As the prime suspect, a grim-faced Thomas was hauled off the mule by knights and dumped before my father—tightly bound like a pig awaiting slaughter. Count Lud’s face flushed red, then pale, utterly bewildered. Just then, the black-robed judicial officer stepped forward and drew an indictment from his sleeve.
“Your Lordship,” he said gravely, “your steward Thomas was caught using counterfeit coins at the Duke’s exchange—repeatedly. He mixed fakes with genuine coins to slip through unnoticed, until exposed and arrested this time.”
A knight handed a coin pouch to Count Lud. I directed the Observer to zoom in. The coins had been burned; the gilded lead fakes were fully exposed. I’d forged them with lead—its melting point far lower than gold’s. Fire revealed all. Staring at the warped coins, Count Lud turned ashen. In the Empire, counterfeiting meant death: hanging or beheading. As Thomas’s master and head of House Lude, his choice was clear—pin everything on Thomas.
But Thomas wouldn’t go quietly. He’d drag the Count down with him.
“I’m innocent! Truly!” Thomas sobbed, tears and snot streaming. “My Lord, I’ve served House Lude faithfully for twenty years! Every coin I used came straight from the treasury—no fakes! Please, clear my name!”
His meaning was plain: the treasury itself held counterfeits. House Lude was also a victim.
A perfect escape route. If fake coins were found in our vault, we’d be framed too. Trace the source later. House Lude replaces the coins, apologizes—salvages reputation, even earns sympathy.
*Heh heh heh.* My oh-so-clever father would take the bait.
“No… counterfeit coins?” he feigned shock, eyes darting. “Thomas, were these truly from the treasury?”
“Absolutely, My Lord!”
“Master Freud, Judicial Officer,” he bowed deeply. “Thomas would never disgrace House Lude. I suspect… we were deceived. Counterfeits must have entered our vault. Open it—truth will be revealed.”
“Precisely, Your Lordship,” Freud nodded. “My father suspected you might be a victim. He sent two appraisers. Inspection will clarify all.”
“Grateful for the Duke’s trust!”
My foolish, selfish father wept with relief—blind to my trap. My lips curled upward, smile deepening into something sinister. A six-year-old girl wearing such a look? Surely a demon reborn.
The Observer trailed the procession—six knights, two appraisers, the judicial officer—while my father eagerly led the way. Down the stairs to the underground vault. He unlocked the heavy iron door. As the Arcane Formula deactivated, it groaned open. The treasury: steel-lined walls, magical wards—virtually impregnable. Only Father and Thomas could open it… until I used the Observer to copy the magical password. Now, it was mine too.
Secondary objective: achieved. House Lude’s vault—my private domain.
I guided the Observer into a corner. The appraisers entered, robed, wearing strange eye coverings. Their “appraisal” relied on Demon Eyes—one of twelve rare types, the Appraisal Eye. Nearly side-effect-free, unlike others that drive hosts mad.
“I swear by the Goddess of the Scales,” the judicial officer vowed, hand on codex, “I shall uphold justice with impartiality.”
“Witnesses are ready. Proceed,” Freud said.
They removed their coverings. Demon Eyes glowed faintly in the dim vault, missing nothing. The treasury held little gold—mostly silver coins. Genuine gold: barely four to five thousand. Appraisal ended swiftly.
“Reporting, Master,” they announced, “all gold coins are genuine. Not one counterfeit.”
Father’s face drained of color.
“No! Impossible!” Thomas wailed. “I swear—they came from the treasury! If I lie, burn me alive!”
“Most criminals say that first,” Freud sneered. “Seize him.”
Knights pinned the trembling Thomas. He struggled futilely. Count Lud stood coldly aside. My father knew when to save himself.
“Disgraceful! Deceived by this wicked servant!” he feigned outrage. “Search his quarters!”
*Well, well.* Sacrificing the pawn to save the rook. The show begins.
Under supervision, soldiers stormed Thomas’s room. Bound, he watched as they ransacked it. Hidden though the coins were, the knights’ sharp eyes—honed from war and peacekeeping—found all. A wardrobe compartment opened. Two neat piles of coins emerged, gleaming identically.
A full thousand coins. Count Lud paled. Even he—selfish, foolish, illiterate in ledgers—now saw it: Thomas had stolen bit by bit, like ants carrying grain.
“Hmph. Interesting,” Freud scooped coins. “Appraisers—verify.”
One removed his covering, activated his Demon Eye briefly.
“Reporting, Master: lead coins plated with gold.”
“And this chest?”
“Pure genuine gold.”
Confirmed. The judicial officer gestured. Knights lifted both chests. Thomas’s face turned to ash. Against this “irrefutable” evidence, denial was pointless. Ironclad truth.
“Mr. Thomas,” Freud said calmly, “the Duke’s dungeon has skilled interrogators. Confess now—spare yourself suffering.”
“No! Not me!” Thomas’s eyes went wild. “It’s Katherine! That bitch framed me! She took her share, tricked me with fakes! I’ll confess everything—the Countess ordered me to steal! Promised me a cut! All coins came from her!”
Silence shattered. Count Lud slapped him hard.
“How dare you slander my wife! Take him away!”
“Hah!” Thomas laughed hysterically. “I not only slandered her—I’ve slept with your wife! You don’t last long enough in bed, so Katherine came to me! Know the three black moles on her inner thigh? You’d never see them without stripping her! You’ve been cuckolded, Your Lordship! Hahahaha! Ahahahaha!”
*Well, well.* A dog-eat-dog spectacle. Facing death, truth spills out. Thomas—a petty thief, a scoundrel—revealed himself completely.
Enraged, Count Lud drew his sword. Freud blocked him.
“Enough, Your Lordship. Household matters are yours. But he committed crime on my father’s land. I cannot let you kill him. Unless… you’re silencing a witness?”
At “silencing,” Father instantly shrank back.
That was him: foolish, selfish, a bully who only preyed on the weak.
“No… not at all…”
“Then we take the prisoner.”
Freud gave a slight bow—courtesy owed to a Count. A gesture. Knights hauled away the screaming Thomas, counterfeit coins in tow.
Origin of the fakes? *Heh heh heh.* Naturally—I made them.
Using Ancient Alchemy and Chris’s magic, I forged the gilded lead coins. Via the Observer, I carried small batches through air vents into Thomas’s room. One month to replace half his stash. No one suspects a six-year-old girl—born of the Count’s former wife—of masterminding this. I pocketed five hundred genuine coins too, hidden on the cliff behind the castle. Only the Observer can reach it. Escape requires funds. More is better.
Smugly, I watched Freud depart through the Observer’s lens.
Then—his gaze locked with mine.
In a flash, he raised a crossbow.
An arrow flew.
Connection severed.
What happened?
The Observer… shot down!
