Lex Legis was dead.
Dark Streak hadn’t been certain of that at first, but with several hours having gone by since their final encounter and no sign of the red-horned unicorn, she felt confident in that conclusion now.
Mostly.
Using her spyglass as she peered between the boards covering the belfry window of the abandoned schoolhouse where she’d taken refuge, Dark Streak eyed the burnt-out remains of the factory, only barely within line of sight from her position.
The fire had been quenched now; once the roof had collapsed, allowing the flames and smoke to billow upward in a way that made it obvious to everyone in Las Pegasus’ lower ward what was happening, the ponies had been quick to react. While she’d expected them to fly clouds over and try to drown the flames with heavy rainfall, they’d instead elected to dump large carts full of sand – presumably gathered from the nearby desert – onto the building, eventually smothering the fire that way. According to a few snatches of conversation that Dark Streak had overheard, that was the preferred way to fight a chemical fire for some reason.
But right now, she was less interested in the blackened shell of the building than she was in the ponies gathered around it. There were quite a few of them, largely composed of a crowd gathered around the outside of the building, many with pencils and pads of paper, while others had those “camera” things that let them make instant portraits of whatever they pointed them at. A few were wearing uniforms of some sort, keeping the rest back from the wreckage.
And several that she recognized were clustered at the edge of the smoldering ruins, consoling each other the same way they’d been for the last several hours.
Feather Duster – awake now that the oil of taggit Dark Streak had made her drink had worn off – was wrapped in a blanket, given to her by one of the medical ponies which had looked the survivors over. She pulled it close despite the morning already being a hot one, a miserable look on her face as she leaned against Sonata, her shoulders still jumping with the occasional sob.
The Siren herself seemed bereft, one hoof around the crying maid as she stared at what was left of the factory with a dazed expression on her face. She’d been that way ever since getting out, and while she’d answered questions and let the doctors treat her wounds, she had refused to be moved from the scene. Nor did anyone attempt to usher her away, either out of respect for what she was going through or because they were afraid of what she’d do if they tried.
Aria, by contrast, needed no excuse to lash out at everyone around her. Even as Dark Streak watched, a pair of pegasi in overlarge coats – presumably made out of heat-resistant material the way her armor was – and covered in soot trudged out of the charred skeleton of the building, making their way over to the pigtailed Siren, their lips moving. After a moment the duo shook their heads, causing Aria’s temper to flare up.
Although she was too far away for Dark Streak to hear her, she could see the Siren berating them, her brow furrowed and her eyes wide as she gestured sharply at the pair before pointing back toward the burned-out factory. The two appeared to protest what she was telling them for a moment before a renewed bout of anger from Aria made them give up, shoulders slumping as they turned around and marched back toward the ash-choked ruins. It was a scene that had repeated itself several times now, and in Dark Streak’s estimation wasn’t going to cease anytime soon.
Off to the side, the blonde unicorn mare with the glasses was engaged in a conversation of her own. She’d been coordinating with most of the ponies who’d arrived on the scene, apparently taking charge of the situation. She continued that now, as a pair of well-dressed ponies whom Dark Streak recognized as being part of Lex’s retinue – a unicorn stallion with a balding pate and a muscley unicorn mare with a close-cropped mane and tail – worked their way through the crowd, approaching the bespectacled mare.
The three spoke for almost a minute before the unicorn apparently asked them both something, and just like with the firefighters who’d spoken to Aria, the two servants looked downcast as they shook their heads, causing the blonde mare to slump in place.
As with Aria, it wasn't hard for Dark Streak to guess what was going on. The two were reporting in to let the four-eyed mare know that Lex Legis and his shapeshifting pegasus hadn’t turned up elsewhere. Combined with how the ponies searching the rubble had yet to pull any survivors out of the ashes, the obvious conclusion was that Lex and his would-be rescuer had been consumed by the fire, and now there was nothing left of them to find.
Sighing, Dark Streak put her spyglass away before leaning back in the cramped belfry, considering her next move.
Lex’s death was entirely presumptive; it wasn’t lost on her that he’d been casting a spell in his final moments. Although he’d been grievously injured and had likely already been dying from the sheer number of wounds he’d taken, Dark Streak couldn’t bring herself to dismiss the significance of what he’d been doing. Not after how tenacious he’d shown himself to be.
But at the same time, if he’d been attempting to save himself, then it didn’t seem to have worked. From what she could tell, Lex had yet to reappear, either here or anywhere else in Las Pegasus. Given that he’d come running when a mere servant’s life had been at stake, she couldn’t see him neglecting to come and check that the rest of his harlots were alright.
The likely explanation was that he’d simply been unable to finish his spell before the roof had collapsed. Although that shapechanging pegasus had bought him some time – her wild attack hadn’t been particularly dangerous, but she’d been shifting forms so rapidly that it had been difficult to try and target any of her vital areas – Dark Streak was fairly confident that he’d still been chanting when a loud tearing sound from above heralded the ceiling giving way. The odds that he’d finished his spell in the remaining two or three seconds he’d had, given how much pain he’d been in and the trouble he’d apparently had breathing, were slim to none, even with that pegasus rushing to his side.
Unfortunately, Dark Streak hadn’t been able to remain there long enough to personally witness his death. Unlike when the Sirens had brought a portion of the roof down, it had been immediately obvious that there’d be nowhere left to run this time. So Dark Streak had availed herself of her sole remaining escape option: drinking her potion of gaseous form.
In hindsight, she’d overestimated the efficacy of that potion. While turning into mist had saved her from being crushed to death, it hadn’t prevented her from being scorched by the heat when the influx of air had caused the flames around her to surge. If anything, she’d been more vulnerable to being burned than before, since the fire-resistant properties of her armor had been useless in that state.
The result had been, after she’d slipped out of the inferno unnoticed – drifting through the air toward this empty building which she’d decided ahead of time would be her fallback position – and returned to normal, she’d been covered with burns and in a great deal of pain.
Fortunately, that had been a problem that her wand of healing had been able to fix, and the griffon hadn’t hesitated to apply its magic to herself liberally. Too liberally, as it turned out; while she’d been able to close nearly all of her wounds, she’d expended the last of the wand’s power in doing so. It was nothing more than an elaborately-decorated stick now. While Dark Streak wasn’t sure if it was possible to recharge a spent wand, the point was moot; while she could cast a few spells thanks to the inscriptions on her brain, she didn’t have the magical know-how to attempt anything more complicated.
It was, in other words, another magic item that this job had cost her, up there with her hat of disguise, her gaseous form potion, and one of her bags of holding. With how this world seemed to have little knowledge in the way of imbuing material objects with magic, that added up to a devastating loss. Especially in the case of her hat, which was most likely a pile of ashes buried under a ton of debris by now; with it gone, there was no way to hide that she was a black griffon in a land of colorful ponies. She’d stand out like a sore talon now, especially if Lex’s doxies started telling everyone who had attacked them.
The thought sent a wave of spite through her. I should make good on what I told that miserable stallion I’d do and butcher them all, scowled Dark Streak silently.
But she couldn’t bring herself to take that idea seriously. As wretched as she still felt after coming face to face with her own worst memories, and as much as she wanted to punish Lex Legis for that, spiting someone who was already dead was an exercise in futility. Striking out at Lex’s mares now would accomplish nothing.
Nothing except letting everyone else know that I survived the fire, she amended silently. That was the one good thing about her current situation: as far as anyone else knew, she hadn’t made it out of the factory either. Although she’d still need to take pains to lay low – such as making sure to cast her non-detection spell on herself periodically, the way she had a few hours ago after using her wand to heal herself – no one would put out a search for someone who’s last known location was inside of a burning building. Not unless she gave them reason to, at which point she’d likely become Equestria’s most wanted criminal; even if most of the population outside of his area of control had thought poorly of Lex Legis, no one in this land would condone a murderer, especially of royalty. For her own sake, Dark Streak knew it was better that the Sirens and their friends continued to think that she was dead.
Of course, the fact that she was only pretending to be dead raised the possibility, however slight, that Lex Legis could be doing the same thing…
Shaking her head, Dark Streak reminded herself of the evidence against that idea, glancing out the window at where Sonata was staring forlornly at the smoking ruin. He wouldn’t hide, not for this long, she decided. He’d reassure everyone that he was undefeated if he could, or seek medical attention if he had to. Either one would have come to the public’s attention by now.
Which meant that it was time to focus on the future.
If I wait until nightfall, it should be easy to sneak on one of the trains at the edge of town. While the upper portion of Las Pegasus could only be reached through the air, the lower part of the city had a railway that connected it to the rest of Equestria, mostly so things that couldn’t be locally produced – such as food – could be imported. With how lax Equestria’s security was, covertly boarding an outbound train would be child’s play. And after that…
Pulling out the map of Equestria that she’d had the foresight to pick up back in Canterlot, Dark Streak looked over the country’s layout. She was in the southwestern most portion of the country, and the only way to get to the eastern continent – where this world’s griffons lived, and where she’d be able to blend in without much effort – was in the northeast. And directly between them was Ponyville.
For a moment Dark Streak considered that, then shook her head. She’d never get the other half of the money from Willow; with no way to prove that she’d killed Lex, the purrsian would wait for independent confirmation before paying her anything. And once she learned that someone else had died in the process, she’d likely argue that the contract had been broken. While Dark Streak had little doubt that she’d be able to force the issue, that would likely be more trouble than it was worth. Better to just make a clean break and be done with it.
Besides, she snorted to herself, one talon dropping to her belt, the last thing I want is another bundle of IOUs that I’ll need to crisscross the continent to collect-
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, however, as she reached for the bag those declarations of debt had been stored in, and clutched only empty air.
For a moment confusion clouded her brain, the mass of alchemical concoctions that she’d taken combining with her tiredness and emotional exhaustion to leave her struggling to process what was going on. But then her momentary bewilderment cleared up as she remembered which bag she’d stored those papers in. And where that bag was now…
Crushing her map of Equestria in her talons, Dark Streak clenched her beak together and tried to swallow her scream of frustration.
Even dead, Lex Legis had managed to vex her one last time.
“BLONDIE!”
Looking up from where she’d been trying to draft a statement that would tide the press over until they knew more, Nosey blinked at the pigtailed mare who was stalking toward her. “Aria? What’s-”
“Where is it?!” demanded the Siren, her angry growl carrying an undertone of desperation that bordered on hysteria.
Not sure how to react, or what her friend was talking about, Nosey could only blink. “Where’s what?”
“The bag!” shrieked Aria. “The one Lex took from that griffon! Sonata said she dropped it when you two were carrying Little Miss Maid out, and you picked it up with your horn, so where is it?!”
Knowing that there was no reasoning with her in the state she was in, Nosey’s horn lit up as she pulled out the item in question. “It’s right here, but-”
“Give me that!” Aria didn’t hesitate, swiping the sack out of Nosey’s telekinetic grasp. “There’s got to be something in here that can help us find Lex!”
She didn’t wait for a reply, instead turning the bag inside out. Immediately, the its contents came spilling out, forming a pile on the ground far in excess of what its size would have suggested, causing several nearby ponies to turn their heads and stare in amazement. But Aria couldn’t have cared less, tossing the bag to the side carelessly as she began digging through the clutter. “He’s not showing up on my tracking spell, but that maid wasn’t either, so that griffon must have had some way of hiding them! If whatever it was is in here, I can shut it off, and then I’ll know where Lex is!”
“Aria…” The other mare’s voice was all desperation now, and Nosey could feel her throat closing up. She’d been burying herself in various tasks after they’d gotten out – liaising with the fire brigade, making sure the doctors saw to her friends, checking in with Lex’s other servants, finding a courier to send a note back to her hotel to let her parents know that she was okay, and numerous other chores – and that had been enough to keep the full weight of everything that had happened at bay. But now, seeing Aria like this drove home that it was hours later and there was still no sign of Lex or Thermal Draft, and Nosey could feel her eyes starting to water as the weight of what that meant began to settle over her…
“Don’t just stand there!” snapped Aria. “Help me look through all this!”
“R-right,” sniffled Nosey, kneeling down to begin sorting through the pile. Maybe Aria was right. Maybe instead of waiting for a miracle that was looking less and less likely, the thing to do was take a more active-
Nosey’s train of thought abruptly jumped the tracks as she turned over a collection of papers, her eyes widening as she saw what was on them. “These…!”
Aria’s attention was instantly on her. “What is it?! Do you have something?!”
It took Nosey a moment to answer, flipping through each page and scanning them. “These are promissory notes!”
Frowning, Aria moved around to look at the pages over Nosey’s shoulder. “What are those?”
“They’re formal declarations that you owe someone else money,” explained Nosey, still looking over each note in turn. “It’s like a written promise that you’ll pay them back, stating how much you owe and to whom.”
“So that means what, exactly?” huffed Aria. “That assassin was in debt to someone?”
Nosey shook her head. “Just the opposite, I think that these were being used to pay her. See here?” She tapped the corner of the topmost page. “This little hoofwritten part in the corner? It says that the debtor should pay the bearer of this note in full, whomever they might be, instead of the declared recipient. They’ve all got that written on them…and they’re all signed and initialed by the same person that all of these notes are made out to.”
Aria went very still then, her eyes moving down to the signature at the bottom of the page. “Are you telling me,” she breathed, her voice no longer filled with barely-repressed grief and rage, instead having become colder than ice, “that this is the person who sent that assassin?”
Under any other circumstances, Nosey would have shuddered at hearing so much malice in someone’s voice. But at that moment, after everything that had happened, and with the possibility of Lex’s being alright becoming slimmer with each passing moment, she couldn’t find it within herself to be afraid. Quite the contrary, after what she’d been through – first in Vanhoover, then in her apartment back in Canterlot, and now here in Las Pegasus – she was sick to death of being afraid. “If he’s not, then I bet he knows who did.”
It was someone else’s turn to be afraid now, and his name was written on the note she was holding.
“Blueblood.”