And in the theatre, the beast had come after her. Wanting more of her pumpkin cake.
‘After she turned a second time,’ Peter growled, his eyes cast in shadows, ‘I made the pumpkins pay.’
‘If I recall,’ drawled Mr Caterpillar, ‘the Jabberwock was a nuisance. I say, good riddance.’
‘I tried to stop her,’ said Peter Peter. ‘I swear it. Built a cage even, but I couldn’t keep her.’ His expression turned fierce. ‘It wasn’t her fault though. It was the pumpkins what did it!’
Cath squeezed the rail until her fingers ached. ‘This is not a defence. You killed Jest. You cut off his head, right in front of me.’
‘You killed my wife!’
‘You were going to feed Mary Ann to her!’
‘She shouldn’a been on my land in the first place!’
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
The sound of the King’s gavel interrupted their argument and Cath sank her head in between her tense shoulders.
‘Th-thank you, Sir Peter, for your – er, statement.’ The King’s voice was shaking. ‘We have now heard the defendant’s testimony. Jury, what is your verdict?’
The jury huddled down with their slate tablets and whispers. Catherine heard none of their discussion. Her ears were humming, her brain clouded with visions of Jest in the mud, the axe swinging at his throat, her own heart splitting down the middle.
‘We have reached a verdict, Your Majesty.’ It was a toad who spoke, standing up with a slate in his webbed fingers. On it he had drawn a picture of Peter Peter standing on top of an enormous pumpkin and grinning. ‘We the jury find Peter Peter not guilty!’
The cheer was deafening. All around her, the people of Hearts embraced one another, hollered ecstatically. Even the King giggled with relief.
The Kingdom of Hearts had never seen such a ghastly trial, and everyone was thrilled that it was over. The man was not guilty. They could all go on with their silly, pointless lives.
Except Catherine. From the corner of her eyes she saw Raven puff his feathers.
She snatched the gavel from her husband. ‘SILENCE!’ she screamed, pounding on the railing so hard a crack formed in the polished wood.
The ballyhoo stopped.
A courtroom of faces turned to gape at their Queen. Her reddened face, her livid eyes. A turtle ducked into his shell. An opossum rolled into a ball. An ostrich tried, but failed, to bury its head in the polished quartz floor.
‘I reject the jury’s verdict,’ she seethed. ‘As the Queen of Hearts, I declare this man guilty. Guilty of murder. Guilty of thievery and kidnapping and all the rest, and for his sentence – I call for his head. To be carried out immediately!’
Her words echoed through the courtroom, casting a cloud over the stricken faces. No one dared to breathe.
Catherine had eyes only for Sir Peter, whose face was furious beneath streaks of dirt, whose teeth were bared.
The numbness began to settle over her again.
‘You deserve no mercy,’ she said.
Peter spat again. ‘I want nothin’ from you.’
‘B-b-but, darling,’ said the King. Soft, patient, terrified. His fingers brushed against her arm, but she ripped it away. ‘We . . . we have never . . . In Hearts, we don’t . . . Why, sweetness, we don’t even have an executioner.’
The corner of her mouth twitched. Her gaze shifted to Raven. ‘Yes, we do.’
Raven lifted his head.
‘You were the White Queen’s executioner,’ she said, ‘and now you will be mine. Serve me dutifully and we shall both have our vengeance.’
He remained silent for a long while, still as a statue. Then he spread his wings and stepped off the rail. Like an ink splatter on stone he transformed into the hooded figure. His face cast in shadow, his gloved hands gripping the handle of the glinting axe. Now, in the light of the courtroom, Cath could see that his hooded cloak was made from raven feathers.
The guards drew back, leaving Peter Peter alone in the centre of the room. Though he held fast to his defiance, Cath could see him beginning to shake.
Raven’s shadow lengthened across the floor, dwarfing the murderer. He hefted the axe on to his shoulder.
‘For the murder of Jest, the court joker of Hearts, I sentence this man to death.’ She spoke without feeling, unburdened by love or dreams or the pain of a broken heart. It was a new day in Hearts, and she was the Queen.
‘Off with his head.’