Once upon a time, some nineteen Equestrian years, three months, and nine hours from when our story takes place, young Knead was a pony living in the town of Coeur De Cheval.

Like all young fillies and colts, young Knead discovered his special talent and subsequently – once it was revealed to him – received his cutie mark. What was very much unlike the other ponies his age however, was that his cutie mark belied his true special talent. His passion was baking – specifically pies – which he did alongside his caring mother. It was a talent, and the one he wished to share with the world.

Young Knead's aforementioned gift however, was something that he would be less willing to share. He learned that he had the ability to touch dead things and bring them back to life.

As an earth pony he was not bestowed with the magic of a horn, nor that of bearing wings. This was a gift given to him seemingly from nowhere, and from no pony in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer's warranty... it just was.

It all began on the day he received his cutie mark, and he would discover it in the most unfortunate of ways.

After a long day of play-pretending to destroy tiny villages with the filly next door, young Knead had rushed home covered in the filth of a fine day's play to help his mother bake their pies.

His mother – not wanting to allow a cloud of dirt that was her son to assist her in the kitchen – began to clean him off in the hallway, tutting only halfheartedly.

From the window young Knead could see his playmate and equally dirty best friend across the street being literally hosed down by her father in their front yard.

Her name was Starlit Charles, but she didn't mind at all when young Knead began to call her Chuck. The filly named Chuck was a lively, ambitious, brightly-colored young pegasus. In short, nearly all of the things young Knead new he lacked. She was a star in his universe, and he grew more infatuated with her every day.

All of young Knead's musings about the filly name Chuck and the spell she had over him were interrupted when as she was cleaning him, a blood vessel in his mother's brain suddenly burst, killing her instantly.

She fell to the floor with all four legs splayed, head to one side, and lay far too-still for Knead's liking. He waited for several long moments, thinking or perhaps hoping that she would awake. After all his waiting and thinking and hoping yielded poor results, young Knead cautiously leaned down to her face. Reaching a small and slightly-shaking hoof, he gave he shoulder the slightest nudge.

Immediately at his touch, a spark ignited and a warm glow radiated from her for the briefest second, then his mother's eyes opened as she began to get to her hooves.

The shock of his mother's instantaneous demise was nothing compared to the shock of her instantaneous reawakening. He stared at her with his eyes wide as she went back to the kitchen, humming along on her way to prepare the dough for their pies. She seemed completely unaware of the magnitude of what had just occurred.

The momentary emptiness and fear of the unknown that was his mother's passing did not even have a chance to register with the colt, although the joy at having dodged such a bullet would be short-lived.

This 'random gift that simply was' unfortunately did have rules, which young Knead would learn only too late. Death apparently upheld a law of equivalent exchange, but only after a small grace period.

That is why exactly one minute after Knead touched his mother alive again, Chuck's father fell to the ground outside her house. Unlike the surprise of discovering his gift – or perhaps because of it – it did not take long for young Knead to put two and two together. By bringing her back, young Knead had inadvertently traded his mother's life for that of his. It was a cost he had not meant to pay, but one that had cost the girl he loved something that she could never replace. If Chuck was a star in his universe, her father was a pocket universe full of stars in hers.

That was not the only surprise the gift brought along, there was one more rule for young Knead to learn. First touch: life. Second touch: dead again, forever.

Only a few hours after watching Chuck's father die in front of her, young Knead lost his mother for a second time. The rest of the day was spent consoling his young friend in their home as they waited for her closest living relatives to arrive. Or rather, the rest of his mother's day was spent consoling her.

Young Knead's guilt about what he had done and fear of what would happen should Chuck find out was so much that they grasped a hold on his lips, tag-teaming them into submission so that no words could escape. He stayed close enough to provide comfort, though placed himself far enough away from both his mother and the sobbing filly in her arms. He stared at his mother as if she were a ghost, finding it a bit easier to focus on her than on Chuck's tears.

After the filly named Chuck had been claimed by her aunts and taken away, young Knead's mother attempted to set him about his usual routine in the hope of making him feel like things were going to be alright. Young Knead knew though that they would not. His life and his cozy routine would be forever changed, if only due to the knowledge of his gift.

It was coincidental and fortunate on young Knead's part that throughout all that their day had entailed, not once did he even accidentally touch his mother since reviving her. He could not have known then that as she tucked him into bed that night as she always did, and as she gently kissed the top of his head as she always did, it would be the last thing she would ever do.

A second spark as her lips touched his forehead, this time a blue light radiating from her coat, and his mother fell again. Only after young Knead's repeated attempts to re-reawaken his mother had failed did the colt fully understand all of the rules attributed to this newly-realized special talent.

That was the moment his cutie mark appeared., though through the weighty sorrow that found him upon losing his mother again, no pride could reach. A pie that blended well with his fur that already mimicked a golden pie crust, with a small daisy near the edge of the base.

For the longest time afterward young Knead avoided using his gift as well as most social attachments in the fear of losing someone else to death, choosing instead to adopt his mother's line of work, and he became obsessed with pies.

Some nineteen Equestrian years, three months, and nine hours later, young Knead would become a Pie Maker, and long to fully realize a dream his mother always held, to open up a bakery of their very own. Not having much in the way of experience in the planning or running of such an establishment however, Knead knew that he needed some help.

This lead the young stallion to venture towards the town of Ponyville, where lived a friend of the family. Carrot Archibald Cake had been a friend of his mother's for a long time, and their neighbor for only a short time. A lanky, friendly yellow/orange earth pony, Carrot not only shared a similar talent for baking but had established a thriving small business of his own. It was he that Knead sought in the hope of gaining some knowledge in the pastry game.

Nearing the end of his journey, Knead trotted along the outskirts of a vast farm, passing through the dappled shade of the many apple trees that grew on the other side of the fence. He was not alone in his travels, bounding ahead of him with his tail wagging was his oldest friend, his dog named Digby.

Knead stopped for a moment as he heard the flapping of wings that signified his other companion, who had flown above the treeline to see how far they had yet to walk.

The griffon landed beside Knead, a few feathers floating off from his wings.

“Not much further now, thankfully. The town's just on the other side of all these trees,” the surly griffon announced. “Sure would be quicker if you'd take my suggestion and hop the fence. It'd cut at least a half-hour.”

“That wouldn't be right, we don't know whose land that is, they might catch me and I don't want any trouble,” the pie maker explained. “I'd like to avoid trouble at all costs. Besides, if any trouble gets made, that would mean we would have to stay longer, and I know you don't want that.”

His companion shook his golden eagle head, joining the pony at his pace. “You've got that right, and I still don't see why I have to come along.”

“Moral support, business partner support, friendly support, all of the above maybe,” Knead replied. “Once I can afford to buy my own place, our partnership may need to make an adjustment, but I thought you'd still want to be in the know about all aspects of my plans.”

“Oh I know the aspects of your plans, you might have dropped a hint once or twice... every single day. You've saved up every penny from every job we've had for the past two years. You probably have enough to buy yourself a bakery two times over.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry. I know I talk about it a lot,” Knead said. “But I am glad you came Featherson, I didn't really want to be alone for this.”

“Eh, don't mention it... as long as your business don't get in the way of our business, I think things will turn out fine.”

In the pie maker's journey to achieve his goal, he had needed some way of earning the money to fund his dream bakery. Help had come in the form of Featherson Cod.

Featherson Cod was a private investigator by trade, and who typically had stayed rooted in the griffon-populated subsection of Equestria known as Griffon Mount. Whether fate or fortune was what lead him to Coeur De Cheval and to stumble upon the pie maker, neither of them knew. Featherson did not believe in the former, although in the latter he believed a great deal. His love of fine cigars and knitting eclipsed by his love of the almighty bit.

Featherson Cod was also the sole keeper of the secret that was Knead's gift of touching the dead back to life. He had witnessed the pie maker's ability first-hoof when – while in the pursuit of a fleeing murder suspect – the suspect he was pursuing fell off a three story building onto a dumpster where Knead had been about to toss away his trash. The pony had broken his neck, but one touch from Knead and he was up and sprinting away, only to be quickly re-touched as the pie maker tackled him to keep him from escaping.

The griffon had never seen anything like it, and the opportunity for a partnership sprang nearly at once to his mind. Murders are easier to solve when one can ask the victim who killed them. Using his gift to help aid the justice system sounded like a noble way for the pie maker to silently atone for his past, and for him to save his portion of the rewards for his future.

As the pie maker and the private investigator came closer to their goal, Knead watched his dog Digby grasp a fallen apple in his mouth. Digby stood with his tail wagging, happily chewing the apple for a few moments before turning to bring it to his master.

Stopping just short of Knead's hooves, Digby placed the slobbery old fruit on the ground in front of him. The golden retriever backed away a few more steps and sat expectantly for his master to pick up his new toy.

Kneeling down to lift the apple, the pie maker watched as the rotten fruit ripened again at his touch. It looked alive and perfect as if it were still on the tree from which it grew. He knew Digby was waiting for it, so he flung the apple farther ahead of them for the dog to chase down again.

It took longer than a minute for them to catch up to Digby, and after that minute Knead barely noticed a nearby dandelion wilt and die as they passed. When Digby again placed the apple in front of him, Knead felt the urge to reach out and pet his head, and to lift the fruit once more for him to chase. Such simple and comforting ideas were denied him however. He could not touch either, lest dog or apple die again.

“Hey, would you mind, um... petting him for me?” the pie maker asked of Featherson, who gave him a look that said he minded very much. Knowing though that Knead could not touch Digby, the griffon rolled his eyes and gave Digby a few pats on his head, to which Digby looked grateful.

“And um... can you throw the apple for him again?” Knead added, earning another look from Featherson as he came back to his full height after kneeling to pat the dog.

Complying again to the pie maker's request, Featherson threw the apple for Digby, though not as far as Knead would have.

“Anything else, want me to rub his belly while we're at it?” As much as Featherson Cod knew that Knead could not pet his own dog, it still did not deter his aversion to all animals that ponies chose to keep as pets. “We can play with your dog after we get to this Cake guy's house.”

Digby was Knead's oldest friend, and a loyal companion even after his untimely demise shortly following his mother's own death. Though his gift still made him wary then as well as now, it had not been so much so that he wouldn't risk its use to keep his furry best friend at his side. The cost was not only an equivalent life in the form of a nearby raccoon, but that Knead could no longer give his dog the affection or close attention he needed. But still, Digby never complained, and his continued presence was a comfort for both pony and dog. So that was enough.

Meanwhile within the town of Ponyville - and further still within the massively confection-shaped confectionery known as Sugarcube Corner – Carrot Cake was attempting to inform his family of their impending impromptu guests.

His wife Cup Cake had only just closed the door on their twin foals' room after having been able to get them to go down for their nap without much of a fuss. Carrot assumed that this was best chance of having her in a better mood for news of this type. His assumptions were only slightly founded, for while still clearly wanting to stay quiet and clearly wishing to stay in a pleasant mood, Mrs. Cake still took on the flustered expression that came along with such unhelpfully sudden news.

“Why didn't you mention this to me sooner?” was her hushed yet still sharpened question as she ushered him into the adjacent bedroom. “The house is a mess, and things are really picking up with sales... we just simply can not have company right now.”

“I understand completely honey bun,” Carrot attempted to smooth over his not having informed her until their visitors were practically on their doorstep. He pulled out several already-opened envelopes to show her.

“I didn't received his replies until this morning. They must've gotten lost in the mail. He wrote to me about a month ago and I did invite him to come visit us some time, but I had no idea he was on his way yet.”

“Well what exactly do you know about him, dear?” Mrs. Cake asked him. “You haven't seen him since he was young, who knows what he might be like now?”

“He seems about the same, from his letters,” Carrot said. A slight smile came to him as he looked one of them over again. “Soft spoken and polite as ever. He appears to have set a date and attempted to cancel several times, not wanting to impose. Then evidently he was convinced to take the initiative by some pony named Featherson.”

“You never know though Carrot, this could be one of those long-con jobs. I hear it happens all the time in the big cities. Ponies will claim to know you, and then when you let them in they---they swindle you,”

Carrot cocked his head at his wife's choice of the word 'swindle'. “Have you been reading Pinkie Pie's detective stories again?”

“Yeah, I let her borrow them sometimes. I'm getting a lot better at using those big words now that Twilight lent me her thesaurus,” the aforementioned pink mare exclaimed, for it was only at this moment that the Cakes realized that the usual occupant of the room they were in was currently occupying it.

“Whatcha doing in my room?” she asked them before making a realization about what they were discussing. “Wait... is some pony coming to visit? But Mrs C, why aren't you excited about that? Having ponies visit is always fun.”

”I'm more flustered than excited Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake said. “We – or at least I – don't know the ponies very well. That along with the fact that we only just found out they were coming--”

“The poor boy just wants some advice. I'm sure he won't be a bother and he won't stay long,” Carrot assured his wife.

“But you're also worried that he's a swindler-pony?” Pinkie asked.

“I think Mrs. Cake was just exaggerating,” Carrot tried to say, but it appeared that Pinkie was no longer paying attention.

“Hmm...if he really is some sort of shifty shifter, I can keep an eye on him for you. We wouldn't want any devious dealings going on around the foals. I'll stay with them, and the shifty pony can have my room.”

She then suddenly jumped to her hooves and began to wave the other two out of her room. “Quick, you need to get out. I've got to booby trap my room so that he doesn't get any ideas about swindling me!”

Pinkamena Diane Pie, known to most as Pinkie Pie – twenty-two Equestrian years, one month, two weeks, three days, and nine hours old – quite possibly might have been the friendliest pony any pony would ever have the pleasure to meet.

Born into a family of rock farmers, the young pink pony received her cutie mark upon discovering her talent and love for making those around her smile. A trait her grandmother Nana Pinkie also shared. It was she that nurtured the filly's twin loves of baking and merry-making, and she who had gotten Pinkie in touch with the baker couple of Carrot and Cup, who took their new tenant and assistant under their wing.

Pinkie loved living in Ponyville, and loved everything about it. From helping her friends and her new adopted family, to meeting new ponies, to finding new and more elaborate ways to celebrate various events. Pinkie tried to ensure that life was truly a party for every pony she met.

Yet the prospect of some mysterious ponies coming to stay with her adopted family under mysterious circumstances and for mysterious reasons caused the young mare alarm. Her usually chipper and cheery self wanted to greet them with a smile and a party as she loved to do for newcomers.

It was the 'mysterious' part of them that caused Pinkie to be more suspicious. Mrs. Cake was completely right to have her worries in Pinkie's opinion. They had Pound and Pumpkin to think about. She thought about what the characters in her stories might think. What would Detective Valiant and his associate Rojay Lapin do when faced with unknown ponies of unknown intent?

Pinkie pondered this as she turned all of her desk drawers upside-down, then hiding her button collection under the loose floorboard near her bed. Taking out the notebooks she had been using to write down her story ideas, she examined her crayon drawing of the two characters close to some notes for titles of future chapters and the word 'fudge' circled several times.

“Hmm,” she wondered as she looked down at the pony and giant leporid mammal. “Mr. Cake says this Knead pony's not bad... plus he is a fellow baker, and when have bakers ever been bad?”

She imagined Valiant – who sounded a lot like her studious friend Twilight in her mind – saying to give these ponies the benefit of the doubt, and that it was true that - while they didn't know them - that they hadn't actually done anything yet.

She then imagined Rojay adding an emphasis on the word yet with his big yellow gloved paw. Her misgivings may have been unfounded for now, but writing enough of her own mysteries had given Pinkie a sense that there might be some sort of 'yet' to come.

“You're both right,” she said out loud to her fictional characters. “I'll just be my usual friendly self... but there's no reason I can't keep an eye on them. Well, maybe two, but that's all I have.”

Closing her notebook, she went to place all of her story materials under the floorboard as well - better not to have the newcomers find them and get wise – when she felt her left eye itch, heard a ringing in her ears, and accidentally bit her tongue all simultaneously.

“Whoa, dat's a new one,” she exclaimed after it was over and her tongue was still recovering. “I should dell Gummy I have a new combo. I wonder wat it could mean?”

What it could mean was something that Pinkie had never come across in any instance of her own unique gift. For Pinkie Pie did have a gift as well – though one not quite so severe as the Pie Maker's – she called it her Pinkie Sense. Certain actions or sensations happening seemingly at random along her body could be interpreted by the mare to warn her of various forthcoming events.

Her shoulder aching as she stepped out of her orange-walled bedroom - for example - alerted her to the whereabouts of her pet alligator Gummy, who liked to hop into the tub every so often. It was another gift that simply was, though she had discovered it at a much younger age than young Knead had.

In her mental chronicling of her various bodily cues Pinkie Pie had found Pinkie Senses for falling objects, approaching unfriendly animals, sudden opening doors... but this was a combination of cues that Pinkie had never encountered before.

Unfortunately even if she had realized at that moment what it meant, she would not have been able to do anything. For at that very moment, a fire was beginning to smolder along the back orchard belonging to another friend of hers. A fire that would lead the Pie Maker to stumble upon the scene of a new murder to solve.

Although the Pie Maker had professed his wish to avoid any sort of trouble while visiting his former neighbor, trouble – it seemed – was quite keen on not being avoided by him.

Knead only noticed the smoke beginning to rise from the treeline after Featherson Cod's third toss of the apple for Digby. The crusty griffon's sense of curiosity compelled him to investigate. He flew straight up again this time in the hopes of finding the source of the smoke.

“It might not be what you think,” Knead called up to his airborne friend. “It doesn't have to mean anything bad, it could just be that some pony's lit their fire place.”

“On a fine spring day like this?” Featherson called back down skeptically.

“Or it could be some pony burning some excess brush.”

It was then that Featherson was nearly knocked for a loop as three pegasi whizzed past on their way towards the growing smoke trail.

Hastening to straighten himself and the hat atop his eagle head, Featherson frowned suspiciously down at his pony companion.

“If it was a controlled fire, I don't think any weather ponies would be dispatched to seek it out. You may be too low to smell it, but there's a strange updraft that's starting to smell an awful lot like some foul play.”

“You're right, I don't smell anything foul about this play, because there may not be anything foul about it. I thought we agreed to avoid anything troubling.”

“Maybe you did,” the griffon answered.

“But, you didn't even want to come, why should this change anything?”

“If there's something foul afoot here that may be in need of investigating, than that could lead to a payday for some pony. And that could change a lot of minds since I'm some pony whose service is investigating. That some pony to be paid might as well be me. Now, do you wanna come along?”

Knead stared uncomfortably up in Featherson's direction, focusing on the smoke trail gradually making its way across the sky behind the griffon. He still was not convinced that a fire – if it even was a fire – could be the source of an investigation. What was more, even if it was something worthy of investigating by the private investigator, there would be no need for the Pie Maker's specific services, at least not from where he could see.

“You don't really need me for that,” he managed to say. “If you want to go on and take a look, be my guest. I still want to make it my mission to visit Mr. Cake without any sort of hold up brought on by... re-waking shenanigans.”

After he had said that, Knead had to wonder why in Equestria he had let those words out of his mouth, for things said such as that were oftentimes the summoner of karma... and karma was not a friend of the Pie Maker.

For immediately upon saying so, another pegasus came flying directly into Featherson Cod, ramming into the griffon and causing him to double over in midair and flap exhaustively to regain his height.

The gray pony tumbled as well, her yellow mane askew and her matching yellow eyes adjusting in different directions.

She shook herself before realized she had hit some pony, and quickly attempting to aid Featherson.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I just was in a hurry to catch up the the rest of the weather team,” she said while reclaiming Featherson's hat from a nearby cloud and holding it out to him.

Featherson Cod grumbled and snatched the hat from her, clearly holding back any of his usual frustrated fuming about being knocked over in the sky not once but twice in one day.

“Yeah it's fine,” he rolled his eyes, dusting off his fedora before placing back in his head again. You wouldn't happen to know anything about the source of the smoke you were so fast in following would you?”

“Just that they sent for some weather ponies to help put the fire out,” the gray mare said warily, as if uncertain if Featherson might still shout at her. “They said to hurry, they think they might have found some pony burned up in the blaze. Um, if you'll excuse me.”

The pegasus then zoomed away again, leaving Featherson to gaze back down at his earthbound associate. His feathery eyebrows rising and a smile beginning to form slightly sideways. Knead could almost hear the 'cha-ching' go off in his friend's head.

“Well I think your chat with Mr. Cake might just have to wait, because that whiff of shenanigans just got a whole lot stronger.”

Swooping down once again, Featherson Cod grasped Knead in his talons and flapped away with him in the same direction as the four weather ponies who they could see even from this distance were already at work bouncing rain from storm clouds to extinguish the fire.

Digby barked from below, jumping the fence and running along in an effort to follow his master, unable to come along for the ride but determined to catch up with them in any case.

Author's Notes:

The facts were these.