grinned, ducked my head, and bolted.
By the time the wind died down, I was pounding up the stairs of my apartment building. The water streaming off my mane and coat were leaving an obvious trail, but I figured they knew where I lived anyway. Gangs of pegasi don't just drop out of the sky to attack anyone, you know.
Somehow, I'd pissed off the freaking Union.
I fumbled with my keys and threw open my door. I slammed it behind me and quickly dragged all the furniture I could reach in front of it. It wouldn't keep them out–if nothing else, they'd eventually figure to use a window–but it didn't have to. I went to my bedroom and pulled a leather satchel out from under the matress. I called it my “Oh Crap” Bag; everything I'd need to survive on the run in Fillydelphia for a few days. Although, I noted ruefully, I hadn't counted on needing an umbrella.
They were already pounding on the door by the time I left the bedroom. I could hear my neighbors, rudely awakened in the middle of the night, shouting and cursing at the noise. Wood splintered as my door started to give way.
I galloped to the window, but paused halfway through as I looked around my apartment with a heavy heart. It wasn't much, with its threadbare carpets and bare walls, but it was where I'd hung my hat for years. I'd be back, I hoped, but most of my worldly possessions would be stolen or wrecked.
I sighed, adjusted the satchel on my back, and stepped out onto the fire escape.
After half an hour of trying to find somewhere relatively dry to wait out the storm, I realized that I was going to need to find actual shelter. My office was out of the question; if those Union goons knew where my apartment was, they'd certainly be staking out my place of business. I didn't have all that many close friends, and I didn't want to put any of them at risk. That left one pony who might give me a couch to lie on, and who wouldn't be anywhere near the top of the List of Places Glass Could Be.
That's how I found myself at my ex's door.
I tried knocking politely. I'd already annoyed Cammy today at the F.P.D building, and considering I was very literally looking for port in a storm, the last thing I wanted to do was antagonize her more. Unfortunately, the howling wind and pummeling rain drown out my timid taps, and I eventually found myself hammering on the door while huddling under my coat and wondering how the hell the storm seemed to be getting worse.
Finally, a light went on inside. A minute later, I heard hooves clopping across a wooden floor. A latch clicked open, a bar slid across, and light–dazzlingly bright after wandering for hours through the darkened city–splashed across my eyes.
“Looky?”
Cammy was wearing the same old wool robe she'd had for years. Her bright pink mane was disheveled and sticking up in every direction, and the bags under her eyes indicated she'd been having a rough time sleeping. Of course, I realized; she'd always been a light sleeper, and this storm was probably wreaking hell on her nerves.
“Hey,” I said, trying to communicate my desperation, my embarrassment, my tiredness, and my apologeticness all at once. She just stared at me. “Uh, can I come in?”
She went to close the door. I wedged my hoof in just in time. “Cammy, please, I'm really, really sorry to drop in on you like this–“
The door was yanked open, and I found myself at point blank range of her furious eyes. “You've been a total asshole to me since we broke up, and now you come pounding on my door in the middle of the night? Why in Celestia's name should I let you in?”
“Please, Cammy,” I pleaded, stretching my eyes as far as I could. “I just need to get out of the rain for a bit.”
She snorted, blowing a wisp of hair back, but finally stepped aside and let me enter. I meekly brushed my hooves off on her doormat and shook as much water as I could from my hat and coat. She took them without a word and hung them on the nearby rack.
Cammy had inherited this entire building from her grandmother. She only lived in part of it, of course, a rather large but comfortable apartment on the first floor. The rest she rented out, and she was known as one of the few honest and reliable landponies in the neighborhood. Her being an officer of the F.P.D also helped keep some of the scum off of her property; though she herself usually stayed behind a desk, she had the kind of pull that only a pretty mare in a male-dominated profession can wield.
I'd broken up a few fights here, myself, and ran off a few entrepreneurial pushers. Of course, the days when I was a welcome sight there were long past.
I settled down on her old, plush sofa while Cammy went into her kitchen. My hindquarters sank comfortably into the groove I'd worn into it. It was like I hadn't left.
Cammy returned several minutes later carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea. She set them down on the coffee table in front of me, and took a seat on the other side. I murmured thanks, and we both sat there in silence, nursing our drinks.
After awhile, she put her cup down on its saucer and looked at me. “What happened?”
I shrugged. “Apparently I upset the Weather Union.”
“How?”
I let out a quick laugh. “I have no freaking idea.”
She arched an eyebrow at me. I shook my head and stared at her chair's right arm, organizing my thoughts. “I've been looking into this Silver Coin pony. I've found a few different leads, but nothing's really fitting together. The filly that hired me, 'Miss Calla,' is apparently a professional escort on Silver's personal retainer. I also found out that Silver's in good with the head of the First Equestrian Bank, and that the two of them might have manufactured an 'accident' for Silver's father, Gold Coin. Everything was pointing away from the Union, but all of a sudden, pegasi thugs are chasing me down the street.” I dipped my mouth into my shirt pocket and produced the silver cufflink, then placed it on the table. “Plus, I found this in an alley outside the Horn and Feather, along with some blood. He was on his way to meet with some of his dad's old friends when he disappeared. Looks bad for him.”
“So you think somepony killed him?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. I just don't know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Right now, all I want is to get a few hours sleep somewhere dry and warm. First thing in the morning, I'm going to head back to the crime scene and see if I can find anything else. Then it's time for me and 'Miss Calla' to have a heart-to-heart.”
She sipped her tea. “Are you going to call us in?”
I frowned. “She asked me not to involve the cops, but it's looking like I'll have to. I'll give her a chance to explain herself before I do, though.”
“Looky, if there's evidence of an equicide... ”
I held up a hoof. “Cammy, you know they won't take my story at face value. Not after how I left the department. They'll shove me off the case, start from scratch, and by the time they get back to where I am now, the trail will be cold.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know, this whole, stupid, 'mutual mistrust' thing could have blown over a long time ago if you would just meet the chief halfway.”
My only response was a grunt.
“You're a good detective, Looky,” she continued, “but you're not the only good detective in Fillydelphia. If you'd just work with us for once... ”
I snorted. “Cammy, if you'd seen what I'd seen... ”
“I may as well have! I was beside you the whole time, Looky. And in the end, everypony saw you were right all along.”
“Yeah. Too late. Too late for me, and too late for that filly. I'm not letting that happen again, Cammy.”
I looked up at her, and was surprised to see concern and empathy in her face. “Looky...”
“Cammy, don't.”
She looked at me in surprise. “What?”
“Don't... don't support me. I don't want it. Not from you.”
She stared at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Without a word, she placed the teacups back on their tray and carried them back to the kitchen.
Dammit. This was all I needed, Cammy stirring up old emotions I'd thought song since settled. There was enough jumble in my head already without realizing I still hadn't gotten over her.
Wait, realizing what?
She came back, pausing halfway through the doorway, that same look on her face. “Looky... ”
“Cammy... ”
She shook her head and raised a hoof to stop me. “Looky, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. I screwed up.”
“Yeah.”
“You were... you were just so wrapped up in that case, Looky, and I... I knew you'd be back, I knew you loved me, but... I, I was lonely... I was afraid something might happen to you...”
“So you fucked Chase.”
She recoiled like I'd slapped her. “I... Looky, I'm so sorry...”
“Cammy, someone was killing foals. Butchering them. Leaving their carcasses out to rot in the fucking streets. Celestia's teats, I'm so sorry that you felt neglected! Maybe I could have just let a few more young colts and fillies get eaten by a fucking griffon so I could give you the attention you needed!”
She let out a choking sob and fell back against the wall. I found myself standing, the anger and hurt pouring out of me in a flood I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to. “Would that have made you feel better, Cammy?! If I could've taken some time out of looking for those little foals to give you a good pounding?! Maybe I could've just explained to those grieving parents, 'Whoops, sorry your daughter was murdered and eaten, but my marefriend's more concerned about filling her fucking orgasm quota!”
My chest burned with rage, and my words were hot and heavy hammer blows that drove her further back into the corner.
“Get out,” she finally sobbed, her voice thick and garbled with tears. She didn't meet my eyes, but I could see her shoulders setting and eyes narrowing as her own anger welled up. “Get out!”
Fury was still boiling in my chest. I knew I'd hurt her, and it felt good. But I also knew I'd regret it later. Hell, I'd regret it the moment that freezing rain started pounding at my back. I'd wrecked any chance I had of sleeping under a roof tonight, just to score a cheap shot against my ex. And my mouth still wouldn't stop moving.
“I bought a ring, you know,” I said without looking at her. I noticed a surprising calmness in my voice. “I'd been saving up for almost a year. I was going to give it to you as soon as I caught the killer. I kept thinking, 'Celestia, I'm so lucky to have a filly who will stay by me, even though this.'”
She didn't say anything.
“I kept it for awhile. Kept thinking I'd find it in me to forgive you. It never happened. I ended up pawning it to pay my rent.”
She didn't say anything.
“I loved you, Cammy. I'm sorry things ended up this way.”
I pocketed the cufflink, donned my hat and coat, and left one storm for another.
By the time the first rays of morning sunshine began poking through the clouds, I knew I was getting sick. My throat burned horribly, and my head felt like someone had wrapped it in a wool quilt and tenderized it with a hammer. Every joint in my body howled in protest as I pushed myself to my hooves and staggered out from under my shelter.
The Starswirl River divided Fillydelphia roughly in half, meandering through slums and mansions alike before depositing its collection of filth and garbage into Clover Bay. A dozen or so bridges of a wide assortment of compositions and designs spanned its width, arcing high enough over the water to let trade barges pass unimpeded. The one I'd taken refuge under was an antiquated stone behemoth filled more with graffiti than mortar. My last couple of bits had bought a promise from the handful of homeless locals not to rob me in my sleep, but I double-checked my “Oh Crap” bag just in case. To my relief, everything seemed to be there.
I walked down to the edge of the river to stretch my legs and get a drink. I was always amazed at how clean the city looked after a heavy storm. Layers of dirt and grime had been blasted clean off the sides of buildings, and splashes of actual color in bright, pastel hues seemed to glow in the morning light. The Starswirl, its banks filled almost to overflowing, rushed along so quickly that its waters looked pure, clean, and blue.
This was what my city was supposed to look like.
I made a quick breakfast out of the dried snacks I'd packed, then splashed some water over my face and mane to drive my sleepy haze away. My head still pounded, my throat still burned, and my front right shoulder was stiff and knotted, but I felt moderately functional. Time for another trip across town.
The clouds were almost gone by the time I reached the alley where I'd found Silver Coin's cufflink. I could actually see what I was looking at now, but there wasn't much to see. Between the haphazard cleaning job I'd suspected before and the more thorough one performed by the storm, there wasn't any hope of finding worthwhile forensic evidence. I poked around near where I'd smelled blood before and found a few drops that had been sheltered by a stack of pallets, but the sort of things I'd been hoping to find–bloody hoofprints, broken teeth, bits of brain matter–were absent.
Well, that was a bust. Hopefully I'd at least get to talk to my client.
High Canter Boulevard ran north to south through the nicest part of town, just a few blocks east of the Horn and Feather. It sat on a rise that overlooked Clover Bay, or at least the nicer parts that were filled with white sailed yachts rather than trash barges. Perfectly manicured lawns and hedges lined a road paved with pristine white cobblestones; every house was huge and gorgeous in its own way, from one that was practically a miniature forest of greenery to another built like a Canterlot castle. I generally distrust the wealthy elite in Fillydelphia, but I had to admit... this was kinda nice.
3803 High Canter was the largest mansion I'd seen on the boulevard. It was surrounded by a red brick wall topped with intricate metal scrollwork that, if you looked closely, concealed thousands of tiny and no doubt razor-sharp points. The building itself was the definition of stately, four stories tall and seemingly carved from a single, immense block of silver-veined marble. Two wings extended towards the front gate and surrounded a large, shallow pool with a statue of an proud-looking earth pony at its center.
A guard in a spotless blue-and-silver uniform stood at the main gates. He wasn't particularly huge, and he didn't appear to be armed, but something in his posture and the set of his eyes made me wary of ticking him off. He wore a name tag on his vest that simply read "Moss." I approached with a pleasant a demeanor as I could muster, which ended up being somewhere in the neighborhood of surly. "Hey."
His green eyes shifted to me. “Hey.”
“I'm hear to see Miss Calla.”
“And you are?”
“Glass, P.I. She hired me.”
He grunted and pushed the gate open with his rear hoof. “She's expecting you. Go on in.”
I tapped the brim of my hat in salute and proceeded in. The mansion rose up like a small mountain in front of me; funny, it hadn't seemed quite so sheer from outside.
I noticed a plaque at the base of the statue, and paused to read it. “In Loving Memory of Gold Coin: Adventurer, Businesspony, Beloved Father.” I looked up to inspect the work more closely. The earth pony was lean and well-muscled. His snout seemed to be slightly misshapen, probably broken in some long-past fight. He had one of those thick, bushy mustaches that added an air of confidence and competence, and the expression on his face was that of a pony looking forward to his next challenge.
Everything about the statue seemed to say, “I loved this pony, I respected him, and I miss him.”
Hm.
Past the outdoor atrium, a pair of huge double doors led into what, in a normal size house, might be called a foyer. In this place, is was more like a lobby. Twin staircases spiraled up to the higher levels; between them, a gold-plated alicorn statue poured water from its horn into a marble basin. Uncomfortable-looking but clearly expensive love seats lined the walls, as if the place was normally used as a waiting room or small auditorium. Doors led off in almost every direction, the décor giving no real indication where they might go.
“Mr. Glass! I hadn't expected to see you again so soon.”
Miss Calla descended the stairs with the kind of stately grace that you almost have to be born into. She was wearing a magnificent gown, all rich violets and baby blues, which trailed behind her as she went. She was stunning, and for a moment, I felt a strong kinship with Silver Coin.
“Have you news? You look a bit sick. Are you well?” she asked, her eyes wide and sincere. “Is Silver?”
I tore my eyes away from her and shook my head. “It doesn't look that way, ma'am. I found this.”
She gasped at the silver cufflink. “He wore these the night he disappeared!”
I nodded. “I found it in an alley outside the Horn and Feather. There was blood, too, but the place had been scrubbed pretty clean. Almost like a professional hit.”
“A hit?” she asked, panic in her voice. “Do you mean he's... ?”
“I don't know for sure, ma'am, but it doesn't look good.”
The strength went out of her legs. She sank towards the ground, but some sudden, gentlemanly urge propelled me to catch her before she fell. I helped her to one of the seats and stood silently while she gathered herself.
“Miss Calla,” I finally said, as she wiped tears from her eyes, “I'm here because I need some answers. What, exactly, is your relationship to Silver Coin?”
She looked up at me in surprise. “Why, I am his fiancé!"
“No, you're not,” I interrupted. “I've done my homework. I know that you are–or at least were–a professional mare. I know that Silver bought out your contract six months ago, right around the time he established contact with his dad's old friends. I know that, somehow, these events are connected. And I know that they lead to Silver's disappearance and possible death. So, Miss Lily, why don't you tell me what's really going on?”
She stared at me with wide eyes, tears still brimming at the corners. I could see her pushing every ounce of innocence and gormlessness she could through her eyes, trying desperately to convince me that I'd gotten it all wrong, that I'd added one and one and came up with three. I wasn't buying it, and after a long moment, her whole facade dropped. Her sapphire eyes took on a jaded weariness, her shoulders slumped, and her voice lost some of its saccharine sweetness.
“He's my brother.”
I rocked back on my hooves in surprise. “He's what?”
“He's my brother. We... we didn't always know. We only met for the first time about six months ago. He, um... he wanted to hire me. But nothing happened,” she added quickly. “He was very nervous. He'd never, um, hired a professional before, and he wasn't sure what to do. So we got to talking. Somehow, our fathers came up. He described his, and I realized, well... ”
“You're Gold Coin's daughter.”
She shook her head. “I knew that already, I just never... put the pieces together. I didn't know him well, but he used to visit my mother occasionally when I was young. He'd read to me, ask me how school was going, if I'd made any new friends... ” She smiled sadly. “I always thought he was an uncle. Uncle Gold. Mom didn't tell me the truth until after we heard he'd died.” The smile faded away. “He was a good stallion.”
I grunted noncommittally. “So once Silver found out you were related, he bought your contract?”
Calla nodded. “He brought me here and told me he'd have to keep me secret for awhile. That 'he' couldn't know. I didn't know who 'he' was, and Silver didn't want to tell me. But I was comfortable, and safe, and didn't have to spread my legs for anypony... I didn't pry. Sure, I was going a little stir-crazy, but it was a small price to pay.”
“So why pose as Silver’s fiancé?”
“It... it seemed safer,” she said with a sheepish little shrug. “As his ‘fiancé,’ I’d have a good reason to try to find help for him. So I came up with this whole story about how we met, how he’d wanted to protect me from the tabloids... ” She looked up at me with a rueful grin. “Fortunately, I picked the one private eye in Fillydelphia who didn’t know who he was.”
“Glad to help,” I said dryly. “But why were you worried about anypony finding out you were related?”
“Well, about a week before he disappeared, Silver told me everything. He said that he'd learned that this other pony, his mentor, had killed our father. He hadn't wanted to believe it for a long time, but his actions lately had been so ruthless and so erratic that Silver had finally realized what he was capable of. He said that the other stallion had killed our father when he refused to cooperate with his 'big idea,' and he had been trying since to mold Silver into the sort of pony who'd go along with it. He thought that I might be used as leverage to force him to cooperate.
“Silver knew he couldn't go to the police with this; he didn't have any real evidence, and besides, he suspected word would get back to the other pony. So he started trying to find ways to bring him down. That's why he'd started meeting with our father's old associates. He said he had a plan, and that he was going to explain it to them the next time they met. And then... ”
“He vanished,” I finished. She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes again. I put a hoof on her shoulder. “I'm so sorry, Miss Calla.”
She sniffed back tears. “Thank you.”
"I have to ask, though... why didn't you tell me any of this before? Or at least point me in the right direction?"
She smiled sadly. "I didn't know you, Mr. Glass. What if you worked for him? I didn't want to put myself or Silver in any more danger. And I hoped that you'd be able to put together enough information on your own that you wouldn't need my help."
I grunted. She'd only made both our lives harder by withholding her suspicions, but I saw her point. I had just one more question to ask now, but I thought already knew the answer. “Who is this pony you keep talking about? The one Silver thought killed your father?”
“Crown Jewel," she answered. "The president of the First Equestrian Bank.”
“Mr. Glass! A pleasure to see you again! Please, come in. Jeeves, could you get our guest a drink?”
I was standing in the parlor of Hot Air, owner and executive officer of various flight-based ventures. His mansion wasn't too far from Silver Coin's, just a half mile or so north on High Canter Boulevard. Compared to his neighbors, his home was quaint and subdued; most of his property was instead given over to a massive hangar/workshop/laboratory surrounded by prototype flying machines of more shapes and designs than I'd thought could exist. Hot Air himself was clad in greasy overalls and a healthy layer of grime, half his mustache stained black. My opinion of him went up; this pony didn't make his fortune by balancing books, he made it through hard work, creativity, and a love of his craft.
“Of course, sir,” the butler said, inclining his head slightly. “Mr. Glass?”
“Whatever Mr. Air's having is fine, thanks.”
He nodded and departed with that faint, put-upon air that only the best butlers can achieve.
“So, Mr. Glass, what brings you here?” Hot Air asked, wiping grease from his hooves with a white rag.
“I need to speak to Crown Jewel.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Er, why?”
“It's... a long story,” I said with a sigh. “But I've got a few leads that suggest he might know something that will help me find Silver.”
“Yes, well,” he coughed. “Did you try meeting with him at his bank?”
I grimaced. “Yeah. I was told I'd need an appointment, and that he was booked for the next three months.”
“Surely an investigator of your skill could find another means?”
“Oh, sure. And then they confiscated my grappling hook and told me that if I didn't leave immediately, they'd call the police.”
He barked out a laugh. “And so your third option, following a failure to break into and enter the most fortified financial institution in Equestria in broad daylight, was to speak to me.”
I shrugged.
“I'm flattered,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, Mr. Glass, I'm afraid I don't know how much help I'll be. I haven't spoken to Crown in some time.”
“I know, but, come on... surely he owes you some old favor that you could call in?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Perhaps. But why, exactly, is it so important that you speak to him, specifically?”
I was spared an immediate response as Jeeves returned with our drinks and then departed again. Apparently, Hot Air's brunchtime brew was lemonade spiked with just a hint of vodka. I sipped it silently as I turned things over in my mind. Hot Air was a likeable enough pony, and last night he'd seemed pretty genuinely on Silver's side. But the more ponies who knew what I'd learned from Calla, the more likely word would get back to Crown and things would likely start getting bad for me. Well, worse.
Still, Air was probably my only real shot at getting a face-to-face meeting with the prime suspect. More importantly, he was my only shot at getting into the prime suspect's property and hopefully finding something solid and incriminating enough to put him away for Silver's–hopefully attempted–murder.
I sighed. I didn't really have any choice.
“I think Crown Jewel may have arranged Silver's disappearance.”
Hot Air gasped. “Truly?”
I nodded. “Silver suspected that Crown had murdered his father. He started putting plans in place to take the old stallion down, including forming alliances with you all. The night he disappeared, he was on his way to meet with your group and put all his cards on the table.”
“You're certain?”
“Yeah.” I produced the silver cufflink from my shirt pocket and presented it to him. “I found this, and evidence of foul play, in an alley outside the Horn and Feather shortly after we met. And on my way home, I was jumped by pegasi goons, probably from the Weather Union. I don't know for sure yet, but I suspect the Union and Crown Jewel are chummier than anypony thought. They were probably the ones who disappeared Silver, and when I started putting pieces together, they tried to do the same to me.”
“I see,” Hot Air said thoughtfully. He paced about the room, eyes distant as he processed what I'd told him. “Er, how did you find out about Silver's plans?”
I couldn't hide a wince. I didn't want to mention Calla Lily, but Hot Air would likely put two and two together without my help. “You remember I mentioned his fiance?”
“Ah, of course,” he said with a nod. “Yes, I think your suspicions may well be correct, Mr. Glass. Very well, I shall do what I can to help you. Jeeves?”
The butler appeared like some kind of tuxedo-clad ninja. “Yes, sir?”
“Please bring me a quill, ink, and parchment. I've a letter to write. Mr. Glass, I shall arrange a meeting with Crown Jewel for you. Where should I contact you?”
I frowned. Good question. “My office, I guess. Just leave a note under the door if I'm not there. And if there's still a door.”
He nodded, smiling slightly. “Your humor does you credit, Mr. Glass. Not many ponies could retain it, facing what you do in your line of work.”
“You either laugh or you go crazy,” I said with a shrug, pulling my coat back on. “Or you could do both, I guess. Thanks for the help, Mr. Air. I'll try to repay the favor someday.”
“Take care of yourself, Mr. Glass. Finding Silver alive and well will be repayment enough.”
I left Hot Air's estate in high spirits. My brain still felt tender, my throat was raspy, and my shoulder ached abominably, but things were coming together. I had my in with Crown Jewel; now all I had to do was find somewhere to hide until I heard from Air, evade any Union goons that were still looking for me, and infiltrate the home of the wealthiest, most influential, and most famously paranoid pony in Fillydelphia.
Hm.
Well, first thing first. It was a risk, but I needed to check my office. I kept backups of all my case notes there, just in case something happened to me; only Cammy knew where, and only she had the key... hopefully. I'd sneak in, swipe some writing materials, and copy down everything I'd learned so far. If things went south, the F.P.D would be able to pick up from where I'd left off. Despite our mutual antagonism, my old pals wouldn't question my evidence if my corpse was there to verify it.
So, I made my way back across town, keeping my head down and taking side streets the whole way. I got back to my office building a little after noon, and was relieved to see the place hadn't been burned down or smashed by a wrecking crew or anything. My key opened a side stairwell that I took up to the fifth floor, and only then did I start seeing evidence of damage.
A few papers and the shattered remains of my old guest chair lay outside my door, which hung crookedly on a single hinge. The smoked glass on it that once read “Looking Glass, Private Eye” was broken and scattered over the floor. Inside, my desk was overturned, every one of my file cabinets had been opened, emptied, and thrown over, and the bastards had even broken the last two blades off my ceiling fan.
As my hoof creaked on the floorboards just outside, I heard a muffled intake of breath. My eyes narrowed as I cast around the room for its source. I reached for the heavy old horseshoe in my coat and inched forward, ready to spring. My tuned senses could hear more breathing now, coming from behind my fallen desk.
I leapt around it with a shout, horseshoe brandished on my front right hoof, ready for a fight.
Calla Lily, one blackened eye swollen shut and her face crusted in blood, looked up at me in shock.
“They came right in through the window,” Calla told me, her voice tight. She winced as I pressed an iodine-soaked cotton swab to the cut on her cheek. “Right into my bedroom. There were six of them. I screamed for my guard and tried to run, but this big stallion with his face wrapped in bandages grabbed me. Then this other pegasus, a mare, hit me across the face with a horseshoe and told me to shut up.”
“What did she look like?”
“Purple. Like, really dark purple, coat, mane, and eyes, and these ugly scars across her face. And she had a blue bird over a thundercloud as a cutie mark.”
I grunted. “Nightingale. She runs the Weather Union.”
“You know her?” Calla asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.
“Just by reputation.”
She nodded. “She told one of the others to grab me. He did, but then my guard, Moss, burst in. He took one of them out before he could even react. The others let go of me in surprise, so I ran for the window. The mare, Nightingale, hit me again in the eye as I went past, and I landed on some broken glass, but I managed to limp away while Moss had them distracted. Then I made my way here.” She shook her head, exhaustion and stress clear on her face. “I didn't know where else to go.”
I gently pressed a bandage to the cut. “Well, at least you got here after they wrecked it.”
“Yeah.”
We lapsed into a mutual silence for awhile as I set about treating her injuries. There wasn't much I could do for the black eye besides patch some gauze over it, but I disinfected and bandaged the dozen or so cuts on her hide and splinted the leg she'd sprained in her landing. Her lovely gown had been shredded and stained with mud, so I tore it away and threw it in the trash while trying to think like a clinical, detached professional instead of a desperately lonely bachelor undressing a beautiful young mare.
Finally, I packed my supplies back into their first aid box. “That's all I can do, Calla. I'd suggest we get you to a hospital, but...”
“Yeah.”
I pulled my bottom desk drawer open awkwardly, and kicked the box into it. When I let go, it slammed loudly. I'd decided against standing my desk back up just yet, since the Union might stop by again and I didn't want to leave evidence that I'd been here.
My next step was sifting through the ruins of my office for a pen, ink, and paper. Once I'd collected them, I trotted over to my single window and started writing. I worked in silence for awhile, until Calla came to read over my shoulder.
“What is this?” she asked after a moment.
“Crs nrs.”
“Pardon?”
I spat the pencil out in mild annoyance. “Case notes.”
“Why?”
“I keep backups of all my notes, in case something goes wrong. If I turn up dead, a friend of mine knows where I keep them, and to turn them over to the cops.”
She frowned and sat quietly for a minute, letting me resume work. “That's very sad.”
I looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow.
“It's just... planning for something like that,” she explained hesitantly. “Caring more about your work than your life... ”
I shook my head. “I just want to make sure that anypony who kills me gets what's coming to them.”
She made a thoughtful sound and lapsed back into silence. I resumed my writing.
“But it's also rather brave,” she said awhile later.
“Hm?”
“You value justice. And the truth. You put your life on the line for them.”
I sighed. “I'm not some kind of hero, Calla. I'm just a working stiff. Some ponies collect garbage, some dig ditches, I catch criminals.”
“And that doesn't make you a hero?”
I snorted. “It makes me an idiot.”
She fell silent again, and I continued my report. I finished a few minutes later, having listed everything I'd learned so far, descriptions of everypony I'd talked to, and how I thought everything was connected. Then I went to the hidden compartment in the floor under where my desk usually stood, knocked it open with a quick stomp of a hoof, and drug out the fireproof metal box where I kept my backups.
“It's very full,” Calla observed.
“I've been doing this for almost a decade,” I replied. “Most of these are small cases: purse snatchers, muggers, pickpockets... ponies who swiped something valuable enough to their owners to warrant a visit to their friendly neighborhood P.I.”
“You've helped a lot of people,” she said softly.
I looked at her. She was staring at me with an odd expression on her face. She was frightened, hurt, and alone, and here I was, her knight in shining armor, tall and dark and ruggedly handsome...
“Calla... ”
Her lip trembled. Her face moved towards mine, and her good eye closed.
Every fiber of my being told me to go for it, to kiss her, to feel her warmth and hold her in my hooves and to see where things went from there. I felt myself moving to meet her, my mouth parting slightly. This was good, I told myself. This was right.
All I was doing was taking advantage of a young, terrified filly who didn't know what a mistake she was making.
Dammit.
I pulled away, shaking my head. She opened her eye and looked at me, surprise and hurt welling up inside her.
“Calla, this... this isn't a good idea.”
“Why not?” she asked, and I winced at the angry edge in her voice. “What, am I not pretty enough when I'm wrapped in bandages?”
“No-”
“Oh, maybe you like colts! Is that it?”
“Uh, no-”
“Or maybe,” she continued, her eye blazing with barely suppressed fury, “you're worried you'll catch some disease from fucking a battered old whore!”
I stomped a hoof with enough force to crack the floorboard, startling her out of her tirade. “Dammit, Calla, no. It's because right now, we're standing in the wreckage of my office, which was trashed by the same ponies that may have killed your brother, and because they might be back at any time to make sure they didn't miss anything. You can't run, and I can't take a half dozen roided-up pegasi with my back to a wall, okay?! So get ahold of yourself, dammit!”
She recoiled at my outburst, and with no small regret, I noticed the light of passion fade from her eyes. She looked around my office and nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry, Mr. Glass. We need to focus on what's at hoof.”
“Yeah,” I said with a heartfelt sigh.
A polite cough made us both look up. Standing in the doorway was Jeeves, tuxedo'd as ever, holding a letter in his mouth. He trotted over to me and deposited it with stately grace on the upturned front of my desk.
“From Mr. Air,” he explained.
“Air?” Calla asked. “Hot Air?”
I nodded. “He's sort of a friend. He's helping me arrange a meeting with Crown Jewel.”
“I know him.”
I looked at her in surprise. She smiled faintly. “He was a... regular customer. And he introduced me to Silver.”
“Huh,” I muttered. “He said he didn't recognize your name.”
“Odd. He knew me quite well. Perhaps he was embarrassed?”
Jeeves coughed. “Do you have a response for Mr. Air, sir?”
“Oh, yeah.” I unfolded the letter and scanned it quickly. “Emerald Park, ten o'clock. Will Crown be there?”
“Mr. Air did not say, sir, but he did receive a correspondence from Mr. Jewel shortly before dispatching me with this.”
I nodded. Well, this was an interesting turn of events. Hot Air had lied to me about knowing Calla, and this letter wasn't exactly specific. My instincts told me that something bad was about to happen. But Air was still my only ticket to Crown Jewel, and dammit, I liked the pony besides. I’d give him a chance before I filed him in with the bad guys.
Emerald Park ran for several blocks along the south shore of the Starswirl River. It was little more than a stretch of grass with a few clusters of trees and a meandering gravel path that occasionally split off towards the water's edge. It was a popular destination for growing young colts and fillies, with the tall grass and shrubs providing ample privacy for various exciting activities. I'd spent my share of time there myself.
That made me think of Calla (stupid libido). I'd left her with Cammy at the F.P.D station. Whatever our history, Cammy was one of the few ponies I'd trust a stranger's life with. I knew she'd find somewhere safe for Calla to get a few hours' rest, and that she'd keep her presence hush-hush around anypony she didn't absolutely trust. Calla was as safe as she could be in this town.
I, however, was almost certainly walking into a trap.
I arrived early, keeping my head down and my eyes open. Unfortunately, scoping a meeting spot for an ambush isn't all that useful when potential ambushers can drop out of the sky. Eventually, I decided to just settle down and wait for the damned sun to set. Which meant that when I startled myself awake with my own snoring, the moon was out, the stars were shining, and my freaking headache had doubled in intensity.
I grumbled something impolite and heaved myself away from the tree I'd been napping under. My shoulder didn't want to cooperate with the movement, and I had to awkwardly push myself up with three hooves while using the tree for support. With an agonized groan that exacerbated the burning in my throat, I rolled the stiffened joint around until I felt a pop, and the pain was suddenly replaced with blissful numbness.
“That's better,” I observed to the night air.
“Good,” someone replied.
I turned to see a horseshoe-clad hoof rushing towards my face. There was a flash of bright light followed a spiraling, nauseating blackness. I felt my legs turn to jelly underneath me, and distantly realized I was falling. I felt grass brush my face through a styrofoam quilt.
“Nice shot, boss,” a distorted, echoing voice said from a few miles away.
“Grab him,” a second one said, this one taking the shape of a mare as it trotted through the infinite void.
I felt hooves lifting me by the front legs, and then a sensation of vertigo and rushing wind unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. The entirety of the universe spun around me like a kaleidoscope. I threw up.
“Aw, boss, he just puked all over hisself,” the first voice said.
“Shut up and fly, Hornet,” replied the second.
The next eternity or so passed in dizzying agony. I felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness, and I was only aware that I wasn't moving anymore when somepony smacked me across the face and knocked me out of my stupor.
My eyes gradually focused on a shape in front of me. It was a pegasus, female, her eyes, mane, and coat all shades of violet so deep that she was almost invisible against the night sky. She hovered in front of me, her expression mild.
“Nightingale, I presume,” I murmured blearily.
“Looking Glass,” she said with a nod. Her voice was low for a mare, deep and a bit sultry. The cut of her mane fell over one eye in an attractive manner. She was actually quite pretty aside from the three jagged scars that ran across her face, only partially obscured by her bangs. “Private investigator, hero cop, protector of the innocent people of Fillydelphia. Soon to be dead because he took a nap when he really shouldn't have.”
“It's been a long couple of days.”
“Oh, I know,” she said. “I've had my colts tailing you since I found out you were looking for Silver Coin.”
I grunted. “Steed?”
“Steed,” she agreed. “You really need to be more careful about who you talk to, love.”
“Noted.”
She smiled, though the expression didn't touch her eyes. “He also told me the most interesting thing about Silver Coin having a secret fiancé. A fiancé who knew enough to be worried about her stallion, and who was smart enough to not go to the cops.”
“Don't threaten her,” I growled. “She's not part of this.”
Nightingale shrugged. “Not my call, I'm afraid. My colts are picking her up as we speak. I do hope your police friend doesn't get in the way, love. It would be a shame to damage her pretty face.”
I snorted. “Good luck to your flunkies, then. They won't have an easy time getting to them inside the station.”
Nightingale just smirked.
Crap.
“Looking Glass,” she said thoughtfully after a moment. “Such an appropriate name for a private eye. Haven't you ever wondered how some parents just know what to name their foals?”
I tried to shrug, but my arms didn't cooperate. I looked to my left and found a yellow-and-black pegasus hovering in place, holding me up from under my front leg. I looked to my right and found another one with an orange coat, his head wrapped entirely in bandages. He glared at me with intense, hateful, and somewhat familiar eyes.
“You've met Boulder, I believe,” Nightingale said.
“Dumb pony who couldn't open a door,” I replied. “How ya doin'?”
The bandaged pegasus' eyes narrowed.
“Glass,” Nightingale mused, drawing my attention back to her. “You know, I wonder. If my stallions dropped you from this height... would you shatter?”
I looked down. Far, far, far below, the lights of Fillydelphia were spread out before me. From this altitude, the city looked like a map, and I could recognize most of the major landmarks. There was the Horn and Feather. There was the First Equestrian. And there was my local herbalist with his damned awnings.
“Pretty sure it'd be more of a splatter,” I answered.
Nightingale laughed, a surprisingly light and girlish sound. “Oh, it'll be a real shame to kill you, love. I like a stallion with a bit of wit.”
“You could always, you know, not kill me.”
“Oh, I think not,” she replied. “A job's a job, and you've made my employer decidedly unhappy. It's a pity, but I'm afraid you'll have to die. Boulder, Hornet?”
“Wait!” I shouted, trying to think through the concussion muddying my thoughts. “Hold on, I can help you!”
She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Oh?”
I nodded emphatically. “I know your boss is Crown Jewel, and I've got enough evidence to put him away. Think about it! Once he's out of the picture, there's a power vacuum in this town. The Union's the only group in Fillydelphia in a real position to capitalize on it!”
It was a desperate bluff, and even on my best day, I'm not much of a poker player. She narrowed her eyes at me, then laughed. “I think not, love.”
She nodded towards her underlings. I felt the pressure on my legs slacken, and felt myself starting to slip.
“Okay, fine, I don't have the evidence yet! But I will. I just need to get into his mansion. I know he's behind Silver Coin's disappearance. Hell, I know he killed Silver's father, too. There’s bound to be a paper trail, a ledger showing bribes, something. If I can just fine something solid, he'll be decorating Celestia's garden by the end of the week.”
“And what about me?”
I winced as I spoke. “Anything I find linking you or the Union to this, I'll leave out.”
She gave me a long, considering look. “Why should I trust you?”
I took a breath, giving myself time to carefully choose my words. “Because if I'm being straight with you, you get Fillydelphia.”
We hovered there in silence for a long moment, the only sound the rhythmic beating of feathered wings. Finally, Nightingale spoke. “I suppose I've made worse gambles.”
Relief washed over me in a wave, but I had more ponies to worry about than just myself. “One condition, though. Call off your pegasi. Let Calla go.”
She shook her head. “Too late, love. My stallions were under orders to bring her directly to Crown Jewel once she was in custody. I'm sure he has a few questions for her.”
Dammit. Double dammit. It was bad enough that the bastard might hurt Calla, but introducing a hostage into the equation was going to complicate things even more.
And why did I even care? Why was I here, making a deal with the devil so I could rescue a filly I hardly knew from a stallion who, two days ago, I'd never thought would cross my path? I wasn't a hero. I was just a battered gumhoof with a cold and a concussion. I didn't need to get involved. I could leave the city, maybe move somewhere out in the country. Ponyville was supposed to be pretty nice. Maybe I could spend the rest of my years finding stray cats and missing cattle. If I kept my head down, maybe Crown Jewel would just write me off and let this end without any more bad blood. All I'd have to do was get Nightingale to drop me off outside of town and then make a run for it. I’d be miles away before she realized I’d played her.
I looked down at my cutie mark. A simple magnifying glass, brass with a cherry handle.
Who was I kidding?
“Well, Mr. Glass?” Nightingale asked. “What's your plan?”
“Triple dammit,” I muttered.
“Hm?”
“I said, drop me off at Hot Air's estate. I need a word.”
It took a few minutes of pounding on the wrought iron gates before Jeeves, his tuxedo a bit rumpled and bow tie undone, appeared. He trotted calmly up to the gates, inspected the welt pulsating on the side of my head and the vomit running down my shirt, and asked, “Yes?”
“I have a message for Mr. Air,” I told him, urgency thickening my voice. I reached into my coat and passed him the folded sheet of notebook paper I'd only scribbled down a few minutes prior. “It's important. Please, make sure he gets it immediately.”
Jeeves' expression never shifted. “I'm afraid Mr. Air only accept visitors between the hours of-”
“Ponies' lives are in danger!” I hissed, putting my hoof under the butler's collar and pulling him towards the bars. “Please! Just give it to him! I've got to keep moving, they're looking for me!”
I turned and galloped off onto the night without another word, sparing only a glance back to see that Jeeves, unflappable as ever, was returning to the mansion with the note in his mouth.
So far, so good.
I hoofed it to the rendezvous spot, the very alley outside the Horn and Feather where I'd found Silver's cufflink. I found a hiding spot behind a cluster of garbage cans and settled down to wait.
The better part of an hour later, a skinny pony with yellow fur and a windblown, graying mane walked tentatively into the alley. “Er... Mr. Glass?”
I stepped out from the shadows behind him, blocking his escape. My hat was pulled low, shadowing my eyes, and I took the effort to make sure my duster billowed dramatically behind me. I got a twinge of satisfaction as he recoiled in surprise.
“You set me up, Hot Air.”
He stammered, eyes casting about for an escape. “W-what do you mean?”
I advanced a step toward him. “You sent me out to Emerald Park, and then you told Nightgale I'd be there.”
“I-I wouldn't! Mr. Glass, please, there must be some mistake... ”
“There's not,” I said sharply. “I thought there might have been. I liked you, Air. I was hoping I'd actually found one decent pony among the high-hooves in this town. But you're scum, just like the rest.”
My hoof went to the horseshoe in my pocket. Hot Air gulped.
“Please, Mr. Glass, I don't know what you're-”
“See, you lied to me about knowing Calla. That's what tipped me off. Why would you lie about something as minor as that? Well, because maybe you wanted to keep something secret. Maybe you didn't want word getting out that you paid for certain services. But that's a pretty minor scandal in this city, Air. Have you seen what most of the upper crust gets up to? Of course you have.”
I took another step forward. “No, it wasn't just embarrassment. You were worried that if ponies started digging into your affairs, trying to find dirt on you or your company, something else would come out. I bet you've got a whole closet full of skeletons; stolen copyrights, plagiarized blueprints... maybe some things even worse.”
“I... that's ridiculous, I mean, of course, everypony has a few things he'd rather not be general knowledge, but-”
I nodded. “Oh, I know. And sometimes, the wrong pony finds out about your secrets. Sometimes he uses them to make you do things you don't want to. Like reporting all about your meetings with your dead friend's son. Like telling him that the son was planning something big, something big enough that it might be a real threat. Like helping him arrange for such a pony to disappear.”
“I-”
I slammed my hoof down. “You sold Silver Coin out. You told Crown Jewel everything. You sang like a freaking bird. And when you realized I was getting close to the truth, you sold me out, too.”
He stared at me, mouth moving silently. And then, gradually, the terrified facade began to slip away. His shocked expression began to twist into a small, confident smirk. He even started a freaking slow clap.
“Well done, detective. When Jeeves told me you'd actually come back to me, I thought I'd greatly overestimated your intelligence. Surely you'd have figured out I'd arranged for your death. Which was a pity, I might add; my favorite niece was among those ponies saved from that psychotic griffon you stopped. I'd rather hoped you wouldn't get in the way.”
“Why'd you do it, Air?” I growled. “Why'd you betray your friend's memory?”
He rolled his eyes. “We have to look to the future, Mr. Glass. Crown Jewel has a grand vision for this city... indeed, for all of Equestria. I won't jeopardize my place in his new world out of loyalty to a dead pony. Or to his son, however well I thought of him.”
“What?” I asked. “What's Crown Jewel planning?”
He tsked. “I hardly think that's likely to matter to you. You see, detective, for all your hard work and intuition, you unfortunately failed to ask one obvious question.”
His horn suddenly glowed green. I tensed, ready to spring to the side, but all the unicorn did was fire a small, sparkling ball of light into the sky. I watched it in curiosity for a moment before I realized what it was: a signal.
“If I was able to bring the Union to bear once, why wouldn't I do it again?”
Dark silhouettes descended from the sky, feathered wings stirring a breeze in the cool night air. A dozen or more pegasi landed around me, on the ground, on stacked crates, on the roofs of the surrounding buildings. Nightingale herself, flanked by Hornet and Bandageface, dropped down behind Hot Air. They grinned at me maliciously.
“I don't know how you evaded them the first time, detective,” Hot Air continued, “but I assure you, it will not happen again. Honestly,” he added with a seemingly genuine sigh, “I hoped you would be smarter.”
“Oh, I am,” I said with a shark's grin.
Hooves pressed down on Hot Air's back, pinning him to the ground. He started to shout in surprise, but Nightingale's hoof smashed into his face hard enough to make him bite his tongue. He struggled and squirmed for a moment, but the Union goons were big stallions and didn't let him budge.
“You see, Mr. Air,” I explained, mimicking his own arrogant tone, “I've reached an arrangement with Nightingale and her colts. It's not an arrangement I'm especially thrilled about, but it allows me to continue breathing, save Calla Lily, and bring Crown Jewel down. You see, we're going to pay Mr. Jewel a little visit.”
I leaned over him, and he shrank away, genuine fear in his eyes.
“And you,” I told him, “are going to help me do it.”
Crown Jewel's massive estate sprawled across a peninsula that stretched out into Clover Bay. The road leading to it was long, winding, and heavily wooded, and anypony who wandered in found themselves politely asked to leave by camouflaged guards stationed along the way. Entry by sea was difficult due to the sheer, rocky cliffs that rose up from the churning water. And anypony trying to come in by air would have to deal with a squad of armed, skilled, and highly-payed pegasi.
The mansion itself was built like a fortress, with layers of outer walls surrounding a palatial central keep. Guards, their armor painted black to reduce its gleam, watched out over the night from a dozen turreted towers. Even the windows were thick glass, treated with magic and tinted almost black.
If I'd been trying to get in there on my own, I'd be dead before I set hoof on the property. Fortunately, I had friends.
Well, comrades.
Well, temporary allies that would kill me if they thought I wasn't holding up my end of the bargain. And that might kill me anyway once our business was concluded.
I shook my head, soliciting a dull throb from the knot on my skull. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. Chances were good I'd be dead long before Nightingale got the chance to off me.
I glanced over at her. She'd pulled her mane back into a tight tail, revealing the ugly scars in all their glory. She noticed me looking, and quirked an eyebrow.
“How'd you get those?” I asked conversationally.
“Griffon,” she replied.
“Ouch.”
She grinned. “You should've seen what I did to him.”
I chuckled nervously and turned away, looking up at my transport instead. Bandageface was staring back at me, hate and anger still burning bright in his eyes.
“Hey, for what it's worth, sorry about smashing your face.”
He glared at me.
“To be fair, though, you were trying to kill me.”
He kept glaring.
“I think you should keep the look, though. The 'strong, silent bruiser' thing suits you. You could stand behind Nightingale and stare at people. Ooh, and maybe you could paint on some flames or something. Or glue some spikes.”
I felt the pegasus' grip on me loosening. Nightingale glanced over at us with an amused smirk. “You should consider shutting up, love.”
“Noted.”
We continued in silence. On the Union leader's opposite side, the yellow-and-black Hornet carried Hot Air. The unicorn had gone quiet and limp since we tied him up, and he dangled underneath the big pegasus like a bundle of rags.
We descended through the night sky, the estate growing larger below us with alarming speed. I was just about to point our velocity out to Bandageface when he abruptly banked, flying parallel with the ground for a moment before letting me drop. I hit the dirt hard and tumbled nearly twenty feet before coming to a stop.
“Boulder,” Nightingale scolded, landing softly behind me. Hornet came next, gently placing the comatose Hot Air on the ground in front of him.
“I'm–ow–good,” I grumbled, spitting sod and dirt out of my mouth and struggling to roll myself to my feet. I was beginning to regret letting myself get hoofcuffed.
“Miss Nightingale,” an unfamiliar voice rumbled. I looked up to see a half dozen or so guards, all in black armor and armed with spears, approaching. Their leader was a massive unicorn, probably the largest pony I'd ever seen, with steel gray fur and intense red eyes. “We weren't expecting you.”
“Blackguard,” she responded with surprising humility, inclining her head. “Sorry to drop in unannounced, but we had important news for Mr. Jewel. We found this one–“ she pointed to Hot Air “–cutting a deal with the private eye. Said he'd offer him half a million bits to present his evidence to the F.P.D, but leave out his own involvement.”
The unicorn stamped over to the prone Hot Air, bending down to inspect him. “Why is he gagged?”
Nightingale shrugged. “He was being annoying.”
He grunted. “I'll tell Mr. Jewel. Wait here.”
We were left there in the... courtyard, I supposed, with the remaining guards watching us silently. Bandageface generously pushed me over so that I was lying on my back instead of my face–if one defines “push” as “savagely kick in the ribs.” Nightingale said nothing, but I saw her roll her eyes.
“This is a stupid plan,” I muttered quietly.
“It's your plan,” she whispered back.
“What's your point?”
She grinned and trotted away.
Blackguard returned several minutes later. “You're free to leave,” he informed the pegasi. “Mr. Jewel wants to speak to these two alone.”
“Now hold on a minute, love” Nightingale protested. “We've been busting our flanks to find this guy, and we sniffed out a traitor. I think a reward is in order for our extraordinary service.”
The unicorn glared at her. She matched his intensity ounce for ounce. Finally, he blinked and looked away. “Fine. Just you. The others can stay here or leave.”
She glanced at her goons. They nodded back and sat down back-to-back, nonchalant but obviously alert. Blackguard gestured with his horn towards me and Gold Coin, and two of his guards broke ranks to drag us after him.
I was surprised by how austere the mansion's interior was. I'd expected gold statues, velvet carpets, the kinds of things I'd seen in every other rich pony's home. Instead, the floors and walls were bare, gray flagstone; the only things breaking the monotony were old-fashioned wall sconces, torches flickering within them.
“Okay,” I said to the guard pulling me, “your boss is a vampire. Did not expect that.”
“Shut up,” he rumbled, giving me a thump in the chest with his rear hoof.
I realized as we went that even the interior of the building was a layered defense. This nondescript corridor was actually a freaking maze, with occasional slits in the walls where no doubt arrows and spears could be shoved through. We made a dozen or more sudden, inexplicable turns, and despite my efforts, I couldn't quite keep track of the route we'd taken. I blamed the concussion.
We finally reached a set of stairs heading up, and things actually began to resemble equestrian habitation. A forest green carpet, trimmed with silver thread, covered the steps. When we reached the top, we found ourselves in a cavernous chamber that was related to studio apartments in the same way that a mountain is related to a rock. Off in the distance, I could see an elegant four-post bed; on the other side was a kitchen with a small, humble table.
Trophies filled the entire place. Stuffed creatures I'd only heard about in fairy tales reared up at me from everywhere I looked. There were manticores, cockatrices, timber wolves, and things I didn't even have names for. A massive, white worm-centipede thing reared up along the far wall, its back glowing red and its body lined with sickle-like legs. A bear the size of a house, bone spikes jutting out of its hide at every joint, loomed over us from our left. The sheer amount of bizarre and terrifying monsters made my heart jump into my throat until I had convinced myself that they were all very much dead.
Besides the taxidermied beasts, weapons of every size, shape, and description lined the walls. Here were shields and spears and swords in the ancient pegasi style; there was a suit of armor once worn by Canterlot knights. A rack of broadswords spanning the entire length of pony civilization hung over a large, glowing fireplace. And in front of them, seated casually on an emerald couch, was the unicorn who could only be Crown Jewel.
He wasn't quite what I was expecting. His white coat was somewhat matted and tangled; his green mane was streaked with gray and looked limp and greasy. A pair of worn old spectacles and a bushy little mustache completed the look of a pony who seemed more at home in a cubicle with an abacus than here, lounging in the lair of some evil overlord.
“Lord Jewel,” Blackguard called, stamping a hoof in salute. “I've brought the prisoners. And the Union representative insisted on having a word with you.”
The older stallion motioned for us to approach him. We did, at the guards' insistence.
“Well, well,” he said when we reached him. His voice was deep and sonorous, shockingly at odds with his appearance. “An earth pony, roughly thirty-five years old, with a brown coat and blue mane. You must be Looking Glass.”
“Where's Calla?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “I think you have more pressing concerns, Mr. Glass.”
“Where is she?”
We stared into eachothers eyes, daring the other to look away first. After a long moment, Nightingale interrupted. “Sorry, love, she's all he's been talking about. Think he's got a soft spot for her.”
He laughed, breaking our contest with a turn of his head. “Yes, well, she is rather an attractive young mare. Though not nearly as lovely as you, of course, sweet Nightingale.”
Nightingale tittered girlishly. I rolled my eyes. “Where. Is. She.”
Crown glanced at me with annoyance. His horn flashed, and a chair near the fire spun around. Calla Lily sat there, bound and gagged, her eyes wide and terrified.
Rage flared up in my chest. “If you've hurt her-”
The unicorn waved a hoof dismissively. “Spare me your empty bravado, Mr. Glass. Now, what was this about my good friend Mr. Air plotting betrayal? I rather thought I'd cowed him into submission.”
I glanced back at Air. His eyes were focused now, and he was staring at Crown Jewel, shaking his head frantically. Blackguard's horn flared red, and the gag began untying itself.
I looked at Nightingale. She nodded.
“SHE'S THE TRAITOR!” Hot Air screamed.
The hoofcuffs clicked and fell free of my right foreleg.
Blackguard's spear rose up, glowing scarlet.
Nightingale spat out the key and hunched down, pawing the ground.
Nightingale charged past me. She slammed into Crown Jewel, knocking over the couch and flipping them both over it to the floor. I dove to the side as Blackguard's spear stabbed towards my chest, but couldn't avoid a follow-up punch that staggered me.
Shaking my head to clear it, I noticed the spear circling around behind me. I ducked, again narrowly avoiding its tip, then pounced on it. The big unicorn growled in annoyance as he tried to levitate the weapon free, my weight making it too heavy for him to lift.
I didn't have long to celebrate. He lowered his head and charged, razor-sharp horn leading the way. I rolled away, but not fast enough to avoid one of his heavy hooves coming down on my rear leg. I came up unsteadily, the injured limb not wanting to cooperate, still clutching the spear between my hooves.
“That all you got?” I snarled.
His nostrils flared and he charged again, but he was smarter than I'd hoped. I set my weapon to meet him, but he nimbly juked to the side and kicked me in the back as he passed. I was knocked forward, tripping over the damned spear and falling flat on my face.
I scrambled away just before his front hooves smashed into the spot where my head had been, pulling myself into a three-legged gallop. I obviously wasn't going to beat this pony hoof-to-hoof; I needed a way to cheat.
I ran for the giant bear. I heard the unicorn's hooves thundering across the floor as he closed the distance. I aimed for the opening between the creature's legs and dove through. Blackguard's size would work against him; he'd have to slow down to squeeze through.
The unicorn's spear suddenly thudded into the ground in front of me, shaft quivering. I stopped short, which gave Blackguard time to circle around the bear and resume his charge.
“Dammit!” I growled. This was really getting unfair.
I ran for the bed next. The thing was huge enough for ten ponies–suggesting some very interesting parties here–and so thick with mattresses and blankets that there were stepladders on either side. I clambered up one side, trying not to put too much weight on my injured leg, and rolled onto the bed. Blackguard just jumped, landing beside me. He reared back, preparing to stomp me again.
I grabbed as many sheets as I could in my teeth and pulled. The unicorn's eyes went wide as he tumbled backwards off the bed, hitting the floor with a thud and a rattle of armor. I rolled to the other side and dropped to the ground, looking for another advantage.
I heard a snort of frustration, and then the whole freaking bed was shoved aside as Blackguard shouldered into it. One of the oaken bedposts clipped my bad leg, sending me spinning. I gained my bearings again just in time to see Blackguard pawing the ground to charge.
I looked around; there was nothing nearby I could use as cover. With the weakness in my leg, I didn't think I'd be able to jump aside fast enough to avoid his horn again. Chances were, this was going to be it.
Suddenly, a purple blur smashed into the unicorn, knocking him to the side. I heard a solid thunk as Blackguard's skull made contact with the corner post, and he reeled from the impact. This gave Nightingale enough time to leap onto his back, pull his head sharply to the left, and drive a horseshoe-clad hoof into the right side of his jaw. I heard a crack, and the massive stallion whinnied in pain and surprise. I almost cheered. I was cut short by a sword plunging out of the sky, narrowly missing my ear.
I looked over to see Crown Jewel, spectacles broken and one eye swollen, glaring at me with murderous intent. His horn was glowing gold, and another sword was hovering in the air behind him. I gulped and rolled away as best I could, but wasn't fast enough to avoid a long, shallow gash down my flank.
“This annoyance will cost you dearly,” the unicorn snarled. “I will kill you. I will kill Miss Nightingale. I will kill your little whore. I will kill everyone who has ever called you a friend. I will purge Equestria of the very memory of you!”
Something dangerous and wild glittered in his yellow eyes. However unassuming and accountantly he might look, this pony was off his freaking nut.
That might come in handy.
“You're insane,” I told him conversationally.
Another sword levitated towards him. “Many genuises are mistaken as such.”
“No, seriously,” I said, edging towards a dresser. “You're crazy. Who talks like that? 'I will kill everyone, mwa ha ha.' You sound like a Daring Do villain.”
“Silence!” he howled, hurling another blade at me. I dove behind the dresser, and looked up to see the tip of the blade poking through just above my head.
I kept talking as I edged around, trying to keep out of the unicorn's line of sight. “I mean, I'm almost afraid to ask what your 'big idea' is. You know, the one you told Hot Air about? The one you killed Gold Coin for not supporting? The one Silver betrayed you over?”
The entire freaking dresser suddenly glowed and shot upwards. I let out a manly little shriek and bolted forward before it came crashing down. I managed to get to the white worm thing before another pair of swords sank into the ground around me.
Our attention was suddenly pulled away by a crash. One of the thick, reinforced windows had just shattered outwards, and I had just enough time to see Nightingale and Blackguard, tangled together in a frenzied ball of violence, fall through it.
Well. Looked like I was on my own.
“I know what you're doing,” Crown Jewel's voice came, suddenly far calmer and in control. “You are trying to enrage me, to make me slip up. I'm afraid your taunts will not work.”
“Hey, I'm seriously curious,” I called. “You're already the head of the largest bank in Equestria, and the most powerful organization in Fillydelphia. You're ridiculously rich, your house is a frickin' citadel, what more could you possibly want?”
“Autonomy, Mr. Glass,” the unicorn replied. I could hear more weapons sliding free of their mounts on the walls. I really didn't want to poke my head out. “You see, I've realized something. No matter how much wealth, power, or prestige I earn, I will never be truly autonomous. I will never be able to claim that no pony is my master. That no pony stands taller than I.”
My eyes widened as I realized what he was saying. “You want to overthrow Celestia.”
“And Luna,” he said. “And the rest of the royalty in Canterlot. I will create a new order, a republic, guided by those with ambition, intelligence, and the will to lead.”
I couldn't help it. I laughed. “You really are insane, aren't you?”
“Don't you see?” he hissed. There was a hint of earnestness in his voice, like he was honestly trying to convince me he was right. “I was moved to this plan by desperation. I used to have the autonomy I wished. Celestia had to devote much of her energy to raising both the sun and moon, and rarely interfered in my affairs. I was free to build, to expand my influence, to turn Fillydelphia into the utopia I imagined!”
I snorted. “Utopia? Seriously? Have you been outside, like, ever? This place is a cesspit. Everypony in this city is either living in poverty or in the pocket of criminal bastards like you. You high hooves lord it up from your mansions by the shore, but everypony else is just doing what they can to scrape by!”
“An unfortunate and temporary state of affairs. I am creating a new society, Mr. Glass. One must break eggs to have an omelet.” I ventured a peek around the worm, and immediately wished I hadn't. The unicorn was standing amidst a ring of weapons, all floating overhead and prepared to launch. “My new order will reward ingenuity, not tradition. Hard work, not idle fancy. Ambition, not mere heredity. And those that rise to the top will, in turn, raise others up behind them. It may be a slow, painful process, but in the end, everypony will benefit.”
I looked around desperately. I was pinned here, between the wall and the worm. If I was careful, though, I might be able to crawl over the thing's legs and get to the other side without exposing myself to fire. Then maybe I could sneak around and hit the unicorn when he wasn't looking.
“Sounds great and all,” I said as I started my climb, “but why do you need to get rid of Celestia? She's usually all for making ponies' lives better.”
He laughed derisively. “Oh, I spoke to her. I tried to convince her to help me. But she refused. She said that my ideas would only lead to corruption and tyranny. That greed would lead those who rose to the top to prevent others from rising to replace them. That in the end, all I would create is another form of royalty, one beholden only to money and not the ponies they serve.”
“Yeah, far-fetched.”
He didn't seem to pick up on the sarcasm. “I assured her that I could make the system work. I told her that I was using Fillydelphia as a model for my ideas, and that within a decade, I would be able to show her the results of my labor.” His voice darkened. “She said that I was too radical, too impatient, that such a system would have to be introduced gradually if at all. She said she would begin watching Fillydelphia more closely. And ever since, she and her advisers have been second-guessing my every move, keeping me from forging ahead with my plans.”
“So your boss was looking over your shoulder,” I said. Almost there, just a few more legs. “And that made you throw a little tantrum. Poor baby.”
“Silence!” he howled. “It made me understand that I would never be able to realize my dreams for Fillydelphia. Not while an immortal goddess stayed my hoof. But if I removed her, removed her whole court, I could expand my experiment. I could test it on all of Equestria!”
I dropped back to the floor as quietly as I could. From here, I should be able to make it to the kitchen area, and from there, maybe I could get to the door and get the hell out of here. Of course, there was a maze in the way. And there were probably guards coming, thanks to Nightingale and Blackguard's dramatic exit. But at least I wouldn’t have a crazy pony with an arsenal of medieval weaponry trying to kill me.
“And how exactly were you planning to take out two goddesses and the entire royal guard?” I asked, readying myself for a gallop.
“Plans within plans, Mr. Glass,” he said. “There are many in the world who would welcome a regime change in Equestria. Many who are willing to lend support to my ambitions.”
“So, what? You're going to team up with the griffons?”
“Among others.”
I snorted. “Yeah, that'll end well. I'm sure letting armies of monsters roam free in Equestria will help you build your utopia. I'm sure everypony will just flock to your banner.”
“Ah, but they will. Once Canterlot falls, I will set myself up as a hero, using my wealth and resources to drive our foes out of our borders.”
“That's what you needed Silver for, isn't it?” I asked, surprising myself with the insight. “And Gold before that. You're not the kind of pony to sit on a throne. You like to rule from the shadows. So you had two chances to recruit somepony likeable, somepony with charisma, and you blew it both times.”
“Unfortunate setbacks, but a strategist must be able to adapt his plans.”
I peeked around the worm's side. Crown Jewel was still looking at where I'd been, all the swords and axes and spears still hovering around him. Okay. This was my chance.
I crept out as quietly as I could, trying not to draw his eye. I'd almost made it to the kitchen when he spotted me.
“Aha! Well played, Mr. Glass,” he called. “But I'm afraid this game is finished.”
I dove behind the refrigerator. Metal shrieked as medieval weapons punctured the steel casing. Wood and marble shattered as they struck the counters. A toaster landed in front of me, an axe embedded halfway through it. More and more weapons flew at me, but the only thing that hit me was the fridge, finally knocked over by what sounded like a warhammer. I tried to scurry away, but my good leg was pinned, and other was too weak to kick free.
I was still pulling when Crown Jewel appeared over me, a single, simple dagger hovering over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Mr. Glass.”
“See ya,” I said, swinging my loose hoofcuff at his head. The blow connected solidly, and the unicorn reeled back, the knife clattering harmlessly to the ground. I managed to use my forelegs to push the fridge away, and limped to my hooves just in time to see him recover his balance.
I let out what I hope was a masculine roar and tackled him. We went down into a pile of weapons. Each of us gasped in pain as our hides were sliced in numerous places. Jewel managed to pull free of me, picked up a knife with his teeth, and threw it at me. It slashed a long groove over my eye, which immediately began to fill with blood.
I swung at him again, but he managed to take it on a front leg. His rear hooves came up and propelled me away, where I landed in yet more sharp-edged wreckage. He staggered up, but fueled by adrenaline, I managed to get to my hooves first. I tackled him again, this time launching us clear of the ruined kitchen and back to the fireplace.
I hit him across the face with my hoofcuff again. It dazed him, but he managed to levitate an end table into the side of my head and knock me away. I growled and lunged at his legs, tripping him as he tried to stand. He somehow got me into a chokehold. I bit his foreleg, breaking the hold, and kicked him hard in the stomach. He headbutted me, knocking me away again and stunning me long enough for him get to his hooves.
I shook my head clear and prepared to charge again, but stopped short when I noticed his horn glowing. I looked around for an incoming weapon, and instead found Calla, still bound and gagged in her chair, staring in wide-eyed terror at the knife pressed against her throat.
“Desist, Mr. Glass,” Crown said emphatically, “or I will kill her.”
I looked between him and Calla. I couldn't read anything in her expression but fear. She wasn't going to ask me to leave her, to take this bastard down no matter the price. She wasn't that kind of brave.
That just made it worse.
“You'll kill her anyway,” I growled. “You'll kill us both. We know too much.”
He grinned humorlessly. “Indeed. But you won't let her die, Mr. Glass. We both know that.”
I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I'd almost forgotten about it in the fight. But now, it was the last chance I was going to get.
“She's Gold Coin's daughter, you know.”
Crown Jewel quirked his head at me in mild surprise. “I didn't, no.”
I nodded. “She met Silver about six months ago. Once they realized their relation, he bought out her contract. She knows everything Silver did about you. She knows all about your plans.”
“You're hardly giving me a compelling reason not to kill her.”
“She knew Gold, too. He used to visit her sometimes. He’d dote on her, make sure she was doing okay. She thought he was just an uncle, but she loved him.”
“Yes, yes, very heartwarming,” the unicorn said impatiently.
I glanced past him, then stared into his eyes. “Tell me, Mr. Jewel. What actually happened to Silver Coin?”
He sneered. “I killed him, of course. Just as I did his father.”
“I thought so.”
Crown suddenly jerked and went rigid. The bloody tip of a spear emerged from his chest. The light around his horn dimmed and then died out, and the knife dropped to the ground. He turned his head as far as he could, straining to see his murderer.
“That was for Gold,” said Hot Air, still bound and leaning heavily on the spear. “And for Silver. And for me.”
I hadn't heard it during the fighting, but the cops had arrived in force. Apparently, a mole in the F.C.P.D had lured Calla and Cammy into an ambush by Nightingale's colts. They'd managed to grab Calla, but Cammy's tougher than she looks; she knocked the crooked cop on his ass and took off. Once she got back, the department was ready to go to war with the Union, but Cammy thought fast and grabbed my case notes from my office. With everything pointing at Crown Jewel, the chief leaned on one of the judges and got a warrant for his arrest.
When the doors to Crown's private sanctum burst open, I was expecting a mob of angry and heavily armed guards. Instead, it was Cammy and a squad of the bucks in blue. I'd never been so happy to see a heartless adulteress in my entire life, and I told her so. (She wasn't appreciative.)
A search of Crown's estate turned up all kinds of evidence, some of it bordering on the unbelievable. Contracts and agreements had been drawn up with a veritable Who's Who of Equestria's enemies, ranging from griffon clan chiefs to Queen Chrysallis of the changelings. On top of that were ledgers, memos, and other odds and ends that Crown's employees had been stashing just in case they needed to blackmail their boss or bribe the cops. Fully half of the First Equestrian's senior staff wound up on a one-way train for Canterlot, where rumor was they'd be making fine additions to Celestia's statue garden.
Somehow, nothing linking Crown to the Weather Union ever turned up. It didn't take long before many of the less-than-legal operations the First Equestrian had been secretly funding found themselves under new management. Of course, Nightingale didn't get to enjoy her new career as Fillydelphia's kingpin for a few days; she got pretty banged up in her fight, but at least she gave worse than she got. By the time Boulder and Hornet pulled her off of Blackguard, the big unicorn had gotten himself a permanent cockeye and a whole mess of internal injuries. She stopped by to visit me in the hospital as she was being checked out. She made fun of my fighting skills and called me a cream puff for getting the crap kicked out of me by a fat old stallion. She also told me I'd held up my end of the bargain, so we were even... for now.
Calla was pretty well traumatized by the whole ordeal, and it didn't help when Silver's body finally turned up in the Starswirl River. However, she got a pretty nice consolation prize: Silver had thought to update his will before that fateful night, and he'd left his entire estate to her. She'd lost a brother and gained a fortune.
Hot Air got to walk. I didn't say anything about his involvement in Crown Jewel's scheme; it was the least I could do for saving Calla's life. He stopped by to apologize to me on my last day in the clinic, and said that he had a lot of soul-searching to do. He wanted to live up to the examples the Coins had set. I read in the paper the next day that he'd liquidated all of his assets and donated them to various city charities. Then he vanished without a trace.
I, meanwhile, returned to my office a week later. To my surprise, it was clean; cleaner than it had ever been. The walls were freshly painted, my filing cabinets had been scraped free of rust, and somepony had even replaced the ceiling fan with a newer model that didn't creak so damned much. Even the frosted glass on my door was fixed, though the font spelling out my name looked a bit classier, and somepony had added a picture of my cutie mark in the center.
I paced around the office in wonderment, not sure what to make of it all. I didn't even realize I wasn't alone until somepony coughed politely.
There stood Calla Lily, clad in a simple but attractive white dress and matching purse. She sauntered towards me, a mischievous look in her eyes.
“Calla,” I said in surprise. “You did all this?”
“Well, I hired the ponies who did it, yes. I'm rich now.”
“I'd heard.” I settled back against my desk. “Sorry about your brother.”
She smiled sadly. “I suppose there was never much hope of finding him alive. I miss him, though. I wish we'd had more time.”
“Yeah.”
We stood there in silence.
“What can I do for you?” I asked after awhile.
“Oh! I came here to give you this.” She reached into her purse and placed a small envelope on my desk.
I looked at it in curiosity, opened it, read it, and immediately dropped it in surprise. “Calla, you don't owe me that much.”
She put a hoof to my mouth and stepped close to me. “I owe you everything, Mr. Glass. I owe you my life.”
I rubbed at the back of my neck, my cheeks flushing. “I just did what I had to do. Besides, it was Hot Air who-”
She pressed her lips to mine. I went rigid for a moment, then relaxed and sank into it, just enjoying the kiss. We separated a small eternity later.
“Uh, well,” I stammered. “Okay, I guess I can accept the check, but it's really gonna play hell with my tax return-”
“Shut up,” she told me, and we kissed again.
They call Fillydelphia the City of Filial Love. Whoever came up with that had a sick sense of humor. But for all the problems this town has, it's my town. And underneath the dirt and grime, all the crime and poverty and broken dreams, if you're willing to look hard enough, you can find the occasional bright spot.
Just keep in mind that it won't stay bright forever.
As I predicted, Crown Jewel overplayed his hoof. Not only has it cost him his life, it's disrupted all of the plans he made concerning the coup. Our potential alliances with the griffons and minotaur are now shaky at best. Additionally, Crown's short-sighted murder of Silver Coin despite our request, coupled with the arrest and deportation of several of our infiltrators within the First Equestrian, have brought our current operations in Fillydelphia to a rather abrupt halt.
Fortunately, Your Majesty, I am not without contingencies. Several of our most highly-placed agents are still functional. As well, Crown's death and downfall have opened a power vacuum within the city that we can capitalize on. I have already begun identifying new targets among the various factions vying for control. However, I will need at least five more talented infiltrators to proceed fully. I will make arrangements for them to be brought into the city and blended until their targets can be assigned.
I assure you, my queen, that despite our recent setbacks, our plans will come to fruition.
