At the Rusty Gear...

Claudia ran an index finger absentmindedly down the stack of the toy train.


"Well," she said, pretending to be occupied with swirling the sticky granules of fairy floss residue between her fingers, "I thought about asking Uncle Buck, but I'm not sure he'd be eager to lend me a horse...on account of last time."

The last time in question was when some wiry, half-rate thief out of one of the mining camps had galloped up behind Claudia on her walk home one night and swiped her purse. She'd mounted the nearest Steam Stallion to hand--that being Buck's--and ridden hard after him, hot on his heels all the way out to Crow's Beak Canyon. She cornered the wretch right at the precipice, watched the sweat glisten on his forehead under the new moon as she trained her revolver at his chest. After holding him there just long enough to hear him beg for mercy, she tied him to a nearby scrubby tree and promised to send the sheriff for him in the morning. She mounted Uncle Buck's horse and took the reins of the thief's--an older, slower model in rough shape who lost his footing and tumbled over the side of the canyon, dragging Buck's horse along. Claudia barely managed to fall sideways and escape. The fireball created on impact by two Stallions hitting the canyon floor was impressive. But Tinka's uncle didn't exactly see it that way.


"But assuming our tall, dark and bleeding stranger up there," she jerked her head in the general direction of the Rusty Gear's upstairs rooms, "made it thought the night, he's got to have some mode of transport, don't you think?"
 
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When he had gotten to the lower area of the bar the only thing he had found stirring was the TOM unit as it puttered around behind the long mahogany bar organizing glasses. The last few clinked into place on a shelf before the TOM turned and parked itself behind the center of the bar and picked up one lone glass, placidly polishing it with a cloth. As he approached the bar he wondered if the automaton would stand there like that all day, picturesquely cleaning the same glass until someone wanted something.


"I'd like to settle up," he told the TOM as he placed the heavy key on the counter with a clack!


"Certainly, sir," came the only slightly tinny reply from the voice box, "Your name, please?"


He paused. This must be a very new unit to have those sorts of safety protocols.


"Sir?"


"Let me ask you something," he said, "Has that other fellow who came in last night checked out yet?"


"I'm sorry, sir, but I must establish if you have the clearance for that sort of information. Your name, please?"


He chewed his lower lip for a moment before he sighed and pulled a packet of papers out of his pocket. They were torn, even burnt in a few places, and brown with age and a few darker splotches of something else.


"Niklaus Dietrich," he said quietly, unfolding the papers and sliding them across the bar, "And I'd appreciate it if that information stayed between you and I."


The automaton scanned the papers on the bar, written out in a neat and flowing hand.


"Certainly, sir," the TOM said at last, "The gentleman has not yet checked out, but that is all I am permitted to say. Now, I believe you said you would like to settle your tab, sir?"


"Yes," Niklaus replied, "and I don't suppose there's a decent mechanic in this town?"
 
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Ah yes. Tinka smiled. Last time. Last time Uncle Buck not only paid her time and a half, but gave her a week off to try and salvage what was left of his Steam Stallion. She might have been able to do it flawlessly too, if he hadn't taken it to Marlon Jone's Mechanic Shop uptown first. In her humble opinion, the man was a hack, not even certified to work on Wainsright products, or anything else for that matter. But Uncle Buck was an mans man, and while he had tolerated her fiddling, he felt was should be reserved for toys, not big, tough, presumably manly things like engines and horses. Still, she had done her best. His horse was reconstructed, but lacked a case to keep out the debris of sand and grit, and it took too long to get up to speed. But where Jone's had failed, Tinka had made it move, made it live again. It was a point of pride for her.


"Well, if he's still alive, you can ask," she said finally, "and if he's dead, I guess you can just take it." She paused, teasing out a small silver roll with notches carved into it, "Say, if we can't find a next-of-kin, think I could keep it when you're done?" She guided the cat's head into looking up as she peered inside, "Also, poor Edgar here has a bent needle in here. It's been catching on the cable that turns his voice box. I'll fix him up with a new one, not worth the risk of it snapping if I just straighten it out." She continued to talk, only half to Claudia, as she grabbed a seemingly random box and started to dig through it.


At The Bar


The TOM processed the request for a very long time. It wasn't that it didn't know the answer, but there were two right answers to be given. For the convenience of the establishments patrons, TOM could and would direct anyone in need of a mechanic to Jone's Engine and Mechanic Repair, three streets to the right and two blocks up. He could even draw a map, if needed. However, all interesting requests and requests from certain permitted peoples were to be directed to the back of the bar and behind the saloon. The request did not come from a permitted persons. But 'interesting' was a subjective word, and TOM did not do well with such things. The person, it decided, could be considered interesting, which qualified him to summon the proper sound clip:


"Of course, sir. There are two mechanics in this town. Jone's Engine and Mechanic Repair on Bullion Avenue, or Miss Tinka's private repair shop behind the building. The choice is yours. Should you need further assistance or direction, I would be happy to help you."
 
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Niklaus raised an eyebrow, but all he said was, "Thanks."


Fortunately he had not lost his funds in the ghoul attack, and before long he was emerging from the Rusty Gear and into the rapidly warming desert morning.


Miss Tinka's private repair shop... Miss Tinka. A woman mechanic? An image flashed through his mind of the waitress from last night, of slightly messy hair and freckles and the smell of grease and oil. Tinka, yes, she had said that that was her name, hadn't she?


He was relieved to find his horse still tethered to a hitch out front. In fact, he was almost more relieved that he'd managed to hitch the damn thing up at all in the state he'd been in.


He reached out and stroked her muzzle, the leather worn by long years of that same repeated motion. Her head jerked as her gears whirred sleepily to life, and she whickered softly. They said that the older Higgs clockwork models didn't have a personality, but Niklaus thought his old girl had plenty.


"Hey there, Delilah," he murmured as he ran his fingers over the smooth brass plate of her forehead, past the crystal lenses of her eyes. She didn't have loose hair like the new models. Her mane was carved from jointed wood, bleached a light yellow by the desert sun and pockmarked with bullet holes and other assorted scratches and blemishes she'd accumulated. The canvas of her neck had been patched and replaced more times than he could remember. Its current iteration was a faded red.


Niklaus walked along her side, running his hand across the aged leather. It was cracked in places and now sported a few new gouges on the right side. He took her wooden and brass tail in his hands and started to wind her up, the clicking and whirring of her gears picking up speed as he did, and her joints creaked as more life flowed into her steel bones.


He took her reins and led her a few steps away from the hitching post. She didn't want to put her rear right leg down at all, and she took a few juddering hops with the left to try to compensate. Perhaps going to the closer mechanic was the best idea. Besides, this woman Tinka had already seen him, and the fewer people he interacted with, the better.


He led Delilah around the back of the saloon and paused when he saw the dilapidated ruin of a building that must be the shop he was looking for. He smirked, a twinge of nostalgia pricking at his heart.


"Well, Delilah, I do believe we made the right choice," Niklaus said before he squared his hat, straightened his coat, and pounded on the door.
 
The pounding reverberated through the wooden door, the smaller bits of machinery and Claudia's head, still a bit achy from lack of sleep. Tinka was face-first in a box of parts, muttering to herself, so with a slight wince at the continued banging Claudia made her way back to the door. Everyone in this town knew Tinka was the best mechanic for a hundred miles, but with the population being almost entirely male there were few willing to admit it. Which meant it was always entertaining to see who'd show up on her doorstep. Those who'd been swindled elsewhere. A fair few who knew Tinka was the only one who could fix their problem but concocted elaborate stories to cover it. And then there were the ones who needed discretion.


Claudia wrenched open the door and quickly covered her surprise with that saloon-girl smile that sold a hell of a lot of whiskey next door.

"Well, well. Tinka, it looks like our mysterious stranger in black survived the night after all!"

She stepped back, holding open the door by way of invitation.
 
Niklaus ducked his head in thanks and stepped through the doorway, his eye sweeping from part to pile to piece on every available surface. He smiled gently. Yes, this was certainly the right place. This was the shop of someone who lived and breathed the mechanical.


It took a brief moment for him to recognize the saloon girl: she was dressed quite differently than he had first seen her, and her face wasn't writ with concern over a stranger bleeding on her floor. His gaze lingered only a moment before he cleared his throat and addressed the other woman, Tinka.


"I'm told this is where I might find a good mechanic, and my horse is in need of some repair. Would it be possible for you to take a look at her?"
 
"Shoo dosh 'at meem I don't geh 'is horf?" Tinka emerged with two flat tines and a sharper needle gripped in her teeth. She spat them out into her free hand, the other clutching a razor thin screwdriver as she settled herself back in her seat. "Well, anyone who bleeds on my floor that much and is up the next day deserves a few minutes of my time, so come on in." She glanced up, less interested in the stranger than the horse behind him. "You can hitch her to mailbox for now." She said after a pause. 


Tinka could guess why Mr. Black was here. That horse had been through hell and a half, and couldn't even stand on all four legs. Still, she liked to make people say it. That through hey needed her help. Even though she was, in fact, a she.


She dropped her finds onto the workbench. She tried the needle first, scraping it against the spool of metal, but it was too small.  She had better luck with the first flat tines, the end slotting neatly into the intentions in the metal as it passed over. Success!


"So." Tinka slid the tine in place, screwing it down and flicking it once. It made a healthy twong. "What brings you to my humble home?"
 
"Well, I need a mechanic," Niklaus replied, stepping back outside to hitch Delilah up to the oddly-shaped mailbox, "Delilah here isn't steam-powered like some of the newer models. She's clockwork. I won't trust her to just anyone."


He stepped back inside and took a pointed look around the shop before his gaze settled on the slight young woman again. The smudges of grease on her face were actually rather charming.


"You seem like someone I can trust," he told her with a smirk.
 
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"Aha. Then you are either very smart, or very stupid," Tinka replaced and sound reel and gently closed Edgar's face. He purred noisily as she grabbed his afflicted back leg. She rolled each joint individually, carefully feeling for a locked cog or loose nut. Tinka frowned and with a flip of her screwdriver, popped the outer panel of leg off and peered inside. 


"Oh, I was afraid of that. Claudia, he has a broken spring behind his knee." She teased it out carefully and held it up to be seen. The spring was old, and was twisted unnaturally in the center, opposite of the spiral, "it's nothing too hard to fix, but I'll have to order a new one. He'll be fine for now, but he'll walk funny and favor the right until I can get it replaced." She closed up her friends' feline and pet it on the head. "Such a good kitty."


She gave it a final pat and turned back to the stranger, "You're in luck, clockwork is old hat for me. So, tell me exactly what you need, and I'll tell you if I'll do it, and how much it will cost you. I'll even knock the price down if you'll hear out my friend here. She's in need of a ride, and you happen to not only have one, but also not know about her riding record."
 
"Well he didn't know," Claudia said, taking Edgar in her arms and gently nuzzling his face with her cheek, "until you told him." She narrowed her eyes at Tinka but couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from turning up in a smile.


She let her gaze travel over the stranger as she decided just how much to share. His clothes were a bit shabby from traveling--not to mention torn and blood-stained from the night before--but he was clean shaven with sharp features and dark eyes that seemed both amused and sincere. Soft-spoken and polite, he scored quite a few points in his favor by seeking out TInka for the repair work on his horse. And his affection for his well-worn clockwork nag was something Claudia understood acutely as she scratched Edgar behind the ears. This man could not have cut a figure more different from the Anti-Sanguinist. Deciding she could trust him with at least the bare bones of the truth, she took a deep breath and gave a tiny nod.


"I'm sure you remember the man who came in right behind you last night, the bastard in the suit. There are some people in this town--some good people--who stand to be hurt by this guy and the man he works for. Now I've tipped off most of them. But he's looking for one man in particular, and it's a long, hard ride to get to where he's hiding, one I'm going to need to make without being too conspicuous."


Claudia paused to let him take in this information. When he didn't immediately turn her down, she went on.


"He's a wanted man, even aside from whatever the dandy's accused him of. And since I lodged a bullet in his shoulder last time I saw him, there's a pretty good chance he'll be less-than-pleased to see me coming," she gave the stranger a wink and a sweet little smile, sweeping into a curtsy. "I'm Claudia deBower, by the way. Dance hall girl, clockwork creature enthusiast and general troublemaker. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
 
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Niklaus gave the saloon girl a slight nod.


"Nick," he said, by way of an introduction.


He took a moment to think about what she had just told him. What this woman was after didn't really have anything to do with him, and finding a con man in hiding in order to tip him off wasn't exactly a simple request. And yet it did have something to do with that dandy fellow, a man in whom Niklaus recognized the mien of a fellow hunter, but one who cast a shadow far larger than those he hunted.


Claudia's words about the man that the dandy worked for, as well as that little test with the garlic last night, gave Niklaus a pretty good idea of what he was about. If that were true, he and that fellow might very well be in the same line of business. And if he was searching for this outlaw, then...


"All right," he told her, "I'll give you a ride. Soon as Delilah is fixed up we'll go.


"Speaking of," he continued, turning to Tinka, "Anything that keeps Delilah running smoothly I consider a good investment. I'd like you to give her a good once over, but if we're going to be heading out with any expediency then her leg is my top priority. So unless you're coming with us, I'd appreciate it if you'd just get her running for now."
 
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Tinka pursed her lips. She'd decide if she would have to go with once she got a look at the horse, but first she needed a look at the damage.


Her guests probably got a great view of her butt as she shimmied up the ladder to her loft. Against the metal siding where it met the wood, there was a railroad spike driven into the wall. Tinka grinned as she unwound a chain that was coiled around said spike. This was one of her favorite parts, if only for the shock factor.


With a running jump, Tinka leapt from the edge of the loft, the chain rattling behind her as she gripped it hard. There was only a second of free fall until the chain caught, and was slowed by the pulley system rigged to the ceiling. With an unhappy groan, a section of metal lifted, swinging inward and knocking several boxes (thankfully closed) further into the room. 


Tinka herself hit the ground gently, though with a stumble and, flashing a thumbs up at Claudia, anchored the chain to the upstairs' sister spike, driven into the floor.


"Alright, bring her around and let's see what you've done to the poor girl." Tinka dusted off her hands and grabbed a toolbelt off the floor. 
 
There was a groan of protest and a shriek of scraping metal as the heavy security gate shuddered upwards. Marcus didn't bother to hide his distaste at the racket. Apparently the good Sheriff didn't make maintenance much of a priority. Inside the Sheriff Office garage Marcus could see a row of horses, ready to go, and the silhouettes of other equipment further in. Looming above all of it at the back of the garage were the hulking forms of the automaton deputies.


Each was 12 feet tall and made of heavy riveted black iron. They had squat round heads atop drum bodies with arms. That was where the similarities to a human being ended. The deputies each had four spider like legs that helped them clamber over uneven terrain. The bristled with nets and cable launchers, electro-whips and other nasty surprises. Mr. Campbell might want Billy Rook alive but that didn't mean capturing him couldn't hurt a lot.


The Sheriff was babbling something about authorizations but Marcus ignored him and began to climb the gantry next to the deputy painted with a large 11. He could already hear the hiss of hot water and the rumble of coal as the huge machine stirred. Automaton Deputies were far too large and too powerful to run of springwork like the TOM in the bar. Instead they ran off coal and steam like a train. These two were hooked up to the building's boiler so the could be started at a moment's notice.


Marcus reached the top of the gantry and wedged himself a bit awkwardly between the structure and the machine's huge shoulder. He reached out a bit awkwardly and used the key that the Sheriff had so graciously provided to open the maintenance panel behind the Auto-deputy's head. It sprang open, and within Marcus could see the waiting slot of the card reader.


He carefully pulled out the Master Key and rammed it home. There was the distinct sound of breaking glass and then a clicking, clattering, flurry of pins setting deep within the machine. The Auto-deputy's head swiveled around to regard Marcus with its one glass eye from behind the Iron grate that protected it's delicate lens.


"STATE YOUR NAME"the machine's voice was deep and Marcus could feel it rumbling beneath his hands.


"Marcus Bishop."


"UNDERSTOOD. AWAITING YOUR COMMAND, MR BISHOP."


Marcus smiled and pulled himself back up onto the gantry. The sheriff was gaping up at him in confusion. "How the hell did you do that? I haven't told it to follow you yet!"


"Number 11?" Marcus said quietly, ignoring the sheriff's shouting.


"AWAITING YOUR COMMAND, MR BISHOP."


"Crush him."


The Auto-deputy moved without hesitation. If the Sheriff had realized what was happening a moment sooner, if he had been a few years younger, or if he had kept a bit more fit, he might have gotten out of the way in time. As it was, his eyes were still widening in shock as the half-ton of iron that was the Auto-deputy's fist pistoned down to smash him to paste.


Marcus felt a grin of glee stretching across his face as the Auto-deputy swiveled to look at him once more. This was going to go very well indeed.


"Time to wake up your brother."
 
Niklaus made a point of not looking up while Tinka climbed the ladder. He assumed that she wore what she did out of necessity with her work, but that didn't mean he couldn't show her a little respect. He couldn't help looking up at the sound, though, his body taut as a bowstring for a moment before he saw Tinka safely land on the ground with the chain pulley.


"Alright, bring her around and let's see what you've done to the poor girl," she said as she picked up a tool belt from the floor.


Niklaus brought Delilah around and into the shop, hitching her reins on a likely-looking hook that jutted out of a wooden pillar. He gave her muzzle a pat and joined Claudia to the side of the shop; best to be out of the mechanic's way.


"So tell me more about this outlaw we'll be chasing down," he said to the saloon girl, though his eyes were still focused straight ahead on Delilah as Tinka began inspecting her.


"It'll be easier for me to help you find him if I know what we're looking for."
 
Late at night when Edgar detected some unusual sound--a settling of the floorboards or a scurrying outside--he sat up, body rigid, ears pricked, every spring taut as he prepared to defend his home and his mistress from danger. Claudia felt that same sort of alert tightening in her own body as Nick casually asked for details about Rook. Had she made a mistake in asking for his help? What did they really know about him?


"Oh, honey," she said with a casual toss of the head and a little one-shouldered shrug, "I don't need you to help me find him. I know exactly where he is. It's an old played-out mine, about five miles north of here. The sheriff knows the place, but what he doesn't know is that if you ride two miles around the other side there's an entrance hidden by a boulder and some scrub bush. That's how Billy and his gang come and go undetected."

Nick nodded but said nothing. Claudia let the silence stretch a bit as they watched Tinka give the horse a once over, her deft hands traveling over every inch.

"Billy's a son of a bitch," Claudia said bluntly. "I can't stand him, and the feeling is most definitely mutual. He and his gang are a rough bunch. They shake down wagon trains coming from the East. Greenhorns who don't have a clue, you know? But I don't believe he's a murderer, not for a minute, and he doesn't deserve to be punished for something he hasn't done."

She let a coy smile sneak back into her face as she rested her parasol on her shoulder and twirled it.

"By the way, I ride side saddle," she said, gesturing to her skirts. "Hope that won't be a problem."
 
Tinka watched as her new project was lead in, limping badly and beat all to hell. She whistled low. "Wow. A Higgs Trotter? I haven't seen one of these in years. Well, one that can actually move. I'd be impressed if it didn't look like you threw her at a train." Her fingers lingered over the bullet holes and scrapes along Delilah's mane,"and then some."


Tinka's nose wrinkled at the obvious damage littering the mechanical beastie. This poor thing needed a tune up a hundred miles ago, and...she tilted her head. Those were some very peculiar rips up the side. Not bandits and certainly no mountain lion. Which left few options as to where exactly this stranger came from, and what beat him up so badly. Not too badly though, since he was up and about. Curious.


"Be good for me sweetie," She gave Delilah a friendly pat and set to it, peeling away the outer layers of leather and metal until every cog and spring from hoof to hip was bare. It was...pretty bad. She ran her fingers over the mangled innards of the horses' leg. A few cogs pushed at nothing, their coworking parts jarred loose. One had even fallen out when the plating was removed. Several cogs had bent or missing teeth, and the springs on the lower leg hung loose. The only thing in working order was the iron hooves. Obviously an aftermarket part with a gently spiked bottom for fast takeoff and managing difficult terrain. She sat down for a minute and stared. "You poor precious thing. Your owner is an idiot. I'm so so sorry." She whispered. Rubbing her face, she stood up and grabbed a box, seemingly at random.


"Two hours for the leg," she said finally, "After that, we'll see."


----


She did it in one and a half. She could hear Nick and Claudia talking while she worked, but it was just a dull mumble to her. She was smeared with oil and grime. She would never get it out from under her nails (at least, she had never managed before). Thankfully she had all the parts she needed. One of the benefits of owning a Higgs is that they took most standard parts. They were designed to be customizable and accessible for everyone. American Dream and all that. 


Still, Tinka was tired. When she starts on something, she rarely stopped until it was done, and she had been climbing all over Delilah. To the beasties credit, she was very patient with Tinka, and with being groped and poked and prodded. Tinka had had a few try to buck her, all the poking triggering an anti-theft feature or some other self-preservation directive. She tossed her wrench and grabbed her screwdriver, oiling the joints and plate connections as she went, closing up the leg and sealing it away from the worst of the grime she would pick up as she hauled around her owner. 


"Well, the hard part is done." she stretched, her spine popping in complaint. She couldn't stop her smile as she waved for her guests' attention, "Ta-daa!"
 
Niklaus pushed his hat up past his eyes and stood from where he'd been leaning against a wall. He took a quick circuit around Delilah, running his hand over her familiar frame. She certainly looked good as new. Well, as new as she could look. The ghost of a smile touched his lips as he stroked her muzzle and she tossed her head a little, reins jangling.


"Feel better?" he murmured, then he turned to the lady mechanic.


"I'm in your debt," he told her, "So, how might I repay you?"
 
Tinka put her hands on her hip and tilted her head. "$60, if you let Claudia take that trip. $100 if you don't. Either way, that'll pay you off. If you can't afford it, we can work something else out."


It was a bit of a steep price she knew, but those replacement parts weren't cheap, especially the primary spring for the busted leg. Still, cheaper than what the town's 'official' mechanic would cost and about five times as fast, if only because she was sober. Still, the horse should be back up to spec, if not better. She wasn't going to mention it, but the last person to lay hands on that horse had used a few substandard cogs here and there. Nick should find a definite improvement next time he went for a ride.
 
"I don't mind giving your friend a ride," Niklaus said, "And I appreciate the generous discount for doing so."


He pulled a small leather pouch from his coat and reached inside, coming out with three gold coins before hesitating a moment and grabbing a fourth.


"I hope this will be sufficient," he said, pressing the coins into Tinka's palm. That amount of pure gold should be more than enough, but she certainly deserved it for the work she had done, and, if he were being honest with himself, he couldn't quite help it. After all, she reminded him very much of an old friend from long ago...


He unhitched Delilah's reins from the hook and led her out of the shop. She seemed very spry indeed, even tossing her head and doing a little prance out the door. Outside he mounted up and extended a hand to Ms. deBower to pull her up behind him in the saddle. With a final wave to Tinka they set off, taking an easy pace through town and to the dancer's home so that she might drop off her cat and retrieve anything she needed for the ride. Niklaus waited outside, chewing on some salted jerky and watching as the town bustled with the day-to-day. Here a woman in a plain gingham dress doing the day's shopping as her small children toddled after her like little ducklings, there two men in dusty suits and wide-brimmed hats chewing tobacco and speculating about just how soon one might expect to see a Campbell run at the presidency.


Niklaus's hands tightened on the reins at the mention of Campbell's name. The man was the originator of the Anti-Sanguinist movement, something for which Niklaus felt he almost ought to be thankful for, but Campbell's hatred of vampires bordered on mania, and his fire-and-brimstone style of preaching did not sit well with Niklaus. There was danger in whipping the common folk into hysteria, one that ended in witch hunts and innocent blood.


A third man joined the pair who were talking, and suddenly the conversation took on hushed tones. Niklaus cocked his head and stretched his hearing, drowning the menial sounds around him and pulling the whispered words into sharp focus. What he heard caused the pit of his stomach to clench into a hardened weight, and when Claudia emerged from her home the way that she paused told him that his expression must be dark indeed.


"I'd like to take a quick pass by the sheriff's office on our way out of town," he told her, and when he saw her tense he added, "Nothing to do with your outlaw friend, I promise. It seems there's been an accident."
 
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Riding the Sheriff's gleaming white horse and flanked on either side by the massive Auto-deputies made it unlikely that Marcus would be able to sneak up on Billy Rook's hideout. It mattered little to Marcus, stealth had never been his preferred mode. He liked to be seen and imagined that he cut a rather dashing figure atop the fine white horse in his cream suit and duster. He should have taken the Sheriff's star before he killed him, that would have really completed the look.


Marcus mused that it might be amusing to be appointed Sheriff of Copperhead. He'd certainly enjoy an opportunity to correct the town's many glaring moral deficiencies. Perhaps he would bring the idea up to Mr. Campbell after concluding his business here. Of course, there would probably be some hard feelings about the previous Sheriff's... retirement. No doubt the Marshals would have questions about that, but Marcus Bishop wasn't concerned about that. So long as he resided in the good favor of Alexander Campbell, the grasping fingers of the law would not dare to touch him. He almost laughed, perhaps he would get himself made Sheriff. That would make all the bloodsuckers and whores take note.


He stopped his horse at the mouth of a dry and stony washout that marked the opening of a low and crumbling canyon. Supposedly Billy Rook's hideout was about a mile further in. Marcus ordered the auto-deputies to circle around and come at the hideout from either side, incapacitating or detaining anyone they came across. Marcus himself considered the canyon as they clambered up over the sides and skittered out of sight. Of course there were times when it was good to be seen and times when it was better to be inconspicuous.


Marcus pulled his case from the little shelf behind the saddle and set him beside him. He tied the horses reigns to its saddle horn and gave it two sharp smacks on the flank. The horse gave a clattering whinny and began to trot into the canyon. That would probably get someone's attention. Marcus opened his case and depressed the hidden catches that opened the false bottom. The bottom tray lifted up on two telescoping arms, keeping all his belongings neatly arranged, to reveal a fine Colt 72 rifle with a telescoping barrel and mounted sighting glass. He pulled the gun out and checked it thoroughly before snapping the pieces together and screwing down the stock with practiced ease. He then loaded the gun and headed up the scree to gain a bit of ground.


Instead of following his horse or the two deputies towards Billy's hideout, he found a decent patch of scrub that provided decent cover and let him look down over the lip of the canyon and back towards the town. Of course now his clothes were covered in dirt and dust. Marcus frowned for a moment. Well, no one said the job would be easy. He'd let the deputies round up anyone poking their head out of the hideout and see about picking up Billy once the coast was clear. In the meantime he trained his glass on the smudge of the town where it sat below him. Obviously someone was warning Billy Rook whenever the Law came looking for him, Marcus was going to keep an eye on the town and see who popped up.
 
It took her ages after Claudia and Nick had left, but Tinka had managed to get the worst of the grime off of her and slide into something a bit more public-friendly just in time to slide in to work. Her hair was up in a loose bun held by thin metal rods again, but she had changed out the blouse and skirts, opting for an off white, square-necked top with a pale green skirt. Over that went the cleanest bar apron she had (she really needed to get some laundry done).


Though she was prepared to ply the usual lunchtime gossip, the bar was already abuzz when she stepped in. As she caught up on guests and orders, Ruby, one of her coworkers, eager filled her in. Apparently, someone found the sheriff, or what was left of him, smeared into a broken mess of bone and blood, and apparently, someone had made off with the two mechanical deputies and the sheriff's very own horse, but apparently the remaining officers were keeping mum about the whole thing and no one could get a who or a what out of anyone who might know anything. Maybe.


Uncle Buck was already on the scene, swapping what-ifs with the regulars as he pulled beer alongside TOM. She sidled up next to him.


"Hey Uncle Buck. Two new tenants last night." She grabbed two mugs and headed into the fray.


"I noticed," her uncle replied when she returned, "Hope th' bank takes that paper crap."


"Yup. We got a pretty boy from the city. Lotta money. Lotta attitude."


"And the other one?"


"Hurt, but nice enough. Claudia's hitching a ride right now on his horse."


Uncle Buck guffawed deeply, "Poor soul." He shook his head before leaning across the bar, refilling a mans' mug. Tinka grabbed a tray of food as Ruby handed it off and swirled out to the tables, a new kind of gossip in mind. Claudia had her ways of warning people. Tinka had her own.


By the time she was done, the bar was buzzing with speculations about the poor man Claudia had gotten her claws into, as well as mutterings about the monied man from the city, and what either one might have to do with the sheriff's untimely and unpleasant demise. 
 
Riding side-saddle behind someone else was terribly awkward, and Claudia dearly wished Nick would just loan her the horse while she took care of this little...issue. And not just because of the riding arrangements, either. But she supposed it was a bit much to ask a stranger to let her ride off into the sunrise with his obviously treasured companion. So she wrapped her arms around his waist as lightly as possible to keep her balance but not become overly personal with the strange and standoffish man. Nick waited outside her house as she glided in serenely, ostensibly to deposit Edgar. But after she dropped her feline friend onto the bed, she darted to the wardrobe, yanking up the false bottom and arming herself in ways most unbecoming for a lady. A pistol fastened in each garter, a dagger jammed into her boot and enough ammunition tucked into every spare fold of fabric to blow Billy Rook and his gang all the way to California if need be. She intended to help the idiot--though for what reason she couldn't say--but she wasn't about to take any flack from him, either.


Settling her expression back into one of ladylike calm, she emerged from her front door only to be confronted with a thunderstorm brewing on Nick's face.


"I'd like to take a quick pass by the sheriff's office on our way out of town," he told her. Claudia clenched her fists and opened her mouth to object, but Nick continued. "Nothing to do with your outlaw friend, I promise. It seems there's been an accident."


"He's not my friend," she said shortly, taking his hand and mounting Delilah. Sheriff Milton was also not one of her biggest fans. When he was sober the law-man said her dress and professional demeanor encouraged good, law-abiding, God-fearing men to find themselves on the wrong side of the law. Of course once Sheriff Milton had a couple of rounds of whiskey of a Saturday night he was lining up to dance with her just like all the other God-fearing men in town. "But what's happened?"
 
Nick sucked his teeth and wondered how much he ought to tell her. According to polite society, a lady shouldn't be exposed to such things. Blood and death were far too gruesome for delicate sensibilities; unbecoming and unwelcome topics of conversation best left to whispers behind hands and the closed spaces of menfolk.


Niklaus didn't much care for polite society.


"The sheriff is dead," he said at last, his voice low, "Apparently they're trying to pass it off as an accident, but frankly I don't buy it."


He spurred Delilah on, using the movements and furtive murmurs of the townsfolk to guide him towards the source of rumor.


"Something isn't right," he continued, "and I'm willing to bet that our gentlemanly friend from last night had something to do with it."


He could hear the crowd before they even turned the corner, a low buzz like a swarm of insects crawling in his ear. Sure enough, there was a gathering outside of a building that looked as likely as any to be the sheriff's office. More specifically, they were gathered outside of a garage-like structure that had been cordoned off by several officers. There was a wagon parked nearby and two men were loading... something onto a stretcher. With shovels. The townsfolk craned and stood on tiptoes to try to get a better look, and Niklaus snorted. Polite society.


"How closely you want to look is up to you," he told Claudia, "I'm more interested in if anyone saw who did it and where he went, but I'd prefer not to stick around. Asking too many questions is a great way to get noticed, and that's a great way to get killed."


He pulled Delilah to the opposite side of the street and hopped down to hitch her up, whispering a command word in her ear so someone wouldn't go riding off without him. He offered Claudia a hand down and then made his way toward the crowd, the smell of death greeting him like an old friend.
 
Claudia felt the blood drain from her face as she watched what was left of Sheriff Milton shoveled onto a stretcher. She'd seen plenty of gunshot wounds, plenty of limbs crushed under horses, the odd finger taken clean off by a careless encounter with heavy machinery. She'd blotted and bandaged dozens of times, trying her best to ignore the feeling of the room spinning beneath her feet. But this...the metallic smell of blood overwhelming her, even out here on the street, the squelching sounds of broken flesh... Leaning hard against Delilah, she pressed her forehead into the cool metal, breathing slowly and deliberately. Nick's concerned presence hovered behind her.


"I'll be all right," she said, waving vaguely behind her without not looking up. "Go see what you need to see. I can ask questions you can't. People expect it of me."


After letting one final deep breath escape through her lips, Claudia straightened her back and arranged her face into a mask of begin curiosity. She circulated through the crowd asking a few questions, lightly touching an arm here and there but mostly listening to the chatter.

The butcher said the two mechanical deputies were missing from the garage, and that's likely what took out Milton. The stationmaster said the sheriff received an urgent telegram yesterday from Congress, AZ. And dear old Mrs. Lewis, up well before the roosters every morning to mark the comings and goings of her neighbors, saw a man in an ostentatious cream suit pass by heading in the direction of the sheriff's office.

Claudia picked her way through the townspeople carefully, trying not to seem too deliberate in her mission while looking for Nick. She nodded sympathetically to the passing comments of the head-scratching locals: "It's a bad business, Miss Claudia" and "Just can't think how it could have happened." But the wheels in Claudia's head were turning. If their Campbell-loving nuisance was behind this--and she was quite certain now that he was--they could reasonably assume he'd taken the hulking deputies in his search for Rook. They would have to get there before he did. They had to.
 


Finally spotting Nick she sidled up to him and whispered, "It's definitely our bastard friend. And he's taken the mechanical deputies, though God only knows how. They're programmed to follow the sheriff's orders. We need to get to Rook and fast."
 
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Claudia looked like she was about to be sick, but she waved him off as she steeled herself. He considered attempting a reassuring touch on her shoulder, but decided against it with a smirk. This one was stubborn and fiery, and made of sterner stuff than Niklaus suspected even she knew. He left her to gather herself and edged into the crowd.


There was something of an art to not being noticed in a crowd, especially when you were over six feet tall and dressed in all black. Don't move too quickly or too directly. Meander a little. Move side to side or diagonally instead of straight ahead. Apply just enough pressure here and there to direct people where you want them, but don't push. Eventually Niklaus managed to insert himself at the front of the gathered throng near where the body was being loaded into the wagon. He breathed deep, drawing in the raw tang of blood and offal.


It was the blood he was more concerned about. There was a reason for sayings like "it's in the blood" or "blood will tell." You could learn a lot from someone's blood. For instance, the sheriff had a rare blood type and ate far too much fatty and salty foods. He had a fondness for alcohol and tobacco, as most folks in these sorts of towns did, and probably would have died from the tumor forming in his lung within a few years if it wasn't removed. Didn't matter much now. He was also afraid in his final moments; the sharp bite of fear was all too plain to Niklaus like a bright yellow sign over the body. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, and for the barest of moments he could see the dandy man's face grinning with manic glee before it was stamped out by a massive shadow.


It was at the moment that Claudia sidled up next to him and made her quiet report. Niklaus tried not to let too much of scowl show on his face. If that damnable fop had the mechanical deputies under his control, that meant one of two things: that he was very clever, or that he was very well prepared. Neither situation was ideal, and if by some chance it were both then they would really be in trouble.


Damn it. There were still too many unanswered questions, too many variables. They didn't even know the bastard's name, only that he was an Anti-Sanguinist after some outlaw named Billy Rook, and that he'd do damn near anything to get him. If Niklaus had only had more time to investigate, to prepare-


Well, he didn't. This wasn't a vampire hunt. He might have the mechanical deputies under his control, but their adversary was still just a man.


"We'd better get going, then," he told Claudia, taking care not to rush as he made his way out of the crowd.


They mounted up and headed for the edge of town, their pace brisk but not so fast as to attract undue attention. Once out of the city limits Niklaus advised Claudia to hold on a little tighter and coaxed Delilah up to higher speed. The old horse was running quite smoothly indeed, Niklaus noted. He would have to remember to thank Tinka again for her work, if he saw her again.


First, he would need to survive the next few hours.
 
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