Season of Starlight

Third Month

Upper Kaleno District

The City of Kaleno, The Cronia Region

2326

Death was a custom awaiting all living things, a natural process too often manipulated to fit an individual's selfish agenda.

Detective Inspector Henri Fraser stood looking death squarely in the eye.

Tonight it had come in the form of the poor Reverend Joseph Quinn.

He was face down with arms and legs spread on the vicarage's green grass just outside the main gates to his chapel in the Upper Kaleno District, eyes robbed of life and frozen in a permanent state of horror and disbelief.

Henri pitied the man.

The attack had come swiftly without warning.

Reverend Quinn was garrotted around the neck, his throat savagely carved and slivered to leave a horrific result.

His black robes were tattered, torn at the edges, as if he had been dragged the distance from the gate to his final resting place, the skin under his forearms shredded and bruised.

Henri squatted and lifted the victim's wrist with a gloved hand.

A puncture wound ate through the reverend's right palm, wet blood staining the flesh. Perhaps Quinn received it while fending off his attacker, unfortunately succumbing to their violent nature.

Henri stood and smoothed down his long beige trench coat, straightening a red fedora over his lump of short brown hair.

Fraser was a man in his early thirties with a well-built figure resembling an athlete. His muscles' subtle density and partially slouched posture revealed that his competitive days were past. He kept active occasionally, but maintaining his body in constant excellent shape became less of a priority once his career accelerated.

"Constable Abbott!" he called into the night, the street lanterns flickering orange above his head.

A young man approached him, wearing an indigo uniform with golden buttons and a black helmet, two straps feeding down his cheeks before clipping together beneath his chin.

His dark skin was further muted in the evening sky, the visible stars decorating the violet canvas while a half-crescent moon illuminated Abbott's green eyes.

The constable held a notepad in his right hand and a pen in the other, wearing a delicate frown across his lips.

"Sir?"

"When does Dr. Hinz arrive?" Henri asked. "With the state of the body, we need to conduct a post-mortem right away."

"He should be arriving shortly, sir," Abbott said. "His airship from Trylla was delayed due to livestock on the runway. It took them fifteen minutes to herd the animals to safety."

"Fifteen minutes? That must be a new record."

Abbott smiled. "Quite."

"Has the Kaleno bureau responded to our requests to get their assistance on this case?"

"Unfortunately, they do not have any officers available."

Henri chuckled, stepping in a half-circle. "Of course, they don't."

"With all due respect, sir," Abbott said, "why not just hand over this investigation to the Kaleno authorities?"

"And let them bury it under an endless stack of paperwork? No, Abbott, that is not an option."

Henri looked down at the reverend's body, countless thoughts scrambling in his mind. "Perhaps while we wait, I could get your opinion on the victim. What did the locals and chapel staff have to say about him?"

Abbott gulped, refusing to lower his eyes. He kept his gaze transfixed on his superior's red fedora as Fraser knelt beside the corpse.

Abbott flipped a few pages back in his notepad and cleared his throat.

"Well, sir," he began, "Reverend Joseph Quinn was a highly regarded preacher at this establishment. He enrolled about five years ago and belonged to the Order of the Covenant, a recognized organization overseeing all Prophet Society activities in the city. Nobody appeared to hold any resentments towards him, and he held a respectable presence. Mr. Quinn was married to Violet Quinn, a teacher, and had two sons of a young age. Eleven and six, to be exact."

Henri examined the reverend and narrowed his eyes. "No resentments? While I would usually argue with that statement, I believe we are not dealing with an ordinary murder. Whoever killed Mr. Quinn was set on making it look like an animal brutalized him."

"Such barbarity," Abbott muttered, keeping his voice calm.

Henri glanced up at the constable, smiling. "How can you judge that when you haven't looked at the evidence yourself?"

Abbott took a staggered breath. "Your explanation, sir," he said. "That is all the information I need to categorize Mr. Quinn's corpse as grotesque."

Henri blinked. "Look down."

"I do not think that is wise, sir."

Henri sighed. "James, if you are ever going to overcome this insatiable fear of the dead, you must take steps towards conquering it. Most detectives would send their constables to assess the scene before arrival."

"You are not most detectives, sir," Abbott said quietly, glancing at the stars.

Henri grinned. "Thankfully." He clenched his jaw. "Now, please, assess the victim. Four eyes are better than two."

Honk! Honk!

A silver Enigma motorcarriage announced its arrival with a loud horn and rolled up to the crime scene.

Henri furrowed his brows and watched the vehicle coast to a steady stop, the bright yellow fluorescent headlights dimming as the engine ceased to hum.

Clunk.

The door opened, and a young woman climbed out from behind the steering wheel, her long black hair cascading down her body in thick coils.

She wore a purple dress and a yellow shawl over her shoulders, clicking two white high heels together.

The woman turned her head, identified Fraser, then retrieved a small briefcase from the trunk of the Enigma. She locked up the motorcarriage and walked towards him.

Henri eyed Abbott amusingly. "Saved by the horn."

Constable Abbott idled in his spot, pivoting on the soles of his boots to greet their new arrival.

The woman wore a bright shade of vermillion lipstick, her honey-brown skin a tone lighter than Abbott's, with two almond eyes the colour of peridot gemstone.

"Detective Inspector Fraser?" she asked.

"Yes," he said solemnly. "And you are?" he asked with keen interest.

"Minnie Hastings," she said. "I work with Dr. Hinz at the Trylla Detective Bureau. You might not remember, but I aided in the post-mortem during the Abaddon case last year."

Henri nodded, a flash of familiarity hitting him as he gazed at Minnie's gentle smile. "Ah, yes," he said. "I remember. Is it my understanding that the doctor will not join us?"

"Correct," Hastings said, shaking the briefcase. "I accompanied Dr. Hinz on the airship; however, I regret to inform you he has been diagnosed with a terrible case of food poisoning. Something in his dinner strongly disagreed with him."

"How unfortunate," Henri said, glancing at Abbott. "Constable, acquaint Dr. Hastings with the victim."

Miss Hastings' eyes grew. "Oh, Inspector, you flatter me, but I am merely the doctor's assistant. I still require a few more years at his side before I can be honoured with that title." She looked at Abbott. "I would greatly appreciate a quick briefing Constable while I conduct my examination."

Constable Abbott swallowed. "Of course," he said.

Miss Hastings smiled and approached the body of Mr. Quinn, sitting down. She opened the briefcase and grabbed a pair of latex gloves and a scalpel before lowering it toward the victim's wounds.

Abbott began his insightful explanation. "Reverend Joseph Quinn was found about two hours ago by a fellow priestess named Tuluva Smallboy. The sight upset her, throwing her into quite a state."

"Yes, well, one cannot blame her," Miss Hastings said, massaging the markings on Mr. Quinn's neck. "These lacerations are deep enough to have severed both carotid arteries. While the method of murder was considerably barbaric, he surely bled to death within a minute of the attack. What do you propose happened, Inspector?"

Henri scratched his chin, leaning over her. "I considered a blade. The cuts were easily performed, but after assessing the amateurish nature of the execution, I figured claw marks."

"Claw marks?"

Miss Hastings rolled Mr. Quinn's head back and forth.

"Look at the right hand," Henri advised.

Miss Hastings stretched out her neck and chuckled. She gazed at Abbott. "Constable, would you mind lifting the victim's arm into view? I have my hands full at the moment."

Abbott's gut twisted, and he squeezed his lips together. "I am not wearing protective gloves. It would be unsanitary."

"Oh, I have an extra pair in the briefcase. Please, you are welcome to use them."

Abbott grew pale and slowly grabbed the gloves.

Henri threw Abbott a wink of confidence as he slipped them on and confronted the deceased.

Holding a breath, Abbott snatched Mr. Quinn's wrist while nausea strangled him and lifted the hand into the air with a swift motion.

Miss Hastings' eyes studied him briefly before assessing the punctured hole in the reverend's palm. She gasped.

"How interesting..."

"I speculated perhaps a blade pierced Reverend Quinn's hand while he attempted to defend himself," Henri said, carefully watching the procedure.

"Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Inspector, but that speculation is wrong," Miss Hastings said. She gently set Mr. Quinn's head down on the grass, taking the hand from Abbott. She examined the hole, nodding. "Yes, just as I suspected."

"What is it?" Abbott asked, shuffling away from the body as he took a mouthful of fresh air.

"A blade did not cause the damage," Miss Hastings explained. "The swelling, redness of the skin, and bodily fluid draining from the wound reveal something else entirely. The round shape further confirms my theory. Reverend Quinn was bitten."

Henri widened his stance, puzzled. "Bitten?"

"It appears your speculation of claw marks is correct. An animal killed this man."

"That can't be," Henri debated.

"Yes, I agree it is too easy, but what else could it be?"

"The Vagabond."

Henri, Abbott and Miss Hastings turned their attention to a woman standing behind them, covered in black robes with a golden medallion dangling from her neck.

She spoke with a shiver. "It is the Spirit of the Vagabond."

"The Vagabond?" Abbott snickered. "I do not think Mr. Quinn's death is an outcome of religious superstition."

The woman glared at him. "Do not mock me, young man. I am telling you the truth!"

Henri grew intrigued. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Priestess Tuluva Smallboy. I found Joseph's body," she said, trembling.

"Why are you certain it was The Vagabond?"

Tuluva sneered. "It is described in our holy book as a great evil that plagues our society, terrorizing us with a mission to sever our relationship with El Olam. It is a wicked beast, one of shadow. It glides through the night on mighty wings with the face of an animal and the body of a man, a sinister force that emerges from beneath the earth."

"Yes, I heard of the legend," Henri said, "but what makes you believe this is the work of The Vagabond?"

"Joseph's amulet," Tuluva said, grasping her own. "It is gone. Every member of our order is gifted with one. The amulet carries divine energy that bounds us to the Creator. Kaleno's spiritual barrier will collapse if they are lost, then the fallen will consume us all."

Henri contemplated the priestess's words, trying to make sense of it.

He was abruptly distracted by her fearful request.

"Are you here to save us?"

A shadow suddenly flew over the chapel, shrouding the scene in momentary darkness, then disappeared.