The pigeons dance for murder
TW: mentions of murder and blood
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Of all the things Mumbo expected to wake up to, it was not an agitated pigeon careening about his room.
"Caspian!" he cried. What was Grian's pigeon doing in his house? Mumbo's own pigeon eyed Caspian with distaste. Apparently, it disliked the fact the Caspian was getting all the attention, and not him. Mumbo struggled to capture the whirlwind of a bird as it knocked over several paintings and a lamp. He finally managed to secure the bird, gently stroking its head to calm it. His pigeon, Dave, was having a hard time believing that Mumbo had a new feathered friend that wasn't him. He bit Mumbo's knee and pecked him, trying to capture his attention.
Abruptly, something clicked in Mumbo's mind. If Caspian was here, without a message, where was Grian? His pigeon never visited other people if he could help it. Anxiety bubbled inside of Mumbo, and he sprang out of bed, throwing on his suit and combing his hair. He bolted out of his door, barely remembering to lock it behind him. Caspian and Dave sat on his shoulders, giving each other jealous death glares.
In an attempt to appease them, Mumbo tried to give each a handful of seeds. However, since he was clumsy as a rule, the seeds fell off his shoulders and scattered on the cobbled roads. Dave and Caspian fluttered down and began pecking up the seeds, momentarily forgetting their rivalry. Mumbo chuckled and scattered more of the seeds he kept in one pocket. Soon, an entire flock had gathered, consisting of almost all the pigeons of the city.
With a start, Mumbo remembered what he had set out to do. He turned abruptly and rushed down the street. Turning the corner into the front garden, he nearly crashed into the man he had been looking for. Grian laughed out loud at Mumbo's flustered expression as he dusted himself off, trying to look like he hadn't just sprinted a block and a half.
"Looking for me, Mumbo?" A pigeon settled on Mumbo's shoulder, the gray bird frantically pecking at his black hair, which flopped over one eye.
"Yes, I was," Mumbo replied, plucking the bird off his shoulder and unscrewing the canister. "Caspian turned up at my house this morning and I panicked. Turns out he was just jealous, I guess."
Grian laughed again before his mood took a darker turn, seeing Mumbo reading the note. "An emergency meeting. Beef's place," he stated flatly.
"This is Peanut, though," Mumbo pointed out. "Why did X's pigeon come from Beef's?"
"Only one way to find out, my friend." Grian shrugged, offering seeds to Peanut. Surprisingly, the bird rejected his namesakes, devouring the sunflowers and poppies, but leaving the peanuts. Grian observed this peculiarity and shrugged, adjusting the tote bag he carried on his shoulder.
"What's in there?" Mumbo asked, gesturing at the bag.
"You'll see," his friend responded. "Let's get going. X was clear we needed to be there quickly."
He led the way down the street, going to the outskirts of the city near the towering marble walls. Mumbo trailed behind, stumped at his friend's sudden seriousness. The butcher's house appeared before them, the pens behind the building mysteriously empty. Grian strode around to the side, hopping over the fence and entering through the back door.
"Grian, shouldn't we use the front door?" Mumbo asked as he hopped the fence behind the red-sweatered hermit.
"I always use the back door when I come to see him," he replied, doing nothing to alleviate Mumbo's nerves about the whole matter. However, there was little he could do. Grian was already raising his fist to knock on the door. It swung open on loose hinges the second he touched the wood, giving way to a dimly lit hallway.
Something clattered in the hallway upstairs. Grian looked at Mumbo worriedly and shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder. He tilted his head to the stairwell and crept into the house. The wood stairs creaked hollowly under their shoes as they crept upstairs.
Grian's eyes took in the surroundings the second they arrived. The bed had been stripped of its covers and the walls freshly plastered with wallpaper. His eyes narrowed on the ladder in the center of the room leading up to the ceiling. Atop the wooden frame was a dwarf.
"Impulse, what's going on here?" The dwarf jumped, teetering dangerously on the ladder. His brown beard dangled to his belt, adorned and plaited with gold rings.
"Oh hey, Grian, Mumbo. I didn't hear you coming." He chuckled. Taking a deep breath, he added, "I think you'd want to ask Xisuma about that, Grian. He knows more than I do. He just called me here to make repairs on the place. You wouldn't believe what it looked like a few hours ago."
"What do you mean?" asked Mumbo. "It looks the same as it did the last time I was here."
Grian rummaged in his bag, pulling out a familiar hat. The brim stuck out in front and behind, with ear flaps on the side. The fabric was green, with yellow and red plaid. He placed it on his head, tugging the flaps down over his ears. He closed his eyes in concentration.
His eyes flew open, pupils large. "Take a breath, Mumbo. What do you smell?" he asked. Mumbo shook his head, indicating that he smelled nothing. "There's a slight burnt smell in the air and a little bit of blood." He got down on his hands and knees. "Yes, there is a blood stain. Someone did a very good job cleaning it up, though."
"Don't look at me, G," Impulse protested. "Once again, I'd recommend that you talk to X."
Grian nodded and signaled to Mumbo. He slid down the banister, shouldering his bag. Mumbo fumbled after him, bewildered at his friend's strange behavior. Outside the front door, Xisuma was checking worriedly with his pigeon Peanut. The noise Mumbo made tripping out the door after Grian, caused him to look up in surprise.
"Grian, thank goodness you're here," he sighed. "I'm afraid something terrible has happened."
"I gathered. I assume that Beef has been murdered using some sort of corrosive substance coated on a blade."
Xisuma stared at him in shock, or at least, that's what it looked like behind the visor. He collected himself and answered, "Yes, are you able to deduce who did it?"
"Unfortunately, no. There isn't much evidence left due to the cleaning done."
"Etho brought me the news. I think he's around here somewhere. He's probably in the corner with his rock."
The man in question fell out of the rafters of the porch, landing like a cat. He straightened himself, trying to make it seem like he'd intended to do it. He cradled a dark green rock in the crook of his elbow, small lights flickering across its surface like stars.
X jumped at his appearance, evidently on edge. "Etho, would you tell Grian and Mumbo what you found?"
"I found a rock," he answered, holding up the green substance.
"Besides that, Etho," X sighed exasperated. "What did you find when you came to show Beef your rock?"
"Beef dead. Blood everywhere. Not cool at all. Not like my rock." He shoved it in Mumbo's face. "See? Pretty rock. I've found a lot of it."
Grian rubbed his face. "I assume he went to get you, right X?" Xisuma nodded, watching Etho's interaction with Mumbo intently. "What did you find?"
"Like Etho said, blood everywhere. There was also the word 'rash' written on the wall."
Grian looked perplexed as Mumbo wrestled Etho's rock away from directly in front of him. "'Rash'? Are you certain?" he asked.
"Yeah, but it was spelled strangely. 'R-A-C-H-E,' I think."
Grian sighed again, pulling his Sherlock cap down further. "Go on. What else did you notice or do?" He appeared to be bracing himself for the answer.
Xisuma shrugged. "Nothing else. I messaged Impulse to clean up after taking care of the body. I figured I'd let everyone know what happened after you got here. I told him it was a cow incident and that Beef was at the castle temporarily."
Grian frowned even more, pulling out his trench coat from the bag. He stuffed the now empty piece of cloth in a pocket, burying himself in the coat's folds. "Xisuma, a clean crime scene is virtually impossible to investigate. However, I have a few hypotheses."
"Go on," the administrator urged.
"Firstly, the method of murder. A corrosive substance, no doubt. It was also most likely on a knife or other sharp object. Second, the word 'rache'. It's the German word for 'revenge'. Not just a weird way of spelling 'rash'."
"What does that tell us, Grian?" Mumbo asked.
"It gives us a few suspects, my mustached friend."