The Chronicles of the Releasable Kingdom
The Magistrate
"Some people governed kingdoms. The Magistrate governed paperwork. He considered this the more demanding profession."
The Magistrate occupied an office in the center of the capital.
Not because important decisions were made there.
But because every decision eventually required a form.
The office contained shelves from floor to ceiling.
Not with books.
With registers.
There were registers recording taxes.
Registers recording guild memberships.
Registers recording official registers.
A smaller register documented where the larger registers were stored.
This was generally regarded as an excellent improvement.
His greatest strength
The Magistrate genuinely valued order.
He believed that confusion was the natural enemy of civilization.
He admired clear handwriting.
He insisted that every request had a reference number.
Every reference number required an index.
Every index deserved regular review.
He found this comforting.
He was not opposed to progress.
Quite the opposite.
He approved progress frequently.
After the appropriate committee had discussed it.
And the recommendation had been documented.
And the documentation had been reviewed.
And the review had been archived.
Progress, he often explained, should never arrive unexpectedly.
His remarkable talent
The Magistrate possessed an extraordinary memory.
Not for people.
For procedures.
He could quote regulations written before his grandfather had been born.
He remembered exactly which form had been replaced by Form Seventeen-B.
He also remembered why.
Nobody else did.
This made him indispensable.
He believed that if something was important…
…it should be recorded.
If it was very important…
…it should be recorded twice.
If it remained important…
…it deserved its own ledger.
After many years, the kingdom possessed ledgers describing almost everything.
Except what was currently happening.
The Magistrate considered this entirely reasonable.
After all…
Current events were temporary.
Records were forever.
His blind spot
The Magistrate quietly assumed that recording work created understanding.
That tracking progress produced progress.
That measuring activity improved activity.
He rarely noticed the difference.
Neither did most people.
The ledgers looked wonderfully complete.
The bridges occasionally did not.
Whenever visitors asked why there were so many unfinished projects listed in the Great Register of Public Works, the Magistrate smiled reassuringly.
“Because,” he explained,
“nothing is ever forgotten.”
He considered this proof that the system was working.
The Witch, upon hearing this, merely added another note to her notebook.
She had long suspected that remembering unfinished work and finishing work were not, in fact, the same profession.