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“Well, Vítor, have you anything else to say in your defence?” the masculine voice asked in a tone that suggested the question was less than genuine.

The once-renowned army general Vítor Pascoal stood at his lone podium at the room's front wall, the weariness which he felt evident in both body and voice. “I started a movement to change this nation. That movement ballooned into a conflict for which I was unprepared. In this I failed this country, and for that I am sorry.”

The first speaker's body shifted to the front of his seat, sensing the pause in Pascoal's speech and the implicit “but” that was to come.

“But I did not kill the king, Toninho. I disagreed with him, to be sure, and I had wished that he was not in power. But I did not kill the king.”

The man who had asked for Pascoal's testament and to whom Pascoal had directed his statement, the recently-promoted Almirante da Armada, or Admiral of the Fleet, Toninho Dias, gave a small sigh — though whether it was given from satisfaction or disappointment was not readily apparent. “Very well, Vítor. I think we are ready to determine our verdict in the case, so long as there are no objections...” Dias spoke, pausing to cast his eyes about the small interim legislative chamber where the Quelshian People's Assembly convened. No objection was raised. “Then we shall now conduct voting. Normal voting procedure, but when I call for your vote please answer with a ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’ rather than ‘sim’ and ‘não’. Mister Roque, if you would tally.”

The "Mister Roque" Dias had addressed sat in a small desk to the side and just ahead of the semicircle of seats for the Assemblymen. He nodded, waving an unidentifiable writing instrument at Dias, and then began calling out the names of the Assemblymen. The left half of the room, made of the fifteen members of the Quelshian Titoist Party required to be on the QPA by law, averted its gaze from Pascoal and Dias, instead viewing interesting spots on their desks or the floor as their names were called and their responses recorded. The right half of the room, where the fifteen elected members of the provinces and superdistricts sat, tended to look directly at either Pascoal or Dias — the five Assemblymen who represented the superdistricts of West Quelsh in particular, including Dias, who represented the southern Superdistrict 1, gave Pascoal a hard stare as their names came up in the tally.

“João Venâncio,” Roque called the thirtieth and final name on the list of Assemblymen. Venâncio, who represented one of the Hispanic provinces and was a prominent member of the socialist Quelshian Workers' Party, gave his answer quickly.

“The tally is complete,” Roque announced. There was a hollowness to his voice, as if he believed a formal tally to be a needless redundancy, but he continued on nonetheless. “Thirty ‘guilties’, zero ‘not guilties’. Zero ‘abstenho’.”

After a moment's silence, Dias responded. “Thank you, Mister Roque.” Another moment passed before Dias continued. “I believe the numbers here have made our sentence obvious. Are there any objections to the tally?” Dias gave a cursory glance at his fellow Assemblymen, none of whom spoke. “Would our Royal Observer care to weigh in before I officialise the verdict?” he asked, eyeing a man that was sitting next to Roque that had thus far remained quiet in the proceedings. This man, the Royal Observer, who officially was selected by monarch — or, in this case, the Royal Regent — for the purposes of representing the king or queen in the QPA, was a fairly unremarkable character with a lean figure and a grey suit. He gave a small shake of his head to Dias, who nodded in turn.

“Then I should like to conclude this trial.” Dias stood up, facing Pascoal. The rest of the Assemblymen stood haphazardly in response, though many of them avoided looking at Pascoal. “In the name of His Majesty, King Robert I, I, Almirante da Armada Toninho Dias, by the power vested in me by the people of Quelsh, do hereby pronounce that this Assembly finds Ge—” Dias stumbled on the word. “Ah, Vítor Pascoal guilty of treason, tier three, and thereby sentence him to the only punishment which the law allows for this violation, the tormento infinito,” he finished quickly.

Although the sentence was none other than should be expected — Dias was correct in saying that the tormento infinito was the only valid option for those persons convicted of the third tier of treason, a conviction only determinable by a royal court — hearing that fact spoken aloud still caused audible intakes from the convened Assemblymen. The tormento infinito was the worst legal punishment in Quelsh. Literally meaning "infinite torment", tormento infinito was a mode of torture of untold pain and suffering that only a member of the Garde Royale Féline could effect. While the details of what the torture actually consisted of were kept privy, it had a reputation in Quelsh for extreme and unbearable agony. Those who face the tormento infinito do not survive the experience. As the punishment is not only the third tier of treason's only possible punishment but also is exclusive to that particular legal violation, the tormento infinito had not occurred in over a century. The shock of hearing it actually being sentenced was therefore justified for the Assemblymen, especially those of Western origin, where this Quelshian law had been in force before their great-grandfathers had been born.

But before the Assemblymen could come to terms with the matter, the thudding open of the door at the back of the room cut into their thoughts. From the open doorway swiftly walked a sharply-dressed old man who addressed the room with a commanding shout as he made his way to the front. “This trial is invalid!”

After several moments of stunned silence broken only by the sound of the man's soft footsteps as he made his way to Pascoal's podium, Dias spoke with a voice that suggested equal measures of confusion and irritation. “You what, mate?”

“Mister Pascoal,” said the newcomer, gesturing to Pascoal, “has not had legal representation for this trial. It is therefore invalid, as is any final decision you may have made regarding the matter.”

“Who the hell are you?” politely inquired Venâncio.

The old man beside Pascoal nodded. “An intelligent question, Assemblyman. I am Vítor Pascoal's legal counsel.”

“But who are you?” Venâncio again asked.

“The specifics of my identity are not relevant to these legal proceedings,” the old man replied. “All that you need know is that Mister Pascoal has the legal right to representation and that I have the authority to provide that representation. For convenience, you may refer to me as ‘Delta’.”

“We need to know who you are to know if you can be Vítor's attorney,” Dias piped up drily.

“No, Assemblyman,” Delta explained with a steady and unwavering voice. “You need only know that, as a member of the Garde Royale Féline, I have every right to represent Mister Pascoal.”

The Assemblymen were again shocked into a moment of silence at the stranger's claim to be a Royal Guardsman. As they exchanged glances with one another, the self-proclaimed Guardsman spoke quietly out of the side of his mouth. “Sorry for taking so long, General. I will uphold my end of the deal; you have my word.”