are all trying my patience.”
“You heard her,” growled the lion. “You’ve had an audience with the Prime Minister’s mother, which is more than I can say for most. You should count yourselves lucky you got that much. Now leave!” He gave another fearsome roar which was so powerful the trio were literally knocked backwards by the sheer force of it, the wind from his breath causing them to stagger away.
“Alright, yes, we’re going,” Piggles hastily agreed, nodding at her two companions as they all scarpered away; Tails considerably shaken up by the experience.
“That cat, Tilde,” said Cociel once they were safely out of earshot of the lions. “I don’t think she knows. I don’t think she actually knows the half of what’s going on in the Reservation.”
“No, I don’t think she does,” agreed Tails.
“My mother didn’t get a trial. Hardly anybody gets a trial. They have a courtroom, yes, but I can’t remember the last time it was used, and even when it does, it’s Nine Lives that presides over it, and he’s the King. He’s not going to disagree with the Prime Minister.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Piggles. “The King isn’t under the thumb of Whiska. The King is an entity to himself. He can agree or disagree with the Prime Minister as he sees fit.”
“Well yes but…their interests are the same,” argued Cociel. “They both want cat rule.”
***
The short and seemingly unimportant conversation they had experienced with Tilde, turned out to be extremely crucial in securing Mr. Byrd the trial they wanted. When Whiska returned from another lazy afternoon spent with Strip, he was surprised to find his mother asking questions about the imprisonment of Mr. Byrd.
“When’s the trial?”
“What trial?” he asked, picking at his claws with his teeth and giving her a strange look.
“The trial of Mr Byrd, your latest prisoner.”
The strange look only deepened. Why was she asking about that? Of course, there wasn’t going to be any trial, but he didn’t want his mother to know that. “I don’t know…tomorrow maybe,” he shrugged.
Tilde nodded then, unbeknownst to Whiska, went to pay a little visit to the palace, to confirm the time and date for the trial. Of course, no one at the palace had even heard that such a trial was taking place. Tilde assumed there had been some kind of mix up. The thought didn’t even enter her head to blame her perfect, handsome young son, who could never put a paw wrong in her eyes. She blamed the Nine Lives administration, and after an audience with the King, demanded that the situation be rectified and a trial was booked into the court immediately.
Nine Lives had no opposition to the idea. He enjoyed trials and he fully supported them; he was more keen on a fair justice system than his dictatorial Prime Minister was. Keeping out of internal politics for the most part, the elderly monarch had no real idea just how many prisoners were being kept in those dungeons unfairly.
When Tilde returned to Catting Street triumphant and pleased with herself that she had put the useless monarchy in its place and managed to arrange the court date which they seemed to have so foolishly emitted from their diaries, Whiska was internally furious. Now, there was no way of getting out of it. Now, he had to give Mr. Byrd a trial, or else tell the truth to his dear old mother and break her heart.
“Thank you,” he managed to choke out, his tail swishing angrily from side to side as he walked off to his room to brood over the matter.
***
The trial was set for that very next morning and, once again, word spread fast throughout the Reservation. It was all anyone was talking about that day, everyone debating whether Mr. Byrd would be found guilty and sentenced to prison, or whether there would be some scrap of evidence that might enable him to go free. The views on the matter were mixed.
Some people were hoping and praying for his release. Others wished for his
“You heard her,” growled the lion. “You’ve had an audience with the Prime Minister’s mother, which is more than I can say for most. You should count yourselves lucky you got that much. Now leave!” He gave another fearsome roar which was so powerful the trio were literally knocked backwards by the sheer force of it, the wind from his breath causing them to stagger away.
“Alright, yes, we’re going,” Piggles hastily agreed, nodding at her two companions as they all scarpered away; Tails considerably shaken up by the experience.
“That cat, Tilde,” said Cociel once they were safely out of earshot of the lions. “I don’t think she knows. I don’t think she actually knows the half of what’s going on in the Reservation.”
“No, I don’t think she does,” agreed Tails.
“My mother didn’t get a trial. Hardly anybody gets a trial. They have a courtroom, yes, but I can’t remember the last time it was used, and even when it does, it’s Nine Lives that presides over it, and he’s the King. He’s not going to disagree with the Prime Minister.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Piggles. “The King isn’t under the thumb of Whiska. The King is an entity to himself. He can agree or disagree with the Prime Minister as he sees fit.”
“Well yes but…their interests are the same,” argued Cociel. “They both want cat rule.”
***
The short and seemingly unimportant conversation they had experienced with Tilde, turned out to be extremely crucial in securing Mr. Byrd the trial they wanted. When Whiska returned from another lazy afternoon spent with Strip, he was surprised to find his mother asking questions about the imprisonment of Mr. Byrd.
“When’s the trial?”
“What trial?” he asked, picking at his claws with his teeth and giving her a strange look.
“The trial of Mr Byrd, your latest prisoner.”
The strange look only deepened. Why was she asking about that? Of course, there wasn’t going to be any trial, but he didn’t want his mother to know that. “I don’t know…tomorrow maybe,” he shrugged.
Tilde nodded then, unbeknownst to Whiska, went to pay a little visit to the palace, to confirm the time and date for the trial. Of course, no one at the palace had even heard that such a trial was taking place. Tilde assumed there had been some kind of mix up. The thought didn’t even enter her head to blame her perfect, handsome young son, who could never put a paw wrong in her eyes. She blamed the Nine Lives administration, and after an audience with the King, demanded that the situation be rectified and a trial was booked into the court immediately.
Nine Lives had no opposition to the idea. He enjoyed trials and he fully supported them; he was more keen on a fair justice system than his dictatorial Prime Minister was. Keeping out of internal politics for the most part, the elderly monarch had no real idea just how many prisoners were being kept in those dungeons unfairly.
When Tilde returned to Catting Street triumphant and pleased with herself that she had put the useless monarchy in its place and managed to arrange the court date which they seemed to have so foolishly emitted from their diaries, Whiska was internally furious. Now, there was no way of getting out of it. Now, he had to give Mr. Byrd a trial, or else tell the truth to his dear old mother and break her heart.
“Thank you,” he managed to choke out, his tail swishing angrily from side to side as he walked off to his room to brood over the matter.
***
The trial was set for that very next morning and, once again, word spread fast throughout the Reservation. It was all anyone was talking about that day, everyone debating whether Mr. Byrd would be found guilty and sentenced to prison, or whether there would be some scrap of evidence that might enable him to go free. The views on the matter were mixed.
Some people were hoping and praying for his release. Others wished for his
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