I've never been much of an outdoorsman, but I had to admit the weather had been spectacular lately. It was the middle of Firstfrost, but the pale red sun still rose early, and the crisp autumn air guided her rays down past the shimmering Dome to kiss me gently on the cheek as I exited my front door. I took a deep breath and drank in the morning.

From around the corner, down on the main street I could hear the laughter of children playing catch-me-if-you-can on the way to their jobs. A few diehard songducks were still quacking in the trees, not having fully grown their wintercoats yet. A cream-colored gyrocycle passed by at a languid pace, the milkman tipping his hat at me from inside the wheel. It was another perfect day in the lovely town of Newbshere.

I walked down the steps and sauntered along the pavement, wondering what would happen at the post office today. Bureaucracy never rests! Would there be a pile of letters to sort, or a few notices from the Party? Most certainly! Or, and my heart perked up at the thought, perhaps an Edict from the Queen herself! I couldn't think of anyone that had died here recently, but sometimes a Vote had global effects. Pulling my greatcoat a bit tighter against the cold, I quickened my steps and made for the teleportation sigil across the street.

"Comrade Paxton Altakaiser the Nobleman Swordsmaster, Lord of Caladborg, We greet thee most kindly. Thou may rise," spake the Queen from her throne of solid copper, and the magnetic coils surrounding her brightened and dimmed with her cadence. Surrounding Her courtroom was a bright shell of magically doped plasma, keeping the pull of the spiritual column from dragging it away into the Beyond, while siphoning away some of the residual soul energy to power the devices it contained. Had its creator known any of this, he would have been quite proud.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said the Lord, and his soul bobbed up again.

"Thou hast served the Party well. The keep of Caladborg has flourished under thine stewardship, keeping the undead hordes of Mont Bloodstone at bay, providing employment for soldiers, travelers and thy clansmen."

A set of broadcasting devices flickered to life while the Queen spoke. They projected a large rectangle behind Her, which relayed images of major events in Lord Altakaiser's life, from his birth in a state hospital, to a young man finally mastering the secret rapier techniques of his clan, to the Party assigning him the Nobleman job for his skills at leadership and warcraft, to the various decrees he had made during his reign, and culminating with his painful, but brief heart attack during a dinner banquet. It then zoomed out to show a top-down view of Keep Caladborg and the surrounding foothills of Mont Bloodstone.

"For thy life well lived, We grant thee a final Vote." The other souls in the hall perked up, all save for one, which seemed to be busy examining the structure of the brickwork.

Lord Altakaiser steeled himself and continued. "I Vote for myself to be incarnated as a servitor in Caladborg's Hall of the Legends of the Times of Old, as my father and his mother were before me."

The Queen nodded. "So shall it be. What will be thine choice of form?"

"A combat tutor. Specialized in dueling with rapiers and shortswords."

The Queen nodded again, and a big machine to her left started whirring and clanking while it sucked in Lord Altakaiser's soul through a trumpet-shaped muzzle. Back in the physical plane, in the deepest factory of the Queensborg, a great solid steel gear shifted into place and a contingent of Grandiloquent's most advanced golems started hulking towards an assembly line.

The souls in the courtroom relaxed. "Pah, typical Lordliness," one of them said, but was quickly hushed down by the others. The next soul in the line stepped up, and sank down onto the floor. One of the souls in the back had hovered over to examine the servitor-creating machine, but was zapped by a bolt of lightning from one of the magnetic coils.

The Queen frowned. "Order in the Court, please." She returned her gaze to the newest supplicant. "Comrade Eldrid the Street Urchin, Ruffian of the Broadway Beggars of Eldenrose, We greet thee most kindly. Thou art free to rise."

The trembling soul bobbed up from the floor. "Hello, uh, Greetings, m'Queen. Your Highness."

The Queen smiled. "Thou hast served the Party well. A short life, spent crawling through gutters in search of dropped morsels, sleeping in sewers and warehouses, pilfering, graverobbing and the occasional backalley murder." The projectors showed as much, before zooming out to display the ramshackle sprawl of Eldenrose's eastmost section. Some souls huffed at the rawness of the images, others shied away, and a few of them seethed with anger. "For thy life well lived, We grant thee a final Vote."

"Um. I vote... I vote for Mr. Helsburg to leave his apple tun unlocked at night." Several bursts of outrage mingled with laughter came from the courtroom, but the Queen ignored them.

"So shall it be. I declare thee absolved of all crimes, rewarded for all heroic acts, purged of all sins and at peace with the world. Thou art free to leave Our Court, Beyondwards to rise." A tract lowered from the vaulted ceiling, and sucked in the terrified soul of Eldrid. It then spat her out of the plasma shell, where she was swept away by the spiritual fire. Meanwhile in the physical plane, a scribe in the Central Party Office of Eldenrose received a new decree through his slate, and began composing a message to one of the fruit vendors in the slums.

The next soul in the line approached, and would have sank down onto the floor if it hadn't been for the commotion one of the other souls was making. Apparently it had found the tract in the ceiling so intriguing that it just had to float up and examine it, and the magnetic coils were humming ominously as they poured some extra ouch into a new lightning bolt. "Oi you there!" a large, rough-looking soul yelled at it. "What's the matter with you! Why can't you stay in line?"

"What's a line?" replied the soul, right before the bolt struck it. "Ouch!"

"Morning, Gaylor!" said Naida as I shoved open the double doors and entered the post office. It was a few minutes before opening time, but Naida was already at the front desk displaying her usual efficiency.

"Morning Naida! Any interesting parcels?"

"Oh, just the usual, sir. Some refrigerated delicacies for the inn I believe, and a few electrical gizmos for Mr. Wainwright. I had Martin take a look at them, but they didn't seem to be the sort that explode when dropped."

I was very relieved to hear that. That wandering disaster of an artificer should in my opinion have set up shop in a well-isolated laboratory on a different continent, not in my peaceful little village where his inventions ran amok and went up in green, caustic smoke every Tuesday. Especially not when my house was only two numbers downwind. I had been rather proud of my petunias.

"I'll be in my office if you need me then. Have a good day!"

I gave her a wave before exiting the reception and heading up the stairs. My greatcoat and tophat doffed and hung up at the coatrack, I proceeded into my beloved office and breathed a sigh of contentment. This was the life.

At least, until I started my servitor and discovered it had a farspeak for me. That was never a good thing, almost everyone used instant messages nowadays, but some people still clung to the old ways.

"Gaylor," said the servitor in its calm, relaxing voice, which always unnerved me slightly. "Meylor is missing. Dina found something at the Academy. Stop hiding and come home to serve your family. Signed, Mordred Stonks, your father."

The worst kind of people.

The Queen regarded the soul, still crackling with arcane discharges as it floated down from the ceiling. "That really hurt, you know!"

"Thou wilt remain calm in Our Court and return to thine place in the line!"

"Oh. Where's that?" A few of the souls shuffled around nervously. What audacity was this?

"Ah, forgive me, your Majesty," said one of the supplicants, "our rambunctious friend here seems to have been knocked over the head before he died. As a physician and dabbling soul reader, would your Majesty mind terribly if I had a look at him?" The Queen pondered for a moment. Head injuries did not affect the internal state of the mind, only the physical brain, and that was long gone. Besides, few souls could withstand an empowered blast from her engines without shattering, and none had ever remained conscious after two blasts. She was curious.

"We shall do it ourselves." She focused on the anomalous soul, who was now measuring the length of the steps that lead to Her throne. "Thou art..."

"Yes?"

"Comrade Innkeper Or Something, Keeper of Inns at Innkeepersville?!"

"Fascinating! What's an innkeeper?"

The audience stood back in awe, but the Queen was nothing if not patient. She began reciting one of the divine directives.

"An innkeeper is a vendor of spirits and food, in charge of serving their patrons at a guesthouse, a tavern, an inn or a similar place of rest and recreation that they own. The job titles vary from swill jockey, bartender, innkeeper, hotel manager or whatever is appropriate for the current setting. The job levels up by serving drinks and food, providing beds and entertainment for guests, successfully keeping thieves and miscreants out of the premises, and sharing news and stories of worldly events. Innkeepers are also expected to provide quests for adventurers seeking work, and must therefore be knowledgeable about any goings-on in the surrounding area. They provide their services in exchange for coin, which they may use to better their situation, hand out as quest rewards, purchase new inventory and generally advance their job levels."

"Oh, I see. What's a vendor?"

"Your Majesty," said the soul that had spoken up earlier, "may I suggest replaying his lifeline? Perhaps it will shed some light on the cause for his... condition?" The Queen considered this suggestion for a moment. She acknowledged it had merit, and reached into the soul.

At that point the projectors behind Her exploded, sending out copious amounts of oily, black fumes. Her ears started to bleed, and the Court broke out in full panic. The magnetic coils had to zap several of them before the courtroom was reasonably quiet again. "Order!" a former Nobleman shouted. "Order in the Court!"

"How intriguing!"

For the first time since her creation, the Silent Queen was well and truly silent. She spent a full minute reconfiguring her protocols, before she decided to continue. "For 163 lives well lived, We grant thee 163 final Votes."

"This is an outrage!" someone yelled.

"Preposterous!" a second soul agreed.

"Send him away!" shouted a third, and more joined in. "Send him back! As a fat merchant's mule! No, as an outhouse attendant! No, make him a test subject at Mutato Inc! He's ruining our afterlife!"

The Queen motioned for them to be silent, and regarded the soul in front of her. "This soul," she spoke in a grave voice, "is an anomaly and a threat to Our existence. We banish it from Our sights, bar it from entering Our halls again, and deny its ascent to the Beyond! Fatebinder Ekxox!"

A swirling, twisting, deeply purple vortex appeared above her head. Several litres of pinkish ooze gushed forth from it, drenching half the Courtroom and thoroughly disgusting the supplicants, before the portal stabilized and an immeasurably vast golden eye could be seen beyond it. It looked at her.

"BOSS?"

"This soul is an anomaly and must be reset! Wipe it clean, send it back, and don't ever let it back in! And be quick about it! Thou art dribbling on Our carpet!"

"NUH UH."

For another first time since her creation, the Silent Queen lost her temper. "WHAT?!" she screamed and rose from her throne. "Do as We say, thou insubordinate blackguard! We are thine Queen!"

"YOU QUEEN. HE BOSS."

The eye then turned to regard the rest of the Court, promptly giving them headaches and causing them to mentally vomit.

"TASTY."

"Ungh!" the Queen groaned, and stomped the floor. "No! No they are not tasty, they are Our Court and Our esteemed guests and thou wilt do as We say or We shall call Daddy!" She pouted, and was about to say something else, when an old, forgotten part of her routines suddenly activated. Slowly, almost reverently, she turned towards the anomaly. "Daddy?"

"Eh, do what she says. She's nice."

"OKIDOKI."

A long, slimy tentacle then slithered out of the portal, grabbed the anomalous soul and pulled it inside. "Weeeee!" it screamed before the portal closed shut.

The pillows in my ergonomically designed swivel chair wheezed as I leaned back. After a few moments spent massaging the ridge of my nose in silent agony, I told my servitor to mark me as absent for the remainder of the week and switched it off. I got up from the chair and headed out. It was time for a drink.