The bailiff stumbled backward, his polished black boots scraping awkwardly against the wood. His mouth opened and closed silently, like a fish pulled from the water. He tried to formulate an apology, to build an excuse based on the lack of a black robe, but his throat had completely closed up. He was a man who had just threatened to violently arrest the king inside his own castle.
Judge Bennett did not raise his voice. He did not need to. The total silence of the room was his instrument, and he played it flawlessly.
He slowly opened the leather binder in front of him, his eyes dropping to the morning docket. The absolute dismissal in his body language was infinitely more punishing than a shouting match. He had looked at the bailiff, measured his worth, and found him entirely lacking.
"My courtroom operates on the principles of justice and observation," Judge Bennett finally said, his deep voice rolling through the silent room, calm but layered with frost. "You have demonstrated a catastrophic failure in both. You looked at the color of my skin and the clothes on my back, and you made a decision that has just cost you your position in my court."
The clerk in the burgundy suit stepped aside, her expression stony and resolute.