The Motion of Puppets by Keith Donohue Page B

and beckoned him to sit. There was no show of swearing him in.
    â€œMay I remind you,” Mr. Firkin said, “that as an officer of the court, you are bound to tell the truth, even if that is against your nature. Did you not last night pursue Noë as she tried to escape through the curtains?”
    The Devil nodded. A fat white spider slipped from one of his horns and hung from a silken thread.
    Picking up the matchbook, Mr. Firkin said, “Please the court, Your Majesty, Your Honor, I place into evidence Exhibit B, and now ask the witness if he did not retrieve said matchbook from one Worm. And then, Old Devil, did you not read the note for yourself and give it to me as guardian of the entrance to the Back Room?”
    â€œFirkin, Firkin. You know that I did.”
    Having no rebuttal questions for himself, the Devil was dismissed.
    With his thumbs again hooked around his suspenders, Mr. Firkin took a dramatic pause. “Call the two defendants to the stand.”
    â€œI really must object, Your Honor. My clients are not required to incriminate themselves, and it is most unusual to put two into one box.”
    â€œMr. Devil,” said the Queen, “we are not amused. The hour of our long sleep is at hand, and much remains to be done. We must finish the trial, decide the punishment, and then make ready.”
    â€œString them up.” Someone in the room was throwing his voice.
    The gavel crashed down. “Order, order. If that voice was not a marionette’s, well, that is just in extremely poor taste. There will be no stringing, there will be no up. Now, Kay and Noë, please step forward and be quick about it.”
    The two puppets held hands and walked gingerly to the witness box. The Worm slithered in to give the oath, but one joint sneer scared him away. Mr. Firkin marched forward like a Dutch uncle and handed the matchbook to Noë. “Did you write this note? Would you please read it out so everyone can hear?”
    Noë nodded. “I don’t see why I’ve got to say the words. Everyone already knows what I wrote: ‘Help! Get me out of here.’”
    â€œAnd you, young lady.” He trained a stern eye on Kay. “What were you thinking by trying to slip it under the door?”
    Kay sighed and did not know what to say.
    He left her quaking in her chair and returned to his own, a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were contemplating the eternal verities, or perhaps he was merely daydreaming or thinking of nothing at all.
    The Devil rose to cross-examine the witnesses. In the hollow of his left clavicle, the spider had found space to knit a web. The Devil snatched the matchbook from Noë’s fingers and read the message again to himself. “Surely, you were only joking. You were having your way with us.”
    She shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œAnd you, Kay Harper, you were in on the gag?”
    â€œI was just trying to help.”
    â€œHeh-heh. Help with her little practical joke?”
    â€œNo. Help her go home.”
    With one voice, the Sisters in the jury box gasped. The Good Fairy snapped a twig. Nix gave his horn a desultory toot. The Dog, who had been resting under the witness chair, began to whine. Kay searched the room for a sympathetic friend, but they had all turned their faces from her. The Devil was behind her, leaning against the back of her chair, his long fingernails clacking against the balsa wood.
    â€œYou cannot go home,” he said. “You cannot ever leave the Back Room. The Quatre Mains might come for you, but even then, he may bring you back, just as he has done with each one of us at one time or another.”
    â€œBut she wrote a note.” Kay looked at Noë, who was sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands. “She said that someone could come and save her. Rescue us.”
    â€œA thin hope,” the Devil said, “to base your dreams upon. Yes, if someone knows you are here. And, yes, if they