Alan Foster - Kingdoms of Light

A grim-visaged ogre (was there any other kind, Oskar wondered?) lumbered forward. With a disapproving oink, it took the shaft from the dog-man's jaws. It hurt Oskar more to let go of it than it had to keep it gripped between his teeth. Exhibiting an unexpectedly light touch, the strapping sentry placed rod and globe back in the display case and slid the door shut behind them, nudging the latch back into place with a blunt forefinger as thick around as Oskar's leg.

Other armed and armored enchanted folk proceeded to place heavy hands on the intruders. As they did so, the voice that had interrupted the attempted theft, which had come so near succeeding, spoke again. It arose from a decidedly charmless ratlike individual who stood quivering with delight and repressed ferocity between a pair of dark-winged, gargoyle-faced night fliers. The speaker had a pointed snout, quivering whiskers, rust-red fur splotched with white spots, alert ears, blazing homicidal eyes, and teeth like needles.

"You'll break no spells, dead meat," snarled the quoll Quoll. "Neither light nor color will you return to the Gowdlands. You'll spend your time in gaol purple, you will, and by the time you get out—if they let you out—there'll be nothing left of the Gowdlands to save. All resistance will have been crushed, the last wizard expunged, and all rebels fled, dead, or missing their heads." Cackling gleefully, he pronked about in delighted, triumphant circles.

"After our last encounter, it was decided we should follow and watch, watch and follow, and bide our time. Please to understand, that's not my style. I like to tear straightaway into quarry every chance I get. But my colleagues"—and he indicated the two softly squeaking bats that flanked him—"managed to persuade me to be patient. So wait we did, until you reached your goal. Only when you were on the verge of winning it did we act."

Ruut stepped awkwardly forward, membranous wings luffing about him like wrinkled black sails. "We had been waiting for a good time to strike. Thanks to your actions, we did not have to decide. This is better—much better. Once informed of a burglary in progress, the local law came shambling with admirable speed."

Raising up on his hind legs, Quoll thrust a quivering forefoot in their direction. "All this time, all this following and waiting, and we didn't even have to fight! By your own actions, you've done yourselves in. All we have to do is sit back and take pleasure in the consequences."

That is what the trio of duplicitous devils proceeded to do, smirking as an elf of scowling mien pushed his way past the guards, stepped over the pinioned Samm, and confronted the rest of the accused. Resigned dog and choleric cats he eyed gravely. Noting the several large nets held by a number of the guards, Taj stayed perched on Oskar's head and prayed for an opening.

"You are charged under Articles XXVIII through XXXII of the Code of the Kingdom with multiple counts of attempted theft of public property, use of a public facility for nefarious purpose, conduct unbecoming guests of the Purple, and general felonious naughtiness. You are to be bound over to the Court of Proscribed Enchantments for trial and sentencing."

Mamakitty frowned. "How can we be bound for sentencing if there hasn't yet been a trial?"

"Procedures must be followed." Stepping back, the imperious elf gestured to the ogres. "Take them and see that they're properly secured. Make sure the bird doesn't get past you. I'll see to the necessary paperwork."

"Your pardon, meritorious sir," husked Ratha as the downcast travelers were escorted from the room, "but can we drink their blood?"

"Sorry," the elf replied. "Against city ordinances. But I'll speak to the presiding magistrate. Considering the help you and your friends have provided in this matter, perhaps something can be worked out."

Greatly pleased with themselves and the evening's evil they had wrought, the twosome of vampire bats alternately walked and fluttered at the head of the somber procession. In a fever of triumphant excitement, Quoll danced and darted back and forth in front of the crestfallen captives. The taunting of prisoners, evidently, was not against the regulations of the kingdom.

Only when all was once again silent within the exhibition room of multicolored lights of other kingdoms in the Celebrated Grand Mystic Museum of the Exalted Kingdom of Purple, save for the gossiping voices of distant strollers, did a small, compact figure emerge from the depths of the ornate Havetra'ng vase of spun spidersilk and regurgitated moonbeam where it had been hiding. Checking repeatedly to make certain that the way out was clear, a grateful Cezer fled as fast as he could for the pastoral, treed sanctuary of the Grand Commons.

If they had not been under arrest, Oskar and his companions would have marveled at their surroundings. The interior of the Justice Building was fashioned of twinkling spun glass and limpid crystal, all of it vibrant with purple and lavender light. Preoccupied pixies darted down corridors while mercurial sprites delivered missives from one chamber to the next. Trolls conferenced in the darkest corners, elves engaged in slavish banter, and something like a squashed sphinx limped slowly past on all four legs, complaining mightily to an attentive retinue of sylphs whose sleek flesh jiggled like tapioca pudding.

The courtroom was small; barely large enough to hold the prisoners, their ogrish guards, a modest audience, and a goggle-eyed, multiarmed court reporter. Oskar, Mamakitty, and Cocoa were seated in the front rank of a triple row of bloated toadstools that sparkled with petrified dew. Next to them, Samm lay stretched out and splinted to keep him from making use of his powerful coils, while a dispirited Taj found himself, for the first time since their original transformation, back in a locked cage.

To make things infinitely worse, the object of their long, grueling journey sat glowing whitely on its rod in the evidence box at the front of the courtroom, within easy reach of the prisoners—if one discounted the presence of the brace of heavily armed trolls that flanked it on either side.

On a back bench, a quietly triumphant Quoll sat flanked by a silent Ruut and Ratha. Oskar growled in their direction, only to have their gleeful foe respond with a taunting, infuriating smile.

The nearest guard cuffed Oskar smartly upside the head and grunted. "No snarling in the courtroom. Show some respect."

Shortly thereafter, a door opened behind a toadstool of truly prodigious dimensions, and a figure appeared within. As it tottered up to the oversize fungi, a sprite clad in flowing frillwork appeared from nowhere to tootle on a small, cochlear horn.

"Hear ye, hear ye! The City Court of the Kingdom of Purple is now in session. His honorable and mystic magisterial elf self Judge Cooble Pilk presiding." A second, slightly less elaborate tootle from the tinny trumpet, and the sprite vanished.

Ascending all of two feet to the high chair located behind the commanding toadstool, the judge had extraordinarily large, pointed ears, a shiny forehead from which a few determined, scraggly hairs emerged, narrow, intense dark eyes, and the long, supple fingers of a courtesan. The lavender-whitish wig he wore spilled in carefully powdered curls down his back, onto the floor, and beyond, stretching several feet in two directions. No book lay open before him, nor was a gavel of any kind close at hand. Pushing out his hairy lower lip and glaring importunately at the unhappy prisoners, he folded his hands and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the curved, slightly flexible surface of the toadstool.

"Well? Do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence?" From the back of the room, one of the bats snickered loudly.