Here is another excerpt from my novel in progress, set in Greatish Bruton, the main character Caspar Quince finds himself in court accused of something he didn’t actually do for once. I am looking for feedback at the moment, nothing heavy, just let me know if you found it funny, want to read more or whether you enjoyed it!

The trial of Caspar Quince

A rather grand and dusty building, crumbling at the seams, served as the courthouse in Gorse valley. The interior was adorned with ornately carved wooden benches, displaying large bowls laden with tropical fruit and guilty looking folk being trodden on by gargoyles. Three of the jury were asleep. One of them was knitting a pair of socks. Another was not inconspicuously drunk beyond measure. This was the pinnacle of what counted for justice in Greatish Bruton. Marlowe Cavendish, enrobed in purple silk and a long flowing black wig cut a dramatic figure in his role as Lord protector. The pockets of his cloak were long and deep, where he was able to literally and figuratively keep the presiding judge should it be necessary. Whilst not directly involved in this particular case, he had chosen to observe from a comfortable seat in a high alcove. He was able to look down on the court proceedings like a vulture waiting for a suitable carcass to become sufficiently deceased.

Quince continued to remonstrate with the judge, the bailiff and the awful lawyer.

“But it just isn’t fair. I did not do that!”.

“All men are guilty of something Mr Quince. I have decided you are guilty of this” said the judge.

“Sit thi darn” said the Bailiff.

“Yeah shushy boy” said the drunk jury member.

“Well, I know that I didn’t kill anybody, so why don’t you just keep me here, till whoever it really was kills someone else, and then you can set me free?”

The judge was becoming bored of Quince’s whinging. Also he had an unfortunately placed boil which was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“Well that could be an exceedingly long time, and I need to close this case. I’m afraid, that whilst there is some sense in your argument, that is not how justice works here. Plus you are rather expensive to keep Mr Quince. Gruel does not come for free you know”.

Quince ignored this. The conditions he had been kept in over the last few weeks were awful, but not to his knowledge half as bad as those at The Black stump. He tried to appeal to the Judges logical brain, without being totally convinced that he had one.

“But killing me would also be murder – how could you live with yourself?”

“Mr Quince. I am very old. More years behind me than ahead. Don’t worry about me, Quince, my conscience will always be clear for what little time I have remaining on this earth. I’m sure I will cope admirably.

“What if he kills again?” Quince continued. “Let’s say, next week he kills someone else, and proves my innocence?”

“Sit thi darn” said the bailiff again. It was becoming a catchphrase.

“That doesn’t prove anything at all,” piped up the awful lawyer. “It could be a completely unrelated ritual murder”

“Shut up please” said Quince and the judge at the same time.

“But it can’t have been me then can it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you” said the judge, “or frankly care to. However, let me make my position clear on this point Quince, at least to stop your perpetual whining.”

“Please share with me your infinite wisdom” Quince said and not for the first time regretted immediately opening his mouth.

The judge glared at Quince. Little did he realise that he was a mere sliver away from hanging this oik on the spot and saving the fare of transportation altogether.

“Well, let us suppose that for one moment you are not the killer, which to be transparent I believe you absolutely are. Then next week another death occurs, in similar fashion to those you have already disposed of. Should we catch another fellow and he then confesses, then, and only then, I guarantee I will pardon you”

“But I’ll be dead!”

“And you definitely won’t be committing any murders then correct?”

“Because I will be dead!” Quince groaned at the stupidity of the man.

“Did I mention the pardon?”

“Yes, but that won’t help. Because, you know, still dead!”

“Yes, indeed, but it will be a very nice pardon, so you will at least not be complaining about the outcome any longer.”

“This is ridiculous” Quince shouted.

“If tha dun’t Sit darn thar’ll Gerra nuther crackin a minnit!” barked the bailiff who seemed to get more unintelligible the angrier he was and the more animated Quince became.

Quince slumped down on the bench. It seemed there was no way out, in any case there was no point in arguing with a fool who had made up his mind.

“Any closing remarks Mr Scrimp?” the judge asked the lawyer who had been chosen to represent Quince, knowing full well that the simpering fool was completely in his pocket.

Scrimp rose to his aged feet. It was painful to watch.

“Why thank you sir and may I say how excellently you have presided over events thus far, you should be congratulated on your fine judgement, keen eye for detail and may also say, rather smashing robes”

“You may” replied the judge proudly.

“In terms of my closing remarks it is clear to me that young Quince here, has not presented himself very well. He does not look particularly groomed”

“I’ve been in a windowless cell for three days” Quince shouted.

“Sit thi darn!” said the Bailiff.

“And additionally there is no benefit to my further conjecture or defence of a clearly guilty man. Mr Scrimp continued.

“Thanks a lot” said Quince sarcastically.

“Indeed” the lawyer continued “I must withdraw my service at this point and I bid you all a very good day, except you Mr Quince, you are a very rude man and what is more, you smell terrible . Goodbye”

Scrimp collected his things and ambled out of the courtroom leaving a trail of papers in his wake. Quince, for the first time in the proceedings, was speechless. He sniffed at his armpit surreptitiously. Scrimp was correct on that matter at least.

Occasionally thoughts occurred to Quince which gave him the notion that he should perhaps write a book. He had concluded very early in the trial that you cannot argue with a fool who has already made up their mind’ Perhaps this was one of his witticisms. Must write it down.

Quince realised it was pointless arguing with this monster of a judge who could hardly see past the end of his snubby nose. There was only one outcome that would suffice in the people vs Quince and that would be to see him in manacles, transported to the The Black stump, whereupon in the not too distant future they would stretch his neck further than it was originally designed to go. But at least he had the promise of a posthumous pardon, so he didn’t feel entirely bad about it. In any case, things tended to have a way of working out well for our eponymous hero as you will no doubt have already discovered. Without giving too much away this would be a very short story if Quince did not survive at least a little bit longer. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those books where you grow to love a character and then the writer kills them off. That would be a little exhausting . Cavendish, from his nook in the gallery nodded to the judge and, not waiting for the inevitable verdict, swooshed from the room.

A brief silence fell over the courtroom. All that could be heard was the crickety clack of knitting needles. The judge nodded at the jury.

“Mr foreman do you agree with the verdict I… sorry let me rephrase. Have you reached a verdict upon which you are all agreed?”.

The drunk jury member staggered to his feet.

“Yeah judge, appen we av”

“Then how do you find the defendant?”

“He’s over there sor “ the drunkard said, pointing at Quince.

“No. I mean is he guilty or not guilty?”

“Oh very guilty sor, guilty swine!”

“Yup,” said the knitter.

“In that case Mr Quince, I hereby find you very guilty of being the Gorse valley strangler, that you did wickedly kill all those people and no doubt probably enjoyed it. I sentence you to be transported to The Black stump to serve time until it is seen fit, upon which point you will return here for your hanging and no doubt a rather substantial round of applause”

“Ooh a lovely angin” said the knitter.

Quince slumped down in his seat shaking his head.

“Take him down bailiff”

THANKS for reading! If you like the extract why not leave some feedback. I will be posting more about Greatish Bruton and the world of Caspar Quince soon!