Day Four-Seventy-Six: Nope

"Not happening."

"Not happening?"

"Not happening."

"Well, why the hell not?!"

"Because I said so."

The last time I asked Pagan to do something in the Beefiary - hell, the last two times, now that I think on it - he agreed. I should've known that lightning wouldn't strike twice. Thrice. Whatever.

After sleeping away the weekend with Eve at my side, both of us exhausted from our long trip into the forest, I got up with a plan in mind. It's a plan I'd partially concocted the previous week, on the way home, and with a bit more fine-tuning I figured it would be a sure thing.

"Not happening." That's the reception it got. Well, gods dammit and dangit and fuck it all, why the hell not?!

"We can't delay the trial. If anything, I'd like to move it forward more swiftly, but Jeffrey's lawyer insists that it go 'by the books'. That means one trial date per week, two at the maximum. I imagine it will be ongoing for at least three, four weeks. Five tops."

I smashed my mug of ale onto the table as hard as I could, which, uh, wasn't that hard. Gave Bora something to clean up later, at least. "This's ridiculous. I've told you what's comin'. We need to defend this town, not point our bows at Jeffrey."

Pagan sipped his tea. "Strange. You were the one so intent on this trial in the first place. Have you changed your mind about our beleaguered monarch? Have you been sneaking into my manor to speak to him?"

"No! I wasn't even here for the last two weeks! I was kidnapped, remember?"

"Oh, right." Another sip. "How was that?"

"STOP CHANGING THE SUBJECT!"

I rose to my feet, huffing. Most of the Beefiary's clientele turned to look at me, though none of them seemed surprise. I'm kind of an emotional guy.

Pagan was unimpressed. He used his crane-capped cane to tap my shoulder. "Sit down, Mr. Mayor. I'll stay on target, I promise."

Shaking, I sat. I was picturing the Beefiary on fire, shadow things plunging through its windows and killing its patrons. I have a vivid imagination.

"You're quite ballsy these days, Dragomir. I can admire that. Very much like your father."

"Eugh, don't compare me to him."

"Sorry. But it's true. You're both stubborn asses. You, at least, are more susceptible to reason." Pagan shook his head. "We can't delay the trial because it will hurt morale. Yes, I am well aware that this town sits on the edge of a metaphorical Grand Chasm. And, yes, I agree that our focus should be on the defences. In truth, though, we're already focused on the defences. The trial just gives people something to talk about."

Cocking my head, I glanced out the window. A cart with several fresh-faced guards on the back, still unsure of their uniforms, rolled by the Beefiary.

"Your father's told me about what you did when this town was covered in the… things. What are they called again? The Noon? Nin? Non? Yes, Non. Anyway. Rather than giving in to despair, you distracted these people. You pushed them to train with whatever arms they could find, regardless of the actual odds that they might be able to survive. And that got them through."

"S'not all that got 'em through," I mumbled. Ugh. Grayson.

"Quite true," Pagan agreed. "That does not negate the importance of your actions. Rather than focusing on doom and gloom, you forced them to look at the positive. It's one of the reasons you're a good leader."

"But the circumstances have changed." Pagan drained his cup. "The invasion could take weeks to come. Months. Years. You can't keep these people on the edge for that long. They'll lose their minds. They have to focus on something else, at least for a while."

I ran my fingers through my hair, frustrated. "The trial."

"The trial." Pagan stood, leaning on his cane. "Your heart's in the right place. Your head just needs to follow. Get that wall finished and let me worry about Jeffrey. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." I gulped down a mouthful of ale. It still does nothing for me.

So that's that. The trial continues tomorrow. I think I can hold myself together this time, so I'm going to watch the proceedings from the upper balconies. If I start to freak out again, I'll just slip into a side room or something.

No more forest walks, though. I'm not going through that captive shit again.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor