A Plague of Hearts - Patrick Whittaker (book series for 12 year olds txt) 📗

King, ‘are you wearing sunglasses?’
‘I wish to remain anonymous, Your Honour.’
‘Your Majesty.’
‘You flatter me. Please just call me sir.’
‘I meant that you should address me as Your Majesty, not Your Honour.’
‘So what’s in a name?’
‘You look a mess. When did you last have that suit cleaned?’
‘Shortly before the commencement of my legendary tea party, Your Worship.’
‘And when was that?’
‘The tea party? Oh, let me see now. It started just over a year ago and finished the other day. Bedsday, I think it was.’
He looked to the March Hare for confirmation.
‘Cheeseday,’ said the March Hare.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said the Dormouse with a yawn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. ‘It was Cryday.’
He got up from his seat and squeezed in between Alice and the March Hare.
‘Take no notice of the rodent,’ the Mad Hatter told the King. ‘Cryday was when my furry friend finally woke up. The party had in fact finished long before then.’
‘Write that down,’ the King ordered the jury. ‘It’s not important, but it will give you something to do.’
‘I don’t have a pen,’ said the Mad Hatter, shouting above a sudden welter of scraping.
‘Not you,’ said the King. ‘All I require from you is that you shut up and give your evidence.’
‘I can hardly do both, Your Grace.’
‘Then choose one or the other. I don’t care which.’
‘Actually,’ said the Queen, ‘I think it would be best if you first did the latter, then proceeded to the former. In other words, give your evidence and then shut up.’
‘A nice plan,’ said the Mad Hatter. ‘But there is one slight problem, Your Battleship.’
The Queen arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’
‘I don’t actually have any evidence to give. In fact, I haven’t the foggiest idea as to why I was called in the first place.’
‘Well, who summoned you?’
‘They wouldn’t tell me. Apparently it’s all Top Secret.’
‘You’d better make them tell you,’ the Queen hissed. ‘Because unless you come up with something relevant pretty damn quick, I’m going to have you chained-up in the deepest dungeon we’ve got!’
The Hatter turned pale and dropped his tea cup. It bounced but did not shatter. Tea splashed over his shoes, formed a tiny puddle at his feet. He mopped his brow with a slice of bread.
‘This is unfair!’ cried the Dormouse.
‘Silence!’ roared the Queen. ‘Or I’ll have you removed and flogged to within an inch of your life!’
‘But it’s this silly girl, Your Majesty. She’s taking up more than her fair share of the bench. I’m getting squashed.’
‘That is no concern of this court.’
‘She’s bent my whiskers.’
‘Have you quite finished?’
The Dormouse muttered something about Man’s inhumanity to small, furry rodents, then fell into a sulky silence.
The Hatter raised his hand.
‘Yes?’ said the King.
‘Oh, thank you,’ said the Mad Hatter. He picked up his fallen tea cup and marched out of the room.
‘I’ll get him one day,’ promised the Queen. ‘Just see if I don’t.’
‘Hell’s bells!’ screeched the Dormouse. ‘This is too much!’
He was right in more ways than one. In the space of less than one minute, Alice had grown nearly a foot in height.
‘It isn’t my fault,’ said Alice. ‘I’m at that sort of age.’
The Dormouse got to his feet. He was clearly angry. ‘You’ve been taking steroids, haven’t you?’
‘I have not.’
‘Don’t tell lies. Your tongue will drop off.’
‘That’s silly.’
‘Young lady,’ said the Queen. ‘Is it your intention to grow any bigger?’
‘But I’m hardly growing at all.’
This was plainly untrue. Her anatomy was ballooning in all directions, swelling at an ever-increasing rate.
Fearing for their safety, the March Hare and several other members of the public vacated their seats. They stood in the middle of the courtroom and looked at each other in the clear expectation that someone might do something.
Mindful that they were in a Court of Law, they did their best to remain unobtrusive. With the exception of the Dormouse.
‘I’m going to sue you for this!’ he screamed. ‘There are laws against bending a person’s whiskers. It’s people like you who are turning our cities into suburban slums. I’ve a good mind to put you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve.’
By now, Alice’s head was at least four feet above everyone else’s. She had to shift sideways just to keep from falling off her seat.
‘You nasty girl!’ continued the Dormouse. ‘You pack that in and become little again this instant!’
‘That’s enough of that,’ said the White Rabbit, striking the Dormouse with his trumpet. ‘You had better keep quiet, you know.’
The Dormouse squealed and ducked away from his assailant. Blood dripped from his forehead. ‘That was uncalled for.’
The Rabbit hit him again. ‘I must ask you to leave the courtroom. It’s against the rules to bleed in here. So bugger off.’
With a final indignant squeak, he Dormouse scurried to the exit and was gone.
‘Right,’ said the King in the lull that followed. He gazed warily at Alice, was relieved to find that her rate of growth had slowed considerably. ‘Let’s have the next witness.’
The White Rabbit glanced at his list of names and called, ‘Alice!’
‘Here!’ cried Alice, jumping to her feet just as a sudden spurt of growth doubled her size. She turned towards the King and inadvertently knocked over the jury box with her heel. ‘That’s me.’
What was left of the jury box lay on its side. A large part of it was match wood. Injured and dazed jurors littered the courtroom floor. Many were bleeding, clutching at battered skulls and grazed knees. One - the Lizard - complained loudly of a broken wrist.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ said Alice. She bent down and placed the jury box in its proper position but was unable to do anything about it leaning heavily to one side. Then she began picking up the jurors; to her, they were no bigger, no heavier than her cat Dinah. She brushed them down and placed them back in their seats. ‘Aren’t I the silly one? I’m just not used to being this big.’
‘The trial cannot proceed,’ said the King, ‘until all the jurymen are back in their proper places – and the right way up,'
Alice, in her haste, had placed the Lizard upside down. His short, stubby legs were bent in such a way that, had he not been resting on his head, he would have been crouching. Uttering a breathless apology, Alice turned the Lizard 180 degrees and gently set him down. He had stopped complaining about his wrist and was staring straight ahead in a very peculiar fashion. Those who noticed put it down to shock.
‘Are you quite finished?’ asked the King.
Alice examined the jury and then counted them. ‘Yes,’ she announced. ‘I’m finished.’
‘Good. Perhaps you’d care to tell the court what you know about this matter?’
‘I don’t know an awful lot, Your Majesty. You see, I’m from another world and I only came to be here because somebody made some tarts.’
‘One moment,’ said the White Rabbit. ‘The jury is ordered to disregard all mention of TARTS, and the witness must never mention the subject again.’
The King gave the White Rabbit a stare that could have wilted daffodils. ‘Tell me, boy. Is it or is it not my job to give orders in this court?’
‘Only in Matters of Procedure, Your Majesty.’
‘I see,’ said the King, who didn’t see at all. He rephrased his question to Alice. ‘Excluding anything to do with TARTS, what precisely do you know about the matter in hand?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing whatever?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Nothing comes of nothing,’ said the White Rabbit, looking pleased with himself. ‘That’s a very well-known equation.’
‘But,’ said the King, ‘is it correct? It is my understanding that nobody has ever been able to present a definite proof of that assertion.’
There followed a whispered and excited interchange between the King and the White Rabbit.
The March Hare took advantage of the lull to study his ex-employer. The Knave was in bad shape. Both hands trembled; his lower lip had turned blue.
‘Poor bastard,’ muttered the March Hare. He sat down, then jumped up again. He had sat on Alice’s foot. Her head was lost in the rafters. The veins in her legs were as big as sewage pipes. Even the King noticed.
‘I wish you’d return to your proper size,’ he told her. ‘How is a man expected to follow abstract mathematical theory with a thirty foot girl staring down at him?’
‘I’m not that big at all,’ Alice protested. ‘It’s just that you’ve all shrunk.’
‘Utter twaddle!’ said the Queen. ‘Monarchs don’t shrink.’
‘From a relativistic point of view,’ said the White Rabbit, ‘the young lady does have a point.’
‘Do shut up,’ said the Queen. ‘You’re a very boring person.’
Rubbing wearily at his brow, the King attempted to bring the proceedings to an end. ‘I think it’s time for the jury to consider its verdict.’
The Knave growled. His already misshapen lips twisted into something resembling Moebius strips. For a moment, he appeared to be on the verge of giving vent to a howl. Instead he spoke in a quiet but surly voice. ‘I wish to make a statement.’
‘Not allowed!’ cried the White Rabbit, jumping from one foot to the other in extreme agitation. ‘The Department of State Security –’
‘-has no jurisdiction here,’ reminded the King. ‘I will not have one of my subjects denied the right to speak in his own defence. Is that clear?’
The White Rabbit looked miffed. ‘Yes. Quite clear.’
‘Good,’ said the King. He gave the Knave what he hoped was a re-assuring smile. ‘Can you manage to say what you have to say without your jaw dropping off? That string appears somewhat frayed.’
‘It will hold,’ mumbled the Knave.
‘Very well. You may begin.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said the White Rabbit, holding up a scrap of paper. ‘This has just been handed to me.’
‘What is it?’ said the King.
‘A poem written by the accused.’
‘Is it in his own handwriting?’
‘No. That’s why I think it’s significant.’
‘It certainly sounds suspicious,’ agreed the Queen.
‘I don’t write poetry,’ said Knave. ‘That must be a forgery.’
‘You admit it then? You confess to counterfeiting verse? What more evidence could the jury possibly require?’
‘Plenty,’ said Alice, speaking from the rafters. ‘We don’t even know if it’s a good poem or a bad one.’
‘Read it,’ ordered the King.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. ‘Where should I begin, Your Majesty?’
‘That depends on the poem. If it’s abstract, you may as well start anywhere. Otherwise, you had best begin at the beginning.’
‘I hope Your Majesty will forgive me if I don’t get the meter quite right. Though I often recited poetry at school, I have had little opportunity since to practice the art.’
‘Get on with it!’
The White Rabbit drew in a deep breath, and then recited –
‘2lbs tomatoes
‘6lbs potatoes
‘Facial Scrub
‘1 pkt tea
‘Sugar
‘Washing powder’