Chapter 3
England stared at the cut wire. "Someone has cut the bloody thing!" he said in utter disbelief.
"That's not a nice thing to do," Russia said over his shoulder and then added, quite chirpily, "Ah well…"
England shuddered. The rest of the Nations crowded around him.
"Didn't someone say they were going to ring the police earlier though? You know - when Switzerland first disappeared?" England asked.
Everyone shrugged and then there was a cacophony of voices…
"I rang for pizza!"
"I rang my embassy!"
"I rang my mum!"
"Who rang their mum?" Prussia asked, genuinely puzzled.
No-one answered.
"Nobody here has a mother," Russia said quietly and sadly.
Italy whimpered again, "I miss my mama!" he said and sobbed on France's shoulder.
"Right blokes. Snap out of it! We all need to stick together. This proves that something nefarious is going on!" England said.
"What's nefarious?" America asked, puzzled.
"Who knows?" Denmark shrugged.
"I don't like you," Russia said to someone.
England valiantly tried to maintain order. "Right. Since we're not going to be able to contact the police, Alfred, Francis and I will question each of you about the disappearance. I want to know where you all were and what you were doing when Switzerland disappeared."
"Why them?" someone asked.
"Yeah, why them and you?"
"Because I am innocent. I know Francis is - he was with me…" England said (someone wolf-whistled, Francis twirled and smiled) "And Alfred is the least nefarious person I know…" he added.
"Yeah man! Er… what's nefarious?" America said.
"Francis has never been innocent!" Prussia said, and laughed lewdly.
Half an hour later…
"Why are you wearing that poncy hat?" America asked England.
England, America and France had taken over the dining room and the plan was that each of the Nations would come in, one by one to be interviewed.
The 'poncy' hat was a deerstalker. England declined to answer America's question. "Just take notes."
"I will take notes!" Francis said. "I can be your secretary!" he said and winked lasciviously.
"Oh god…" England said. When would this day ever end?
First up was Prussia, who swaggered in with Spain behind him.
"I said just one at a time," England said with a sigh. "Why does nobody ever bloody listen?"
"Tony's my lawyer," Prussia said.
"Get lost," England said.
"Eet eez ridiculous!" Francis exclaimed dramatically and proceeded to sharpen his pencil.
Spain took off his apron, and sat down, "I'm here with my client, Gilbert," he began and took out a briefcase.
England rubbed his temples.
Spain opened his briefcase to reveal - tomatoes. "Oh sorry, wrong briefcase," he said. The Spaniard hurried off and brought back another briefcase. The fact that Antonio possessed a briefcase, never mind two briefcases, blew England's mind.
Spain opened the second briefcase, took out a legal pad and passed over a tomato-stained certificate to England.
On it was written "Degree of Law awarded to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, University of Barcelona."
England choked on his cup of tea. "You. Are. A. Lawyer?" He said, slowly and disbelievingly.
"Si!"
England peered at the certificate, hoping it was some forgery. It didn't appear to be. The date was 1839.
"You qualified as a lawyer back in 1839?"
"Si! I had a spare century and had nothing much to do…"
England and France exchanged glances.
"Okay, right…" England just decided to get on with it, "where were you when Lily first screamed?"
Prussia leaned back in his seat and took a glug of beer, "I was with Den…"
"We'll ask him this later," England said, "Write that down, Francis."
France began to write slowly and painfully, his tongue stuck out, repeating his words, "We. Will. Ask Him. This. Later." He wrote, wincing at the effort of writing in English instead of his beloved French.
"For God's sake!" England took the pad off him and batted the Frenchman around the head. "Bloody idiot. I'll do my own bloody notes."
"I'll do it, man!" America put his hand up.
"No, you won't… you can't spell."
"What do you mean, man?"
"I mean colour, color…"
"And?"
"Oh shut up…"
England flipped through the notepad wincing at the graphic cartoonish images of his fellow Nations who all seemed to be in various states of undress. He came to one page and turned the page round. "What the bloody hell! You bloody pervert! And with Russia as well!"
France dodged out of his way.
England took a gulp of his tea and grimaced. The 'boy' - America - could still not make a decent cup of tea, even after 200 years of training.
He began. "Where were you when Switzerland disappeared?" he asked the grinning Prussian in front of him.
Gilbert leaned back in his chair, "With my mate, Den," he said and glanced at his 'lawyer', Spain.
Spain smiled vaguely.
"I already told you, man!" Gilbert said indignantly.
"Well, I'm asking you again," England said. "And how do you know where you were when Vash disappeared?" England asked and pointed the pen at Gilbert. "Nobody knows when exactly Switzerland disappeared!"
Gilbert leaned forward and took the pen off him, stuck it idly in his left ear, twiddled it around, inspected whatever had been deposited on it and passed it back.
"Think you're clever don't you, Herr Loser?"
England looked at the pen in distaste and made a mental note to dip it in bleach later.
"Hon hon hon leetle Gilbert… you have no idea where that pen has been… oh oui!" France chuckled, his eyes glinting.
"Fuckin' 'ell!" Gilbert yelped and rubbed his ear and really really wished he hadn't stuck that pen in it. He might actually have to have a wash later.
"Bloody dirty foreigners," England muttered, wiping the pen on the sofa. "In answer to your question, Herr Beilschmidt, I don't think I'm clever, I bloody know I'm clever."
England waved his cup at America, who had been throwing himself around the room in what he thought were ninja fighting moves. He looked as if he were having an embolism. "Hey! Kung fu Panda! Get me a fresh cup of tea. Leave the teabag in longer than two seconds this time. In fact, this time use a teapot and just bring that."
"With three sugars?" America asked, taking the cup off him.
"Do I look like a bloody builder?"
America frowned and considered this.
England waved him away.
"Ah the Engleesh and their cups of tea! It took me four centuries to perfect the art of a good cup of tea," France told America.
"I don't know what you just said," America said.
England pointed to the door, "Go make a pot of tea with three teabags. Make sure you boil the water this time. Bring it back here. Go."
Gilbert sniggered, "Alfie's just a teaboy!"
Alfred muttered something about 'justice' and 'eagle' and slouched out.
"And don't slouch!" England called after him. He turned back to the grinning Prussian. "And you can stop grinning. Where were you really when Switzerland was abducted?"
Gilbert took a deep breath and said, "It's like this…" and broke into a long diatribe in German, together with arms waving, jumping up to march up and down a bit, plonking himself back down shouting something which sounded suspiciously like 'Doodlebug' and 'Bismark' and then finally stopped.
France shook his head, "Terrible… terrible…" he muttered. Whether from the actual German language or from what Gilbert said, is unsure.
England threw down his pen, "Bloody kraut! Don't talk bloody German at me!" he yelled.
"Oui monsieur, eet eez 'orrible… so coarse… and I zink Monsieur Russie is outside!" France said.
Gilbert's red eyes glittered evilly, "Oh je suis désolé." Gilbert said in an outrageous French accent and then swished his imaginary long hair back. He fluttered his eyelashes at England.
"Non!" France yelled.
"You said you were clever, Monsieur Angleterre?" Gilbert said. And then said, "Vous ne gagné la guerre parce que vous avez refusé de se rendre. Nous nous sommes ennuyés de vous combattre. Et vos scones goût terrible!"
(Translated this meant - You only won the war because you refused to surrender. We got bored fighting you. And your scones taste awful.)
France gasped and hoped England's tenuous grasp of the French language would not translate this outrage.
Gilbert continued in much the same vein - including a statement about the bombing of South East England how "la Luftwaffe sont conquérants".
England help up a hand to halt him as he tried desperately to write it down. Like all his countrymen he had done a cursory course in French at school, but unlike his countrymen he'd had centuries to learn. However, Arthur's grasp of French never got much beyond "Ou est la station?" and "Je m'appelle". But he still assumed when he went to France that if he talked loudly and slowly and pointed a lot he would be understood.
With his tongue stuck out in concentration, Arthur attempted to write out what Gilbert had said.
Gilbert nodded in satisfaction at England's complete annihilation of the French language. France broke down by England's second line. "Mon dieu!" France exclaimed, in tears, "Eet eez a travesty! Do not go on! My beautiful language. The language of Sartre, of poetry, of love, cruelly destroyed…" France flounced out, swishing his hair.
"Well I say! What's wrong with him?" England stared after France. "He's always telling me I should learn French!"
Gilbert laughed, "Dunno man! Sounds okay to me, eh Tony?" he turned to his lawyer.
Antonio looked up from rummaging through his briefcase, "I just found an old recipe for paella I'd forgotten about," he said cheerily.
Gilbert stood up, "Well I'll let you get back to your embroidery. See yer later, Herr Loser of Loserville. I've got a crate of beer calling my name. My statement's there in black and white, eh Tony?"
Antonio looked up, "Ah si!" he said.
Prussia passed America who was just coming in - the American carefully carrying a teapot.
"Yo Alfie dude!" Gilbert yelled (he had no indoor voice, England noted) and slapped him on the back causing Alfred to drop the teapot.
"Bloody foreigners," England said - again. "Go and make another bloody pot!" he said as America haplessly poured the remaining two drops of tea into England's cup. "And tell Francis to get back in here…"
Arthur paced up and down with his hands behind his back, "The game is afoot!" he muttered to himself, trying to ignore Spain's gabbling about a long lost paella recipe.
The door opened and America came back in, or as Arthur was dismayed to see, he leapt 'ninja-style' back in.
"Where's my pot of tea?" Arthur asked.
"Keep your underwear on, it's coming…" America said, karate-chopping his way around the room.
Francis came in, closely followed by Italy. "I made you a nice pot of tea," France said, pouring the beverage out into a china cup.
Italy snivelled next to him.
"What the bloody hell's up with him?" England asked.
"I'm scared, Signore England!" Italy said, "Maybe it will be me next time!"
"Hmm… Perhaps it will…" England murmured but took a sip of the tea and then spluttered it out all over the hapless Italian. "What in the name of God's green earth is this supposed to be?"
"Chamomile tea - to calm you down, Angleterre," France explained.
"Bugger off, you stupid frog-face. When have I ever drank this rubbish? Get me Yorkshire Tea or good old PG Tips…"
"I told you…" America said, back-flipping around the room.
"And why on earth are you kung-fooing around the bloody room? Stop it, you're making me dizzy," England said.
America karate-kicked two inches from Italy, who cowered on the sofa, "Because I think this bad dude is out to get us Nation dudes and I ain't gonna let him get me," America answered.
"I wish Luddy was here," Italy whimpered.
"Yes, so do I. And I never thought I'd say that. But we could do with somebody with a bit of sense," England said.
"Maybe he's been kidnapped as well?" America said, completely not reading the situation.
Italy's lips quivered, "Do you think so, Mr America?" he asked tremulously.
America loved being called 'Mr America'. It made him (in his own little head) sound like a real superhero. "Hell yeah, man!" he yelled and back-flipped back across the room and ended up entangled with some curtains which he mistook for an attacker and karate-chopped.
England sighed. "I doubt it, Italy," he said, "Who would kidnap you?" he said quietly. "Besides only one Nation has gone missing… so far."
"You think there will be more?" Italy asked, looking around the room.
"Well I don't think Switzerland just wandered off by himself," England said.
"Something big and scary took him down, man! It had to be! The guy was packing so much metal, it had to be a gang of terrorists!" America yelled.
England shook his head. "I doubt that very much, Alfred. Terrorists? Here? Right…" he shook Italy off his arm where the smaller Nation was clinging and turned dramatically to the room (which was now empty as America backflipped out - obviously imagining himself to be some kind of action hero), "Now for the next lot of questioning. Feliciano, get off my bloody arm! France!" he yelled, "Get your arse in here, and bring in Lily…"
"Why Lily?" France asked England when he returned with the said small female Nation. He whispered in the Englishman's ear, and being so close, Arthur could smell the Frenchman's odious cologne.
"She was in Switzerland's room moments before he disappeared; she's a vital witness," England whispered back and took control of himself, shoving the Frenchman back a little. "Will you bloody well observe some personal space, you frog?"
France shuffled back and smiled at Lily, who was sat on the sofa. She tried, unsuccessfully to ignore Italy who was in a foetal position next to her.
"Guten tag, Mr England and Mr France," she said softly. "Is there any news about my bruder?" Her big eyes widened innocently as she spoke and England immediately felt that interrogating her was a waste of time. There was no way this young girl could have anything to do with Switzerland's disappearance.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Lily, but myself and the others are trying to find out what happened," England paused not knowing how to proceed.
France took the opportunity to chime in, "Oui, do not worry my leetle Lily, zis case is in our capable hands! My hands in particular are very capable of many different things, ah yes!"
"Bloody lecherous frog!" England was appalled. "Can you not take your mind off sex for one bloody second? This is serious!" Out of sheer consternation, he gave France a dead arm. Served him right for embarrassing him in front of a lady.
Liechtenstein looked alarmed, "Mr England, are you feeling alright? Your face has gone very red."
England took a deep breath, "I'm quite alright, Miss Lily. Ever so sorry for that outburst." He scratched his neck, which had flushed along with his face and took the handkerchief out of his top pocket and wiped his face.
"We wanted to ask you some questions, Madamoiselle," France said quietly.
England looked France up and down, an expression of mild surprise on his face that his colleague was actually taking this seriously.
"I know zis must be hard for you, wiz your brother disappearing, but we would just like to know exactly what you saw."
Lily nodded, patting the plush sofa cushion beside her, "Please take a seat, both of you. I would be very happy to answer both of your questions."
England muttered to France, "Not you…" and sat beside Lily, forcing France to take the armchair opposite where the Frenchman lounged with consummate grace.
"Now first of all," England began, "Could you describe the ghost that you think you saw?"
Lily closed her eyes, "It was a real ghost, Mr England!" she said, "It looked like a young man, I would say, but very blurry. He looked familiar and was wearing grey clothes. I don't remember much about his face and when he saw me he just disappeared into the wall. It was only then that I realised what had happened and that's when I screamed."
"Zis ghost, did he seem solid? Or translucent?" France said.
"He did seem slightly see through, like he was not really there," Lily said. "Even while I was looking at him it was as if…" she paused, "As if… he wasn't truly there. Oh.. And the air was very cold as well…"
England felt France's eyes on him, and looked up into his knowing gaze, instantly feeling annoyed. What does he bloody know that I don't, he thought.
England cleared his throat, "Alright. Next question - did you notice anything strange about Switzerland's actions today?" England almost added, "Apart from the fact that he's as insane as the rest of us." But didn't.
"No, bruder has been the same as usual. Possibly grumpier, but that is because he does not like travelling especially with Mr Austria."
"He did not zay anyzing about wanting to leave or to go home?" France asked.
What a bloody weird question, England thought. "Of course he wouldn't go home yet! He hasn't claimed back his expenses!" England exclaimed and gave France a 'look' and shook his head.
"Of course not. He wouldn't leave without me," Lily seemed affronted at the idea.
"Well, if you can think of anything else that may help, please let us know. And of course we will let you know if we find anything." England said and got up with much less difficulty than he did getting out of Italy's sports car and motioned to France to follow him.
"Thank you, Mr England! Auf wiedersehen!" Lily said. Quite cheerily, England thought.
"So, France… what do you think?" He asked.
"I zink that little innocent Lily is not so innocent…" France said.
"Bloody pervert! I meant about this case!"
"Zat is what I mean too, mon ami. She was very calm for one who is being questioned about her brother's disappearance, non?"
"Well…" England scratched his head.
"And she said… "both" of your questions… she was not surprised at any of our questions and she seemed to have her answers all ready…"
"Of course she did! Because she's innocent, you idiot frog!" England shouted.
"She knew what we would ask her, mon cher!"
"But… if you think it was her… Liechtenstein… But why… her own bruder… er brother…" England ruminated.
France put a hand on his shoulder, "We should not jump to conclusions just yet, mon cher. But zis is suspicious is it not? Who is next?"
"What the bloody hell do you mean, who is next?" England spluttered.
France ignored him, "Who is the person who hates Switzerland ze most?"
England considered this - there were actually quite a few candidates. In fact, most of the Nations had grudges against each other going back centuries. And then they both said in unison, "Austria!"
"This is utterly outrageous!" Austria was evidently not pleased about being interrogated. He sat in a chair and swished his baton around. Why he had a conductor's baton, neither France nor England would ask.
"Indeed it is," England began, "You don't like Mr Switzerland do you, Austria?"
"No I do not, but then again neither do you… or you, Francis," Austria said to each of them.
"I adore everyone!" Francis exclaimed and poured himself a glass of wine.
"Yes, well… we'll ignore that, shall we?" England said.
"I've yet to meet anyone, apart from Miss Lily of course, who likes him. He's mean with money, he does nothing but moan and he has aggressive tendencies towards his neighbours."
"Really? That sounds very familiar!" England turned to France, "Write all this down, Francis," he said and took a sip of tea. The said beverage must have been past its optimum drinking temperature because the Englishman grimaced and stood up and paced up and down. "Is it possible that after your argument at Christmas…"
"How do you know about that?" Austria said, he stopped waving his baton and narrowed his eyes.
"Never you mind… I put it to you that after your argument with Vash both at Christmas and this morning…"
"Outrageous! That was no argument… that was just a disagreement!"
England sighed and paced the length of the room before suddenly turning heel to face Austria and France and said in a dramatic tone, pointing an accusatory finger at Austria, "I put it to you, Roderich Von Thingymajig Edelstein, that you have murdered and disposed of the body of your lifelong enemy, Vash Zwingli!"
"This is a disgrace!" Austria shouted, jumping up.
"Mon cher! Angleterre! You are so masterful!" Francis said, his eyes shining. "Eeet eez just like…"
"Sherlock? Poirot?" England asked, hopefully. He was actually going for Sherlock Holmes, although he didn't really think of France as Watson.
"Non! I was thinking of Miss Jane Marple mysteries… ah oui!"
"Idiot frog!"
"My full name is Count Roderich Von Habsburg Edelstein!" Austria said, "And I will not stand for these accusations against my good name!"
"It's quite a name as well…" Francis said. "Where did you get it from?"
Austria attempted to leave but found his exit blocked by England and France, "Not so fast, you murdering Kraut!" England said.
"I am not a Kraut! I am Austrian!" Austria said, utterly appalled. "I will be in touch with my embassy, this is an outrage!"
England whispered to France, "I can't think of an insult for an Austrian… Kraut? Jerry?"
France frowned at each insult, "Boche?" He suggested.
England looked at him, "What? What in Nelson's bloody name are you on about? Bloody frogs have no idea…"
France shrugged, "Do we need to call him a name, mon cher?"
"It adds to the interrogation technique," England whispered.
France's eyes widened, "Ah I see! Eet eez, as you say, good cop, bad cop…?"
Suddenly the double doors were flung open, shoving the three Nations out of the way, America shoved his head in, "Dudes! When you've stopped playing Cagney and Laceup or whatever it's called… you should come see this!"
"Thank you, young America… I was about to fight my way out!" Austria declared.
England looked the Austrian up and down, "Ha! You think so, do you?"
Austria squared up to him, usually not much of a fighter, he was angry and this had taken away his normal aversion to any aggression. "Ja! I do!"
"Well you can't beat me… probably Francy-pants here, but I'd like to see you take me down… I used to box for Oxford!" England declared.
"What? Making cardboard boxes?" America said innocently and momentarily distracted.
"Boxing! You damn fools!" England explained and took a boxers pose.
Austria stepped back, "You don't scare me, England," he said.
"No? Why? What are you going to do? Get your ex-wife to beat me up?" England said.
"Ah oui… Miss Hungary is all woman… with some man as well I think… she is gorgeous… and she's behind you, Angleterre!"
"Fucking hell!" England almost jumped three feet into the air and spun round to find America just grinning at him with his arms folded.
"One day I'll teach you to fight proper, Engerland!" America said, "But you should all come see this, dudes…"
"Why? Did you drop your burger?" England said.
"Nope… Sweden's gone…" America said, his eyes shining with the excitement of it all.
"Fuck…"
Author's Notes:
Thank you for those reading and reviewing.
Boche was a derogatory term for Germans by the French particularly in the first world war.
