rebury

[Grand Moff Hissa]

((Hector Quayle continued from I Make Mad Films. ‘Kay I Don’t Make Films, but if I Did They’d Have a Samurai.))

Hector didn't leave the graveyard immediately. Still had work to do.

When he'd gone far enough that the others were out of sight and earshot, he found a headstone with no visible name. Where the words would be, a thick layer of blue-green lichen had grown.

Hector raised his boot and scraped his toe through the lichen, once vertical, once horizontal, making a muddy cross in the growth. Then he set to work at the grave next to it.

He dug into the snow, a little more than six inches down. In went the bandanna-swaddled parcel, once again carefully wrapped and secured. He pushed the snow back on top of it and patted it down, then stomped around the area back and forth, making a confusion of tracks going in different directions.

Befuddle pursuit. The thief was still around, but with more willing suckers, hopefully she'd find something better to do. Animals would be the bigger worry, but the scavengers would have easier meals before long. Maybe even right here.

From ten feet away, the area didn't look undisturbed, but it wasn't clear there was a stash there. Nobody would expect one. It would do. Besides, Hector had a lot of redundancy.

He also had a lot of work to do. No telling how long he'd been shadowed. If he was going to share, it would be by choice, not by default. Certainly not without being asked.

((Hector Quayle continued in the))