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The Duke and Duchess of Loxley were seated on their thrones. The Duke was wearing a great badger hair wig. The Knave of Brookfield was standing before them in chains, guarded on one side by snarling Guardsman Turner, and on the other by embarrassed Guardsman Carter. Near the Duke was the Welsh Rabbit, dressed as a herald, with a trumpet in one hand and a scroll of parchment in the other.

The jurors in the jury box, who were a random selection of Ambridge country folk, some Speaking and some Silent, were busy scratching their names (or in some cases, a large X) on the slates they were holding, in case they should forget who they were before the end of the trial.

This was a common problem in Ambridge. Once, people thought they knew who everyone was - it was a small village after all - but then someone they thought was nursemaid to the Squire's children told everyone she was really the schoolmistress, and the Knave's sweetheart later told everyone she was really the village parson. This caused great hilarity (and anger from the blue-rinsed Lady Oliphant) for how could a woman be a parson? In the end, this same woman turned out to be the doctor's wife. After a slightly wooden visitor from Billund then announced he was really the long-lost child of the Squire's wife, nobody believed who anyone was anymore, and they all called each other by their names at every opportunity, just to be sure who they were speaking to. Ageing Yeoman Joseph insisted on using a person's full name, just in case.

The Welsh Rabbit cried out, "Silence in court!"
The Duke said, "Herald, read the accusation!"
At this, the Welsh Rabbit blew her trumpet three times, unrolled the parchment, and read as follows:

"It happened on a summer's day -
The Knave went out to make some hay.
He saw the badger in his yard,
And he did yell out very hard,
'Ruth, go at once and fetch my gun
And I will blast the stripy one.'
He shot the badger in his tracks
Now you know, these are the facts."

"Consider your verdict," the Duke said to the jury.
"Not yet, not yet," said the Welsh Rabbit hastily, "There's a great deal to come before that! First witness!"
The first witness was Yeoman Joseph. He came in with a cup of tea in one hand, and a large piece of lemon drizzle cake in the other. "Beg pardon, Yer Honour, but I hadn't finished me tea when I was sent for."
"You ought to have finished," admonished the Duke. "When did you begin?"
Yeoman Joseph looked at the figure with straw in his thinning hair who had followed him into the court. "Fourteenth, weren't it, Marchpane Albert?"
"Fifteenth," said Albert, who was also carrying a large slice of cake.

Usha, who had been observing the strange legal proceedings with great interest, turned to her neighbour, the Shulshire Cat (for whom she felt some unaccountable revulsion) and asked, "Why is he called Marchpane Albert? He doesn't look like a pastry cook."

"You're right, he's a peasant farm hand. His name is because he loves marchpane so much that he steals it from cakes at every opportunity. His wife spends most of her time in the kitchen making extra marchpane just for him." The Shulshire Cat smiled widely at Usha, but the effect was rather grotesque.

"Take off your hat," the Duke said to Joseph.
"'Snot a hat, it's me hair, Yer Honour," said Joseph.
The Duchess put on her spectacles, and stared very hard at Joseph, who began to fidget. "Looks like a badger pelt to me," she remarked. Joseph went rather pale.
"Give your evidence," said the Duke, "and don't be nervous or I'll have you executed on the spot." This did not seem to encourage the witness at all.

The Duchess had started to stare at Marchpane Albert. She then said sharply to one of the officers of the court, "Fetch me the handbill for the last mummers' play at Loxley Hall." At this, Albert trembled so much that both his clogs fell off.

"I'm a poor old man, Yer Honour," said Joseph in a pathetic voice, accompanied by much coughing, "and I suffer with farmer's lung." He coughed even more in demonstration. "I'd begun me tea, not above a week ago, and Marchpane Albert saidÂ…"
"I didn't!" interrupted Albert, in a great hurry.
"Did!"
"I deny it!"
"He denies it," sighed the Duke, "Leave out that part."
"After that," continued Yeoman Joseph, "I got Clarissa dearest to make another steak pie.."
"This is irrelevant," scowled the Duchess. "What about the badger?"
"I'm a poor man, Yer Honour," said Joseph miserably to the Duke.
"You're a very poor speaker," said the Duke, smiling broadly at everyone in the court. One of the jurors, a woman wearing a heavy llama hair shawl, cheered vociferously, and was immediately admonished by an officer of the court. The Duchess looked up from the list of mummers, and raised her eyes skywards.

"If that's all you know about it, you may go," said the Duke. Yeoman Joseph bowed hurriedly, and exited so quickly that he left his cup of tea behind. He was swiftly followed by Marchpane Albert.
"And just take that so-called poet's head off outside," the Duchess added loudly, her finger marking a certain name on the mummers' handbill.

"Call the next witness," said the Duke.
The next witness was the cook of the great house Oliphant Towers. He entered the court with a confident stride, in complete contrast to Yeoman Joseph's demeanour. Everyone knew who it was long before he entered the room, as he was preceded by the delicious aroma of frying garlic.

"You are cook at Oliphant Towers?" asked the Duke.
"I am ze chef at Oliphant Towers, yes," he answered.
"Give your evidence," said the Duke.
"I shall not," replied the chef disdainfully.
The Duke looked anxiously at the Welsh Rabbit. She told him firmly in a low voice, "Your Honour must cross-examine this witness."
"Well, if I must, I must," the Duke said with a melancholy air. He folded his arms, and frowned at the chef, "What is badger pie made of?"
"Garlic mostly," replied the chef, with a sniff.

The Duke looked helplessly at the Duchess, who was looking extremely bored. She then seemed to become more animated, and she addressed the chef: "Tell me, Monsieur Chef, why I should not have your head cut off?"
"Because, Madame, if you do, you will never taste my spécialité again."
"But I will cut off your head unless you come to work for me," replied the Duchess triumphantly.
The chef shrugged his assent, and left the court.

"Call the next witness," said the Duke, with an air of relief. "My dear, you must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my head ache."
"I doubt if it's the witnesses that make your head ache, Nigel," replied the Duchess in a not-quite-quiet-enough-not-to-be-overheard voice, "It's much more likely to be all that wine you've been testing."
The Welsh Rabbit fumbled over the list, and then read out the next name at the top of her voice, "Mistress Horribadger!"

In walked a middle-aged badger dressed in a holey shawl, with a gaudy scarf tied as a turban on top of her head.
"I understand you are the deceased's mother?" asked the Duke.
"I am Sir," replied the badger nervously.
"Come, come now. There's no need to be afraid," said the Duke.
"Give your evidence," said the Duchess imperiously to Mistress Horribadger, "or the Duke will have you executed whether you're nervous or not."
Mistress Horribadger began to cry softly, but managed to speak as well: "My son was a good boy, he never did anyone any harmÂ…"
"He was a thief and a vagabond!" cried the Knave, who had remained uncharacteristically silent for some time now. A murmur of agreement came from the jury box. One juror, Barefoot the Gamekeeper said, "He deserved to be shot!" but a look from the Duchess silenced him.
"He was even dressed like a thief," continued the Knave, "what with his stripy mask and all."

The Duke stared hard at Mistress Horribadger, for she too wore a stripy mask. The badger had begun crying so much that she was unable to speak. The Duke sighed wearily, and waved her away. Mistress Horribadger left the court as fast as possible.

The Duke looked at the Welsh Rabbit, who had been trying to hide behind the jury box ever since the badger had entered the room. She returned to her station, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, checked her parchment roll, and announced:
"Usha!"

"Here," cried Usha, who had been following the trial with puzzled fascination, and had been busy thinking to herself, "They haven't got much evidence yet."

However, Usha had forgotten that she was wearing her sari, she was so used to her usual skirts, and she inadvertently stood on the front of it. A great length of beautiful blue material came loose, and she tripped over it, tipping over the jury box as she fell. (It was then that she realised that she had grown somewhat in relation to her companions.) All the jurors fell out, and lay sprawling about. The woman in the llama wool shawl looked especially annoyed.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Usha, getting up, and after she had rapidly adjusted her clothing, she picked up each juror in turn, and returned them all to the jury box.
"What do you know about this business?" asked the Duke.
"Nothing," said Usha.
"Nothing whatever?"
Usha agreed that this was indeed so.
"That's very important," the Duke said to the jury.
The Welsh Rabbit interrupted: "Unimportant Your Honour means of course." She sounded very respectful, but was also frowning and pulling faces.
"Unimportant of course I meant," agreed the Duke.

Usha noticed that some of the jurors had written "important", and some had written "unimportant". The ones who could not write were doodling. Kenton Bowman was playing hangman with his neighbour, Derek Flizzard.
The Duke sighed. "Consider your verdict," he said to the jury.
"There's more evidence to come yet, please Your Honour," said the Welsh Rabbit hurriedly, "This paper has just been picked up."
"What's in it?" asked the Duchess.
"I haven't opened it yet," replied the Welsh Rabbit, "but it seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to - er - somebody."
"It must have been," said the Duke sagely, "unless it was written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know."
"I wouldn't put anything past the Knave," remarked the Duchess darkly.

The Welsh Rabbit unfolded the paper: "Oh, it isn't a letter at all, it's a message board printout."
"Is it a posting from the prisoner?" asked Derek Flizzard.
"No, and that's the queerest thing of all," said the rabbit. The jury all looked puzzled.
"Ah, he must have logged in as somebody else," said the Duke. "That makes it even worse."
"That proves his guilt," said the Duchess. "He must have meant mischief, or he would have used his own name like an honest man."
There was some clapping of hands at this. Usha could bear it no longer. "It proves nothing. You don't even know what it's about."
"Read it," said the Duke.
The Welsh Rabbit put on her spectacles, and read out the following:

"Beast Four Square - 666th post - 31 Oct
She wants his home as well as her own
No matter how rich she is
Her favourite words are 'It's not fair
It should be mine not his'

When she learns of his latest crime
She will have a hissy fit
She will say that he never had brains
And look for someone to hit

She will complain she's loved the least
And fume and rage and scream
Then he will come and calm her down
With champagne, strawberries and cream."

"That's the most important piece of evidence yet," said the Duke, but he was frowning a little, and looked sideways at the Duchess.
Usha, who was so tall now that she was not scared of anyone, said, "I don't believe anyone can explain it."
"Well, if we can't explain it, it saves a deal of trouble," said the Duke. "Yet, I don't know, I seem to see some meaning in it. It talks about his latest crime - that must be the badger shooting, you know." The Knave looked very miserable at this.
"All right so far," said the Duke. He muttered some of the lines to himself, " 'Â…she will have a hissy fitÂ…' Do you know anyone who has hissy fits, my dear?" he asked the Duchess.
"Certainly not!" said the Duchess furiously, throwing an inkstand at the jury box, where it hit Derek Flizzard, who was covered in ink, as was the unfinished game of hangman.
"Then the words don't fit you," said the Duke, looking around the court, very pleased with himself. There was a dead silence. "It's a pun," the Duke said in an offended tone. Immediately everyone laughed. Then the Duke said, "Let the jury consider their verdict."
"No, no!" said the Duchess, "Sentence first, verdict afterwards! Off with his head!""
"What nonsense," cried Usha, "The idea of having the sentence first!"
"Hold your tongue!" screamed the Duchess, turning purple.
"I won't!" retorted Usha.
"Off with her head!" the Duchess shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody moved.
"Who cares for you?" said Usha (who was her normal full size by now). "You're nothing but a load of midgets who live inside the radio!"

At this, everyone in the court stood up at once, and all shouting together, they advanced on her. Usha was a little worried by the sharp weapons carried by the guardsmen, and she backed away. She tripped over the back of her sari this time, and fell over Â….

Â… and woke up, lying on the bank of the Am next to Ashok, who smiled languidly at her, as she realised that sharp blades of sun-dried grass were sticking into her bare legs and arms. "What a long sleep you've had," said Ashok.

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream," said Usha, and she told him about the very strange trial. When she had finished, Ashok laughed, kissed her, agreed it was indeed very strange, and then said it must be time for tea, "And we can use your new dormouse-shaped teapot to make it in."