“So tell me, Mr…?”

“Scarey,” the scarecrow said, removing Babathiel’s hat and bowing. “Scarey Pritchard.”

“Right, yes,” the inspector said. “Mr. Pritchard. You seem to have an unreasonably large collection of eyeballs. Care to elaborate?”

“Tell him they are just for sightseeing,” Babathiel’s hat told Scarey through their psychic link. “A joke to break the tension and make you seem less like an obvious dummy.”

“They are for seeing sights,” Scarey said, laughing uneasily.

“…indeed so,” the inspector said, unconvinced. “I’m curious why you haven’t declared them on your Form 1BDI.”

“I’m holding them!” Scarey blurted, before Babathiel’s hat could feed him any lines. “For a friend!”

“And what friend is that?” said the inspector.

“Don’t say her name-“ the hat began.

“Babathiel! My mistress Babathiel!” Scarey cried.

“Ah, well, that’s fair enough,” the inspector said. “I’ll just make a note to audit your mistress Babathiel when the opportunity arises. Naturally, as her thralls, you can’t legally he held responsible for her actions.”

Scarey looked up at Babathiel’s hat, smiling and giving a rickety thumbs-up. If the hat wasn’t capable of scowling, it certainly gave it a good college try at that moment.

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