‘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’
‘Is that it?’ asked the King.
The White Rabbit nodded. ‘In its entirety, sire.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Well,’ said the Queen. ‘That is the most treasonous, seditious piece of writing I have ever heard. I shudder to think what effect that sort of thing could have on the young and impressionable.’
‘Actually,’ said Alice, ‘apart from the fact that it didn’t rhyme, I quite liked it.’
‘You would!’
‘All right,’ said the King. ‘I’ve heard all I want to hear. I have an ulcer that feels like a blow torch, the beginnings of a migraine and a thirty foot schoolgirl cramping up my courtroom. Therefore the jury will retire and consider its verdict.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ said Alice. ‘You haven’t heard the Knave’s defence yet!’
The King started to say something about there being no point, but he was drowned out by his wife.
‘We’ve heard all we want to hear!’ she thundered. ‘The confused stands condemned by his own demeanour. Pyjamas in court indeed!’
‘He’s not confused,’ Alice pointed out. ‘He’s accused.’
‘Actually,’ said the Knave, ‘you’re both right.’
‘Why do you let this fat bag bully you?’ Alice wanted to know. ‘She’s nothing but a puffed-up sack of lard!’
The Queen’s face underwent a dramatic transformation. Demons played in her eyes, infusing them with burning sulphur and the fury of Hell. A flush broke through her several layers of make-up. Muscles twitched around her lips, the side of her nose. Even her ears were trembling. ‘Insolent wretch! I will not be spoken to in this way!’
‘Oh yes you will,’ said Alice. ‘Bag! Fat, fat, fat bag!’
‘How dare you! You - you - ’
‘You are the ugliest, nastiest queen I’ve ever seen in my whole life,’ said Alice, reveling in her new-found power. ‘I’ve a good mind to tread on you.’
‘Guards! Guards! Off with her head!’
Nobody came forward. The two guards flanking the Knave of Hearts stepped back to hide behind their prisoner. It was no part of their job to take on giant schoolgirls.
‘Off with her head!’ screamed the Queen, turning an unwholesome shade of purple. ‘Do you hear? I want this monster destroyed. Why do you just stand there? Why won’t you come to the aid of your monarch?’
The Queen rose to her feet, slammed her fist against her thigh. ‘I want her flogged and then executed! I want her head on a platter! I want… I want… !’
The Queen clutched at her throat. Her eyes rolled up. She wheezed.
‘A doctor!’ cried the King. ‘Someone fetch a doctor!’
‘Oh dear,’ said the White Rabbit, close to tears. ‘That can’t be done, sire. Rule ninety-seven states quite clearly that no doctor may ever - ’
‘Bugger the rules! My wife is dying!’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Alice.
The King raised a finger towards the rafters. ‘You! This is your fault! You’ll suffer for this! I’ll make you pay!’
Even as the King spoke, the Queen threw her arms out wide and went rigid. Then with a sigh like the creaking of old timbers, she drew a final breath, fell forward and died.
A dreadful silence followed.
The Knave spluttered. He tittered. He giggled. A guard slapped his face.
Silence again.
The King looked to the Knave. The Knave shrugged. A rivulet of blood rolled slowly from the corner of his mouth. The King rose to his feet, stepped down from the platform.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me this has not happened.’
‘In your dream or mine?’ said the Knave. ‘Or the Red King’s?’
‘What?’
‘Screw you, you old fart. You’ve got exactly what you deserve.
The King’s face twisted in anger. His breathing was ragged, tortured. ‘Why have you done this to me? I’ve tried to help you today. I tried to show everyone that your arrest and trial are travesties. I might even have been able to save you. And this is how you repay me?
‘Tell me, boy. Anybody! Just tell me what I’ve done to earn your contempt and your hatred. Have I really been that bad a Monarch?’
A tear as big as a tennis ball fell at the King’s feet. He looked up. Then screamed. ‘YOU! This is your doing! YOU… KILLED… MY… WIFE!’
Alice buried her face in her hands. It was like an aircraft hanger closing its doors. ‘I… I… I… ’
‘Witch!’ cried the White Rabbit.
‘What?’ said Alice.
‘Who?’ said the King.
‘Witch!’ the Rabbit repeated. ‘I tell you the girl’s a witch!’
‘Oh no,’ said Alice. ‘I’m not. Honestly. I’m just a little girl who’s lost and confused and shouldn’t even be here. All I want is to go home… ’
‘She looks like a witch to me,’ declared the Ostrich. ‘A giant witch!’
‘Of course she’s a bloody witch!’ said the Knave of Hearts. ‘And witches are for burning!’
A murmur of agreement rippled around the Court Room. In the jury box, the Field Mouse nudged excitedly at the Lizard.
The Lizard fell forward.
&
nbsp; ‘He’s dead!’ screamed the Field Mouse. ‘The witch has killed the Lizard! Don’t look at her. She’s got the Evil Eye!’
This was all that was needed to turn the near-hysterical jurors and attendees into a howling, blood-thirsty mob.
‘Burn her!’ they chanted. ‘Burn the witch! Burn! Burn! Burn!’
The March Hare stood in the midst of it all, looking on in numb horror. It went through his mind over and over again to leave immediately, before he was irretrievably caught up in the inevitable consequences of the mob’s frenzy. But he could not. A horrid fascination had him rooted to the spot.
‘Do you hear?’ the King shouted. ‘Do you hear what they’re saying? They want you to burn, little girl. They want to send you down to Hell!’
Alice put her hands over her ears. ‘I’ll wake up, she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘I’ll wake up and it will all be just a dream and I’ll be sitting by the river and my sister will be teaching me history and none of this will have happened and it will be all right. I’ll be back home and there’s no place like home… There’s no place like home… There’s no place like home… ’
‘Clear the Court!’ ordered the King. ‘She’s chanting a spell. Fetch paraffin! Fetch torches! Hurry!’
There was a general rush towards the exits. Benches were overturned as people fought to escape the nightmare they had helped create. Fur was lost in the stampede. Feathers went flying. Someone broke a rib.
Eventually only six remained. Of these, the Queen and the Lizard were both quite dead. Alice was terrified. The King and the Knave were probably insane. And the March Hare was searching for a reason for it all.
He did not try to get the Knave away. There was nothing he could do. The Knave had about him the aura of a doomed man, a man beyond hope.
Two guards returned. Each carried a bucket of paraffin which they emptied over Alice’s enormous red shoes. The pink liquid flowed around her silver buckles, soaked into her socks.
In a fit of desperation, Alice attempted to stamp on the guards, but they were too quick for her; without looking back, they sprinted out into the corridor.
Next came three ZOMOs. They had discarded their batons in favour of blazing torches. The flames danced wickedly, fueling Alice’s terror, the Hare’s dismay. One ZOMO was careless. He slipped; both he and his torch were extinguished beneath Alice’s shoe. The two remaining riot cops were more cautious. They threw their torches from a safe distance, then departed immediately.
A Plague of Hearts Page 15