Noughts and Crosses, Malorie Blackman [types of ebook readers .txt] 📗

‘You are charged, by means of the afore-mentioned state crime of political terrorism, with the murder of Aysha Pilling,’ the clerk continued. ‘How d’you plead? Guilty or Not Guilty?’

Dad’s reply was stronger this time. ‘Not guilty.’

And that was his reply to each of the separate charges read out to him. By the time the clerk had read the seventh murder charge, he had to shout to make himself heard.

So did Dad. ‘NOT GUILTY!’

The courtroom erupted. The judge had everyone in the public gallery thrown out of the court, but I didn’t care. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

Not guilty! You tell ’em Dad!

sixty-seven. Sephy

I got the shock of my life. I received a subpoena saying I had to be in court on the following Monday. The subpoena was sent via Mother as I was underage, making her directly responsible for making sure that I turned up on the right day at the right time.

‘Why do they want me there?’ I said horrified, as I stared down at a whole load of legal jargon that I didn’t really understand.

‘That’s what comes from hanging around noughts,’ Minnie told me maliciously.

I was about to tell her where to go, when to my surprise, Mother jumped in before me.

‘Minerva, if you kept quiet, you’d at least give the illusion that there’s more in your head than just air!’ Mother snapped.

Minnie flounced out at that – and good riddance. I turned to smile at Mother but her expression wasn’t much better than Minnie’s.

‘This is exactly why I’ve always warned you to stay away from that boy – and his whole family,’ Mother told me. ‘Now our names are going to be dragged into court and through the mud and the newspapers are going to be ecstatic. Your father isn’t going to like this one little bit.’

‘It’s hardly my fault,’ I tried to defend myself.

‘Then whose fault is it?’ Mother snapped. ‘Sephy, it’s time you learnt that if you lie down with dogs, you’re bound to get fleas.’

And she left the room, leaving me to stare after her.

sixty-eight. Callum

‘Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?’

I looked down at the Good Book under my hand. It was cool, almost cold beneath my fingers. The truth . . . Which version of the truth would this Cross court find acceptable?

‘I do,’ I replied. Although I spoke quietly, my voice rang out throughout the courtroom. They’d obviously turned my microphone up to maximum. They didn’t want to miss a word. And I didn’t want to say a word, afraid that one stray syllable would be the death of my dad. I looked around. The judge sat behind a raised platform. The witness box where I stood was next to the judge’s platform from where we could both look out over the rest of the court. The prosecution lawyer, a hard-faced man called Shaun Pingule QC, sat glaring at me. Kelani Adams looked straight ahead, barely blinking. She looked like she was in a world of her own. Mind you, this was her world. It sure wasn’t mine.

‘You may be seated,’ Judge Anderson told me.

‘No,’ I said, adding as an afterthought. ‘Thank you. I’d rather stand.’

The judge turned away with just the slightest raising of one shoulder.

Shaun Pingule stood up. I held my breath.

‘Could you state your full name for the record, please?’

Nothing to catch me out there. Or was there? Think. Keep your answers short, Callum.

‘Callum Ryan McGregor.’

‘Do you belong to the Liberation Militia?’

Kelani Adams jumped to her feet. ‘I object, Your Honour. Callum McGregor is not on trial here.’

‘It goes to witness credibility, Your Honour,’ Pingule argued.

‘I’ll allow it,’ the judge replied.

Pingule repeated his question. ‘Do you belong to the Liberation Militia?’

‘No, I don’t,’ I replied before the last word had died away.

‘So you don’t?’

‘That’s right. I don’t.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Your Honour . . .’ Kelani was on her feet again.

‘Move on, Mr Pingule,’ Judge Anderson directed.

I stole a glance at the jury. Pingule had set me up and no mistake. By asking me the same question over and over, he’d made it out without saying explicitly that I was lying. I could see the suspicion in the faces of the jury already and I’d only been asked one question – admittedly three different ways, but only one question.

‘Does your father belong to the Liberation Militia?’

I glanced across to where Dad sat. He was looking straight ahead, somewhere years ahead or years behind. ‘No, he doesn’t,’ I replied.

Had I waited too long to answer? Had the jury been aware of the slight pause before I spoke? I glanced at them again. Two of them were writing something down in their notepads.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because my father wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Whereas the Liberation Militia would?’ Pingule asked, dryly.

‘Objection, Your Honour!’

‘Sustained.’

‘My dad doesn’t belong to the L.M.,’ I repeated.

‘Callum, what’s your opinion of the L.M.?’

‘Your Honour, objection . . .’

‘Overruled.’ The judge didn’t even look at Dad’s lawyer this time. His eyes were on me.

My opinion of the L.M. . . .? What should I say to that? I looked around. The noughts in the public gallery waited for me to answer. So did Dad’s lawyer. So did the jury. So did Dad . . .

‘I . . . any organization which promotes equality between noughts and Crosses is . . .’ My mind went blank. I was starting to panic inside. What should I do now? ‘Noughts and Crosses should be equal,’ I tried again. ‘I support anyone who tries to bring that about.’

‘I see. And the end justifies the means does it?’

Kelani jumped to her feet again. A yo-yo had nothing on her. ‘Your Honour …’

‘Withdrawn,’ Pingule said with an airy wave of his hand.

I glanced at the jury. The statement may have been withdrawn but it’d done its work.

‘Did your father ever mention belonging to or joining the