Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

'Very good,' whispered Snell.

'Oh!' said the magistrate again. He briefly conferred with his clerks behind him, seemed rattled for a moment, stared at me again and said:

'It is the court's decision that you be one hour and five minutes late!'

'I am already one hour and five minutes late!' I announced to scattered applause from the room.

'Then,' said the magistrate simply, 'you have complied with the court's ruling and we may proceed.'

'Objection!' said Hopkins.

'Overruled,' replied the magistrate as he picked up a tatty notebook that lay on the table in front of him. He opened it, read something and passed the book to one of his clerks.

'Your name is Thursday N. You are a house-painter?'

'No, she—' said Snell.

'Yes,' I interrupted. 'I have been a house-painter, Your Honour.'

There was a stunned silence from the crowd, punctuated by someone at the back who yelled: 'Bravo!' before another spectator thumped him. The examining magistrate peered at me more closely.

'Is this relevant?' demanded Hopkins, addressing the bench.

'Silence!' yelled the magistrate, continuing slowly and with very real gravity: 'You mean to tell me that you have, at one time, been a house-painter?'

'Indeed, Your Honour. After I left school and before college I painted houses for two months. I think it might be safe to say that I was indeed – although not permanently – a house-painter.'

There was another burst of applause and excited murmuring.

'Herr S?' said the magistrate. 'Is this true?'

'We have several witnesses to attest to it, Your Honour,' answered Snell, getting into the swing of the strange proceedings.

The room fell silent again.

'Herr H,' said the magistrate, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his brow carefully and addressing Hopkins directly, 'I thought you told me the defendant was not a house-painter?'

Hopkins looked flustered.

'I didn't say she wasn't a house-painter, Your Honour, I merely said she was an operative for SpecOps 27.'

'To the exclusion of all other professions?' asked the magistrate.

'Well, no,' stammered Hopkins, now thoroughly confused.

'Yet you did not state she was not a house-painter in your affidavit, did you?'

'No, sir.'

'Well then!' said the magistrate, leaning back in his chair as another peal of laughter and spontaneous applause broke out for no reason. 'If you bring a case to my court, Herr H, I expect it to be brought with all the details intact. First she apologises for being late, then she readily agrees to having painted houses. Court procedure will not be compromised – your prosecution is badly flawed.'

Hopkins bit his lip and went a dark shade of crimson.

'I beg the court's pardon, Your Honour,' he replied through gritted teeth, 'but my prosecution is sound – may we proceed with the charge?'

'Bravo!' said the man at the back again.

The magistrate thought for a moment and handed me his dirty notebook and a fountain pen.