A Plague of Hearts by Patrick Whittaker (best large ereader .TXT) 📖

table was dominated by a two way radio with an antenna that resembled a spider’s web.
Sitting down, the March Hare moved aside a set of head-phones and rested his elbows on the table. Ormus sat next to him. The Grey Squirrel preferred to stand.
‘Well,’ said the March Hare, turning his head so that he was looking directly at Ormus. ‘Tell us what this is all about.’
A look of surprise shot across the Doctor’s face. ‘Shouldn’t you be telling me? You were the ones that arranged this little get together.’
‘But you weren’t surprised to see us, and you’ve made it quite clear that you know about our employers.’
The Grey Squirrel pointed to the radio. ‘I take it that thing works.’
‘Of course.’
‘And that’s how you knew we were coming?’
‘I took a guess. The arrest and murder of your respective employers got a brief mention on the news this morning. You were bound to turn up sooner or later.’
‘But why?’ demanded the March Hare. ‘I mean, why did the Knave send me to you in the first place? You’re not a lawyer.’
‘And why was the Royal Librarian killed?’ added the Grey Squirrel.
Ormus plucked at his lower lip. ‘The Government’s getting panicky because we’re on the verge of losing the war. There are people in this country who have actively opposed the President from the start. And it’s likely that the enemy would rather negotiate a peace with them than the Panda and his cronies. So he’s trying to eliminate all opposition.’
The March Hare was skeptical. ‘You don’t honestly believe that the Spadishers would want to negotiate with the Knave?’
‘Of course not. The Panda is using the Knave and the Librarian as a means to getting at those who really threaten him. For once in his miserable life, he’s being rather subtle.’
‘Too subtle for me,’ confessed the March Hare. ‘I still don’t see what this has to do with the Knave. He may be irresponsible, but he’s no subversive.’
Julie entered. She carried a tray on which sat four cups of coffee, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. ‘No biscuits, I’m afraid,’ she said, placing the tray on the table and sitting opposite the March Hare. She handed around the coffee. Doctor Ormus passed a cup over to the Grey Squirrel. ‘We always seem to be running out of biscuits.’
‘That’s because you keep scoffing them,’ said Doctor Ormus. He looked to the March Hare as if asking for moral support. ‘She spends half her time in bed eating chocolate biscuits and drinking brandy.’
‘What else is there to do?’ Julie countered. ‘I’m in a strange land with hardly any friends. And you’re not any help. You’re down in that cellar of yours morning, noon and night. As far as you’re concerned I might as well not exist - except for those rare occasions when you come looking to me for affection.’
‘Rare, schmare!’ said a disembodied voice. ‘You two go at it like a pair of love-struck rabbits! It’s a wonder your bed is still in one piece.’
At first, the March Hare supposed the voice to be coming from the radio. But it sounded too clear. There was no distortion, no background hiss of static. He leaned towards the transmitter, peered through the ventilator grille to examine the valves. None of them glowed.
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Doctor Ormus, not the least bit fazed by the unexpected interruption. ‘You should have been here an hour ago.’
A smile suddenly appeared in front of the radio. It hovered above the table like a swarm of fireflies. The teeth moved slightly apart. ‘So I’m here now. Things have been busy, busy, busy and I would appreciate it if people were a bit more respectful. It’s not as if I don’t have a life of my own, you know.’
‘Hello, Cheshy,’ said Julie. ‘Ignore the Doctor. He’s just being a sour-puss.’
‘I hate that expression,’ said the smile. ‘It’s so cat-ist.’
‘No offence meant. I was just trying to say that I for one am very pleased to see you.’
Yellow fur materialised around the smile, coalesced into the head of the Cheshire Cat. ‘Thanks. I appreciate that. It gets kind of lonely being a glorified messenger boy.’
The Grey Squirrel cleared his throat. ‘I don’t mean to be personal or anything, but would you mind telling me where the rest of you is?’
‘Well, here’s my furthest extremity,’ said the Cheshire Cat as his tail became visible some eighteen inches from his head. ‘I don’t suppose you’d take my word for it that all my best bits are somewhere between my tail and my head?’
‘Whatever,’ said the Grey Squirrel, too disconcerted to make an issue of the point.
The March Hare got to his feet. Part of his mind wanted to ignore the Cheshire Cat, pretend he wasn’t there - or half there. ‘How do you do that?’ he asked.
‘The appliance of science,’ said the Cat. ‘Or some such nonsense like that. It seems I have the dual characteristics of a sub-atomic particle. One minute I’m a particle - the next, a wave. And then the old uncertainty principal kicks in and just don’t know where I am. Ask Doctor Ormus - he can explain it better than I can.’
‘I’d rather,’ said the Grey Squirrel, ‘he explained to us what the hell is going on.’
‘Or better still,’ said the March Hare, ‘what he intends to do about the Knave.’
‘There’s not a lot I can do,’ confessed Doctor Ormus. ‘But if it’s any consolation, they’re not going to kill him straight away.’
‘But they are going to kill him?’
‘Probably. My best information is that they plan to put him on trial.’
‘Why?’
‘To stir up popular sentiment against the Panda’s enemies. I take it you’ve heard of the Red Orchestra?’
‘The Resistance? What do they have to do with this?’
‘You might not believe this, but the Knave was a member of the Resistance. My guess is that the Panda is going to have him - and by inference, all the Red Orchestra - accused of a variety of hideous crimes. He’ll probably blame them for the fact that we’re about to lose the war.
‘Right now, there’s a good chance that if Spades wins the war (and that looks very likely), then the Spadishers will ask the Red Orchestra to form some sort of government.
‘The Panda knows this and he also knows that if he can make the people hate the Red Orchestra, the Spadishers will have nobody but the Panda with whom to negotiate a peace.’
The Grey Squirrel sipped noisily at his coffee. He seemed to accept everything Ormus was saying. Probably, it was no more than he had expected to hear.
Re-seating himself, the March Hare considered his own position. Was Ormus lying? Was he deluded? If he only had the Doctor’s word to go on, the March Hare wouldn’t believe a single word he had just heard. But there was no denying that the Secret Police had arrested his employer and that his employer had told him to see Doctor Ormus. And if, as it now looked likely, the Knave really was in the Red Orchestra, then it followed that Ormus himself was also a member.
Which means, reasoned the March Hare, I’m in danger of getting dragged into something I’d rather not know about. ‘I want to leave,’ he announced. ‘I want to get out of here and forget everything that’s been said.’
‘You can’t,’ said the Grey Squirrel. ‘You’re not going to run away from this one. Sooner or later it’s going to catch up with you, so you might as well face it now.’
‘I’m not going to face anything.’
‘Think again. It wasn’t by accident that you were sent to see Doctor Ormus this morning.’
‘I never supposed it was. But I’m still leaving anyway.’
Doctor Ormus got to his feet. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. It would make things very awkward.’
‘What he’s trying to say,’ added the Grey Squirrel, ‘is that he’s not going to let you walk out of here until he’s sure he can trust you. I’m afraid you’re stuck in that old cliché about knowing too much.’
As if to emphasise this point, Doctor Ormus reached into the pocket of his boiler suit and produced a pistol. He held it at hip level with its snout pointing at the March Hare’s head.
Julie’s face clouded over. She reached out her hand towards Ormus’ arm. He stepped away from her. ‘I hope I don’t have to use this,’ he said. ‘But I will if I have to. I don’t see any other choice.’
Rather than anger or fear, the March Hare felt despondency. ‘So it’s come to this,’ he said. ‘I’m now going to be murdered by someone I thought was a friend.’
‘Oh boy,’ said the Cheshire Cat, still grinning. ‘This is one party I don’t want to attend.’
And with that, he vanished.
‘Let’s all just sit down,’ said Julie reasonably. She turned to Doctor Ormus. ‘Do you think it necessary to point a gun at your friend? Why is it you men think you can always make things right by threatening violence?’
‘She has a point,’ said the Grey Squirrel. ‘We’re all in this together, remember? I’m sure that if you explain the circumstances to the Hare, he’ll see he has no choice but to join with us.’
‘Us being who?’ demanded the March Hare.
‘The Red Orchestra, of course. Your employer and mine were both involved in a conspiracy to topple the Panda. And now - like it or not - we’re also involved. Because unless we get rid of that tyrant, we’re not going to stay alive much longer.’
‘Put that bloody gun away,’ Julie insisted, giving Ormus a look that spoke volumes. ‘Before you hurt yourself.’
Like a chastised schoolboy, Ormus did as he was told. Without a word being spoken, all those standing sat down, looked pensively at each other and at their coffee. Only the lizard on the sideboard seemed unaffected by the recent drama.
The silence which followed was an emptiness, a vacuum into which something, sooner or later, had to be drawn. That something happened to be the Cheshire Cat, whose re-appearance at the table seemed inevitable. This time there were no gaps in him. He was complete and unabridged. ‘Crisis over?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Doctor Ormus, his voice level and subdued. ‘It’s over.’
‘Oh goody! Now we can play.’ The Cheshire Cat rolled onto his back. ‘Tickle my tummy. Treat me rough, daddy-o.’
Ormus declined. ‘Playtime will have to wait. I’ve got a job for you.’
The Cat sighed; his smile remained firm. ‘Work, work, work. That’s all I ever seem to do. I tell you something - whoever said it’s a dog’s life wasn’t far wrong.’
‘I want you to make contact with the Knave. Find out where he’s hidden the plans.’
‘So now I’m a messenger boy? It’s not enough that I keep the mice from your larder and the rats from your bed? I have to make like a pussy-gram! If my dear, sweet mother could see the way I’m treated...’
‘You don’t have a mother.’
‘No mother!’ cried the Cat. ‘No mother! You mean I’m an orphan? Is that any reason to treat me like a dogsbody? Where is your heart, man? Where is your compassion?’
Before Ormus could answer, the