In the city of Canterlot, in a back street only accessible by a back alley, in a run down townhouse in the forgotten part of the city there was a basement apartment, down a flight of stairs that no self respecting member of the Canterlot Elite would ever dare tread—except that some of them did, usually in disguise. Ponies came here looking for a detective during times of trouble, and if the land of Equestria had anything, it was trouble, and it came in spades.
In a messy, dirty room, Yam Spade lay in a foldaway bed, half awake. Beside him, a rather pretty burro mare named Azure Serape stared up at the ceiling. The floor was littered with old newspapers, folders, papers, sunflower seeds, and empty tequila bottles.
“There was an eviction notice in the mailbox,” Azure said in a sleepy voice.
“There’s always an eviction notice in the mailbox,” Yam replied.
Yam Spade, known by some as the soft boiled detective, was an earth pony with a strong self preservation streak and a knack for finding anything he put his mind to. While many earth ponies had peculiar earth pony senses, Yam’s was strong—so very strong—and he had made a career out of it. His cutie mark was a magnifying glass that stood out in sharp contrast to his bright orange pelt.
He was something of a odd pony, who found himself in strange or otherwise bizarre situations. His parents had wanted him to grow up and inherit the family yam farm, but even at a young age, Yam had other plans. Plans that did not involve yams, or digging for yams, or anything to do with yams.
His companion, Azure Serape, was the muscle of the pair of them. She was stronger than Yam by far—some earth ponies had strength, others had brains, and Yam was the latter rather than the former. She was feisty, a little sarcastic, and fierce in her defense of Yam. She also drank tequila like ponies drank water, and she did so with no ill effects. In all their years of staying together, Yam had never once seen her drunk.
Some time back, he had put his talent to use to find the love of his life. After a year of adventure and ending up on the other side of the world, Yam had found Azure working as a porter in a Fancy Foreign Legion outpost located in the middle of a desert, a settlement built around an oasis. When he offered to buy her a drink, she had slapped him, and Yam had fallen in love.
Not long after, he found himself involved in a war with desert raiders, drafted into the Fancy Foreign Legion. After several months of conflict, the war ended, Yam went home, and he brought Azure with him.
“Why don’t you use that talent of yours to find your fortune?” Azure asked.
“I did, babe,” Yam replied.
“What happened?”
“I’m layin’ next to her. I found an ass load of good fortune.”
The burro sighed, shook her head, and scratched her belly. “We need money, Yammy.”
Reaching up with his foreleg, Yam brushed his mane out of his face, inhaled, and let go a bored sigh. He thought about rolling over onto his side, but that would take effort. He was hungry and effort… well, that took too much effort to expend effort. The only thing that might be worth the effort would be grabbing Azure and having a go at her, but if he waited, she might grab him and have her way with him just to relieve her boredom. He decided to wait and see what might happen.
“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Yam drawled.
“What?” Azure replied.
“How about you and I get all rolled up in a blanket and make a burro-ito?”
Groaning, Azure facehoofed and there was a conk sound as her hoof struck her skull. She cringed at the terrible joke and shook her head to deny the terrible innuendo. Her long, thin tail swished from side to side and she rolled over, turning her back to her companion.
“My mother was right about you—”
“Aw, babe, don’t be like that.”
“Well, she was. I’m hungry. What are we going to do about food?”
“Could you make tamales?” Yam expended the effort to roll over onto his side and placed his hoof on Azure’s ribs.
“There is no more masa, Yammy. All we have left in the pantry is tequila and a single can of hominy.”
“That bad, eh?” Yam let out a frustrated grunt and then his stomach made its opinion known by making a rude squelchy gurgle that was loud enough to make Azure’s ears perk. “Okay, that’s it, we’re going out.”
“And how will you pay for it?” Azure asked.
“It’ll go on my tab,” Yam replied.
“You and your tab is why we stay broke… you spend money we don’t have.”
“Do you want to fight or eat?” Yam snuggled up against Azure’s back and pressed his nose against her tawny, speckled neck. She smelled spicy, like picante sauce and tequila. The scent of garlic and onions was forever infused in her velvet pelt.
“How about we fight, then go out for a bite, and then come home and make up?”
“You dirty, dirty ass!”
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be! Callin’ me an ass! I’m a burro!” Azure let out a bray of indignation and sucked in a deep breath so she could let Yam have it. “Ass kisser!”
“Freckle necked pony fronker!”
“Okay, I’m done with this nonsense, you ass nibbler. Let’s go and eat.”
The Chuck Wagon was like everything else in this part of Canterlot—run down after having seen better days. At one time, the Chuck Wagon had been a train car, a dining car on a luxury train that ran between Applewood and Canterlot. A train for movie stars and the social elites of Canterlot.
There was still some faded glory in the old luxury dining car, but every day it faded a little more. The velvet covered seats were worn smooth in places and had patches of mismatched cloth. The wood was still beautiful, but had dulled with age. It was nothing that a good polishing wouldn’t fix. The round porthole windows were yellowed with nicotine and grease.
Sitting in a small booth together, Yam and Azure waited for their food. Both had ordered the breakfast special and were now drinking coffee out of mismatched cups that had a few chips along the edges. Yam’s coffee, if it could be called that, the diner served mud in the truest sense of the word, was almost more cream than coffee and there was enough sugar to make it syrupy.
The only other customer in the Chuck Wagon was an off duty guard named Beacon, who somehow managed against all odds to drink his coffee black and not swallow his own face. A half eaten plate of the lunch special sat in front of him, and he was doing the crossword in the newspaper.
A greasy looking unicorn chewing a fat, somewhat soggy cigar hobbled out of the kitchen, passing through the bat winged doors with a grunt, and his arthritic knees popped with every step he took. He paused near the counter, squinted, and after a moment of intense strain, he farted, a brassy paint peeling note that made Beacon’s eyebrow raise.
“I’m getting too old for this job,” the unicorn grumbled as he approached Yam and Azure. His knees crackled like a bowl full of puffed rice cereal. His horn ignited and he pulled something out of the pocket of his stained, filthy apron that was covered with a fresh orange gravy stain.
“By the alicorns, you stink something awful, Greasy Spoon… you need to see a doctor!” Beacon waved his paper, trying to waft away the terrible stench that now permeated every bit of breathable air in the old dining car. “You old sumbitch, crack a window!”
“Oh, shut up, Beacon,” Greasy Spoon replied as he held up a small piece of paper that was as greasy and stained as his apron. The smoldering stogie in the corner of his mouth bobbed up and down, causing bits of ash to fall to the floor like dirty, disgusting snowflakes.
“Yam, somepony was looking for you.” Greasy Spoon sat the folded piece of paper down upon the table and then leaned closer, waiting for the earth pony to unfold the piece of paper and read it.
“Debt collector?” Yam asked.
“Naw,” Greasy Spoon replied in a voice that sounded like he had just gargled with broken glass and cheap bourbon laced with drain cleaner. “Some broad… she was real upset. She said she couldn’t find that rathole you call an apartment, but she was told that you could be found here. I hope this is a payin’ job, Yammy… you have quite a tab.”
“You know I’m good for it.” Yam watched as Azure unfolded the paper and then looked up at Greasy Spoon. “Hey, you know, they should call you Gassy Spoon—”
“Don’t get wise,” Greasy said, warning Yam in a thick accent.
Giving the greasy, gross unicorn a sheepish grin, Yam leaned forwards and looked Greasy Spoon in the eye. “So much for gratitude, eh, Greasy Spoon?”
“Eeeeeh, yer a wise guy, ain’t yous?” Greasy Spoon pulled his stogie out of his mouth, his horn glowing, and he tapped his ashes out over Yam’s head. As he did so, Beacon let out a guttural laugh. “That broad is staying at the Second Season Inn. Her name is Bayberry.”
“She’s lost her daughter,” Azure said as she set the paper down on the dirty, food encrusted table. “We’re taking this case.”
Knowing there was no point in arguing, Yam nodded his head in agreement, then turned to Greasy Spoon once more. “Say, shouldn’t you be looking after our food?”
“It’ll be fine.” Greasy Spoon tucked his stogie back between his flaccid, sagging lips, chewed the soggy nub, and then coughed as something gurgled deep in his throat. “I ain’t started to cook it yet… heh heh heh.” Still chuckling, the greasy, arthritic old unicorn sauntered away, puffing his cigar. As he passed through the bat winged doors back into the kitchen, he farted again.
“Damn you, Greasy Spoon!” Beacon shook his hoof in the air and scowled.
“Well, babe, things are looking up. Maybe we’ll make enough to pay down my tab a bit and pay rent.” Yam’s nostrils crinkled and he shook his head. “There is something wrong with that old pony. He smells almost as bad as you do, Azure.”
“Besame el culo!” Azure snapped.
“No, I’m going to kiss my ass… because you… you’re mine…”
“When we get done eating, we’d better go home, get cleaned up, and then go and talk to this Miss Bayberry. The Second Season is a pretty swanky place. I hope they don’t have problems with burros being in there.”
A miserable expression crept over Yam’s face. Everywhere he went, this was a problem, sometimes more so when other ponies realised that he and Azure were an item. Things were getting better, but were far from perfect. Plus, other ponies kept mistaking Azure for a donkey—a fact she was quick to correct. He stared at Azure, admiring her tawny pelt, her speckles, and her faded almost bluish white muzzle. That was her kissing zone, that bluish white spot. The rest of her face was the same tawny colour as her pelt, making her muzzle stand out in sharp contrast. Her black mane was thick, straight, and shiny. She was the most beautiful mare in the world and he had crossed continents to find her. He had braved the deserts. He risked dangerous raiders. And there was the slapping… the constant, never-ending slapping and her insistence that she didn’t date soldiers, she was there to be a porter and nothing else.
“How’d I get so lucky?” Yam asked.
“I don’t know, Yammy, but you are damn lucky, and don’t you forget it.” Azure held her coffee cup between her front hooves, lifted it to her lips, and slurped some of the vile sludge down. A thin mustache of cream clung her to lip, trying to escape the toxic ooze held within the coffee cup, which was stained a feculent brown on the inside.
“GAH! Friggin’ roaches!” Greasy Spoon shouted from back in the kitchen. “Kill ‘em with fire! Die! Die! All of yous needs to die, ya dirty, no good, stinkin’ good for nuttin’ roaches!”
The diner filled with the smell of roasting roaches, which did nothing to help the stench.
The Second Season Inn was a swanky hotel for the summer traveler that was open year round. Canterlot, being at a much higher elevation, had cold springs, cold falls, and bitter winters. There was a brief window of warmth during the summer, and many ponies flocked to the city to enjoy the view. The Second Season catered to those seasonal guests, but also to those brave souls that came at other times of the year.
Yam didn’t like the building, it was built to some ultra-modern nouveau artsy-fartsy standard that he wasn’t smart enough or educated enough to understand. It was the sort of place that appealed to ponies with more money than brains. The complicated art style and architectural design made the hoity toity types (And Hoity Toity himself) faint at the very sight of it.
None of the doors were square. They were all different shapes, weird shapes, with odd angles that made Yam feel dizzy when he looked at them. He blinked a few times, glanced over at Azure, cleared his throat, and then, without saying anything, he made his way for the front doors, trying to project an aire of confidence.
If you looked like you belonged, the snooty door ponies wouldn’t say anything.
He was almost at the door when a rather nasal and quite shrill voice said, “You there, yes, you… would you please carry my bags inside? Merciful stars, it is so difficult to find good help these days!”
Yam froze and cringed.
“Do I look like the fronkin’ hired help?” Azure’s voice was grating and she sounded irate. “What, just because I’m a burro, you think that I’m some common servant, here for you to command? Is that it?”
“Well, yes, actually—”
“Hey lady, go fronk yourself with a rusty weed wacker!”
There was a loud gasp and Yam could only imagine what the mare’s face must look like right now. He didn’t dare turn around to look. Now worried, he hurried for the door and hoped that Azure was doing the same. If they were kicked out now, there would be no way to talk their potential client.
Inside the lobby, a concierge wearing a garish purple fez approached. He also had a garish purple waistcoat that had strange trapezoidal buttons. Yam was all for getting dressed up, given the right time and place, but the suit the concierge was wearing was every bit as yucktacular as the rest of the hotel.
“If you are looking for a job, I must insist that you use the service entrance!”
“Good thing for you I’m not looking for a job,” Yam replied as the stuffy looking concierge drew nearer. “And if you say even one word about my burro friend, you’re going to catch one in the kisser.”
The concierge bristled and his thin, well groomed mustache quivered. He glared at both Yam and Azure, and the corner of his eye twitched. “Well then, I must know, what business do you have here?”
“We are here to speak with a Miss Bayberry.”
“Ah, yes, the mare that paid with a coupon.” The concierge said the word ‘coupon’ with obvious disgust and revulsion. “She is on the mezzanine level, which is just up the stairs, there is no elevator access—”
“You mean the economy level,” Yam said, being helpful. “The place where you put ponies that you don’t give two horseapples about.” As he spoke, he could hear Azure giggling.
The concierge’s lip curled back at Yam’s mention of the distasteful word ‘economy.’ There were just some things one didn’t say, like coupon and economy. Such words could affect the delicate sensibilities of the wealthy and well bred. He didn’t seem bothered by horseapples though.
Paying with a coupon worried Yam, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe she had money and was just being thrifty. Or perhaps, she was broke. Being broke was bad. He needed bits. It was also really hard to say no to a hard up sob story. He had to stop helping ponies that couldn’t pay. It was going to get him evicted.
“Please, conduct your business and then be gone,” the concierge said in a low voice. “You will find Miss Bayberry in room G.”
“Probably next to a service closet,” Azure muttered.
“Just… go!” The snooty pony was at the end of his patience and he pointed at the stairs. “The sooner you are gone, the better. The both of you smell as though you live in a dumpster and I can’t imagine how our guests must be suffering. We shall need to fumigate the lobby…”
“Eh, get stuffed,” Yam replied as he headed for the stairs.
Always one to get the last word, Azure grumbled, “Puta madre” as she strolled past the concierge, and gave him the sort of dirty look that only a pissed off burro could give to a disgusted concierge.
Room G wasn’t located next to the service closet as Yam had predicted, but by the laundry. The smell of soap and the steady ‘swish-swoosh’ of washing machines filled the air. A little whiff of soap could be pleasant, but this was eye watering and there was more than a hint of bleach in the air.
This place clearly held the poor in contempt and punished them for trying to have a nice time. Yam found he that was starting to hate this place. Even worse, there were ponies who would cheerfully pay a small fortune in bits to stay here, just so they could say that they stayed at the Second Season Inn. He wondered if the Walnut Astoria in Manehattan was any better.
He stood just outside the door, collecting himself, his eyes watering from the soapy stench that permeated every breathable molecule of air, wondering and hoping that there was a paid job to be had. He needed bits. And some poor mare was missing her daughter.
Lifting up his hoof, he knocked.
Miss Bayberry was middle aged, or thereabouts, with squinty eyes, a small mouth with thin lips, and a notched ear. Yam couldn’t help but wonder how she had a notched ear. Something rough must have happened. She stood in the door, blinking at him, looking quite surprised.
“Oh… do come in,” she said, inviting both Yam and Azure inside to her tiny, cramped hotel room that looked like a converted broom closet.
In the room, there was a small, narrow bed, a cot really, a wooden chair with no cushions, a small table stood near the bedside, and there was no bathroom in the room, which struck Yam as being both awful and strange.
Bayberry retreated into the room and sat down on the bed to be out of the way. Azure made a beeline for the chair and sat down, leaving Yam to either stand up our sit down upon the floor. He chose to stand and he gave the distraught looking mare his best reassuring smile.
“I was told that you can find anything,” Bayberry said in a raspy, somewhat emotional voice. “Anything at all. I need for you to find my daughter, if you can. She’s gone missing.”
“My name is Yam Spade and this is my assistant, Azure Serape,” Yam said. “Tell me everything.”
“My daughter, Honey Dew, she works for a company called ‘Northern Hemisphere Ag Tech.' They are a food research lab. They told me that my daughter won an employee vacation and that she disappeared while on vacation… and I know my daughter, she would never go on a vacation.”
“Ma’am?” Yam’s eyebrow arched.
“My daughter… she has severe social anxiety disorder. She doesn’t do well with crowds, or sudden changes in environment, or strangers… she’s seeing a therapist and I’ve spoke to her therapist. She never mentioned winning a vacation to her therapist. Such a thing would have caused her no end of panic.” Bayberry’s eyes began watering. “She’s autistic, but high functioning. She’s so smart. She graduated with a double doctorate at the age of twenty two, one in biology, the other in food sciences. University was easy for her, but getting the job proved far more difficult.”
There was a groan of concern from Azure and Yam’s ears stood at attention.
“I’ve been to the police and they don’t seem to want to help. One of them suggested that had I been a better mother, my daughter might want to talk to me. I couldn’t seem to get any help.”
“That ain’t right,” Azure said in a low voice.
“So… your daughter won a vacation that she likely never went on and vanished. How long has it been?”
“About a week or so. I got the telegram from Ag Tech just a few days ago.”
“And you showed that to the police?” Yam asked.
“Sure did.” Bayberry nodded. “And one of the officers said that sometimes, ponies need a change of scenery. She might have used the vacation as a means to start over.”
“Where does she work and where did she supposedly go on vacation?”
“She works in Las Pegasus at the Ag Tech headquarters. Her vacation was to Vanhoover. I know she would never go. She would miss a therapy appointment if she did, and that would cause her no end of panic. She doesn’t deal with changes in routine.”
“I see.” Yam sat down upon the floor, reached up, and scratched his neck with his hoof. “Ma’am, these are just questions that I tend to ask…”
“Yes?”
“Does your daughter have enemies?” Yam looked into the distraught mother’s eyes.
“I don’t know,” the mare replied, “I have no idea. She’s smart… real smart… she might have rivals, but I don’t know… I’m not even sure if she would know. She focuses on her work… that is all she thinks about. She thinks about stuff I can’t even understand.”
Bayberry’s watery eyes spilled over and tears streamed down her cheeks, causing Yam’s barrel to feel tight. He sighed, feeling bad for the mare, and glanced over at his companion. Azure looked upset, but also quiet and withdrawn. She was letting him do his job.
He began to suspect that he would have little to nothing to go on. That would be asking an awful lot of his talent. While Yam depended upon his talent, his skills as a detective were second to none, or so he liked to believe, and there had been plenty of times he had solved a case without resorting to his talent.
“Ma’am, was your daughter a troublemaker? Don’t be upset, I just need to ask. Did she rock the boat at work? Blow a whistle? Get somepony in trouble?”
“I… I wouldn’t know. I have no way of knowing. If she did, her therapist would know. Honey Dew was the quiet sort… causing a disturbance would have been stressful… she would collapse in tears if the stress became too much. The autism, you see… she doesn’t deal well with sudden bursts of emotions.”
“So basically, your daughter was some kind of genius with special needs, and Ag Tech catered to her work environment so they could exploit her?” Azure asked.
“Exploit? No… I don’t know…” Bayberry blinked and her long eyelashes sent droplets arcing away. “Exploit? I never thought of it that way… I thought they were trying to help… I thought they were trying to do good… they even paid for Honey Dew’s therapist.”
“Mmm, I don’t like the sounds of that.” Yam shook his head and his nostrils flared. “I hope the therapist isn’t in their pocket.”
“Are you suggesting a conspiracy?” Bayberry wiped her eyes with her foreleg and then shook her head. “I… don’t know how to deal with all of this… I’m sorry, I… I—”
“Ma’am, I know you are worried and scared, but Azure and I, we’re here to help.”
“If this is some kind of conspiracy, is that why the police wouldn’t help me? Could they be paid off? Is my daughter being exploited? Oh my… what if she wanted to quit or something and they wouldn’t let her? I can’t believe this is happening, I just can’t—”
“Ma’am!” Yam’s raised voice silenced the panicking mare. He looked at her while she looked at him. “I’ll do my best to help you, if I can, but we need to discuss my fees before we go any further.”
“Yes, of course, of course.” Bayberry nodded her head while her face contorted with worry.
Sighing with resignation, Yam asked, “What can you afford to pay?”
“Well, I used a coupon to pay for my stay here… I won it in a raffle some time ago.” Bayberry’s eyes narrowed. “I work as a secretary in Applewood for a record producer. My pay is decent, but my rent is high. It leaves me poor… I have one hundred and twenty five bits I’ve brought with me.”
Ears drooping, Yam shook his head. “The train ride down to Las Pegasus would eat up quite a bit of that and leave almost nothing for daily expenses.”
“Oh… I… I didn’t think of that,” Bayberry admitted. “I… well… I don’t know what else to do, I didn’t realise that hiring a detective would be so expensive… now that I think about it, if you spent a week or two working, that would come out to a terrible hourly wage… I’m sorry.”
“I never said I wouldn’t take the case,” Yam said to Bayberry in a soft voice.
“Really?” Again, tears began flowing down the distraught mare’s face.
“Ma’am, rest assured, I will find your daughter. It’s what I do. Now, I just need some more details, I’ll need some written permission slips from you, and if possible, a key to your daughter’s apartment so I can have a look around. Get yourself together, take a few minutes to get settled down, and we’ll get to work on getting your daughter back.”
“Thank you… thank you so very much… I was starting to believe that nopony would help me… I was so scared… this means everything to me…”
Sitting at his desk, Yam tried to recall the Hymn of Equestria. He struggled with the memorisation of the song. He always sang it wrong and could never quite remember the words, no matter how much he tried.
“I know a place, where the earth ponies race”—Yam paused, he was an earth pony, so he should remember this part—“the pegasus ponies fly and the unicorns pace…” His words trailed off as he looked up at his teacher with a hopeful expression.
Very good, little Yam!
Drats! He couldn’t remember the rest. He didn’t like the Hymn of Equestria very much, it was a song about ponies, and ponies only, and there were lots of other creatures in Equestria, like donkeys.
Or burros…
“Yammy, wake up, we’ll be in Las Pegasus soon!”
Snorting, Yam was jolted into wakefulness by the stench of cows. He let out a wordless mumble, and half blind from sleep, he groped his companion. Once he had a good grip on her, he pulled her closer, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the feeling of her warm body against his.
She snorted, then said, “Always such a grabass.”
There was a soft touch against his face and he felt his mane being brushed away from his forehead. He risked cracking one eye open and had a look around. He could feel himself being rocked from side to side as the train trundled down the tracks.
“The unicorns pace, concerned with the burden of us all,” Yam mumbled in a somewhat coherent manner.
“What?” Azure asked.
“Oh, nothing, I was dreaming,” Yam replied. He opened his other eye. “Why is it that the unicorns pace from having all this concern for the rest of us?”
Azure blinked at her companion, confused.
“Nevermind.” Yam let out a long, whining yawn that turned into a wicker.
The past few days had been confusing ones. To save money, they had jumped onto a livestock train to Las Pegasus. There hadn’t been much to eat. It depressed him, how cows traveled, stuffed into boxcars and left with very little food or water. Ponies justified it by calling cows a ‘lesser’ species. Giving something the label of ‘lesser’ just washed away all of the guilt and made everything better. Of course, they also tried to give the same title to donkeys—and burros—because it made them easier to exploit.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” Yam said to his companion.
“For what?” Azure Serape asked.
“For being poor. For dragging you into my terrible life. For all of this.”
There was a snort from Azure. “I am here because I want to be here, and don’t you forget that, Yammy.” Reaching up, she patted the side of the earth pony’s face. “We do good things. I am committed.”
“You really are the best—” Yam was silenced by Azure’s hoof coming to rest over his mouth.
“I know.” She smiled. “So, what is our plan?”
“Plan?” Yam’s ears ears stood up. “Plan? There is no plan.”
“So… we go to Las Pegasus, wait for your talent to kick in, have a look around, and start asking questions?” The burro’s long ears twitched as she spoke. She leaned in closer to Yam’s muzzle, breathing on him, and gazing into his eyes.
“Yeah.”
Nearby, a cow mooed and stomped upon the wooden slats that made up the floor. Dung and bits of old hay fell through these slats, leaving behind a trail of litter and debris along the train tracks. If Yam or Azure would have looked down, they would have seen the ground racing past beneath them.
“I want to give you a better life,” Yam said in a low whisper. “You deserve it… you deserve to have a big kitchen where you can be happy and you deserve little fat foals running around, calling you ‘madre.’ I’m a bum.”
“But you are a bum that does the right thing.” Azure leaned her head down and rubbed her cheek against Yam’s muzzle. “Sometimes, the nice guy gets the girl, Yammy, but that doesn’t always mean they get the happy ending.”
Yam’s stomach growled, and Azure’s stomach gurgled in reply.
“It won’t always be this way… now come on, we need to get ready so we can jump out of the train car before it pulls into the rail yard. We don’t want to get caught, Yammy.”
Azure Serape let out a grunt as she cinched the strap of her saddlebags with her teeth. As far as earth ponies went, Yam wasn’t very strong, he certainly wouldn’t have lasted very long on a farm, and he became strained even under light loads. His strength had gone to his keen mind and his powerful, if subtle magical talent, leaving him physically weak.
They were dressed as tourists visiting Las Pegasus. Yam was wearing a well made trilby hat constructed from palm frond strands along with a terrible, tacky, torturous upon the eyes tropical shirt that was a bewildering shade of bright orange, and covered with cartoonish tropical fruits dancing with one another.
She couldn’t deny it, Azure found him handsome when he wore his tacky shirts.
As for herself, she wore a tasteful, but colourful, pastel purple pillbox hat that had a peacock feather for decoration, and that was it, other than her saddlebags. She didn’t like wearing shirts, dresses, tunics, or clothing in general when wearing saddlebags, the fabric bunched up and rubbed beneath the straps in the worst way.
In front of them were the train yards, an endless jungle of rails, train cars, locomotives, savage hobos, drunken hobos, stoned hobos, as well as colourful, poetic, and sometimes philosophical hobos. Beyond the railyard was Las Pegasus, the city of sin.
Looking in its general direction filled her with fear and loathing.
“We have a little bit of money… we should try to find something to eat.”
Yam nodded in agreement at Azure’s suggestion. “Maybe we can find some nice burros and get some tamales—”
“Just what is it with you and tamales, anyway? You are the tamale-ist eating earth pony I’ve ever seen.” Azure flicked her tail a few times to let the flies know that she meant business and focused her gaze upon Yam as he shrugged.
“I like tamales.”
“And you like burros.” Azure’s stern gaze softened and something almost like a smile spread over her delicate muzzle. “You’re a strange one, Yammy.”
“I know.” His muzzle crinkled. “We should get moving. I’m feeling a strong tug. We have a lot of ground to cover. But first, tamales. We gotta find some tamales. I am going to use my talent to help me find some tamales.”
The streets of Las Pegasus were searingly hot and could cook a pony’s frogs if one stood in one place for too long. There was an odd amount of humidity here, for being a desert city. The city’s many fountains left a fine mist in the air, which turned the oppressive heat into a miserable, sodden force of nature. Many of the restaurants and hotels promised air conditioning with big, flashing neon signs. Some of the more expensive cabs even had air conditioned interiors, a marvel of modern society.
Unlike Manehattan, which had cabs pulled by earth ponies, most of Las Pegasus’ cabs were pulled by pegasus ponies, and the cabs flew through the air, using the streets as landing strips. Cabbies forced to walk the streets had to wear protective shoes to protect their frogs from the tarmac, which could sizzle an egg.
Mirage-like waves of heat rose from the massive air conditioners that cooled the buildings, adding even more heat to the ambient air temperature, which, along with the high humidity, made the heat feel hotter. The Real Feel™ temperature was over one hundred and twenty degrees.
It was a magnificent city made possible by industrialisation and modernisation. Water was piped in from other places, turning the desert into an oasis. Food was grown in temperature controlled greenhouses so that the plants wouldn’t wither on the vine. A loss of power or water however… and the city would collapse in no time. It was not the sort of place that could sustain the lives of over a million inhabitants.
Of course, Yam and Azure didn’t head for the center of the city, but remained on the outskirts…
A copper bell rung as the door opened. A rush of cool air hit Yam and made him pause. He sniffed. This was certainly the place. He found himself in a small room, a little alcove, and there were stairs leading down, down into the restaurant proper. Azure gave him a shove and he got moving. He could hear the heavy wooden door shutting behind him.
He went down the wooden stairs, down into even cooler air, and he shivered as the delightful air mingled with the sweat evapourating from his pelt. It was like an icebox deep down in the ground of this adobe building.
Dull red terra cotta tiles spread out before him and he could feel their coolness against his tortured frogs. He let out a sigh of contentment as he looked around. He saw worried, fearful faces staring at him. Burros, all of them.
“What?” Azure snapped as she made her way into the room. “He’s one of us! Stop being rude and looking at him like that!”
One of the burros spoke and his eyes narrowed. “Yet you carry everything—”
“Yeah, because I’m a big strong mare and not because I’m his servant, you jackass!”
The burro recoiled as if struck, then gave an apologetic nod. “Welcome, please, sit anywhere you like. We’re in between the lunch and dinner rush at the moment. Do make yourselves comfortable.”
Yam grinned, trying to show off his winning personality. “I already know what I want… tepache and tamales!”
The burro looked surprised.
“I told you he was one of us,” Azure said as she rolled her eyes and began undoing her saddlebags. She shimmied and wiggled as she tugged at the strap, and it took several tries before it loosened up. She huffed and she puffed as she struggled to get free of her gear.
“We also offer rooms… down deep in the cellar, if you are interested,” the burro said. “My name is Papayo and I would be honoured to have you both as guests.”
Turning his head, Yam looked over at his stalwart companion. “It would be great to have a place to sleep and stow our gear, Azure.” He watched as she nodded and turning his head, he looked over at Papayo and asked, “How much?”
“They are very simple accommodations, we only ask for five bits a night.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Yam did a few mental calculations, knowing full well that there was no way that he and Azure could find a hotel room for that price. “I’ll pay for five nights up front.”
“I will bring you a key with your food.” Papayo bowed his head. “And you, Miss?”
“Tequila, tepache, and tamales.” After a pause, she added, “And a stack of quesadillas, extra queso blanco.” Free from her gear, which sat in a pile near the stairs, Azure let out a groan of relief.
“I will have someburro take your gear to your room,” Papayo offered. “Do sit down, have a rest, and maybe after such a large meal, have a siesta.”
“That sounds great.” Azure arched her back, making her spine crackle. Her long, almost rabbit-like ears rose and fell a few times, and her tail swished around her hind legs. “I am sweaty in all of the wrong places. Ugh.”
“There are showers down in the cellar that the guests can use. All we ask is that you clean up after yourself.” As Papayo spoke, several of the burros who had been standing around made themselves busy, some vanishing into the kitchen, others began moving the pile of luggage near the door.
Along with a mountain of tamales, there was also refritos and rice. Yam’s mouth watered and he didn’t know where to begin. He smiled at Azure, then worked on peeling open a tamale, something he was skilled at doing. He parted the corn husks, sniffed the rising steam, and broke the tamale open to see what was inside of it. He saw bits of blue, white, and yellow corn, black beans, tomatoes, and diced chili peppers. He began to drool.
Across from him, Azure sat sipping her drink. She grimaced, then grinned. “Mezcal.”
Yam’s eyebrow arched.
“So, we go and we find her therapist?” Azure asked.
“I think that might be a good place to start,” Yam replied. He leaned against the worn wooden table and then began to gobble down his tamale, smacking his lips and whimpering as it burned his mouth. He grabbed his mug of tepache in his fetlock, lifted it to his lips, and guzzled some of it down. “So good…” His voice was a wheeze.
“I’m willing to bet that there are a lot of donkeys and burros in that place where she worked. They need labourers and janitors and cleaning staff… I should ask around and see if I can find any gossip.” Azure took another sip of her drink, her ears twitching as she appreciated the burn. “Ponies say the damnedest things in front of the workers they don’t care about.”
“We’ll need to check her apartment as well.” Yam gobbled down more of his tamale, then worked on opening up another one. “If either of us get questioned by the police, do you remember my detective license number?”
Azure swallowed, grimaced, then leaned over the table a bit. “Eight six seven five three zero nine—”
“Jenny, you got my number…” Yam waggled his eyebrows at the love of his life.
After a short siesta and a shower, Yam was feeling quite refreshed. The cellar was cool, delightful, and he had no intentions of going back outside today, if he could help it. Little burro foals played on the floor with one another and the room held a surprising quiet. Many of those who stayed here worked the graveyard shift and slept away the scorching heat of the day.
Having dealt with the initial hesitation, Yam found himself welcomed and he was indeed, one of them. There was life down here in the dim recesses of the cellar among the stacks of dried maize and beans. Some of the older mares worked to grind the maize, while others worked to prepare it, and through a process he didn’t understand, masa harina was produced, which was used to make tortillas. These older, even elderly mares were much, much stronger than Yam was—able to heft enormous sacks of dried maize with ease—and he was okay with that.
What little light there was came from electric lights covered in bright paper shades that were covered in little skeletons. Some ponies found them morbid, but Yam knew the truth; the burros had fond memories and much respect for their dead. The paper shades were leftovers from the Day of the Dead celebrations and they gave the cellar some much needed colour.
Azure emerged from the door where the showers were, her mane damp and her pelt all frizzy from being fresh-scrubbed. Yam’s heart raced a bit and his pulse quickened, because she had that effect upon him, but doubly so when she had just come out of the shower. Or was in the shower. Or just wet in general. He wasn’t picky.
“You a follower,” an ancient burro mare said to Yam in a thick accent. With one trembling hoof, she gestured at Azure, who approached. “A finder. You find her, what you love, follow old magic.”
“Señor, forgive me, my abuela, she is old and touched in the head.” A young burro colt tried to pull the old, withered mare back, but she wouldn’t budge. “Come!”
The old mare refused to be pulled back, and she dragged her grandson along with her. “To find something, look past walls and floors and the things the world blocks you with… the spirit cannot be stopped. You came looking for what was lost, yes?”
“What do you mean, kind old mare?” Yam asked, intrigued, and his words made the wrinkled old burro mare blush just a little. He glanced at the young colt for a moment, who still clung to his grandmother’s leg, and then looked the old mare right in her eyes, one of which was milky and faded.
“Past these bodies, there be light,” the old mare said to Yam. “The spirit place. Search there, outside the body, to see what eyes cannot see.”
“How do I do that?” Yam leaned forward a bit and the colt let go of his grandmother’s leg. He could hear the old mare’s wheezy breath—oh how she struggled to fill her lungs with air—and he suspected that she would not be long for this world. Or, he could be wrong, but she seemed quite old and frail to his eyes. “There are other realms, aren’t there, old mare? I know of a few… the dream realm, the astral realm, even other worlds… are you suggesting that I could search from those places?” Intrigued, he gave the idea some serious thought, and wondered if such a thing was even possible. In his travels, he had seen some strange stuff.
“To see a secret, remove the walls.” The old mare trembled as though she had a palsy for a moment, and then the tremours ceased. Her tail, which only had a few bristly hairs left on the tip, flopped against the floor as she sat down and she kicked out her withered, knobby hind legs to make herself comfortable. Leaning over, she muttered something to her grandson and the colt ran off to do his grandmother’s bidding.
Yam figured it would be easier for the old mare to show him rather than tell him.
What strange magic did the old burro mare possess? Yam watched in interest as she worked and the sneeze-inducing scent of ozone hung heavy in the air. There were other scents in the air, some of them far less than pleasant. Alchemy was being done, but it seemed to be so much more, though Yam could not say how. During his relatively short life, he had seen much, traveled the world, and had endured much weirdness.
Everything that Yam was observing right now was weird, the sort of weird that would make most sensible, salt of the earth earth ponies go running. His kind, in general, did not deal well with the strange or the unknown, and his acceptance of such things had made him something of an outsider. Stuff just like this, sitting in some dim cellar somewhere surrounded by burros while some crazy old burro mare was doing something alchemical and stinky.
The light seemed stretched thin around him and he wondered what the fumes might be doing to him. How could light be stretched thin? Yet it did appear to be stretched thin. The light had a certain density to it before, but now it seemed wan, frail, weak, and might be described as misty. All of the bright, cheerful colours of the paper shades around the bulbs now seemed faded. Yam thought of silly putty, which started off solid, but when tugged almost to the point of breaking, it became translucent and see through.
Reaching out for his companion, Yam groped her with daredevil affection; he didn’t care who saw him—pony nor burro—but he was entirely possessed with the need to feel her. To touch her, to connect with her, to hold her close; she was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. Her pelt was different than his own, a little thicker, a bit coarser, it existed to protect her from the harsh climates of the prairie and the desert. She was still a little damp and smelled like soap—not nice soaps, like the ones on display in Canterlot department stores, but cheap soap that had no particular scent, just the smell of clean, whatever that was.
Azure had ears like a bunny, enormous, impressive ears, and he knew enough about burro culture to know that she was proud of them. Ears were status to burros, like strength for earth ponies, magic for unicorns, and speed for pegasus ponies. She resisted him a bit when he pulled her closer, because she was trying to watch the old mare work, but he persisted in his affections. The other burros were watching, both the young and the old present watched every move he made and how Azure responded to him.
Using his magic to find her was the most brilliant thing he had ever done.
A filly on the cusp of marehood came over and sat down beside the old mare, and on her face was a look of gentle concern. She was covered in yellow corn meal dust from grinding and she already had the muscles of a hard worker even at her young and tender age. Really, she should have been in some kind of secondary school, but here she was, preparing for the dreary life of a burro living in Equestria.
“Me abuela, she bruja,” the filly said as she scooped up the much smaller colt into her protective embrace. “She was once the keeper of magic, much magic, but now it gives her fits and makes her forget things.”
“What is your name, filly?” Yam asked.
“I am Rosa Salvaje,” she replied. “Her name is Rosa Azul. She once had a blueish muzzle just like your wife, but now it is grey.” The filly’s long ears stood up straight and she tilted her head off to one side. “You, you are not like the others.”
“No, Yammy isn’t like the others,” Azure said to the filly while she fended off Yam’s wandering hooves. “A little too much of our kind has rubbed off on him and his own kind now view him with suspicion, distrust, and dislike.”
At this, the corners of young Rosa’s mouth sagged and her ears fell limp against her face. “I do not understand this place. We came here to find a better life but a better life is not to be had. We are hated and I do not know why. The newspapers say such awful things about us. Untrue things. It says we are stealing jobs and ponies keep saying that we should return to the south, to the desert. I do not know why we came here.”
“Because even with a few bad ponies, Equestria is a great place.” Yam pulled his wife close and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Reassuring for her or for him though? “Immigrants come to this country… our Founders were immigrants and I think that ponies forget that… but immigrants come to the country for a better life. I’ve seen just enough of this world to know what is out there and I know that this is the place to be.” When the young mare did not seem receptive to what he had said, Yam changed the subject. “What is she mixing up, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” young Rosa replied. “I see magical huitlacoche… trufa de burro, we call it sometimes. There are chilis with the… the… hongo de segunda vista. The sight of number two? These chilis grow a black fungus like maize sometimes does. There are dried peyote buttons and other things I do not know.”
With a sigh, Yam resigned himself to taking a long, strange trip, because it seemed inevitable at this point.
“Fuerte, estáte quieto!” Young Rosa struggled to hold the smaller colt, who kicked and wiggled as he tried to get free.
“He wants to be outside so he can play,” Azure said and she sounded amused to Yam’s ears.
“It is not safe.” Yam saw a fearful expression on young Rosa’s face, and there was a dreadful quaver in her voice. “Young burros get taken. It is happening all over this city. If they play outside unwatched, they just vanish.”
“Odd.” The back of his neck prickled and Yam, being the sort of pony that he was, needed to know more. This was something that should be reported, but Yam already knew why it wasn’t. His curiousity tended to get the better of him, and it did so now. He was already on one case, but here was another just begging to be taken.
“Two of the half-dragons came here—”
“Wardens?” Azure asked.
“Is that what they are called?” Young Rosa looked fearful. “Caballo del palo… they came here and questioned all of us. Asked us if we had seen anything strange. We are burros living in a land of magic and they wanted to know if we had seen anything strange.”
“Hmm, maybe they could help me out with my case.” Yam leaned forwards and looked young Rosa in the eye. “Do you remember their names?”
“Dread Drop and Owleye,” the young mare replied. “They argued and bickered a lot.”
“Yeah, that sounds like them.” Yam sighed and gave his wife a squeeze, not caring who saw. “Those two need to be put in a breeding program—”
“Yammy!” Azure cried out in shock.
“What?” Yam avoided his wife’s point-blank stink eye and pulled his head back. “Everypony knows it! All that bickering… it’s sexual tension. Those two need a good old fashioned hate fro—”
“Yammy Spade!” Azure wiggled free and Yam found himself appreciating his wife’s vice-like grip around his neck. The incensed burro mare now mare-handled her husband for all to see, and it caused quite a few stares from the mares raised to be more ‘respectful’ of their mates.
“It is almost done,” Rosa the elder said in a voice as scratchy as crumpled paper being rubbed together. She said something else too, but Yam couldn’t make out rapid fire burro-speak. When the old mare was done, young Rosa nodded and turned to Yam.
“She says to focus on what you wish to find now and be ready for when you will go beyond the walls. She says to keep focus, and not to let your mind wander, or you will be lost. She also says that some secrets are too terrible to find out, so make sure that you really want to do this.”
Squinting, Yam looked down at the gloppy black mush in the old mare’s mortar, suffered a moment of having second thoughts, and then gave a courageous nod. He was ready to have a mystical, magical look into the seedy underbelly of Las Pegasus.
It smelled hot and unpleasant, like semen-soaked sheets with hot sauce and a side of thunderstorm. Yam couldn’t believe that he was about to do this and every burro present was giving him a curious, expectant look. He had been warned that it was hot, this concoction was as hot as the fires of Tartarus and consuming this sludge would feel an awful lot like dying. Supposedly, this stuff in the bowl, whatever it was, would be so hot that his spirit would step out of his body to escape the burn, and he would find himself elsewhere.
“Go on, Yammy, be a hero,” Azure whispered.
He sniffed the wooden bowl, cringed, and had some second thoughts. It was woody, musty, and the fumes made everything on his face burn. Would burro magic even work for ponies? He was feeling lightheaded and his vision was already starting to play tricks on him, as the light in the cellar around him continued to warp. Remembering his instructions, he thought about Honey Dew and how important it was to find her.
“I’ve never been the hero type,” he whispered back to the beautiful burro beside him. “Babe, I’m known as the soft boiled detective. I like living. Not too keen on dying.”
“You’re the bravest pony I know, Yammy—”
He shook his head from side to side. “No I ain’t.”
In response, she made a dismissive wave with her hoof. “You faced your parents—”
“And they disowned me for marrying you. And that’s the reason why we stay poor and have nopony to turn to for help. And that is why our lives have a terminal case of suck. And most of my previous contacts blotted me out of their little black books and I got blacklisted from pretty much every reputable agency and now I have to work as an independent.” As the last word left his mouth, Yam regretted saying it, because he could see the anguish on Azure’s eternally pretty face.
“And you were very brave to give all of that up,” she said, breathing out the words in a muted whisper. Reaching out with her hoof, she placed it on the side of Yam’s neck. “Bottoms up, Yammy. You be a hero and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You make loving fun,” he responded, and then he raised the wooden bowl to his lips.
Somehow, it tasted even worse than it smelled and it burned like battery acid going down. Yam couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he tried, it just burned too much and any attempt to breathe seared his lungs. Meanwhile, his tongue was making valiant escape attempts, trying to leap out of his mouth and thrashing against his teeth. A terrific pressure built up behind his eyes and it was as if his brain was swelling up too large to fit into his skull.
“Yammy, are you okay?” Azure asked and her voice was stretched out like a record player playing far too slow. “Your nose is running quite a bit.”
His nose was running? He was pretty sure that his face was melting. That wasn’t snot dribbling down, no, it was him. His face. With this dreadful awareness, he didn’t dare sniffle or snort, lest he suck his entire face up into his nostril and vanish forever, leaving him faceless. How would he kiss Azure if he sniffle-snorted his face up his nose?
Thoughts of his parents intruded into his mind, wrecking his focus. They had wanted him to be a respectable yam farmer, like them, and becoming a detective had really cheesed them off. The yam farm was pretty much the most boring place on earth, and Yam had seen a number of really boring places during his time in the Fancy Foreign Legion. He had once guarded a well, and that had been pretty boring, right up to the point where it wasn’t and desert raiders had tried to kill him for a drink of water.
Why oh why had he drank the dreadful demon semen? The heat only seemed to be growing worse, gaining intensity, and a truly vile aftertaste crept up the back of his throat. Perhaps a squeeze of citrus might have improved the flavour, but then he would have been stuck drinking lemon demon semen. He started to protest, but his bones betrayed him. Everything went soft, squishy, and his body was supported by a network of noodles.
“I’ve gone pasta the point of no return,” he mumbled to Azure as the fear began to grip him.
Making a heroic effort, Yam Spade focused upon Honey Dew as reality decided to blow a raspberry.
There was a distinct sensation of being poured out of a faucet and into something else that wasn’t anything at all like a glass. This new reality seemed thick, kludgy, and Yam struggled to adjust. Upon opening his eyes in his new body—and he had a great many eyes to open—he found himself looking at a flute-bearing sunflower, which was looking back at him.
“Who the fronk are you?” Yam asked as the sight of the sunflower unnerved him.
“We are Princess Celestia’s Singing Sunflowers,” one replied while waving a flute around, “and we are on our way to torment Rainbow Dash.”
This response filled poor Yam with dread. “Woah, why is that?”
“Because Princess Celestia remembers Cloudsdale,” was the smart, curt reply.
“We’re all so unbearably cute,” said another in a grating, scratchy voice. “Watch what we do to Rainbow Dash with this flute.”
“Grotesque.” Yam shook his head, hoping to clear his vision, but the sunflowers did not go away. Straining, he focused on Honey Dew once more, and all around him reality smeared over like a hoof passing over a still-wet painting. The singing sunflowers became blurred, distorted, and he tried to say something else about the passive-aggressive nature of sunflowers, but he was already being poured through a faucet once more.
This time, when Yam was poured into his new state of being, it felt as though he was a two dimensional object being immersed into three dimensional space, which was an odd state of being indeed. There was a peculiar feeling of distance now, though he could not say how or why. As he continued to manifest, he saw four beings gathered around a small steel table, having a drink, and they appeared to be quite surprised to see him.
One was a centaur, a creature of legend, and she was picking her teeth with a wooden toothpick. Beside her was some kind of rodent that Yam was unable to identify, and it looked at him with a calm curiousity. Sitting together across the table was an earth pony with strange metal arms growing out of his back, right where a pegasus’ wings would grow, and scratching his back was a strange, thin bipedal creature that seemed to enjoy petting her little pony.
The centaur, clearly annoyed, turned to look at her companions across the table. “Okay, Dubious, Sunset, which one of you dimwitted morons tampered with the time distribution dampeners again? What have I told you about that! Now we’re getting protrusions!”
“We didn’t do it!” the bizarre bipedal creature replied as she tousled her pony’s mane.
“Don’t lie to me, you lame-brained nincompoops! You were trying to fronk one another in slow motion again, weren’t you?”
The pony shrugged, an impressive act with the metal arms growing out of his spine. “Prove it!”
“You!” Yam found the centaur pointing at him with one enormous hammy finger that was especially intimidating and somehow made him feel inadequate as a stallion. “Get back into your own space, right now, this instant!”
Before he could respond, Yam was compelled to obey. He wanted to be back in his own space. As he began to fade out, he heard the strange bipedal creature and the pony laughing with one another and the centaur was bellowing a stream of unimaginable profanities so vile that Yam didn’t dare to remember them, for fear of contaminating his own reality.
All around him, the wibble collapsed and Yam found himself elsewhere.
“Honey Dew!” Yam called out as he tried hard to focus on what he was seeking. “What threatens you?”
Reality burbled in response and everything that could conceivably manifest as a threat to Honey Dew began to appear, floating in the vast reaches of the void that Yam found himself in. He floated past the usual suspects, willing himself to move towards Honey Dew with the hopes of finding her, or at least finding whatever it was that was her biggest threat.
From the existential mire of things unseen came a tangible fear: a majestic alicorn rose up from the murk, but something seemed off. This alicorn appeared genderless somehow and looking directly at it caused no end of confusion for Yam. It rose trailing chains, some of which snapped, and from its neck a second head grew. Then another head sprouted into existence, and another, and each head battled for dominance, biting and tearing at one another.
This didn’t seem like a credible threat, as it was too busy destroying itself, so Yam willed himself to move past it. He didn’t have a body, a form, he was just a bubble of self-awareness cruising through the existential void. Without a form, how did he still have a voice? How did he see? How did he perceive this place?
This place had a stench to it, but Yam didn’t have a nose. It was the stink of ink and it made him want to sneeze, which seemed impossible, given the circumstances. From far below, some unknown black liquid bubbled and letters rose up from the depths. These letters coalesced into words, and these words became entities that rose up to obscure the way forward.
A paper alicorn went flying past and engaged in battle against the many headed alicorn, but Yam did not stop to watch. He sensed something, felt something, he had awareness of Honey Dew now, but could not see her. A door appeared, gleaming white, and it opened. A pale pony stepped in, stood on the nothingness, and Yam found himself caught in the pale pony’s scrutinising gaze. With a snort, the pale pony turned away, another door appeared, this one a pale shade of faded green that had seen better days, and the pale pony exited. When the door was shut behind him, both doors vanished.
Another door sprang into existence, a wooden door bound in iron that looked quite fortified. A young blue alicorn filly came running though, and right behind her, hot on her heels was a much, much larger version, who just so happened to look just like Princess Luna. The little, smaller version of Princess Luna made another door appear, and she ran across the nothingness, fleeing from herself.
“No, no! There are some things not worth knowing! Come back!” Princess Luna cried as she charged after the smaller version of herself. “Oh, why must I be so annoying! Curse me!”
The little filly vanished through a steel door that looked like it belonged in a bank vault, and Princess Luna somehow managed to follow herself before the vault door slammed shut. Yam watched all of this with a passive sedateness, not knowing what was going on, and not really caring, because of his focus on Honey Dew.
Ahead of him, he saw it: a door made of living wood and framed in greenery. It was open, and beyond it was a lush land of green. Cool, inviting grass beckoned from beyond the door, and shade trees offered their shelter. It was the place he needed to be, he could sense that Honey Dew was beyond the door. But the door was shutting, and try as he might, Yam could not move fast enough.
From below, or maybe above—it was hard to discern up or down—a chain shot up out of the murk and wrapped around him. This chain grew, becoming monstrous in size, and it pulled him towards the depths far down below… or above. At the end of the chain was a massive anchor that filled Yam with dread and he could not bear to look at it.
This was what threatened Honey Dew, his consciousness suggested, and he was inclined to agree without knowing how or why. Before the door slammed shut, Yam watched as all of the greenery beyond began to die, turning brown and wilting. The lush green plants that framed the door died too, crumbling into flakes that fell in lazy circles like snowflakes or ashes, and they vanished into the murky nothingness that abounded in this place.
The anchor now had a dreadful reality to it, and as the door slammed shut, Yam screamed. The sound echoed through the void, and the anchor gained both weight and substance. He found himself pulled down and the anchor increased in size. With a splash, it hit liquid, some unknown murky substance, and the droplets fell in all directions, some traveled in straight lines and other in convoluted spirals.
A second later, Yam too, hit the strange fluid, and he found himself being dragged down to the inky depths. He had no mouth, no body, no need to breathe, but he still found himself being suffocated as the crushing depths pressed in around him. The anchor had nowhere to go but down, if this was indeed down, and Yam began to panic.
The evapourating moisture left behind by Azure made Yam shiver and he snuggled close beside her in the narrow bed they shared. His mind was filled with a confusing jumble of memories, with both his drug-fueled vision and his recent lovemaking vying for his attention. The tiny room was cool, almost chilly, but Yam was still hot, sweaty, and breathless from his efforts.
“Babe, you’re too good to me,” he said to the fuzzy, sweaty lump beside him.
In response, the fuzzy, sweaty lump snorted and rubbed her face against the pillow they shared. Laying on his back, Yam felt her spine rub against his ribs and her tail thumped against the fleshiest part of his thigh as she wiggled about to try and get comfortable. He could smell her; she smelled of mare musk—but different than a pony’s—she smelled of soap, of sweat, and the permanent aroma of garlic and onions wafted up from the heat that rose from her prone body.
“You’re my soul mate, Azure… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Yam felt a bit lightheaded and he was still seeing swirls of light in the corner of his vision. Reaching down with one front hoof, he scratched at his damp belly and thought about the reassuring weight of Azure bearing down upon him when she straddled him. She was fond of pony rides and liked being on top. Of course, he was only too happy to oblige her.
“It’s weird, it feels like my magic has woke up. I feel different, but I can’t say how.”
“Yammy, she said that there would be some permanent effects.” One long ear twitched a bit, tried to stand up, but gave up and fell back down. “Yammy, why can’t ponies and burros be like you and I? We fit together so well. We’re not so different.”
“You do have those big floppy ears—”
“Yammy…”
“Babe, I don’t know.” Yam sighed and all of his thoughts collapsed in a jumble.
“Yammy, do you think you have another go in you?”
“Baby, I’m not from Hayvana.”
“Yeah, but Yammy, you’re an earth pony and this ass needs tapping.” Azure’s body shook as she let out a chuckle and the flimsy bed began to creak again as if some other activity was taking place upon it. “Spoon me, Yammy, and whisper into my ear all of the wonderful things you want for me.”
Rolling over onto his side, Yam was only all too happy to oblige.
An hour after dawn and it was already one-hundred-and-eleven degrees. Yam wished that he hadn’t eaten so much polenta for breakfast, because it made him feel heavy and sluggish in the heat. Every surface seemed to shimmer and shine with the heat, making Las Pegasus feel just about as hospitable as the infernal planes of Tartarus.
The dream, his vision, it was still vivid in his mind and he knew, he knew that what he was looking for was in this city. If not here in this city, then nearby to the city. Something was blocking him, thwarting his talent, but he was confident that he would find her anyway. The world seemed especially bright and vivid this morning after his long, strange trip, Azure was somehow more beautiful than usual, and he was possessed with a newfound sense of hyped-up optimism.
Honey Dew’s therapist, a one Miss Tweedy Penny, lived in an apartment block on the far edge of town, past the tourist district, the casinos, and the endless rows of souvenir shops that sold novelty dice and commemorative decks of cards. Between here and there was a lot of hot asphalt, which Yam wasn’t too keen on. Hot asphalt meant running or constant movement so his frogs wouldn’t fry, and nopony wanted to run in one-hundred-and-eleven degree temperatures.
Already, his tacky tropical shirt was a bit soggy and his palm frond trilby had sweat stains.
Since there just wasn’t enough for a cab, it was going to be quite a jog as Las Pegasus was a spread-out, sprawling metropolis, a city constructed on the ancient desert floodplain that had lots of room to expand. There was money here, plenty of money, and wealth made the city grow to an extraordinary size, almost as if it was an over-fertilised garden left in the care of over-productive earth ponies.
Just as Yam rounded the corner where a busy bodega was located, he saw quite a scene. The apartment building had a huge crowd in front of it and a veritable traffic jam of wagons. It seemed that half of the city’s police force was here, doing absolutely nothing except for drinking cold drinks and eating snacks from the bodega. Frowning from seeing his taxes in action, Yam began to case the scene and saw a familiar face.
Warden Owleye was an unmistakable behemoth that stood out from the crowd, towering over every other pony present. It was a relief to see her, but also a bit of a panic, as he wondered what she was doing here at this place, the same place that he was supposed to be checking up on Miss Tweedy Penny. When she saw him, Warden Owleye broke away from the officer that she was no doubt lecturing and came trotting over.
Yam had to dance and prance in place to keep his frogs from sizzling.
“Mister Spade… what brings you here?” the Warden asked as she approached.
“Need to talk to a resident about a case. A therapist… a Miss Tweedy Penny…” Yam’s words trailed off into an irritated grunt when he saw Warden Owleye’s expression change to something unpleasant and sour. After a moment, before the Warden had a chance to say anything, he asked, “I’m guessing all of this hubbub is about her, ain’t it?”
The Warden nodded.
“Mierda,” Azure muttered as she too, pranced in place due to the heat.
“What happened?” Yam asked while he looked at the mirrored-glass goggles that covered the Warden’s sensitive eyes.
“Whatever it was that was supposed to have happened, it was meant to look like a suicide, I think.” Warden Owleye shook her head. “Something doesn’t feel right about it, and we were lucky enough to catch a break and get here while the body is still fresh. There’s a bird, you see, and it was the bird that brought the apartment manager to the apartment. This parrot, it just wouldn’t stop screaming and the neighbors complained. It was hungry and its food dish was empty.”
“So, a murder all dolled up as a suicide?” Yam clucked his tongue a few times and wondered how these pieces might fit together.
“The police coroner is pretty insistent about calling it a suicide. Warden Dread Drop is upstairs with him, arguing. The police don’t want us here. Miss Tweedy Penny contacted the Wardens and said she had info about something, but wouldn’t say what in the telegram. Police keep saying that she was a troubled head shrinker.”
“Mind if I look around?” Yam asked.
“Actually, I’d feel better if you did. Consider yourself conscripted, Mister Spade. I’ll see that you get a few bits if you need them.”
“Gracias,” Yam replied, nodding and grateful for Warden Owleye’s kind consideration.
The apartment building was an oasis of air conditioning and the cold air was like a cool drink of water for Yam’s lungs. His hot frogs got sweet, sweet tender kisses from the chilly tile floor and he shivered a bit as the cold air tickled his sweat-soaked body. Two police officers stood in the hall near the open door to the apartment, no doubt to block entry.
Warden Owleye pushed past them without so much as an acknowledgement.
Yam followed and was relieved when neither officer caused a hassle for Azure. Just past the door, he halted to have a better look at his surroundings. It was an efficiency apartment, with a tiny kitchenette just off of the sitting room. There were two big windows in the sitting room because this was a corner apartment, which probably tacked on a considerable sum to the monthly rent. Along the far wall, just beneath one of the large windows was a loveseat, just two cushions wide, but there was no coffee table because the space was just too small.
“Mister Spade, Mrs. Serape, am I glad to see you.”
“Warden Dread Drop,” Azure replied while she nodded her head and her long ears bobbed. “It’s been a while.”
“Indeed, it has.” Warden Dread Drop stood near a bird cage where a parrot was busy eating seeds and he had a dour expression on his face. “The body is in the bathroom, if you wish to look. Watch out, it’s bloody. Hot bath, sliced arteries. Don’t think it was a suicide though.”
“Have a hunch?” Yam asked.
The Warden shrugged, but had nothing to say, nothing else to offer.
“Where did the coroner go?” Yam began looking around and his critical eye started its hunt for clues.
“Off to find a judge to get Warden Owleye and I removed.” Warden Dread Drop extended a wing and gestured at the space around him. “If she had secrets, I want you to find them.”
“Yammy and I needed to see Miss Tweedy Penny about a client of hers, a one Miss Honey Dew. She’s gone missing and we’ve taken a job from her mother to find her. The Las Pegasus police department doesn’t seem to want to be too helpful and refuse to do anything.” Azure moved into the room, sniffed a few times, and then sidled over to stand next to her husband.
With calm concentration, Yam engaged his talent and willed himself to find where Miss Tweedy Penny kept hidden all of her secrets. Almost right away, he felt a tug, a pull on the inside of his brain, and his hooves wanted to move in several different directions all at once. Lifting his head, he looked up at the ceiling, thinking that something might be in the vent. If not there, then someplace else. Another location was elsewhere nearby, probably in the bedroom. There was something else too, a third faint tug that he would have to concentrate upon.
Reaching up with his foreleg, Yam adjusted his sweaty hat, unsticking it from his head, and then his eyes continued to scan the room. “Check the vent, that seems to be the most obvious hiding spot.” Feeling another tug, Yam turned around to face the fridge. With his lips pressed together in concentration, he focused on the ice box, and felt his eyes pulled to the freezer. “Check the refrigerator, too.”
A helpful unicorn police officer removed the vent from the ceiling, but nothing was found inside. Something had been there though, because the paint on the screws holding the vent in place had been disturbed. Even if her secrets were there no longer, this place had once kept something precious to the late Miss Tweedy Penny.
Yam, who was allowed to look but not to touch, watched as Warden Owleye rummaged through the boxes of frozen foods pulled from the freezer. One was not like the others—it showed signs of careful opening and then had been closed with a strip of tape—and Warden Owleye was photographing it now before opening it.
After a few photographs, the box, which had held a frozen dinner, was opened. Warden Owleye used the clawed thumb that protruded from her central knuckle to tear open the strip of tape, and then with great care, she opened the cardboard flaps. Inside was a cheap faux-velvet covered box, the sort of box that jewelry came in, and some folded papers in a plastic bag.
Inside the box there were some diamond earrings, just big enough to be valuable, and Warden Owleye set the now open box down upon the kitchen counter. Now, she turned her attention to the plastic bag full of folded papers, and Yam turned to eyeball the curtain rods over the windows.
“Get those rods and shake them out,” he said to the unicorn officer.
“Right,” the unicorn replied, and he went to work to pull down the big brass curtain rods.
“Something was hidden in the vent, I think we can all agree on that. It was the most obvious hiding space and if somebody did this to Miss Tweedy Penny, then they probably took whatever was in the vent. The freezer wasn’t checked at all, and I can feel other things in this apartment. There are things hidden here.”
To Yam’s utter lack of surprise, rolled up papers fell out of the curtain rods. Standing still, he made no move, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to touch them. He thought about the body in the tub with the sliced open fetlocks and the bathwater stained scarlet. This was a bad scene and it made him worry all the more about Honey Dew.
“Looks like stock certificates, or maybe ownership deeds,” the unicorn said after a cursory glance.
“We’ll have to check the bedroom,” Yam said and he peered out from beneath the short, stingy brim of his hat. “Escort me.” His command was met with an eager nod, and he had no doubt that this helpful officer wanted to get down to the bottom of this as well. With a twitch of his tail, Yam followed the itch in his brain, hopeful to uncover more of Tweedy Penny’s secrets.
The only sign of Yam’s compulsion was a determined smirk that was smeared across his muzzle. His magic was different now, stronger, there was more to it that he couldn’t even begin to explain. Not only could he feel his magic, but he could feel the magic of another working against him. There was something here in hiding that didn’t want to be found. Yam pushed: this was difficult for him to comprehend, but it was a lot like yawning to get one’s ears to pop when changing altitude. It was troublesome and tricky, like learning how to stand balanced on a ball without falling over onto your face.
While his head turned from side to side, his ears swayed like dowsing rods. He took a step closer to the bed and continued to scan the tiny bedroom, knowing that something was here, something important, something that had been tucked away and didn’t want to be found. Warden Owleye stood in the door, sniffing, which distracted Yam a bit, but he knew that the big brute of a mare could smell magic.
“The closet,” Yam said as his ears rose into a standing position.
“We’ve checked that,” Warden Owleye said in return and she let out a dainty, almost feminine snort of punctuation.
Yam’s nostrils flared and he pushed even harder: this time, something broke and he saw squiggles of light in the corners of his vision. “Pull up the carpet from the floor and yank up the floorboards.”
“Officer Cricket, please do as Yam suggests,” Warden Owleye commanded and the ever so helpful unicorn officer rushed to do as he was bid.
Remaining near the bed, Yam watched as the carpet was pulled back, but he had trouble looking at the closet floor. Something compelled his eyes to look away, to look elsewhere, and he had to push past it. The officer seemed to be having some trouble too, which only made the location all the more promising. The closet was small, narrow, and only held a light overcoat for the rare rainy day in Las Pegasus.
“Definitely a bit of a glam here.” Warden Owleye sniffed again and her heavy gaze fell upon Yam. “How did you manage to circumvent the protective magic that is present, Mister Spade?”
“Burro drugs,” was Yam’s casual reply. “I drank some funky concoction that some old shaman mare gave me and went on a long strange trip.”
“Neat.” The word was spoken in such a way that it placed an unusual hardness on the final consonant, and Warden Owleye’s massive bulk remained huddled in the doorway. “Your commitment to your job is astounding, Mister Spade. Real shame about what they did to you.”
“Eh, I still have friends—” Yam’s response was cut off by the squealing sound of wood rubbing against itself as Officer Cricket pulled away floorboards to reveal a hidden cache. He whistled, nodded, and gestured with his hoof. “Will you look at that. The therapist was keeping a whole slew of diaries.”
“There’s a lot of books here.” Officer Cricket’s statement of the obvious made Warden Owleye snort again. “The spell, whatever it was, seems to be broken now. There is quite a stash hidden under the floor.”
“Burro drugs, you say.” Warden Owleye turned her stern, goggled gaze upon Yam and stared at the back of his head with a fierce intensity. “Quite an upgrade, Mister Spade. To be able to defeat low grade privacy wards… that makes you an asset.”
“I can be hired and my usual rates apply,” Yam replied, unconcerned. He was too focused on what was hidden under the floor in the closet. “It’s gonna take a while to sort through all that information. I’m not sure that any of it helps me now..”
“There’s a lot of uh, pharmaceuticals hidden here too.” Officer Cricket backed away from the stash, reached up, and rubbed his eyes. “Excuse me, I have a bit of a brain ache from dealing with that glam.”
“Go take a breather, Officer Cricket,” commanded Warden Owleye in a harsh tone. “I wish to speak to Mister Spade. Alone.” She stepped out of the doorway so the unicorn officer could pass. “Sorry Mister Spade, but you and I need to have a bit of a talk about what you do in your off-hours.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, read me the riot act and let’s get this over with…”
It was so hot in the cafe that the glasses of iced tea on the table were sweating. The air conditioner was running, but it was either broken or the owner was too cheap to turn it up to a meaningful level. Yam sipped at the cooling drink, glad to have it, but sitting on the hot vinyl of the seat was a miserable experience. Beside him, Azure had her eyes closed and her cheek rested against the red tiled wall.
Warden Owleye stood beside the table, because she was too big to fit on the bench. Furniture just wasn’t big enough for the nocturnal pegasus ponies, but even if there was a seat, Yam doubted that she would sit down while on duty. Was there ever a time when she wasn’t on duty?
Much to his relief, Warden Owleye had not spoke to him as a Warden, but rather as a friend, though she was quite concerned about how he took risks. It was funny, because in general, Yam avoided risks—he avoided anything that might do harm to his tender skin. Something in the vents rattled and wheezed, and then, by some miracle, something that was almost—but not quite—a cool breeze began to blow.
“Yam, what if you’d drunk that concoction and it had scrambled whatever is left of your brain?” Warden Owleye shook her head, snorted in disgust, and then focused her stern, matronly gaze upon Yam, peering through the thick, mirrored glass of her protective goggles. “You’ve stepped in it now, you know. Your little spot on the wall talent isn’t so spot on the wall. They’ll put you on a registry, Yam—”
“Only if you rat me out, babe.”
“Mister Spade, do keep your charms to yourself,” Warden Owleye demanded, and Azure began to chortle. “Regulations state that I have to make a report about this. Regulations also state that I cannot defy regulations. There are regulations against that. The regulatory commission for us Wardens just re-regulated the regulations and gave them a good regulating… some of them had wiggle room… ambiguous language that had to be regulated… and purged.”
Rolling his eyes, Yam lipped his straw and took a drink, unwilling to reply. Discussing regulations with Warden Owleye was one of his least favourite activities: indeed, any sort of conversation involving the many directives that Wardens lived by was a real snore-fest. This didn’t feel very fair, this whole being put on a registry. All of the really dangerous ponies lived outside of registries, and ponies like himself ended up on registries because he knew the good guys.
“You know, Warden Owleye, in Ogres and Oubliettes, the lawfully, awfully good types are called ‘lawful stupid’ for a reason.” Yam knew that he was treading on dangerous territory, but he didn’t care. “If something becomes too rigid, it has no flexibility and has no choice but to break when pressure is applied.”
Before the Warden could respond, Azure asked, “What happens now? With Tweedy Penny, I mean. Her apartment. Any chance that Yammy and I could get a bit of help with finding Honey Dew?”
“There seems be a bigger crime at work here and this has become official Warden business.” Warden Owleye’s voice dropped down low and her ears angled out over her face. “Hoarding all those pills is a crime in and of itself. She’s a therapist, not a doctor, and she shouldn’t’ve had those. It is just what we needed to cement our involvement in this case. If there is anything useful in those journals, I’ll make sure that you know about it.”
Unable to stop himself from being a wise-donkey, Yam asked, “Is that allowed by regulations?”
“You’ve been conscripted, so yes.” Warden Owleye nodded, looking somehow smug and satisfied. “The nefarious rogue that skirts regulations, the chaotic good type that thinks he is so clever, is really just a useful asset for the lawful good types, because it allows us to skirt regulations without breaking them. We get to maintain our control, our order, and keep the chaotic rogue in line, doing beneficial acts for society.”
“Touché.” Ears drooping from the sounds of Azure’s braying laughter, Yam scowled. Clever Wardens were the absolute worst and anypony who claimed that the big brutes had no sense of humour were just flat out wrong. Their humour, probably like everything else, was no doubt controlled by regulation.
The air conditioning, what little bit of it there was, strained to push any sort of meaningful breeze out of the vents. Perhaps it too, was overcome by the oppressive heat. The diner was nothing like the cool, almost chilly cellar where Yam and Azure were staying. This diner was all modern, super-futuristic, surrounded on all sides by glass. The sun, a ruthless burning orb, blazed in through the windows without mercy, shining on the tile floor and the many steel surfaces. This place was an oven, a place where ponies cooked. No wonder the air conditioning struggled the way it did.
Resting his front hooves on the speckled formica surface of the table, Yam squirmed on the vinyl bench and wished his shirt wasn’t clinging to his body in such an uncomfortable way. He regretted his touristy camouflage and wished he had left it at home. Something rattled in the overhead ductwork and then there was an enormous bang that came rattling out of every vent, followed by the stench of burning rubber and plastic.
“Something died,” Warden Owleye said, stating the obvious with a casual disregard.
“Son of a bitch,” a greasy looking pegasus wearing an even greasier looking apron muttered from behind the counter where he stood. “Stupid brownouts short out the cooling unit and then when the temps really soar, it just dies. Somepony should do something about the power problems!”
“So what do we do now, Yammy?” Azure pulled her cheek away from the tile as there was no coolness to be had, and she looked at her husband with an almost sleepy, heat-stricken gaze.
“Our job,” he replied. “We start canvassing the city. You and I, we’ll split up. You go and talk to your fellow burros. See what they know. Check the local gossip. Hit up the labour pools and the day worker outlets. Me, I’ll try to use my finding magic. Even if I can’t quite seem to get a fix on Honey Dew directly, I’ll do my best to come up with some creative, clever solution that might allow me to get around whatever is blocking me. Something clearly doesn’t want her to be found.”
“That concerns me.” Warden Owleye shuffled on her hooves. “Why would somepony expend the magical resources to try and conceal a rank and file biotech worker? Yam, I want you to find something compelling that will give us a reason to get involved. We’re stretched thin, there is just too much crime and not enough Wardens, but if you can find something that can’t be ignored… we’ll have no choice but to get involved.”
“Gotcha.” Dripping sweat, Yam once more took a long pull through his straw and sucked down some of his refreshing cold drink.
“I’ll make sure that you get some bits.” The hardness of Warden Owleye’s face softened a bit and her ears splayed out to the sides. “It isn’t right what they did to you, Yam Spade. You’re a brilliant detective and for one such as you to be blacklisted all because of whom you love, that’s just… just—”
“Stupid?” Azure let out a half-hearted chuckle and nudged her husband. “And how do you feel about us, Owleye?”
“Tribalism is against regulation, and so is prejudice based on species.”
“Well, that’s just great, but that’s the rules and regulations.” Slobber glistened on the end of Yam’s straw as he pulled away and he gave the Warden a bold look. “But how do you feel about us?”
Taking a deep, sulphurous, smoky breath, Warden Owleye leaned in and looked Yam right in the eye. “My mother is a dragon and my father is a nocturnal pegasus. After they fulfilled their obligations to the breeding program, they remained together due to a sense of affection that slowly turned into love. Over twenty years later, they are still together, and during their long, fruitful union, they have given me seven beloved brothers and sisters. I was there for each and every hatching. If somepony was to disparage this love that I hold so dear, the regulations would be ignored and I would unscrew their head from their neck. I would then find some way to defecate down their neck-stump.”
“I am positive that a neck-stump is not a regulation latrine,” Yam deadpanned and he fought back a sneeze from the smoke that tickled his nose. Having served in the Fancy Foreign Legion, he had a little bit of knowledge of regulation latrines, having spent so many hours both digging and guarding them.
Warden Owleye grinned, a truly terrifying sight. She had a smile like a bear trap, with big, pointy, triangular teeth that had serrated edges. Smoke pungent with the stench of rotten eggs came curling out in little wisps from the gaps between her teeth, and her eyes were completely unknowable behind her mirrored goggles. Yam had a terrifying revelation that the entirety of his head would fit between her jaws.
“We live in dreadful times, Mister Spade… love, no matter what form it takes, is something I value a great deal. I try to live by my parent’s example, but they have set very lofty standards for me to live up to. Love is a cause I have chosen to champion. I honestly do believe that it is love and friendship that makes Equestria great. I’ve been to other parts of the world… I’ve been outside of Equestria, and I know that you have too. We have something special here, and I aim to keep it safe.”
“As always, Warden Owleye, talking to you has been a pleasure.” Yam fanned the Warden’s smoky breath out of his face with a hoof and smiled at her. “My partner and I really need to get to work. Let me know if anything useful comes out of those journals I found.”
“Where are you staying?” Warden Owleye asked.
Taking a deep breath, Yam readied himself to give her an answer…
Sizzling sidewalks made ponies prance with every step and the entire city baked in oppressive heat. The glass, steel, and concrete made for hot, unfriendly surfaces, and the many air conditioners only added to the scorching temperatures that seared the air that everypony had no choice but to fill their lungs with. Even the water fountains—with their pipes buried beneath the streets and sideways—only had hot water to offer thirsty passers-by.
Las Pegasus was a miserable city if you were stuck outside, but it was great for the many casinos. A pony that stayed indoors all day and all night did a lot of gambling. Casinos, theatres, and music halls all had signs that promised ice-cold air conditioning. With the ultra-modern construction, air conditioning was a necessity. The ponies of Las Pegasus no longer built with adobe and compressed straw bales, proven barriers against the soul-searing heat.
This was a city that saw Princess Celestia’s sun as an oppressive tyrant, but the moon was no better due to the crime that was done in its pale, gentle light. This was easily the most corrupt city in Equestria some said, though others would argue and insist that it had to be Manehattan. The rule of the Royal Pony Sisters was not seen as absolute here and many followed the Golden Rule: that is to say, those that had the gold made the rules. Capitalism ruled the city and exclamations for a free, unrestricted market were the battlecries of its chosen champions. Las Pegasus was the place where fortune favoured the wealthy, the house was always rigged, and being poor was the worst possible crime that you could commit.
All in all, Yam Spade prefered Canterlot, which tended to have a cooler climate and better views.
He didn’t know what he was looking for, but moved in relentless pursuit of it anyway, led by some unseen, unknown, unfathomable mystical force that he could not even begin to comprehend. Something was blocking him from Honey Dew, so he had latched on to the idea of finding something that would help him get around that. Yam tended to put a lot of trust into his talent—since when had a cutie mark ever led a pony astray—and he was confident that something would turn up.
Much to his surprise, Yam found himself at a drugstore that resided on the bottom floor of a mixed development building. Wasting no time and not wanting his frogs to flash-fry on the cement sidewalk, he ducked inside to have himself a look around and ask a few questions.
The manager of the drugstore was a prim pink pegasus pony with a pale orange mane and thick glasses that caused her eyes to be magnified to a ridiculous size. A little older, she wore a light cotton corded cardigan to ward off the chill of the air conditioner. This struck Yam as being a little odd, because pegasus ponies did well in the cold.
“I don’t know anypony pony named Honey Dew, but I do know Miss Penny. Nice mare. Likes to help others. Charitable. Soft spoken. She had a knack for gaining the trust of others and everypony liked her.”
“Ma’am, you sound like you were friends,” Yam remarked.
“Not friends, not exactly. More like acquaintances. But we did get to know each other quite well in the past few months. Miss Penny was always coming in to speak to the pharmacist about drugs… side effects and the like. She was a good heart, and she was always looking out for her clients. Must have been real worried about how drugs might affect her youngest clients, because most of her questions were about drug interactions with foals. Such a dedicated therapist.”
“I see.” Yam repeated everything he heard inside of his head a few times until he was certain that most of it would stick in his memory. This was certainly interesting, to say the very least. He thought about the enormous stash of drugs in Tweedy Penny’s apartment and the many missing foals. It could have been coincidence, but it sure was interesting and his talent had brought him here for a reason.
“For about the past month or so, she looked especially frazzled. Overworked. She said that she was about to leave on vacation the last time I saw her. I hope she’s having a nice time. Poor dear was overworked.”
“Ma’am, when was the last time you saw Miss Penny?” Yam asked while he kept his face a neutral, emotionless mask. His unremarkable mug was one of his best assets and according to Azure, his most handsome feature. It also doubled as a comfortable place to sit, if his wife was to be believed.
“Two days ago,” the middle-aged manager mare replied. “She came in here to get some pills for motion sickness. Said she was leaving on vacation and airship travel didn’t agree with her. Poor dear.”
“Did she say where she was going?” Yam looked the old mare in the eye and hoped that luck would favour him.
“No, no she didn’t.” the mare replied. She blinked once, twice, and on the third time, a look of concern crept over her face.
Luck was a dirty, dirty whore and Yam hated her fickle nature. He had been inside long enough with his sweat-soaked shirt that he was now feeling a little cold, and he shivered a bit as evapouration had its way with him. Even worse, Yam could see that the mare knew that something was wrong, and was either polite or too afraid to ask about it. It was time to blow this place, time to make like a banana and split.
“Thank you for your time, Ma’am. I really should be going.” He hadn’t learned much, but it was time to cut and run before the mare began to ask difficult questions. Scowling, Yam turned tail and with his frogs aching in protest, he headed for the door.
“Don’t get heatstroke,” the mare cried out as he made his hasty exit. “Remember to stay hydrated!”
In the late afternoon, the city became something like a mirage as heat rose up in playful shimmers. Most of the cabs at street level had ceased to operate and most of the sidewalks were near-empty. A lone stubborn detective arrived at La Estación de Arenisca. Yam wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew it had something to do with airships, because this was the place where most of them moored. The public airships, anyhow. Private airships for the wealthy tethered themselves elsewhere.
The central terminal was packed with ponies, zebras, donkeys, burros, dragons, minotaurs, diamond dogs, and even a group of panting caribous stood around, waiting. Some waited for elevators that would take them to the upper levels, where boarding was done, and others waited to see a clerk at the ticket counter. A massive black monolith stood in the center of the station, and embedded in the enormous structure was thousands of tiny lights, which lit up in such a way that it formed letters and numbers. The times for arrivals and departures could be read upon this technological marvel.
The caribou were quite a surprise to see, as they prefered the cold. Known for extreme politeness and caribooping—their affectionate form of greeting and goodbye—caribou weren’t often seen this far south. Yam had known a caribou in the Fancy Foreign Legion, an unfortunate soul that had been disciplined every time he had uttered, “eh,” which sadly, seemed to come out of his mouth at every other word. “That’s nice, eh.” “Eh, that’s fancy, eh.” “Eh, wouldja lookit that, eh.”
Nougat was far too polite to fight a war, or do anything aggressive, really. When faced with impending violence, Nougat brought his mighty antlers to bear only as a means to shield others, but steadfastly refused to attack. Yam found that he missed his old friend and wondered how he was doing. Perhaps a visit to Equestria’s tundra was in order. It might be nice to hang out to watch the northern lights and snuggle with Azure while looking up at the stars.
Feeling a little guilty, Yam shuffled into line, knowing that he was going to hold somepony up.
“Detective Yam Spade…” The manager was a somewhat pudgy unicorn with half-moon spectacles and a lint-speckled corduroy vest. “I do hope you will not be offended, but of course I checked your number. Had to do a little telegraphing, so I do apologise for the delay. My name is Schmutzig—”
“That’s quite unusual,” said Yam in effort to be affable and engaging.
“My family worked for years in the coal trade. From a tender age, I decided that being dirty just wasn’t for me, so I immigrated to Equestria and went to school for business management.”
Yam could hear the pride in the unicorn’s voice. “Good for you, Mister Schmutzig.”
“Thank you. That actually sounded quite sincere. Thank you, I am flattered.”
“I grew up on a yam farm and I too, didn’t want to live a dirty, dingy life.” Yam grinned and knew that he had Mister Schmutzig’s ear for certain now. “It is good to aspire to be more and to do more.”
“Yes”—the unicorn gave an enthusiastic nod—“it is. So, Mister Spade, what brings you here? You said you had questions?”
“Just some very simple ones, nothing to fret over.” Yam leaned forwards over the manager’s desk and looked the pony right in the eye. “I need to find out if a mare named Tweedy Penny ever purchased some tickets here. She was supposed to be taking a trip and I am trying to follow up on a lead.”
“I see.” Mister Schmutzig’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “You are a private detective, yes? Not the police?”
“I am.” Yam nodded and felt a bit of worry, but refused to be distracted. “I am trying to find a missing mare named Honey Dew. Her mother is worried sick. Tweedy Penny was her therapist, but she’s no longer in any condition to make a trip because it appears that she committed suicide in the tub. She purchased pills for motion sickness and if I can prove that she was about to take a trip, I might have convincing proof that this wasn’t a suicide.”
“I see,” Mister Schmutzig said and this time there was a heavy Germane accent to his words. “There is a real problem with the police in this town, Mister Spade. They do very little, which I am sure necessitates your trade. I am glad that somepony is working to secure justice and the Equestrian way. I am not supposed to help you, because of company policy, but I am going to help you.”
“Thank you, Mister Schmutzig… you have my appreciation…”
The manager returned to his office looking a little rumpled, disturbed, and bearing some papers. Yam watched as he sat down in the cushioned, overstuffed chair behind his plain, middle-manager’s desk and the papers were set down upon a ledger. Mister Schmutzig smiled and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses.
“She had what we call a divorce checkout,” the unicorn said as he settled himself into his comfortable chair with a creak. “It is common occurrence… a mare plans to leave her husband and rather than have her plans discovered, she leaves her tickets here to be picked up at the counter just before departure. She planned to go to Mareseilles on a one way ticket.”
“That’s in Fancy…”
“It sure is.” Mister Schmutzig placed his hoof down on the papers. “These were paid for just a few days ago. Hard coin, no credit. First class booking with a single occupancy cabin. Curiously enough, she left behind an envelope and instructions to open it if she failed to make her departure.”
“Oh really… you don’t say… have you read the instructions?” Yam’s eyebrow arched upwards while the right side of his mouth pulled downwards in a soft-boiled smirk.
“No, I have not. The less I know about this the better. I don’t want to become entangled with the police, should they get involved. I am going to give you the envelope and then do my best to pretend that it never existed. I ask that you leave my involvement out of this.”
“Sure thing, Mister Schmutzig, my lips are sealed.” Yam extended his hoof and after a moment of cautious delay, the unicorn behind the desk made a hoof-bump in return.
“I am glad that I can do something for my chosen home and country.” There was something of a fervour that could be seen in Mister Schmutzig’s eyes as he pulled away his hoof. “I have a great deal of love for this land… it has been kind to me and I have been fortunate to make a life here.”
“Mister Schmutzig, I must take my leave. I have a lot of ground to cover. I’ll make sure that this envelope and its contents will get to the Wardens… friends of mine. I can’t say if justice will be done, because that is in short supply these days, but I will do everything I can. Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
The apartment building now had fewer police and far more Wardens milling about. Yam was ‘detained’—that is to say that he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere at the moment—while the new evidence was being examined. Warden Hammerhelm had set up something of a command center in the lobby of the apartment building, so at least Yam got to enjoy the air conditioning while he waited.
He watched the big mare as she moved about and had a keen awareness that he did not know her. They had only met a few times, but he knew nothing about her and had no clue as to her feelings about him. Some Wardens resented detectives, feeling they were intruders, while others welcomed a helping hoof.
“This is some good work,” Warden Hammerhelm said as she held up a piece of paper pinched between her clawed thumb and the central, knobby knuckle on her leathery batlike wing. “If you are reading this, I can only assume that the worst has happened and I have been discovered, blah, blah, blah.” The big brutal mare waved the paper around in a dramatic fashion, coughed a dry, dusty, smoky cough, and then focused her baleful gaze upon Yam, whom she towered over.
“So, our headshrinker was caught having an affair with somepony and was blackmailed. She doesn’t mention who she was caught with, but my guess is that both parties involved in the affair were compromised. Once caught up in these events, she starts doing some bad things, as detailed in her journals. Her ability, her talent to gain trust is ruthlessly exploited as they begin product testing on foalnapped or otherwise unwanted foals. Time passes, guilt sets in, and Miss Penny decides to make a break for it after being complicit in countless crimes. She feels bad about it, but also admits to enjoying the lavish lifestyle that she lives with the extra money she makes from her illicit activities. Which explains how she was able to afford such a swanky apartment in this part of town.”
To show that he was listening, Yam nodded.
“Now she’s dead… found in the tub with her fetlocks sliced wide open. Those cuts go right down to the bone… while most suicides only graze the surface. As a unicorn, she would have had to exert an extraordinary amount of willpower to keep her magic going through so much pain.” Warden Hammerhelm stepped away from Yam and began to pace the length of the lobby. “Twice. She would have had to somehow do that twice, because both right and left fetlocks are gashed. What bothers me even more is, she was a therapist. She had to know about suicide methods. You never cross the road, you go up the street if you want to bleed out quick. Something about this bothers me, but it may or may not be relevant.”
Warden Dread Drop, who had been quiet this whole time now had something to say and his words made Warden Hammerhelm pause in her pacing. “She wasn’t totally lost. Clearly she felt some guilt, as evidenced, and she worked to keep the foals sedated and comfortable. As awful as it was, it could have been a lot worse. Miss Penny worked to minimise suffering, at least from what we’ve been able to gather so far… though this might be an effort on her part to soften the opinion of her crimes. We only have her journals to go on and the stash of pharmaceuticals.”
“A gentle monster is still a monster.” Yam’s opinion came out in a soft mumble and his words made both Wardens turn to look at him. Emboldened, he had more to say and for this he spoke with greater clarity: “An ogre that lulls a foal into a secure sleep before boiling them in a pot is still an ogre… and ogres deserve no sympathy.”
The Wardens both turned to look at one another and then back at Yam. A police officer present coughed, but said nothing. Warden Hammerfell resumed her pacing, her heavy, serrated hooves clicking on the fine marble tiles. “We approach a crisis… whatever scientific evidence was gathered during this product testing will set off a firestorm of ethics debate. Ponies will want to know if it is right to use the data… especially if it is medical practices or products that can save lives. We still don’t know what they were doing, or where.” Turning about, she focused her predatory gaze upon Yam. “We may have the means to find out though.”
“I don’t mind helping, but I do have a missing pony to find.” Yam offered up a bold nod to Warden Hammerhelm. “I do suspect that Honey Dew was somehow caught up in all of this. Miss Penny was in Ag Tech’s employ. Honey Dew’s mother said that Ag Tech was paying the bill to keep Honey Dew leveled out. We don’t know if she was helping them or moonlighting for some other outfit.”
“Yes,” Warden Dread Drop hissed out the word. “She does nothing to make that clear. Quite infuriating, if you ask me. All this confession and still so much ambiguity.”
“What would a company like Ag Tech have to test on foals?” Yam asked as the thought percolated into his mind.
“Food products… breakfast cereals… I don’t know.” Warden Hammerhelm now had a thoughtful expression on her face. “Nutritional supplements and additives?”
“So we need to find a link or relevant information… but these things might not be connected at all except through coincidence.” Warden Dread Drop flexed his wings, an impressive, terrifying display, and he worked the cricks out of his neck. “One thing is for certain—”
“And that is, Warden Dread Drop?” Warden Hammerhelm waited with perked ears and an arched eyebrow.
“The guilty want to be caught. Those with troubled minds seek relief. It only confirms what I believe and justifies my existence. We Wardens are the only relief that these troubled souls will have and we must save them from themselves. For those that are too far gone to feel guilt and do not have troubled hearts from the wickedness they commit, we must save society from them. Days like this one… I feel… I feel…”
“Vindicated?” Warden Hammerhelm suggested.
“I don’t know if that is the right word.” Warden Dread Drop grunted, shook his head, and looked his superiour in the eye while she paced the length of the lobby. “Many question if we Wardens are necessary or if our power is overreaching. Days like this one, after seeing that confession, I feel justified. Those guilty with troubled minds want our help. If only she would have trusted us enough to come to us for help. We might have saved her life and spared her soul before she plunged headlong into trouble.”
“Indeed.” Warden Hammerhelm turned to look at Yam. “I want you to go and check on Miss Penny’s strongbox that she mentioned. Take the access code and the writ enclosed with her letter. I don’t trust the police to do it and my Wardens are spread thin. This is far outside of regulations and under normal circumstances, it is something I would never do, but the police are actively hostile towards us.” The big brutish mare glanced over at the officer present and her lip curled back into a frightful snarl. “That one resents us for treading on his turf.”
“You’ll be disciplined for violating the regulations and I will be too for allowing you to do it… if I allow you to do it.” Warden Dread Drop gazed at his superiour through his mirrored goggles and his statuesque face showed no sign of whatever it was he was feeling. “Yam is conscripted though, and he has shown himself to be extraordinarily trustworthy. At best, we’ll be lectured for being lax. At worst…” His words trailed off and the big stallion let out a smoky, sulphurous snort.
“Mister Spade, if you would please go and fetch the contents of that strongbox, I would be most appreciative.” Warden Hammerhelm ignored her companion and focused entirely on Yam. “Warden Dread Drop and I must continue our vigil here at this location and keep an eye on the Warden Cadets that are filtering through the information we’ve obtained thus far.” Lowering her voice, she added, “We must also keep a watchful eye on the officers coming and going.”
“Right, just so long as I get my rent paid,” Yam muttered in response. Giving his hat a quick adjustment, he knew a bad scene when he saw one and he hurried off before Warden Dread Drop could voice any objections.
The bank was an enormous swanky spire of faux golden metal and mirrored glass, a dazzling display indeed in the desert sun. At least twenty stories tall, it was an impressive structure with an even more impressive accent that decorated the front of the building: a massive golden anchor stretched at least two thirds of the height of the building. In golden letters along the shaft of the anchor were the words, ‘The Mariner’s Trust.’
It was the sort of bank that the wealthy and the want-to-be wealthy put their money into so they could brag. It was conspicuous consumption done with investing. In Yam’s own private opinion, it was everything wrong with the finance industry in Equestria. Being a detective, he didn’t trust banks, not in the slightest, and so many of his cases caused him to venture into mighty financial fortresses with inviting glass double doors.
In Yam’s not-so-humble opinion, the Crown should be the only institution trusted with banking, and allowing private financial institutions to exist was a dreadful mistake. The Crown, Yam felt, had an obligation to serve its subjects, while private enterprise was only dutiful to their own bottom line.
This place was as predatory as an anglerfish and to entice ponies to come inside, there was a whole slew of offers. Free appliances, free memberships, exclusive prices at participating retailers, it had a little bit of everything to draw somepony in. None of it was actually free, Yam reasoned, somepony had to pay for it. Toasters did not grow on trees, after all, and those retailers had to be compensated somehow. The lone toaster on display had a gold anchor on the end opposite of the push down button and below the anchor were the words, ‘Mariner-Tech, equipping the kitchen of tomorrow.’
What a world… products that advertised themselves. Yam snorted in disgust.
Moving away from the display, Yam went to go and talk to one of the clerks.
This place stank of wealth: fine perfumes, masculine colognes, expensive tobacco from cigars as well as pipes, and the scented laundry soap used to wash fine apparel. The carpets were silky underhoof and the air that came blowing out of the decorative brass vents was as sweet as wildflower-strewn mountain meadows. The pungent aroma of exquisite, expensive ink tickled Yam’s nostrils. This place was an assault upon the nose; bewildering, disorienting, and disarming.
Yam could see why a pony would want to keep their money here, even the poor ones. To stand shoulder to shoulder, wither to wither with the wealthy and to be a part of all of… this. Even a pauper would get to visit this palace once in awhile in order to conduct their bank business and that’d be a real treat. There was complimentary coffee and tea, along with pastries and teacakes.
The bank was selling an image of affluence, the illusion of superiourity to all those who did their business here. Yam saw through it all; sure, he wasn’t the smartest pony, certainly not the cleverest, but he knew subterfuge when he saw it, and he was looking at it right now. As he approached the counter, he saw tasteful, subtle signs advertising once in a lifetime opportunities that would lead to steady gains and eventual wealth, such as investing in Mariner Firearms, Mariner Oil and Chemical, Mariner Aeronautical R&D, Mariner Global Shipping, or Mariner Communications, the transcontinental communication company that promised to bring the telegraph of tomorrow.
“Everything checks out, Mister Spade. Miss Penny had one of our economy strongboxes down on subfloor five in subsection cyan,” the clerk said in a soft, passive voice that was filled with false warmth and grating faux-sincerity. “Here is a key. The box is not kept in a vaulted room, it is more of a locker, really, and you will not need an agent to let you into the subsection where it is located.” She blinked, batting her perfectly mascaraed eyelashes at him once. “Will that be all?”
“Say,” Yam said to the clerk as he had a profound thought. “What about her accounts. Does she still have them?”
“I cannot give you access to them—”
“I didn’t ask for access, just if she still had them.” Yam peered at the clerk and noticed the heavy crows feet in the corners of her eyes, the evidence of stress or smiling. She hadn’t smiled once since meeting him, and he wondered how stressful it was to be a bank clerk. “Be a doll, will ya, and help a fella out.”
“Miss Penny withdrew her accounts a few days ago. A considerable sum. It’s dangerous for a mare to have that much money… it is an invitation for trouble, if you ask me. She withdrew several thousand bits worth of savings as well as her checking account.”
Yam’s eyebrows collapsed and his eyes narrowed while his brows buckled. If she had that kind of scratch just lying around, where was it? Why was there no sign of it in her apartment? He was going to have to mention this to the Wardens, and no doubt, they would be grateful for this kind of information. Yam saw another complication as well: if one’s bank shared ownership within the same corporate structure as the outfit one worked for, the moment that one’s funds were pulled, your employers would know when something was up.
To Yam, it was all a clever, clever way to control one’s employees and keep tabs on them.
“Thanks, you’ve been a big help. I’ll be going now.” Offering a polite nod, Yam scrammed.
The subfloors were a maze of passages that were all colour coded. It didn’t quite smell so nice down here, it was musty, dusty, and a bit mildewy. Bare electric light bulbs hung from the ceiling and there were no windows down here below the ground. It had taken a while, but Yam was now staring at what he had come for, the strongbox. It was a small one, with a secure square door and a curious circular keyhole that fit a round key, the likes of which he had never seen before.
The key was somewhat magnetic and it clung to the plate where the opening was. Using his lips, he wiggled the key until it clicked and it slid right in with smooth mechanical perfection. It did not turn, which was odd, and Yam wasn’t sure how to operate the key. Not knowing what to do, he pushed on it, thinking that it needed to go in further before it would turn.
There was a click from the lock and then the spring-loaded door popped open. Yam stepped back, blinked when his eyes began to water, and a quick sniff told him that there was something sweet in the air, something fragrant. The sweet smell became cloying and his knees began to wobble. Now panicking, Yam began to back away, but the smell grew stronger. Inside of the strongbox was a phial of some fuming potion, and when the door had sprung open, the stopper had been pulled out.
Turning about, Yam tried to run but instead tumbled down to the tile floor that was in desperate need of sweeping. His body felt heavy, his eyelids heavier, and his legs refused to work no matter how much he tried to will them to cooperate. Breathing became increasingly difficult, and his lungs were filled with a crushing emptiness that could not be remedied.
Yam’s eyes opened like a theatre curtain rising to reveal the latest silver screen production. His ears rang like abused watchtower bells and tiny, cruel demons kicked the back of his eyeballs, which caused his head to thud in time to the ring-a-ding-dinging. Before his eyes could even focus, he could smell equine misery, a scent he was all too familiar with after having spent time overseas. Sweat, urine, feces, the stench of bodies that hadn’t bathed in far too long, the telling reek of fear. Yam, a natural born coward if ever there was one, knew that some of that fragrant funk was wafting from him.
“I am surprised that you are even alive,” a kind and familiar voice said to Yam. “I really must apologise. The trap was meant to catch a Warden. With all of their regulations, we honestly believed that a Warden would go to investigate the strongbox at the bank. We had such high hopes of studying a live Warden. To understand them, to learn how they work, and perhaps better understand how we can defend ourselves from them.”
Now, Yam understood why Wardens never deviated from the regulations: ponies got hurt.
“It was a brilliant poison, designed to affect those with both equine and draconic physiology. We’ve spent years working on it.” The voice was close, but Yam had trouble focusing still and seeing was just out of the question. Yam could not help but feel that he had heard the voice before… just recently in fact, and his ears strained to suppress the ringing so that he might hear better. “I fear I must apologise, Mister Spade. We met under less than ideal circumstances. You probably think I am a bad pony, but I assure you, I am far, far from it. I work for a noble cause. I work for a group that strives for equality and so much more. We seek to right a great injustice in the world and it is my most sincere hope that you can be reasoned with.”
All around him, Yam could hear whimpering, crying, the soft, muffled sounds of bodies rubbing against each other. His eyes watered from the sharp, biting stench of old urine. Like sand flowing through an hourglass, sensation returned to his legs a little at a time and he became aware of the fact that he was tied up, but he wasn’t gagged. His bonds seemed gentle, which was surprising. No stranger to being tied up, Yam found that there were different ways to tie a pony, and most used the method that caused the most pain.
“Our cause is just, Mister Spade. Where we once sought equality, we now seek to rise above the fates that we’ve been made slaves to. We ascend, Mister Spade. We wish to lift and elevate our brethren in bondage from the shackles of cruel, fickle destiny. Starlight Glimmer had a good idea, but she was far too stupid to see the real potential in her work. We have grown beyond her petty goals and frivolous aspirations.”
Yam didn’t have much, but he did have his wits about him, sort of. He’d heard of this particular brand of insanity before and had no desire to hear it yet again. Blinking, he struggled to lift his head so that he might focus on his captor, who stood nearby. The voice was so familiar—so recognisable—and he was possessed with a growing frustration for not being able to place it. Some detective he was, hearing a voice and failing to place it with a face. It was like serving up a hot supper and failing to ladle the gravy onto the smashed potatoes. Unforgivable.
“You probably think me a fool for monologuing, but it is my sincere hope that I can convince you of the righteousness of our cause, Mister Spade. We are at war and some actions, while regrettable, are necessary. I do not want you as my enemy, the system that is currently in place, the unjust rule of those who have shaped and abused destiny to suit their own agenda, they would have us be enemies. I wish to liberate you and free you from your yoke. It is my hope that I can open your eyes to the bondage that you live in.”
“Bondage feels a lot like rope tied around my legs,” Yam managed to say after he discovered that his sarcasm had survived intact. “If you want me to be a free creature as much as you say, you could start by untying me.”
“Oh, I would like to do just that, but I have my own safety to be concerned about.”
“Well, one thing that would greatly improve my mood… do you know where Honey Dew is?” Yam asked, figuring it couldn't hurt to try and find this out.
“Yes, actually,” was the surprising reply. Yam waited, but no further information seemed forthcoming from his still unknown captor.
“You know you’ll be caught, right? The Wardens will come for you. Capturing me was your undoing. When you are caught, they’ll pick through your brain like a filing cabinet.” Yam hoped to unnerve his captor and tried to think of more to say to this end.
“You might think that, Mister Spade, but you are wrong. Capturing you poses no risk to our larger goals. We’ve learned, Mister Spade, and adapted to the Wardens. We are finding new ways to fight them. To shield our minds from them. We’ve adapted to their dominating tactics. We exist as a decentralised group now, with each cell acting independently. I have no idea who my fellow revolutionaries are. I might bump into them on the street unawares. We don’t know each other’s names, or faces, or identities. The Wardens will have nothing to extract from my mind, save for a few close associates in my cell. I don’t even know who my generous anonymous benefactor is. What little information that is exchanged between us goes through an extensive set of filters that preserves total anonymity.”
Upon taking all of this in, Yam deflated as something in the back of his mind acknowledged the hopelessness of it all. Why was it that he always ended up at the mercy of the worst sorts of nutjobs? It just wasn’t fair. But this… this seemed far worse and somehow far more dangerous than anything else he had found himself mixed up in.
“If they cut off this head, if my cell is destroyed, another will grow to replace it. Our cause is just and I am fine with being a martyr. I have left seeds for others to find, and if it takes my blood to water those seeds to make them sprout, so be it. Others will rise to replace me. We will ascend. We exist everywhere and nowhere. There is no central body for the Wardens to strike and they will waste their precious resources stamping out shadows and striking at the phantoms that we allow them to see.”
Blinking, trying to clear his vision, Yam reflected upon everything that had been said. With every word spoken, nothing at all, nothing meaningful had been put at risk. In fact, if he shared everything that he knew right now with his Warden friends, it would do nothing to enlighten them, but would probably serve to demoralise them. Ears sagging, Yam truly began to understand the hopelessness of the situation. Destroying this cell would no doubt cause others to rise and replace it, because fools only needed a cause and a reason. The Wardens would rise to fight this threat, of course they would, and the more resources they threw at this threat, this insubstantial, intangible threat, the less resources they would have to deal with common crimes that plagued society. A desperate, weary society would be more susceptive to the whispers of treason and revolution, anything to re-establish the safety and security craved by all.
This was a no win situation and Yam was just smart enough to see that.
“Just imagine it, Mister Spade… a world free of the slavery imposed by the Princesses. They use their magic to warp and weave destiny… our destiny to suit their whims. Such power is not beyond them, I assure you. That mark of yours, it is a brand, a collar, a means of control. We seek to restore free agency, Mister Spade. No goddesses, no masters. Just think of the established wealth that controls and corrupts everything… like Mister Mariner, the pony that owns the bank in which you were captured. Miss Honey Dew made a breakthrough discovery, and Mister Mariner, his company, his conglomerates, they sought to hide this precious discovery away so that only he would profit from it. At the request of our benefactor, we have taken Miss Honey Dew with the hopes that we can replicate this discovery and the world might be changed because of it.”
Yam’s mind, perhaps having recovered from being gassed, worked to function and began to put everything together. What few answers his brain offered him only caused more questions, but he and his brain could sort that out later, perhaps with tequila and tamales. “Officer Cricket, you are quite the orator.”
“I am genuinely surprised that it took you this long. Shall we blame the dreadful gas? I honestly do feel bad about that. I liked you from our first meeting, Mister Spade. You were earnest, sincere, and there was a sense of forthrightness about you that I found appealing. You were so focused, so dedicated to finding something… doing something… I found myself admiring your drive to get results.”
“So, what is it with the foals?” Yam asked as he continued to put the pieces together and listened to the many sounds around him.
“Oh, come now, don’t be coy or stupid… I find that infuriating, Mister Spade.” Cricket clucked his tongue and this made Yam’s ears twitch. “Future soldiers, Mister Spade. We’ll raise them with our way of thinking. We won’t let the Princesses poison them with all of the drivel and dreck they teach as part of their approved curriculum. Right now, they are miserable, and unhappy, and that is understandable. These conditions are appalling. But this is temporary and will soon be remedied. We’re about to go on a trip, Mister Spade.”
“And the experimentation?” Yam managed to focus on his captor and for the first time, Cricket’s calm, expressionless face came into total focus.
“Well…” Cricket’s tongue clucked again. “We take the worst ones… the ones who just refuse to cooperate and bring so much misery to bear upon their fellows… and we use them to attempt to recreate Miss Honey Dew’s remarkable discovery. Acceptable sacrifices, in the bigger picture. One day, the lives enriched by the remarkable advances promised in the successful duplication of her miraculous results will make all of these… dreadful… little… um, how shall we say… hiccups? Moral hiccups? Ethical hiccups? No matter… the ends justify the means, I am sure you’ll find. Yes, one day, the rewards will make these unpleasant but necessary actions worth it.”
“Like killing Tweedy Penny—”
“I don’t even know who killed her,” Cricket said, making a smooth, effortless interruption. “I knew it was planned. Our anonymous benefactor sent word through the various channels and warned us that she was having a change of heart. Oh, we had to hustle because that changed the schedule, let me tell you, and a trap had to be improvised for the Warden that we hoped to catch. It is disappointing that we failed to catch one for study, but no matter. In time, it will happen, and the information we glean will filter through our decentralised communication networks. Others will rise to fight them, Mister Spade, of this I am confident.”
“So you want to bring it all toppling down.” Yam spat out the words, feeling an unusual anger deep within him. Something about all of this violated his sense of decency, but it was so much more. “You want to hijack the future… end the rule of the Princesses of Equestria, and steal away the wealth of ponies like Mister Mariner as some grand scheme of self rule while labouring beneath the delusion of playing at a fair table. But it’s not a fair table, it is a table you’ve rigged for yourselves. Tell me, genius, what will you do when some crackpot revolutionary rises up… oh, wait, allow me to be a dramatic dipshit—”
Yam paused and stared into the eyes of Cricket, fearful that he would catch a beating for his flippancy.
“What will you do when somepony ascends to strike down your no doubt brief rule? Not that you will ever have that… Princess Celestia has survived worse than you. The fact that you believe that you are some kind of threat is laughable. You’re a deluded, brain-shriveled fool.” Yam was rewarded by the sight of considerable anger roiling like a stormcloud on the face of his captor, whose calm was now shattered beyond repair. Cricket’s lip trembled, his ears quivered, and his eyelids seemed a bit twitchy. Yam reveled in the damage he had caused and his lip curled back into a practiced, sardonic sneer.
Cricket was about to respond, to react—he appeared to be just about to shout in fact—when he was interrupted by the sweet strains of a mariachi band that began playing. He responded in such a way that most who suddenly hear a mariachi band start playing from nowhere typically do: he became quite confused and stood there, blinking, trying to understand where the music was coming from.
“What in Tartarus?” Cricket’s head tilted off to one side in the manner of confused quadrupeds everywhere, and his ears perked.
“The burros call it, ‘Espíritu de Venganza,’ and I do believe you have pissed it off,” Yam said to his captor as a smug look of relief spread over his face like too much sweet, sweet jam smeared over toast. “Don’t bother running, you’ll only end up beaten and tired. You done fronked up when you stole burro foals… you mess with one bean and you end up with the whole burrito.”
“What are you talking about?” Cricket demanded and there was real panic in his voice as the mariachi music began to intensify and gain volume. “How could you possibly know what is going on? What is happening here?”
Just as Yam was about to answer, just as he was about to gloat, the horns blared and guitars let out a wailing, baleful riff. Somewhere, overhead, glass shattered—a terrific, terrifying sound—and a lone figure came crashing through the skylight, descending down from the stars beyond. Glass fell like raining diamonds and the cloaked, masked figure came crashing down to the floor amidst a thousand glittering shards that glittered like snowflakes under the harsh winter moon.
The mask was colourful, cheerful even, and concealed everything about the figure’s face, but two long, rabbit-like ears were visible. A cape settled over the unknown figure’s back, fluttering in some intangible, unfathomable wind that seemed to move in time to the music, and this interloper, whomever it was, appeared to be totally unharmed from the fall through the overhead skylight window.
“I AM GUACAMELEE, ESPÍRITU DE VENGANZA, AND ALL OF YOU PUTA MADRES ARE ABOUT TO GET YOUR ASS BEAT!”
It wasn’t every day that a luchador just randomly dropped through a skylight and announced that there was about to be an epic ass beating, accompanied by mariachi music. Unable to respond, goons, mooks, thugs, (even a few desperados, burros gone bad) and heavies, all of them stood there, blinking, wondering just how and why a luchador had come to stand among their number. It was the desperados who reacted first: all of them turned tail and made a break for the exits, knowing full well what was about to go down.
Guacamelee’s cape swirled around her—yes, it was most certainly a she, as her voice was distinctly feminine—and then with a confusing pop, she vanished from view. She was just gone and the crowd began to murmur. A second later she popped back into existence with an explosion of confetti, streamers, and tiny candies wrapped in colourful, cheerful waxed paper. In an easy bipedal stance, she took the nearest mook by surprise and leveled him with a frightful, delightful roundhouse kick that made her cape whip about whilst she circled.
And then, she was gone again, leaving behind confetti, streamers, candy, and a broken jaw.
She burst back into view with more confetti, streamers, and candy, her cape flowing in some unseen, unfathomable wind. This cape was emblazoned with a cactus and a decorated, beautiful burro skull whose eyes were like two live, glowing embers. This was no mere image, the eyes moved, the flames flickered, and the skull, made of patchwork castaway scraps, seemed to be laughing.
Guacamelee attacked, throwing herself at a group of confused earth ponies and one pegasus pony. Flapping his wings, the pegasus sought to gain the height advantage, but Guacamelee wasn’t having that. With a graceful bounce, she grabbed the pegasus by his hind legs, gripping his hocks in her fetlocks, then when she landed back upon the ground, she swung him at his fellows. One earth pony dodged, rolling away with a startled cry, but the pony beside him wasn’t so lucky, and the screaming, panicked pegasus collided with the earth pony with a terrific meaty smack. Guacamelee wasn’t done though, and even as the earth pony tumbled to the concrete floor with grotesque head trauma, she readied her makeshift pegasus weapon for another swing.
Making a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree swipe, Guacamelee sent ponies tumbling all around her, and then she tossed away the pegasus into the bloodied heap of bodies that were now piled around her. She lept over them and moved to engage the group of ponies coming to intercept her. Running on her two hind hooves, she moved with the grace of a ballerina, nimble, quick, and confident.
Moving past a workbench, she snatched up a long red toolbox in her front hooves, and then swung it with all of her might as she bore down upon her would-be attackers. The toolbox slipped from her hooves and flew like a bright red missile that clanked, clunked, and clattered, soaring through the air in a way that only a long rectangular box filled with tools could.
It struck an incoming earth pony in the face, doing destructive dental demolishing on impact. A cacophony erupted, the sounds of screaming, of metal on bone, panicked shouts, and the sweet, sweet strains of mariachi music all made for a terrible soundtrack to do battle by. Just as the earth ponies were about to tackle her, she was gone, vanishing as her cape seemed to swallow her.
Guacamelee reappeared, but was only in existence long enough to pull an earth pony into a tight hug, almost swallowing him in her colourful cape, and then she vanished with the earth pony held fast in her embrace. An eyeblink later, she could be seen again up high in the rafters; she hurled the earth pony away from her and as he plummeted to the concrete below, she blinked away yet again, leaving him to his fate.
“Hit him with the chair!” a colt trapped inside of a makeshift cage made of chain link fence cried as Guacamelee advanced upon his captors. The foal seemed eager for violence, and like his fellows, his mouth was full of candy that had now littered the floor. “The chair! Hit’im with the chair!”
The masked figure picked up the steel chair as suggested and the earth pony that she stalked shook his head from side to side, a silent plea for Guacamelee to put the chair down so they could discuss this rationally, one hoofed quadruped to another. It was obvious that he had no desire to have a cage match with the luchador. Raising the chair up high over her head, Guacamelee then lunged forwards and brought the chair downward in a vicious smash. The earth pony dodged with a hair’s breadth to spare and began whimpering, pleading for mercy as he retreated.
There was no mercy to be had and this time, when Guacamelee swung the chair, it connected with the earth pony’s right front leg, which buckled and bent unnaturally from the impact. The chair too, suffered much damage, and two of its legs also bent. She tossed the chair away, it skittered and clattered over the concrete floor, and then she bent down to pick up the prone earth pony with the broken leg.
With a neat flip, she crotch-crutch suplexed him, visiting extreme harm upon his groin and his head as she drove him down onto the unyielding floor with a terrific wet splat. The mook curled up into a fetal position, clutching his groin, and the enormous lump growing from his head made him look a bit like a deformed unicorn.
A half-dozen ponies advanced, determined to take out the masked, mysterious luchador that was wrecking everything. The foals were cheering, in high spirits, somehow restored and filled with hope through unknown means. Candy wrappers blew about like autumn leaves and Guacamelee made a come-hither gesture with her hoof.
One earth pony stood in a bipedal stance and advanced with a crowbar held in his fetlock. Another did much the same, but was armed with a plank of wood. A unicorn levitated a length of iron pipe in her telekinesis. The foals booed them and Guacamelee stood waiting, her cape billowing around her in hypnotic swirls.
The one with the crowbar made the first move, and Guacamelee sidestepped the clumsy attack. The unicorn’s pipe grazed the colourful cape when she swung, but the cape snatched the iron pipe away. When the pony armed with a wooden plank took a swing, Guacamelee’s cape parried with the iron pipe, and then Guacamelee herself punched the big plank-bearing stallion right in the throat with the hard edge of her hoof.
As he staggered away, she took advantage of the shock and surprise of the pony holding the crowbar, and she delivered a devastating jackhammer kick right to his huevos. With a shrill cry, the crowbar-bearing pony collapsed into heap, squeezing his hind legs together while his eyes rolled back into his skull, all in time to brassy horn flourishes from the unseen mariachi band.
The other three ponies, seeing how their companions fared, decided to split, leaving behind the unicorn mare, who was now unarmed. A half-second later, she was clobbered with her own iron pipe, which rent open a terrific gash above her brow, and she was dumped into the pile of her squirming, throat-clutching, testicle-sheltering fellows.
“Right in the nuts!” a filly shouted, and Guacamelee gave her a silent nod before sprinting off to catch the fleeing mooks.
Just when things couldn’t possibly get more chaotic, they did. More ponies came in through the broken skylight and smashed open the enormous doors at one end of the warehouse. Wearing black jackets and sunglasses, they swarmed into the building by the dozens, many of them moving with the sort of fluid grace that could only be created by breeding ninjas with the Wonderbolts and having the offspring trained in dancing by Sapphire Shores.
“S.M.I.L.E. ON THE SCENE! THIS IS A BUST! NOPONY MOVE!”
Of course the mooks moved, they were being assaulted by a supernatural luchador that teleported willy nilly, crushing their skulls, spines, and nuts as she blinked to and fro, and now, agents of S.M.I.L.E. were flooding the building. There was only one outcome, an unavoidable, inevitable outcome to this event: the fighting went into full swing.
Hulking brutes in black suits tore into the mooks, goons, and thugs in a beautiful spree of mayhem. Punches and kicks were exchanged. Sunglasses were knocked off. Mooks were punished for sunglasses being knocked off. Foals, their mouths full of supernatural candies dropped by the mysterious luchador, cheered for their rescuers and jeered their captors as the Battle Royalle progressed.
Then, the Wardens arrived, three of them, and they too dropped in through the ruined skylight. Wearing armor, not suits, it was obvious that they had arrived to kick plot and chew gristle… but they were fresh out of gristle. Slow moving tanks, they were in no hurry as they waded into the fray and did what the Wardens do… which is to say, they restored order, as demanded by regulations.
With hypnotic spoken commands, the Wardens dominated the minds of the mooks and turned them against their fellow goons and thugs. S.M.I.L.E. agents had the building surrounded and there was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. There was only pain and fury, as well as plenty of gruesome full-body trauma to go around.
Cricket seemed rather calm for a pony on the verge of losing everything, including his freedom, and Yam couldn’t fathom Cricket’s seeming lack of a response. Everything was in chaos now, screams echoed through the warehouse, and the mariachi music could somehow be heard above the cheering and the sounds of violence.
“If my life could not serve a greater purpose, then perhaps my death shall accomplish what my life could not,” Cricket said in a voice of utter calm. Turning about, he faced Yam, his eyes still blazing with hope, but his face was expressionless. “For whatever it is worth, I liked you, Mister Spade. I found myself admiring your tenacity and your drive. I wish we had met under different circumstances, Mister Spade, I would have liked to have been friends with you. In friendship, there is meaningful equality.”
“Cricket, what are you doing?” Yam asked as he panicked and struggled against his bonds. His heart in his throat, he watched as Cricket lifted up a steel fence post from a nearby pile and held it in his telekinesis. The makeshift cells in this place were all constructed from chain link fence and steel posts, and Yam was seized by a dreadful apprehension. “Cricket, come on, it doesn’t need to be this way, whattaya doing?”
“I will appear to have been viciously murdered by those who oppress us, Mister Spade. My death will serve a purpose. I am a match striking a candle. I am a bell that cannot be unrung. Those devoted to the cause will be inspired—”
“NO!” Yam barked as the steel fence post moved with sudden, swift acceleration, but it was far too late. The hollow tubular post impaled Cricket right in the eye and pierced through his head with a wet splat of impact. The bloodied end of the steel tube protruded from the back of his mane and while his body crumpled down to the floor, the cell was filled with screams by all those who witnessed Cricket’s final, horrendous act.
“No,” Yam said again, repeating himself though it was far too late. He wiggled and kicked against his ropes, but it was of no use.
Cricket was already dead and his blood flowed into a spreading pool that grew with each passing second, staining the concrete scarlet. Yam’s ears perked to the sound of foals crying and screaming all around him, no doubt traumatised by Cricket’s final, terrible act. Stunned by what he had witnessed, Yam couldn’t tell if Cricket was a brave pony who had met his end, or a craven coward that had just skipped out on the consequences.
“Hey,” Yam said in what he hoped was a friendly, but commanding voice, “can one of you kids untie me? Get me out of these ropes, will ya? Help me so I can help you, okay?”
A sniffling unicorn filly approached, her nose dripping shiny, pendulous ribbons of snot and her eyes were glassy with tears. She seemed brave and determined though, and Yam felt his bonds being tugged on. The rough rope scratched him a bit, but he hardly noticed. Nearby, a fire broke out and smoke began to billow through the area. Panicking a little, he wiggled and wished that the filly could hurry up with the ropes.
The fire began to devour an almost-finished airship and the stacks of crates all around it, its hungry flames lapping at anything made of wood. Some of the foals began to spook and began screaming. The blooms of fire were growing far too fast for Yam’s comfort and he made a few futile kicks with his legs, which were still bound. Already, it was getting harder to breathe and his eyes were burning from the soon to be choking smoke.
This was about to become a bad scene, for certain.
A lone figure sauntered through the flames, seemingly immune to the savage heat. Enormous, hulking, with a brutish profile, the big, monstrous form of a fully armored Warden approached the chain link fence that formed the cell where Yam was captive, along with a bunch of little, helpless foals.
“Am I glad to see you!” Yam shouted as his heart lept up into his throat.
“I am Warden Owleye, and I need all of you to remain calm. This is a rescue…”
“It troubles me that I could not see the treachery in Officer Cricket’s mind,” Warden Owleye said to Yam, who was now free from his bonds and safe. “This is a growing problem and we Wardens grow increasingly blind.”
“And now, you can see his mind clearly because part of it is a puddle on the floor,” Yam replied and he could not withhold his sarcasm. “Well, maybe, I guess it depends on how much is left of him after the fire.”
“Yammy!”
Hearing his name being shouted by the sweetest voice he knew, Yam turned to look at Azure, who approached in a frantic hurry. “Hey, babe, am I glad to see you. How’d you get here, anyhow?”
“I found this place when I spoke to my fellow burros—”
“If your fellow burros knew about this place, why wasn’t it reported to the police?” Warden Owleye demanded as she stepped in on the joyful reunion between Yam and Azure.
“It was!” Azure’s eyes narrowed and she advanced until she was nose to nose with Warden Owleye. “We burros went to the police, and nopony cared. We burros went to the papers to try and let the press know… and guess what… nopony cared. A number of workers knew about this place. Some of them even took work hauling supplies and goods here.”
Still as a statue, Warden Owleye said nothing.
“This is something that will have to be dealt with,” Warden Dread Drop said as he approached. “They’re about to open the vault. Come on, all of you. There is something that you should see. Yam, we’ve found your missing pony.”
Yam could not help but notice that the agents of S.M.I.L.E. seemed quite put out that they had been unable to capture the supernatural menace, the mystical luchador known as Guacamelee. As suddenly as she had appeared, once justice had been served, once vengeance had been taken, once those who had brought harm and suffering upon poor innocent burros had been punished, the candy-dispensing, bone-shattering, face-rearranging, preternatural force had just vanished into thin air.
It was not the first time that Guacamelee had appeared, nor would it be the last. Some spirits of revenge or vengeance were far more punishing then others and Yam knew that stories would be told from those who had survived the encounter this night. He could hear the various agents all talking about how the dangerous vigilante needed to be taken down, and it infuriated him they were focused on Guacamelee when the evidence of a far greater crime was all around them.
“The vault is quite interesting and it has been reinforced,” one of the agents reported, a lithe looking unicorn mare wearing a black suit and heavy black shades. “There is a lot of magic on it too, we’re going to spend days figuring out everything that was done, but it wasn’t hard to open once we had the key. I think you will be quite surprised to see what is in there.”
“Oh, and watch out, the grow lights are pretty hard on the eyes,” another agent warned.
“Grow lights?” Confused, Yam shook his head. “Some kind of indoor grow operation? How is Miss Honey Dew involved in this?”
“You’ll see…”
It was, indeed, a vault. This section had been reinforced with concrete, bricks, and steel. There was a window off to one side, a viewing portal, and the heavy steel door was open. Inside was a brilliant bright light that did indeed dazzle the eyes, filling the area in an eye-piercing blue haze. From where Yam was, the floor of the vault looked an awful lot like dirt, and most curious of all, what appeared to be sprinklers hung down from the ceiling.
It was then that he saw something that utterly stupefied him. At first, his brain had trouble processing what he was seeing, but his finding talent told him that he had just found Honey Dew. It was a pony that wasn’t quite a pony, but more of a… plant. She had a fuzzy, almost mossy hide, all manner of foliage grew from her neck and head in an odd parody of a mane, and her tail was a mass of leafy green tendrils. Everything about her was green, so very green, except for her horn, which appeared to be some sort of brown twig.
Almost breathless, Yam managed to ask, “Miss Dew?”
“Doctor Dew,” the plant pony replied.
For the first time, Yam noticed the foals also present, and each of them also appeared to be plant ponies. Flummoxed, he stood there with his mouth open, and he felt his wife lean up against his side. Some things, even when seen, could not be believed. Several times, he tried to speak, and each time, each attempt, he failed.
“I see that I shall have to explain things once again.” Doctor Dew let out an impatient huff, rolled her strange eyes, and began to move closer to Yam. “There was an accident and I ended up suffering significant alteration. It changed me. It changed my body, it changed my mind, my entire physiology endured a total transmogrification and I became as you see me now. I no longer require food, just sunlight and water. The foals you see… my captors cruelly experimented upon them. Some survived, some died. The ones that survived are now like me… whatever it is that I am.”
“Your mother hired us to look for you… she was worried…” Azure’s voice quavered and it was obvious that she was shaken by everything she had seen. “She was worried about you and your condition—”
“Since my transformation, my mind feels significantly altered.” While Doctor Dew spoke, a foal came over and clung to her leg. She looked down for a moment—a kind expression upon her face—and then she began to meet the eyes of the ponies around her one by one. “You must be gentle with them. They have suffered much. They have special needs… mostly sunlight and water, lots of water. I beg of you, don’t go poking and prodding them. If you must experiment, do so on me.”
Reaching up, Yam began to rub his neck and he stood there, staring, forgetting everything his mother had said about not being rude. “What is to be done about all of this?”
“No doubt, a cover up,” Warden Hammerhelm replied and her words made the agents of S.M.I.L.E. that were present scowl. “I understand the necessity of it. Doctor Honey Dew in her current condition will be quite a tempting target for so many. Others may try to take her. The foals too. Returning them to their parents will be quite difficult, to say the very least. Every action we take now will have to be done with their protection in mind.”
“It is regrettable, but understandable,” Doctor Dew said, nodding with agreement.
“How did this happen?” Yam asked. “I mean, what triggered this? Keep it simple, I’m not the smartest pony.”
“Troll research.” Doctor Dew smiled a strange smile and looked Yam right in the eye. “I was trying to isolate the rapid growth factor and see if it could be introduced into other plants.” Behind thin, almost lettuce-like lips, she had round, square wooden teeth of somewhat different shapes and sizes.
“Your mother… she’s worried about you and she loves you.” Azure’s voice wavered and she took a few steps closer to Doctor Dew, whose head tilted off to one side. “I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I don’t think this will be as simple as taking you home to your mother.” There was a warm sincerity in the burro’s voice and when a foal approached her with hesitant caution, she tore her gaze away from Doctor Dew to look down at the little plant filly.
“I was a burro,” the mossy filly said to Azure. “I don’t know what I am now.”
“You’re still a burro.” Azure’s voice was strained and she lowered her head down to be at eye-level with the filly. After a moment, she looked back at Yam, and he saw the pain in her eyes.
“I don’t know which one of you agents are in charge, but I want these foals and this mare kept together.” Warden Hammerhelm glowered at the assembled agents from beneath the open visor of her helm. “I speak for the Night Lady on this issue. Am I clear?”
There were grunts and nods aplenty and it seemed that nopony was in the mood to challenge Warden Hammerhelm’s authority. For some reason, this made Yam feel a little bit better, but the sheer complexity and the many unknowns of the situation still crushed him like a cigarette butt beneath a grinding hoof.
Doctor Honey Dew made a gesture to summon the foals in her care to come closer to her. “Tomorrow, we shall stand in the sun, little ones… the real sun. It’s over… it’s over…”
Frowning, his ears drooping, Yam knew this wasn’t true… it was far from over.
The diner was a generic, nondescript sort of place, but the air conditioner worked. Red and white checkered tiles covered the floor and the walls. The tables had shiny chrome accents with red or white formica tops. Yam and his companions didn’t sit at a booth though, no, they sat at the counter bar atop somewhat worn chrome stools with slick vinyl cushions.
The two Wardens—sans armor—sat beside one another, looking weary and a bit distraught. Yam was hunched over his coffee cup and his enormous plate of breakfast hash was cooling in front of him. Beside him, Azure was nibbling at her food, but her heart just wasn’t in it and she lacked the gusto that she usually possessed. Yam knew exactly how she felt and also knew that she wouldn’t feel better until she had pinned him to a mattress a few times.
“Azure…” Warden Owleye’s head turned and there was an audible creak from her tense neck tendons. “You may have fooled the agents of S.M.I.L.E., but I know.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Yam asked as he turned to give Warden Owleye a sidelong glance. When he saw his wife, she didn’t seem to care and her ears were almost sagging into her food.
“I don’t know yet. Regulations state that I should capture you, take you into custody, and bring you in.” Warden Owleye’s whole face sagged with weariness and she let out a smoky sigh. “Warden Hammerhelm is probably going to be shitcanned. She broke regulations and Yam got hurt. I am almost certain that she is going to be drummed out. Probably lose her title.”
“I might as well,” Warden Dread Drop said in a soft, hissing whisper. “This really sucks. Not enough Wardens. There just aren't enough of us and our numbers keep shrinking. Ponies like Cricket… we can’t see them… we should have saw his treachery, but we didn’t. We’re losing, and I don’t like it.”
Azure lifted her head and stray bits of hash browns were stuck to her lips. “I didn’t choose the mask, the mask chose me. I don’t even know why… it just happened one day. There was a mugging that turned into a murder, and I was just so angry about it, and nopony seemed to care, and the police didn’t want to do anything… and my anger… it just… it just ate me up inside. I knew the story of the mask, of course. Most burros do. We grow up hearing stories about why we need to be good little burros and not desperados. We all hear stories, I guess, but so few actually believe. I know I didn’t. I thought it was a lie, like everything else that I had been told about justice, and fairness, and everything else. I thought it was a big steaming pile of burro shit.”
“So are you Guacamelee or not?” Warden Dread Drop asked.
“The mask is Guacamelee… I am Azure Serape. Occasionally, it just shows up and borrows my body.” With her ears still drooping in a submissive position, she gave both of the Wardens a pleading look. “Don’t take me from Yammy… he’s all I have. He’s the justice I hope to see in the world.”
“I don’t think there is a regulation for a possessive mystical vigilante force.” Warden Owleye turned to look at Warden Dread Drop, and both Wardens stared at one another for a time. “She’s a victim of Guacamelee as well. No crime is being committed here… What do we do, Warden Dread Drop?”
Warden Dread Drop shrugged, said nothing, and began to eat his steaming plate of breakfast hash.
“I guess you have nothing to say because you’re probably going to get drummed out.” Sighing, Warden Owleye lifted up her cup of coffee and then stared down at her food with a ferocious, fangs-bared scowl. “I hate everything so much right now! I hate that we’re losing! I hate that a good burro like you might be punished for doing what is arguably right! I hate that these stupid equalist splinter groups are gaining ground and new members! I hate that Honey Dew and those foals are going to end up in protective custody! I just hate everything!”
“Everything kinda sucks right now, don’t it?” Hunched over his coffee, Yam stared down into its black, murky depths. Stomach grumbling and rumbling, Yam thought about eating his food while it was still hot, but eating was optimism, the hope of living to see another day, and he just wasn’t in the mood for optimism right now.
“You know, if there was justice for us burros, the mask would probably just go away…”
Mired in the depths of his depression, Yam Spade had lost his taste for hard liquor, but found a new taste for coffee. The apartment was cleaner than it had been in a long, long time—he and Azure hadn’t stepped out too often since their return and there was plenty of free time to clean. The rent was paid ahead for half of a year, done so by an anonymous benefactor. Their tab at the Chuck Wagon was also paid off, also by some anonymous benefactor. Yam didn’t know for sure who had done it, but he had a few guesses.
“All of Las Pegasus is coming undone, Yammy,” Azure said as she read her newspaper, which was spread over a remarkably clean floor. “The entire police force has been suspended, pending further investigation, whatever that means.”
For a moment, a sardonic reply crept up into Yam’s throat, a need to make a witty statement about who was protecting the city, but before the words could even be spoken, they became bitter in his mouth when he realised that very little had been done to protect the city before all of this had happened. He was just too depressed to make a joke or be funny. Sarcasm felt as though it took tremendous effort now.
“When faced with the corruption on the police force, the mayor resigned, leaving the city leaderless.” Azure tapped the paper with her hoof while her fine brows furrowed somewhat in concentration. “It says that Mister Mariner is financially backing a very popular candidate who is very well loved by both the ponies and the burros of Las Pegasus. There’s going to be an emergency vote soon.”
“Won’t do any good,” Yam muttered and his lips almost felt numb as they flapped against one another. “Nothing will change.” Depression had become like a disease: it had passed the point of being a mental state and was now becoming a physical one. His bones ached, his joints felt stiff, even creaky, and he was now fatigued all the time, even with a steady intake of coffee.
Wan light filtered through the thin window and shone into the basement apartment. It was a precious light, lasting only for a short time, because it had to shine over the top of the building next door, down into the alleyway, and through the tiny gap of a window. These perfect conditions only lasted so long each day, leaving the apartment rather dark and dreary.
It kept the rent cheap though. In a life of compromise, sacrificing comfort for cost, living in the dark kept the notorious Canterlot rent from being truly outrageous. Not that Yam wanted to see the light right now, the dark suited him just fine. He didn’t want to leave home, or find work, or take on new cases, no, he just wanted to sulk.
“Yammy, you’re taking all of this kinda hard—”
“Ya think?” Yam murmured, unable to muster up the energy for a good snappy reply. “We couldn’t even follow up with Miss Bayberry. Protective custody. We never got to see a mother reunited with her daughter. No closure, Azure… no closure, no satisfaction of a job well done. Just one big massive coverup! The only thing that kept you and I from getting our brains scrubbed by the agents of S.M.I.L.E. and those stupid Ref Defs of theirs is the fact that the Wardens demanded the contents of our brains be preserved for further strategic use. We almost didn’t remember solving this case, babe.”
To this, Azure responded, “Reflection deflection spells…” and then she shuddered hard enough to make her ears flop around.
“I used to believe in the good in this country,” Yam said, sighing, rather than spitting out his words because he was just too down in the dumps to be angry. “I mean, it had problems, sure, but this was the place that immigrants came to so that a better life could be found. We were this bright, shining example to the world. And then, all of this happened and I… and I… Azure, I—”
He was interrupted by a heavy, reverberating knock upon the door. Yam licked his lips, looked at the door, hesitated for a few seconds while his ears rose and fell, and then he decided to ignore it. Sinking down into his tattered, threadbare chair, he just didn’t have it in him to answer the door and face whomever was on the other side. Work held no interest for him, not at all, he only wanted to try and sort things out—if things could even be sorted out at this point.
It was Azure who got up from where she sat on the floor, reading her paper. She strode to the door, her hooves making muffled clops against the floor, and she gave her unbrushed mane a bit of a shake in a weak effort to make it somewhat more presentable. Just as the reached the door, there was another heavy, thudding knock that made the door creak in its dusty old frame.
Pulling open the door, she saw a familiar face.
“Warden Hammerhelm—”
“Warden no longer.” For a moment, the stern face looked sad. “It’s just Hammerhelm now. I took all of the blame to protect Warden Dread Drop, who is now on disciplinary probation but has a good chance to save his career.”
“I’m sorry.” Azure’s long ears lost all rigidness and collapsed.
“I’m not,” Hammerhelm said as she pushed her way inside, not waiting for an actual invitation. “All of this worked out well in the end and results were had. Hi, Yam, you look terrible.”
The corner of his mouth twitching, Yam snorted and tossed his head back. “Thanks.”
“Now that I am entirely unbound by regulations, I feel that I should warn you, Yam… they’re having a big time internal review about you and your role in this. I don’t know what is going to happen. You’ve revealed one of the largest criminal coverups in Equestrian history and everypony is looking for somepony to blame. Seems that some ponies want to find a way to blame you.”
“I’m not surprised,” Yam replied as the big bat-winged mare approached his chair. “The whistleblower always gets it, right? So you stopped by to tell me that I have a huge fronking bullseye on my back, is that it?”
“Well, that, and I wanted to check up on a friend.” Hammerhelm stood beside the chair and looked down at Yam with a half-smile on her face. “You really do look like shit, Yam. When was the last time you showered? Or gone outside?”
“The hot water heater is broken and I’m not some fancy, schmancy unicorn that can heat water. As for going outside, why bother? I don’t see the point.”
“Yam Spade… this isn’t like you. You served in the Fancy Foreign Legion. You’re a decorated soldier. You are a war hero. You saved an entire village from an advancing army without firing a shot. Not one life was lost. You were given all sorts of medals—”
“I sold those medals,” Yam muttered, interrupting, and he stared down at the floor. “There is this lady that I love… she’s a real great dame, this lady. Recently, I saw that her insides were rotten and all of her beauty was just cheap makeup and tricks. Now my heart is broken.”
Moving away from the door, Azure said nothing as she approached Yam’s chair.
“So you are just giving up?” Hammerhelm asked in a smoky near-whisper.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Lifting his head, Yam looked the big bat-winged mare right in the eye, peering through her oversized sunglasses. “I got my rent paid for a few months, which I figured gives me time to think. I might just move away. I don’t know yet. I don’t even know where I’d go. I just don’t want to be here. It hurts to be here… I keep seeing this dame that I loved, that I adored, and my heart hurts. I’m sick of looking at her. Time to skip town.”
“Yammy…” Azure stepped closer to his chair, shock evident on her face, and her ears rose in a semaphore of surprise.
“I understand.” Hammerhelm bowed her head. “I’ll leave you to your thinking, Yam. I hope for your sake that you’ll find your way. Maybe your talent can point you in the right direction.”
At this, Yam scowled, huffed, and snorted, but made no other response.
“I’ll be taking up residence here in Canterlot,” Hammerhelm said to Yam and Azure. “Not all is lost. I’ll be training new Wardens. I’ll be able to instruct them so that they might learn from my mistakes and not repeat them. I’ve been given instructions to thoroughly ground them in regulations, and the importance of obeying said regulations, so innocents don’t get hurt or drawn into situations where they may come to harm.”
“They’re punishing you—”
“Of course they are, Azure.” Hammerhelm looked at the burro mare that had interrupted her and smiled. “Don’t worry about me too much. I’m a big mare and I can take it. I made a plea. I made a bargain to save Warden Dread Drop. Now I’m going to have my nose rubbed in my mistake like I was a bad dog. My failure will be exploited to inspire others. That’s life, I suppose.”
“Do you… do you know anything about Honey Dew and her mother?” Azure asked.
The big nocturnal pegasus mare sighed, shuffled around a bit, and lowered her shades with her wing so she could peer over the tops of them at Azure. “They’re quite happy together. Protective custody has been good to them. They are going to be tucked away in a safe place until such a time that the Crown figures out what to do about Doctor Dew and her… curious condition.”
“And what about the other foals that got changed? What about them? Their parents?”
Heaving yet another sigh, Hammerhelm could not look Yam in the eye to answer him. “Those foals are still officially missing—”
“Son of a bitch!” Yam swore and he started to get up out of his chair.
Hammerhelm shoved him back down with her wing and this time, she did look him in the eye. “Resources are spread thin as it is. We can only do so much. It’s awful, it’s tragic, and it’s sad, but this is how real life works sometimes. We have an obligation to protect those foals and we’re doing that. Sacrifices must be made—”
“Oh, fronk that!” Yam shouted while he squirmed in his chair. When he tried to get up again, he was pushed back down. Frustrated, he turned a defiant, sullen stare at the big mare glaring down at him.
“I know that you will not go and betray my trust, Yam. I know that you won’t say a word about this. Not after I saved you from the agents and their plans for you. I had to throw my weight around, Yam, and I am only telling you this because I feel that you are owed the truth after all you’ve done.”
Frowning, Yam squeezed his eyes shut, kicked about in his chair, and after a few moments of struggle, he said, “Thanks, I guess.”
“Yam… should you stay…” Hammerhelm pulled her sunglasses off completely, revealing her mysterious draconic eyes. “If you decide to stay and keep fighting the good fight, and I think you will… you’re a good soldier, Yam… I want you to know that you can come to me if you need a little help. If you need a little, how shall we say, insight? I’m sick of being strangled by the regulations, Yam. I think I’m done with the rules for a while. I want you to succeed, and if you ever need my help, it is yours.”
“Thanks, doll.” Opening his eyes, Yam looked up and found that Hammerhelm’s muzzle was inches from his own.
“A breath mint wouldn’t kill ya, Yam.”
And with that, Hammerhelm took her leave, turning and walking away, leaving Yam and Azure to stare at one another.
Ignoring his wife was difficult, because she had ways and means. Azure could be a real distraction, if she wanted to be, and there were parts of him that would betray him if she beckoned them in just the right way. She was good at that, and Yam resented her just a teeny, tinsy little bit for weaponising her sexual wiles against him. There was just no defense against sexy burro mares.
“Yammy, this ain’t natural. A pony is supposed to live by their cutie mark. I can’t even begin to pretend that I understand, mostly because I don’t have one, but this can’t be good for you. You were born to be a detective. You were born to do good. This… this sitting around has to end.”
Sighing, Yam did not wish to have this conversation again.
“We’re broke again, Yammy. Sure, the rent is paid, but we’re out of food. The light bill is due and has a late fee. Pretty soon we’ll be sitting in the dark playing grab-ass and while that can be fun for a time, it gets old quick. I want to go out and look for work, but I don’t feel right leaving you alone in this state. This is the worst I’ve ever seen you, Yammy.”
Yam started to say something, but was cut off by Azure.
“I understand it, I really do. Every day I tell myself that you had your heart broken and you are going through a breakup. That’s why I’m not mad. I know how you feel about this country because I sorta feel the same way. This has been rough on me as well, but it is time you snapped out of it. Don’t make me be a hard-ass.”
Ears drooping, Yam settled into his chair and wondered about Azure’s ultimatum.
“Don’t make me send a telegram to my mother, Yammy. She’ll come here and sort you out.”
Wincing, Yam recoiled, knowing that this was no idle threat. His stomach lurched and he couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten. He’d been surviving on black coffee for the past few days and wondered how the coffee supply was holding out. The sound of Azure’s hoof tapping on the floor alerted him to the fact that she was ready to take action now, which meant that a telegram could be sent off before the sun set, which in turn meant that his days of existence were numbered.
“Fine, I’ll see what I can do about finding a case—”
“Great, because she’ll be here at noon!”
“What?” Yam’s eyebrow lifted a little, then a little more, and with a slow turn of his head, he looked over at the clock on the wall. It was minutes away from the noontime hour and seeing the clock made Yam’s stomach sour. In the back of his throat he could taste bile and coffee, an unpleasant taste indeed. With his eyebrow still arched and his lip curled into a sneer, he turned back to Azure and tried to project his annoyance at her.
After a few attempts, he gave up. She stood in their empty kitchen, looking forlorn and hungry. The emptiness was made worse by what the kitchen lacked; no foals scampered around Azure’s hooves. No happy cries of family and for Yam—an earth pony—this was a bad state of affairs indeed. No beans simmered on the stove, no tamales cooked, no tortillas were being pressed, and no foals skittered about begging for treats.
For some reason, Yam felt like apologising. Here he was, a stallion in his thirties, and he had nothing to show for the life he had lived. No roots had ever been put down, no sense of permanence has ever been established. The apartment was just an office really… an office where he sometimes slept. When on a case though, he lived on the road, on a train, and he stayed on the move, doing whatever it was that had to be done.
He was only ever motivated when he was desperate and in dire straights, otherwise, he was content to sit back and watch the world go by. Responsibility was something that he ran from and one of the many reasons he had ended up overseas, just allowing life to happen to him, taking the punches as they came. The time for growing up had long since passed him by and now, Yam found himself in some kind of shiftless, lackadaisical limbo.
When the knock landed on the door, Yam’s mouth went dry, but his neck went wet as the sweat poured down and the sudden sound left his ears ringing. He was in a dreadful state, he realised, the sort of dreadful state that might scare a client away. Was this an act of self-sabotage? How long had he been doing this to himself? How much of this was his fault? Sure, some of his problems came about from Azure—nopony liked an ass-fronker—but how much of this had he brought upon himself? He had friends, contacts, he had the trust of Wardens… why wasn’t he successful or at least steadily employed?
When Azure moved to answer the door, Yam cringed and whimpered.
The mare that stepped through the door had her face obscured by the broad brim of a fedora. A light silk scarf—pale yellow—was tied around her neck and her saddlebags were tough, durable, and not at all fashionable. They were battered, beaten, and scarred. The brass buckles were pitted, scratched, and dulled. Like Yam himself, these bags had seen action. Squinting, Yam’s detective eye took in every available detail of his potential client.
“Azure, so good to see you again, dear. How are you?”
Yam watched the stranger kiss his wife on the cheek—a good sign—and in his breast he felt a tiny glimmer of hope flicker to life. This mare, this stranger, she exuded kindness and good cheer. Like a stinky scented candle, she filled the room with light and pleasantness. He blinked his eyes—eyes still crusty and gritty from sleep and filth—and drew in a deep, almost shivery breath.
“I’m fine, but I’m worried about my husband,” Azure replied, and as she pulled away from the stranger, she gave Yam a pointed look. “How are you, Velvet?”
“Mad as can be and I’m not going to take it anymore,” the stranger replied.
“Yammy, this is Twilight Velvet… Twilight Velvet, this is my husband, Yam Spade.” Azure pulled away, her eyes glimmering with concern, and her long ears were held in a splayed out, sidelong position.
The mare, Twilight Velvet, took off her fedora, unwound her scarf from her neck, and hung both on a hook by the door. Turning about, she had a look around, smiled, and then, with with a dreadful slowness that Yam found unbearable, she began to approach. He knew who she was—how could he not—and he was disgusted with himself for being seen in this condition.
“I understand that you are a pony that knows how to find things, Mister Spade.” The radiant mare sat down upon the sagging sofa that had long ago seen better days and made herself comfortable. “I am Twilight Velvet and I represent the Stiff Upper Lip Society, though I am here on my own interests. I’ve come to make you an offer.”
“Make yourself at home, why don’tcha, dollface?” Much to Yam’s surprise, Twilight Velvet threw back her head and laughed, the peals of which brought him to a place he wasn’t ready to be. The sound instilled in him some much needed hope. It also brought awareness of his pain, a painful wound that was as deep—and twice as wide—as the Ghastly Gorge. For a moment, Yam didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.
Looking rather meek, Azure sat down beside Twilight Velvet and stared at her husband.
“Mister Spade, the recent events in Las Pegasus have revealed the deplorable ways that foals are treated in this country,” Twilight Velvet said as she waved her right front hoof around in a gentle gesture of oration. I would like to do something about that, but I need some help. I need… I have need of a partner, Mister Spade.”
“I’m listening.”
Twilight Velvet withdrew her hoof, rubbed it against her left leg, and she appeared to be taking her time so that she could choose her words with great care and consideration. Yam watched her, studying her face, noting the keen intelligence in her eyes. This was a mare that had raised a princess and a prince. She was driven, capable, and had to have some measure of cunning.
“The mess in Las Pegasus was made worse because of the law,” Twilight Velvet began, and her lips drew tight over her teeth when she frowned, a stern expression in comparison with her smile. “A lot of those foals were taken for day labour, and then never returned. There is a legal system that exploits foal labour. In our past, it could be argued that such a thing was needed, but now, it most certainly is not. It is time for a change, Mister Spade.”
Yam’s eyebrow, afflicted with wanderlust, took off to explore his forehead and the vast jungle of his mane.
“Foal Labour Services is a government office that is no longer needed,” Twilight Velvet continued. “Their absolute failure to look after their charges in Las Pegasus highlights the issue. Times are changing… in fact, society is changing faster than the laws can keep up. We live in an era of rapid social change and these are tumultuous times. The bureaucracy is ill-equipped to deal with rapid changes. I aim to reform the system, from within, where I think it will do the most good, but to do that, I need help.”
Azure’s ears drooped and Yam felt his heart doing the same.
“It started off as a reasonable sounding idea.” Twilight Velvet clopped her front hooves together and clucked her tongue. “Equestria was agrarian. Farmers needed warm bodies. Foals needed a home. The system was created with the hopes that the farmers would adopt said foals, giving them a home in exchange for labour. Didn’t quite work out that way, though. After the harvest, the foals were returned, because as it turns out, farmers didn’t want extra mouths to feed in the winter. Cheap labour allowed food prices to remain low, artificially low, and blessed with an abundance of cheap food, Equestria’s population exploded. It is one of the things that contributed to Equestria becoming the great country that it is today, some argue. And who knows, they might be right.”
Yam’s eyebrow returned from its sojourn and deep furrows appeared on his forehead.
“I aim to take down the entire system… I plan to take over the Ministry of Foal Labour Services, and once that is done, I will begin to institute new laws and policies as the Ministry Head. To beat the bureaucrats, I have to become one, Mister Spade, and for me to do that, I need your help.”
“I don’t follow, Mrs. Velvet.”
“I tried playing by the rules, Mister Spade, and I had my perky little backside handed to me. I was humiliated and made a laughingstock. I ran headlong into a system that I had little understanding of and was immediately drummed out. After licking my wounds for a bit, something that it appears that you are doing right now, I began to prepare. The events of Las Pegasus were the final straw for me, I am sickened and disgusted by everything that has happened, and I am ready to begin my takeover.”
“So what do you need for me to do, exactly?” Yam leaned forwards in his chair and looked Twilight Velvet right in the eye while leaning his elbow against the arm of the chair, which was leaking out its stuffing.
“Time to play by new rules, Mister Spade.” A terrible cunning smile spread over Twilight Velvet’s face. “I’ll come right out and say it. I need you for skulduggery. I am sick of losing when I try to play by the rules and be good. Being good has got me nowhere except for humiliated and shamed. My professional credibility was damaged, and that just won’t do. I am going to play by their rules, Mister Spade.”
“So, you want me to find stuff so you can blackmail them, is that what I’m hearing? You want me to go and find who is breathing down the neck of some rent colt or is cheating on his wife, so you can exploit them?” Blinking, Yam turned his incredulous gaze away from Twilight Velvet and stared down at the floor. “Is this even legal?”
“I am being backed by Princess Cadance and Princess Celestia. Neither one of them can be directly involved, for obvious reasons. It would be tyranny of the highest order if one of the princesses were caught gumming up the works of our day to day democratic bureaucracy. For the sake of unity and to maintain the fragile peace we currently have, they must continue to appear passive. I need you to gather evidence of wrongdoing, of corruption, I need you to find everything that is rotten within the system. Once I have the means of coercion, I can make the rank and file start working for me, and I can dig deeper into the system to get myself entrenched. I can take over little by little, and then when these rank and file types have outlived their usefulness, whatever is left will be squeezed out of them by the Lord Mayor, Prince Blueblood, in plea bargains to reduce their sentencing.”
“Prince Blueblood is in on this?” Yam asked and then he licked his lips, now nervous and sweating. “I’ve worked for Blueblood a few times. He wanted me to find deeds and titles and the like to settle disputes and claims. Family stuff for nobles.”
“This is the beginning of a major reformation of the bureaucracy and it is to be done from within, if such a thing is even possible.” Twilight Velvet smacked her lips, her eyes narrowed, and her concentration was so intense that her pupils became pinpricks in the dim light of the room. “You’ve proven that you are trustworthy, Mister Spade. You’ve held on to critical information that could cause quite a public upset—I know that you know about the recent coverup. I do to. It was a panicked act of desperation, and while I do not agree with it, I understand the necessity of such drastic actions, having had some experience with this in my own past.”
“I don’t know about all of this—”
“Mister Spade, hear me out. I am offering you a lifetime’s worth of work. A steady income. You will be given an apartment in Manehattan, one of the many benefits that I have to offer you. All society members have an apartment. The apartment even comes with maid service.”
Lifting his head, Yam returned his gaze to Twilight Velvet, but had trouble looking into her eyes, which was like staring into the sun. The intensity of her gaze, the impact of her emotion, it was almost too much to bear and it was a struggle to remain focused. He licked his lips, thirsty, but not for coffee.
“This feels less than legal,” Yam finally managed to say, and he squirmed in his seat.
“That is because it is,” Twilight Velvet replied. “Not to worry, I’ve been told that you will be pre-emptively pardoned for any upsets you might cause. You will also be made entirely off limits to the agents of S.M.I.L.E., who all seem to have quite a fervid interest when it comes to you and Azure. I’m not entirely certain of what is going on, but you have their attention. Both of you.”
Yam exchanged a knowing look with his wife, and saw the panic in her eyes. That panic upset him, and he knew it was just a matter of time before Guacamelee was discovered. The future beyond that point was unknowable, and for this reason alone—protection—he considered Twilight Velvet’s offer.
“I want to fight the good fight,” Yam said, his voice cracking. “I want to believe in good again… my faith… it was shaken. It felt like everything I believed in was just yanked out from beneath me. I’ve been real confused for these past few days. Weeks? I don’t even know anymore. I’ve been down here in the dark, nursing my broken heart, and it feels just like I’ve had myself a real bad breakup. You know, the kind those droopy, over-emotional, shoe-gazing drama queen musicians write those depressing songs about.”
“Well, Mister Spade, it is time to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and it is time to return to work. Equestria needs you.” Twilight Velvet blinked a few times, her eyes misty, and she had a wry, smirky smile upon her face.
Yam was inclined to say yes, not just to protect Azure and her secret, but to also force himself out of his funk. “Together, we can fight corruption?”
“Yes, Mister Spade.” Twilight Velvet nodded and her ears rose, hopeful.
“I like it,” Azure interjected. “Together, we can fight crime.”
