Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Day Four-Forty-Three: All's fair in love and trials


I have a judge. Now I need jurors.

This is tough. I've known, more or less from the start, that I need impartial jurors. That means people from outside the town. Not necessarily because I wanted the trial to be fair, mind, but because that's what's expected. I read a book once, and it said jurors have to be unbiased towards the case. So, like, that's a requirement.

Then I learned why they have to be unbiased, which brings us back to fairness. The truth. All that nonsense. For the briefest second that idea didn't appeal to me, and I contemplated getting people who hate Jeffrey's guts so he'd be prosecuted for sure, but… the thought of Daena angrily putting her foot through my face for stacking the odds… not good. Not good at all. Especially now that I know Pagan will put Jeffrey to death if he's guilty.

(I wonder if Pagan would do it himself. He might. He's bloodthirsty, in an always-calm-but-ready-to-go-to-war-if-you-look-at-me-funny kinda way. He DID lop off my dad's arm, y'know.)

So yeah. Fairness. I need fairness. Which means I need jurors who don't give two hoots either way about what happens. To that end I sent a small delegation of travellers out to nearby towns to find people who might be interested in sitting on a jury for thirty gold. Preferably intelligent people. Edmund's leading a little group of nobles I quietly hand-picked; I hope they bring back some good candidates, and not just brain-dead louts who are eager for money.

I never had to think about complicated stuff like this in the old days. I slept in a fish barrel some nights, for gods' sake. I was a simple man, with a simple barrel. And… perhaps a complex smell. Libby says I smelled quite ripe.

Oh, Libby. I kissed a woman who wasn't you. And she tasted like the underside of a barge. I assume. I've never licked a barge before. What scum I be.

Speaking of family, Doc is getting increasingly insistent that I bring Eve in for an examination. The little bugger shows up on my doorstep at least once a day with his cronies in tow, flat-out begging that I hand over a strand of her hair. I keep finding the door unlocked, as well, so I suspect he might be trying to sneak in and steal her hair off her pillow or something. Little does he know that her hair never seems to drop off her head.

Which is… really weird. Now that I think of it. Huh.

Anyway. Alongside all this judging nonsense, I'm thinking of telling Doc to leave town. I don't mind the rest of the swaddled-up desert-dwellers, but he's a bloody nuisance. And nobody trusts him. I fear he might be a quack, and a prosperous town like Pubton has no room for quacks.

Yeah. Maybe I'll give him the boot tomorrow. That sounds like a plan. It'll give me something to do while I wait for news on jurors. I'm really impatient to get this trial moving, gotta say. Before something else happens.

Things are coming. My dreams keep telling me so.


Dragomir the Mayor

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