“I suppose the two of you will do,” Bluebeard continued. “Gentlemen, will you tell us what you do for a living?”
“We’re architects,” Boarman said, “though not too long ago we were deputies for the Ferryport Landing Police Department.”
“Fascinating,” Bluebeard said. “According to the famous story of the three pigs, the three of you had a run in with the Big Bad Wolf. Is that correct?”
Boarman and Swineheart nodded.
“And if I’ve heard the story correctly, the three of you each built yourselves a home. One made a house out of straw, the other made a house of twigs, and the last—brick. Which one of you built which house?”
“I built the twig one,” Swineheart said.
“And I built the brick,” Boarman replied.
Bluebeard smiled and turned to the jury. “Now, I’m not a builder, but I know a thing or two about houses. You have to build them out of strong materials. Twigs are not going to pass building codes, but if you bribe the right official you might get away with it.”
“I never bribed anyone in my life!” Swineheart cried.
Bluebeard ignored him. “But bricks are a pretty good building material. However, very few people would choose to build a house out of straw, would they?”
Boarman and Swineheart said nothing.
“Straw would fall down at the slightest wind. Straw would fall apart at the first rain. I could break into a straw house with a lawn mower!” Bluebeard shouted, causing a large portion of the gallery to chuckle. “But I’m no architect. Perhaps there’s something to this straw house. Tell me what happened to those houses.”
Swineheart rolled his eyes impatiently. “The Wolf came along and blew two of them down. The brick house survived.”
“He blew two of these houses down! How frightening! Do you see this wolf in the courtroom today?” Bluebeard asked. He turned to face Mr. Canis and a victorious smile crept across his face.
“Nope,” said the pigs.
Bluebeard’s face fell. “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” he said. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly. I asked the two of you if either of you saw the Wolf in the courtroom.”
“We know,” Boarman said. “The answer was no.”
Sabrina’s head was swimming with questions. She knew the story of the pigs well. She also knew that Mr. Canis had been the one to destroy their homes. Were the pigs lying for him?
“You don’t see the Wolf?” Bluebeard asked as he pointed at Mr. Canis.
Swineheart puffed up his chest and grinned. “That ain’t the Wolf. That’s a fellow we know by the name of Mr. Canis.”
“Don’t play games with me!” Bluebeard bellowed and slammed his fist down on this table. “The Wolf and Mr. Canis are the same person.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Boarman added. “They aren’t the same person. Mr. Canis is the man; the Wolf is a monster locked up inside him. If you put Mr. Canis on trial for crimes the Wolf committed, you’re punishing the wrong man.”
The audience erupted into babble but quickly stopped when Judge Hatter tossed his hammer through a window.
“Fine, let me ask you this,” Bluebeard pressed. “Would the two of you characterize yourselves as friends of the Wolf . . . I mean Mr. Canis?”
“Well, sure,” Boarman said.
“We’re not hanging out at the ice-cream parlor together, but I’d say we have a lot of respect for him. We’ve helped one another in the past,” Swineheart explained.
“Would you say Ernest Hamstead was friends with Mr. Canis?”
“Ernest was very close with Relda Grimm,” Boarman continued. “He spent a lot more time with Canis. I think he’d come to trust him. I’d say they were good friends.”
“So your missing friend, Ernest Hamstead, and Mr. Canis were chummy. This Mr. Hamstead is an interesting fellow. He built a house out of straw and was surprised at how easily it was demolished. He also came to befriend the monster that destroyed his property and tried to eat him. He sounds very trusting.” Bluebeard turned to face Mr. Canis. “Maybe a little too trusting. Tell me, monster, were you truly friends with the pigs or have you been biding your time, waiting for the day when you could finish the diabolical work you started with a huff and a puff?”’
Mr. Canis snarled.
“Let’s face it. Hamstead doesn’t sound like the sharpest knife in the drawer. Did you finally see the opportunity to kill the dumbest of the bunch and feast on his bones? Did you kill and eat Mr. Hamstead like you did Little Red Riding Hood’s defenseless old grandmother?”
“Objection!” Robin Hood shouted. “Mr. Canis is not on trial for killing Mr. Hamstead. There is no proof that Hamstead is even dead. Where is the body? Where is the murder weapon?”