“Ask about Beerpots.” Hy-Jinx tips her head to one side and speaks discretely out of the side of her mouth. “Seriously, ask about Beerpots! We may not get a second chance,” she repeats herself slightly more audibly, moving her head from side to side, smiling blindly, the faint blue haze that usually stimulates her vision and occasionally allows her to see shadows, now only a shadow itself, in the dimly lit gallery of King Mupert’s throne room.

Although she herself cannot see this, she is standing next to a thin, rather stressed out representative - Kurelman - who, dressed in petitioner’s robes and wearing a bizarre flat wig, that sits atop his head like some small dead creature, is nervously waiting in line for his three minutes’ worth.

“Young lady we are not going to enquire about the obsession that you have been keenly, and unhealthily, fixated on for the entire length of our relationship, neither to, nor in front, of his Majesty.” states Kurelman firmly. “The procedures are complex enough, and our petition’s advocacy slim at best. And we do not need further distractions which risk derailing any leniency his Majesty may be feeling towards you. If indeed he has any feelings towards you. If it were not for several benefactors who have encouraged me to petition quite vociferously on your behalf, then I would imagine that you would still be chained up at his Majesty’s pleasure and would continue to be so until you quite literally rot.”

“Vociferously? Or Obsequiously?” Hy-Jinx challenges him, her face leaning in to where she thinks his ear is located.

“There are many ways to raise one’s voice young lady, which, I believe, is exactly why you have found yourself in this predicament in the first place. Is that not right? Look, please remain silent. I must make this very clear to you. Under no circumstance at all are you to open your mouth, do you understand?” Kurelman, it seems, has little confidence that Hy-Jinx will behave herself.

Hy-Jinx turns her face towards Kurelman and sinks her lips together with an expression of petulant annoyance. "Ou hey,” she says through clamped lips, as they shuffle forward in line, Hy-Jinx keeping her hand on the wooden balustrade as she walks, the other attached with it by iron cuffs, dangling in front of her. The balustrade that she leans upon is one half of a sectioned off walkway between the standing sycophants who have ingratiated themselves a place before the throne and a seated ‘gallery’ - albeit on the ground floor - that is ranked behind them on the other side, and fills the rest of the throne room up to the south wall in which the large entrance doors are situated.

“Look, you must recognise the severity of the situation in which you find yourself,” continues Keralman as they shuffle forward towards the opening that leads to the foot of the throne room’s dais. “It is only pure good fortune that we have managed to get an audience and even now I am unsure as to why we have been granted one as such - I fear it may not be good fortune, and more for appearances than for actual clemency.” They shuffle forward some more then wait as a sobbing lady who is prostrate on the floor is lifted up by a pair of guards and lead away.

“Next - crown versus Periwinkle. Step forward!” A loud voice announces.

Hy-jinx recognises her name and feels someone grab the chain between her hands and roughly tug her forward. The shadows in front of her eyes lighten somewhat, and she feels the warmth of sunlight on her face.

“Kneel. Name?” - the same voice.

Stepping forwards in time with Hy-Jinx, Kurelman kneels, and, as he does so, places a firm hand upon Hy-Jinx’s shoulder as an encouragement for her to kneel also. The two sink to their knees in unison.

“Kurelman of Coil, Hoyle & Kurelman, representing Periwinkle.” Kurelman states clearly.

“You may proceed. Rise and address his Majesty. The prisoner remains kneeling.”

Kurelman rises carefully, adjusting his robes so as not to trip over them, before bowing deeply and addressing his words to the man who lounges above him on the throne; lounges with an air of mock disinterest, his legs slung over the throne’s arms. “Your Majesty may I entreat you to listen to our petition. Brought before your generous and forgiving graciousness regarding Estelle Periwinkle - kneeling before you. Known locally as Hy-Jinx - a bard and street performer who along with two other unknown and unidentified culprits - who currently remain at large - she was charged with .."

King Mupert sits up, swinging his legs to the floor then leans forward dramatically. “Ah yes, yes! The Maid of the Oval Court. The Chanteuse of Kera’Bur.” All the small murmurings and quiet whispered conversations cease. Mupert stands and steps forward, stroking his short pointed beard, deliberately, it would seem, playing to the audience of courtiers, who pack the galleries and line, below him, the border of the raised dais upon which the throne is situated. “And what was the last one I heard most recently? It caused me much mirth I assure you.” He casts his gaze around the room, to the eyes of the onlookers, before opening his arms expansively. “The Belle Warrior - a clever pun I thought - killer of the giant formerly known as Dworf.” He smiles a thin and malicious looking smile, which sits at the base of a long, narrow, hooked beak of a nose. The courtiers smile too. Some of the well dressed ladies near to him, coquettishly so, turning their heads and lifting fluttering fans to their faces in mock shyness, letting forth small delightful giggles. Mupert continues, smiling inwardly at the control he has over his audience. “It seems that this young lady has even more titles than myself! Can you believe it?! I can’t quite wrap my head around it to be honest with you.” The smile drops from his face as he wanders over to one of the large bloodhounds that sit either side of the throne, the faces of their accompanying guardsmen who hold their leash, blank and expressionIess. Mupert, selecting a slice of steak from a golden bowl that sits in front of the dog, tosses it nonchalantly to land at its paws. The dog looks down but makes no move to eat it. The other hound’s eyes flick across to look, as it trembles, letting out a small whine, drool dripping from the corner of its mouth. “But then, I don’t quite understand this celebrity culture that seems to be awash in the streets right now.” He breaths what appears to be a heartfelt sigh - it isn’t - “a different generation, I suppose.” He throws another piece of steak to the other dog - both dogs’ noses are quivering now - and gives a nod to the guardsmen who transmit the order through the leash. “And you know…” the sound of slobbering chomping echoes about the room for a brief moment. “…I must admit a keen interest in what she actually has to say, having heard a variety of, how does one put it…rumours…regarding her…’performance’?” A light flicker of laughter ripples about the chamber. “Would that be the correct term Master Kurelman, ‘performance’ or should it be ‘agitation’?”

Kurelman goes to answer but realises that Mupert has not yet finished speaking.

“Now, you must forgive me, for I know in matters of legality such as this, it is imperative that we are seen to operate fairly and ‘in line with the law’ and therefore make sure that we get all of our…words…correct. She was arrested, not for performing but as an agitant - is that correct Master Kurelman?”

Again Kurelman opens his mouth to speak but his answer is halted before it begins by the immediate lifting of one of Mupert’s white gloved hands. “You know, I must say I have followed Ms Periwinkle’s ventures very closely and found it quite amusing at the time, that she managed to avoid charges pertaining to cultural vandalism. Well? Does she have anything to say?”

Hy-Jinx sits, her mouth firmly closed, blindly smiling, slowly turning her face from side to side, enjoying the feeling of sunlight on her skin, a feeling she has not experienced for quite a while.

“Or does she just beam idiotically?” Mupert says, his voice laced with impatient malevolence.

Kurelman, sub-consciously stepping in front of Hy-Jinx, bows as deeply as possible, and opens his hands in a gesture of entreaty. “Apologies your Majesty I gave her, err Ms Periwinkle strict instructions not to speak under any circumstances. I did not believe that she would at any point take that suggestion to heart with such urgency that she would favour my command…I mean, your Majesty, the suggestion of someone as lowly as myself over the command of one…erm…the command of your…err Majesty, your Majesty.”

Mupert, his face, now an expression of psychopathic non-expression, stares at Kurelman before sniffing and placing a curled and manicured smile upon his face. “Speak only simple truths…and what can be more simple than silence?” He steps forward, one step down from the dais. “Yes, silence is golden - a good recommendation Master Kurelman, for I have often found that the more a man speaks the closer he is to hanging himself with his own words. Wouldn’t you agree Master Kurelman? But prey, for everything that I’ve been hearing, the spotlight should very definitely be upon our ‘performer’. So indulge me…” he gestures for Kurelman to step aside with a languid motion of his hand as if batting away a tissue, and with the same resistance as a tissue, Kurelman obeys. “Maid of the Oval Court what have you got to say for yourself, hmm?”

Knowing Hy-Jinx, one would know that this was not going to end well and it appears that Hy-Jinx knows herself, for her lips and nose twist momentarily to one side as if she, for an instant, is considering the wisdom of her response, but that brief expression disappears as quickly as it arrives, and is followed immediately by a small shrug of the shoulders, as if saying to herself: ‘Ah what the hell!’.

Now remember dear reader, Hy-Jinx is a seasoned performer, a master at reading the room, and audience manipulation. So, it should come as no surprise that she is not affected by the intimidation and malice that the words of Mupert so heavily drip with, but carefully waits, listening intently to the silence that hangs in the audience chamber. A silence that, if she lets go on too long, will be filled by others, but if she lets go on to just the right extent, will have captured and held the entirety of the room in breathless anticipation…

And so, with prefect timing, she begins with a clear voice and a carefully measured pace…

Silence…is golden…unless you’re in prison

A pace she picks up with aplomb, her head tilting expressively from the chin - side to side - as she speaks, her speech gathering speed and rhythm and a weight of righteous anger.

For speaking the truth with linguistic precision

Then silence is futile and silence is weak

And the more that they want it the more you should speak.

Truth to Power!

I said

Truth to Power!

Mupert, along with the entirety of the court is clearly not expecting this response. Hy-Jinx pauses. Silence - but a silence that she still commands. A silence that she steps into with a follow up question which, as Hy-Jinx throws her handcuffed arms expressively forward, she answers forcefully and rhetorically.

Why should the truth when heard and perceived

Not be accepted, and warmly received?

I’ll tell you why if you’re willing to hear

Cos secrets kept guarded just generate fear

‘Yeah, fear of what?’ I suppose you may ask

Fear that the rot that’s set in cannot last

Are you really so fragile that words can depose you

That your crown it will slip as they start to expose you?

The audience gasps! Mupert, on the back foot, looks shocked also, his face draining of colour, his arms and legs trembling with rage - the tables have been turned - a rage which builds so quickly and forcefully that it actually prevents him from performing any action, let alone speak, though his eyes darken insidiously.

Hy-Jinxs continues on unabated:

As desperate you cling to the vine that is moldy

All that repeats is the self same old story

A king who is confident, a king who is kingly

Would nurture his people and fight for their rights

Not struggle for power and utilise knights

In a fruitless endeavour to consolidate might.

Some knowledge to know and to keep on your shelf

There’ no secrets ‘cept those that are kept from one’s self.

The implication of which if you give it some thought

Is that everything’s known but some people are bought.

Bribed first with riches or promise of wealth

Or intimidation and threats to their health.

Now lined up before you, your societal tools

Mass ranks of fawning obsequious fools.

“Kill her,” Mupert says with casual disdain, gradually taking control of himself somewhat, then, realising that no-one has heard him, listening as they are to Hy-Jinx, he loses control of himself completely…

You seem tone deaf to these words and their meaning.

Now I may be blind, but I’m not hard of hearing.

“Kill her!” He screams, pointing at Hy-Jinx, spittle flying from his mouth, his words echoing the throne room.