A night at the saloon

The saloon was full, but then the work-week was over for most, and there were coins to spend -- or gamble away -- and songs to sing, and drinks to down. It was a rough-and-tumble crowd, but generally well-behaved. Sheriff Black recognized most of them: Eduardo, Isabelle, and Juan, who worked the old Darling farm together; Sam Maddox, the town's cooper, who doubled as a scrivener for those as couldn't write or read; the mayor, Missus Laura, better known as Ma'am, watching over her tavern from her table on the second floor balcony. 

She saw him come in, stood, studied him form a moment, then gestured for him to come up. 

Sheriff Black had no intention of making a scene; if she'd ignored him, he'd have ignored her. If there were issues to discuss, they could hash it out at the the next City Council meeting. But with an unmistakable  summons... 

He found the back stairs, mounted them, and joined her at her table. 

"What can I offer you, Sheriff?" she asked. "I've had word there's been a murder. Your deputy wanted to know if I'd seen any likely suspects. I have not."

"There was a murder," he confirmed. "I was hoping to learn more before I filled you in, but since you already know: someone was killed, very late last night. Ripped apart, or nearly so.  Gravedigger's with Doc, looking at the body."

"That's good," she said. "There like t'be any more trouble from it?"

Augustus Black resisted the urge to shrug. "Depends on how fast we find whatever did it, or if it moves on without causin' any further trouble."

"Well then," said the mayor. "Carry on. Appreciate y'watching over my saloon tonight."

The sheriff lifted a finger to his forehead. "Ma'am." 

Music: Alive

Daughtry:

Music: Clint Eastwood

Gorillaz:

December is eating my lunch

There'll be a new installment of Sheriff Augustus Black and the search for the killer beast as soon as I can pull my wits together. Meanwhile, I'm gearing up for upgrades, Firstborn just came back from college, Secondborn is in the last week of his semester so it's all half-days, and Beautiful Wife really needs to get a new job because her contemptible boss is trying to work out his divorce-related personal issues by looking for people to fire right before Christmas, and somewhere in here we have things to plan and personal business to finish up. 

 On top of which, well...

On the plus side, I got to go out to dinner with some friends from out of town, and we're almost done with 2025 -- and Good Riddance, say I -- and everybody gets a bit of a chance to settle down and recuperate.

So I'm holding on to that, and carefully checking the front page of the newspaper every morning.

Music: Grave Digger

Blues Saraceno:

Startin' the hunt

"Ain't got nobody covered in blood," said Deputy Gonzales. "Leastways, nobody we've seen."

Sheriff August Black nodded at that. "Two drunks in their cells, but they both been here for hours. Have the Gravedigger look 'em over, but if he don't find anything we cut 'em loose in the mornin'." 

Gonzales nodded. "The Mayor herself, she says she ain't got anybody new stayin' in her saloon."

"That'd be too easy," Sheriff Black muttered, and Gonzales nodded. All right. He was going to have call the deputies in, and send them out to search in the morning if nothing else happened tonight. Meanwhile, he'd go and sit in the saloon t'night, all nice and casual, and see what might happen. Might be anything', might be nothin'. 

"Gonzalez," he said quietly. "You remember those silver bullets the gravedigger left for us?"

Gonzales nodded. 

"Make sure you and the others have a cylinder full of 'em, okay? I'll give the order, but you make sure the word gets around." 

The Gravedigger

The gravedigger's cart didn't actually sound different from any other, but there was something about the way the horse stepped that couldn't be mistaken. Those regular hoofbeats were like a heartbeat, inescapable and inevitable. There was a faint creak as Clayton Pyre set the brake, and then there came the regular clicking of his approaching boot-steps. 

The Gravedigger was a vital part of the life of the town, but it was small wonder that people feared him and considered his presence bad luck. Sheriff Black knew that was backwards -- he came in the wake of bad luck, he wasn't the cause of it -- but the belief was hard to shake. 

"Hell below," remarked the older man, looking down at the corpse. He sniffed at the air, then knelt down beside it. His eyes went immediately to the mangled ankle, then lingered on the gouges in the torso. He pulled a small glass vial off of his belt, poured a bit of salt into his hand, and then sprinkled it over the wounds. 

Nothing happened, and he nodded at that, then sat back on his heels. Looking up at Doc, he said: "Corpse is safe enough. Whatever did this ain't infectious."

Doc nodded to him. "Good to be sure, though. You know what did it?"

The gravedigger shook his head. "I've got silvers set aside. I could put him safely in the ground, Guessin' you'd like a look first."

Doc grunted. "You're certain it's safe?"

"Certain's a strong word," Clayton Pyre told him. "You want a look, I'll come with you."

"I'd 'ppreciate that," Doc told him. 

The Gravedigger rose in a smooth movement, pivoting to face Sheriff Black. "Most likely we've had shifter slip in. Maybe a beast, if'n it slipped the borders somehow. If it's a curse, we're lucky -- it'll be done and gone."

The Sheriff nodded. "As soon as you take the corpse off, I'll start checking for strangers and anybody new back in town."

"When's the last time you walked the city limits?" asked Pyre. 

"Two weeks ago," Black told him. 

"Arm yourself with silver and check 'em again," the Gravedigger said. "And walk the county line as well. A little extra strengthening can't hurt either way."

"Was planning to," said Sheriff Black. He grinned at the ever-serious Gravedigger. "I do know my own duties."

"Then Doc an' I'll be out your way and let you get to it. Don't mean to tell you your business, but you're still new here."

Sheriff Black offered the Gravedigger a shrug, because he did appreciate the man's advice. "Ain't as new as all that," he pointed out. "And Needhaven ain't the first town to have these sorts of troubles." 

Clayton Pyre stopped, considered that. "Fair," he said. "Just be careful -- an' be safe."

"Will do," Sheriff Black replied. "You do the same."

Music: Coffin Nails

Lucero:

December, busy, and tired

It's most very definitely that time of the year: the time when I'm when I'm overwhelmed by All The Things and would very much like to be hiding under a blanket with a good book. Or, y'know, just sleeping. 

Secondborn has broken the screen on his laptop, and I have now -- reluctantly -- ordered him a new one. We're still struggling to get him through school, and the part where his English teacher has managed to stretch a pretty basic essay into a semester-long ordeal is not helping. Beautiful Wife has a pretty good job doing interesting things with a good team, but her boss (the CEO) is deeply in need of therapy and borderline abusive, and so the whole team is now conspiring to A) fuck with him, and B) find jobs elsewhere. There are also Big Grownup Things that I need to do relating to my father's death, and at the moment I haven't had -- and still don't -- the spoons to deal with those. 

On the plus side, I think we have the Christmas presents largely sorted out, and my own job is still vastly better than the one I left behind a bit over a year ago. And as cranky as Secondborn was this morning over having to review for an upcoming test, she had a good day yesterday and was actually very cheery. 

 ::sigh::

We're coming up on the big end-of-year upgrade, and honestly? I'd like to just sleep until then. 

A look'at the corpse

"Well," said Sheriff Black after a long moment. "That's a bad'n."

Doc nodded. "Knife fight would've been cleaner, and there's no shot from a shotgun. Flesh is torn, like something bit or clawed."

The sheriff swallowed. "Any bits missin'?"

Doc shook his head. "Not sure yet. Wanted you t'see it the way I found it, before I moved it t'where I could look."

"That's good of you, Doc." Sheriff Black stepped forward, then stopped. "Y'see that ankle."

Doc turned his head, blanched, and the said. "Yeah. I see it."

The Achilles tendon had been cut -- or bitten through, more like. Not that kind of thing that happened when folks fought with other folks, and they both knew it. "Damn it," said Doc. "Now I'll need Pyre to look it over before I take it back t'the clinic."

The sheriff nodded. "Yeah. And I'll have t'look for strangers in town, or anyone else as might've gone missing." 

"We wait here," Doc said, resigned. "'Least 'til the Gravedigger arrives. Make sure nothing changes, nothing comes back. You've a mold for bullets?"

Sheriff Black grunted. "Don't need it, though. Not for this. Gravedigger brought me a box of silver shot when I first came to town. Said he hoped I never needed 'em. I'll load up as soon as I go back." 

A killin' In Town

"Sheriff! Sheriff!"

Sheriff Black straightened at his his desk and sighed, wishing he'd had time to finish his mug before whatever-this-was broke loose. Coffee wasn't easy to come by out here, and it was a damned shame that this cup of it seemed like to go to waste. 

There was an enormous thud on the porch outside, and then a brief pause before the door opened. The man looking in was Dan Brighton, the town's cobbler, and from the sound of things he'd tripped on the porch and crashed into the door before he managed to open it. He was red-faced and breathin' hard, but he managed t'say, "Doc says y'gotta come! A feller's been killed."

Sheriff black sighed again and stood up. "Where? How?"

"Outside the saloon," Brighton told him, bending over to catch his breath. "I was passing by, and Doc said to fetch you right quick. I didn't see much, but... the feller, he was torn open."

Yep, this one's going to be an unholy mess. He stepped around his desk, put a hand on the cobbler's shoulder. "All right, Dan. Good work." He sighed again. "Now... I'm going to need you to do one more thing. I know you've got a shop to run and all, but I need you to walk -- walk, mind you, slow and careful -- up the hill and fetch back the Gravedigger. Can you do that?"

Brighton's face went through several expressions in the space of a single breath: objection, understanding, acceptance. He knew as well as they all did that whether this was a simple murder or something more, they were going to need the Gravedigger to help with it. He nodded slowly.

"Good man," said the Sheriff. "Catch your breath first."

"I'll see to it, Sheriff," Brighton said, breathing more easily now. "Just give me a minute. Got a little... over-excited, I think."

Sheriff Black shrugged. "Well, we don't see dead bodies in town just every week -- and thank the Great Spirit for that." 

StV: Meet-Cute

"Are ya new here?" asked a girl's voice, and Blackhand spun around so fast he nearly embarrassed himself. 

He'd come to the Self-Defense class after the more ordinary academic classes, under the theory that it wouldn't hurt to keep in practice, or to see how Saint-Vincent's School for Exceptional Youth was training their students to fight. 

The girl was maybe a year younger than he was -- hard to be sure -- with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes; her accent was pure Midwestern. Kansas, maybe? "Didn't mean to startle ya," she said easily. "It's just I don't think I've seen ya here before."

Blackhand rolled his shoulders, forcing them to relax. "Sorry," he said. "It's my first time at training." 

"Oh?" she asked. "I only started last month. Maybe we could practice together?"

He shrugged. "You any good?"

"I mean, kind of..." She blushed. "Took first place at the Tae Kwon Do championship in middle school. But the way they fight here is... different."

"No, that should work," Blackhand said. "I take it we don't use powers for this?"

She drew back. "Wow. You really are new here."

He made a vague yes-and-no gesture. "More of a temporary guest," he said. 

"Oh! You're one the Hounds, then."

Blackhand didn't deny it. "Call me Blackhand," he said. "Or... Shit. Call me Mike. Pardon my French."

She laughed softly. "Robin," she said. "I'm not strong enough to have a code name, or a call sign, or anything like that. It's nice to meet you, Mike." 

Music: A Christmas Carol

Tom Lehrer:

December, is it?

I really have no idea how this might have happened, but we're now in December and wow there is a lot that has to be done before the end of the year. I need to follow up on the support tickets I have open, then speak to my boss and lay out a timeline for the required upgrade. I also need to have a couple of people re-do their testing in the TRAIN environment, because if things work there that didn't work in test, well... that bodes well for the production upgrade and also suggests that I need to take a much closer look at what has and hasn't been implemented in TEST. We already discovered at least one item where the GIS connection had been upgraded in the other two environments, but not there. 

Then there's the planning for Christmas, and for my Dad's interment, both of which need to get nailed down this week. There's also making sure that Secondborn passes the fall semester, which pretty much also needs to get nailed down this week. 

It's enough to make want to go back to roaming the moors, howling at the moon and feasting on the unwary. 

StV: Don't Pick That Fight

"You told us to let him go," Blackhand said. "Why'd you do that?"

Lynx sighed. "Because I didn't want to see you get killed."

Blackhand hesitated, shuddering. "Yeah, but he didn't manage to kill us."

"...Because he was busy killing like fifty other people all at once."

Blackhand's jaw worked. "Okay, fair point. Anyway, I'm not going to try to kill him."

"Oh?"

"Hearne's orders. I do follow orders."

Lynx sighed. "Somehow I'm still entirely reassured."

"Somehow, I'm still not going to explain."

"Okay, fine. You want me to let him know you want to talk to him? So nobody mistakes it for an ambush?"

"...You know what? Yes. Please. Do that."