on trying to rabble-rouse for now. “Yes, please.”
Jakob beamed at him happily and went to fetch Benji his snack. It was disconcerting how eager the guards all were to take care of him. At this rate he was more likely to die of a gingerbread-induced diabetic coma than poor treatment by his captors. It was all very confusing, and Benji was finding it very hard to maintain the rage in the face of a nice pale ale and an abundance of warm, freshly-baked gingerbread.
Jakob brought back his snack, and Benji could see from where he’d pressed his face against the bars for dramatic effect that it was artfully arranged on a pale blue patterned china plate. Before he unlocked the cell door Jakob said, “Now I know you’re in shackles, but we’re not going to have any of that ‘rushing the guard for freedom’ nonsense when I unlock the door, are we? Because this is my wife’s best plate, a present from her mother, and if it gets broken because you’re being a prat, she’ll be wanting to have words, and trust me, you don’t want the wife to Have Words.” He gave a tiny shudder.
Benji dredged up a distant memory from his childhood of being made to stand in a corner while his mother gave him the sharp edge of her tongue for using the good bedsheets to make banners for the revolution, and he shuddered in sympathy. Besides, he really wanted that gingerbread. He’d gone at least three hours without any. “No rushing the guard,” he agreed.
“Good,” Jakob said, and carefully unlocked the door. It only crossed Benji's mind for the barest second to try and escape before he discarded the idea. For one thing Jakob was right and he was still shackled, and for another thing Jakob was built like a brick outhouse if bricks were muscles, and Benji had no doubt he’d be able to restrain Benji just by sitting on him.
That, and it really was a pretty plate, and he didn’t want Jakob to get in trouble.
As well as the promised gingerbread, it held several slices of strudel, and Benji’s mouth watered at the scent of apple and cinnamon wafting through the cell.
Jakob leaned against the wall while Benji ate, whistling some tune that Benji didn’t know. He’d asked earlier and discovered that Jakob was in the local oompah band. Benji didn’t know what that was, and he didn’t want to know.
“So, what’s the legal system here in Tournel like?” he asked, licking fresh clotted cream off his fingers. “Do I get a lawyer?”
“Oh, of course,” Jakob said. “Well, you get Helga. She’s one of the councillors. We don’t have much use for lawyers around here, but Helga is also the librarian. I doubt there’s anything she hasn’t read about the laws of Tournel.”
Benji hummed. That didn’t sound too bad. And he was innocent, which had to count for something, right? Well, innocent of murder, at least. The treason stuff where he and Calarian had installed their own duke might be a little murkier. But they’d meant well. At least, Calarian had meant well. Benji hadn’t actually cared one way or another back then.
“Do you want me to see if there’s any more?” Jakob asked. “I only live next door. I can duck home.”
Benji passed him back the empty plate. “Yes, please. I’ve done a lot of personal growth in the past few days, and I need the extra calories.”
Jakob blinked, confused. Benji was pretty sure they didn’t know what calories were in Tournel, going by the amount of cream and sugar and butter they put into everything. He decided he would never break it to them.
“I’ll be back soon,” Jakob said, and slipped out of the cell. He locked the door behind himself.
Benji lay down on his mattress and patted his full belly while he waited for Jakob to return.
Except, when the lock clanked and the door swung open again, it wasn’t Jakob at all. It was Gunther, and a couple of big, burly guys who weren’t wearing guard uniforms. Goons. Of course a guy like Gunther had goons.
Goonthers.
Gunther cleared his throat and made a show of unrolling the scroll he was carrying. “Ebenjilarian Willowtree, you have been tried and found guilty of the murder of Duke Klaus of Tournel, and sentenced to death. That sentence will be carried out immediately.”
“What?” said Benji. “No, I haven’t. What trial?”
“A trial was held,” Gunther said, his mouth turning up in a thin, vicious smile. “You were