The Goat conspiracy

“Please have a seat, Mr. Troll.”

(grunt)

“Are you comfortable? Would you like a glass of water or perhaps some warm tea?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Very well, Mr. Troll. My name is Doctor Stiltskin, or if you prefer, you can call me William. The District Court of Wabashaw County has appointed me to evaluate your mental state and your capacity to participate in a closed-session trial. Based on the information provided, my role is to ensure you can contribute relevant knowledge to the court and prosecution. Do you understand and agree with this statement?”

“Yes.”

“Marvelous. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Troll.”

“Bob.”

“I’m sorry—Bob?”

“My name. Robert Franklin Fish Paulson. You can call me Bob. I'm getting tired of people calling me Mr. Troll. It’s patronizing. I know I'm a troll. You know I'm a troll. I don’t need to be called one as if it’s my name. It's not like people call you Doctor Wood Elf. Bob will do just fine.”

“Oh goodness. My sincere apologies, Bob. I had no idea. The court documents only referred to you by species. They certainly should have provided your actual name. Were you not given a preamble presence form to fill out? Additionally, the trial processing papers seem to have been removed from your case folder.”

“You really don’t know what’s going on, do you, Doc?”

“Well, someone in my position must remain a neutral observer. The court requires an unbiased opinion.”

“Figures. From my experience, except for a few counties in the Elvin province, trolls are usually blamed for the troubles and tragedies that befall common folk. Most accusations are based on secondhand stories derived from ignorant fables, whose sole purpose is to frighten and terrify. Trolls are the butt of slanderous jokes and tall tales, simply because of our appearance and demeanor.”

“I believe you, Bob. Personally, I've only heard such tales and seen crude sketches of your species, none of which resemble you. I hope you understand my surprise and interest upon meeting you. You don’t seem threatening at all; you're articulate and respectful. Do your brethren share these traits?”

“Doc, I'm considered the runt of the litter compared to the others in my kingdom. I was just the unlucky one who got caught.”

“I see. It states here that you were charged with verbal assault and inciting violence against the three Gruff brothers, yet all other details are missing from the file.”

“Then that's what it says—and doesn't say.”

“Is this true?”

“Let me paint you a picture. Three pretentious, self-important bullies trespassed onto my property. They destroyed my vegetable garden, disabled my hub rotary system, and punched holes in my roof—all because they wanted a shortcut across the river. There was a footbridge barely fifty yards from my home. My home, by the way, is a district-licensed waterway filtration facility. I'm responsible for removing debris from the river before it reaches the neighboring village of Riverwyn. So, yes, you could say I was upset by their destructive rampage.”

“It briefly mentions your home resides under a bridge but nothing about it being a filtration facility.”

“I built the house myself. The bridge was there long before I moved in. The Riverwyn committee granted me permits, provided I kept the river clean.”

“How does your house function as a filtration facility?”

“The water flows beneath it. My home is built into the rock wall along the riverbank. Underneath, there’s a meshed paddle mill that captures floating debris, directing it into a side channel for extraction. It's only a foot deep and adjusts with seasonal water flow. Those blasted goat brothers destroyed it by knocking over the water-pressure barrels when they jumped onto my roof. The disconnected flow pipes caused the mill to drop onto the riverbed, shattering and killing a school of minnows.”

“By the great elm tree! How has the trial reached this point? Surely you presented documentation and evidence of your home. Your testimony alone should’ve prevented this evaluation. Is there something else you're not telling me?”

“After the oldest brother knocked me unconscious, they threw me into the river and left. The next thing I knew, I was bound and gagged in a dungeon cell. The first chance I've had to speak was when the guards released me into your office.”

“Gagged?”

“Yes—smelly sock in the mouth, oily rope, tied to a post. I've been like that for three days.”

“This is preposterous! Wabashaw County would never gag or restrain anyone in court. Our king would never permit it.”

“Doc, I'm not from Wabashaw County. I was transferred from the Lower Kingdom court system. They're not as civilized as you folks up here.”

“I can't disagree with that. Nevertheless, our court treats all species with respect and dignity—dragons, harpies, humans, fae, fauna, even haunts. Why on earth would you be restrained in court here?”

“That's easy to answer.”

(pause)

“Well?”

“Judge Harry Gruff III presided over my trial in the Lower Kingdom.”

“Judge Gruff? I haven’t heard of him.”

“He's the Gruff brothers' uncle. He transferred me here to prevent race riots outside the courthouse from escalating. They planned to burn the entire town. Had I stayed, I'd likely be troll steak for some aristocrat by now. I never even attended a session here; they kept me bound and gagged because of a scathing letter from that corrupt Gruff judge.”

“Oh dear.”

“You know, Doc, if that offer’s still on the table, I’d very much like a cup of warm tea.”

“Of course. By the way, has the court appointed you an attorney? The file doesn't specify.”

“Trolls have never had the chance to need one. I'm the first caught.”

“Well, it's settled then. I happen to know the best lawyer in the Upper Kingdom, who is looking for a pro bono case. Interested?”

“Hmm. I like the cut of your jib, Doc.”

“Huh? Jib? What's a jib?”

(grunt)