Fight of the Nightingale

Prologue

David watched as the front doors of the many fine houses on his block passed by his window in a blur, soon fading into the rundown grimy buildings of Lower London. His mind was already beginning to piece together scenarios, deductions filling his mind faster than an iron horse. The carriage soon slowed to a stop, and the Investigator was out of the cab in a flash, donning his cap in one smooth motion. A rush of excitement hit him as he began approaching the scene, as it had every time he went on location. His life of investigation never seemed to lack its intriguing luster. The crime scene came into view, and David was halted in his tracks.

The backdoor of the silversmith had been bashed off of its hinges, part of the splintered remains laying a short ways off to the side of the alley. There were splinters of wood all over the ground, along with several scuff marks like a struggle had taken place. One of the city Policemen sauntered over to him, his dark bearded face looking grave and slightly bored. A quick glance at his epaulettes was all David needed to tell he was the Chief of Police.

"Fine mess we have here, detective."

David gave him an affirming hum as he strolled around the scene, taking in the details.

"It is quite the sight, Chief."

Observations flew through his head like lightning in a thunderstorm. The door had to have had a significant amount of force applied to its surface to cave the way it did, but what could have supplied it? He continued on, catching a glimpse of several scrape marks along the bricks of the street, some thicker and deeper, but most thin and precise. His eyebrow rose.

A bladed weapon? And several at that. He noted.

The Chief cleared his throat, gaining the Inspector's attention. He motioned to a cell-carriage, with the shadows of men inside.

"We caught three of the group that was breaking in. Typical lowlifes, but the story they have to tell of the event is quite astounding. Let's see what you can make of it."

David frowned, his green eyes narrowing in confusion.

"What 'appened?"

The Chief shrugged motioning to the carriage again.

"I can't do the story justice. It just isn't normal. You'll have to hear it for yourself Inspector."

David raised his eyebrow once more, but he opted not to comment any further. He followed the Chief to the awaiting carriage, careful not to step on any of the scattered debris as he passed through. The Chief banged on the door of the cell.

"Inspector Daines is here for information on tonight's events. I expect your cooperation, and honesty." he said sternly to the shadows.

A shuffle sounded, and a rag dressed man with greasy auburn hair stepped up to the bars. He had a large injury to the side of his head, and several splinters of wood hanging on his clothes. His grey eyes held a haunted look, like an animal pursued by a hunter.

"I'll go clean. I'll mend my ways sir, I swear it! Just don't let that thing get us again!" he whispered franticly.

David's curiosity perked. He slipped a notebook and pencil from his suit pocket, flipping to a fresh page.

"We will try our best ta figure this out, but I need ya ta tell me exactly what 'appened." He said, keeping his voice calm.

The crook gave a violent shiver, his hands clenching around the cold metal bars.

"The likes of tonight I've ne'r seen in me life...." He began.