Things are looking up for Flash Sentry! While on leave from the Royal Guard, he's cast as the lead role in a production of 'The Life and times of Flash Magnus.' But sometimes, bombing on stage can be murder.
Things are looking up for Flash Sentry! While on leave from the Royal Guard, he's cast as the lead role in a production of The Life and Times of Flash Magnus. Finally, he doesn't have to worry about being sent into the literal jaws of danger for the good of Equestria. After facing murderous changelings, gnolls, and even a few dragons, all Flash has to worry about is remembering his lines.
As I have mentioned before, the Flash Sentry Papers are an invaluable historical resource. Sentry's perspective on major events and personages is often unorthodox, if not contradictory towards the generally accepted accounts, but this alternative view is essential to a thorough understanding of history, and the separation of truth from myth.
This said, Sentry's candid accounts of everyday life are just as valuable than his adventures, if not moreso. Though this presents something of a problem in that Sentry's everyday life often was an adventure, much to his chagrin. Still, it is with this in mind that I have focused on this particular volume of the Flash Sentry Papers for my next publication. In particular, I found Flash's insights into the popular entertainment of the day fascinating. To go by the popular conception of history, the only entertainments available to our ancestors were ramshackle Hearth's Warming Eve pageants, and large overproduced pop-music concert. Suffice it to say, this couldn't be farther from the truth.
Despite Sentry's characteristic inattention to exact dates, further research has allowed me to place this adventure some several months after his trip to Spitespire with Princess Twilight Sparkle (see: Octavia's Eleven). Based on the fragmentary records I've been able to uncover, Flash Sentry took a several-month sabbatical from the Royal Guard shortly after his return to Canterlot, in which the events of this volume take place. Sentry would be called back into service before long, but that is a matter for another volume entirely.
Per the usual, I have provided footnotes for further clarification where necessary.
-G.M.F.
P.S. I should also note that the smaller scope of this volume of the Flash Sentry Papers is an entirely academic choice, and has nothing to do with any so-called controversy arising from the subject of the last installment.
“Flash! I love you, but we only have fourteen hours to save Equestria!”
The snowy-maned unicorn literally threw herself at me, and I flared my wings out for balance to catch her. She pressed her warm body against mine in the embrace, and reached up to touch me on the cheek. Looking down at her, I wracked my mind for something to say, finally coming to a single word.
“Line?”
“CUT!” Canter Zoom bellowed the order through a megaphone, and then threw it at us. I tried to duck, but having a unicorn clinging to you tends to slow one's reflexes. The megaphone hit me right in the temple. Thankfully, my tin helmet took the worst of it, despite being mostly crest.
“How is the Great and Powerful Trixie supposed to work under these conditions?” She shoved herself away from me in a huff. “You said this would be the opportunity for The Great and Powerful Trixie to branch out from stage magic, and become a multimedia star!”
Black clad stage-hooves emerged from the sides of the theater, shoving scenery back into place, or hauling on ropes like so many sailors. A pony in black turtleneck oversaw all of it, periodically checking things off from her clipboard.
“I didn't say anything! I didn't cast you!” Canter Zoom took off his glasses and rubbed at his nose. “I didn't cast either of you! If I had my way, The Life and Times of Flash Magnus would star some real actors. But the producer insisted that you be included. For ... broader appeal, he said.” Canter Zoom sighed and slid his glasses back into place.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie is the realest of actors! Did you not see the raw emotion on display? Did you not see how I was able to feign romantic interest in this uncharismatic boor without so much as gagging?”
“Hey!” said I, “Who're you calling uncharismatic?”
“You!” Trixie (who certainly didn't deserve the 'Great and Powerful' moniker, if you ask me, which gives me a good enough excuse to cut it from the narrative). “You can't even remember your lines!”
“But is that really my fault? I mean, who writes this stuff?” I said.
“This play,” Canter Zoom said, slowly, “was written by Shaky Bill, the greatest Equestrian playwright to ever pick up a pen. And both of you are butchering his work!” The director took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he slowly calmed himself down. He waved his other hoof at us, distractedly. “You know what? Take fifteen. Juniper, go make a coffee run.”
“Already done, Uncle Zoom!” A sprightly, entirely too enthusiastic mare in pigtails materialized next to the director, bearing one of those cardboard carrying trays, loaded down with the sort of fancy paper cups that you get from the finest of coffee establishments.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie shall be in her dressing room!” The play's 'star' said as soon as Juniper Montage gave her a cup of coffee. Trixie turned her nose up at a haughty angle, and sashayed off stage. It would've been a lot more impressive of a gesture if she hadn't tripped over a pile of rope and fallen on her face a few paces later. If you, dear reader, learn nothing else from my memoirs here, remember to look where you're going whenever you're in a theater. I played the better pony and didn't laugh, but it was a close thing.
Juniper foisted my coffee on me (straight black-- no sugar, no creamer, and, most unfortunately, no brandy), and I nodded an idle thanks. I was about to head back to my own dressing room when I heard the doors at the back of the theater open.
“Canter, baby--” a smooth voice echoed through the big room. “You've got to relax. All this stress will kill you if you're not careful.” A tall unicorn with a too thin moustache and a too-wide smile trotted down the steps, down towards the stage. His navy blue suit was impeccably tailored (a Rarity original, somepony once told me), and a diamond the size of a quail's egg held his silk ascot in place. A gorgeous blonde pegasus mare in equally elegant attire walked alongside him, nose turned slightly upward in mild disapproval. She had the longest plumage I've ever seen on anypony who wasn't a princess, and walked with the confidence that she knew how to use it, too. Thinking about it is enough to make an old lech like me blush, even all these years later.
Instead of retreating back to my dressing room, I instead lingered on the stage and sipped my coffee-- after all the rehearsal, having someone else put on a show was quite the appealing prospect. I'd met the unicorn before, of course-- but the mare was a different
“Deep Pockets.” Canter Zoom said, forcing a smile. “A pleasure to see you.” His expression softened slightly as he greeted the pegasus. “And you too, Spotlight.”
Spotlight smiled wanly, and nodded to the director.
“I wish I could say the same.” Deep Pockets said, voice mournful. “I mean, I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and I just happened to drop in, to check in on my investment, and what do I find but my director shouting his head off at my star actors?” He trotted down to Deep Pockets, plucking a cup of coffee from Juniper Montage's cardboard tray in the process.
“I'm just trying to get the most out of your ... investment.” Canter Zoom said. “That's what you hired me for, after all.”
“That's also why I hired our stars.” Deep Pockets said, and turned his attention to me as I was in mid-swig of my own coffee. “After all, who better to play the famed Flash Magnus than our very own Hero of Equestria?”
I gulped down a mouthful of hot, bitter brew, and reflexively played the part I'd built up ever since that fiasco at Princess Cadance's wedding.* “All in the line of duty, sir.”
*See: The Prisoner of Zebra.
“See! He's perfect!” Deep Pockets said. “You couldn't ask for a better pony to play the part. I'm telling you, Canter Zoom, all of Canterlot's going to want to see the great Flash Sentry in action.”
“Nopony's going to buy tickets if he can't remember his lines! And if that wasn't enough, I can barely get a word in edgewise before the 'Great and Powerful Trixie—'” Yes, he used hoof-quotes. “--starts playing diva.”
“Amateurs.” Spotlight said-- the first word she'd muttered since she'd walked into the theater.
“That's what rehearsal's for!” Deep Pockets clapped Canter Zoom on the shoulder with forced camaraderie. “I know things get a little ... tense when it gets close to opening night, but I have full faith in you. I'll go talk to Trixie, try to smooth things out. You just concentrate on making this show the best it can be.”
Canter Zoom pulled in a steadying breath, and closed his eyes. “Fine.” He said, and then turned his attention back to the stage-- where, I, foolishly, was still standing in the middle of things, drinking my coffee and watching the show.
“What do you think you're doing?” Canter Zoom barked at me with the kind of tone that would do a drill sergeant proud. “Stop standing around like an idiot and go practice your lines!”
“Er, of course, sir.” I said, and trotted off stage to get out of Canter Zoom's line of ire.
“Having fun, Sentry?” Carrot Top said as she appeared from behind a gaudily painted scenery flat. You'd think, after knowing her so long, I would have gotten used to Carrot Top (a.k.a. Special Agent Golden Harvest, the Equestrian Intelligence Office's premiere operative and Sentry-wrangler)* making unexpected appearances, but you'd be wrong. It took every ounce of my self control (which honestly doesn't amount to much anyway) to keep myself from spilling coffee all over myself.
*See: Just about any other installment of the Flash Sentry Papers.
“Beats my usual line of work.” I managed after gulping down a mouthful of the bitter brew. “I mean, at least here, ponies are only pretending to try to kill me.”
“Careful, Sentry.” Carrot Top nudged me with a wink. “You never know when some jealous understudy's might try to arrange an 'accident' so they get a bigger part.”
“Very funny.” I said, and then paused. “You are kidding, aren't you?”
“Mostly.” Carrot Top shrugged. “But at least you've faced worse.”
“Unfortunately.” I said.
“Flashy!” Deep Pockets trotted up to the two of us, far less stealthy than Carrot Top. “How's my favorite leading stallion?”
“Just fine, thank you.” I said, offhandedly.
“And who, dare I ask, is this lovely vision here?” Deep Pockets fixed his eyes on Carrot Top.
“Oh, I'm nobody.” Carrot Top said with practiced demureness. The faintest of blushes crossed her cheeks, however. Deep Pockets just smiled wider, and in that instant, I couldn't help but recognize a fellow rake. The producer was simply too smooth, too glib, and too well-dressed to be anything but. Under normal circumstances, I would've been happy to just buy him a drink, but at that moment I found myself uncharacteristically, unreasonably wary of the way he looked at Carrot Top. Not that she couldn't handle herself (she'd done just fine dealing with me, after all), but still.
“This,” I said, even as I stretched my left wing across Carrot Top's shoulders, “is Miss Carrot Top, of Ponyville. She and I are ... “ I paused, realizing I couldn't think of the proper word to describe our particular relationship. 'Lovers' was too salacious, 'partners' too sterile. Honestly, it's a something of a flaw in the Equestrian language that there's no good word for 'somepony you're inexplicably fond of despite the number of times they've nearly gotten you killed.'*
“Close.” I said.
*Incidentally, there is an Old Draconian word with this exact definition. Unfortunately, due to the phonetic structure of Old Draconian, said word is unpronounceable to creatures who are unable to breathe fire.
“Are you?” Deep Pockets said.
“It's complicated.” Carrot Top said, though she didn't wriggle out from under my wing.
“All the best things are, aren't they?” Deep Pockets said with a wink. “But, don't let me interrupt you two lovebirds-- I just wanted to say hi to my star here.” The producer beamed, and reached up to pat me on the cheek. “I just want you to know, don't mind anything that Canter Zoom says. I've worked with him for years, and he always gets paranoid before a show. But it'll all come together, I promise you. He's that good. You're that good, Flashy-- even if you don't know it yet.”
“Why, er, thank you.” I said.
“Now, because you're that good, I'm gonna need you to keep it together, right? I believe in you, but there are a lot of ponies with a lot riding on this production. If it's a flop, things could get ... unpleasant.”
“Hardly more unpleasant than fighting through a Changeling hive, I wager.” I didn't like to brag, but sometimes I found it necessary to remind ponies of my (secretly fraudulent) reputation. It did wonders when somepony was trying to threaten me.
“Got me there.” Deep Pockets said with a slightly forced laugh. “But just try to work on your lines, alright?”
“PLACES, EVERYONE!” Canter Zoom bellowed through his microphone. “WE'RE TAKING IT FROM THE START OF ACT TWO IN THREE MINUTES! PLACES!”
“You heard the pony.” Deep Pockets said with a grin. “We'll talk later, Flashy-- keep up the good work!” And with that, Deep Pockets trotted off.
Carrot Top watched him go, and then turned to look up at me with a smirk. “I never pegged you for the jealous type.”
“Me? Jealous?” I sputtered. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“I know you're a better liar than that, Sentry.”
“Now you're just teasing me.”
“And why would I do that?” Carrot Top winked, and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. “I'll meet you in your dressing room after the show.”
“Well then.” I said, feeling my wings give an impatient rustle.
Carrot Top just laughed, melodiously, and trotted through the chaos of backstage, sure-hoofedly winding her way through moving scenery and marching extras.
“Sentry!” The stage manager with the clipboard snapped at me, and plunked a fresh costume helmet onto my head. “Pay attention! You're on!”
“Once more unto the breach, then.” I murmured to myself, and went on stage.
And so, the heroic Flash Magnus did save Equestria from certain doom (again), and won the hoof of the lovely unicorn maid Ardent Dale (again). I managed to remember the majority of my lines this time, and was able to improvise the ones I didn't. Whenever I got stuck I'd just say something ridiculously heroic like “Tally ho!” and start pretending to fight the nearest extra.
Still, we made it through more or less intact, and at least Canter Zoom's assistant Juniper clapped her hooves by the time the curtain fell. Trixie, of course, drank up the applause, despite the fact it was coming from just the one mare.
“That ... was decent.” Canter Zoom finally said, slumping in his chair. “Everyone go change out of costume, and we'll go over notes afterward.”
I nodded, and ducked into the narrow stairwell that rose up to my dressing room. It normally took only a minute or so to get up there, but this time there was a lady in my way.
“Hello, Flash.” Spotlight said. The blonde mare hovered in the air above the steps, making sure to stretch her wings out in a most interesting manner with each hovering stroke.
“Ah, hello. Er ... Spotlight, isn't it?”
“It is.” She smiled, slyly, and lowered herself to stand very, very close to me. Not that I could blame her-- I've always been a particularly handsome stallion, and I imagined my dashing performance on stage was enough to peak the interest of any red-blooded mare. “I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time.”
“Really?” I said. “Well, that's flattering. Perhaps we could--”
“There's no time.” Spotlight pressed herself against me, causing the tin plates of my costume armor to clink together. “We can't let my husband find out.”
“Husband?” I blurted.
“Deep Pockets. He loved me. I'm just a ... a trophy to him.” She sniffed, and draped her forelegs around my neck, pulling me in closer. “When I saw you on stage, I knew you were more than an actor-- you're ... you're a hero. Just the sort of stallion who could could sweep me from my hooves, take me away from all ... all this.” She looked up at me with her deep blue eyes, lips parted just-so, just waiting for somepony to bow in for a kiss ...
I knew better.
In these memoirs of mine, I've made no secret of my caddishness. But, even in my myriad affairs and escapades, I followed certain rules. And, even as foolish as I was (and still am, come to think of it) I knew better than to dally with a married mare. That was the sort of thing that lead to duels and/or divorce court, both things that a coward like me wanted nothing to do with. Not to mention, of course, the fact that Special Agent Golden Harvest was waiting for me
“Ma'am.” I said, affecting a more chivalrous tone than I'd used on stage. “I'm flattered, but this is wildly inappropriate. What you need is a divorce lawyer, not a simple soldier like me.”
Spotlight blinked, and her expression changed as quickly as if I'd dumped a bucket of icewater on her perfectly coiffed blonde head. “Oh. So that's how it is.” She seethed, and pulled her (admittedly enticing) wings against her sides. She shoved her way past me, and trotted out the door, muttering invectives to herself.
I stared after her through the open doorway, and then shook my head. There was something else at play here, and I wanted nothing to do with it. And so, I made my way back up to my dressing room, hoping that Carrot Top hadn't thought to peek down the winding staircase to see Spotlight throwing herself at me.
Any alibis I might have concocted were immediately forgotten once I opened the dressing room door and saw the dead body.
Deep Pockets sat in my dressing room's single chair, eyes wide in shock. His head lolled back at an impossible angle, with a spreading dark bruise at the center of his throat. Unsure of what to do, I opted for the extent of my medical knowledge.
I poked him.
The chair rotated slightly, and Deep Pockets slumped further into a boneless slouch. Yep. He was dead alright. For most ponies, the first instinct upon sight of a dead body is to panic. Lucky for me, I am an awful pony.
You see, I'm a craven coward at heart, and so my first thought on seeing the corpse was a relieved “better him than me.” You don't have to fly faster than the dragon, as the saying goes. It was the voice behind me, however, that nearly made me have a heart attack.
“Sentry? Thank Celestia it's you.” Carrot Top said, with uncharacteristic relief.
I blinked, and looked away from Deep Pockets' body, over to where Carrot Top was lurking just beyond the doorway, only now relaxing from a hoof-to-hoof combat stance. I glanced behind me, and then very slowly shut the door to my dressing room, as quietly as I could.
“What in blazes is going on here?” I kept my voice at a low, conspiring volume.
“He was like that when I got here.” Carrot Top said.
“Of course he was.” I nodded, already fitting the pieces together. “For the good of Equestria, I'm sure.”
Carrot Top's jaw dropped. “I didn't kill him.”
“Right.” I winked, and looked around. “I just wish you'd told me about this earlier. Now, where can we hide the body--”
“Sentry.” Carrot Top took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Listen. This isn't an op. I don't know what's going on here.”
Now that was enough for an all too familiar feel of impending horror burble up through my guts. Anything that could throw Special Agent Golden Harvest off her game was the sort of thing that would grind a cowardly buffoon like me up without so much as a second thought. Carrot Top must have seen my sudden, wide-eyed look of terror, because she let me go.
“I ... I see.” I managed. I skirted around the edge of my dressing room (between me, Carrot Top, and the corpse, the place was getting crowded) and rummaged out the bottle of emergency brandy I'd squirreled away. Be prepared, and all that. I unscrewed the top, gulped down a swig, and handed the bottle to Carrot Top, who did the same. “This ... this isn't anything we can't handle.” I said, even as the sweet and firey liquor slid into my belly. “We're professionals, right? Or, well, you're a professional and somehow I manage to keep up.”
And that was enough to make Carrot Top smile-- a lovely sight, and a welcome distraction from the dead body. She set the brandy bottle on top of a pile of scripts, and nodded. “Any ideas?”
“If we can get to the roof, I can carry you to the rail station-- should be easy to catch the next train to ... anywhere, really.”
“No.” Carrot Top shook her head. “We can't run. That'll just make us look guilty.” She shook her head. “Maybe ... maybe we just need to get away from the body, then let someone else find Mr. Pockets here, and then we'll have to ... “ she pulled in a seething breath, and grumbled. “Improvise.”
“Ah, I'm good at that part.”
“I know.” Carrot Top groaned.
“If I've learned anything from everything you've put me through, it's how to save my own skin. So just stay close, and we'll come out of this smelling like roses. Proverbially speaking, that is. We may need to escape through the sewers if things get really bad.”
“Dammit Sentry, that almost sounded encouraging.” She smiled, wanly, and headed for the door. “Now keep quiet, and maybe we can get downstairs without anypony--”
As Carrot Top eased the door open, we found ourselves staring at none other than Juniper Montage.
“Oh! Mister Sentry!” She chirped, enthusiastic. “My uncle sent me to--” she trailed off as she looked past me and Carrot Top, to Deep Pockets' limp body, still sprawled out in the dressing room's single chair.
Juniper screamed.
A theater is a study in chaos in the best of times-- throwing a dead producer into the mix is akin to tossing a dead fish into the workings of an enormous clock. Things get messy.
By the time Carrot Top and I bustled Juniper down the stairs, the whole theater was in an uproar. A small battalion's worth of extras and stage-hooves waited for us, with Canter Zoom at their head. I saw Spotlight along the periphery, looking just as befuddled as the rest of us.
“Juniper, are you alright?” He said, and I eased the frantic mare into her uncle's arms. “What happened?”
“It's Mr. Pockets!” Juniper sobbed. “He- he's ... “
“Dead.” I said, flatly. A murmur immediately rose up amongst the cast and crew. “He ... must have fallen and hit his head or something. Terribly rickety, these stairs.” It wasn't the greatest lie I'd ever told, but it did the job. “Carrot Top and I just found him like that, and then Miss Montage found us. We should probably summon the authorities.”
“Cutie Cue!” Canter Zoom called out with surprising authority. “Where's Cutie Cue?”
“Here, sir.” The stage manager elbowed her way up from the back of the crowd.
“We ... we do have emergency plans for this sort of thing, right?” Canter Zoom said.
“Already done, sir.” Cutie Cuetook a moment to listen to something on her radio headset, and then looked up. “I've already sent Marker Tape to get help-- they should be here soon.”
“Good.” Canter Zoom tightened his foreleg around Juniper Montage, protective. “As for the rest of you ... uh ... “
“Perhaps it would be best if the cast and crew stuck around to make statements?” Cutie Cue said.
“Yeah, that.” Canter Zoom said.
“Very good, sir.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Trixie waved a hoof above her head, and shoved her way through the crowd. “The Great and Powerful Trixie has a question?”
“What?” Canter Zoom said.
“We're still putting on the show, right?” Trixie said. “I mean, it's not like there's a ... curse on this show or anything, is there? You know, isn't that why they call this 'The Pegasus Play?*'”
*A common superstition of the time, likely inspired by the untimely disappearance of the real Flash Magnus. Alternately, for a more pedestrian explanation, it's worth noting that the number of scene changes and effects necessary for a 'proper' production of The Life and Times of Flash Magnus are enough to bankrupt a theater company that does not sell enough tickets.
Another murmur spread through the crowd.
“There's no such thing as a cursed play.” Canter Zoom grumbled. “Juniper and I will be in my office-- let me know as soon as the authorities get here. As for the rest of you, go do something ... productive. We've still got a show to put on.” And with that, Canter Zoom guided his still-sniffling niece away.
“You heard the pony!” Cutie Cue snapped out, and then pointed to two particularly burly stage-hooves. “You two, stay here, and make sure nopony gets into that dressing room.”
I frowned, murmuring to myself. “Damn, left my emergency brandy in there.”
Carrot Top elbowed me. I probably deserved it.
Less than half an hour later, the proper authorities showed up. There were grim-looking ponies with badges, and grimmer looking stretcher-bearers in white. But, at the center of it all was an incongruous sight. A little old earth pony mare with some kind of leaf for a cutie mark bustled about with a notebook and pen, chatting with one pony after another. With her cloche hat and her lace collar, the old biddy looked more suited for a Sunday game of bridge, rather than a police investigation.
“You must be Flash Sentry.” She said with a smile that showcased the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
“You seem to have the advantage of me, Miss--”
“Maple. Inspector Maple, if you're feeling official. But Miss Maple will do in a pinch.” She smiled up at me, all sweet and matronly. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Flash?”
“Oh, uh. Of course not.” I said.
“Wonderful! Canter Zoom's letting me use his office for the time being. Come with me, please?” It was the most politely any authority figure has asked me to do anything, which in turn made it the most intimidating time any authority figure has asked me to do anything. It was then I noted that Carrot Top had slipped off elsewhere without me so much as noticing. Good on her-- she knew how to keep a low profile. Admittedly, this often meant using me as a distraction, but I suppose I couldn't blame her, as I can be quite distracting.
Miss Maple ushered me into Canter Zoom's office, a windowless, closetlike room stuffed with shelves and filing cabinets, which in turn were stuffed with books and scripts and random bits of paper. Miss Maple sat primly in the chair behind Canter Zoom's desk, briefly taking a moment to tidy up some of the notebooks and receipts carpeting the desktop. She squinted at one particular reciept for a moment, and then laid it aside, turning her attention onto me.
“Now then, Flash-- how are you liking the theater?”
“Not as much as I thought I would, now.” I said, settling down into the rickety chair across from her.
“Mmmm, yes. You've had quite the career outside of drama, haven't you?”
“I'm a soldier, yes.”
“And quite a decorated one. There aren't many ponies brave enough to earn the Celestial Cross. Fewer still who aren't awarded it posthumously.”
“You've done your research, Inspector.” I said as levelly as I could. Even still, the back of my neck began to itch as I wondered just how much research she'd done. Just from the few minutes I'd met her, Miss Maple seemed like the canny sort-- would she be the one to see through my overinflated reputation and out me for the coward I was?
“I wouldn't say that. I've just heard bits and pieces in passing. Gossip is a vice of mine-- though useful in this line of work. Was it true that you really led the Charge of the Flight Brigade?*”
*See: Sentry at the Charge.
“I ... was there, yes.” I said, reflexively going for heroic humility. “But it was the Wonderbolts who carried the day.”
“Of course, of course. But they had to pin the medal on somepony, didn't they?” Miss Maple shook her head. “But, well, enough of that. I've got a lot of ponies to talk to-- standard procedure, of course. I understand you and you and Miss Top were the first ones to find Deep Pockets, yes?”
“Er, yes. Quite tragic.”
“And, well, forgive my bluntness, but what is the relationship between you and Miss Top?”
“We're, ah ... close.” I said, clearing my throat slightly.
“I see. “Miss Maple smiled like a kindly matron expecting grandchildren in the near future. “And you and Miss Top entered your dressing room at the same time?”
“Yes.” I lied. While having my own cowardice exposed in Miss Maple's investigation would be bad enough, I couldn't fathom what would happen if she found out Carrot Top was secretly Special Agent Golden Harvest.
“I see. And how did you find Mr. Pockets?”
“Dead.” I said, bluntly. “Quite dead.”
“I see. And you think he fell and broke his neck?”
“He must have. Somehow. I understand these theaters are terribly dangerous, after all. Accidents do happen.”
“Mmm. Yes. They do.” Miss Maple scribbled something down on her notepad, and then looked up at me. “Can I trust you, Flash Sentry?”
“Absolutely.” Another lie, but one I'd had plenty of practice at.
“Good. It is of the utmost importance you keep this a secret.” Miss Maple leaned across the desk. “I have reason to believe this was not an accident.”
“No?” I said, playing dumb.
“No.” Miss Maple said with a little sigh. “In fact, I have reason to believe Deep Pockets was murdered.”
“Murdered?” I did my best to sound incredulous.
“Quite thoroughly murdered, in fact. Based on my observation, Mr. Pockets' neck was broken by a single, quick strike to his throat.” She jabbed a dainty hoof at me, and I flinched, ever so slightly. “We'll have to wait for the autopsy to be certain, but I read about a case like this many years ago. To make such a precise, clean strike would not only require a pony in peak physical condition, but also one who's had the benefit of years of martial training. You wouldn't happen to know anyone like that, would you, Flash?” Miss Maple's matronly mien dissolved into a far steelier expression.
Over the years, I've faced every kind of ravenous monster you can think of, and quite a few more that you're best off not knowing. Yet, of all those horrific experiences, looking into Miss Maple's eyes was one of the most terrifying moments of my sordid career. This was a pony with purpose, not to mention years upon years of experience, meaning a shamming wretch like me wouldn't stand a chance.
I swallowed, finding my mouth suddenly very dry. “I ... couldn't say.”
“No?” Miss Maple arched a brow, and leaned back in her chair. Her flash of resolute determination switched back to her friendlier mask. “That is a pity. It seems I'm going to have to keep looking. Of course, if I were lazy, I could go for the simplest solution-- a battle hardened veteran of the Royal Guard, in a fit of passion, lashes out and kills another pony inside his dressing room.”
“What?” I sputtered. “I didn't-- I mean, I never-- I--”
Miss Maple held up a hoof, and I shut up.
“As I said, that is the lazy solution. It's too pat. After all, Deep Pockets is the one who put you in the theater to begin with. You've got no motive. Unless, of course, there's anything else I'm unaware of? Any arguments about money, perhaps? Or ... no, you wouldn't kill anyone over money.” She said it more to herself, than to me. “But ... a mare, perhaps? Jealousy can run deep in even the best of ponies.”
“I ... try to be a better pony than that.” I said, with not nearly as much conviction as I would have liked.
“Let's hope so.” Miss Maple flipped her little notebook shut, and walked over towards the door. “You're lucky I'm a perfectionist, Flash. A less meticulous detective would have you in shackles by now.” She opened up the door, and gestured for me to leave. “But do be a dear, and let me know if you can think of anything else, if you would.”
“Of course.” I stumbled over my hooves as I left, reining myself in from speeding away in a frantic dash.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Miss Maple said, as kindly as if she were asking for someone to help her across the street. “Would you send in Spotlight? I'm sure the loss of her husband's come as quite a shock. I'm sure the poor dear needs someone to talk to.”
I forced a grin. “Ah. Of course.”
“Wait! Nevermind--” Miss Maple craned her head up, looking down the hallway, to where Spotlight passed by, talking to Canter Zoom. “There she is. Take care!” And with a too-cheery wave, Miss Maple tottered off after the director and freshly-minted-widow.
“How did it go?” Carrot Top said, appearing from around a corner in her typically unobtrusive manner.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure Miss Maple was out of earshot, and looked back to Carrot Top. “We need to talk.”
With that, we ducked back into Canter Zoom's office. I shut the door behind me, and pulled the blinds shut. I closed my eyes to keep myself from looking at Carrot Top's hooves, lest I see telltale flecks of blood upon them.
“Carrot Top.” I said, very slowly, as I realized I'd just put myself in an enclosed room with the deadliest pony I'd ever met. “I just want you to know, if you did--”
“I didn't.” Carrot Top cut me off before I could finish. “I told you I didn't. Don't you trust me?”
“I do.” I slumped against the door, suddenly very, very tired. “That's what I'm afraid of. Miss Maple says that it was a trained killer that did Deep Pockets, and ... “ I trailed off.
“Sentry.” Carrot Top looked downward. “You need to know, I couldn't have killed him.”
“I've seen you in action. You certainly could.”
“No, you don't understand. There's a lot I can do with my bare hooves, but even I couldn't break a pony's neck as cleanly as Deep Pockets' was. To do that, you'd have to use a secret technique called the No-Shadow hoof. I've ... heard of it, but it's something beyond even my training.”
I blinked. “Wait, so you're saying--”
“Whoever killed Deep Pockets is a better fighter than I am.” She sounded almost embarrassed as she said it.
“Why didn't you tell me before?”
“There wasn't any time.” Carrot Top shook her head. “But now ... I don't know what to do.”
“I'll tell you what we need to do.” I delicately draped one hoof over Carrot Top's shoulders. “We're going to have to find out who the actual killer is, before Miss Maple starts piecing things together and throws the both of us in jail.”
“I could break us out.” Carrot Top said, by reflex.
Despite myself, I laughed, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “I know. But I'd rather not have to.”
Carrot Top smiled-- though this time, it was the sort of grim smirk she put on right before throwing herself into mortal danger (usually with me close in tow). “Alright, Sentry-- we need to get to work. You should talk to everypony you can, see what you can find out. I'll stay out of the way, and see what I can dig up myself. But whatever you do, don't confront the killer on your own. Just play dumb until we can get together and make a plan to bring them in.”
I thought back to the sight of Deep Pockets, sprawled out in my dressing-chair with a shattered neck. “I ... don't think that'll be a problem.”
Carrot Top slipped off with her typical unobtrusiveness, while Canter Zoom came trotting up from where he'd been speaking with Spotlight and Miss Maple. He looked even more rumpled than usual-- the twin stresses of a play and a murder investigation couldn't have done him any good. Gone was the artistic tyrant who'd thrown his megaphone at me, and in his place was just a nebbish and overworked pony who was sorely in need of a vacation.
“Flash. We should talk.” He walked past me and into his office, which made me wonder if I should have even bothered getting up to begin with.
“Of course.” I said, and settled down into the rickety guest chair again. “Let me guess-- this is going to be about Deep Pockets, isn't it?”
“It is.” Canter Zoom took off his glasses long enough to rub his eyes, then put them back in place.
“It's tragic, isn't it? He seemed like a pleasant fellow.”
“You're only saying that because you didn't know him.” Canter Zoom said. He reached down into his desk and produced a bottle of black-label whiskey, along with two tumblers.
“Oh?”
“It's not an artistic thing.” Canter Zoom poured me a measure of whiskey without even asking me (not that he had to). “Not just an artistic thing.”
“Oh?” I said, taking up my tumbler. “Why do you say that?”
“Deep Pockets fancies-- fancied --himself a ladies stallion.” Canter Zoom took a small sip of his whiskey, topping off his liquid courage.
“There's an easy way to get into trouble.” I tried not to speak from first-hoof experience.
“I'll say. There's going to be a line of angry husbands waiting to dance on his grave. It was a game to him. Every show, he'd take a new mistress. A unicorn during The Barber of Ponyville. An earth pony during Who's Afraid of Virginia Timberwolf? I don't know who he's shacked up with for this production-- but it doesn't matter anymore, does it?”
Canter Zoom looked at the whiskey bottle for a long moment, and then very deliberately screwed the top back on. “You know what the funny part is? Deep Pockets is-- was –married to the most beautiful pegasus in all of Canterlot. And ... and ... and that's not why I wanted to talk to you, Flash.”
“No?”
“Look-- I know we've had ... artistic differences, but this has put everything into perspective. There's an old saying in theater-- The Show Must Go On.” Canter Zoom pronounced the capitalization. “And while what happened to Deep Pockets is tragic, it's not something we can't work past. We're lucky Cutie Cue's holding things together.”
“She is?”
“The best stage managers are practically invisible in how they keep things running. And Cutie Cue's the best stage manager I've ever had. She tells me that we can still make our opening night ... if certain cast members can get their lines down.”
“Ah.” I said, blanching a bit. “That.”
“Honestly, if it were up to me, I'd just recast you and Trixie, but it almost like you two are Deep Pockets' legacy? For ... better or worse. Now, I have to ask you, Flash-- can you prove me wrong?”
“I ... I'll try?” I said.
“I guess that's the best I can ask for.” Canter Zoom grumbled, and looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. “It's getting late. Miss Maple said she's already talked to you, so you might as well go home. Get night's sleep, Flash, we'll start fresh in the morning. And ... if you could do me one more favor-- I'd appreciate it if you kept what I said about Deep Pockets under your hat. Bad luck to speak ill of the dead, you know?”
“Of course. I won't tell a soul.”
I told Carrot Top.
We reconvened at the late night doughnut shop, and compared notes over apple fritters. Joe, the store's proprietor, kept our coffees topped off but otherwise resolutely ignored us both.
“So Deep Pockets was a philanderer? Figures.” Carrot Top said. “At least that gives us a motive. But ... from who?”
“Canter Zoom, perhaps?” I offered. “I mean, he's in love with Spotlight.”
Carrot Top blinked, and tilted her head at me. “He told you that?”
“Not in as many words, but he might as well have. He's got the artistic temperament for it-- and the fact that Spotlight was married to somepony else, well, that just adds to the inevitable, tragedy, hm? Spotlight probably doesn't know he's smitten, though-- elsewise she would have thrown herself at him rather than me--”
Carrot Top nearly choked on her coffee, and then affixed me with a pinning glare. “Excuse me?”
“Oh.” My wings instinctively tensed, readying themselves for a burst of emergency flight. “I ... didn't mention that? Spotlight may have tried to seduce me. To make her husband jealous, I imagine. But tried is the operative word. I, ah ... politely informed Spotlight I wasn't interested.”
Carrot Top peered at me for a longer moment, and then her glare melted into a playful smile. “I should have figured as much.”
“Anyway.” I wisely changed the subject. “Here's what I don't get. Miss Maple sent everypony home ... shouldn't she be afraid the killer will use the opportunity to escape?”
“That's the point.” Carrot Top said, not without some admiration in her tone. “She goes in, shakes things up, and if anyone doesn't come back tomorrow, well, that's where you start looking for suspects. Even if they bolt, it's easy enough to start slapping up wanted posters around airship terminals and train stations.”
“Alternately, if somepony doesn't make it to the next rehearsal, that could mean the killer's struck again.”
“Don't worry, Sentry.” Carrot Top winked at me. “I'll protect you.”
“What about you? Find anything?”
Carrot Top shook her head. “Not much. There were too many ponies around the stairwell to your dressing room to get in. As best I can figure, it's the only way in or out. I asked around, and the only ponies seen going through that door after rehearsal were Deep Pockets, me, Spotlight, and you-- in that order. Deep Pockets hadn't been dead long when I found him-- it's like the killer just ... disappeared.”
“That's it!” I pounded a hoof on the table, hard enough to make Joe look askance at us from his counter. I winced, sheepishly, and lowered my voice. “Who in the cast is otherwise known for her disappearing acts?”
Carrot Top's eyes went wide. “You mean--”
“Trixie.” I nodded. “Canter Zoom said Deep Pockets was dallying with somepony in the cast, but he didn't say who. What if that somepony was Trixie?”
“That ... would explain a lot.” Carrot Top rubbed her chin, thoughtful. “On the one hoof, she did use an ancient magical artifact to conquer Ponyville. But on the other ... she's reformed now. Mostly reformed. I have a hard time believing she's a killer.”
“It still makes sense. Everypony knows Trixie's a tempermental sort, especially when there's scenery to chew. So, she could have gotten into an argument with Deep Pockets over ... something, at which point she used her unicorn magic to teleport in, kill Deep Pockets, and then teleported out before you got there.”
“I have a hard time believing Trixie knows the No-Shadow Hoof.”
“Perhaps. But could she mimic the effect with magic?”
“I ... guess it's possible? I'd have to ask an expert.” Carrot Top said.
“Mmm. Something tells me we shouldn't write a letter to Princess Twilight anytime soon.” I said.
“Good point. But it's still all conjecture.”
“Which means all we can do is talk to Trixie tomorrow, and see if she has an alibi. If she hasn't escaped by then, at least.”
I grinned. “At least if she runs away, she's somepony else's problem.”
The next morning, Carrot Top and I returned to the theater about a half an hour before the morning rehearsal was set to begin. Carrot Top brought her saddlebags with her, but I figured I was better off not knowing what she had inside We walked in through the lobby-- which, even in that early hour, was a study in controlled chaos. Ponies went to and fro, bustling about on whatever it was that it took to keep a theatre running. I'd been on airships that had been less busy. By the look of things, nopony was missing, though I would have needed a cast list just to be sure.
Miss Maple was there, of course, watching everything with her kindly grandmother's smile. She trotted over as Carrot Top and I walked through the door. “Good to see the both of you.” She nodded to Carrot Top in turn. “I trust the recent unpleasantness hasn't upset you?”
“The Show Must Go On, as the saying goes.”
“That's the spirit! I should have expected as much from pony of your reputation.” Miss Maple sounded more like she was congratulating me on winning a childhood buckball match, rather than risking life and limb in service to Equestria.
“Er, thank you.”
“Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get on with the inquiry-- oh, don't worry, I'll be keeping out of your way. Wouldn't want to upset the show-- at least not any further, hm?”
“Any developments in the case?”
“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, Flash.” Miss Maple shook her head. “But rest assured, I'm looking into every avenue of investigation. Speaking of which--” Miss Maple looked past my shoulder, to where a few more extras and bit-players were heading in. “I'm afraid I must be going. Take care, Flash?”
Carrot Top looked up at me with a quirked eyebrow, but all I could only shrug in response. Even if I had a clue of what Miss Maple was up to, I knew better than to discuss it in front of everypony else.
“Your coffee, sir!” Juniper Montage walked over, precariously balancing a tower of cardboard and caffeine in one hoof. She foisted a cup of hot black coffee on me (but thankfully not on me), as well as a cheery grin.
“Ah, thank you, dear.”
“You're welcome, Mister Sentry!” Juniper Montage burbled-- and then trailed off as she laid eyes on Carrot Top. “Oh, um. I'm sorry, I don't have anything for you. You're not on the list. Do you want to be on the list?”
“There's a list?” Carrot Top said, bemused.
“Of course there is! Everypony has very specific requirements as to their coffee, and as the head intern, it's kind of my responsibility to make sure everypony gets exactly what they want.”
“I'll be fine, thank you.” Carrot Top said.
“Okay! I could add you to the spreadsheet later, if you like?” Juniper Montage said.
“Don't worry about it. I had breakfast before I got here.”
“Okay!” Juniper Montage took a half-step forward to steady her pile of coffees, and then looked up at me again. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mister Sentry?”
“Actually, yes.” I said. “Have you seen Trixie lately? I'd like to practice some lines before we get started.”
“The Great and Powerful Trixie is in her dressing room right now,” said Juniper.
“Great, thank you.”
“You're welcome, Mister Sentry!” Juniper perked her ears as she saw somepony else enter the lobby. “Oh! Cutie Cue! I have your latte!” And off she went.
“Well then.” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “I guess it's time to have a chat with my co-star.”
I knocked on the door, and Trixe's voice called out. “Entrez!” She put extra emphasis on the 'z.' I pushed the door open and walked inside, Carrot Top following close beside.
Her expression fell, however, as she laid her eyes on me. “Oh. It's you.”
“Expecting somepony else?” I said, deadpan. Trixie's dressing room was bigger than mine. Nicer, too, though that might have been just because nopony had been murdered inside. Costumes hung from hangers and mannequins, ranging from the simple, ragged cloak Ardent Dale wore in Act 1, to the complicated Masquerade Dress she wore in the finale. And at the center of it all was a blue unicorn wearing a filmy dressing robe and an annoyed scowl.
“Don't try to trick me, Flash. I know you know there's a reporter from the Canterlot Times coming, and I'm not about to let some featherbrained buffoon muscle in on my interview. I'm the one with top billing, and I'm the one the audiences want to see. Remember that.” She paused, finally deigning to notice Carrot Top. “And who are you? You look ... mildly familiar.”
Sensing opportunity, Carrot Top just smiled, innocent and guileless. “Oh, hi! My name's Carrot Top. I'm actually with the Ponyville Post-- Flash Sentry said he'd introduce me to you, you know, so I could get the scoop on the Canterlot Times.” Carrot Top pulled a notebook and a pen from her saddlebags and began to write things down.
“Why didn't you say so?” Trixie leaned forward. “I'm very popular in Ponyville, you know. Comes with the whole 'saving the whole kingdom from a Changeling invasion' bit, you know? There simply aren't many ponies as resourceful and brave and brilliant as I am.” Trixie tossed her hair back as if she were in a shampoo commercial.
I bit my tongue.
“Which is why my readers back home are so interested in the show.” Carrot Top smiled. “A production like this must be a great showcase for your talents.”
“It is! Despite my amazing skills at heroism, it's performance where I really shine!”
“Will we get to see any displays of magical skill? Like a duplication spell, maybe? Or maybe you could teleport in at the top of Act 3?”
“Teleport?” Trixie's expression faltered. “Why in Equestria would I want to do that?”
“Well, I'm not a unicorn, but I remember reading somewhere that site-to-site teleportation can be a surprisingly complicated spell, which would make it a great showcase of your powers, don't you think?”
“I ... well ... I don't know if I'd go that far.” Trixie said. “Just because Twilight Sparkle-- I knew her before she was a princess, mind you –likes to blast about because she's too lazy to walk from one place to another doesn't mean it's that impressive.” Trixie grumbled. “In fact, I have devoted my studies to other uses of magic.”
“I see.” Carrot Top said. “And ... any comment on yesterday's accident?”
“Accident?” Trixie blinked. “Oh, you're talking about Mister Pockets, aren't you? Tragic.” Trixie shook her head. “To think, he had the vision and foresight to cast me in this play. It's a shame he didn't live long enough to see his greatest protege (that is, The Great and Powerful Trixie) take the spotlight she so rightly deserves.”
“Er, right.” Carrot Top said, pretending to jot down more notes. “Anything else you'd like to tell the folks back in Ponyville?”
“Let me think ... “ Trixie used her magic to pick up her cardboard cup of coffee (identical to the one Juniper had foisted on me) and slid the plastic stirrer from the hole in its lid. Trixie took a sip, and her eyes instantly flew open in shock. She reflexively hurled her cup of coffee across the room, and then clutched at her throat with both front hooves, gagging and wheezing. Between coughs, the unicorn wheezed out a single sentence.
“The Great and Powerful Trixie has been poisoned!”
I froze, and Carrot Top took a step forward-- but Trixie waved the both of us away with a disdainful sweep of her hoof. “Hazelnut. Hazelnut! Who puts nuts into coffee? I might as well chew on a pine cone! Gah!” Trixie flailed about, histrionic-- though definitely not in a manner befitting someone on the verge of death.
“You're. Not. Poisoned.” Carrot Top said.
The steel in Carrot Top's voice was enough to get even Trixie to stop. The diva blinked a few times, and stared at Carrot Top, shocked. “What kind of reporter are you?”
“I'm just a fan!” Carrot Top switched back to seemingly harmless cheeriness. “And I'd hate to tell all your other fans back in Ponyville that the brave and courageous Trixie, one of the ponies who helped befriend the changelings, started crying like a little filly when she got the wrong coffee. What would the rest of your fan club think?”
“I have a fan club?” The very concept cured Trixie quicker than any real antitode ever could. She settled back into her dressing chair. “On second thought, the wrong coffee does seem rather silly in perspective. But! Are there any other burning questions my legions of devotees need answered? I can't garuntee I'll tell you everything-- a lady's got to keep her secrets, you know.”
“Oh, I've got tons. But I don't want to monopolize your time-- you've got a play to perform!” Carrot Top stuffed her notebook back into her saddlebag and walked out of the dressing room. “Thanks so much, though!”
Not wanting to draw Trixie's ire (more than I'd already drawn it, at least) I followed suit. “So it wasn't her.” I said once we were out of earshot. Not that Trixie listened to much beyond the sound of her own voice, but still. We took refuge in the shadow of the paper-mache cliff from Act 2, huddling together for privacy.
“You're right.” Carrot Top said. “If she were that good of an actress, this production would be going a lot smoother.”
“So that leaves us without a suspect.” I said.
“Without one suspect.” Carrot Top rubbed at her chin. “We're looking at this from the wrong angle-- the how instead of the why. You said Deep Pockets was a philanderer. Which means the first pony who'd be mad at him would be--”
“Spotlight!” I forced a grin as I saw the elegant white pegasus walking in our direction.
“Flash Sentry.” She glanced my way, and took a moment to primp her blonde mane. “There you are.”
“You were looking for me?” I said, trying not to sound too enthused about it. On the one hoof, she might have been a murderer-- but on the other hoof, you should have seen her plumage.
Carrot Top coughed.
“Yes.” Spotlight sailed over, acknowledging the both of us with the barest of nods. “I wanted to speak with you before rehearsal.”
“Oh, are you okay?” Carrot Top said, with blithe, rural concern. “I mean, what happened to your husband was so tragic, and here you are at the very theater where he-- where he--” Carrot Top trailed off.
“Died.” Spotlight said, flatly.
“It must be so hard! I mean ... if I were in your horseshoes, I don't know how I'd even get out of bed!” Carrot Top sniffed and trembled at the very thought. It was enough to make me wish I'd asked Carrot Top for acting lessons.
“And you are?” Spotlight arched a gold eyebrow.
“My name's Carrot Top.”
“And you and Flash Sentry are ... “
“Close.” Carrot Top smiled, perhaps a little wider than she should have, and leaned against my side.
“Carrot Top's from Ponyville.” I blurted, by way of explanation. “Lovely place, but a bit ... provincial, if you understand.”
“I see.” Spotlight pulled in a deeper breath. “As for any ... emotional distress I may be in, I nevertheless will endure. With my husband's death, his business interests fall to me. Which means that I'm now producing this show, for better or worse. Which is why I wanted to talk to you, Flash.”
“Oh?”
“Deep Pockets may have been known for his ... deep pockets, but like many things in the theater, it was more illusion than reality. Nearly every bit he had is tied up in this show. Which means if it doesn't sell tickets. I ... don't know what I'll do.” Her voice went a little softer, a little more vulnerable, and damn if I didn't fall for it. (Again, you should have seen her plumage). “So ... I'm asking-- begging you, Flash Sentry--” She leaned in close enough I could smell her perfume.
“Yes?”
“Don't fuck this up.”
By reflex, I fell back to my standard response whenever a beautiful mare started glaring at me: I lied. “You can count on me, Spotlight.”
Still, it was enough to convince her, as Spotlight took a prim step back. “Good. Now get on stage-- Canter Zoom's starting rehearsal soon.” And with that, the tall pegasus mare fluttered her wings and stalked off to deal with whatever other producer business that had fallen onto her shoulders.
“She did it.” Carrot Top said as she watched her go. “I don't know how, but she did it.”
“There's no need for jealousy.” I said, as tactfully as I could. “You know I've only got eyes for you.” That part was only half a lie.
“It's not your eyes I'm worried about.” Carrot Top grumbled. “But we've got better things to worry about.”
“The murder, right.” I said. “But you said that somepony saw her entering the stairway after you did, and you were the one to find the body. If my dressing room had a window, she could have flown out, but ... well, I suppose I'm just not that important.”
“You've got a good point there.” Carrot Top said.
“Mister Sentry?” Juniper Montage's nevous hoofsteps echoed through the wings of the theater. “My Uncle needs to speak with you. There's ... there's kind of a problem.”
“Damnation, not another murder, is it?” I blurted.
“No. He said it's worse.”
“The press is here.” Canter Zoom said.
The cast and crew gathered in the green room-- though given the large size of the former and the small size of the latter, it was a snug fit. Canter Zoom's news earned groans and grumbling from most everypony in the room, except for Trixie (who looked entirely too enthused about the prospect) and myself (who remained characteristically clueless).
Canter Zoom raised a hoof for silence, and went on. “We were supposed to have our press preview a week from today. But somehow, the invitations went out early, and now we have every theater critic from a fifty mile radius waiting in the lobby. Trixie told me that a reporter from Ponyville, of all places, has already cornered her for an interview.”
I reflexively looked beside me for Carrot Top, but she'd already disappeared. Smart mare.
“If I didn't know any better, I'd say somepony was trying to ruin us. After everything we've been through, we've got a lobby full of hard-to-please theater critics, just waiting for an excuse to tear this production apart. We can't tell them to come back in a week, because then they'll be mad at us for wasting their time, so they'll give us a bad review. But we can't perform for them now, because the show still needs a lot of work, and so they'll give us a bad review. Either way, bad reviews mean no ticket sales, which means The Life and Times of Flash Magnus will be dead on arrival.”
More groans and half-voiced obscenities rippled through the cast. Somepony in the corner even started to cry. Artistic temperaments, I tell you.
I, however, didn't bat an eye. It was just a matter of perspective, really. You see, as a proper coward, I have a long list of things that terrify me. Changelings, dragons, gnolls, well-armed secret agents, well-meaning Princesses, and so on. Of course, it should be noted, that all of the things I listed are entirely sensible phobias to have, especially when one's lived a career such as mine. In comparison, stage fright is small beer. I've never met a theater critic who tried to kill me-- and even if they did, the typical critic is a tubby academic sort-- somepony I could easily run away from.*
*It should be noted that Sentry's opinion of academia (or, well, academics) is hardly an accurate one.
“It could be worse.” I said, by reflex. Because if I'd learned nothing else in my long and sadly storied career as a Hero of Equestria, it's that things can always be worse.
Canter Zoom stared at me, baffled, like I'd somehow gotten my lines right. “You're right, Flash.” He said, and walked over to pat me on the shoulder. “The only way out is forward-- we just need to go out there and knock their horseshoes off. I mean ... the foundations of a good play are there, but ... it's going to come down to you, Flash. Do you really think you can pull this off?”
And then, damn it all, the entire cast and crew turned to me with all-too-familiar looks of hesitant, desperate hope. Each one silently hoping, pleading, that Flash Sentry, Hero of Equestria, would solve all their problems by virtue of standing around and looking heroic.
Of course, we were all safely ensconced in the green room, and not on some arrow-riddled battlement, so things weren't nearly as dire. And so, when I affected a roguish grin and puffed out my wings, I almost meant it.
“You can count on me, chaps.”
And you know what? They bought it.
Maybe I wasn't as bad an actor as Canter Zoom thought.
Carrot Top waited for me in my dressing room-- thankfully without any fresh corpses this time.
“Any new developments?” I asked as I hurriedly started pulling on the tin armor of my Flash Magnus costume.
“Other than the sudden arrival of the press? No. But that's fishy enough.”
“It is.” I said with a shrug. “But ... well, maybe it's a good sign? There's too much commotion, too much attention-- not only have we got Miss Maple sniffing around, but a bunch of unexpected journalists? That's not a spanner in the works, it's a whole damn toolbox.” I paused, and then canted my head at Carrot Top. “You didn't invite them, did you?”
“No. But when you put it that way, I almost wish I had.”
“Right. So we've bought ourselves some time to get to the bottom of this-- while everypony's watching me on stage, you can keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Think you can stay out of sight?”
Carrot Top looked at me flatly.
“Right, sorry I asked.”
“Just ... be careful out there, Sentry.”
“I'll be fine! In fact, I dare say I'll be the safest pony in the whole damn building-- I'll be on stage the whole time. Even if this mysterious murderer wanted to off me, there's no way they'd do it with everypony watching.”
“I hope you're right.” Carrot Top smiled another of her soldier's grim smiles. “Break a leg out there.”
“Because that doesn't sound ominous.” I said.
Carrot Top laughed at that, and kissed me on the cheek. This done, she silently slipped out of my dressing room, easing the door shut behind her.
Once she was gone, I pushed my dressing chair up against the door. Just in case.
A quick look at the clock on the wall told me I had just enough time for a drink before curtain. Just a little something to calm the nerves and help the circulation, you know. But, a quick scan of the cramped little room showed it to be distinctly, damnably, dry.
“If Inspector Maple nicked my emergency brandy, I'm filing a formal complaint.” I grumbled, and pushed at the side of my makeup table to make sure the bottle hadn't been knocked behind it somewhere down the line.
Something went 'click.'
I squeaked in brief terror, and threw myself backwards-- over the years, I've survived enough deathtraps and ambushes to fill an A.K. Yearling novel, so that sort of reaction was my first reflex. Thankfully, no twelve ton slabs of rock came crashing down from the ceiling, nor did any razorblades shoot out from the floor. Instead, the mirror on the other side of the room slid to the side, revealing a cramped, dark corridor that might as well have had 'SECRET TUNNEL' stenciled on the wall.
Against my better judgment, I looked closer. Sure enough, there was a single set of hoofprints in the dusty floor of the secret passage-- leading in, and then out. Well, that explained how the killer had gotten into my dressing room to begin with, but only raised more questions on the who and why.
Before I could ruminate on it any further, somepony started banging on my dressing room door. Hard. By the third too-hard smack of hoof on oak, the reality of my situation finally caught up with me; there was still a killer on the loose, and for whatever damned reason, I'd let Special Agent Golden Harvest, the only pony with any hope of even slowing down the martial-artist murderer, go off and do her own thing.
Trapped as I was, I bolted for the only means of escape I had, and flung myself into the secret passage. In the darkness, I saw a lever mounted on the wall-- I cranked down on it, and sure enough, the mirror slid shut behind me, leaving me in darkness. I really should have held out for a dressing room with a proper window, but that's hindsight for you.
I blundered my way down that dark passage-- but once I realized nopony was trying to actively trying to kill me, I relaxed. Slightly.
“No way to go but forward.” I muttered to myself, and pressed on. The pitch-black hallway was cramped, littered with random piles of boxes and furniture-- which kept on bruising my shins as I stumbled on. The passage wasn't a long one, thankfully-- I plowed my nose straight into a the solid wall of a dead end after two or three minutes. More blind fumbling found another switch mounted on the wall, and the hidden doorway opened up before my nose.
I staggered out into the scene shop-- the lights were dimmed for the show, but even then it was still a contrast to the utter blackness I'd just been in. I coughed the dust from my throat, wiped it from my eyes, and looked behind me just in time to see the hidden door slide back into place.
“Damnation.” I muttered to myself. ”How the hell does anypony get around in this theater? I'd be better off with a coil of rope and a Yakish sherpa--” And then, it struck me.
I knew who killed Deep Pockets.
The epiphany struck me dumb for a moment, as I realized that this could be a very, very dangerous thing to know. I shifted my weight from one hoof to the other, anxious, and wondering just what the best escape route would be. But before I could bolt, Juniper Montage showed up.
“Mister Sentry!” The pigtailed pony skidded to a halt in the doorway to the scene shop. She had a clipboard in her hooves and a panicked look in her eye as she stared at me. “You're on!”
I'm sure you're familiar with The Life and Times of Flash Magnus. Every literature teacher in Equestria will make at least some attempt to cram the gist of the play into each and every student they teach. This, of course, will have varying levels of success. Personally, I found the play to be rather dull until Canter Zoom explained just how filthy the “Do you bite your hoof at me?” scene in the first act really is. Of course, Flash Magnus doesn't get to make any dirty jokes-- he just stands around and looks heroic and soliloquizes.
Which is what I did.
The performance that night was nothing like any of our rehearsals, in that we were actually, you know, good. I delivered my lines when I remembered them, and made dashing poses when I didn't. Trixie gasped and screamed and otherwise damseled it up, while the supporting cast (which is to say, the actual, professional actors) did everything they could to make it look like we knew what we were doing. To be honest, the intricate operation of the live performance went off smoother than a lot of military campaigns I've had the misfortune of participating in.
Things came to a head in the final act, with the grand masquerade. Ponies pranced about in their meticulously designed masks and costumes as the play's several plotlines finally converged. And, of course, The Nameless Assassin (honestly, I think Shaky Bill was phoning it in when he named that particular character) skulked through the Masquerade Ball, disguised in a black cloak and skull-faced mask, hunting for the great Flash Magnus.
As we'd rehearsed dozens of times before, the Nameless Assasin wove through the bustling masquerade ball and pulled a crossbow from beneath his cloak. However, quite unlike we'd rehearsed, I saw the glint of actual steel shining from the arrowhead.
My heart jumped into my throat, my mouth went dry, and once again I found myself in the all too familiar situation of somepony trying to murder me for no apparent reason. The worst part was, with everypony's eyes literally on me, I couldn't scream and bolt, lest Canterlot's press corps discover how cowardly I truly was.
In a single, fluid motion, the Nameless Assassin raised their crossbow and fired. The bass thrum of the bowstring echoed through the theater, and my cowardice-honed reflexes kicked into gear. I threw myself to the side, then swore as I felt the bolt tear straight through the feathers on my right wing. The wound was superificial-- but damned painful. I bit my tongue to stifle a whimper-- only to see The Nameless Assassin suddenly standing above me, rearing back with one hoof to finish the job--
--until an orange-haired pony swung in on a rope and kicked the Nameless Assassin in the face.
A gasp went up from the crowd as Carrot Top made her grand entrance. Somewhere along the way she had acquired Trixie's Adent Dale costume, complete with a peacock-feathered mask to conceal her identity.
She and the Nameless Assassin stared at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. But then, in a flurry of cloaks and hooves, they launched themselves at each other, trading punches and kicks with deadly precision. Once again, the rest of the cast followed my lead-- this time in getting the hell out of their way.
I'd seen Carrot Top fight before, but I'd never seen her fight so hard. The Nameless Assassin parried each blow of Carrot's, then replied with two more of her own, nearly faster than the eye could follow. More than one blow made it past Carrot's guard, slamming into her body with sickeningly loud thumps. She gave almost as good as she got-- almost.
Carrot Top reeled back and wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, staring at The Nameless Assassin, defiant.
“You're good.” The Nameless Assassin's voice echoed to near unintelligibility within the skull mask. “But not good enough.” And with that, the Assassin struck one more time-- Carrot Top barely got her guard up in time, catching the Assassin's forehoof before it could stave her throat in. Sweat and blood both dripped down Carrot Top's face as she pushed the hoof back-- or tried to, at least, as the Nameless Assassin bore down on her even harder, hooves edging closer and closer to Carrot Top's neck.
Which is when I hit the Nameless Assassin.
From behind.
With a chair.
In military parlance, this is called “striking for advantage,” but in all honesty it's just fighting dirty. Which, incidentally, was my preferred method of fighting. Safer to hit one's enemy when they're not looking, after all. The Nameless Assassin went down in a heap, at which point I gave them a couple more bashes just to be thorough. The chair went to pieces on the third hit (it wasn't supposed to, for the record).
Carrot Top wiped blood from the corner of her mouth and cracked a grin. “Flash, I love you.” She paused, suddenly realizing she'd fought a martial-arts death-duel in front of a full audience of journalists and critics. Carrot's green eyes went wide behind her mask, at which point she hesitantly kept speaking.
“But we only have fourteen hours to save Equestria?”
She got a standing ovation.
The curtain fell, and Miss Maple was there at the wings, waiting for us.
“Well done, Flash!” She said, grandmotherly as ever. She either didn't notice or didn't care about my bleeding wing. Given her profession, I could only assume the latter.
“What's was that?” Canter Zoom pushed through a throng of bewildered looking extras, with Juniper Montage hot on his hooves. “That wasn't in the script!”
“Neither was murder.” I rubbed at my wounded wing.
“Indeed.” Miss Maple said. “That was a close call, with the crossbow there.”
“Too close.” I grumbled, and yanked the skull mask away, revealing the face of the pony who'd just tried to kill me.
Cutie Cue.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. I ignored them. At least the burly policeponies Miss Maple brought with her had the sense to clap some hoofcuffs onto Cutie Cue as she blinked her eyes back to painful awareness.
I nodded to Miss Maple. “Turns out, there's a secret passage that goes from my dressing room to the scenery shop-- this damn theater's full of them. And who knows a theater better than the stage manager? She used it to kill Deep Pockets without anypony noticing ... and then, when I found the passage, she tried to kill me on stage so it would look like an accident.”
“But ... but why?” Canter Zoom said, aghast.
“You told me yourself, Deep Pockets couldn't keep his hooves to himself. One lover's quarrel later, and he learned that Cutie Cue didn't keep her hooves to herself, either.”
At that, Cutie Cue looked up at me-- dazed and battered, but still coherent enough to break out laughing. “Oh. That's what you think this is about? You're dumber than you look, Flash Sentry.”
“If I may?” Miss Maple stepped forward. “You've done quite well for yourself so far, Flash, but you don't know the full story. For one, Cutie Cue and Deep Pockets were never ... involved.”
“I'll say. I have standards.” Cutie Cue said.
“Shush, you.” Miss Maple said.
“Then who was?” Canter Zoom said, perplexed.
“Do you know how hard it is to get a coffee in this theater?” Miss Maple said.
“What's that got to do with anything?” I said.
Miss Maple smiled. “Everything, Flash. You see, every day, the corner coffeeshop prepares a very specific order, each and every pony in the cast gets their own favorite coffee. There's no extras, no room for error-- the order list looks like the cast list in the program ... plus one. Deep Pockets was the only pony not directly involved in the production who got a special order. Now, who's responsible for that?”
Juniper Montage cringed, splaying her ears back. “He ... he said he could make me a star.”
“Her?” Spotlight huffed, shaking her head. “This is just insulting.”
“I can't believe this.” Canter Zoom groaned.
“If that's the case ... then why did Cutie Cue kill Deep Pockets?” I said.
“A very good question.” Miss Maple said. “For, while all of you have been working very hard on the show, not to mention on your investigation--” Miss Maple winked at me. “I've been making inquiries into Deep Pockets' finances.”
“What was left of them.” Spotlight said.
“Indeed. They were in rather poor shape. But ... well, I won't bore you with the specifics of it, but Deep Pockets had something of an insurance policy set up in the show. You see, due to certain ... loopholes in Equestrian Tax law, it's actually quite possible to turn a considerable profit from a flop of a play ... so long as one is ready to take the money and run at the correct time.*”
*While I am not a law historian, it's worth noting the most notable case along these lines is the semi-famous Berrystock vs. Wilder Bloom.
“Cutie Cue, as the stage manager, either was in the scheme from the start, or she figured it out early on. The temptation to keep the money for herself must have been too great, and so, poor Deep Pockets had to die. And then, when it looked like Flash Sentry had rallied the cast, Cutie Cue decided to stage an 'accident.' Of course, she didn't count on Flash and his ... friend, either.” Miss Maple looked over at Carrot Top, who tried for one of her guileless smiles, but it was a little less convincing with a fresh set of bruises.
“And I would have gotten away with it, too!” Cutie Cue snarled.”I did everything I could to ruin the show from the inside-- but then Deep Pockets tried to cut me out, so I showed him.” The stage manager turned assassin gave a little half-mad giggle. I couldn't blame her, as I would've been loopy after getting clobbered with a chair myself.
“THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE SHALL DEIGN TO LEAVE HER DRESSING ROOM ONLY WHEN ALL HAZLENUT COFFEE IS REMOVED FROM THE BUILDING!” Say what you will about Trixie, but the pony could project.
“I ... uh, I just thought I'd fill in?” Carrot Top offered. “I ... I'm a big fan.”
“At least she's easier to work with.” Canter Zoom grumbled.
“So that's that, then.” Miss Maple said. She nodded to her uniformed escort, and the two drug the chained Cutie Cue away. Another wave of her hoof got the rest of the cast to disperse-- Carrot Top and I took the opportunity to slink away-- only to find Miss Maple waiting for us at the back door. How she'd gotten there before us, I honestly couldn't say.
“Ah, Flash. I just wanted to thank you.” Miss Maple said, smiling. “You missed quite a bit, but, well, your talents lie elsewhere, don't they?”
“I suppose they do.”
“As do yours.” Miss Maple just beamed at Carrot Top, who tensed up beside me. “How long have you been with the Equestrian Intelligence Office, darling?”
“How did you--”
“I didn't. Until now.” Miss Maple winked. “Oh, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Consider it thanks for taking care of Cutie Cue, too. A fragile old lady like me wouldn't have lasted two seconds against somepony like Cutie Cue. At least, I wouldn't have if Cutie Cue didn't have ... other things to worry about. But, like Shaky Bill said, all's well that ends well, hm? Take care, you two. And try to stay out of trouble.” And with that final bit of advice, Miss Maple trotted back into the theater.
Carrot Top's jaw dropped. “I can't believe it. She used us.”
I tried to hold back my laughter, and summarily failed. “So now you know how it feels!”
Carrot facehooved, and groaned. “The hell with this. I need a drink.”
“I don't think either of us are in good enough condition to set hoof in a bar.”
Carrot Top smiled again, and patted me on my non-wounded wing. “Good thing I've got a fresh jug of cider back at my place.”
“I like the way you think.”
-So ends the fifth volume of the Flash Sentry Papers
In my editing and publication of the Flash Sentry Papers, I have elected to focus primarily on Sentry's account of events (however unreliable and biased his account may be). This said, while I was researching this particular volume, I happened across a review of the play by Pointed Pen, the Canterlot Times' theater critic. I have included his take on the play for completion's sake.
Shaky Bill's The Life and Times of Flash Magnus is a particularly challenging play to stage-- with its high melodrama and jingoistic overtones, a lesser director can easily turn The Life and Times of Flash Magnus into a parody of itself. Often, productions require a twist on the source material to keep it fresh-- one particularly notable production being Curtain Call's gender-flipped The Life and Times of Flash Magna.
In Canter Zoom's upcoming production, the central 'gimmick' is its stunt casting, putting Flash Sentry and Trixie Lulamoon in the central roles of Flash Magnus and Ardent Dale respectively. While it is novel to see two decorated Heroes of Equestria acting in the hoofsteps of their proverbial predecessors, we are lucky their genuine heroism is better than their on-stage imitations thereof. Sentry's take on the legendary hero is unremarkable (if somewhat stilted), but it's Lulamoon's Ardent Dale that stands out (for better or worse). If nothing else, Lulamoon's performance highlights the artifice put into the play's production values. Not only does the scenery looks impressive, it must taste delicious to judge by the way Lulamoon chews on it at every opportunity.
The new, standout twist in this production of The Life and Times of Flash Magnus comes in the final act. In a slight inversion of the Nameless Assassin scene, it is Ardent Dale that rescues Flash Magnus, rather than vice versa. This is accompanied by some of the most realistic fight choreography I've ever seen on stage, though the effect is diminished by the rather obvious use of a stunt double in Lulamoon's place. Amusingly enough, this nameless stunt double (I was unable to find her name in the playbill) has more chemistry with Sentry in just one scene than Lulamoon does in several acts.
Had Zoom embraced this fresh take on the classic (and perhaps allowed that particular stunt-pony to perform the entire duration of the play), this production of The Life and Times of Flash Magnus would be the hottest ticket in town. Unfortunately, as it stands now, I cannot recommend this interpretation of the classic play to anypony. The play has very little to offer anypony who's seen The Life and Times of Flash Magnus before, and those ponies who might be seeing the classic for the fist time would do well to wait for a different production, so as not to turn them off of the works of Shaky Bill forever.
Another sidenote: while I have not been able to track down the exact numbers involved (theatrical accounting being somewhat ... creative, at the best of times), I did verify that this particular production of The Life and Times of Flash Magnus ran for the better part of a year. Whether this is because (or despite of) Sentry's involvement remains up for some debate.
