General Vayste was not a happy man, in fact even calling him a miserable bugger did not do justice to the level of foul mood he was currently experiencing. Firstly he was gradually being usurped by that brat Rhea, from house Cycleenge. Then, just as he was finally figuring out a method of securing himself a nice little nest egg, his most useful lackeys had been captured. Now he knew that he had given them pills in case of such an emergency, telling them it contained a signal spell. But frankly, looking back at the situation he began to doubt they believed it, (he really hoped they did, evidence that cleaned itself up was the only evidence he liked, and even then only if it did it before they could spill anything incriminating.)

He wasn’t a man without means (or means to an end for that matter,) but his employers were not the kind of individuals to take kindly to failure, and his other employer took a very dim view of people hiring assassins to kill their daughter, (they were sensitive like that, although the training The Queen put her brat through it would be hard to believe that, hell it was hard to believe the queen didn’t want to kill the kid herself looking at their training. But if they had dealt with Nick so easily clearly it had paid off, he had to give them that at least.)

Now he had to get out of here, and fast, The Princess was in town, and people his staff had recruited were, he suspected, doing sideline work that could potentially involve this attempt. Alma his faithful maid stood at his side, as she always did, naturally, he would dispose of her later, any loose end right now would go badly for him. Until then she would suffice in helping him pack, he couldn’t trust anybody right now.

It came as something of a shock when the point slipped into his neck. Alma? Of all the people in the world, why her? A bittersweet smile hit his face, as he suspected, he really couldn’t trust anybody. At least she still cared enough to use a good poison, he muttered to himself, as he slipped off into a painless sleep.

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Alma quickly wiped the syringe and tucked it away in her skirts to dispose of later. He wouldn’t wake up now, and he wouldn’t suffer. All had gone according to plan, he had treated the butler, and everybody else with due suspicion, and the butler would be the first suspect if they investigated foul play at all. As such she had planted sufficient evidence in his quarters to incriminate him, but not enough to seem convenient, the syringe would be the final piece of the puzzle, she would dispose of that later, a long way away. Leaving it in the butler’s chambers would be overkill anyway, everybody knew the butler always did it.

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She gently tucked The General in, as she had done a thousand times before, and lit one of his favourite cigars, taking a few puffs so it would take. Coughing and spluttering the whole time, vile things they were. She had told him that his habit would be the death of him, though back then she hadn’t meant it quite in such a literal fashion. Next, she pierced a small hole in the lamp in the corner, not much mind you, just enough to ensure a small leak on the floor. Investigators looking at that would likely think the leaky oil was a cause, and write it off, and if not? Well no skin off her nose, she had a convenient suspect all figured out anyway. The sheet naturally trailed the floor, she’d told him a thousand times not to smoke in bed, she wouldn’t need to anymore. Then she closed the door once she was sure the flames had taken hold, locking it from the inside, Finally slipping out through the escape tunnel she wasn’t supposed to know about. But when you help a man sneak out often enough it’s amazing the things you learn about. She was careful to conceal her trail even here naturally, there was absolutely no point in getting sloppy at the last moment.

With all that done The Maid Alma was gone, nobody would remember her, she’d made sure of that over time. Sometimes being unmemorable was the greatest gift you could imagine, and it had earned her a pretty penny over time.

Behind her the flame spread rather rapidly, reaching an oil lamp in the corner, which did as the laws of physics dictated, and caught. Now it was only a matter of time before General Vayste burned.

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Mibbet was halfway to the manor when she spotted the smoke, and the large bucket chain trying to put out the flames before they spread.

“Seems we’re too late” Sir Leeroy muttered as he saw the flames. The heat from the fire practically seared his skin, “Any chance we can put this mess out?”

Mibbet focused as best she could while Errol got people clear, he had no doubt The Princess was about to make a splash, sure enough no sooner was everybody clear, than a gigantic rain started, smothering the flame, and drenching everybody nearby. It was of course far too late to save the mansion, and by extension, any evidence it could contain was completely gone.

Mibbet would usually detain anybody involved in the day to day running of the mansion, and interview them one by one, but when you are trying to conduct a large-scale investigation in secret conducting a large-scale interview is quite counterproductive.

She had Sir Leeroy comb through the wreckage of course. But there wasn’t really a lot left after a fire that size. Apparently one of the footmen had been illegally brewing in the broom closet in the next room, and the explosion of moonshine had practically been worthy of being called daylight. That had stalled things somewhat, of course, they eventually found the hidden tunnel, but if anybody had used that they had been rather good at covering their trail, and were likely long gone by now.