Treachery and Tumbleweeds | Chapter One [Comm]

Treachery and Tumbleweeds

By Horatio Husky

Commissioned by AnnaNapps

Chapter One

The Gulch

The morning sun spilled across Brass Gulch, painting the bustling frontier town in shades of gold and copper. The air carried a faint metallic tang from the network of steam pipes crisscrossing the buildings, their occasional hisses and puffs a constant reminder of the town's industrious, steampunk soul. Wooden sidewalks creaked underfoot as residents and travelers hurried about their business, and wagon wheels clattered over cobblestone streets. Above it all, the Brass Fountain gushed a glittering arc of water into the air, its spray catching the light like tiny jewels.

Though the town's residents knew not to drink from it, the occasional traveler might be convinced to take a few sips from the fresh flowing water as a mark of good luck, only to find themselves waddling around babbling nonsense only a few minutes later as the tinged contents reduced their limbs and thoughts to that of one much more docile and giddy.

The town was alive with the clamor of commerce. Merchants shouted over the din, their stalls overflowing with goods ranging from exotic fabrics to intricate clockwork trinkets. A blacksmith's hammer rang out from a nearby forge, the rhythmic clang melding with the lively chatter of townsfolk. Urchins darted through the square, their laughter weaving through the chaos as they played tag around the towering fountain.

She adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and continued her patrol, the polished brass of her badge catching the sunlight. Her boots clunked rhythmically against the wooden planks, and her sharp eyes scanned the street for signs of trouble. Sparky knew the rhythms of Brass Gulch well, knew how to read its moods like a familiar tune, and something about this morning felt off.

Not wrong, exactly, but a little off.

Her instincts had been honed over years of keeping order in this chaotic, ever-growing town, and she trusted them implicitly.

Ahead, the Brass Gulch Jailhouse loomed, its sturdy walls built of dark ironwood reinforced with brass-plated steel. A pair of copper steam vents flanked the entrance, hissing softly as Sparky pushed through the heavy door. Inside, the familiar scent of polished metal and faint lavender greeted her. The cells were unorthodox for a jail, each equipped with padded cribs instead of bunks, their occupants given basic comforts alongside the occasional meal laced with just enough regression water to keep them placid. Most detainees left as humbled as they were clean, though some were denied changes to let their new situation properly set in.

Behind the desk sat Griggs, her deputy, a massive grizzly bear whose imposing size was matched only by his gentle demeanor. He was hunched over a ledger, his clawed fingers scratching notes in neat rows.

"Mornin', Sheriff."

Griggs rumbled without looking up. His voice was deep and steady, as dependable as the man himself.

"New one in Cell Three. Caught him swipin' gears from the clockmaker's shop."

Sparky raised an eyebrow as she walked to the desk, her ears flicking toward the cells down the hall.

"Gears, huh? Not the most creative heist I've heard of. What's his story?"

Griggs looked up, his warm brown eyes meeting hers.

"Young raccoon. Cocky. Says he was 'borrowing.'"

Sparky's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk.

"Let me guess... He didn't have a return date in mind."

"Nope."

Griggs replied with a soft chuckle.