This is a redo of the rewritten chapter of my first detective novel for my fox detective Commander Alex Henderson, Blood and Breath. Enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE

Bexley Hall has had a very interesting history in the past, and it is a certainty that it will continues to have an interesting history in its walls; married coupled who were invited access to spend time there on their honeymoons; great lords and ladies that had decided to settle there for good; and there have been, as one would expect, memories of lovers, those who had trailed away from the main party or gathering events for a little private time to themselves, and making love in their dangerous privacy. The fact that they might be discovered added to the danger but it added to the excitement, too. Since then the place has become rather null and void; there is only one owner, a fox named Samedan Jorsanl, the only living descendant of the great Lord Voltán, adopted son of the famous heroes who took Bexley Hall after some frightening events and reconverted it to its original form and glory. Since those long departed days, the line of Voltán has kept and managed the land beyond the grounds of the Hall, keeping the people who live on the land well, properly housed and properly fed. Some have said that there is and never will be any family greater than the Voltán line.
Every October, usually on the 24th of the month, there is a ball. A get-together which marks the anniversary of the passing of the original owners; all three had died on the same day but many years apart from each other. Lord Ephraim, the godfather of the first owner, a fox named Jarad, had died on the 24th October, at least five years into their ownership, but the other two, Jarad and Staros, they had died together peacefully in their sleep at the ripe ages of one-hundred and fifty and one-hundred and forty-seven. The ball was one of the highlights of the year for the people of Aeln’Amar; almost everyone dreamed of being invited there. Some of them love to be part of it, but there is a selection of guests, all of them picked at random and many of them were good friends, and some of them relatives.
Among the invitations, held on the secretary’s desk, there was an envelope addressed to: Commander Alex and Terrance Henderson, 76 Carbonarra Road, Justlanton. When this envelope appears on Jonathan Dalgliesh’s desk, he hadn’t the premonition of anticipatory terror and evil to come. But before so, he letter was sent among the others and arrived on Wednesday, 14th October.

The letter came through the letter-box at nine-fifteen in the morning, and Commander Alex Henderson was confident in the knowledge that there would be nothing of interest among the correspondences. He sat down inside the kitchen at the table with his husband across from him. The kitchen was small and compact, but it was quite adequate enough to cook in. It had ceramic tiles above the stove, the entire kitchen was neatly arranged; much of the reason for that lay with the otter who sat at the large mahogany table, his strong build leaning over it to take the letters handed over to him. The table was sturdy, a little aged; Alex couldn’t remember when they bought it, it was probably a wedding present, most likely from his mother.
Running through the letters the fox sat down; the otter performed the same checks. Alex, with quick fluent movements of his paw, sliced through the envelopes with his claw. The fox looked through each of the letters, one-by-one; he said, “Nothing but circulars today. Unbelievable.”
The otter said with a sympathetic smile, “Oh, I’m sure there will be something.”
“Yes, I’m sure there will,” said Alex, taking the otter’s webbed paw in his and bringing it to his lips, kissing it gently.
“What else is there?” said the otter. Terrance was tall, young still. He had a round furry face and his eyes glittered like stars in the night. He was of strong build, and he looked quite large over the table, though the mahogany barrier didn’t do him much justice, he was of medium height. Alex said still holding the otter’s paw:
“Well there’s a few notices about the Timesly Square Garrotter, and a few about the cost of electricity; but overall, nothing of general interest, dear, but –” he then stopped abruptly. He looked at an envelope that seemed a little aged, maybe it was the type of paper, the manufacture. He didn’t think anything of it until he saw the crest on the front of it: a Wolf and Fox standing tall and proud in a coat of arms. “It’s from Bexley Hall.”
Terrance was immediately hooked with interest as soon as he heard the words. “From Bexley Hall?” he said.
“Yeah,” Alex sliced open the envelope ad read aloud what was written in a fair, flowing script, a gentleman’s handwriting.

Dear Commander Alex and Terrance Henderson,
It is my pleasant duty to invite you to Bexley Hall, at the will of Lord Samedan Jorsanl, to the anniversary ball on October 24th, in commemoration of the passing of Lords Ephraim, Staros and Jarad; the three who saved Aeln’Amar, as they are called. We would like you to join us at Bexley Hall and celebrate with us. There is a dinner, a small dance and then the ceremony at midnight as usual. If there are any other inquiries before the night, please place them in this envelope and back to us by return post.

Yours sincerely,
Jonathan Dalgliesh, secretary to Lord Samedan Jorsanl.

Alex’s astonishment was not nearly as great as that of Terrance’s. To be invited to Bexley Hall was everyone’s dream; and now, they had the opportunity to go. They could also be together a lot there. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Terrance said: “Oh can we go? Oh please, oh please can we go?”
Alex looked at the otter and smiled. He said: “of course we can go; who’d be crazy enough not to?”
Terrance’s eyes lit up, his smile widened and became brighter. “Yes, oh thank you sweetheart, you are the best!”
“I try,” said Alex; he smiled and held the otter close. “I would leap at any chance to be with you dear; work’s been rather boring lately.”
Terrance smiled. “I thought you loved working at the Yard.”
“I do, but I am deprived of your company every day.”
Terrance’s smiled widened. He laughed, “Well, when you get home I’ll make sure it’s a worthwhile time. Now, I think you ought to be going or you’ll be late for work.”
Alex looked at his watch. “Oh, bugger!” He shot up from his chair and ran to the door. He made futile efforts to attempt a fix of his tie, but Terrance came along and done it for him. He said:
“It’s all fingers and thumbs with you, isn’t it? There you go, right. I’ll be going to the shops and then to the bookstore. I’ll pick up something for you.”
“Right-o,” said Alex, “but none of that Fifty Shades crap.”
“Terrance chuckled. “All right, I won’t.” With a kiss, they parted company. Alex closed the door behind him after wishing his husband a good day; he walked down the paved path, passed the car, there would be no point in taking it today, his work wasn’t that far away and it would be extremely lazy of him to take it. He came to the little green gate and took one last look at the garden before he set off. Terrance and he had done a good job of the garden; there was a beautiful collection of roses, geraniums, azaleas, London’s Pride, and with a small collection of flowers that came from the wilds of the country. They were tisolthe, a flower that resembled snowdrops, but their fragrance was sweeter and more freshening. He smiled and from over the small fence which was covered with a small hedge, he placed a black paw to the cherry blossom tree. Autumn had hit them hard. Soon enough it would be time for the snows to come along, and an Aeln’Amar winter was a hard biting and quite often merciless. After a few moments of admiration, the fox smiled and started his way down Carbonarra Road. Once down the end of the street he turned into Clemmington Close and then passed Potter’s Lane. The final street he went through was Forester’s Street and then he would come across the Aeln’Amar Yard, the place in which he worked: police headquarters.
The Aeln’Amar Yard was a tall, glass and metal-work structure, like what a great deal of modern architecture was nowadays; it was built on twenty-two levels and Alex’s office was on the tenth. Not exactly in the middle as he had hoped when he was appointed the promotion of Commander, but it was good enough, he had a view of the city, and the office faced the west, so he could have a good view of the river nearby. That was one of the good things of having an office on a high level; the views of the city were amazing, plus, the Aeln’Amar Yard was out of the usual areas where the skyscrapers were: that was a blessing in itself. Alex walked in and said to the vixen receptionist, “Good morning, Julia.”
“Good morning, Commander,” was her reply. She wore a purpled blouse that blended well with her slender figure; however it made her breasts look abnormally larger. As Alex stepped into the lift, Julia’s voice was heard again, “Oh, Commander Henderson...?” but she was cut off as the doors closed him off to the world. Now, he would have to wait until he reached his office before he could ask what she wanted to tell him.
A few minutes in the lift was a rather dull and, somewhat, pungent experience. The smell of the thing was not very pleasant; so the fox did his best to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose, where the acrid smell of the mechanics with the mixture of many scents and the stale smell of sour sweat would overpower his senses. His ears swivelled this way and that like radar receptors, listening to the whirring and clank of the elevator gears.
Stops were made but finally Alex reached the floor he was meant to be at. Floor ten: he stepped out of the lift and made his way across the floor; good mornings were exchanged with his colleagues, badgers, roe deer, foxes, wolves, coyotes, tigers, lions and all manner of species. Each one would give the following replies: “Good morning, Commander”, “Hello old boy”, “Hey Alex” and “Bugger off, Alex”. He took each in his stride and he laughed. Coming first to the coffee and tea machine, he placed a tea-bag in his own special mug which Terrance got him as a promotion present, it read: To the world’s best husband, and he put the mug under the spout and pressed the button. The hot water made contact with the bag of crushed leaved and the mixture was made. Pouring milk in, he then made off with a rich-tea biscuit, a treat for the morning.
At his office, he opened the door ad found someone waiting inside. A lion, sitting in front of the great desk on the vinyl covered seats, waiting patiently. When Alex walked in the lion turned and faced the fox. A few moments passed before a smile came to the lion’s muzzle.
“Hello Alex,” he said. “It’s been too long.” He stood and extended his right arm and offered a large gold furred paw. The lion was somewhat taller than the fox but not as thin. He was gold furred ad his mane was an array of brown and gold fur, but streaks of grey could be seen coming through. His attire was very businesslike and professional. He wore a three-piece suit and over that a large dark overcoat. Alex took it with a smile, he said:
“Well I’ll be damned. Jonathan Dalgliesh! I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”
The lion smiled with a slight nod, he said, “As I said, too long.”
Alex laughed and pulled Dalgliesh in for a hug. “How have you been? I see you got a job as Lord Jorsanl’s secretary at Bexley Hall.”
“Oh,” said Dalgliesh with a slight blush, “the invitation came today?”
“Yeah it did,” said Alex. “That’s great! And thank you so much; you’ve made my husband one very happy otter.”
Dalgliesh chuckled. “Well, I’m glad I could help. Anyway, I think he is happy enough with you in the same bed as him.” Dalgliesh laughed a little louder.
“Dirty lion,” Alex said with a chuckle.
“It’s the truth. Anyway,” he said, “I’ve come for a reason. And, to tell you the truth, I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
Alex said, “Well please sit down.”
Dalgliesh nodded and sat back down again. Alex sat down behind his desk and said, “Now, what brings you here to the Yard?”
The lion took a deep breath and looked Alex dead in the eyes. Something was evidently worrying him. A paw went to the inside pocket of his coat and produced a bundle of envelopes tied with string. He said: “Lord Jorsanl has been receiving poison-pen letters. From whom I don’t know, nor, I think, does he; but they are saying very strange things. A few quotations from books and plays, other are proper threats.” He took a letter from the bundle and handed it to Alex. It was aged, like the paper he received on the invitation to Bexley Hall; opening it, he beheld a letter written in a typescript. It was a quotation from Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

Life is but a walking shadow,
A tale told by an idiot, full of
Sound and fury, yet signifying nothing...

Alex looked at it properly whilst putting on his reading glasses, he examined it closely. He looked at Dalgliesh and said: “Do any of the staff keep a typewriter?”
Dalgliesh said, “No, none of them, other than myself; Lord Jorsanl insists that I use a computer, but I refuse; I prefer a typewriter to anything else.”
“Is it possible that one of the servants could take the machine in the night ad type them?”
“No, we would hear it if they did.”
Alex looked down at the letter through his glasses. He thought, Is it possible that Jorsanl did this himself? He could have gotten to the machine and typed the letters when Jonathan wasn’t there. But why would he? What would there be to gain by doing it himself? The thought was gone from his mind. Handing the letter back to Dalgliesh he said: “Well, I am not sure what to think. Have they threatened him, and in what way have they done so?”
Dalgliesh said, “They’ve threatened to ‘spill the blood of the innocent’ if he doesn’t resign his post as lord. After all he has done for people too.”
“Have they accused him of anything?”
“They’ve accused him of being a liar, saying that he is not a member of the Voltán line. They’ve accused him of fraud.”
“And the person or persons involved are willing to commit murder if he doesn’t resign from office?”
Dalgliesh nodded.
Alex didn’t know what to say. Who in their right mind would be as so foolish enough and silly enough to commit this sort of thing? Surely it was all a spiteful joke?
“I thought it was a joke at first,” said Dalgliesh, as if he had divined his thoughts; “but I’m not so sure now.”
The fox looked at the lion. One essential question had to be asked, for it would shed light on the whole business. Alex said, “Look, Jonathan, I need to ask you something. Please don’t take this the wrong way. Are you and Jorsanl in a relationship?”
The lion, seeming unaffected by the question gave his answer. “No,” he said. “I am not in relationship with my employer.”
Alex said, “Well, what would you like me to do?”
Dalgliesh replied:
“I want – no, sorry – I would like you to look out for him when the anniversary ball takes place. Watch out for him. You’ve been invited to stay for the entire week after the ball. Lord Jorsanl thought it would be nice to have good company for the holidays. He admires your work: your first poems and music.”
Alex blushed. Oh God, he thought, not the first poems! Kill me now!
“He enjoys them a great deal,” Dalgliesh went on. “He was quite thrilled when he found out you were coming.”
Alex smiled, the blush going down. “I see. Well, it was nice seeing you again, Jonathan. I shall do as you ask, bear in mind, I will be with Terrance, I shall try my hardest to look out for him.”
Dalgliesh sighed. “Thank you, Alex, thank you.”
“Not a problem, my friend. Not a problem.” The pair of them exchanged handshakes and embraced again. Dalgliesh said before leaving:
“Give my love to Terrance, will you?”
“I will, he’d like that,” Alex said smiling.
With a smile the lion left, and Alex was left alone in his office, his cup of tea and rich-tea biscuit sitting by him on the great desk. He took the biscuit and dunked it in his tea and took a bite out it in a form of welcomed pleasure and contentment.

Alex came home to find Terrance in the living room. Opening and closing the door quietly, he snuck into the house and behind the otter. The otter neither heard nor noticed the fox creeping up behind him. Alex, now right behind the otter, holding his breath as to not give away the fact of his presence, snuck his arms underneath the otter’s and covered his eyes with the black paws.
Startled, Terrance laughed. “Let me guess, Alex Henderson?”
Laughing himself, Alex let his paws drop ad he looked at the otter and kissed him. “Hello honey,” he said, “how are you?”
Terrance kissed back and replied:
“I’m fine. Just reading that’s all, and waiting for my handsome fox to appear again.”
Alex looked at the book and smiled.
“Pendant of Fortune by Kyell Gold, sweet.”
Terrance chuckled. He stood and set the book down. He put his arms around the fox and kissed him again. “How was work?”
The fox replied: “Boring but an old friend said ‘hi’.”
“Oh, who?” said Terrance.
“Jonathan Dalgliesh.”
Terrance’s eyes lit up. “Oh Jonathan, how is he?”
“He’s fine, he sends his love. Like would like to now...”
“Terrance chuckled. “You want to take this otter?”
“Very much,” said Alex.
Terrance grinned suggestively, taking the fox’s paw and leading him up the stairs to their bedroom.

*

Both of them, after their session of love-making, held each other close. Alex leaned down and kissed Terrance gently. Smiles were exchanged and their eyes met.
“I love you,” said Alex, coming closer to the otter.
Terrance chuckled, he said: “I love you too, darling.”
Alex smiled down at him and shifted a little. He lay on his husband’s stomach with his ear to his chest, so he could hear the otter’s heartbeat, growing slower and steadier after their session. “Did you enjoy that?” the fox asked.
The otter nodded. “Mmmmm, I did. Did you?”
“I did,” Alex replied.
Chuckling, the otter held him close as they kissed again. Soon enough, Alex moved off of him and lay beside of him. Terrance snuggled in and put his head on the fox’s chest. He said, “So, what happened at work today?”
The fox smiled. “Not a lot,” he said, “just the usual nonsense; other than Jonathan appearing in my office when I got there, nothing.”
“What was he doing at the Yard?”
Alex thought: Don’t tell him about the letters, that is confidential business.
But he’s bound to find out at some point or other, the other part of his mind said.
Alex merely said instead, “Oh he was just saying hello. He gives his love. To tell you the truth I was surprised to see him.”
“Well, no doubt we will see him at the ball.”
“Yeah, no doubt about that,” the fox said.
He also thought: And no doubt Jonathan will want me to talk with Jorsanl. I know for a fact he will. The thought was not brought forward with irritation nor was it brought with delight.
He pushed the thoughts out of his head and they talked about Terrance’s day.
“Well,” said the otter. “I came to the shops and the lettuce and salmon are on a special offer; I’ve never known pink salmon to be on at such a low price. But that’s the good thing. So I’ve bought a few for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” said Alex. What could possibly be happening tomorrow?
“Yeah, it’s your day off tomorrow.”
Of course! Alex exclaimed inside his head. It’s Thursday tomorrow, your day off. Utter idiot.
“Yeah, I thought you and I could have a picnic tomorrow. I was also in Bodley’s,” said Terrance.
“Oh, is that where you got Pendant of Fortune?”
“Yeah, I got two more Kyell Golds, Green Fairy and Volle, and I got you a Daphne du Maurier.”
“Oh, which one?” said Alex, his curiosity now piqued since his husband knew he was a fan.
“Frenchman’s Creek.”
Alex made a sound that was a mixture of surprise and gratitude. He’d never read Frenchman’s Creek though he wanted to for a long time.
“If you don’t mind,” said Terrance with a yawn, “I think I’ll sleep for now.”
“Of course,” said Alex. “Good night baby.” He kissed the otter who giggled as he did so. Soon after, they were both sound asleep.

Next morning, the sun was shining brightly. Alex was still in bed when he felt the sting of light in his eyes. Every time that happened he felt that he was blinded. He turned to block the sun from his view; and at that moment, he was facing the otter that lay beside him, still asleep. His face was gentle and seemed to have a slight smile as he slept. The smile was getting wider and wider, the otter must have been having one of those early morning dreams; Alex had them too, but they were more or less the type that made the fox excited.
Alex brought a paw to the otter’s cheek and gently stroked. A small wince came from his cheek and his eyes began to open slightly, their deep blue always amazed him. It was one of the many things that Alex was thankful for in life now: being able to see those beautiful eyes again in the morning. They were the calming stimulus of Alex’s life, the only thing that he found truly calming, better than any book or music in the world; only Terrance’s eyes were the most peaceful thing in the fox’s life.
Reminding him of the day they first met in high school, Alex smiled.
He said, “Good morning, sweetheart.”
The otter smiled back. His tail was, as Alex saw, wagging under the covers of the bed. “Good morning,” said the otter with a yawn. “Did you sleep well?”
The fox said:
“I did; I was dreaming of you.”
Terrance giggled. “Oh, and what was I doing?”
Alex smiled, he whispered in the otter’s ear. His reaction to what the fox was whispering was a mixture of shock, laughter and naughty thinking. “Oh was I now?” the otter said.
“Oh yes you were,” Alex replied.
“Perhaps I can do so for you after our picnic.”
“Yeah,” Alex said with a grin, “maybe.”
Getting up from the bed, the pair of them made for the bathroom. It was a small en-suite with a large bathtub, a shower across from the tub and opposite that, the sink stood. Above it a small circular mirror hung, and on the sink, in a holder, were two toothbrushes, one blue the other purple. The floor was tiled and clean; the blue walls were deep and sea-like, and by the bathtub, a rail with a pair of white towels hung. Alex leaned over the bathtub and turned the taps on. Waiting for the water to run, he bought his husband over and settled him on his knee. They both watched the tub fill and they smiled together, and Alex had the satisfaction of kissing the otter’s neck gently, enjoying their intimate time together. Once the bath was sufficiently full enough for a proper bathing, Alex turned off the taps and let Terrance in first. Waiting at the side, standing there, watching his beautiful, handsome husband lay there in the warm swirl of water. His eyes closed, and then he submerged himself. For a few moments, Alex waited, a brief moment of concern was coming over him but then the otter rose again. He took a deep breath of air and washed his fur. Alex’s tension was relieved and he watched again with a smile. For a little while, he stood there, with his back against the wall but soon after he walked forward and put his paw on the otter’s head and ran it through the thick set hair on his head. He smiled. “Enjoying the water?” he said.
He heard the otter chuckle: “I am,” he took the fox’s black paw in his own webbed one and brought it to his lips. He kissed it softly, smiling as he looked up at Alex.
The fox said:
“So, where did you think of going for this picnic?”
“Well,” said Terrance, “I was thinking we could go to Straub Valley.”
Alex thought for a moment, he then smiled and nodded. “Yes, I think that would be really nice. I haven’t been to Straub Valley in years.”
“Didn’t you not go there with your mother, once before,” said Terrance.
Alex did not answer. He looked at the otter, but he wasn’t him he was concentrating on. Flashes of memory were coming before his eyes. For a moment, the fox tensed, his tail bristled slightly. He could hear the sounds of the brawl so clearly as if it was happening in front of him.
The otter patted his paw and took hold of it. He said:
“Sweetheart, are you all right?”
He fox was brought out of momentary memory cycle and he shook his head like one startled from a dream. “H’mmm? what’s that?” he said. “What is it?”
Terrance looked up at the fox and his eyes were full of an obvious concern. The otter said, “Are you all right? You just went blank there.” Suddenly, he broke off for a moment in thought. A sudden light broke on him. “Oh God,” he said. “Oh God, I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” said Alex. “It’s all right. You don’t need to apologise.”
After a moment of silence, the otter rose out of the bath and wrapped a towel round his waist. He came to Alex and put his arms round him gently. With a soft kiss on the fox’s cheek, the otter left the bathroom back into the bedroom to go and change.
Damn, Alex thought. He then slipped into the hot water and cleaned himself thoroughly.

Alex, once he was sufficiently clean, followed the otter shortly afterwards. When the fox walked back into the bedroom, he found Terrance sitting on the bed, his towel still about his waist, and his head in his webbed paws. He was muttering something, something which sounded like curses. “Goddamn you, Terrance Henderson. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Hey,” said Alex as soon as he saw him. The otter lifted his head and stood slowly. The fox said, approaching him, “Look, there is nothing you have to be sorry for. It was a long time ago, plus, it wasn’t even your fault.”
“Nor was it yours.”
The fox said no more but brought Terrance into an embrace.
When both of them were dressed, they went down the stairs and made everything ready for their picnic. Terrace had already made preparations for their little outing: there were several sandwiches with varies types of fillings, tuna; chicken; ham; and cheese; there was also a flask of tea prepared that morning, a second flask for soup and, to Alex’s surprise, Terrance had made several cupcakes. This was one of Terrance’s special talents: baking. His cakes were famous at parties, whenever friends needed cakes for special occasions they always went to Terrance. His best cakes were his cupcakes and his chocolate and vanilla swirl cake. His swirl cake was most famous amongst most party-goers. If the customers were friends then they would get an order for free, but for others it was usually charged. Once, Alex suggested that he should start a small business, but Terrance always refused.
Once all the things were packed and ready, they brought the essentials, in a small picnic box, to the car and placed it in the back seat. The fox and the otter got into the car and then drove off from the city into the country.

Driving to the Straub Valley didn’t take very long. It lay, at least, fifty to sixty-five miles from Justlanton; but when they got there, Terrance out down the book he brought to look at the scenery of the Valley. It was a vast green country, the trees were everywhere and the grass plains ran the entire length of the valley. The plains were cut right down the very middle due to a small river snaking its way through the Valley; the river then emptied into a great lake and there little boats could be seen vaguely. Not far away from the spot where they had stopped there was a bridge, stone made and old, and over that bridge, there would be the little road to the car park.
“Come on,” said Alex, “let’s get to the Hill.”
Terrance nodded; he seemed to loath leaving the spot where they had stopped, he seemed almost riveted to the spot, looking at the scenery of the Straub Valley.
Driving along the road, they came over the little stone bridge and after another few minutes they came to the car park. Once they were parked, they took the picnic box up the little dirt road through a patch of forest and coming out of the belt of trees, they came to the foot of the Hill where the Old Oak stood.
Walking up the Hill, they came to the foot of the Old Oak. It was a massive thing, a tree that had, so the stories had said, lasted thousands of years. First planted by the Shaman of the West, so the children’s tale said; the tree reached up like a great wooden tower and the branches stuck out like the arms of a proclaiming figure on the top of the Hill, offering his very being to the skies. Once they reached the foot of the Oak, Terrance was panting quite a bit. Alex turned to look at the otter, smiled and said: “You all right, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Terrance said. “I’m just not as fit as I used to be.”
“I can see that,” said Alex, laughing.
The fox and the otter sat at the very base of the Oak’s trunk and from there they could look out over the entire Valley. It was quite quiet there, even for a Thursday. But that was as good as it could be. They were together, and that was good enough.
After a little talking and taking in the scenery they decided to begin feasting on the sandwiches and cakes. Whilst they dined, Terrance said:
“So, what’s going to happen at the ball at Bexley Hall?”
Alex said, “Well, there will be a dinner, a karaoke, a few poetry readings (which I am dreading by the way), and obviously the ball, and at midnight there will be the ceremony to celebrate the three original owners’ deaths. It’s weird, how they all died.”
“Why,” said Terrance, “were they all murdered?”
“No,” the fox chuckled, “they all died of natural causes; well, two of them did. The first one to die was Lord Ephraim, Lord Jarad’s godfather. He died when he was walking in the garden. Apparently he went out for his afternoon stroll and he didn’t come back. Lord Voltán, only a cub at the time, was meant to be going on a little trip with him to the zoo, but when Ephraim didn’t come back, that was when Lords Jarad and Staros were beginning to worry. Ephraim was never known to be late or forgetful. He just didn’t show up. Then Jarad went out to look for him. He wasn’t at the place where he usually went which was the little waterfall feature they had at the very bottom of the garden. He went looking elsewhere, asking the servants if they had seen him. But it was at the waterfall feature again that he found him: at the bottom of the cliff. Jarad had noticed that there was a big chunk of the cliff edge missing and when he looked down, there he was: the Last Human of Aeln’Amar, lying among the dirt and boulders, a broken body but, miraculously, still alive. Jarad shouted for help and help came soon after he had climbed down to the bottom. When he did, Staros appeared and he had Voltán taken away. Staros joined Jarad at the bottom and the fox was holding the human in his arms and the boy said, ‘Jarad, keep Staros safe...’ He then just died in Jarad’s arms.”
“What about the others?”
“The others died peacefully in their sleep; both on the same night, at the ripe ages of ninety-seven and ninety-four. Jarad was ninety-four and Staros was ninety-seven.”
“Wow, and the house has been going down the Voltán line all that time?”
“Yes, but the bloodline isn’t really called the Voltán line. Voltán was the adopted son’s first name. His full name was Voltán Pilarae, and he inherited the house when the others died and when Voltán died, his successor inherited that too. But there have been lots of things involving the line; some were gay and adopted children so a lot of them are not really Pilaraes.”
“But the family have just said that they have come from the Voltán line?”
“Yeah, but a lot of them are from the line, not a lot of them were gay, and some of them had taken wives but they had male mistresses, if you know what I mean,” said Alex.
Terrance nodded with a smile and a chuckle. After a moment, the otter spoke again. “Oh, wait a minute, didn’t Nava Mallornton not write something about this; the story of the Three who saved Aeln’Amar? What was it called?”
After a while, Alex answered: “The Tale of the Ailë was it not?”
“That’s it!” cried Terrance. “I’ll have to dig out and re-read our copy. Nava gave us a signed one when it came out.”
“He did indeed.”
“And that was awfully nice of him.”

The week had passed quickly, and on the morning of the 24th October, the pair of them prepared to travel to the famous Bexley Hall in the country. Terrance had prepared snacks for the journey and had brought his copies of both Hardy’s poems and Ian Fleming’s Dr. No; nothing like a good novel to keep the spirits up, Terrance always said.
“How long would it take to get to Bexley Hall?” the otter asked.
“Couldn’t be more than an hour and three quarters,” Alex replied.
Getting packed was a bit of a bother though. They had prepared tuxedoes and their best clothes, but the suitcases in which they took them in were rather outgrown. Newer ones needed, Alex noted. Taking the suitcases to the car and putting them in the back seats, Terrance stood by the car and waited for his husband, and when the fox appeared at the front door, he locked it and came to the driver’s side and got in. Terrance joined him and the usual preliminaries were exchanged. “Is everything locked? Back door and all,” said Terrance.
“Yep,” said Alex, “everything is locked.”
“Good and the timers on the lights?”
“All done, I done that last night,” Alex said.
Terrance sighed and smiled. “Right-o,” he said. “Let’s get going.”
The fox then turned the key in the ignition and they were off. Once they started, they had to stop at a set of traffic lights, and to their irritation, there was a jam in the main road, and so it took a while to really get out of the city. Passing one street they noticed two friends and pulled over to speak to them, two wolves, on old and grey, the other young and completely white, except from an ash-grey patch on his left eye.
“Morning, Nava. Morning, Ash,” said Terrance.
The two wolves turned and with smiles, said their good mornings back. The old wolf said, “And where is it you are going on this fine morning?”
“We’re off to Bexley Hall for the ball,” said Alex.
“Oh!” said the old wolf. “Goodness gracious, to Bexley Hall! I remember when I was invited there. It’s a beautiful place. The present Lord of the House is very kind. I remember when he was a lad, actually. But I mustn’t delay you, you must be anxious to get on your way.”
“Thanks, Nava. And how are you, Ash?” said Alex, turning to the young white wolf.
“I am fine, thank you Commander Henderson,” he said.
“Ash, you’ve got to lose the ‘Commander Henderson’ thing. It’s Alex.”
“Okay,” he said with a smile.
“Well,” said Nava, “come along. We had better get to Mrs. Kildart, she’ll be wondering what has happened to us if we don’t pay our usual visit.”
The white wolf nodded and seemed to dread the prospect of being in this mentioned woman’s presence. Alex smiled; both parties said their goodbyes and they proceeded through the city and soon enough they came to the outskirts and then, with Justlanton now behind them, they could enjoy the country drive to Bexley Hall and soon enough, they would be prepared for the ball and then the proceedings would begin.
Throughout the drive, which really didn’t take that long, Alex was telling Terrance about the house and the times that he was there with his own family. Alex, who had a rather well known family, spent a few summers at Bexley Hall when his father was needed, since he was one of the magistrates of the county in which Bexley Hall was placed and that made it a rather pleasant turn of events when they were called, and sometimes they were invited to stay at the house with the Lord who was, at the time, in residence. Those little visits were one of the best memories Alex ever had, and since his boyhood, he sometimes thought about those long hallways; the rooms which were elaborately but not over-furnished; the paintings on the oak walls, some of them famous painters like Van Dyke, and some of them lesser known; and the best place in all the house was its library. Books mounted upon books. Books on every subject ever thought of; the Pilaraes were believed to be extensive readers and that was one of their many specialties and, at one time, became a virtue for the family if they ever had daughters.
Terrance, absorbed by the talk, whilst still reading his copy of Dr. No, asked questions about the place. Alex, then, had come to mention the elaborate garden which was there. Terrance was then immediately stupefied by the mention of the garden.
“How big is it?” asked Terrance?
“Oh, a few acres, I would imagine. You do know that Bexley Hall is still famous for its gardens? They usually hold some sort of flower show in mid-summer. I did tell you about that, but I don’t know if you remember.”
“No, I do,” said Terrance. “We were going to go, but that was when my mother died.”
“But she died two years ago.”
“I know; you just never brought the subject of Bexley Hall up, and I didn’t want to think about it.”
“Grief was still too near to you.”
Terrance did not answer. He merely looked out of the window on his side. The hills were tall and covered in great forests; plains with sheep and their shepherds were passed, and some of the lakes and rivers passed had an odd boat or two in them. Once, Alex stopped and said to a racoon in one of the boats: “You’ll not be catching anything in there, mate! This river dried up of fish years ago.”
Much to the disappointment of the racoon, he asked what would be the best place to fish. Alex said, “Lake Webster, about forty miles down the road.”
The racoon thanked him and they were off again.
After the said hour and three quarters they arrived at a set of great wrought-iron gates. Upon the brick stands, there was the plague of golden metal and with engraved letters read the name: BEXLEY HALL
They had arrived.
The lodge-keeper on the other side came to the gate. He was an old coyote, his fur greying and his clothes worn and streaked with dirt both fresh and dried. He wore a jumper against the cold, and a tartan beret which hung loosely to his left side, almost covering his eye, his chequered trousers were strewn with dirt and the patterns were fading. One of his eyes seemed cloudy, as if he was blind in one eye. He said in a raspy tone: “Can I help you sirs?”
“Yes, can you let us in? We are guests for the anniversary ball,” said Terrance.
The coyote straightened and smiled brightly, his canines were long and somewhat squint. His dentistry was, it appeared, poor. “Why of course,” he said. “If you just give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I’ll get the gate open. It’s electronic now, not like it was when I was young. We had to do it ourselves then.”
“Yes, it’s all technology nowadays,” said Alex. “It’s not as simple as it used to be.”
“Nope, it ain’t. Even doors have to be electronic now. Even beds have to be electronic now! Do you have one of them?”
“No,” said Terrance, “we don’t.”
The lodge-keeper said, in a somewhat thankful way, “Good, I wouldn’t advise it. Get something like that in your house, you’re asking to be murdered in your sleep.”
The lodge-keeper then laughed and Alex and Terrance reluctantly joined in. With the flick of a switch and the sound of a buzzer, the gates slowly swung open by themselves. The car passed through them and they thanked the lodge-keeper, and by their own kind hearts, they paid the lodge-keeper a small amount. He went off back to his work, whistling some nameless tune of his own.
The car came along the long gravel driveway and before them stood Bexley Hall. It was a great stone building with many windows. Its roof was impressive, dark and turreted. Made by one of the greatest architects of the house’s age, it remained one of the greatest estates in Aeln’Amar. The stones were grey and the house seemed rather like a setting for a horror novel or detective story. The dark house with a close circle of suspects, Terrance noted with a cheerful prospect. Surely nothing like it would ever occur, but what he didn’t know was that this gathering was one of the main events to set forth in motion the coming events, the gathering of all the players, the staged preliminary to murder.
When the car came to a halt at the front door, they had already seen that a number of the guests had already arrived. In one of the reserved spots was a old bottle-nosed Morris, a blue one. Terrance pointed to it and said: “Surely that’s a British car.”
“It is,” said Alex.
“I like it; I wouldn’t mind driving one of them myself.”
“If you could bloody well drive, dear,” said Alex with a laugh.
The pair of them smiled and Alex kissed the otter. They got out of the car as soon as it was parked and coming to meet them was a somewhat stereotypical figure. It was a Saint Bernard in a 1920s butler’s uniform. He was tall and rather plump. His jowl sagged a great deal giving his face the constant impression of great tiredness. On sight of him, Terrance almost burst out laughing. Good God! he thought, it’s really a relic of a place, even the butler looks like he’s from an Agatha Christie! Oh what was that one I read only last week? Oh yes, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. I wonder what this one has to hide from Hercule Poirot. He added the last part with a Belgian impersonation. When the Saint Bernard finally came to the car, he spoke in a voice of high elocution and very British in its accents.
“Good morning, sirs. My name is Barson, I am the head of staff here at Bexley Hall and I shall tend to each and every one of the guests for the week to follow.”
“Goodness,” said Alex; “is that really you, Barson?”
“It is, sir. May I enquire, have we met at all?”
“We certainly have!” cried Alex in delight. “I used to come here when Lord Schraider was in residence. My father was the magistrate of the county and he helped the late Lord Schraider with his accounts and anything that happened here at the Hall. He used to bring me here all the time when we were invited.”
“What was your father’s name sir, if I may be as so bold to ask?”
“Henderson.”
Barson then looked at Alex with recognition, and then the light, so it seemed, clicked. “Good grief!” the Saint Bernard cried. “Can it really be Master Alex?”
“It most certainly is.” Alex then embraced the old fellow and they laughed a while.
“Goodness,” Barson said, “I remember when you were a lad, always going about the grounds and sitting by the waterfall feature. And there was that one incident, wasn’t there?”
Terrance’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Incident,” he said, “how? What happened?”
Barson said, “When Master Alex, or should I say Commander Henderson, yes I’ve heard a lot about your job now, and how you caught that villain by the fields - near Pethwick wasn’t it? – and how has came to justice; oh, now where was I? oh yes of course, when Master Alex was five years old, he was teetering on my garden wall, when I had to look after him, and my wife and I were gardening, seen as it was my time off duty, then I wasn’t the head of staff nor was I butler, but he was teetering over the wall shouting: ‘I’m the Dark Avenger! I’m dicing with death!’ Then he fell from the wall and then as soon as that he landed on the paving stones and he broke his arm. But Master Alex here, fearing that my wife and I would get into trouble, said that he tripped over our wheel-barrow.”
“Did that really happen, Alex?” said Terrance, turning to his husband who was sustaining quite a blush.
“Yes it did.”
Terrance tried his hardest not to giggle at the thoughts of his husband when young, going along the top of a wall, shouting “I’m the Dark Avenger!” Oh sweetheart, he thought, what are you like?
The pair of them got into the house and carried their luggage inside. At the door which was slightly ajar, the Saint Bernard opened it in full to let them in. “Here you go,” he said. “Just leave your luggage here in the lobby sirs; I shall ring for staff to take them to your rooms.”
“Oh no,” said Terrance, “it’s all right; we can manage them, honestly.”
“No, please sir. We shall take care of everything,” said Barson with a smile.
The lobby was a grand place, a great place with several doors and tables with ornaments and memorabilia on them. From one of the many doors there came the sound of a typewriter; the familiar clacking sound of the keys smacking the paper, the sound of the soft but high-pitched ting! of the bell. Alex had flicked an ear to one of the rooms and walked slowly to where it came from. When he found where the sound was coming from he knocked on the door, grumble came from the inside. “For goodness sake, Dylan if that is you, I swear to God I will skin your arse!” The door opened and Jonathan Dalgliesh stood in front of the fox. His expression went from irritation to surprise when he saw Alex. “Good God,” he said. “Alex, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Don’t worry, that was my fault, I thought I heard a typewriter.”
“Yes, sorry that was me. I am writing a letter to one of the locals who had sent a letter of complaint to Lord Jorsanl about a tree coming through from a neighbour’s garden, and he wants Lord Jorsanl to help rectify the matter.”
“Surely that’s a job for the local constabulary,” said Alex.
“You would think, wouldn’t you?” said Dalgliesh. He then looked to Terrance and his muzzle beamed with a smile. “Terrance, how are you? I haven’t seen you in years.”
The otter came over and embraced the lion and gave him a small kiss on the cheek at which Dalgliesh blushed. “Oh thank you, Terrance. Very sweet of you,” he said.
“Not at all,” the otter said. “How are you?”
“I am fine, a secretary for Lord Jorsanl and, I am afraid to admit, extremely busy.”
“Oh sorry,” said Alex, “do you want us to leave you alone? We can come back later.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. In fact, I am nearly finished this letter, so just let me finish it and I have to take it to Lord Jorsanl, and when I do you can come with me and meet him yourself.”
“Are you sure we won’t be a bother?” said Terrance.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, I can handle anything that fox can dish out to me.”
“Well, okay,” said Alex, rather reluctantly. It seemed a mighty risk to take them to see his employer like that. But it would be nice to meet the fox responsible for the invitation that made one couple very happy. Dalgliesh went back inside the study, and there the fox and the otter could see him typing on an old machine. The sound of the clacking came again, a staccato rhythm of typing, which Dalgliesh had become famous for; the sound of the keys impacting the paper and the ting! at the end of a line.
Suddenly the sound of the paper being taken out of the roller came to their ears and then the carriage return lever was pushed and the carriage centred, as was Dalgliesh’s, rather unnecessary, custom. He stood from the desk that was situated by the window which looked out a vast space of the garden and came to the doorway with a smile on his face. “Come along then,” he said. Leading them across the lobby, he came to the farthest door and there he knocked. “Sir, it’s Dalgliesh. I’ve got that letter for you to look at.”
A voice came from behind the closed door, it was a gentle voice and with a cheerful note, it said, “Ah, thank you Jonathan. Could you bring it in?”
“Yes, sir,” the lion replied and he opened the door and motioned for the others to follow.
Inside was a great wall of books: Bexley Hall’s famous library. It was a great room with stacks and stacks of books, all of them either leather-bound, or normal hardcover or paperback edition. There was an extensive selection of many authors. There would be too many to list here, but the library had been famous for its great selection.
Sitting in a chair by the great French window was a fox. He was dressed in a black tunic and his trousers were dark too. He had just set down a book on the table beside him, P. D. James’ A Mind to Murder. He was looking at the little party who had entered and he was smiling. “Oh,” he said, “I see we have more visitors. You must be Commander Alex and Terrance Henderson. Good Lord, to think I would have such distinguished guests in my own home for such a special occasion.”
“It was an honour that you should have invited us,” said Alex. “When my husband saw the letter he was thrilled. He has always wanted to see this place.”
The fox smiled. “Has he now?”
Terrance blushed. “Yes sir,” he said. “I have. I have always dreamed of coming here to the Hall, and now that I’m here – oh, my God.”
The fox laughed. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet an otter with such a brilliant taste. I am Samedan Jorsanl.” He held out his paw and Terrance took it shakily.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, now that has to be the last of ‘sir’, I’m afraid,” Jorsanl said. “You can call me either Samedan or Jorsanl. You choose.”
“Oh, I think I’ll just call you Samedan, if that is all right.”
“Of course it is,” Jorsanl said with a beaming smile. He stood from his seat now and he held out his paw to Dalgliesh who then handed him the letter. He took out a pair of pinz-nez and placed them on his muzzle and read the letter freshly typed from Dalgliesh’s typewriter. After a few seconds, grumbling sounds were made, judging if the typing was efficient and if the wording was fully approved. He turned his head to face Dalgliesh and took off the pinz-nez and said, placing them back in one of his pockets, “That’s brilliant, Jonathan. That’s perfect. Thank you. What would I do without you?”
Dalgliesh didn’t answer, he merely smiled.
He left the company and they were alone in the library.
Alex said, noticing the book on the table. “I see you are a fan of P. D. James.”
“Yes, I am. I love her work. Such amazing stories; I can’t believe that I have someone with the same name as her detective in my house. In fact I have someone of the same rank and another of the same name.”
Alex smiled and shook his head modestly. “Trust me; I couldn’t compete with Commander Adam Dalgliesh. And Jonathan hasn’t the temperament of such a detective. He’s a gentle soul, he really is.”
Jorsanl said, “Oh indeed he is, and he is a brilliant secretary and a very good friend to me.”
Alex smiled. He turned his head and noticed that Terrance had strayed a little way and was browsing the bookshelves. There was quite a collection on the shelf he was looking at. A first copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, all three volumes, as well as all the three volumes of the Jane Austen novels, the most prominent of them all the Pride and Prejudice volumes. A first edition of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a collection of the Daphne du Maurier novels, a large volume of The Count of Monte Cristo, a copy of the complete tales of Edgar Allan Poe, Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, a few contemporary writers that came from Justlanton, too, occupied spaces on Jorsanl’s shelves; Nava T. Mallornton’s novels were there too. The Tale of the Ailë, Ironclad Alibi, She Died Young, Out Brief Candle, and the list went on.
Alex came up behind the otter that had then turned and with a startled expression, gasped and put a webbed paw to his muzzle.
“For God’s sake, Alex, don’t do that!”
Jorsanl couldn’t help but chuckle a little.
Alex held the otter close and then, turning to Jorsanl, said: “You wouldn’t mind if we take a walk in the garden before anything happens, do you?”
“Of course not,” said Jorsanl with a smile. “Go anywhere you like in this house. Just be wary of the guests. You never know, there might be a ghastly murder under this very roof. You know what this place is like: the big dark mysterious house, then...boo!” Alex and Terrance jumped slightly, “the sudden and violent death. But thank God we have a first rate detective in the house.”
Alex smiled slightly and they walked out, wishing Jorsanl a good day and that they would see him later on tonight.

Outside in the garden was a delight. The place was vast and green and had many flowers of which the house was famous for. No wonder it held a flower show every mid-summer. Terrance and Alex walked along the paths and they looked at all the flowers there.
There were a number of statues about the garden and they all were slender female figure, a few vixens, a wolf and an otter, but there was one in the centre of the garden which struck them both. It was a large statue of a wolf, a fox and a human. These were the Three who saved Aeln’Amar. It was a tall statue, at the sides and curled about the toes of the figures, there was a form of flower that was blooming, an orange thing, bright and beautiful. One the base of the stature on which the stone figures stood, there read an engraving: The Three who Saved Aeln’Amar – in their memory, a small dedication to their indomitable spirit, for without them, we would not have our sunrises or sunsets, or the harvests in the fields, for they are the Three who saved us, and we shall forever be in their debt.
To their endurance, their fidelity, their courage, and their kindness, a memorial, erected by the Royal Permission of His Majesty King Palaron.
Terrance and Alex stood there reading the plaque for a moment and they looked up at the figures. The human was resting his head on the shoulder of the fox, he was smiling. The fox, too, was smiling, and the wolf behind them both was smiling. Everything seemed happy. Gaiety seemed endless then, but nowadays it was nothing like that. Terrance had a tear running down his cheek. Alex turned to see and he said, his arm around his shoulders in concern, “Are you all right, darling?”
“I’m fine,” said Terrance, wiping away the tear. “I was just thinking: they look so happy here and yet their story is tragic in the end. They lose their best friend five years into their ownership, and this friend was the glue that kept them together and taught them to have faith.”
Alex smiled slightly, but it was a melancholy smile, he said: “I know. It must have been terrible for them.”