Sandfuss, P.I. said the paper sign on the counter of the pub. Sandfuss was sitting on a bar stool in front of it.

Sandfuss was old and wise now, a bit unsteady on his feet, and sometimes he stared into a corner for minutes. But he still solves every case presented to him. He is a private investigator and represents law and order in the neighborhood, not that there is any police among the animal kingdom of the city. It is rumored that in other quarters, the law of the strongest prevails. But not in Sandfuss County.

Well, no one else calls the neighbourhood that way, but sitting alone at the bar, sipping on a decent valerian cocktail, thoughts may wander around a little.

"Boss," someone taps him, "Bo-hoss."

Sandfuss turns his gaze away from the bar mirror. It's Ork, one of his two cat assistants, the more wiry and delicate one. The other one stood next to Ork, he was called Elf, a compact and overweight guy.

So enough dreaming, time to get to work.