Chapter 124: Chapter 124: The Testimony of the Tea.
The silence that followed Pip’s final, absurd recommendation of "a pile of well-stuffed pillows" was absolute.
The Adjudicator of Law, Valerius, looked personally betrayed by reality itself.
The Adjudicator of Heart, Lyra, had a smile that lingered like a ghost at the corners of her lips.
And the Adjudicator of Procedure, Scribonia, was scribbling furiously, her brow furrowed in deep, professional concentration.
At last, Scribonia finished her note with a sharp, final stroke. "Thank you, rogue, for your unsolicited but... thorough report," she said, her tone precise as she lifted her gaze to the group. "Your safety concerns have been noted for future review. The elf. You are next. Please step forward."
Zazu’s response was a stark contrast to the others. He did not squeak like Pip, nor did he step forward with the grim resolve of Gilda. He merely inclined his head in a slow, polite acknowledgment. His steps were unhurried, as if each one had all the time in the world.
As he passed FaeLina, her frantic, whispered reminder was a barely-audible buzz: "The tea, Zazu! Calming properties!"
He gave her a small, drowsy smile, as though to say Of course, and continued to the center of the chamber. His movements were unhurried, his expression not defiant or terrified, but simply sleepy. He came to a halt before the three towering daises, blinked slowly, and gave a slight, polite bow.
"Adjudicators," he said, his voice soft and smooth, a stark contrast to the room’s harsh, sterile quietness. "Before I begin my testimony, it appears to me this hall suffers from a distinct lack of comfort. I should like to remedy that."
Before Valerius could object to the completely irrelevant opening statement, Zazu reached into the sleeves of his deep green robes. With an unhurried grace, he began to place items on the polished stone floor.
First, a small, ceramic teapot, painted with delicate, sleeping willow trees.
Then, a tiny, brass brazier.
Next, four matching, handle-less cups.
And finally, a collection of small, leather pouches, each embroidered with a silver, sleeping moon.
As the court watched in baffled silence, the team slowly realized what he was doing. He was preparing to make tea.
Pip stared, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Zazu wasn’t just killing time. He was arranging the cups with the care of someone preparing for honored guests. He was warming the pot. He was, against all logic, acting like the host of a pleasant afternoon tea party.
"He’s not stalling," Pip realized with a sense of dumbfounded awe. "He’s... hosting." A small, terrified part of him wanted to scream. But a much larger, more practical part of him wondered if there would be biscuits with the tea.
As if to confirm Pip’s thought, Zazu knelt, his movements a slow, practiced ritual. "The first step to a proper testimony," he explained to the silent chamber, his voice like a calm lecture, "is a clear and tranquil mind. And the foundation for that is properly prepared water."
He produced a small flask and poured clear water into the teapot, setting it upon the unlit brazier. Then, from another pouch, he released a single, sleepy-looking firefly. It circled the brazier once, lazily, as if inspecting the setup, before settling on the brass. At its touch, the brazier glowed with a steady, golden warmth, and soon thin ribbons of steam curled from the pot.
"The water must not boil," Zazu continued, his voice gentle and instructive. "Boiling bruises the leaves and makes the resulting brew agitated. One must heat it only until tiny bubbles, like fish eyes, begin to form on the bottom."
The calm, deliberate lecture was unbearable for the Adjudicator of Law. His face became a mask of pure, uncomprehending fury. This was a mockery of his court, an insult to every statute ever written. He drew in a breath, preparing to deliver a thunderous objection.
But before he could, Lyra, the Adjudicator of Heart, lifted a single, delicate finger. She did not command. She merely... indicated.
And for all his law-bound wrath, Valerius fell silent. The only rebellion left to him was the violent twitch of his eye.
Scribonia, meanwhile, ignored the silent power struggle, already lost in her own procedural dilemma. Her quill hovered, uncertain. Does this fall under Sub-section 4, Article 9: Unauthorized Beverage Preparation? Or Appendix G: Introduction of Unsanctioned Fauna? After a pause, she resolved the matter with the cool precision of a clerk. A fresh page shimmered onto her clipboard, and at the top she inscribed a neat new heading: Proposed Amendment 77-C: Regulations Concerning On-Site Horticultural Infusions.
Scribonia, meanwhile, ignored the silent power struggle, already lost in her own procedural dilemma. Her quill hovered, uncertain. Does this fall under Sub-section 4, Article 9: Unauthorized Beverage Preparation? Or perhaps Appendix G: Introduction of Unsanctioned Fauna?
After a pause, she resolved the matter with the cool precision of a clerk. A fresh new page shimmered onto her clipboard, and at the top she inscribed a neat new heading: Proposed Amendment 77-C: Regulations Concerning On-Site Horticultural Infusions.
While one judge seethed and the other created new laws, Zazu remained the calm center of the room. He continued his lesson as though addressing a circle of sleepy apprentices.
"Next, the blend," he murmured, opening another pouch. "I call this one ’A Moment of Peace’."
As he spoke, the soft fragrance of chamomile and lavender began to spread through the air, a gentle warmth that pushed back the chamber’s dry, papery scent and seemed to soften the room’s hard edges. "Chamomile for calm," Zazu explained. "Lavender for rest. And a single crushed mint leaf"—he lifted it delicately between two fingers—"to awaken the mind without startling it."
He placed the herbs in the pot with a quiet reverence, as though each leaf carried its own wisdom. The team could only watch, caught somewhere between disbelief and fascination. The tension in the chamber remained, but now it was softened, wrapped in a haze of rising herbal steam.
Gilda thought grimly, ’This is the strangest battle I have ever seen’. She had fought sieges, monsters, and curses. None of them had prepared her for tea.
"The steeping," Zazu continued, his eyes half-closed, "is the most important part. One must wait... until the spirit of the tea is ready to be shared."
With that, he fell silent.
A minute passed, then another. The only sound in the vast chamber was the faint hiss of the brazier and the quiet whisper of steam. Valerius looked ready to boil over himself, his entire posture trembling with suppressed fury.
At last, Zazu opened his eyes. He gave a slow, thoughtful nod, and then he poured. The golden liquid streamed into a cup, fragrant and clear. He lifted it with both hands and, as unhurried as ever, crossed the chamber toward the daises.
He stopped before the most unyielding presence in the room: Valerius, the Adjudicator of Law. Without a flicker of hesitation, he extended the steaming cup upward.
"My testimony," Zazu said, his voice calm and steady as still water, "is that a moment of peace is more valuable than any rule. Would you care for a cup?"
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Author’s Note
Zazu takes the stand! And of course, his idea of a testimony is to host a tea ceremony. I love that his approach to the "Stall" plan is not just to be boring, but to be so profoundly, aggressively calm that it completely short-circuits the Bureau’s entire sense of urgency.
Valerius’s silent, mounting rage is one of my favorite parts of this Chapter. He’s completely powerless to stop this because, technically, Zazu hasn’t broken any rules yet. But Lyra, the Adjudicator of Heart, is clearly affected. Zazu’s sincerity and offer of peace is a direct appeal to her nature, which, as Zazu himself noted, is terribly dangerous.
Three down, one to go. Zazu has left the court in a different kind of stunned silence. Now it’s up to Sir Crumplebuns. How will our valiant, plushy knight follow up an act of aggressive, weaponized tea?
Thanks for reading!