I began to panic (Patreon)

as I saw the failure of yet another attempt at starting a legacy and getting out of my prison.  Not again!  It was my hair cult all over again!  But this time I would have the blood of an innocent femme and two teenagers on my hands!

I took deep breaths and tried to suppress the panic.  This was a different situation.  The hair cult had collapsed in my absence, but I was here this time.  I could do what a true leader does, and save everyone.  I just needed to get my thoughts together.

"Auggh!" I groaned as I grappled with the panic.  How was it possible for everything to spiral out of control so quickly?  And why did it have to happen to me??

No, I thought, shaking my head and forcing myself to breathe slowly.  I had to focus!  How would Vernier handle this if she were here?

Wait a second.

Rebecca had been living with Vernier!  Vernier was associated with the coven!  She could be next on the Wanted list if I didn't get this situation under control!

Suddenly the fog of panic left me.  I felt calm, clear-headed, and decisive, just like Irenaeus before a battle.  Only a few of my Ixies had gone to find Oak.  There should still be plenty around to help deal with this problem.  I summoned them.

"My young witches are under attack!" I briefed them, briefly.  "Get out there and rescue Gretchen and Petunia!  I don't know which is which, but they are the heavyset vixen and the, uh, bear or mouse or something.  You remember them from the meet-up a few days ago.  They are being harried by rabbits.  Zap those rabbits.  Hit them hard enough that they won't remember what happened.  While they're unconscious, soak them with booze so nobody will believe their story, and they can't blame it on witches.  If you see Burnside, tell her to head back here while keeping an eye out for intruders.  Lives are at stake; move out!"

"Where can we find booze?" one Ixie asked.

"Move out!!" I commanded, and they buzzed away on their mission.

"I doubt that booze trick will work, my lord," Rebecca opined.  "The rabbits of Bunkirk do not drink."

"All the more reason to suspect them if they come home stinking of rum," I replied grimly.

"What about Oonagh?" Rebecca asked.

"She's already been arrested," I mused.  "Even if I could break her out of jail, wouldn't that just prove her guilt in the minds of her accusers?  I WILL find a way to set this right, but I need to make sure everyone is safe first.  Speaking of which ..."

I summoned more Ixies.   "Go warn Vernier, and keep guard over her.  At the first sign of trouble, she is to be brought here."

Next I turned to Chloe.  "Why in Fuma's name was the testimony of a single irritating and unlikable child enough to persecute a harmless old baker who was well loved by the community, and three minors guilty of nothing worse than bad taste in fashion?"

"Oh we were naughtier than that, my lord," Chloe insisted.  "We were blasphemous and irreverent at the very least."

"Those are crimes punishable by going to bed without supper," I retorted.  "What's the penalty for witchcraft in the lowfolk world?  I have heard that it's pretty bad."

"Burning at the stake, I think?" Chloe gulped.  "I'm not sure they still do that ... but then again, it's been ages since anybody was arrested for witchcraft around here."

"To return to my initial question," I snapped, "how in the Netherhells did it come to this in the first place?  Why would anyone take Didelphis's rantings seriously?"

"Most people didn't believe her at first," Chloe explained.  "But she just wouldn't shut up.  She screeched her story at everyone she met.  She would open windows and screech her tales so passers-by could hear.  It was a two day long tantrum where she just constantly screeched her twisted, false narrative to the world at large."

"Didn't Oonagh have anything to say about this terrible behavior?"

"Oonagh said Didelphis was just being rambunctious, and that it was normal for children at that age to make up fanciful fictions to amuse themselves.  She spent most of the last two days trying to spoil Didelphis, and the old possum showed an amazing lack of gratitude.  Anyway, yesterday some rabbits were in town, and they heard the screeching and they pointed out that the child bore an uncanny resemblance to the old crone who lived by herself in the dell.  Somebody else mentioned that there was no smoke coming from the crone's shack the day before, and somebody else said it was odd that a strange child would suddenly show up like that.  Didelphis declared that she was the crone and had been bewitched by Oonagh with the help of the White Elf, the rabbits took up the cry, and the town went berserk.  They started smashing windows and attacking people.  The magistrate ordered our arrests to appease the mob."

"Why are the rabbits allowed to harass people outside of their trashy little town?" I demanded.  "Why do people put up with them?"

"They aren't that bad," Rebecca insisted.  "They may be drab and humorless, but they are very reliable and completely trustworthy.  They're good at making things.  Our smiths and wheelwrights are some of the best."

"All of that," Chloe agreed.  "Plus their ideological unity enables them to gang up very effectively.  It was the rabbits of Bunkirk who beat back the Shoe Cult and all its mercenaries.  The surrounding communities were grateful, and also a little scared, so Bunkirkers are pretty much given whatever they want.  Nobody wants to wind up on their bad side.  They keep growing bolder with their actions, and if they get away with this, it will only get worse."

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