The Scarecrow and His Servant

  “It's Lord Scarecrow,” said Jack helpfully.

  “Leading the witness!” called one of the lawyers.

  “Strike it from the record,” said the judge. “You, boy, confine yourself to questions. Don't tell the witness what to say.”

  “All right,” said Jack. “He's called Lord Scarecrow. I'm his servant, by the way.”

  “And a very good one!” said the Scarecrow.

  “Silence!” called the judge. “Get on with the examination, boy, and as for you, you scoundrel, hold your tongue.”

  The Scarecrow nodded approvingly and beamed at everyone. The people in the public gallery began to giggle.

  “Now then,” said Jack, “I put it to you, Lord Scarecrow, that this United Benevolent Improvement Society is not the legal owner of Spring Valley.”

  “Quite right,” said the Scarecrow.

  “Then who is?”

  “I am!”

  “And can you prove that?”

  “I hope so,” said the Scarecrow doubtfully.

  The people in the gallery began to laugh.

  “Silence in court!” said the judge, and glared furiously. When everyone was quiet again, he said to Jack, “If you don't get to the point, I shall have you both arrested for wasting the court's time. Has your witness got anything useful to say, or has he not?”

  “Oh, indeed he has, your lordship. Let me just ask him again.”

  “You can't go on asking him the same question!”

  “Just once more. Honest.”

  “Once, then.”

  “Thank you very much, your lordship. Right. Here goes. Lord Scarecrow, how do you know that you are the owner of Spring Valley?”

  “Ah!” said the Scarecrow. “I've got an inner conviction. I've always had it. In fact, I've got it here,” he went on, fumbling in his chest. “I know it's here somewhere. Yes! Here it is!”

  “Yes, that's it,” said Jack. “Your lordship, members of the jury, ladies and gentlemen, this piece of paper proves beyond any doubt whatsoever that Spring Valley belongs to Lord Scarecrow, and these United Benevolizers are being illegal. I rest my case.”

  “But what does it say, you stupid boy?” snapped the judge. “Get your client to read it out to the court.”

  “Well, he's never learned to read, your lordship.”

  “Well, you read it, then!”

  “But I never learned to read either. It's a big drawback, and if I'd known then what I know now, I'd have arranged to be born into a rich family and not into a poor one. I'm sure I'd have learned to read, then.”

  “If you don't know how to read,” demanded the judge, “how do you know what's on that paper? I warn you, boy, you're in great danger!”

  “My lord,” said one of the lawyers, “all he has to do is hand it to your lordship, and your lordship can read it out for the benefit of the court.”

  “Oh no, you don't,” said Jack at once. “We want separate verification, according to the principle of non independentem judgi nogoodi.So there.”

  This was getting more and more difficult. But just then Jack saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up at a high window to see Granny Raven making her way in, accompanied by a very nervous-looking blackbird. She made the blackbird sit in the corner of the windowsill and didn't let him move.

  “However,” Jack went on, relieved, “I think I can see a way out of this legal minefield. I'd like to invite my associate Granny Raven to come and take over this part of the case.”

  Granny Raven glided down and perched on the table next to Jack, causing great excitement among the public and great consternation on the part of the lawyers. They went into a huddle, and then Mr. Cercorelli said:

  “My lord, it is quite impossible to allow this, on the grounds of ridiculus birdis pretendibus lawyerorum.”

  But Jack said at once, “My client is only a poor scarecrow, without a penny to his name. Is the law of the land designed only for the rich? Surely not! And if, out of the goodness of her heart, this raven—this poor, elderly, shabby, broken-down old bird—offers to represent the Scarecrow, because she is all he can afford, then surely this great court and this noble judge will not deny my client the meager help that she can bring? Look at the vast wealth, the profound resources, the eminent legal minds ranged against us! Your lordship, members of the jury, ladies and gentlemen of the public—is there no justice to be had in the Assizes of Bella Fontana? Is there no mercy—”

  “All right, all right,” sighed the judge, who could see that everyone in the public gallery was nodding in sympathy. “Let the bird speak on behalf of the Scarecrow.”

  “I should think so, too,” said Granny Raven, and then added quietly to Jack, “Shabby and broken-down, eh? I'll have a word with you later.”

  The Scarecrow was watching everything with great interest.

  “Well, go on, then,” said the judge.

  “Right,” said Granny Raven. “Now pay attention. You, Scarecrow, step down from the witness box. I want to summon two more witnesses before I speak to you again. Mr. and Mrs. Piccolini, into the witness box.”

  Nervously, arm in arm, the elderly couple who'd been packing to leave their cottage came through the courtroom and stepped up into the box.

  Once they'd given their names and addresses, Granny Raven said:

  “Now tell the court what happened just before your neighbor died.”

  “Well, our neighbor, Mr. Pandolfo,” said Mrs. Piccolini, “he hadn't been well, poor old man, and when he asked us to step over to his house, we thought he was going to ask us to call the doctor. But instead he just asked us to watch him sign a piece of paper, and then to sign it as well. So we did.”

  “Did he tell you what was on the paper?”

  “No.”

  “Would you recognize the paper again?”

  “Yes. Mr. Pandolfo was drinking some coffee, and he spilled a drop or two on the corner of the paper. So it would have a stain on it.”

  Granny Raven turned to Jack and said, “Go on, open it up.”

  Jack opened the oilskin package and held up the paper. As the old woman had said, there was a coffee stain on the corner. Everyone gasped.

  All the lawyers rose to their feet at once, protesting, but Granny Raven clacked her beak so loudly that they all fell still.

  “Don't you want to hear what the paper says?” she said. “Because everybody else does.”

  They went into a huddle, and after a minute one of them said, “We are willing to agree to the letter's being read out by an independent witness.”

  “In that case,” said Jack, “we nominate that lady in the jury box.”

  He pointed to an old lady in a blue dress. The Scarecrow stood up and bowed to her, and she looked very flustered and said, “Well, if you like, I don't mind.”

  She put on a pair of glasses, and Jack handed her the letter. She quickly skimmed it through and said, “Oh, dear. Poor old man!”

  Then the old lady read in a clear voice:

  “‘This letter was written by me, Carlo Pandolfo, being of sound mind, but not very well in the legs, and is addressed to whom it may concern.

  “‘As I am the legal owner of Spring Valley, and I can dispose of it however I please, I choose this manner of settling the ownership after I peg out.

  “‘And I particularly want to keep the farm and all the springs and wells and watercourses and ponds and streams and fountains out of the hands of my cousins those rascal Buffalonis because I don't trust any of them and they are a pack of scoundrels every one.

  “‘And I have no wife or children or nieces or nephews.

  “‘And no friends either except Mr. and Mrs. Piccolini down the hill.

  “‘So I shall make a scarecrow and place him in the three-acre field by the orchard and in him I shall put this letter.

  “‘And this letter shall be my last will and testament.

  “‘And I leave Spring Valley with all its buildings and springs and wells and watercourses and pond
s and streams and fountains to the said scarecrow and it shall belong to him in perpetuity and I wish him good luck.

  “‘That is all I have to say.

  “‘Carlo Pandolfo.’”

  When the lady reached the end of the letter, there was a silence.

  Then the Scarecrow said, “Well, I did tell you I had an inner conviction.”

  And then there was an uproar. All the lawyers began talking at once, all the people in the public gallery turned to one another and said, “Did you hear that? Well, I never—have you ever heard—and what about—”

  The clerk of the court called for silence, and everyone stopped to see what the judge would say. But it was Granny Raven who spoke.

  “There you are,” she said. “That's the long and the short of it. The will is legal, and properly witnessed, and Spring Valley belongs to the Scarecrow, and we can all—”

  “One moment,” said Mr. Cercorelli. “Not so fast. We haven't finished yet.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Surprise Witness

  Everyone looked at the judge. The look on his face was enough to make Jack feel that all his ribs had come loose and fallen into the pit of his stomach.

  “The first witness has yet to be cross-examined,” he said. “Mr. Cercorelli, you may proceed.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said the lawyer.

  Jack looked at Granny Raven. What was going to happen now? But he couldn't read any expression on the old bird's face.

  The Scarecrow climbed back up into the witness box, smiling all around. Mr. Cercorelli smiled back, and the two of them looked like the best of friends.

  Then the lawyer began:

  “You are the scarecrow mentioned in the letter we have just heard?”

  “Oh yes,” said the Scarecrow.

  “You are sure of that?”

  “Absolutely sure.”

  “No doubt at all?”

  “No. None whatsoever. I'm certainly me, and I always have been.”

  “Well, Mr. Scarecrow, let us examine your claim a little more closely. Let us examine you a little more closely!” he said, smiling at everyone again.

  The Scarecrow smiled back.

  “Let's examine your left hand, for example,” said the lawyer. “It's a remarkable hand, is it not?”

  “Oh yes. It keeps the rain off!” said the Scarecrow, opening his umbrella, and closing it again quickly when the judge frowned at him.

  “And where did you get such a splendid hand?”

  “From the marketplace in the town, where I starred in The Tragical History of Harlequin and Queen Dido,” said the Scarecrow proudly. “It was a great performance. First I came on as—”

  “I'm sure it was enthralling. But we're talking about your hand. You lost your original hand, did you?”

  “Yes. It came off, so my servant got me this one.”

  “Splendid, splendid. Now can you show us your right hand?”

  The Scarecrow stuck his right hand in the air.

  “It looks like a road sign,” said the lawyer. “Is that what it was?”

  “Oh yes. It points, you see. As soon as my servant got this for me, I became very good at pointing.”

  “And why did your servant get you a new right hand?”

  “Because the first one broke off.”

  “I see. Thank you. So you have neither of the arms you were—ahem—born with?”

  Jack jumped up to protest. He could see where this was leading.

  “Your lordship, it doesn't make any difference which bits have been replaced—he's still the same scarecrow!”

  “Oh, but it does, your lordship,” said Mr. Cercorelli. “We are seeking to establish how much of the original scarecrow created by Mr. Pandolfo still remains. If there is none, then the will is null and void, and the estate of Spring Valley passes to the United Benevolent Improvement Society, according to the principle absolutem absurditas scaribirdibus landlordum.”

  “Quite right,” said the judge. “Carry on.”

  And in spite of Jack's protests, Mr. Cercorelli went through the Scarecrow's whole story, showing how every bit of him had been replaced, including the very straw inside him.

  “And so, members of the jury,” he concluded, “we can see clearly that the scarecrow made by Mr. Pandolfo, the scarecrow to whom he intended to leave Spring Valley, no longer exists. Every component particle of him has been scattered to the four winds. There is nothing left. This gentleman in the witness box, so proud of his left hand that keeps the rain off and his right hand that points so well, is no more than a fraud and an impostor.”

  “Hey!” said Jack. “No, no, wait a minute!”

  “Silence!” said the judge. “Members of the jury, you have heard an account of the most shameless attempt at fraud, deception, malfeasance, embezzlement, and theft that it has ever been my misfortune to hear about. Your duty now is very simple. You have to retire to the jury room and decide to do as I tell you. You must find for the defendants and decide that the United Benevolent Improvement Society are the true owners of Spring Valley. The court will—”

  “Hold on,” said a harsh old voice. “What did that scoundrel say a minute ago? Not so fast, he said. We haven't finished yet.”

  Every head turned to look at Granny Raven.

  “Everybody listening?” she said. “I should think so, too. We've got three more witnesses to call. It won't take long. The next witness is Mr. Giovanni Stracciatelli.”

  Jack had never heard of him, and neither had anyone else. The lawyers all huddled together and whispered, but they didn't know what to do, and when Mr. Stracciatelli came to the witness box carrying a large leather-bound book, all they could do was watch suspiciously.

  “You are Giovanni Stracciatelli?” said Granny Raven.

  “I am.”

  “And what is your occupation?”

  “I am the Commissioner of Registered Charities.”

  At once all the lawyers rose to their feet and protested, but Granny Raven's voice was louder than all of them.

  “You stop your fuss!” she cawed. “You brought up the subject of charities, and you claimed that the United Benevolent Improvement Society was a proper charity registered under the Act, so let's have a good look at it. Mr. Stracciatelli, would you please read out the names of the trustees of the United Benevolent Improvement Society?”

  Mr. Stracciatelli put on a pair of glasses and opened his book.

  “Trustees of the United Benevolent Improvement Society,” he read. “Luigi Buffaloni, Piero Buffaloni, Federico Buffaloni, Silvio Buffaloni, Giuseppe Buffaloni, and Marcello Buffaloni.”

  Gasps from the public gallery—more protests from the lawyers.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stracciatelli, you can step down,” said Granny Raven. “I'd like to remind the court of Mr. Pandolfo's opinion concerning the Buffalonis. This is what his letter says: ‘I particularly want to keep the farm and all the springs and wells and watercourses and ponds and streams and fountains out of the hands of my cousins those rascal Buffalonis because I don't trust any of them and they are a pack of scoundrels every one.’”

  Still more protests. The judge was looking very sour indeed.

  “Now you may say,” said Granny Raven, “that Mr. Pandolfo was wrong about the Buffalonis. You may claim that every Buffaloni born is a perfect angel. That is all beside the point. The point is that Mr. Pandolfo did not want his land to go to the Buffalonis, and he did want to leave it to the scarecrow.”

  “But the scarecrow no longer exists!” shouted Mr. Cercorelli. “I've just proved it!”

  “You were concerned with his component particles, not with the whole entity,” said Granny Raven. “So let us take you at your word and assume that all that matters is the stuff he's made of. I call our next witness, Mr. Bernard Blackbird.”

  The blackbird flew down and perched on the witness box. He was very nervous of the Scarecrow, who was watching him closely.

  “Name?” said Granny Raven.

  �
�Bernard.”

  “Tell the court about your dealings with the Scarecrow.”

  “Don't want to.”

  Granny Raven clacked her beak, and Bernard squeaked in terror.

  “All right! I will! Just let me think. It's all gone dark in me mind.”

  “You wake your ideas up, my lad,” said Granny Raven, “or you'll be flying home with no feathers. Tell the court what you told me.”

  “I'm scared of him,” said Bernard, looking at the Scarecrow.

  “He won't hurt you. Do as you're told.”

  “All right, if I have to. It was on the road somewhere. I was ever so hungry. I seen him coming out of a caravan, and then I seen him banging his head. Mind you, that was a different head. That was a turnip.”

  “Never mind what sort of head it was. What was he doing?”

  “Banging it. He was whacking hisself on the bonce. Then summing fell out, and him and the little geezer bent down to look at it, and—”

  “My brain!” cried the Scarecrow. “So it was you, you scoundrel!”

  “Silence!” shouted the judge. “Witness, carry on.”

  “I forgot what I was saying,” whined the blackbird. “When he shouts at me, I get all nervous. I'm highly strung, I can't help it. You shouldn't let him shout like that. It's not fair. I'm only young.”

  “Stop complaining,” said Granny Raven. “What happened next? Something fell out of his head. What was it?”

  “It was a pea. A dried pea.”

  “It was my brain,” said the Scarecrow passionately. “Stop him!” cried Bernard, flinching. “He's gonna hit me! He is! He give me a really cruel look!”

  “You'll get worse than that from me,” said Granny Raven. “Tell the court what you did.”

  “Well, I thought he didn't have no more use for it, so I ate it. I was hungry,” he said piteously. “I hadn't had nothing for days, and when I seen that pea, I thought he was just throwing it away. So I come down and pecked it up. I never knew it was important. It didn't taste very nice, either. It was ever so dry.”

  “That'll do.”

  “It give me a bellyache.”

  “I said that's enough!”