Nine. Not eight, nor ten, but nine was the number of justice in Istanbull. Two from the Farmer’s trust, two from the Merchant’s Guild, two from the Science Ministry, two soldiers, and one crowned head, which just so happened to be Dim, much to his surprise. Eerie had slapped a silver circlet on his head and told him to get to work. He was the tiebreaker, should the issue come up, and thus far, the issue had not come up. It was easy to get five votes to condemn a creature to die.

The votes counted though, determining the method of death. There was the vote of ‘guilty; merciful,’ which had one sentenced to a swift, clean death by poison potion. Then there was ‘guilty,’ which brought about a far worse fate: death by exsanguination or by slow hanging, prisoner’s choice. So far, these had been the only votes, with not even the single suggestion of innocence.

Of the many creatures given trial, most of the votes had been ‘guilty; merciful,’ but a few prisoners showed no remorse and remained defiant. These prisoners were given the death they so rightfully deserved—but at the end of the day, death came for them all. Execution by poison potion seemed wasteful to Dim, but it appeared that Istanbull had a well-stocked treasury that could afford the cost of mercy.

Much to his own surprise, Dim found that he liked these proceedings and he wasn’t bored by them. He was able to pay attention—mostly—and he didn’t feel inconvenienced by fulfilling the role he was born to perform. For the most part, all he had to do was sit here, look menacing, and by doing so, scare some poor creature into submissiveness so that mercy might be shown as justice was administered.

The room was an imposing one, made of stone, enormous beams of wood, and clay brick. A massive table stretched from wall to wall, with Dim and eight others sitting on one side, while prisoners approached from the other. Dim was in the middle, sitting on an austere throne, with four fellow justices on each side of him. As for the table itself, it truly was gigantic, as it was made for minotaurs, not ponies, and the seat of Dim’s throne was at a dizzying height so that he might see over the edge of the table.

Munro shuffled away after bringing the cup of tea that Dim had demanded and there was a bit of a commotion as a new prisoner was lead in. Commodore Guillemot was sitting in a spectator’s alcove meant for honoured guests, in the event that any of the prisoners demanded to be tried by Grittish law. Dim watched him at times, noting the pain and anger upon the stern pegasus’ face. It was one of the few times in Dim’s life where he found himself respecting a total stranger and he wondered how the commodore was dealing with the decline of the empire he championed.

The prisoner, a diamond dog, had a remarkable calm about him as he dragged his irons on the floor behind him and was presented to the nine justices. He walked with a limp but had a proud air about him. Dim could not see fear in his eyes, but there was… something, something that showed keen intelligence.

“You there,” the minotaur bailiff said as he jerked the diamond dog the few final steps forward. “You’ve been charged with the trafficking of sapient flesh and brought before the Council of Nine. Is there anything you wish to say on your own behalf before sentencing?”

“I was following orders,” the diamond dog replied while standing straight.

“And do you believe that excuses you?” an earth pony from the Farmer’s Trust asked.

“Failure to follow orders might’ve got me thrown over the rail.” The diamond dog’s ears perked. “What choice did I have in the matter?”

“Codswallop!” Commodore Guillemot shouted. “You knew what the mission was! Before disembarking on a voyage, the mission objective is always laid out for the crew. You could have refused and stayed behind in whatever port you departed from. You had options!”

Dim listened with passive interest to Commodore Guillemot’s outburst and was moved to emotion by his sheer, spitting rage. Sipping his tea—which was good and strong, perfect even—Dim waited for his fellow justices to say something to continue the proceedings.

“Others too, have tried to assert that they were merely following orders.” A beefy minotaur cow from the Science Ministry slapped her broad palm down upon the table. “While following orders is commendable, and obedience is required to maintain rule of law, you followed bad orders. You showed poor judgment.”

“I obeyed orders,” the diamond dog said in a soft voice. “I was loyal to my captain and to the interests of the great Empire which I serve. It is not my place to question his orders, only to obey them.”

“Presenting yourself as both a loyal and obedient dog, faithful to your master will not save you.” A bespectacled unicorn took a moment to adjust his glasses, and then said, “Guilty.”

Now there was fear in the diamond dog’s eyes, and Dim watched as the prisoner flinched. For a tense moment, Dim believed the condemned sailor might put up a fight, but there was a clink of iron as the bound hound slumped over. It didn’t take long for others add their own judgments, and Dim knew that this was over.

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Yes, guilty.” One of the soldiers, a jasper jackal, leaned forwards over the table and shook his head in dismay.

“Guilty!”

“The Council of the Nine has found you guilty of the crime of trafficking sapient flesh,” the big minotaur cow from the Science Ministry said to the prisoner. “How do you wish to die? Slow hanging or exsanguination?”

In response, the condemned diamond dog offered a sorrowful sigh.

“Silence will not save you,” the minotaur cow continued and she gestured to the guards who stood near the door. “Take him away and have him drained. Give him plenty of time to think about the cost of his loyalty. Next prisoner!”

The last prisoner was a griffon with a somewhat owlish face. When brought in, he was meek, submissive, and stared down at the floor while keeping his tail tucked down. After a moment of intense scrutiny, Dim realised that this griffon was young—perhaps still a cub. He slurped his tea and his eyes narrowed as the bailiff yanked the young griffon forwards.

“Be brave, boy,” the bailiff said as the griffon was lead before the Council of Nine. “Son, you have been charged with the offense of trafficking of sapient flesh and now you face the Council of Nine. Any last words before sentencing?”

“I was press ganged,” the griffon said while staring down at the floor and there could no longer be any doubt—this was a cub. A big cub, perhaps, one that might be an adult soon, or would, if he lived that long, but that was no longer a concern. The cub spoke again and Dim took note of a somewhat peculiar accent. “I was told that I could join the crew or I could be a slave. I was scared and I didn’t want my wings burned off like Captain Hoarfrost said he’d do.”

Dim’s tea took on a bitter taste in his mouth and he had trouble swallowing.

“Why were you press ganged?” an earth pony off to Dim’s left asked.

“I speak Fancy,” the griffon replied, sounding as meek as possible. “I speak several languages, I have a knack for it, and Captain Hoarfrost wanted someone who could give the slaves orders.”

“Sprichst du die Sprache des Krieges?” Dim asked, and his question caused a number of eyebrows to raise. Up to this point, he had been totally silent, save for his demand for tea.

To which the griffon replied, “Ja, tue ich.”

“Warum so viele Sprachen?” Dim put his teacup down upon the table.

“Mein Vater war Kaufmann.” The griffon lifted his head, but did not look Dim in the eye. “Captain Hoarfrost tötete ihn wegen Widerstandes.”

“What is being said?” the outspoken minotaur cow demanded.

“Captain Hoarfrost killed this boy’s father for defiance,” Commodore Guillemot said and there was a faint tremour in his voice.

“Oh.” The minotaur cow leaned back in her chair and both of her big, beefy hands curled into white knuckled fists. “What do we do? We can only administer guilty verdicts.”

The bespectacled unicorn from the Merchant’s Guild squirmed in his seat while rubbing his front hooves together. Like Dim, he was a tiny pony sitting at a table meant for giants, and his frantic anxiety made him appear even smaller and somehow foalish. “I wish to withhold my vote, as is my right.”

One of the soldiers, the jasper jackal who had been quite outspoken for the entirety of the trial, folded his forelegs over his girth and his ears pricked in attentiveness. “Boy, when Captain Jolie captured your ship, did you fight back or resist in any way?”

“No, sir, I did not,” the griffon replied while his talon claws tapped on the stone floor. “I shamed myself, sir. I hid inside of the potato bin and was found after the melee ended. Captain Jolie’s griffon guard pulled me out by the scruff of my neck and I was too scared to fight.”

Reaching up, the jasper jackal soldier scratched at his muzzle with his paw and studied the chained griffon down on the floor before him. Dim watched, waiting, wondering, curious about what might be done, and if mercy, if such a thing were possible, might be shown. The silence became oppressive and the little sounds, the sounds that took place in the background, the clink of iron chains, breathing, the sound of fuzzy bodies rustling, all this noise was now amplified and Dim’s ears pivoted to take it all in.

After what felt like a dog’s age of silence, the jasper jackal had this to say, “Guilty… lenient.”

“I’ve never heard of this,” the minotaur cow said while she extended her hand in the griffon’s direction.

“Do explain,” an earth pony demanded.

“It is a verdict that requires indentured servitude—”

“Slavery?” The minotaur cow shot a distasteful sneer in the general direction of the soldier.

“Indentured servitude,” the soldier repeated. “Slavery is not permitted here, but leniency is. This is the very definition of extenuating circumstance. We can only dispense a guilty verdict, but doing so now would not be serving the spirit of justice that we wish to uphold. A crime has been committed… this griffon could have fought back, or become a slave. He made a conscious choice to join the crew, but he did so under duress. He has also shown himself to be something of a coward… he could have fought back when his ship was boarded, but he hid. A coward should be made to live with their shame.”

“Yes…” The minotaur cow drew out the word with hissy sibilance. “He should.”

“In the old days, we might have branded him with a coward’s mark—”

At this, the griffon gulped.

“—but that has fallen out of fashion. Put him to work. Make him pay his debts.” The soldier gestured at the cowering griffon with his paw and turned to look at his fellow councilmembers. “Killing him will accomplish nothing. Geas him and put him to work.”

Waving his hoof about, the bespectacled unicorn from the merchant’s guild became quite animated. “I wish to change my vote to guilty; lenience.”

“Guilty; merciful,” another councilmember said.

The other soldier offered up his vote: “Guilty; merciful.”

“Guilty; leniency!” the minotaur cow from the Science Ministry was quick to say.

Dim, moved to pity that he didn’t realise that he had, was quite surprised by the words that lept out of his mouth: “Guilty; leniency.” He was even more surprised when everybody turned to look at him, some with shock, some with surprise, and others with blank faces. “Did I speak out of turn? Am I to only exist as a tiebreaker? Have I no say?”

“Guilty; leniency,” a minotaur down at the far right of the table called out. “I believe that is five.”

“We have reached a verdict,” the jasper jackal soldier said, “but now we need a sentence. Prince Dim, this is why you are here. If you would, please render a suitable punishment for the condemned.”

Rather than feel relieved, Dim found himself quite uncomfortable with the outcome. What did he know of justice? He himself was guilty of so much. The back of his neck grew sweaty and when he sipped his tea, it did not satisfy. He existed as more than a tiebreaker, but as an actual judge, and he wondered what Eerie might do. She was one given to extreme order, not him, and Dim found himself resenting her for putting him in this dreadful situation.

Eerie was testing him, the sneaky old tart, and he planned to have words with her later.

It would be easier to pass out a sentence if his throat wasn’t so dry. Dim gulped down the remainder of his tea and set his teacup back down upon the table. His nostril became itchy, but he could not scratch it, not now. He suffered a slow, dawning realisation that his word was law and that he could do anything right now, and there would be nothing to stop him.

Commodore Guillemot was staring at him, pleading with him with his eyes, and when Dim stared back, he knew that he was seeing a pony far more than he was. Guillemot was a good and just pony, at least, from what little that Dim knew, but he carried himself with a regal bearing. Reflecting upon this, Dim was seized with an idea…

Dim found a way to do the right thing, but also to absolve himself of this tyrannical responsibility that he found himself being crushed beneath. Everypony—and everybody—was looking at him, waiting, many ears were pricked, all of them wanting to know what he would do. Feeling the pressure, Dim chose his words carefully before he said them, and gave his judgment some careful consideration before saying it.

“Release the condemned into the custody of Commodore Guillemot,” Dim began, and there were gasps from around the room, including from the chained griffon. “Five years of required service. Perhaps working as a cabin boy beneath the esteemed Commodore Guillemot will give the boy a sense of conviction and courage. He is to be geased, of course, and I shall want a writ from Commodore Guillemot stating that the boy is to be spared cruel treatment.”

“Five years?” The jasper jackal soldier let out a wheezing gasp. “That’s harsh, but fair, I suppose.”

For a brief moment, Dim wondered if perhaps he had gone too far, but after thinking about it, he thought that ten years might be better. Too late now. Dim regretted that he hadn’t given a little more thought to his sentencing. The griffon had five years of a good life with Commodore Guillemot, five years to become educated, five protected years to finish growing up and to perhaps, grow up and become a good griffon, a better griffon, the sort of griffon the world needed.

“I accept custody of the condemned,” Commodore Guillemot said while bowing his head. “I shall do my utmost to prove myself worthy of the trust I have been given.”

“Take the boy to Eerie to be geased,” Dim commanded of the bailiff. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am in need of more tea. Do whatever it is that needs to be done to adjourn this court.” With that, Dim excused himself by winking out of existence, leaving behind his empty teacup.

Author's Notes:

I could use a cuppa...