Impenetrable, grubby clouds of dense, black smog hung in clumps in the air; as thick as a crisp, white blanket of snow on Mount Everest. The only difference was the smoke was ugly and polluted: not clean and sparkling like the snow. Dimly the suns rays struggled to penetrate the factory fumes: causing the town below to be dark and dingy. As the heavens opened, bullets of rain pounded the cobbled streets below ;causing finely dressed ladies to grab the hems of their expensive, silk gowns and not- so gracefully totter to shelter.
Among the crowd was Minerva Dupine: a pretty, young woman in her early twenties who also happened to be a first class detective in Clockwork City. Like a sheet of fire, her hair hung delicately around her pale face, the longer strands pulled back and forming a messy bun. A black tweed beret was balanced, jauntily, angled on top of her nest of hair. Lazily, she tilted back her head and felt the ice cold water attack her face. A swarm of raindrops had begun to gather on her worn, leather Aviator goggles so she shook her head: like a wet dog, and stepped onto the pavement. Her knee length, brown skirt billowing as she moved. She wore a lacy, starched white blouse and on top of this a tattered leather waistcoat: peeling with age.
With a manner of importance, Minerva strolled along the bricked pavement, past the bank. Unexpectedly, she stopped. Slumped against the wall like a rag doll lay a woman. A painful looking, blood soaked slash fanned out across her once bonny face. The hem of her burgundy, satin dress had been torn off: exposing a bustling black and white striped petticoat and various other layers of net underskirts. The bodice of her dress was fairly low cut and had a ruffle trim around the neckline: which was made of the same striped fabric of her petticoat.
Promptly, Minerva stooped down beside the woman and took her pulse:whilst pressing a ripped piece of cloth to the women's slashed face:soaking up some of the blood. Unlucky for the woman she had long been dead: and nothing the young detective could do would reverse what had happened.
A highly skilled woman; MInerva had left education bestowed with a medical degree and also a highest honour investigator degree. Of all the many crime solvers in Clockwork City, Minerva was by far the best. For her outstanding efforts in her last case she had been presented with a dirigible from the Queen herself. New, state of the art and an excellent flyer it would be an understatement to say this kind gift had left Dupine feeling flattered.
Sighing, the detective glanced at the body and wiped a tear from her eye. So young. The corpse that lay before her surely could have amounted to more than this? ‘She was taken to soon ‘Minerva was thinking to herself when she noticed a locket round the corpses neck. Slowly she leaned towards the rotting body and opened the locket. It showed a young man and a baby. ‘I must find her family’ she suddenly realised.
The government had made it the law for all citizens of Clockwork City to carry I.D at all times, thus Dupine began to search the corpse for any form of identification. Subsequently thoroughly searching the body: Minerva found the woman's identification card. Her name was Marveletta Storm. She was only twenty. Dupine stood up, brushed down her skirt and began to burble through her earpiece. Within minutes a rusty police van had screamed round the corner and the body was loaded into the van: before being whisked off to Dupine’s headquarters.
Elegantly, Minerva promenaded down the street until she reached a run down , ancient building. Quietly, she ascended the rusty, iron steps; her high heeled brown leather boots clanging against the cold metal. As she reached the summit of the building the wind whipped her hair into a tornado of fire. Hastily, Dupine grabbed her beret as a precautionary measure and: swaying in the wind: she made her way to her dirigible.
Inside her ship, she flicked on a light: illuminating the whole room in a warm glow. Worn, hardback books spilled off a wood wormed bookcase leaning against a wall. Against another wall was a rusty, iron bed with deep red sheets and near this a large metal control panel covered in cogs and dials. Dupines neatly manicured nails tip tapped on the typewriter- style keys as she typed in the co-ordinates to Marveletta’s home. Breaking the news to the dead woman’s husband and child was going to be tough.
