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Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art © Warner Brothers, from their Book Revue. Reproduced under fair use.
31.
Saturday, October 1, 1938
Reggie:
I didn’t discover until later that morning that Rosie hadn’t gone home but had fallen asleep on our couch. Lodge had thoughtfully draped a blanket over her before shimmering off to do whatever it is butlers do when their employers go to bed. As she explained it over breakfast to Willow and me, she had wanted to stay close in case Willow needed help.
In light of her motion last night, I considered this a breach of parliamentary etiquette, and said so. While, of course, thanking my future mother-in-law for her solicitude.
She didn’t poink my nose, which was a welcome start to the day.
Rosie did go to Luchow’s to freshen up and change her clothes, and she met us outside the front door to the courthouse in a severely tailored dark blue suit. Very much The Professional, and while I approved, my mate merely glowered.
Willow had not had a good night’s sleep. She looked Rosie up and down and asked, “Going to act as Da’s lawyer?”
Rosie chuckled. “Hardly. Moral support. Let’s get good seats.”
So we went in, and since we were fairly early we did get good seats, with a view of the Bench, just behind the Prosecuting Attorney’s table. That worthy was goggling at the size of the case file before him, and flipping through pages in mounting amazement and horror.
More people started filtering in, many of them femmes, and it was at that point that Vee Minkerton joined us in our pew. All the rest of the seats filled up rapidly, even the ones up in the gallery. The minkess leaned in, looking at all three of us before addressing Rosie. “She all right?”
Rosie had one arm around Willow’s shoulders. “Yes, she’ll be okeh.” I had Willow’s paw in mine, and I nodded.
It was going to be a while before I could get feeling back in my fingers, but so far I wasn’t in any obvious pain.
Three bailiffs and six constables took up stations by the two docks (well, one was the jury box, but likely pulling double duty today), and by the look of the batons in their paws they were ready for any amount of strife. One of the bailiffs was by the door leading to the judge’s chambers, and the feline cocked an ear before reciting the ancient formula, “All rise. The Spontoon Court of Oyer and Terminer is now in session, the Honorable Magistrate Bruin presiding.”
The door opened as we all stood up . . .
And I found myself staring.
Now, I have been before many and assorted judges, magistrates, justices of the peace, and so forth, but up to this point they had all been mels. Magistrate Bruin was a femme, and a roe deer at that. Easily head and shoulders shorter than me, and looking very severe in a black robe with stark white lace at her collar and cuffs.
I asked Rosie as the Magistrate took her seat, “What happened to old Spaniel?”
“Retired a few months ago,” she said. “Nerves.”
Knowing that I had likely had more than one paw in that, I sympathized with him. “Well, I hope she’s in a good mood,” although as I craned my neck and saw the look on her face, I realized that my hopes were likely to be in vain.
Interestingly, I noted that there was a bottle of castor oil on prominent display on the corner of the Bench opposite her water carafe. It made me wonder if she was Italian, despite her surname.
Judge Bruin looked through the docket, grumbling. “The one morning I thought I could sleep in . . . and now I have to come in here, with a hangover and a toothache . . .”
That made me think that Magistrates Cockerel and De Pathe were probably laughing somewhere.
The roe-doe shuffled her papers and said, “All right. The first case on the docket is the Althing versus,” and she paused to take a breath, “Ambassador Hiram Wakefield, Chief Charles Sapper, et alia, the charges being disorderly conduct, affray, and destruction of private property. Bailiff, admit the accused.”
Our side (hereinafter referred to as The Good Guys) were brought in first. “Look, Willow,” I said quietly. “They let your father keep his cane.”
Willow nodded. She’d been very quiet all morning, likely occupied in keeping Grace from visiting fire and slaughter upon whoever was left at the New Haven Embassy.
Inspector Stagg kept up an impenetrable sang-froid as the rest of The Good Guys filled the dock. Allan Minkerton took one look at his wife’s face and visibly flinched, while Pierre du Cleds grinned and waved at Toni, who waved back.
A small set of horns sticking up behind the rail of the dock signaled the presence of Fausti.
A muted growl swept the audience, accompanied by a few traditional hisses as The Bad Guys were escorted into the erstwhile jury box. Ambassador Wakefield had a bandage on his nose.
Magistrate Bruin gaveled for order, and the crowd settled down. “Right. Prosecuting Attorney?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the beagle said diffidently. “The first group of defendants,” and he gestured at the dock, “were at the bar of Shepherd’s Hotel attending a bachelor party when the defendants in the second group,” and he gestured at the jury box, “came in, insulted the groom and threatened the bride, and began a fight that resulted in,” and he consulted a paper, “five hundred fifty pounds’ worth of damage.”
I gulped, recalling the agreement I had with Mr. Lupino. Still, I am a buck of my word.
For her part, Magsitrate Bruin glowered at The Good Guys before turning her attention to The Bad Guys. “Who’s Wakefield?”
The badger got to his feet, wobbled slightly, and said, “I am, Comrade.”
“I am to be addressed as Your Honor,” the roe-doe said before returning to the file in front of her. “What business does the People’s Republic of New Haven have disrupting a bachelor party?”
Wakefield smirked and pointed accusingly at the Inspector. “That is an enemy of the People, and must face revolutionary justice.”
“Says you, cabron,” Fausti was clearly heard from the opposite dock, and a distinct titter ran through the audience. A titter that grew when a dainty paw rose above the railing, giving a one-fingered salute to the object of his epithet. He held it aloft until Bruin gaveled for order.
“I’m afraid that revolutionary justice doesn’t extend to anything outside your Embassy, Ambassador.” There was a brief stir as two furs pushed their way through the crowd up to one of the constables. One of them, a feline, plucked at the rozzer’s sleeve and whispered urgently to him. The constable nodded and crossed the room to whisper to the prosecutor, who looked startled.
The Magistrate caught that. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no, Your Honor,” the beagle said hastily as he got out of his seat. “I’ve just been informed that the Foreign Minister is here.”
The roe doe didn’t look impressed at all by this budget of news. “The Court calls . . . “ her voice trailed off as she read the name. “Reginald Buckhorn?”
I patted Willow’s paw and stood up. “Here, Your Honor.” Unlike Wakefield, I know my manners. I came forward and was sworn in.
Bruin glowered at me. “I’ve heard about you. Why aren’t you in the dock?”
I hung my head sorrowfully. “I know, I know. Advancing in years and station, losing my form. Let this be a lesson to all.” The audience tittered in the background, and again the roe-doe gaveled for order.
With an occasional eye toward the Bench, the beagle began the questioning. I, being of sober mind both at the time and now, gave clear and concise answers.
“And in your statement, you say that the Ambassador ‘insulted’ Inspector Stagg’s fiancée?”
“That’s correct.”
“What did he say?” I hesitated, and he said, “I remind you that you are under oath.”
“Um, well, Ambassador Wakefield,” I took a breath, “called Miss Baumgartner a slut and expressed a wish that the Red Fist should hang her as well.”
A gasp arose among the members of the audience. I looked behind me in time to see that Rosie was glaring at The Bad Guys, while Willow was frantically rummaging through her bag. Vee Minkerton, on the other paw, was looking rather smug and I didn’t know why.
“ORDER!” Bruin shouted, rapping the gavel against the Bench until the crowd quieted down. “Go on, Mr. Buckhorn. What happened then?”
“The Inspector punched Ambassador Wakefield – “ I had to stop as applause and cheers echoed throughout the courtroom, with The Bad Guys shouting revolutionary epithets and a few of the Naval Syndicate chappies hurling choice insults of their own. Someone had helped Fausti stand on the railing of the dock, and he was shouting at the New Havenites in Spanish.
He looked like an extremely irritated cervine pixie.
Magistrate Bruin finally succeeded in bringing the room to order and fixed with me a glare. “And that caused the fight to start?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
She nodded. “I see. You may stand down, Mr. Buckhorn.”
I resumed my seat and muttered to Rosie, “I wonder if she knows about the Double Lotus.”
Alas, I had spoken too loudly, as the gavel cracked against the Bench like the clap of doom and the roe-doe barked, “MISTER Buckhorn! Get back up here!” When I had complied, she fixed me with a glare both sour and bitter. "I don't go there, buck, and don't YOU go there, either . . . " She left the ‘or else’ as read, and followed it up with, “I. Don't. Like. Whitetails. Don't. Mess. With. Me.” This said in a tone one might use toward a particularly dim-witted fawn.
The Sire would have been proud of the tone and cadence, although not necessarily with the content.
I was allowed to slink back to my seat, where I hunkered down as much as I could.
There was a brief intermission as the Magistrate had a conference in camera with the Foreign Minister. No small ice creams in large boxes were sold, however, and things settled down as Bruin regained her seat.
I raised my paw to get her attention. “Pardon me, Your Honor, but what's the total bill to spring this lot from durance vile?” I asked, gesturing toward The Good Guys.
What? Did you think I was going to throw hard-earned and good-looking pounds away on the furs who started the fight?
“Sit down, Mr. Buckhorn, and shut up. This is your only warning.” I obeyed with alacrity, and the Magistrate straightened her lace collar. “Now then. The court finds that the second group of defendants were clearly the aggressors and instigators in this matter – SHUT UP!” she shouted as a cheer arose. She gave a rather incongruous whistling snort after the crowd obeyed. “As a result, the Foreign Minister will be notifying the Committee of Nine, in detail, of their violation of their diplomatic status and will be classifying them as personae non gratae due to this incident and their repeated violations of public order.”
She scowled and gaveled for order as the New Havenites offered some objections. “Further, this Court assesses each member of the second group of defendants a fine of twenty pounds, payable in cash.”
Wakefield was on his feet. “We demand our rights as diplomats!"
"Splendid, get your ambassador to file the paperwork."
The badger spluttered, "I'm the ambassador!"
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Magistrate Bruin didn’t look very sad about it. “Can you pay the fine?”
“No.”
“Then you are all remanded to custody until the Foreign Minister finishes his paperwork. Bailiff, return them to their cells.” Which was done, to the cheers of the crowd and loud insults hurled at them by some of The Good Guys. This stopped when she gaveled for order again. “Chief Charles Sapper, Inspector Franklin Stagg, Captain Ian Maxwell.”
The trio stood, and Magistrate Bruin tsked at them. “The three of you, brawling – and at your ages! You three, at least, I should expect to set a good example to the younger members of your party.”
“Won’t happen again, Your Honor,” Chief Sapper said promptly.
“It had better not. Inspector Stagg?”
“Your Honor.”
“Your bride is a very lucky girl, Inspector. I am pleased that chivalry’s not dead.”
"Thank you, Your Honor."
“Captain Maxwell, I will leave any punishment to the judgement of your base’s Syndic.”
The Labrador looked worried.
“Now, as for the rest of you,” and she fixed the dock with a glare, “this Court is ordering you all released on your own recognizance, with the understanding that you will not be before this Court ever again. Is that clear?” Everyone in the dock nodded. “So ordered. Court adjourned.”
Cheers erupted as the gavel hit the Bench.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer
(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art © Warner Brothers, from their Book Revue. Reproduced under fair use.
31.
Saturday, October 1, 1938
Reggie:
I didn’t discover until later that morning that Rosie hadn’t gone home but had fallen asleep on our couch. Lodge had thoughtfully draped a blanket over her before shimmering off to do whatever it is butlers do when their employers go to bed. As she explained it over breakfast to Willow and me, she had wanted to stay close in case Willow needed help.
In light of her motion last night, I considered this a breach of parliamentary etiquette, and said so. While, of course, thanking my future mother-in-law for her solicitude.
She didn’t poink my nose, which was a welcome start to the day.
Rosie did go to Luchow’s to freshen up and change her clothes, and she met us outside the front door to the courthouse in a severely tailored dark blue suit. Very much The Professional, and while I approved, my mate merely glowered.
Willow had not had a good night’s sleep. She looked Rosie up and down and asked, “Going to act as Da’s lawyer?”
Rosie chuckled. “Hardly. Moral support. Let’s get good seats.”
So we went in, and since we were fairly early we did get good seats, with a view of the Bench, just behind the Prosecuting Attorney’s table. That worthy was goggling at the size of the case file before him, and flipping through pages in mounting amazement and horror.
More people started filtering in, many of them femmes, and it was at that point that Vee Minkerton joined us in our pew. All the rest of the seats filled up rapidly, even the ones up in the gallery. The minkess leaned in, looking at all three of us before addressing Rosie. “She all right?”
Rosie had one arm around Willow’s shoulders. “Yes, she’ll be okeh.” I had Willow’s paw in mine, and I nodded.
It was going to be a while before I could get feeling back in my fingers, but so far I wasn’t in any obvious pain.
Three bailiffs and six constables took up stations by the two docks (well, one was the jury box, but likely pulling double duty today), and by the look of the batons in their paws they were ready for any amount of strife. One of the bailiffs was by the door leading to the judge’s chambers, and the feline cocked an ear before reciting the ancient formula, “All rise. The Spontoon Court of Oyer and Terminer is now in session, the Honorable Magistrate Bruin presiding.”
The door opened as we all stood up . . .
And I found myself staring.
Now, I have been before many and assorted judges, magistrates, justices of the peace, and so forth, but up to this point they had all been mels. Magistrate Bruin was a femme, and a roe deer at that. Easily head and shoulders shorter than me, and looking very severe in a black robe with stark white lace at her collar and cuffs.
I asked Rosie as the Magistrate took her seat, “What happened to old Spaniel?”
“Retired a few months ago,” she said. “Nerves.”
Knowing that I had likely had more than one paw in that, I sympathized with him. “Well, I hope she’s in a good mood,” although as I craned my neck and saw the look on her face, I realized that my hopes were likely to be in vain.
Interestingly, I noted that there was a bottle of castor oil on prominent display on the corner of the Bench opposite her water carafe. It made me wonder if she was Italian, despite her surname.
Judge Bruin looked through the docket, grumbling. “The one morning I thought I could sleep in . . . and now I have to come in here, with a hangover and a toothache . . .”
That made me think that Magistrates Cockerel and De Pathe were probably laughing somewhere.
The roe-doe shuffled her papers and said, “All right. The first case on the docket is the Althing versus,” and she paused to take a breath, “Ambassador Hiram Wakefield, Chief Charles Sapper, et alia, the charges being disorderly conduct, affray, and destruction of private property. Bailiff, admit the accused.”
Our side (hereinafter referred to as The Good Guys) were brought in first. “Look, Willow,” I said quietly. “They let your father keep his cane.”
Willow nodded. She’d been very quiet all morning, likely occupied in keeping Grace from visiting fire and slaughter upon whoever was left at the New Haven Embassy.
Inspector Stagg kept up an impenetrable sang-froid as the rest of The Good Guys filled the dock. Allan Minkerton took one look at his wife’s face and visibly flinched, while Pierre du Cleds grinned and waved at Toni, who waved back.
A small set of horns sticking up behind the rail of the dock signaled the presence of Fausti.
A muted growl swept the audience, accompanied by a few traditional hisses as The Bad Guys were escorted into the erstwhile jury box. Ambassador Wakefield had a bandage on his nose.
Magistrate Bruin gaveled for order, and the crowd settled down. “Right. Prosecuting Attorney?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the beagle said diffidently. “The first group of defendants,” and he gestured at the dock, “were at the bar of Shepherd’s Hotel attending a bachelor party when the defendants in the second group,” and he gestured at the jury box, “came in, insulted the groom and threatened the bride, and began a fight that resulted in,” and he consulted a paper, “five hundred fifty pounds’ worth of damage.”
I gulped, recalling the agreement I had with Mr. Lupino. Still, I am a buck of my word.
For her part, Magsitrate Bruin glowered at The Good Guys before turning her attention to The Bad Guys. “Who’s Wakefield?”
The badger got to his feet, wobbled slightly, and said, “I am, Comrade.”
“I am to be addressed as Your Honor,” the roe-doe said before returning to the file in front of her. “What business does the People’s Republic of New Haven have disrupting a bachelor party?”
Wakefield smirked and pointed accusingly at the Inspector. “That is an enemy of the People, and must face revolutionary justice.”
“Says you, cabron,” Fausti was clearly heard from the opposite dock, and a distinct titter ran through the audience. A titter that grew when a dainty paw rose above the railing, giving a one-fingered salute to the object of his epithet. He held it aloft until Bruin gaveled for order.
“I’m afraid that revolutionary justice doesn’t extend to anything outside your Embassy, Ambassador.” There was a brief stir as two furs pushed their way through the crowd up to one of the constables. One of them, a feline, plucked at the rozzer’s sleeve and whispered urgently to him. The constable nodded and crossed the room to whisper to the prosecutor, who looked startled.
The Magistrate caught that. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no, Your Honor,” the beagle said hastily as he got out of his seat. “I’ve just been informed that the Foreign Minister is here.”
The roe doe didn’t look impressed at all by this budget of news. “The Court calls . . . “ her voice trailed off as she read the name. “Reginald Buckhorn?”
I patted Willow’s paw and stood up. “Here, Your Honor.” Unlike Wakefield, I know my manners. I came forward and was sworn in.
Bruin glowered at me. “I’ve heard about you. Why aren’t you in the dock?”
I hung my head sorrowfully. “I know, I know. Advancing in years and station, losing my form. Let this be a lesson to all.” The audience tittered in the background, and again the roe-doe gaveled for order.
With an occasional eye toward the Bench, the beagle began the questioning. I, being of sober mind both at the time and now, gave clear and concise answers.
“And in your statement, you say that the Ambassador ‘insulted’ Inspector Stagg’s fiancée?”
“That’s correct.”
“What did he say?” I hesitated, and he said, “I remind you that you are under oath.”
“Um, well, Ambassador Wakefield,” I took a breath, “called Miss Baumgartner a slut and expressed a wish that the Red Fist should hang her as well.”
A gasp arose among the members of the audience. I looked behind me in time to see that Rosie was glaring at The Bad Guys, while Willow was frantically rummaging through her bag. Vee Minkerton, on the other paw, was looking rather smug and I didn’t know why.
“ORDER!” Bruin shouted, rapping the gavel against the Bench until the crowd quieted down. “Go on, Mr. Buckhorn. What happened then?”
“The Inspector punched Ambassador Wakefield – “ I had to stop as applause and cheers echoed throughout the courtroom, with The Bad Guys shouting revolutionary epithets and a few of the Naval Syndicate chappies hurling choice insults of their own. Someone had helped Fausti stand on the railing of the dock, and he was shouting at the New Havenites in Spanish.
He looked like an extremely irritated cervine pixie.
Magistrate Bruin finally succeeded in bringing the room to order and fixed with me a glare. “And that caused the fight to start?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
She nodded. “I see. You may stand down, Mr. Buckhorn.”
I resumed my seat and muttered to Rosie, “I wonder if she knows about the Double Lotus.”
Alas, I had spoken too loudly, as the gavel cracked against the Bench like the clap of doom and the roe-doe barked, “MISTER Buckhorn! Get back up here!” When I had complied, she fixed me with a glare both sour and bitter. "I don't go there, buck, and don't YOU go there, either . . . " She left the ‘or else’ as read, and followed it up with, “I. Don't. Like. Whitetails. Don't. Mess. With. Me.” This said in a tone one might use toward a particularly dim-witted fawn.
The Sire would have been proud of the tone and cadence, although not necessarily with the content.
I was allowed to slink back to my seat, where I hunkered down as much as I could.
There was a brief intermission as the Magistrate had a conference in camera with the Foreign Minister. No small ice creams in large boxes were sold, however, and things settled down as Bruin regained her seat.
I raised my paw to get her attention. “Pardon me, Your Honor, but what's the total bill to spring this lot from durance vile?” I asked, gesturing toward The Good Guys.
What? Did you think I was going to throw hard-earned and good-looking pounds away on the furs who started the fight?
“Sit down, Mr. Buckhorn, and shut up. This is your only warning.” I obeyed with alacrity, and the Magistrate straightened her lace collar. “Now then. The court finds that the second group of defendants were clearly the aggressors and instigators in this matter – SHUT UP!” she shouted as a cheer arose. She gave a rather incongruous whistling snort after the crowd obeyed. “As a result, the Foreign Minister will be notifying the Committee of Nine, in detail, of their violation of their diplomatic status and will be classifying them as personae non gratae due to this incident and their repeated violations of public order.”
She scowled and gaveled for order as the New Havenites offered some objections. “Further, this Court assesses each member of the second group of defendants a fine of twenty pounds, payable in cash.”
Wakefield was on his feet. “We demand our rights as diplomats!"
"Splendid, get your ambassador to file the paperwork."
The badger spluttered, "I'm the ambassador!"
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Magistrate Bruin didn’t look very sad about it. “Can you pay the fine?”
“No.”
“Then you are all remanded to custody until the Foreign Minister finishes his paperwork. Bailiff, return them to their cells.” Which was done, to the cheers of the crowd and loud insults hurled at them by some of The Good Guys. This stopped when she gaveled for order again. “Chief Charles Sapper, Inspector Franklin Stagg, Captain Ian Maxwell.”
The trio stood, and Magistrate Bruin tsked at them. “The three of you, brawling – and at your ages! You three, at least, I should expect to set a good example to the younger members of your party.”
“Won’t happen again, Your Honor,” Chief Sapper said promptly.
“It had better not. Inspector Stagg?”
“Your Honor.”
“Your bride is a very lucky girl, Inspector. I am pleased that chivalry’s not dead.”
"Thank you, Your Honor."
“Captain Maxwell, I will leave any punishment to the judgement of your base’s Syndic.”
The Labrador looked worried.
“Now, as for the rest of you,” and she fixed the dock with a glare, “this Court is ordering you all released on your own recognizance, with the understanding that you will not be before this Court ever again. Is that clear?” Everyone in the dock nodded. “So ordered. Court adjourned.”
Cheers erupted as the gavel hit the Bench.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 736 x 537px
File Size 665.6 kB
Listed in Folders
Oyyy. Now if Reginald had wanted to, when asked by the Magistrate to repeat what the Ambassador had said, he could have done this...
"Your Magistrate, may I 'alter' some of the words the Ambassador said, to be more tasteful in your court? Not that I couldn't say the words, but I'd prefer that the Inspector didn't come after me like he did the Ambassador did last night."
The attending crowd laughed before the roe deer hammered the gavel in an attempt to bring order back to the court.
"Your Magistrate, may I 'alter' some of the words the Ambassador said, to be more tasteful in your court? Not that I couldn't say the words, but I'd prefer that the Inspector didn't come after me like he did the Ambassador did last night."
The attending crowd laughed before the roe deer hammered the gavel in an attempt to bring order back to the court.
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