“Hey, watch it,” she said.
“Pardon me, Ms. Pule,” replied the man. “Sorry I’m late. Very busy morning. Okay then, let’s take a look at your file.” The man began digging through the satchel, pulling papers to his lap and flipping through them.
“What are you, my lawyer or something?” asked Elspeth, hoping for an answer in the negative.
“Jack B. Nimble,” said the man, briefly looking up from the lapful of paper. “Of Nimble, Nimble, Tucker, and Levine.”
“So you are my lawyer,” Elspeth responded. “And you’re just now going over my case?”
“I only got the files late last night. I’m a bit overloaded as it is, being the only one willing to take on these kinds of cases.”
“What kinds of cases?”
“The kind where the defendant is obviously guilty,” said Mr. Nimble. He found the page he’d been looking for and began reading silently, except for the slight clicking of his lips as he mouthed the words.
“Wait a minute,” said Elspeth. “What do you mean, I’m obviously guilty? Aren’t you supposed to be defending me?”
Nimble exhaled abruptly and looked up from his paperwork. “I can’t very well defend you if I’m unfamiliar with your case, now can I?”
“But how can you be unfamiliar with my case and still think I’m guilty?”
“Because you’re accused of a crime against the Crown,” answered Nimble as if explaining why two plus two equals four. “So either you’re guilty or the king is wrong, and that couldn’t possibly be the case.”
“Okay, I get it,” said Elspeth. “Everyone thinks I’m this girl who’s supposed to lead this big revolt against the king, like some kind of modern-day Joan of Arc or something. But even if that were true, it hasn’t happened yet. So how can I possibly be charged with a crime?”
“It’s a crime to even consider the act of treason. Now, I suggest we enter a plea of insanity,” said Nimble. He found a pencil in the bottom of the satchel and began scribbling on the paper. “Have you ever heard voices in your head?”
“I’m hearing one now,” said Elspeth.
“Great,” said Nimble.
“It’s telling me to knock that stupid wig off your head,” Elspeth continued.
“Prone toward acts of violence.” Nimble wrote some more then scratched it out. “On second thought, maybe we don’t mention that.”
Double doors behind the judge’s chair swung into the courtroom, and in walked the bailiff, an elderly man with stark-white hair that covered his head, most of his face, and sprouted from his ears. He inhaled with a wheeze, and Elspeth was surprised to hear, “All rise for His Honor and Royal Highness, King Krool, Ruler of All the Land, Lord of the Seas and the Moon . . .”
It took the old man four or five separate breaths to get through the entire introduction, which gave Elspeth time to lean over and whisper to her lawyer, “The king is also the judge?”
“Yes, that’s bad news,” said Nimble. “I was hoping for Judge Contrary. She’s tough but fair.”
The king entered the room and waited for the old man to dust off his chair with a handkerchief before taking a seat. “Court is now in session,” the bailiff managed with a single breath. “In the matter of Case Number 418,611: The Crown versus Elspeth Pule, to the charges of sedition, treason, and grand theft tart, how do you plead?”
When Elspeth answered with a forceful “Not guilty,” a buzz rippled through the courtroom because, just as Nimble had said, for one to profess innocence to a crime against the Crown, with no further explanation, was to suggest His Highness had erred.
Nimble hastily straightened his wig and said, “My apologies, Your Honor. What my client meant to say is that she wishes to plead not guilty by reason of insanity.”
“I’m not insane!” yelled Elspeth. Though, given everything she had experienced in the last twenty-four hours, she wasn’t quite so sure. “And furthermore, I would like to object.”
“That’s my job,” said Nimble.
“Then why aren’t you objecting to the fact that the person accusing me of this crime is acting as judge, jury, and executioner?”
The king let out a hearty laugh. “Judge and jury, yes,” he confirmed. “But executioner? Yuck. No, thank you.” The king shuddered as if thinking about having to eat worms or something. Several members of the gallery snickered at this, which caused Krool to slam his gavel several times upon the table. “Quiet in the courtroom! And be seated. I’m prepared to hear opening statements at this time.”
All in the courtroom took their seats except for the man with the slicked-back hair. “Good morning, Your Honor and Royal Highness,” he said with a perfect-toothed smile.
“Good morning, Dave,” Krool replied.
“Dave?” Elspeth whispered. “That’s not the king’s nephew, Dave? The guy who burned down the kittens’ house?”
“That’s him, all right,” Nimble confirmed. “Spoiled little brat.”
Chief prosecutor and nephew to the king, Dave, cleared his throat and began his opening statement. “Your Honor, Crown’s Counsel will demonstrate, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the defendant in this case, Elspeth Pule, a.k.a. Jacqueline Jillson, is not only guilty but ridiculously guilty.”
“Jacqueline Jillson?” whispered Elspeth.
“Your name at birth, apparently,” Nimble whispered back.
“Yikes,” said Elspeth, suddenly aware of how Dolly Dew Eyes must have felt.
“We are confident that, when all the facts of the case are presented, His Honor and Highness will have no choice but to convict on all charges. Thank you.”
The king’s nephew took his seat, and Krool turned to Elspeth’s lawyer with a look of extreme disinterest. “Mr. Nimble,” he said. “The court will now hear your opening statement.”
As Nimble stood, Elspeth sighed and muttered, “This oughta be good.”
“Your Honor and Majesty,” Nimble began. “Of course my client is guilty but should not be held accountable because she is completely and totally insane. In fact, she’s so insane that, despite all of the evidence pointing to her insanity, she actually believes that she is not. I mean really, how crazy and deluded is that? Anyway, it is our intention to prove this beyond all doubt. Thank you.”
Nimble retook his seat, and Elspeth leaned in and hissed, “I told you, I am not insane.”
“Yes, brilliant,” said Nimble. “Keep denying it. As I said, it makes you look even crazier.”
“Quiet please,” Krool ordered. “The prosecution may call its first witness. And let’s make this quick. I intend to be out on the golf course by noon.”
“Yes, Uncle Krool . . . excuse me, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. “At this time, the Crown wishes to call to the stand Elspeth Pule.”
While refusing to testify might have been the prudent thing to do, Elspeth was anxious to tell her side of the story, and she quickly rose and walked to the witness stand, a small wooden chair resting meekly in the shadow of the judge’s table.
Before she could take her seat, the bailiff stood before her and raised his right hand. Elspeth had seen enough courtroom dramas on TV to know what was expected of her. She rolled her eyes, then raised her right hand as well.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you Krool?” asked the bailiff.
“So help me Krool?” Elspeth answered with a sneer. “Seriously?”
“Quite serious, ma’am,” the bailiff replied.
“Sure,” said Elspeth, just wanting to sit down and get it over with. “So help me Krool.”
She plopped onto the seat as the king’s nephew swaggered closer. “Good morning, Ms. Pule,” he said with a greasy smile.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Elspeth, her eyes still angled toward the ceiling.
“Please state for the court your current occupation.”
“What?” said Elspeth. “I’m eleven. I’m a student.”
“Oh, an intellectual,” said Dave w
ith eyebrows raised in a way that suggested mockery. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Pule, that you have been planning the overthrow of my uncle’s government since you were a small child?”
“There’s nothing true about it,” Elspeth insisted. “I’ve had far more important things to do, like going to school, playing chess, and stuff like that.”
Dave sauntered back to the bench to retrieve a large leather-bound book, then held it aloft as he walked back toward the witness stand. “The Crown would like to mark this as Exhibit A.” He handed the book to Elspeth, and she immediately recognized it as a copy of the same book Bo-Peep had presented to her. “Please turn to page thirty-five.”
Elspeth’s heart began to race. She sat and stared at the book resting in her lap. “No,” said Elspeth softly.
Aggressively, Dave leaned over and snatched the book away. “Fine,” he said. “Allow me.” He flipped through the pages, fanned the book open, and handed it back to Elspeth. “Now,” he said. “Tell me what you see.”
Elspeth just stared into Dave’s soulless eyes. As much as she despised the look of him, it was far better, she sensed, than what loomed below on page thirty-five.
“What’s the matter, Ms. Pule?” said Dave, addressing her while facing the gallery. “Are you afraid of what you might find?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Elspeth asserted.
“Really?” said Dave. “Then why don’t you prove it? Go on. Take a look.”
Of course Elspeth was very much afraid. But there’s a very good reason that curiosity, and not fear, killed the cat. Slowly, she lowered her eyes until they focused on the open book. Nearly inaudibly, and almost involuntarily, she whispered, “It’s me.”
“Pardon me?” said Dave loudly.
Like the other pictures in the book Elspeth had seen, this one was a black-and-white woodblock etching. The image was of a girl dressed in some type of military uniform and thrusting a pointed stick high into the air. The girl’s hair was done up in curls, one dangling in the middle of her forehead. She wore a triumphant smile, which revealed a small gap between her front teeth. Though the girl in the picture was decidedly slimmer than Elspeth, the likeness was otherwise astonishing.
“But it’s not,” Elspeth said, shaking her head. “It can’t be.”
“Let the record show,” said Dave, “that when the witness first saw the picture, she said the words, ‘It’s me.’ Now, Ms. Pule, if you would be so kind as to read the passage below.”
Elspeth raised the book closer to her eyes and read silently until Dave bellowed, “Aloud, please!”
As much as she hated reading aloud in front of large groups, Elspeth did so without further prompting, only because she wanted to see if the words uttered out loud would somehow sound even more ridiculous. But when she heard them in her own voice, quite the opposite happened, and by the time she’d finished, she was as convinced as she was afraid that perhaps, just perhaps, they were indeed true.
Elspeth Pule, kicked out of school.
She would not learn the golden rule.
Held her breath until near death,
Then turned her wrath on Old King Krool.
Chapter 16
It wasn’t until Dave tried to retrieve the book from her that Elspeth realized she was holding it in a vise grip. “That’ll be enough,” he said when he finally wrested the book from her hands. “No more questions.”
Dave glided smoothly back to his seat on what Elspeth thought must surely be a layer of slime. On the way, he glanced at Nimble and said, “Your witness.”
Nimble stood and approached Elspeth slowly. In fact he moved so slowly that Elspeth got the idea that he was stalling, still trying to think of what he might ask her.
“Elspeth, dear,” he said finally. “Please state for the court your biological age.”
“I’ll be twelve next month,” said Elspeth.
“Not even twelve years old,” said Nimble, facing those in the audience. “And already plotting the overthrow of the government. To think that you, an eleven-year-old girl, could defeat and dethrone the great, the powerful, the infallible King Krool would be nothing short of insanity, would it not?”
“I told you before,” Elspeth spoke just below a shout. “I’m not insane.”
“No more questions, Your Honor.”
Elspeth sat stunned as Nimble walked back to the bench. “Wait, that’s it?” she asked.
“You may return to your seat, Ms. Pule,” the bailiff instructed.
No sooner had Elspeth retaken her seat than Krool stood and the bailiff shouted, “All rise,” causing her to immediately spring to her feet again.
“I’ll be back with my decision shortly,” Krool announced before turning and abruptly walking out of the room.
Elspeth glared at Nimble, who was frantically rifling through the papers in his satchel. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting ready for my next case,” he replied without making eye contact. “Tom Tom the Piper’s son has stolen another pig. It’s his third offense, so it’s not good, I’m afraid.”
“What about my case?” asked Elspeth. “You mean to tell me that was the whole trial? That was your entire defense?”
“I think we made our point quite well,” said Nimble. “And the good news is the judge really seemed to like you.”
“Like me? They say he tried to drown me. When I was just a baby.”
“Well, he must have had a good reason,” said Nimble. “You must have done something.”
“I was a baby.”
“I’ve met some very disagreeable babies in my time,” said Nimble. “A couple of them were real jerks, in fact.”
A second later, the doors to the courtroom opened again, and in walked the bailiff, ordering everyone to rise. Krool entered and instructed all but the accused to be seated. Elspeth, he said, was to remain standing for sentencing. He had come to a verdict after a mere thirty seconds of deliberation.
The four guards appeared at her side, ready to escort her back to her prison home as the judge pronounced her guilty of all charges. Now the only thing left to be determined would be whether the judge would find it in the goodness of his heart to have Elspeth beheaded before chopping off her hand.
Back in her cell, that was all she could think about as she sat on the dirt floor, sobbing loudly into her palms while Jack and Jill looked on with worry and Georgie paced as furiously as one can in the confines of a tiny cell.
“Are you sure?” he asked for a second time. “Are you sure he didn’t mention me?”
Elspeth did not dignify Georgie’s query with a response. As she saw it, she had already answered enough stupid questions during that horrible excuse for a trial. And now, here she sat, acting every bit like the type of person she had always found so annoying: a sniveling, blubbering, self-pitying mess.
“Three days,” she sputtered. “Three days from now he’s going to chop off my head. And my hand.” She examined her right hand, then brought it to her throat and imagined her head rolling into some cheap wicker basket while crowds of people watched and cheered her premature death.
Jack and Jill exchanged a look, each hoping the other would have some bit of wisdom to impart, something that might give Elspeth a small measure of hope.
“I’ll never see my parents again.” Elspeth wept. “And they’ll never know what became of me. How did this happen? How did my life turn into such a disaster?”
“It’s not as bad as you think,” said Jill.
Elspeth glared at the woman and said, “Not as bad as I think? You named me Jacqueline Jillson.”
“It was a compromise,” Jill admitted.
“I think it’s quite a beautiful name,” said Jack, the undeclared winner of that compromise.
Elspeth resumed sobbing and, for once, made no effort to stop it. In fact, the blubbering went on for the better part of the morning and afternoon. If she had only three days to live she felt it was entirely within her rights to spend them however she wished
, and feeling sorry for herself was just as good a way as any.
As nightfall approached, she alternated between crying, dozing on the hard ground, and pacing nervously about her cell. When the man with the handlebar mustache delivered her dinner (for Krool wanted to ensure that Elspeth would be healthy and well nourished for the execution), Elspeth drank some of the water from the metal cup, but left the bowl of boiled cabbage untouched, except to slide it away with her foot so as to better avoid the acrid smell.
Just when she felt her anguish could not possibly be any greater, she felt a sharp, shooting pain in her backside, which caused her to spring from the dirt floor. “Ahhh,” she cried, rubbing the affected area while scanning the ground for a scorpion or something else capable of causing such a sting.
“What is it?” Jill asked. “What’s wrong?”
Elspeth noticed a small hole in the ground, surrounded by a tiny pile of dirt. From the hole rose something shiny and metallic. It was a teaspoon, and in that teaspoon was a bit of moist soil, which was quickly tossed aside and added to the pile.
With a mild clang, the spoon shot out of the hole and landed on the dirt floor. The head of a small gray mouse popped through the hole. With quick, jerky movements, the mouse climbed out and assessed its surroundings. Elspeth noticed that the mouse, which otherwise had all the parts mice normally have, was missing its tail.
“Excuse me,” the mouse shouted as well as a mouse can shout. “Would there be anyone here by the name of Elspeth Pile?”
“Pule,” said Elspeth, who had never been very fond of rodents to begin with.
“Close enough,” said the gray mouse. “Name is Earl. Earl Grey.” He then leaned over and shouted back into the hole, “Come on up, mates. We found her!”
One after the other, two more mice emerged from the hole—the first brown and lean, the second white and plump, and each with its tail every bit as missing as the gray one’s. Quite immediately, the chubby white mouse walked right into the brown mouse as if the latter didn’t exist.
“Hey,” the brown mouse protested. “Watch where you’re going. What are you, blind?”
Blue in the Face Page 10
