Finally, the Muffin Man falls down. The slicing blades of the stirring machine finish him off.
I shy away from the spattering blood all over the chocolate, a bit dazed. Killing someone, even if it's for the good of millions, shatters something inside you.
"Huh." The Pillar mops his forehead. "That was some stubborn beast."
"I could have just kicked him myself," I tell him.
"I know, brave girl, although it took you like forever to stab him. I just couldn't resist a kick in the butt. It's such a relief. We should do this more often." He adjusts his tie.
"Glad that you know I could have done this without you." I throw the knife away.
"Are we fighting over credits now?" He pulls his hookah back. "You know no one will know you saved the world tomorrow, right?"
"I know." I clap my hands clean of the pepper. "I'm an insane girl in an asylum. The world isn't supposed to know about me."
"Think of yourself as Superman," the Pillar suggests. "All the world's greatest heroes stay anonymous."
"You've got a point." I let my shoulders fall under the weight of exhaustion and follow the Pillar to the elevator. "I'm starving. Do I get to eat a nice meal, maybe?"
"Full of delicious carbs, saturated fats, and unhealthy sweets?" He looks irritated.
"Yes?" I tilt my head.
"Marshmallows, greasy pizza, and lots of ketchup?"
"Yes?"
"Ice cream, fudge, marmalade, and lots of cream?"
"Yes?"
"But of course." He rolls his cane with all the mirth in world. "As long as you promise to lick your finger and make a mess while you eat."
"I promise I will make a mess, just like we did before at the Westminster Palace."
"That's my girl," he chirps. "I know a boy who's been dying to get you to eat with him at Fat Duck, the best restaurant known for mock turtle soup in the world." He pushes the elevator button.
"Jack?" The smile on my face is so wide it hurts.
He nods. "But first, I need you to go to court with me," he says. "It's just a small favor."
"Court?" I am suspicious.
"It'll be fun, I promise." He snickers as the elevator door opens.
Inside, I glimpse the stirring tub for one last time. "Aren't we supposed to warn the health administration of the few sacks that fell in?"
"You forgot about the man who fell in too." He presses the button to the ground floor. "But hell no. A few body fats and blood of a dead guy in a few chocolates won't hurt. We eat gross stuff all day and no one complains."
The elevator door closes. The Pillar tries to hold a sneeze.
"Pardon me," he says. "Achoo!"
I stare at him, terrified again.
"Gotcha!" He points at me and smiles.
"I wasn't afraid." I shake my shoulders.
"Oh, you were." He nudges me as I stare at the elevator's numbers.
"Not at all," I insist. "I was wondering if it was 'achoo' or 'atishoo.'"
I bite my lips. He buries a smile.
Chapter 6 6
The Royal Courts of Justice, London
I am sitting among the crowd, wearing a brand-new dress we bought with Margaret Kent's credit card. It's a fantabulous dress I chose with care in Harrods. And I am not planning on spattering it with blood. I will wear it on a date with Jack once the Pillar finishes his absurd joke in the court.
He stands in front of the judges, wearing a lawyer's coat and speaking with impeccable seriousness. The crowd sitting next to me loves him for filing a case against the Queen of England.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he says. I don't think this is the way you address the court in the British system. But that's the Pillar. And this is my insane world. I am beginning to love it. "I demand you look into the following case: the People versus the Queen of England."
The judges are about to laugh at him, but they act accordingly.
"We, the people of England, demand to know who pays for her nuts?" He raises his hands theatrically and talks with grace, like a nobleman. "We demand to know if she gets her nuts from the taxes we pay."
People in the crowd nod and are about to clap.
"Because I don't remember paying for the Queen's nuts." He winks at the crowd. "To be or nut to be, that is our sincere question. And we demand an answer."
The judge waits until the crowd hisses into a fading quietness and then asks the Pillar to approach the bench.
"I may only approach the bench with my assistant." The Pillar points at me. I blush in my soiree dress.
"Why would you need her to approach the bench with you?" the judge asks.
"I have a hearing problem, and she would be kind in reciting words I mishear," the Pillar says. "You know how words like 'tart' and 'fart' are almost the same."
The judge looks like he is going to sentence the Pillar with a death penalty for insulting his court. But he and his assistant judges cope with him, knowing they will eventually jail him for week or so. To them, the Pillar is a big joke they'd laugh at it with cigars and cognacs in their hand by the end of the week.
I don't want to be in it, though. I want to have my first date with Jack.
"From the way we are having this conversation, I believe you can hear me well," the judge says.
"I can only hear when you're afar. The closer I get to you, I can't hear you," the Pillar says. "It's a new disease. Only discovered a few hours ago."
"All right," the judge puffs, about to scream and pull his wig. "Maybe you two approach the bench."
We do.
"Are you aware of ridiculing the court with your atrocious case?" The judge leans closer with gritting teeth.
"I stand by the people," the Pillar says. "People need to know about their taxes."
"I don't care about you or your people," the judge says. "I will give you a chance to apologize to the court or I will let you proceed with the case and jail you for disrespecting the court by saying the word 'fart.'"
"I said 'tart.'"
"You said 'tart and fart,'" the judge insists.
"I said 'tart and tart.'" The Pillar is pushing the limits. "It would be disrespectful of me to say 'fart' in court."
"You said..." The judge's anger peaks, but he remembers to cool down. "Never mind." He breathes slower. "Have you made up your mind on whether to drop your nonsensical charges?"
"No," the Pillar says. "I insist. And you know what? You will approve of them, and have the Queen of England come to this court and explain herself. And you will not jail me."
"Is that so?" The judge smirks.
The Pillar pulls a few photos out of his pocket and throws them at the bench. I can't see them, but the judge blushes with anger and helplessness.
"This is a picture of your wife running away with an eighteen-year-old Nigerian." The Pillar sorts the photos for him. "This is your son killing a woman with his new car in a hit and run. A case has never been filed. And this is you in your tiger-striped underwear in—"
"Stop," the judge hisses.
"Sorry I couldn't number the negatives." The Pillar flashes his fake smile. "I was in a hurry."
"All right. All right." The judge tucks the photos under the desk, afraid anyone will see them. "You may do as you please. Go back and say whatever you want. I will accept the charges and file a case."
"I love it when the authorities are cooperative," the Pillar says. "One more thing, though."