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"A pendant in the shape of intestines?" Robert elevated an eyebrow. "At least that's what my endless nights with an anatomy textbook recall. Those ridges and the coiling, they're unmistakable."

"I-" Edwin remembered his anatomy by heart, but- "-why?"

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" Robert swiped the pendant from his brother's loosening grasp. "If it were a golden lung or liver in the intestinal jar, I'd be surprised." He placed the glimmering relic gently onto the tea table. "As it is, I think it's quite within the realms of logic. After all, if not a real set of intestines, their symbolic representation is the next best thing." With that, Robert Fowler went back to reading the morning paper, as if finding intestine-shaped pendants in canopic jars was an activity only mildly less prosaic than the British tabloids.

"Yes, when you put it like that, I suppose it does make sense." Edwin sealed the jar and left it on the table. "I shall go see if there is perhaps some mention of this in other books." He gave the canope one more glance and retired to his bedroom. There, the raccoon placed his amulet onto the writing desk and approached a massive bookcase that stood against the far bedroom wall. He scanned each shelf, running mentally through all of the familiar tomes in an effort to try and remember if any had made particular mention of this strange artifact. The closest he could find was a book titled The Four Sons of Horus.

Fowler pulled the heavy volume off the shelf and settled down in his padded chair with the book across his lap. "Now, let's see..."

Indeed, his memory had proved quite correct. A very brief paragraph some fifty pages in mentioned in the context of legend four canopic jars bearing inside solid gold viscera.

The translated inscription from a partially-intact tablet speaks of four such canopic jars. They were originally intended to be placed in what became known to the Egyptians as "The Tomb of the Teacher." Unfortunately, these jars were stolen a day before they were due to be entombed, lost forever to the passage of time.

_ _

"Not anymore, they're not." Edwin looked again at the relic sitting silently upon his writing desk. "If you are as valuable as I think you are, the three thousand I spent is quite the paltry sum."

A loud commotion in the sitting room interrupted his musings.

"Get away from me, you fiend!"

The sound of a gunshot brought Edwin Fowler to his paws and sprinting breathlessly to his brother's aid.

Robert sat propped upon the floor nursing his bleeding arm. "Don't worry, Ed, it had barely grazed me."

"Who was it?" Edwin helped his brother into a chair. "What happened?"

Robert removed his waistcoat and carefully unbuttoned his bloodied shirt. "It was Patrick Trout."

"Patrick?" In a trice, Edwin regretted having outbid his rival.

Robert examined his arm. "That's right. Could you get me my medicinal satchel? It's over there, near the coat rack."

While Edwin hastened to obey, his brother recounted the events that had befallen him only moments prior.

"He came in brandishing the gun. I tried to reason with him, but the second he saw that canope, he refused to even speak with me." Robert produced a set of bandages from the satchel and carefully bound his arm. "I tried to stop him, but he shot me, grabbed the relic and ran. It is a good thing his paws were too shaky to take proper aim."

"Well, thank goodness we got that jar open, then, eh?" Edwin held down the bandagework while Robert knotted it deftly with one paw. "I'm sure that golden pendant is what he really was after. I shall report him immediately to the police." With what little he knew of medicine, Edwin examined his brother's arm. "Doesn't look too bad. Will you be alright by yourself?"

"Oh, heavens no. I'm coming with you!" Robert retightened the bandages and folded his bloodied shirt. "Give me a few minutes to change. The police will no doubt appreciate a first-person testimony."

"Yes, I suppose they would." Edwin knew better than to argue with his brother, if only because Robert had inherited just as much of their mother's stubborn nature, along with her dusty grey fur and small ears. "Go on, then. I'll wait for you."

"Alright." Robert hurried off to his room.

Edwin, meanwhile, retired to his own quarters. He picked up the relic from his desk and looked about for a place to hide it. Life had never caused him to require a safe or any means of secretive storage. As a simple matter of fact, Edwin Fowler had always displayed his artifacts proudly atop shelves, separated from any potential thieves, at the very most, by a thin sheet of glass - and at the very least by nothing at all. Thinking back on it, the Raccoon was duly surprised to never have had anyone attempt theft upon his collection.

He reached underneath the bed and drew out a leather satchel. It was an old, worn thing from his expedition to Germany. Inconspicuous, or as inconspicuous as a hiding place in this house would get to a maddened psychopath. Edwin placed the pendant delicately inside and blanketed it with pages of old newspaper. "Not the Royal Vault, but it'll have to do." He locked each of the gilded clasps and made to push the satchel back underneath the bed, but something stopped him. Perplexed, Edwin took up the satchel once more and left for the sitting room.

Without the bloodied wound, Robert Fowler appeared wholly unharmed. Were it not for the missing canope, Edwin could almost believe the entire incident had never occurred. "Ready?"

"Sure." Robert put on his top hat and opened the door. "After you."

"Thanks." Satchel in paw, Edwin stepped outside.

As expected, it didn't take long for Robert to notice. "What's in the bag?" The raccoon's tail twitched in a brief flash of annoyance. He locked up and passed his brother on the stairs.

Edwin followed him. "What do you think?"

"Well, isn't it dangerous?" Robert eyed the satchel uncomfortably as he raised his paw aloft to hail a cab. "I mean, what if he tries to mug us?"

"I'd thought about that, but what if he breaks into the house while we're gone and tries to steal it?" The excuse made sense, although Edwin knew there was something more to it. Some inner force refused to let him leave the relic behind. But that was not something one shared with a doctor, especially one who practiced psychiatry.

After ten minutes of paw-waving, a cab stopped several feet away.

Robert boarded it first, and Edwin followed. "Scotland Yard, please."

They didn't live far, fortunately, but the silent cab ride felt much longer than it was.

Finally, Robert spoke his mind. "Does this relic matter that much to you?"

"What do you mean?" Edwin knew exactly what his brother meant. The downward curve at the corners of Robert's muzzle and the raccoon's downcast eyes told him everything.

"That you'd rather take a chance at being mugged than let someone simply steal it?"

Hearing his decision put into such abrasive terms made Edwin cringe. "No, I- I just feel like there's more to it. Clearly, it's valuable, but perhaps it is also part of something bigger. As an archeologist, I can't just let it slip away." He touched his brother's injured shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll take it to the bank first thing tomorrow, and have them lock it up in their vault. And I am truly sorry about your shoulder. If I could have been there instead of you, I would."

"Oh, don't worry about my shoulder." Robert patted the bandaged wound. "It happens. If it wasn't a psychopath looking for ancient relics, it would have been a psychopath looking for an opium dose. What I'm worried about is you doing something foolish and risking your life to protect a hunk of gold. And I hope you do not need me to tell you that your life is far more precious than that."

"I know." Edwin sat the satchel upon his lap. He'd heard of treasures people were willing to kill over, but this was the first time he had ever held such a one in his paws. "It will be locked up soon, don't worry. And then any theft will be the bank's problem, not ours."

The police station was expectantly empty for a Sunday afternoon. A lone constable sat behind his desk leafing torpidly through a long and probably quite boring set of notes.

Edwin took the lead. "Good afternoon, sir. We would like to report a crime."

The fox looked up and examined the two brothers over the brim of his spectacles. "Theft or assault?" He produced a printed form and fountain pen.

"Both, actually." Robert removed his jacket. "The assailant shot me in the arm - I have got the wound to prove it - and then he fled with a very important relic."

The fox nodded and filled the details into his form. His paw was sloppy, and the constable soon scrapped the form in favor of another, unsoiled one. Three forms later, he had all of the details filled in. "Can you identify the assailant?"

"Certainly can." Edwin produced his own pen and finished filling out the form, at risk of having the copper muck up and start the process all over. "It was a Mister Patrick Trout. I outbid him on this relic during an auction, and he decided to play dirty."

The constable's ears flicked back momentarily and he looked over the form once more. "Obtaining a search warrant will take time. We will send someone over tomorrow with the news. You may need to testify."

"I understand." Edwin was more than prepared to testify against the person who had nearly killed his brother. He left his contact information with the constable. "I shall do my best to stay home all day tomorrow."

The fox clipped the papers together and placed them neatly into a cardboard folder. "Thank you, Mister Fowler. You are free to go."

Feeling a little better at the knowledge that the perpetrator would soon be caught by the long arm of British law, Edwin Fowler led the way out of the police station and aboard another cab. "Driver, take us to Setson's, please."

Robert climbed in behind him, making no effort to hide his confusion. "Setson's?"

"That's right." Edwin opened his satchel and moved the newspapers just enough to see the relic. "I should like to acquire a firearm. It would make me feel safer."

Robert's glare of confusion remained. "You aren't planning on locking that thing up, after all, are you?"

"I am." In truth, Edwin simply wasn't sure. "But even if I did, what difference would that make? Trout would still come after us to get to it."

"True enough." Robert put on a smile.

It was a horribly fake smile, and Edwin knew that the only reason for it was a pious attempt at assuaging a brother's guilt. "I'm sorry I got us into all this, Rob. I truly am."

At that, Robert's smile quickly grew more genuine. "Hey, don't worry about it. The police will find Trout, arrest him, and it will all be over and done with."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." And yet some biting feeling told Edwin that celebration was premature. Patrick Trout may have been a despicable sort, but he had certainly never appeared desperate.

They rode the rest of the way in sparse conversation. Both brothers avoided the topic of the relic or its attempted theft.

When the cab stopped, Edwin left Robert behind and entered the shoppe alone. He'd passed the establishment many times, each time contemplating the purchase of a firearm. And yet until that day, Edwin Fowler had no real reason to do so. Life had been peaceful.

The store owner gave his newest arrival a rather critical glance before smiling a gold-toothed smile of a rabbit wealthy enough to afford dental work, but without the patience for upkeep. "Welcome! My name is Peter, and I am at your service." He had every reason for such a critical and appraising glance, of course. With the entire absence of proper gun laws, anyone from a police officer to a psychopath could feasibly purchase and carry a firearm, and someone with as high a name as Setson did not wish to have his name attached to any brutal crimes.

Edwin approached the counter and looked over the available selection, all carefully laid out behind a thick sheet of glass. "I am looking to buy a revolver and several boxes of ammunition."

"Certainly." The rabbit moved a revolver he'd been cleaning aside to make the array of guns more easily visible. "Are you looking for anything in particular?" His white ears stood at prim attention as he no doubt noticed the fine cut of his customer's jacket.

"Just something to help ensure my safety." Edwin leaned across the counter so he could whisper. "An attempt has been made on my brother's life. I wish to be better prepared should another one occur."

"Ah, completely understood." Peter produced one of the firearms and placed it onto the counter in front of Edwin. "This is a standard, snub-nosed model. Inexpensive, durable, reliable and easy to conceal. Wear it with you wherever you go, and it will provide that extra dose of safety that you no doubt crave after such a traumatic experience."

"That sounds perfect. May I?" With a nod from the storekeeper, Edwin picked up the gun and held it tightly in both paws. "The fit is nice. How much?"

"Fifty pounds." The rabbit produced two cases of ammo, each packaged in a metal box that resembled a snuff-tin. "Sixty-five with the ammunition."

"Fairly dear." Edwin turned the revolver this way and that. "But with such craftsmanship, it certainly makes sense. Very well, I'll take it." This was more than likely a cheaper model, and Edwin refused to leave without some sort of a barker tucked into the belt of his trousers. He counted out the payment. "Do you sell holsters?"

"Of course." Peter walked several paces down the length of the display case. "Here we are." He selected a brown-leather holster and passed it to the raccoon. "Ten Pounds. Very fine stitching."

Edwin shelled out another ten quid. "Here you are."

"Thank you for your purchase." The shopkeeper placed the money into a safe and returned to his customer. "Would you like it loaded?"

"Yes, please." Edwin watched with fascination as the rabbit deftly opened the loading chamber and placed six bullets inside one by one. He clicked it shut and spun the cylinder. "There you are. Just point and shoot. And of course, I needn't tell you to be very careful. A life is a life. Take it only when you mean to and when there is no other choice."

"I will be quite careful, don't worry." Edwin holstered the gun and removed his waistcoat. Gently and with some trepidation, he buckled the vest-like contraption over his shirt. "I already feel safer." And he did. That one piece of cold steel made Edwin Fowler feel safer than a thousand locks. He slipped back into his waistcoat and collected the ammo from the counter. "Good day."

Robert was waiting for him with a fresh copy of the Gazette in his paws. "Took you a while, but you look much healthier."

"Certainly do." Edwin joined his brother in the carriage. "I am now the owner of a proper firearm."

"Hey, if it helps you sleep at night, I couldn't be happier." Robert opened his newspaper. "Driver, take us to number fifteen, Horton Street, please." He gave the raccoon another smile and devoted his attention squarely to the freshly-printed page.

Edwin took up his satchel and rested it on his lap once more. He sat back and watched London roll by on this uncharacteristically sunny day.

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps surprisingly, considering their level of paranoia, the flat was wholly undisturbed when they reached it.

Edwin took a few moments to examine both the sitting room and his own bedroom. "Maybe I was a tad hasty to expect a robbery."

"Actually, you weren't hasty at all." Robert crouched next to the front door and squinted at the lock. "Take a look at this."

Tune in Wednesday (10.10) for the next chapter!

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_ Streets of His City and Other Stories - _ Now available from Rabbit Valley! Featuring Streets of His City, Their Labors of Love, Just Like That and the never before seen Looking War! If you like adventure, heists, friendships and a bit of romance, be sure to pick up your copy today!

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