The Case of the Missing Crown Jewels

The air in the royal garden hung thick with the scent of roses and the even thicker scent of King Rufus’s growing desperation. He was practically vibrating, his crown askew, his royal robe trailing through the dew-kissed grass. “Another one!” he wailed, pointing a trembling finger at a glint of gold nestled amongst the velvety crimson petals of a prize-winning rose. “It’s just… everywhere! Like a very shiny, very expensive rash!”

Squeaky, perched on a low-hanging branch of an ancient oak, twitched his nose. “You see, Your Majesty,” he chirped, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves, “it wasn’t stolen at all. It was merely… redistributed.”

“Redistributed?” Rufus sputtered, his face turning a shade of purple that clashed spectacularly with his royal attire. “This isn’t a charity drive, Squeaky! This is grand larceny, or at least… grand misplacement!” He kicked at a pebble, then immediately regretted it, fearing he might have dislodged another precious coin. “Are you sure about this, squirrel? Absolutely, positively, no sneaky goblins or thieving magpies involved?”