Whoa. WHOA. I didn't expect this to happen,
no sir. No sir indeed. That slippery jerk.
I set out this morning with the intention
of seeing Doc ejected from town. He's creepy, he's distrusted by the populace,
he's constantly pawing at my little girl's hair, he may be breaking into my
house when I'm not home. Also, he might be spying on me. Definitely has to go -
and it's because he's probably spying that he won't be leaving today. Little
bastard led a revolt against me.
I was halfway from his tent when a mob, a
MOB, descended on me. At that time of day I'm used to the streets being largely
empty as everyone's at work, so to see all of Pubton (no slaves, no newcomers,
only the people who used to live in the castle, minus those at Libby's camp)
marching towards me was… disconcerting? Yeah, that's a solid word.
At their head, pushed along by gentle but
insistent hands, was the delegation I'd sent out to find jurors. Namely, Edmund
and a few nobles. Ed grimaced and shrugged. Not hurt, clearly, but not going
anywhere either.
Lonnie the Noble planted his hands against
his hips as the mob pulled to a halt in front of me, his face stormy yet
triumphant. "Thought you could slip this by us, did you, Mr. Mayor?"
I gawked. "Wh… what the hell are you
talking about? What is all this?"
Half of the mob laughed. The other half
raged.
"You know damn well!" Lonnie
yelled, jabbing a finger into the ruff covering Ed's left shoulder. "We
are not foolish, Dragomir! You wanted to bring in a jury of outsiders to
determine King Jeffrey's fate!"
"It's just Jeffrey, these days,"
I mumbled.
"EXACTLY!" Lonnie yelled, turning
to face the mob. "And we plan on KEEPING it that way! Do we not, my
friends?!"
The nobles, and a fair chunk of the
peasants, shouted their approval. A few others questioned Lonnie's authority,
and one of them even added "Didn't you try 'n kill yourself a few months
ago?"
Lonnie ignored this last jab. "Come
forth, all of you! Tell our illustrious mayor, who was so eager to retake his
spot, what Jeffrey has done to us! Tell him so he'll understand and
agree!"
And they did. Forming a massive circle
around me so I couldn't escape, the mob took turns coming up to me and sharing
their Jeffrey-related woes. As if I didn't already know he was a dick of a
king. I heard plenty of things from the peasants that I'd shared in myself while
working as a guard, all the asinine decrees and violent pronouncements and
horrible insults he'd heaped upon the populace. What I didn't know is that the
nobles had endured just as much pain from their former liege, including but not
limited to the following:
- Theft of personal property under the
guise of 'official kingdom stuff'
- The destruction of a commissioned and
meticulous statue of the king, worth a pretty penny, because Jeffrey claimed it
had 'looked at him funny'
- A dining invitation that resulted in an
evening of drunken insults, including the insinuation that the guest was a
'jackal-born pygmy goat with fiendish red eyes and a penis made of pythons'
(lord help me if anybody ever tries to paint or sketch such a hideous beast)
- A public flogging, because Jeffrey
thought the noble had stolen his favourite teddy bear (it was, in fact, under
Jeffrey's pillow)
- Temporary expulsion from the castle, and
the noble was only let back in after he professed his undying love to a
chipmunk… and then tracked one down and smooched it while Jeffrey watched and
laughed (this dude's always been a bit funny in the head, so I question whether
or not he just really likes chipmunks)
-
And, from Lonnie himself, 'sexual deviance and hints of desired
fornication' (another questionable one, but it really got the crowd riled up -
Jeffrey doesn't strike me as the unfaithful type, not that these people would
ever believe something positive about their old leader)
I listened to the arguments and
recriminations for at least three hours, and only managed to get out when I
allowed for a concession to the trial: the jury will include six of the
townsfolk and six outsiders of proper bearing. Only then were Edmund and
company allowed to leave town again, and only then was I granted leave by my
constituents to go home and say 'fuck it' to the rest of the day.
You… if I'm still speaking to a diary,
which seems questionable these days… are probably wondering where Doc fits into
all this. I didn't realize it, either, until I was allowed to leave.
Disbelieving and exhausted from such an
intense and emotional dialogue with the people of the town, I paused several
times on the way back home to stare at the mob. They were still chattering
away, many of them arguing, some exchanging high fives, though never between
social classes. Nobles and peasant still don't get along. Sigh.
At any rate, I noticed something while I
watched, something I hadn't noticed while being bombarded with stories. There
was, every now and then, a small blur of beige among the feet of the people, a
barely-imperceptible but definitely-there little figure that seemed to move
from group to group to group, hiding in the shadows of irate townsfolk. I
couldn't tell what it was doing, but its presence was enough to arouse my
curiosity.
With Barrel gone I've lost my spy, but I've
learned a thing or two about overhearing what I'm not supposed to overhear in a
crowd. Wandering back home, I swaddled myself in clothes left behind by the
house's previous occupants. Everyone knows I wear the same stuff all the time,
and I figured I wouldn't be noticed if I headed into the crowd looking like one
of the common folk.
I was right. The crowd was slow to
disperse, most of them still immersed in conversation and arguing over the fate
of Jeffrey. I mingled with them, pausing beside groups to listen and nod my
head without joining in on the talk. Eventually, after a good fifteen minutes,
I managed to isolate a single, jeering voice that also moved from conversation
to conversation, one that added venom to dangerous ideas and got people
bitching at each other. If a noble claimed the following, for example:
'Jeffrey should be imprisoned for the rest
of his days!'
The voice would chime in with:
'But what if we killed him instead? Hmm? Isn't
that fitting? Only an idiot would think he should get tossed in prison.'
Which would usually spark agreement and
disagreement from multiple parties as the original noble searched for the
person who insulted him. Eventually the debate would return to the voice
suggesting that prison was the best fate for someone as vile as Jeffrey,
reigniting all of the arguments and sending the lot of them into a tizzy.
I recognized the voice. It was Doc's. He
made a poor attempt to disguise himself, but I know it was him, because
eventually he noticed me - and he pointed me out to everyone.
"Hey, look! It's the mayor! Mmm,
spying on us, are you, Mr. Mayor? Answer some questions, more questions! Are
you planning to let Jeffrey go?"
More angry debates. More stories. And,
thanks to my disguise, questions about my motives. Now people are dogging me
whenever I leave my house, which keeps me from visiting Doc's tent and kicking
him out of town.
He must have known. Must have read this
diary last night and figured the only way he could keep me busy would be to get
everyone riled up about the trial. Hell, maybe he's been doing it since he got
here. But why? Isn't he just some goofy doctor? Or is he that hell-bent on
staying in Pubton? I don't have an answer… but I do have suspicions.
Gods. He gets the boot tomorrow. I don't
care if I have to drag a dozen peeved petitioners into his tent with me, I'm
getting rid of the little bastard when the sun comes up.
Sincerely,
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