Taking a few extra minutes to double check everything, Handy doused the witch torch, threw an old blanket over himself, and left the house. It was absolutely pissing rain, which only helped him conceal himself in the dead of night, even though it added about another hour to his journey trying to get back to the shed. He almost stumbled right into a patrol of guardsponies taking shelter from the rain in one alley, chatting miserably to each other as they futilely tried to shake the chill as the water soaked down their armours. He eventually made it and, sure enough, he found the shed unlocked. The old pony, or his wife admittedly, had noseyed into the shed while he was gone. The coffin had moved, so that was further evidence they had been mucking about curiously. Handy was just glad he didn’t actually get past the locks on his armour boxes, which also held most of their gear, which would have led to some rather uncomfortable questions to say the least once Thorax and Jacques got back.