6. The Wise Owl
Ginsea’s heart wanted to jump out of his chest. He’d seen every part of the palace during his flight from Wolfar, until the rapid footfalls behind him finally ceased. No more panting from a hungry wolf.
No, the panting had been replaced by a far lighter sound. A soft bleating.
He slowed down. This stone corridor, up high in the palace, was only lit by four dim candles and had heavy doors on both sides. Sure, the doors had latches on many different heights, to allow all sorts of animals to open and close it. But nobody would enter this corridor unheard, unless …
He took a few steps backward and looked to the side.
Three figures waited in a dark alcove, six glassy eyes looked at him pleadingly.
His clever brains connected the dots. Barbarian mission. Kill the king. And here, in a dark corner, he found three Barbarians.
“Do not fret,” Ginsea said. “I am not exactly a … friend of the royal family.”
“You also don’t look like a spy, hairy hamster,” a sheep said, revealing himself and a rat.
“Wait, you’re the Tattlerat, are you not?”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” He twisted his whiskers. “Unless you have some fun gossip for me …”
A bear also revealed herself. “Quick. What is the fastest route to the king’s bedroom?”
Ginsea pointed in the general direction, ready to explain the path towards it—then dropped his paw and his head.
“I won’t help you,” he spoke sadly. “Assassination? That is not the way. We must be better than that. I’ve been fighting for a week to lawfully throw the king of his throne. This was my speech.”
“And how is that going so far?” bleated Bar-Bar.
“Just walk away,” Tattlerat said. “Pretend you didn’t see us.”
“And what then? The entire Amorin empire sees a bunch of Barbarians who confirm they are criminals and unlawful! They’ll pretend the king was amazing, just so they don’t have to admit they like what you did.”
Footsteps. A vague echo of panting. Wolfar had rediscovered his trail; cold sweat could apparently be smelled from far away.
The hamster walked away; the trio of spies followed. They turned the corner, towards the dungeons. He was going there anyway to visit poor Himnib.
“Those laws of yours are supposed to help,” Bar-Bar said. “When they stop helping, they must change or go away. But you never manage that, do you?”
Ginsea’s voice squeaked, still offended despite his fear and exhaustion. “Without laws and culture we’d all kill each other! Steal each other’s wife! Steal each other’s food! You would never be able to sleep, never be able to trust, never be able to work together and build big palaces or aquaducts! And so it is!”
They were unable to get a lead on Wolfar, so they picked up the pace.
They stood before Himnib’s cell. The bear hadn’t eaten anything since he’d been locked up, and his sheep didn’t fare much better. He responded eagerly to the visitors, even though he was sluggish and his eyes half-closed.
“If you kill the king, then, following law 1.2, Wolfar will become the new king. I have seen tonight … that this might somehow be worse.”
Ginsea grabbed Himnib’s paw through the bars. As a gesture of support, but nothing else, for he had no good news. Himnib was still sentenced to the Flame one of the coming days, and it was his fault.
“Hmm. Sounds like I am in the right place for gossip,” the rat started.
“We do this lawfully,” Ginsea said fiercely. “We do it publicly, all eyes on us, in a courtroom. Otherwise we are just as bad. Otherwise …”
Ginsea stared at the slanted, broken floor tiles. All followed this gaze, but saw nothing but proof that Himnib had not received a single visitor or slice of help. Just for breaking some minuscule rules in a list of ten thousand rules, their reason long forgotten.
“Otherwise our entire civilization is for nothing,” the hamster mumbled.
The three spies looked at each other. Solong almost pushed herself through the bars to touch Himnib and tell him things would be alright, to study his wounds and caress his paws.
“I have summoned the Wise Owl,” Ginsea said.
Himnib managed a faint smile. A smile they all needed. “Ah. Aria will come, surely for her favorite Companion.”
Then Himnib fainted or fell asleep, they couldn’t know.
Heavy paws stormed down the stairs into the dungeons. The Barbarians decided, without a word, to abort the mission and run for the exit on the other side.
Ginsea followed gladly, but didn’t leave Amor. He stayed. He even went to the richest neighborhoods in Amor with a final plan in his head.
The next time Ginsea entered a courtroom, he had twenty personal guards. He wanted fifty, but that didn’t fit inside the room. It was already overflowing with the Amor inhabitants he invited.
The Council found it amusing. Wolfar was about to explode.
The Amori had heard of his court case against the king. They had heard of the events inside the palace from him, but especially from the Tattlerat. Solong had spread the stories about sweet Himnib who was locked up.
Hundreds of animals now crowded the room holding wooden planks filled with angry messages and a call to make Ginsea the new king. He now realized removing the king was only half the fight; putting a better person in his place was the other half.
But he would succeed. Following the law, as one should.
He walked into the room with a smile and confidence, the support of the inhabitants like a warm blanket around his shoulders.
Until he saw who decided to attend this meeting as well: the king himself.
“Objection!” yelled Ginsea. “The accused may not be judge at their own process!”
“Who says so?” Wolfar grunted. “The law clearly states the king may decide to attend the court at any time and deliver his godly justice on any case.”
He doubted this was the king’s own idea. He mumbled nonsense words, spit dripping from his chin. His eyes twisted and twirled, as if he tried to follow a circus act before him. The stench of alcohol hit Ginsea, even at this distance.
“Fine,” said Ginsea. “It won’t make a difference. My pile of evidence is too large to topple with vile tricks. That king won’t sit on a throne for one day more.”
“Nonsense!” the king screamed instantly, as if it had been rehearsed.
Wolfar kept calm. “Many creatures who agree with you is no proof at all.”
Ginsea raised a paw. A timid creature, making herself smaller than she was, walked to the center.
“That is true. Only one creature—the right creature—needs to agree with him.”
The wolf stood tall and looked at Wolfar with blood-shot eyes.
“I am Wenra, late Wodrik’s wife, an adult member of the royal family. So my testimony is proof.”
She swallowed. Wolfar was already coming for her.
“Nonsense!” the king screamed again, before Wenra had even said anything. “This court case is a sham! I condemn you all to the Flame, including the Council!”
Wolfar pushed his father back. “My father, erm, hasn’t slept well.”
“Nonsense!”
“You haven’t even seen the king or spoken to him the past years,” Wolfar said to Wenra. “All you say about him is a lie.”
“Let the witness speak,” yelled Ginsea through the chaos.
“I won’t say anything about the king, indeed,” said Wenra, her face neutral now. “I declare that Wolfar is guilty of the murder of my man, Wodrik.”
Both sides of the isle exploded. The entire Council stood up, ready to storm the center of the room, as the supporters of Ginsea pushed at their back.
“According to rule 3.7.2,” Ginsea yelled, “Wolfar is immediately sentenced to death. This court case requires a new judge, which can’t be the king himself. And if the king is removed from the throne, his only surviving son would be the new king. And so I have spoken!”
Wherever Wolzam may be, as nobody had seen him in a while. Either he returned and they had a better king. Or not, and Ginsea would fill the hole.
“Nonsense!” the king screamed once more, his tongue out of his mouth. “A woman can’t be an accusor!”
“I am the accusor,” said Ginsea. “She is merely witness.”
He smiled. The Council realized it too: they had him. All the domino pieces would fall, away from the king.
Wolfar spit past Ginsea. “I had hoped, my respected enemy, that I wouldn’t have to do this.”
The entire army, which had been gathered around the palace for a week now, marched into the room. The wolves and lions grabbed Ginsea and Wenra. Any Council member who protested was removed too.
“According to rule nobody cares and rule I made it up, I condemn everyone here to the Flame, as quickly as possible. Thus I concluded my judgment.”
He took the hammer into his mouth and banged the gavel against his wooden table, like a war drum that signaled his victory over Ginsea.
What was a little hamster going to do against large claws? Ginsea dropped his head, his mind broken. How had he ever thought he could make a difference, following the law, against stronger creatures?
The last thing he saw as a giant gray owl, through the windows, blotting out the sunlight with every wingbeat.