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You have half a mind to throw the coins he has poured onto your palm back in his face. But, as your father would often say, "not too hasty, lad, not too hasty; ours is a waiting game". So you shove the coins in your pocket and take a breath. The reeve nods, considering the business concluded, but you grab him firmly by the arm, and, leaning in to his ear, you pour out such venom that his pallor lightens by two shades.
He stammers out some weak protest, that it is your word against his, and before the lord, his word will prevail. To which you reply that in his word is to his trade as your nets and traps are to yours. Supposing your father wasn't the only man to have had his hard-earned silver "put away" by the reeve? And supposing further that some of the lord's silver was "put away" too? What is his word worth then? To the villagers or the lord?
"That's a damned lie!" says the reeve, and then, seeing all turn eyes upon him, he thinks the better of making a scene and lowers his voice. Whether a lie or no, he knows that in the matter of debts, the old lord is an even greater "fair-dealer" than the reeve, for he's not had much luck in his recent campaigns, having come away with less gold then with which he set out. The lord will not lose any opportunity to extract his pound of flesh should one arise. Half the purse, the reeve now offers, slowly counting out his share for "services rendered".
But you'll have the full amount or nothing. Or God help you, you'll not rest till every man spit twice at the name of Delaney the Reeve. Amelia is appalled at your conduct and jumps to her father's defense, but the money is yours to pay out as you please. You'll make all the dealings yourself if need be, without the reeve's service, but you'll have the whole amount. The reeve, to his credit, is a man whose blood is slow to boil. After a mere moment's thought, he composes himself, dismisses his daughter's attentions, even smiles at you (in a tight, cunning way) and pours the silver he had pinched out back into the purse. Then he hands the purse to you. "Spend it in better health than your father," he says, before marching away.
First order of business:
>Pay the church for the funeral service and for a headstone for your father's grave, a luxury few can afford
>Run home to hide the silver in a safe place, before word spreads of your new riches and the vultures come to roost
>Stay behind to pay off anyone who claims a debt of your father, so that none claim he was a dodger
>Write-in
