“So you’re opposed to the idea,” said Winkie.
“No,” said Cory. “We’re in favor of anything that might help bring the queen back safely. But make no mistake about it. It stinks.”
“I agree,” said Dumpty.
“Well,” said Krool. “That’s the important thing now, isn’t it? That we all agree. Now let’s get moving here.” Then, with a faint smile and an eye on Dumpty, he added, “Last one there is a rotten egg.”
Mary ran a little scam, little scam, little scam,
Mary ran a little scam and fleeced King William so.
Everything, twelve million pence, million pence, million pence,
Everything, twelve million pence, she took back to her home.
She also swindled Krool that day, Krool that day, Krool that day,
She also swindled Krool that day, just like an April fool.
It was enough to make him say, make him say, make him say,
It was enough to make him say, “That’s totally uncool.”
Chapter
14
As Elspeth and her disheartened crew made their way toward the Thick, back in Banbury Cross, Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pound of butter, a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, and some other items they needed from the various shops in town. On the way back, they talked, as they frequently did, about Elspeth.
“I can’t believe she would lie to us like that,” Jack said. “She promised us she was here only in an advisory capacity.”
“I doubt she lied to us so much as changed her mind,” Jill replied. “Or was coerced into it.”
“Still, I should have ordered her not to go,” said Jack, the regret carved out in the lines upon his weathered face.
“You don’t know your own daughter very well if you think that would’ve stopped her.”
“It would’ve been worth a shot. Dealing with a powerful witch like Mary Mary is much too dangerous for a child her age.”
“More dangerous than leading an armed rebellion against an evil tyrant?” Jill answered.
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Maybe not. But we probably shouldn’t have let her do that either.”
“Then we’d all still be living out in the slums, eating peas porridge every day, while Krool continued his reign of terror,” Jill reminded him.
“Still,” said Jack, “what kind of parent puts his child in such danger just so he can eat a little better?”
“It was more than that and you know it,” said Jill. “It was the fulfillment of the prophecy, the realization of her destiny.”
“Yes, I know,” Jack agreed. “Either way, I won’t be able to sleep until she’s back here safe and sound.”
“Well,” said Jill, “at least I can enjoy the lack of snoring for a few nights.”
When Jack did not laugh in response or offer even so much a gap-toothed smile, Jill knew there was more on his mind. “What are you thinking, Jack?”
“I’ve made a decision,” he said. “I’m going after her. It’s my duty as her father to be there should she need me. I will leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But this is official royal business,” said Jill. “And the king didn’t authorize you to go.”
“A so-called king once stopped me from protecting my child,” said Jack. His face was rigid and stern now. “And my lack of backbone resulted in her being thrown down a well. Never will I let something like that happen again.”
If there was one thing Jill knew about her husband, besides the fact that he snored quite loudly and on a nightly basis, was that he was very stubborn. Once he’d made his mind up about something, there was very little chance of dissuading him.
“But what if something happens to you?” She took his right arm in both hands and pulled him close as they walked.
“I’m a grown man,” said Jack. “I can fend for myself.”
Jill remained silent for a time then said, “If you go, I’m going with you.”
“Absolutely not,” said Jack. “I forbid it.”
Jill raised an eyebrow and looked up at Jack with both annoyance and amusement. “You forbid it? Did you really just say that?”
“I’m sorry,” said Jack. He hung his head and gave it a shake. “I didn’t mean that. I just don’t think it would be a good idea, considering the circumstances. That’s all.”
As they neared their tiny cottage, the conversation abruptly ended when they were greeted by a sight that in the Deadlands would have been quite perplexing. Even here in New Winkieland it was a bit hard to imagine why a giant wheel of cheese was standing at their front door, beneath the eaves of the house.
“Hey, Jack,” said the Cheese as Jack and Jill turned from the road onto the stone walkway, lined with white and pink roses still in bloom in the late summer warmth. “How you doing?”
“Great,” said Jack, suddenly filled with a sense of panic. After all, his daughter had set out on a dangerous mission earlier that day and now an officer of the law was standing on his stoop. He feared the Cheese might be bearing news of a parent’s worst nightmare. Having lost Elspeth once before, he knew his heart could not endure such a thing again. “What is it, Rodney?” His voice quavered slightly despite his best efforts to appear nonchalant. “To what do we owe this visit?”
“You mind if I come in?” said the Cheese.
“Sure,” said Jack, his unease growing with each passing second.
“Is everything okay?” asked Jill, not to be outworried by her husband. “Is Elspeth all right?”
“I hope so,” said the Cheese. “Haven’t heard anything to the contrary. Actually, I’m here about another matter.”
With a sigh of relief, Jack opened the door, and he and Jill carried the groceries to the kitchen and placed them on the round oak table for the moment.
The Cheese followed them in, rolling across the cozy living room. The tiny windows provided only thin streaks of light in the otherwise shady cottage. All about were reminders for the Cheese that he was in the home of the parents of a living legend. There were pictures of the girl hanging above the stone fireplace. On the mantel were trophies from chess tournaments that she’d won in the Deadlands and had brought back for her proud parents to put on display.
“May I offer you a cup of tea?” asked Jill.
That the Cheese politely declined the gesture further enforced Jack and Jill’s feeling that this visit was not a social one.
“You mind telling me where you were two nights ago?” asked the Cheese, seemingly more interested in the inscription on one of the trophies than in the answer to his question. “Around six o’clock?” Displaying a lack of interest was a technique the Cheese had learned at the academy—a way of putting suspects at ease.
“Six o’clock,” Jack said, pulling methodically at his chin. “Sorry, but my thoughts are a little muddled these days. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said the Cheese, now studying a photo of Elspeth posing with Queen Farrah. “Take your time.”
“Let’s see. As I recall, I went up the hill to fetch some flowers from the meadow. I wanted to surprise Jill when she got home from work. She loves the look of fresh wildflowers on the table.”
“Plus it helps cover up the smell of trash,” Jill added with a smile.
“It’s not my fault.” Jack pouted. “I bathe every day, but sometimes you just can’t—”
“So you went alone,” the Cheese confirmed.
“That’s right.”
“Anyone see you?”
“Not that I know of,” said Jack. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
The Cheese bit his lower lip and enjoyed the taste of it enough to continue a while before finally saying, “I got two witnesses who swear they saw you in the Baking District that night.”
Jack frowned and shook his head decisively. “I was nowhere near the Baking District.”
“They said they saw you running from the Muffin Man’s place after a loud argument. And your clothes w
ere covered in muffin batter, which, by the way, is a pretty important little detail.”
“Well, they must be mistaken,” Jack insisted. “Or lying.”
“They were absolutely certain it was you they saw,” said the Cheese. “And I can’t think of a good reason for them to lie about that. So unless you have an evil twin—”
“Are you suggesting I had something to do with his murder?” Jack asked.
“I’m not suggesting it,” said the Cheese. “The evidence is.”
Jill gasped and leaned on the kitchen table to keep from falling over. Jack’s face dropped and turned a sickly gray. “But it’s me you’re talking to,” he said. “You know I would never do such a thing.”
“Now listen,” said the Cheese, rolling closer to his friend so he could lower his voice farther yet. “I know you’re not the kind of guy to go out and commit premeditated murder. But let’s say you found out the Muffin Man was supplying money to the guy who tried to kill your little girl. You got angry, went over there to have a word with him. Things got out of control. It happens.”
“Not in this case it didn’t,” Jack protested.
A pained expression came over Detective Cheese’s face, and he nodded slowly to the extent that a wheel of cheese can nod. “I’m sorry, Jack. But I’m afraid I’m gonna have to place you under arrest for the murder of Larry the Muffin Man.”
Jack could think of nothing more to say other than to repeatedly and firmly deny any involvement in the crime. Still, he surrendered peacefully. He kissed Jill and held her tight while the Cheese waited, giving them as much time as they needed.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” said Jack, finally breaking off the embrace. “It’s all just a big mistake. We’ll get this whole thing sorted, and I’ll be home for dinner. Meat loaf would be nice.”
“Sure,” said Jill, that smile of hers trying so hard to remain reassuring. “Meat loaf it is.”
Jack accompanied Detective Cheese to the police department, where he was fingerprinted and booked on murder charges.
By the time the paperwork had been processed, Jack was almost too sick from it all to walk to the dungeon where he would await arraignment and his chance to enter a plea. Slowly, he began to lose hope of making it home in time for a meat loaf dinner as one by one the hours went by.
Coincidentally, he sat alone in the very cell in which he and Jill had been held for months when Krool found them to be enemies of the state by virtue of being the parents of the child prophesied to lead an uprising against him. The only difference this time was that Jack was alone in the cell. Oh yes, there was one more difference. This time there was also a rather smelly monkey in the cell across the way, staring at him with a big, creepy smile.
“What are you looking at?” Jack scowled. He sat on the cot, his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands, pushed together and balled up in fists. “I’m innocent.”
The monkey only smiled a bigger and toothier smile then turned his back to Jack and bent over at the waist.
“That’s incredibly rude,” Jack said. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Anyway, why should I care what you think?”
Another hour slipped away before the sound of jangling keys echoed through the cellblock. The door to the dungeon opened and in walked a man who looked as though he had a habit of sleeping in his clothes. Or maybe it was a hobby. Either way, his hair stuck up in several places and there were lines across his left cheek, the kind often caused by lengthy contact with a pillow. He had a flat, leather satchel tucked beneath the arm of his rumpled blue suit.
He stopped in front of the cell housing the monkey and looked in. “Good afternoon, Jack,” he said. “My name is Jack too. Jack B. Nimble of Nimble, Nimble, Tucker, and Levine. I’m your court-appointed attorney.”
“Excuse me,” said Jack. He raised his hand to make himself more visible in the dim light. “Over here. I’m Jack.”
“Well, how about that?” said Nimble. “Three of us and all named Jack.”
“No,” said Jack. “I’m the guy you’re looking for. As far as I know the monkey’s name is Tad.”
The monkey smiled and waved at Nimble.
“Tad?” said Nimble “Oh. Sorry.” He moved across to Jack’s cell then took a seat upon a wooden stool, slouching forward. He opened his satchel and removed a pencil and a stack of badly dog-eared papers. “Okay, then. Let’s get right down to business. I see here you’ve been charged with murdering a muffin named Larry.”
“Muffin Man,” Jack corrected. “Larry the Muffin Man.”
“Muffin Man,” Nimble repeated with an air of intrigue as he scribbled with a pencil on the file. “So he’s a man . . . but with all the powers of a muffin?”
“No. He’s just a regular guy who drowned in a vat of muffin mix,” said Jack.
Nimble snapped his fingers. “And that’s how he got his super muffin powers?”
Jack groaned and threw up his hands. “No, no. He’s just some guy who makes muffins. Or he used to be, before somebody killed him. Somebody who’s not me.”
“Ah, now I understand,” said Nimble. “Sort of. Anyway, the bad news is the cops have several eyewitnesses who will swear they saw you running from the scene of the crime covered in muffin batter. They also have hair sample evidence and a footprint in the batter that matches the sole of your shoe.”
“Okay,” said Jack. “And what’s the good news?”
Nimble’s eyeballs rolled back in thought and stayed there for a moment. “I don’t remember saying there was any good news,” he said finally. “If I did, I apologize because there isn’t. Now I suggest you agree to plead guilty in exchange for a lesser sentence.”
“But I’m not guilty,” said Jack. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Now I’ve got to get out of here as soon as possible. My daughter might be in very grave danger. Besides, I’m the garbage man. If I’m locked up, who’s going to collect the garbage?”
“Garbage man,” said Nimble, suddenly correcting his posture. “So you’re a regular man but with all the powers of garbage?”
Lacking the energy to refute such an absurd remark, Jack just sighed heavily. “Yes,” he said. “I have all the powers of garbage.”
“Fascinating,” said Nimble. “Now don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here. Just as soon as you post bail, which has been set at ten thousand sixpence.”
“Ten thousand sixpence?” Jack exclaimed. “Where am I going to get that kind of money?”
“Well,” said Nimble. “Perhaps your wife has some jewelry she could sell.”
“Yes,” said Jack sadly. “She has a necklace. I gave it to her on our twentieth wedding anniversary. I suppose that would do.”
“Good,” said Nimble. “And when you get out of here, I hope that from now on you’ll use your super garbage powers for good and not evil.”
Though it saddened Jill to remove the necklace from the tiny velvet-covered box on her dresser and take it down to the pawnshop, it was certainly better than sitting home alone with an anniversary gift in a box and a husband languishing in a box of his own.
Brother John’s Trade and Pawn was a small, dark room cluttered with the material manifestations of broken dreams and waning hope. Layers of dust on the once-prized items stacked on shelves and displayed in glass cases made it clear that what many thought to be a good solution to a temporary problem had turned out to be nothing more than a tiny bandage on a wound that never healed.
There were tools and musical instruments and sporting equipment and, of course, plenty of jewelry.
As she walked in, Jill assumed that the man behind the counter was Brother John. A very round individual, he sat on a stool with his head down and eyes closed, his heavily tattooed forearms folded across his protruding belly.
When the ringing of the bell attached to the door failed to stir the man, Jill approached the counter and gently cleared her throat.
“Excuse me,” she said softly. “Brother John? Are you sleeping?”
>
The man’s eyes sprang open, and he looked around the room as though surprised to find that he was not someplace else.
“Hello,” he said. “What is it? How can I help you today?”
“I have something to sell,” Jill replied as she placed the necklace on the glass countertop.
With the chain pinched between his thumb and forefinger, Brother John lifted the necklace and held it up to the light, inspecting it carefully, with a well-trained and skeptical eye.
“Not bad,” he snorted. “I can give you five thousand sixpence.”
“But I need ten,” said Jill, shocked to find the treasured gift so undervalued. Brother John lowered the necklace to the countertop. “Well, you got anything else to sell?”
“No,” said Jill. “I’m afraid not.”
Out of habit, Brother John glanced down at Jill’s left hand. She flinched at the overfamiliarity when he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her hand close to his face. “Not bad,” he said, squinting sharply. “I could probably give you three thousand more for those.”
Jill’s eyes landed upon the wedding band and engagement ring that had been on her left hand for so long they felt more a part of her than an attachment. She pulled her hand away and wiped it on her dress.
“But I couldn’t possibly sell them,” she said.
“Then all I can give you is five thousand,” said Brother John with what he probably thought was a sympathetic shrug.
Jill looked at the man then back at the rings, the physical embodiment of Jack’s love for her and hers for him. Then she twisted and turned and slowly removed those rings that she could never imagine selling and placed them on the glass countertop next to the necklace.
I’ve got sweet bling, I’ve got sweet bling,
Brother John’s Trade and Pawn.
I can sell you something,
A necklace and two gold rings.
Bling-bling gone, bling-bling gone.
Chapter
15
Long Live the Queen Page 10