The pumpkinlike mask slid free revealing non other than Malachai Blight. The two former farmers floated around freely making fun of him.

“So” said Mibbet (since the spooks were still about and the suspect was detained Rosalind had taken cover once more.) “Why did you do it in the first place?”

At that moment in burst Errol (fast as he was he couldn’t keep up with Rosalind on a rampage, (They didn’t nickname her Von grievous bodily Harmsworth for nothing, that girl was bloody fast when she was pissed off.) “I..... can..... answer...... that” Errol said between gasps,

There was a long and awkward unanswered moment as Errol desperately gasped to catch his breath, followed by another few minutes of puffing and panting, while the assembled did their best to look anywhere else while he recovered.

“It’s all about the deeds, Palmer expected to pass on before his wife, and I’m betting wrote his main will to reflect that. But she predeceased the deceased, and since that didn’t happen Blight had to get in there before he wrote a fresh will, since no will the estate revert to the village headman.”

“and how did he make sure of he'd get it after the rewrite?”

“easy peasy, he offered to file away the rewrite in the records office, about two thirds of the villages land deeds were supposed to be in there, so if they get mysteriously damaged or lost? That’s a lot of land coming his way, like buy a title for selling some scale.”

“No offence intended to anybody who lives here, but why? Land doesn’t look like anything unusual.”

“Apart from a new stagecoach carriageway that’s gonna pass through here soon, if that happen’s place will be a goldmine.”

Mibbet was still having a hard time processing that Errol actually had a brain, this was the kid who VOLUNTARILY trained with Sir Humphrey on a daily basis, and had swapped to Sir Leeroy for the duration of this trip. It seems that despite the lack of even a shred of a fragment of a semblance of an instinct of self preservation, self respect (this was the man who ran round in hand me down armour, could hold his own against professional knights, but still snuck his greaves on under his clothes when he went home to keep his shins safe from his baby sisters kicks. Though in fairness when he came back he usually had to panelbeat the dents out, and repolish them, so maybe that was where all his survival instincts went,) or self awareness, (he still thought he was thick no matter how much evidence to the contrary he accidentally produced. The reason Mibbet had believed he was dense all this time may have been partially due to him believing he was himself, and not believing anybody who tried to prove otherwise.) Errol may in fact be a surprisingly high spec individual.

“So Money again” Mibbet sighed, “BOOORRRIIINNNNG, beats me why people are all so obsessed with the damned stuff.”

The resultant shocked silence from the assembling crowd showed as far as Mibbet was concerned that her impeccable logic had hit a nerve. (Reality was they were just having a hard time letting it sink in that the Princess who according to rumour had damn near caused a war in order to get her hand on a damned diamond had just basically stated that money no longer interested her. Albeit in a way that only the obscenely rich, or those who lived under a rock somewhere and never touched money in their lives could ever say. It never even entered their heads that thanks to the Sqwoomph the girl in front of them fell into both of these categories at the same time. It’s hard to think of money as nothing when you have too little of it after all, it has a nasty tendency to remind you it exists.

“OK then, we’ll stick around till a prison wagon comes to pick him up, then we’ll let dad decide what to do with him, though we can safely say he won’t be getting off lightly with that. Dad always says those who threaten royals shouldn’t be kept around after all, says it’s a trend you really can’t afford to have catching on.”

************************************************************************

Wannashowa had a dilemma at the moment, the amount of shiny rocks that were coming pouring in was beginning to be a nuisance.

“It is hardly surprising your holiness, Crows and by extension Raven are intelligent birds, to the point where if one is found dead others gather to find out what happened, and target the killer.”

“So a murder investigation, a grudge, and a vendetta all rolled into one.”

Adrian suppressed a wince at the potential pun.

“Now question is what to do with all these shiny rocks.”

“Well you could always combine a miracle, frog instincts, and make a place your new worshippers will feel comfortable could you not?”

************************************************************************

Colonel Mustard ret. was pleased as punch, The former Mrs Beaton had been spending an increasing amount of time here with him at his impromptu temple, as a way of drawing her to visit more often he had taken to decorating in increasingly elaborate ways. Even adding actual lillies, and fish to the ornamental pond he had rigged out back (he’d been doing quite well for rain lately thank to that unexpected, but incredibly welcome miracle in miniature. That and he was pondering plans to ask Mrs Beaton if she would be willing to become Mrs Mustard, but plucking up the courage to ask was no mean feat, and as such he had prayed for a sign. After all what use is having a temple in your garden if you aren’t going to take said god’s guidance?)

But nothing could prepare him for the unexpected addition that had happened to the pond in the dead of night. He woke up on Tuesday, as usual, and came downstairs. Pouring his cereal, and popping out to check on his garden. Then he saw the pond, now decorated with dozens and dozens of glimmering stones, and made up his mind. He was proposing today.