Page One · Courts Desk
Mistrial Declared After Bailiff, Court Reporter, And Key Exhibit All Go Fishing
Croaktown's marquee case collapsed before opening statements when three-quarters of the courtroom relocated to the islands over a single lunch recess.
By our courts correspondent, one of the few still present
The trial of the swamp's most notorious frog was declared a mistrial this week after the bailiff, the court reporter, and the single exhibit tying the whole case together all failed to return from the midday recess. The judge, reading from an empty transcript, noted that a proceeding requires a record, and that the record had, regrettably, gone fishing.
The defendant expressed his sincere disappointment, complimented the judge's gavel, and offered to help find replacements, an offer the court declined with unusual speed. The Gazette observes that this is the fourth mistrial of the season and that the islands have never been more popular among frogs who briefly held a piece of paper.
Continued on the recordThe full rap sheet, count by count→Business & Filings
Eighteenth Shell Pondcompany Files Its Own Incorporation; No Frog Involved
The Registry recorded a new holding this week that appears to have registered itself, named itself, and listed itself as its own sole director.
The Registry of Ponds & Shells confirmed the arrival of an eighteenth holding, a shell pondcompany that filed its own paperwork, appointed itself director, and named as its registered agent a cousin who does not appear to exist even by the generous standards of the previous seventeen. The Gazette pressed for details and was handed a brochure describing a second brochure.
Asked how a pondcompany incorporates itself, the Registry clerk explained that the parent trust had simply willed it into being, the way it wills most things, and that counting past seventeen is discouraged, unlucky, and, for two former clerks, career-ending. The frog at the top of the trust says there are seventeen. There are seventeen. The eighteenth is a rumor, and the rumor pays rent.
Continued on the recordThe Holdings — all seventeen on file→Nightlife & Numbers
Casino Vault Passes Audit Conducted Entirely By The Vault
The storm-drain house reported a flawless inspection this week after appointing the vault to audit itself, a arrangement management calls "efficient and trusting."
The Cattail Street Ribbit Casino announced that its vault had passed its annual audit with a perfect score, a result made possible by naming the vault as its own auditor, a role it discharged by remaining closed and declining all questions. Management hailed the outcome as proof that the house has nothing to hide, and everything locked.
Security for the audit was furnished by a trench-coated associate who was present throughout and can be confirmed by no one. Patrons betting on whether the vault would pass reported that it did, that they lost, and that the house, as ever, won. The books balance. The books always balance. The books are not for the likes of you.
Continued on the recordThe job — The Cattail Street Ribbit Casino (§ 04.2)→Family Desk
Soft Twin Across The Water Testifies Truthfully; Case Falls Apart Anyway
The good one took the stand this week, told the whole truth, and watched it evaporate the moment it touched the property room.
Across the water, a certain law-abiding relation did something no frog in Croaktown had attempted in living memory: he testified, under oath, to exactly what he saw. His account was clear, consistent, and, sources agree, entirely accurate. It was entered into evidence at ten and had gone fishing in the islands by noon.
The Gazette will not print his name; the swamp knows the difference between the twins the way it knows a true word from a surviving one. One tells the truth and loses it to the property room. The other never testifies, owns the property room, and keeps the truth somewhere warm. One trusts the record. The other is the reason the record is missing.
Continued on the recordThe feud file — the two frogs across the water→The Blotter
Warden Runs Swamp's Quietest Jail; Reports No Complaints, No Witnesses, No Noise
The Lily-pad Lockup posted another silent quarter under a warden who has perfected the art of a cellblock with nothing to say.
Down at the Lily-pad Lockup, the warden reports the quietest quarter on record: no complaints filed, no witnesses talking, no noise after dark. He credits a firm but fair regime in which guests who arrive with something to say discover, within a night, that they no longer do. The cellblock ledger, he notes with pride, reads like a held breath.
Cells that were full are quiet; cells that were quiet are kept warm for whoever talks next. The commissary thrives, the paperwork is spotless, and two former guests have already gone fishing in the islands with the warden's warmest and most permanent regards. The Gazette found the jail so peaceful it nearly forgot to leave.
Continued on the recordThe crew — Warden Toadkins→Public Notices
Gone-Fishing Fisheries Reports Record One-Way Bookings; Return Manifest Still Blank
The swamp's premier maritime relocation service closed another quarter of satisfied one-way customers, with repeat business remaining, by design, impossible.
Gone-Fishing Fisheries Inc. announced record bookings this quarter, all of them one-way, all of them for frogs who had recently said too much to the wrong desk officer. The service, which declined to comment citing a policy of never commenting, describes its customer satisfaction as total, on the grounds that no dissatisfied customer has ever come back to complain.
The return manifest remains, as it has since the flood, completely blank. Management calls this a testament to the quality of the islands and the finality of the fishing. The Gazette booked no passage this quarter and intends to keep it that way, in the interest of continuing to publish.
Continued on the recordCroaktown Dictionary — "Gone fishing in the islands"→