Over the next half-hour, Shining Armour could only marvel at Sergeant Nightjack's deft handling of the distraught family. He patiently fielded Granny Smith's confusion, stood firm against Big Macintosh's slow-burning, implacable anger, and soothed the little filly's bewildered tears, all the while radiating resolution and utter confidence in his actions. As for the arrested pony, Applejack herself presented no difficulty. The life seemed to have drained out of her and she moved in a strange, slightly uncoordinated fashion, a dull, anguished look in her brimming eyes on the rare occasions when she raised them from the floor.

She trailed them now, surrounded by Oak Heart and the little detachment which had discovered the body, on the road to Ponyville. Nightjack kept a steady, unhurried pace ahead of them, a pleasant, rather absent look on his face as if he were out for a Sunday stroll. Shining Armour kept pace at his side until he could restrain himself no longer.

“So, how do you want to play this? Interviews first, back at the station, or do you want to come back to that later?”

Nightjack shot him a long look, but settled for, “I think it's best if I leave them at the Station for the time being. As soon as we found him, I called in the Flying Squad from Trotland Yard in Canterlot – Ponyville doesn't really have the resources for this sort of investigation. They should be here soon, and I ought to brief them as soon as possible. Witnesses can wait a little while; the scene examination can't.”

“My guards are at your disposal for as long as you need them, Sergeant.” Shining Armour said.

“Thank you,” Nightjack said gravely. After a pause, he continued in a lower voice, “I think we ought to get a few things out in the open, Colonel. I, of course, cannot contradict the Princesses' will, and I suspect that the same applies to you. I will allow you to follow along and observe for the time being, but any attempt to guide or restrict my investigation or interfere with any evidence whatsoever will not be tolerated. If needs be, I will cuff you and put you on the next train back to Canterlot, but I will not have any meddling from the Palace. Is that clear?”

“Steady on, Sergeant-” he exclaimed placatingly, but the other stallion cut him off in that same firm tone.

“This investigation is going to be difficult enough as it is, Colonel, and suddenly I'm hock-deep in Princesses and Brass Barrels and the whole thing absolutely reeks of politics. I don't care to be kept in the dark about facts material to an inquiry – especially one as serious as this.”

Ignoring the derogatory, old-fashioned slang term for his Guards, Shining Armour blew out his breath and bit back a harsh answer. “I suspect you might be right about the politics, but so far you know more about this than I do. The Princesses haven't told me anything, just that I'm supposed to observe and report. They are taking a personal interest in this one, and are keeping their cards very close to their chests.”

Princess Celestia had met them again back in the camp. She turned an inscrutable look on Applejack, who slumped a discreet distance away surrounded by Guardsponies, before turning back to Shining Armour and Nightjack.

“Sergeant Nightjack, I hate to impose this on you, but I must request that Colonel Shining Armour is allowed to observe your investigation. There are certain matters which may touch on affairs of national importance.”

To his credit, Nightjack protested, “Your Highness, this is highly irregular!”

“Irregular, but sadly necessary. Colonel, please accompany the Sergeant and report back in two days. We will then decide on a further course of action. Any relevant information which we can safely reveal will be passed to you then, Sergeant.”

Nightjack turned his head to give him a sceptical look, which he did his best to ignore. After a moment, Nightjack frowned. “But you're Captain of the Guard?”

Shining Armour shrugged. “Yesterday morning I was going through the annual regimental accounting returns, then suddenly I'm dragging half of the Guard through the Everfree Forest all night, armed to the teeth. I hadn't even had time to get breakfast before you showed up.”

Nightjack snorted. “You haven't eaten yet? Trust me, keep it that way.”

On that ominous note they crossed over the bridge into Ponyville itself, which seemed much as Twily had described it in her letters. The houses tended to be old-fashioned, but all were lovingly maintained, with flowerboxes and baskets hanging in the wide, sunny streets. Cute. No wonder she loves it here. Ponies trotted here and there about their daily business, and he noticed that the civilians seemed to straighten up and walk a little taller when they noticed the small band of armoured ponies in their midst – but not a few of them clustered together in anxious twos and threes, eyeing Applejack's crushed figure furtively.

The police station was a trim little house not far from the town hall, straw-thatched with an old-fashioned blue lantern hanging outside. Nightjack strode inside and quickly took the prisoner's hoof-prints before locking her in one of the only two cells. Oak Heart was passed the keys and given a concise run-down of exactly what she could and couldn't do with her troop and with the prisoner, before being entrusted with the station's battered tea-making supplies and given directions to Sugar Cube Corner. The Sergeant seemed faintly embarrassed as he and Shining Armour set off again on their own, this time east out of Ponyville.

“I'm sorry to hijack your Guards like that, but I only have one Constable and she's still at the scene, interviewing the neighbours.”

“That's OK; you might as well put them to use.”. Aware that they were still in the middle of town and that any of his more pressing questions probably shouldn't be overheard, he settled for a more harmless topic. “Have you always been a police pony? There's quite a few from the Regiments who take it up after they get out of the Guard.”

“Born and bred,” Nightjack admitted. “I did twenty-five years in Trottingham and retired as an Inspector. Moved to Ponyville for some peace and quiet, and after six months I was begging them to take me back, put me on the beat. So here I am. I've got a nice, quiet little town where I know all the ponies by name and see most of them every day. Then this happens; I rather hoped that I'd left all this behind in the city.”

“So you've dealt with this sort of thing before?”

“Oh yes,” he said quietly. “It never gets any easier. What I find so depressing is that it usually turns out to be some banal, petty little squabble at the heart of it that's got completely out-of-hoof – and then I'm the one who has to go and destroy somepony's world by telling them that their son or daughter or partner isn't coming home again.”

They walked in silence for a while, Shining Armour pondering the Sergeant's words as they crossed the little bridge out of Ponyville. As far as he could tell, this was going to be anything but banal or petty. That wouldn't make the victim's family hurt any less. Or even, as he had seen earlier, the perpetrator's.

There was a little patch of low cloud hovering in the near distance with a Pegasus perched on top of it, which he assumed was their destination. “What do you know about the victim? All I know is that he was a friend of my sister?”

“He was just an ordinary pony, really. He turned up with a friend a couple of months ago, set up a business as a carpenter – a good one, too, by all accounts. His friend's a stylist, has a shop in town. Not too long after they arrived, things started going missing around town. Nothing major, just little things, but you don't need to be a rainbow scientist to work out who the rest of the town blamed.”

“And... was it?”

“No. I like to think I'm old and cynical enough to see through it if somepony's putting on an act, but he just seemed... bewildered by it all. He could be a bit cutting with his accusers, but there really didn't seem to be any other suspects.” Nightjack took a deep breath. “Not until your sister come out with some story about a creature in the Everfree Forest a few days ago. There was a meeting of the whole town, and I have to say she was pretty much laughed at – in fact, some of the crowd were turning on Silver and his friend. And do you know who stood up to them and stared them down? His fillyfriend first – and then Applejack and her brother.”

Shining Armour let out a quiet grunt of surprise. “That sort of makes it unlikely that Applejack really did it, don't you think?”

Nightjack sighed. “I don't think anything just yet, Colonel, I'm just trying to gather the facts. Until I have facts, there's little point in hypothesising. As for Applejack? I'd be surprised, but, well, I've seen stranger things over the years.”

That didn't sound like the mare described in his sister's letters, but he kept that thought to himself. After all, he'd never actually met her.

Nightjack stopped at the foot of a long driveway which rose steadily through neat ranks of grape- and berry-wreathed vines to a sprawling farmhouse on the crest of a low hill. About halfway between the house and road the roof of an outbuilding slouched untidily amidst the greenery, and adjacent to it a pair of black-painted Pegasus-drawn wagons sat abandoned in the middle of the drive. One of his Guardsponies stared warily down at them from the cloud above the outbuilding, probably Private Shake Spear whom Corporal Oak Heart had told off to act as sentry. Shining Armour restrained a shiver as Nightjack turned a solemn face to him, pointing with a hoof as he explained the lie of the land,

“OK, mind your hooves in there. The path to the workshop comes out in a sort of clearing right beside the building, and the scene itself is right there. This is an ugly one, so try to prepare yourself; you step out of the vines and it's right there, so you come on it pretty suddenly. Then there's the inside of the workshop itself, but that might have to wait until SOCO have been through. You ready?”

Shining Armour swallowed, suddenly tense. “I guess so. SOCO?”

“Scene-of-Crime Officers,” Nightjack explained, leading the way up the drive. “They process the scene and collect evidence, record layout and photos, et cetera, et cetera. It's quite a specialised job, so we grunts try not to leap all over everything in our hobnailed winter shoes. In fact, I think that's one now?”

Ahead of them, a slender, pale-blue Pegasus mare in a matching blue sports coat and neatly-knotted tie waited patiently for them. “Sergeant Nightjack?” she asked, holding out a hoof. “Detective Inspector Autumn Breeze, Canterlot CID.”

“Ma'am,” Nightjack acknowledged her, shaking her hoof. “This is Colonel Shining Armour of the Royal Guard. He's here as an observer.”

Autumn Breeze raised an eyebrow as she held her hoof out to him. “An observer? Bad news travels like lightning around here, it seems.”

“We were in the area, and some of my Guardsponies discovered the body,” Shining Amour said, receiving a very firm shake. “I was asked to look into the matter and prepare a report.”

Nightjack and Autumn Breeze shared a significant look which clearly said, Politics. Eventually, Autumn Breeze cleared her throat and proffered them a box of fabric hoof boots from one of the black-painted wagons. “Well, just stick with the Sergeant and try to walk where he walks.”

“You won't even know I'm here,” he promised, hopping awkwardly as he tried to get the elasticated top of the hoof boot to stretch around his large hoof. Mum always joked that with hooves like these I'd either be a ploughpony or a policepony – looks like I'd be pulling ploughs!

“If we're all ready? Try to breath shallow, Colonel, it's a bad one.”

Just how bad is it that they all have to warn me? He wondered, his heart pounding and his breathing deepening contrarily in response. Starting to recite some of the methods he'd been taught for controlling his reactions when on guard, he plunged into the vines after the two police ponies.

The path was hard-packed dirt between the growing frames, but where he would expect to hear a riot of birdsong there was an ominous silence broken only by sporadic, low conversation ahead of them. He could see the side of the low, wooden outbuilding when the smell hit him, thick and sickly with the first sour notes of decay. Shuddering, he forced himself onwards until Autumn Breeze and Nightjack abruptly fanned out left and right, Nightjack with a muttered oath, to reveal the corpse almost at his hooves.

His stomach lurched as he recognised the wounds littering the blackened, torn mass in front of him, bone gleaming dully at several points. One back leg jutted out at an impossible angle, and Oh, Celestia, is that his-

His stomach heaved again, with more urgency this time, and he turned tail and bolted for the driveway. He had nearly made it when the meagre contents of his stomach spewed forth, and he staggered over to lean against the fence lining the driveway and vomited until his throat ached. He stood there for a long minute, gasping for air and trying to will back control over his jelly-like legs. Somepony coughed discreetly beside him, and he looked up to see the Pegasus sentry offering him a water bottle. He took it gratefully and tried to swill the foul, burning taste out of his mouth.

“All right, sah?” the Private asked.

“Thank you,” he croaked, spitting again into the dust.

“If it's any consolation, sah, a few o' them coppers have done the same thing. Unbelievable, ain't it? Poor sod.”

Shining Armour took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, shaking his head. “Poor sod, indeed. How long have you been here, Private?”

“I was with the first party wot discovered 'im, sah. Been here ever since.”

“Right. Take five and I'll see if you're still required.”

Swallowing convulsively, Shining Armour forced himself to stand tall and march as briskly back down the path as his unsteady hooves would let him. This time, he kept his eyes pinned to the path and made sure to look studiously away from the body when he reached the building. He found Autumn Breeze waiting for him, but to his mild surprise there was no trace of amusement in her face at his abrupt departure.

“Not pretty, is it? Here, try some of this. It helps a bit.”

Autumn Breeze produced a little pot and smeared a dab of grease under his nostrils, the sharp, stinging scent making him jerk his head back and snort in surprise. The haunting smell from the body was swamped under a tidal wave of menthol and Horstralian Eucalyptus; a distinct improvement but only in relative terms and only as long as he didn't inhale too deeply.

The Inspector turned back to the body and continued her commentary. “Cause of death will be up to the doctor, of course, but it's interesting to note that there seems to be at least one ante-mortem injury. It's been bandaged – rather poorly, but still.”

“C-cause of death?” Shining Armour repeated, hating the little tremor in his voice. “Are you kidding me? He looks like he's been hacked to pieces by a mob of wild Griffons!” He gestured wildly at the body, which was surrounded by a sea of little numbered markers which trailed off back towards the building. A pair of Pegasi wearing all-in-one coveralls shuffled carefully around, inspecting the earth and adding more markers here and there while a similarly-dressed Unicorn swayed gently behind them, eyes half-closed and lips moving soundlessly as fine blue threads of divination magic stretched out from his horn.

“Maybe, maybe not. 'Multiple injuries' is pretty much a given, but type of weapon and number of assailants will be interesting; it definitely wasn't bare hooves, at any rate.”

“Speaking of which, where's the pathologist?” Nightjack interjected from under a little verandah at the front of the building where he was examining some sort of grindstone. Autumn Breeze scowled,

“Coming on the train. Can you believe he's afraid of heights?” she said acidly. “No doubt with half the Equestrian press corps hot on his tail, too. Who's the Coroner around here?”

“That'd be the Mayor. Don't worry, you won't see her for dust. She prefers her blood-letting to be more political than literal,” Nightjack said sourly.

“Huh, one of those, eh? Anyway, follow me, Colonel. Step wide there – that's it.”

Autumn Breeze led him in a wide circuit under the vines to join Nightjack under the verandah. Three large, unglazed windows looked out on the vines, their shutters pinned back on hinges which showed recent signs of repair, while a door gaped open in the centre of the building. From inside came the flash of the photographer, and another coverall-clad Pegasus backed into view, dropping another numbered marker by some item of interest. The threshold of the doorway was worn into a deep rut, the unmistakable signs of bloody hoof-prints leading outside and-

He frowned, squinting closer at the threshold. Faint, and overlapped by the adult hoof-prints, were a set of much smaller prints. Foal-sized, almost.

“You see them, too?” Nightjack asked in a low voice. “Interesting, isn't it?”

“If you're thinking what I'm thinking, we might have some new lines of enquiry,” Autumn Breeze agreed. She turned her attention to the interior, and the other two joined her at the window.

The inside was a curious mixture of order and chaos. Neat ranks of tools hung from the shabby walls and lined the long benches between half-finished projects. A huge stain discoloured the middle of the earthen floor, but all the shavings and sawdust from a busy operation were swept into a neat pile near the door. A bucket lay on its side in a dark puddle in front of one of a number of gleaming machines of smart green enamel and polished steel. The rough frame of a chair sat next to one bench ahead of a large jumble of splintered wood, beams, tiles, tools and other odds and ends below a sagging roof, one joist hanging down ominously above it like an accusing pointer.

Shining Armour kept silent as he watched the police ponies sweep their eyes methodically back and forth across the scene. There was a loud, embarrassing gurgle from his abused stomach and he shifted uncomfortably, but the others didn't seem to notice. Autumn Breeze has one heck of a poker face. As for Nightjack, he looks more like he's stuck on the last corner of the crossword. Huh, I hope they see something I don't, because I feel distinctly like Dr. Trotson to their Sherclop Hooves.

“I think we've found our ante-mortem injury site. There's no drag marks to suggest he was attacked first and then hauled outside.” Autumn Breeze noted.

“Perhaps,” Nightjack admitted distantly. “There's certainly no shortage of edged weapons on hoof. And what do you make of that?” he asked, pointing.

A small axe lay on the ground, half-in and half-out of another blackened area. Yet another numbered marker perched next to the haft, which was splintered and driven slightly into the floor as if it had been stepped on.

“Depends who stepped on it, and when. We'll collect the prints and run them against your Guardsponies. I believe there was a Unicorn as well?”

Nightjack nodded. “Yes, I tracked her down earlier, too. There's been a bit of a development there, actually. One of her friends has made something of a confession.”

Autumn Breeze's head snapped around to give the Sergeant her full attention. “Oh really?”

“Yes. The problem is, I'm not entirely sure what she thinks she's confessing to, if that makes any sense. She's locked up back at the station, so that's the next port of call once we're finished here.”

“How did you want to play this one, Nightjack? We can stick to processing the scene, or we can take if off your hooves entirely, or somewhere in the middle?”

Shining Armour tuned out their internal politics and tried to make sense of the mess inside. A fight, a brawl of some kind which had got out of hoof? Maybe they'd crashed into the wall during the struggle, bringing everything down? If that stain on the floor meant blood, there must have been a lot of it – was there somepony else out there, nursing a wound? Or worse, lying dead somewhere?

He turned to ask whether they'd searched the rest of the farm and the surrounding area when he heard voices coming from above. One was female, worried and increasingly angry, while the other sounded like Private Shake Spear. He ducked his head down to see under the sloping verandah roof, but had to back up a few steps to get clear sight of them.

Shake Spear had flown off towards the road to intercept a pair of Pegasus mares. One of them was doing all the shouting while the other seemed to be trying to referee, and poor Shake Spear was looking harassed and a little desperate. Darn it, I was supposed to see about getting the coppers to relieve him!

“...see him and I'm not going to be fobbed off by some jumped-up tin can! And if those peabrains from the other night have so much as touched him-”

Feeling that he ought to do something, Shining Armour shouted up to them. “Take them to the end of the drive, Private, I'll meet them there.”

“Sah!”

“Hoo, boy!” Shining Armour muttered to himself. “Uh, Sergeant-”

“Go on, I'll be right with you,” said Nightjack, before plunging back into the midst of inter-jurisdictional agreements and cross-party working guidelines. Shining Armour swallowed and started to pick his way back around to the driveway. How did I get myself into this one? What in Celestia's name am I going to say?

Inspiration was still distinctly lacking as he approached the trio, now waiting at the farm gate.

“Are you in charge here?” snapped the aggressive one, a sort of grey colour with flashing violet eyes.

The other mare, yellowy-tan with three blue raindrops for a cutie mark, swallowed nervously. “Now look-”

“Don't give me that,” the grey one snapped at her friend, before rounding on him again. Behind her, Private Shake Spear gave him a helpless grin and backed away a few steps like she was about to explode. Actually, that may not be far from the truth! “Well?”

“Not exactly,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and professional, “I'm Colonel Shining Armour of the Royal Guard-”

“Then find me the pony who is, or tell me what the hay is going on!”

Her voice shook a little on the last few words. She's not angry so much as scared, Shining Armour realised, but before he could answer he saw her eyes fix on somepony trotting down the drive behind him.

“Nightjack! Nightjack, what's going on? Where's Silver, is he all right?”

The fear in her voice was much stronger now, her eyes huge and pleading, and Shining Armour felt a traitorous little sliver of relief that somepony else was there to take over.

“Cloud Kicker, Raindrops,” the Sergeant greeted them gravely before focusing entirely on the grey mare, his voice gentle but firm. “I'm sorry, Cloud Kicker, but I can't let you go up there.”

“Please tell me he's all right?” she whispered, all trace of her earlier defiance gone. The other mare – her parents really called her Raindrops? – put a comforting hoof on her friend's shoulder, a look of awful foreboding stealing across her face.

“Cloud Kicker, I'm afraid I have some very bad news. We received a report early this morning of an incident at Silver's workshop. Bluebell and I attended immediately, and on arriving we found him lying on the ground beside the building. It appears that he had been there for a number of hours, and I'm very sorry to have to tell you that there as nothing that we could do for him.”

“No.”

The word was spoken softly, a strange half-smile of disbelief hovering around the mare's lips.

“No.”

The word was slightly louder this time, pleading. Cloud Kicker's eyes flicked to Shining Armour's face, desperate to find some hint that there was a terrible misunderstanding, but he knew that there was no hope for her to find there. Her mouth sagged open and her face crumpled in agony as the tears starting to fall.

“No.”

The word was a quiet wail of raw pain which struck Shining Armour like a solid buck to the gut. Cloud Kicker's back legs gave way and Raindrops caught her, wrapped her wings around the distraught mare, but nothing could stop or soothe the Pegasus' soft, gut-wrenching sobs.

Unable to watch any longer, Shining Armour had to turn away, feeling like the worst coward in the world – and a complete failure.

The pathologist arrived shortly after the distraught Pegasus and her friend were escorted back to Ponyville by Constable Bluebell, a very wide-eyed Earth pony mare who looked altogether too young to have left school, let alone graduated from Police College. Either that or I'm just getting old? Nah, I'm only... ye Goddess, that's depressing!

Autumn Breeze's prediction had turned out to be accurate, as the pathologist arrived trailing a cloud of reporters and photographers. Judging by his smug expression and Autumn Breeze's stony glare and gritted teeth, he concluded that this was neither uncommon nor a coincidence.

Wrangling the reporters turned out to be a taxing job in itself. Some knew their place and ventured no further than the farm gate, but a few of the more pushy ones kept trying to sneak a little closer, and eventually a couple of the ponies who were supposed to be working the scene were forced to break off and form a line to keep them back. Shining Armour joined them, trying to ignore the blizzard of questions fired at them by ponies desperate to put form to the story they had sniffed out. The famous Royal Guards' poker face had its uses, after all.

Most aggravating was a Pegasus photographer who led poor Shake Spear a merry dance across the sky, darting in from all angles in the hope of either slipping past the frustrated Guardspony or drawing him away long enough to swoop in, camera clutched at the ready, but Shake Spear doggedly kept her at bay. It became something of an amusement for the reporters, bored with being stonewalled by the police, cheering the photographer and mocking Shake Spear's efforts.

Eventually Shining Armour had had enough, and when the photographer made yet another low-level pass over the gate, he reached out with his magic and lassoed her right out of the air. Ignoring her indignant squawks, he floated her to the ground and set her on her hooves outside the fence, leaving a tight cinch of magic around her middle to prevent her from opening her wings. The second she was free, she marched straight over to him, swearing sulphurously to the laughter of her colleagues. Shining Armour just stared at her with the most intimidating look he could summon until she ran out of steam.

“Finished?” he asked coldly, knowing that any comment was probably a mistake but past caring, “There's a pony dead in there. How about treating them with a little respect, or is that too much to ask?”

The photographer snorted derisively at him, “Well, duh! Otherwise I wouldn't be here, and you wouldn't be about to get sued for assault!”

“Leave it, Shutterbug.”

The pony that spoke was a cold-eyed, green Unicorn with a flaming-red mane, and the photographer turned on her in shock.

“But-”

“I said, leave it.”

This time her voice carried a harder, more dangerous edge, and after a moment the photographer backed down, mumbling threats under her breath.

“You probably shouldn't have done that,” sighed a voice in Shining Armour's ear, and he turned slightly to see Nightjack, who gestured for him to follow. The Sergeant lead him a short distance up the drive, out of earshot of the huddle at the gate. “I have to admit that I'm slightly jealous that you did, though,” said Nightjack, with a rare grin that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Irritating little twit! Just hope they don't recognise you, because those sorts tend to hold a grudge.”

Shining Armour snorted angrily. “I can't believe somepony would carry on like that! How could she be so indifferent to the death of another pony?!”

Nightjack shrugged. “That's how they make their living – especially that one. And the other mare, the green one? That's Red Top herself, editor of The Fox. Front Page's right hoof, and she didn't get there through flowers and bunnies, I can assure you.”

“Front Page? As in the media mogul?”

“That's him; a nasty piece of work if ever there was one. I had the displeasure in Trottingham a few times when he was still running the Evening Post into the ground.”

Shining Armour grunted vaguely, thinking. “Would it help if I brought in the Guard to take sentry duty here? Otherwise they're just sitting in Ponyville, twiddling their hooves?”

Nightjack blinked. “Would you?”

“Sure. If there's one thing we're good at, it's standing very still and ignoring stupid questions whilst looking vaguely threatening.”

“I'll send a note with Bluebell as soon as she gets back, then. It mightn't keep them out if they're really determined, but at least it might stop some of them tramping all over the bloody scene like a foal's tea-party.”

Shining Armour gave him a small grin. “Yeah, about that.” He twisted his hooves in the dust, bracing himself against the earth, and began to concentrate very carefully on the building. A few seconds later, a translucent pink dome appeared, expanding rapidly out to encompass the whole building and the surrounding area. There was a startled yell somewhere to their right, and they looked over to see a reporter being bowled along between the vines by the expanding dome. Nightjack just stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck, and then burst out laughing.

“How in Equestria did you do that?! What in Equestria is that?! I've never seen anything like it!”

“A little trick I know,” Shining Armour said modestly. “You and anypony I authorise can pass through it, but anypony else gets bounced.”

Nightjack chuckled and shook his head. “Tell me, Colonel; have you ever considered a career in the police? Public order would be a cinch with you around.”

“I'm not sure that the Princess would be too pleased with me if I walked out on her,” he admitted. “I really don't like using it on ponies, but we're a bit outnumbered, here. What now?”

“There's a certain amount of work that I need to do with the pathologist, but after that there's probably not a whole lot more to gain by being here. The evidence will all be in the report, so I need to start interviewing witnesses while their memories are still fresh – and before they have too much chance to think about things. I need to work out what's going on with Applejack and I definitely need to speak to your sister; I have a feeling that she's going to have most of the answers for me.”

“She might, but whether she can share it with you will be another thing entirely. You know who my sister is, don't you, Nightjack? There's things that she knows, things that she's been involved in recently that I don't know anything about. If they thought you needed to know, you'd already know.”

“That's as may be, but she can't hide behind need-to-know, not now. There's a pony dead; that means I need to know.”

She awoke in a panic of near-suffocation, feeling feverishly warm. The pulse of an excruciating horn-ache throbbed in time with her heartbeat as she flailed blindly at the quilt with leaden forelegs, trying to shove it off her. Finally, it slide free of her upper body and she lay on her side, panting slowly.

Hints of carbolic soap and sweat and apples crept past her dry, drum-tight sinuses; scents that told her that she was not in her own bed. The pillow was definitely not to her usual taste, either, but even the slightest contact with the huge, down-soft, fluffy headrest sent lightning bolts racing down her horn to pinball around her head.

With a moan, she cracked her eyes open. It took quite a while for her brain to process the images made fuzzy through her eyelashes, but eventually she recognised the well-scrubbed bare wood and especially the ribbons and realised that she was-

Applejack.

Silver.

The thought hit her like a blow and left her suddenly breathless, her eyes stinging sharply. She managed to force the sudden torrent of remembered images away, but not the knowledge and the hollow ache it left in her gut. After all their caution, after all their months of work, she had failed – and poor Silver had borne the cost of that failure in a manner too horrific to think about. She had failed.

She couldn't tell how long she lay there, unable to summon the energy to cry, but eventually she heard the slow, heavy thump of hoofsteps approaching on wooden floors. The door cracked open for a moment followed by the towering form of Big Macintosh, a little tray resting on his broad back. He set it down on the side-table next to her.

“Twilight? How you doing?”

The rumble of his deep, quiet voice vibrated painfully in her ears. She tried to reply but could only produce a wordless croak. A glass of water sat on the tray he had brought, and she automatically reached out for it with her magic only for a sudden thunderclap of agony to drive through her skull. When it subsided, she was embarrassed to find her front hooves clamped to her head against the pain. She forced herself to lower them and try to push herself upright, and after a few moments of struggle a huge, shaggy red hoof gently eased her forward.

“Y'all need to be careful, now. Don't try an' use yer magic.”

She reached out trembling hooves and managed to get the glass up to her lips, Earth-pony style. The first sip barely reached her throat, greedily hoovered up by the parched skin of her mouth and tongue, but the second did, and by the time she reached the bottom of the glass she could already feel some of the tension in her head starting to ease.

“Thanks, Mac,” she managed, her voice still husky and raw. “What time is it?”

“Near enough two in the afternoon.”

Twilight's brow creased, not so much at the unexpected passage of time as at his tone. Big Macintosh was never the most verbose of ponies at the best of times, but his answer was terse and almost aggressive. She tried to lighten the mood a little. “How come you got lumbered playing nursemaid? Where's Applejack?”

Big Macintosh looked away from her. “They took her. The Guard brought you here this morning, an' they had the police trailin' after 'em. When Applejack saw you, she... they arrested her, Twilight. Said she'd killed Silver Braise, an' she didn't make a lick o' protest.” He turned back to her, and he could see the hurt and frustration in his eyes. “She agreed with 'em!”

Twilight blanched, overwhelmed for a second by thoughts of the tattered corpse lit up by the light of her horn, that weary, dull grey eye. “What? But... no, there's some sort of mistake! It wasn't her, Mac, I promise you-”

“So what the hay was it! You an' yer friends bin runnin' 'round in yer little secret club! What was all the ruckus yesterday? Where did she go tearin' off to, that she came back in such a state? Huh? Why do I have to tell Apple Bloom that her sister's bin hauled away like some sort o' criminal?”

She flinched away from his outburst, his normally-placid face twisted in sudden rage, and flailed for some sort of explanation. “Mac, look... you know that we do things for the Princesses, Applejack and the girls and I. This is one of them. What we've been working on, we were told to keep it secret unless things went badly wrong, and we have, but it all went south so quickly that we didn't have time to explain anything. That's what the Guard was doing here last night and that was supposed to be the end of it but they were too late and I was too late and Silver... S-silver...”

Her voice broke, and she couldn't bring herself to say the words, her eyes brimming again when she would have sworn that she had no more tears left to cry. She felt a gentle hoof on her shoulder and heard a long sigh.

“And Silver's dead. I'm sorry, Twilight, I'm just so damn...” Big Macintosh trailed off, but she understood anyway.

“It's all right, Mac. I'd say that there's not much of a secret to keep any more, so if I can just explain things to the right ponies we can sort all this out and get Applejack back again.” She took a deep, controlling breath. “We'll retrieve what we can from this mess later, but Applejack did not kill him. I need to get back to Ponyville as soon as possible.”

Big Macintosh looked at her in silence for a while. “It was that creature you were talkin' 'bout the other night, ain't it? The creature in the forest?” he asked her softly.

“Yes. We had hoped to catch it before now.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“We weren't, not until late yesterday, and even then we only thought we knew. It, it... proved it... last night.”

Big Macintosh nodded and turned for the door. “I'll bring the cart around.”

“We can get there quicker on hoof,” Twilight said determinedly, throwing back the covers. Big Macintosh watched in silence, one eyebrow raised, as she climbed onto her hooves and then wobbled across the room on rubbery legs and flopped unceremoniously on her rump next to the wardrobe, her face flooding scarlet. “On second thoughts, maybe we should take the cart?”

“You sent for some Pegasistance, sir?”

Shining Armour looked up at the unexpected voice to find Corporal Oak Heart right overhead, her squad hovering close by. Guard duty had sunk into unrelenting tedium when the reporters finally realised that they were wasting their breath talking to him and the other ponies on sentry duty, and any chance of sneaking in for a scoop was defeated by the protective dome that Shining Armour had summoned. Red Top had been the first to crack, muttering a few terse words to one of her minions before stalking back to Ponyville in a huff, but the rest hung around in the hope of a statement or some other morsel that they could placate their editors with.

Grateful for the distraction, he fell back and laid the situation out for the Corporal, who detailed three of her charges to take over sentry duty, while she sent the others up the hill to set up camp at the farmhouse, which the Berrys had kindly offered as a sort of rest and refreshment centre. Not only had they opened their home to their unexpected visitors, they also kept their kitchen table stocked with tea, grape juice, sandwiches, and biscuits for anypony who felt peckish.

Nightjack found him up there a short while later, chomping his way through a second cranberry and macadamia cookie. He would have sworn that he'd be unable to even think about food again that day after the nightmarish scenes at the workshop, but somehow he'd only had to smell the daisy and dandelion sandwiches before falling on them like a horde of parasprites.

“When you're finished, Colonel, I'd like to get back to town and get started.”

Shining Armour stuffed the last corner of the cookie down his throat and hurried outside, calling out his thanks to Mrs. Berry. Autumn Breeze fell in on his right and together the three set off down the driveway.

“Are you finished here already?” he asked.

Autumn Breeze snorted. “By Celestia, no! The pathologist will be another four or five hours, I should think, and then the body will be moved and autopsied. But there's not a whole lot more we can achieve by standing around staring at things, so we might as well start making enquiries and doing interviews.”

Ahead of them, he could see ears prick up amongst the lounging pool of journalists, and when they passed the two black carts still parked adjacent to the workshop, they began to jostle for position more and more enthusiastically. Shining Armour kept his best “On Duty” face up as the questions began to fly.

“Can you confirm-”

“-Guard exercise gone wrong?”

“-A domestic incident?”

“-Identity of the victim?”

“Rumours of theft in town-”

“-Some sort of mob justice?”

Autumn Breeze stopped between the three guardsponies on sentry duty and the inside of the five-barred gate across the entrance, and simply waited for the questions to tail off. The older journalists rapidly shut up, recognising the signs of an official statement, but it took a while for the younger ones to catch on. She began to speak amid flashbulb flares as pencils scratched frantically at a dozen notepads,

“Good afternoon. I'm Detective Inspector Autumn Breeze of Canterlot CID, and this is Sergeant Nightjack of Ponyville Police Station. Early this morning Ponyville Police, responding to reports of an incident on this farm, found the body of a local pony lying outside his workshop. From the condition of the body and the evidence found so far at the scene, we are treating this as a suspicious death.

“A post-mortem examination will be carried out later today and pending the results of this, and also while the forensic examination continues at the scene, no further comment shall be made. I would ask you to respect the privacy of the deceased and his family and friends at this difficult time.”

With that, she turned aside and began to push the gate open against the tide of journalists and volleys of questions. Shining Armour hurried to lend his bulk to her efforts and together they forced a wide enough gap for the three of them to slip through. He noticed that the journalists pressed the two police ponies closely but hung back from him, seemingly intimidated by the armed and armoured pony. He decided to seize the initiative and set off at a determined walk towards the village, acted as a sort of icebreaker. Sure enough, they parted before him, and while a couple followed determinedly, the rest quickly gave up and resumed their half-hearted staring contest with the guards. And there's only ever going to be one winner there!

He slowed a little as they re-entered the town; Ponyville was a pretty small place, but he knew he couldn't find the police station again with any certainty. Autumn Breeze gave him a questioning look, but Nightjack simply strolled past with a distant, thoughtful look on his face. He had the trick of making his advance look casual, but there was a certain proprietorial deliberateness to his step which made it implied absolute and unquestionable authority. That confident air seemed to transfer itself to the few ponies which skulked around the streets; whereas before they had kept to the sides of the road, almost darting from house to house, when they saw the imperturbable Sergeant proceeding down the street they gradually drifted into a closer semblance of normality. Nervous eyes watched their progress from the windows of the houses, adding to the paranoid atmosphere.

Nightjack led them through the front door of the station, lifting the hinged top of the public counter out of the way to let them pass through into the tiny custody area where they found the remaining Unicorn guardspony engrossed in an old magazine. Behind him, Applejack lay slumped on the narrow cot in her cell, her face turned to the wall.

“At ease, Private, at ease,” said Shining Armour when the Unicorn leapt to his hooves. He and Autumn Breeze paused in the middle of the room, waiting for some cue from their local pony.

“All quiet here?” Nightjack asked, jerking his head toward the cells.

“Not a peep, sir. She's barely even moved.”

“Good, good.”

Nightjack wandered absently around, collecting pens and a bewildering array of forms in his magic, and at the same time emptying the pockets of his coat of odds and ends and unused evidence bags. Finally, he let out a tired sigh and addressed the Private again.

“Tell you what, the kitchen's just through there. You wouldn't make us a brew, would you?”

The surprised Private's eyes darted to Shining Armour as he replied, “Err... sure.”

“Excellent, good lad. Make one for Applejack as well, she probably needs it.” He turned to the prisoner and called her name. “Applejack? Applejack!”

After a moment, she raised her head off the thin pillow but didn't turn around. “Yeah?”

The mare's voice was hoarse and scratchy, and Shining Armour didn't need to see her face to know that she'd been crying.

“We need to interview you about what happened last night,” Nightjack said in a gentle voice. “Do you have a lawyer who can you can call?”

“I don't need no lawyer.” Applejack's voice was soft, but even those five words were laced with despair.

“Applejack, you need a lawyer,” Nightjack said firmly. “This is very serious and you need to have a lawyer who can help you. If you don't have a lawyer, I can arrange one for you.”

There was a long silence. “Diamond Dazzle, I guess. She's done lawyerin' for the Apple family fer years.”

“Filthy Rich's wife? Well, fine, I'll call on her and ask her to come down.”

Applejack nodded and lowered her head back onto the pillow. Nightjack puffed out his cheeks and turned back to the others.

“Look, I need to go and fetch Diamond Dazzle. I also need to go and break the news to Silver's best friend; if she has to find out from anyone, I'd rather she found out from me – especially with Red Top and the rest of the circus on the loose in town. I'll try to get back as soon as I decently can, but can I leave you to hold the fort? I'm sorry about this, but-”

“It's all right, Nightjack, get moving,” said Autumn Breeze. “We'll be ready when you get back.”

The Sergeant nodded his thanks, but Shining Armour stopped him at the door. “Sergeant? Would it help if I had a squad sent down to guard the scene overnight? I think everypony's had a long enough day already without trying to stay up all night, too.”

Nightjack's relief was almost palpable. “Could you? I thought they'd all gone back to Canterlot?”

“If I can find my sister's assistant, I can send a message and they should be here within a couple of hours.”

“Brilliant – do it! And I'd like to know where your sister's got to, if Spike knows. We need to talk to her, too – and soon.”

“I'll get right on it; there's just one thing?”

“Oh?”

Shining Armour gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah – can you show me where she lives?”

Shining Armour found himself facing a wooden door set into gigantic tree. While it was a big tree, and other windows dotted its trunk, it was a little hard to believe that the sign really could indicate Ponyville's library. Maybe they don't read much, here? Either that, or it's a whole lot bigger on the inside, somehow.

His knock was answered by a chubby little purple dragon, whose slit -like pupils widened at the sight of the armoured stallion. “Whoa! Shining Armour? What are you doing here?”

Shining Armour grinned. “Hey Spike! Good to see you too, little dude!”

Spike made a face at the nickname but pulled the door wide open anyway. “Eh, sorry. It's just that I haven't seen you in ages and... well, come on in.”

Strangely, the library really was bigger on the inside. He found himself in a wide-open space lined with shelves stuffed with books, and followed Spike past a set of stairs and into a little kitchen at the rear.

“So, I guess you were here with the Princesses yesterday?” said Spike cautiously, rummaging in the cupboard for some biscuits.

“Yeah. Things have kinda got a little more complicated since then, though.”

Spike paused in the midst of his explorations before straightening up and turning back to him. “Look, do you know where Twilight is?” he asked anxiously. “She ran off in a panic last night about the Princesses and she hasn't come home since, and... well, I'm getting kinda worried.”

“Yeah, about that. She was sleeping it off over at Applejack's this morning, but now I'm looking for her, too,” he said gravely. He took a deep breath before continuing. “There was a pony killed last night, Spike. We're pretty sure that Twilight found him.”

Spike slumped against the countertop, sadness washing over his scaled features as a long, slow sigh leaked out of him. “Do I want to know who?”

“It was a stallion called Silver Braise. He was found-” He started to explain, but Spike flinched at the name and let out a pained groan.

“Aw, no way! He's... he was a really good guy. We sort-of hung out a few times. He even did some work on the library not long ago. Damn it!” The little dragon ran a paw across his face, looking almost angry. “He took a lot of crap from some ponies around here, recently. Is there any chance that they... I mean-”

“They don't know yet,” he said carefully. “To me, there's no way a pony did that. The poor guy died really badly, Spike, but what do I know?”

A look of horror crossed Spike's face, and he had to swallow before speaking. “Then maybe it wasn't ponies at all. Oh, damn it. Damn it, Twilight busted her flank on this! It'll kill her if she was too late.”

“Too late for what, Spike?” he demanded, unable to keep his frustration out of his voice. “So far, nopony's told me anything, not even Princess Celestia!”

Spike gave him a strangely considering look before replying. “Then maybe she ought to be the one to tell you. I'm sorry, Shining Armour, it's just that the Princesses have been so paranoid about secrecy this whole time... why exactly are you here, anyway?”

He tried to restrain an indignant snort. “I'm really not sure, other than Princess Celestia wanted me to observe the investigation and report back to her. The problem is, I don't know what I'm looking for, or why.”

Spike nodded. “Then she has her reasons and it's best I let her keep it that way. Sorry, but if she wants you to know, she'll tell you.”

Shining Armour waved a hoof dismissively, trying to reign in his frustration. “Just let me know as soon as Twily turns up; I'll be at the police station. And I could do with sending a couple of messages to Canterlot if you're up for it?”

Spike leapt into action, apparently pleased to be faced with something he could help with. “No problem! If there's one thing I can find you around here, it's a pen and paper.”

It took him quite a while to write up a summary of the day's events, and a little longer to draw up an order for a Pegasus squad to be detached to Ponyville for guard duty. Convinced that he was keeping Nightjack and Autumn Breeze waiting, he nevertheless took the time to scribble a quick note to Cadence as well before Spike's magical green fire sent the fat packet on its way to Princess Celestia, and he hurried the short distance back to the police station.

In fact, he found Autumn Breeze hock-deep in writing a report and Nightjack nowhere in sight. Applejack remained unmoving in her cell, the only change being a cup of tea sitting untouched on the metal table bolted to the wall just inside the bars, gradually filming over as it cooled. Instead of interrupting the busy Inspector, he settled for checking on his monumentally bored and exhausted-looking Unicorn cohort.

“All right there, Private? Humbug, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir. Echo Company, Second Destriers.”

“Sergeant-Major Honeysuckle's mob, eh? How are you holding up, there, Humbug? It's been a long day.”

“It was a long day yesterday and it's only gotten longer since, sir. I'm starting to feel it a bit, I gotta say,” the Unicorn admitted.

I know how you feel, thought Shining Armour. “Well, when Sergeant Nightjack gets back we'll find somewhere for you to bunk up for the night. Good work today, Humbug; if you want to find somewhere to take a load off, we can hold the fort here in the mean time.”

“Really? Well, I'm not going to argue with you, sir! Even that other cell's starting to look good – what do I have to do to get locked up for, oh, about 12 hours or so?”

Shining Armour grinned. “I don't think we'll need to go that far. Did you get anything to eat, earlier?”

“Yes, sir, the Corporal shouted us all sandwiches from that bakery place around the corner. Even better, the others left the muffins behind!”

“Good. Make yourself comfortable, just don't close the cell door. I don't want to have to file through the bars to get you out of there.”

There was the scrape of hooves on the floor and a familiar voice said, “And why are you destroying my custody suite?”

“In case Humbug locks himself in your cell,” Shining Armour explained.

The old tan stallion walked over to the custody desk and sat down with a thump. “I could always just unlock it, you know.”

“Where's the fun in that?” said Autumn Breeze, looking up from her work. “How did you get on?”

Nightjack sighed, slowly rubbing his nose with a tired foreleg. “Let's just say that it could have gone better. Summer Clip – the victim's best friend – already had half an idea, thanks to some horrible little twerp of a reporter nosing around. When she'd had a good scream and shout at me, she threw me out.”

Autumn Breeze gave him a sympathetic look. “That bad, huh?”

Nightjack sighed again. “She's a bit spit-and-vinegar at the best of times, so I was half-expecting it anyway, but they were really close. In the end, I fetched one of her friends around to look after her; there was no way she was going to listen to me.”

There was an awkward silence as Nightjack zapped the teapot cooling on the table in front of Autumn Breeze and poured himself a cup. He brought it over to himself in his magic and took a long, deep draught. “Now that,” he said, with an air of great satisfaction, “Is a bloody awful cup of tea.”

“Er... sorry, sir, but it's been stewing quite a while. I can make you a new pot if you'd like?” said Humbug awkwardly.

“Don't you dare! Do you know just how hard it is to get good, proper, old-fashioned police tea these days? The sort of stuff that's been boiled orange for a week in a pot that tastes like a hoofball player's saddle blanket? With the little crunchy white bits from the kettle which hasn't been de-scaled since Starswirl was a school-foal? Bluebell, bless her, even drinks this herbal fruit tea that comes in little bags – awful stuff, just awful! This is the tea of late nights and double-shifts-”

Autumn Breeze interrupted his tirade with a smile. “The stuff real Stations run on, yeah, yeah. Maybe back in the Paleopony Period when you were based in Trottingham!”

“I'm sure Trotland Yard would grind to a halt if you couldn't get your double-mocha-lattes or whatever it is you Canterlot types drink these days,” Nightjack harrumphed in mock-indignantion. Autumn Breeze just laughed.

Feeling that he ought to get things back on track, Shining Armour asked, “And what about the lawyer?”

“The lawyer? Ha, the lawyer!” Nightjack chuckled bitterly, as the momentary flicker of cheer drained out of the room again. “She hemmed and hawed and eventually, 'Sorry, I'm too busy to take on an indictable-only case'. Oh, I don't know, maybe she is. It just sounded like she couldn't be bothered fronting an unpopular cause. Harsh, perhaps, but this case is going to be about as popular as Nightmare Moon at the Summer Sun Festival.”

“Does Ponyville have another lawyer you could bring in?” Autumn Breeze asked.

“Mr. Waddle still does a little conveyancing but he's mostly-retired now. He hasn't touched this sort of thing in more than ten years, anyway. We'll have to bring somepony in from outside – Canterlot, probably.”

“I don't need no lawyer,” came a soft voice from behind them. Everypony turned to see Applejack sitting up on her bed, although her head still hung low and her Stetson shaded her face. “Ain't much to explain, anyhow.”

With a glance at the others, Nightjack got up and walked over to the bars. “You see, that's where I think you're wrong, Applejack. You need somepony to look after your interests, no matter how simple you might think this is.”

“And you ain't doing that, jus' now? C'mon, Nightjack, you really wanna sit here on yer plot, waitin' for some fancy-schmancy lawyer-type to sashay on down from Canterlot? Let's just get it over with.”

Nightjack looked stumped at her obstinate refusal to accept help.

“You can't make her, Nightjack,” Autumn Breeze pointed out. “At the end of the day it's her decision.”

The Sergeant blew out his cheeks and shrugged. “Have it your way, Applejack. I'll get the interview room set up.”