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The stench of vomit and urine was strong in the narrow confines of the alley and Annayah did her best to not breathe in too deeply. The metallic tang of blood was everywhere but there was something else too, and the scent of it was like a dark shadow that lay beneath all other scents in the alley. It slowly dissipated in the cool air but it had soaked into the cobblestones and the walls of the buildings and would remain there long after all other signs of the brutality that had taken place here had faded away. It was an echo of pain and fear that lingered like the touch of cold fingers on her soul, a persistent touch of sadness and of dreams broken at the ending of a young life. Annayah sighed deeply and her shoulders sagged. She had never been able to master the art of professional detachment and she couldn't help but feel for those who had met with violent death. When she had begun this job, she saw how her colleagues often joked around and acted normally when investigating grisly crime scenes and she wondered how they could be so cold and distant. She soon realized that it was part of the job and that it was vitally necessary to distance oneself from the horrible scenes to protect one's own sanity. It wasn't that the other investigators didn't feel for the victims of such violent crimes, it was that they tried their best to not let themselves feel. The weight of what they had to deal with day in and day out would drag them down otherwise. Getting too involved meant losing oneself in all of the pain, the violence and the brutality that people could do to each other. Annayah drew in a troubled breath and held it for a moment. Despite her best efforts she'd lost a bit of herself with every murder scene she'd investigated.

Brelton's body had been removed several hours ago but his scent was still strong here. It would linger for days, a mournful echo of a person whose transition from this life to the next one had been brutal and painful.

A rough outline of the location of the body had been drawn in chalk on the cobbles. Blood had stained the rough stone in a wide circle, pooling in the cracks and hollows of the cobbles. A few flies that had survived the recent frosts buzzed hungrily over the half congealed pools of blood. There was a pile of vomit a short distance away and Annayah had a hard time not smelling it. The stench of stomach acid and stale beer assaulted her nostrils. She panted for a moment, breathing through her mouth as she worked over the details of the scene in her mind. Brelton had been drunk. Very drunk in fact. She wasn't entirely surprised. He did have a reputation for liking booze a little too much. She stepped quietly over the chalk outline and stared at the scene from another angle. He'd likely come into this alley to regurgitate all of the beer he'd drunk that evening. Had his assailant been waiting for him in the dark depths of the alley?

Annayah turned her head and stroked her muzzle thoughtfully. There were piles of garbage and debris strewn along the walls of the adjacent buildings. She sniffed carefully and approached the nearest one. It looked as if there could be enough room for someone to conceal themselves behind it, not that Brelton would likely have noticed anyone lurking there considering the state he had been in at the time. Fresh claw scratches on the stones showed that a struggle had taken place. Annayah knelt down for a closer look. A few off-white hairs clung to a smattering of blood drops. She gently plucked them from the ground and held them in front of her nose, sniffing gently. She could just detect Brelton's scent on the strands of hair. She let the strands drop from her fingers and looked back toward the street, thinking hard. There was movement at the mouth of the alley and she was momentarily distracted.

It had taken a bit of convincing to get Sergeant Juneau to let her have a look at the crime scene. These were special circumstances. A member of the Guard had been murdered and even though he had not been on duty at the time, it was still a rare occurrence and the whole situation was being carefully watched by the Captain, among others. Annayah wasn't on duty and technically should probably have been in bed but she wasn't going to let things like that stop her. Juneau was the closest thing she had to a friend outside of Kalya and Annayah had pleaded her case with the coyote and she had eventually relented and granted her a few precious minutes at the crime scene. Juneau knew both Kalya and Brelton quite well and also understood that there were few in the city with senses as sharp as Annayah's. Much of the reason she had relented and allowed Annayah to poke around was that she knew that Annayah more than anyone else might be able to come up with a clue as to who had killed Brelton. However, Annayah did not tell her of her suspicions that this might be more than a simple mugging. She would keep those suspicions to herself until she was absolutely sure that she was right.

Juneau glanced at her and Annayah could see the troubled expression on her face. With every minute that passed the more likely it was that Annayah would get caught in a place that she wasn't supposed to be. She could see the worry in Juneau's eyes and knew the risk her friend was taking even letting her near this place. Annayah had no desire to get Juneau in trouble and quickened her investigation as much as she was able.

There were many scents in the alley, many of them old, but a few were more recent. Annayah sniffed carefully, trying to separate the old from the new and filter out the overpowering scents of blood, vomit and urine. Her brow furrowed and she sniffed a little deeper. There was an undercurrent hiding among the tangle of other scents and it set her on edge. She got down on all fours and sniffed the cobbles behind the obscuring pile of garbage.

Her head suddenly snapped up and she looked back to where Brelton's body had lain. Her eyes were wide and her ears were back. The back of her neck tingled as the fur there stood on end.

That damned wolverine had been here. The traces were faint but they were there. A low growl built up in Annayah's throat. She knew that there was the possibility that the scent traces could be coincidental but she couldn't quite bring herself to believe that. The scent traces were roughly the same age as Brelton's and wolverines were known to be violent. Annayah's hackles rose. She didn't like this unexpected turn of events.

A flurry of motion from the mouth of the alley caught her eye. Juneau was frantically gesturing to her. She faced the street and waved an arm behind her back, trying to get her attention. Drawn out of her thoughts, Annayah looked up sharply. She saw the fear in Juneau's eyes as she briefly looked over her shoulder. She frantically motioned with a paw for her to go away, and quickly by the looks of it. Annayah swore softly. Her time was up.

Since going out by means of the street looked to be a very bad idea, Annayah melted back into the shadows of the alley. She glanced around quickly, looking for a way out and finding few options. The door at the far end of the alley had been boarded up long ago and there was no escape there. No other ideas came immediately to mind and mentally she cursed herself for being stupid enough to put herself in such a position. She briefly thought about hiding behind some of the refuse that littered the alley but she knew that would be a poor choice, a last resort at best. She swore bitterly and wondered just what the hell she should do. She was almost ready to dive behind a pile of garbage when something else caught her eye.

There was a window a short distance above her and the stone ledge was close enough that she just might be able to grab hold of it. Most of the glass had been smashed from the window and two rough boards had been nailed across the frame. It would be tight but it looked like there would be just enough room for her to squeeze underneath the boards and through the window. She cocked her head, eyed the ledge in a calculating manner and gathered her legs beneath her.

She put everything she had into the jump and just managed to catch the window ledge with both paws. Her knees slammed painfully into the wall below and she grimaced. Claws scrabbled on stone as she fought to pull herself up and squeeze through the window. Pain burned her right palm as broken glass sliced through leathery pads and she almost cried out. Jagged remnants of glass jutted like teeth from the window frame and they brushed dangerously sharp fingers through her pelt, snagging on her jerkin as she pulled herself underneath the board and through the window. Her paw ached terribly and she felt a sting on her leg as she finally managed to pull herself all the way through the window and landed with a thump on a hard and dusty wooden floor laced with glittering shards of glass.

There were three voices in the alley below as Annayah panted in the dark confines of the dusty room. Juneau's she recognized but the other two weren't familiar to her and she wondered who they were. She cautiously put an eye to the window and risked a glance below.

The two strangers were of the Guard, that much she could see and they stood with Juneau at the entrance to the alley. She sniffed carefully, hoping to catch a hint of their unique scents as they rose up to her. After a moment she caught both of their traces on the swirling air currents. Felines, both of them, and both male. One was a complete stranger to her but the other one was vaguely familiar. She had scented him before but wasn't quite sure when or where.

Juneau was being asked some hard questions below. Both felines apparently outranked her and both were arrogant and demanding. Annayah eyed the trio cautiously. One of the felines suddenly moved deeper into the alley, ears cocked and tail twitching behind him. His head moved side to side as he sniffed intently. Annayah's heart lurched. He knew that someone had been there recently and she wondered just how much he would be able to determine from the scent traces that betrayed her presence in the alley below. He called back over his shoulder to his companion and the other quickly trotted in to join him. They talked in low voices, fingers pointing here and there. They moved slowly into the alley, moving closer to the window that she hid behind. Annayah carefully withdrew her head and sunk below the window ledge. She picked a piece of jagged glass from the floor and used it as a mirror to keep an eye on the two that searched the alley below. She hardly dared to breathe as she held the piece of glass at an angle that allowed her to see a shadowy image of the figures below. The murmuring voices stopped and she watched the shaky reflection of the Guards in the alley apprehensively. As one their heads turned up to look at the window she hid behind. Annayah quietly placed the glass back on the floor and decided that now would be a very good time to leave.

***

The flame of the oil lamp shifted and wavered subtly as hidden air currents flowed gently around it. Amber eyes glinted in the gloom and the deeply shadowed face of the Captain could just be glimpsed in the feeble light from the lamp.

The silence in his office was unfathomably deep and the darkness nearly complete. Sound seemed to be a distant and hazy memory and the flame of the lamp the last light on Earth. Dulam actually preferred things this way. The solitude allowed him to think easily and dwell on tough decisions that had to be made. Few people wandered the halls of Headquarters during the late shift and it was for precisely that reason that he still remained here. It seemed like an eternity had passed since Dulam had last heard the click of claws from the corridor that lay on the other side of the thick oaken door, a door that he had locked and bolted right after he had entered. The heavy curtains had been drawn over the window immediately after the door had been bolted. He had then ensconced himself in his huge leather armchair in front of his desk and hadn't moved since. There had been heavy knocking on the door two times since and neither time had he done anything but shift his preoccupied gaze to the oaken door. Whoever it was that had seen fit to disturb him in his weighty thoughts would have to wait until tomorrow.

A deep sigh escaped the Captain and for a moment he deflated like a pricked balloon. Serious problems had developed and Hagarth had suddenly found his carefully contrived plans on very precarious footing. Two of these problems in particular irritated him, and he desperately needed to find solutions to them that would not create even more problems.

The human was his first and foremost problem and a most serious one indeed. What to do about a certain nosy Constable that knew entirely too much was the second matter that disturbed him greatly. There were solutions to both problems that were fairly easy but messy, for lack of a better word. He grimaced and tapped a finger on his desk. Should things go wrong, he wanted as few questions asked about this whole situation as possible. It would be simple enough to make the human disappear, but a well known and trusted constable of the Guard was anther matter entirely. An accident of some sort would be best but he would have to weigh his options carefully before he formulated a plan for that one.

Hagarth's thoughts kept drifting back to the human. That one of the Pale Ones had shown up in his city vexed him greatly and had severely complicated matters. Why exactly the human had come here was a question that had weighed heavily on his mind right from the beginning. He could be a spy, a saboteur, or even an advance scout for a raiding party, all of which would not be out of the question for a species as despicable as the humans. He hated those furless bastards with a passion that bordered on the fanatical and a snarl twisted the lines of his muzzle as he leaned forward. The things they had done he would not soon forget. While others of his kind often had short memories and tended to be more forgiving of the Pale Ones, he had a burning hate deep within because of what he knew those ugly bastards were capable of.

Hagarth had not always lived in the city. He had been born in the forests far to the west, a place of soft mossy earth, huge coniferous trees, and of broad valleys between weathered mountains. Memories of a small village among the trees at the edge of a deep lake danced through Hagarth's mind. A small village, maybe thirty people at most. A generally peaceful place where life consisted of hunting and fishing, and a place where he remembered happy times and a tight circle of family and friends.

His village often traded with the neighbouring clans and even with a group of humans that lived two days travel to the north. The humans had been there as long as he could remember and they'd never had any trouble from them. He recalled watching them from behind the safety of his mother when he was just a cub. They were a strange lot, those ones. Often sick, they always seemed depressed and lost and they were a people who knew the end of their race was near. He remembered how the leader of his village conversed with the leader of the trading party in the strange, guttural language of the humans and he recalled how the human's eyes barely lifted from the ground. Bargaining ensued and after a time and much talking in that strange language, goods would be exchanged. Food and leather to the humans in return for metal and odd trinkets. The humans would then be on their way through the village, eyes downcast as they shuffled their way home.

That was the way it had always been but one season brought with it a change for the worse. He would never forget that day as long as he lived. A bright and hot summer day, most of his people had busied themselves fishing or repairing nets and tools in the shade from the trees. A few youngsters splashed about in the cool waters of the lake in an effort to escape the heat of the midday sun. He remembered the breathless runner that brought the news to the leader of the approaching traders and he recalled the worried look in the leader's face at the news and the way his tail began to twitch from side to side. Whispered words were exchanged and the mood in the village changed suddenly as people dropped nets and tools to grasp weapons in uncertain paws.

The traders came in as they always did. Seven of them, eyes downcast, reeking of smoke and human sweat. They presented themselves before the leader as was traditional, arms wide, hands spread wide and palms up, a gesture of goodwill and trust. The leader though, he seemed nervous and Hagarth had been too young to know why. Curious, he had watched the proceedings, craning his head around the huge tree that he'd used to keep the heat of the sun off of his pelt.

The bargaining process started as it usually did but soon took and unexpected turn. The leader of the human trading party did not know his place. He was loud, outspoken, and his eyes were on the puma in front of him instead of the ground where they should have been. The village leader's tail lashed about behind him and he had his arms crossed over his chest. The human gestured wildly and shouted something and the leader shook his head. All around the village, heads were raised and eyes hardened. Paws tightened on bows, spears and knives.

In the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened. In one smooth motion the human leapt forward and slashed the throat of the leader of the village. Hagarth doubted that the poor guy had even seen the blade that had been concealed in the human's pale hand.

Blood spurted and the whole village stared in horror as their leader staggered, paws clutching at his ruined throat. Hagarth remembered the terrified look in his eyes and strangled screams as blood flowed hotly over the paws that sought futilely to hold together his gaping throat. The human shrieked a war cry and leapt forward to attack the next person within reach but by then people had overcome their shock. The human was pierced by several arrows before he could do anymore damage and came crashing to the ground, a bleeding, twitching hulk.

The remaining traders cast off their burdens and shrieked and howled their own war cries. Weapons appeared in pale hands and they leapt forward, slashing and stabbing whoever was within reach. Arrows began to fly and the villagers leapt forward with spears and blades to join the fray.

As the trader's war cries faded, an answering cry went up from the trees surrounding the village. Heads turned, eyes widened and the day suddenly erupted into an explosion of noise and fury. Guns, the humans had somehow gotten their hands on guns. Pale skinned monsters raced into the village from the forest and bloodcurdling cries tore through the air amid the blasts of the guns.

Hagarth had been frozen in fear. He hadn't known what to do. Guns were an ancient terror to his people, something of dark legends and bloody myths, a weapon that he had been told was almost impossible to defend against. He had been no more than a cub back then, barely eleven seasons old and it had seemed as if the world was coming to an end.

The whistle and whine of passing bullets were still fresh in Hagarth's memory. He would not soon forget the heavy thunks as several bullets hit the tree he was hiding behind. Other projectiles rattled and knocked off branches as they ricocheted through the forest around him. One of the humans soon spotted him and ran toward him. Hagarth still remembered the crazed eyes in a face streaked and painted with black and dark green paint. His feet had been frozen in place. He couldn't have moved if he tried. The human charged at him, shrieking horribly, a blade glistening red with blood clenched in one hand and Hagarth had been able to do nothing but stare at the bringer of death and destruction.

The scene played out in slow motion in the Captain's mind and a dark look came to his face. How close had he been to death? Two steps, maybe three at most? There had been a blur of motion off to one side as the human closed upon him and a tawny form had crashed into the human at full speed. Both figures went sprawling in a tangle of arms, legs, and glinting blades.

Curses and cries rang out as the two struggled to get the upper hand. Hagarth only vaguely remembered other people running and shouting and dying around them. The one who had come to his aid at the last second had been his father and Hagarth watched in horror as he fought with a crazed human who was bigger and stronger than he was.

Hagarth's father had never been a fighter. He had been known as a good hunter and was a talented tool maker but he had never been a warrior. The human was stronger and a better fighter and soon gained the upper hand. Desperation and terror gave Hagarth's father strength and when his knife was knocked from his hand Hagarth saw him use claws and teeth to attack the human. The two rolled around on the hard ground and in the midst of the fray his father had turned his terrified eyes to him and had shrieked at him to run. The human had caught his father with a heavy blow on the side of the head, cutting off his father's cries with a grunt. The unfortunate puma soon found himself on his back, his attacker pinning him down. The human stabbed down with his blade but his father managed to deflect the blow at the last minute. He reached forward and sank his teeth into the human's arm. A desperate howl of pain rang out and the human sprang back. Hagarth's father staggered to his feet and screamed at him to run again. A shot had rang out close at hand and his father had spun around, a stunned look appearing in his eyes. The human he had struggled with sprang forward and thrust his blade toward his father. The puma tried to block the attack but he stumbled as blood flowed freely from a bullet wound in his right side. The two met briefly and an arrow suddenly appeared in the human's throat. With a surprised gurgle his grasp on his opponent slipped and he fell to the ground but the damage had already been done. Hagarth's father stumbled toward him collapsed against the tree that he had been hiding behind. Hagarth could see the knife buried in his ribs. His father's breathing was laboured and he slowly slid down the tree as his strength failed. His breath gurgled as he told him to flee, his voice barely a whisper. Hagarth's legs had finally unfrozen and he sprinted away from the horrible scene before him, heading into the forest as fast as he could, trying desperately to ignore the cries and shrieks of those fighting and dying behind him.

Hagarth knew he would never forget the look of helpless terror in his father's eyes as he died and he cursed the humans for what they had done. He had never understood why they had attacked his village. His people had never done anything to them. All they had wanted to do was live their own simple lives and they did not deserve the slaughter that was brought upon them at the hands of the humans. A snarl twisted Hagarth's face and he gripped the edge of the table so hard that his sharp claws bit deeply into the wood. His tail lashed angrily for a moment before he mastered his emotions.

Out of a village of thirty people only seven had made it into the safety of the forest. The humans did not follow them into the trees and Hagarth remembered huddling with the other survivors, watching the smoke rise in the distance as the humans burned his village to the ground.

The survivors eked out a thin existence in the forest for the next week, constantly moving in case the humans sent out search parties to hunt them down but it seemed that the humans either would not or could not follow them into the forest. That was a small blessing as there were three in their small group that had been wounded in one way or another.

Hagarth had been luckier than most. His mother had survived the slaughter and he was grateful for the companionship and strength she showed in the face of what had happened. She became the informal leader of their small group, tending the wounded, organizing those able to hunt and sending them in search of food. It was she that returned alone to the village to see if there was anyone or anything left there. The look in her eyes when she returned had left little doubt that there was nothing left there except ashes and pain.

Several days later, their ragtag group of survivors stumbled into the safety of the nearest friendly village. The people there had stared at the bedraggled and battered group in wonder. The wounded were attended to immediately and Hagarth's mother had conferred in low tones with the leader of the village. A decision was reached and runners were sent out. Over the next week people trickled into the village at a steady rate. Fighters and warriors, all of them, and of many different species. A decision had been reached and the human problem would be dealt with.

Battle plans were drawn up and argued over and the warriors took time to prepare their weapons and their souls in the face of what was to come. Hagarth remembered the looks on their faces and knew that none of those warriors expected an easy battle. Somehow the humans had gotten their hands on guns and that did not bode well. Arrows and spears were poor weapons against swift bullets and after destroying one village those humans would be expecting some sort of retribution and would be prepared for an attack. There would be many brave warriors who would not return alive. Even so, Hagarth had found himself wishing that he could have gone with those brave fighters to exact revenge upon those who had destroyed his home. He was far too young for the horrors of war and was forced to wait at the village while the war party moved quietly out into the woods on a seek and destroy mission.

The stories Hagarth heard of the battle after all was said and done were still fresh in his memory. To overcome the advantage of the guns in the hands of the humans, the war party had tracked them down and waited for the cover of night to launch their attack. The humans had poor night vision and their weak sense of smell gave them no warning to the immanent attack. They were slaughtered as they had slaughtered those in Hagarth's village. The losses to the raiding party were few and they returned triumphant but not before they had razed the human's camp to the ground. The guns were smashed and burned and the decapitated heads of those bastard humans had been piled in the center of the camp to serve as a grisly warning to any others of their kind.

Hagarth had not seen another of the pale ones since that long ago attack on his home and he never thought that he would see another. Humans were unheard of this far east. From what he had heard there were still a few small groups of them that remained in the wild lands to the north and west but they had been driven from these parts over a century ago. All that remained of them were rumours and old relics that could still be found if one looked in the right places. He'd almost forgotten about the Pale Ones and the hate that he held for those furless demons had long been pushed deep inside and buried under the troubles that came with being Captain of the City Guard.

Fingers steepled, Hagarth leaned forwards, his face detaching from the shadows. The flame on the oil lamp wavered as the air was disturbed as the Captain moved. Eyes glinted in the darkness, each dilated pupil holding a perfect reflection of the wavering flame. Thoughts whirled within Hagarth's head and a lip curled back to reveal a sharp white tooth and soon a dark grin flowed into the lines of his muzzle.

He'd been denied his own personal revenge so many years ago but here, now, he had an opportunity at vengeance. No one knew that the human was still alive and even if they did there were very few indeed who would care what happened to it.

Teeth glistened in the feeble light as Hagarth grinned. It was imperative that he find out why the human had come to this city. If the humans were planning an attack or some kind of sabotage against those who lived here the sooner he found out, the better it would be for all concerned. He would not let the humans attack the innocent and defenseless again, not if it was in his power to prevent it.

Hagarth stood and there was the clink of iron as a ring of keys was plucked from the table. The lamp was snuffed and darkness seized the room. After a brief pause the door was opened and a figure was momentarily silhouetted against the gloomy hallway. There was a heavy clunk followed by a sharp rattle as the door was shut and locked and then the silence took over.

***

The ache in Annayah's right paw burned constantly and sapped her strength. The glass had cut deep across her palm and she'd made a crude bandage out of a scrap of cloth when she had returned to her quarters. The wound needed the attention of the Doctor and likely a few stitches as well but there wasn't time for that right now. Annayah was getting the feeling that something very wrong was going on.

Her black nose sniffed the air cautiously and when she didn't detect any fresh scent traces, she carefully peered around the corner. The wound on her leg flared back to life as she did so. She'd have to get the doctor to look at that one too. It wasn't as bad as the one on her paw but it still might require a stitch or two.

The hallway was empty, silent, and the door at the end beckoned to her. She really shouldn't be doing this, she thought, but she had to. She had to confirm her suspicions about what had happened to Brelton and there was only one way to do that. She had to go to the morgue and have a careful look at his corpse before it was cleaned and readied for burial. A look of utter distaste came to her face as she cautiously worked her way down the deserted hallway. She absolutely hated going to the morgue. The stench of death and embalming fluid there always made her stomach turn and she had never gotten used to seeing corpses laid out like so much unwanted garbage on shiny steel tables. The coroner was a strange one too and she had never quite gotten used to him. Too much time in the presence of the dead had made him unsure how to deal with the living. The aged raccoon mumbled to himself a lot and Annayah had even heard him talk to the corpses. A shudder ran down her spine and her ears twitched as she approached the door. She figured that one had to be not quite right in the head to want a job that dealt with corpses day in and day out. She wondered if he could even smell anything but the smell of death anymore.

Just a short couple of minutes she told herself, a quick check over Brelton's body for any signs of a struggle with the wolverine and she'd be out of there. Hopefully that unsettling coroner would accept her reasons for wanting to view the body or even better yet, he would be busy elsewhere. The morgue was generally a very quiet place and if all went well the coroner would be in his office doing paperwork and she'd be able to sneak in and out without him knowing. Just as easily, she thought, he could be doing an autopsy. At that thought, Annayah stopped cold and she almost turned around. She'd only seen one of those but had no desire to ever see another one. There was something about cutting apart a dead person and mucking about in their guts that seemed so wrong to her. The dead needed respect, that's what she had been taught. They were to be returned to the earth and left alone, not poked, prodded and dissected. A deep breath and she forced herself to start moving again.

The smell of embalming fluid curled out around the edges of the door to meet her and she felt her stomach turn in reply. She sighed miserably and gently turned the door handle. Holding her breath, she poked her head through the door and peered around.

The morgue was apparently deserted and she breathed a sigh of relief. The scents of stale air and formaldehyde assaulted her nose but her perked ears heard nothing but silence. So far so good. She entered the room and quietly closed the door behind her, trying not to think of what would happen if she was caught here snooping around when she was supposed to be off duty and resting. She wondered if there was anyone out looking for her yet. Word of her being at the crime scene must have gotten back to the Captain by now and she doubted that he would be pleased at the news. Their next meeting was one she really wasn't looking forward to, especially if she could prove her suspicions correct.

The morgue was gloomy and quiet. No lamps had been lit and Annayah had the feeling that the place had been deserted for some time. She crept past carts full of gleaming autopsy implements and thankfully empty steel tables. Thinking about the things that happened on those autopsy tables, she suppressed a shudder and moved toward the second room at the back where the corpses were stored pending identification or burial.

She crept into the next room on uneasy feet. The smell of death and embalming fluid was nearly overpowering in here and she had to force herself to go further into the room. It was unspeakably eerie to be in this silent, empty place, surrounded by the dead, and Annayah felt her skin crawl. Did the spirits of the dead that lay here watch from the dark corners with ghostly eyes, angry at what they had suffered in their last moments of life, and at what their bodies had endured on the tables behind her? She shook that question away and pulled herself together. Just a few quick moments of discomfort and she could be done and gone from this place. She stalked forward to the rows of steel doors and began to read the labels that had been affixed to the center of each door. Several were empty and there were a few names she didn't recognize but she eventually found the one she was looking for. She stood and stared at it for a long time before she found the strength to open it. She was afraid of what she would find in there. Had the coroner already done his autopsy and cleaned the corpse, leaving her with nothing, or would she find the evidence she so dreaded? On some level Annayah really didn't want the suspicions she held deep within to be confirmed and she held her breath as she swung open the steel door and slid out the tray that lay within.

A sheet covered the body and Annayah hesitated briefly before pulling it back, wondering again why she had gotten herself into this situation. No end of trouble would come of this if it was discovered that she was snooping around but she had to do something. She seemed to be the only one that cared that things just didn't add up. For her own sake and for Kalya's she had to find out what had happened to Brelton. She hoped and prayed that he had indeed been a victim of a random mugging instead of the disturbing alternative that lurked in her thoughts. A sinking feeling settled in her gut as she gently pulled the sheet back from Brelton's face.

It was immediately evident that the autopsy had yet to be performed and Annayah breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes flicked over the face of the corpse, searching for anything out of place.

Kalya had been right. Brelton could easily have been sleeping. His eyes had been closed and the look on his face was peaceful. Had it not been for the flecks of dried blood that clung to his nose and to the tips of the long guard hairs on the side of his face she felt that she could have reached out and woken him up. She shook her head sadly. She could understand why Kalya had been so broken up.

Annayah pulled the sheet down to Brelton's waist and craned her head over the corpse. There was an ugly mass of blood sodden fur on the left side of his chest. She moved to the other side of the tray and took a closer look. A gaping knife wound was visible among globs of half congealed blood. Annayah shuddered and took a step back. That people were capable of doing such things to each other over something insignificant as a few coins always amazed her even though she'd seen it many times. She held her breath and tried to clear the overpowering odour of blood from her nose. After a moment she stepped forward again, this time sniffing lightly, letting her nose seek out any evidence that may lay hidden from her eyes.

The scent of blood was so strong that it nearly masked everything else. The scent currents were sorted and filed in her mind and after a moment things below the strong odours of blood and decomposition began to reveal themselves.

The scent of ale was fairly strong, especially around Brelton's head. There were residual acidic traces from his vomit that lingered there as well. Annayah stalked around the tray, sniffing intently. There was a barely detectable trace of fear lingering on the corpse and Annayah's ears wilted when she detected it. The poor guy had been terrified in his last moments. She shook her head sadly and hoped that the terror had given him the strength to fight his attacker.

Hesitantly Annayah picked up Brelton's right arm. Her stomach turned at contact with the corpse but she fought against her discomfort and carefully examined Brelton's paw. She sniffed carefully at his claws. There was something there that she could just barely detect, a sharp and musky odour that was nearly hidden by everything else that assaulted her nose in this place. She couldn't quite be sure what it was but she knew she had scented it before. Her mind worked furiously for a moment and her face suddenly twisted into a snarl. In the alley, this same scent had been in that damned alley. Annayah clenched her jaw and tried to calm herself down. The scent on Brelton's paw could be from incidental contact from a contaminated object in the alley or elsewhere for that matter, there was no way to be sure. She placed his arm on his chest and thought furiously for a moment.

A sudden noise from the other room made Annayah spin wide eyed toward the source. A door had been opened and she swore softly. She hurriedly placed Brelton's arm back the way it had been and pulled the sheet back up over him. As she did so she stopped suddenly and stared. Thrown into sharp contrast against the white sheet was a tuft of fur that had been trapped in a cracked claw on Brelton's left paw. She missed it earlier because it had blended in so well with his own pelt. She quickly plucked it from the corpse and stuffed it into a pocket. The sheet was pulled the rest of the way up and the tray was slid back into the dark recess in the wall. The steel door she closed as quietly as was possible. She crept forward and risked a glance around the corner.

The coroner had returned to his lair and Annayah cursed silently. She doubted that she would be able to sneak out of this place undetected and she knew that the coroner would not be pleased to find her in here when he had been gone. Torn about what to do, Annayah crouched low and peered around the corner.

The age raccoon mumbled and muttered to himself as he wandered among the autopsy tables, a large sheaf of paperwork clenched in one paw. He flipped through the folder in his paw and muttered some more. He arranged a few nasty looking implements on one of the autopsy tables and finally moved toward his office. Annayah held her breath. Hopefully he would be in there for a while doing some paperwork and give her a chance to sneak out. She tensed up, muscles ready to spring around the corner and make quickly for the door.

Two seconds after the coroner entered his office Annayah sprang into action. She shuffled across the polished floor as quickly as possible, trying to keep her toe claws from clicking on the stone. Ears back, eyes wide, she wove her way around tables and carts, heart pounding in her ears.

She almost made it to the door. She heard a commotion from the office and there was a metallic clang as something hit the floor. She cursed.

The coroner stood in the doorway to his office, an absolutely stunned look on his face. A metal bowl lay at his feet amid scattered paperwork. Annayah grinned at him uneasily and wagged the tip of her tail. She was so busted.

It took the startled raccoon a moment to find his voice.

"Annayah." There was a long pause. "You shouldn't be in here."

No shit, she thought.

"What the hell are you doing sneaking around in here?" He demanded, and angry edge entering his voice.

Annayah thought quickly for a way to respond that wouldn't get her into more trouble.

"Uh... I was looking for you actually."

"For... me?" He sounded surprised but and she could see in his eyes that he didn't believe her.

"I wanted to ask you if you'd had a chance to examine Brelton's body yet." She edged closer to the door and the coroner eyed her warily. His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. She saw his eyes flick to the red stained bandage bound around her right hand. An odd look came into his eyes as he lifted his gaze to her face.

"I know you're off duty Annayah. My report is for the Captain's eyes alone and my findings concerning Brelton's death are none of your concern."

Annayah winced at that. It was more of a concern to her than he could ever know.

"I know that, I'm just here as a favour to a friend. Kalya is not doing so well and I figured that if I brought her some news concerning how Brelton died it might ease some of her pain." Okay, so that was really weak, she thought. By now, her hand was on the door knob and was slowly turning it.

The coroner eyed her suspiciously. He opened his mouth to say something but Annayah cut him off.

"I'm really sorry to have disturbed you. I think I'd better go." With that she quickly swung the door open, sprang through and slammed it shut behind her, leaving a very surprised raccoon staring at a closed door.

Annayah fled down the hall, ears back, eyes wide and she cursed herself for being stupid enough to get caught snooping around in the morgue. When word of this incident got back to the Captain, and there was no way that it couldn't, there would be hell to pay. She likely faced a suspension without pay, maybe even a fine and possibly even outright dismissal if the Captain was in one of his moods.

One hand was held tightly over the pocket that contained the tuft of fur she had plucked from Brelton's corpse as she trotted down the hallway. Her leg ached dully and her injured hand began to flare up in pain. Thankfully there were few other people in the hallways but those she passed favoured her with odd glances and one fox even stopped and stared openly as she limped past him and down the corridor.

She'd given him a glare that could have melted stone and had secretly been happy at the worried expression that crossed his face and at the way his ears wilted when her eyes met his. Damn the people here and their prejudices. She really didn't have the time or patience to deal with that crap anymore.

Annayah thought briefly about returning to her quarters but she decided against it. There could already be guards there waiting to take her into custody. A snarl twisted her muzzle. Things were going downhill and right quick too. Her suspicions about what had happened to Brelton were now more likely real than not and she didn't like where that path led.

The Guard House, that labyrinth of stone hallways and cold rooms no longer seemed a safe place for her to be. She fled that place and found her way out into the streets as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over cobbled streets.

The city seemed lifeless, grey, silent. The people she saw were no more than indistinct shadows and the cobbles were cold and hard under her feet. Annayah limped slowly along the street, one hand often reaching out to walls and buildings to steady herself. Thoughts flew through her head and the look on her face was one of dark concentration. There were so many things she had to do. She would talk to people and track Brelton's movements up to the time of his death, and she would find out who else had been involved in the incident with the human. She had a gut feeling that something bad would happen to someone else if nothing was done.

Without even realizing it, Annayah had stopped at a corner. Her ears were back and a snarl bent the lines of her face into an angry mask. Her hands were clenched into fists and it was the pain from the cut in her right palm that brought her back to reality. Fresh blood soaked the bandage and dripped from the last two fingers on her hand. She sighed and most of her anger fled. She suddenly felt very cold and alone.

There was much she had to do but first she had to pay a visit to the Doctor and get herself patched up.