There was still something astir in the atmosphere between Susie and Mr E. O’Nestly’s hooks were in a fever of tenter wondering when The Ughlies were going to be visited. Miss Chief’s cold turkey took to gobbling in extremely loud squawks of complaint. And Nespa was trying to endear herself to Terry, the orbuttieler, in the hope he might point her in the direction of the kitchen.
31 and 32 seemed almost friendly towards Susie.
“How do you think Dr Shingle would react,” she asked it, “if I were to suggest we return to The Ughloos?”
31 said, “She’d think …”
“… it was a great idea,” said 32.
“As …,” said 31.
32 said, “… do we.”
“You do?” Susie asked them, surprised by its reaction but not really knowing why she should be so.
31 said, “Great …”
“… idea,” said 32. “In fact …,” 32 continued.
“… we’ll talk to her …” said 31
“… for you,” said 32 and went on, “What we’d do …”
“… we’d try and see it ...”
“… by ourselves. We’d find a way of dumping old Shingle,” said 32.
“See the place for ourselves.”
“Do the unguided visit,” said 32.
31 said, “We’ll help you.”
And it did.
Apparently.
It talked, on Susie’s behalf, to Momma. Poppa was a bit peeved. He had, he said, things to do in Snow-it Hall. He, however, was forced to agree with Momma when she insisted such a visit would be educational and that there was nothing of greater importance than the shaping of a young mind.
The next day they set out. Miss Chief and Mimimi had now completely stopped taking the lozenges passed to them by Poppa and were just pretending to do so. To all intents and purposes, therefore, they were again all right: ear-hairless, pretty much of their original colour, their navel the right size, with the merest hint of a sniffle – conditions for which Poppa demanded exclusive credit.
Vis-all-seerless, the entourage was considerably smaller. Just the one Snow-it-all, the one I-knew-it, Susie and her Sufrogs, maybe half-a-dozen pengrins.
Susie soon understood why Elaide opted for the see-sawy palanquin. The going was heavy. They were no more than a mile from Snow-it Hall. To Susie it felt like she’d trudged ten. Carrying a medium-sized elephant.
Above them, way above them, the curious little figure zoomed again through a cleft atmosphere, the figure the polo-bears had called ‘Conscut’. Susie was the only one of them to pay it any mind. And the mind she paid it, Susie, was so small as to be, in reality, no mind at all.
A Snow-it-all is a Snow-it-all, of course. But it isn’t a Snow-itallest. The visit to The Ughloos by a Snow-it-all created a to-do – certainly it did – but it did not create a To-Do. It being a normal working day, most of the Emos were working. Every day that wasn’t an official-visit day was a normal working day. Emos worked considerably more time than they didn’t.
There was an odd Emo shuffling with its awkward gait along The Ughloo streets. But if towns are usually noted for their bustle, the principal feature of The Ughloos seemed to be its bustlelessness.
The trek there had been longer than Susie remembered from being palanquined, and she bore about her the weariness of legs which had solidified into cement. She had no desire at all to re-explore The Ughloos, nor to pioneer her way thither. She wanted to be on the couch at home, sprawled before an open fire, licking at the butter dribbling from her crumpet down her chin.
Mr E was in her bib. Perhaps her trip to The Ughlies would give her an opportunity to talk with him. Having said which, there is nothing to make you feel more at home then being involved in a conspiracy. There is something deeply reassuring about being privy to a secret. She was so reassured by her new-found relationship with 31 and 32.
Who now winked at her. Susie in turn then winked at O’Nestly and Miss Chief. Both of whom started to hang back, to slouch in their steps. The sight-seers thus had soon left them behind. Momma Shingle was giving Susie and her frogs the same tour as she had done on her last tour – scarcely surprising, given the very few features of interest.
O’Nestly chose a spot at the furthest point from one of the cctv cameras. He was nervous about Miss Chief’s acting abilities, feared she might opt for those techniques more beloved of grand opera than soap opera. With the anxiety of any theatre director on a first night, he nodded to Miss Chief.
The curtain was up.
Miss Chief clutched divally at her bosom. Her eyes heaven-wards, she gasped. Pausing thus dramatically – maybe a second or two beyond its best-before date –, she then swooned. Swan like. And then twitched … unswan-like. O’Nestly dropped to his knees beside her. He felt her brow and withdrew his hand quickly, as if scalded. He raised an eye, and shook a lamenting head as he allowed the lid once again to drop. He looked up and down the street, as if searching for help.
“I’ll be right back,” he told Miss Chief. He raced round the corner taken by the others. And he shouted for help. This stopped the sight-seers mid-plod. He called for them to come quickly, that Miss Chief had suffered some sort of attack, and had fallen unconscious or something.
Poppa tutted and adopted a ‘what-can-we-do-with-her?’ smile. He and Momma wondered about whether to continue with the tour, then agreed that this development in Miss Chief’s condition could possibly be rather too interesting.
The remainder of the Sufrogs, meantime, had already rushed to Miss Chief’s side. The I-knew-it was not far behind.
“Out the way, out the way,” Poppa said as he arrived, and sought a way through the scrum gawping over Miss Chief’s prostrate figure. He eventually managed to get through to his patient, and he started ministering to her as Momma kept instructing the others to “give her air, give her air.”
31 and 32 spread itself as widely as it could. It shielded Momma and Poppa from views beyond the body before them; it also largely hid from the camera what was being enacted before it.
Susie detached herself from the group. O’Nestly likewise. Also Nespa – and, of course, the embibbed Mr E.
Susie knew they couldn’t hide from the cctv cameras for very long, and that therefore detection was only a matter of time. Susie felt sure, though, that (if O’Nestly’s account proved to be accurate) once she had apprised Elaide of The Ughlies’ appallingness she would be forgiven, maybe even rewarded. And that the appallingness would immediately be dealt with and removed. Her only concern, therefore, was to avoid capture for as long as she could.
Told that it was appalling, Susie had steeled herself to meet that appallingness. There was, however, nothing which could prepare her for what she actually met.
Before there was the sight there was the smell.
And the smell was one of decay. It wasn’t even a foul smell. It was quite sweet. But it was putrid. And the rottenness was at the core of the sweetness. It wasn’t the noxiousness of death; it was the whiff of fester.
The lassitude of the normal Emo gait was here replaced by a resentful shuffle. The names had been removed from the Emos’ foreheads, their anoraks were stained with grime. Even the despair was indolent, too bludgeoned to accommodate even envy – or anger. Not even self-pity.
The houses were smaller versions of The Ughloos, but whereas those were pristine, these were crumbling and flaking and preparing to collapse. Whereas The Ughloos’ ughloos housed two Emos, The Ughlies’ housed six.
Susie wandered horror-struck amongst the hopeless streets. In some, obviously very young Emos were bent over in the dark cobbling sandals destined for the I-knew-its. As Susie passed they flicked exhausted glances at her. A lash from their overseer returned them quickly to their tasks.
“This is not the worst of it,” said O’Nestly. “There’s ‘The Ughetto’ yet. That makes this seem like Paradise.”
“Elaide can’t know about this,” Susie said. She almost believed herself.
“
No?” asked O’Nestly.
“The Snow-it-alls stand for care and compassion,” Susie said. “It’s their two watchwords.”
“Care for themselves, Susie,” said O’Nestly. “Compassion for their own interests.”
“You know somezing?” asked Nespa.
“Please don’t tell me you’re hungry,” Susie said.
“To ze contrary. Zis …” She waved her hand around in a wordless attempt to explain the unexplainable. “… is enough, n’est-ce pas, to kill all hungriness?”
“It’s inevitable, don’t you know,” said Mr E. “If one group seeks to dominate another group the result has to be misery. There are those who insist such is the natural order. Those are rarely those living in the misery they say is natural.”
“Excuse me … ” Susie said to a ragged Emo passing her. But the creature huddled into itself and scuttled away from her.
“They won’t talk to you,” said O’Nestly. “They’re too frightened. Bad though it is, it isn’t The Ughetto. In the Ughetto they won’t talk to you either. Bad though that is, it’s better than Neverrest.”
“What happens on Neverrest?” Susie asked.
“No-one knows,” said O’Nestly. “No-one’s ever returned to be able to ask them.”
“That, too, is inevitable, don’t you know,” said Mr E. “Terror only begets terror. And when there is nowhere further to go with terror, terror turns in on itself and starts terrorising those which had terrified it.”
“Yes, Mr E, very helpful,” sarcasticked Susie, with a look of shared ‘you-know-what-he’s-on-about?’ with her friends. “Thank you. Excuse me …” she said to another Emo. But this creature did as Susie’s previous accostee had. “All right, O’Nestly, you’d better take me to The Ughetto.”
“Just this way,” said O’Nestly and rounded a grubby and now ill-defined corner. There waiting for them was a very unpleasant surprise.
“And just what, may I ask, are you doing here?” Momma asked the question, but Poppa’s frown was equally censorious. Behind it was the gaggle of the other Sufrogs, now heavily escorted by pengrins. The I-knew-it was coated with a grin which seemed to seep from every pore.
It was the depth of that grin which confirmed to Susie the depth of the trouble she was in. She would have to talk to Mr E on the very next possible occasion. Time to whoosh home. No question. There was time for absolutely no more procrastination or shilly-shallying.
“I …” she started to stammer.
“Save it,” Momma told her, “for your trial.”
Chapter 28
Mr E was wrenched from Susie’s bib pocket. With his wrench Susie felt aloneness plummet on her. Rarely do we notice the eiderdown until we are no longer allowed it.
If she had thought the trek to The Ughloos one of hardship and exhaustion it was a frolic by comparison with the journey from it.
There was a leaden darkness attached to the aloneness and this sought to enheavy her every footstep, and to deepen the trudge it made through the snow.
By the time the silent convoy reached Snow-it Hall Susie’s depression had taken control. All seemed hopeless, pointless. She’d been betrayed – again. Again by someone who had feigned being close to her. She couldn’t help wondering, if life is only about propagating unfairness, is there any point in it?
She thought she’d be allowed, at least, to rest for a moment or two in her room. Maybe she’d even be returned her frogs. Her need now to whoosh out of the place was becoming urgent.
Urgentissimo.
Within Snow-it Hall, Susie was – it is no exaggeration to say – marched back to the same room in which, on her arrival there, the snowball had been held.
The pengrins’ stance before their columns was now rigid. Their demeanour was one of both alertness and animosity. Their smiley, smiley grins now took on a hue of Spanish Inquisition viciousness.
Depression melted into an ice-cold trickle called fear. And this trickle trickled ice-coldly through every vein and artery of Susie’s body.
The snowballroom had been converted into a court room. It had tables, like an American court; but it also had a separate dock, like an English one.
There was a splurge of official pengrins, and a splash of official Emos, all officialing officiously. On the head of each of these was a length of strands – these were of a synthetic material simulating a pony’s tail.
Momma and Poppa were already there. It was wearing a rather larger version of the pony’s tail: horses’ tails. Also wearing horses’ tails was the Snow-it-all Susie had previously only glimpsed. This Snow-it-all, though Susie was yet to know this, was also the monitor of the cctv monitors.
Susie was aghast. The latter Snow-it-all was deep in conference with Momma and Poppa, leaning over one of the tables, discussing – Susie was sure of it – Susie. But it was not that which aghasted Susie. It was that the faces of the Snow-itall were so, so very familiar to her: one was that of her mother, the other was Phil’s.
She was about to exclaim something when her ‘mother’ exclaimed, “Prisoners to the dock.”
A brace of pengrins poked her with their beaks, prodding her towards the segregated area at the back of the room. Once there, her frogs were, almost literally, slung in after her.
She grabbed Mr E. “What do we do now?” she hisspered.
“Do you know? I don’t know, don’t you know,” replied the frog almost joyfully. Susie “ooh”-ed in exaspe-frustration. She didn’t much care what it was that she did do, but she did want to do – at least – something.
The mother/Phil Snow-it-all came towards her.
“Mum?” Susie asked with considerably more hope than certainty.
“Excuse me,” ‘Mum’ replied sternly. “I am your defence,” she said.
“And I’m the judge, Lord Case,” said ‘Phil’ judgely.
“His Lordship is the finest judge we have,” said ‘Mum’.
“As your defence lawyer is the finest defence lawyer that we have,” said ‘Phil’.
“Why, thank you, Justin,” said ‘Mum’ with a blushette.
“Justin Case?” asked Susie, almost with a laugh.
“Because,” said ‘Mum’, “he is always ‘just’ in the ‘cases’ he tries.”
“She argued your case most eloquently,” said Lord Case. “You would have been delighted. You can consider yourself fortunate in the extreme.”
“Excuse me,” said Susie, her indignation about to break the sound barrier, “excuse me … You’ve had the trial already?”
“Well, of course,” said Lord Case. “We used to allow the guilty to attend. But that just confused matters. Slowed them up no end. You can have no idea. Much simpler this way. Much more … expeditious.”
“If they haven’t been tried, how do you know they’re guilty?” asked Susie, her petulance rushing to catch up with her indignation.
“We’ve got better things to do, Susie,” ‘explained’ ‘Mum’ with a patronising sigh, “than bring innocent beings to trial.” Turning to Lord Case she said, “You don’t know, do you, whether to laugh or to cry?”
“You are, as I have already intimated, exceeding fortunate,” said Lord Case. “Because of the exceeding eloquence of your counsel the Court has decided to exercise exceeding clemency, indeed the maximum amount of clemency allowed for in tariffing these exceeding grave offences.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Susie insisted.
“If, on the other hand,” Lord Case continued, “the Court sees no contrition on the defendant’s part …”
“You call high treason ‘nothing’?” asked ‘Mum’.
“High treason. That’s ridiculous,” said Susie.
“Contempt of court, contempt of court,” yelled Lord Case, and banged his gavel several times. “You, prisoner, have been sent from Earth to spy. We know Earth is struggling to form its own emocracy. You have been found guilty of being sent by Earth to ascertain how it is we do it.”
“That’s mad,” Susie said with a h
alf-laugh. “Totally crazy. You’re totally crazy, if you believe that.”
“Contempt of court, contempt of court,” gavelled Lord Case, his face turning puce with rage.
“You can’t be in contempt of court which is a contempt of court,” said Susie. “Which is a contempt, anyway, of justice. And if its justice is contemptible, having contempt for the court is only... fair. Having contempt for the court then is, in fact, not being in contempt of justice.” She treated herself to – just a moment’s – smirk. With a smirking impatience she awaited the immediate dismissal of all charges.
“By a whisker,” graved the gavelly Lord Case, seeking to depuce his facial colouring, “your counsel, young woman, saved you from execution. Do not – I most earnestly advise you – further try the patience of this court. Clemency have I pledged your counsel and clemency you shall therefore have. You will go to the dungeon …”
“Dungeon?” screamed Susie.
“… dungeon,” pronounced Justin, “for the rest of your natural life, plus, let’s see ..., say a hundred years.”
“A hundred years?” screamed Susie again.
“In solitary confinement,” Justin added with a smile. Susie was now too stunned to be able to react further. “At hard labour. The Sufrogs likewise.”
Susie just gawped. She couldn’t yet fully absorb the enormity of it all. Imprisonment for life. In solitary confinement. At hard labour. By the time she was free again she’d be … dead.
“Don’t say ‘thank you’, then,” said her defence counsel huffily.
“Thank you?” Susie asked automotonly, meaning ‘what do I have to thank you for?’
Whether she actually misheard that inflection or chose to, ‘Mum’ accepted that Susie’s ‘thank you’ was the one she sought. She therefore returned Susie’s thank you with one of her own. “Follow me,” she said.
“My frogs,” Susie started to complain.
“You can’t have frogs in solitary confinement,” said ‘Mum’. “The very idea. Follow me.”
“Where are we going?” Susie asked seized by fear.
“To the dungeons,” ‘Mum’ replied, as if the answer were obvious.
Susie and the Snow-it-alls Page 12
