Author's Ledger: As promised, my fair readers, I have written you a new chapter. I do hope you enjoy it and don't begrudge me the time it took for it to come about. Since you've waited long enough, I'm going to close my mouth and let you read. Good day to you all.

Danbamina

Icabod was at Mrs. Crowley's funeral, something about the doctor's hurried explanation of her death had him worried. As a result he'd shown up at the wake, which had been a closed-casket, odd for simply dying in her sleep. Then he'd gone to the funeral the next evening, a quick little sermon by the good Reverend and then the grave was filled in. It still seemed very odd, even for Sleepy Hollow. Icabod looked down at the little mound of earth that marked Mrs. Crowley's grave and thought over his choices about getting the truth in regards to her death. He could always just exhume the body, which was very highly frowned upon by the locals. He could badger Helen into getting the truth from the "good" doctor; she'd probably enjoy that and come back with absolutely no useful information. Or, he could simply go and talk to the mortician; the mortician would know and would probably tell Icabod.

"Icabod!" Helen's eerily cheerful voice cut through the graveyard's aura of gloom, Icabod spun around, expecting trouble.

"What?" He asked when he realized that nothing was amiss.

"You have a visitor. A lovely young lad who says he's the young Masbeth. Or the only Masbeth. I can't remember which; he changed his mind half-way through his introduction you see…" Helen clamped her hand over her mouth, "there I go again, just rambling on." She paused for breath and smiled at Icabod.

"Masbeth? He's here? Why?" Icabod mused aloud, wandering away from Helen towards Gunpowder, who was cropping the grass from on top of a grave. Icabod picked up the horse's trailing reins and mounted, looking around he noticed that Admiral was not with Helen, "Where's your horse, Helen?"

"Admiral? Oh. I'm not going to ride him for awhile. He's been ridden awful hard lately. You have to balance riding and resting or your horse will just get mean. At least Admiral will. He did it to John once…." Helen bit her lip and looked at her feet, "That's why he was walking home…..before…."

Icabod felt slightly awkward as he looked down at Helen, who seemed on the verge of tears. What was he supposed to do now?

"Well. You best be getting home, Constable." Helen brightened up quickly and started for the road, humming to herself.

Icabod walked Gunpowder over and stopped in front of her; he leaned down and offered her his hand, "We'd get home a lot quicker if you rode with me."

Helen smiled warmly at him, she placed her hand in his and he helped her up behind the saddle, Gunpowder flicked an ear back. Icabod braced himself for the inevitable bucking by closing his eyes and gripping the reins even tighter. Gunpowder simply picked up a nice easy canter and headed for home.

"Looks like you've got Gunpowder under good control, Icabod. You didn't even have to kick him and he's going home." Helen commented patting Icabod's shoulder with one hand and wrapping the other around his waist.

"He is?" Icabod asked in disbelief, it was hardly ever this easy with the stubborn horse, he cracked his eyes open enough to see the road and which way they were heading. Sure enough they were headed for home and at a reasonable rate too. Icabod smiled and laughed triumphantly, "I did it! I got the horse to listen without a fight!" Icabod nudged the horse's sides gently with his heels, "Come on Gunpowder! Let's get home a little quicker." He goaded.

Helen laughed and tightened her grip around Icabod's waist as Gunpowder lengthened his stride. Icabod glanced over his shoulder in surprise as Helen rested her chin on his shoulder, "Hello, Icabod."

"Hi Helen. Nice day isn't it?" Icabod smiled at her, feeling excited about having Masbeth around to help and how Gunpowder seemed to want to listen to him.

"I'm glad to see you haven't forgotten how to smile." Helen told him, "But shouldn't you be watching the road?"

Icabod started and looked forward again, "Quite right." Helen chuckled.

It wasn't long before they arrived back home to see a strange horse with a young man standing by its head tied to the porch railings, Admiral had stopped his grazing from his picket line and kept throwing his hindquarters at the new horse. Icabod pulled Gunpowder to a walk and then a halt. Helen slipped off and walked the rest of the way to the house on foot. Icabod dismounted and walked over to the young man. There was a moment of silence and a polite distance, then the young man came forward and hugged Icabod roughly.

"It's good to see you, sir." Masbeth said his voice hoarse and muffled against Icabod's shoulder, "New York's been terrible since you left."

Icabod patted Masbeth's back lightly, "It's alright?"

"Awww, would you look at that Liz. Isn't it just the cutest thing you've seen in a good long while?" Helen was standing in the door way, leaning against the door frame casually.

"Yes, it sure is, Miss. Now come inside and eat your supper." Liz's voice was distant. Helen winked at Icabod and headed into the house, closing the door behind her.

Masbeth moved away and coughed, "Sorry about that. Don't know what came over me." He apologized and untied his horse from the railings, "I'll just go and put Ghost here up."

"Ghost? He's brown." Icabod commented eying the light chestnut coat of the horse.

"Ah, but there's a story to his name…."

"You should really tell Helen about your horse. She'll appreciate far more than I will." Icabod motioned towards the stables, "You know where everything is. The big stall is Admiral's."

"Icabod! I know you're not going to keep Gunpowder tied up to the porch while you eat." Helen had wandered outside again and was leading an angry looking Admiral calmly past Ghost.

"Yes I was. He's a horse. He can stand outside for an hour while I eat." Icabod replied heading for the door.

"Icabod Crane! You come back here this instant and take care of your horse or I'll see to it that you don't get your supper until you've stood outside for an hour." Helen threatened.

"You're not going to just let me go eat are you?" Icabod groaned, he was so hungry it was actually painful.

"Of course not. Gunpowder is a good horse for you and how do you repay him? By making him stand outside for an hour while you go into the warm house and eat a delicious supper! I can't honestly see how you can have a clear conscience about it." Helen walked away; Admiral took one last, vicious swipe at Ghost as he passed, "Admiral! No sir!" Helen pulled down on the stallion's halter roughly, "That's very bad manners." She added primly, lightly slapping the horse's nose. Admiral lowered his head and walked sedately by Helen's side, "Good boy." Masbeth and Icabod stared after her in a slight state of awe as she headed for the stables.

Masbeth was the first to break the silence, "Is that how it always is with her and that horse?" he asked, looking at Icabod.

"That's how it is with her and all horses, Masbeth, I'm afraid." Icabod sighed, shaking his head and untying Gunpowder from the railings and heading for the stables.

"Why don't you just get her to stop Daredevil then?" Masbeth hurried after Icabod.

"I don't think she can handle dead horses." Icabod replied, "Though it is a good idea. Speaking of the Horseman. I have to go and visit the mortician tomorrow. Care to accompany me?"

"Of course. But why do you have to visit the mortician?"

"Information. I need more information." Icabod stated absentmindedly.

***

The mortician of Sleepy Hollow was a rather portly man who looked a bit like a rabbit. One of the fat, brown ones with floppy ears. People just called him 'M' mainly because he'd never told anyone his real name and that was the first letter of his chosen career. But also because he had a nasty habit of saying 'Mmmmmm' instead of 'yes' and 'no'. He was extremely hard to talk to and only revealed information for money because his memory was "a bit fuzzy" and needed some "clearing up". Icabod had heard of the mysterious M when he first started interviewing people and had him marked down as one of the prime suspects for having control of the Horseman. Icabod didn't bother knocking on the front door, he just went right in. The mortician was sitting at his desk, scribbling away on a sheet of parchment.

"Excuse me, M but I have some questions for you and you're going to answer them without bribes." Icabod announced, slamming his hands on the desk and looking into M's beady brown eyes.

"I wouldn't make a man of the law bribe me. That's immoral." M pushed back his chair and got up, he shoved the parchment into Icabod's hands, "You'll need that later. But for now. I suppose you've come about Mrs. Crowley? Didn't believe the good doctor did you?" Icabod opened his mouth to reply but M cut him off, "I wouldn't have either. You've probably also come to warn me to watch my step because I'm on your list of suspects. You don't have to worry about me in that department. I don't believe in witchcraft so I couldn't have done it." M moved to a cabinet in the corner and pulled out a bottle of scotch and three glasses, "Glad to see you could join us, Masbeth."

"Thank you sir." Masbeth walked over and stood by Icabod's side.

"You gents care for a drink? Mind if I have one?"

"No thank you. We prefer to remain sober when interrogating people. And no. We don't mind." Icabod said quickly, "How do you know so much?"

"Well." M took a sip of scotch, "I'm a mortician. I don't get much business in this hollow, until recently that is, and so I just sat out front and listened. From that I've taught myself to read people. For instance, Masbeth here, he finds your friend Helen attractive. Course he lacks the courage to tell her that he thinks she's very pretty and good with horses. That satisfy your curiosity as to how I know so much?"

"Lies. It's all lies, sir. Sure, Helen's pretty and good with horses but I don't fancy her." Masbeth said truthfully to Icabod.

"Well that's common knowledge lad. Thinking a woman pretty means you find her attractive." M commented.

"Enough of your mind games." Icabod reached up and rubbed his temples for a moment, "How did Mrs. Crowley die? That's all I want to know."

"Would you like it in technical terms or more common speech?" M took a gulp of his scotch and wiped his mustached mouth with the back of his hand.

"I don't care. Which ever one is faster." Icabod sighed; M was very frustrating to work with. If he was controlling the Horseman it was amazing that anyone had gotten beheaded at all.

"Simply put, Constable, her head was lopped off by the Hessian."

"Doctor Roberts said she died in her sleep." Masbeth pointed out, "That's what you told me, Icabod."

"Yes, because that's what he told me." Icabod gritted his teeth, "The filthy liar…"

"She did die in her sleep. Just not peacefully." M cut Icabod off, "He didn't lie. He told you the truth. Just a half-truth."

"Oh shut up." Icabod snapped, "Come along, Masbeth. We're leaving." Icabod spun on his heels and left the room quickly. M was very annoying.

"Where are we going sir?" Masbeth asked as they mounted their horses.

"Home. For supplies." Icabod stated bluntly, as they trotted out of the village.

"Why do we need supplies?"

"Because, we're going to the Western Wood and it helps to be prepared for anything, Masbeth. We may even spend the night." Icabod sniggered, "Camping in the Western Wood. It's going to be so much fun."

"Are you feeling alright, sir? You're acting a bit…strange."

"Of course I'm alright! Why wouldn't I be alright?!" Icabod snapped at Masbeth.

"No reason." Masbeth replied quickly, "No reason at all."

Icabod and Masbeth trotted on towards the large house on the hill. It wasn't far but the silence between them made it seem so much farther than it really was. Masbeth was feeling a bit apprehensive of Icabod in his current, slightly crazed state of mind. But since he felt a certain loyalty towards Icabod he couldn't tell him that he wasn't going to the Western Wood with him. So he kept his mouth shut and his fears and suspicions to himself. At least for the moment it would suffice.

Author's Ledger: It seems that Icabod has once again been joined by his faithful, if a bit skeptical, "side-kick" Masbeth. Perhaps the investigations will go a bit quicker now that Icabod has another mind to help him. The Western Wood, a very scary place for the residents of Sleepy Hollow, since it is the resting place of the Hessian himself. Has Icabod really lost his mind? Or is he just feeling a bit off color? Perhaps a visit from the doctor will help?

Please do review, I've missed the commentary so much. The story will soon be at a close and I'm afraid that my readers are growing bored with it. I should have at most five chapters left to write and at least two. It all depends on how I manage to get the plot to progress as I'm turning several ways to get to the end over in my mind. The longer ones are better but the shorter ones are easier to write. Oh well. I'll probably go with three or four more chapters. It all depends on you, my fair readers.

But please, do review. As I've said before, the more reviews I get, the faster I update. This is because you simply inspire me. And that's not idle flattery.

Your Faithful Author,

Danbamina