Clunk. A soft, yielding resistance. Not hard blockage, but something… fleshy.
Small. Pale. Not human, but too large for a cat. He stared. The empty eye sockets of a badger, its fur matted into a greasy shroud, stared back. Around its neck, a thin leather strap with a silver tag.
Hands trembling, Arthur fished it out with a trowel. He wiped the muck from the tag. It wasn't a name. It was an address: 7B, Cathedral Close.