“What?” Arahn stammered. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve been at school all day, then at my job. My teachers and boss can—“

“Silence,” was the hissed order from behind before the second guard wrenched the boy’s arms behind his back and shackled his wrists tightly. As he did so Arahn caught sight of a smear of dried blood along the knuckles of the guard’s gauntlet.

“You,” said Arahn softly, rage flooding him.

“I said silence!” roared the guard and slammed Arahn’s forehead onto the table, the sudden impact dazing him.

“Get him out of here,” barked the first guard, and a moment later Arahn was dragged from the room.

The guards pulled him from the house through the front door. Out the front of the house the guard’s horse-drawn patrol wagon was waiting for them. With a sober mind Arahn may have put up more of a resistance, but with the world spinning around him all he could do was stumble around as they dragged him over and loaded him into the back of the vehicle.

Lying in the open topped wagon with the cool evening air going by slowly returned Arahn’s faculties to him, allowing him to roll over into a sitting position and look around. They were traveling up the north-south main street which had mostly emptied by this point. On the corner of the main intersection right across from the town hall was the guard house. It was a slightly crooked cobblestone building with a pointed shingled roof, in stark contrast to the attached courthouse which towered over it in shiny grey stone bricks.

The wagon pulled up out the front of the guard house, and Arahn was dragged off and inside the building. Though he’d never personally been arrested before he had a vague idea of the arrest procedure, so it was a surprise when they bypassed the registration table, went out the back door and down a set of creaky wooden stairs to the temporary cells. The arresting guard opened an empty cell and then pushed him inside with such force, that Arahn almost knocked himself unconscious on the low wooden bed inside.

“No one is to speak to him,” the arresting guard ordered, addressing the cell watcher on duty after locking the iron cell door. “He won’t be here long; we’ll be arranging his trial for the morning.”

Arahn sat up at hearing this, an appalled expression on his face before struggling to get to his feet without the use of his hands. How could his trial be so soon? What about an investigation? He was a minor still, he was owed legal defence. Before he could say anything however, the guard’s helmeted head snapped to face him and though Arahn couldn’t see his expression, he strongly suspected the man was glaring at him.

“Keep an eye on him,” the guard told the jailer as he turned to leave. “He can’t be trusted.”

The cell watcher looked conflicted about his orders as he watched his superior leave, clearly he too felt there was something unusual going on. But after a moment he turned to the cell and wacked his baton on the bars, making Arahn jump back in shock.

“No talking,” he ordered before marching off towards his office.

Left alone in his cell Arahn sat down on the rickety bed. He stared at the wall, confusion and disbelief the dominant emotions in his mind. He had a powerful urge to bury his face in his hands but with his wrists still bound he was denied even that small comfort. His brain was exhausted but sleep refused to find him among the fear of what was to happen to him.

The hours in the cell passed by at a madness inducing crawl, as Arahn paced his cell unable to find a comfortable position to lay on the bed with his wrists shackled behind his back. Every now and then he’d manage to nod off, then jerk back awake a short time later from the pain in his arms. It was a blessed relief to hear the bells of the town hall and the crows of the farmer’s roosters sounding above him in the distance, announcing the coming of the morning sun.

After a while he could hear footsteps on the upper floor as the guards came in for the morning shift, and a new watcher came downstairs to relieve the one who had worked during the night. Accompanying the morning watcher was a middle-aged bespectacled man in a pale blue and white robe. He carried with him a stack of papers and waited patiently while the watchers completed their hand over routines.

“This shouldn’t take long,” said the blue-robed man as the morning watcher unlocked Arahn’s cell to let him in. “I’ll call for you when we’re done.”

Arahn stood as the man entered. “Who are—”

“I’m your legal counsel,” the man interrupted brusquely. “Now we don’t have much time before your trial.”

Arahn all but sighed with relief. Finally, someone was here to set things right. “I’m so glad you’re here. I have no idea what’s going on. Everything happened so fast yesterday that I…” He trailed off. His lawyer didn’t seem to be listening to him, instead rifling through his papers. He selected one and laid it on the bed next to Arahn.

“This is your confession,” said his lawyer. “I’ll need you to sign it.”

“My what?”

“Your confession,” he repeated slowly, as though Arahn was thick. “You broke into Alice Thorten’s house with intent to burgle. She confronted you and in the ensuing struggle you struck her once in the head. It wasn’t your intention to kill her. You were later arrested at the scene by patrolling guards on duty.”

“But, but that’s not what happened,” said Arahn. “I didn’t kill her—“

“But that is what you will admit to,” said the lawyer firmly. “You will plead guilty and take the lesser sentence.”

“Aren’t you supposed to defend me?” demanded Arahn, getting angry.

“I am responsible for getting you the best deal that I possibly can. If you plead innocent and are proven guilty, which you will be, the death penalty will be very seriously on the table.”

“But I have an alibi,” said Arahn. “I was out all day. My teachers and boss will vouch for me.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in them if I was you. Believe me when I say you will be much better off with a guilty plea.”

Arahn shook his head. “This is wrong.”

“And yet it will keep you alive,” said the lawyer. “You’re still young, you’ve got time to learn that the world will not always be good to you. But if you follow the plan you will see your freedom again in this life. I can’t say the same if you make things complicated.”

With a fumbling hand Arahn managed to scribble a wonky X on the confession document even with his hands behind his back. Then he watched his lawyer sign himself as witness. Just as they were finishing up, the door to the cell block screeched open and admitted a pair of armed guards. They clomped down the stairs in unison and approached Arahn’s cell.

“We’ve come to take you to your trial,” announced one, producing a keyring to open the cell door. “You will come quickly and quietly, or we shall use force.”

The guard placed a warning hand on the hilt of his sword as he spoke, the threat clear. Arahn grit his teeth around his next comment not wanting to push his luck.

With his lawyer following silently behind, the guards brought Arahn out of his cell and led him down the cell block and out the door at the other end. It opened up on a waiting area that connected the guard house to the court building. There were several long benches in the small room and a gentleman stood by with a long wooden clipboard. He looked up as they approached and nodded.

“You can take him through,” he said addressing the guards at Arahn’s side. “The Judge is ready.”

The guards nodded without speaking and led Arahn through another door into the main foyer of the court house. To their right the main doors opened up onto the market courtyard and Arahn could hear the voices of the market sellers setting up for their day. They seemed so care-free, so normal. The guards lead Arahn and his lawyer across the foyer and into court room one. Arahn looked around and couldn’t help but notice that the viewer’s section was completely empty. A Bailiff stepped forward and unshackled Arahn’s wrists before leading him into the dock. Behind him his lawyer was rearranging his paperwork.

“Don’t do or say anything stupid that will make the Judge hold you in contempt,” the bailiff warned before patting the short leather whip hanging from his belt.

Arahn nodded, fingers going to play with his earing, as they often did when he was nervous. It wasn’t long before the Judge and Prosecutor arrived, dressed in long black robes.

“Let’s get this over with,” said the Judge, a look of stress upon his face. “I will hear the statements from the Prosecution.”

“Arahn Kays, an immigrant from Pernrith,” said the Prosecutor from the speaking podium, reading from a few sheets of hand written notes. “He stands accused of the murder of Alice Thorten, wife of the late Baxtor Thorten.”

“And the circumstances of the murder?” the Judge prompted.

“The Prosecution alleges that the accused broke into Mrs Thorten’s house last evening with intention to rob her of her valuables,” the Prosecutor continued. “She arrived home while the burglary was in process and during the resulting altercation he struck her once in the head. She died immediately, but the coroner believes this is likely due to the woman’s advanced age rather than any particular maliciousness. The disturbance was overheard by a neighbour who alerted the Guard.”

“And the circumstances of the arrest?”

“When the guards arrived at the home, they discovered Kays still at the scene and arrested him on premises.”

“And how does the defendant plead?”

“He will be pleading guilty,” said Arahn’s lawyer calmly. “His confession is signed and witnessed, and we are prepared to move on to sentencing.”

The judge looked oddly relieved. “Very well, in light of the defendant’s previously clear record and the spontaneous nature of the altercation between him and the victim the court is willing to allow leniency and assign minimum sentencing. For the murder of Alice Thorten, the people sentence the defendant to a term of thirty years to be served—“

“I didn’t do it!” cried Arahn suddenly.

This was wrong, just wrong. He couldn’t just stand here, everyone thinking that he was a murderer and just let it go.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the judge wide-eyed. “Have you not just pled guilty to the offense—“

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t kill her!”

“Be quiet!” hissed his lawyer.

“You’re supposed to be my defence!” Arahn snapped back.

“The accused shall be silent in the court,” ordered the Judge with a smack of his gavel. “You were discovered at the scene of the crime.”

“I live there! I have a key!” Arahm protested and his lawyer groaned. “She was already dead when I arrived home—“

“Mr. Brimble, control your client,” ordered the judge, speaking over Arahn.

“The guards were already at my house when I arrived!” roared Arahn angrily. “I don’t know what happened, but I wasn’t there! I’ve been at school all day then I was at my job at the smithy! My teachers will—“

“The judge has spoken, boy!” snarled the bailiff approaching the dock menacingly.

Arahn flinched and the judge slammed his gavel several times with a shaking hand, then addressed the prosecution. “Have you anything about the accused supposed alibi?” He sounded almost desperate.

“Yes your honour,” the prosecuting attorney said quickly patting some papers on his desk. “We have sworn statements from the school administration that says the defendant failed to turn up for school yesterday morning and another from his boss alleging the same thing about his work.”

“I see, then the defendant has failed to produce an acceptable alibi.”

Arahn stood in the dock, mouth agape in appalled horror. He had been at school, he’d spoken to his teachers, his classmates, handed in his homework on time. There was no way they could say he hadn’t been there. He wanted to scream. This couldn’t be happening. He stared down at his hands sure that he had become light-headed upon the forge’s fumes and must, at this very moment, be back at work hallucinating this entire event. The whole thing was madness.

Arahn was jerked back to reality by the sharp sound of the Judge’s gavel. He looked up, meeting the Judge’s stern gaze with a look of pure venom before forcing himself to look down again. What more could he possibly say at this point?

The judge sighed. “Given the repeated outbursts from the defendant, I’m afraid we’ll no longer be able to accept a plea of guilty.”

“Understood,” said Arahn’s lawyer sounding resigned. He shot an accusing glare at Arahn, who just stared murderously back.

“You’re all in on it,” Arahn muttered under his breath. He still had no idea what it was but there was no way any of this could be a coincidence anymore.

The judge slammed his gavel once more. “With no alibi or other defence to discredit the prosecutions report, the court will find the defendant guilty of the crimes he is accused.”

Arahn shook his head, glaring a hole into the floor between his feet. He wanted to lunge across the dock barrier and wrap his hands around the judge’s neck. If he was going to go away for murder he at least wanted to have committed one first.

“And without the agreed upon plea arrangement,” the judge continued. “The court has no choice but to award the maximum sentence. Therefore it is my solemn duty to hand down the sentence of execution, by hanging, at a time to be decided at the discretion of the North Betherius Prison, to which the convicted shall be confined until the decided upon date.”

The judge slammed his gavel one last time and everyone started packing up. As the bailiff approached to reshackle Arahn’s wrists his lawyer just shook his head and sighed.

“You’ve brought this on yourse—“

“Whether I die tomorrow, next week or thirty years from now, I will go to my grave innocent of my crimes,” spat Arahn savagely. “My blood, however will be on your hands. We’ll see what the gods make of that in the next life.”

The suddenly stricken look on his lawyer’s face brought him great satisfaction. Who knows, maybe the man was a more serious believer than he was. Arahn had never been much for religion, but for the moment, the thought that he may somehow be vindicated beyond death, that those who had wronged him may one day get their comeuppance, was all that was holding him together.

With the final smack of the judge’s gavel Arahn was led from the courtroom, once more in chains. Out the front a covered wagon waited for him. As he was loaded onto it Arahn noticed his boss standing at the back of a small group of market goers watching the activity around the courthouse. He was dressed in his church dress, twisting his hat in his hands, a miserable expression on his face.

You were my alibi, thought Arahn savagely as the wagon started to pull out of the marketplace. And yet you did nothing.

It was a long ride up the street and out of town, the cart wheels bumping on the occasionally uneven cobbles before softening as the paved street became a pressed dirt road. Arahn leant back on the wooden bench and watched the fields go by.

Hours passed, the guards at the reins and the one who had entered the wagon with him, refusing to speak, ignoring all his attempts at communication. They did however pass him a water skin every once in a while so he didn’t succumb to the summer heat. The water was appreciated, though he didn’t know why they cared about his health if he was going to be executed and it did nothing to silence the painful growls of his stomach.

Around noon they pulled up outside a large stone brick building with thin barred windows. Archers stood between crenulations on the roof watching the every move of those below. Arahn was pulled from the back of the wagon and led through a raised portcullis, passed guards in full armour watching over the entrance, the gate sliding down behind them once they were safely through. A second portcullis stood closed before them and while they waited for it to be raised, Arahn could see through into the prison yard beyond. The prison was built as a large hollow square with large barred cells, capable of holding dozens of prisoners lining three walls. A large dusty space spread between them, while watchers, guards and archers patrolled the stone walls overlooking it. In the centre of the yard was a raised wooden platform, where three sets of gallows stood, the rope nooses swinging ominously in the breeze. Prisoners of all kinds milled around in the yard, watching the entrance. They could hear the primary portcullis closing and knew very soon the second would open, admitting their newest cellmate.

Arahn swallowed nervously as the second gate lumbered skyward and he was led inside the yard. Expecting to have his shackles removed and forced to join the crowd of onlookers, he was surprised when a harsh tug on his arm led him to the right, up a flight of stairs to the second level. Here the cells were smaller, barely big enough for a single person and barred with solid iron doors. A guard unlocked one and Arahn was pushed inside. His shackles were removed and he was provided with a set of thinning prison clothes and forced to get changed. Arahn did so quickly, not wanting to try the guard’s patience, but carefully so as not to let his earing be noticed lest it be confiscated as well. Once he was done the guard gathered up his own clothes and left, slamming the heavy door behind him, the sound of the lock tumblers loud in Arahn’s ears.

There was a thin greying mattress on the floor and an even thinner threadbare blanket draped haphazardly over it. A bucket and a small three-legged stool sat just inside the door. Seeing nothing else to do Arahn sat down on the mattress, leaning back against the cool stone. There was no window in the wall, but a small thin gap near the top of the door allowed him to see the sky. He watched as the clouds moved across an ocean of blue, sounds of a hundred rowdy prisoners outside hampering any potential calming effect it may have had.