Natalia City…my city.

Or at least it used to be.

Time was when a rabbit, buck or doe, youngling or oldster, badge or no badge, could walk these streets without a care. Didn’t matter where or what time of day. The only consideration to be taken was what the weather might be like, and if you might want a coat or umbrella.

But that was a long time ago.

My name is Black. Detective Helmer Black. You can call me detective or sir, if you have to call me anything. My friends-back when I had any-called me Helm. But if you think you’ll be doing that, your hopes are as ridiculously high as my rent.

And they’ll get you just as little.

Some of the smart mouths around town and the precinct call me Blackheart. Few of them have the nerve to say it to my face. Sometimes I feel like telling them the truth. That I got called worse and cleverer things by my own sister. But that would mean telling them that I have a sister.

Who I’d gladly give every cent my landlord’s ever squeezed out of me to hear insult me again.

It was a dark, rainy Tuesday when I drove into Cloud Mountain Station. Of course, as you might guess from the name, that’s pretty typical weather for this part of town. There are patches on my raincoat that have been damp longer than some of my so-called colleagues have been alive. But I’d still take that coat’s company over any of theirs.

Resigned to another grinding day, I put my battered fedora on over my ears. You hear people complain about Mondays, but I say Tuesdays are worse. At least on Monday you’re going into things somewhat fresh, assuming you managed to sleep on Sunday. But on Tuesday you’re in the thick of things, and haven’t reached the small comfort of what they call “the hump.”

One quick walk through the drizzle and I was inside. I glanced at the front desk to see Gort in his usual spot, donut in one hand and pen in the other as he jotted something down. His uniform was looking a bit tight around the waist. I’d told him more than once, back when I bothered chatting with the desk bucks, that he needed to either cut back on the donuts or start actually walking his beat when he wasn’t babysitting the phone.

But then again, walking the streets alone these days is a good way for a cop to get himself shot at.

Letting the thought pass, I walked to my desk. Actually, you might say desks, though the second one was more of an extension of my filing cabinet. I prefer to keep my paperwork within easy reach. If for no other reason, it saved me from dealing with Officer Potter, our head of Archives.

To make a long story short, Potter’s posting was more for the sake of his own safety than for any merits he had as a record keeper. Even the cleaning staff refused to set foot in the garbage dump that was Potter’s archives room. And if anyone dared, their chances of finding anything were worse than the odds of the Gates Hale Raiders in a game against the Tane-side Chippers. Potter couldn’t have made a worse mess of the place if he’d tripped while carrying every case file in the world’s most precarious paper stack.

Anyway, nobody had sat at the desk facing mine in years-not since my last partner. Not technically regulation, of course, but my superiors had become resigned to me being an exception. It meant less drama and less paperwork. Partners didn’t suit me anymore, as has been made clear when I’d gone through more of them in a few years than most detectives do in a career.

More than a few of them requested, and were granted, reassignments.

I said my goodbyes to the others in the morgue.

Naturally, my reputation, such as I had, didn’t benefit from either situation. Folks don’t give you a name like Blackheart if you’re winning any sort of popularity contests. And in this city, where a crook named Blackhawk runs everything in all but name, it’s tantamount to an accusation of murder. More than a few of which have also been thrown at me, but that comes with being a good cop in a city where “good cop” is seen by many as a contradiction in terms.

So you can imagine that when I saw several stacks of files on my assigned desk, and the opposite one looking not only clean but freshly polished, I stopped short. There was even a brand new chair pushed into the space under the desk. My own desk looked cleaner, and my chair had been replaced too. All of which halted me in my tracks as suddenly as if I’d walked into a brick wall.

Before I could even begin to process this, I heard Lieutenant Pacer’s voice from behind me. “Chief Rake wants to see you in his office, Black.”

Pacer didn’t usually speak to me in full sentences. Actually, he didn’t usually speak to me at all, which suited me just fine. I did my job, he did his, and the less that needed to be said the better we were both pleased. So when Pacer spoke more syllables to me in that moment that we’d probably exchanged in six months beforehand, I could tell my Tuesday was going to be even worse than usual.

With a sigh, I hung up my hat and coat and followed Pacer to the chief’s office. Seeing us, a few of the other detectives and officers looked surprised. Even Chief Rake usually only spoke to me in the bullpen, or had memos left on my desk. However, Pacer was the only rabbit in the department half as scary as I was, so between our respective expressions the gawkers soon found that they had other things to concern themselves with.

Knocking on the chief’s door, Pacer opened it when Rake called. Looking at me, he jerked his head towards the interior. I nodded, but the return to our usual silent communication methods didn’t reassure me. And as Pacer closed the door behind me, I wondered how much distance Pacer would put between himself and whatever I was about to endure.

Chief Rake didn’t look particularly threatening as he sat behind his desk. He was tall, sure, but so was I. We were about the same age, but anyone could see that I had more muscle. And my black fur, grey-flecked though it was, was miles more forbidding than Rake’s grey and white coat.

Rake was a gentlebuck, too, as anyone could tell within a minute of speaking to him. He came from the rich part of town, and his dress uniform suited him better than the everyday one he was wearing now. I was a plain clothes detective, and you could tell I’d grown up in a rougher neighborhood. And my dress uniform, if it hadn’t fallen to pieces, would probably qualify as a museum piece.

“Have a seat, Black.”

Dropping into one of the chairs opposite his, I got to the point. “What’s this about, Chief? And who’s been messing around my desks?”

“Your desk, and your partner’s, were overdue for a cleaning. And I’m not surprised you look grumpy all the time, given the state your chair was in. Why didn’t you ask for a new one? The department’s not so strapped for cash that we can’t afford new chairs.”

“I liked my old chair. Do you know how long it takes to break one of them in? But you didn’t call me in here to talk about furniture. Both of us have better things to do.”

Sighing, Rake sat back in his chair. “You’re getting a new partner, Helmer.”

For a moment, I just stared at him. “No, I’m not.”

“Don’t bother, Helmer. Believe me, I have my doubts about this arrangement. Nobody knows better than I do how hazardous it is to be your partner. Except for those of your actual partners who have actually survived the experience, I suppose.

“But we have a rookie detective in need of a partner, and you’re the only veteran I feel even slightly comfortable pairing him with.” I snorted at that, and Rake actually glared at me. “Helmer, I’m serious. Everyone knows you’re about as personable as a cactus. But if anything that makes you the one buck who may actually be able to keep this lad alive long enough to become a decent detective.”

“Are you joking, Chief? The only rabbit I’ve ever been able to avoid getting killed is myself. My partners-the survivors, as you put it-lived because they figured out how stupid it was to be anywhere near me. I have no business being paired with anyone, least of all some rookie fresh from the academy.”

“We both know it wasn’t always that way, Helmer,” Rake responded quietly. “Frankly, we both know that of the two of us, you’re the one best qualified to be occupying this office. And that’s really an understatement. You would be police commissioner right now, if only…”

He stopped, but I knew well enough what he was thinking.

If only Mayor Goodson hadn’t been murdered.

Goodson, and his father before him, were the bucks who made Natalia City worth living in, once upon a time. Back then there was no Cloud Mountain Station, but there were plenty of others. And Mayor Goodson had six of the best cops the city had ever seen working to keep the city safe. Then he was murdered, and all six of those bucks had “accidents.”

They were some of my best friends.

“Don’t kid around with me, Chief. If Mayor Goodson were still here, better bucks than me would still be around to be commissioner. But they aren’t, and I’m not likely to be one either. Not with Mayor Winslow in Blackhawk’s back pocket. And not with that soulless wretch Daggler currently filling the position.”

Rake winced, which was as much disgust as he was liable to show. I know rabbits who would spit if you so much as mentioned Daggler’s name to them. Everyone knew that he’d turned the First Warren precinct into a collection of thugs, with “officers” who should have been inmates. It wasn’t quite as bad as the Akolan precinct in Bleak Heights, but it wasn’t far behind.

Every other cop in the city was in one of two camps. Many were trying to fight the encroachments of a corrupt city hall as much as they could without making themselves targets. The others were already in the mayor’s-and thus Blackhawk’s-pockets. Seven major stations-Blackstone, Chelmsford, Cloud Mountain, Halfwind, Harbone, Kingston, and Vandalia-were the centers of resistance. A few other smaller holdouts also persisted, and there were rumors-pipe dreams more likely-of brave stations operating right under the noses of Daggler and his colleagues in Akolan precinct.

“So who is this kid I’m supposed to be keeping alive, anyway? Must be some piece of work if you think I’m the buck best qualified to keep him from getting killed.”

For just a moment, Rake hesitated. That in itself was as ominous as a ticking bomb. Rake was rarely ever lost for words. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“His name’s Picket. Picket Longtreader.”

You could have knocked me over with a five-and-dime hairbrush. I stared at the chief, wondering if this was some kind of joke. But Rake didn’t laugh, and it wasn’t really his sort of humor anyway. Which was fortunate, because I was about as far from laughing as you could get.

“Longtreader? As in…Garten?”

“Whittle, actually. The lad is Whittle Longtreader’s son. And yes, that makes him Garten’s nephew-and Wilfred Longtreader’s nephew, too. Don’t give me that look, Helmer; you know Wilfred is as good a buck as this city’s ever had.”

“Maybe compared to his big brother,” I muttered. “Which isn’t saying a whole lot.”

“I though Wilfred was a friend of yours?”

“And we all thought Garten was Mayor Goodson’s friend, once.”

Really, that was putting it mildly. Garten had been a leading figure in Goodson’s administration, and his younger brothers had been his top bucks. But apparently something had soured Garten, at least, and he’d turned on his brothers and the city. Nobody could prove anything, of course. Unfortunately, that meant that it was equally hard to prove that his brothers hadn’t been in on things with him. Frankly, I was amazed to think that Whittle was not only still in town, but had apparently raised at least one kid in his brother’s shadow.

“Don’t lump Wilfred in with Garten, Helmer. You may not like him, but you know him better than that. He and Whittle were just as surprised as any of us, and young Picket wasn’t even born then. Unfortunately, that makes little difference to some rabbits.

“The only way the lad is likely to survive on this force, or in this city, is if he learns from the best. Like it or not, Helmer, that’s you. And if I’m being completely honest, I think it will be good for you. I know that you work well alone, and have survived things that would probably have killed any other buck on this force. But I think Picket may be able to help you do more than survive.

“Give him a chance, and I think he might just help you start living again.”

Before I could even begin to formulate a response to that, we both heard shouting coming from out on the station floor. Frowning, Chief Rake got to his feet and went to the door, and I followed him. Stepping out of his office, we found that several detectives and officers had formed a ring around two bucks. One was a veteran of some years, but the other was new to me: a youngster with gold and grey fur.

“You heard me right the first time, Wrongtreader,” the older buck barked with a scowl. “We don’t need the likes of you around this station, this precinct, or this city. In fact, your whole family would do us a favor if you jumped into one of the rivers. Preferably after taking a dip in some cement!”

Scowling fiercely, the younger buck shot back. “The name’s Longtreader, buck. And whether you like it or not, I’m here to stay. So unless you can button your lip, I suggest that you find some cement and use it on your own big mouth!”

Laughter actually erupted from a few of the bucks, and the veteran’s face went red under his fur. Before he could do anything else, however, Chief Rake stepped in. “That’s quite enough of that, bucks! I suggest you get back to work, unless any of you are looking to volunteer for traffic duty!”

Quick as a wink, the crowd had dispersed, with the sullen veteran stalking towards the front door. With a nod to Chief Rake, Picket Longtreader-for it could be no one else-turned and walked towards the desk he had been assigned. As he walked away, I felt a strange tug at one corner of my mouth. It took a second for me to recognize it as the start of something I hadn’t done in a very long time: a grin.

“Penny for your thoughts, Black?”

Rake’s question drew my eye, and I quickly smoothed my features. From his raised eyebrow, however, I could tell he had seen my reaction. His eyes twinkled, and I felt a brief flash of annoyance that he could keep his face straight while still so obviously smiling. Managing to contain a sigh of resignation, I gave a nod. “Looks like you called it, Chief.

“I think I like him already.”