Red-robe was livid, he had just gotten a report stating that the dungeon he had been carefully cultivating for months, and a key stage in his plans to cause chaos in the kingdom had been subdued. Just what the hell was going on here, first the rats, then the “system” gambit, now even his dungeon stampede had been foiled. How could he arrange a coup on grounds of chaos in the kingdom without, well, chaos in the kingdom. One did not successfully arrange an uprising on grounds of mild inconvenience in multiple territories.

So far the only good news he’d had for weeks had been the failure of the Duly Elected Representatives Of Order to take over the territory. Had that happened it would have been really hard to convince anybody of the chaos. Even worse he had The Princess to thank for that particular spectacular failure, and that was just salt in the wound when you considered that he was trying to overthrow her.

It was like she was always one step ahead, and even worse there was gossip that suggested SHE was coming back. He suppressed a shudder at the thought. Then to make things even messier he was getting nasty letters from Faustian Bailiffs, the kind you really didn’t want deciding to show up for collection early. How the hell did that girl sniff all this out? Back at the castle she had shown the temper of a rabid wolverine with itchy feet, and the intellect of a pickled herring. Then one sqwoomph later it was like she was fifty moves ahead all the way. It was his own fault, he must have underestimated his opponent, well no more, from now on he would work to match her wit and overcome it with all he had. But trying to figure out her thinking was damn near impossible, understanding her thought processes was like a game of pinball, blindfolded, while drunk. It was like they made absolutely no sense, yet always worked out. Well now he was prepared to go up against a true genius.

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Back at The Village the “true genius” was eyeing a spider that had got into her bedroom with an expression one would not expect any human to give a spider. She gave a jump, mistimed it, hit the ceiling, and crashed to the floor with an almighty wallop. She would have been more upset, but the plummet shook said octo appendaged snack loose, letting it fall beside her, where she pounced, and promptly devoured it. Forgetting for a moment that human taste-buds don’t work the same. She dodged a bolt this time, as said insect was not one of the worse tasting of the many species available round here. Nor was it one of the venomous types, or she would have had a very bad time of it. what with Not having any of her old froggy digestive system and all.

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Lord Inna-Troff was about to have a very bad day. His brains may have been somewhat ill equipped for somebody of his political position. But one thing he did have was rather good instincts for impending danger. (There is a prevailing theory that the reason the leading education institutions insist on teenage boys wearing top hats, boaters, bow ties, or knickerbocker style shorts is precisely because it paints a massive social bullseye on them for their entire lives. The result is a child who can dodge a blackboard eraser at twenty paces, out-sprint a gazelle on flat terrain despite never exercising a day in their lives, and sense potential threats approaching from a mile off. Other aspects of this training include classical instrument training, as absolutely nothing strengthens the legs faster than being the kid lugging round a double bass. This is all to prepare them for survival, when they leave said education institution, and have the empathy of a hungry shark. The mercy of a particularly impatient vulture, and think that five thousand gold coins is a day’s pocket change, as opposed to the lifetimes income for four or five peasant families. Unsurprisingly these places are not expecting their young wards to be popular human beings, instead they prepare them to be the only option left to them. The most contemptible parasites on earth. Career politicians.)

He had to get out of here, and fast. He really hoped he was wrong and this was just another assassin. (Admittedly most of the time nobody hopes for an assassin, but he had guards, so many guards, and they could handle little details like that. But if he was correct here, then he really was in danger.) He tried a few of the doors at his usual haunts, but none were opening to him, even when he flashed a small fortune in front of them. This was bad.

His instincts did not let him down today, as he say a flash of familiar looking reddish hair, his heart sank, as he quickly started to search for a place he could take cover as quickly as possible. He had to warn the others that SHE was back in town. (None of the group spoke her name for the same reason a lot of more superstitious villagers wouldn’t say the word “bear”. They believed said bear would hear them, and frankly compared to her a bear was a small fry. For starters a bear didn’t usually have access to a city wide intelligence network. For seconds a bear was far less likely to come into the city, and finally, but no less important, they hadn’t been active participants in cursing any bears as far as he knew. While HER?)

“Why hello there Troughy, my, my,my, I did not expect to run into you today, and on my first day back no less. We really must catch up.”

Lord Inna-Troff gulped, as the colour drained from his face. “W-w-why, hello, Your Highness, I apologise, but I am quite busy today. In fact most of the week.”

“Nonsense” Replied Gidea Von Harmsworth, with a smile that would not have looked out of place in the blackest pits of hell. “I know your schedule, and have cleared it all up, now it’s time you and me have a little... chat.”