Day Three-Thirty-One: Sabotage'd

I think the whole thing with Pagan was bad luck for me, diary, because things are suddenly and EXPLOSIVELY GOING WRONG

I was awoken from a dream about Libby crushing a city (she appeared to be a giant reptile for some reason) by a hard, wrenching CRACK somewhere in the pub. I wasn't sure what had happened at first, but Libby was on her feet in an instant, flinging the covers aside and glaring at the walls.

"The hell?" I mumbled, slipping onto the floor and groping for my floppy hat. "Whazzat?"

"Da hewl?" Grayson mimed as he woke up in his crib, smiling. He's been doing that a lot. Smiling AND miming. "Whaaazzaaat?"

Libby held up a finger to still us, as well as everyone else who'd heard the noise. She scanned the roof… eyes to the support beams… watched, waited, listened…

Crack.

"FUCK!" she yelled, sweeping up Grayson. "EVERYBODY OUT! MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!"

We moved. Barrelled out the door and right past my half-drunk father, who was stumbling towards the pub to call for the beginning of the day's work. Robert and Bora had just barely enough time to get out the front door before there was another crack, the shudder of wood, and, inevitably, the collapse of the roof. I watched through the doorway as several hundred pounds of wood and nails demolished roughly three-quarters of the ground floor, trapping or crushing cots and personal items aplenty. 

We gawked. Everybody was too quiet, too confused and half-asleep, for words. Then there was another crack, and Libby's head whipped up, and she barked for her carpenters. Her little group dashed around the side of the pub, their leader hell bent on saving the smaller second floor before it, too, collapsed.

One of the assistants came rushing back with Grayson and handed him off to me. Good call, Libby.

Because Libby and her crew are miracle workers, they managed to not only save the second floor, but they plan to have the pub repaired by Wednesday. Until then people will have to sleep in one of the handful of other buildings that are now built. More bitching from the nobles about this, but that's par for the course.

The collapse of the pub was not the only thing that went wrong today, however. No, a great deal more transpired to turn this into one of Pubton's darkest days ever.

With the carpenters hard at work on the house, my father called for the beginning of the day's work. No point moping when there are fields to be tilled, seeds to be sown and boards to be nailed. Everyone set about their tasks with gloomy expressions on their faces -

- and those expressions only deepened as they discovered evidence of sabotage throughout Pubton. Ruined fences. Upended dirt. Rough roads full of potholes. Wheels missing from the remaining wagons. Food pilfered. Feces EVERYWHERE. Seriously, I have not seen so much animal poop decorating the walls of a town EVER. Complaints came fast and copious, and I spent much of my day running from one end of Pubton to the other, trying to help people set their property to rights. Doubt I did much good, but I have to do what I can as mayor, y'know? 

And the culprits behind this catastrophe? Nowhere to be seen. There's plenty of evidence pointing at their identity, though, and the hunters of Pubton are plenty confused by said evidence, because most of it consists of… animal tracks… and Libby confirmed that the supports on the pub were gnawed by very sharp teeth… what in the hell…?

I don't know. I'll ask the rats about it tomorrow, 'cause they seem to have an 'in' when it comes to animals. Not much else we can do now but get to repairs.

Bugger. First Pagan, now this. Maybe King Gok was right.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor