A VILLAGE CALLED PENCROSS

"On the same day as the funeral as well"

Everyone in Pencross remembered, with distinction, where they were and what they were doing the night the alarm bell sounded, it was only four days ago after all. But four days was all it took for a village to become a courtroom and rumors spread like fire and accusations flew like sparks.

After all, Wesley Jordan Brown was well liked among the people: Honest, approachable and sympathetic. His fortune was what first drew him to the off-the-wall village of Pencross, to, in his words, "Mend it". And, despite not having adjusted a single issue, the name Mr Brown had long since become synonymous with a good heart.

"Wesley Brown" Ada choked. "Was a loving man."

The church was scattered with nods of agreement from the biggest crowd it had seen since it's last witch burning.

"Not just a husband to me and a father to Ellis, but a friend-" She was cut off by her tears, leaving her sobbing at the altar before she was escorted to the front row by the Priest.

"I"m- i"m s-sorry" She muttered to no one in particular as he sat next to her daughter who was staring with wide, wet eyes at the hankie balled up in her fist. Her mother pressed her chest against her daughter's shoulder jerking with uncontrollable sobs.

Long-serving member of the church, Gerald Hyman, gave a sincere smile to the weeping woman and, bringing his hands to rest behind his back, took his place at the podium.

A sea of expectant faces restlessly watched the priest smile at them vaguely and clear his throat before beginning.

"As Ada was saying, Wesley Jordan Brown was a good man who deserved a lot better than this sudden death that tragically" He pinned a lot on this word. "-Befell him, but the lord, praise be, has decided that his soul should ascend and for that we are respectful."

This part sounded more like a threat than anything else, despite Gerald"s tone, but people were suggestive when hard times came, so it was easy to lull them into a sense of safety.

Gerald Hyman had been priest and leader of the church of Pencross for 70 years and counting, a job that had led to many opportunities and roles that he was grateful God had given him. Not to say that he didn't believe he deserved everything he got and that he had worked hard for the land he owned, the money in his pocket and the power he had, not just over the valuables but over their minds.

As he said, very suggestable.

"So with the knowledge that he is resting among the angels, we will pray-"

Rather suddenly and with a sense of awkward purpose, a sharply dressed man stood up quickly and with flair, then, without missing a beat:

"I would like to remind the room that my brother Frederick and I will be holding a small dinner service for our dear cosine. Only those who receive invitations, which I will send out tomorrow, may attend but you are welcome to bring gifts for the departed, thank you."

Mr Allen (for he refused to be called by his first name) politely nodded and sat, wiping his brow of sweat before turning to his brother who sat, beaming, next to him. Allen found his younger brother"s constant sense of optimism annoying at best and creepy at worst and right now, seeing the 19 year old smiling broadly at him during the service of a man that they had both known was closer to the latter which was something he found made him vaguely uncomfortable.

A lot of things made Mr Allen uncomfortable, however: funeral services for one and badly matched clothing for another which was why he found himself feeling twitchy when surrounded by, for lack of a better word (One that he could probably think of if he wasn"t so lazy when concerning the poor): peasants.