Around seven in the evening, the crew working on the dig called it a night. Each beast parted ways after ensuring their gear was packed up, and the dig was safely covered with a tarp. Over-night security had been hired to ensure nothing happened to the site during the evening hours. The last thing they needed was somebeast deciding to go on a treasure hunt of their own.

Dr. Stepimus Lockben, had the longest commute home. He lived further into the countryside, about forty-five minutes on the motorway, then another twenty over the woodland roads. Through the meandering drive of neatly trimmed rose bushes, and ivy covered bricks, the hare finally came to his own cottage. Fethringsol Cottage, had been one of the properties owned by his late uncle Francis Lockben. A hare renown for both his fortune, and eccentric behavior. As he had no children of his own, the cottage was left to his nephew Septimus and his family. It had served as their home ever since.

Parking the car, the hare waved a paw towards the mole gardener. Jon Soilfurr and his wife Marb had worked for the Lockben's for seasons. Jon was a skilled handy-beast and gardener, while Marb was a skilled cook, and excellent housekeeper. As any polite mole would do, Jon tugged his snout as the hare got out of his car.

"Hurr, gud day to ee doc Locken." He waved his digging claws cheerfully and went back to trimming the hedge.

"Hello Jon, how's the family?"

"gudd gudd." The mole nodded not looking up from his work. Jon was a mole of few words.

Dr. Lockben took off his jacket and shoes in the main hall way. It felt to be back at the cottage after such a long day working in the outdoors. While this dig was exciting, Septimus usually worked in an office.

"Is that you Septimus?" A voice rang out from another room.

"Yes M'dear, sorry I'm a bit tardy this evening. Do hope I haven't missed supper." He fixed the collar on his shirt and followed the voice of his wife. He could hear another voice, wriggling his ears he called out. "Do we have guests Claria?"

Stepping out from the small office Claria Lockben waved her husband to come closer. "No, not exactly. Come, I have something to show you, 'tis absolutely brilliant." Beaming she hurried back into the office.

He followed, still a little confused. In the small study, Claria was sat at the desk. She rarely used the computer, not really comfortable with technology. She liked it for reading the news, and the family's emails. Every morning since they first set up email, Claria would print the daily emails and bring them to her husband with his morning tea. The family went through many packages of paper each season, due to this little tradition.

Glancing towards the computer screen, he spied the face of male hare staring back at him. This fellow it seemed, was sitting at his desk, a great map of the world in the background. While he was nearly thirty seasons old he wore an orange t-shirt with: I do my own stunts printed across it in bold lettering. About his neck, was a braded rope necklace. Both these things not the sort of attire Septimus approved of.

The male hare waved smiling. "Hello father."

Septimus blinked. "Wot is all this business."

Before his wife could explain the video of his son spoke up. "It's called Skype father, absolutely spiffin invention. You use these webcams right, an' it's just like making a telephone call only with video. So 'ere I am, in bally Madrid talking to the pair of you in Mossflower. Brilliant isn't it? Oh, Sackfirth has it too now, so you and mum can speak with him and the grandkids."

Septimus nodded approvingly. Speaking loudly into the computer's microphone in reply. "Jolly good, Quince."

"Dad, y'don't have to shout. I can hear you loud an' clear sah." The cheeky hare winked. Then excitedly he clapped his paws. "Big news. The journal is sending me t'South Africa, for four weeks to do some photography for them. " Quince was a travel writer and avid photographer. This suited his traveling spirit perfectly, although it gave his mother much to worry about.

"I hope told them you were not going Quince Wilfrand Sackfirth Lockben." Claria spoke up. "I've been watching the news, I don't want you getting tangled up in any sort of violence or danger. Hard enough with you and Sackfirth so far from home. "

"Mum, I'll be fine. Don't worry so much. An' Sackfirth is in Southwards, that's hardly far from home. 'sides I'm sure y' have enough to worry about with Porty. Don't waste yer worries on me mum."

As if on cue there was a loud rumble of a truck outside the cottage.

"What in seasons name is that?" Claira wondered out loud.

"Not sure," Stepimus leaned in towards the mic once more. "'fraid I must go now Quince. I'll see you, er, chat with you, er wotever with you, some other time." Leaving the office he returned to the hall. As he opened the front door he spied a tow truck hauling a heavily damaged car. The very car he had given his youngest son Portan. There was a ten season gap between Portan Fedlric Lockben and the second son Quince. While his parents were overjoyed with his arrival, he was a bit of a surprise. As he was the only Lockben child still living at home, he frequently stepped over the line with his father. It would appear at times, that Portan went out of his way, just to aggravate his father. This incident was no exception.

Ears straight up, and cheeks puffed out, Stepimus stomped towards his youngest. "What in the name of all bogglewobbled seasons is this about? Porty you lop-eared ripscutt whatever have you done?"

The teenage hare looked rather nonchalant about the damaged car still on the tow-truck. "Oh, this, y'see father I was driving home from football practice, and a bally post must 'ave jumped out in front of me. I'm sure it isn't nearly as bad as it looks. The driver was even kind enough t'give me a ride home. Decent sort of chap, that."

The driver in question handed Portan a slip of paper, then drove off with the damaged car.

"Here father, the good chap says m'car will be fixed by week's end. He's the bill, so that you can take care of it. " He casually passed the paper over to his father's paws. His mannerisms apparently unable to notice his father fuming beside him.

"You have some brass nerve m'boy to lollop up t'me and hand be the blooming bill." Septimus glanced over the paper, it did nothing to quell his anger. "Eighty-seven pounds for the tow and another seven hundred for estimated repairs? I say sirrah, I won't be footing this expense for you."

Portan looked surprised. "Won't pay for the repairs? But how am I jolly well supposed t'go anywhere?"

Folding up the bill, his father began shuffled back towards the house. "You can take public transport, an' you can get a job t'pay for those dashed repairs."

Wrinkling his nose, Portan followed several paces behind, muttering. "Public transport indeed, what am I on, assistance or some rubbish like that?"

8888888

A ring of the telephone awoke Wally and his wife May. Blinking several times the otter glanced toward the alarm clock on the bedside table. "Oh for the love o' all things bright an' beautiful, who's calling at three in the morning?" He grumbled then pulled the pillow over his head. Wally hoped that, whoever it might be, would realize the late hour and call back later. The phone didn't stop ringing.

May prodded her husband's shoulder. "You'll have t'answer it."

"No." Came the muffled reply, from under the pillow.

"Wally, might be important."

"Or it could be a bloody telemarketer. I'm sleeping, like any sensible beast should be."

Sighing, May got to her paws and out of bed. "Well I'm going to see who it is. They're being persistent, must be important."

There was some inaudible mumbles from under the pillow as the otter-wife answered the telephone. A few moments passed, Wally was just about to fall back into slumbers when his wife returned.

"Wally, wake up, it's the police. There's been a robbery at the dig site."