Heartless(136)

“I am your witness,” Cath said. “I was there and I have already told you what happened. He is a murderer and he deserves to be punished.”

Everyone tittered, uncomfortable that their new queen was intruding on the court’s traditions.

“Perhaps,” said the Rabbit, “if there are no other witnesses present, the jury might consider a verdict?”

A wave of glee sparkled over the jury box and Catherine heard mutterings of guilty and innocent and in need of a bath, when Peter Peter cleared his throat.

“I got something I’d like to say.”

Though his voice was hoarse, it roared through Catherine like a tidal wave. White spots flecked in her vision. She wanted to silence him forever.

The King, ignorant of how Cath’s blood was boiling, pounded his gavel. “The murder—er, the defendant wishes to speak!”

Two guards came forward and grabbed Peter Peter by the elbows, hauling him to his feet. The chains the Sisters had abandoned clinked across the floor.

Raven hopped along the rail, putting himself in Cath’s field of vision. It was like having a confidant at her side—someone else who had been there that night, who knew. He alone had not flinched when the Sisters had taken Cath’s heart. There had been a time when he had planned on doing the same thing to her. When Jest had planned to do the same thing to her.

But that no longer mattered to her. Such a heart was worthless, despite what everyone said. There was no value to it at all.

Sir Peter planted his feet so he could stand without the guards’ assistance. Though disheveled, he was as intimidating as ever. His eyes darted from the King to the jury to the royal courtiers to the guards—and, finally, to Catherine. “I did kill him,” he snarled. “But I was defending my wife.”

The jury scribbled on their tablets.

Peter took a step forward. “These people—the maid, the Joker, and you.” He snarled at Catherine. “They trespassed onto my property. I’d asked none of them to come there. Nosy wretches they were, coming to see the ‘monster,’ the ‘beast.’” He spat. “But she was my wife! And you killed her. Right in front of me, you killed her. You’re the monsters. Not me. Not her!”

“She was the Jabberwock!” Cath screamed.

A gasp rose from the crowd.

“That’s what he isn’t telling you. The wife he was protecting was the Jabberwock. Mary Ann was to be the creature’s next meal.”

“She should not have come to my patch. Trespassers! Murderers!”

“You are the murderer!”

“As are you, and a thief besides! You stole that pumpkin from me, I know you did. She was getting better. The curse was going away, but then she saw that cake and had to have it and when she turned again … she wouldn’t … she couldn’t turn back again and it’s your fault!”

The King pounded his gavel—each thud like a hammer on Cath’s temple.

“Now, now,” said the King, who was sweating profusely. “I think perhaps the jury would appreciate one little clarification…” He cleared his throat and adjusted his powdered wig. “Sir Peter, you claim that the Jabberwock was your wife?”

The audience rustled and Cath heard more than one member of the jury mention that Peter Peter’s wife had been at the black-and-white ball. Sickly thing. Not at all monstrous.

“She was poisoned,” said Peter. “Poisoned by bad pumpkin. I saw her eat them—she couldn’t stop. Then she started to get sick. I thought it was just from the overeatin’ but … then she started to change.” A deep wrinkle cut between his eyebrows. “It happened the first time after we left your ball, after those courtiers talked to us like we hadn’t earned being there. After you”—he pointed at Cath—“looked at us like scum on your shoe. I watched her turn into the Jabberwock. Saw it with my own eyes.” He balled his fists. “Even when she was herself again, the cravings were too much for her. She’d eat anything orange, anything she thought could satiate her. But nothing did.”

Cath’s jaw ached from clenching her teeth. They said the Jabberwock had gone after Cheshire and Margaret that first night—after Cheshire’s fur had been tinted orange and he probably still smelled of pumpkin pasties.

And in the meadow, she had taken the Lion, with his golden-orange mane. But the monster had probably been there looking for Hatta, the messenger who had brought that first pumpkin from Chess.

And in the theater, 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 defense. 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!”