The courtroom was already in session when Prosecutor Halden Vale realized something had gone terribly, catastrophically wrong. Not criminally wrong, mind you. Structurally wrong, in the sort of deep foundational way that suggested civilization itself had been assembled incorrectly.

The judge sat atop an enormous chair clearly made from a dining table bolted vertically to the wall. He was a goblin of impossible proportions, wrapped in judicial robes stitched from several different curtains and what appeared to be part of a sailcloth. One yellow eye stared lazily downward while the other wandered independently toward the ceiling fan with intense suspicion.

A bailiff goblin slammed a dead fish against the wall.

“Court am here!” he screeched proudly.

The gallery erupted into applause. Several goblins stomped their feet. One tossed a cabbage into the air like confetti, though no one seemed interested in retrieving it afterward.

Halden stood frozen near the entrance with his briefcase still in hand. He looked around slowly, as though perhaps the room might rearrange itself into something sensible if he gave it enough time. Unfortunately, it only became worse the longer he observed it.

A smaller goblin tugged on his sleeve. “You da hooman law-talker, yes?”

“Yes,” Halden said cautiously. “I’m Prosecutor Vale. I was sent here by the regional magistrate’s office regarding—”

“Good, good.” The goblin shoved a crooked wooden rod into his hands with ceremonial importance. “Talk stick.”

Halden blinked down at it. The wood was damp for reasons he did not wish to investigate. Tiny teeth marks ran along one end.

The courtroom instantly fell silent.

Every eye locked onto him.

“…Is this necessary?” he asked.

Several goblins gasped in horror. One elderly goblin clutched at his chest and whispered something that sounded vaguely like a prayer. The judge slowly leaned forward, his chair creaking ominously beneath him.

“He question stick,” the judge rumbled.

A woman in the audience fainted dramatically into a pile of cabbages. Nobody moved to help her. Another goblin simply draped a blanket over her and gave Halden a deeply judgmental look.

Halden pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Wonderful. Excellent. We have a stick. I accept the existence of the stick.”

The courtroom relaxed immediately. A few goblins nodded approvingly among themselves. The bailiff even gave him a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Now legal,” the bailiff announced.

At the defense table sat the accused: a goblin in a tiny hat with a live squirrel perched calmly on his shoulder. He waved enthusiastically at Halden like they were old friends meeting at a tavern instead of participants in criminal proceedings. The squirrel also waved, which somehow disturbed Halden more.

“That him,” whispered the clerk goblin. “Mister Skribbo.”

Halden opened his notes carefully, grounding himself in the comforting structure of written law. “Right. Mister Skribbo is accused of unlawful catapulting of livestock into a municipal fountain, destruction of public property, theft of six ornamental geese, and—”

“Allegedly!” shouted Skribbo.

The entire courtroom hissed.

The bailiff sprinted forward with shocking speed and ripped the stick from Halden’s hands before slamming it dramatically into Skribbo’s chest. The defendant straightened immediately, suddenly solemn beneath the weight of legal authority.

“Now you talk,” the bailiff instructed.

Skribbo cleared his throat with grave dignity. “Oopsie daisy.”

The courtroom murmured thoughtfully. Several jurors nodded as if this clarified an important nuance. One goblin scribbled something onto a notepad and underlined it twice.

Halden stared in silence for several seconds. “That is not a plea,” he finally said. “That’s not even remotely a plea.”

The bailiff shoved the stick back into his hands.

“Your turn.”

Halden inhaled sharply through his nose. “There are specific legal standards regarding admissions of guilt, criminal responsibility, and declarations before the court. You cannot simply say ‘oopsie daisy’ and expect that to function as a coherent legal defense.”

The courtroom became confused.

One goblin in the jury slowly raised his hand. “But he say whoopsie.”

“Yes, I heard him say whoopsie.”

“Then accident.”

Halden blinked. “That’s not how the law works.”

Silence swallowed the room.

The judge leaned forward dangerously. “Not… how… law work?”

Halden suddenly became aware that every goblin in the room had stopped blinking. Even the squirrel appeared offended. Somewhere in the gallery, someone quietly uncorked a bottle as though preparing for violence.

“…In most jurisdictions,” Halden added quickly.

The tension vanished immediately.

“Oh,” said the judge. “Foreign law.”

“Yes,” Halden said, almost desperately. “Foreign law.”

The jury nodded sympathetically among themselves. One goblin muttered, “Poor bloke,” while another shook his head with genuine pity. Skribbo himself looked at Halden the way one might look at a traveler describing a homeland ruined by plague.

The proceedings continued in increasingly horrifying fashion. Halden attempted to call his first witness only to discover witnesses were selected by whoever could throw a turnip the furthest across the room. A goblin blacksmith won after achieving what the gallery described as “a majestic arc.”

The blacksmith took the stand carrying three eels tucked beneath one arm. Nobody acknowledged the eels. Halden decided he no longer wanted explanations for anything.

“Did you witness the defendant launching sheep into the fountain?” Halden asked carefully.

The blacksmith stared blankly.

The bailiff hurried over, took the stick from Halden, and handed it ceremoniously to the blacksmith.

“Now.”

“Oh,” said the blacksmith. “Yes. I seen it.”

Halden exhaled in relief. “Excellent. Could you elaborate on what exactly you witnessed?”

The stick transferred again.

“He use big spoon.”

“…A catapult?”

Stick transfer.

“War spoon.”

Several jurors nodded grimly. One of them removed his hat respectfully. Another muttered, “Nasty business,” as though discussing siege warfare instead of airborne sheep.

Halden looked toward the judge. “Your honor, can we please attempt to maintain some level of procedural consistency here? Even a minimal amount would be appreciated.”

The stick transferred.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Reasoning case on Thursday.”

Halden laughed once. It was not amusement. It was the sound a mind makes moments before abandoning civilization entirely.

“You have a separate day,” he said slowly, “for reasoning.”

“Yes.”

“And today?”

The judge looked confused by the question. “Crime Day.”

Halden stared at the ceiling for several long moments. He thought about the academy, the years of study, the sleepless nights preparing legal briefs, and the seventy-page dissertation he once wrote on evidentiary integrity. Then he looked down at the defendant, who was quietly attempting to eat one of the courtroom candles.

“Your honor,” Halden said carefully, “the defendant confessed.”

The stick transferred.

Skribbo froze mid-bite. Wax dripped slowly down his chin. The squirrel looked nervous for the first time all day.

The judge gasped. “He did?”

“Yes!” Halden shouted. “Right there! In front of everyone! He admitted responsibility!”

The courtroom erupted into panic.

Jurors shouted over one another. The bailiff blew a kazoo repeatedly while running in circles. One goblin overturned a chair and another began openly weeping into his hands.

Halden stared in disbelief. “What is happening now?”

The clerk goblin grabbed the stick with trembling hands. “Cannot confess on Crime Day!”

“…Why not?”

“That evidence!”

Halden’s eye twitched visibly. “But this is a trial.”

“Yes.”

“…Where evidence is presented.”

The goblins exchanged deeply uncomfortable looks with one another. Halden’s breathing became shallow. “No. No no no. I need you to explain this to me right now.”

“Reasoning Thursday.”

“You cannot separate reasoning from the legal process!”

The entire courtroom recoiled in horror.

A child screamed somewhere in the gallery. The judge rose slowly from his massive chair while the bailiff clutched the ceremonial fish like a drawn sword. Even the squirrel appeared tense.

“Bailiff,” the judge said gravely.

“Yes, boss?”

The judge pointed solemnly at Halden.

“Put hooman on Thursday list.”