Chronicles of New Nodaga: Hard times in Little Natura
Chapter one: Calm Before a Storm
New Nodaga. The scene is bleak. A city in darkness, streetlights dotting the scene like stars. The air is thick and damp, and a general din fills the air. Cars line the streets, all continuing their pilgrimage to god knows where. The night transforms the city, like a burnt and darkened face of a coin, flipping through the air. Here in Little Natura pedestrians line the streets, some alone, some in groups. Here a young cat is selling newspapers, there a group of penguins in fine suits waddle down the street. Signs flicker on and off. Below one of these signs, that of the “Old Lodge” leans a rather beaten and old looking bear, a cigarette protruding from one side of his mouth. He is quiet, and still. After one final puff, he takes the cigarette from his mouth, throws it onto the ground, and squashes it under paw. With an adjustment of his fedora, he returns to the warmth of the Old Lodge. A sign on the door reads “Bears Only” in bold red lettering with “except Carl” written in pen below.
Almost every species in Little Natura has it's own bar. The panthers have Deep Brush, The ravens Nevermore, buffalo all go to Dusty Steppe, the prey species collectively have the Battered Lynx and the bears have the Old Lodge. It's probably an understatement to say that the Old Lodge is the most rustic and cozy place in the city. The walls are covered with logs as if to imitate it being a log cabin. A huge patterned rug covers about a third of the floor. Couches line the walls, all patterned in a different manner. One is plaid, another hounds-tooth, and the one closest to the fireplace is a tartan of blue and green. The furniture is all hand made, crafted from the finest wood available and left unvarnished and rough. A huge log sits in the corner for the bears to scratch their back on. Over the fireplace hangs a huge and aged tapestry depicting a Large brown bear on its back feet facing a slightly smaller white one. Frank knows this to represent the two original members of the bear clan: Grizzly bear and Polar bear. It was them who had fought for Old Natura in ancient times alongside the Lion and Crocodile clans. Frank suspected this tapestry to have come from Old Natura but had never bothered to ask Friendly, the owner and bartender.
Frank took his usual spot at the bar and ordered a drink “Another whisky and maple, Friendly, if you could” the bartender nodded and poured his drink. The bar was decently busy. The regulars sat in their usual seats at the bar, a group of black bears crowded around a table in the centre of the room loudly conversing and making jokes, and a panda bear couple sat on a couch at the far end of the bar, drinking out of cups made of hollowed out bamboo shoots. “Aren't you supposed to be workin?”. Frank heard from a couple stools down. It was Chuck, another regular of the Lodge. “I am” He replied. “But it's a hard to crack a case when you don't have one”. The Chief usually reserved Frank for the cases that the greener members of the force would find impossible or intimidating. Years as a Detective had given him skills earned only through wisdom and a prodigious attention to criminal activity. Frank probably knew more about the criminal underworld in Little Natura than many of the criminals themselves. Lately; however; it had been quiet. Most of the crimes were committed by low level thugs, and other criminals who had no idea what they were doing. The chief hadn't bothered to waste Frank's time, he respected him more than that. Frank thought it strange, though, that the big fish hadn’t pulled anything this month. In fact, it worried him. Frank shrugged it off and went back to his drink.
After a while Carl came through the door. The clientele stared at him over their drinks as he made his way to the bar and climbed onto a bar stool “The usual, Friendly” he spouted.
It's an understatement to say that Carl wasn't part of the intended clientele of the Old Lodge. Standing at only 4 feet tall, he was dwarfed by those around him. This was because he was a sea otter. Nevertheless, he was accepted as a regular of the place. This was a good thing, because if he wasn't, he would have been beaten, mauled and thrown onto the street already. He glanced over at Frank “I knew I would find you here”. “Well, I figured I should do something with all this free time we've had lately” Frank replied. Carl merely nodded in reply. Carl had been Franks partner for nearly eight years now. He didn't have anywhere near the physical strength that Frank had, but he made up for it with wit and cunning in spades. Together they had cracked some pretty notable cases. They had solved the theft of a rather ancient scroll from the Little Natura museum, cracked a smuggling ring which had been based in the mole's underground city, and even discovered a foreign spy. With Frank's strength and wisdom, and Carl's quick thinking and instinct, they formed the department's most effective and well rounded team. They trusted each other, and filled in for each others weaknesses.
They sat and drank a while, recalling old friends and older exploits. The regulars all conversed and shared the usual inside jokes, Friendly standing silently across from them and allowing the slightest smirk from time to time. This was the way things usually were at the Old Lodge, and it might as well have been Frank's home, for he certainly spent more time there.
After a while, a call came over the radio Friendly kept behind the bar for Frank's sake. Car G-2 please report to the station for briefing. “That'll be us” Carl said. “That it will Slick” Frank replied. “and not a moment too soon” . Carl finished his drink, a kind of Mojito made with seaweed instead of mint leaf. He would never have wasted it as the bar kept the ingredients in stock just for Carl. A bear would never drink anything like that anyway, bears preferred their drinks to taste like the forest. Drinks like the Green sunset (gin and pine), Autumn storm (scotch with spruce leaf), or Frank's favourite, the ever simple whiskey and maple syrup. “Would you be so kind as to put that on my tab Friendly?” Friendly only grunted in reply. So just like that, the bear and the otter were back on the streets. They walked out of the bar, threw on their coats and jumped into Franks car.
Frank's car was a black Buick, made especially for larger Humanimals. The interior was somewhat dirty as bears are not known for their attention to cleanliness. Pieces of paper were littered throughout the car and the cup holders were occupied with empty paper cups. Frank always drove, as Carl could not reach the pedals. They talked about the usual things as they went, the weather, the news, and the latest fights down at the Colosseum. Carl noted that there had recently been a particularly good fight between a Young Rhino and a Siberian Tiger. As he Drove, Frank kept a measured, leisurely pace . He didn’t expect the call to be for anything too important .Lately It had been the same old thing time and time again. The Maw had been coming more tenacious of late and the department used Carl and Frank as liaisons. They would probably just have to drive down to the red light district and talk to some guy in a suit, just to let him know that the police department had an eye on him. Frank was good at putting the fear into tough guys like those in the Maw. They acted tough in groups but if you got them alone they got just as scared as any of the other criminal scum in this city. They were close to the station now. The streetlights marked their progress down the street, passing by at a uniform speed. Light bathed the car every couple of seconds.
They arrived at the Police Station, unceremoniously parked their car in front and went inside. The station was a large, rock-hewn building and sometimes Frank thought it more resembled a cave than a government office. This was because it was one of the oldest buildings in Little Natura, it had originally been a boarding house for the very masons who had built the city. Sometimes in the older and less used parts of the building it felt like you had travelled back in time to the less civilized part of Humanimal history. Frank and Carl made their way to the Chief's office and let themselves in unceremoniously. The chief looked impatient.”Ah, you're here” the large walrus noted, every word causing his whiskers to move. “What do you got chief?” Carl asked. “I'ts a strange one boys” the chief replied. We've had a few murders. “Murders?” a moment passed “What's strange about that?” Frank asked. “Two things, first of all, the bodies have been showing up in exceptionally strange places, all near the water”. “Secondly, there are strange markings cut into the skin of all the vics”. “In any case, I'll let you investigate, keep an open mind on this one”. Frank merely nodded his head. “Where are the stiffs cap?” Carl asked. “I've typed up the locations here, get to them as quickly as you can” the chief responded, handing Carl a folded paper. With that, Frank mumbled inaudibly, turned on his heel and started out the door.
They studied the paper on the way out of the station. On it was written:
Property of Little Natura Police Station
File Number: 324-G2
From the Desk of Captain Pendleton Chandler
FOR THE EYES ONLY OF DETECTIVES FRANK CASE AND CARL KING
Victim Number One:
Little Natura Docks
Victim Number Two:
Cannon's Beach
Victim Number Three:
Under Thompson's bridge, Red Light Side.
“What do you think of this one Frank?” Carl inquired. “Hard to say” Frank said. “But it might be another amphibian with a score to settle like we had last year. We'll have to check the bodies first”. “Should we hit the beach first?” Carl asked. “One stiff's as good as the next, and it's best we hit that one before the tide comes in”. Frank nodded in agreement. And so as quickly as they came they had left, a siren fading into the distance.
The beach was crowded. Humans and humanimals alike were all jostling to get a better look at the crime scene from behind the barricades, well, all except a giraffe in a blue work suit who was leaning against a lamp post, standing much taller than the rest of the crowd. The giraffe called out “Oh hey Frank, how's things?”. Frank replied: “Ah you know, just keeping up with the streets. Same ol' same ol'. How're the wife and kids Jerry?”. “The kids are growing like elephants, and eating about the same as them too. It's been hard to keep up with their appetites on a window washer’s salary”. Frank could hear the truth in his voice. With a tip of his hat the bear said “We'll catch up some time Jerry” and he began to push his way through the crowd.
The beach was red. Blood stained the sand for at least two meters in every direction of the body. The lights of the police cars didn't do much to help the morbid tint either. The body itself was sitting between the rolling waves and the barricades. Carl was already examining it. Frank sniffed at the air. It was no use he could certainly smell the coppery sweet smell of blood and the rough, salty smell of seawater, but there were too many people crowded around the barricades to isolate the scent of the suspect. “What do you have over there Carl?” He said as he plodded towards the corpse. “You'll want to see this Frank” the sea otter replied, uncertainty thick in his voice. The corpse was that of a young female human. She had blonde hair and dark green eyes and was in a blue sundress covered with floral print. A look of terror still covered her face. That wasn't what Carl had wanted him to see, though. All down her arms were drawn hundreds of symbols, nothing like Frank had ever seen. They looked as if they were some sort of language, with words or phrases written vertically down the arms. Besides that there was visage face carved into the woman's chest. It had two eyes and a large forehead, and tentacles streamed down where it's mouth should have been. The whole scene caused Frank's fur to bristle. He hadn't seen anything like this in all his years on the force. “This has to be up there with the strangest murders I've ever seen” the Otter muttered.
The bear gingerly checked the body for signs of trauma, or cuts larger than the ones which formed the symbols. Sure enough, he found both. On the back of her head he found a dark bruise, about the size of a quarter. He briefly postulated as to the cause before moving on. On each of the victims legs a major vein had been cut. That could have been where the blood on the beach had come from. Already this case had bad news painted all over it, and in blood at that. He wondered as to the identity of the victim, and as to why anyone had done this, but he wondered not for long, as a call from Carl prompted him over. A purse was sitting on the beach. “Her name is Frances Pearson” Carl said, holding up her driver's license. “Any idea why she was out here?” Frank asked. “Not really, but I'm sure we can ask her husband!' the otter said. Frank hated questioning family. “You can do it” the bear said. I'll go on to the other bodies. I Want to get them over with before they start to rot”. “Fair enough” the Otter replied. “It's too bad this one is on a beach, we could have checked the footprints, at least seen what species had done her in, but the wind's blown it all away” noted the otter. “I'll check for footprints at the next scene” the bear replied. 'I'll radio you when I identify them”. “Roger that” the otter responded, and like that, they were off.
The pair always worked this quickly. They went to a scene, collected clues, questioned witnesses and got out. A crime scene wasn't a place to hang around hoping that the answers would jump out of the aether. They had learned that years ago working a jewelry store theft. They had been out-foxed by a fox that had left town only hours before they solved the case. They had been too slow following leads. To this day the fox has never been caught.
Carl commandeered the squad car of a surly looking scottish terrier. He postulated to himself that if one was a scottish terrier, he would indeed need to be pretty surly to make his way as a beat cop. Nevertheless, Carl had managed to make detective, and he was but an sea otter. Most of his people made their way in jobs that involved the water. Shipping, sea salvage, the navy, these were all jobs that otters excelled at due to their excellent swimming ability and yet here Carl was, landlocked, about to question a dead person's husband. How did he get here? He thought back.
It had all started when he was but a pup. He was part of a litter of five. His mother and father were of lesser means so his childhood was not without it's share of hardships. Dinnertime often became an all out battle for food and Carl didn't have the strength or size to compete with his siblings. One day, though, everything changed. He had been sitting on the stoop of his family's apartment building in Little Natura when a rather scared looking wildebeest ran by at full speed and turned the corner. Several seconds later, a coyote in a grey suit and fedora came running after. The coyote looked at Carl and spouted “Did you see anyone come running by here kid?” exhaustion made evident through gasps for air. Carl replied in the affirmative and told the coyote where he had gone. The coyote ran away after the beast leaving Carl on his stoop. By this point; however Carl wouldn't be content sitting on his stoop, his interest had been peaked. He scrambled to catch up with the coyote. When they turned the corner they saw the wildebeest running toward the end of the block. The coyote ran directly after the stranger through the crowd but Carl had a better plan. He ran into a nearby alley and hoisted himself onto a dumpster. From here he jumped up onto a nearby apartment's fire escape and scrambled up onto the roof. Here he could see the whole scene. The wildebeest had continued running, shoving pedestrians out of the way as he continued his charge. The coyote was losing ground as he couldn't get through the crowd quite as well as the wildebeest could. Carl considered the scenario and quickly formulated a plan. He jumped from rooftop to rooftop until he was running just ahead of the wildebeest. Then, he picked up a TV set that was on the roof he was on for a reason that Carl really couldn't fathom. He threw it down and managed to glance the wildebeest in the head. The hulking figure took a couple more staggering steps, then slumped to the ground, unconscious. The crowd on the street looked up, astonished. Carl's eyes met with the coyote's, and with that, the coyote tipped his hat. Carl, unhappy with all the attention he was getting, made his way back to street level. The coyote was waiting for him. “you shouldn't have done that, kid” the coyote said. “but thanks nonetheless” he paused. “I'll tell you what, meet me at Pinecone Diner on Raccoon and Third in about an hour, you know the place?” Carl had nodded his head timidly. “Alright, I gotta take that guy to the station, he's burned down one house too many” the coyote said, handcuffs in hand.
Carl had kept his word, and he sat waiting in a booth at the Pinecone Diner. It was a smaller place, but was busy, with customers filling nearly every booth. The waitresses ran around like pigeons looking for seed, taking orders from customers, pinning papers to a spinning contraption near the kitchen, and taking money at the cash register. They had taken very little notice of the small sea otter sitting alone near the back. Eventually, Carl noticed the coyote come through the front doors, a swagger in his step and a smile on his face. The coyote looked around the diner, took notice of Carl, and began walking over. Carl looked down at his glass of water, and hoped he wasn't in trouble. He had chased the wildebeest purely on instinct. The coyote slumped into the red and white leather covered seat of the booth. “Well kid, what'll you be having?” the coyote queried. “Huh?” the otter said in reply. “What do you want to eat?” the coyote had said “I owe you at least a meal, you did get me promoted after all”. Carl was surprised, but a smile began to form on his face, he was absolutely starving. “Um, I guess I'll have the sea urchin and fries mister” Carl said, quietly. “Yeah, you otters like that stuff don't you?” the coyote said, and chuckled. The coyote waved over a waitress and made their order: “A blueberry shake and a rabbit burger for myself, and a sea urchin platter for my little friend here, if you would miss” he nodded and winked at the waitress at the same time. She had simply written the order on her paper and nodded.
Carl could tell that the coyote was a stand-up guy, even at age 13. This was a rare thing for a coyote as
they weren't usually known to be the most ambitious or kind of humanimals. His father had told him that coyotes usually made their way as pickpockets, grave robbers or lawyers. Nevertheless, this coyote seemed kind. He spoke to Carl “you know, that was a pretty crazy thing you did there kid” Carl remained silent. “Why did you do it anyway?”. He hesitated, then timidly replied: “Well, sometimes I do things that I don't mean to do” he hesitated again, then continued “It's like, somehow I know it's the right thing to do, but I don't want to do it, so my mind kicks itself into doing it anyway, do you know what I mean?”. The coyote nodded, was silent for a moment, and the said “I think you have 'the instinct' kid. It's something handed down through our humanimal heritage” Carl was really interested now, his eyes were wide like saucers. “In Old Natura they used to say that 'the instinct' was a piece of the will of the old dead god, whose very existence was shattered into millions of pieces aeons ago”. “If you have 'the instinct' you can't help but do what's right. Some people consider it a blessing, and others a curse”. “How do you know this?” The otter questioned. “I have 'the instinct' too kid. When my brothers were all growing up and trying to get into the maw, or learning to pickpocket and steal, I was helping old women across the street and trying to get good grades in school”. “Thats why I'm in the force, I bet you're surprised to see a 'yote in the police right, let alone a detective? Be honest” a huge smile formed across the coyote's face. Carl nodded his head timidly, and allowed himself a little laugh. “Anyway, name's Victor, but call me Vic” the coyote said. “And your name?”. “Carl King sir” the otter replied. “I'm going to call you Slick” said the coyote. “Nice to meet you slick”. “Nice to meet you too sir”. Their food came soon after, and they had talked about a multitude of subjects, ranging from the days exploits to the life of a detective. After they had finished, the Vic made Carl a proposal. “How would you like to learn to be a detective?”. Carl was absolutely astonished. The coyote seems to sense this. “Why so surprised? You're going to end up in the force eventually anyway, since you have 'the instinct'! You might as well learn from a pro!”. Carl was absolutely overjoyed “absolutely sir! Thank you!”. So this was how Carl had become a detective. He learned the tools of his trade from a maverick of the force at a very young age. Vic had been his mentor, and his friend. They shared meals and stories at the Pinecone every Wednesday, and Carl had acted at times as an informant, going into places Vic was certain to be recognized. It was a good relationship, for a while anyway.
The world could be a funny place. One day, you're another kid on the street, and the next, a detective in training. In any case, Carl was finished with nostalgia. The radio was playing a lively Jazz song. He turned it up and made his way down the road, towards the home of an unknowing widower.
In a completely different part of town a rather stern looking bear was thinking much more immediate thoughts. One of those thoughts was: “What the hell do these markings mean?”. He had arrived at the site of victim number three ten minutes prior. The victim was on the shore of The New Nodaga canal, just under Thompson's Bridge. Beat cops, coroners, as well as police photographers trotted around under the behemoth steel form of the bridge. It loomed over like the skeleton of a giant salamander, its bones the crisscrossing steel shapes of the supports. Frank noticed none of this; however; as he was focused on trying to recognize or understand the symbols and shapes cut into the skin of the poor dead vagabond. He was a dog, a greyhound at that, and he wore a ragged canvas coat upon a stained brown shirt, both opened to allow for the creation of these strange rune like symbols. Upon taking off his toque, Frank recognized the same dark bruise that had been on the previous victim. There was now no question that these murders were connected. But how could these two victims have anything in common? They both bore the same strange symbols and tentacled visage upon their bodies, but other than that they could not have been more opposite. One was a seemingly opulent human female, and the other a poor humanimal male. With this Frank could rule out a variety of motives. It wasn't money, as the vagabond had none of that, and it wasn't a hate crime, as both a human and humanimal had been killed. All that was left was killing for the sake of killing. Then there were the symbols and that strange visage. What did those mean? It was then that a young photographer called him over. “detective, we've made a mould of the footprints of the suspect, it seems that they have tentacles, and there were about six separate sets of prints, all coming out of the water”. Frank considered what the photographer said. Tentacles could mean either octopus or squid. He had never seen a squid humanimal in New Nodaga before, however, so he felt it had to have been a group of Octopus. With that thought, he had an idea. It was a terrible, horrific idea, but an idea nonetheless. If what he thought was true there was no chance that tonight was going to be a pleasant night. “come with me” he shouted to the photographer as he sprinted to the car. “we have to develop those pictures as quickly as possible”.
Carl arrived at the apartment. It was a brown brick building with columns of gray stone running down each of the corners. Gargoyles with the faces of rats or other vermin capped the top of the corners in pairs. The doorway was of Victorian style, with elaborate wooden carvings on the door itself and a stained glass window running a semicircle at the top, the colours blue, green and yellow glowing out of the window set a strange contrast against the cold darkness that surrounded him. He headed inside. The place was an oasis of opulence in this part of town. Red velvet couches lines the walls, with paintings of fruit or landscapes above each one. A marble staircase ran up the middle of the room, with ornate bronze-doored elevators on each side. A aged and greyed human doorman greeted him: “Anything we can do for you...sir?”. Even after all these years of living in the same city, there was still a great many humans who held no affection for humanimals. He could tell through the man's tone that he was one of them. Carl flashed his badge, it was a round golden shield with the image of a claw crossing a laurel on the centre and LNPD inscribed below in a bold black font. “I'm looking for the apartment of Frances Pearson”. “May I ask why?” the doorman remarked, indignation clear in his voice. Carl had no time for his questions or his attitude. “She's been murdered and I need to speak to her husband” he said hurriedly. The doorman looked surprised. He reluctantly told Carl to take the elevator to the fifth floor and exit to the left, the door number would be 507. Carl tipped his hat and headed off. He soon arrived at the door, anxiety setting in. He despised talking to family members about this sort of thing. He raised his hand to knock, hesitated, sighed, and then knocked twice. “Finally, she's home” he heard behind the door.
Anyway I hope you liked it! Feel free to leave comments with criticism, suggestions!
