CHAPTER XI: Who Stole the Tarts?
Continuing to play the Queen, President Coin was seated on her throne with Plutarch Heavensbee sitting at her side when Prim and the Gryphon arrived. A great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards. Katniss was standing before them in chains with a soldier on each side to guard her; and near the Plutarch was Beetee with a trumpet in one hand and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table with a large dish of tarts upon it. The desserts looked so good that it made Prim quite hungry to look at them.
I wish they'd get the trial done, she thought, and hand round the refreshments. However, there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her to pass away the time.
Prim had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. "That's the judge," she said to herself, "because of his great wig."
The judge, by the way, was Plutarch; and as he wore a wig, he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.
And that's the jury-box, thought Prim, and those twelve creatures, (she was obliged to say creatures, you see, because some of them were animals, and some were people,) "I suppose they are the jurors." She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it, for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. However, jury-subjects would have done just as well.
The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. "What are they doing?" Prim whispered to the Gryphon. "They can't have anything to put down yet before the trial's begun."
"They're putting down their names," the Gryphon whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial."
"Stupid things," Prim began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily for Beetee cried out, "Silence in the court!" and Plutarch put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round to make out who was talking.
Prim could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down stupid things! on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn't know how to spell stupid and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. A nice muddle their slates will be in before the trial's over, thought Prim.
One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This of course, Prim could not stand, so she went round the court and got behind him and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly that the poor juror (it was Peeta) could not make out at all what had become of it. And after hunting all about for the pencil, the mentally scarred victor was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this was of very little use as it left no mark on the slate.
"Herald, read the accusation," said Plutarch.
On this Beetee blew three blasts on the trumpet and then unrolled the parchment scroll and read as follows:
"President Coin, she made some tarts,
All on a summer day:
A Mockingjay, she stole those tarts,
And took them quite away!"
"Consider your verdict," Plutarch said to the jury.
"Not yet, not yet!" Beetee hastily interrupted. "There's a great deal to come before that."
"Call the first witness," said Plutarch
And Beetee blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, "First witness."
The first witness was the Escort. She came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. "I beg pardon, your Majesty," Effie began, "for bringing these in, but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I was sent for."
"You ought to have finished," said Plutarch. "When did you begin?"
Effie looked at Cinna, who had followed her into the court arm-in-arm with Haymitch. "Fourteenth of March, I think it was," said the Escort.
"Fifteenth," said Cinna.
"Sixteenth," slurred Haymitch.
"Write that down," Plutarch said to the jury, and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates before adding them up and reducing the answer to minutes and seconds.
"Take off your wig," Plutarch said to the Escort.
"It isn't mine," said the Escort.
"Stolen!" Plutarch exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.
"It's part of my outfit," the Escort added as an explanation. "I have to make an impression on television. I'm an escort."
Here the Queen put on her spectacles and began staring at the Escort, who turned pale and fidgeted.
"Give your evidence," said Plutarch.
"And don't be nervous," added the Queen, "or I'll have you executed on the spot."
This did not seem to encourage the witness at all. Effie kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at Coin, and in her confusion, she bit a large piece out of her teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.
Just at this moment, Prim felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was beginning to grow larger again. And she thought at first she would get up and leave the court, but on second thoughts, she decided to remain where she was as long as there was room for her.
"I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said Haymitch, who was sitting next to her. "I can hardly breathe."
"I can't help it," said Prim very meekly. "I'm growing."
"You've no right to grow here," said Haymitch.
"Don't talk nonsense," said Prim more boldly. "You've been drinking."
"Wrong. You're implying that I had stopped drinking," said Haymitch, "which could not be farther from the truth." And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court.
All this time, the Queen had never left off staring at the Escort, and just as Haymitch crossed the court, Coin said to one of the officers of the court, "Bring me the list of the singers in the last concert," on which the ditsy Escort trembled so that she shook both her shoes off.
"Give your evidence," the Queen repeated angrily, "or I'll have you executed, whether you're nervous or not."
"I'm a poor woman, your Majesty," the Escort began in a trembling voice, "and I hadn't begun my tea, not above a week or so, and what with the bread-and-butter getting so thin, and the twinkling of the tea—"
"The twinkling of the what?" asked Plutarch.
"It began with the tea," replied the Escort.
"Of course twinkling begins with a T!" said Plutarch sharply. "Do you take me for a dunce? Go on."
"I'm a poor woman," Effie went on, "and most things twinkled after that. Only Cinna said—"
"I didn't" the Stylist interrupted in a great hurry.
"You did," said Effie.
"I deny it," retorted Cinna.
"The stylist denies it," said Plutarch. "Leave out that part."
"Well, at any rate, Haymitch said—" the Escort went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too, but the drunken man denied nothing, being fast asleep.
"After that," continued the Escort, "I cut some more bread-and-butter—"
"But what did Haymitch say?" one of the jury asked.
"That I can't remember," replied Effie.
"You must remember," remarked Coin, "or I'll have you executed."
The miserable Escort dropped her teacup and bread-and-butter, and went down on one knee. "I'm a poor woman, your Majesty," she began.
"For an escort, you're a very poor speaker," said Plutarch.
Here one of the Avoxes clapped and was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard word, I will just explain to you how it was done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings; into this, they slipped the Avox, head first, and then sat upon the person.)
I'm glad I've seen that done, thought Prim. I've so often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, 'There was some attempts at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court, and I never understood what it meant till now.
"If that's all you know about it, you may stand down," continued Plutarch.
"I can't go no lower," said the Escort. "I'm on the floor, as it is."
"Then you may sit down," Plutarch replied.
Here the other Avox clapped...and was suppressed.
Come, that finished the Avoxes, thought Prim. Now we shall get on better.
"I'd rather finish my tea," said the Escort with an anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.
"You may go," said Plutarch, and the Escort hurriedly left the court without even waiting to put her shoes on.
"And just take her head off outside," the Queen added to one of the officers, but Effie was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.
"Call the next witness," said Plutarch.
The next witness was Duchess Johanna's cook, Greasy Sae. She carried the pepper-box in her hand, and Prim guessed who it was even before she got into the court by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once.
"Give your evidence," said Plutarch.
"Shan't," said Greasy Sae.
Anxious to please Plutarch, Beetee said in a low voice, "Your Majesty must cross-examine this witness."
"Well, if I must, I must," Plutarch said with a melancholy air, and after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, "What are tarts made of?"
"Pepper, mostly," said the cook.
"Treacle," said a drunken voice behind her.
"Collar that Drunk," the Queen shrieked out. "Quell him! Turn him out of court! Suppress him! Slap him! Off with his head!"
For some minutes, the whole court was in confusion, getting Haymitch turned out, and by the time they had settled down again, Greasy Sae had disappeared.
"Never mind," said Plutarch with an air of great relief. "Call the next witness." And he added in an undertone to President Coin, "Really, your Majesty, you must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my forehead ache."
Prim watched Beetee as he fumbled over the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like. "For they haven't got much evidence yet," she said to herself.
Imagine her surprise when Beetee read out at the top of his shrill little voice the name, "Primrose Everdeen!"