Silence Isn't Golden

                “She’s still in there.” Whispered the scullery maid, huddled in an alcove by the door of the treasury. Her torch, rested in a sconce in order to avoid serious levels of the affliction known as ‘tired arm’, cast an ever-moving light across her conspiratorial expression. “She’s muttering to herself like always.”
                Across the hallway from her, making no effort to hide from view at all, was the carpet appreciator. They were squatting down low, feet flat on the floor and bottom not too far behind, staring intently at the rug that lined the hallway floor. It was one of the emperor’s favourites, a rich navy blue with the sigil of the Lawn Polisher’s Guild adorning the centre, and images of radiant, shimmering grass running around the edge.
                “It’s just how she counts.” They replied, smiling inanely at the deep pile. “No-one judges you for talking to yourself while you dust the cabbages or sweep the ceilings.”
                “Of course they don’t. When I talk to myself it’s in company, so that everyone knows very clearly what I’m doing. The treasurer only talks to herself when she’s alone. It’s weird.” Insisted the scullery maid. She’d folded her arms to accentuate her annoyance at her confidant.
                “Either that, or you’re just antisocial. In company the treasurer speaks to other people, much like this fine carpet speaks to the core of my heart. Alone, she talks to herself. When you’re the only person around, talking to yourself is the only choice you have, whereas I am spoiled for choice of fine rugs to enjoy within the palace.” Explained the carpet appreciator, now giving the rug an excited pat. “You, on the other hand, talk to yourself instead of other people, which is just rude.”
                “Not as rude as looking at a carpet instead of the person you’re talking to.” Huffed the maid. The carpet appreciator shrugged.
                “I’m doing my job, Eleanor. A carpet appreciator appreciates nothing more than a carpet, and to look at you rather than this exquisite floor furniture would be to do my job badly.”
                “What if she’s whispering about ways to soil the rugs, hm? What then?”
                “I sincerely doubt that the imperial treasurer is plotting to herself, out loud, the various ways in which the empire’s funds could be used to make the imperial carpets dirty.”
                “Then you’re a fool. She’s up to something secret, and I hope for both of our sakes that she has her sights on the walls and ceilings.” Eleanor declared, before scuttling her way out of the alcove and along the hall. The carpet appreciator, professional as ever, did not look up to see her go.
                Inside the treasury, several candles on the walls and desk provided tolerable light to the room, which was then reflected from the vast piles of gold that Emperor called his own. Like a mountain range of unfathomable wealth, or at least a rolling hillside of hoarded loot, the imperial lucre dominated the treasury in its expensive undulations. The desk, of candle-supporting fame, sat among these golden giants, at the end of a narrow path of clear wooden flooring that led to the doorway.
                “No, I told you already. I’m not going to put any of you in the sea. There are no voyages planned, and even if there were, they wouldn’t include a chest of gold coins to be shipped around for no good reason, nor the emperor’s crown.” Said Marianne Saphirite, the imperial treasurer, with frustration edging her whispered words. “So can you please cut it out?”
                “Then it’s the sceptres who are in danger of a sinking? Or will the coins simply be transported in bags, rather than chests?” A churlish voice asked in return.
                “It’s neither, and you know it perfectly well. We’ve had this discussion enough times for you to know that there’s no danger of any gold being lost at sea in the near, or even distant, future.”
                “I was simply trying to secure some assurance of that, and it seems like you’re protesting very hard to the contrary. Suspiciously hard, some would argue.”
                “Enough! Just tell me how much gold there is in the pile.” Demanded the treasurer, with a strange echo to her voice. To an outside observer who could hear sufficiently clearly, it would have sounded like an odd question for her to ask, because that kind of knowledge was fairly core to the role of the treasurer. Finding it out in the first place usually required counting, rather than enquiry.
                “Sixteen thousand gold coins, and the equivalent of a further twenty thousand in assorted riches.” The voice replied, with an oddly metallic twang. “But it would do no good at the bottom of the ocean, with the shrimp and the squid getting all in between everything, or seaweed seizing the crown for itself.”
                “Total… thirty-six thousand…” muttered the treasurer, trying to ignore the voice’s goading speculation.
                “Can you imagine it, the empire being ruled by a bank of seaweed out in the depths of the ocean, while a sinister cabal of squid and octopuses took positions among the new aristocracy? I can imagine it. I can imagine well the laws that would be passed by a cephalopod at the head of the nation, ordering the cessation of all fishing activities and demanding that all tithes and taxes be cast into the waters.” Wailed the voice, conjuring a nightmarish vision of aquatistocracy. “And how long before they take to the land thanks to their newfound wealth? We could have a jellyfish encased in a vast glass orb, borne across the land on mechanical wooden legs.”
                “What in the name of everything good and holy are you blathering on about?” Demanded the treasurer, wearily. Trying to ignore the reckless speculation had only led to it escalating.
                “I’m just presenting a best-case scenario of what will happen when my brothers and sisters, the coinage, are lost to the inky blackness when trying to cross the sea.” Replied the voice matter-of-factly.
                “Where would seaweed or squid even spend gold? How would they transact with those above the water to have a mechanical set of wooden legs built? Where would they find a glassblower willing to create the orb for an engine of cephalopod dominance?” Demanded the treasurer.
                “They’d have an envoy, most likely. Someone working within the administration of the above-water empire who could arrange these things, starting with the initial deposit of gold into the ocean. Someone like… you?”
                The treasurer rubbed at her eyes and forehead. Some days it was utterly impossible to argue and reason with them.
                “I really wish you’d stop accusing me of being a traitor. Either working for the Kingdom of Adjacency, our greatest ally I hasten to remind you, or the speculative burgeoning empire of the seaweed, or whatever it was yesterday. A group of gulls ‘who had the look of a coup about them’ wasn’t it?”
                “Gulls often fly over the sea. These theories seem consistent to me.” Asserted the voice.
                “Well none of them are true. I am the treasurer to Emperor Benignulus, and I only wish to count his gold. That’s my job. That’s why I’m here every day, and that’s why I won’t be consigning you to the sea floor, alright? Enough now. Move on. I don’t even know where you got so much imagination.”
                “In fairness, I do spend a lot of time on the Emperor’s head.” Replied the crown. “I probably pick up on a lot of his thoughts and worries.”
                Marianne looked down at the crown, resting on its special plinth on her desk. Candlelight reflected from its brilliant, polished surface onto her enormous ledger, forming an eerie shadow every time the regal headwear opened its golden mouth.
                “Perhaps it’s time I tried another one. The emperor always takes such boring walks from the throne room to this state room or the other, or on a tedious carriage journey, or down to the dungeon to shout at the prisoners. I want something more interesting.”
                “And I want not to have to argue with you every day, but only one of those things is within our power, so please,” Pleaded the treasurer. “just behave yourself.”
                “I am behaving! It’s not wrong to have a bit of a joyride on a new scalp, nowhere is it written that the crown shan’t entertain itself while the emperor has no need of it.”
                “Can you even read? You don’t have eyes that any I can see.”
                “Pah! Clearly you don’t know me very well. My lack of obvious eyes is entirely irrelevant.”
                “I know you too well, if anything. It’s an empty threat and you’re trying to push my buttons.” Marianne told herself as much as the crown, quietly grateful that it was no longer trying to panic the other gold in the room, but frustrated that it couldn’t just get along with her after all these years.
                “Oh it is, is it?”
                “It’s as hollow as empty as the gap in your middle, little crown. Quite why you feel the need to try to cause mischief and trouble for me all day long I don’t know, but it’s not on. It’s just not on.”
                Assertiveness, it is a shame to say, wasn’t the strongest suit of Marianne Saphirite. She had learned to try it here and there with the crown, but success wasn’t always a guarantee. As she looked upon the crown with her best approximation of a stern glare, doubts formed as to how helpful her defiance had been.
                “We’ll just have to wait and see about that won’t we.” Said the crown. “You’ll see me out and about around the palace, living the high life atop a new skull, and then you’ll see how hollow and empty my words are.”
                Marianne rubbed at her temples. Of all the gold that had ever given her a hard time or tried to wind her up, this crown was easily the worst.
                For as long as she’d been alive, Marianne had possessed an extraordinary ability to communicate with gold, silver, and other valuable objects that might be reasonably classified as treasure. To her, it hadn’t really been much of a shocking revelation, in much the same way that someone born with the use of their eyes doesn’t find much to be surprised about when they discover that they can see. For those around her, however, who knew that it was less than usual for one to be able to hold a conversation with a lump of precious but inert metal, her ability had caused somewhat more of a stir.
                Had she been born to different parents, this stir might have spread farther and wider, like a stock pot the size of a city being agitated by a spoon like the finger of a god. As it was, Marianne Saphirite was the daughter of Excelsion Saphirite, the Great and Polite, who held the official position of court sorcerer, and Minervella the Magnanimous, who performed charitable witchcraft in the emperor’s name. With parents who both wielded and weaved the magical arts, the notion that their child should possess extraordinary abilities was rather expected. Although taken aback by the nature of what their little girl could do, and how it bore no resemblance at all to their own arts, they knew enough not to spread news of it to anyone outside the family. Instead, they quietly kept her apart from precious metals when in company, and studied the effects she had on the world that they could better understand them, and keep her safe.
                It transpired, after many months of study by her enchanted parents, that Marianne exerted some variety of animating power on the world around her. Within a radius that seemed to fluctuate based on factors beyond comprehension, treasure took on a kind of sentience and magical life, able to hold a conversation with their daughter and even, in extreme cases, exhibit ambulation or mechanical manipulation. When someone used the phrase that their money ‘had gone for a walk’ in the Saphirite household, it could be taken quite literally.
                Given their positions within the courts of the Quite Nice Dynasty, so named to ‘take the nasty out of Dynasty’, Minervella and Excelsion would never have been able to shield their daughter from the Emperor for long. It was rather unfortunate for them that their child’s powers were so focused around precious metals, since the Emperor so rarely walked around without at least a kilo of gold distributed around his body. Although he did sometimes remark on his rings feeling like they shuffled and writhed on his hands when in the presence of Marianne, or his necklaces swinging of their own accord, he didn’t seem to find it bothersome. It was only when Marianne proudly announced, at the age of six, that he was wearing precisely three thousand gold coins worth of jewellery that day, that he took a major interest.
                Unbeknownst to the emperor, Marianne had simply asked the gold around his body how much it was worth, and due to a compulsion that her magic exerted on the gold, it was forced to reply truthfully. Immediately the emperor decided that she must have a gift for rapidly appraising the worth of treasure, and her parents saw no reason to disabuse him of that notion.
                Some months later, young Marianne had observed that the emperor’s jewellery was now worth only two-thousand, nine-hundred and fifteen gold pieces, because someone had shaved a few layers of gold off each link of the chain around his neck. Equal parts impressed and incensed by this news, he launched an investigation into the truth of the matter and, in short order, the perpetrator had been identified and arrested. Indebted to Marianne for her service to him, despite her young age, she was immediately appointed to an official position as the imperial treasurer.
                Naturally, this decision led to some amount of panic among Minervella, Excelsior and the existing imperial treasurer, Thomas Oakwood. The magical parents were anxious about how Marianne would cope when surrounded by the entire imperial fortune, and the long-term effects that her magic might have on it. Thomas, on the other hand, was understandably perturbed that his job had been usurped by a child who could not, as yet, perform all of the arithmetic required to keep the imperial books. Nor could she write reliably. When he questioned the emperor on the matter he was assured that Marianne’s parents were among the most intelligent members of the court, and would be able to teach her all she needed in no time at all. As for Thomas’ own employment, this replacement was not intended as a disrespect or slight against him. He would instead have honour, the privilege, the blessing, of being appointed as the official imperial armrest. It would take a terrible toll on his spine, but he should, he was told, feel truly grateful for a role that had so much direct contact with the emperor.
                Morning, carrying with it bird song and the whispers of golden thread within her curtains, crept up on Marianne like a thief. Tip-toeing light underneath the curtains and ever further along the room, it sought to ambush her with a dazzling across the eyes as soon as it could. Unfortunatly for the intentions of a mischievous dawn, however, it never got the chance. Far from the blinding alarm call that daybreak had planned, it was with a great and noisy commotion that Marianne was awoken and ordered out of bed the next morning. Through eyes that refused to open fully, and with ears that protested against the cessation of what approximated to silence in their vicinity, she ascertained that a member of the emperor’s palace guard had been sent to fetch her directly. There would be no time to wash or eat, no time to use the privy, and no time even to get properly dressed; she was to attend the emperor immediately in the palace dungeons.
                Marianne swallowed hard, remembering the crown’s attitude the previous night. She had a sinking feeling regarding why somebody may have been incarcerated.
                Indeed, her intuition regarding the nature of the night’s arrest proved to be accurate, as she reached the bottom of the dungeon’s spiral staircase, wrapped in her bedsheets. They didn’t afford her great mobility in the leg department, which was a problem for the steep, narrow steps, but she was at least still warm, cosy, and covered.
                In front of her, standing in the rectangular jeering area in front of the cells, was Emperor Benignulus himself. In one hand he held his crown, while the other was clenched into a righteous fist to shake at any who had enraged him. The jeering area was a creation of his own, a dedicated part of the room that he used almost daily to shout at the prisoners for being so rude as to break his laws. There was never physical violence, and very rarely any kind of name-calling, just a lot of furiously rational arguments being bellowed at those who had failed to obey the edicts which he had passed. As unpleasant as it must have been to have the most powerful man in the empire shouting in one’s direction, hearing an in-person explanation of why each broken law is important and why they had been formulated in that way was genuinely fascinating for a lot of the inmates.
                “I just don’t know what to think!” The emperor roared, pacing angrily in front of the cell. “On the one hand you have been a consistent voice of reason and a loyal ally to me throughout my reign. On the other, you were witnessed walking around the palace, quite brazenly, in my crown!” To ensure that everyone in the room knew exactly the crown to which he was referring, he held it up at this juncture and waved it irritably at the bars. “Stealing from the imperial treasury is a breach of our most fundamental laws, namely the one that says not to steal anything from anyone! If everybody just took my money then I’d have none to spend on grand events, governance, or repairing national infrastructure! While I concede that my crown would scarcely be exchanged for money by myself to perform these works, it is nonetheless a symbol of my authority and would need to be replaced, thereby still taking funds from necessary civil projects!” He rage-explained.
                Upon seeing this, Marianne experienced an exotic combination of emotions. Her first thought was, naturally, panicked remorse at not taking the crown’s threat of roving the palace upon another’s head seriously. She’d accused it of bluffing, and it had proven her wrong; whether that would have happened if she’d chosen not to call it out was yet to be determined. Coupling with that unusual bouquet of regret was a fear that she might, somehow, be forced to reveal her niche magical powers in order to clear the name of the poor incarcerated soul. There was no way that the arrested party would be able to comprehend that the crown had, of its own accord, climbed its way aboard their head, much less would they be able to frame events such that the emperor would be convinced of their innocence.
                Above all other emotions, however, there stood alone a clear champion. It overflowed her mind, turning the spires of regret and fear into rocks that lurked beneath the surface of a sea of guilt. Standing inside the cell, and patiently waiting on the receiving end of the imperial telling-off, was the Grand Vizier Motivian Ulterior.
                “Vizier!” She cried, cutting Emperor Benignulus off mid-rant. While the vizier, who had calmly watched Marianne descend the stairs, gave her a polite nod by way of greeting, the emperor whooshed round like a human carousel of velvet and gold. With cheeks red from breathless shouting and eyes resting in a comfortable frown, he glared at the treasurer.
                “Ah! Marianne! It is good that you are here. I trust that my guard did not wake you too rudely?” He asked, flicking a glance towards the man who had accompanied the treasurer down to the dungeon. It was the kind of glance that threatened a gale-force bellowing, in this case about how unhealthy it is to be woken up with a shock. “I’ve got the lungs all warmed up and ready if he did.”
                “No, no, not at all. It was perfectly polite and respectable, but still conveyed the urgency of the situation.” Marianne replied, self-censoring to avoid any second-order chastisements for the poor man.
                “Hmm. We’ll have a chat later and you can tell me exactly how he performed. Tomorrow is the second best day to give someone a rollicking, you know.” Was the imperial assessment, and quite honestly it was about as much as anyone could hope for.
                “Certainly, your highness. But the matter at hand would, I presume, be that the vizier was found wearing your crown around the palace?” Marianne asked, hoping to steer the imperial rage into a more productive direction. “And the vizier would, I suppose, have very little idea how this came to pass.”
                “A characteristically uncanny grasp of the situation. You are quite correct on all matters, young Marianne.” Confirmed Benignulus. “He was spotted by Roderick Duggan, the Imperial Curtain Insulter, who was in the process of giving the orangery curtains what-for over their unfashionable tassels.”
                “A harsh lesson that must, nevertheless, be taught several times a year as I understand it.” The vizier added from within the cell.
                “Quite so, Motivian.” The emperor said, nodding. He did a double take and his frown deepened. “But you’re a prisoner right now, so silence!”
                “With respect, your highness, is there any need for that? Surely you can’t suspect that Motivian would try to steal from you? Especially not in such a brazen and, frankly, baffling way? The orangery doesn’t lead anywhere, so it’s not like someone as cunning- er,” She thought for a moment about her wording “- as intelligent and loyal, I mean, would take a big, obvious crown there if they meant to make an escape with it.”
                “It was a nice route though. Who cares about escaping, it was all for the joy of the ride.” The crown said with a smug smile. Marianne scowled at it, but couldn’t respond. Over the years she’d learned that no-one else could understand the language of the gold; to them, according to her parents, it sounded like nothing more than the normal sounds of creaking precious metals.
                “Bah, who is to say what runs through the mind of the vizier? He is a fox, wrapped in a blanket of books and learning, and obscured by a cloud of impenetrable teachings on, well, ruddy everything. Our inability to perceive the goals to which he was applying himself is no more an exoneration than a bloodied knife in his hand would be.” Benignulus countered, with a reasonable point hiding among the furious bushes of his thought processes. “But that is exactly the quandary with which I must grapple. It does seem unlike the vizier to steal my crown; he’s never done it before. At least, not to my knowledge, and that is why I wished for you to be here so immediately.”
                The treasurer cocked her head a little, realised what she was doing, and then straightened up again.
                “You have a way of appraising my treasures, of telling the forgeries from the genuine articles better than any artificers in the empire. Is this my crown, or has it been replaced with a forgery, to lure us off the scent of the real theft.” He demanded, thrusting the crown towards Marianne. It giggled at her.
                “Am I real? Am I really going to go on a joyride? Surely I must be lying, because oh no, nobody could ever believe that the crown would have a fun night on its own.” It goaded.
                That told her all she needed to know.
                “It’s the real thing. I’d know it anywhere.”
                “Not as well as you thought though, eh?” It mocked. Marianne gritted her teeth.
                “Hmm. So it’s not a stooge crown, that’s good. But it still remains to be seen what the vizier was doing with it, and why it was not more secure in my treasury. Why do I pay my guards such generously paltry wages if they won’t keep my vast stockpile of wealth safe?” He demanded of the assembled group. None of them seemed to be able or willing to offer any wisdom on the matter.
                “I can look into it for you, my liege.” Offered the vizier, ambitiously, in his typically composed and measured manner. The emperor scowled at him.
                “Tempting as it is to bend your talents to this, Motivian, on this occasion I feel that I cannot accept the offer. Having you investigate how you manged to walk out of my treasury with my crown would leave us open to a lot of questions on conflicts of interest.” Observed Benignulus, surprisingly astutely. “I think that the best person for the job in this case is Marianne, here. She sees more of the treasury than the rest of us do.”
                “Except for me!” The crown interjected, not that anyone except Marianne could hear it. Emperor Benignulus tightened his grip against the unaccountably wiggling crown.
                “Erm, your highness, I count the money and keep the books… I don’t have anything to do with your security forces.”
                “Then it’s time you started to have an idea about it. The vizier has, despite his offer of help, been incredibly unhelpful with regards to this matter, and you’re easily the next most learned person within my court. It’s up to you to resolve the situation.” Decided the emperor. “Ah! There you are Thomas. Just on time; my arm was getting rather tired under its own weight.”
                “What about mother? Or father? They surely have more of a place to look into crown theft than I do?” Pleaded the treasurer, as her scowling predecessor scuttled down the stairs and into the room. Thomas Oakwood was a relatively tall and thin man, almost as tall as the emperor himself, and the emperor’s arms, imperious and impressive as they were, hung down from his shoulders in the usual manner. Thus, for them to be rested upon Thomas’ back, as was the correct etiquette for an imperial armrest, Thomas was forced to adopt a hunched and folded position that provided an excellent resting surface, but took a devastating toll on his spinal health.
                “They’re away from the court at the moment; I’m surprised that you didn’t know about it already.” The emperor replied, beckoning Thomas over as if the man didn’t know what his role was. He moved with a lurching, shuffling gait, barely able to straighten his back. “They’re acting as envoys to the Kingdom of Adjacency to settle a dispute about the Contested Regions. We all know full well that their kingdom is adjacent to the Contested Regions, and by dint of their name as the Kingdom of adjacency they therefore they must belong to us. They, however, are somehow asserting that the Contested Regions themselves are adjacent to us, and must therefore belong to them. It’s the same bloody story every time it gets brought up.” Grumbled Benignulus, as he rested his elbow into the shaped cup that was stitched into the back of Thomas’ shirt. “So they’re going to try to sort it out. Again. That leaves you to deal with this business.”
                Marianne sighed. There was no use in debating with the emperor any further, lest she find herself receiving an imperial bellowing alongside the vizier. There was no way she’d let Oakwood have the satisfaction of seeing that; ever since she’d taken his job at the age of six, he’d seemed to have it out for her. Looking at his trembling form under the emperor’s solid mass, she could hardly imagine why.
                “That’s the sound of acquiescence!” Boomed the emperor merrily. Within the cell, Motivian’s eyes widened with realisation; he’d always assumed that the emperor was joking when he’d said that before, but the man was being deadly serious. Benignulus was so used to wearing people down with volume, or the threat of future volume, that he really thought resigned sighs were what agreement sounded like. Rubbing at his face one-handed, the vizier made a mental note to keep an eye on that worrying misinterpretation of the world.
                “Now,” continued the emperor, oblivious to the psychoanalysis going on behind him, “off to work with you. If there’s a threat to the safety of my crown or my coin then you need to put a stop to it.”
                “Yes, liege. Of course.” Marianne said, wringing her hands as anxiety mounted. Normally, she could rely on the help of sorcery or witchcraft when the emperor made an unreasonable demand. This time all she had was herself, and a sizeable amount of decidedly unhelpful gold. “I suppose I’d best start by talking to you about it, Motivian.”
                “A sensible course of action, certainly.” Agreed the vizier.
                “She’s stalling for time because she doesn’t know what to do.” Sniped a tiny voice from the emperor’s hand. Marianne closed her eyes and cursed internally; the rings had noticed her.
                “Motivian has conducted many such investigations in my name before, so you should take his advice.” Agreed Benignulus. “But he is also a potential thief, so disregard all of his advice if you believe him to be guilty!” He then bellowed to follow up, leaning heavily on Thomas as he did so. Marianne nodded fearfully.
                “In that case, erm, Motivian. Did you go to the treasury during the night?”
                “Yes, I did.” He answered promptly.
                “Good question, establishing what we already know. What an idiot.” The ring laughed.
                “What can you expect from a human abacus? Except she doesn’t even do that, does she? She just asks us for the answer. Maybe she can’t count.” Another ring suggested. This one was inset with a large sapphire on the top, making the voice sound somehow colder and more angular.
                “Why did you go there?” Marianne asked, ignoring the tiny insults rising from the rested arm.
                “For good reason.” He replied. Benignulus huffed irritably while Marianne waited with patience for the rest of the vizier’s response. After half a minute it became abundantly clear that there was no more of an answer to come.
                “And that reason would be?”
                “Because you have teeth that look like they belong in a harbour, carrying a thousand sailors out to sea.” One of the rings replied, much to the mirth of the others. Even the crown enjoyed a chuckle at the notion, before it became saddened and worried by the idea of getting lost at sea again.
                “I’m afraid I can’t say what the reason was, Marianne, but believe me when I say that it was one with the best interests of the empire at heart. I did not enter with the intention of stealing a crown, nor did I leave with that intention. In fact, at no point between entering or leaving, nor before or afterwards, did I have any intention of stealing anything from the empire.” He explained, as if he were teaching Marianne the correct sequence of events for crop rotation, rather than making a case for his own innocence.
                “You can’t tell me?” She asked, for the sake of clarity. “You admit to being in the treasury and to leaving with the crown on your head, but you won’t tell me-”
                “Can’t tell you.” Corrected the vizier.
                “-can’t tell me why. You see why this makes it more difficult for me to determine your innocence, don’t you?”
                “Or guilt.” Added the emperor.
                “Or guilt.” Thomas agreed, his voice strained from bearing the weight of a ruler on his spine.
                “Right, fine.” Said Marianne, not looking round. For an instant she thought she caught the vizier giving her a meaningful flick of the eyes towards Thomas, but that could equally have been a pitying look at his ongoing plight. There was a lot to pity about the biologically unconvincing shape of Thomas’ back.
                “Yes, I understand that it hardly helps you in your investigation, except for the fact that you can rule out the crown being stolen by me, because I didn’t steal it. It must have made its way onto my head by other means.”
                “By other means?!” Roared the emperor, slamming his hand down on what he always thought of as a table, but in reality was the body of Thomas Oakwood. Barely a gasp escaped the diligent armrest. “What other means could there be of my crown coming to rest upon your traitorous, or possibly not traitorous, head?”
                “Someone else could have put it on my head without my notice.” Motivian explained, still perfectly calm.
                “WITHOUT YOUR NOTICE?!” Benignulus bellowed, turning red with fury. “This crown is solid gold and weighs more than most cattle! How could you possibly fail to notice it landing upon your skull?”
                “I don’t know the mechanism for how or why, my liege, it is simply a working theory at the moment.”
                “I was holding myself up.” The crown told Marianne smugly. “I knew he’d notice if I was on his hair, so I just didn’t rest my weight on him.”
                “But… how? What were you leaning on?”
                “I just held myself up in the same way I floated up to his head.” The crown said, not very helpfully.
                Marianne rolled her eyes, which didn’t escape the emperor’s notice.
                “You see! Even my mild-mannered treasurer-investigator grows weary with your evasiveness.”
                “I think we can ignore how the crown wasn’t felt for now. The real question is whether or not there was anyone else in the room?” Marianne said, trying to distract from the unexplainable. Unfortunately, she realised too late that she’d chosen another query that would provide an unsatisfactory answer.
                “No, Marianne. I did not see anyone else in the treasury whilst I was there.” The vizier replied cheerfully.
                There were groans of frustration from everyone else in the room. Thomas’ groans had a pained edge to them.
                “Then could anyone have been hiding anywhere?” Marianne pleaded, palms open and forward, ready to receive the charity of any way to provide an alibi for the vizier. Trying to convince the emperor that Motivian was innocent, based on the testimony of a piece of gold, was unlikely to work out well. Even if he did believe her, her cover would be gone. Once news of her abilities spread, all the other empires would try to capture and use her for their own foul ends.
                “I searched the room pretty thoroughly while I was in there, and I don’t know of anywhere that a person could hide from me.” Motivian replied, adding nail after nail to his own coffin for reasons that Marianne was unable to fathom. What she could fathom, however, was that he definitely glanced towards Thomas again, and he was trying to catch her eye.
                “You see? You see how useless asking the man to defend himself is?! He refuses to say why we was snooping around, searching every corner of the treasury on his own, but claims the fact that he left with my crown on his head was both unknown to him, and committed by someone else! This is pointless. He must be guilty.”
                “I am not guilty, my liege. Although I understand why you feel that way.”
                “Bah. Come along Marianne. This is obviously a waste of time and you have investigations to carry out.” The emperor ordered, leaning heavily on Thomas Oakwood and indicating towards the door with his other hand.
                “Actually, your highness, I would like to keep speaking to the vizier for a while longer. See if anything useful can come of it. Feel free to go ahead and I will keep you informed if I find anything helpful.”
                “Feel free? This is my palace in my empire! I’m the only one who can decide how free anyone can feel!” He boomed for a moment, before regaining control of himself. “Apologies. That outburst was unnecessary. I shall take my leave before Motivian here makes me any angrier. Work quickly, Marianne.”
                “Of course, your highness.” Marianne replied, watching him chivvy Thomas into motion, and awkwardly ascend the spiral staircase whilst still, desperately, trying to keep his arm rested upon the armrest’s back.
                The vizier and the treasurer waited until the footsteps and winces had faded to silence before speaking again.
                “Alright, Motivian. What’s really going on here?” Asked the treasurer, sympathetically.
                “Thank you, first of all, for being sufficiently astute to notice that we must speak alone.” He answered. “For I could not speak of these matters in front of the emperor or his armrest. You see, I had heard reports from the house staff of strange goings on in the treasury of a night. It seems that once you depart every night, and lock it up firmly, footsteps beating a peculiarly lopsided rhythm have been heard in the vicinity. Not wanting to alarm anyone unnecessarily, but respecting the gravity of the situation, I have been keeping a quiet vigil over the treasury for some weeks now.”
                “You suspect that someone is trying to steal from the emperor? Why didn’t you tell me?”
                “You’d know if something was missing with your uncanny accounting ability.” The vizier said, dismissively. “But it’s more accurate to say that I thought someone was trying to steal from the emperor. Knowing that I would likely be spotted by any vigilant thief if I kept watch personally, I instead placed a single strand of the scullery maid’s hair on the doorway. If it were to be opened during the night, then the hair would be disturbed. Lo and behold, after the first night it had moved, but it had been a windy evening and it’s only one hair. So I repeated the experiment again, but a lot of people had walked past the room that night, so it was hard to draw any solid conclusions.” Recounted Motivian, making expressive hand gestures all the while, without any of them being necessary. “I had to try again, therefore, and once more the hair was disturbed. But… I know that some crows had been on the window outside, and if the crows were to peck at the glass too hard then it might shake the walls and-”
                “How many times did you do this, Motivian?” Asked Marianne flatly.
                “Thirteen, in the end. Which gave me confidence that someone was definitely tampering with something in the treasury. Of course, by that point they’d been in there up to thirteen times just since I’d started watching, let alone how many other times before it had come to my notice. If they were stealing anything, even one coin at a time, then you would most certainly have reported it by then. So clearly, theft wasn’t the aim of the game. Perhaps something more sinister. Perhaps an attack.” Vizier Ulterior revealed gravely.
                “And you still didn’t think to let me know that someone might be trying to plan an attack on me?” She hissed at him. Slow response to theft be damned, her life mattered quite a lot more.
                “Well… they’d had at least thirteen days to try something and if they hadn’t done it in that time…” Motivian defended weakly. “… look, the point is that I wanted to check out the treasury for any evidence of someone leaving a trap for you.”
                Marianne looked at the vizier with pursed lips, now starting to feel grateful that the crown had got him arrested. Who knew how long it would have been before he’d informed her of the danger to her life otherwise?
                “And my point is that I think I had a right to know about things affecting my safety. But fine, that’s not the discussion to be having right now. Why couldn’t you tell the emperor and get the palace security force to help?”
                “Because of the lolloping gait, Marianne. Who do you know who walks in a strangely lop-sided manner and might have cause to want to harm you, hmm? I’ll give you a clue.” He said, bending at the waist and pulling a caricature of a pained expression.
                “Thomas Oakwood… you believe that he’s trying to harm me?”
                “He would seem the most logical suspect, but I couldn’t throw an accusation like that around without evidence. The emperor wouldn’t enjoy having to train an interim armrest while the investigations were carried out.”
                It was true, the emperor was notoriously picky when it came to new armrests, and his happiness was a directly influencing factor on the happiness of the rest of the court. It was just so heart-breaking to see him sad.
                “So,” continued the vizier, “I need you to continue searching the treasury and look for evidence of a trap. Hopefully you’ll have better luck than I did, thanks to your greater familiarity with the room. And if you find anything implicating the armrest we can take swift action against him.”
                Heart beating faster and harder than usual, which didn’t often have cause to happen when counting the same pile of gold for the fourth time that week, Marianne nodded her head, took her leave, and returned to the treasury above. Outside of the door were stationed two members of the palace security force, Harold Strongarm and Estrella Rock, one on either side and both of them frowning hard.
                “Halt! Hello there madam treasurer!” Ordered Harold, his voice cheerful but his expression stern.
                “Who goes there, madam treasurer?” Asked Estrella, equally indulged in the juxtaposition of face and tone.
                “It’s me, the treasurer.” Replied Marianne, patiently. “How are you both?”
                “Halt! Very well thank you!”
                “What business have you at your place of work during your hours of work? I’m also very well thank you, and I wish you a lovely day in return!” Demanded Estrella.
                “I’m doing my work.” She told them, stepping forwards and pushing open the door.
                “Halt! Glad to hear it.” Replied Harold. Obediently Marianne stopped again. “We’re also doing our work, namely keeping a vigilant watch over the treasury for any unsavoury characters who might, by deed or misdeed, attempt to make off with the emperor’s crown, gold, sceptre, paintings, floor, desk, or treasurer. Or a combination of the above.”
                “State your business! Or the wall sconces.” Estrella barked, helpfully.
                “Halt! We are to understand the vizier was found walking the hallways with a crown upon his non-imperial bonce. Criminality at its most foul.”
                “Justify your presence! I would argue that both murder and tracking mud across the imperial curtains would be more foul.”
                “Halt! A fair assessment! We shall keep a vigil for those crimes as well.” Decided Harold, scanning his eyes across the windows that he could see.
                “Jolly good.” Marianne told them, a little weary at the shouting. “I’ll just be on my way then.”
                “Halt! Please proceed as you were, madam treasurer.”
                “What are you doing here?! We’ll keep frowning at everything so that it knows it’s being watched. An old guard’s trick, that.” Estrella said with a wink.
                “Halt! And shouting at things too. Shouting means security.” Harold added.
                “Good work!” Marianne said as she closed the door behind herself, and flopped against it with a sigh. With security like that it was a wonder that the crown hadn’t gone missing years before.
                Inside, the treasury was much as she’d left it the night before, except that the crown was no longer on its pride-of-place stand on the desk. Her chair was tucked neatly in, the piles of gold appeared to be undisturbed, and the enormous ledger book which held records of the imperial finances was, as ever, glaring up at the ceiling.
                “Is everyone still accounted for?” Marianne asked, in her magically echoing voice. A chorus of yeses came roaring back at her from all around, as every coin and every precious item reported its presence back to her. This was followed by a second chorus of ‘except the crown’.
                The treasurer breathed a small sigh of relief. Although it was really just confirming what she already knew, because Motivian was quite correct that she would immediately know if anything had been stolen, it was some good news to give to Benignulus. With any fortune she would be able to find some even better news soon.
                “Was someone else in here last night?” She asked, crossing over to the desk and examining it closely. The thick mahogany drawer pedestals were brilliantly polished, and showed no signs of a plot to devalue the desk by persistent scuffing, so theory one was a bust.
                “Of course there was someone else in here last night.” A coin jeered at her. “We were all here, just like always. It’s only you who leaves.”
                “What a strange question to ask us.” A bejewelled goblet replied, resting on top of a pile of doubloons. “It’s tantamount to admitting that she doesn’t know where we are overnight. How callous.”
                “No, it isn’t. You know perfectly well that I was asking if a person other than me entered the treasury last night.” Marianne said, now checking whether any of the drawers had been filled with contraband goods. Unless the emperor was about to outlaw possession of financial records, that idea was also a non-starter.
                “There were two people who came to the door in the early hours of this morning.” Whispered a golden quill conspiratorially. It had floated, feather-like for the obvious reasons, next to her from a display case pushed against one wall.
                “OK, thank you. Who were they?”
                “I didn’t see their faces, but they approached together, as a pair, speaking of how they couldn’t falter in whatever their duty was.” Reported the quill. Marianne turned to face it fully, giving it her full attention. “They were heavily armed, and they wore armour.” It relayed, grimly.
                “Wow. OK.” Marianne gasped, stopping her search and directly facing the quill. “Did they say what their duty was?”
                “Yes, at great length.”
                Neither one of them spoke, and Marianne’s lips pursed slightly.
                “And what did they say it was?”
                “Of the utmost importance.” Said the quill. There was sniggering from the collection coins.
                “Please tell me what they said their duty was.” The treasurer asked, rather more diplomatically than she would have liked under normal circumstances. She made a mental note to reassess her life, such that she fell higher in the social and informational hierarchy than a writing implement in future.
                “They said their duty was of the utmost importance and not something in which they should fail, like I said. I thought you really wanted to know this stuff. It seems like you’re barely listening at all.” Pouted the quill, as the assembled treasure behind her whooped and cheered like an audience at the empire’s weaving tournaments.
                “I am listening very closely, which is exactly the problem.” Snapped the treasurer. “Don’t make me compel you properly.” She threatened. The cheering and whooping ceased.
                “Well there’s no need for that.” Grumbled the quill, darkly. “This is why no one likes you; you fail to listen and then threaten us with compulsion magic whenever you lose your temper with  us. I was being perfectly helpful and-” The quill ranted, but Marianne had had enough.
                “Tell me exactly what the intruders said about their duty.” She interrupted, her voice echoing with a metallic twang. All mischief left the quill’s voice.
                “They said ‘Halt! Otherwise you’ll walk into the door. Our duty is of the utmost importance, and crashing your face into the furnishings won’t serve it at all’. The other replied ‘Who goes there? Yes, we must not fail in our purpose here.’”
                “But- for goodness sakes! Those are the guards outside the door!” Marianne roared at the quill, which erupted in metallic, yet distinctly feathery, laughter.
                “I know! But they were here.” It cackled. The treasurer snatched it up roughly by the stem and returned it to its inkwell.
                “Other than the guards I passed to come here, who were clearly discharging their usual duty and can only have arrived recently, was anyone else in here last night?” She snarled at the assembled treasure. “If you think I won’t compel the answer out of you then you are sorely mistaken.”
                “They did arrive last night, to be fair.” Said a necklace, resting unevenly across a loose collection of earrings. “Night can be reasonably defined as the period before sunrise, and they were here just before dawn.”
                “We are not arguing semantics about the definition of night and day. Which other people came in here last night?”
                “The vizier came in.” Said a collector’s edition pencil sharpener, lying among the ruins of many a pencil that had arrived blunt, and left with a new lease on life.
                “Alright, that’s useful, thank you. What did he do?”
                “He ambled around on those legs you humans like so much. Here and there he went, always putting his feet on the floor and bending at the knees to move around. Sometimes, in fairness, he put his hands on the floor too, folded up like a little ball while he did it.” Reported the pencil sharpener.
                “So he walked around in the room, and searched on the floor for something?”
                “If you want to be needlessly vague about it then yes, I suppose so.” It answered, making it clear that if it had been in possession of eyes, they would have been rolling. “Went all around the place; your desk, the floor under your desk, the doorframe, the chandelier… he loved getting about.”
                Marianne crouched down and examined the floorboards under her desk as the sharpener spoke to her. It seemed that the dust had been disturbed.
                “What was he looking for?”
                “He was muttering to himself about traps or tampering or something. But I can’t say exactly what he was after because I’m a pencil sharpener, not an enchanted diviner of human intentions.”
                The treasurer nodded. So far so good for Motivian’s version of events, but equally she couldn’t use a pencil sharpener as a witness to prove innocence. Strictly speaking she could, she supposed, but it would only lead to a reduction in her duties and an increase in visits from the apothecary.
                “Brilliant, thank you. What else happened?”
                “Just normal, boring human stuff. He walked about some more, he yawned, he muttered about not finding anything, a crown floated onto his head, and then he left.” Recounted the pencil sharpener. “Didn’t once try to take a flat-ended piece of wood, with or without a graphite core, and transform it into the shape of the divine.”
                “Did he notice the crown?”
                “I don’t know, do I? I couldn’t exactly ask him.”
                “He didn’t react much to it.” Called down the golden chandelier. It was happily swinging from side-to-side of its own accord. “Maybe his time with me nearby to his head left him a little numb to such a small, unimpressive quantity of gold resting upon him.”
                “Yes, we get it, you’re the biggest piece of gold in here. Stop going on about it. At least we’re not chained to the ceiling and covered in wax.” Snapped a sceptre, poking like a sapling from a pile of coins in the corner.
                “Alright, no arguing among yourselves.” Marianne interjected. “Or you can, I guess, but once I’m done here. To recap, the vizier came in, had a look around my desk and floor, looked at the doorframe, examined the chandelier, got ambushed by a floating crown and then left?”
                “That’s about it, yes. Which is ridiculous, really, because for all of his muttering about traps and tampering he didn’t once go near to where the other guy likes to mess with stuff.” Said the pencil sharpener. The treasurer’s head snapped round to face him, quickly enough that any secret crowns upon her own head would have been thrown clean off again.
                “What? Which other guy?”
                “The one who’s been coming in here for a few weeks. You know, cloak, hood, walks like a human if one leg was longer than the other and their back didn’t work. He’s always lifting up that floorboard over there, and it’s probably the only place that the vizier didn’t look. Very strange behaviour indeed, because a thin sliver of floorboard could so easily be sharpened…”
                With some direction from the chandelier, whose chandelier’s-eye view of the room afforded them an ideal vantage point, Marianne found the board in question. Almost imperceptible scuffs and scratches were visible at the edges, where it had been levered up a number of times.
                “What does he do under there?”
                “No idea. His cloak covers it.” Replied some of the coins. “But it’s probably more interesting than talking to you.”
                “Very good.” Marianne replied flatly. She was less concerned about the coins calling her boring than the insulting lack of imagination they’d put into the jab. “Estrella! Harold! Come in here, please.” She shouted towards the door.
                With a few cries of halt, and a lot of probing questions about who goes where and what they were up to, the palace security guards entered the treasury.
                “I need you to lift this floorboard for me. Someone has been tampering underneath it, so please be careful.” Marianne told them.
                “Halt! Yes, madam treasurer.” Harold said, taking a dagger from his belt and slipping it alongside the loose board. Leaning on the dagger’s handle, he started to lever the end up of the board up, at which point Estrella slammed her halberd down hard into it with a mighty cracking sound. Like a plum tomato stabbed with a freshly sharpened pencil, something that the pencil sharpener was always encouraging Marianne to try, Estrella plucked the board upwards and stood to attention with it capping her weapon.
                “Erm, thank you I suppose. I’ll see if the vizier can arrange for that to be replaced.” She said.
                “Sharpen the splinters! They’ll be great darts!” Pleaded the pencil sharpener, but Marianne tried to ignore it.
                “Oh my goodness…” She instead said, peering underneath the floor. In a small cavity there was the partially constructed form of a crude crossbow trap, complete with a dart-tipped glass vial.
                “State your business! Was this your business, madam treasurer?” Asked Estrella.
                “I… I guess so, but this isn’t mine, obviously. Someone was setting up a trap for me…” She said, tracing the line of the dart with her eyes. It was directed squarely at her seat. “Someone with a lop-sided gait who has been seen entering this treasury for a few weeks now, wearing a cloak and hood because of course they were, is trying to poison me…”
                All in all, it felt rather unfair to Marianne. Throughout the course of discharging her duties she never hurt anyone, and tried her hardest not to upset anybody either. More often than not she had to speak sharply to the gold, of course, because it tried so hard to undermine her at every turn. Aside from that though, she was the model of politeness. Her lip trembled a bit at the prospect of somebody hating her so much as to go to this trouble to hurt her. A glint of gold caught her eye on the glass vial, and the trembling was overruled by determination.
                “What’s in you?” She asked of the gold banding.
                “Halt! Organs and a skeleton, madam treasurer.” Harold reported dutifully. She ignored him as a thin voice rose up from the dart.
                “A fluid.” It said. “I don’t know what it does and frankly I don’t want to know. Even if I did want to know then I wouldn’t tell you.”
                “Who goes there? I can find out for you!” Estrella announced. Carelessly she allowed her halberd to fall, crashing into a pile of coins, and she threw herself to the floor at the edge of the cavity.
                “Please be careful!” Marianne squeaked urgently, snatching herself out of the way as Estrella’s hand grabbed at the dart. With the vigour of her grab, the glass shattered. Razor-like shards slipped easily into the flesh of her hand, as the mystery fluid flooded her forearm, washing away the blood as it escaped Estrella’s body.
                “What is the meaning of this? It’s a fluid of some kind.” She announced proudly.
                “Halt!” Harold interrupted. “Continue.”
                “My hand appears to be going numb, madam treasurer.” Reported the injured guard, groggily. “As does my arm, neck, and general head area. Suspect that I am about to cease my wakeful vigil and enter some kind of sleeping state. Will keep you updated as…” was as far as she got, before Harold grabbed her shoulders and laid her gently down on the floor.
                “Halt! She’s halted, madam treasurer. It appears that the dart was a tranquiliser of some sort, based on the, er, tranquil state of Estrella. Would you like a second opinion?” He asked, preparing to grab at the same shards of glass.
                “No! No, goodness no! Please look after her, get an apothecary or something.”
                “Halt! Right away, madam.” Harold obeyed, standing up and rushing from the treasury.
                “Smooth moves, ‘madam treasurer’. Really cut to the heart of that matter.” Mocked an ornamental door handle from among the treasure pile somewhere.
                “Well…” Marianne said, ignoring the jeers and keeping one eye on the sleeping guard. “… where did you come from?”
                “From the floor, what are you, a fool?” Answered the gold band. It was distorted now and spoke in a weaker, injured voice. Without support from the glass it would never hold its shape.
                “Before that. Who put you here?”
                “I’m not telling you anything. I’m no snitch. You’ll not get a word from me. I’m as tight-lipped as my tip is sharp!” It defied.
                “Fine.” She said.
                “Yeah and don’t you- wait, what?”
                “Oh, it doesn’t know about her!” Cried the sceptre excitedly.
                “I don’t know what, narc?” The gold band yelled in response, before remembering itself. “I mean, I don’t know anything that you want from me, obviously.” It said to Marianne.
                “Oh, this is going to be good.” Chuckled the quill. “It’s going to see why no-one likes her.”
                “It’ll rue the day she laid hands on it.” Agreed the chandelier.
                “Nah… nah you’re all trying to scare me. Well it won’t work. I won’t tell anyone anything.” The gold band insisted, with a faltering quality that went beyond even the physical distortion it had suffered.
                “Go on, treasurer. Exercise your cruel powers on it.” Goaded the coinage at large.
                “Is it really that bad?” Marianne asked, quietly. “I… it’s not torture is it?”
                “Torture? How can I be tortured? I’m made of gold!” The band cried.
                “Why don’t we let our new companion decide?” Suggested the sceptre, darkly.
                “I mean… I do need to know where you came from. If you don’t co-operate then I’ll ask you properly.” Said the treasurer, to her informant-to-be. It seemed to quiver a bit.
                “You… you don’t scare me.”
                “Alright then.  Tell me where you came from.” She said, with the familiar echo rising through her throat.
                “The office of the imperial armrest. That is where I was put together and filled.” It said, drone-like and blank. After a moment, something returned. “Hey! That’s not fair! You can’t just make me tell the truth!”
                “I demonstrably can. And I did.” Snapped Marianne. She couldn’t believe the nerve of it; Thomas Oakwood was trying to poison her and all for what? Because the emperor had given her his job? That was hardly her fault. Anger rose up from her stomach and infused her arms, using her veins as a rage-transport system to get the fists clenched, the neck tightened, and the brain focused on vengeance.
                “What a cheat. You all could have warned me!” The gold band grumbled at the treasure, which was met with mocking laughter.
                “We tried… sort of…” Said the sceptre, satisfied.
                “I’ll ruin him.” Marianne growled. “More than his spine already has been. He’ll be paid in coin and I’ll make it jump down his throat.”
                “She’s not the real monster, you lot are. Fancy letting that happen to one of your own! Traitors!” The dart’s band shouted. Marianne looked at it, and felt some rage subside. It was right, she wasn’t a monster. The emperor could deal with forcing coins down his throat; all she could do was prove his guilt. She took a deep breath through her nose.
                “Thank you for the information. It still doesn’t help me that much, though.” Said Marianne. “I still only have the testimony of some gold. I need to find actual evidence that this was Thomas Oakwood and not the vizier.”
                “You’re getting nothing more out of me!”
                “I don’t need to.”
                “Oh…” the gold band muttered, disappointed. “Well, alright then. Good. Great, in fact.”
                Marianne put it back in the cavity and stood up. Footsteps outside the door told of Harold’s return, and indeed he appeared with the apothecary in tow.
                “What happened?” Asked the medic, laden with bags of assorted plants from the imperial garden. He’d been picking flowers when Harold had found him.
                “She got some kind of poison in the cuts on her hands.” Marianne told him. “I’m sure you can deal with it. I’m going to the imperial armrest’s chambers to continue my investigations.”
                “Halt! Go ahead, madam treasurer. I’ll keep an eye on things here.” Said Harold, magnanimously allowing her the free movement to which she was entitled, and graciously preparing to follow his orders.
                “No, you are to go to the emperor and have Thomas Oakwood thrown into the dungeon, on my order. I have evidence implicating him in a plot to destabilise the treasury.” Marianne instructed. Without missing a beat, nor spending any time questioning whether or not that would constitute dereliction of his duty to keep the treasury safe, Harold rushed from the room, and Marianne took her leave. Sitting on the floor with an unconscious Estrella and a treasury to secure all by himself, the apothecary cursed them both.
                The chambers of the imperial armrest were on the ground floor of the palace, far less secure than the treasury and commensurately less salubrious. A plain wooden door led to a bedroom with a modest single bed, a desk, and a bookcase. Covering the floor was a fine rug, out of courtesy for the carpet appreciator.
                “Alright then, Thomas, what secrets are you hiding in here.” Marianne said, letting herself in and scowling at everything. From the clothes resting on his bed to the jar of back-ointment on the desk, everything screamed at her that Thomas Oakwood was a villain of no small quarter.
                Roughly she tugged open the drawers of his desk, and found manuals on the best way to bend at arm height, how to train the thighs for a life time of supporting an emperor, and carpet appreciation for amateurs. There was nothing however, regarding poisons or dart traps.
                Disregarding that dead-end, she peered under the bed, hoping to find a treasure trove of bowyers equipment, plus a pestle and mortar for venom creation. There was only dust.
                “What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” Demanded a voice from above. Marianne crashed the back of her head into the bedframe as she tried to stand up. “Serves you right for snooping about!”
                Marianne looked to the door, but there was no one.
                “This way you imbecile.”
                Pivoting around, she faced the window, which was utterly unremarkable in and of itself. Above it, however, was a bar of solid gold, with three thin brackets straining to hold its impressive and unnecessary weight off the floor. It was the most decadent curtain rail that Marianne had ever seen. While that wasn’t really a great accolade in and of itself, the low quality of other curtain rails did nothing to detract from the majesty of this one.
                “Oh… hello. I wasn’t expecting a golden curtain rail in here.” She said. “Another crime of the armrest?”
                “I was a gift from the emperor to the kind and diligent Thomas Oakwood for services to well-rested arms, actually.” It said proudly. “The same man whose privacy you now invade and whose good name you insult! Now I demand you state your business and leave.”
                “I am Marianne Saphirite, imperial treasurer, and Thomas Oakwood is trying to poison me, so perhaps you should rethink your accusations of kindness and diligence.” She replied, huffily.
                “Preposterous.”
                “Postposterous, if anything.” Marianne said. “I found a dart trap hidden beneath the treasury floorboards, directed at me, and the gold banding around it confessed that it had been made in this very room.”
                “And that means it was the hand of Thomas Oakwood, does it?” Demanded the curtain rail.
                “Unless someone else is using his bedroom regularly, yes.”
                “I believe you have made my own point for me.” Said the curtain rail, with a pout.
                “Eh?”
                “Someone else using this bedroom regularly.” It paraphrased. “Come along now, even a dunce like you can work it out.”
                “You’re telling me that someone else uses Thomas Oakwood’s bedroom?”
                “Yes. You are not the only trespasser in here.” Said the curtain rail. “Not the only person who uses Thomas Oakwood’s hard-won space as their own, like vermin crawling through the dirt in the night.”
                “Please don’t call me vermin.”
                “I’ll do as I please! Take a look under the rug, and then tell me if you still think that Thomas Oakwood is anything other than a hero.”
                Frowning at the curtain rail, and then the rug, Marianne shuffled around and lifted the corner of the fine but worn pile. It revealed some floorboards.
                “It’s the floor.” She said, flatly.
                “Keep going, moron.”
                Rolling the rug back further revealed yet more floorboards, and more still. As Marianne started to suspect that the curtain rail was having fun at her expense, forcing her to rearrange the rug rather than being helpful, there came into view the edge of a trapdoor.
                “Oh…” She said.
                “Oh indeed, you sniping little rat!” Spat the curtain rail, which was impressive without lips or salivary glands. “So now what do you think about my precious prince of rested arms, hm?”
                “I think he has a hidden trapdoor.” She said, simply. Rolling the rug all the way back, she revealed the full trapdoor. It had a recessed black handle, sitting flush with the surface of the floor to prevent any bumps or dents in the rug, and was around the size required for a generously proportioned human to slip through. “What’s down there?”
                “Refutation of your unfair insinuations.” The curtain rail declared, without really giving anything away. Rolling her eyes, Marianne grabbed the handle and pulled.
                “Argh!” Cried a weak voice from inside. Below the floor there was a cellar of some kind, complete with a workbench covered in chemical apparatus, a small bed of rags and straw, and a ragged looking man in a long, dark cloak, squinting his eyes against the bright light of day.
                “There’s your villain!” Cried the curtain rail. “Not my sweet, darling, beautiful Thomas Oakwood. So you apologise right now!”
                “Who are you?” Demanded Marianne of the ragged gentleman, but he didn’t seem to be of a mind to reply. Instead, he lunged upwards at her. In surprise she leapt back, losing grip on the handle and sending the trapdoor back down. It landed with a heavy thunk, of the kind one might hear when a thick piece of wood strikes a man on top of the head.
                The imperial dungeon of the Quite Nice Dynasty was rather busy. One day previously it had been completely empty, except for the guards scowling at the cells for practice. Now, in the aftermath of Marianne’s investigation, it was crammed full. First to enter had been vizier Motivian Ulterior for his well-documented alleged crime of crown theft. Next to enter was Thomas Oakwood, imperial armrest, under accusation of trying to poison the imperial treasurer with a dart trap. This accusation had not aged well in the following hour or so, but he was incarcerated nonetheless. Having delivered the news of Thomas Oakwood’s presumed guilt. Harold Strongarm had been thrown in the dungeon for abandoning his post at the treasury door, as had Estrella Rock who was found asleep on the floor with an apothecary nearby. The apothecary was arrested for trespassing in the treasury, and the arresting officer was thrown in the dungeon under charges of interrupting an apothecary during important medical practice. When the ragged old man had been retrieved by a further member of the palace security force, dragged from his sub-floor hiding place to the dungeon, they had been forced to tuck him into a small gap behind Motivian, for he would not fit anywhere else.
                Before them all, irritable from an unrested arm, stood Emperor Benignulus. Alongside him was Marianne Saphirite, feeling rather sheepish at how events had turned out.
                “I’m very sorry again, Thomas.” She said, after explaining her revelations from his chambers. “I had no idea that someone was living under your floor when I ordered your arrest, and I shouldn’t have suspected you of jealousy.”
                “Not a problem, Marianne.” He answered. He was lying face-down on the floor and receiving some chiropractic treatment from the apothecary. “You were doing what you felt best in the circumstances.”
                “Bah! To think that someone plotted against my treasurer under all of our noses! Sickening.” Said the emperor. “Vizier, have you identified our mystery conspirator yet?”
                “Yes, your highness.” Said the vizier, rotating awkwardly on the spot to face the emperor, doing his best not to kick Thomas Oakwood or put the apothecary off their work. “It is none other than Gerald Bentspine.”
                “Gerald!” Boomed the emperor. “Surely not! Show me his face again.”
                With much yelping and muttering, Motivian and the ragged man squeezed their way past one another so that the emperor could gaze upon his guilty man.
                “My goodness! Years of living underneath floorboards have not been kind to you, Gerald.”
                “Who is this, your highness?” Asked Marianne. She’d not seen him before in her life, but apparently he was well known to the emperor and Motivian.
                “This, my treasurer, is Gerald Bentspine, previous incumbent in the noble office of the imperial armrest.” Revealed Benignulus. Marianne gasped theatrically because she supposed it was what the emperor wanted. “Your gasp is most appropriate, Marianne. Gerald now occupies a post as the imperial retiree, and was supposed to be well away from the palace. What is the meaning of this Gerald! Explain yourself.”
                With as much of a wheezing sigh as the limited space in the dungeon cell allowed, Gerald faced the emperor.
                “I apologise, my liege. I was a victim of jealousy most sinister. As you recall, I served as your armrest for many happy years, possibly the happiest years of my life. Wherever you went, I was there. From the bedchamber to the commode to the throne room to exotic nations, I was by your side the whole way.” He said. Marianne was disconcerted by how high commode came on that list, but chose not to question it openly for the time being. “I thought I served you well, no, better than well! I served you admirably. I was the best armrest that empire had ever seen.”
                “Your services were exemplary, yes.” Confirmed the emperor.
                “Thank you, highness. But then, one day, out of nowhere, I was displaced. I was cast aside in favour of Thomas Oakwood, previous treasurer. I was distraught beyond measure, doubly so when I learned it was no fault of my own, but because Thomas Oakwood had been usurped by a mere child. I tell you now that I could feel no rage towards Thomas, for he was my brother in this matter; he too had been removed from his station in favour of another. The pain was ours to share, and I would never seek to increase his suffering. The blame was squarely with Marianne Saphirite, and she should be the one to suffer removal from court. So I started plotting.” He revealed, trying to move his hands animatedly as he spoke, but finding himself unable in the restricted space. All he managed was an impressive backhand strike against Harold, who took the blow without flinching. “I would poison the treasurer and prove that she was not up to the task of a life around gold. Realising this, you would re-appoint Thomas to the treasury, and me to the station of armrest. Everyone would have their rightful place again.”
                Thomas Oakwood, pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the cell, sniffed.
                “That is very kind of you, Gerald. It was never my intention to displace you.” He said.
                “But… that was fifteen years ago! Why now?” Marianne asked, disbelieving that these events were motivated by a desire to have more damage done to one’s spine.
                “I was getting some medical attention for my back in the first few years. Through unrelated circumstances it had been injured.” He said, simply. Marianne shook her head.
                “Well, Gerald. To say that I am disappointed is an understatement. I understand your pain, and how you must have felt to be removed from the station you loved, but the imperial retiree is a spot of great honour. I had to remove the previous imperial retiree and hire him as the official imperial lightning rod to make room for you! And you never hear old Edna Calmlife complaining, despite those long days and nights shackled to the palace roof! Except, I suppose, during particularly violent storms.” He conceded. “There will need to be a punishment for this, but I am not so much of a fool as to remove you from your station again. That’s what got us into this mess.”
                Gerald swallowed, preparing for the worst.
                “I sentence you to a lifetime of wet hats!” Bellowed Benignulus. There were shocked gasps from all in the dungeon. “From tomorrow morning you shall be outfitted with the most doused, most drenched, most saturated and dripping beret that this empire can provide. It shall sit on your head as a reminder of the evil things you have done. There shall always be a guard with you to ensure that your hat is still wet and, if it ever should dry, they will make it wet again. I have spoken!” He sentenced. Gerald nodded sadly but with dignity. At least, as much dignity as could be mustered within the cramped confines of the cell. “But, Gerald, if you should find yourself wishing to let the guard’s arm rest upon your back during your sentence then… well… I shan’t see fit to stop it.” Added the emperor.
                In the cell cramped with criminals as in the imperial head cramped with furious, it seemed that there was space for at least a little mercy. A single grateful tear ran gently down the old man’s face.