WHOLE STORY (to date - in various levels of edit )

Chapter 1: Mondieu 

January 13th, 2038 5:37am

1 hour from New London

What so false as truth is,

False to thee?

Where the serpent's tooth is

Shun the tree---

Where the apple reddens

Never pry---

Lest we lose our Edens,

Eve and I.

~Robert Browning - A Woman's Last Word

The balmy winter night was clear, as always. The artificial irrigation producing perfect verdancy was shyly hidden, and the city required no rain. Lush garden arrangements exuded an elegant, primal taste into the air: violets, voluptuous rose, lip-red tulips, and the heady transcendence of pine, maple, oak, cherrywood. A whispering breeze carried the scent of something more, something discordant with the moonlit garden: the nauseating metallic rust of blood, the stench of spilt viscera.

In the city of Garden, edenic night lurid with stars and silver fox moon, the blood of two souls mingled and seeped into the earth, their bodies denuded and eyes open wide. And there was evening, and there was night, the first day.

.....

The city bled an efflorescence, golden on the blur of night - a phoenix death, embers until the resurrection of morn, where new creation begins, and begins again. It was a strange thing, a death in undying lands, and the city's edenic appearance burned with a burr of color, a drop of poison dye in crystal water.

The inspector rolled into the city on a stagecoach hearse-black in the funereal palette of night. A land of shadows, everything flickering in surreal beauty: even in darkness the city emit an elegance, a face of perfection.  But the inspector was locked deep in thought, irregular in his introspective ignorance of the passing scene: dewy, white limestone streets; glass and rose-chalcedony architecture, purple saffron exuding a metallic honey scent. 

What were his thoughts, then, the dark-clad man in the long cloak and navy wool scarf, bundled, despite the balmy morning – what were his thoughts? He took a deep drag on a thin-brown cigarette, a relic of the distant past, and considered.

The stagecoach clattered up the main thoroughfare toward a glass sphere at the city’s center. A park surrounded the large sky-dome, full of fruit-bearing trees: plum, peach, pear, apple, cherry, fig, grapefruit, filling the air with a saccharine sweetness in the pre-dawn breeze.

The brief ember glow from the inspector’s cigarette lit his face: shaggy, unkempt beard, hooked nose, a tired baggage of chestnut eyes that gleamed shrewdly, and a nest of raven hair. Alert now, as they neared the scene, the inspector’s eyes scanned his surroundings, missing nothing: a crowd of folks standing around the glass dome in their night-things, whispering curiously as the stagecoach pulled up; well-worn benches underneath the flickering, candlelit streetlamps; the shift in the breeze into sudden stillness, the fruity redolence and the subtle, metallic stain of death; the nervous motions of animals in the trees.

A nervous man approached the stagecoach, and waited while the inspector exited the carriage. The crowd tip-toed nearer, curious to hear what was said.

“Greetings inspector,” the man said, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides while avoiding the inspector’s eyes.

The inspector briefly gathered in the man’s old-fashioned, almost Victorian uniform: dark blue buttoned shirt; striped cuffs; bobby helmet; navy trousers – an almost ridiculous costume, dredged from some ancient closet, no doubt. The nervous man was beardless and young, not yet twenty and five to the inspector’s eye, with a false moustache perched on his upper lip. He was lean and athletic, though his hairline receded slightly against his forehead, matted with a thin sheen of sweat, whether from the heat of the night, or nervousness, the inspector knew not.

“Garden welcomes you, in this direst of circumstance,” the man continued, extending his hand in greeting.

The inspector removed his gloves with care, and ignored the proffered hand, which the policeman dropped awkwardly. “There is a murder, I’m told. Let us waste no time. Take me to them.”

The policeman’s eyes widened and he nodded enthusiastically, once, thrice. “Right, sir. Right this way, then, sir.” With a wave of his arm and a half turn, the policeman turned and began walking towards the glass dome, an arboretum as the inspector now noticed.

The inspector moved to follow and, after a brief moment, the crowd pressed forward in their wake. The arboretum loomed, a wide glass sphere maybe fifty stories wide, half as many tall, and faintly glowing a pleasant yellow. They walked between an aisle of cherry trees, laden with ripe yellow-red bundles of fruit despite the season, and approached an opening in the side of the dome, a sliding glass door.

Humid air gently breathed out from the inside, suffused with a rich aroma of fruits, pine, hemlock, aspen, cherrywood, and cedar, and a faint metallic taste of rust.

Images assaulted the inspector, a violent vision like a waking nightmare coursed through his head, words, disconnected words: offered a fruit, covered in crimson, hands, feet, pools of blood and piles of the thin-stemmed fruit, a great, deeply furrowed tree, towering and rounded, full leafed in many colors: silver, shadow-green, early-spring green, scarlet, ember-orange, sun-yellow, sulfur, amber, brown. Beneath this tree, they both lie, die, a serpent at their heels, a dark, phantom hovering, holding a clawed weapon like fangs. A breathless whisper on the breeze: oh, how we’ve fallen, fallen. Oh, how we’ve fallen.

The inspector reeled, and the crowd, pressing close behind, gasped in surprise at his abrupt halt before the entrance. The policeman turned with a raised eyebrow, a twinge of fret etched across his features, but the inspector collected himself and motioned him forward into the great, central glass dome. They entered.

Immediately, a strong sense of an older, primal world washed over them. The entrance of the sphere was bathed in a rich, yellow glow, and the temperature was warm, almost hot, and lightly humid.  The path veered in a spiral around the sphere, and a straight-cut path into the central area was impossible. Strangely, as they passed in shortening spirals around the garden, the ambient light changed, so at one location, it was bright as daylight, flowering plants erupting into crimson bloom, and trees budding and dripping with fruit; while in others, wide-eyed nocturnal creatures scampered along the shadowed limbs of towering trees, and the violin twitch of grasshoppers hummed in the night.

No one said a word as the procession traipsed, wearily, as though almost involuntarily pulled, around the arboretum, ever nearer the center. Even the large-eyed lemurs and lethargic sloths, the white-spotted deer, gazed at their passing in unblinking curiosity. An owl swooped into the underbrush with a screech, and then leaped into the air with a prize caught in its fierce talons.

The crowd behind the inspector and policeman slowed, and the inspector felt the tension thick in the air, a sort of electricity. The stench of blood was stronger here, and the birds were silent. The center was illumined as dawn, and the inspector wondered how near to dawn the day actually was. Probably not far off now.

          As they turned the final round into the central glade, they all shuddered at the ghastly scene. Even the inspector, usually emotionally taciturn and controlled, felt a brief shiver crawl up his spine at the grisly image.

          Beneath a giant tree, a male and a female lay, mouths and eyes open wide and laying in pools of blood that covered and stained each of them.  The policeman opened his mouth to speak, stopping ten paces before the slaughtered couple beneath the tree, but the inspector held up his hand, and the policeman stayed silent.

          The inspector approached the scene, surveying everything.

          Two adults, one male and one female, the male formerly dressed in dark spandex-polycotton short bottoms and undershirt, and the female formerly dressed in khaki work pants and a similar shirt to that of the man. Man slightly taller than average, bronzed skin and blue eyes, and deeply calloused hands – the hands of a hard-working man – beardless and sharply muscled, with a full head of raven-colored hair. His face was long and sculpted, like a marble memory of a man, and pallid from the loss of blood. Two tiny bite marks marked the jugular of the man, and from this, it seemed, the blood poured. It was now, the inspector noticed from the state of the wounds, at least an hour since the deaths.

          The woman, also taller than average, though shorter by a couple hands than the man, had a heart-shaped face with full lips and chocolate eyes, and a pointed, obstinate chin. Her hands were also calloused, and muscles firm and toned. She had auburn hair and light skin, and two bites marked her, one on the jugular and one at the heel. The inspector could not discern which bled more.

          Both were naked now, their clothes tossed on either side, and the man and the woman were twisted together in a mess of limbs.

          The inspector beckoned the policeman forward, and the entire crowd closed a few footsteps in unison with the approaching policeman.

          “You called me in for a couple snake bite victims?” the inspector said in a dry, accusatory tone.

          “Sir, we don’t have any snakes.”

          “No snakes? You can’t imagine any just sneaking in?”

          “No, sir, that’s quite impossible.”

          The inspector ignored the inanity of the statement and examined the victims closer. Something about his vivid vision agreed with the policeman’s assessment. Or, rather, he intuited a malevolence about these deaths, a murderous intent. The bite marks were almost like deep gouges of claws, without any tearing, like they were intended to mimic snakebites, but missed some poisonous mark. How did they bleed so much?

          “Tell me what you know,” the inspector said sternly.

          The nervous man wrung his hands and shrugged, staring at the ground to the side of the gruesome scene. “Sir, I’m afraid we don’t know much of anything at all, sir. The gardener-”

          “Where are the police? Where are the investigators? Why isn’t this section cordoned off and the public shooed home?”

          The policeman paled. “I am the police, sir. Or, our city has no need of police, and since we needed a police tonight, I was instated as the policeman, sir.” The man stammered quickly. “There are no investigators. That’s why we called you, sir.”

          “What’s your name, lad,” the inspector said, pulling out another cigarette. This was looking to be a long night.

          “Seth, sir. If-” started the policeman.

          “Not you,” said the inspector, striking a match against his cloak and lighting his cigarette, puffing gently. “You.” The inspector pointed to a young man with golden hair and stunning marine eyes. His complexion was light, but his eyes bright and cheekbones high, which gave him a cheerful, shrewd look. He was athletic, and stood, in a sharp stance, a little separate from the rest of the crowd, sneaking forward to glance more closely at the bodies.

          Without even a start, the man turned toward the inspector and looked him in the eye. “Simon Temple, sir.”

          “Very good. You may call me Inspector Mondieu. Do you know where to fetch a doctor?”

          The man thought for a moment, and then nodded.

          The inspector looked at him up and down, evaluating, and then motioned him away to find a doctor, and returned his attention to the couple.

          “Now, my lad, tell me what you know,” the inspector said, kneeling to rifle through the clothes of the victims. “Who are these two? Do you know of them?”

          “Sir, yes, of course. Mr. Addam and Ms. Lilya. He-”

          “They were not married?” interrupted the inspector.

          “Well, no sir, not exactly,” replied the policeman, turning red. “But sir-”

          “Mondieu, if you please. Was there any reason anyone might desire the death of these individuals? Any enemies or angry mistresses?”

          “None, whatsoever! They are not married, but they’ve been together for quite some time. They have kids, and everyone cherishes the work they’ve done for this city. There hasn’t been a murder here ever, sir.”

          Why is everyone so convinced this is a murder? Why am I so convinced this is a murder?

“Interesting. Tell me, then, who were they? Everything you know.”

          “Mr. Addam worked as the horticultural inspector for the arboretum and parks. He tended the plants, made sure the trees received enough sunlight, the flowers bloomed. The woman, Ms. Lilya, tends to the animals in the arboretum and around the city of Garden. She makes sure they are eating enough, reproducing properly, and no sickness threatens their populations. In addition, each is tasked with the caretaking of the life tree,” at this, the policeman motioned at the tree towering over their heads.

          The inspector studied the tree for the first time and was shocked to discover it was the same tree he’d seen in his vision on entering the garden. How was that possible? Psychic emanations? What was that vision anyway? Such vivid imagery, and so closely tied to what he now saw. Had he been here before?

          Closer, and in reality, the tree was magnificent. Silver veins lined the underside of each leaf, and thinly veined tendrils of silver climbed up and down the main stem. The branches and leaves seemed in various stages of seasons: plum colored leaves on one branch, red-yellow on another, like sugar maples, or the rich-butter yellow of quaking aspen, or the many shades of green, summer leaves: dark maple, light birch.  The tree towered over them, its lofty branches nearly rubbing the glass-globed ceiling.

          Peach-colored fruits hung from long-limbed branches, almost caressing the grassy ground in places, and beneath the tree, a layer of colorful leaves and fallen fruit formed a rich blanket over the earth. Fascinating.

          “How, exactly, do they take care of the tree?” Mondieu asked, turning back to the policeman, who shrugged.

          “Mostly just harvesting the fruit, I guess. And clearing away the brush or leaves and checking on the tree’s health.”

          “Are they the only caretakers of the tree?”

          “No, Mondieu, sir. A different couple harvests the fruit each night.”

          “Interesting. And who knew this particular couple was to harvest the fruit on this night?”

          “Everyone, sir. Tuesday is their night.”

          “Thank you very much, that will be all for the moment,” the inspector said, turning away from the policeman. “Actually, one more thing,” Mondieu said after a moment’s hesitation, with his back still turned. “If I need find you, for whatever reason, where might I find you? What name shall I call upon?”

          “Seth, sir. My house is south of the central garden, on Wattson Street.”

          The inspector nodded and said nothing more.

          Mondieu rubbed at his chin and looked around for a place to toss his cigarette butt. Nothing. He capped it and tucked it into his cloak, kneeling down beside the couple.

          Questions roiled in his brain, and the muddied waters stayed unsettled. A city without a police? What sort of city was this? Who was this Seth? Why was he chosen as the designated policeman? What was the importance of this tree?

          The inspector picked up a nearby lying fruit, a bite removed – probably the couple’s last taste of life. It had a peace-fuzz to it, but the guts of a grapefruit with tiny, multi-colored seeds. He brought it to his face: a light, tangy citrus smell, like orange-mango. A light breeze wafted past with the scent of rose: where did the breeze come from?

          A slight tinkling, like that of bells, sang in the tree as the breeze passed through. Mondieu immediately felt his nerves soothed, weariness of the morning passing. He checked his timepiece and saw it was just shy of eight, just before sunrise. Already, a crimson stain might be tingeing the skyline, the warrior birth of sunlight in winter.

          Mondieu rifled through the couple’s pockets briefly, finding nothing, and turned back to the corpses. No earrings, jewelry, watches, wallets, or items of any sort on their persons or clothing. A robbery, then? Or were they simply not carrying anything? What about keys?

          Over near the tree, he noticed their baskets of fruit, already over half full. What was special about this tree?

          The pattering of footsteps sounded on the path behind, and the inspector turned around to witness the new arrival. Mondieu tucked his questions away for later.  A crowd of people still hovered on the edge of the central glade, whispering shyly amongst themselves. The footsteps, it appeared, belonged to Simon, racing down the path with practiced ease. Not the running, it appeared, of frantic emergency haste, but merely practical quickness. 

          Simon jogged the last paces up to the inspector, slowing gracefully to a halt. “The doctor will arrive in a few minutes. He is not so young, nor prepared for the morning as I.”

          “Then let us await him here. Mr. Temple, I’m instating you as go-between in this investigation.”

          “It is an investigation then, is it?” Simon replied with a sigh, not at all short on breath.

          “Yes, it seems so. Is there some way I can call upon you? Cell? Telegraph? Pigeon?”

          “No electronics of that sort here, I’m afraid,” Simon replied with an easy smile. “If you require me, I’m staying on Cherry Street, just south of Wattson where the policeman lives.”

          A quarter-hour later, the sound of steps, light and at a reasonable walking pace, approached along the path. The doctor rounded the corner with a tired, beaming smile. Reaching the inspector, he held out his hand. “Mondieu, I presume? <name>. Sorry to keep everyone waiting. I’m none so young as once I was.”

          The doctor’s voice was well modulated, as a singer’s, and not left to the entropy of age. And age, though apparent in the doctor’s steps and bearing, leaning more favorably over his left side, affected the doctor little. He had round-rimmed glasses; a full head of brown hair, parted on the left side and a little unruly at the front; a long face with only tiny wrinkles around the eyes and lips – a man fond of smiling then – shorter than the inspector, but by no means short.

          He walked with a swagger and a little waddle that intimated a cheerful entrance, as though the doctor was used to beaming and blessing others upon arrival. At his sides, the doctor’s hands were carefully still, no twitch of nervousness or tiredness there: a surgeon’s hands. His clothing was conservative, a spare white shirt and pants, and a surgical mask hanging around his neck.

          “Mondieu, indeed. Welcome Doctor. Seth, our friendly policeman here, will detail you on the happenings. If you would be so kind as to inspect the victims.”

          “Well,” said the doctor with a deflated sigh. “I can say for certain, even from this distance, that they are dead. Likely from exsanguination. What, precisely, am I looking for? Sadly, I’m trained as a midwife, pediatrician, and light surgeon, not an autopsy pathologist.” As he spoke, the doctor slowly pulled a pair of sterile white gloves from a bag, and pulled them over his hands.

          “I’m not certain, yet. Anything of note will do. Just inspect everything as carefully as you may. Where may I reach you for this information?”

          “I live in Lucille Manor, on the Southeastern corner of Garden,” the doctor replied, kneeling to examine the victims.

          “Excellent.” Mondieu glanced at the ceiling as though expecting some indication of the time through the glass shield, but only saw the same warm glow. His eyes were heavy and he scarcely suppressed a yawn.  

          Briefly, he watched the doctor work, skeptical as to this town’s skilled workers, but the doctor was efficient, careful, and deliberate.

          Mondieu beckoned the policeman over and instructed him to catch the doctor up to speed, and then joined Simon on the edge of the glade.

          “What do you think?” asked the inspector, pulling out another cigarette - his third, already? He hadn’t smoked this much in as many months.

          Simon let out a deep, long breath. “I’m not sure. It’s a bit grisly for the early morning mind to grapple. Murder?  But why?”

          “I’m not certain, yet, Simon Temple. But I intend to find out. Do you know where I might spend my stay here?”

          Simon shrugged helplessly. “I’m not from around here, so I can’t help you there. I’ll ask around and see what is available.”

          Not from around here. Noted. “I’m grateful. I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

          Simon nodded, and the inspector began his spiral journey out of the garden.

          An interesting night indeed.

          In the morning light, the curtains of night pealed back, and Garden was created new. If truth is beauty, here was a great truth, indeed. On entering the city, the inspector saw only the dim outlines of vast, crystalline and glass structures, rosy beneath the bone-white glamour of the moon, a twilight icy pallor. Now, in the stillness of infant dawn, the air clean as a mountaintop’s, though warm, a wholly new territory was unveiled.

          The early sunlight showered the glassy structures, burnishing them into shields of gold. The inspector wandered around the central dome, gathered in a cursory glance of the city. To the north, a marketplace sprawled, the food center of the city. Shops and booths lined the streets, and farm rows grew shrub-fruit along the edges.  To the west, houses and some larger buildings sparsely populated a lightly forested zone. South it seemed consisted almost entirely of houses and east contained many of the larger buildings.

          It was the east that most intrigued Inspector Mondieu. The buildings were rarely taller than five stories, and even more scarcely taller than ten. The buildings most frequently consisted of glass, with a few wooden structures. The fascinating aspect, to the inspector, was the immersion of floral life. There was no separation of buildings and plants: trees incorporated themselves into the structural nuance of each building; vines clambered up along the glassy sides, running into and out of windows; berries and flowers sprang up in the eaves and drooped over the rooftops; and, from inside, plants butted against the windows, pushing open the glass and drinking in the sunlight. If the mirror buildings composed the gilded heart, the plants were its veins.

          The buildings were rarely uniform or square in their design, but elegant emergence of organic life, a symbiotic mingling of creation and creative. One in particular caught the inspector’s eye this morning.

          Just east of the central dome, near the outer rim of the city, was a building taller than many of the others. Instead of an organic shape, it was almost ordinary, rectangular and nearly twenty stories tall.  Around the outside of the building, no plants climbed or draped, and no trees huddled nearby the outer edges. The glass was double-paned with a gap between the layers of several paces. In the gap, a whole host of green plants grew, and the outside layer of the building possessed a ramp that wrapped all the way around the building, consisting of layers of plants in a greenhouse that spiraled around the building. Herbs and grasses grew at the base, flowers on the next level, strawberries, blueberries, beans, and other vegetables next, and taller shrubs near the top. On top of the building, a fountain was barely visible, and its waters dripped over the sides in runnels that dripped into the greenhouse and irrigated by an intricate dripping process.

          The most fascinating aspect of the building, however, was that when the inspector squinted, he thought he could make out wires and blinking lights in the building – the first sign of any semblance of technology.

          He glanced at his timepiece and assumed he had at least an hour or so before Simon Temple might need to update him. That gave him plenty of time to do some snooping. Is it strange, finding this city more intriguing than its murder? Or perhaps it is that the piece of the city is at odds with such a violent act. What was missing?

          As Inspector Mondieu approached the greenhouse structure, he glanced around at the streets around him. The general populace was awakening, and the streets filled up with passersby, all curiously staring at the inspector. He perused for any suspicious stares, but found everyone smiling and timidly waving in his direction.

          He lowered his head, pocketed his hands, and picked up his speed. What an uncanny city.

          Arriving at the building, he saw his initial inspection was correct: wires and blinking lights were readily apparent behind the windows. Somehow, despite the lack of sunlight streaming against the outer edges of the western half of the building, it still gleamed with a brilliant, silver light, like a mirror pond standing tall and unrippled, cold as winter ice. He should have seen easily into the building’s interior, but the light still somehow masked much of the building in a blinding sheen.

          Walking around to the eastern side, he found the door, already opened wide. No locks, or even a place for locks.

          The inside was not as expected. Instead of twenty or thirty stories, it was a single, vast room. Wires, monitors, cables, platforms, metal constructs, blinking lights – a cacophony of whirring, humming, juddering, ticking electrobuzz in a static storm of incomprehensible machinery. Computers were stacked: chassis onto chassis, monitor onto metallic outcropping over monitor, wires forming rivers and waterfalls in every cranny between, and hammers, screwdrivers, flashlights, screws, and every tool imaginable strewn all about, haphazardly as though thrown. The stacks of computers spanned from floor all the way up to the roof of the building.

          Around the outside of the room, a double-helix of ramps crawled upward against the wall, connecting as they reached the ceiling. This gave access to both the towering stack of computers as well as the windows into the greenhouse which butted up against the inside windows of the structure.

          The most fascinating aspect, perhaps, was the nature of the computers: they were all ancient. Forty, fifty year old computers, all compressed into a single building - controlling, what? What does a city like this even need in the way of computing?

          Inspector Mondieu’s inner dialogue was interrupted by an angry shout from above, followed by some invectives and a flying hammer, crashing down the ramp and bouncing off the glass windows – stronger than they seemed – and coming to a rest near the bottom of the ramp.

          “Hello?” called the inspector. “Do you require assistance?”

          “What? Who goes there? I say, I was not expecting visitors at such an hour,” a gruff voice replied.

          “Inspector Mondieu. I was intrigued by-”

          “Inspector Mon Who? Never mind. Just bring me the damn hammer. Where is my wrench? This infernal thing won’t stop spitting up nonsense.”

          The inspector wandered over and grabbed the hammer – a rusty, fifteen pound beast – and walked up the ramp. The ramp vibrated in proximity with the machines, and the inspector held onto the rails to steady himself. About halfway up, the inspector bumped into the mechanic.

          Halfway buried into the machines, with only legs sticking out over the ramp, the mechanic was cursing and hammering at something the inspector couldn’t see in the jumble.

          “Here’s the hammer, sir.”

          The mechanic popped out with a grunt, and took the hammer gratefully. He was a larger man, widely built and not tall. He had a large bushy moustache and wore denim overalls and a wide shirt with a beer mug imprinted on it. Tattoos snaked along his arms in images and words the inspector couldn’t begin to recognize, and his blue eyes were milky and red-rimmed, likely from drinking, and his face was gruff.

          He had very pale skin with a reddish hint that implied he got little sun, but probably burned walking from home to work. His curly red hair pressed out from beneath a baseball cap, sprawling in all directions.

          He was, surprisingly, smiling with a jolly beam, and slapped Mondieu on the back with a loud clap, nearly knocking Mondieu off his feet.

“Not just any guest, but the city’s special guest. Here to investigate the murders, huh?”

          “Murders? How do you know they are murders?”

          The mechanic waved off that question with a grimy hand, and wiped his forehead, leaving a stain the color of ash.

          “Everyone knows they are murders. What can I do for you?”

          How did everyone know they were murders? He tucked the question away. Eventually, he would get to the bottom of this.

          “What is all… this?” the inspector motioned towards all of the towering computers.

          “This? Why, this is a pile of junk! A bunch of lousy, old ingrates speaking in mumbo-jumbo. Nothing worth seeing, anyhow,” replied the mechanic with a grin. The mechanic offered a hand. “Turnings, the name. But you may call me, Bill. Never much liked the name Turnings. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

          The inspector followed Turnings down the ramp toward the base.

          “So what is this place for?” asked the inspector impatiently.

          “Ah, now that’s the curiosity, isn’t it? Not an electronic component in the rest of the city, but here. And what a pile of junk,” the mechanic began, reaching the bottom of the stairs and stopping. “Ah, what a beauty she is. An incomprehensible, devil of a beauty.

          “The bottom floor works as a weather manager. Each of these-”

          “A weather manager? What do you mean?” interrupted Mondieu.

          “It’s the middle of winter, and you never questioned the balmy, pleasant weather? The perfect sun, the cloudless day, the flowers blossoming everywhere? Here is where we control that.”

          “How?”

          “Ah, it’s a complicated magic, to be sure. And well beyond my expertise. Much of the actual technology is below-ground for that sort of thing. These computers display diagnostics and heighten or diminish the temperature and control the real machine that controls the wind. Whatever the means, we have sunny temperatures year round, a clear patch fifteen miles wide. Pretty fancy, huh?” Turner finished with a wink.

          “Amazing.” The inspector had heard of the technology, but why here? Why such incredible technology in what was otherwise a backwater agrarian city?

          “The next level,” the mechanic began, leading up higher into the building, “controls the irrigation. The entire design relies on underground pipelines, since it never rains. There are no sprinklers, no aboveground indication of watering, yet the greenery of the city speaks for itself. These consoles control the timing for watering each section of the city and the routing of the necessary quantity of water. A simple switch and the entire city could be flooded in hours.”

          “Seems dangerous. What do you do in case of emergency?”

          “Oh, we have backups. These systems are foolproof. And I mean, it might take a real genius to understand anything in this junkyard. Not any kid with a sledgehammer could flood the city or change the weather.”

          “Right. A real smart kid then,” drawled the inspector skeptically.

          The mechanic beamed. “The very cleverest. But why would anyone want to flood the city? The point is moot. Next, and highest, is miscellaneous: data, town information, graphs, emergency notifications, odds-and-ends. It’s something of a monitor over the monitor, if you catch my meaning.”

          As they reached the top, the inspector saw that the middle all the way down to the base was nearly hollow, with a ladder running down the insides. Clever, being able to work from both edges.

          “Well, that’s the top. Any questions?”

          “Not at the moment. Can I get to the roof?” replied the inspector.

          “Right over there,” the mechanic pointed to a ladder in the corner. The inspector walked over and climbed up onto the roof. The fountain was a mother-of-pearl water-spout, covered in reliefs of creation from different cultures. The creation by snake gods, from the tree or the carving out of a giant’s body, or the creation of the world in a series of days – different religions placed in different terraces on the fountain. Around the fountain grew a low grass with geraniums and nasturtiums, and a bench looking over the city.

          Just as he moved to sit down, the trapdoor behind him opened, and Simon Temple crawled onto the roof.

          “I’ve been looking all over for you, Mondieu.” Simon Temple appeared to wait for the inspector’s permission to continue.

          “First, there is a place to stay. You can stay in the hotel on Cali Street, free of charge. They also serve breakfast, and you are welcome.”

          The inspector nodded thankfully.

          “Simon Temple, before you leave, may I ask who discovered the bodies this morning?”

          “Why of course, inspector. It was Horten, the gardener.  It was he who found the clues as well.”

          “Clues?”

          “Yes, of course. Everything was predicted yesterday: the murders, the place. Everyone thought it was a hoax and ignored it.”

          “What?” the inspector said, standing up. “Why didn’t anyone inform me of this earlier? What were the clues?”

          “Hell if I know,” replied Simon, shrugging. “Something about a snake bite and fall of man, and death. Horten will know.”

          That explains why everyone immediately assumed it was a murder. Because everyone already knew it had been predicted. But no one had taken it seriously. Why? Now, two people were dead because an entire city hadn’t believed a mysterious clue.

          “Excellent, Simon Temple. And where might I find this Horten now?”

          “I’m not sure, sir. He works grounds, I hear. I suspect he’ll be somewhere around the central dome working at the park. I’ll find someone to bring you to him.”

          “Excellent work, Simon. You may go.”

          As Simon crawled back into the building, Mondieu sat to survey the city glistening like dewdrops of light beneath him. The central dome and park loomed on his western side, and the houses and trees looked like a neat rows in an elaborate garden beneath him. The sun soared into the sky, never getting very high in the throes of winter, though the inspector was quite warm, almost sweating, in his long coat.

          A clue, then. Perhaps this was not a simple murder and robbery after all. Things were getting interesting. A city untainted, beautiful in every imaginable way, now stricken with death.

          Yes, it seemed the game was afoot. The inspector rose to meet the challenge.

         

Chapter 2: The Doctor

January 13, 7:14am

City of Garden

Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

~ Dante Alighieri

The night was like any other night in the City of Garden. The moon had flown over the low clouds in a fast suture of flight. There was no rain yet; it hadn't ever rained in Garden, no matter that it was late fall and well past the normal time for it.

The city was not well lit now, the lamps had been extinguished a long time before and the low lying clouds obscured enough of the moon to make it quite sufficiently dark. The streets of Garden were well laid out; not always in straight lines or complete avenues, but no one was ever lost in Garden, even if you did not belonged to its oldest citizenry.

Garden was not that old, mayhaps a bare half century, but it belonged to the class of city that seemed to have existed forever. It wasn't ancient looking by any stretch of the imagination; Garden had facilities that took full advantage of the newest and finest technology.  Nor was it rundown in any way. The City was remarkably kept up in form and good taste. No, it was the anachronistic sense that Garden did not and never would belong in the present.

The buildings were not too tall; they were not the looming monsters of more metropolitan cities, rather they were slender and supple, seeming to blend into a pleasant background. These buildings did not draw attention to themselves, rather their design seemed to say, this is a natural city, organically formed to enhance its citizens and not ever to detract.

Garden had everything that other cities had: a small slum, a suburbia that would be the adoration of many a city dweller, a bustling and thriving industrial and technological center, an over-large park, right in the center of the City, an arboretum that was located inside the park, many verdant fields and blooming gardens that sufficed to feed most of its citizens, a zoo and animal habitat and a plethora of everything else that went into making a city.

Garden’s market was not large, but it was always bustling; the city met here in the morning most days and refused to get going till the morning's coffee was shared and the newest reports broken.

Garden’s small  industrial section, not near the slums, but rather closer to the center of the city, near the heart, was only a small fraction of the whole city, a scant few blocks, but much went on here, both in the offices above ground and the many below.

Garden’s pride though was the Heart of the City: the park named Redress. It was here where the city originally had been founded around; this was the hub the rest of the city rotated on. It was the Heart both because it was in the actual physical center of Garden, as well as the reason Garden kept on living, breathing and existing.

Redress was very large as parks go; the arboretum belonged inside, the zoo right on the outskirts and all around were Garden’s many lush fields. It was always an awe inspiring sight to the rare visitor: a green, lush forest that stood inside the city, thrived next to the well paved and cobbled roads, grew amongst the buildings as if the buildings were the surprising sight in the city and not the greenery.

However, not of this was visible now. It was dark and it was night.

The inky blackness was deep enough to hide anything, the city quiet enough to notice nothing. The good citizens of Garden slept peacefully unaware of the fragile nature of their City. They had no nightmares, no troubling dreams of darkness surrounding their fair borough and no encroaching malevolent presence haunted their sleeping minds. The citizens had peace in the darkness that hid.

What Garden had in the darkness was murder.

"Doctor!" The cry went out. It was repeated several times. Harsh notes spread thin throughout the cry, it was just loud enough to be heard for several blocks around, but not loud enough to wake the doctor it seemed.

The figure creating the cry was standing before a door, his one hand raised on the knocker.

The sound went out like a bell tolling for the dead. The figure raised its hand again to ring.

"Hold lad, I'm here, behind you," a shadowy figure said, materializing from behind the left shoulder of the knocker.

The man let out a surprised oath as he swung around to face the newcomer.

“Doctor! You gave me a nasty turn.” The man was just past young, the title of lad from the doctor though just seeming a tad too late.

“Who is that? I can’t see as well as I used to in the dark you know.” The speaker’s voice, the only discernible thing about him in the dark was richly mellow, smooth toned and sounded like a man of letters.

“There’s trouble Doctor. Down at Redress. It’s not good.” His tones, though hurried and tumbling, were none the less well understood.

“Who are you now? What’s the trouble? Let’s get inside and actually look each other in the face while I get my things.”

While the Doctor fumbled with his keys, the man spoke.

“It’s Temple Sir. Simon Temple.”

“I don’t think I know you Temple. You haven’t been a patient of mine before I take it?”

The door creaked open while the Doctor, fumbling in his coat pocket, put his keys away. He led the way inside, the hall mostly dark and motioned Temple past him into the vestibule.

“Light the lamp will you?” The doctor asked, “I will get my kit.”

“To answer your previous question Sir, No, never had much need for a doctor’s visit.” Temple lit the lamp while speaking and glanced around the mostly empty room.

It was bare room; nothing adorned the walls and there was no furniture. There was a closet built into the wall where it looked like the Doctor held his boots, canes and overcoats.

The floor was wood, but kept nicely. There didn’t seem to be a scratch on it. At each end of the vestibule was a door: one was a door they had just come through from the outside, the other led into a parlour.

The doctor bustled past him, and led the way into the parlour.

“My kits in my study, I’ll just be a moment.”

The Doctor left the parlour by another door.

“No surprise I haven’t seen you as my patient,” The Doctor’s voice floated from the other room, “You’re young, you seem as fit as a fiddle from the looks of you.”

The parlour was not as empty as the vestibule, but almost as. There was a small settee on one side of the room, and three doors leading out. The Doctor had taken the middle door into his study.

“Now, what’s the trouble down at the park Temple?” The Doctor reappeared in the doorway. In one hand he held his black valise: his doctor’s kit, in the other was his small briar pipe.

“There’s been a terrible accident sir. Two people, both working in the lab or the farm are dead. I don’t know what happened. I was just told to fetch the nearest doctor.”

“You did well my boy. But how did you know to come to me?” They went out the door together, and once outside in the courtyard, the Doctor motioned Temple into a waiting black barouche; the two horses stamping and shrugging in their harnesses.

“Does your barouche prepare itself then?” Wondered Temple at the marvel of the waiting barouche.

“My man has a sixth sense for this sort of thing. He always knows when I am going to need it. Now, how did you know to come to me?”

“I asked Constable Hobbes where to go. I wasn’t sure of any doctor around here. He gave me your address.”

They had seated themselves comfortably, and the Doctor had taken the reigns.

They were now racing along at a steady clip, the horses seeming to be very comfortable with this rate of speed on the dark city lanes.

“Good man that.” The doctor had also lit his pipe and he puffed it comfortably.

“You know Temple, I haven’t looked at a dead body in years. I hope they’re in fair condition?”

“I’m sure I don’t know sir.”

Temple winced as they clipped a street corner.

“I don’t suppose you know who they were?” The Doctor wondered aloud. “Was anyone else hurt in the accident?”

“I don’t think so. I was only there for a minute before the Inspector asked me to find you.”

“Inspector?” The doctor’s voice got a little sharper. “I thought you said this was an accident.”

“I did sir. An inspector was there though….He…” Temple lapsed into silence.

“If an inspector is there, then someone must think this was not an accident.” The doctor said even more sharply and with another crack, urged his two horses even faster.

They arrived on the outskirts of the park a minute or so later, though it still wasn’t quite fast enough for Temple.

He scrambled out as fast as he dared and stood waiting for the doctor who was a little slower in getting out of the barouche.

“I’m a little slower than you Temple; run on ahead and let the Inspector know I’m coming. I’ll just be a moment behind you. Where is the scene exactly?”

The Doctor said reaching back into the barouche for his bag.

"They're at the center of the Dome,” Answered Temple.

“I’ll be right behind you then.” He turned from the barouche with his bag and started to walk towards the Dome, which loomed overhead. Temple noticed for the first time that the Doctor seemed to favor his left side, there was a slight tremor in the quiet confident walk of the Doctor.

“Right,” Temple turned and left with a soft lope towards the Dome.

"Good lad." Said the Doctor quietly at the retreating figure.

The Dome had always impressed the Doctor. It was not the splendor of use: the Dome was a wonderful example of the magic the city contained in its greenery, no it was the mastery of craft and artificing it showed to all who surveyed. The Dome, far from drawing attention away from the beauty of the city and park around it, rather addressed it and perfected it. It belonged there; if it had been a small copse of trees instead, the Doctor was sure the greenery and organic carbon would standout more than the worked glass and slender steel would.

He approached the open glass door. He had not seen any living soul yet. If he knew human nature at all,  and he did, they were all inside gauking, he thought to himself. People were always people, regardles of the city in which they inhabited.

His finely tuned senses were on high alert as he walked. It had been a very long time since he had done any form of a medical investigation, let alone done an autopsy.

The normal scents of the air were a litte more mixed today, the scent of the trees and their fruit mixed with the scent of organic matter and...blood. It was the smell of iron and decay, he decided as he made his circular way through the Dome's inside trail towards the center.

He approached the crowd; they all stood with their backs to him. Sight of the accident was hidden for now, but he had a guess as to what he was going to see.He made his slow way through the crowd. He had been right about that he thought.

He came out of the press and the scene was no longer hidden.

His gaze took in everything in the scant seconds he had between the short walk from the last of the gaukers to the center of their attention.

The two victims were gathered at the base of the tree. Their figures unnaturally angled and set to each other, were almost drenched in blood. It looked to be their own.

They looked like they had been drained of their colour of life, their life-blood then spilled over them. The scent of metallic iron was almost overpowering. The Doctor wasn't sure he could recognize them in their condition he decided.

There were a couple people standing nearby talking slowly and quietly with each other. So intense was the Doctor's gaze, he didn't even register that it was Temple and another fellow.

The other fellow had to be the Inspector.

The Inspector was tall and lean; he almost looked like a feral animal that had assumed the guise of a man in dark overcoat and crumpled hat. The Inspector's face was lit for a mere moment by the glow from his cigarette before the Doctor had covered the distance over to him and it revealed a set of craggy lines, deep set, penetrating eyes that were still the colour of chestnuts and thin lips clenching a cigarette that didn't look as if they were exercised much in the way of smiling.

The Doctor's last fanciful thought was that Inspector looked rather like an old wolf in human skin.

"“Mondieu, I presume? Evatt. Sorry to keep everyone waiting. I’m not so young as once I was.”

They shook hands. Mondieu's grip strong and firm, the palms criss-crossed with felt scars and lines.

 “Mondieu, indeed. Welcome Doctor. Seth, our friendly policeman here, will detail you on the happenings. If you would be so kind as to inspect the victims.”

Evatt nodded at Temple in the way of greeting and settled in to the examination.

“Well,” said the doctor with a deflated sigh. “I can say for certain, even from this distance, that they are dead. Likely from exsanguination. What, precisely, am I looking for? Sadly, I’m trained as a midwife, pediatrician, and light surgeon, not an autopsy pathologist.” He pulled on his examination gloves as he spoke.

“I’m not certain, yet. Anything of note will do. Just inspect everything as carefully as you may. Where may I reach you for this information?”

“I live in Lucille Manor, on the Southeastern corner of Garden,” Evatt said while slowly kneeling into place next to the victims.

He recognized them. He wasn't sure he would be able to from the distance before and their state, but he was sure he could now.

It was Miss Lilya and her partner, Addam.

He heard a footfall behind him.

"What do you think Doctor?"

Evatt recognized Seth's lighter tones without looking up.

"Just starting now Seth. What have I missed here. When did Mondieu arrive?"

"He arrived about a few hours ago Doctor. He's a strange one by the look of him." Seth said as he craned his neck a little to get a better view of Mondeiu.

"He has probably just seen a little too much." Was the Doctor's absentminded reply as he progressed in his examination.

He had not done any form of medical investigation for a very long time. He had no reason too in Garden. Its citizens tended on average to live a very long time and to die of natural causes.

The last death in Garden for example was a drowning many years ago. It was a tragedy that had shaken the city.

Death was an unknown here; it was not something novel, it was something strange and alien. The gift of the Tree made sure of that.

For all these reasons, the Doctor had not had a real job in all these years. He had once thought, earlier in his life, of leaving Garden and keeping up his practice somewhere else, but he loved Garden. He didn't want to ever leave.

So he didn't, and he didn't think he ever would.

His examination was going slowly. He known instantly what they had died from; the harder part was pinpoint more exact information.

They seemed to have been dead for between four and two hours. It was hard to tell without his lab and his lab equipment. The blood was not fresh, it was turning darker and darker as it finished drying.

He could not find any more wounds on their persons; the only mark on them were their punctures on his neck and her puncture marks on her neck and heel.

Now with the focus of having seen what there was to see of the whole scene, the Doctor focused on one body at a time.

The jugular puncture on Lilya had been the main cause of death it seemed; it was a deep puncture, clean, no tearing. The same sort of puncture was on her heel.

"What are you finding Doctor?" The tentative question was thrown out by Seth, hovering anxiously nearby.

"Nothing too surprising yet Seth." He grunted a little as he moved Lilya's still ankle gently back into place where it had been lying. "I wonder if you could answer a couple questions?"

"Anything Doctor."

"Who found them? When? Were they touched or moved in any way after they were found?" The Doctor continued his investigation while he talked; he found he was easily falling back into his old habits he had during examinations.

"Horten found them. He's not here; he found himself too faint and is home resting." Seth's words tumbled over themselves in his hurry to get them out.

"Easy lad, this is not a race anymore. They're beyond anyone's help."

Seth swallowed and looked a little relieved. "I don't know exactly when Horten found them, but I don't think he touched or moved them besides to check their vitals."

"Thank you lad, that's what I wanted to know. I will of course check with Horten, I'd like to talk to him before he does." Evatt jerked his head slightly in the direction of Mondieu.

"What do you make of him then?"

"I don't. He's not from Garden." The Doctor's words were a little more clipped than normal. "I don't know if he will understand. First that announcement and then this?" The Doctor sounded discouraged and more than a little aged by the end of his question.

"They are linked then?" Seth's voice was softer now, but much higher in tone as if he was trying to remain calm during an inner storm in his being.

"I don't know. It's eerie isn't it?" The Doctor stood up.

"Mondieu!" He pitched his voice around Seth.

"Doctor?" Mondieu started to walk over.

"I'm going to need to take them to my lab. I'll dust off my instruments and see what else I can find."

The Doctor said, peeling off his gloves.

"How long have they been dead?" Mondieu's tone was dry and brusque.

"Hard to say; perhaps two to four hours. I'll know more later today after I get them in my lab... They seemed to have died from massive amounts of blood loss." He made a small helpless guesture behind him towards the bodies.

"Can you tell me what caused them? Could an animal... a snake?" The Inspector threw this out, hoping for a clue to the strange answer to this question he had gotten before.

"Not possible. A snake would not have done this." The Doctor's voice was firm as he repacked his bag.

"Why?" Mondieu shot back challengingly.

"Let's meet later, after I conduct my lab work. I will explain more then." The Doctor finished his task and looked straight at Mondieu, meeting his eyes fully. "I might not even have to explain anything to you then."

Mondieu didn't say anything; he just looked at Evatt.

"I trust you will get poor Addam and Lilya to my lab within the hour? Thanks Inspector, I will arrange a meeting soon."

He turned and left, nodding to those he knew in the crowd.

"Blasted local doctors." Mondieu said bitingly, but quietly so that only he could have heard himself.

The Doctor found his barouch waiting for him precisely where he had left it. The horses waiting quietly, stamping and wicking against their harnesses.

He gently put his bag away and leaned against the large wheel in front.

"I didn't like doing that." He said quietly to himself.

It had been Addam and Lilya he was looking at. He had known of them, met them a number of times. He thought he might be a little sick.

Instead he got unsteadily into the barouche and wheeled it away; the horses willing and eager.

A few hours later he found himself in his lab finishing his report. He had not that much work to do, he had established their time of deaths, confirmed their cause and had not found anything untoward in his examination.

He was very tired. He had not slept last night. He didn't know if it was his getting older, or that his mind would not shut off very well at night any more.

He left his lab, shut the door quietly and made his way into his parlour.

He scrawled a note to his man asking him to get a message to the Inspector asking to meet at three. He put it on the small table and went to his bedroom.

He didn't bother undressing, but lay down on his bed and was asleep almost at once.

And the king said unto them, I have dreamed a dream, and my spirit was troubled to know the dream.

-Daniel 2:3

Chapter 3: Inspector Mondieu

Day 1: January 13^th 11:05am

Knowledge forbidden?

Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord

Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know?

Can it be death?

~John Milton - Paradise Lost

                Waving goodbye to the mechanic, the inspector stepped out into the early afternoon light. The wintry sunlight was blinding, and the sky an intense, deep blue.  On to find Horten. Why did no one react to the clue?

                “Inspector!” a deep, masculine voice shouted from his left. “Over here!” the bellow continued.

                Mondieu turned to see and saw a giant, rotund man approaching him at a rapid pace. He almost cringed, half expecting the man to crash into him, but the man stopped abruptly with a little skid of his faded, brown-leather boots on the limestone.

                The inspector waited as the man, doubled over and gasping for breath with great, wheezing coughs, caught his breath. “Are you well? What is the matter?” asked the inspector, reaching over to put his hand on the man’s back. Was there another murder?

                The man gave a short wave to assuage the inspector’s concern and held up a finger: one moment, please. The inspector left him some room to breathe.

                With an enormous release of breath, the man stood up. He was tall, not quite a handspan less than the inspector’s own height, and his snug outfit might fit three inspectors with room to spare. His face was buttery and vaguely piggish, but boasted the largest smile and moustache the inspector had ever seen, like a croissant on the man’s upper lip. His hair was diminished, and wrinkles played around his eyes and lips, but he was not old.

                The rosy tint bloomed in his cheeks and his jowls almost bounced as he clapped Mondieu on the back. “Mondieu, I’ve looked all over for you.”

                Seems like everyone is, today. The inspector shared a light smile.

                “I’m the innkeep in town,” said the man, grasping Mondieu’s hand and clasping between both of his giant palms. “The Bear, they call me, but you may call me Fredrik.”

                The inspector saw in his mind the crushing, bearish might of this man. The grisly power to crush and break and kill. But there is something tender, easy about this man. The inspector found he liked Fredrik already.

                “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” replied the inspector. “I hear you are providing me with a place to stay. I am most grateful. Right now I am busy-”

                “Nonsense! None too busy for settling in. Come! Let us get your things situated, and some food in your belly. Can’t be working with hunger pangs, can ye?” Fredrik bellowed with a great slap of his belly, and, wrapping an arm around the inspector’s shoulder, began propelling him along the street to the south, towards the city housing.

                They walked at a brisk pace – which soon left Fredrik breathing with a gruff huff like a growling bear - along the southbound street, between walls of carefully pruned chestnut and hazelnut trees, with just blooming tulips lining the path.  Everyone smiled as they past, exchanging a quick greeting to Fredrik, a well-loved innkeep it seemed, and a cordial wave to Mondieu.

                The open streets grew thin, leading into picturesque tunnels of trees: big-leaf maples, birch, aspen, oak. Tiny branches of the main path leafed into houses, houses brightly colored in sky blue, spring green, sunset red, and a warm chestnut brown. Down several streets they walked, Wattson and Cherry the inspector recognized and noted, and several more streets whose names were unfamiliar to the inspector, before they reached Cali. They stopped on the edge of Cali street, and Mondieu realized Fredrik was looking at him strangely, as if waiting.

                He had just asked a question, what was it? Only half-listening, and now a missed question. Ah, I remember.

                “No, I don’t believe justice will be long,” the inspector said with solemn certainty. “The murderer will be found and receive his due punishment.”

                Fredrik the Bear sputtered and rolled his eyes with melodramatic surprise. “Surely it cannot be so serious? Our little town? Murders? A mistake, nothing more. You’ll see. Let’s get you situated and get some food in you. Once you’ve thought things over, murder will see an unlikely conclusion, I suspect.”

                “Hmm. Indeed.”

                “Come, come,” Fredrik clapped with a broad smile. “I’ve ordered your things brought already, and some more things besides – extra clothes about your size, and bath supplies. Should you decide upon a hot bath, simply ring, and hot water will be couriered immediately.”

                Fredrik lead the way east down Cali Street towards a three-story building made of cedar logs with a curlicue sign with the words, “Inn of the Bear” etched on front, now swaying lightly in the breeze with a pleasant creaking noise.

                “Welcome, to my home,” the innkeep said with a flourish.

                “I am grateful, indeed,” replied the inspector, with a deep bow of his own, before leading the way into the parlor. It was a homey inn, with a large stone hearth and an oak bar in the taproom, stools already occupied by several gentlemen in pork pie hats, checkered suits, suspenders and brown dress shoes. Despite the warm day, the hearth was lit and glowing brightly, and the barroom was tidy and quaint.

                The innkeeper himself lugged Mondieu’s two briefcases up the stairs towards his room, which turned out to be on the third floor.

                Finally settled in, they returned to the main room for something to eat. Mondieu felt his stomach grumbling from neglect, and it nearly lurched in a dance of happiness when a fruit-salad was delivered with a leg of lamb, a light, chowder soup, a dark, nutty bread. The innkeeper’s wife,  a large woman named Danya, brought out a pitcher of ale, which the inspector dutifully declined, and then a lighter wine to wash down the meal. Mondieu, whenever possible, avoided the alcohol and sipped lightly on water.

                The innkeeper prattled on about the city and stories he’d accumulated over the years, and Mondieu listened with half an ear, chiming in at important junctures with a smile, a laugh, or a nod of the head. When finished eating, he excused himself, and withdrew into his room, overcome with a lethargy that surrendered him into a short rest.

                So it was not until evening that the Inspector left the inn, hoping to find Horten and discuss the clue, and findings of the previous day.

                The floral scent of violets and hazelnuts crossed the inn on a westerly wind. A distant hum of music caught the inspector’s ear, a violin, a flute, wind chimes singing the songs of breeze. The sun was violently setting in a fiery orange, out of sight of the inspector, but searing the sky in apple red and apricot. And then it was evening.

                The hearty smells of dinner wafted over the streets as Inspector Mondieu passed houses north towards the main park plaza. A dog barked and wagged its tail, padding to the edge of a yard, whimpering for Mondieu to visit and play, and a nightingale cocked its head in the branches of a chestnut tree before flitting off with a warbling goodbye.

                As he drew nearer the plaza, he saw a figure racing toward him. Before he could cry out, or dodge, the running slammed into him, dropping the bags he or she was carrying, and sending each of them tumbling to the ground.

                She, for it was a she, cried out and gave a moan of dismay. “Oh, this is what I get for hurrying. Ah, but you must be the inspector,” the lady said with a smile, pushing herself to her feet and brushing off her dress. She wore an Edwardian hat brimmed with violet-hued flowers, and carried, or had been carrying, two large empty bags.

                She was slender, and quite tall for a lady, wearing a lace, high-necked, white blouse with slim white sleeves, and a crimson scarf as a flash of flair. An umbrella was tucked under her arm and had, amazingly, stayed put throughout the fall. Her cheekbones and eyebrows were eye, and eyes wide and friendly, coffee brown of color and gleaming with amusement. Her hair was tucked beneath her hat, but a few rogue strands of straight brown hair snuck down past her ear, and she brushed these back hurriedly. She was quite pretty.

                “Excuse me, miss. Are you quite all right? I apologize for -“ the inspector began.

                “Oh, nonsense. It was my haste and bumbling clumsiness. I do hope you’ll forgive me, but I must make haste. I do hope we meet again, Monsieur Mondieu. A man is looking for you, and you must hurry also, to the plaza. It is quite urgent, I suspect.”

                Before the inspector could say another word, she scampered off, her heels clicking against the cobbles, and disappeared into the flickering light of the streetlamps.

                Strange. I wonder what, and who that was. I did not even catch her name.

                As he reached the central park, the dome bloomed before him in a gentle, yellow glow like the yolk center of the city egg. Seth, the policeman, was waiting for the inspector when he arrived, and hurried up to him, pulling off his police hat and rubbing the brims worriedly between his thumbs. He seemed to have lost the moustache perched on his upper lip, but otherwise appeared the same as he had that morning.

                “Well, out with it,” the inspector said sternly. “What have you to say?”

                “There has been another clue. There is to be another murder,” Seth replied, with a tremor of nervousness. He glanced about at the shadows, as though expecting a nightmare to come broaching the darkness at any moment.

                “Calm down, lad. What is the clue?” Another clue? What sort of criminal left clues purposely? Was the murderer trying to get caught? Or was he, or she perhaps, simply convinced in their safety? Or was it something more sinister even? The inspector shuddered involuntarily, and followed the policeman towards the eastern section of the park.

                They reached the eastern side of the dome, and there waited the doctor, Simon Temple, and a woman the inspector did not recognize. The woman was the old and her hair long greyed. Lines creased her forehead beneath her iron-colored cloche, and her face possessed a skepticism which surprised the inspector. She was thin, even gaunt, and draped in a formless drab cloak with a washed out red scarf wrapped around her neck. Her lips were pursed and the inspector did not remember seeing her in the crowd that morning.

                “Welcome, inspector. It seems more dire news is at hand,” said the doctor, removing his glasses and wiping them clean with a handkerchief. “While my friend here and I were out for an evening stroll, we happened upon a sign left by the criminal.”

                While he spoke, the doctor pointed at a sign prominently displayed on a post near the slope of the dome. It read:

                ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER CRIME

                WORSE STILL THAN THE FIRST

                WOLF TO LAMB

                DEATH FOR THE DAMNED

                THERE WILL BE BLOOD

                AND SOON.       

- DESTORYER

 and grabbed an envelope from his companion, and handed it over to the doctor. It clearly had not been sealed shut, and was signed simply, “The Destoryer”.

                “Is that a misspelling? The destroyer?” the inspector asked, pulling the letter from the envelope.

                “It would seem not,” replied the doctor. “It’s an epithet the criminal has assumed as his identification. It explains such in the letter itself.”

                The inspector skimmed the letter briefly, expecting to pore over it in detail in a few moments. It explained the moniker, he who uncreates, who destroys the story in an unraveling. A psycho, then. The worst kind of criminal. And one who believes himself or herself an artist.

                The letter explained how the crimes were only begun. Seven days, a crime for each day of uncreation, and, in the end, the city would be destroyed. But, overall, it carried the sense of someone angry, someone vindictive and maybe a little deranged, but subtly so.  It was addressed specifically to the inspector, though it seemed each of the people present had already read it. A city with no concept of privacy, clearly.

                Whoever it is, they are foolish and intense – emotionally driven, scarcely leashed from insanity. There was a tremor of the artistic drive, as if these weren’t crimes, but surreal paintings of death targeted at a specific audience. But why?

                “So,” began the inspector. “How do we stop this?”

“How do we even begin? It’s already evening, and there is no way of getting information out to every citizen. And how do we defend a city-wide expanse of citizenry?” Seth replied with a bit of a whine. Had they all read the missive already?

“Any thoughts, Doctor?” asked the inspector.

“Information is slow in this city,” piped in Simon. “And even if everyone knew, we still don’t know the details all that well. It is vague enough to be impossible.”

“We could go door-to-door,” the doctor replied. “But even so, how can we stop a murder that could happen at any time, in any place? It’s a tall order.”

The inspector nodded. They were right, of course. They had no place, no time, no real specifics about the murder. It was a dire inevitability, and the immobility of the moment angered the inspector.

“Very well. A few words, Doctor?”

The doctor nodded, and the inspector motioned them over to the side. Seth and Simon made to leave.

“Hold a moment, Seth. I’m not finished with you yet,” the inspector called out, and Seth slumped and stood still. “Doctor Evatt, have you learned anything more?”

“Yes, I have found out some interesting things. You must visit me at my lab, shortly.

The inspector sighed. He’d hoped to learn everything now. “Is there anything you can tell me here?”

The doctor rearranged his glasses on his nose. “There is little I can tell you without showing you, Inspector Mondieu. But I can tell you the deaths happened a couple hours before you arrived, and it was not, I believe, the loss of blood that killed the victims alone.”

The inspector nodded. He’d been expecting that. Why was it so hard to get information from anyone? “How did you find this sign?”

Doctor Evatt shrugged. “My companion and I were out for an evening stroll in the park, and the sign is not, particularly, concealed.”

“And everyone else? Why is Simon here, and Seth? When did they arrive?”

“Shortly before yourself, sir. Seth, it seems, was also wandering through the park this eve, and Simon showed up just after Seth left to find you.”

Everyone just randomly wandering the garden at night, then. An uncanny coincidence.

“Very good. What about this companion of yours?”

Evatt waved off the question. “She’s a long-time friend and patient, and many evenings we dinner and stroll around the parks in the city. Even men such as I need true friends, inspector,” the doctor said with a tired smile. “People to walk with us when we cannot sleep.”

The inspector only nodded. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Doctor. Stay alert, we may need your services shortly.”

The doctor’s eyes looked pained, deep wells of sorrow ages old. “I pray it is not so, but it would seem likely. Good night, inspector.”

The doctor walked off and, taking his companion’s arm, they leaned on each other and walked off into the night.

“Seth?”

“Here, Inspector, sir.”

“Seth, I believe we’ll have need of some additional police forces. Can you assign some additional fellows? People you may trust? We’ll also need a place to work from, a collection of information and resources. Can I trust you to handle that?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve set up an office in the industrial district just past the technology tower, a small building with a silver façade and a small fountain in front. Here is the address,” Seth replied, handing the inspector a small slip of paper. Fascinating. More capable than I originally expected. Perhaps this lout was not so useless as I originally believed.

“I’ve already been interviewing potential candidates as well, Inspector Mondieu. Shortly, we’ll have two more men for the job,” Seth continued.

                Strange. His nervousness seems almost fled from him. Was this the same man nervous and twitching his fingers only a half hour before? The same man who could not meet his eyes this morning? A transformation. Hopefully, it would be enough. The inspector needed all the help he could get.

                “Very good, Seth. I’m impressed with your diligence. There is nothing more to be done here at this time. Keep your eyes open, you know where to find me.”

The inspector left with the missive clasped in his hands, leaving the others standing, motionless, beneath the flickering lamplights. The shadows seemed fuller as each person left the park, the light less capable of holding the darkness at bay.

The inspector checked his watch. He still had time to glance around for Horten a while before turning in. As he walked around the garden, he considered the sign, the second clue. Wolf to lamb? What did that mean? A hunting reference? Was the inspector the lamb, or the victims themselves? And the destroyer? What was he intending? The inspector caught the dubious reference to creation, as an anti-creation, but wasn’t sure of the purpose, as yet. Why? What possible vengeance or hatred could someone harbor against this city?

For several hours, the inspector wandered the gardens and the empty northern markets. Quite a number of people were out for strolls, and the inspector asked if anyone knew where Horten might be, and none had seen him. What could he do to stop this second crime? Obstacles were thrown in his investigating path at every turn. The inspector began the walk back to the inn for the night, though he suspected he would sleep poorly this night.

Where had the day gone? It seemed only moments since the murder this morning, and he had not even found the gardener for questioning. Questions seethed in his mind, roiling as a stormy sea, and his face was set, grim against the crimes of twilight. The game was begun, and justice come, in the form of a dark clad man.

The stars shivered in expectation of the night.

Chapter 4: Dark and Sinister Happenings

Garden

12:00pm

That was his power. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone.

~The Usual Suspects

The Doctor slept. He did not sleep well or fitfully, but it was enough.

And as he slept he dreamed.

The City was stretched far below him, beautifully laid out. The streets sparkled as if diamonds had been laid down instead of cobblestones. It was a new city; Garden had just been finished. There were fresh green shoots coming up between the cracks of the sidewalk slabs. The transplanted trees blended into the City's landscape as if to make fully true the metaphor, 'the urban jungle.

There were no people yet walking the streets, living and breathing life into the City's bellows, but there would be soon. The City was silent, but not in an eerie. It was peaceful rather, something inviting and calm to those who would listen to the sound of silence.

The Market was empty as well, but everything was there. The stalls were sturdy and clean, the thoroughfares swept and open to anyone who would come. There were no scents of fresh bread; that would come later with the bakers' stalls opening when the bakers came to Garden. The market was a bare canvas, ready to be made into whatever the artisans' brushstrokes and paint would make of it.

The gardens and fields nearby had been fertilized and sowed in the spring. Summer now, the stalks and shoots of underground plantings spoke of a rich bounty that was soon to be harvested by Garden's new citizens. They just waited now, waving gently in the little breeze, their fate reserved for sacrifice to the new denizens of life and living.

The Vivarium was richly coloured, in hues of each and sand and water. The effect when viewed properly was that of a wild oasis, just happening to end in a line of trees that formed an effective, impenetrable hidden fence. There no animals yet, but there would be soon. There were many different such places of studious refuge, some larger to accommodate the larger animals, others much smaller in scope and size. They all featured the same genius in design though: a careful attention to detail and place.

The Doctor walked the byways and alleys in his dream. He had seen most of the City this way; walking and observing in close detail both in life and dreams. In his dreams the City was always empty and seemingly to be waiting for the living to inhabit it. There was always an expectant silence, as if Garden was holding Her breath waiting for it to be broken.

The Doctor himself never made any noise; he didn't know if this was a feature of his dream, or rather that he was a little frightened of what would happen to the City if he did. He rather walked with the same bated breath, watching and waiting.

At least that's what it felt like in his dreams.

He stopped outside the park. It was also empty of life. The trees still swayed to the wind's suggestion and the fruit was almost ready to be picked, but that didn't matter. The Doctor walked inside still searching.

He always took the same path through the City, always searching, never finding. In these dreams he had never asked himself for what he was searching, but he figured when he found another living citizen of Garden he would be done.

The paths through the park: in life worn and tended carefully. In dreams they were tended just as carefully, but they looked as if they had never been touched. The Doctor was enough of himself in his dreams to tread carefully on the path; he didn't want to create more work for whoever had the job of keeping the path kept.

Always his goal, the Terrarium lay directly in front of him but a short walk away. He never hesitated but always walked forward and straight into the Dome.

Today, after what had happened early that morning, he hesitated for the first time.

What was Garden? How had it changed and he not seen?

The questions kept coming and he had no answer anymore he felt. It was more than the inability to answer, it was something beyond that.

He started to walk towards the Dome.

The Dome, freshly finished, gleamed in the sun's zenith. The large glass door, open and inviting, was quite large enough to admit the Doctor three abreast.

He walked inside.

It was cool, as if in the evening inside the structure. The path to the middle again was tended carefully and not worn in any way. The Doctor struck forward at a careful pace towards the center. He had nine complete circles before he arrive at the center of the grove. He groped in his pocket for his pipe.

A dark shadow, formless and dark, slipped inside the open door to the Dome.

Smoking cheerfully, the Doctor finished the ninth circle and cleared the last wall.

He stopped. The grove was right in front of the Doctor now; the whole scene was in clear view.

The Doctor's dream suddenly changed. He was still in the grove, but his viewpoint was that of from the very top of the IT Tower. He could once again, just like the start of his dream, see the spread of the whole City. It was very beautiful to his eyes, for he loved Garden.

The City was still empty, but the Doctor always pretended at this point of the dream that he just could not see anyone for he was too high. He imagined Garden the way it was today.

Its citizens bustling from here to there; the market, a hive of activity that only closed when the sun was down and everyone had left, and the park, full of people that were not dead.

Then quickly as it changed before, the dream was different again. He was in the grove, standing before the tree.

Grouped around the tree were the same two victims the Doctor had examined this morning. They were not marked in any way, but he somehow knew, in the mysterious way of dreams, that they were already dead.

Not being afraid in the least of dead bodies, or their killer, the Doctor stepped forward for a closer look.

There was no basket to gather fruit near them, half full with their nightly duties. For some reason, the doctor found himself thinking about that. There was no fruit on the tree either; nothing to harvest around the tree at all. It was the only thing he had seen in Garden not flowering. The tree looked healthy enough except for that one thing.

He wondered at these differences; he knew what he had seen before, just a few hours ago, and now he saw a complete contradiction. Again, in the mysterious way of dreams, he did not question it.

A shadow loomed over his then and swallowed it in its magnitude. He spun around to face whatever had come up behind him…

But nothing was there.

The Doctor wasn’t afraid. This was his dream.

The sensation of waking was always strange to the Doctor. He would be disorientated for a mere moment, and then knowledge of everything around would wash over him in a complete swell of information. It was a heady experience, sometimes a little much in the morning.

Right now though, it was midafternoon, about two forty he discovered when he looked at the clock and that information was exactly something he needed.

Choking back a quick and silent oath, he hurriedly got up from his recumbent position and adjusted his coat. The Doctor strode out into the vestibule for an affirmation of his meeting with the Inspector.

He did not remember any of his dream of a few moments ago.

There was no note. His note was gone as well.

"Well." Were the Doctor's only words.

He walked back and entered the other room. It was the study, but it looked more like a place of living for a small number of individuals.

Towards one end of the room, the back, there was an old desk. It was hard to tell what it was though, due to the number of papers that covered it. This is where the Doctor went to when he entered. He sat down, adjusted his legs and took out his notebook. He started to write; this was had been his habit when he had the a practice. He would always take careful notes so as to forget nothing. This had made him a good doctor and the rare one that was genuinely liked by his patients.

"Busy? Or may I come in?" The voice was so welcome, the Doctor didn't even get up in surprise.

"I am never to busy for you my dear. Come in, come in." The Doctor said smiling warmly at his visitor. "Pardon me if I don't get up, I must finish this." He guestured with his notebook while smiling ruefully. "I'll only be moment."

"It's all right Evatt. I am the one intruding." She said smiling a little, her voice still brusque and to the point.

The Doctor's visitor was no longer young, she had more gray in her hair than not and the wrinkles in her face told of a life well lived.

Her eyes though, that is where she had not changed at all. They still could flash at a moment's notice at anything she showed her displeasure. Right now, they just contained their usual sparkling intelligence which right now was directed at the Doctor.

He finished and carefully put the notebook away in the jumble on the desk.

"Evelyn, I am afraid if I asked you to meet me here at this time, I had completely forgotten." He smiled a little wanly, but missing none of the warmth he usually reserved for her.

"Nonsense, I just came over to inquire as to how you are doing." She nodded in his direction and continued. "We always tend to forget that Doctor's need help every once in a while too."

He smiled at that but said nothing.

"You haven't done this sort of thing in years, Doctor, are you sure you're still up for it?" She smiled back at him a little encouragingly.

"How did you get in Eve? I thought my door was shut. I shut it so I don't have to admit people who ask questions like that of me." The Doctor answered peevishly. He usually didn't like being reminded of his age or that he had not acted as a doctor in a couple years.

"You don't mind it when I ask it, you like it." She murmered back, looking around the room curiously. "Besides, you not usually here anyway."

"That is because I am usually trying to avoid meeting you Eve. It's very physically draining having these conversations with you constantly and I am not always sure I am ready for them."

She laughed. It was a younger woman's laugh, free and sophisticated.

"Oh, I found this on your floor as I walked in." She handed his note back over to him. "I took the liberty of reading it for you. It's adressed to someone named Mondieu and is for a meeting this afternoon."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

She raised the tone of her voice to a falsetto, "Now Sonny, I think you're a little too young to get mixed up in something like that. I think it's better if we let the authorities handle it....and us." She added quietly at the last.

"Eve, Mondieu was the Inspector called in. This is his case. I am just doing what he asked of me."

"That's what I am talking about! This is Garden, I just think that he's no better than any other policeman that could have been called in, or a specialist."

She raised her eyebrows at him again.

"Specialist Evelyn? What are you talking about? I think you're just talking out of your hat again."

He got up suddenly as he finished.

"Why do we need an Inspector anyway? Who called him in? Where are you going?" She asked quickly copying his actions.

"I am famished. Would you like to join me in the Market for some repast? How does," He paused to think for a second. "Del Monico's sound to you?"

"You  know that sounds delightful. What about my questions?" She hounded him while following him out into the vestibule.

"Leave that not there, will you Eve? It's too late, but I would like Tom to see what he missed today."

The Doctor said gesturing to the small table where had previously placed the note.

"All right, but you're ignoring my questions." She said, putting the note back in its place.

"I am not. It's just that I am just postponing them. I don't like to talk about serious matters on an empty stomach." At this The Doctor smiled at her and held the door open for her.

He joined her outside after locking up and they proceeded to walk down the sidewalk towards the general viscinity of the Market.

It was a beautiful day for a stroll. The sun was shining down brightly, the slight breeze whispered at coolness and it took place in Garden.

"Do you ever stop and ask yourself, why this happened?" The Doctor inquired as they walked.

"You mean why someone went to all the trouble of announcing their actions before hand, then bled dry Poor Addam and Lilya as per their announcement? No, I guess I haven't. I have been more thinking of what I would do to that person if I caught them." She grimaced and put her hands back to here sides where she clenched her fists again.

"I have been asking myself that question since this morning. Why?" He shook his head. "I can't figure it out."

"Well that is always the key though isn't it? We find the motive and we find the killer?" Eve responded.

"That is actually what I was trying to tell you."

The Doctor stopped and turned to look at her. "I hope you are not going to suggest..."

"I think we should do something about this....ourselves." She said quietly.

The scene after Del Monico's was the same.

"I don't think it's a good idea Eve. I think that we would just get in the way." He sighed hopelessly at her.

"We might, but we might do more good than harm. We could help the Inspector. We know Garden and he doesn't." She said without a trace of the same sigh.

"Well Eve, I already am helping him, whenever he has a chance to take a look at my report." The Doctor said with finality.

"You know I was thinking more help than that." Eve said accusingly.

He laughed and they continued walking towards the park or plaza where they could watch the sun set.

The Doctor's Manor house stood empty that evening. The shutters did not move listlessly in the slow wind, the curtains might be said to have wafted. There was no one in the carriage house. The horses were put away for the evening, their hay pitched down and grain in their buckets. The barouche had been rolled to a stop, the doors shut and locked for the evening. There were no lights on in either the Manor or the carriage house.

There was a light on in the small cottage behind the Carriage house though. It was a small cottage, even by cottage standards. It had two windows facing out and one of them had a faint orange glow that suggested a soft light or candle.

There was movement inside, the orange glow went softer for a second as a shadow crossed over it and then it got brighter as it passed.

Robinson, the Doctor's man, and butler was polishing the silverware.

He was a younger man, perhaps just a few shades past thirty, clean shaven and well knit. He had a mop of usually neat brown hair, but today being his off-buttle day, it was just a mop of brown hair. His features were non-descript to the point of difficulty. The Doctor had said upon hiring that Robinson had received the job because he looked like all the butlers he had ever seen before. Robinson didn't know if that actually was a reason or not he was hired.

He had not worn his uniform today, and he was just wearing his driver wear as he clean and polished the silver. He did this chore in the kitchen where he could be comfortable. There was a larder close by  and he could use the table for resting the cleaning buckets.

"Clean enough I'd guess." He said to himself quietly inspecting a spoon. He put it in the spoon drawer.

Chapter 5: Mondieu

8:35am

All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust

A million candles, midnight’s vigil, the moon a brazier bright. The heavens marched an imperceptibly slow procession, galaxies wide, and an eerie wind whistled a eulogy for the damned. A howl pierced the night, feral and savage, and many suffered ill-sleep that night, or discomfiting dreams.

            The inspector slept little, awaiting the alarm-call of crime, his thoughts morbid with possibilities. Eventually, the battle waged between waking nightmares and exhausting reached a compromise in fitful sleep, rife with macabre monsters: imps and devils; a wolfish beast, claws dripping scarlet; ancient evils empty and cruel, devastating and implacable, a prime evil. Nothing but shifting shapes and shadows, and morning came too soon, and not soon enough.

            The crafty alchemy of the night turned the horizon gold, dawn of a bright new day. The sun clambered over the horizon, lighting the tips of trees near the city limits in an orange glow, and piercing the half-closed curtains in the inspector’s room, falling full across his face.  The inspector stirred into waking.

            No crime in the night? Did that mean anything? Had the crime happened and just not been found? Or still undone? Or maybe it was all a scare tactic?

            Mondieu rolled out of bed and walked over to a mirror tacked on the wall, washing his face and rubbing his hands over the bristling shade growing on his cheeks. He opened the window and lit a cigarette, breathing in the ash and fragrant morning air.

            The taproom was filled with patrons, receiving early morning cups of steaming coffee, eggs, and toast. The inspector ate a quick breakfast and headed out into the streets, filled with an early morning amble into the central city.

            Flying on coffee, tobacco smoke, and limited sleep, the inspector marched into the central park. Sometime today he needed to find Horten and ask him some questions, and visit the Doctor at his lab. Might as well start now. He asked around and the general consensus placed Horten at the menagerie. Mondieu asked for directions and found it easily enough. East of the central dome, a forested section of town was separated off by high hedge rows.

            The inspector walked inside and was surprised to find animals mingling with quite a crowd of people. Baboons and small cats, foxes, turtles, chickens, beavers building dams in a creek, birds collecting twigs for nests in the trees, squirrels chattering and receiving handfuls of food, deer nibbling on grass, horses and mules clopping along the cobbles, giraffes crunching on the tops of trees, snakes sunning on stones. Strangely enough, the animals seemed complacent, more, enjoying the companionship.

            The inspector would be surprised if the foxes did not, occasionally, diminish the chicken population, or the snakes steal some eggs, but it seemed a strange harmony. Not all the animals mingled nicely, the inspector noticed. Pens or deep dens walled in certain animals: alligators, lions, wolves. The size of the menagerie was impressive, almost a mile on each edge, and without knowing what Horten looked like, finding him was difficult.

            I’m lost in a strange city, in a menagerie of animals with giant giraffes grazing on the trees, and friendly foxes slipping between my knees. Is this paradise, this mystery city?

            Suddenly, the inspector was inflicted by a dizziness, his head aching and vivid with violent imagery. Full moon, bones dragged in the teeth of silver wolves, ghastly teeth flecked the scarlet and the echoes of cries. Bloodied sands, hands, broken feet, and a strange wilting to the tree, silver leaves flecked with death-dull brown.

            A loud howl pierced the inspector’s eerie vision, followed by high pitched screams. Horses whinnied in fear and shied away, nervous as though a predator was by. The inspector’s instincts kicked in, and instantly he was racing towards the danger.

            The menagerie changed instantly, from a tranquil scene into a cacophony of tense animals, shying away from the northern edge of the menagerie, where the screams originated that echoed around the park.

            A large crowd was collected around a pen, tightly packed such that the inspector saw nothing. A low wail replaced the frightened screams, and children were held by mothers, faces tucked into their sleeves and shoulders, while men whispered or shouted in agonized confusion. Was this, then, the second crime?

            The inspector ran to the edge of the crowd, swimming his way through the bodies to the front. Whispers followed him in his wake, and he reached the front shortly. It was carnage.

            Blood covered the inside of the exhibit, as though bodies had been dragged, bleeding, over the rocks and sands. The bodies of four wolves, bloodied, mangled, torn into pieces, and two bodies, once human, from the looks of it, also inside the pen, clearly devastated by the wolves. A single wolf still stood, dragging its hind legs behind it, but creeping towards the bodies, spit dribbling from its mouth in a ravenous desire to feed, to crunch bones still, even in its final breath.

            The inspector leaped into the center, and a loud intake of breath sounded behind him, a collective gasp, and the inspector pulled a thin knife from the folds of his cloak. Golden eyes, it sees the dawn of death, and welcomes it. Sickly, though still fierce, and feral.

            Mondieu strafed alongside the wolf, and it tried following him, but could not drag its legs quickly enough. Quickly, with grace, he dispatched the last wolf. In the back of the den in the cave just out of view of the onlookers was a sign, written in blood: “It is done” without any signature, and the inspector knew, without a doubt, this was no accident.

            Ten minutes later, the police arrived, now a bolstered force of three.  Simon, who, oddly enough, arrived at the scene just before the police, was sent by the Inspector to find the Doctor as swiftly as possible, while the inspector talked with the policemen.

            “Inspector?” Seth started, arriving breathless with his men in tow. “This is DuMont, an out-of-state policeman vacationing here with some experience, and this is Vespars, who fought fires before moving to the city years ago.”

            “Very good,” said the inspector, glancing over the two new policemen. Both were large men, but after that almost opposites. DuMont was dark of skin, and carried a dangerous grace, like a panther. His head was shaved and face were shaved, and he had dark, almost black eyes, and an unsmiling face – not unhappy, just as though smiling was foreign, unimaginable. He was solemn, and didn’t appear concerned by the bloody scene. It seemed as a sort of comfort, as of familiarity, settled over him.

            Vespars was of the lightest skin, red-headed and violently freckled. Both were as tall as the inspector, and more muscled by half. Both wore the same, aged uniforms that Seth wore, and Mondieu briefly wondered where they found such dated apparel, let alone in such large sizes.

            “Welcome, gentlemen. DuMont, can you cordon off this area and retreat the crowd a fair distance from the scene? Vespar, will you mingle with the crowd and find some witnesses. I want to know who these bodies belonged to and what they were doing. Seth, when the doctor gets here, bring him to me. Until then, I want no one to interrupt my study of the scene. Understood?”

            “Understood,” replied DuMont for each of them, his voice a resonating baritone. Vespars nodded and they each walked off to their tasks.

            Now to the murders. The first body appeared to be a female’s, closer to the wall. Her entire body was prostrated towards the males, and did not appear to have been dragged any distance since death. Her hair, where visible beneath the matted wounds, was greyed. Jumped in, after the man, seeing him injured and no one leaping to his rescue. The fight was already ensued, the bloody mess, and the wolves ignored her once finished.

            The other body was not as lucky. It seemed the woman likely died instantly, though the man suffered longer, though did not seem to have put up a fight. It looks like all the damage was dealt by the wolves. The man and woman put up nothing in the way of aggression or defense. Likely, the man survived longed as the wolves threatened each other. But why would the wolves suddenly consider each other as threats? What were the man and woman doing in the pit in the first place?

            The man was scarcely recognizable as such, though he appeared to be elderly as well. Clothing ripped, he looked to have been wearing overalls and maybe a straw hat, now trampled into the ground.

            Seth approached with the Doctor and Simon. The inspector nodded in their direction as they approached. “Doctor Evatt, I wish it were under more pleasant circumstance that we found each other.”

            The Doctor nodded grimly in reply. “Shall I inspect the bodies, Inspector?”

            “Yes. Seth, go find Vespar and see if he’s found any witnesses worth investigating.”

            When they left, Simon walked over to the inspector’s side. “What happened?”

            “Were you not here to see?” the inspector asked, his eyebrows rising.

            Simon shook his head. “I arrived shortly after the event. I heard the shouts, and raced over. By the time I arrived, you were already on the scene. Was it a murder? Or just an accident?”

            The inspector did not reply, holding back on what he’d seen at the back. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

            Vespars walked over with Seth and a shorter man in tow. “This man saw the whole thing.”

            “Thank you, Vespars, Seth, Simon. I’ll take it from here,” the inspector said with a meaningful glance. They each retreated, and the inspector turned to the man. “Tell me what you saw, Mr….?”

            “Pavloh, sir. I saw everything. It was a nightmare, a grisly, terrible, nightmare.” As the man began, it was clear he was almost breaking down. Probably knew the victims. This was not where the inspector was most comfortable.

            “Take is slow. If you need time, take a deep breath and just get it straight. I need to know,” the inspector replied in a quiet, calming tone.

            Pavloh inhaled sharply and began again. “It was feeding time, and Horten was preparing to feed the animals-”

            “Horten?” asked the inspector incredulously. Thrice damned day, was Horten the man in the cage? “Apologies. Continue, Pavloh,” the inspector instructed.

            “Horten saw that the wolves were agitated with something, snarling in a peculiar fashion. He climbed down into the pit and the wolves went mad, feral. They growled and all assaulted him at once. He hunkered down, protecting his head with his arms, but the creatures kept on mauling him.

            His wife, she screamed and leapt into the exhibit after her husband, and a wolf left to attack her as well, leaving the other three still fighting over Horten.”

            “Once they were finished, the wolves began ripping at each other, tearing each other’s throats and fighting over the bodies.”

            Pavloh broke down into a sob.

            What a disaster. About what the inspector had imagined, as well.

            “Why did no one come to their aid?” Even as he asked, the inspector hated the question. But he had to know. A whole crowd of people, four wolves, and two of their kin, their close friends, mauled to death before their eyes – and no one helped.

Chapter 5: Mondieu

8:35am Wednesday

All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust

            Pavloh looked bewildered through his puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and the thought’s foreignness was apparent. The inspector waved it away, and motioned to Simon to walk the man off.

            The inspector sighed and walked over to the doctor, now kneeling on the ground beside the male’s corpse. Mondieu crouched beside Evatt, feeling the heat of the sunlight bearing down, and the swirling winds choked him with sands and the angry stench of blood and death.

            He waited for the doctor to speak. For a few minutes, the doctor continued, diligent in his study of the bodies and taking of samples. Eventually, he wiped his forehead with the elbow of his sleeve, unconcerned that his gloves were covered in scarlet. “Well, inspector. I’m guessing this isn’t an accident, is it?”

            The inspector shook his head and, subtly, pointed to the back of the wolf’s cave den.      

            “Ah,” replied the doctor. “I’ll need to return these to my lab to study them more. There is little I can discover here, without my instruments, and I suspect we should clear this away as quickly as possible.”

            “Agreed,” said the inspector, rising to his feet. He motioned over Seth, who hurried over.

            “I need these bodies cleared away and this place cleaned up. If you could bring the remains: wolves, bodies, some dirt, everything, to the doctor’s lab, that would be perfect.”

            “Yes, inspector. Is there anything else you require?”

            “Not at the moment. Thank you, Seth.” They each nodded, and turned their separate ways. The timid, nervous man from a few days ago was gone, replaced by this willing, diligent man. By no means great, but willing. It was almost not the same man.

            Unfortunately, Horten was one of the victims, his main connection to the first crime. There had to be other people who saw that first clue. Maybe Seth had witnessed the first clue? Or Simon? Simon seemed everywhere at once, though the inspector had been in the menagerie and near the central park last night, also.

            The inspector ambled over to the sign at the back of the cave, written in what appeared to be scarlet ink, not blood, though the lack of subtlety was not wasted on the inspector.

            A death in front of a crowd of people, and not one, save Horten’s wife, jumped in to help. A second vivid dream, also involving the tree, and pieces of the murder he could not have known. Then, an accident prepared, somehow, beforehand – but where was the murder?

            Before leaving, the inspector watched as the two new policemen cleaned up the scene.

            The animals watched the inspector warily, no longer trusting of these strange bipeds walking in their midst. This was their fault, the violence. The sun rode high in the sky, sending a line of sweat trickling down the inspector’s back.

            Two days, four murders, and not a hint of a suspect. He felt numbed, slowed, as though the pace of the town inhibited his process, and every step he took, was backward.

            And what purpose these atrocities? What motivation the death of these people?

            The inspector had a long day ahead.

Chapter 6

City of Garden

Morn - Sunrise

“Do not be afraid; our fate

Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”

~Dante Alighieri

A man lay on his back, his bedclothes strewn all around him. He was not asleep, but his eyes were still closed as if to not see what lay in front of them.

The day had begun like any other day. He had risen with the sun: his usual habit, though of late, it was getting harder and harder to do so. He had drunk his coffee and had slung his knapsack with his lunch over one shoulder. Not saying anything, for he didn’t want to wake his wife, he left the house as silently as his old bones and deteriorating hearing allowed.

He liked this part of the day, when there was no one on Garden’s streets, when the sights and sounds of the city were at their mildest. This is when he felt closer to home, closer to his dream of living a wild life. His eyes gleamed for a second as he thought of his dream, and then as it faded, so did the light in his eyes.

The Vivarium would have to do for now. That would have to suffice for his dream now. He didn’t love Garden as much as most, but if it could be said about any part of the City, he loved the Vivarium.

It was most natural part of Garden he thought. Even though flora and fauna was featured everywhere in Garden, he still found the mix of steel and glass hidden in plain view amongst the trees of the City a little disturbing.

Not like the Vivarium. It was plainly adorned, and there were only five walls within the enclosure: the four thick and tall protective hedge rows around the Vivarium and the last was the sky. This kind of ceiling was more to his liking.

He had made a detour that day; he had wanted to pick a amall piece of fruit as he still felt a little hungry, that and he was feeling his age a little more than usual. He would never have admitted it, but he had increased his fruit intake slightly to offset this.

He arrived at the Dome and doors were still open.

"That Addam and Lilya, they'll always forget something," He smiled and thought to himself. He walked inside, still giving no audible greeting as was his habit. He prefered silence to noise and rarely found himself saying anything that didn't need saying.

He wound his way around the Dome's circular path, wondering at the silence. Addam and Lilya were usually never the source of silence, their laugher and voices were well known to the whole village.

Suddenly the scent of something wild and feral struck his nostrels. He instantly stopped his body acquiver. He held himself in taut attention to the sense; it was a dark scent and it was not to his liking. It reminded him of his memories of the first hunt of the season, so long ago. He started walking again and wondered from where the smell had come. It seemed that it got stronger as he made his way towards the center of the Dome, towards the Tree.

He was thinking that an animal might have gotten in through  the forgotten door, "Blast that Addam." He thought to himself. Something like that had never happened, but that was the only thing he could think of.

Then he rounded the last corner and saw the Tree, and what lay underneath it.

He did not remember clearly what he did next. He could remember dim faces, someone screaming and helping hands lay him down.

He had not gotten up since then, and he had tried to keep his eyes closed. It was if by keeping his eyes closed, he might not remember what lay  the Tree. His wife had bathed his head in cool water as he lay, and he felt a little better. Nobody had come to ask him anything about his discovery and he didn't want to talk about it. His wife, seeing his expression on his face when she started to ask, stopped and gently held him instead.

Today, the day after the accidents, he got up with the sun as he always did. He didn't feel his normal self, but he didn't know when he would so he didn't know what difference it made.

Horten stood in front of his mirror upon rising and looked at himself. He was older than he realized. Sometimes he forgot how old he actually was, but there was no escaping it this day.

He slowly pulled his work covers on; he did this as always without the light for he didn't want to wake his wife. She had, as always, laid out his uniform. It was habit he supposed, maybe they all had them deep-rooted like that. He hoped so, as he was going to have to rely on that to get through this day.

He had to visit with certain animals at the Vivarium today; they were sick and he had not seen them yesterday. He didn't feel at all up to going anywhere, let alone interacting with anyone who might ask him anything about yesterday as well taking care of his animals.

The walk outside felt alien to his soul, it was as if he had never made this walk before. He dimly remembered walking this same path yesterday, with the same trees waving hello to the same sun and the same wind caressing his scars in its own playful fashion. But that was if it had been an ancient time compared to now. He just bent his head a little as if weighed down and kept walking.

He made no detour or stop and ended his commute at the entrance to the Vivarium. There was as usual no one there as early as he; the sun had just risen and even the animals were still hidden in slumber. He made his rounds, making little noise and disturbing few of the animals.

This work calmed him, and he felt more at peace with the world. He also felt more attached to reality; he didn't know if this was due to his interaction with the real world or just by doing something he felt more alive. It didn't matter. This is what he loved most about Garden and he would do it till the end of his days.

The Doctor had not slept very well that night. He had tossed and turned, his dreams alternatively waking him and putting him to sleep.

He felt another dream's pull, but he resisted this time and sat up. It was still dark, not quite yet morn, but he could see an orange glow to the East that suggested it was nor too far off. His window faced the East, but it still dark enough outside so the faint tinge of orange was still the only thing he could see.

Rising, his creaking limbs crying out that they were not ready, he started to dress. Doing so, he shook the bell by his desk. This was to wake Robinson so he would be ready when the Doctor was ready.

He was sure now, what he was going to do. He had many a misgiving, but he shrugged them off as he put his coat on.

"Good morning Doctor," Said Robinson from the doorway.

"Were you already awake Robinson? I only rang for you few moments ago." The Doctor said drily.

"I'm always ready for whenever you ring Doctor. I think that you are the one up early, before the sun’s even risen." Robinson gestured with one hand towards the sunrise while he spoke. His other hand knuckled his forehead.

"Would you be so good as to get the barouche ready? I wish to visit the Vivarium and Horten if he is there." He asked Horten while tying his tie.

"It will be ready in a fiver." Robinson winked at the Doctor and turned to go.

"Robinson, I would also like you to accompany me."

Robinson didn't stop at all on his way out. "As you say Doctor."

Out in the hallway, Robinson thought to himself, what the hell is the old man up to at this time of morning? And what does he want me for?

He reached the carriage house and started the preparations for taking the barouche.

Whatever it is, he thought to himself, I’ll be ready.

He took out his revolver from its hiding place and slipped it into his coat pocket.

The ride to the Vivarium was cooler than normal; the weather system usually was a little more sluggish in the morning. The two men rode in silence; the Doctor usually didn't waste many words with Robinson. He felt he was understood without too much prattle and he knew he certainly understood Robinson without him having to prattle on.

The Sun was over the Dome when they could see it; hung tinged with orange, almost red and with an angry streak of fire that slashed vertically across its face.

“If you don’t mind me asking Doctor, what are we doing out at this time of morning?” Robinson asked while he nudged the horses a little faster with his buggy whip.

“I do not mind you asking in the least. I guess you could say, whether I want to or not, I am going to get involved.” The Doctor said simply.

“You mean in that nasty business? How does this jaunt have anything to do with them?” Robinson asked carefully. He wasn’t worried; he just didn’t want to appear too curious.

“I don’t really want to go into the necessary details Robinson, but I have reason to think that Horten might be attacked next.”

“Horten?” Robinson exclaimed. “Why? What’s he got to do with this?”

“I do not know. I just have a suspicion.” The Doctor shook his head slowly. “It’s that damned letter he left!” The Doctor exclaimed during the moment of silence after his declaring his suspicion.

“He? Was another clue dropped?” Robinson dropped his care and his full curiosity showed.

“It seems so. Something in it planted a seed that Horten might be attacked next. It was nothing really, but I should like to warn Horten anyway.” He shrugged uneasily.

“Right you are Doctor.” Agreed Robinson heartily.

 They arrived at the entrance to the Vivarium quietly, with only a small jangling of the reins to announce their presence.

“Shall I stay with the horse Doctor?” Robinson asked, leaping out of the barouche to steady the animals.

“No, I wish company when we find him. The horses will be all right for a little while.” He replied, getting out of the barouche. “Now, if you were Horten, where would you be at this time of morning?”

“Doctor, I would be sleeping.” Robinson smiled.

They went through the gate and followed the main path angling off center by way of a Westerly direction.

“But you were awake when I rang for you. Why had you already woken?” The Doctor asked curiously.

“I couldn’t sleep. It’s been troubling me of late.” Robinson replied easily.

They approached the first pit that had animals in it. Horten was nowhere to be seen but they stopped for a moment.

The animals inside were lions. Hidden inside their den, they slept, barely perceptible to the two men’s eyes; they were nonetheless majestic in what they did. Their manes sweeping down over their noble brows, their fur was the exact colour of the rays that were soon to be arcing down to meet their pit in joyous celebration.

The Doctor paused only for a moment to admire them though, he stalked on, his intent and purpose serious enough to make him walk faster than normal. He would usually walk slower than most to hide what he could of his limp, but his habit now was all but forgotten in his haste.

He broke the silence of the habitat for the first time that morning.

"Horten?!" The Doctor's voice rang out sweet and clear. "Horten?"

There was no answer save that of a lion lifting up its head having been woken from slumber.

There was silence for a minute while the Doctor and Robinson listened for any sound that would break the silence.

Finally Robinson spoke, "Doctor, I don't think he's within hearing distance. Want to split up and find him?"

The Doctor shook his head worriedly. "I don't know if that's a good idea. If something has happened to Horten, we might be in more danger by separating. We should stick together and find him."

Just then, there was a lingering shout from a little distance away. It was not intelligible, but Robinson, with a look at the Doctor's nodding head, raced forward towards the origin of the sound.

The Doctor tried to keep up, his limp becoming even more pronounced as he walked faster.

Robinson, who was loping as if the devil himself were behind him, disappeared behind a small rock formation.

"Robinson....Robinson, do you see him? Is everything all right?" The Doctor cried out when Robinson disappeared.

There was no answer for a moment, and then two.

Then there was another shout. "Doctor!" It was Robinson this time.

The Doctor, fearing the worst, limped forward a little faster. His mind racing, he shouted again.

"Horten? Robinson?" He tried again.

There was silence.

He rounded the rocks and saw Robinson kneeling by a prone figure. At the sound of the Doctor's footfalls, Robinson craned his neck around to meet the Doctor's gaze.

"He's only resting. I think he must be extremely tired." He got up from his position and stretched.

"When I saw him there, I thought the worst." Robinson sounded extremely relieved.

"As did I." The Doctor, relieved as well, walked forward.

"Horten? Horten?" His voice was not loud by any means, instead it was pitched as to gently lift someone from their slumber.

Horten stirred and opened his eyes.

"Doctor...Is everything all right?" Horten sat up.

He was gray haired  and his face was wrinkled as if it was older leather that had cracked  in a number of places. His voice had even cracked a little it sounded like. Horten's question changed from a tone in the middle and his rasp made it even more noticeable.

"Yes Horten, everything is all right. We didn't mean to disturb you." The Doctor nodded at Robinson, letting Horten know he was there.

"Do you always sleep there?" Robinson asked grinning from behind the sitting man.

"I do." Replied Horten owlishly. "I sleep here because you can't see me from the gate."

"It's where I would sleep. I would think of that if I were to sleep here." Robinson said still grinning. "But no, I wouldn't sleep here. I would be alseep in my bed back in my room."

Ignoring him, the Doctor spoke to Horten.

He had decided to ask first about the Murders and then the warning.

"Horten, I would like to ask you some questions."

"No, I won't answer any now." Horten replied at once and very hurriedly.

"Soon then? We need to know everything we can." The Doctor spoke understandingly. "I did not come to bother you about that though, Horten." He paused and waited to see if Horten would say anything.

When there was nothing but silence, the Doctor spoke again.

"We discovered another missive last night." He paused again as if to find the words. "It speaks of more danger. "

Then, quoting the line from it, the Doctor said in a forbidding voice.

    "WORSE STILL THAN THE FIRST

                   WOLF TO LAMB

                       DEATH FOR THE DAMNED"

"I thought that....might refer to you. I should be very careful if I were you."

"Well thank you Doctor, but what would you have me do? The Vivarium, much as I would like it to be self-sustaining, wont exactly take care of itself." He shook his head. "I'll be as careful as I can, but I am not going to hide."

"I just wanted to warn you. I don't know what it means. Just...be careful." The Doctor smiled slowly at Horten.

"You be careful too Doctor," He said, then nodded at Robinson, "You too Robinson."

"I'm always careful." Said Robinson easily.

All three stood there, then, silently thinking the same thing.

"Well, we will leave you to your work Horten." The Doctor said. Then to Robinson, said, "Come, I think some repast is in order."

"You never said a truer word Doctor." Robinson said grinning again.

They walked back in the direction they had come, a little more slowly as if the Doctor was burdened by even more than his limp.

When the barouche had pulled out heading to the Vivarium, a shadow detached itself from the side of the carriage house. The figure wore black and had a black balaclava over their face. For a moment after the Doctor and Robinson left, they just stood and stared after them. Then they walked quickly away and were lost to the darkness.

Chapter 7: Mondieu

10:35am Thursday

                What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared?

~ Mikhail Bulgakov

The weather was a masquerade on the day, a calm sky and blazing sunlight slanting over town. Reflections, the buildings all around, flashed the inspector in the eyes at every turn, a hall of mirrors leaving the inspector blinded and harried. Mondieu hurried along the streets, his feet clapping against the cobbles with unrestrained angst, a ponderous stride.

                Two crimes, two nights, and not a hint of suspicion to throw. The inspector sat at a park bench on the edge of the marketplace, just north of the arboretum. A couple sitting beneath an apple tree, sharing a piece of fruit, all smiles and young love; a merchant doling out his wares, bargaining, nodding, chatting amiably with each passerby; children tossing a ball and stepping between cobblestone lines; young men, women, children – there was a dearth of the elderly in this city.

                What information did he have? The second clue, of course, and now it seemed the clue’s veiled reference to wolves was a none-to-subtle reference to the murder itself. But how? How was it a murder? Then there was the first clue, still unknown. Someone else must have known of the clue, right? Everyone had suspected the first crime was not accident, remembering the first clue. He would need to ask around.

                The criminal was a dastardly artist, and a creative vengeance he wrought. The inspector had all day to anticipate his next move, to prevent the next deaths. What was his first step, then? The doctor wanted to see him in his lab sometime today; he must find out about that first clue, and maybe find out of the city had any cameras, though he suspected not.

                Who might he ask about the first clue? It was obvious: Seth. If he didn’t know, he would likely know someone who did.

                The inspector stood up from his bench, startling the pigeons that had clustered around him, likely expecting a feeding. To the police station, then.

                The inspector started off towards the police station when something caught his eye. It was the women who had run into him the evening before, now wearing a light-blue, dirndl and white blouse, wearing a similar hat as before, with different flowers: dandelions, golden carnations, a small sunflower head tacked to the side. She was swiftly running into the marketplace, carrying the same bags as the previous night, bulging with something.

                Where was she racing to?

                The inspector followed her at a safe distance, carefully, though she never turned. Down several streets through the marketplace she hurried, eventually arriving at a small restaurant bar with open walls into the streets. The inspector sat down on a bench opposite the restaurant and watched inconspicuously. The bustle of the marketplace obscured his vision, slightly, but also veiled his spying.

                A few minutes she waited, rocking on her feet impatiently, and glancing about her with nervous concern. What was she so anxious about? Ten minutes later, a man arrived: DuMont. How did she know him? Wasn’t he new in town for police work? Now he’d have to ask when DuMont arrived in town. Was he called in earlier, or a new arrival?

                The woman and DuMont chatted amiably for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries it seemed, before the woman placed her bags on a table, and rifled through them briefly. They exchanged something, a number of objects that the inspector could not clearly see from his vantage. Was it safe getting closer? There was not enough time. DuMont placed a few things into his cloak and nodded at the woman before disappearing out the back of the restaurant.

                The woman watched him leave before tucking the items she’d received into her bag – a book? A box? – and exiting the restaurant on the near side to the inspector. Her pace was leisurely now, calm. What was that exchange? The inspector focused his attention on the marketplace, hoping to appear enthralled with the bustle if the woman glanced his way.

                “Inspector?” a woman’s voice said near the inspector’s right side.

                Mondieu almost jumped in surprise. How had she snuck up on him so quickly? Had she seen him before?

                The woman laughed. “It seems I’ve surprised the great Inspector Mondieu!” she exclaimed happily, her face lighting up in a beautiful smile.

                The inspector gathered himself. “Startled, that’s all,” he said, a bit gruffly, which caused the woman’s smile to widen, and her eyes to sparkle. “I meant to say sorry for the eve previous. I was not paying attention to where I walked.”

                The inspector slyly attempted a glance into her bags, hoping to catch a glimpse of what objects she’d trade, but she carried both bags in her right hand, opposite the inspector, close enough that the contents were hidden in shadow.

                The woman waved his apology off. “Not at all, not at all. It was my fault, in such a hurry. A remnant of living in other cities, I suppose. I don’t appreciate walking in the dark alone. Speaking of walking alone, would you walk with me, inspector? I must be somewhere, soon, but would appreciate the company on the way.”

                “What progress have you made, inspector? Have you discovered any clues on the murders?”

                The inspector glanced at her eyes and face as she spoke, watching for anything suspicious. What beautiful eyes – no, not that. Not now. “Perhaps. The criminal will be caught soon, never you fear. There will be justice.”

                The woman’s eyes widened at the ferocity of this statement. “What a wolf you are, inspector. I believe you, a ferocity in your cast.”

                The inspector said nothing. What primal beast ruled inside him? What was the statement about wolves? What did she know?

                The left the marketplace, walking south along the streets, around the central dome, into the residential district. Eventually, they arrived at a small home, and the woman stopped before it, turning around to face the inspector in front of the door.

                “Will you dinner with me tonight, inspector?” the woman asked, cocking her head slightly to the side, her eyes wide and expectant.

                “I do not even know your name, Miss,” the inspector replied.

                “Dinner at the Paradiso, Inspector Mondieu?”

                “I will meet you there at 6.”

                The woman opened her door, stepping partway inside before turning around. “Marie,” she said with a bright smile, touching the inspector’s shoulder briefly before left the inspector standing on in front of the closed door, staring at his shoulder where her hand had just been.

                What had he just gotten himself into? How had he let himself be so manipulated by a pretty smile and womanly wiles? The inspector scowled and swiftly retreated from the house. Time to visit the police station.

                Between the trees the sun slanted, glinting against the white limestone like winter diamonds, and making alchemy of fountains, golden bright in the early afternoon sunlight. The inspector’s stomach began grumbling – hadn’t he just eaten breakfast?

                The police station was, as Seth described. It was just east of the technology tower, with a silver façade and a small fountain in front, a couple of angels dancing amidst the waters. The building was not large, a one-story building sprawling for almost a block – more than enough space for three policemen and minimal, if any, evidence.

                Mondieu pushed through the bright red door into the inner office, finding  Seth seated at a desk, looking a bit bewildered. Papers were scattered across the desk, drawing and notes, and Seth looked as though he’d no clue how they’d arrived, or what any of them meant.

                “Seth,” the inspector nodded at the Constable as he entered, taking a seat in front of the desk.

                “Welcome, Inspector,” Seth replied, a bit of the old Seth back in his voice, a nervous tension. “I’m in over my head, I think. I’ve written everything I know, but nothing connects, and I know so little. Why the murders at the tree? How are the wolves murderers? How can a wolf commit a murder for someone else? I suspect that you saw the note at the back of the wolves’ den?”

                “I did, indeed,” the inspector replied gravely.

                “So a murder then, unless the criminal is merely prescient.” The inspector almost started at that statement, remembering each of his vivid visions just prior to each crime. Seth passed him a strange, bemused look. “Then there is the wounds the shape of a snake’s fangs, but too clean, too easy, and too much blood. The clues left by the criminal, the strange symbology. Is it a secret vendetta? A psycho? An insult, or just a series of dastardly acts without any drive?”

                “There’s always motivation, we only need to find it.”

                “Yes, yes of course,” sighed Seth. “Well, you haven’t come to listen to the ramblings of a raving man. What do you require, Inspector? A tour perhaps? Some information I have?”

                “I require some information about the first clue.”

                Seth deflated instantly. “Ah, yes. An unfortunate thing, Horten’s death, yes? You see, there hasn’t been a murder in Garden before, and rarely, even, a normal death. Almost forty years, since the inception of Garden, we have thrived in our own little idyllic paradise. Forty years, inspector, and no murders, no crimes, no theft, no sexual cruelty, no slavery – none of it.  Amazing, isn’t it?

                “We had no need for law enforcement, nor, even, for laws. What purpose laws in a perfect world? So when Horten stumbled across the clue, a brightly painted sign indicating the first murder, he knew not what to do, except clear it away. He brought it to the attention of town, a question regarding the nature of this strange “graffiti”, though he remembered not the words it carried, except the ominous prophecy of death.”

                “So nothing remains of the first clue, then?”

                “Nothing, Inspector. I’m sorry. I asked him about it the morning after the crime, but he remembered little, for he was old, and no longer possessed the memory of his youth.”

                The inspector nodded, guessing as much.  “So what can you tell me?”

                Seth leaned back in his chair, his seat squeaking with the added weight, and raised his hands, as though to emphasize their emptiness. “I don’t know anything, I fear. I wish I could help, inspector, I do. Right now, I’m flailing in the dark, as I suspect you are.”

                “When did DuMont first arrive in this city?” Mondieu asked suddenly.

                Seth looked taken aback at this sudden change of tack. “What? Oh, a couple of days ago, I believe. Why?”

                “How did you discover to call him in? Did you know him before?”

                “He was recommended strongly by the nearest city, and then sent him over when I requested additional assistance. Is something wrong?”

                “No, nothing is wrong, I was only curious. Thank you for your time, Seth. I will be seeing you soon, likely. Make certain the prison is prepared for admittance, and secure. If we find a criminal, I do not wish them to escape our grasp.”

                “Yes, sir,” Seth replied, standing up as the inspector stood up to leave.

                “Good day, Seth.”

                “Good day, inspector.”

                The door whined closed behind the inspector as he left. Where next? He still had quite a bit of time before his dinner engagement. He still needed to visit the doctor in his labs.

                He asked a passerby the location of Evatt’s offices, and they pointed him in the correct direction. It was likely the Doctor would still be there, having just received the material from the latest crime. The doctor walked south, between the residential and the industrial districts, and found the doctor’s lab easily enough. The room was well lit, windows and skylights allowing the sun to brighten the inside with natural light.

                The inspector knocked on the door briefly before entering at the beckoning of the doctor.

                “Welcome, welcome, inspector. I apologize for the clutter,” the doctor said as the Mondieu entered into the office. The room was cluttered, though not untidy. If it weren’t for the limited space occupied by preserved corpses and bagged murder evidence, it might even have been orderly.  Instruments lined the walls in cleverly crafted cabinets and hooks, and various scientific examination tools: microscopes, magnifying glasses, petri dishes, a hand-operated centrifuge, were arrayed around the table occupying the center of the room.

                It was a simple layout: lighting from above and around, using candles and lamps for the night, and sunlight during the day. The outer edge of the room was storage and sinks for washing of hands, and the inner section was a chair for examination of a patient, and a large table, seven paces square, on which all the evidence now lay. Everything was sterile white, except the evidence itself, and the doctor himself was clad in a white gown with a surgeon’s mask covering his mouth as he hovered over one of the corpses of the wolves.

                “Forgive me if I continue working while we discuss, for there is much to do, still.”

                The inspector nodded, though the doctor was not looking. “So what can you tell me about the crimes, Doctor?”

                “Ah,” said the doctor, placing his scalpel on a white towel, now lightly stained pink. “There is little to tell, I’m afraid, but what there is should be of interest.”

                The doctor motioned over to the side of the table with the first set of bodies, separated and stored in transparent bags at the moment. Unzipping the nearest bag, that of the male, the doctor pulled the body to the edge of the table for nearer examination. “Look at their eyes, inspector. Lightly tinged with a yellowed glaze, often a hint of poison. I extracted a sample of their blood, and found low concentrations of some devilish concoction – what, exactly, I’m not certain without superior equipment – that seems to work as a blood-thinner, and perhaps as a paralytic as well. It seems likely that they died, paralyzed, while their blood seeped out, inhibited from clotting by the poison in their veins. A nasty death.”

                “So it took a while, then, for the subjects to die? The poison itself did not kill them?”

                “I’m not certain, exactly, of the point of death. This is not my area of expertise, inspector. But I suspect that if the poison was not sufficient cause of death, the blood draining from their bodies certainly was.”

                “Can you not test the poison on an animal to test its effects?”

                The doctor looked aghast at the mere idea, and the inspector recanted immediately.

                “Sorry, I did not mean to imply that you kill an animal. I’m reaching for information, here. Is there any other way we can discern the purpose of the drug without killing anything?”

                “I’ll see what I can find, inspector. Until then, let’s consider the second crime.”

                The doctor led the inspector over to the second set of evidence, opposite the first. “I have not had much time, yet, unfortunately. What I have seen so far suggests no poisons, no tampering whatsoever, in wolves or person. I honestly cannot discover the cause of the wolves’ sudden feral assault on Horten. It would seem almost random.”

                “No yellowing of the eyes? I remember the wolves having saliva around the mouth. Could they have gone rabid?” the inspector asked, looking closer at the bodies of the wolves.

                “These wolves already have golden eyes, and there is no discoloration that I can discern. And, perhaps, they have gone rabid. As I said, I have unfinished work still here. I will consider that trail in my continued investigation.”

                “Is there any other way to incite a wolf attack? A sound that drives them mad, a scent on the gardener’s apparel that might upset them?”

                “Nothing that I have discovered as yet, inspector.”

                “Keep looking, doctor. I have much faith in your abilities, and we’ll be needing them more before this thing is finished, I suspect.

                The doctor merely nodded, and returned to his work, and the inspector left by the same door he’d entered.

                Six that night arrived too soon for the inspector, finding him in his room, still pacing back and forth and checking his timepiece every couple of seconds. It was time to go. Why had he agreed to this in the first place?

                He left his room and walked back towards the center of the city. He was going to be late; he hated being late.

                The restaurant was easy enough to find. It was the same one Maria had met with DuMont in that morning. He hurried through the marketplace, walking with swift, long strides, arriving at the restaurant only fifteen minutes past six. Marie was not there. Well, if she isn’t here, I can grab a swift dinner and get along with my night.

                The walls were open into the night, but it was not cold. The moon was a waxing crescent in the sky, and the stars little, white ships in a vast, black ocean. Streetlamps flickered and left an gentle, ambient glow of orange, and a fire burned in the hearth of the restaurant, more for show than warmth, and torches illuminated the venue.

                He sat down at a table in the corner, offering him vision of the entire restaurant and a little seclusion. Just as he sat down, she arrived. She wore a pretty red dress, and a crimson fedora, with only a tiny band around the base and no flowers. Her lips were lightly reddened, and her cheeks warm with rouge, lightly punctuating her high cheekbones and warm, chocolate eyes.

                She spotted the inspector immediately, and gracefully ambled to the table. The inspector stood as she arrived, gesturing for her to take a seat.

                “Inspector Mondieu, I am sorry I am late. I do hope you’ll forgive me. It seems I require forgiveness much these days,” Marie said as she sat, smoothing her skirts and placing a kerchief across her lap.

                A rotund, cherry-cheeked waitress arrived with glasses of rich, mulled wine and a plate of bread. “What might I be getting you two lovebirds, tonight?” the waitress asked.

                “We’re not...” the inspector began.

                “I’ll have a salad and a side of lamb, if you please, and some fruit.”

                “I’ll have the same,” the inspector said, as the waitress turned her glance his way.

                “Very good,” replied the waitress, hustling off into the kitchen.

                “So, inspector,” Marie started, lingering on each syllable and twirling her wine her glass, sipping it briefly, her cheeks flushing rose. “Have you discovered anything… revelatory?”

                What was that supposed to mean?  “Quite a few, Miss Marie. Though I suspect you realize that sort of knowledge is confidential.”

                “Are you saying I am not in your confidence?” Marie replied with a sad twinge in her voice.

                “I scarcely know you, Miss Marie. Is that what this is? Are you attempting to weasel information from me?” the inspector stood up, angrily, as if to leave, and Marie’s eyes widened.

                “Please, sit down inspector. I meant nothing of the sort. It was just idle chatter. Let’s discuss something else, do sit,” Marie said with a light gasp, placing her hands on the table with an urgent entreaty. “Tell me about your life before you came. Were you an inspector before?” Marie asked, as the inspector calmed and sat down.

                “I do not know what game you are playing, Miss Marie. But I’m warning you-” the inspector began.

                “What game is it where people ask questions and get answers, Mondieu? I’m merely fascinated by you, and must know something, anything. Tell me of life outside the city, then, if you must. Or something of your job before, I don’t care.”

                The waitress came with their food and left it at their table, and the inspector tucked his kerchief into his neck and started eating, chewing his food in thought of what he might say next.

                “Why did they send you here, inspector? And not someone else?”

                “That is a long story, Miss Marie, and one perhaps too sad for these times,” the inspector began. Several tables in the restaurant were moved, and a piano, which the inspector had not seen as he entered, began playing some quiet songs. Several of the patrons, there were not many, moved to dance, a slow dance in the ember glow of the room, light and lovely.

                “I was a consulting detective, you see, like the great Sherlock himself. But I failed in a great mystery, the mystery of the age, perhaps. I knew the criminal, had even caught the culprit, but had insufficient proof. Before that failure, I’ve put the craftiest, most devilish criminal minds behind bars, more villains that perhaps any other inspector in the last century.

                “But that one crime, three years ago, that crime broke me.” The inspector finished his vague recollection by chugging all the wine in his glass and setting it down with a loud ringing.

                Marie’s eyes shown amber in the glow of night, and she leaned forward over the table, hanging on each word. Normally I do the questioning. What has she done that’s so loosened my tongue?

                “But enough about me,” said the inspector. “What do you do here?”

                “Ah, my life would bore you, I’m afraid. I simply live, I guess, and do some odd jobs here and there with botany, perhaps. So what have you done these last three years, Mondieu? After the fiasco?”

                “Nothing. I can’t sleep, can’t think, can’t solve mysteries any more. The city sent me here to get rid of me, as I was no use to them any longer.”

                “What yanked you from that? You are investigating now,” Marie said with a confused wrinkle of her eyebrows.

                “No. I suspect a man can only live like that so long. It was good to have a job again. But Marie, tell me about your life,” the inspector urged. But Marie wasn’t paying any more attention. Her glass of wine as at her lips, and she glanced, with stars in her eyes and a smiling playing at her lips, at the dancing.

                “Mondieu, will you dance with me?”

                “I will not, Miss Marie. And I believe it is time to go. I thank you for the dinner company, Miss Marie. Good night.”

                “Wait, Inspector. Won’t you walk me home?” Miss Marie called as the inspector turned.

                “Very well, Miss Marie.”

                Marie offered her arm, waiting on the inspector, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he took it, and they walked out into the streets. They walked back through the emptied marketplace, the streets well lit under the lamps, but devoid of the bustle of the day. The central park, too, was emptied, and the inspector was surprised by how few people were out this night.

                When they reached the edge of residential, Marie stopped. “Inspector, look,” she said, pointing at a sign posted on the edge of the walkway.

                The inspector started and hurried over to the sign, leaving Marie stunned by the burst of motion behind him. Another clue. Damned and thrice damned. When would this end?

                FAIR AND FOUL, SEA AND SKY

                FISH AND FOWL,

BOUND TO DIE

OR FLY

AWAY

“What does it mean,” asked a voice at the inspector’s shoulder. He was almost surprised to find Marie still there. “I’m not sure, yet,” the inspector said with a pause, scrutinizing the sign. “But there are things I must do. Miss Marie, if I may leave you…?”

“Very well, Mondieu. Thank you for dinner this night. Perhaps again, some night soon? Two nights, perhaps?”

“We shall see,” replied the inspector, already turning and hurrying towards the police offices.

               

                The police offices were already in turmoil over the news – or at least Seth. Vespars and DuMont were stolid, blank, thugs of men, and showed no extravagant emotion. The inspector walked in.

                “Have you…” he began.

                “Yes, the signs are in a couple of places around town, at least two we’ve found.”

                “I found one by the residential district,” the inspector replied, still standing in the doorway.

                Seth gestured him inside. “Three, then,” he replied with a huff and paced quickly behind his desk, though there was little space for doing so, and he kept bumping into his chair and frames on the wall.

                “What do we do?” asked Seth.

                “I’m not sure, but this one seems to imply something with fish or birds. How can fish commit murder?”

                “I’m not certain,” replied Seth. “What if the water channels are poisoned? DuMont, go and check with the IT building, and make sure the monitors are within normal parameters for the fish ponds.”

                “Very well,” replied DuMont before gracefully slipping out the door.

                “What do you think, Inspector Mondieu?” Seth asked, his hands nervously twitching.

                “I’m not sure. I can’t tell what’s a red herring, and what is clue.”

                Vespars chuckled a little to himself at this, and received a glare from both inspector and Seth before returning to silence.

                “Could it be another murder at the zoo? There are some of our bigger birds there,” thought Seth out loud. “Or could our fish turn feral?”

                “Vespars, if you could stand guard at the menagerie tonight?” Seth asked, grasping at straws.

                Vespars nodded and left the station.

                “I out of my element, inspector. The criminal is one step ahead, and I can’t catch up. When DuMont returns, I’ll have him wander town, looking for anything suspicious, overnight.”

                “Very good,” replied the inspector, lost in thought. What could they do? “I’m going to retire for the night. There is nothing more we can do but wait, I think, and watch. If you are up for it, maybe do a rounds yourself before you hit the hay, Constable Seth. Until tomorrow, good night.”

                “Good night, inspector.”

                A cold breeze – was it imagined? – washed over the inspector as he exited the police station. The stars bitter eyes glared down, judging, as he journeyed back to the inn for the night. Justice, where are you this night?

Day 8

Garden

Night - Post Sunset of the Wolfie happennings

"Nothing in this world is harder than speaking the truth, nothing easier than flattery."

~ Fyodor Dostoevski

A figure streaked across the street that lay in front of the Doctor's house. The figure was in dark clothing to match the night.

The sun had set already, another beautiful sunset in the City of Garden. Some of the lamps were lit, not all of them yet though, and on this street, most of it lay in pools of deep shadow.

The Doctor's manor was dark as was most of the street, but there was a faint orange slant of light towards the back that suggested the Doctor was home, just not receiving patients at this time of the night.

The visitor ignored all these signs, skirted the short drive and went through the bushes, angling towards the back where the light emanated from.

The figure in black did not look as if they were trying to sneak into the manor unannounced; rather it looked like they were trying to avoid being seen entering from the street outside.

Halfway down the short drive, hidden safely in the bushes, the figure stopped for a moment and cocked their head as if to listen for pursuit of any kind.

The street was silent, still dark and devoid of obvious pursuit.

The figure resumed their silent and stealthy sojurn into the back of the Doctor's manor. They passed from sight of the street into the darkness of the small alleyway that divided the carriage house and the Manor.

Just after that, a figure detached itself from the dark orbit of a lampost nearby and walked quietly forward. The street still sounded empty as the footfalls of the new figure muffled themselves expertly on the cobbled and usually noise-inducing streets.

This figure was again, like the spectre before them, was all dressed in black, and the surrounding darkness did a good job at obscuring their face.

They peered up at the manor for a minute or so, silently staring, then they walked on up the street towards the center of the City.

The silence was complete the whole time; at least until the lamplighter made her way down the street slowly dispelling the darkness with her creation.

Another figure watched all of this from the front window that overlooked the street in the Manor without moving a muscle or making a sound.

This is what he was good at, Robinson thought to himself. Making sure everyone plays an fair game.

He watched the last figure disappear up the road, and that's when he left the privacy of the drapes. He had hidden there a little while ago; he had a suspicion that something would happen tonight here. He made his way through the dark hallway towards the Doctor's study. He passed this and went through the pantry. He stopped at the outside door and held himself tightly under strain as he touched the knob to turn it.

It did not creak as he had hoped, due this recent oiling that afternoon. I'm glad I still cover all the bases.

He thought to himself as he opened the door very slowly. The pantry light was off so as to not reveal any new shaft of light as it opened.

The Doctor worked quietly at his desk. It was later than he had planned, but had stopped growing weary around this time a long time ago.

His deft hands moved swiftly still with no regard for the lateness of the evening. He made a sweeping motion with one hand and then another with the other hand. He then leaned back a little in his chair to study his his work.

A figure crept through the darkness outside the walls of the study where the Doctor presided over his work. The figure slowly and quietly made their way up to the window outside. The Doctor, framed in the window perfectly, was working with his back to the window.

The figure stared at the Doctor for a moment, the blackness of outside the window perfectly hiding them, then it moved slowly forward.

A hand rummaged in the coat pocket slowly while the Doctor leaned back and stretched.

A gnarled and scarred hand reached out of the darkness beside and grasped the rummaging hand.

"I don't think so Sonny Jim. Drop it!" Robinson barked, his body and muscles tensed for anything.

He was next to the dark figure, a mere fixture of the darkness himself by the look of it, one hand grasping the interloper's wrist in a grip of iron, the other hand in his own coat pocket.

"Robinson! Let me go!" The figure cried in a higher pitched, but plainly irritated voice.

"Yes, Robinson, please let her go." Said the Doctor drily from the now slightly open window. "I rather think she is here to see me and not to harm me."

Although we'll see how much she wants to harm me after Robinson emberrassed her like that, the Doctor thought to himself as he gestured them both to come inside.

"Thank you very much Robinson for watching over Evatt so well; I don't think I will ever be able to repay you." Evelyn managed to say without opening her mouth.

"Thank you miss, I'm glad I had the chance to test out how well I guard him." He grinned back at her pursed lips.

They met the Doctor inside, where he gestured Evelyn to go ahead, while he murmered to Robinson in and undertone. "I did not wish for you to emberrass anyone, let alone Evelyn, Tom. Now I will have to make it up to a clearly irritated Eve."

"It was an honest mistake Doctor," Robinson stopped grinning and only a small smirk remained for a moment until it too had disappeared. "I'll be more careful next time."

"See that you do!" Eve spoke sharply from the next room.

Robinson grinned again and left to resume his duties.

"What are you doing here Eve at this time of night? It is dangerous now to be out like this." The Doctor said a little anxiously.

"Hear yourself Doctor," She retorted. "This is Garden. We have had two.....murders happen in half a century. The odds are in my favor you know."

"That's ridiculous Evelyn." He smiled nevertheless. "What are you doing here though if I might ask?"

"I think that Inspector is in for a bit of trouble and I think he could do with some local help."

"You have been hinting at something like that since yesterday. What are you trying to tell me?" He replied stubbornly, but smiling a little all the while.

"I think that...I think that our Inspector Mondieu needs help." She started to say hurriedly. She ended slowly as if to sound more entreating.

"He is a professional Police Inspector Evelyn. What could you say about it?" He did not hurry his words; instead, he sounded like he was trying to convince a much younger person of a universal truth.

"He's new to Garden. I think that we could help him solve these murders!" She cried heatedly. Her face a little flushed, she continued. "I think that we could help him, I think that we could find out information before he does."

I will wager you do. Thought the Doctor before continuing aloud. "I rather think that you believe something else Eve."  He looked at her a moment before continuing. "Is it that....You think you can do better? That you could show up our esteemed Inspector by solving everything before he does?"

"It is....perhaps a shade of that." She admitted freely, with a small private smile.

"What are we to do? Your instinct is to make Mondieu look a fool; not the noblest of instincts  my Dear." She started to interrupt him but he waved her off.

"My role is to save the fools." He finished to quiet her.

To save them from themselves more often then not, I wager, she said softly to herself.

He ignored her this and offered her tea. She declined.

"I will just work it out myself you know," She said quietly. "I don't necessarily need your help."

"You mean you don't need my help to put your nose where it doesn't belong? And to have it broken for you?" The Doctor replied. "I do not doubt it."

"Evatt, I am going to try Doctor's work: your work. I want to cure Garden before more people get hurt." She said pensievely, after a few moments of silence.

"You mean you will poke around whether I help or not?" He grimaced.

"That sounds uglier than it will most likely be." She laughed her sophisticated laugh again quietly.

"You mean you expect me to help you." He didn't really have to ask it as a question; it was more a statement.

"I do." She replied gravely, all laughter gone.

"If you are going to do some investigating by yourself, whether I help or not, I guess I will have to be there just to call for help if you need it." He didn't smile or laugh when he said this.

"You're a doctor, you can help me in most of those situations," She said, not matching his somber mood.

"Eve," The Doctor said quite seriously this time. "Do you realize what you are.....what you are trying to convince us to do?"

There was silence in response to his questions. Eve just looked at the Doctor.

"This is dangerous, very dangerous!" The Doctor said seriously. "This is not someone comitting theivery of the lowest sort; this is different."

"Which is why we need to stop them as fast as possible." She replied a little huskily meeting his serious eyes.

"I will help you....." He said quietly then after a moment's deliberation. "On two conditions. One: you must share all of your information with me at all times. Two: That I work with the Inspector first, and you second and that you actually understand and support that."

She paused, but only for a second after he finished.

"Doctor, I would not have it any other way." She said seriously but with a small twitch of her mouth.

"Right. Where should we begin?" He asked briskly of her, sitting down and lighting his pipe.

"I think we should invite Robinson to be a part of this; since he is listening to us anyway." She pointed after finishing towards the doorframe.

"My Lady Eve, you are wonderous. Even the great Sherlock, nay, not even the great Mondieu could have known I was there listening." Tom Robinson said walking into the room in his quiet way.

"I don't have to be a great detective Robinson to know skulkers like you, or know your character." She didn't bother meeting his eyes as she spoke. "Where shall we begin then if we are agreed?"

It was later that evening, quite late into the night when Seth left the Police Yard. He was tired; he had never had to do anything like this before. He didn't realize how much it took out of you to do this work all the time. For a moment he wondered how the Mondieu did it, then he shook his head out of his reverie. "He's not a regular man, is he?" He asked himself quietly as he walked. The sound helped him; it reassured him in these dark hours, in these moments when he did not know what to do.

His walking took him South of Redress, he didn't like to walk through it now, so he avoided it. He walked by the IT tower, a hive of steel and internal switches that lay in darkness at this time of night.

Quite suddenly,he had a fantastic sight that paralleled what lay in his sight now.

The dark landscape around him flared in the flickering light of a match and the shadows created were not based in reality.

Off to his left was a tall switch, it pulsated slightly with the electric potential it contained. The switch flipped slowly,  the fall of the contacts seemed to be suspended it time as they swung down, and then they made contact. Yellow lights burst everywhere around him, revealing for a fraction of a second before he was blinded, the chaotic landscape that surrounded him.

A maze of circuits and electronic gates lay before him. They suggested a universe of possibilities if opened or switched, a world of unknown potential.

He staggared in real life, facing all these images in front of his eyes.

He was on the highest point now, he could see forever. The whole scope of the city and surrounding country was a jumble of wires and circuits. He didn't know anymore what he was seeing.

He fell over and rolled onto his back, gasping for breath. The sky was dark, and though none of what he had just seen was real, he still felt like he had been blinded by the light.

The world around him just got darker. A dark patch had moved from one spot to another, closer to his prone body.

Seth rolled again and scrambled to his feet.

"Who is that?" He cried, his voice not shrill in the least. It was perfectly modulated and in control.

"It is I," The figure spoke softly and it was a counterpoint to Seth's commanding voice. "Temple.....  I just came over to see if you were all right. You seemed to have a fit and fall over all funny."

The relief was evident in Seth's voice when he replied a moment later. "Temple, ah good."

They stood there for another moment before Seth spoke again, more quickly this time. "What are you doing outside the IT Tower at this time of night?"

Simon just looked at Seth and it looked like he was gathering his thoughts.

"I should ask you the very same question," he finally said in return. "I find you out here, having all sorts of funny turns all over the place at this time of night. What am I to think of that when I know there's a crazy murderer walking around free at this very moment?"

Seth for a moment, was speechless and merely gaped at Temple in the darkness.

"Temple!" He started to thunder when he heard Simon's quiet chuckle.

"Oh....well it was a rum sort of joke to say you know." He explained a little more softly.

"You are probably right, Seth, but the deeds done. I can't take it back now." Was the cheeful reply.

"What are you doing out here Temple?" Seth asked more quizzically this time and less commandingly.

Simon hesitated, but only for a moment before replying. "That's better. I was......doing your job Seth. I was chasing a murderer."

  

Chapter 9: Mondieu

Day 3: Friday

There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell. 

~ Edgar Allan Poe 

Whose face was it the mirror showed? Now his, certainly not his. But whose? How far he had fallen, having at once been the inspective mastermind of a generation, a century, and, defeated once, reduced to this: stubble lining his long, angular face; dark, tired eyes; a gauntness attenuated his cheeks, saying “weary, weary… finished”.

                The spark in his eyes was buried deep, deep beneath the cooling coals of neglect – smothered, even, and his former ferocity was mellowed, gentled.

                He’d ever suspected marriage would usher the inevitable softening, not defeat. Why was this defeat so, terminal? No one is invincible, none without frailty.

                Everything was going wrong; he felt set up. It was a torturous affair, with the beautiful city suddenly stained with a poison, artistically insidious. Mondieu pulled out his notebook and pored over his notes thus far – questions, only, and more questions.

                How did the poison enter into the city, a city previously untainted by murder, by crime of any sort? If a drastic change occurs, inspect any altered variables, dissect for transformation. Who were the new players, so far? DuMont, Simon Temple, himself. These were high on the suspect list, so far.

                Which begged another question: if DuMont was new in town, how had Marie entered into his confidence so quickly? What was their relationship?

                The next questions were equally ambiguous in their responses: why were Addam and Lilya targeted? What was their connection to the rest of their crime? Or was there a connection? And Horten: was he killed for his knowledge? Or was it yet another red herring on a trail of distractions?

                What if the targets were random? It was all an artistic venture, he suspected, and artists were nothing if not meticulous. No, with murders there is always a connection, always a motivation. What was the link, then?

                He knew nothing, still. One failure left him debilitated, two might destroy him entire. He traded one last, meaningful look with the mirror-man before closing the curtains leaving the room steeped in darkness. It was time for a resurrection.

                The best cure for existential quandary: coffee, black and bitter, biting as the step into eternity. The inspector let the innkeeper refill his mug, ignoring the coffee and cream.  The Bear sat down opposite him at the breakfast table, cheery in the glow of morning.

                “So, inspector. How has your stay been in merry Garden? Are you finding your stay satisfactory?” The Bear grinned robustly, dumping spoonfuls of sugar into his own coffee.

                “Nothing is going as planned,” the inspector replied with a sigh.

                “Well, drink your coffee, eat your food. Nothing like breakfast to kickstart the day. Seems to me that if anyone was to blame, it might be an outsider,” said the innkeeper, staring at the inspector with one eye over his coffee mug as he imbibed a healthy sip.

                “Indeed,” replied the inspector, avoiding the glance through a sudden interest in his breakfast.

                “You’ll figure it out,” The Bear said, leaning back in his chair, sighing.

                “That’s the idea.” The inspector wiped his mouth with the napkin and stood up, brushing off his immaculate jacket. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

                “Good luck, inspector,” said the innkeeper, as Mondieu walked out the door. “You’ll need plenty.”

               

                How do you stop a murder in a giant city, where the criminal may strike anywhere? The situation was impossible. The inspector left the residential district and headed east, towards the police station. If anyone knew anything, it was there.

                There was something odd about the morning as the inspector walked into the city. What was it? A chill breeze brushed the trees, sending a shiver down the inspector’s spine. That was cold. Unusual.  But that, too, was not the oddity. Something else was unusual.

                The sun shone brightly, midmorning hanging high in the sky, and nary a cloud shrouded the heavens. That wasn’t it, either. It was the birds. It should have been obvious, but the inspector had been too deep in his own introspection. The birds were silent. The inspector frowned.

                He hurried into the police station, finding Seth sleeping at his desk. As the door slammed shut, Seth scrambled to wakefulness. “Inspector, uh, sir. Welcome. I didn’t expect to see you here. What time is it?”

                “Seth, good morning. I suppose I can’t ask you if anything has seemed odd this morning, can I? Where are Vespars and DuMont?”

                Seth rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I told both to go home this morning, and resume their posts as soon as possible. I simply cannot guard the whole city all day with so few personnel.”

                “I understand. I’m beginning to gather the vastness of our predicament, myself,” the inspector said, sinking into a chair and drawing a cigarette from his cloak pocket.

                “Isn’t it a little early to be smoking, Inspector Mondieu?”

                “Hmm.” The inspector took a deep drag. “Would it seem strange if all the birds fell silent, Seth?”

                “What? What do you mean?”    

                “Nothing, Seth. Just thinking out loud.”

                And then the city erupted in a cacophony of noise. Thousands of birds simultaneously erupted into squawking, raucous flight – a hellish frenzy of hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of birds hurling into the air of a sudden. The flapping wings, hundreds of falling feathers and droppings striking the earth like rain, a chill wind curling through the streets – a cyclone of birds, black clouds roiling in the heavens, thunderous with explosive birdcalls.

                The inspector and Seth hurried out into the streets. People were gathering at every corner, staring into the skies as birds, every bird it seemed for miles, rose into the sky above the city, flocking into a blackening sky.

                “What’s going on?” Seth screamed above the bedlam.

                “I’m not certain, but I think this is the work of our criminal. Find Vespars or DuMont. See if we can discover where the murderer has struck this time!” the inspector yelled in reply. To what end was this? What purpose could the criminal possibly have?

                Seth merely nodded and ran off towards the residential district. The inspector began sprinting towards the IT tower when he noticed something else odd. In the pond on the side of the road, the fish were rising to the surface, belly up. Dying. But why? What was killing the fish, and riling up the birds?

                The inspector stooped near the pond, smelling the air rising. What was that smell? It smelled foul – had someone poisoned the waters? Hopefully not the drinking waters as well.

                The inspector grabbed a fish from the water, its body covered in a slime, and he turned it over in his hands. With so many fish dead, it must be poisoned. What was this accomplishing?

                Mondieu raced towards the information tower, hurrying inside. “Turners? Are you here? We have an emergency!” the inspector cried, hurrying up the ramp.

                “I’m up here!” a voice cried from high up in the tower. “Is that you, Inspector Mondieu?”

                “Yes, I’m coming up. How do we check the water’s toxicity? I believe someone has poisoned the waters!”

                No reply sounded from above, only a racing of footsteps. Turners met the inspector at a corner three-fourths of the way up the tower. “An emergency? Someone poisoned the waters? Did they poison the air, too? The birds are going crazy!” Turners replied, waving a wrench in the air over his head as he spoke.

                “I’ll check the water information.”

                “Let me know what you find. Quickly!” The inspector hurried the rest of the way up the tower to the roof, climbing up the ladder at the top and pushing through onto the building’s rooftop. The birds cycled above and beneath him, a rising mass of cawing birds, en masse and circling in the sky like a vast predator, stalking around the city as prey.  

                Down below, the inspector saw the faces of every citizen, upturned and pointing into the sky, shielding their eyes from the fierce sunlight. On the rooftop, a wintry wind gusted, and the inspector pulled his cloak close around his face, shielding his eyes. What was happening to the warmth?

                The inspector saw Seth at the base of the tower with Vespars, asking people where Mondieu had gone, no doubt. Shortly, Seth scampered into the tower, appearing on the roof moments later.

                “Seth?”

                “Inspector,” began Seth, huffing with breathlessness. “We’ve asked around the city, and no one appears to have discovered any deaths. The fish are dying in every pond, but, so far, all the drinking water seems untouched.”

                As he said this last, Turners showed up on the roof, walking over to the inspector with a sheet of graph paper in hand. “The drinking water looks clear of chemicals, Inspector. But there is something very wrong with the ponds.”

                “And what is it?” the inspector asked sternly.

                “I’m not certain, yet. I’ll need more time.” Turners said.

                “And the air? Has that been poisoned as well? What has upset the birds?”

                “I’m not certain, Inspector. Something has gotten the weather controller out of whack. I’ll need to run some diagnostics.”

                “Well, get running them, then!” shouted the inspector. “We’re in the dark here, and the criminal has us by the seat of our pants!” he growled.

                Turners nodded. “Right away, sir. I’ll start that right away.”         

                “And Turners,” the inspector stopped Turners as he reached the trapdoor into the building. “Could anyone have tampered with the weather controller? Is there any way that everything could have been meddled with?”        

                Turners cringed. “I hope not, sir. I’m out of my element with most of this technology stuff. It’s way beyond my ken. I’ll see what I can do.”

                “Is there anyone more knowledgeable about the technology? Anyone who might know how to manipulate the weather?”

                “Beats me. I’m the only worker in the tower, but anyone can access the computers. We don’t lock anything up.”

                “Very well. Run the diagnostics, and get back to me immediately,” the inspector replied, and Turners disappeared into the building.

                “What should we do, Inspector?” Seth asked, watching the wheeling of the birds in the sky overhead.

                “I think we should be on the lookout for any additional crime. I’m not sure what our criminal is up to, but I don’t like it. Get a network set up of people so that if anything happens, we know immediately. I want to know if the criminal strikes again, and quickly. If you see Simon Temple, send him my way.”

                “Right, sir,” replied Seth, saluting with nervous hands. Seth retreated down into the building, and the inspector lingered at the top for a few moments longer.

                As he watched, the long, black cloud of birds resolved into a line, a migration pointed as sure as an arrow to the south. Slowly, methodically, every bird in the city, and for miles around, turned hind and fled, fled the doom the inspector was beginning to realize. The fish dying, the birds fleeing – what was this devilry being wrought? Was there time yet for the city’s salvation?

               

Day 10

Garden

Sunrise

Seth did not sleep much the night before. He went home after his chance meeting in the dark with Temple and his mind would not let him fall over the precipice into dreamland.

He kept thinking and replaying in his head what Temple told him only a little while ago, in the dark.

I'm doing your job Seth, I'm chasing a murderer.

That was how it started. Seth had stepped back a little in amazement, and then his head had swiveled around for a complete viewpoint around themselves.

"What you mean now? You've found someone?" His voice rose pitch a little as it was apt to do when he was taken by surprise, but it had dropped an octave by the end of his question.

"I was tailing someone tonight...I thought i saw someone hanging around the outskirts of the park a little bit ago."

Seth interrupted him at this point. "I was patrolling around that whole area since Dusk, I didn't see anyone!"

"Of course you didn't, you were scaring people off. I saw you and I am sure this person did as well. I hid and watched Redress until long after you had left. That was when I saw this person come out. They left there and made their way here. I tailed them, but I had to keep a fair distance back and I lost them somewhere around here."

He cocked one of his eyebrows in Seth's direction.

"That wasn't me, I just got off duty at the Yard!" Seth cried, his hackles rising.

"I'm sure it wasn't Seth. As I said, I tailed them here, but do to the delicate nature of not being caught doing so, I never got a close look at them."

They looked at each other for a moment, the darkness hiding everything of their features but their light eyes.

"What are you doing here Simon? You're clearly more than a tourist; you  have been the most valuable asset of the Force here in Garden since this thing started."

Seth forestalled Simon's next words by holding up his hands as if to physically stall the verbiage.

"Hold Temple. Out of all of us, save Mondieu, you have been the most helpful. Now, what are you doing here? Is it just chance that Garden had the help of your services? Or is it more?...."

Simon hesitated for a moment before answering.

"It's very difficult to know what to say to that Seth. I don't know who exactly to trust..."

Seth made a small choking noise in his throat at this, but this time Simon forestalled him.

"I'll explain and you will know what I mean. I suppose it wont make any difference if you know or not."

Simon, at that, walked over to the Tower and leaned against while Seth followed and did the same.

"I can't mention any names, countries or even strict timelines. That being said, this is what happened."

************************************************************************************

I was a detective not that long ago. I was successful, people had started to notice my cases in the papers. I suppose that's why I was called into this particular case. 

It was a dark and stormy night, I was alone in my office when I got a ring. They sounded official. They said they have a case for me, but it had to quiet, had to be good.

I said I could do that. We met up that night in a little place not far away. He wore a hat pulled low, making it very hard to see his features. He acted nervous, and said he might be being watched as we talked. 

After all this excitement, I had high hopes for this caper. He didn't disappoint as he recollected the story for me as I drank. 

It was a case of stolen diamonds. Not just any ordinary diamonds though, these were diamonds that belonged on a certain royal tiara. They had disappeared in such a way that could only mean they  were stolen. When the theft was discovered, it was both a scandal as well as a complete fiasco for the royal family. They were having trouble keeping their sway over the people as well as their Congress and this loss meant they might lose any respect their title might have had with their people and the elect. 

We now come to the present. Could I help?

I didn't know much of this country, but I had heard of some of the unrest as well as the abuses wrought by the royal family. 

I said yes, I could and I was ordered to meet him at the train station the next morning before sunrise.

After that, it was hightail run through the country, chasing one lead after another. It was all a deadend steeplechase until I heard a rumor from the underworld. 

DeMarc Douglas was supposed to have been involved. 

Seth interrupted that point. "You were the detective involved in that case? I read all I could about it! DeMarc was never caught was he?"

Simone ignored this and continued.

After that I started to catch a break on my leads concerning DeMarc. All of his other jobs had been handled in the same way, and all of them also involved a certain panache for taking from those who stole and giving it back. I knew if DeMarc was involved, I could look as long as I wanted at different fences, I would not see the diamonds up for sale. They would be safely disposed of and sold, the proceeds usually dispersed to the people most affected. 

That's when I started to focus solely on DeMarc and his habits. No one knew what he looked like, his country of origin or any personal habits at all. 

I caught another break though, and this one was the biggest one of all. I had a tip that he might be heading this way, up the country hiding out in different places until the heat was off. I started a little south of here and made my way to here, city to city, looking for anything that might tell me that DeMarc had been here.

Seth interrupted again. "DeMarc Douglas here in Garden? You're crazy...He would stand out instantly."

"Not really. Do you know what he looks like? Even the barest description would be helpful as I haven't found anyone that could describe one thing about him that hasn't turned out to be part of a disguise. I don't know that he's not here, but from everything going on now; It looks like DeMarc is in Garden: yes."

"Was that who you were chasing tonight?" Seth asked eagerly.

"I don't know." He shrugged in the darkness. "I don't know anything for sure. It's been the craziest case I have ever worked on. I have hunch though, that DeMarc is here."

They were both silent at this announcement.

"What are you going to do now, tonight?" Seth asked quietly.

"I am going home to sleep. It's late, I suggest you do the same. I think you are scheduled for early duty tomorrow at the Yard."

"But..." Seth started to say, but Simon cut him off.

"I have lost enough sleep for two men over this case, you don't really have to join me in it." He smiled, the whites of his teeth just faintly gleaming.

He started to walk off, but then stopped and turned around for a second to the still frozen figure.

"Seth, I hope you don't tell anyone this." His tone was serious, gone was the little mocking edge it sometimes had. "Anyone could be DeMarc, Anyone. I want to catch him off guard, understand?"

Seth nodded, the motion just visible by his eyes moving.

"If you're wondering why I told you this just now, I don't really know. I had planned on keeping it secret until I caught him..." He started walking again, but said over his shoulder back at Seth.

"But I know now that if DeMarc finds out who I am, I will know who to look for."

*"Anyone in Garden can be DeMarc, anyone...even you Seth."

"Anyone in Garden can be DeMarc, anyone...even you Seth."

He thought this as he put on his uniform for work. He thought this as he went out of his front door. The sun, low in the sky and still smoldering with promise of heat to come, made him realize how early in the morning it truly was. He yawned; thanks to Temple and his story, he had only got a few hours of sleep.  Well really, it has his duty to patrol that night that made him stay out late and away from sleep, not Temple in the least. The only thing Temple did was to plant a seed of doubt in his mind about Garden and its inhabitants.

"Anyone in Garden can be DeMarc, anyone...even you Seth."

For a wild second, he asked himself if he was DeMarc and what that would mean. Then he laughed quietly and continued walking towards the Yard.

He shivered as he walked and he felt a little chill. He glanced upward in surprise and found the sun was still there as always, shining bright as ever.

He had never felt that chill before here in Garden.

He increased his speed and found himself outside the station in a couple minutes.

"Good Morning!" The cry was hearty and alert, two things that Seth did not currently feel.

Seth's eyes snapped to in front of him in surprise. He had been concentrating on the bakery and its subsequent smells near the Yard and had not noticed Temple standing at the gated entrance. He looked like what Seth wanted to look like now: as if he had woken from sleep completely refreshed and alert.

"Mornin', " He mumbled.

"Do you know when the Inspector is going to be in?" Temple asked as they walked inside.

"He likes to keep his own hours, the Inspector does." Seth sat down at his desk. "Nobody tells me nothing."

He was not in a dark mood, he just wasn't interested in influencing where his mood currently ran.

"Well, when he gets in, can you let him know I am going to investigate the IT Tower in conjunction with that last warning."

With those words, he left, not waiting for Seth to say anything.

Simon made his way towards the IT Tower. It was no longer just after sunrise and the sun had almost hit full strength in the sky.

He had noticed the absent warbling of scattered birds and this worried him. It was not that they were not sounding, he didn't actually miss their warbling very much; it was an ominous sign considering the last warning. He wanted to check on the Vivarium's small pond aquarium as well, it would seem prudent considering what he wasn't hearing right now.

Robinson left his small apartment early that morning as well. This was not his normal time to leave, but this was not a normal errand he ran.

He had agreed late last night that he would do his best to uncover what lay behind these random occurrences. He had made his pact with the woman Evelyn and his employer, Doctor Evatt. He had no real intention to follow through with his agreement; someone could very well get themselves killed that way, was his thinking to that line of thought.

He made his way towards Redress; his manner not hurried, but he made sure he was not followed or seen in his early morning sojourn.

The Park was empty, and the door to the Dome unlocked for which he was profoundly grateful. He slipped quietly inside the door.

Marie slipped her balaclava over her face, successfully hiding her features before stepping out of her door. It was not necessary, she had decided, to completely hide where and when she left, but she still felt the need to be careful.

There was something in Garden, some force that was preying on its citizens and she wanted to be a little more careful.

It was mid-morning as she walked down the avenue. She was going to forgo her usual morning Market visit and rather visit it this afternoon.

She walked quickly, and with practiced motions of her head, checked to make sure she was not being followed. As she walked, she tried to digest the warning she had seen scrawled the night before. The words looked like they had been done carefully and methodically, not as some form of practical joke. It frightened her more than a little, thinking that whoever wrote those words, was still out there walking around, plotting something else to happen.

Something happened.

She wasn't what it was; it was such a cacophony of sound that she could not distinguish any individual sounds among the many.

It was pure noise at its loudest level.

She had fallen to the ground on her knees when it first happened, her hands over her ears.

It did not help. The sound continued, unbroken, unbent.

When the sound didn't diminish after a few seconds, she braved a look upwards to where it sounded like the sound began.

Birds streamed past.

They numbered in the hundreds if not thousands. They swooped past; not any idle flight, they all headed in the one direction. Not any uniform motion or array, it was a flight to match the sound. Erratic the birds flew, the only constant was the one direction they flew from Garden.

Away.

DuMont did not have the same reaction to the birds. He heard the sound in all its extremity, but he did not fall to the ground. He merely reached swiftly up and covered his ears while looking up for the source of the sound. He was standing in the Vivarium grounds holding his knapsack.

When the sound did not abate after a moment, he grimaced and took one hand away. He reached into his pocket and extracted a set of ear plugs.

Putting them in with slow and steady hands, he stopped grimacing and went back to his work.

He grabbed one of the chickens with the same precision movements and plucked a feather out. He let the fowl go and deposited the feather in a small bottle which he then stored carefully in his knapsack. He walked forward a little and did the same to another animal after a moment. He deposited that bit of hair and walk forward a little more, towards the large pond aquarium. The sight of the pond stopped him for the first time among all the instances that morning.

The usually calm demeanor of the water was broken by the bobbing of fish. They did not do so in th playful rhythm of life, looking for food; the fish were dead, floating and moving according to the whim of the surface.

His calm, stolid face did not change after his pause, but he continued walking towards the edge of the pond.

DuMont stood, the inch deep water where he was standing lapping slightly at his boots, then he reached down swiftly to the surface to grab one of the dead fish. It did not smell fresh or freshly dead, it stunk of putrefied water and flesh.

His expression still not changing, he dropped this sample into a bag in his knapsack.

"DuMont, what have you got there?"

The voice was Temple's, and it was cool and precisely calculating.

DuMont, hiding his surprise well, turned slowly to face Temple who stood behind him. After a second, he also removed his ear plugs.

"'What are you doing here Temple?" His voice, not gruff in any way, still suggested menace regardless of what DuMont said.

"I would assume the same thing you're doing: investigating the last warning by checking the pond in the Vivarium. Is that what you're doing?" He stepped forward as he said the last bit.

"Yeah, that's what I'm doing. I got a sample of one of the dead fish. Smells bad." He indicated his knapsack without taking his eyes off of Temple.

"I did notice a certain smell coming from that direction. I wonder if that smell is the dead fish, or whether it comes from something that poisened the fish?" Temple mused aloud, taking his eyes off of DuMont and looking around him towards the pond.

"I am going to take this to the Yard, Mondieu will want to have a look." After this announcement, DuMont started to walk past Temple. When he was past by a few feet, Temple called back to him, "Are you also going to show him all those other samples you've got in your bag?"

"What samples?" DuMont called back without stopping or even glancing back.

I wonder what he's up to and what he is going to do? He thought to himself while staring at the back of the retreating DuMont.

  

Chapter 11: Mondieu

Friday

“Behold, the man has become like one of us in knowing good and evil. Now, lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever—”  therefore the Lord God sent him out from the garden of Eden to work the ground from which he was taken.

Bible – ESV

Birds wheeled in the heavens, awaiting their turn in this exodus, and dead fish collected on the banks of ponds and streams. An avian thunder clapped over the city, and the inspector watched as birds peeled away from the flock in a line leading south, the circle that closed behind them ever diminishing.

                What now? Was this the only crime?

                The trapdoor opened up behind the inspector, and a boy crawled out. He wore a blue, tunic-style coat with large, ivory buttons and a red inner lining and scarlet lapels. On his head was a blue cap with a black rim. The postman, it seemed, for he carried a large burlap sack full of letters.

                It was a young man, clean-shaven and bright-cheeked. He rifled through his sack for a few moments before producing an envelope the size of a postcard and handing it to the inspector.

                “Mondieu? Here you are, sir. A letter for you,” the postman said, fingering the rim of his hat as he handed Mondieu the letter.

                “A letter for me?” asked Mondieu, gingerly accepting the letter. From whom?

                The inspector popped open the light, wax seal and thumbed the letter out from inside.

               

THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE WILL HAVE YOUR ANSWERS

               

                The tree of knowledge? Was that…? It couldn’t be… Suddenly, a lot was clearer, and an influx of new questions flooded into the inspector’s head. Had the criminal overplayed his hand? Had he revealed too much, or was he so confident?

                “Who gave this to you, boy?” the inspector asked, sternly meeting the young man’s eyes.

                The boy’s gaze did not waver or wince under the inspector’s cold glance. A good kid, honest. “It was left in the day’s post, sir. Anonymously. Likely been in the slot since last night, I suspect.”

                The inspector sighed. Worth a shot. “Very good. Can you deliver a verbal message to the doctor?” The boy nodded. “Tell him I need the water checked for poisons. I’ll send Vespars over with samples to the lab. I’ll need them analyzed and I’ll stop by his lab later.”

                “Yes, sir.”

                The inspector stared a little longer at the sky before leaving the rooftop.  Vespars and Turners awaited him inside the tower, Turners franticly following the text on the black backgrounds of the monitors, running frenetically up and down the ramps.

                “Vespars,” the inspector said, coming to a halt on the ramp near the base.

                Vespars looked up as the inspector reached him.

                “I’ll need you to collect samples of the fish that have died, and the water from the ponds and drinking water, and send them to the labs. I want the doctor to analyze each of those swiftly as possible. Collect a few feathers while you are at it, and see if we can glean anything from those.”

                “Yes, sir,” replied Vespars, with a glum smile that didn’t touch his eyes. He left with a long stride, and the inspector turned to Turners, half-buried in a pile of electronics.

                “What have you found?”

                “I honestly have no clue,” the muffled cry returned from Turners.  “Everything is just slightly out of whack. Whoever tweaked this things was thorough, and subtle. They seem to understand this technology mumbo-jumbo better than I.”

                “Hmm.” The inspector rubbed at the bristles on his chin. “So it looks like sabotage, then?”

                “Unless the technology developed a mind of its own, yes. The weather is flummoxing like mad; it’s a juddering mess in here.”

                “Is it possible for there to have been an artificial intelligence going awry of its own accord?” asked the inspector.

                “Will you hand me that wrench?” A hand appeared out from the cluster of machinery, and the inspector passed the wrench into the waiting fingers. “Not a chance. These legacy systems could hardly play a game of virtual software, let alone develop cognizance. But, ah, here’s something odd.” Turners popped out and scampered up the ramp, expecting the inspector to follow.

                When the inspector arrived, Turners showed him one of the screens on which a graph showed a sharp decline of a blue line below a flat red line. “The blue line shows the oxygen level of the waters over these last few hours. These fish drowned; or, rather, there was no dissolved oxygen left in the water for the fish to breathe.”

                “Strange. What reduced the oxygen levels?”     

                Turners shrugged. “Beats me. And that shouldn’t affect the birds in the slightest. So why did the birds flee?”

                “Check the weather systems. I suspect you may find something there. I’ll be back tonight. Let me know what you find.”

                Turners gave the inspector a strange look. “Do you know something?”

                “Maybe,” replied Mondieu. “We’ll find out here shortly. I think our criminal may have overstepped his bounds.”

                “You know where to find me, Inspector,” Turners said with a nod, returning to inspect the monitors.

                Mondieu descended the ramps, hustling out the door with his long-legged stride. What was this tree of knowledge? If anything, the library would have information. Also, a small-town library often possessed a history of the city, and that was beginning to be a lack of knowledge he was regretting.

                Inspector Mondieu asked a surrounding group of citizens working on cleaning up the dead fish where the library was, and they pointed him to the west, with some directions.

                Finally, after all this time, he felt as though he was firmly on a path. The criminal was far ahead, but strides in the right direction were being made.

                The library was a wide, glass pyramid, surrounded by a hedge of apple trees. Marble sculptures of children reading books filled the branches of the trees, and sitting beneath the boughs, among the fallen apples. A large fountain sat in the plaza facing the library, and the benches for reading were devoid of any people this morning – likely the hubbub meant much work was to be done. The inspector had his own work to accomplish.

                The pyramid of glass shone brightly in the sunlight, a dazzling display, and the inspector could still see the last tiny group of birds swirling in the sky above in the glass’ reflection.  A hollowed section of the pyramid of glass permitted entrance, and the inspector entered the library.

                It was not a large library, not by any stretch. There were about thirty bookcases, slightly higher than the inspector himself, arrayed in three columns of ten. Chairs were set around the outside, and at a glass front-desk sat a woman, clearly a librarian, who was browsing a copy of Dante’s Inferno.

                “Excuse me, Mrs…?”

                “Mrs. Gilead,” the librarian replied. “How many I help you, Inspector?”

                Seems that everyone knows me in this city – no hiding here. “I’m looking for books that might contain information on the tree of knowledge. Can you help me?”

                “You mean the Bible?” the lady asked with a squint.

                “And maybe some commentaries,” the inspector replied.

                The librarian stood up and directed the inspector to the appropriate shelf. Not much, it seems. Two commentaries and an old King James Edition of the Bible. Mondieu took all three and tucked them under his arm. As he walked around the edge of bookcases to the desks at the back, he was surprised to find the library was not empty of people after all.

                “Good morning, Marie,” the inspector said, sitting across from Marie at one of the desks. “What are you doing here?”

                Marie was wearing a grey shirt, almost silver, that buttoned up at the front. Black gloves were set beside her pile of books, and she wore a dark-blue fedora with two roses, a black and red. Her hair was curled, and her eyes were lightly shadowed, and widened with surprise at seeing the inspector.

                “I could ask the same of you, Mondieu. Don’t you have better things to do than frighten ladies at the library?”

                “Hmm,” replied the inspector, uncertain of how to reply to this coquettish remark. He glanced over the books piled in front of her. When he’d arrived, she’d been writing in a small notebook, but by the time he’d sat, she’d already slipped it away, probably into her purse. The book that was open was a biology study of horticulture and plants, and a book on chemistry.

                “Chemistry and biology?”

                “Inspector, it isn’t nice to pry,” replied Marie, pursing her lips, prettily. “And you? The bible and some commentaries? I did not take you for a religious man, Mondieu.”

                She always managed to turn everything back on him. “Just a possible lead I was entertaining.”

                “You always are,” Marie replied, with a smile.

                The inspector held back a scowl. “And what are you studying biology and chemistry for, Marie?”

                “It’s always been an interest of mine.”

                “In this city? How would you cultivate those studies in a backwater city such as this? The technology scarcely supports such inquisitiveness.”

                “I have not always lived in this city, Inspector,” replied Marie.

                “Ah. Is that, then, how you knew DuMont?”

                “DuMont? Who is that?”

                “The man you met in the restaurant, yesterday. Or have you already forgotten?”

                Marie laughed brightly, leaning back in her chair and clapping her hands together with glee.

                “Why do you laugh?” asked the inspector, frowning.

                “I don’t know that man’s name at all, but I do not believe it is DuMont. I was getting information from him, in trade for a few things from me.”

                “What things are those, exactly?”

                Marie sighed. “Not going to keep any secrets from you, am I?”

                The inspector’s eyes narrowed.

                “Very well. But you must tell no one, please. Do you understand?”

                The inspector said nothing.

                “It’s the tree. There is something strange about it, I’ve known ever since I arrived. I’ve been studying it. People get visions from the tree, but not everyone. And you don’t even have to eat its fruit to receive the visions.”

                “Interesting. So is that where you were coming from, the night you ran into me?”

                “Yes,” Marie replied. “I’d been studying the tree, but someone had seen me. I’d only time to collect a few samples, but without a proper lab, study is incredibly slow.”
                “So what were you meeting DuMont about?”

                “He was trading me samples.”

                “And what did you give him in return?”

                Marie’s eyes narrowed stubbornly. “What I give is my own concern. I don’t have to explain my purchases to you. Everything was legal; there are no rules against it. I’m no murderer.”

                “Hmm,” said the inspector, leaning back in his chair slightly. “Then why are you so clandestine about the affair? One might suspect a nefarious purpose?”

                “I have my reasons,” replied Marie, collecting her books and standing up. “I’ll see you for dinner, tomorrow night?” Marie watched the inspector’s face and nodded. “Inspector.”

                “Marie,” said the inspector, standing up and watching her go.  Once she was gone, the inspector sat back down to his studies.

And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons.

                The similarities to the first murder were relevant, and worth noting. The inspector pulled free his notebook and began taking notes. Was there a definitive connection there? Also, the name of the man was interesting: Addam, connection to Adam. Both were naked, both having just eaten of a central tree. The connection was too obvious, almost. Mondieu continued reading.

And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.

               

                The tree of life, was it? The tree of knowledge? What ego was it, to cause a city to construct such? There almost seemed like there were two trees. The tree of life, that Adam and Eve were allowed to eat of, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil, whose sole purposes was to separate sin from not sin. So what was this tree of life? And what was this tree of knowledge of good and evil? Were they the same? What was he looking for? Something irked the inspector about the relationship of these trees and their relation to the crime. What was it?

                The inspector pored over the commentaries for the next several hours, trailing through different leads. A few hours later, the inspector scowled after finding that he’d been staring into space for almost ten minutes without reading a single word. What was it about Marie that derailed him, so?

                If she was studying the tree, he needed to know more. He wondered if her equipment was more advanced than that of the doctor’s; if he should send her samples to study as well. Maybe with more advanced equipment, she might divulge the secrets of the second murder as well.

                And what might she know about the tree? Or what secrets might the tree be hiding that would unravel the seeds of this mystery, finally allowing his investigation to bear some fruit?  Or was it all another red herring?

                The inspector slammed his books shut and stood up, tucking each under his arm. He strode up to the front desk and checked out each one, before leaving the library. He quickly passed through town and dropped off his books at his room, picking up some slices of bread for a late lunch and shooting straight for the doctor’s labs.

                Hopefully the doctor has received the samples that I had Vespars bring.  He saw the doctor inside his laboratory and knocked quickly before pushing his way into the lab. The Doctor was seated at his chair, wiping his brow and just staring across the assortment of creatures cluttering his desk.

                “Doctor?” the inspector asked tentatively, worry creasing his brow.

                “Ah, Inspector Mondieu. I’m at a loss. It seems the fish died of an oxygen deficiency or something, as there is no poison or cause of death I can decipher. As to the rapid state of decay? I’ve not a clue. And so far, the bird’s feathers have given me nothing in the way of a clue as to the exodus of the birds.”

                “Nothing?”

                “Not even a hint of a clue. There is simply nothing wrong with the birds that I can discover. The water itself, the water from the pond, appears to match my diagnosis of the death of the fish. I might need more sophisticated instruments to know for certain, but I suspect the fish drowned.”

                The inspector nodded. “That’s what Turners told me as well.”

                The Doctor took off his glasses, rubbing them softly against his shirt and looking tired, almost defeated.

                “Take a day off, Doctor. You look like you could use some rest.”

                “You are right, inspector. You’ve got an eye for people, it seems. I don’t sleep well, anymore. Nights are fraught with dreams, it seems. But I’ll be fine. I’ll send for you if I discover anything more here.”

                “Very good, Doctor. Take it easy. Would you like me to have someone bring something by?”

                “No thank you, inspector. My man is very good about taking care of me. Thanks for the offer.”

                The inspector nodded and left the lab.

                The sun was near the horizon when he’d left the labs. Had he been so long at the library?

                As he walked through residential, he almost ran straight into Simon Temple.

                “Simon,” the inspector exclaimed. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

                “I’m at your disposal, inspector. What do you need to know?”

                The inspector motioned towards a bench on the side of the path beneath a cherry tree, low clusters of cherries hanging over the edges of the path.

                “Simon, I’ve trusted you with much, these past couple of days,” the inspector glanced at Simon, gauging his response. Simon waited patiently, betraying nothing.  Cool fellow – there’s a reason I like Simon. There’s a bit of me in him, or him in me.

                “I hate to be suspicious, but…”

                Simon waved off the inspector’s concern. “That’s your job, isn’t it, inspector? Suspicion? You are wondering why I am here, what brought me to Garden.”

                “You have to admit,” the inspector began, in a low voice, “that it is a bit convenient timing, isn’t it?”

                “And I’m not the only one, Inspector, as you know.” Simon looked pointedly at the inspector, not veiling his none-too-subtle meaning. 

                “Yes, you are correct. So, what are you doing here, Simon Temple?”

                Simon Temple let out a huff of breath, staring across the street into space. “Inspector, I really wish I could answer that. I can assure you, on my honor, that I’m no murderer. But beyond that, I cannot tell you at this time.”

                “And I’m supposed to be satisfied with your assurance? Your word? If you were the murderer, your word wouldn’t be very valid, would it now, Mr. Temple?”

                “As I said, not very convincing, I’m afraid. But I can tell you this, inspector. I, too, am an inspector of sorts. I’m no stranger to a mystery, or a chase. And, where possible, I will help you if you will allow it.”

                The inspector nodded and stood up. “Don’t be going anywhere, Simon. You’ll be seeing more of me in the coming days. If anything, you realize Mr. Temple, that your confession only makes you more suspicious?”

                “Perhaps, inspector. Perhaps that is the only way it can be, Inspector Mondieu. Good eve.”

                The inspector left Simon sitting on the bench beneath the cherry tree, and wandered the streets, lost in thought. Was it Simon? Somehow, the inspector suspected him less, as though Simon’s statements were enough to disabuse the notion of his criminality.

                But who? And why? True, Simon had no reason to be suspicious at this juncture, no motivation. But what motivation could someone have who lived outside the city? Jealousy? A personal vendetta? Or should the inspector start looking into the city, a city that had experienced nil crime in a generation?

                “Letter for you, sir,” a voice said. It was the postman. How does he keep finding me so easily? I’m not even sure where I am.

                “Thank you, sir. Who left you this letter?” asked Mondieu.

                The boy shrugged. “It’s strange, sir. I thought my pack was empty at the end of a day of delivery, and as I reached the post office at the end of the day, I found this letter still in my burlap sack. I apologize that it was not delivered earlier.”

                The inspector opened the envelope, sealed with the same wax seal as before: a red seal, a small circular image of a snake, fangs wide open.

                It was another clue.

                The inspector read it briefly. “Thank you. You’ve been most diligent,” the inspector said to the postman, before turning around and walking swiftly away, leaving the bewildered boy standing beneath the street lamps, bemused in the light of the setting sun.

               

                The inspector reached the police station and barged into the room, finding Vespars and Seth there, already. He showed them the letter, handing it to Seth, who read it out loud.

                THE STARS VEILED, THE MOON LOST

                SUN WILL BE SILENCED

                IN THE MISTS AND CLOUDS

                A DAY DULY DARKENED

                “A short clue, inspector. What do you think it means?”

                “I think it is obvious, Seth. I want you to station men at the technology tower over night. Make sure someone is there at all hours. I want no one to go in or out without authorization. Am I clear?”

                “Yes, inspector. What…?” Seth began.

                “Just do it. I’ll see you all tomorrow. We’re going to catch ourselves a villain,” the inspector said, a wild glint in his eyes. “To work, gentlemen. If I am correct, our villain will visit the tower tonight. And then, we will catch him.”

               

Chapter 12

Garden

Friday

The Doctor woke with a start.

He had been sleeping, which by itself was a miracle, and once again he had been woken up by a strange sound. He had been woken up a number of times by such occurrances but each time they had proven themselves a figment of his imagination.

This time he was sure it was something his sleeping mind had heard in the waking world.

He glanced around him. His room was still spartan and unoccupied except for himself.

He wondered if it was Robinson, in the next room, doing whatever he did at this hour.

What a strange man. He thought to himself propping himself up and sliding out from under his sheets.

He checked his timepiece as his first action and found that he had plenty of time still to meet Evelyn in the Market at seven thirty or so.

He dressed slowly, his mind did not seem to be focusing this morning on the matter at hand; instead, it seemed to be focusing on Garden's recent happenings. When he was finished, he grabbed his coat and walked out of the room into the vestibule. There was no Robinson there.

The Doctor grabbed his coat, cane and hat and left.

"I was walking home from the Market when I heard it: sound like I never heard it before Evatt!" Evelyn was seated across from the Doctor at a little cafe. They both had a mug of something and Evelyn was nibbling on a scone.

"I heard it as well outside; I was walking to my lab when I heard the birds. I first feared some sort of structural collapse with a sound like that....and then I looked up." He took a sip of his tea.

"Well, we should have expected something like this. We had a clue given to us beforehand." Evelyn said in a resigned sort of way.

"Why would we Eve? All the others have been the art of murder. This was something entirely different. Mondieu did not expect this, I know I did not. Why should you?" He steepled his fingers together.

"Perhaps you are the greatest detective of us all now? You should now be held to a different account than us?" His eyes twinkled as she looked up, her eyes flashing.

"Evatt...Doctor, what I am trying to say is that we have to think ahead of this deranged murderer, or else there will be nothing of Garden left by the end of his reign of terror." She ended quietly ad if she didn't want to hear her own words.

The Doctor's face grew more serious as she spoke.

"I am sorry Evelyn, I should not have made a joke out of all of this. It is just that...I am a doctor, usually I have a ready-made cure at hand. This is something different; I haven't been able to help Garden yet."

"Evatt, that's why we need to work harder now more than ever. This Inspector is not up to speed yet, and we need to take up the slack." She put down her mug and pulled her chair a little closer to their table.

"Let's get started, shall we?" She didn't wait for an affirmative, but continued.

"We know that this person has struck three times, in different ways, and with different results. What is the common theme? What is la connexion française?"

"I was thinking about that you know. Do you mind if I smoke?" He asked pulling out his pipe and pouch.

Evelyn merely nodded that she didn't while the Doctor continued.

"I was wondering if this was something with revenge? Perhaps this has to do with Garden itself and not any of the people involved?" He puffed comfortably and continued.

"I mean, this last incident concerned solely our fish and fowl. Mayhaps this person is trying to scare everyone away from Garden?"

"Why? The motive usually has to do the crimes, or at least give reason for them. I was wondering if this all could be covering for the real incident, which was to murder Addam and Lilya? What if that was the true crime while all the rest were red herrings to throw everyone off the scent?" She leaned back after this and started again.

"Horten could have seen something and they had to silence his testimony. Then they wanted to cover all this over in a fog so thick no investigator would solve it." She smiled.

"Evelyn, I think...I don't think that holds water at all." He smiled.

"Well the problem is Doctor, we don't know anything yet. Let us solve that problem first then." She held up her fingers.

"We know that this person is intentionally leaving clues behind for reasons unknown at this time. We know that the crimes have not been crimes of passion. This last crime in fact, we know had to take a lot of planning." She stopped, uncertainty on her face.

The Doctor continued her train of thought. "You're right. What if this crime would explain a lot more about its author?" He stopped to think for a moment. "It would take a lot to plan and execute this. The birds would have to be given reason to leave as well as the water would to be poisened in some way.

I have not done any analysis yet, but I expect Mondieu to ask me to look at the some samples today. When I do, we both will know more about what happened to water and birds."

"Oh, Evatt....Do you think something is in this water? In our drinking water?" She was holding her mug of coffee as if it was something about to burn her.

"I don't know. It does not seem so yet, but we will not know for certain until I run tests."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" She stood up and motioned the Doctor to do the same. "I would be prepared to wager that you have samples to test and a very impatient Investigator waiting at your lab as we speak." She smiled as the Doctor stood up to join her.

"Perhaps you are right, but I would also be prepared to wager that Mondieu is not there. He is not someone that waits for anyone." He smiled back and they departed, Evelyn holding her mug of coffee, while the Doctor held his little black doctor's bag.

"Well, you were partially right Evelyn, look." He pointed towards the small stoop where a collection of brown bag packages were waiting.

"I think someone has left me samples to test."

They reached the door which he unlocked and they walked in.

The lab was small and like the Doctor's house, sparsely furnished. There was a small waiting room off to one side with room enough for one chair and the rest was his lab.

"Sit down Evelyn, sit down. This is going to take a while." He started to bustle around, lighting a burner, unpacking the samples gingerly and getting out jars of chemicals.

Evelyn sat down in the one chair to watch. He worked at one table, fussing with a beaker, then another table where he messed up his tiltratioin.

"Blast!" He said after this happened.

"Is there anything I can do Evatt?" She asked gently.

"Can you what? No, I am sorry Eve, I don't  think there's anything you can help me with right now." He hadn't looked up, but had continued working while answering.

"All right, I might go to the library then while you work." She stood up.

He didn't make any reply after a moment so she left.

"I will be back in a couple hours Evatt." She called as she left.

The library was not far away and it was still midmorning when she arrived. It appeared empty from the outside, but she knew it was open. Mrs. Gilead never closed the library except during the observed times. She was very strict on this.

She walked in, the glass doors not making any sound as they opened. The library looked and sounded completely empty.

She wondered how she should begin her search.

She walked up to the desk.

"Hello Mrs. Gilead."

The librarian inclined her head. "How may I help you Evelyn?"

"I am looking for something along the lines of.....true crime?"

Mrs. Gilead thought for a moment, then led her over to a small section nearby.

"This is all we have I'm afraid." She waited for a moment to see if Evelyn needed anything else, then went back to her desk as Evelyn started to browse among the section that had been suggested.

She had grabbed a couple books and an autobiography and was heading for a table and chair to read at, when she saw Mondieu.

He was seated at a table with a stranger: a beautiful woman dressed strikingly in a silver blouse and dark fedora. They had not seen her yet, and she decided to keep it that way.

She backed up, put the books away and walked back to the reference desk.

"What is that Inspector doing here?" She asked Mrs. Gilead who was back to sitting at her desk reading Dante.

She looked up from her book and replied. "He came in looking for the Bible. I don't know why."

Not hesitating in the least, she asked her next question. "Who is the woman seated next to him?"

Not bothering to look up to this question, she replied, "I don't know who that is. She has come in many times in the past couple weeks, exploring almost every section and reading who knows what. She hasn't asked for my help at all."

"Do you remember any of the books that she has read?"

"She puts them all away when she's done, I have seen one up close."

"Well thank you Mrs. Gilead," Evelyn struggled to not let her disappointment sound in her voice.

She walked away from the desk, unsure, and then she decided where to go.

She walked out of the library quickly and with purpose driven steps.

She arrived at the lab a couple of hours later, clutching a small bag and a much bigger bag. She knocked once and let herself in.

The Doctor was still essentially in the same position as when she had left, but there was a little more smoke and chemical smells in the room than before.

"Evelyn, you're back." The Doctor sounded completely distracted while he did probed a fish carcass on his small desk. "What did you find?"

"I didn't find any information in the books, but I found something else out." Her tone as he finished speaking made him look up in surprise.

"Well, what did you find out?" He asked quickly.

"I saw Mondieu there poring over some texts. I asked Mrs. Gilead what he was studying. She said he had come in for some information on the Bible."

"What does that mean? Maybe he is just a realigious man?" The Doctor went back to his work.

"Perhaps, but I saw something else." Again, her tone made him look up from his work.

"I saw a woman there, seated with him, and they were studying something together." She paused for effect.

"Who was she?" The Doctor's tone was curious as he again resumed his study of the small creature in front of him.

"I am not sure; I asked Mrs. Gilead, but she didn't know either. She also didn't know what the woman was studying. She said she has been in to the library many times in the past couple weeks. She hasn't had to ask Mrs. Gilead any questions and she puts her books away when she is done."

"That's fairly interesting, but I am afraid I'm at a loss to explain what it all means."

"So am I."

She dropped her bags gently.

"I brought lunch. And I bought a Bible."

"Oh, thank you." He resumed working again and once again seemed lost to the world .

"Evatt, if you do not eat your lunch now, it will get cold pretty quickly." She frowned at him.

"I will in a moment."

She sat down herself and started to take things out of the bigger bag. After she had seated herself comfortably, she took out the book in the second smaller bag and started to eat.

She wasn't sure what she read; it seemed that the Bible was not one book, but comprised of many smaller ones.

She flipped through sections, reading an excerpt everyone once in a while.

"Well I don't know why Mondieu was reading this, but I don't think it had anything to do with the investigation." She took another bite of her lunch and continued.

"You know, I wonder if he was curious about the fish and the birds? Perhaps he was thinking about a Biblical calamity? I am going to look that up." She flipped to the index at the end.

"There's a reference to birds and the fish of the sea in the book Genesis, chapter twenty." She flipped there.

"This is Creation. Where God creates the fish and the fowls. The next day he creates Man and the animals. This doesn't really have anything to do with the crimes."

She took another bite. Then she stopped.

"Man and animals? That could be Horten and the wolves actually." Her voice started to rise in timbre. "The day before that was the creation of the birds and the fish. That is almost the exact opposite of what happened here, in reverse order as well."

The Doctor had looked up by this point and started to pay attention.

When she finished, he walked over and took his lunch from the bag, continuing her line of reasoning.

"And the first murder could be the opposite of the seventh day was well! Evelyn, what have you discovered?" They bothed gazed at one another and did not speak.

"What...is day before?" He finally asked.

"It is the seperation of day from night, the creation of the sun and moon." She answered, whispering the answer as if to hide the sound from prying ears.

"I don't know...*what that means.*" He eventually said, looking at her. "That would be a tall order to destroy the sun and moon."

"I think that just by making them disappear would be enough Doctor." She shivered after saying this as if the sun had already gone.

"Why do this though? What would be the purpose of the de-creation of Garden?"  She asked as if throwing a simple question out to be answered by anyone.

"Perhaps it is not the de-creation that is important. What has happened because of these crimes?" He answered thinking hard.

"What if this whole thing were a charade to hide something else, hide some ulterior motives or actions?" He mused aloud.

"Pure conjecture Doctor. Let's back up for a moment. How would he make the constellations disappear?"

They both just looked at each other again and then the answer seemed blindingly obvious to both of them.

"I'm going to the Technology Tower. I want to see how easy it would be to get in, as well as talk to whoever is there about some of the security around there." Evelyn got up while she was talking and grabbed the rest of her lunch.

The Doctor made to do the same, but Eve forestalled him. "Evatt, you must finish these samples. I am only going to take a look. It will be all right." She smiled at him and then left.

The Technology Tower had never interested her in the slightest. She had always mostly ignored its existence  as she walked past.

It was late afternoon by the time she made it to the Tower; the sun at about the thirty degree mark and slightly hidden behind the Tower making it glow orange.

She stopped well short of the parameter and just looked at it as she had never looked at it before.

A noise broke her thoughtful reverie.

Someone was coming out of the Tower's door. Through the fading light, she could just make out who it was.

The figure was Robinson.

He scanned the parameter before disappearing into the gloom himself.

*What was he doing in there?* She wondered to herself. She was about to leave her position on the outskirts of the Tower, when it occured to her, she might be able see more by waiting here and observing the comings and goings of the Tower.

She settled down to wait.

She had been waiting a couple of hours, when a hand brushed her shoulder.

She willed herself not to scream and darted a glance over.

It was Evatt.

"Sorry for startling you," He said quietly. "I figured when you didn't come back, that you had stayed for something like this."

She nodded and spoke from her sitting position.

"I have seen Robinson and Turners around here. Robinson left about the time I got here. Turners just left. Did you send Robinson to investigate?" She sounded a little tired, but her eyes still betrayed the same brightness as before.

"I did not. I will ask Robinson what he was doing here, though doubtless he will have a good excuse. I have never the like of the man for providing a reason for anything."

"Nevermind that now, we might have a chance to have private access now that Turners is gone. What do you think?"

"I think that we might get caught as fast as anything. Look!" He pointed towards the tower.

DuMont had just arrived. He stood in front of the Tower for a little while, gazing about, then he went inside.

"What is he doing now?" Wondered Eve aloud.

"My guess is: he is here on Mondieu's orders. If we want out own chance, we might just have to wait for a while." The Doctor sat down next to Eve and they started to wait.

After some time, DuMont came out, looked around for a moment and then went back inside and they had to wait.

"Do you still think we should wait?" Asked the Doctor, massaging one of his knees.

"I think so, yes. We might not get another chance and our murderer might show his face as well, at least DuMont thinks so."

The Doctor nodded his agreement and so they waited.

It was quite late when something happened.

"What do you think you're doing!?" A rough voice asked out of the darkness as hands grabbed at the both of them.

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

~ TS Eliot – The Wasteland

Chapter 13: Mondieu

Day 4: Saturday

The dreams more than ever haunted the inspector that evening, and he scarcely slept. A hell city, alight with copper-green fires, carmine reds like demon foxes scampering over the buildings with sparkling, devilish eyes. The buildings metamorphosed into glass-gravestones, the melting hands of trees, blazing and screaming as the earth swallowed them. No birds cawed, only the snapping cracking of limbs and fizzing sputter of melting crystal, and the stench of decay.

                On the top of the tallest building, a dark figure, eyes replaced with onyx and flames, shrouded in blackness, surveyed everything beneath: the wasteland. He turned around, and the inspector, too, was atop the building, disembodied and bound in place. The figure opened its mouth to speak, an eternal maw, a void of blackness was his mouth: “Let there be light? No. Let there be fire.”

                The inspector woke to a grey haze over the morning, neither bright nor dark. He washed his face and shivered in the dawn chill. Cold?  He was halfway through dressing when his mind caught up to him. Cold? It’s never cold in Garden. Inspector Mondieu raced over to the windows and threw open the shades. The light was strangled, dim behind gunmetal skies, an impenetrable stratum of clouds.

                It was done, then. Why had no one awakened him? Was he always too late?

                Downstairs the inspector hurried, a man on a mission. When he reached the common room, everyone was silent, staring at the inspector with unmitigated fright. The Bear rushed up to the inspector’s side, staring at the inspector like a frightened child in a thunderstorm. “Inspector? Are we doomed? Is this the end of garden?”

                “No, friends. I hope this is only temporary,” replied the inspector. Everyone’s eyes were wide, panicked. Had no one seen clouds before? Looking around at their ages, they are mostly less than thirty each, so maybe they never have. What a strange world. They were also wearing summer attire, and the inspector noticed that many were shivering.

                “They say that it will freeze, that we’ll die of cold, inspector,” The Bear continued, rubbing his hands together.

                “Just hold tight. There is no cause to panic just yet.”

“What do we do, Mondieu? Is there hope, yet?”

“Get a fire going,” the inspector replied in a fatherly tone, a stern voice. “And keep yourselves warm. And someone get word out to start producing warmer attire. Now is not the time for dawdling, but the time for action. Courage, friends. We are not dead, yet.”

This sounds like a battle, like we’re all engaged in a fierce siege, and this is our last of nights. What terrible sorcery had this criminal wrought on these people, tearing away the sky?

The inspector grabbed a couple of cold biscuits and a couple of mugs of coffee. “And make some damned coffee!” the inspector yelled, almost spitting his out. Stale and tepid – no one was paying attention to life, just now. Were they doomed?

“Where are you going, inspector?” a young man asked as Mondieu reached the door. “Are you going to save us?”

“I’m going to try,” replied the inspector, and he walked out the door.

A brisk breeze brushed along the byways of the city, and the inspector hurried along the back-streets towards the tower looming to the east. Had they caught the culprit? How had the criminal gotten away with all of this? Fervor filled the inspector, a fire. This must end and soon. If there was to be fire, let it be the fire of justice.

The information tower was ghostly when the inspector arrived, and Vespars stood guard inside.

“Ahoy, Vespars,” the inspector called, entering into the building. Turners waved with a wrench from the computer console, looking a little haggard and worse for wear this morning. “What’s the news? Did we catch anyone?”

“Well, yes and no, inspector,” Vespars started, his voice falling off.

Mondieu stopped short, a look of bewilderment crossing his face. “What do you mean?”

“We caught someone, certainly. But the catastrophe has filled our skies, anyway.”

“So we did catch someone then, yes? Our villain snooping around at night?”

“Well…”

“Out with it, Vespars. I’m losing my patience,” the inspector said, his countenance dark as the sky. “I’m short on coffee and if we caught our murderer, I can finally get some good sleep for once.”

“We have no way of knowing who we caught was the murderer. Seth can brief you at the police station. But we caught two, in point of fact, though I suspect they were unsuspecting innocents.”

“Very well,” sighed the inspector. “Hold here for now. I intend to keep watch over this precinct until this is over or we’ve brought justice to our villain.”

“Inspector,” Vespars acknowledged with a nod of his head, settling back into his post.

“And I’ll be back for you, Turners. I want to know everything, and why the weather is failing in this thrice damned city.” The inspector turned around in a huff and pulled out a cigarette. Just one more, then I’ll stop. This infernal habit – is it really bringing me any comfort? Or just twitchy fingers for a temporary high whenever stressed? Seth better have some good news.

The inspector arrived at the police station moments later, and pushed his way in without knocking.

Seth looked up from his desk and stood up when he saw it was the inspector. He looked low on sleep as well. That’s all this city needs: a hibernation and a recycling.

“Welcome, inspector. I suspect you’ll be wanting to see the prisoners, then, yes?” Seth walked around the table and led the way into a back room, guarded by DuMont. It was an average looking room and the door did not appear locked or barricaded in any fashion.

“You are keeping the prisoners in here? Can’t we get some locks on this?” the inspector asked, incredulous. “There aren’t any open windows in there, are there? Or a sliding glass door they can just walk out of?”

“Oh, nothing of the sort. And I don’t think our prisoners are trying to escape, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” the inspector asked, his anger rising. Was everyone so vague, today? Did the cloudy weather muck up everyone’s ability to say things up-front?

Seth opened the door and the inspector understood immediately.

“Inspector,” the Doctor cried as he saw the door open. “Please, my companion has nothing to do with these. We’ve committed no crime. At least send her home, and I will answer all your questions.”

The inspector sighed. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Doctor Evatt.” The inspector came and sat down in the room. Both of the prisoners looked defeated, deflated, and probably had slept little, though the room was  neatly furnished with a bed, washbowl, a couple of candles, and a plush rug laid over the hard floor. If this is prison, I think I need a week of it myself, with a nice book.

“Seth, take this woman with you to the front room and watch her. I’ll speak with the Doctor, if you please.”

Seth walked over and took the woman’s arm, speaking in soothing tones as he ushered her from the room. Seth is smooth and in control again, today.

When the door shut, leaving the inspector and the Doctor alone in the room, the inspector stayed silent a moment. The doctor looked tired, but unconcerned - wearied.

“Well, inspector. I seem to have gotten us in a bit of a pickle, haven’t I?”

The inspector said nothing.

“We didn’t mean any harm, my companion and I. We decided… I decided, we could do a little investigating, and the last few nights, on our walks about town, we’ve been looking for clues. An old-fashioned idealism, believing we could find something out, but we never meant any harm.

“Please, inspector, won’t you let her go home? She’s endured enough for one night.”

“What were you doing at the tower, Doctor? And who is your companion? I have enough suspicions to imprison you now, though I can say doing so leaves a distaste in my mouth.”

The Doctor heaved a sigh and sank deeper onto the bed, knuckling his forehead. “We really were just investigating. My companion-”

“What is your companions name, Doctor Evatt? You wouldn’t hide anything from me, would you?”

The Doctor’s eyes widened in surprise. The inspector was a feral wolf, a beast in man form – would he stop at nothing for justice? “I apologize Mondieu. Her name is Evelyn, and she is a dear personal friend of mine. We’ve grown old together, for some time now, and there is no one in this world I hold dearer, or trust more. If there is one thing you can count on, inspector, it is Evelyn’s honesty and goodness of heart.”

“I can count on nothing, Doctor, it would seem. Continue. What were you doing at the tower?”

“As I said before, Inspector Mondieu: we were investigating. I thought we might offer some aid, and while I examined the samples yesterday, Evelyn visited the library and did some research on crime.”

“I went to the library myself, Doctor. I did not see Evelyn there,” the inspector replied.

“But she saw you, inspector, in the company of a beautiful lady. She said you did not notice her in your rigorous study, though she studied at a table not far from yours.”

The inspector held back a scowl. Damn that woman, distracting me. I’m not noticing things, anymore.

“Well, when she returned from the library, she made a reference to the Bible, and creation, and we came to the conclusion that, maybe, the criminal was following the works of creation backwards and-”

The inspector started. That’s it, isn’t it? Is that what the criminal is doing for certain? And these two, these untrained two individuals caught on almost before I?

“What did you say?” the inspector asked, a hint of surprise creeping into his tone.

“Why, just that we figured it might be an act of reverse creation. Is something wrong, inspector?”

The inspector shook his head and regained control of himself. “Do go on Doctor.”

“Well, that’s nearly the end. That night, we decided to go to the information tower, to see if we could glean any information about what the villain might be thinking next, since the next day was the heavens and the stars. If anything, that meant the weather control systems, we assumed. So we went to investigate. Vespars caught us on the road outside the tower. We didn’t know we were doing anything wrong. The tower isn’t locked. Please, at least let Evelyn go home. She-”

“Yes, yes. In time, Doctor Evatt,” replied the inspector, rubbing the sides of his face. I need another cigarette and a lot of coffee for mornings like these. “Go ahead and wait in the lobby. I will speak with Evelyn, now.”

“But, inspector-” began the doctor, but stopped when he saw the inspector’s face.

“Do not try my patience Doctor Evatt. I have great esteem for you, but you will not impede the path of justice. I will talk with Evelyn, now. You may go.”

“Very well, inspector. I’ll send her in,” replied the doctor, letting himself out the door.

DuMont placed his hand on the Doctor’s chest with an intimidating glance, but let him pass at the inspector’s nod. A moment later, Evelyn came into the room, her eyes lightly red and she sat down with a huff on the edge of the bed – a little petulance.

“What do you want, inspector?” Evelyn asked, with a little impatient impertinence. The inspector almost chuckled.

“Evelyn, please comport yourself. Tell me why you were at the tower last night.”

Evelyn flushed and composed herself. “I asked the Doctor if we might investigate, seeing as we knew the city better than you and might discover something you missed. We discovered some clues, and they led to the tower, so we went, only thinking to study the monitors for information. We didn’t want to kill anyone!” Evelyn ended with a cry.

The Doctor said he initiated, and Evelyn says she did. It was more likely that Evelyn was in charge and the doctor was protecting her. A noble man, then, the doctor, but foolish.

“Tell me everything, Evelyn. Don’t leave anything out.”

Evelyn told the same story as the Doctor, with a few minor differences – the library, the lab conversation, the Doctor’s reluctance and her persuasion. It was clear that she didn’t trust the inspector, or that she thought him not entirely capable, but her story matched up with the doctor’s in all the right ways. The inspector found that if the stories are exactly the same, something was wrong. But stories with tiny differences were more likely correct, not memorized and told honestly in the spur of the moment.

They are telling the truth, then. So we are back at square one.

The inspector had Evelyn repeat her story once, to make certain, before nodding to himself. Everything checked out; his trap had failed, and only managed to catch two bumbling innocents. Damn and thrice damned, this whole fiasco.

He knocked on the door and let DuMont know he could escort Evelyn out, but stopped them at the door.

“Nothing, Evelyn, will stop me from justice. Not you, not the doctor, not anyone. Do not think to get in my way – the dangers are great and the stakes are high. Just remember that the next time you continue with your investigation. You may both go. I’ll be seeing you both again soon, I suspect.”

DuMont shut the door as he left and left the inspector sitting in the room, alone with his thoughts, clouded and grey.

A storm is coming, and it will leave only a wasteland of this city, if I can’t stop it. Can it even be stopped? Soon, there would be fire.