The Beginning

Inspector Thyme awoke to the sound of the mail crow outside his door. His cat eyes adjusted slowly to the morning light. He was becoming old, perhaps too old for these early dawns. The mail decided to come just after sunrise today, of all days. It was the only day that Thyme had opportunity to sleep in, and his health needed it. He sneezed, fighting off the last bit of a cold that had swept through New London as the winter season began to roll across the country. The crow called again.

"Mail, sir! Special delivery!"

Thyme clawed his way out of bed. It was generally assumed that felines were the least hospitable upon waking, and today was no exception. Thyme answered the door tersely.

"How many time must I tell you birds? Just leave any package on the doorstep..."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but this package requires confirmation. Signature, if you please"

The crow handed Thyme a clipboard and small parcel. It was awkwardly wrapped and bound by loose twine. "What is this?" asked Thyme.

"Not sure, sir. Came in just this morning, marked urgent." answered the crow.

Thyme thanked the crow quickly, brought the package inside and bolted the door. He had not received an unmarked package before, though he often received mail from the Animal Division of the Yard. He decided to wait until after breakfast to open the package. Thyme created his usual meal of trout and coffee in the morning. His senses slowly sharpened as he ate, the smells of fish and hard taste of coffee beans quickened his body and mind. As he sat, his thoughts wandered to the recent murders of animals and to what the package may contain. He opened it in the middle of his meal.

Inside was a letter, also hastily prepared, and a pistol; a small, four-barreled revolver, specifically made for what appeared to be the paws of animal. Such weapons were made illegal by the Owners over a decade ago.

Inspector Thyme removed the seal of the letter and began to pour his eyes over the scribbles underneath.

"Inspector Thyme,

My name is Father Oppenhounder. I have some insight into the recent murders you may be interested in." That was the culmination if the message, short and enigmatic. As Thyme examined the package, there was no return address. "What in the world," thought Thyme. " Who on earth would deliver such a thing by post?" He turned his keen senses to the clues of the letter. Quick writings of a clumsy hand suggests the paw of a large dog, and a few lingering whiffs of dander belie the scent of a hound. The package must have come from the Poor Canine district, home to several parishes and synagogues. If this Father Oppenhounder was indeed telling the truth, he was right in the middle of the scene of the crime. Most of the murders had occurred in that very district, and the two surrounding.

Later that morning, Inspector Thyme entered his Yard office with more on his mind than he cared for. Sebastyen, his loyal but carefree assistant noticed. "You look preoccupied this morning," quipped Sebastyen with a slight tone of interest, "What's on your mind?"

"I received a package this morning" said Thyme, amidst sniffles, "it was from a priest, and I don't know what to make of it." Thyme handed Sebastyen the letter, then carefully revealed the revolver from his vest pocket. Sebastyen recoiled at first, and stared hard at Thyme. "I hope you know what you're doing with that." Thyme curled a smile and sat behind his desk while Sebastyen read.

"What does this mean?" he asked once he finished.

"I don't know. It smells suspicious. The writer claims to be a priest and is possibly a hound. There is little we can do, other than discover what priest hounds are in the Poor Canine district."

"The Poor Canine? That's where the murders happened. Coincidence?"

"That's what makes me uneasy. Either this priest knows something we could use, or this is a ruse, or worse still, a trap."

"Surely the killer wouldn't be so bold as to send you a gun in the mail."

"I'm not sure what to think, Sebastyen. For now we can only research. Do you have a file of parishioners in the Poor Canine district?"

"Or course! Right away." Sebastyen leaped form his chair, and quickly stepped out. Thyme breathed a bit easier, discovering the first moment in the day that he felt calm. Sebastyen was unprofessional at times, but had excellent resolve, courage, and most importantly, records. They would soon learn the identity of the mysterious holy sender, and the case that had been cold for weeks would finally show a heated trail. Thyme stuffed and lit his pipe, gazing out his office window to the busy streets below.

He blew a smokey puff. "New London..." he murmured to himself. "City of Owners and Animals. None like it in the rest of the free world, eh? Free for some, perhaps. Fear for the rest." The Inspector's mind traveled to past days, when he had first been recommended into the Investigation Academy, his first case (a domestic dispute involving stolen property), his promotion into the Yard by way of the Owners. His mind continued to wander until...

He suddenly coughed and chided himself. It was inevitable during these nostalgic excursions, that he would think of her, but for some reason, the memory always caught him by painful surprise. He sniffed and wiped his nose, upset to make his body vulnerable to memory at a time like sickness. Then, Sebastyen came bustling in with several files and dropped them heavily on Thyme's desk.

"We're in luck," he began excitedly, "While there are three hound-priests in the Poor Canine district, there is one with the name Oppenhounder."

"I see. Where is he?"

"13 Minor Square, just outside of East End."

"East End, eh? Crowded place, and a bit dangerous once the sun goes down. Very well. If we hurry and go by cab, we should find his scent before lunch."

"Splendid! I'll contact the Owners..."

"Wait, Sebastyen," Thyme paused. His instincts had been frequent and haphazard of late, but he still had no choice but to trust them. He closed the door and turned on his radio receiver. It was one of Stilmann's operettas, and perfect for stifling sensitive conversation if the volume was loud enough.

Sebastyen moved closer to hear, taking Thyme's hint at secrecy. "I'd prefer not to involve the Owner's yet. I'm not sure why, but these murders have a nasty taste to them... More so than obvious. Until I know more, I'd rather not get the Owners involved and risk sloppy investigation methods. The humans have no sense of propriety at crime scenes."

"As you wish, sir." replied Thyme, "But this may shed suspicion on you later on if we get found out."

"I know the risk, young one" responded Thyme. It was a phrase that Sebastyen resented. "Even so, the thought of the Owners being involved in the investigation now... It makes my hair stand on end. Maybe later, but there are too many questions now."

"Very well. Shall we go?" Sebastyen asked, grabbing his coat.

"Indeed." The Inspector began to step out, pausing only to pat the four-barreled revolved in his vest pocket. It was beginning to look like an eventful day.