The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [385]
The Gryphon was reading my notes when I arrived and made small and incomprehensible noises as he flicked through the pages, grunting here and there and staring at me over his spectacles with large eyes.
“Well!” he said. “We should be in for some fun now!”
“Fun?” I repeated. “Defending a Class II Fiction Infraction?”
“I’m prosecuting a class action for blindness against the Triffids this afternoon,” said the Gryphon soberly, “and the Martians’ war crimes trial in War of the Worlds just drags on and on. Believe me, a Fiction Infraction is fun. Do you want to see my caseload?”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay. We’ll see what their witnesses have to say and how Hopkins presents his case. I may decide not to put you on the stand. Please don’t do anything stupid like grow—it nearly destroyed Alice’s case there and then. And if the Queen orders your head to be cut off, ignore her.”
“Okay,” I sighed, “let’s get on with it.”
The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their thrones when we arrived, but they were the only people in the courtroom who were seemingly composed—Alice’s exit two pages earlier had caused a considerable amount of distress to the jury, who were back in their places but were bickering furiously with the foreman, a rabbit who stared back at them, nibbling a large carrot that he had somehow smuggled in.
The Knave of Hearts was being escorted back to the cells, and the tarts—exhibit A—were being taken away and replaced by the original manuscript of Jane Eyre. Seated before the King and Queen was prosecuting attorney Mathew Hopkins and a collection of severe-looking birds. He glared at me with barely concealed venom. He looked a lot less amused since we had last crossed swords in The Trial, and he hadn’t looked particularly amused then. The King was obviously the judge because he wore a large wig, but quite which part the Queen of Hearts was to play in the proceedings, I had no idea.
The twelve jurors calmed down and all started writing busily on their slates.
“What are they doing?” I whispered to the Gryphon. “The trial hasn’t even begun yet!”
“Silence in court!” yelled the White Rabbit in a shrill voice.
“Off with her head!” yelled the Queen.
The King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round to find out who had been talking. The Queen nudged him and nodded in my direction.
“You there!” he said. “You will have your say soon enough, Miss, Miss . . .”
“Next,” put in the White Rabbit after consulting his parchment.
“Really?” replied the King with some confusion. “Does that mean we’re done?”
“No, Your Majesty,” replied the White Rabbit patiently, “her name is Next. Thursday Next.”
“I suppose you think that’s funny?”
“No, indeed, Your Majesty,” I replied. “It was the name I was born with.”
The jurymen all frantically started to write “It was the name I was born with” on their slates.
“You’re an Outlander, aren’t you?” said the Queen, who had been staring at me for some time.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then answer me this: When there are two people and one of them has left, who is left? The person who is left or the person who has left? I mean, they can’t both be left, can they?”
“Herald, read the accusation!” said the King.
On this, the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, then unrolled the parchment scroll and read as follows:
“Miss Thursday Next is hereby accused of a Fiction Infraction Class II against the Jurisfiction penal code FAL/0605937 and pursuant to the BookWorld general law regarding continuity of plotlines, as ratified to the Council of Genres, 1584.”
“Consider your verdict,” said the King to the jury.
“Objection!” cried the Gryphon. “There’s a great deal to come before that!”
“Overruled!” shouted the King, adding, “Or do I mean ‘sustained’? I always get the two mixed up—it’s a bit like is it ‘feed a cold and starve a fever’ or ‘starve a cold and feed a fever’? I never know. At any rate, you may call the first witness.