“Truth to power! Mo…” screams Hy-Jinx, standing tall and holding her cuffed hands defiantly in the air, her words lost amidst the cacophony that explodes about her. The bloodhounds, having picked up on the building tension, and heard what they presume is a command directed at them by their master, are now barking and straining at their leashes. One breaks free and the other seeing its counterpart, too eager to wait for release, drags its unfortunate guard with a clash and scrape of armour to, and along, the floor, pulling him down the dais’ steps in a desperate attempt to sink its teeth into Hy-Jinx’s throat. At the sight of the hounds, gasps and screams anticipating savagery erupt, as the swollen ranks of standing courtiers edge backwards which, picked up by themselves as a mass, becomes a panicked ripple of pushing and shoving. The rear of the crowd, who are directly facing the throne, get pushed against the temporary balustrades that have been erected, and which, with the force impacting upon them, topple and fall against the stone floor, with a tremendously loud echoing CLAT! and accompanying screams as people trip and fall onto them. This commotion of sound is loud enough to shock those that have so far remained relatively calm and wake those that have fallen asleep in the seated ‘gallery’. Moreover, it spooks the bloodhounds, such that their tails whip beneath their legs and they lose Hy-Jinx as the focus of their intent, dashing off in separate directions into the crowd of courtiers, knocking and bowling over those unfortunate enough to be in their path.

Now, for those truly calm and concentrating - those who have remained objective observers to this unfolding chaos - those unique few would have noticed a select number of individuals scattered about the room, carefully pull up masks and flip up hoods with a slow, and well-rehearsed, casual motion, as one might open an umbrella at the first spots of rain. As it stands the exact number of such calm and concentrating individuals is zero and so, to all intents and purposes, the ring of masked and hooded figures that appears around Hy-Jinx does so suddenly, apparently materialising from nowhere. One particularly large and intimidating looking figure, central to this ring, hoists Hy-Jinx up onto his shoulder as she continues to shout out. Blind as she is, Hy-Jinx believes she is being taken back to the dungeon or about to be executed. Thus, her face twisted in anger, kicking and screaming, with one arm pointing randomly about, jabbing the air, pulling with it the other, attached as they are together, she allows weeks of pent up frustration to express itself. “Truth to power! Speak truth to power!” And she continues to shout as the ring of masked figures, having drawn a selection of sharp bladed weapons, move swiftly backwards towards, and out through, the main entrance doors. “I KNOW BEER POTS WAS HERE!” Hy-Jinx shouts, believing this to be her last words so she’s going to make them quotable ones and directs them clearly at Mupert. “Maybe it was when your useless murdered father was in charge, but HE was here, AND HE SPRAYED IT UP THE WALLS! Now if the universe turned up on Kerman’s doorstep and showed the world how truly filthy he was, imagine what’s in store for you! Mupert Poop-heart! You’re going to be swimming in sh…”

BOOM!

And as the ring of masked protectors passes through the main entrance, they slam the doors firmly shut behind them, Hy-Jinx’s voice trailing off into the thunderous echo.

As this occurs, the racing guards of Mupert, arriving too late, are unable to prise open the doors, uselessly milling about and shoving each other in an attempt not to get squashed by their numbers. Slowly, as one by one each individual guard and courtier notices the seething figure of Mupert, standing like a tornado of anger, the room gradually descends into silence, a silence interrupted by the clang of a golden bowl as it falls toppling from its stool, spilling its contents onto the floor.

From the crowd, the two blood hounds appear and casually climb the dais’ steps, sauntering over to the choice cuts of meat that lie before the throne, their tails wagging, their soft enthusiastic chomp echoing throughout the chamber.

Mupert looks about, scanning the crowd before him. “Who is Beerpots?…And where…is…Kurelman?” he asks murderously.