The stone floor of the throne room was extra-hard against Blake's knees. He and Humbot had been trussed like actual animals and held awaiting the Reverend-General. Their only company were two heavily armed guards who, as per regulations, had gotten their tongues cut out as part of service to the Reverend-General.
The room was ornate, as befitting the majesty of the position of Reverend-General. Stained glass windows depicting the miracles performed by previous officeholders adorned the wall. For the more modern palate, synthesized re-enactements of miracles ran on continuous loops in the corners of the room. The ceiling, arched and appropriately gabled (due to advances in gable technology in the 23rd century) was hailed as an architectural marvel, a culmination of centuries of human knowledge and, it was said, divine inspiration.
Relics from previous leaders rested on short marble columns around the room. Locks of hair, finger bones, and even teeth from the long line of distinguished rulers were on display for those few summoned to the throne room for social events. As for those summoned for other reasons...less could be said.
"I can't believe you brought us up into the Reverend General's palace," Blake said from the side of his mouth.
"Blake, I recommend you stop talking. This room has perfect acoustics," Humbot responded.
"Oh, because by talking we're going to get into MORE trouble?"
"That's entirely possible," boomed a voice from behind them.
It was the Reverend-General.
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