At The Trial
“I have the honor of arresting you for the crime of plagiarism.”
The researcher extended hands. They were bound. The accuser made sure the manacles were tight, then changed his red stole.
“Doctore, you are here accused of failing to find the cure through your own research. In the shame of that, you traveled to a timeline in which a related disease had been eliminated. You copied that work and brought it here. How do you plead?”
“Guilty.”
“I sentence you to life in the High Payerie. Do you protest your sentence?”
“I do not.”
Once again the accuser lifted his stole from his shoulders. The judge’s dark fur marked with broad arrows was replaced with the golden ermine coat.
“Then your sentence is affirmed.” The young prince paused. “And as your monarch’s child, I pardon your offense. I release you from your well-earned punishment.” The accuser, judge and merciant leaned forward and inserted the key to the manacles. The researcher rubbed sore wrists and started to rise. The prince raised a hand, went on. “And I declare you Dame and Knight of the land. Thus are law and truth both served.”
