The Trial of Archivarius
The Court assembled.
No velvet curtains, no cabaret lights, only the stark, cold hall where records were read and fates sealed. The Queen presided, her ledger closed before her, hands resting on its cover like it was a tombstone.
Archivarius stood in the center, hooves planted, shoulders squared with the dignity of one who had kept every secret, every receipt, every law. His horns caught the dim light, his gaze shifting between defiance and unease.
Around him, the Court formed its circle. Bunny lounged with affected boredom, though his Grudge Book lay shut. Emma perched at the edge of her chair, spoon crossed over her lap like a gavel of her own. Jack stood behind, knife hidden but ready, his silence louder than any testimony.
Velin remained near the Queen, still and watchful.
The charges had already been written. There would be no argument, no counsel. The evidence was the evidence: misplaced records, threads too tightly knotted, truths held when they should have been released.
The Queen’s voice broke the silence, measured and clear.
“Archivarius. Custodian of the Court. Keeper of what was and what should never have been lost. You stand accused of dereliction, concealment, and betrayal of trust. How do you answer?”
The goat’s jaw worked. He swallowed once, then spoke.
“I answer with the truth I was given. If you call it betrayal, then betrayal it must be.”
His words fell like stones into still water. No one moved.
This was not a spectacle. It was a reckoning.
The court was quiet, still. They watched the Queen and waited for her decision. No one stood before the Queen without proof, and everyone knew that she had already arrived at her judgement, the only purpose of this trial was to witness what words the accused reached for first. Would it be admission of folly, deflection, denial, or worse...a lie.
The goat belched once, something fell out of mouth. He stared back at the Queen defiantly.
(Filed under: The Trial of Archivarius. Second set of drawers. Scene 6.)