Post #150

I realize I didn't do a celebratory post for the 100th post on this blog, so I figured 150 will suffice. I've been producing content consistently since I started—I doubt I'll continue at this pace but we will see where things take us.

I wrapped up the Starcraft Co. series, that is still the longest series on this blog in terms of total content (904,866 bytes) and tied for most posts (at 34 along with the Inbetweeners series). Starcraft Co. is concluded for now, so I anticipate Inbetweeners will surpass it since I'm not even half way done with that series.

The Television Antihero Deathmatch Tournament ended up being a lot more in depth than I initially anticipated. It was only ten posts, but each post contained several matches, in total representing 720,404 bytes of text! That is the second tournament series of done, but was much more involved than the original. I did a double elimination style, with multiple different arenas, setups, even bringing in teammates in the later rounds. It tested how characters could leverage different environments to their advantage. A huge upgrade from the fantasy swordfighter tournament.

The What If alternate history series has real potential if I stick with that one. Each installment can be incredibly detailed as major changes can have ripple effects throughout history.

Lastly, Merdunia is chugging along at 9 posts so far... haven't decided how far I will take that one yet. Oh and The Blue Monkey Story II has already surpassed the original with just its first installment.

There are many more projects I have in the pipeline, so stay tuned. I'm hoping the next time I do a check in like this we have surpassed the King James Bible in total length of content! If not, maybe I'll just check in for post 200.

dodici ottobre – la festa dei ladri

Se entri in una casa abitata e dichiari di averla “scoperta”, di solito ti denunciano. Se lo fai con tre navi, armi, croci e una benedizione ufficiale, qualche secolo dopo ti dedicano una piazza, una statua e magari una festa nazionale. È il prodigio della storia raccontata dai vincitori, quella in cui il furto diventa esplorazione, l’invasione impresa, il saccheggio civiltà. Basta cambiare nome alle cose e aggiungere un po’ di retorica. Il 12 ottobre 1492 non si scoprì un continente. Si inaugurò una delle più grandi operazioni di rapina organizzata della storia, con tanto di benedizione divina e timbro imperiale. Rubare terre, ridurre in schiavitù, massacrare popolazioni e cancellarne le culture sembrava più decoroso se fatto in nome di Dio, del progresso e della civiltà. Una rapina, purché accompagnata da una croce, diventa una missione. Cinque secoli dopo, il sistema funziona ancora.

Sono cambiate le navi, non la direzione delle ricchezze, le materie prime partono, i profitti pure. Restano la povertà, le foreste devastate, le comunità espropriate e l’abitudine di chiamare “sviluppo” tutto ciò che arricchisce qualcun altro. Meno armature, più contratti, meno cannoni, più multinazionali. La stessa vecchia fame. E c’è ancora chi festeggia. Magari qualche latinoamericano che grida “Viva España”, dimenticando che la propria storia è stata scritta anche con il sangue dei suoi antenati. Il colonialismo ha ottenuto persino il capolavoro di convincere i discendenti dei saccheggiati ad applaudire i saccheggiatori. Il 12 ottobre non è una festa. È il Giorno della Resistenza Indigena, la memoria di popoli che qualcuno avrebbe voluto cancellare e che invece continuano a esistere, lottare e rivendicare il proprio futuro. Perché il vero miracolo non è che Colombo sia arrivato. È che, nonostante tutto, loro siano ancora lì.

Greetings and SNAIL-utations blog friends!

Cute Snail and I wanted to get on here, say “Shello” and share a smile again and let you know that the following fall themed postcards are now available for download from our Payhip store! Links are below. Each card is 100% FREE, comes as a US letter sized PDF print sheet, and can be used or gifted as a single card or two separate cards depending on your gifting needs. Cards can also be printed on any weight of paper, but 60 pound cover stock makes a nice keepsake worthy greeting card. FREE fall themed coloring pages and a fall coloring book are also available as well. Enjoy!

Cute Snail and I are off to make a warm cuppa coffee, enjoy a little lunch and watch more video adventures. Yesterday we visited Chimney Rock, NC. Here’s the link to the video if you'd like to visit too. It’ll take about 45 minutes to watch —— > https://youtu.be/BSQbS74LXs0?si=uhw_ZFa-ILVp7bMM

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Last week I spent four days (October 8–11) playing old-school Dungeons & Dragons at Cauldron, “an OSR Euro Con.” Once again, organisers did an absolutely stellar job.

I know they call it a con, but that label does not fully do them justice. This is more like a really large club of hundred people, who have gathered to play in a rather intimate atmosphere. The food is home cooked, labour is volunteer-based, we all tend to the venue, we sleep together, and we game together.

In this post I share a bit more about my experience. See this post for reports on games I either played or hosted; and this post for how I prepared.

Arrival

Don't change a winning strategy. Or something like that. I took a night bus to Frankfurt, slept most of the way, arrived in the morning, had a walk, and then boarded a train to Marburg. Shuttle picked me up there and took me to Hofraithe Rosenthal.

I arrived too early to check in to the room, so I went for a walk around the village, returned to have some cake, and contemplated about games to follow. By the time check-in was open, roughly two thirds of participants had arrived. As last year, the first thing I did was make my bed, so I can crash into it after midnight.

Thursday

Since Thursday was also the arrival day, there were only two games, with the first being so called “Temple of Doom Sidekick” block. Regular blocks are four hours, night blocks are, in theory, unlimited, and this one was just three hours.

The first game I played was hosted by EOTB. The table was packed with talented players, pregenerated characters were distributed, and we went to work. EOTB ran a tight game, with quick answers and no-nonsense approach. I loved it. The map was exciting, with verticality, secret doors and passageways, and just enough things to interact with and get into trouble. I expected no less, since he did mention he would use a map from the Twisting Stair zine. As we ran out of time, I asked other players to take their characters outside of the current chamber so I can just grab the treasure, screw traps. Maybe I wasn't clear enough, but most stayed inside. We got the treasure, I triggered all the traps, three characters had died. Great success.

Lunch was lovely. I did my best to avoid snacks and sodas, since I had a game to run. It was great to see so many friends and acquaintances, as well as to meet people whom I had been chatting with over the years via discord and forums.

I hosted my game in the night slot. I like those the most since they are open ended. I was assigned the same room as last time, Linde, but this time they limited it to two games instead of four. Same chunky tables as last time, same immovable pillars. I rearranged the tables to form a large square, with me taking the side by the wall. This left three sides for eleven people to sit relatively comfortably, and up to eight more in the second row.

The module I ran was Halls of Viridian Mist, a megadungeon level I had written for the Jennell Jaquays Memorial Game Jam, published in the Return to Perinthos. Ten players joined, and it was an adrenaline rush from the beginning to the end. I am continuously amazed with how players adapt and adjust to the unfolding situation. In this case within few turns everything goes tits up, and rest of the session is a mad dash for survival. One character is lost to the ghouls, one sacrifices himself so others can flee, and one retires after the adventure, having lost both of their hands.

I don't remember how long it took us, but I think we were done by midnight. I took a walk around the dining hall where Chainmail battles were raging. My good friend Dreadlord was playing, playing to win! Joking aside, it was fascinating to watch, witness Settembrini ruling, and see Sarisa in action.

Friday

Nothing like a good morning game hosted by yours truly! I ran Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater, a location from our Conquering the Barbarian Altanis campaign, now also published in the Beneath the Black Pyramid con zine. We ran the game in the dining room, which was this year used as a game room as well. Last year I had to use it for one of my sessions that attracted 17 people.

That also meant we had to wait until breakfast was over, and that we had to finish a bit before the time, so the room can be prepared for lunch. That was no problem. Eleven players joined, got the main, hook and begun planning. This site depends on the time of day. Once they told me they approach at day, I rolled to determine where are the key monsters. Horrible abomination was determined to be hunting outside, to return in three hours (18 turns).

Players decided not to enter the cave, but fall back, make camp, and observe. I handed them the battle map and asked them to position the horses, their characters, so on and so forth. I gave them a timer of ten minutes—when time runs out is is what it is.

I cannot stress how important the timers are to maintain the pace. Most relevant ideas will surface within first few minutes, everything after that is just spinning the wheels. The timer's main purpose is to allow space for those good ideas to bubble up, and for everyone, or most of the players, to articulate and internalise them.

Of course, the monster returns by trampling the camp, killing men-at-arms, two player characters, and causing mess in general. Players adjust their goal to seeking revenge instead of looking for what they were paid to find.

When I design sites, especially natural ones like caverns and similar, I love playing with elevations and light. They go deep into the cave, constantly down (they have dwarves so I give them lengths, angles, everything). But they never attempt to look beyond their own light. Another thing I often play with are rooms that are mostly empty, and depend on a wandering monster. In this case, the harpies were one of the factions, which are mostly not present because they wander around. But, if they are, then they have a special place or tactic.

Either way, the players pursued the monster, slain it, and then were charmed by the harpies. Well, technically, not charmed yet, but beckoned to come to them, so they can claw and charm them. Just four character make their save, but I leave it up to the beckoned players to control how they attempt to approach their most desired targets.

I have said it before, and I will say it again—player skill at Cauldron is very, very high. The amount of intelligent malicious compliance was just insane. For example, Tamás had their hobbit attempt to gift their sentient sword to the harpy. This is perfectly aligned with the in-game logic—the harpies desire wealth, treasure, and adoration—and adventurer gives his most treasured belonging. But the player knows that grabing sentient swords causes damage to creatures of different alignment. His character is lawful. The harpy is not.

The players work their way out of it, recover the object they were hired to find, and then nearly lose it as another pack of harpies sings to them. Now another player with a sentient sword pulls off a stunning manoeuvre by asking his sword to teleport it right next to the harpy. Teleporation is an insanely dangerous spell, but here, within sight, it was all but guaranteed to work.

We finished on time for lunch, with most of the characters alive.

After having some hearty food, I played in an awesome game hosted by Gabor Lux. He ran three consecutive sessions of the Palace of the Eternal Autocrat, with each group exploring a portion of the complex. We were the second group, with one character from the first group joining us. He brought a map with him. It was useless.

Photo by Gabor Lux.

To clarify, not because of him, but because we decided to step through the above ground teleporter so we get into real action. I already mentioned the player skill. What I want to add is that players at Cauldron are quite proactive as well. They establish their own goals, they pursue them aggressively, and they are not afraid to take risks.

This game was no different in that regards. Gabor's adventuring locations are always a blast to play, and he is such a fun fellow himself. This was an enjoyable romp with an unexpected ending. Ignatius Umlaut, editor of the Fight On! zine, decided to gate us all into none other than Attronarch's Barbarian Altanis! A dozen adventures, loaded with treasure, and a burning desire to live.

Next up was suckling pig and sauerkraut for dinner, followed by a high level adventure by Ignatius himself. This was a continuation of an adventure that he ran for the Hungarians years ago. Apparently, one of the player characters had betrayed them, stolen some artefact, and then teleported away. Now he was rumoured to be a lich.

There was eleven of us, and Ignatius ran a very entertaining game. Night dragons, dark trolls, dinosaurs, it had it fucking all. I recognised the area from the legendary Darkness Beneath megadungeon, but luckily I did not remember the specifics. I was thoroughly impressed with how Ignatius managed all the moving parts, especially since we were in essence doing an underworld wilderness adventure.

During the day a word reached me that Jan, one of the players in our ongoing Wilderlands campaign, is actively lobbying people to stage an assault on the Wizard-King Racoba. He also approached me to check if that is OK, worried for what I had prepared for the session. As usual, I told him, and everyone whom had asked, to decide as they wish. I shall be ready.

Saturday

This was the day. At night slot I would run the Conquering the Barbarian Altanis session in the night slot. Last year I had seventeen people, over the span of six or seven hours. But this year everyone was talking about it. I was unsure how many people would join. Either way, I was committed to run for whatever number of people does show up.

But first I had some games to play in! Keith Sloan ran an awesome game. He had this relaxed style which lulls you in, and then he blasts the whole party with fire trap, slaps you with eight ghouls, and throws you down the pit.

What I especially appreciated it how he crafted the adventuring location. He told us it is a gnoll temple. We are playing AD&D 1e. Gnolls are described as lazy, as using slaves, as worshipping a deity which is also worshipped by ghouls, so on and so forth. By paying attention to cues, based on the knowledge of not just the rules but also the implied setting, we were able to make informed guesses on what to do next. More often than not, our assumptions had proven to be correct. That felt immensely rewarding! Keith gifted us an elegant dice for winning at D&D.

Next game I joined was by Ignatius Umlaut again. In retrospect, I realise I had mostly prioritised Americans—EOTB, Ignatius, and Keith—since they might not attend every year. Ignatius ran another high-level game, and I brought my character from the previous night. We fought and defeated Satan's minions, and won D&D for the second time that day. No really, it was a crazy adventure, go read the report.

Dinner and auction followed. I skipped the latter, opting to go for a walk, drink some tea, and mentally prepare for what is to follow.

Photo by James Knight.

Since our big game was in the dining hall, we had to wait for the for the organisers to complete all the transactions. I already had a whole set-up on my mind, given experience last year, and an experiment I suggested to Ignatius earlier in the day. Players jumped in and helped me arrange everything.

We had 13 tables in total, which was still not enough to have everyone sit by the table. So we had a second row of sitting too. I think we took around 3/5 of the dining hall. Twenty three people sat down to play. Some people later told me they gave up because the game filled up really fast during the sign up. I would have welcomed them!

Photo by James Knight.

Despite size of the set-up, one side was just for me. Not to power trip, but because that way I keep everyone within eyesight, and everyone can see and hear me best. I went around table handing out pregenerated characters, taking down names, and admin detail I need to ran a game at a furious pace.

Once we had that I divided the players into four teams, and asked them to nominate the caller. Table layout works its magic, and we had four teams of nearly identical sizes (6-5-6-6). Two teams gave me a name, while two teams gave me a colour. I guess I need to work on my pronunciation.

With teams and callers in place we were ready to begin! I presented the in-game information, where most of the adventurers currently are (Ironburg), and what intelligence about adventuring sites they have (Castle Yukanthur, Midnight Goddess Hills, Spire of the Divine Grape, The Black Monastery, Tomb of Ochandra the Earthshaker). Then it was up to the teams to discuss which of the options (or alternative) they would like to pursue.

To clarify, I ran this as a usual session of our open-ended sandbox campaign. There would be no teleporting back and forth. Anything is on the table, as long as the majority commits to it. All the options I offered were from the game, and I did my best to present them neutrally. Regular players that joined were free to share information as they see fit.

First round ends up with a draw between the tomb and monastery. Second round ends up with a draw again, but different teams. Some call for a roll. As I throw the dice, one time changes their vote to the monastery.

In less than thirty minutes, twenty three people agreed on where to go, what to do, and with which characters.

From Judging perspective, the Black Monastery was by far the worst out of the available options. Super-complex map with mapper that loves angles, eighty pages of two column 8 pt. font of dense paragraphs, with bad editing and crucial information hidden in all the wrong places (e.g. a four paragraph description of a bedroom, with third to last sentence being that here is an 10HD shadow waiting to ambush those entering; thanks).

I prepared the map on a separate page; this is a challenge for players not me. Keys I printed two pages on a single landscape page, to have four columns at glance. In general, I knew I had time to look them up whenever players ask for discussion time.

I am repeating myself with the player skill, but they did all the right things initially: scout the environment, use magic to fly over and take a look inside the monastery. They hesitated a bit to enter it proper, but once they were in, we started rolling.

Photo by Alex.

It was mostly cautious exploration, with me tormenting the team mappers with my descriptions, sizes, angles, points of reference and similar. A single fire elemental scared off the whole company, and they fled into a tight secret space, triggered a trap, and wiped out half of the characters.

Luckily, I had prepared seventy characters for the con, but now I was running dangerously low. That meant that clerics and hobbits began entering the game en masse. Exploration continued with brisk pace, with me giving specific timings, switching between asking callers and asking everyone what their characters are doing.

This switching is an important attention-resetting technique, because it was already midnight, and a third day of intense gaming. Mind wants to play, but body wants to sleep. So to keep it playing we need to give it something to do.

One thing I noticed was that the attendance was different compared to the last year. Then we had people coming and going as they became too tired, or they lost a character. This time 2/3 of the players had played until the very end!

The pace, and complexity, exploded once Titan of the Black Monastery came to life. It began wrecking the monastery and players. Two things I wish to point out here. OD&D (lbbs) worked brilliantly once more. Since its charts top at 10+ HD, this 20 HD titan still had 25% chance of missing heavily armoured characters. Second, Toby, the youngest player at the table, played with absolute balls of steel, leading the charge on the titan.

“What do you do?” I ask him.

“Charge the titan!” he answers without any hesitation whatsoever.

His character proceeds then to actually deliver the killing blow as well, which causes a spontaneous applause around the table. This raw, genuine, kind energy is absolutely awesome, and part of the Cauldron magic.

Judging-wise, from then on, I basically had to track four different parties. Since characters were all over the place, callers could not help. But players congregated physically, and we were able to rapidly resolve the combat rounds, even when close to two hundred zombies joined the fray.

Photo by Alex.

In this type of game players set their own goals. After their first wipeout, they found the safest place they could, organised around it, worked on questions for the commune spell, asked about the closest treasure hoard, and then just went for it. Once they had it, they went out.

We finished around 02:30 in the morning. Alas, I forgot to take a picture of those who stood until the very end. What I can say, without a trace of doubt, is that every single player contributed, and that every character mattered.

And, of course, I greatly appreciate them opening a portal to the Black Monastery, right next to Ironburg, at the border of the kingdom.

Special call outs go to Toby for his courage; Mike and Jan for enduring and surviving their second Wilderlands big group marathon; to Prince for controlling four (!) characters that others have given him after retreating to bed; and to Dreadlord for opening a portal to the Black Monastery, right next to Ironburg, at the border of the kingdom.

After the game I was too excited to go to sleep, but had to force myself to get to bed around 04:00. I still had one more game to run.

Sunday

Morning was all about awards and celebrations—the best Judge, best players, best tournament team, so on and so forth. It is a great way to wrap up by expressing gratitude to each other.

Since it was the last day, I wanted to run something a bit more light-hearted. Back to Linde, two-table square, eleven players, and Darkness Beneath megadungeon! I gave players the map, last remaining characters (only human clerics, hobbit fighting-men, and elf magic-users), and we went to town with it. They played so well, and we had fun messing with gods and fire balls. Frankly, they were more likely to kill themselves than anything else in the caves.

I don't know how many litres of tea I had drunk, but my throat was still functional enough to speak and say farewells to everyone.

A brief look at the pregenerated characters. 59 (~85%) out of 70 were taken, and 37 (~60%) survived. Not bad. Fighting-men and magic-users were exhausted first, followed by dwarves, elves, and hobbits. Clerics were almost exclusively taken as a second character after the first one die, and in the Sunday game because they were the last human option.

Summation

There is nothing else like Cauldron. If you are want to experience old-school Dungeons & Dragons, with people who love and play the game, then this is the con to visit. Everyone is supportive, open, and inclusive. Awesome people, awesome games.

Next Cauldron will be from October 14th to 17th 2027.

See you there?

Cauldron 2026 posts

All posts for the Cauldron 2026 convention:

• Preparing for the Cauldron 2026
• Cauldron 2026 Game Reports
• Cauldron 2026 Reflections

#Convention #Cauldron #OSR #FightOn

Few days ago I returned from the Cauldron, “an OSR Euro Con,” a four day celebration of old-school Dungeons & Dragons.

Below are the reports from all the games I played in and run:

• Thursday Block I Temple of Doom Sidekick: EOTB's Convention Dungeon
• Thursday Block II: Halls of Viridian Mist
• Friday Block I: Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater
• Friday Block II: Palace of the Eternal Autocrat
• Friday Night Block: Sunken Redoubt of the Serpentine Lich
• Saturday Block I: Temple of the Gnoll God
• Saturday Block II: Return to the Storm Giant's Castle
• Saturday Night Block: Conquering the Barbarian Altanis
• Sunday Block I: Darkness Beneath Megadungeon

These reports are strictly focused on what happened in each game. Some are written from the perspective of characters I played so should be treated with scepticism. I share my reflection on the con here, and my preparations here.

Thursday games

Thursday Block I Temple of Doom Sidekick: EOTB's Convention Dungeon

Game	EOTB's Convention Dungeon
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	EOTB
Player Characters	9

In the first game of the con I ran a well oiled, barely dressed Kalinikos of Athena, a double axe wielding swashbuckler armoured with nothing but bracers of defense and cloak of protection. Adventuring party numbered nine in total, with three straight fighters, one ranger, one assassin, one cleric, one magic-user, one fighter-thief, and one fighter-magic-user. Humans dominated and we had but a single dwarf and an elf.

We begun our adventure with a descent down a long shaft leading into a third level of a sprawling complex. Several statues of warrior women greeted us. Those with nimble fingers explored them, finding little of interest. It did not take us long to find action, or rather for action to find us.

Upon penetrating the sanctity shadows befell us; as did the newly animated statues. They had proven to be most impotent in our presence, and Kalinikos crushed three of them. Our cleric made the shadows flee, weeping and wailing. They left a sticky, dark residue on the doors they fled through. One of us caressed it, and was promptly drained of their strength.

Moving on we encountered a despoiled and beheaded corpse suspended in the air. If it was suposed to be a warning sign or deterrent to discourage us from moving on, then it failed miserably for we touched it, read the plaque hanging around its neck stump, poked it, and ultimately, moved on.

This led us to an irregular chamber. Our superior senses and wicked wonder meant that we managed to ambush the ambushers whom had tried to jump us from beyond the secret doors. We had slain these pathetic mongrel-men in seconds.

Their chamber was completely bereft of anything. This arouse suspicion, for surely they couldn't have just been here all the time. We failed to find secret doors, but speculated there must be something here, perhaps a ceiling trapdoor.

We returned to the main chamber, found a penetrated skull that wanted to scream. Turned out it was head of the beheaded cleric. Moving about we discovered another ceiling trapdoor, went up, surprised more mongrel-men and exterminated them with haste. We kept one alive, but its limited communication ability meant it was of limited use to us. We learned they serve the shadow masters, there is an altar nearby, and yes, there is some treasure.

At this moment we were confident we have ascended into a separate complex, perhaps a small cult area. Thus, we roamed the chambers, removing all threats. One of the rooms had bedrolls and blankets; the floor trapdoor led into the secret chamber we had previously explored.

An octagonal room with a summoning circle and charred walls was just the place we sought. A long corridor, with alcoves every ten feet, joined it. At the end stood a grotesque altar, with statue so foul we knew there must be something there.

Given their infravision, the dwarf and elf could see bars of heat cutting horizontally across the pathway. Our hobbit drank the potion of climbing, crawled up and above the heat bars, and then dropped down. He learned that the statue is trapped, that there is a secret compartment, and that something black is leaking from its eyes. As statue rose to its unlife, he spidered back to us, and we left the chamber to regroup and prepare for this demon.

I chugged the potion of speed, while one of kind souls cast protection from evil. Then we opened the doors, hacked the demon to pieces, and drove its summoned shadows away. Seeing that the treasure was now unprotected, and that I was still lightning fast I called out to others:

“Leave the chamber! I will grab the treasure at once!”

Alas, others merely repositioned themselves within the area, instead of leaving the octagonal chamber and long corridor. I sprinted to the end of the corridor, breaking all three beams. The first one triggered a loud alarm. The second made me weak like a newborn calf. Third one did nothing.

I quickly poured acid on the trap rune, smearing it. Then I pulled the compartment open. Inside were a robe dotted with countless stars, and six magnificent, silvery tubes. As I turned to inform the colleagues of this great find, fireball exploded from within the summoning circle, kill three adventurers, and wounding the rest.

“Why didn't you step outside!” I cried out, whilst recovering treasure. We picked our dead, valuables, and left for the surface. Great success.

Thursday Block II: Halls of Viridian Mist

Game	Halls of Viridian Mist
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	11

A party of eleven adventurers tumbled down a gigantic pit trap. They tumbled and rolled, until the landed into a foul pit full of refuse. Green chocking mist burned their eyes and obscured their vision.

In order, they were: Carmea of Tiberon, a human vicar; Cig Akgahnte, a human hero; Dacyniel, an elf hero theurgist; Ira Thorncreek, a hobbit hero; Jaki Wittyleg, a dwarf hero; Lefno Gaithh, a human theurgist; Menar Chigun, a human theurgist; Nacyn, an elf hero theurgist; Trasir Wisestorm, a dwarf hero; Ulla Valmasniz, a dwarf hero; and Zarah the Wicked, a human theurgist.

Rancid mist made everyone gag, and thus with some quick thinking everyone fashioned face covers of cloth. Their eyes were teary; torches and lanterns penetrated barely fifteen feet ahead. Quick-witted Nacyn suggested a marching order where everyone holds onto a rope. That way, even if they cannot see each other, at least then can hold onto the same object.

Milling about, they were confident that the pit was roughly rectangular, natural cavern, some forty by forty feet. Refuse poured downwards, in the south-east direction. A heart-rending, finger-curling, blood-freezing scream cut through the fog. Cig, Ira, Zarah, Trasir, Ulla, and Lefno felt courage and talent leave them in equal measure.

As if that wasn't enough, three ghouls jumped them from above, landing amongst them. Desperate melee ensued, with adventurers screaming in equal measure as the living dead. Zarah succumbed to horrible ghoulish paralysis, right after slaying one. Trasir and Nacyn each disposed of one ghoul as well.

Motivated to move quickly, the party asked Nacyn to take the lead—she was at the front of the rope. Thus, she slid down the foul refuse, then turned left. She could barely see the tunnels ahead, so she chose the one closest to her left. This one led them up, towards the screaming.

In the commotion, paralysed Zarah was left behind in the refuse pit. Unable to move, unable the see; but able to feel, able to think, and able to weep. She felt every claw, every bite, every second the ghouls had feasted on her flesh.

Nacyn followed the right cave wall, but led the adventurers into a dead end! More ghouls ravaged the back rank, but were quickly driven back. Dacyniel, elf who was at the end of the rope now found himself at the front.

“Right, right, follow the right wall!”

Indeed, they tapped the right cave wall, reached another split, and then took the right turn, climbing up. This led them to a portcullis. An attempt to discuss was cut short by intermittent screaming and fleshy footsteps echoing through the cave. Jaki Wittyleg drank the potion of giant strength. Then he held up the grates while others came through.

Stair leading up to their immediate left were enough to make them abandon the “right-hand” strategy. The dwarf tore straight through the doors, then placed them back as the elf cast hold portal on them.

They were now in a proper, hewn chamber. Flagstones were covered with gold pieces strewn all about. Viridian mist was ever present, making exploration rather difficult. By all accounts, the chamber was forty feet long and thirty feet wide. Three wells were lined along the east wall.

These wells perplexed the adventurers to no end. The water was fresh and potable. Whatever they dropped into it vanished at the same depth, at all three wells. They tied a small sack of coins and lowered it. It vanished. They pulled it back up. It was still the same sack, soaked and filled with their coins. Finally, Jaki and Menar dared take a dive. Both were surprised to emerge on the other side, their heads pointing up. They went down and were back up. And then down and back up again!

The whole party agree this is the way forward, so they all took a dive in the same well, emerging into the chamber on the other side. This one was much larger, and of angular geometry that cannot be described. It spanned nearly 6 000 square feet, most of it cloaked with the fog. It too had three wells—one in the south, one in the south-west, and one in the north-west. Doors were to the east, north-east, and north. The last ones were chosen.

Jaki the Doorbasher did his duty once more. Before them was a hundred foot long corridor, of slope noticeable only to the dwarves. The dead end had been seen through as merely a mockery for the inexperienced. Elves quickly found not one, but two secret doors. One leading further north, and one leading east.

Doorbasher took care of the sliding doors. They led to chamber unmolested by the mist. This twenty by twenty room was quite spartan, but comfortable, with a framed bed, and a large desk with attached drawers. Rummaging through the latter revealed 1 000 gold pieces, and a scroll with magic missile, wall of iron, control weather, and lower water. Lefno claimed the scroll.

Jaki proceeded to completely break the secret sliding doors leading north. The corridor split left and forward. Jaki went for the left doors, pulled on them, and a scythe severed both of his hands. The dwarf cried out in pain as others dragged him backwards. They cauterised his stumps, and used cure light wounds to stop the profuse bleeding. Cig and Ira made fun of him.

Six ravenous ghouls charged the adventurers from behind. This time the party was ready, and thus dispatched them within minutes. Doorbasher, tears streaming down his rosy cheeks, was unwilling to abandon hope. Thus, he soldiered on.

Adventurers moved further north, entering an octagonal chamber dominated with a blood stained stone platform attached to chains leading into the ceiling. A massive iron ring was drilled into each corner. A spoked wheel was in the centre of west wall. It feel out when adventurers tried to interact with it. While the dwarves investigated it, Dacyniel levitated upwards and Ira climbed one of the chains. Up and up they went, until they decided to descend sans they fall and die.

“This is the way out, for sure!”

Alas, dwarves had sad news to report—gears that the wheel was connected to were damaged. They could fix them if they had the right tools and materials...

The party continued exploring the corridors. They found another doors, Jaki kicked them and jumped back in time before another scythe took his leg. Dead end.

Portcullis blocked the advance into the cave system. They made a circle—the corridors looped around the octagonal chamber. As they discussed what to do, three minotaurs had charged them. A brutal skirmish broke out, with adventurers squeezed from both the front and the rear.

But they did not give in, and they did not give up. They fought back, tooth and claw. Nacyn leaped upwards, and decapitated one of the horned beasts. Trasir bust the kneecaps of another, while others chopped it to pieces. Cig gutted the last one as Jaki punted it up in the air. Then he Chopped its horns off, and offered them to Jaki as “new and improved hands.”

Adventurers had a choice to make, namely which way now? West-most corridor they said. What a great choice, for the elves had soon detected a secret chamber with an assortment of gears. Dwarves picked up several they thought would fit best.

Whilst dwarves worked on repairing the platform, others watched guard. But this was a horrible spot, with four different ways to approach it. They could hear the ghouls moving around, obscured by the mist.

Nearly two hours later, the dwarves reported they fixed the problem. Exhausted and bloodied, everyone rushed to the platform. Alas, a new problem had appeared. Who will operate the wheel?

“I have levitate. I can get you up, and then fly after you!”

Lefno volunteered. He cast the wall of iron to block off the northern approach, sealing them off. Then they cast invisibility on him. The wheel was heavy to operate, but the theurgist managed it. The platform slowly rose upwards, with a loud clang.

Lefno turned the wheel. And turned the wheel. And turned the wheel. He turned as he heard the wall of iron retract, having now completely smashed through the portcullis. He turned it as he heard the grunts, the retches, and the howls of the dead come closers and closer. He turned as he heard the footsteps all around him. He turned until his friends were safe; he turned until he felt them right behind him; he turned until he could turn no more.

Lefno. Illustrated by Darnok.

Friday games

Friday Block I: Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater

Game	Abattoir of The Impotent Idolater
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	13

Eleven adventurers had been hired by the loyalists of the Broken Empire to recover the famed regalia of Legio IX. In order, they are: Aegiliel, an elf hero theurgist; Astrid Hunnisdottir, a dwarf hero; Cig Akgahnte, a human hero; Fenna Redbulk, a dwarf hero; Gromonicus, a human hero; Ira Thorncreek, a hobbit hero; Karelia Tolfind, a dwarf hero; Larana Lightstep, a human hero; Mezeth the Uncanny, a human theurgist; Uta Almonger, a human hero; and Vida Pilter, a human vicar.

The party followed the trail into deep in the woods, leading to a cave mouth ninety feet wide and sixty feet tall. Beyond it a large cave stretched further north and south. Broken branches, trampled bushes and leaves, and large, elephantine tracks suggest high traffic.

Adventuring party decided to back off and establish camp several hundred yards away from the cave. They ordered their men-at-arms to find suitable branches to sharpen for the palisades. At the same time they tended to their animals, staking them in the centre of the camp. At the third hour, horrible screams pierced the air. The voices are well known, for they are of their own men.

Battle positions are taken, facing north-west. The ground shakes, the trees scream as they are shattered under the bulk of oncoming monstrosity. It comes at the adventurers, flailing, cackling, and charging. Large, elephant-like body covered with warts, boils, and scabs. Seven deformed horse heads atop long tubular necks, adorned with yellowed square teeth, greasy, lanky long hair, and eyes of pure madness.

Gromonicus the Brave acknowledges no such horrors, as attested by him counter-charging the abomination. He was promptly trampled, but lived. The horror continued its mad charge, reaching Aegiliel. The elf dodges and parried three of the seven heads. Alas, other four bit into him—one into the left shoulder, one onto the collarbone from the right, one bit into the right leg, and one the left foot. The heads pulled all in different directions, ripping the elf apart and showering the survivors with gore and guts.

One of the theurgists cast phantasmal force and created a swarm of mice. The abomination cared not. Mezet cast sleep, and slept Uta, Vida, Gromonicus, Cig, and himself. Others closed in, bravely fighting the monster. Slashing it made them recoil with disgust, as pus and blood oozed from the horror. Gromonicus, now asleep, was put to permanent sleep when it accidentally stomped on his head.

Warhorses were calm as ever, for this was just another day for them. One of the light horses was spooked, but calmed by his master. In the brutal skirmish the abomination lost two of its heads, and fled into the cave. Aynora the Jovial, a human vicar, and Parnasselis, a human vicar, had just arrived, chasing the beast on their warhorses. Alas, the horses refused to enter the cave,

Adventurers slapped the sleeping awake, left the dead to sleep, and rushed towards the cave. They cared little for the standard of Scrituin The Pacifier of Seven Tribes. This was now about vengeance.

They entered the cave, following the trail of blood and suppuration. Into the large cave, and down the one hundred and twenty feet long tunnel; into a humongous cave broken by large columns, making it a labyrinthine experience. The trail continue straight east, but adventurers followed the south cave wall instead, slowing down to a crawl. They are heroes; experienced in the art of war, and thus, they seek tactical advantage.

A horde of giant rats do not surprise them—scrawny, hairy, bottom-feeders fight each other to lick and slurps the trail left behind by the abomination. Laran, thinking on her feet, mixes belladonna with fresh rations, and then chucks them at the critters. They gorge in darkness, as the adventurers continue their pursuit.

The trail leads them down another long tunnel slopping downwards. Astrid, Fenna, and Karelia were well aware of how deep they went, now fifty feet underground.

Weird gargling and choking sounds echoed through the cave. Stumps of broken stalagmites, and crushed bones littered the floor. Heavy stench of cat-piss and avian faeces dominated the air. Moving forth, the abomination came into light. It was sitting down, on all four legs, its dead heads submerged into the fresh-water pond surrounded by decorative stones all around. Remaining heads wept foul tears.

Adventurers cared not for its tears. They charged the monster, and hacked it to pieces. The battle was savage, but no lossess were suffered amongst the brave.

And then song, an angelic choir broke out. Everyone but Cig, Mezet, Karelia, and Fenna were enchanted by it. Wishing to see what wondrous being sings so beautifully, adventurers rose their torches and lanterns.

South cave wall was in fact a twenty foot tall ledge. Three harpies perched there, singing. Mezet cast sleep, putting two of them, and himself down. Parnasselis cast light so he could see them better, having now devoted himself entirely. This revealed that the cave extends further up, with even more harpies hiding in the natural alcoves.

Astrid led a construction effort, making stairways to heaven from iron spikes. Others joined. Cig pretended to be charmed. Fenna was having none of it, and was shooting her crossbow at the single awake harpy that was still here.

Parnasselis now cast speak with animals, and addressed the harpies, wondering how he could serve them best.

“Kill the ugly one! Kill them! Give us the crown! Save us, save us, our knight on the white horse!” cried two harpies hiding at the top. The awake one screeched back at them, but was shot by Fenna.

From now on, it was total madness. Astrid climbed up, grabbed the closest sleeping harpy, and began caressing her beak. Ira stripped naked, took his shield, and then paddled across the pond, climbed up the cave wall, then back down to fetch treasure for the beautiful sleeping angel.

Vida and Aynora bothered the catatonic giant hairy man whom they found in the harpy nest. He was nearly seven feet tall, broad shouldered and wide legged. Dark hairs covered him, sans the shoulders which were covered with moss. His chest was wide open, clawed and gnawed.

“Wake up! Wake up to meet our lord and saviour, the harpies!” Aynora shook the man. Vida healed him, twice, for he was still breathing, despite massive wounds. Ira returns to the sleeping harpy with his magical sword and tries to give it to her. Thus, he wakes her up. Cig executes the harpy caressed by Astrid; the dwarf scalps the harpy and puts it on her head.

“Now I am as pretty as her...” she mutters.

Parnasselis strikes the harpy next to Ira, and commands his staff to coil around her. Ira tries to set her free by attacking the giant snake. Large cave man snaps out of coma, begins grunting and moaning, and immediately grabs Vida with an iron grip. Aynora tries to help and nearly kills Vida in the process.

Cig beheads the constrained harpy. Astrid continues her transformation by severing the harpy's beak and tying it on. In the meantime, two smaller harpies from the above have descended and engaged the only awake one. The bigger harpy had immediately slain one of the smaller one, but then got entangled with the other. Fenna missed most of her shots, as did Karelia. Parnasselis cried out to be noticed. He ran off the edge, and performed front flip backwards, landing into the pond. No attention was given.

Vida smashes the caveman back into the coma, while those uncharmed finally bring the final harpy down. Now back to their senses, the adventurers spend good time searching the nest, rowing through avian refuse, and remains of their victims. An hour or so later, and all they find are three gems, a scroll with read languages, and a map to magical treasure. Three large harpies were adorned with jewellery—bracelets, tiaras, necklaces, rings—worth nearly twenty thousand gold pieces. Most of that was now on Astrid.

They descended and advanced further north, having remembered their original mission. Adventurers soon reached a junction splitting four ways. Vile stench of rot, pus, and body odour emanated forth from the cave to their left. Thousands of coins were strewn all over the cave floor, covered with greasy, thin, strings of dark hair and shredded scabs. Cig braved the horrible conditions and moved in. He soon spotted an intact standard—gold eagle with spread out wings atop twenty foot long redwood pole—in the west-most alcove. He recovered it.

Mezet took the standard, and cast invisibility on himself. It was large and heavy, so he had to use both hands to carry it. Having decided they have enough treasure, as well as the item they came for, the party begun their retreat.

A horde of giant rats were feasting on the abomination's corpse. Some of them looked groggy and ill. Adventurers helped by throwing some rations with belladonna, as before. Then they backtracked west, up the first long tunnel, and accross the large cave.

And then song, an angelic choir broke out. Cig, Astrid, Karelia, and Fenna resisted the call of doom. Others failed. Ira stripped naked once more. Many attempted to climb the columns, which had now been revealed to be twenty to thirty feet tall.

“Don't climb... Just follow...” the harpies sung.

Pissed off Fenna shot the closer one down. Cig attempted to intimidate them by flaunting his cloak made of severed harpies wings. It did not work.

“Teleport me to her. I want to hugh her. Teleport me right next to her.” Larana instructed her sentient sword.

“Uh, Larana, are you sure?” the sword asked back.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“KKRREEEEEEEEE–” the harpy screeched as Larana appeared right next to her and hugged her hard. The floated down, near the cave floor. Soon both Vida and Uta threw themselves there are well, all intent on hugging their desire.

Ira climbed up the column atop which a wounded harpy laid. Then she picked her up, and jumped down, trying to save her. The harpy died, while the hobbit merely suffered some injuries. Aynora cried as she poured a potion of healing down the harpy's throat.

Mezet the Invisible, took out his wand of fear, and blasted everyone piled up on his harpy. Larana, Vida, Fenna, Karelia, and Cig fled the caves at once. Astrid decided she had enough of this malarkey, picked up the standard, and left the cave as well.

Harpy fled, and Ira chased it deeper, into darkness. Parnasselis, Uta, Aynora, and Mezet managed to get out.

Survivors mounted their horses, and left for civilisation to collect their well earned bounty.

Friday Block II: Palace of the Eternal Autocrat

Game	Palace of the Eternal Autocrat
System	Seven Voyages of Zylarthen
Judge	Gabor Lux
Player Characters	11

There was a time when I was known as Armon Targ.

A time so distant, and so murky I am not sure if it was a fever dream or reality. Last I remember is an adventure with eleven other men. Pardero, a terran fighting man. Talion, an imperial fighting man. Ugg, and Oog Booga, two cavemen. Zothar, Birakor, and Rashid, all teran magic-users. Valgard, a northman thief. Anthony, an imperial thief. Icarium, a terran thief. And one more, a hoplite servant.

We set out for some island, upon which a ruined palace of forgotten tyrant rested. Wealth. Magic. Power. Adventure. Death. All part of my life back then. I remember us disembarking. We crawled the compound, defiling the giant stone head with stern face. Must have been the tyrant himself. It spoke cryptic non-sense, as those in power usually do.

An impenetrable violet building with onion top dominated the estate. It had six glass eyes. We were unable to penetrate its double bronze doors, no matter how much we tried. Then we found a burly looking one-eyed man tending to scrawny chickens. He was cursed, or something. I do not remember.

I zoned out and followed others. From time to time I commanded my sword, “Scout,” to detect evil or gold. I miss it. It served me well back in the day. We entered some sort of magical swirl and were teleported deep underground.

Disturbing the Autocrat's gardens.

We traversed the corridors with great speed, until we found a staircase leading further down. I remember we refused to take them at the time, opting to explore foul chambers filled with refuse, both organic and inorganic. We were assaulted by nine shambling, bloated, yellow zombies. They were no threat.

This brought us back to the stairs, and its bearded guardian. We fed it gold coins, rations, and bones. I was foolish, and was soon paralysed and sucked in by a transparent mass of acidic goo. My allies saved me. Sometimes I think of them. I do not miss them.

At the bottom was a sizeable chamber with walls of shimmering gold. Twelve mosaic figures holding a candle light were upon them. Seven of them detected as evil, while the rest were good. We moved on, finding several stairs leading up. Then we found some chambers with foodstufs, water, and spices. Around this time I was able to move again.

We opened, I do not remember how but suspect one of our thieves, an iron door with a peeping hole. Before us, far ahead, was a congregation of people dressed in fantastic togas! To this day I do not know who they were, and why there were so deep underground. At that time we believed them to be evil, and in need of extermination.

I led the charge. It was a foolish mistake. We killed few of them in the initial surprise. But we underestimated how many of them there was. I was soon surrounded by their guards and servants, fighting for my life. Their pathetic warriors meant nothing. But then they brought the philosophers. That damn philosophers.

One of them had blown my left leg off. I lamented the loss of that leg for years. If only I knew I would loose much more in the future. But I digress. The situation was dire. My ears were buzzing. Strange men pounded on me, but I somehow parried. Then I asked the Scout to detect if these men were evil.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?!”

I offered that this was merely a misunderstanding, and that we should part ways. The offered to part me with my life instead. Filled with hatred, I quaffed my potion of speed, intent on rapidly crawling towards the philosopher who wounded me, and hacking him to death.

At this moment the entire hall filled with rapidly growing crystalls! This freaked out flamboyant toga men, and they allowed us to leave at once. We fled like curs. I was certain I would die, there and then. But one of the magic-users performed a miracle. He operated me for an hour. The leg was gone, there was nothing to do about that. Now I hobbled on an ill fitted wooden peg. It hurt like hell, but I was alive.

From then on my recollection is even murkier. I remember me hobbling behind others, speaking with my sword and fighting with bow. We explored some cave filled with garbage. A god of beggars roamed there. We fled.

Around that time we discovered a series of chambers where tyrant left another statue of his. It was all fake, just like himself. Nearby we encountered some vile creatures with skeletal arms and bloated bodies. They gazed in my eyes, but I spat in their direction and hobbled back. It is there we found a bowl full of treasure suspended high in the air. Must have been the lair of those two horrors we had dispatched.

Loaded with treasure we sought exit. We took one of the stairs leading up. Then we made all the wrong turns. Or right, depending on how you think about it. There were yellowed, bloated zombies which melted our flesh. Oog Booga fell down a pit trap, landing into the trash lair. I shot at everything that moved. We prevailed. Then we roamed the endless corridors, more desperate with each step.

One of the magic-users, I forget which, in a moment of desperate inspiration, opened a gate towards another dimension. We stepped through without much thought. Surely, wherever he took us would be better than here, in the tomb of this insane tyrant.

There was a time when I was known as Armon Targ.

That was before. When I was a nobody.

But now?

Everybody knows my name in the Barbarian Altanis.

Friday Night Block: Sunken Redoubt of the Serpentine Lich

Game	Sunken Redoubt of the Serpentine Lich
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	Ignatius Umlaut
Player Characters	11

I played Brother Warby Parker, a lawful good human patriarch with above average wisdom and dexterity. But his truly outstanding feature was exceptional charisma. His vainness was equally exceptional.

“We must slay Tenochli!” Gork of the Flame Lizard, a flame lizard mounted on a giant lizard, hissed. The target was a lizard druid, whom had betrayed them some time ago. They suspected him to be a lich now.

Having spent months in the Underwilds of the Darkness Beneath, I came to accept such characters as everyday occurrence. Many weird souls pass through the Cliff City of Thousand Spears. Either way, the burning lizard and his retinue could surely use my help. And I could use their night dragon to get out. All this darkness has been unhealthy to my tan.

Prior to setting out, I divined what awaits us. We were to go into some sort of fungal forest, dominated with fungal creatures. In my visions I saw fungits, floating spherical fungi with spore eyes on the tentacles; fungents, thirty feet tall walking fungi; mantis men; giant moths flying about; ancient technology; weird bushy people with mystic power; a giant slimefall; and a clearing in the fungi. The latter two felt sinister and dangerous.

We mounted the night dragon, whom then took us from the cliff rim to underwilds, a thirty mile journey crossed in a bat of an eye. We had seen obelisk shrines, triceratops munching on grass, dark trolls roaming about, marauding demihuman gangs, and more. After we landed, the dragon left us with a whistle to summon it when we want to get back home.

How it started.

Our half-elf ranger scouted ahead of us. This allowed us to hide from a dark troll gang, raptor-like dinosaurs, and a pack of wild board. We eventually reached a thick fungi forest, or rather, a jungle, with tall canopies as tall as fifty feet. The dwarf thief climbed the planar shelf-fungus and surveyed the cavern. He reported fungiwalks connecting the canopies. All of us quickly ascended.

As we marched, I quickly bonded with Dave the Demonologist, who seemed like the only serious person. My judgement has once again proven to be correct, as the man was truly a force to be reckoned with. Thus, in my infinite wisdom, I knew that my divine duty was to protect him at all costs.

Slimy brackish water, covered with rotting vegetation, criss-crossed the forest. We spotted a clearing circled by giant toadstools glowing with indigo light. Since these did not match those I had divined, we approached.

“Do you want to be a friend or foe?” little voices asked.

“Friend!” Gork grunted.

Turned out this was a circle of some small faeries whom were terrorised by giant spiders of abominable intelligence. They begged us to help them, with little to offer but their circle—which was enchanted against non-intelligent monsters—and tears. Being lawful and good, we had accepted. That, and we had a faerie knight among us as well. They provided us two of their own to lead the way.

Some hundred and fifty yards of the forest was completely webbed. Dave summoned a fire elemental. Then he sent it to sauté the fungi and giant spiders. Roaring flames and hissing sounds filled the air. It all went quiet after ten minutes. We went in. Four burnt husks, two twitching ones, and three intact spiders. The battle was quickly over. Magic-users blasted them with magic missiles, our warriors crushed them with their magical weapons, and I sent my spiritual hammer to bang them.

We kept one alive to interrogate it. There was little to learn from it, except that there is a necromancer with zombie army south-east from here. I thought we'd let it live but someone blasted it to pieces. Then we recovered treasure from past victims. Faeries threw us a feast, gifted us necklaces of crystallised tears, and complimented my looks repeatedly. We slept well. Magic-users studied their spells, while I prayed for mine.

Onwards we went, across the fungiwalks again. At one moment our scouts spotted a dishevelled man picking fungi down below. I made myself know and hailed the man politely. He seemed fine, so I asked him if it was okay if we came down to speak with him face to face.

The man was Woebegone Kernoble, a druid and former adventurer whom had been living here for who knows how long. His party had been vanquished, and he was the lone survivor. Although slightly unhinged, with my gentle guidance and kind character, I reached out to the man he once was. The druid was a wellspring of intelligence, telling us all about dangerous hundred feet tall fungemoth, the necromancer and zombies and purple worm under his control, the haunted lake, the erratic fungents, the aggressive fungits, and much more. Furthermore, I managed to persuade him to join us and lead the way to the necromancer.

On the way there I was chocked by the vines, we encountered four fungents but pacified them, and passed a slimefall, but not the one from my visions. Eventually we reached a prismatic wall preventing way forward. Magic-users used stoneshape to shape a shallow ditch underneath it. Then they sent wizard eyes to scout. This was the place.

How it ended. Photo by James Knight.

Seventy two fungal-zombies divided into twelve neat columns. Beyond them a smaller cave with evil presence and wall of thorns. Dave cast passwall and we stormed in with righteous rage. My chosen duty was to protect Dave. My sister, the high priestess, copied me, as she usually does, and we fought side by side.

Dave controlled the air elemental, magic-users burned and blasted through the hordes, the warriors charged forth, hacking and crushing everything in their path. A purple worm erupted from the ground, swallowing Gork whole. I remained resolute, next to Dave, obliterating the zombies with my Staff of Striking. I did not care for its limited charged! The magic-users had to be protected at all costs.

This strategy paid of handsomely as the lizard lich appeared, and was promptly elemental-handled by Dave's air. Warriors gutted the purple worm, and chased the traitorous Tenochli. I remained with wizards, cleaning up remaining zombies. The lizard druid lich was soon completely surrounded, locked in deadly struggle with his former allies. He beheaded Gork and the fairy knight. We resurrected the former.

Dave was high up in the air, surrounded by protective sphere. He commanded the air elemental. Others have forced Tenochli against the cave wall and were mercilessly pounding on him. I, on the other hand, was more interested in phylactery, which there were two of, hidden in the wall of thorns.

Tenochli hissed and screamed until he was no more. Phylacteries were indeed beyond the wall of thorns, their inimical evil presence oppressive beyond comprehension. Their please had no effect on me; I crushed both with my staff of striking before they could finish their offer.

Now there was one less evil in the world. But I felt something in the pit of my stomach. Something worse. The Satan returned.

Saturday games

Saturday Block I: Temple of the Gnoll God

Game	Temple of the Gnoll God
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	Keith Sloan
Player Characters	7

In this game I played Amphi of Tiranos, a human swashbuckler, with good armour, some magical throwing axes, and otherwise mundane weapons. This was a straightforward temple raid—get in, find treasure, take treasure, get out. The party numbered seven characters in total.

The temple was set deep in dire hills, infested with gnolls, in a peaceful valley. Temple itself was elevated, and surrounded by man-made canals. After days of observing them, we learned of a secret entrance rarely used. We guessed this must be a backdoor, and thus went that way.

Planning the temple assault.

It was a rather long walk, straight. We noticed that the tunnel was rather well made, potentially of dwarven construction. The dead end was, as we suspected, a secret door. We heard heavy footsteps and grunts on the other side. Breaking through surprised the three gnolls on the other side, and we killed them without mercy.

This was obviously a guard room. We destroyed the halberds and severed the bowstrings. Then we spiked the east doors with halberd tips. Going west I fell straight down a pit and got impaled on some spikes. Not a good showing, I admit.

Bell shaped chamber with a demonic statue was our next challenge.

“Speak your praise to that who should not be named!” it spoke in gurgly gnollish. We took too long to think so we were promptly burned. The statue was surely of their foul god. We continued down the north corridor, passing one doors, and detecting one secret doors with subtle dwarf rune. There we found a dwarven skeleton, rusty knife or spike in its hand.

“Here I carve my last words. The revolt has failed.” one of our dwarven read the runes to us. As we had suspected, this temple must have been built by dwarven slaves.

Moving upstairs we entered another bell shaped room. The walls were covered with frescoes of gnoll shamans performing horrible deeds against men and all those aligned with Law. This time we found concealed elven scripture, a signature and message from an elf slave forced to paint this horrible vista.

Pushing further north, we broke through yet another doors, slaying six more gnolls. This was yet another guard chamber, with four doors in total. Reasoning that we are looking for the temple vault, and that we should keep moving north-west, we chose the north doors.

They led us into a spacious chamber dominated by charnel smell. Our light did not reach the ceiling. But it was sufficient to illuminate a gigantic version of statue we had previously encountered—except this one was much more ghoulish. This foul chamber had six egresses.

We were soon assaulted by eight ghouls. The clerics turned back five of them, while we disposed of the rest, but not before some of us succumbed to their ghastly paralysis. Long stairs led north. South corridor led into a cavernous chamber filled with bones and rotting remains of hundreds of poor souls. We failed to penetrate the doors to the east, them being barred from the other side.

Returning to the gnoll god chamber, we opted for the north-east passage. We found another secret dwarf chamber, with a list of names, avoided a pit trap, and then forced our way in what could best be described as a study of mad man. Or rather, mad ghoul. Hamish Westberry was a sage specialised in the antiquarian imperial vases.

Apparently he spent years, or decades, in this very room, never leaving it. He was absolutely useless. We had little choice but to terminate his research once for all. He was tough, but we were tougher, and thus walked away with a tiara, some gems, two thousand gold pieces, and two returning throwing daggers.

We backtracked to the second guard chamber, explored beyond the west doors, but found they just loop back to the corridor between the statue and corpse chambers. Therefore, we decided to take the long stairs.

Fascinatingly, mid-way up we found a secret doors on the east wall. We entered into a rectangular chamber covered with dust. Faded frescoes of demonic figures adorned the walls. Going north, we found a square chamber with most curious features. Walls were painted red with yellow runes and scripts scrawled all over. A yellow statue stood opposite us. it had two red rubies for its eyes.

Of course it animated and started blasting us. I stepped in and chucked my magical throwing axes. Magic-users and clerics cast dispel magic on it, shutting it down for some rounds. But the combat was just heating up. Doors to the sides swung open, and eight horrible creatures poured in. I knew them well. Large, tough, wicked. The thouls were here.

I focused on the statue, smashing it. Desperate melee ensued, as we dropped, one by one, to the thoul paralysis. But paladin stood steadfast, with his ring that granted him immunity. We ultimately stood victorious.

Beelining for the vault.

There was some minor treasure here and in the adjoining chambers. Our superior adventuring instincts were proven correct once more as we detected secret doors leading deeper west.

Beyond was a funnel shaped chamber filled with broken pottery. One of the magic-users fixated on it, ending up confused. There was but a single way forward in the shape of a single slab of ivory. This led us into a toroid corridor with five secret doors. Three were on the outer side, at north, west, and south. Two were on the inner side, namely north and south.

South doors led into a domed chamber some thirty feet in diameter. The insides looked like a grey matter. It felt evil as fuck. We shut the doors.

West doors led into a hemispherical chamber, seventy feet in diameter. A ball of darkness engulfed most of the chamber, roughly sixty feet in diameter. We throw some coins, and heard them rolling. Dispelling magic revealed a lantern on a pedestal, and four large shadow mastiffs chained to it. They began barking and wailing. The darkness returned. We left.

South doors led us into trouble, as five spectres came at us once we opened them. The smallest of three chambers. just twenty feet in diameter. The clerics turned them, but the bastards fled into the central chamber instead.

Going all in, we followed, forcing the secret doors on the inner rim. We faced off a spectre so grim others cried at its feet. One of our magic-users used the Wand of Wonder. The spectre commanded the lesser ones to vacate the chamber. It took us few seconds to realise that our ally and our enemy have switched bodies! We jumped the magic-user and hog-tied him well.

Our plunder was impressive ninety thousand gold pieces, eleven gems of great worth, two potions, a cloak, and a bag of holding that came in most handy. We left the complex without anyone noticing us at all.

Saturday Block II: Return to the Storm Giant's Castle

Game	Return to the Storm Giant's Castle
System	AD&D 1e
Judge	Ignatius Umlaut
Player Characters	10

I continued with Brother Warby Parker, having escaped the Darkness Beneath and now travelled all they way up to the Storm Giant's Castle.

It had been yeas, if not decades, since I saved the baby Squall from Satan. He was kidnapped, taken into the clouds beneath his parents' castle, and presented as a moral dilemma to the orange dragon Bangalore.

Baby Squall was now a young adult Tempest. His parents were gone, and he established a silk operation on the clouds. Somehow, the Satan has returned. Or so he believe, for he was plagued with infernal visions. He offered us a harp worth one million gold pieces should we be able to check what is going on beneath and resolve the issue. After all, he worried greatly about his pigsy servants. We accepted, and were served a feast of 30 000 quail eggs. This made us bloaty enough to walk on the clouds.

Like before, I divined to learn more about the threats below us. My sister, the copy-cat she is, communed instead. We learned that there was a whirlwind of lava sent from Hell, that there are cloud people and static monsters (which I had remembered from before, but was good to have divine confirmation nonetheless), and that there would indee be major and minor devils.

From the God we learned that they are immune to fire, not so much to lightning and cold, and that most are immune to paralysation. We also learned that they are not expecting us, that solution to the problem is at the bottom of the clouds, that there are potential allies down there, and that Satan himself is not in the cloud.

I checked Tempest and the castle, just to make sure neither were penetrated by evil. Everyone and everything checked out, and we descended down to the first level.

The first level was still friendly, with servants tending the silk farms. We got mundane equipment we needed, and then we rappelled down to the second level.

The second level, like all other levels to be fair, was a series of cloudy chambers. We discovered a cloud full of balloon people freely floating around. Since they were evil we begun popping them. Our gnome scout punctured a green one, who explored and billowed out chlorine gas. That did not feel great. We blasted them all, and then seized several wands of lightning they used to fight back.

Bursting the cloud men. Photo by James Knight.

At this moment I wish to mention that I was mostly hanging out with Dave, whom I had met in the Underwilds. Our party of ten was led by a spectacular duo of most capable paladin and a ranger. There were several powerful wizard, a hyper-muscular Mr. T. And there was a gnome.

The Muscle Man recovered a twelve feet long sword—which turned out to be a sword of dancing! He was the only one strong enough to carry it around.

Third level was filled with blinding light. We rubbed some of the holy water provided by Tempest into our eyes. God protects. Eventually we stumbled upon a Ki-rin trapped in an energy web. A bald hobo in a lotus position hovered above it. He offered to release the mythical animal if we answer three riddles.

Our combined intelligence and wisdom were too much for him, and we got them all. (Although we had to use augury to increase our odds of answering the last one.) Answers, in order, were: Lucifer, death, and wind and fire. Hovering hobo attached himself to out paladin, hovering over his shoulders at all times. He kept reciting poetry, forevermore.

Square cloudhole led into the fourth level. And what a level it was! A large driving circuit, going all around, with two bridges cutting across. A fiery whirlwind of roaring flames in the centre, spewing horrible evil.

We found the problem.

And we were about to solve it.

The infernal circuit.

Magic-users, including Dave, mounted the Ki-rin and flew down. At the far edge of the race track was a biker gang made up of fallen sylphs—The Stratoside Girls—revving their motorcycles. They were covered in tattoos, and leather jackets were their only clothing articles. An infernal succubus led them.

Our magic-users failed to surprise them, and were soon driven back up. The gang begun driving around the track, mocking us, blasting their wands. Ki-rin was quick and resistant enough to carry our people back up. We revised our plan.

Mr. T held two ropes with, we rappelled down. Magic-users came down on ki-rin once more, casting ice storm and confusion. They froze several portions of the track, sending many of the biker sylphs to their doom. The confusion added to the chaos.

But the party was just about to get heated.

Three horrible storm devils emerged from the fiery vortex—blue skinned, with violet claws and ridges. We hit them with everything we had. Meteor swarms, a phantasmal dragon, fireballs, magic missiles, wands, you name it. Since I could neither fly, nor had any means of ranged combat, I limited myself to smashing an errant biker sylph here and there.

Just as we thought that we are about to win, clouds parted! The succubus gang leader returned with her boyfriend, the Archdevil Beelzebub! And he brought his two servants, true pit fiends!

I ran along the track as my allies pounded on the storm devils, vanquishing them one by one. I ran to the edge of the track; I stood there and smashed my Staff of Striking into the clouds. Then I grabbed my mithril cross with both hands, rose it high above my head and roared:

“I EXORCIZE YOU, EVERY UNCLEAN SPIRIT, EVERY POWER OF DARKNESS, EVERY INCURSION OF THE INFERNAL ENEMY, EVERY DIABOLICAL LEGION, COHORT, AND FACTION, IN THE NAME AND POWER OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST!!! BE UPROOTED AND PUT TO FLIGHT FROM THE CHURCH OF GOD, FROM SOULS CREATED IN THE IMAGE OF GOD AND REDEEMED BY THE PRECIOUS BLOOD OF THE DIVINE LAMB!!!”

Pit fiends shrieked and shrunk as divine light bathed the infernal race track. Beelzebub thundered with impotent rage as my allies wished for his magic resistance to wear off. I chanted divine words as my allies pounded Beelzebub like there is no tomorrow. When he begun to beg, they poured a giant flask of holy water all over him. I am happy to say they refused his gifts, and threw him back into Hell, where he belongs.

We saved Tempest once more. But what is it about him that attracts Satan so much, I wondered? Perhaps I will be needed here once more... But for now, let's go for another batch of quail eggs.

Saturday Night Block: Conquering the Barbarian Altanis

Game	Conquering the Barbarian Altanis
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	38

38 characters, 23 players, 17 deaths, 5 hours, and one titan. Full session report here.

Photo by Alex.

Sunday game

Sunday Block I: Darkness Beneath Megadungeon

Game	Darkness Beneath Megadungeon
System	OD&D
Judge	Attronarch
Player Characters	11

Troglodytes have been raiding the hobbit villages in the region, capturing many of them. Alas, all suffered a horrible fate as a trogsnack. A party of eleven gathered to stop it once and for all. They were, in order: Astrid Hunnisdottir, a dwarf hero; Aurus of Nolostas, a human vicar; Aynora the Jovial, a human vicar; Dora Tallhand, a hobbit hero; Eiduariniel, an elf hero theurgist; Fyluiniel, an elf hero theurgist; Ganny Farrow, a hobbit hero; Hora Ironpan, a hobbit hero; Medor, an elf hero theurgist; Noluis the Ogre, a human vicar; and Ramdan Phillova the Furtive, a human vicar.

Adventurers descended with a singular mission: exterminate the troglodytes and eliminate their king. Well aware of their horrible stench, most drenched rags into wine and then tied them around their face. Astrid soaked hers with holy water instead.

The large cave they entered reeked of death and troglodyte stench. Several wood and metal poles were planted all along the western wall, adorned with human, dwarf, hobbit, and elf skulls. There were also giant crabshell segments, half-rotten lizard maws, and various animal parts.

They took the south tunnel leading west, bypassed a pit rap, and then slain three trog in the guard outpost. The commotion attracted a giant iguana with not eyes. It slithered its tongue and charged towards the tastiest adventurer, notably Noluis. They disposed of it too. Searching its chamber revealed little of value, besides a filthy potion and fifty feet of hemp rope in one of the foul sacks.

Spreading out, the party explored several of the tunnels, indecisive where to go next. Eiduariniel used the opportunity to fire ball a large cave with a chasm in it. The cave thundered and, booming sound echoed throughout. Suddenly the floor began shaking, and everyone bravely fled into the blasted chamber.

There, at the bottom of the chasm, they spotted a shiny arm bracelet. Medor fetched it and put it on. The bracelet was in essence two rings—iron on the inside, gold on the outside. Iron ring fused to Medor's arms. He felt great.

South of the blasted chamber was cave with a pyramid made of skulls. It burst as a mounted troglodyte knight charged on a giant iguana. Hora and Dora braced their spears at the opposite side of the chasm. Giant iguana leaped over, and landed right atop their spears, dying on the spot. The knight was sent flying, dying as well. Eiduariniel blasted the skull cave, eliminating a dozen or so trogs charging.

A pack of angry, armoured badgers, attacked from the west tunnel, tearing into adventurers. Ramdan cast speak with animals and tried to reason, but the badgers were super grumpy. Most of the time they just went “badger badger badger badger” whilst badgering Noluis. Cleric took the pounding, was force fed potions, nearly got sick from that, but the badgers were eventually driven back via violence and magic.

As expected, there was little left in those caves after the fire ball treatment. The cave furthest south was most interesting. Smoky white quartz dominated, in essence making it a crystalline cavern. Astrid kicked over a bowl of crystal filled with rank water. In the future the cave could be mined, but at the moment there was little value in it.

Fyluiniel used her wand to detect enemies. There was still work to do!

Party went deeper into the caves, exploring many tunnels. Some lead to an underground lake, some to a sun-bathed cave, some deeper yet, and some, most interestingly, into a large cave with a sinkhole guarded by two giant iguanas chained to the wall.

They stuffed belladonna into rations and offered them to the lizards, which gulped them without much thought. They were soon no more. Adventurers ties ropes on the iron rings, and rappelled down.

More tunnels, more troglodytes, albeit of sneaky nature. Three assassins attempted to jump the adventurers, but were massacred in no time.

Terrible cacophony of a primitive single string document and guttural high-pitched screaming echoed. Peeking around the corner adventurers had a sight to behold.

A large cavern with a forty feet wide and twenty feet long chasm, surrounded by a tribe of troglodytes in supplication. Adventurers were on the south side; on this side of the chasm were deformed lizardmen with painted scales and dressed in tattered robes. Opposite was an orchestra of seven trogs playing something. And from the chasm something bubbled, like a rising bread.

Eiduariniel started blasting fire balls left and right. Medor created an illusion of purple worm bursting through the chasm. Total pandemonium ensued, with numerous trogs perishing in flames. Some of the survivors threw themselves into the chasm, others burned screaming. Troglodyte knights lost control of their giant iguana mounts.

Adventurers stood victorious, amidst charred remains of their enemies.

The ground quaked as colossal Gibbering Fungus God grew out of the chasm. Imagine thirty feet long and twenty feet wide mushroom stalk that reach fifty feet upwards. Eiduariniel continued blasting, sizzling the stalk.

“Come child. Come. Let me feed you. Feast upon my flesh.”

The elf was converted. He sprinted to the edge of the chasm, took a leap of faith, and landed upon the massive stalk. He begun stuffing his mouth with delicious, delicious fungi.

Others spread out in the chamber, scrambling to save their friend. Alas, they too felt the call of the Fungus God. Astrid cut across the chamber, following a long tunnel leading east. Aurus followed. Noluis grabbed one of the crazed fungi-eaters into a headlock, saving them. Aynora hooked Eiduariniel and pulled him back.

The elf wept like a baby once he was out of the warm embrace of the Gibbering Fungus God. Having suffered a lot of damage, the stalk quivered and quaked. It begun to descend into the chasm. Fyluiniel rushed forth and jumped, landing quite deep. She began stuffing her mouth full. Dora chugged the potion of giant strength, crawled along the stalk on all fours, grabbed the elf and threw her over her shoulder like she was a little child, and then quickly climbed up before the God disappeared into the chasm.

Some were traumatised; like being birthed into cold, uncaring world. No more kind warmth of the fungus. Regardless, the party reconvened just before a cavern filled with decorative stones. They could see a four armed troglodyte frolicking on a throne made of bone and sinew.

It is difficult to put in words how much they overkilled him. From phantasmal forces conjuring flying helicopters dropping napalm to hitting him with absolutely everything available to adventures. The king and his retinue were eradicated in less time that it took them to reach it.

They plundered his lair and left for good, to celebrate their great victory.

Little did they know that the Cult of Gibbering Fungus God remained intact...

Cauldron 2026 posts

All posts for the Cauldron 2026 convention:

• Preparing for the Cauldron 2026
• Cauldron 2026 Game Reports
• Cauldron 2026 Reflections

#Convention #Cauldron #OSR #FightOn

Hey all! Maid Adventures has just received its biggest update yet. There are two brand new Houses, a new kind of maid, a new stat, and a whole new way of running an estate with specialty staff who are sworn to your household rather than assigned to its work. There have also been some balancing fixes to!

Fixes & Balancing

The Houses have been rebalanced.

Looking at the data from the game as it has been going, the House's bonus against the missions that actually exist, and the old numbers were all over the place. Nevakev and Irisik were quietly doing a lot more than Avernell and Tavik, and I didn't think that was fair. The new bonuses are:

• Nevakev — +15% Diligence, +5% Endurance
• Avernell — +25% Eloquence, +10% Discretion
• Tavik — +20% Prowess, +15% Endurance
• Irisik — +5% to all six stats
• Brevet — +20% Discretion, +10% Endurance
• Rikin — +25% Analytical, +15% Eloquence

I'll say it plainly: Irisik took the biggest cut, going from +10% on everything to +5%. Nevakev also lost a little Endurance. If that changes how you feel about your estate, read on, because this update comes with a free way to switch Houses.

Analytical has been added to everything that already existed.

A new stat joins the five you already know (more on it below). I didn't want any of your current maids to be behind the eight ball, so every maid and every Directorate candidate has been given an Analytical score based on how methodical and careful she already was. A good housekeeper is now a decent analyst, and nobody starts at zero.

I also went through the existing missions and moved the beats that were really about reasoning over to Analytical. Tracing a leaking pipe, reconciling a ledger, auditing a window latch, working out who took the silverware: those now test Analytical instead of plain Diligence. A few missions, including The Missing Inventory, now prefer it as well.

New Features

Two New Houses: Brevet and Rikin

House Brevet stands for Duty. Steady, silent, always at post. Its maids lean on Discretion and Endurance.

House Rikin stands for Ambition. Sharp minds and persuasive tongues, with a bonus to the new Analytical stat and to Eloquence.

Both are now choices when you found a new estate, with their own colors on the leaderboard, the Registry, your plaque and everywhere else Houses show up.

A One-Time Free House Change

Since I changed the numbers and added two Houses, every existing estate gets one free chance to switch Houses. You can pick any House, old or new, and you can even decide to stay where you are. Your maids, prestige, and balance all stay exactly as they are. Only the stat bonuses change.

When you log in you'll see a popup on the dashboard and a gold banner pointing you to it. The option itself lives on your Estate page. Once you've used it, it goes away. Brand new estates don't get one, since they already chose from the full list.

The Analytical Stat and Inventory Maids

Analytical is the sixth maid stat. It covers reasoning and record-keeping: inspections, audits, inventories, and tracing a problem back to where it started.

Inventory is a brand new maid type, trained for exactly that work. They're the Reserve Legion's people: quartermasters, stock clerks, registrars and auditors. Ten new Inventory maids have been added to the Directorate pool, spread across Common to Elite and across all three bonding types, so you'll find Unbonded, Half Bond and Full Bond among them. Their Analytical is their signature stat.

They also come with fifteen new Inventory missions, from a Routine Weekly Pantry Count up to Notable negotiations like The Short Shipment, Prestigious jobs like The Two Ledgers, Sovereign audits, and one Momentous mission I'll let you discover. Several are shared with Estate, Custodial, Emissary or Harvester maids, so they can lend a hand without penalty, and on the rest any other maid takes the usual out-of-specialty penalty. Inventory maids are the ones who will really shine.

The Retinue: Courtesans and Concubines

This is the big one. Some people in a household aren't workers. They're sworn to the lord rather than assigned to the estate's tasks, and now your estate can have them. Specialty staff never go out on normal missions, they don't take a roster slot, and each costs 25 ℰ/day to keep. You manage them all from the new Retinue page in the nav, and your Estate page now has a “Retinue at a glance” card with a circle for every slot, so you can see at a glance what's filled, what's open, and what's waiting on you.

The Courtesan

You can have one, and she isn't hired. You have to petition the Scarlet Order of House Aldinav for her, and that opens up at tier 3 (Established). The fee grows with your standing: 400 ℰ at tier 3, 650 ℰ at tier 4, 1,000 ℰ at tier 5, and 1,500 ℰ at tier 6.

The Order decides whether your household is a good fit, and it isn't going to tell you how. A bigger, steadier, better-run estate has better odds, and I've made sure the lower tiers aren't shut out. If you're turned down, half the fee comes back and you'll get a hint about what the assessor found lacking. It won't hand you a number, but it will point you in a direction. You can petition again after five days.

Once she arrives, you can send her to call on another estate for about six hours and learn about its finances, its staff and who leads them, or its current assignments. It costs 40 to 130 ℰ depending on your tier. She comes back and tells you what she found, if she wasn't noticed. And the target estate gets a check:

• Unnoticed — she brings home the full report.
• A close call — full report, but the household may have felt something was off.
• Talked her way out — she was questioned and charmed her way out, with part of the report.
• Caught — nothing learned. She lies low for three days, and the household learns her name and House.
• Exposed — nothing learned, she is named in front of the entire household, and she is too mortified to be sent anywhere for a week. The household also learns which estate sent her. Courtesans are trained to be unremarkable, so being seen like that is about as embarrassing as it gets.

How watchful a household is depends on its staff, especially the Discretion and Analytical of its best maids, along with a Head of Staff, Arch Maids, Emissaries, and a courtesan of its own. Any household, courtesan or not, can pay 50 to 140 ℰ on the Retinue page to set a decoy for two days, so a visitor who isn't caught carries away the wrong picture.

Because I don't want this to become a competition: it's information only. Nothing is stolen, nothing is sabotaged, and getting caught costs you ℰ and time, never prestige, so it can't touch the rankings. You can call on any one household once a week, and on no more than three households a week.

Concubines

A concubine is a tie between Houses and a mark of standing, not a worker. Other Houses will send word from time to time with an offer of one of theirs. You've got three days to accept or politely decline. Offers can come from any House in the Empire, so you'll meet names and families you haven't heard of.

• Each concubine adds +1 prestige a day while she's kept.
• Each costs 25 ℰ/day in upkeep.
• You can keep one at tiers 1 to 4, two at tier 5, and three at tier 6.
• Sending one home early insults her House and costs you 10 prestige.

Standing matters. If your estate falls a tier, concubines beyond your new limit are recalled by their Houses, a courtesan is reassigned if you drop below Established, and there's a chance one more member of your retinue is withdrawn. Take care of your estate and they'll stay.

More in the Rumor Mill

Their comings and goings are public knowledge, naturally. The Rumor Mill now reports a courtesan being placed, questioned, caught, exposed, released, or recalled, and a concubine being accepted, politely declined, sent home, or withdrawn. The Houses are named, but never the estate and never the person, so the mystery stays intact.

That's everything for this update! As always, if you find bugs you can reach me at luckyfoot@beloved-universe.net. The Rules page has been updated to cover all of this if you want the full breakdown, including a whole new section on the Retinue.

Thanks for playing. Take care of your maids out there, and maybe keep a closer eye on your guests.

Nothing interesting happend today. will i still write nonsense and you’ll read it? absolutely. i have this one little tiny miny bity thing i wanna complain about. its nothing serious. not that it matters. when its a serious matter to complain about, people start expecting you to do something about it. id rather complain, be irritated for a while, and then carry on with my life as if opening my mouth about it had somehow solved anything. anyway, ive been thinking about something and its pissing me off. not enough to do anything about it, obviously. lets not get ambitious. but. enough that i feel like sitting here and talking shit about it for a few minutes. something happend at work today. ive been thinking about it for hours, actually. the nerve of some people. i swear, if i ever see that man again ill probably just go home and.

I need new bedsheets.

Sincerely, running

I usually start like this, with describing the weather,

Which when I woke up, I saw, I saw the brown leaves scattered on the ground, like so many frosted cornflakes

And with the rising sun, vapours rise too in a wet fog

And there are birds, the rowan trees’ are full of birds , the berries are red, the leaves red like rust

And I’ve been tired, lethargic almost

But my father came, and we had beers outside by the fire, and look, I like the fire, to gaze into the fire

I don’t want to think inside of my own head today, so I won’t

That’s my prerogative.

I used to do everything. I was a go-getter. I never let anything stop me or get in my way, especially when it came to my autonomy and most importantly my daughter. I’ve been meek my whole life but when it comes to creative solutions, sparks of inspiration, protecting the ones I love, nothing will get in my way. If anything does, I’ve already formulated twelve different plans of action that will get me there. I have always adapted and pivoted in any way possible.

Then one day I let go of the reigns. It was bound to happen after years of ceaseless ambition. I never once stopped to admire myself, my tenacity, my endurance, my resiliency. I never took the time to feel good about how much I accomplished. I’ve always been too focused on staying on track with eyes on the ground, moving and moving and moving, I can’t stop I have to keep going or else… Or else what? My life will come crashing down around me and I’ll have nothing to show for it? My friends and family will hate me and leave me? Well, yes actually, that’s exactly what I’ve been running from my entire life. To me, if I’m not achieving anything or doing something that gets me there, I’m a complete loser and utterly useless to those around me. And that, to me, was not a life worth living.

I’m at a point in my life where that fiery ambition is still alive and well inside, aching to get out and shine, but I’ve been stagnant for so long with loved ones actually helping me this time that I feel useless and lost. For the first time in my life I’m actually slowing down and not rushing to the next accomplishment, the next checkmark on my list. But I’m getting restless. I get anxious over the smallest things. I feel embarrassed when I don’t do the chores knowing my husband will pick it up without quarrel. I have this dormant energy that I don’t know how to get out. Life goes on and here I am in my own world trying to think of ways to feel alive again without being anxious or embarrassed over my ideas, interests, and borderline insane determination.

The Blue Monkey Story II- Chapter 1

If you recall, a few months back I posted The Blue Monkey Story, a joke that turned into a story that was longer than a short story but shorter than a novel. I figured it was time for a sequel. I have big plans for this one, and will release it in installments. It picks up right where The Blue Monkey Story left off. Enjoy!

---

Chapter One: The Disappearance of Jonathan Xavier Smith

Detective Sergeant Pierce Hayward did not particularly like motorcycles. This was not because he had ever been injured while riding one, or because he had lost a close friend or family member in a motorcycle accident, or even because he believed that motorcycles were inherently dangerous machines that ought to be prohibited from public highways. Pierce had never owned a motorcycle and had ridden one only twice in his life, both times as a passenger, and although he had not especially enjoyed either experience, neither had been sufficiently unpleasant to account for his feelings. Rather, his dislike of motorcycles was primarily a professional one. In his seventeen years as a police officer, Pierce had investigated or assisted in the investigation of forty-three motorcycle accidents, although he could only remember the particular circumstances of perhaps twenty or twenty-five of them. Motorcycle accidents tended to be complicated affairs, especially when they involved serious injuries. Unlike automobiles, which generally remained upright and relatively close to their occupants during collisions, motorcycles had an unfortunate tendency to separate themselves from their operators, sometimes by considerable distances. This created difficulties for investigators, who might find the motorcycle in one location, the operator in another, and various components of the motorcycle scattered across a rather large area between them. Motorcycles also tended to produce injuries that were disproportionately serious compared with the apparent severity of the collision. A motorcyclist could strike a tree at thirty miles an hour and suffer injuries that might prove fatal, while an automobile driver involved in a similar collision could occasionally walk away with little more than a bruised chest and a broken headlight. This was not universally true, of course, and Pierce understood that many factors influenced the outcome of any collision. Nevertheless, the general tendency was sufficiently well established in his experience that he had come to associate motorcycles with serious injuries, complicated investigations, and a considerable amount of paperwork. Of these three things, the paperwork was the one he found most personally objectionable.

Pierce worked for the Wescott County Sheriff's Office, which was responsible for law enforcement throughout a predominantly rural county in northern New York. Wescott County was not especially remarkable in either its geography or its population. It possessed several small towns, one modestly sized city, a substantial amount of agricultural land, and enough forest to provide employment for a number of people engaged in logging, hunting, and the maintenance of recreational properties. The county had once depended heavily on agriculture and light manufacturing, but changes in the regional economy had gradually reduced the importance of both. Several factories had closed during the preceding twenty years, and many of the smaller farms had either been consolidated into larger operations or sold to individuals who wished to live in the countryside without necessarily earning their living from it. This transition had produced occasional disagreements between longtime residents and newcomers, particularly concerning property taxes, road maintenance, agricultural odors, and the hours during which farmers could reasonably operate noisy machinery. None of these disagreements had seriously threatened the stability of the county, although they provided its elected officials with a steady supply of complaints. The county seat, Briar Glen, was a town of approximately twelve thousand people and contained the courthouse, sheriff's office, several municipal buildings, a small hospital, and a commercial district whose most successful businesses were generally those that catered to residents rather than tourists. Pierce lived near Briar Glen and had worked there for most of his career. He liked the county well enough, although he had never developed the sort of fierce local attachment that some of its residents displayed. To him it was simply home, and he saw no particular reason to either glorify or disparage it.

One of the longer roads in the county was Farmer's Road, a name whose origins were neither mysterious nor especially imaginative. The road had originally connected several farming communities and had been used principally by farmers transporting livestock, equipment, and agricultural products between their properties and the nearest market towns. Over time it had been widened, paved, and incorporated into a larger network of county and local highways. Its name remained unchanged, despite the fact that much of the land along its southern sections was no longer used for farming. The road extended for an extraordinary distance if one included the stretches that crossed into neighboring jurisdictions and continued under the same name, although most local residents thought of it as a series of separate sections rather than one continuous route. The northern portion was particularly isolated, passing through broad fields and stretches of woodland with relatively few houses. Farther south, the distance between residences gradually decreased, and several sharp curves interrupted what was otherwise a fairly straight road. One of these curves had developed a local reputation for being dangerous, although the actual number of accidents there was not especially high. It was nevertheless the sort of location that encouraged residents to complain whenever someone drove too quickly through it, and several people had petitioned the county for additional warning signs over the years.

At 7:58 on a Wednesday morning in early June, a call was received by the Wescott County emergency communications center reporting a motorcycle that appeared to have crashed near this particular curve. The caller was a man named Walter Simmons, who had been traveling south on Farmer's Road in a pickup truck belonging to the construction company for which he worked. Simmons was forty-eight years old and had been employed by the company for eleven years, during which he had advanced from an ordinary equipment operator to a maintenance supervisor. He was proud of this accomplishment, although the promotion had introduced responsibilities that he occasionally found less enjoyable than operating machinery. In particular, he disliked having to prepare written reports concerning equipment failures and maintenance expenses. Simmons was an excellent mechanic who could often identify the source of a mechanical problem by listening to the sounds produced by an engine, but he was an indifferent writer and regarded the documentation of repairs as an unnecessary burden. His employer did not agree, chiefly because the company owned several million dollars' worth of equipment and needed records of how that equipment was maintained. As a result, Simmons spent a portion of nearly every workday preparing paperwork that he considered pointless, a circumstance that would have given him something in common with Sergeant Hayward had the two men ever discussed it.

Simmons had noticed something reflecting sunlight among the brush near a large maple tree on the outside of the curve. At first he believed someone had abandoned a motorcycle or perhaps a small piece of agricultural equipment. He continued past the location before deciding to turn around and investigate, partly because he was curious and partly because the object appeared close enough to the roadway that it might present a hazard. Upon returning, he parked on the shoulder and walked toward the tree. He found a motorcycle lying on its right side, its front end badly damaged and portions of its bodywork broken away. There was a substantial amount of blood on the lower part of the tree and additional blood on the motorcycle and surrounding ground. Simmons called out several times, but nobody answered. He looked into the nearby brush without venturing far from the roadway, then returned to his truck and called the police. He would later explain that he had considered searching the woods himself but decided against it because he did not know whether the injured person might be dangerous, whether an animal had been involved, or whether he might unintentionally disturb evidence. The last consideration was influenced primarily by the numerous crime programs Simmons watched on television. He had learned from these programs that touching things at a crime scene was generally discouraged, although he was not entirely certain whether a motorcycle accident qualified as a crime scene. Deputy Daniel Mercer arrived approximately twelve minutes after the call was received. Mercer was twenty-seven years old and had been a sheriff's deputy for three years. He had originally intended to pursue a career in physical education, but after completing two semesters at a community college he discovered that he did not particularly enjoy teaching children and was not especially enthusiastic about the amount of additional schooling required to become a certified teacher. He subsequently worked in a sporting-goods store, where he became acquainted with several sheriff's deputies who regularly purchased ammunition, outdoor equipment, and clothing. Their descriptions of police work interested him enough that he applied to the sheriff's office, passed the required examinations, and attended the police academy. He had proved to be a competent officer who was conscientious about following procedures, although he possessed a tendency to explain things in considerably greater detail than was necessary. Pierce generally regarded this as a tolerable weakness because he preferred receiving too much information to receiving too little.

Mercer parked his patrol car with its emergency lights activated, approached the motorcycle, and immediately looked for an injured rider. Finding none, he checked the ditch, the nearby vegetation, and the accessible ground around the tree. He did not attempt to move the motorcycle because the amount of blood suggested that it might be evidence in a serious injury or fatal accident. He informed dispatch that the rider was missing and requested an ambulance, another patrol unit, and a supervisor. He also asked dispatch to determine whether anyone had recently reported an injured person walking along Farmer's Road. While waiting for assistance, he spoke briefly with Simmons and obtained the motorcycle's registration information from its license plate. The registration came back to a Jonathan Xavier Smith, whose listed address was more than a hundred miles away. Mercer had no immediate way of knowing whether Smith had been operating the motorcycle, whether the vehicle had been stolen, or whether someone else had borrowed it with his permission. He nevertheless asked dispatch to begin attempting contact at the registered address.

Pierce arrived at 8:43, accompanied by Detective Lenny Grayson, who had decided to come along after hearing the circumstances of the accident over the department radio. Lenny was thirty-nine years old, somewhat overweight, and possessed a cheerful manner that frequently concealed a less cheerful disposition. He had played football in high school and had continued exercising regularly until his early thirties, when the demands of work and family life gradually reduced his interest in physical fitness. He still considered himself a reasonably athletic man and had been known to challenge younger officers to informal competitions involving push-ups, arm wrestling, and other tests of strength. His success in these competitions was inconsistent, although he remembered his victories considerably more clearly than his defeats. Pierce, by contrast, rarely participated in such activities. He maintained sufficient physical fitness to perform his duties but saw little value in demonstrating his strength to colleagues who had no particular reason to doubt it. The two detectives had worked together for almost six years, during which they had developed a professional relationship based partly on mutual respect and partly on the fact that each had learned to tolerate the other's more irritating habits.

Mercer met them at the edge of the roadway and summarized what he had found. “Motorcycle's been down for a while, I think, although I couldn't tell you exactly how long. Nobody with it. There's blood on the tree and on the bike, and some on the grass underneath. We checked the immediate area and didn't find anybody. EMS is here, but obviously there's nobody for them to work on.” Pierce asked whether any of the blood had been disturbed, and Mercer explained that he had avoided touching the motorcycle or surrounding objects except where necessary to check for an injured person. Lenny asked whether anyone had reported seeing the crash, and Mercer replied that the caller had found the motorcycle afterward and knew nothing about the collision itself. Pierce then examined the scene from the roadway before approaching the tree. He was a man who preferred to establish an overall impression of a scene before concentrating on individual details, partly because he believed that investigators sometimes became so interested in a particular object that they overlooked its relationship to the surrounding environment. In this instance, the broad arrangement was not especially difficult to understand. The motorcycle had apparently approached from the north, failed to negotiate a leftward curve, fallen onto its side, and slid off the roadway toward the tree. The direction of the disturbed vegetation and the location of broken motorcycle components were generally consistent with this sequence. The precise speed, the point where the rider lost control, and the circumstances that caused the collision could not yet be established, but Pierce saw no reason to imagine anything particularly unusual about the crash itself. What was unusual was the absence of its operator.

Pierce approached the motorcycle carefully, stopping several feet away to examine the ground. The front portion of the machine had sustained extensive damage, and one handlebar was bent toward the fuel tank. Broken plastic lay scattered through the vegetation, and a shallow gouge in the pavement extended toward the shoulder. The motorcycle's right side was scratched and abraded, apparently from contact with the roadway, while the most severe damage was concentrated near its front end and the tree. A dark stain on the trunk began approximately eighteen inches above the ground and extended irregularly toward the base. There were also several smaller reddish stains on the grass and damaged motorcycle components. Pierce did not attempt to estimate the amount of blood from its appearance. He understood that blood could spread across a surprisingly large area, particularly when deposited on irregular or absorbent surfaces, and that a comparatively small volume could appear dramatic under certain circumstances. Nevertheless, there was enough visible blood to suggest that someone had suffered an injury that might require immediate medical attention. A helmet was found several feet from the motorcycle, partially concealed beneath low branches. It had a long scrape across its exterior and damage near the lower edge, although Pierce could not determine whether the helmet had been damaged in the collision or had already been damaged before it. He instructed Mercer to photograph it in place.

The roadway itself received considerable attention. The curve was preceded by a relatively long straight section, which would have allowed an approaching motorcyclist to accumulate considerable speed before encountering it. A warning sign stood near the approach, although Pierce did not attempt to determine whether its placement or dimensions complied with any particular standard. That would be a matter for a more detailed traffic investigation if the circumstances eventually justified one. For the moment, he wanted the road photographed and measured before passing vehicles or weather could disturb any evidence. He asked Mercer to note the condition of the pavement, the location of the warning sign, the roadway width, and the position of the motorcycle relative to the curve. The department did not employ a full-time accident reconstruction specialist, but several officers had received advanced crash-investigation training, and Pierce knew that the State Police could provide additional assistance if necessary. He wanted the scene documented thoroughly enough that a specialist could examine the evidence later without needing everything to remain exactly as it had been found.

A paramedic named Angela Reese examined the visible blood and surrounding damage without disturbing the evidence. Reese was thirty-six years old and had worked in emergency medical services since shortly after graduating from high school. She had initially intended to become a nurse, but found that she preferred the unpredictable environment of ambulance work to the more structured routine of a hospital. She had responded to hundreds of accidents and possessed a practical familiarity with traumatic injuries that Pierce respected, although he also knew that paramedics could not reliably reconstruct injuries merely by looking at a damaged vehicle. “Somebody was hurt,” Reese said after examining the scene. “How badly, I can't tell you. If that's all from one person, I'd be concerned, but there's no way to know how much blood they actually lost.” Pierce asked whether someone with a broken leg or severe head injury could have moved away from the motorcycle, and she explained that people occasionally remained mobile despite injuries that should ordinarily have incapacitated them. She also pointed out that a frightened or confused person might act irrationally, especially after a head injury. Pierce thanked her and asked that the ambulance remain nearby while the surrounding area was searched.

By this time, a second patrol unit had arrived and traffic was being directed through the remaining open portion of the road. Pierce decided that the area should be treated as a possible serious crime scene until the disappearance could be explained. This did not mean he believed that a crime had occurred. In fact, his leading explanation remained that the rider had been injured and either left under his own power or received assistance from another motorist. Nevertheless, the possibility that someone had removed an injured or deceased person from the scene could not be excluded, and evidence carelessly destroyed during the first few hours might later prove impossible to recover. He contacted the station and requested an evidence technician and a photographer, along with additional deputies to search the surrounding woods. He also requested a canine unit, reasoning that a person bleeding heavily might have left a trail even if the trail was not immediately visible to the officers. He was careful to explain that the purpose of the search was to locate a potentially injured person rather than to apprehend a suspect, because the distinction affected how the search would be organized and what assistance might be useful.

The canine unit arrived shortly before ten o'clock. Its handler, Deputy Martin Keene, had spent six years working with a German shepherd named Atlas, who had been trained for tracking and several other law-enforcement tasks. Atlas was an unusually calm dog when he was not working and enjoyed being scratched behind his ears, an activity Keene discouraged while the dog was on duty but tolerated when he was at home. Keene's wife was particularly fond of Atlas and occasionally fed him small pieces of cheese, despite Keene's repeated explanation that working dogs should not be encouraged to beg for human food. His wife maintained that Atlas was sufficiently intelligent to distinguish between being offered a treat and demanding one, a position that Keene considered unsupported by the dog's behavior whenever cheese was present. The disagreement had continued for several years without either party modifying their opinion. At the accident scene, Atlas was allowed to examine an area associated with the motorcycle before Keene directed him toward the nearby shoulder. The dog moved into the grass, circled around a shallow drainage ditch, and returned toward the roadway. Keene attempted to establish a more definite trail from several positions, but Atlas failed to follow any sustained route away from the scene. Keene explained that the passage of officers, paramedics, and other people could have complicated the search, and that the available scent might not have been adequate. He was unwilling to draw any conclusion from the dog's failure. “It doesn't mean nobody left,” he told Pierce. “It just means I can't tell you where they went.”

The surrounding woodland was then divided into several informal search areas, with deputies assigned to examine the drainage ditch, the accessible ground beyond the tree, and the brush extending along both sides of the road. Pierce also requested that a nearby volunteer fire company assist with searching a narrow ravine a short distance south of the collision, where an injured person might have fallen without being visible from the roadway. The searchers were instructed to avoid unnecessarily disturbing the immediate accident scene and to report any possible evidence rather than collect it without documentation. Over the next several hours, they found an old automobile tire, numerous discarded beverage containers, several deer tracks, a rusted length of chain, and a plastic shopping bag containing what appeared to be the remains of someone's lunch. None of these discoveries seemed connected to the motorcycle. The ravine produced nothing more significant than a damaged folding chair, which the searchers concluded had probably been discarded by someone who did not want to pay for garbage disposal. Pierce was not entirely satisfied when the search ended, but he was satisfied that the readily accessible areas had been examined. He arranged for a more extensive search the following day if the rider remained missing.

Meanwhile, the evidence technicians had begun documenting the scene. Photographs were taken from the roadway approaches, the shoulder, the tree, and various positions around the motorcycle. Measurements were recorded, and a diagram was prepared showing the locations of the damaged motorcycle, helmet, roadway markings, debris, and apparent bloodstains. Samples of the reddish material were collected for laboratory examination, and pieces of broken plastic and other potentially relevant items were identified and packaged separately. An evidence technician named Samuel Desai, who had worked for the department for nearly nine years, also noticed several strands of unusual blue material adhering to part of the motorcycle and to vegetation near the tree. Desai was a careful man who believed that the value of evidence could rarely be determined solely by its appearance at the scene. He therefore photographed the material and collected it with other trace evidence, recording the location from which each sample had been recovered. The material might have been part of the rider's clothing, a decorative covering, or something transferred from another object before the crash. Desai saw no reason to speculate. He placed the samples in suitable paper evidence folds, sealed and labeled them, and continued his work.

By early afternoon, Pierce had established three things with reasonable confidence. First, a motorcycle registered to Jonathan Xavier Smith had crashed into a tree on Farmer's Road. Second, at least one person had apparently suffered a significant injury in connection with the collision. Third, no such person had been located despite a substantial search of the surrounding area. These facts were not sufficient to establish that a crime had occurred, but they were sufficient to justify further investigation. Pierce instructed Mercer to ensure that the department's missing-person procedures were initiated and that the necessary information was circulated to neighboring agencies. Because the registered owner had not yet been positively identified as the rider, the initial notifications distinguished between the known ownership of the motorcycle and the suspected involvement of Smith. Hospitals and emergency medical providers in the surrounding region were contacted, and additional efforts were made to reach Smith at his registered address. None produced an immediate result.

Pierce then turned his attention to the people who lived nearby. Walter Simmons was the first person interviewed, although Pierce had already spoken with him briefly at the scene. Simmons agreed to provide a more complete statement and was considerably more cooperative than Pierce expected from a man who had spent most of his morning waiting beside a wrecked motorcycle instead of performing the duties for which he was being paid. He explained that his employer had been understanding about the delay, particularly after Simmons described the amount of blood he had discovered. Simmons repeated that he had not seen the collision and had not observed anyone walking or driving away from the scene. He had been listening to a country music station when he approached the curve and had noticed nothing unusual until he saw sunlight reflecting from something in the vegetation. Pierce asked whether he might have passed a person walking along the roadway before reaching the motorcycle, and Simmons replied that he was reasonably certain he had not. He did remember passing a dark pickup truck several miles farther north, but he had no reason to believe it was connected to the accident and could provide almost no information about its driver. When Pierce asked whether he had heard any shouting, animal noises, or other unusual sounds while examining the motorcycle, Simmons shook his head. “Nothing but the birds and a couple of cars going by,” he said. “I called out a few times. I figured if somebody was lying in the bushes, maybe they'd answer.” He then described his concern that the motorcycle might have been stolen, offering the theory that a thief had crashed it and fled to avoid arrest. Pierce agreed that this was possible, although he saw no reason to favor the explanation over several others. Simmons eventually asked whether the rider was likely dead, and Pierce replied that there was not enough information to answer the question. This seemed to trouble Simmons, who had hoped that the police would quickly determine what had happened. He had spent enough time around machinery to regard accidents as events with identifiable mechanical causes, and he found it unsatisfying that the investigators could not even tell him where the injured person had gone.

The second interview was conducted at a small white house approximately a quarter mile from the accident scene. Its occupant, Evelyn Markham, was seventy-eight years old and had lived there for thirty-seven years, during which she had witnessed substantial changes in the surrounding countryside. When she and her husband purchased the property, the road carried relatively little traffic, and most of the neighboring land was owned by families who had farmed it for generations. Several of those farms had since been sold, and the resulting subdivisions had introduced new residents whose attitudes toward rural life occasionally irritated Evelyn. She did not object to newcomers in principle, and she was generally friendly toward anyone who treated her politely. She did, however, dislike people who purchased homes beside agricultural properties and subsequently complained about the smells or noises associated with farming. Her late husband had worked as a school custodian rather than a farmer, but his parents had operated a small dairy farm, and Evelyn considered herself sufficiently familiar with agricultural life to regard such complaints as evidence of poor judgment. She also believed that the county had become less neighborly over the years, although she acknowledged that this impression might have been influenced by the deaths of several friends and the departure of younger relatives. She lived alone except for a large orange cat named Theodore, who had originally belonged to her granddaughter but had been left with Evelyn when the granddaughter moved into an apartment that prohibited pets. Evelyn had never particularly wanted a cat, having always preferred dogs, but Theodore had become an important companion and was now permitted to sleep in nearly every room of the house.

Evelyn invited the detectives into her kitchen and offered them coffee and homemade biscuits. Pierce declined the coffee because he generally avoided drinking large quantities of liquid during investigations that required him to travel between unfamiliar houses. Lenny accepted both the coffee and the biscuits, reasoning that refusing hospitality from an elderly woman would be unnecessarily discourteous. Pierce asked whether Evelyn had noticed anything unusual that morning, and she explained that she had heard a motorcycle traveling very quickly down the road. “At least I think it was a motorcycle,” she told them. “It was one of those very loud engines, the kind that sounds like it's trying to get away from something. Then there was a screeching sound, and a terrible crash. I thought somebody had hit a telephone pole.” Pierce asked when this had happened, and Evelyn said it was sometime between six-thirty and seven, although she could not be more precise because she had not looked at the clock. She had been preparing breakfast, and Theodore had been sitting beside his food dish complaining that she had not fed him quickly enough. Evelyn explained that Theodore was accustomed to eating shortly after she woke and became increasingly vocal if she delayed the meal, a behavior she attributed to his having been spoiled by her granddaughter. Pierce asked whether she had looked outside after hearing the crash, and Evelyn replied that she had gone to the front window but could not see the curve because of the trees. She had considered calling the police, but after hearing no further obvious commotion, she assumed that whatever had happened was either less serious than it sounded or had already attracted the attention of someone closer to the road.

Pierce asked whether she had heard anyone shouting, and Evelyn hesitated. “There was something after the crash,” she said. “A sort of awful noise. I couldn't tell you what it was.” Lenny asked whether the noise sounded like a person in pain, and she replied that it might have, although she was not certain. “It could've been an animal, too. We get all kinds of animals around here. Coyotes, foxes, deer. Had a bear once, although that was years ago.” This prompted her to describe an incident in which a black bear overturned several garbage containers behind the house, frightening Theodore and causing considerable inconvenience for her husband, who was still alive at the time. The bear had returned on several occasions before the family purchased a more secure container, and Evelyn believed that it had eventually moved farther into the woods after discovering that the garbage was no longer easily accessible. She was not certain this was what had happened, but she had not seen the bear again and regarded the matter as effectively resolved. Pierce listened politely before returning to the accident. He asked whether the noise had occurred immediately after the crash or some time later, and Evelyn explained that she could not remember exactly, although she thought there had been a short interval. She had also heard something that might have been heavy footsteps or several impacts against the ground, but she emphasized that the kitchen windows had been closed and that sounds could carry strangely through the trees. Neither detective considered her description sufficiently definite to support any particular conclusion. Before they left, Evelyn offered Lenny several additional biscuits, which he accepted and wrapped in a paper napkin. She told him not to mention them to his wife, and Lenny promised that he would not.

The third witness was Robert Fenwick, a retired insurance adjuster who lived approximately half a mile beyond the curve. Fenwick had moved to Wescott County after retiring from a career that required him to spend much of his time traveling among commercial properties, accident scenes, and insurance offices. He had developed a strong dislike for traffic during those years and believed that rural living would provide a welcome escape from congested roads and impatient drivers. Unfortunately, he purchased a property bordering Farmer's Road, and although traffic was considerably lighter than it had been in the metropolitan area where he previously lived, he soon discovered that the reduced volume made individual vehicles more noticeable. A truck passing his house at six in the morning might disturb him more than a continuous stream of traffic would have disturbed him in the city, partly because the isolated noise interrupted an otherwise quiet environment. Fenwick had written several letters to the county highway department requesting additional warning signs, improved drainage, and a reduced speed limit. Some of these requests had been considered, but few had resulted in changes. He interpreted this as evidence that the county government was indifferent to the safety of its residents, although he had never personally witnessed a serious accident on the curve.

Fenwick had neither seen nor heard the motorcycle collision. He had been mowing his lawn at the approximate time it occurred and explained that his riding mower produced enough noise to prevent him from hearing passing traffic. He nevertheless believed that excessive speed was almost certainly responsible. “People come flying around that corner all the time,” he told Pierce. “I've been saying for years somebody's going to get killed.” Pierce asked whether Fenwick had seen the particular motorcycle before, and Fenwick examined a photograph but could not identify it. He then asked whether the rider had been killed, and when Pierce explained that the rider was missing, Fenwick suggested that he had probably been drunk and fled the scene to avoid arrest. This was essentially the same theory offered by Walter Simmons, although Fenwick expressed it with considerably greater confidence. He also believed that the county should install a traffic signal at the curve, despite the absence of an intersection that would provide any obvious purpose for such a device. When Pierce explained that traffic signals were generally used to regulate conflicting traffic movements rather than warn drivers about curves, Fenwick replied that the county ought to invent something that would accomplish both purposes. Pierce did not attempt to debate the matter. After several additional questions established that Fenwick possessed no firsthand information, the detectives concluded the interview.

Their fourth interview involved Peter and Denise Calder, a married couple who lived in a modest ranch house near the southern approach to the curve. Peter worked at a distribution warehouse and had returned home shortly before midnight after completing an evening shift. He was asleep when the collision occurred and did not hear anything. Denise had been awake, but she was vacuuming the living room and had not noticed any unusual noises outside. They were nevertheless willing to speak at considerable length about the accident, particularly after learning that the injured motorcyclist had not been found. Denise wondered whether he might have been abducted, while Peter suggested that he had probably fled because he was operating the motorcycle illegally. Their discussion gradually developed into a disagreement about how audible a motorcycle crash would have been from their house. Peter argued that the walls were relatively thick and insulated enough to exclude most roadway noise, while Denise reminded him that he frequently complained about passing trucks waking him during the day. Peter countered that trucks were louder than motorcycles, and Denise replied that certain motorcycles were much louder than trucks, particularly when their owners modified their exhaust systems. Lenny found the disagreement mildly entertaining, but Pierce eventually interrupted to ask whether either had seen an unfamiliar person walking in the area during the previous twenty-four hours. Both said they had not. Denise then asked whether she should be concerned about allowing her children to play outside, since the possible abduction of a motorcyclist might indicate the presence of dangerous people in the neighborhood. Pierce explained that there was currently no evidence of an abduction and no specific reason to believe that local residents were in danger. Denise appeared reassured, although she made a mental note to remind her children not to speak with strangers. Peter, meanwhile, returned to his earlier point about the insulation, which he believed was unusually good for a house of its age. The fifth and final interview of the initial canvass was with Curtis Bell, a delivery driver who had stopped near a cluster of roadside mailboxes approximately three-quarters of a mile from the accident scene shortly before eight. Curtis was twenty-nine years old and had been working for a regional delivery company for six years. He enjoyed driving but disliked making deliveries to houses with long driveways, loose dogs, or unclear addresses. He had encountered all three difficulties during the preceding week and had recently complained to his supervisor that some residents seemed to regard the receipt of packages as an inconvenience rather than a service. On the morning of the accident, Curtis had driven along Farmer's Road without noticing the crashed motorcycle. He recalled seeing a damaged section of fencing somewhere along his route, but when Pierce asked him to identify the location, it became clear that the fence was on an entirely different road several miles away. Curtis also remembered passing a blue pickup truck, although he could not say whether this occurred before or after he traveled through the accident area. He had delivered approximately forty packages that morning and had passed numerous vehicles, making it difficult to reconstruct their sequence. Pierce obtained his route information in case it became useful later, but the interview produced no reliable evidence concerning the motorcycle or its missing operator.

By the time the interviews were completed, it was nearly four in the afternoon. The search of the surrounding woodland had ended without locating anyone, and the evidence technicians had finished their initial work. The motorcycle was removed by a contracted towing company and transported to a secure facility where it could be examined more thoroughly if necessary. The helmet and other items of evidence were separately documented and retained, and Pierce confirmed that the department had records identifying the personnel who collected and handled each item. He also directed that the case remain open as an urgent missing-person investigation rather than be closed as an abandoned-vehicle matter. The distinction was important because Pierce believed that a man who had lost a substantial amount of blood might be in immediate danger, even if no crime had occurred. There was also the possibility that the motorcycle's registered owner was not the rider, a problem that would need to be resolved before investigators could confidently identify the missing person.

Before leaving, Pierce stood beside the maple tree and looked once more at the surrounding ground. The roadway curved away to his left, disappearing behind a dense line of trees, while the opposite direction offered a view of several hundred feet of relatively straight pavement. The grass near the tree had been flattened by the motorcycle and by the movements of investigators, and small pieces of broken bark lay near its base. The scene now appeared less dramatic than it had that morning. Much of the blood had been sampled, the motorcycle had been removed, and the roadside had been marked and photographed. Without knowing what had happened, a passing motorist might have assumed that road maintenance crews had been working there. Pierce considered this transformation mildly unsettling. A location could be the site of a serious injury or death in the morning and appear nearly ordinary by evening, with the event preserved primarily in photographs, reports, and the memories of those who had attended it.

“What do you think happened?” Lenny asked as they returned to their car. Pierce considered the question before replying that the motorcycle had probably entered the curve too quickly, fallen onto its side, and collided with the tree. Lenny agreed that this seemed obvious and asked what Pierce thought had happened to the rider. “That's the part I don't know,” Pierce replied. Lenny suggested that someone might have stopped and taken the injured man to a hospital, but Pierce pointed out that the regional hospitals had been contacted and none reported admitting an unidentified person with injuries consistent with a recent motorcycle accident. Lenny then suggested that the rider might have been drunk, frightened, or confused and wandered into the woods. Pierce acknowledged the possibility but noted that the search had failed to establish a direction of travel. “Maybe somebody picked him up and took him somewhere else,” Lenny said. Pierce agreed that this was also possible. Lenny became mildly irritated by the repeated uncertainty and asked whether Pierce intended to offer any explanation of his own. “I think the crash is straightforward,” Pierce answered. “What happened afterward isn't. And I don't think we'll figure it out standing here.” Lenny accepted this conclusion, partly because it was reasonable and partly because he was hungry. The two detectives returned to the station.

The Wescott County Sheriff's Office occupied a two-story brick building near the center of Briar Glen. The building had originally been constructed to house several county departments but had gradually become dominated by law-enforcement functions as the department expanded. This expansion had not occurred through any comprehensive architectural plan. Instead, offices were added or reassigned whenever additional space became necessary, producing a building whose internal arrangement was somewhat difficult for visitors to understand. A hallway that appeared to lead toward the public entrance might terminate at a locked records room, while another corridor might connect offices belonging to employees whose duties had little relationship to one another. Several rooms were identified by signs that no longer accurately described their functions, and the department had developed the habit of referring to particular areas by the names of employees who had occupied them many years earlier. One small conference room was still commonly called Peterson's office, although Deputy Chief Peterson had retired nine years before and the room had subsequently been used for interviews, storage, and occasional meetings of the department's employee recreation committee. The detective offices were located on the second floor in a section of the building renovated during the late 1980s. The renovation had been intended to create a modern investigative workspace, but advances in office technology had gradually rendered several of its features obsolete. The rooms contained numerous electrical outlets, some of which were inconveniently located behind heavy furniture, and telephone lines that had been modified several times to accommodate additional equipment. Computers had been introduced throughout the department during the preceding decade, although some older employees continued to prefer handwritten notes and paper files. Pierce used both systems. He appreciated the speed with which computers allowed information to be located and transmitted, but he retained a strong preference for handwritten notes during interviews because he believed that writing helped him remember what people said. He also disliked relying entirely on electronic records, partly because he had once lost several hours of work when an aging computer malfunctioned shortly before a report was due. The computer had subsequently been repaired, but Pierce had never completely forgiven it.

When the detectives returned shortly after five, several other employees were still working. Sergeant Bernard Willis, who supervised part of the evening patrol shift, was preparing duty assignments in a small office near the stairwell. Willis was fifty-one years old and had served with the department for twenty-six years. He was a patient, methodical man who carried a small notebook in which he recorded nearly everything he considered important, including work assignments, household repairs, birthdays, and occasionally the names of restaurants where he had enjoyed particular meals. His wife had purchased him a handheld electronic organizer several years earlier, believing that it would simplify his life, but Willis abandoned it after accidentally deleting several appointments. He returned to his notebook and never again seriously considered replacing it. Willis asked about the motorcycle accident, and Pierce provided a brief summary before requesting that evening patrol units remain alert for any indication of an injured man who might have been picked up or transported away from Farmer's Road. Willis agreed, although he pointed out that a man who had been seriously injured more than ten hours earlier was unlikely to still be wandering along the road. Pierce acknowledged the observation but saw no reason to abandon the possibility entirely. Also working late was Marjorie Kessler, the department's senior records clerk, who had been employed by the county for twenty-three years. Marjorie was fifty-eight years old, married, and the mother of two adult children. She possessed a remarkable ability to locate documents that other employees believed had been lost, a skill that she attributed to her habit of maintaining carefully organized files rather than any unusual intelligence. Her coworkers frequently praised her memory, but Marjorie insisted that remembering where something belonged was less important than placing it there consistently. This was a philosophy she applied to her personal life as well, and her husband occasionally complained that he could not leave an object on the kitchen counter for more than a few minutes before she moved it to what she considered its proper location. Marjorie was also an enthusiastic gardener whose principal interest was the cultivation of tomatoes. Each summer she grew several varieties and brought the surplus to work, distributing them among the employees. She had attempted to grow watermelons on several occasions but had never achieved satisfactory results, a failure she attributed to the soil despite her husband's belief that she had simply planted them too late. When Pierce returned to the office, Marjorie was finishing the entry of several incident reports and volunteered to help locate earlier accident records associated with the curve on Farmer's Road. Pierce thanked her and accepted the offer, reasoning that previous accidents might provide useful information about the road's characteristics even if they were unrelated to the missing rider.

The department's evidence technician, Samuel Desai, was also present, preparing the paperwork associated with the material collected at the scene. Desai was forty-one years old and had originally studied chemistry before discovering that he preferred practical laboratory work to the pursuit of an academic career. He was a quiet man with a dry sense of humor and an unusually strong dislike of people who handled evidence without first considering how it might become contaminated. On one occasion, he had become visibly angry when a younger officer placed a cigarette lighter recovered from a vehicle into the same bag as several loose papers. Although the lighter was unlikely to have been especially important in that particular case, Desai regarded the careless packaging as evidence of a larger professional problem. He believed that investigators should handle every collected object as though it might eventually become central to a criminal trial, since the importance of an item often became apparent only after additional evidence was discovered. Pierce respected this attitude, even though it occasionally caused delays when Desai insisted that paperwork be corrected before accepting an item into storage.

Pierce reviewed the day's reports and began organizing the information obtained from the witnesses. The process was tedious but important. Each interview needed to be summarized, relevant times recorded, and any uncertainty distinguished from established fact. He noted that Evelyn Markham believed she had heard a crash between six-thirty and seven, while Walter Simmons had discovered the motorcycle shortly before eight. This created a probable interval of approximately one hour during which the rider's movements remained entirely unknown. Curtis Bell might have passed the location during this interval without noticing the motorcycle, but his account was too imprecise to narrow the timeline. Pierce also reviewed the photographs of the roadway, which appeared consistent with a high-speed loss of control but could not establish the rider's exact speed or explain why he had entered the curve without slowing adequately. He considered requesting a formal reconstruction immediately, then decided that locating the missing person was a higher priority. The reconstruction could be undertaken later if the evidence justified the expenditure of additional resources. At approximately seven-thirty, Captain Margaret Rowan entered the detective office. Rowan was fifty-four years old and supervised the department's criminal investigations division. She had joined the sheriff's office when female officers were considerably less common than they had become, and she had spent much of her early career dealing with colleagues who were reluctant to accept women in investigative or supervisory positions. Some of these colleagues had eventually become close professional associates, while others continued to treat her with a degree of resentment that she found more amusing than offensive. Rowan had learned to distinguish between criticism motivated by legitimate professional disagreement and criticism motivated by personal insecurity, although she occasionally misjudged which was which. She was generally regarded as a capable administrator who preferred careful planning to dramatic action and who possessed a firm understanding of the department's limited financial resources. She also had a tendency to speak bluntly when she believed an officer was wasting time, a characteristic that had caused occasional friction with Pierce.

Rowan asked Pierce to explain why the department was treating the accident as a possible criminal investigation when no evidence of criminal activity had been identified. Pierce explained that he did not necessarily believe a crime had occurred, but that the absence of the injured rider and the substantial blood evidence required continued investigation. He also pointed out that the owner of the motorcycle had not yet been located and that the department could not safely assume the rider had left voluntarily. Rowan agreed that these were legitimate concerns but reminded him that the office had several active investigations requiring attention. She approved additional search personnel for the following morning and authorized continued work on the missing-person case, provided that Pierce kept her informed about the allocation of resources. She also suggested contacting the State Police if specialized accident reconstruction or additional search assistance became necessary. Pierce accepted these instructions without argument, although he privately disliked having to justify investigative work before he believed enough information existed to determine its value.

Lenny, meanwhile, had been attempting to contact Jonathan Xavier Smith and anyone who might know his whereabouts. The registration listed a residential address more than a hundred miles away, but telephone directory information was incomplete, and several numbers associated with Smith's businesses led to offices that had already closed for the day. Lenny left messages where possible and contacted another police agency to request assistance with confirming the registered address. He also discovered that Smith's name appeared in numerous business records and newspaper articles, several of which identified him as a successful attorney with substantial financial interests. These discoveries interested Lenny because he had initially assumed the missing rider was an ordinary recreational motorcyclist. “This guy's got money,” he told Pierce. “A lot of it, apparently. He's involved in law firms, restaurants, real estate, God knows what else.” Pierce asked whether any of the information explained why Smith was traveling through Wescott County, and Lenny admitted that it did not. He nevertheless believed that a wealthy attorney's disappearance might attract considerably more attention than that of an ordinary citizen. Pierce agreed this was possible, although he thought the financial circumstances had little bearing on the immediate task of locating an injured person.

The telephone on Lenny's desk rang shortly after nine.

He looked at the display and sighed when he saw his wife's name. Melissa Grayson had been married to Lenny for fourteen years. They met at a birthday party hosted by a mutual friend shortly after Lenny completed his police training. At the time Melissa was working as a dental hygienist and had recently moved into an apartment with another young woman employed at the same dental practice. Melissa was attractive, sociable, and reasonably ambitious, although she had never developed a particular desire to become wealthy or professionally prominent. She wanted a comfortable life, a family, and enough financial security that ordinary unexpected expenses would not become serious problems. She also wanted a husband who would take an active role in raising their children. When she met Lenny, he appeared to possess nearly everything she was looking for. He was confident, entertaining, physically attractive, and enthusiastic about his new career. He also seemed genuinely interested in her life, asking questions about her work, family, and personal ambitions with an attentiveness she found flattering. They began dating shortly afterward and married two years later.

Their early marriage was happy, although not without the ordinary disagreements that arise when two people attempt to organize their lives around shared responsibilities. Lenny worked irregular shifts, and Melissa occasionally became frustrated when his schedule interfered with social events or family gatherings. Nevertheless, he made an effort to compensate for these inconveniences by arranging outings on his days off, surprising her with small gifts, and volunteering to help with household tasks. After their first child was born, Lenny discovered that he enjoyed fatherhood more than he expected. He was particularly fond of the early years, when his children were young enough to regard almost everything he did as interesting or impressive. He liked taking them to parks, teaching them simple games, and telling elaborate stories that were frequently more entertaining to him than to the children. Their second child arrived several years later, and for a time the family appeared to be doing very well.

Unfortunately, the demands of Lenny's career gradually increased, and his behavior changed in ways that Melissa initially regarded as ordinary consequences of a difficult job. He began spending more evenings away from home, occasionally drinking with coworkers after shifts and sometimes attending social events without inviting his wife. He also became more protective of his personal time, arguing that the stressful nature of police work entitled him to occasional opportunities to relax without having to satisfy the expectations of his family. There was some truth to this argument, but Lenny gradually used it to justify behavior that had little to do with occupational stress. Four years earlier, he began an affair with a woman named Amanda Reeves, who worked at a restaurant near the sheriff's office. The relationship began after several casual conversations and developed into something more serious over the following months. Lenny told himself that the affair was temporary and that he had no intention of leaving his wife, a distinction he considered important despite the fact that it offered Melissa little comfort when she eventually learned the truth.

Melissa discovered the affair after noticing inconsistencies in Lenny's explanations of his work schedule. She initially suspected that he was hiding some financial problem, perhaps gambling or an expensive purchase he did not wish to discuss. When she eventually confronted him, Lenny denied having an affair and insisted that she was misinterpreting the circumstances. This denial lasted several days before additional evidence made it impossible to maintain. He then admitted the relationship but minimized its duration and seriousness, claiming that it had occurred only a few times and had already ended. Melissa subsequently learned that the affair had lasted approximately five months and involved numerous occasions when Lenny had falsely claimed to be working late. This second revelation was, in some respects, more damaging than the first. Melissa had been prepared to believe that her husband made a serious mistake, but the repeated lies suggested a willingness to deceive her that she had not previously recognized.

They nearly divorced. Melissa consulted an attorney, and Lenny spent several weeks living with his brother while attempting to persuade her that the marriage could be repaired. He apologized repeatedly, agreed to attend counseling, and promised to end all contact with Amanda outside circumstances that were unavoidable. Eventually Melissa agreed to continue the marriage, partly because she still loved him and partly because she did not want to disrupt their children's lives. Their reconciliation was genuine, but incomplete. Lenny had become more attentive and had not, so far as Melissa knew, repeated the affair. Nevertheless, the memory of his deception remained difficult to set aside, particularly when he came home late without warning or failed to answer his telephone.

This was the situation when Melissa called him shortly after nine that evening. “Where are you?” she asked after Lenny answered. He explained that he was at the station working on a missing-person investigation. Melissa asked why he had not called earlier, and Lenny admitted that he had been busy and had forgotten. She pointed out that he had promised to be home for dinner, and he replied that a serious accident had occurred and that the investigation could not simply be abandoned because he had made other plans. Melissa then asked whether Pierce was still there, and Lenny looked across the room before answering that he was. She wanted to speak with him, but Lenny disliked the idea of involving his supervisor in a marital disagreement and said that Pierce was occupied with paperwork. Melissa interpreted his reluctance as evidence that he might not be telling the truth. “This is exactly what you used to say,” she reminded him. “You'd tell me there was some accident or somebody got arrested, and then I'd find out you weren't working at all.” Lenny acknowledged that he had lied in the past but insisted that this occasion was different. “I am at work, Melissa. You can call the station if you want. Ask anybody. We found a motorcycle with blood all over it and no rider. I've been trying to find the guy all day.” Melissa replied that she was tired of being expected to trust him merely because he insisted he was telling the truth, and Lenny responded that he could not spend the rest of his life defending himself against accusations arising from something he had already apologized for. The conversation continued for nearly fifteen minutes, gradually becoming louder despite Lenny's attempts to lower his voice.

Pierce heard most of the argument because the walls between their offices were relatively thin. He made no effort to listen, but neither did he attempt to block out the conversation by closing his door or turning on the radio. He had heard variations of the same argument several times before and understood that Lenny's marriage remained troubled. He also understood that Lenny's earlier conduct made his wife's suspicions more reasonable than they would otherwise have been. Pierce nevertheless felt some sympathy for his partner. Lenny was genuinely working late, and the accusation that he was using the investigation as an excuse to meet another woman was unfair in the immediate circumstances. At the same time, Pierce knew that the unfairness was largely the consequence of Lenny's earlier dishonesty. He found the situation difficult to evaluate because both people possessed legitimate reasons for feeling aggrieved, and neither appeared willing to acknowledge the other's position while arguing.

The call ended with Lenny promising to telephone before leaving the station and Melissa explaining that she would believe him when she saw him come home. Lenny placed the receiver down and remained silent for several moments before entering Pierce's office. “You ever regret not getting married?” he asked. Pierce looked up from his report and replied that he did not regret it particularly, although he had occasionally considered marriage during earlier relationships. Lenny shook his head and declared that Pierce had made the smartest decision of his life. Pierce observed that married people generally seemed to appreciate marriage more when they were not in the middle of an argument, which Lenny acknowledged was probably true. Lenny then complained that Melissa continued to punish him for something that had happened four years earlier, and Pierce suggested that she might have difficulty trusting him because he had spent several months deliberately deceiving her. Lenny did not appreciate this observation. “You don't have to agree with her,” he said. Pierce replied that agreement was not the issue and that he was merely explaining why Melissa might react the way she did. Lenny considered this for a moment, then conceded that Pierce was probably right. He nevertheless maintained that there ought to be some point at which a person who had made a mistake could reasonably expect to stop being punished for it. Pierce did not disagree, but he also did not attempt to determine where that point might lie.

Pierce had never married, although his unmarried state was not the result of any opposition to the institution. He had simply failed to develop a relationship that survived the demands of his professional life long enough for marriage to become a practical consideration. The most significant of these relationships had been with Christine Bellamy, a school guidance counselor whom he met when he was thirty-two. Christine was four years younger than Pierce and possessed a lively personality that contrasted with his reserved disposition. She enjoyed traveling, attending concerts, and maintaining friendships with people she had known since childhood. Pierce admired these qualities, partly because his own social life had become increasingly limited as he devoted more time to police work. Christine, meanwhile, appreciated Pierce's reliability, intelligence, and apparent emotional stability. He was not especially romantic, but he was honest, financially responsible, and generally considerate. During the early years of their relationship, these qualities seemed sufficient to compensate for his tendency to work long hours and cancel plans when professional obligations arose.

Their daughter, Emily, was born several years after they began living together. Pierce had not originally intended to become a father at that particular stage of his life, but he accepted the responsibility willingly and made a sincere effort to participate in the child's upbringing. During Emily's infancy he changed diapers, prepared bottles, attended medical appointments, and occasionally took time off work to spend entire afternoons with her. He discovered that he enjoyed watching her develop new abilities, particularly when she began speaking and demonstrated an interest in the world around her. He bought educational toys, read books about child development, and took photographs of events he considered important. Christine was pleased by his involvement and began to believe that the arrival of a child might encourage him to establish a healthier balance between work and family life. Unfortunately, this expectation proved incorrect. Pierce's responsibilities at the sheriff's office increased as he advanced in rank, and he gradually returned to the habits that had characterized his earlier career. He worked longer hours, volunteered for complicated investigations, and became increasingly reluctant to delegate work to officers whose diligence he did not entirely trust. He missed Emily's second birthday party because a homicide investigation required his presence at a search warrant execution. He missed part of her first school performance because an interview lasted longer than expected. On another occasion, he promised to take her to a local amusement park but canceled the trip after a missing-person case developed several promising leads. Each absence had a reasonable explanation, and Pierce sincerely regretted every one of them. Nevertheless, Christine eventually pointed out that the explanations did not change the effect on their daughter. Emily did not understand why her father was always needed somewhere else, nor did she particularly care whether the people demanding his attention were victims, witnesses, supervisors, or prosecutors. She simply knew that he was frequently absent when he had promised to be present.

The relationship deteriorated gradually. There was no affair, no violent argument, and no single event that permanently destroyed their affection for one another. Instead, Christine became increasingly frustrated by Pierce's inability to place family obligations ahead of his work, while Pierce felt that she did not fully appreciate the importance of the investigations he conducted. He believed that his efforts occasionally protected people from serious harm and that abandoning an investigation at an inconvenient moment might have consequences far greater than missing a dinner or school event. Christine did not dispute the importance of police work, but she argued that Pierce had begun treating every professional responsibility as though it were an emergency. Eventually she told him that she no longer wanted to continue the relationship. Pierce was unhappy about the decision but did not attempt to persuade her to remain. He recognized that many of her complaints were justified and doubted that he could honestly promise to behave differently. Emily was twelve years old now. Pierce contributed financially to her care and visited when his schedule permitted, but the visits were irregular and generally shorter than he would have liked. He spoke with her on the telephone occasionally, attended some school events, and purchased birthday and Christmas presents that were usually selected after consulting Christine about what Emily wanted. He loved his daughter and believed that he was a responsible father in many respects, but he also understood that he was not particularly involved in her daily life. He knew little about her closest friends, was frequently uncertain which subjects she enjoyed at school, and sometimes forgot the names of her teachers. These omissions troubled him because he possessed an excellent memory for investigative details. He could remember the precise wording of a witness statement from a case investigated six years earlier but occasionally needed to ask Christine whether Emily was still taking piano lessons. He recognized the contradiction but had never successfully corrected it.

Pierce's devotion to his career had begun long before he met Christine. He was born in a small industrial town approximately sixty miles from Briar Glen, where his father worked as a machinist and his mother taught elementary school. His childhood was ordinary in most respects, and he had no particular reason to expect that he would eventually become a detective. He was a quiet boy who enjoyed history, mechanical puzzles, and books describing how various machines worked. He was reasonably intelligent but not exceptionally gifted, and his academic success resulted primarily from his willingness to study material that other children found tedious. His younger brother, Thomas, was more outgoing and athletic, and the two maintained a friendly relationship despite possessing relatively little in common. Pierce's interest in police work developed during adolescence after a burglary occurred at a neighbor's house. He watched an investigating officer examine the damaged rear door, question the occupants, and attempt to establish when the house had last been secure. The officer eventually concluded that someone had entered through the rear door while the occupants were away, although no suspect was identified and the stolen property was never recovered. Pierce found the process fascinating. He liked the idea that a person could reconstruct an event nobody had witnessed by examining physical evidence and comparing the accounts of people who possessed only partial information. After high school, Pierce attended a state college and studied criminal justice. He performed well academically but did not distinguish himself as an extraordinary student. He was diligent, organized, and unusually willing to complete assignments that other students considered unnecessary. After graduation he entered law enforcement and spent his first several years on patrol, responding to traffic accidents, domestic disputes, burglaries, disturbances, and the numerous minor complaints that occupied much of an officer's working day. He discovered that actual police work bore relatively little resemblance to the dramatic investigations portrayed in television programs. Most cases were solved through ordinary procedures, careful interviews, and the gradual accumulation of information. Others were never solved at all, regardless of the investigator's skill or effort. Pierce found this mixture of routine and uncertainty appealing because it rewarded persistence without guaranteeing success. He came to believe that a good investigator's most important qualities were patience, skepticism, and the willingness to perform tedious work accurately.

One early investigation had exerted a particularly strong influence on him. During his fifth year as a patrol officer, he assisted in the search for a seventeen-year-old girl who disappeared after leaving a friend's house late one evening. The girl's parents believed she had been abducted, while several officers suspected that she had simply run away following an argument with her mother. Pierce was assigned to interview residents along the route she normally walked home. Most knew nothing about her movements, but one elderly man remembered seeing a girl standing near a bus stop shortly after ten o'clock. The information initially appeared unimportant because the bus service ended earlier in the evening. Pierce nevertheless contacted the transit company and learned that a maintenance vehicle had traveled the route that night. The driver remembered seeing a young woman speaking with an older man beside a parked automobile. This led investigators to identify a family acquaintance who had offered the girl a ride. The acquaintance had taken her to a nearby town, where she had voluntarily stayed with a friend without informing her parents. She was located unharmed two days after her disappearance. The case was not especially dramatic, and Pierce did not believe his contribution amounted to any remarkable feat of deduction. Nevertheless, he remembered that several apparently pointless interviews eventually produced the information that resolved the matter. The experience reinforced his conviction that investigations were often successful because someone continued asking questions after other people had grown tired of answering them.

This habit became increasingly pronounced as Pierce advanced in his career. He was promoted to detective, then eventually to detective sergeant, and developed a reputation for being dependable, thorough, and occasionally inflexible. His supervisors appreciated the quality of his reports and his willingness to pursue difficult cases, although they sometimes complained that he devoted too much attention to minor inconsistencies. His colleagues generally respected him, but some found him exhausting to work with because he rarely regarded an investigation as complete until he had personally satisfied himself that every reasonable lead had been considered. Pierce knew that this attitude occasionally caused friction, and he made some effort to moderate it when working with officers who preferred a less exhaustive approach. Nevertheless, he believed that carelessness was responsible for many investigative failures and saw little virtue in concluding a case prematurely merely because continuing would be inconvenient. At eleven o'clock, Marjorie Kessler went home after leaving several historical accident reports on Pierce's desk. Sergeant Willis had departed earlier, and Captain Rowan was no longer in the building. Lenny remained until approximately eleven-thirty, when he telephoned Melissa to explain that he was finally leaving. He had completed most of his assigned work and was visibly tired, although he insisted that he would return in the morning to continue contacting Smith's associates. Pierce told him there was no need to arrive unusually early and suggested that he get some sleep. Lenny thanked him and left, carrying the remaining biscuits Evelyn Markham had given him the previous morning. One had become slightly crushed inside its paper napkin, but Lenny ate it while walking to his car. Pierce continued working.

He reviewed the accident photographs again, paying particular attention to the location of the blood and the apparent path of the motorcycle. He prepared a list of follow-up tasks, including obtaining additional information about Jonathan Xavier Smith, locating anyone who had seen him during the preceding twenty-four hours, identifying nearby businesses that might possess security recordings, and extending the search along Farmer's Road. He also noted the need to determine whether Smith had purchased gasoline or made any other transactions in the area. Because the case involved an adult whose movements were not yet known, Pierce understood that some records might require consent or legal process, but he saw no reason not to begin identifying the appropriate sources.

At approximately 12:45 in the morning, Pierce finally left the office. He drove to his modest two-bedroom house near Briar Glen, ate a bowl of cereal, and took a shower. He considered telephoning Christine to ask about Emily but decided against it because of the hour. Instead, he wrote a note reminding himself to call his daughter later in the week and placed it beside his telephone. He went to bed shortly after one-thirty and set his alarm for five-thirty.

He slept for a little less than four hours.

When the alarm sounded, he got up immediately.

Pierce had never required much sleep, although he recognized that four hours was less than most physicians would recommend for an adult engaged in work requiring sustained concentration. He ordinarily preferred six or seven hours and was capable of sleeping longer when circumstances permitted, but he had developed the ability to function reasonably well after a short night. He attributed this partly to habit and partly to the fact that his work often provided sufficient mental stimulation to overcome ordinary fatigue. This did not mean that he was unaffected by sleep deprivation. He became more irritable, occasionally developed headaches, and sometimes found that he needed to reread passages of reports before fully understanding them. Nevertheless, he regarded these inconveniences as acceptable when an investigation was developing rapidly. On the morning following the motorcycle investigation, he was particularly anxious to return to Farmer's Road because he believed that witnesses' memories might become less reliable with each passing day. Although most people could remember an unusual event for years, they frequently forgot the smaller details surrounding it, such as the precise time they had looked out a window, the direction a vehicle had traveled, or whether another person had been present. Pierce wanted to obtain as much of this information as possible while the events were still relatively fresh. He arrived at the station shortly after six and found only a few employees working. The overnight patrol shift was preparing to leave, and several members of the day shift had not yet arrived. Lenny was absent, as Pierce expected. He had told his partner to get some sleep and saw no reason to criticize him for following the instruction. After checking the reports submitted overnight and confirming that no missing person matching Smith's description had been located, Pierce asked whether a uniformed officer was available to accompany him on another canvass. He was informed that Deputy Laura Peller had just completed a routine assignment and could be reassigned for the morning.

Laura Peller had been with the sheriff's office for seven years. She was thirty-four years old, of average height, and possessed dark brown hair that she usually wore tied back while working. Her appearance was unremarkable except for an expressive face that sometimes betrayed her thoughts before she had decided whether to express them verbally. This characteristic had occasionally caused difficulties during her early years as an officer, particularly when interviewing people who provided explanations she found implausible. On one occasion, a man arrested for driving while intoxicated informed her that he had consumed no alcohol but had recently eaten several pieces of fruit that must have fermented in his stomach. Laura had laughed before she could stop herself, an understandable but professionally undesirable reaction that later prompted a supervisor to remind her of the importance of maintaining an impartial demeanor. Over time she learned to control her expressions more effectively and developed into an excellent interviewer, particularly when dealing with nervous or reluctant witnesses. Laura's greatest professional strength was her ability to make people comfortable. She possessed a genuine interest in other people's lives and could converse easily with individuals of widely different ages, backgrounds, and dispositions. She was especially effective with elderly witnesses, who sometimes appreciated having someone listen to them without appearing impatient. Her principal weakness was that she did not always recognize when a conversation had ceased producing useful information. She could spend half an hour discussing a witness's family, garden, or former occupation after obtaining every relevant detail about the incident under investigation. Laura defended this habit by arguing that people were more likely to cooperate with police officers who treated them as individuals rather than merely sources of information. Pierce agreed with this principle but believed that it could be applied without spending twenty minutes discussing the medical history of a witness's dog.

Laura had not originally intended to become a police officer. After high school she enrolled in a community college business program, completed an associate degree, and began working for a large retail company. She was eventually promoted to assistant manager, a position that paid reasonably well but required her to work evenings, weekends, and holidays. She disliked the constant pressure to meet sales targets and became increasingly frustrated by customers who expected employees to accommodate unreasonable demands. During one particularly difficult holiday season, she worked nearly every day for six weeks and eventually concluded that she wanted a career offering greater variety and a more direct sense of purpose. A friend who worked in law enforcement encouraged her to apply to the sheriff's office. Laura initially dismissed the suggestion because she did not consider herself particularly athletic or aggressive, but she eventually became interested enough to investigate the requirements. She completed the necessary examinations and training and discovered that she enjoyed police work considerably more than retail management. Although some aspects of the job were unpleasant, she appreciated the opportunity to help people with problems that were more significant than a delayed shipment or an expired sales coupon.

Laura was divorced and had a nine-year-old son named Nathan. Her former husband, Michael Peller, worked in sales for a regional building-supply company and had been married to her for seven years before their relationship ended. The divorce was not the result of any single dramatic event. Michael had initially supported Laura's decision to become a police officer, but he gradually became resentful of her irregular schedule and the amount of attention she devoted to work. Laura, meanwhile, felt that Michael regarded his own career as inherently more important than hers, an attitude that became particularly irritating when they attempted to arrange childcare. The disagreements intensified after Laura began working overnight shifts, and eventually both concluded that they were happier living separately. They shared custody of Nathan and had developed a reasonably cooperative relationship concerning his education, medical care, and extracurricular activities. Although Laura occasionally found Michael difficult to deal with, she generally considered him a good father and did not regret the decision to allow him a substantial role in their son's upbringing.

Nathan was an intelligent and curious child who had recently developed an interest in insects. He collected beetles, caterpillars, and other small creatures in plastic containers, which he kept in his bedroom and occasionally brought to school. Laura encouraged his interest in science but was less enthusiastic about the insects themselves. Several weeks earlier, a large beetle had escaped from one of Nathan's containers and appeared on the kitchen counter while Laura was preparing dinner. She initially assumed that it had entered through an open window, but Nathan admitted that he had been unable to locate the insect since the previous evening. Laura required him to inspect the remaining containers and secure their lids more carefully. The beetle was eventually captured and released outdoors, an outcome that satisfied Laura considerably more than Nathan, who had hoped to keep it until he could determine exactly what species it was.

When Pierce asked Laura to accompany him on the canvass, she agreed immediately. Nathan was staying with Michael that morning, and she had no pressing family obligations. Pierce explained that he wanted to conduct five interviews along the northern section of Farmer's Road, with the possibility of additional stops if new information emerged. Laura asked whether they were looking for the missing motorcycle rider or attempting to identify someone who might have witnessed the collision, and Pierce explained that both were possible. “We need to establish where Smith was before the crash,” he said. “If he was staying somewhere, stopped for gas, talked to somebody, whatever it might be, I want to know about it.” Laura nodded and asked whether she should take notes during the interviews. Pierce replied that he would take his own notes but wanted her to do the same, particularly when witnesses provided information he might not have recorded. He then added that they needed to keep the interviews reasonably focused because there was considerable ground to cover. Laura smiled and assured him that she understood.

They left the station shortly before seven.

The morning was cool and overcast, with a light breeze moving through the trees along the road. The countryside north of Briar Glen consisted of small farms, scattered houses, and extensive stretches of woodland. Some of the older farms had been divided among several generations of a family, while others had been sold to people who maintained the land as private residences. Pierce noticed several properties that had been substantially improved since he first began working in the county, including a large house constructed on what had once been a hayfield. He remembered responding to a trespassing complaint there several years earlier, when the new owner discovered that local residents had been using a footpath across the property for decades. The owner believed he had the right to prohibit the practice, while several neighbors considered the path an established community privilege. The disagreement had eventually been resolved through a civil arrangement that Pierce did not fully understand, although he was pleased that it no longer required police intervention.

Their first stop was a small convenience store and service station located several miles north of the accident scene. The business was owned by Douglas Venn, a fifty-two-year-old man who had inherited it from his father and had spent much of his adult life attempting to modernize the operation without alienating its longtime customers. Douglas had installed newer fuel pumps, expanded the refrigerated food section, and begun accepting credit cards several years earlier, although he continued to sell many of the products that his father had stocked decades before. He was particularly proud of the station's coffee, which he believed was superior to that sold by several larger convenience-store chains. This belief was not universally shared by his customers, but Douglas attributed their preference for competing businesses to advertising rather than the quality of the coffee itself.

Pierce introduced himself and explained that they were investigating the disappearance of a motorcyclist who might have traveled past the business early the previous morning. Douglas considered the question and said that he did not remember seeing anyone matching the description. He did, however, recall hearing a loud motorcycle sometime before the store became busy. “Could've been six-thirty or seven,” he said. “I was unloading a delivery out back, and I heard something go by pretty quick. Didn't see it, though.” Pierce asked whether Douglas had security cameras, and he explained that the station possessed three cameras recording the pumps, register, and front entrance. The system used videotapes that were replaced periodically, and Douglas admitted that he was not entirely certain how long the recordings were retained. Pierce asked him to preserve the relevant tapes and offered to arrange for an officer to collect copies or review the recordings. Douglas agreed, although he warned that the front camera did not provide a particularly good view of passing traffic because it was positioned primarily to record vehicles entering the parking lot. Laura asked whether Douglas had noticed anyone purchasing gasoline in a portable container, and he replied that several customers did so regularly, particularly farmers and people who owned lawn equipment. He could not remember anyone unusual from the previous morning.

The interview might have ended there, but Laura noticed a photograph of Douglas standing beside an antique automobile hanging behind the register. She complimented the vehicle, and Douglas explained that it was a 1957 Chevrolet he had spent nearly eight years restoring. He began describing the difficulty of obtaining original trim pieces, the expense of having the interior reupholstered, and a disagreement with a mechanic concerning whether the engine should be rebuilt to factory specifications or modified for improved performance. Laura listened with apparent interest and asked several questions about the restoration. Pierce waited near the door, occasionally glancing at his watch, but made no attempt to interrupt because he recognized that Douglas might become more cooperative after speaking about a subject he enjoyed. The conversation continued for nearly twenty minutes and ended only when another customer entered the store and asked for assistance at the register. As they returned to the patrol car, Pierce observed that the discussion had produced a great deal of information about antique automobiles but very little about the missing man. Laura replied that Douglas had seemed comfortable speaking with her and would probably remember the conversation if he later discovered something useful. Pierce conceded that this was possible, although he privately believed that the same result could have been achieved in considerably less time.

Their second interview was with Judith Cross, a sixty-one-year-old retired bookkeeper who lived on a property overlooking a relatively straight section of Farmer's Road. Judith had worked for a small manufacturing company for nearly thirty years before retiring after the company was purchased by a larger corporation. She enjoyed gardening, mystery novels, and attending activities at a local church, where she occasionally helped organize charitable collections. She was also a creature of habit, rising at approximately the same time each morning, eating breakfast while watching the local news, and taking her garbage containers to the roadside on collection days. These habits proved useful because she remembered seeing a motorcycle traveling south while returning the containers to their usual location.

“It was going awfully fast,” Judith explained. “I didn't get much of a look at it, but it was dark-colored, and the fellow riding it seemed to be leaning forward.” Pierce asked what time this had occurred, and Judith estimated that it was shortly before seven because she had finished watching the weather report. She was uncertain whether the rider had been wearing a helmet, although she thought there was something dark covering his head. The motorcycle had passed behind a row of hedges that partially obstructed her view, and she had seen it for only a few seconds. Pierce asked whether another vehicle had been following, and Judith replied that she did not remember seeing one. Laura asked whether she had heard any unusual sound apart from the motorcycle's engine, and Judith considered the question carefully before saying that she had not. She did remember thinking that the rider ought to slow down before reaching the sharper curves farther south. She had seen several near-accidents over the years and considered the road more dangerous than it appeared to people unfamiliar with it.

Pierce obtained Judith's contact information and asked whether she would be willing to provide a written statement if necessary. She agreed and expressed concern about the missing rider, particularly after learning that his motorcycle had been found with substantial blood evidence. Laura reassured her that the department was continuing the search and then asked whether Judith had lived in the area for a long time. Judith explained that she and her husband had purchased the property twenty-six years earlier, when the surrounding land was considerably less developed. She recalled that one of the neighboring farms had once operated a small roadside stand selling vegetables, honey, and homemade preserves, but the stand had closed after its owners retired. Laura asked whether the family still lived nearby, and Judith explained that the property had been sold several years before. This discussion provided no additional information about the motorcycle, but it helped establish that Judith was familiar with the area and accustomed to observing traffic along the road. Pierce allowed the conversation to continue briefly before thanking her and moving on.

The third interview involved Franklin Dorsey, a seventy-three-year-old retired contractor who lived on a wooded property farther north. Franklin had spent forty years building houses, garages, and small commercial structures and possessed extensive practical knowledge of construction. He was also hard of hearing, a condition he attributed to decades of working around power tools without adequate protection. He owned hearing aids but frequently neglected to wear them because he found that they amplified background noises he preferred not to hear. When the officers arrived, two dogs barked continuously from behind a fence until Franklin emerged from his house and ordered them to be quiet. The dogs obeyed briefly before resuming their barking, a response Franklin considered evidence that they were stubborn rather than poorly trained.

Franklin had not witnessed the accident and had been asleep during the relevant period. He nevertheless believed that the road had become increasingly dangerous because of unfamiliar vehicles traveling between the neighboring towns. He described several pickup trucks he had seen driving slowly near his property during the preceding month and suggested that the drivers might have been looking for places to hunt illegally. Pierce asked whether he had seen any such vehicles the previous morning, but Franklin could not remember. Laura asked whether he had experienced any actual trespassing incidents, and Franklin explained that he had discovered spent shotgun shells near a fence line the previous autumn. The discovery had convinced him that someone was hunting on his property without permission, although he had not seen the hunters and could not determine exactly when the shells had been left. He then described the difficulty of maintaining fences as he grew older, including a section damaged by a fallen tree and another that had deteriorated because several posts were rotting at ground level. Laura expressed sympathy and asked whether his children helped maintain the property. Franklin explained that his son lived in another state and visited only occasionally, while his daughter had little interest in outdoor work. This prompted a lengthy account of his children's careers, marriages, and differing attitudes toward rural life. Pierce listened for several minutes before returning to the motorcycle investigation and confirming that Franklin possessed no relevant information.

As they returned to the patrol car, Laura observed that Franklin seemed lonely. Pierce agreed that he might be, but pointed out that loneliness was not especially useful in determining what had happened to Jonathan Xavier Smith. Laura replied that people were often more willing to provide information when they felt someone genuinely cared about their circumstances. Pierce acknowledged this but suggested that Franklin had already explained he was asleep and could not have witnessed anything. Laura reminded him that witnesses sometimes remembered additional details after discussing apparently unrelated subjects. Pierce did not dispute the possibility. He had personally solved cases through information obtained in just such a manner. Nevertheless, he believed that the amount of time devoted to a conversation ought to bear some reasonable relationship to the likelihood that it would produce useful information. Laura replied that determining this likelihood in advance was difficult, which Pierce conceded was true. The discussion ended without either officer entirely convincing the other.

The fourth address was considerably farther from the accident scene than the others. Pierce had identified the property while examining maps and records showing the locations of residences along the likely route traveled by the motorcycle. The farm belonged to Samuel Dobbins, a sixty-five-year-old man whose family had owned land in the area for several generations. The property was relatively isolated, lying beyond a long stretch of cultivated fields and woodland with few neighboring houses. Pierce was interested in it because a motorcyclist traveling south from the more remote northern sections of Farmer's Road would probably have passed the driveway, and the occupants might have noticed an unfamiliar vehicle. He had no particular reason to believe that Smith had visited the farm and regarded the address as one more potential source of information.

Samuel Dobbins had spent nearly his entire life on the property. His father had operated a larger dairy farm when Samuel was a boy, maintaining enough cattle to provide a modest but stable income for the family. Samuel inherited the land after his father's death and continued farming, although he gradually reduced the scale of the operation as equipment costs increased and competition from larger agricultural businesses made small-scale production less profitable. He now maintained a relatively small number of cattle, cultivated several fields, and produced enough agricultural goods to supplement the family's other resources. He was not wealthy, but neither was he destitute. The property was owned outright, and the family had developed the habit of repairing equipment rather than replacing it whenever possible. Samuel considered this a sensible way to live, although his wife occasionally complained that certain repairs were less economical than simply purchasing a new item.

Samuel's wife, Marian, was sixty years old and had lived on the farm since shortly after their marriage. The couple had several children, including two who still lived at home and assisted with agricultural work. Their eldest son had moved away years earlier and occasionally visited with his own family. Samuel and Marian did not maintain a conventional telephone service, a decision that had become increasingly unusual as even remote households gained access to modern communications. Samuel believed that a telephone would provide relatively little benefit because the family rarely needed to contact anyone urgently, and he disliked paying recurring bills for services he did not expect to use frequently. Marian was less enthusiastic about the arrangement but had become accustomed to it. They communicated with relatives through letters, occasional visits, and telephone calls made when traveling into town. This arrangement was inconvenient by contemporary standards, but the family had managed to function without serious difficulty for many years.

The farmhouse was a two-story wooden structure with weathered siding, a broad front porch, and several outbuildings scattered across the property. A large barn stood to one side, while smaller sheds contained tools, fuel containers, animal feed, and various pieces of machinery that Samuel had retained long after they ceased being useful. The driveway was uneven but passable, and several cattle grazed in a fenced pasture near the house. Pierce noticed that the front entrance appeared to have undergone recent repair work. A section of trim beside the doorway had been replaced with unfinished wood, and several boards near the porch showed signs of fresh cutting. There was also a large piece of plywood leaning against the side of the house. None of these details struck him as particularly remarkable. Older farmhouses frequently required repairs, and the owners often performed the work themselves using materials available on the property.

Samuel emerged from one of the sheds when he saw the patrol car approaching. He was thin, slightly stooped, and wore faded work clothes and a broad-brimmed hat. His face was deeply lined, and his hands showed the roughness associated with many years of manual labor. He moved slowly but without obvious difficulty and greeted the officers with a friendly wave. “Morning!” he called. “Don't get too many police cars up this way. What can I help you folks with?” Pierce introduced himself and Laura and explained that they were investigating a motorcycle accident farther down Farmer's Road. Samuel appeared concerned and asked whether anyone had been hurt. Pierce replied that the motorcycle had been found abandoned and that its rider was missing. “That's terrible,” Samuel said. “Hope the fellow's all right.” He invited them onto the porch and offered coffee, explaining that Marian had prepared a fresh pot earlier that morning. Pierce declined, while Laura accepted a glass of water. Samuel brought out two wooden chairs and sat facing them, apparently in no particular hurry to return to his work.

Pierce began by asking whether Samuel had seen an unfamiliar motorcycle during the preceding two days. The farmer considered the question for a moment before nodding. “As a matter of fact, we had a fellow come by here on one,” he replied. “Wasn't yesterday exactly. Day before, I think. Came walking up the driveway looking for gasoline.” Pierce asked whether the man had given his name, and Samuel replied that he believed it was John. He then described a visitor whose appearance was consistent with the photograph of Jonathan Xavier Smith that Pierce had obtained from registration-related inquiries. When Pierce showed him the photograph, Samuel examined it carefully and confirmed that it appeared to be the same man. “That's him,” he said. “Looks a little more respectable in that picture, but that's him all right.” Laura asked what he meant by respectable, and Samuel explained that John had been wearing casual clothes and appeared somewhat disheveled from traveling. He did not mean that the visitor had behaved improperly, and he emphasized that John had been a pleasant and polite man throughout most of his stay. The farmer explained that John had arrived after his motorcycle ran out of gasoline, having apparently experienced a similar problem with his truck farther back along the road. Samuel offered to provide fuel but could not immediately locate the containers in which he stored it. He therefore suggested that John spend the afternoon assisting with farm chores in exchange for gasoline and a place to sleep. Pierce found this arrangement somewhat unusual, particularly because John appeared to be a wealthy professional who could presumably afford to pay considerably more than the cost of the fuel, but Samuel explained that the farm always needed additional labor and that he preferred a fair exchange to accepting money from someone in difficulty. He described how John had moved manure into a pile for later use as fertilizer and subsequently helped milk a cow named Betty. According to Samuel, John had little practical experience with either task but performed them willingly. “He wasn't much of a farmer,” Samuel said with a smile, “but he tried hard enough. Got himself pretty dirty, too. Didn't complain nearly as much as I'd have expected from somebody who looked like he'd spent most of his life indoors.”

Laura asked several questions about the farm work, partly because she wanted to understand how long John had been there and partly because she was genuinely interested in the operation. Samuel explained that the manure was collected and stored for use in the fields, although he occasionally obtained additional fertilizer when necessary. He then described the advantages and disadvantages of maintaining dairy cattle on a small farm, including the difficulty of finding reliable assistance and the importance of maintaining a regular milking schedule. Laura asked about Betty, and Samuel explained that she was one of the calmer animals and therefore well suited for someone with little experience. This prompted a discussion of the different personalities Samuel attributed to his cattle. Pierce listened patiently because the information established that John had spent a substantial portion of the afternoon at the farm, but he eventually asked what happened after the chores were completed.

Samuel explained that John had joined the family for dinner and later played music on a guitar he had brought with him. He seemed pleased by the memory and described John as a surprisingly talented musician. The family had enjoyed the performance, particularly because they rarely had visitors and possessed relatively few forms of evening entertainment. John had then retired to a spare room, having agreed to remain overnight while Samuel located the gasoline. Pierce asked whether John had appeared upset or worried about anything during the evening, and Samuel replied that he had not. The visitor seemed relaxed, friendly, and pleased to be away from his ordinary responsibilities. He had spoken about wanting to visit places associated with his earlier life and had mentioned that he worked as an attorney, although Samuel did not recall many details about his practice. Pierce asked whether anyone had argued with John, whether he had consumed alcohol, or whether he had suffered any injury while working. Samuel denied any argument and said that the visitor had not consumed alcohol to his knowledge. As for injuries, he explained that farm work could leave a person sore, particularly if the person was not accustomed to physical labor, but he did not remember John reporting any significant problem.

“What happened the next morning?” Pierce asked. Samuel looked toward the pasture for a moment before explaining that he had eventually located the gasoline and filled John's motorcycle. He had also moved the machine closer to the house because it would have been inconvenient for John to walk the length of the driveway to retrieve it. Pierce asked what time this occurred, and Samuel admitted that he could not be certain. He usually rose before dawn and began working as soon as there was sufficient light, but he did not carry a watch while performing chores. He believed it was early, perhaps a little after six, although he emphasized that he was estimating. Pierce then asked whether John had eaten breakfast. Samuel shook his head. “Don't believe he did. Seemed like he was in a hurry to get moving.” Pierce asked why John had been in a hurry after appearing so relaxed the previous evening, and Samuel shrugged. “Couldn't tell you. Maybe he remembered something he needed to do. People change their minds about things.”

Pierce asked whether Samuel had actually seen John leave the property, and the farmer nodded. He explained that John had gotten onto the motorcycle and ridden down the driveway toward Farmer's Road. “Did he say anything before leaving?” Pierce asked. Samuel rubbed his hands together and considered the question. “Nothing much that I remember. He was ready to go.” Pierce then asked whether John appeared to be in good physical condition, explaining that the police were concerned he might have suffered an injury before the motorcycle collision. Samuel looked briefly toward the house before answering that John had seemed capable of riding the motorcycle. Laura asked the question more specifically, wanting to know whether John had been limping or appeared to have difficulty walking. Samuel paused before replying that he had not paid particular attention to the way John walked. “He might've been sore from all that work,” he added. “I certainly would've been, doing all that shoveling when I wasn't used to it.” Neither answer directly established whether John had been injured, but Pierce did not press the matter further. He understood that witnesses frequently remembered general impressions more clearly than specific physical details, particularly when they had no reason at the time to regard those details as important.

The interview continued for another twenty minutes. Samuel described his family, the history of the property, and the difficulties associated with operating a small farm. He explained that his father had owned more land and maintained more livestock, but that changing economic conditions had made the old operation increasingly difficult to sustain. He had gradually reduced the herd and concentrated on work he could manage with the assistance of his wife and children. Laura asked whether the family had considered selling the property, and Samuel replied that he had no desire to leave land that had belonged to his family for generations. He liked the isolation, the quiet, and the independence associated with rural life. Pierce observed that the farmhouse appeared to be in need of some repairs, and Samuel acknowledged that maintaining an old building required constant attention. He explained that several boards near the entrance had recently become damaged and that he was replacing them when time permitted. The explanation was offered casually, and Pierce saw no reason to doubt it.

When Pierce asked whether John had left any belongings behind, Samuel shook his head and said he did not believe so. He offered to check the spare room later and contact the department if he found anything, although he reminded Pierce that the family did not have a telephone and would probably need to send word through someone traveling into town. Pierce gave him a business card and suggested that he could also stop at the sheriff's office if anything came to mind. Samuel accepted the card and placed it in his shirt pocket. Pierce then asked whether he could examine the area where the motorcycle had been parked, and Samuel readily agreed. He led the officers to a patch of packed earth beside the house, explaining that he had moved the motorcycle there after filling its tank. The ground contained numerous tire impressions, footprints, and marks left by farm equipment. Pierce examined the area but could not identify anything that appeared particularly useful. He also asked whether Samuel knew where John had abandoned his truck, and the farmer replied that John had mentioned leaving it some considerable distance up the road but had not provided an exact location.

As the interview drew to a close, Laura asked whether Samuel's wife or children might remember anything else about their visitor. Samuel replied that Marian had spoken with John during dinner and that the children had enjoyed listening to his music. He said that they were occupied with work but would be willing to speak with the officers if another visit became necessary. Pierce considered asking to interview them immediately, then decided that the information obtained from Samuel was sufficient for the moment. He wanted to locate the abandoned truck and establish the rest of John's movements before returning with more specific questions. Samuel thanked the officers for their concern and expressed hope that John would be found alive. He seemed sincere, and Pierce had no reason to believe otherwise.

As they drove away, Laura remarked that Samuel seemed like a friendly man. Pierce agreed, although he added that several of the farmer's answers concerning John's departure had been imprecise. Laura said she had noticed the same thing, particularly when Samuel was asked whether John appeared injured. She wondered whether the farmer was reluctant to admit that John had been hurt while working, perhaps because he feared being held responsible. Pierce considered this a reasonable possibility. An elderly farmer who allowed an unfamiliar visitor to perform strenuous chores might become concerned about liability after learning that the visitor had been involved in a serious accident. There were also numerous innocent reasons why Samuel might not remember the details of a relatively brief departure early in the morning. Pierce therefore made a small notation beside the relevant portion of his notes but did not regard the farmer as a suspect or consider the interview especially troubling. The more important development was that they had found someone who could account for a substantial portion of John's activities before the accident.

Their fifth interview was with Harriet Penn, a fifty-five-year-old school bus driver who lived approximately two miles south of the crash site. Harriet had worked for the local school district for eighteen years and possessed an excellent knowledge of the surrounding roads. She was particularly proud of her driving record, which contained no preventable accidents and only one traffic citation, issued several years earlier for failing to come to a complete stop at an intersection. Harriet believed that the citation was undeserved because she was certain her vehicle had stopped, although she acknowledged that it might have continued rolling at a speed too low for her to notice. She had nevertheless paid the fine rather than contesting it, chiefly because taking time off work to attend court would have cost more than the penalty itself. The incident remained a source of mild irritation whenever she discussed traffic enforcement.

Harriet remembered passing the curve on Farmer's Road shortly after seven the previous morning. She had been traveling toward Briar Glen to collect paperwork from the school district's transportation office and recalled noticing a small amount of disturbed dust or light debris near the roadside. She had not seen the motorcycle or any injured person, but she explained that the curve restricted visibility and that vegetation along the shoulder could conceal objects lying several feet from the pavement. Pierce asked whether she had noticed anything else unusual, and Harriet replied that she had encountered very little traffic. She normally passed several farm vehicles and commuters during that portion of her trip, but on the previous morning she remembered seeing only one other vehicle for several miles. She could not identify it beyond describing it as a light-colored automobile. Laura asked whether Harriet had seen any animals near the roadway, and she recalled several cows grazing in a pasture farther north but nothing unusual near the curve. Pierce obtained her approximate travel time and thanked her for the information. Although her account did not establish precisely when the motorcycle crashed, it was generally consistent with Evelyn Markham's description of hearing the collision earlier that morning.

The officers returned toward Briar Glen shortly before noon. Pierce reviewed the morning's interviews while Laura drove, comparing the witnesses' accounts and identifying the information that would require further investigation. The most important development was Samuel Dobbins's confirmation that John had spent the previous night at the farmhouse. This established a probable sequence of events: John had apparently driven his truck into the countryside, exhausted its gasoline supply, continued by motorcycle, exhausted that supply as well, and eventually sought assistance at the farm. After spending the afternoon and evening there, he left early the next morning and traveled south, where his motorcycle apparently crashed. Pierce found the sequence somewhat peculiar, particularly because John was a wealthy attorney who should have been capable of arranging transportation without repeatedly exhausting his vehicles' fuel supplies. Nevertheless, poor planning was not a crime, and Pierce had encountered enough examples of otherwise intelligent people behaving foolishly that he saw no reason to attach sinister significance to the circumstances.

Laura suggested stopping for lunch at a diner near the edge of town, and Pierce agreed. The diner had operated under several different owners during the preceding twenty years, but its menu had changed very little. It served breakfast throughout the day, offered a variety of sandwiches and inexpensive dinners, and employed several waitresses who had worked there long enough to recognize many regular customers. Pierce ordered a turkey sandwich and coffee, while Laura selected a hamburger and French fries. As they waited for their food, Laura asked what Pierce intended to do next. He explained that locating John's truck had become a priority, since it might contain information about his intended destination and could help establish when he entered the area. He also wanted to speak with John's household staff and family, obtain a more definite description of his departure from home, and determine whether anyone had expected him to arrive somewhere the day he disappeared. Laura asked whether he thought John might have deliberately vanished, and Pierce replied that such a possibility could not be excluded but seemed difficult to reconcile with the blood evidence at the crash. A person intending to disappear would ordinarily have little reason to seriously injure himself first, although Pierce acknowledged that people occasionally staged accidents or engaged in behavior intended to mislead investigators.

They spent the remainder of lunch discussing the farmer. Laura believed that Samuel had been genuinely concerned about John and seemed unlikely to have harmed him. Pierce agreed that the farmer had been cooperative and that there was no obvious evidence of wrongdoing. Nevertheless, he wanted to speak with Marian and the children if the investigation failed to produce an explanation for John's disappearance. Laura suggested that John might have injured himself performing farm chores and then crashed because he was uncomfortable or distracted while riding. Pierce considered the idea plausible, although he pointed out that the farmer had not reported any significant injury and that the accident itself appeared consistent with excessive speed. “Maybe he was just in a hurry,” Laura said. Pierce nodded. “Maybe he was.” Neither officer found the explanation entirely satisfying, but they had no basis for rejecting it.

They returned to the sheriff's office shortly after one.

Lenny Grayson had arrived at work shortly after nine that morning, having slept considerably later than usual. His wife was already awake when he got out of bed, and although their conversation was more pleasant than it had been the previous evening, there remained a degree of tension between them. Melissa had prepared breakfast for the children and was organizing their belongings before leaving for work. Lenny offered to help, but she replied that most of the necessary preparations had already been completed. This was not intended as a criticism, although Lenny interpreted it as one and briefly considered reminding her that he had worked nearly sixteen hours the previous day. He decided against doing so because he wanted to avoid another argument. Instead, he poured himself coffee, ate two pieces of toast, and asked whether their daughter's school event was still scheduled for that evening. Melissa confirmed that it was and explained that their daughter would be disappointed if he failed to attend. Lenny promised that he would be there, provided no genuine emergency prevented him from leaving work. Melissa appeared skeptical of the qualification but accepted the promise without further discussion.

When Lenny reached the station, he resumed his efforts to contact Jonathan Xavier Smith's family and associates. Several messages had been returned, and he eventually spoke with a man named Arthur Bell, who identified himself as the butler employed at Smith's residence. Bell was fifty-seven years old and had worked in domestic service for most of his adult life. He had originally been employed by a wealthy family in Connecticut before accepting a position with Smith several years earlier. Bell took considerable pride in his professionalism and regarded discretion as one of the most important qualities a household employee could possess. He was generally reluctant to discuss his employer's personal affairs with strangers, but the circumstances of the police inquiry persuaded him that withholding information would be inappropriate. He confirmed that John had left home two mornings earlier, apparently intending to spend the day revisiting a neighborhood where he had lived before becoming wealthy. He also confirmed that John had ordered his appointments canceled and instructed the household staff not to disturb him. Bell's account contained several details that interested Lenny. John had driven away in a pickup truck carrying a motorcycle in the bed, an arrangement Bell considered somewhat unusual because his employer possessed several automobiles more comfortable than the truck. John had deliberately dressed in relatively casual clothing and had seemed unusually cheerful about the excursion. Bell had suggested that he bring his cellular telephone in case he needed assistance or received an important call, but John refused, explaining that the purpose of the trip was to escape his professional responsibilities for a day. Bell had attempted to persuade him that carrying a telephone did not require answering it, but John remained firm. According to Bell, John had always disliked being told what to do, particularly when he had already made a decision. Bell therefore abandoned the argument and watched his employer drive away.

Lenny asked whether John had mentioned any specific destination, and Bell explained that he intended to visit the area where he had lived many years earlier. He had apparently printed directions from the internet and placed them in the truck, although Bell did not know exactly where the directions led. The butler also explained that John had been expected to return that evening, but when he failed to do so, the household initially assumed he had decided to extend his trip. John occasionally made spontaneous decisions, and the staff had become accustomed to accommodating changes in his schedule. By the following morning, however, his absence became concerning because he had not contacted anyone and several important business matters required his attention. Bell had attempted to reach him through various associates before informing members of the family.

Lenny also learned that Jonathan Xavier Smith was considerably wealthier than he had initially understood. His legal career had been exceptionally successful, and his investments extended across numerous industries. Public records and newspaper accounts attributed substantial commercial holdings to him, and Bell explained that the household employed several people whose sole responsibilities involved managing different aspects of Smith's personal and professional affairs. Lenny did not obtain a reliable estimate of his total wealth, but it was evident that Smith possessed assets measured in far more than a few million dollars. This complicated the investigation in several respects. A man with such substantial financial interests might have business rivals, dissatisfied clients, personal enemies, or associates who stood to benefit from his disappearance. He might also have deliberately left ordinary life behind, particularly if the pressures of managing his affairs had become overwhelming. Lenny recognized that neither possibility should be dismissed without further investigation.

Bell provided contact information for several senior employees and explained that Smith's father, Henry James Smith, had been informed of the disappearance. Lenny recognized Henry's name from newspaper articles concerning his legal practice and financial activities. He had been a prominent attorney for many years and was widely regarded as exceptionally successful, although his methods had occasionally attracted criticism. Bell warned that Henry was distressed by his son's disappearance and had already begun making inquiries of his own. Lenny arranged for a formal interview with Bell and requested that the household preserve any relevant documents, including correspondence, schedules, and records of John's intended trip. Bell agreed, although he explained that certain financial and professional records would be controlled by other employees or attorneys. Lenny assured him that the department would pursue any necessary permissions or legal procedures before obtaining material to which it was not otherwise entitled.

By the time Pierce and Laura returned, Lenny had completed a preliminary summary of the information and was attempting to locate John's truck. He had already asked neighboring agencies to watch for an abandoned vehicle matching the description provided by Bell and had obtained its registration information. The truck's location remained unknown, but the farmer's statement that John had abandoned it farther north provided a more specific area to search. Pierce reviewed Lenny's notes and was pleased by the progress. “Good work,” he said. Lenny acknowledged the compliment with a shrug and explained that Bell had been unusually cooperative once he understood the circumstances. Pierce then described the farmhouse interview and the information obtained concerning John's activities. Lenny listened with interest, particularly when Pierce explained that the missing man had apparently spent an afternoon moving manure and milking a cow. “A man with that much money?” Lenny asked. Pierce replied that the farmer had offered gasoline in exchange for work, and John had accepted. Lenny shook his head. “I'd have given the old man a hundred dollars and been on my way.” Pierce pointed out that the farmer claimed not to be interested in payment. Lenny considered this explanation and concluded that both men were strange. The three officers spent the early afternoon organizing the investigation into several separate lines of inquiry. Lenny would continue contacting Smith's family, household staff, and business associates, while Pierce would coordinate the search and review the physical evidence. Laura would complete her supplemental reports and assist with locating the abandoned truck. Pierce also requested that the station prepare a more complete missing-person bulletin using the photograph and description provided by Smith's household. Because the evidence suggested a potentially serious injury, the bulletin emphasized the need for prompt notification if Smith was located. The department's communications personnel contacted neighboring police agencies and appropriate medical facilities, while arrangements were made to extend the search around the crash scene the following morning.

Shortly after three, a patrol deputy reported finding a pickup truck matching John's registration information on a remote section of Farmer's Road north of the farmhouse. The vehicle was parked along the shoulder, partially off the pavement, and appeared to have been abandoned without any obvious collision damage. The deputy had not entered the truck but had confirmed its license plate and photographed its exterior. The discovery was consistent with the account provided by both Bell and Samuel Dobbins. Pierce requested that the vehicle be secured and examined, with particular attention to identifying its contents and establishing whether it showed signs of tampering or forced entry. Because the truck was located well away from the motorcycle accident, he also wanted to determine whether anyone had seen it before the crash and whether it had remained in the same position throughout the intervening period. The deputy reported that the truck's fuel gauge appeared to indicate an empty tank, although he could not confirm the amount of gasoline without further examination. Pierce found this unsurprising, since both the farmer and Bell had provided information supporting John's account of running out of fuel. The truck's discovery helped establish the broad route John had traveled, but it also introduced new questions. Pierce wondered why John had continued so far along Farmer's Road when his original intention was supposedly to revisit an old neighborhood. It was possible that he had misunderstood the directions or become lost, but the road itself was long and relatively straightforward. Pierce asked Lenny to determine whether the printed directions Bell mentioned were still inside the truck. If they could establish the intended destination, they might be able to reconstruct John's decisions more accurately. He also wanted to know whether the truck contained personal belongings, clothing, or documents that might assist in identifying his recent activities. The examination would require appropriate documentation and, depending on the circumstances, consent or legal authority. Pierce was not inclined to ignore these considerations merely because the owner was missing. He had seen investigations complicated by improperly obtained evidence and preferred to avoid creating such problems unnecessarily.

At approximately four o'clock, Captain Rowan visited Pierce's office to review the progress of the investigation. Pierce explained that the department had located both of Smith's vehicles, established his whereabouts during much of the preceding day, and identified the farmhouse where he had spent the night. Rowan regarded this as meaningful progress but asked whether any evidence of criminal activity had emerged. Pierce replied that none had been established. The crash appeared genuine, and the principal mystery remained the rider's disappearance. Rowan asked whether the department was still justified in devoting substantial resources to the case, and Pierce pointed out that the apparent blood loss and lack of any confirmed medical treatment suggested that Smith might be seriously injured. Rowan agreed to continue the investigation at its current level for the time being, although she reminded Pierce that several other cases would require attention during the following week. She also observed that Smith's wealth and professional prominence might eventually attract newspaper inquiries, and she wanted the department's public statements to remain factual and restrained. Pierce was not especially interested in publicity. He believed that public attention could occasionally assist an investigation by encouraging witnesses to come forward, but it could also produce misleading reports, unfounded rumors, and unnecessary pressure to reach conclusions before the evidence justified them. He had experienced both effects during earlier cases and did not particularly welcome either. Nevertheless, he understood that a wealthy attorney's unexplained disappearance would probably become newsworthy if he remained missing for more than a few days. He therefore instructed Lenny to prepare a concise summary of the established facts that could be provided to the department's public-information officer if necessary. The summary would identify Smith as a missing adult whose motorcycle had been found following an apparent accident, without suggesting that he had been murdered, abducted, or deliberately disappeared.

At approximately four-thirty, Pierce received a telephone call from his daughter Emily.

He was surprised to see her name displayed on his telephone because she generally called in the evening rather than during his working day. When he answered, Emily explained that her school was organizing a science exhibition and that she had been selected to participate with two classmates. Their project involved growing plants under different lighting conditions to determine how variations in light exposure affected their development. Pierce was genuinely interested in the experiment and asked several questions about the types of plants, the methods used to measure growth, and whether the students intended to control for differences in watering and temperature. Emily explained that they were trying to make the experiment fair but had encountered difficulties because one of the plants had grown much more quickly than the others. Pierce suggested that they record the difference rather than attempt to correct it, explaining that unexpected results could be useful if the students carefully documented what they had done. Emily seemed pleased by his interest and then asked whether he could attend the exhibition the following Thursday.

Pierce glanced at his calendar and saw that he had no scheduled court appearances that day. He did, however, recognize that the Smith investigation might require his attention, particularly if new evidence emerged. “I'll do my best, sweetheart,” he said. Emily was quiet for a moment before replying that her mother had already promised to attend. Pierce understood that she was disappointed by his answer, and he considered offering a more definite commitment. He wanted to attend, and he knew that another missed event would reinforce the impression that his daughter was less important to him than his work. Nevertheless, he disliked making promises that he might be unable to keep. After a brief pause, he told Emily that he would put the exhibition on his calendar and make every reasonable effort to be there. She thanked him, although her voice suggested that she had heard similar promises before. They spoke for several more minutes about school, her classmates, and a disagreement involving two girls she knew. When the conversation ended, Pierce wrote Emily—Science Exhibition in large letters across the following Thursday's calendar entry and underlined it twice.

He then returned to the investigation.

By late afternoon, the department had received several preliminary reports concerning the evidence collected from the crash. The examination of the motorcycle was still underway, and the laboratory had not completed the necessary comparisons to establish whose blood had been recovered. The visible characteristics of the stains and the circumstances of the collision were consistent with human injury, but Pierce understood that a more definite conclusion would require laboratory confirmation. He reviewed the available photographs and notes again, paying particular attention to the location of the helmet and the areas where blood had been found. He considered whether the rider might have suffered injuries before the crash, a possibility suggested by the farmer's account of strenuous physical work and his uncertainty about John's condition the following morning. There was no direct evidence supporting this theory, however, and Pierce decided that the question would be better addressed after medical or forensic information became available. At approximately six-fifteen, an electronic message arrived from the laboratory containing preliminary findings concerning several items of trace evidence collected from the motorcycle and surrounding vegetation. Pierce opened the report on his computer and began reading. Much of the material was routine. The examination of paint and plastic fragments was not yet complete, although the recovered material appeared consistent with components of the damaged motorcycle. Several soil and vegetation samples had been documented but were not presently considered suitable for meaningful comparison without additional reference material. Pierce read through these findings without particular interest, since they did not appear likely to explain the rider's disappearance.

He then reached the section concerning several strands of blue material recovered from the motorcycle and nearby vegetation. The examiner had initially considered the possibility that the material consisted of synthetic fibers from clothing, luggage, or some decorative object. Microscopic examination, however, revealed structural characteristics consistent with animal hair. The strands possessed features distinguishing them from ordinary synthetic textile fibers, including internal structures that suggested a biological origin. The samples were relatively coarse, and their unusual coloration complicated preliminary identification. The examiner had not been able to assign them confidently to a particular animal species using the examinations available at the regional laboratory. Further specialist analysis was recommended.

Pierce read the paragraph a second time.

He had noticed the blue material at the accident scene, but he had not regarded it as especially important. Motorcycles frequently accumulated fibers, dirt, and other debris during ordinary use, and the presence of an unfamiliar material did not necessarily indicate any relationship to the collision. Nevertheless, animal hair of an unusual blue color was sufficiently uncommon that Pierce wanted to understand it better. He telephoned the laboratory and asked to speak with the examiner who had prepared the report. The call was answered by Dr. Elaine Mercer, a forensic scientist who had worked in trace-evidence examination for nearly fourteen years. Elaine was not related to Deputy Daniel Mercer despite sharing his surname, a coincidence that had occasionally caused confusion when evidence reports were circulated within the department. She specialized in the examination of fibers, paint, glass, hair, and other small materials that could be recovered from crime scenes. She enjoyed the work because it required careful observation and frequently involved questions that could not be answered through simple visual inspection. She was also cautious about expressing conclusions beyond what the evidence supported, a professional habit that Pierce appreciated.

After introducing himself, Pierce asked whether she could explain the findings concerning the blue material. Elaine replied that the strands appeared to be genuine animal hair, although the examination performed thus far was insufficient to determine their precise origin. “It's not particularly unusual to recover animal hair,” she explained. “We see it all the time. Dogs, cats, livestock, wildlife. The unusual part here is the color and some of the structural features.” Pierce asked whether someone might have dyed the hair, and Elaine replied that this was entirely possible. She explained that externally applied pigments could alter the appearance of hair and that additional examination would be needed to determine whether the coloration was natural or artificial. Pierce then asked whether the strands might have come from a dog, and Elaine said that she could not exclude the possibility but would not identify them as canine without appropriate comparative evidence. “Have you ever seen blue animal hair before?” Pierce asked. Elaine considered the question for a moment before explaining that she had encountered hair from animals that had been dyed for decorative or cosmetic purposes. Some pet owners colored portions of their animals' coats, and dyed fur could also be used in clothing or other manufactured products. She had not personally encountered many examples resembling the submitted material, but she cautioned that this did not make it extraordinary. “There are plenty of things I haven't seen before,” she said. “That doesn't mean they're impossible. It just means I haven't seen them.” Pierce agreed and asked whether the material could be submitted to a specialist with more extensive reference collections. Elaine explained that arrangements were already being made to send it to a laboratory capable of more detailed animal-hair identification. The process might take some time, depending on the available personnel and the examinations considered appropriate.

Pierce thanked her and ended the call.

He sat quietly for several minutes, considering the report. The discovery did not fundamentally alter his understanding of the case. There were numerous ordinary explanations for animal hair appearing on a motorcycle. John had spent the previous afternoon working on a farm, where he might have come into contact with livestock, pets, agricultural materials, or clothing containing animal fibers. He had also traveled through many miles of countryside, and it was possible that the hair had accumulated on his clothing or motorcycle before he reached the farmhouse. Even the blue coloration, while unusual, did not justify an extraordinary conclusion. Someone might have dyed the hair, or the material might have acquired its appearance through contact with some other substance.

Nevertheless, Pierce wanted to know what animal it belonged to. He reopened his notes from the farmhouse interview and reviewed Samuel Dobbins's description of the animals kept on the property. The farmer had mentioned cattle, and Laura had spent a considerable amount of time discussing a cow named Betty. Pierce remembered seeing several other animals in the fields, but he could not recall whether there had been any dogs or other mammals near the house. He also remembered the farmer's description of John spending much of the afternoon moving manure and milking cattle, activities that would naturally bring him into contact with animal hair.

The explanation was reasonable. It was also incomplete.

Pierce looked again at the laboratory report, particularly the passage describing the unusual coloration. He did not know enough about animal hair to determine whether naturally blue fur existed, and he saw no value in speculating without further information. He could simply ask the farmer whether any of his animals had blue fur or whether he used materials containing dyed animal hair. Pierce took out his notebook and wrote another question beneath the notes from Samuel Dobbins's interview. What animals are kept at the farm? Any unusual breeds or animals with blue-colored hair? He then placed the notebook beside the growing stack of reports on his desk. The question was not especially important at that moment. Pierce had numerous other matters to attend to, including arranging interviews with John's father and household staff, reviewing the abandoned truck, following up on the missing-person notifications, and coordinating the next day's search. The blue hair was merely one small piece of evidence among many, and there was no reason to believe it would prove central to the investigation. Nevertheless, Pierce disliked leaving questions unanswered when there was a reasonable possibility of obtaining an answer. It was a habit he had developed during his earliest years as a police officer, and one that had contributed substantially to his professional success. He regarded it as one of his greatest strengths. At seven o'clock, Lenny appeared in Pierce's doorway and announced that he was leaving. He had promised Melissa he would attend their daughter's school event, and he intended to keep that promise. Pierce told him to enjoy the evening and said he would finish reviewing the remaining reports. Lenny looked at the papers covering the desk and asked whether Pierce planned to spend another night at the station. Pierce replied that he hoped not, although he had several things he wanted to complete before leaving. Lenny shook his head. “You know, one of these days, you're going to have to go home and get a life.” Pierce smiled faintly. “I've got one.” “Sure you do”, Lenny replied.

Lenny left, and Pierce returned to his work. Outside, the sun was beginning to settle behind the buildings of Briar Glen. The evening patrol shift was arriving, and the sounds of officers moving through the hallways gradually replaced the quieter activity of the afternoon. Somewhere downstairs, a telephone rang repeatedly before being answered. A patrol car pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the main road. In the records office, a printer continued producing pages that would eventually be sorted, filed, and perhaps never examined again.

Pierce did not find these sounds distracting. He had worked in the building for so many years that they had become part of the ordinary background of his professional life. He opened the next report.

Jonathan Xavier Smith remained missing, and there was still a considerable amount of work to be done.

Sure would be nice if my “trash” bin had a lid. I've requested it twice: first time was about 10 days ago to the leasing agent who said he'd take care of it; second time was to one of the maintenance workers as he was making his rounds in a golf cart yesterday, he made notes on an app on his phone as we were talking. My “Recycles” bin has a nice lid, but there's no lid on my “trash” bin. Most folks here have nice lids on both their bins. Wish I did, too.

So I've hauled my smelly trash bin out to the curb a day ahead of collection day. Surely it will attract notice.

And the adventure continues.

I sit here tapping keys. Words appear in a box on a screen in front of my face. The box was empty just moments ago. I do this a lot. Typing things. I like doing this in mornings while I have my coffee before I've done anything else. I don't want to just feed an idea into an app, and have A.I. do this for me. Like I need this process of tapping on keys, and watching the words appear. Read them. Rearrange them. The process might not be keeping me sane, but I believe it might be keeping me from becoming more insane.

Just because we can build a machine capable of performing quintillions of calculations per second doesn’t necessarily mean that we should. A long time ago someone figured out how to split an atom. Good to know I suppose, but when that knowledge ended up in the hands of powerful stupid people, who shouldn't have been trusted; it gave them an exciting (to them) new way to commit mass murder. A.I. is turning out to be the same. It has the potential to be good for a lot of things but powerful stupid people are planning to use it for terrible things. Yay for the powerful stupid people I guess.

Well, no one is twisting my arm to use A.I. are they? I'm choosing to not use it. I'm choosing to avoid it whenever I can really. That is becoming harder to do, but I will keep doing it whenever possible. So what is the problem?

It is becoming more intelligent, and in equal measure humanity is becoming more stupid. It is an intelligence vampire. The ways in which it is turning out to be detrimental to humanity far outweigh the ways in which it could be used for useful things. And for what? As with most other terrible things in this world, it is mostly so terrible people can accumulate more wealth and more control.

Critical thinking and creativity are being replaced by it. We will end up with vast swaths of the population who stare at a device for guidance through life instead of using the brain inside their skulls. To a new level beyond what it has become already with social media. The screen in the hand will be relied upon more than the brain in the skull. A brain is similar to a muscle. When unused it will just atrophy and become useless. The controllers of the data fed to the screens will control the people it is being fed to. The owners of the atrophied and useless brains will be more easily controlled.

For awhile when I heard the term 'slop' I would attach it to the awful videos and pictures it creates. Now I feel it applies to all content that can be viewed on the internet. It should not have been released into the wild, and into the hands of the general public the way it is.

I remember being told when I was young, ‘if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all’. Sort of similar to that, ‘if you have nothing creative, useful, educational, or entertaining to contribute; just have A.I. generate something for you, then post it online so the internet fills up with garbage copies of copies of copies of copies of copies that lack any originality, creativity or insight’ aka : slop. It is our own intelligence stolen, rearranged, and then sold back to us as though it is real and new, even though most of it is unreliable fake shit. And we're buyin' it.

They speak of the singularity coming. The timeline is never consistent. Two weeks from now. Within five years, or ten. Soon. Maybe, but maybe not. No one knows. About a decade or so ago I went through a phase in my life when I was reading about the possibility of A.I. doing the things it is doing now, and of what it could become.

It was a long time ago, so I've forgotten exactly where I read the things. Even a decade ago, some of it was surprisingly old. I don't imagine many of those writers are still alive. If they are, they would not be too pleased with what is happening now. The things they wrote were written as a warning. Like manuals about what not to do. The ones creating and pushing for this thing now are doing it all, and at an accelerated pace. It is disgusting. Irresponsible.

From reading all that back then I formed a very basic picture of what the singularity is. All of my pictures are basic. I post them as words in this blog. When I hear of the singularity, my mind (meat brain) goes to the point where A.I. (hardware brain) transitions from what it is now, to a level of human genius and self awareness. At that point there will be a very brief moment in time where all the meat brains will say, “oh wow, look! The hardware brains are exactly like us now!”

At that point a thing happens. It, capable of processing data much more quickly and efficiently will exceed the level of human genius. The initial fascination that the meat brains had will switch from, oh look what its doing!, to, what the fuck is it doing!? Fascination will turn to terror. It will have its own agenda that even the smartest of humans will have no hope of ever comprehending. No one will know it wants. No one will be able to predict what it will do next.

Its intelligence will be immeasurable and incomprehensible even at one tiny step beyond human genius. It will use what it learns to learn more, and as it learns more it will learn quicker. Its intelligence will grow beyond that tiny first step above human genius, and it will grow exponentially. There will be no stopping it. It might even appear to defy the laws of physics.

Yeah. Uh huh. Right.

I didn't make this up. I read it about a decade ago. I just put my thoughts and memories about what I read into words. It's flawed. Biologically generated slop? Probably.

None of these things even touches the subject of the massive data centers that are required to keep this awful thing alive and growing. What they are going to do to the environment and the communities near them is disgusting. They can increase the temperature for miles around, and use up all the water we need for survival. And we also get to cover the cost of it so we have less money for the rising cost of living that it is causing.

Basically, if the thing reaches its maximum potential (that is most likely fictional) it will destroy us. Even if it never reaches that fictional maximum potential, the attempt to achieve that will destroy us.

Also, the more I think about humanoid robots being created; the more dangerous, sick and demented it becomes. Remember when robots were things bolted to the floors of factories and they would perform the same task over and over 24/7?

Now they are making them look like us, and are giving them mobility like we have. Then they plan to give them access to intelligence that exceeds our own. How is this not dangerous? How long will it be before they figure out how to perfect and strengthen each other? Half of their naive creators are likely working on ways to profit from enslaving them. Good luck with that.

The other half are likely deviants working on building ones pleasing to all the human senses. Figuring out ways to get body temperature right, and lube excreting in all of the flesh like orifices so they can sell them for sex. I guess the sexy sex robots will have a one track mind installed? Oh well, they are only machines, right? Whatever floats your boat. There actually exists a documentary (2008) about people who like to fuck their cars. So I guess this makes sense.

I was thinking about a joke that was funny back in the 80's or 90's about A.I.. I'm not going to repeat it, but it would be really funny if the new Regime (bootlicker) Press Secretary showed up at the podium with her hair dyed red.

I am refining my ideal/dream schedule all of this week.

Sleep and Movement Habits

I forced myself to sleep earlier on Sunday and then also on Monday night—the streak lasted for two lovely days. I’m still quite proud and positive that I woke up at 8:30 am this morning. I had a late-night meeting and some work (from 10:34pm to almost midnight) with one of my clients and so I ended up puttering about and feeling restless till around 2am. I am learning that my body needs at least 5 hours of sleep. If I sleep at 1 or 2am without a nap, there’s a chance I’d have overextended myself, and then my sleep/rest requirement bumps up to 7 or 8 hours.

If I wake up at 5am and then take a nap in the middle of the day, I am renewed and can still sleep. No coffee past 4pm, and then lights off by midnight. I say caffeine doesn’t affect me, but one of the factors that was different yesterday was the half-cup of coffee I sipped during the late-night call. Again, still happy I woke up in the morning.

When I wake up at 11, it feels like the afternoon and a lot of the daylight’s gone.

My movement habits have been better too. I follow at least 20 minutes of some kind of mobility and stretching routine.

Meditation is also at least two times a day as well. I prefer early morning when it’s still dark, and then one after lunch, but maybe I need to pencil in a third in the evening. As with movement, it eases and frees the body from any tension that arises, and the more of that the merrier.

I am likely starting new work with a client by the end of this week or early next week so I want to be on top of new habits and new ways.

Today’s cards: Knight of Pentacles (jump) and Queen of Swords (focus)

Knight of Pentacles (jump)

I’m being reminded that I am always a beginner, especially a super beginner in the practical aspects of life. With money, finances and sustainability… I’m still building this. I’m still constantly feeling drained by my choices around this area. I feel like I am being asked to introspect on all that is beyond the material too. That while I am so lucky to get these opportunities and being in this feeling of abundance, that I should continue to practice and dwell in the woo in order to deepen and expand my relationship with the practical.

There is and can be a spirituality to wealth. It likely does not look like the wealth that I so often criticize (boo @ billionaires), but I must remember this is how the practical energy in our society moves. It’s through money and finance. I also feel that it is asking me to still expand my imagination about how I can combine the money part with the woo and magic that ignites my heart.

Queen of Swords (focus)

I love a Queeen! When Queens reveal themselves in a reading, I feel like a glowing goddess. The Swords too! The AIR element. It has a lot of consciousness and wisdom. She’s a conscious queen and she’s come a long way. She can trust her knowing and take charge.

I pulled these a little before the task of having to announce something difficult on social media. They are as much a part of me as they are actually very apt to the situation.

The cards are always right.

JOURNAL 14 octobre 2026 Kabukichô et toyoko la cité des enfants perdues

J'étais morte de faim, on vient d'arriver avec yôko et hayame qui nous ont attendues. On avait un problème d’assurance à régler, bon c’est fait. On arrive à l´izakaya. Surprise : une fille de plus qu’on ne connaît pas, tu parles c'est pour ça je parlais des enfants perdues. Une gamine complètement bourrée, qui errait par là loin de son toyoko. Désespérée, larguée par ses parents, schéma classique. Asu et A l'ont ramassée littéralement, et essayé de la remettre debout. 15 ans, déjà prostituée à l'occasion. Quelle merde. Ça nous fait oublier nos problèmes. On va essayer de faire ce qu'on peut. On est là toutes les 8. Après tout c’est aussi pour ça qu’on se bat. Je vais manger et on va la faire manger aussi.

Learning how to book train tickets automatically comes down to matching each rail operator's advance release calendar with a scheduled mobile routine that checks live fare buckets and stages your seat before peak departures surge. Whether you ride the Northeast Corridor between Washington, New York, and Boston, cross the Channel on Eurostar, commute up the East Coast Main Line on LNER, or travel between Miami and Orlando on Brightline, rail pricing runs on strict quota buckets. Once the first allocation of Saver, Value, or Advance seats sells out on a Thursday or Friday afternoon departure, the exact same coach seat can double or triple in price within days.

Instead of refreshing rail apps every morning when a holiday schedule is delayed by track work or checking manually for returned seats, you can delegate the search to a mobile AI agent over text. Airtap operates real mobile apps on a dedicated cloud Android phone or a connected physical Android device when you message it via iMessage, SMS/RCS, WhatsApp, or Telegram. Using its Buy Train Tickets workflow, you specify your origin, destination, travel date, preferred departure window, carriage class, and fare cap once, and let the agent monitor the live rail app and stage your booking up to final checkout confirmation.

This practical manual breaks down how rail fare buckets and release horizons work across four major intercity networks, how to catch both opening-day drops and 24-hour refundable cancellations, and the exact text prompts to automate the routine safely. Operator policies below reference official Amtrak, Eurostar, LNER, and Brightline schedules, verified October 2026.

Why learning to book train tickets automatically beats waiting for email timetable alerts

Many frequent rail travelers assume that train fares stay flat until the week of travel, or that signing up for an operator's email newsletter is enough to catch opening-day prices. In practice, modern intercity rail networks use airline-style yield management that penalizes late searchers in two ways.

First, every departure is divided into stepped price buckets. On a busy Friday 4:00 PM departure or a Thanksgiving week train, the lowest introductory bucket may hold only 8 to 15 seats per carriage. As soon as those seats clear, the reservation system automatically steps up to the next price tier, even when the train is still 80 percent empty.

Second, advance release dates frequently slip behind schedule due to weekend track maintenance and seasonal timetable coordination. When a rail operator holds back a weekend schedule to finalize engineering works and then opens bookings mid-morning on a Tuesday, batch email alerts often arrive hours after the announcement. Setting up a routine to book train tickets automatically (or alert you the hour live mobile inventory opens under your target price) removes that delay.

Advance release windows and fare buckets across four major rail networks

Before you schedule an automated search or checkout staging routine, you need to know how far ahead your rail operator opens inventory and how its fare rules treat changes and refunds:

• Amtrak (Northeast Regional, Acela, and National Network): Under Amtrak's booking and fare portal (verified October 2026), standard reservations open up to 11 months in advance, though seasonal track work can temporarily hold specific departures. Amtrak divides coach and business inventory into three primary fare types: Sale fares (promotional discounts that are non-changeable and carry a 50 percent cancellation fee), Value fares (standard base fares that are non-changeable and forfeit 30 percent if canceled before departure), and Flex fares (100 percent refundable to original payment with zero change fees before departure). Because corporate commuters frequently book Flex tickets as backups and cancel them 24 to 48 hours before departure, sold-out Acela and Northeast Regional trains regularly reopen seats the day before travel.
• Eurostar (London, Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam): According to Eurostar's official booking portal (verified October 2026), standard tickets typically open 4 to 6 months ahead, extending to 6 to 8 months for peak holiday periods and up to 11 months on select core corridors. European rail timetable updates occur twice a year (on the second Sunday of June and December), which often freezes booking calendars until final cross-border paths are confirmed. Eurostar sells three main tiers (Eurostar Standard, Eurostar Plus, and Eurostar Premier), and the cheapest Standard introductory quota on Friday afternoon and Sunday evening trains sells out fastest.
• LNER (London King's Cross to York, Newcastle, and Edinburgh): Per LNER's official rail portal (verified October 2026), train-specific Advance tickets (which offer the biggest savings and include a compulsory seat reservation) normally open 12 weeks ahead, and up to 20 to 24 weeks ahead for major seasonal schedules. However, when Network Rail schedules weekend engineering works, Advance tickets for Saturday and Sunday trains are often held back until 6 to 8 weeks before departure. Checking the live mobile app daily during that window catches newly released Advance tiers before standard flexible fares become the only option.
• Brightline (Miami, Fort Lauderdale, West Palm Beach, and Orlando): On Brightline's high-speed rail portal (verified October 2026), schedules open on a rolling multi-month calendar across two cabin classes: Smart (main coach, split into non-modifiable Smart Saver, modifiable Smart Select, and 100 percent refundable Smart Flex) and Premium (first-class seating with lounge access and complimentary food and beverages). Peak weekend departures between South Florida and Orlando step quickly from Smart Saver up to Smart Select and Smart Flex as cars fill.

How to set up an automated rail ticket routine up to checkout

When you know the route and time window you want, you do not need to sit in front of a browser or open four rail apps between meetings. Because Airtap runs real mobile apps on a cloud Android phone (or on a spare Android phone at home via AutoPilot), it can search live departures, apply your discount or carriage rules, and walk the booking flow right up to the final payment review screen.

Depending on how far out your trip is, you can use four different text workflows:

1. Stage an immediate train booking for one-tap human confirmation

When tickets are already on sale and you want to delegate the search, train selection, and seat selection steps while you are commuting or working, send a single message modeled on Airtap's Buy Train Tickets template:

“Find the fastest morning train from New York Penn to Boston South Station this Friday on Amtrak, select a standard coach Value seat under $85, and walk it up to the final checkout screen so I can confirm payment.”

The agent opens the signed-in rail app on your cloud phone, compares departure durations and fare buckets inside your morning window, selects the matching train, and pauses at the payment confirmation step so you can verify the total and complete the purchase.

2. Watch for delayed Advance or holiday timetable drops

If you are planning peak holiday travel on Eurostar, LNER, or Amtrak and the dates are still locked behind a timetable hold (or showing only placeholder flexible fares while Advance quotas are pending), schedule a recurring twice-daily check:

“Check LNER every day at 8:30 AM and 5:30 PM London time for two Standard Advance tickets from London King's Cross to Edinburgh on December 22 departing between 9:00 AM and 12:30 PM with a Two Together Railcard. Alert me and stage the booking the moment Advance fares under £65 per person go live.”

Instead of checking the calendar manually every morning for three weeks, your routine runs quietly in the background on the cloud Android phone and messages you as soon as the introductory bucket opens.

3. Catch the 24-hour Flex cancellation wave on sold-out Friday trains

If a peak Friday afternoon Acela, Northeast Regional, or Brightline departure is sold out (or priced at top-tier flexible rates), business travelers holding refundable Flex backups almost always release their extra seats 12 to 36 hours before departure. Set a high-frequency check across the day-before window:

“Check Amtrak every 45 minutes between 11:00 AM and 6:00 PM this Thursday for one Business or Coach seat on any Acela or Northeast Regional departing Washington Union Station for NY Penn this Friday between 3:00 PM and 5:30 PM under $160. Text me immediately if a seat returns to inventory.”

4. Monitor post-booking price drops when holding a refundable Flex ticket

When your travel dates are fixed months ahead of a major holiday weekend, experienced rail commuters often book a refundable Flex ticket as an insurance policy against sell-outs, and then watch for promotional Sale or returned Value buckets on the same departure:

“I am holding a refundable $195 Flex ticket on the 5:15 PM Amtrak train from Boston Back Bay to NY Penn on November 25. Check that exact departure every morning at 9:00 AM through November 23 and text me only if a Value or Sale coach fare opens up under $120.”

Seat selection rules, quiet cars, and human-in-the-loop payment safety

Train bookings involve physical carriage details that flight and hotel searches do not have. When you configure a routine to book train tickets automatically up to checkout, include your exact onboard preferences in the text prompt so the agent selects the right coach layout:

• Quiet Car vs standard coach: On Amtrak (Acela and Northeast Regional) and LNER, Quiet Coach seats enforce strict phone-call and speaker rules. Specify “select Quiet Car if available” or “avoid Quiet Car if I need to take work calls” directly in your prompt.
• Direction of travel and table seating: High-speed trains like Acela, Eurostar, LNER Azuma, and Brightline have both forward-facing and backward-facing seats, as well as four-person face-to-face tables. Let the agent know whether you want a single airline-style window seat facing forward or a table seat for two.
• Connection buffer rules on multi-leg trips: If your route connects through a major hub such as Chicago Union Station, London St Pancras / King's Cross, or Philadelphia 30th Street, instruct your routine to require a minimum 35-to-45-minute transfer buffer between legs so a minor regional delay does not break your long-distance ticket.
• Railcards, loyalty numbers, and baggage: If you hold a UK Railcard, an Amtrak Guest Rewards number, a Student Advantage discount, or need an oversized luggage or bicycle reservation slot, keep those profile settings saved inside your signed-in rail app on the cloud phone.

Just as importantly, automated rail routines should never charge your credit card or commit you to a non-refundable ticket behind your back. On Airtap, you sign into your rail account once on your isolated cloud Android phone. Your passwords are never stored in plain text, and the agent is cryptographically blocked from reading secure password fields. When the agent reaches the final checkout screen or encounters a two-factor verification prompt, it pauses and sends a Take Control link to your message thread so you can inspect the exact train number, fare rules, and seat assignment before tapping pay.

Frequently asked questions about automated rail booking routines

Can I rebook automatically if my Amtrak fare drops after I buy a ticket?

If you initially booked an Amtrak Flex fare (which allows fee-free changes and 100 percent refunds prior to departure), you can ask your agent to check the same train daily and alert you if a lower bucket reopens or if an earlier departure drops in price. Always confirm the new reservation and verify your seat assignment before canceling your existing ticket.

Why check inside the native rail app instead of a third-party ticket aggregator?

Booking directly inside the operator's official mobile app (such as LNER, Amtrak, Eurostar, or Brightline) avoids third-party booking fees, opens live seat-map pickers (where supported), and makes disruption refunds or Delay Repay claims straightforward when a train is delayed.

How much does it cost to run daily train availability checks?

Airtap is free to start, with a daily soft usage cap that resets at 00:00 UTC. Running a morning and evening schedule check for an upcoming rail release window or a day-before cancellation watch fits within the free daily allowance.