Title: The Case of the Speckled Box (Part 1)

Author: Pompey

Universe: Great Mouse Detective - bookverse

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: accurate medical ickiness and anachronistic chemicals

Word count: 1948

Summary: Basil and Dawson investigate some unexplained rodent deaths – to Dawson's detriment.

Prompt: July 3 – cardboard box

A/N: see at the end to avoid spoilers

I tried not to pace as I waited for Basil to appear. It might disrupt some clue only his sharp eyes would catch. Nevertheless, I could not stop my tail for twitching now and again from fear, anger, and grief. I was no stranger to death – a mouse's life is fraught with danger – but I had never seen death like this, and within London at that. I glanced at the paws I had scrubbed no fewer than three times. They looked as raw as I felt.

At long last Basil burst into the bankvole home. "I came as soon as I received your telegraph – " Then he broke off and stared at me, then at the six gore-covered corpses in the room. "Great Pan, Dawson!"

I nodded grimly. "I found the gentlevole on the street nearly dead. By the time I had brought him back here, his wife and kits were already dead. He followed only a few minutes later."

"Did he say what attacked them?" Basil demanded, peering about the room.

I shook my head. "No, he only begged me to help his family. Basil," I added to force him to stop his investigation and focus on my next words, "they were not attacked. Not by any large predator, anyway."

My friend stared at me. "But the blood!"

"They all died of hemorrhage, yes, but Basil, look here." We crouched next to the head of the deceased gentlevole. "You see where the blood is coming from: eyes, ears, nose, even his gums! Yet there isn't a wound to be seen on him. Not on any of them! Not so much as a scratch!" I realized my voice had risen to a shout and I hastily reined in my emotions.

Basil silently touched my shoulder. I tried not to flinch. It was not so long ago that my skin had been utterly painted with the blood of the dead; I could not bear to be touched so soon. "That is the worst of it, Basil – I haven't any idea what might have caused this."

"No external wounds," my friend muttered as if to himself.

"None," I replied regardless. "But I can't imagine what could have inflicted internal wounds severe enough to cause bleeding like this, and to all part of their bodies so that every orifice should bleed."

Basil rose and his eyes took on a distant look. "Dawson," he said slowly, "are there not some snakes whose venom can cause uncontrolled bleeding?"

"There are, but a snake would have left puncture marks. And a snake . . ." I hesitated, searching for a delicate way to phrase my next thought, "would not have left their bodies afterward."

"Naturally, Dawson, but you miss my point. There are animals in the world whose bite contains naturally occurring chemicals that could induce hemorrhage. Snakes are but one example. There are also leeches, mosquitoes, spiders. "

"But all the animals you mention would have left visible bite marks."

"Not if were only the venom or saliva that these poor bankvoles came into contact with, rather than the entire animal."

I froze and stared at him in horror. "You mean that somebeast deliberately did this to them? Who? And why?"

"I believe the most immediate question is 'how?' and to answer that, we must make a full search of this domicile. I shall start with this corner, Dawson, if you would be so kind as to take the opposite corner."

I was faintly pleased that Basil trusted my own skills in observation, even if it were no more than a ploy to distract me from the tragedy we were investigating. Unfortunately, I could find nothing of significance. The household was small and impoverished but well cared for. There were no gaping holes in the walls or ceiling, no suspicious dust or ash upon the floor, and though the larder contained a variety of seed I was not familiar with, careful sniffing and an even more cautious nibble did not reveal anything dangerous.

"Hmmm," Basil said behind me, carefully extracting something tiny, fibrous, and blood-stained from between the teeth of the male bankvole. "It is difficult to tell through the stains, but I believe this is a piece of red and blue speckled cardboard. Curious."

"Not so very curious," I replied. "Shredded paper products make for comfortable and economical bedding." I gestured towards what was clearly their beds, lined with the same.

"But Dawson, do you see anything in this room that is speckled red and blue?"

I confessed that I did not. "Is it pertinent to this case, do you think?"

"I cannot say, but I am reluctant to discount anything at this point. Let us return to Baker Street, dear fellow, and allow the coroner to do his work for these poor creatures."

To our surprise, there was a client waiting for us in our sitting room, a dormouse named Mrs. Julia Hopewell. She had come to us to beg our help in determining what had killed her brother, Roy Stone.

"The police say that with so much blood coming from him, he must have been climbing one of the outside walls and fell to his death when he lost his footing. But that is nonsense! He was terribly afraid of heights; he wouldn't have dreamed of climbing up anything to the point where falling would have killed him. So I demanded an autopsy, and wouldn't you know, sir, even though his belly was full of blood there wasn't a single broken bone! How could he have died from a fall without breaking a single bone? I ask you!"

Basil and I exchanged glances. "Mrs. Hopewell," he said carefully, "was your brother's cause of death hemorrhage?"

"He was found bleeding something fierce, if that is what you mean."

"Did your brother reside anywhere near Melcombe Street?"

The lady put a paw to her throat in surprise. "He did, Mr. Basil, but however did you know?"

"Because a similar fate has befallen others who lived on that street. That is why it is imperative you tell me all you can regarding your brother. Leave nothing out, no matter how insignificant it may seem to you."

"I scarcely know where to begin, Mr. Basil," Mrs. Hopewell faltered. "My brother and I were not especially close and he was – well, not to speak ill of the dead, but he was such a miserly skinflint he would not even have a housekeeper, not even I. He had no wife either. He said he could tend to his own affairs in a manner that satisfied him and without the extra expense of a servant. I could not say what he might have gotten up to that caused him to die in such a way."

"Did you have a key to his home?"

"I do, sir. Do you wish to examine it? His home, I mean."

Basil looked deadly serious. "I do, madam. With luck, I shall not only discover what killed your brother and a family of bankvoles, but prevent further deaths."

.

The late Mr. Stone's residence was reasonably clean for a bachelor establishment and utterly free of any homey accoutrements that would have personalized it. Search though I might, I could find nothing untoward or unusual.

"What do you make of this, Dawson?" Basil asked me from the larder. "I cannot identify these seeds for the life of me. Do you recognize them?"

I joined him, looked at the seeds in question, and felt an uneasiness fall over me. "Yes, I do. The bankvole family had the same seeds in their larder as well." Basil turned his head sharply to look at me and I rushed to explain myself. "But there was nothing unusual to them! They smelled and tasted perfectly normal, rather like a cross between sunflower seeds and acorns."

"Tasted?" Basil asked with some alarm.

My uneasy grew into a dull fear. "Yes, but only a mouthful, no more than any mouse would take when testing a new food. Why?" Slowly Basil lifted an edge of the paper that the seeds lay upon. The underside was speckled blue and red.

"I think, my dear fellow," he said, artificially calmly, "that if you have any clay in your bag, you should take a mouthful of it now to be on the safe side."

Feeling rather dazed, I opened my bag and took out the little pot of clay I kept on hand to treat cases of poisoning. Humans and some other mammals are capable of vomiting to rid themselves of poisons; we mice must opt for other measures. Silently I scooped out a pawful of the clay, held it in my mouth until it had warmed and thinned a bit, and then swallowed it.

After I had replaced the pot in my bag, I turned and smiled as cheerfully as I could, though I was fairly certain I was not fooling him in the slightest. "What is the next step in the investigation?"

His expression remained grave and concerned. "We track down the source of this paper and these seeds. With all the victims living on the same street, it ought not be too difficult." He gave me a smile that was no more convincing than mine had been.

.

It did not take us very long. Mr. Stone's home was no more than a foot away from the nearest human cellar. Basil and I made our way carefully across the dirt floor, keeping to the perimeter in the pitch dark. Suddenly I became aware of a familiar scent. "Basil."

"I smell it too," he whispered. "We are close. Keep near the wall."

We crept along until we were forced to turn at a corner and found ourselves obliged to squeeze under a musty wooden shelf. The smell of the strange seeds became stronger yet. Basil seized my paw and placed it against something flat and firm that scritched when my claws rasped against it. "A cardboard box?" I asked softly.

"Indeed. Mind your eyes." There was a sudden, tiny flash of yellow light as Basil lit a match and held it up. The side of the box was as tall as we were and was covered in paper that was speckled in blue and red. One portion near the top had been ripped out in a jagged way that suggested rodent teeth had been at it.

"Stay here, Dawson. I'm going to see if there is anything on the lid." Basil blew out his match and in the dark I heard the sounds of claws against paper. Above my head I saw the flash of another match being lit. After a moment I heard what sounded like a smothered gasp and the tiny light disappeared. Then came the sounds of a mouse slipping down paper and Basil was on the ground beside me once more. I waited for him to speak or to light another match. He did neither.

I could not bear the suspense any longer. "Basil? What is it?"

I heard a deep intake of breath. "The box is full of what we had thought were seeds," he said tonelessly. "They are, in fact, pellets made of sunflower seeds, acorn mash and a chemical called brodifacoum."

"I have never heard of such a chemical."

"No, nor I. Apparently it is a new substance created by humans."

I suddenly felt quite cold and sick. "Created for what purpose, Basil?"

There was a long silence. I felt his paw gently grasp one of mine. "Dawson, my dear fellow," Basil whispered brokenly, "it . . ." He sighed with a hint of a sob and his paw tightened. "It is a rodenticide."

Author's Notes: Nearly all rodents are physically unable to vomit so instead they will consume substances like clay and dirt that will neutralize or absorb poisons.

Brodifacoum has been the active ingredient in a lot of commercial rodenticides, like D-Con, since the 1980s. It's an anticoagulant way more powerful than warfarin.