Day Four-Fifty-Six: Oh right, that trial thing

The real world has caught up with me again. By which, of course, I mean the world of politics. And legal mumbo-jumbo. And not-finding-my-wifeness.

Pubton's in a bit of a state. Because I was more or less heading the process of setting up a trial for Jeffrey - remember all that? - the whole thing ground to a halt when I took off for Pubtwon. Everybody in Pubton is horribly anxious, and demanding the trial begin as soon as possible.

And I can't blame them. Even without knowing that Pubtwon has been taken over by June, which I've been careful to hold back, there's a lot of tension in the world right now. News of falling kingdoms is coming in more and more often. Another went down along the Grand Chasm sometime last month, one that was renowned for its military-oriented queen. If a realm with a demonstrably large army can fall, what chance does our little town stand?

So they want the trial. They want it to get started immediately, because who knows how much longer Pubton will be around. They're frothing at the thought of Jeffrey being punished for his deeds, and though my enthusiasm has been dampened since the arrival of the Matriarch… yeah. I kinda still do too.

All this, coupled with the fact that most of our hunters and trackers are now stuck under June's spell in Pubtwon, serves as a way to explain why we're not searching for Libby. For my wife, who has been deluded into thinking her son is an angel, when he's… demonstrably… not.

I don't know where to look. I don't know how to look. I don't have the manpower, or the resources, or the connections in the outside world, to even consider beginning the hunt for June's hut. I also don't have the time, because as mayor I need to attend to the future defence of this town (which, admittedly, more falls under Evangelina's attention these days) and arranging the trial. Thank the gods that Harold's quite practiced at handling the day-to-day details by now, or I'd never have time to play father to my little girl.

Poor Eve. She's always so happy to see me in the evenings. She damn near bowled me over when I staggered back into Pubton the other day. She still doesn't talk a whole lot, poor thing, but her few words are always meaningful. Eve mends broken hearts as surely as she used to snap mammoth spines. Suffice it to say that my chest is feeling very busted-up right now.

Grayson.

By the gods, Grayson.

If you hurt her, I'll…

…

Hell. I don't know what I'll do. But the thought gives me bad dreams.

Today I'm sorting out the details of the trial. Edmund, good, dependable Ed, brought back six jurors from the outside world whom he thinks will do nicely as a jury. He claims they're all on the up-and-up: one's a Weekendist, one's a baker, one's a retired military man, one's an aristocrat from a fallen kingdom, one's an entertainer, and the last… is a platypus? Ed says he knows the guy, but… I didn't figure platypuses were intelligent enough to sit on juries. Strangeness abounds.

I haven't met the jury yet, and Ed tells me that's for the best. Since they entered town he's kept them cloistered in Pagan's mansion, waiting for the trial day, uninfluenced by the general mood of Pubton. The trial is now scheduled to begin next Friday, because all important things happen on Friday, and Jeffrey's trial should be no different.

Tomorrow, the other six jurors get picked. They're all coming from Pubton itself, so that's gonna be a tough call. Judging by the reaction I got from the townsfolk when the trial thing was in its infancy, I get the feeling people are gonna be freaking out to get on the jury.

Bah. I miss my Libby.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor