Geoffrey returned to his castle one day to find that half a turret had disappeared.
He hadn't heard of any storms nor had he noticed any signs of structural weakness, so the sight of the stunted turret as he cycled down the driveway came as something of a shock.
He made his way inside and ran up what was left of the spiral staircase to take a look. The break was clean; the top section of the tower had been meticulously removed, brick by brick.
But by whom?
Geoffrey asked Ablett, his retired butler, to come in overnight and keep an eye out on the CCTV for anything untoward.
His lordship slept well, reassured by the presence of a guard, but awoke to the news that the portcullis had gone. (Ablett had slipped out the back for a fag around three.)
Nothing further vanished throughout the next day. As evening fell, Geoffrey joined the contrite Ablett to take the onus off the tired old man. The night ticked by, but the thieves did not return. Perhaps that marked the end of it, thought Geoffrey.
As the Sun rose over the castle, he sent the butler on his way and slowly dropped off to sleep. By the time he awoke, the moat had been drained, the oak trees uprooted and the second half of the turret taken apart.
The castle had stood for four hundred years, but was gradually being dismantled, dissected by a determined and elusive band of anti-builders. And Geoffrey had no idea how to stop them.
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