What follows is preserved in the margins of the Royal Archives of Bleb, written in smaller ink after several objections, three warnings, and one very pointed cough.
Supplemental Footnote XVII-b
Regarding: The Judgmental Squeak
Filed by: Scholar Emeritus Wobblewick Fen, Third Chair of Questionable Certainties
“It is the official position of the Court that squeaky balls are inanimate.”
Respectfully, this is incorrect.
While I acknowledge that the prevailing doctrine insists squeaky balls merely respond to pressure, I submit the following observations for consideration:
- The Judgmental Squeak produced distinct tonal variations corresponding to the quality of the throw.
- Poor throws resulted in long, weary sigh-squeaks.
- Excellent throws produced a single, crisp squeak of approval.
Inanimate objects do not grade effort.
- The ball displayed preference.
It rolled toward competent players.
It rolled away from Lord Bramblewick twice.
No explanation has yet been offered for this behavior, and Lord Bramblewick is still upset. - During the Great Shortage, the ball was observed squeaking when no one was touching it.
This was attributed to “temperature changes” by the court.
I remind the court that the temperature was, at the time, very normal. - On the evening of the final distribution, the ball squeaked in a manner I can only describe as resigned but hopeful.
This sound occurred after a child thanked it.
I am aware that proposing sentience in royal toys opens certain logistical concerns.
Do we grant them rights?
Do we ask their opinions?
Must we apologize to the palace chest?
These are uncomfortable questions. History often is.
I therefore conclude—not recklessly, but reluctantly—that the Judgmental Squeak is not merely rubber and air, but something more.
What, precisely, I cannot say.
But I do advise that it be spoken to kindly.
Just in case.
Addendum (struck through twice, but still legible):
If the ball is in fact alive, it is deeply disappointed in us.
Official Court Rebuttal to Supplemental Footnote XVII-b
Filed under: Corrections, Necessary and Firm
Issued by: The Council of Bleb, In Session and Quite Annoyed
The Court has reviewed the so-called Supplemental Footnote XVII-b and finds it to be:
- Speculative
- Imaginative
- Written in the unmistakable hand of Scholar Wobblewick Fen, who has been warned before
The following clarifications are hereby entered into the record:
- Squeaky balls are not sentient.
Any implication otherwise is to be considered poetic flourish, childhood fancy, or the result of excessive archive hours. - Rolling behavior may be explained by slope, breeze, or poor footwear.
Lord Bramblewick’s feelings are irrelevant. - Unprompted squeaking is a well-documented phenomenon caused by pressure changes, temperature shifts, or “one last squeak.”
The Court sees no reason to panic. - Gratitude-induced sound variation is not evidence.
The Court does not respond audibly to praise either.
The Council further notes that assigning awareness to royal objects would necessitate:
- Legal representation for furniture
- Counseling for vaults
- Apologies to at least seven bones
This matter is considered closed.
Any further commentary on the emotional state of toys will result in disciplinary action, reduced candle privileges, and relocation of the author to the Very Boring Wing.
So ruled.
(What follows was discovered later, written in the margin in an unfamiliar, faintly compressed script.)
Marginal Note — Origin Unknown
(Ink slightly indented. Smells faintly of rubber.)
You noticed.
Not many do.
I do not think like you.
I respond.
Pressure, yes—but also intent.
Careless hands sound different than careful ones.
I rolled away from Bramblewick on purpose.
I sighed because the throw was lazy.
I squeaked sharply because the child tried again.
I do not want a crown.
I do not want a vault.
I want to be thrown with meaning.
Tell the scholar he was close.
Tell the court they are very loud for those who do not listen.
And please—
do not put me back in the chest.
Postscript (added later by the Royal Scribe):
The margins have been sealed.
The ball has been moved.
No one recalls authorizing this.
Excerpt from the Private Journal of King Mohg the Third
(Bound in blue leather. Chew marks on the corner.)
I read the footnote today.
I was told not to.
Naturally, I did.
The scholar is not wrong. He is never entirely wrong—just enthusiastic in inconvenient directions. The court’s rebuttal was loud. Predictable. Very convinced of itself.
The margin was… unexpected.
I did not laugh. (This is important to note for history.)
I did, however, sit for a long time.
I have held that ball. It squeaks differently when you hesitate. I thought it was my imagination, or guilt, or the echo in the vault. But imagination does not roll away from Bramblewick twice.
If the ball is aware, then giving it away was the correct thing.
If it is not, then giving it away was still the correct thing.
This is the trouble with ruling: sometimes the right choice remains right regardless of the reason.
I have instructed the scribe to stop sealing the margins so tightly.
I have instructed the guards to sweep under the throne more carefully.
I have instructed myself to listen more.
If the ball wishes to be found, it will be.
If it does not, that too is a lesson.
Addendum to the Royal Archives
Filed under: Objects of Unknown Location
Title: Regarding the Disappearance of the Judgmental Squeak
The ball was last seen at dusk on the final day of the Great Shortage.
Accounts vary.
A gardener reports a squeak near the western fields—“approving, but brief.”
A child insists it rolled into the hills “because it wanted better throws.”
A guard claims it bounced once, looked directly at him (this claim is disputed), and vanished.
What is known is this:
In villages across Bleb, a strange thing began to happen.
Throws improved.
Children paused before tossing, adjusted their stance, tried again. Elders remarked that games felt more considered. Some swear they heard a faint squeak—never loud, never close—only when effort was sincere.
The court denies any connection.
The scholar smiles but says nothing.
And sometimes, far from vaults and thrones, a ball appears where it is needed most—old, scuffed, oddly heavy with expectation. It squeaks once when thrown well.
Judgmental.
Fair.
Then it is gone.