Constable Hur was on the scene. He was the authority in Gilba Gilba and nothing like this had happened on HIS WATCH before. Wayward Spirits on the loose! Leastways, that was the report. Reports could be misleading and he would not be bungling this one.

A late-night anonymous TIP had come in through the Constabulary: Wayward Spirits spotted in Gilba Gilba. The Blomgrins know more than they let on. Anonymous. Who sent that? It was Hem’s job to discover it.

“Knock knock,” knocked Hur when he was at the door of the Ragged Maiden. The Catcher’s Moon was low in the sky so it was not likely Blom would be up, but the door did indeed in fact in perpetuity throughout the universe open a crack, letting a slice of yellow light stream out into the night and into Hur’s squinting eye.

“Aye?” muttered Rogrmomormomoginm sleepily. The inn-tern was workin’.

“BLOM BLOMGRIN IF YOU PLEASE,” shouted the self-important Constable as he blasted open the inn’s door and strode all a-bluster into the common room. It was quiet except for a cracklin’ fire keepin’ the air warm and pleasant.

Rogormrmoin said “You can’t just—“

“I CAN JUST!” interrupted Hur. He was marching around the common room creating a racket the likes of which were the likes of giants. “Where’s that innkeep!! Where’s that CRIMINAL!!! BRING HIM OUT HERE IMMEDIATELY!!”

Roggoormrmin was just an inn-tern but he knew the ways of the land. He knew what Hur was doin’ was a mighty abuse o’ his authority and a violation of the Secret Frefucision Act. Blom had instructed Rogormrinin quite thoroughly on the particulars of this particular piece o’ parchment.

“Outta this private establish, Constable,” said Rogogmimrin evenly, holding the door open and letting all the cold air blow in so as to cool the temper of Hur. “You can return in the mornin’ at a reasonable hour.”

Hur’s face flushed with the fires of a thousand Drocamnntrer Drakes as he strode over to Rogorirmirn. “That so, lad? Hidin’ somethin’ are we? Hidin’ somethin’ for ol’ Blom Blomgrin? TURN OUT YOUR POCKETS, BOY! This is an arrest!!”

“There will be no such arrests made in my inn, Constable,” said Blom from the other side of the common room. He was fixin’ his spectacles and adjustin’ a night gown he had clearly just thrown on. “Out. Get out.”

“AH HA!” twisted Hur. “The guilty party hisself! Let’s see ‘em, Blom! Let’s see them Wayward SPIRITS!”

Blom moved not a weeeeeeee bit and repeated his command. “Get out or I’ll have you up on charges for tresspassin’ and threatenin’ my help. Now I ain’t in the mood ol’ Hur ol’ fella to get in a conflagration with ya but if it’s a conflagration you’re askin’ for a conflagration you’re gettin’.” At that Blom walked purposely into the center of the common room with the confidence of a man who once stood his ground against the Three Fabled Sorcerers and emerged standing.

Hur was unprepared for this display of confidence and rebellion. “I saw the report,” he said. “I saw it. Saw it come in straight to me. Reports of Wayward Spirits passin’ through this inn. Right in Gilba Gilba right under my very nose! The audacity! The sheer flagrance!! I’ll see you in the Town Jail, Blomgrin!”

Constable Hur spit on the floor of the Ragged Maiden and marched hisself right outta that inn, head held high and trembling with noise.