A couple of days later Fokso and Eridian were driving through Master Jabber’s neighborhood on their way to lunch at Mephistopheles' in the Corn District. Eridian was happily chatting about how her nephew Bartholomew didn’t have enough money to buy a house in New Cerebus and whether it would be impolite to offer to help them with the down payment. All at once, her eyes fell on Jabber’s house and koi pond.

  “Stop!” Eridian yelled. “Stop right here!”

  Fokso immediately pulled the reins, bringing the chaise to a sudden halt. “What?!” he asked in worried confusion. “What is it?”

  “That son of a bitch!” Eridian said, jumping off the chaise and running over Jabber’s lawn to the koi pond. There, placed among the shrubs near the koi pond was what remained of Eridian’s bust. Most of the top of its head had been broken off and the face destroyed except for the piercing eyes. The end result was a shallow indentation on the top of the stone bust that had been apparently smoothed out and filled with water, turning it into a bird bath. As Eridian neared she saw that it was already covered in bird poop, white and black feces covering the hair and eyes.

  She fell to her knees in front of it. “You destroyed it Jabber! You little turd. You piece of shit! Look at it! It’s covered in bird shit! It was beautiful, so beautiful. I hate you Jabber! You lying piece of shit! You bald little cuckold!” She broke down and cried into her hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

  Hoping to avoid a scene, Fokso gently helped his wife up, whispering encouraging nothings into her ear and led her back to the chaise. He took a last look back at the broken bust and grinned with happiness before getting back into the carriage next to his weeping wife. He would never see that bust again!

  ***

  After the disastrous lunch meeting with Angelica, Master Jabber was served notice to attend an inquiry at the Commission on Celestial Relations. While it was still one step removed from a full case, the inquiry was a dangerous escalation in the seriousness of Angelica’s legal actions. Jabber was now growing nervous it might all eventually spill over and even threaten his position at the university.

  That Thursday night, therefore, Jabber and Mitchel Phew, Esq. were seated in front of Angelica and her lawyer, a portly cherub by the name of Bartholomew Huggins (yes, yes, cherubs are generally baby angels. But for some reason Mr. Huggins had continually been prevented from joining the higher angelic ranks, meaning that though he looked like a baby, he was actually a savvy, couple-hundred-years-old lawyer. When asked about his fate, Bartholomew tended to laugh and wink and blame his cigar habit for his lack of angelic ascension). At the head of the wooden inquiry table sat Commissioner Gorgon.

  Jabber’s eyes kept watering from the intense light radiating from the four halos of the other inquiry participants. He kept wiping his forehead nervously to clear the beads of sweat away, and shifting in his seat every time he was ruffled by the accusations. Mr. Phew, therefore, had had a difficult time keeping him on task and preventing him from making further blunders.

  Currently, Mr. Huggins was grilling Jabber about his actions with Bella, while a human stenographer took notes in the corner.

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  “Okay Master Jabber, did you or did you not say that Angelica’s relationship with her dog was too intimate?” Bartholomew asked, shaking the ash from his cigar onto the food tray of his baby chair.

  “Well,” Jabber said, “that depends. What do you mean by intimate?”

  “Your words, not mine,” Bartholomew grunted.

  “Alleged words,” Mr. Phew intoned. “And objection. This isn’t relevant.”

  Commissioner Gorgon nodded in agreement and Mr. Huggins took a different tack. “Fine then, tell me, did you or did you not ask inappropriate or highly personal questions about Ms. Pureheart’s halo?” At this the cherub took another poke of his cigar, an inquiring eyebrow raised above a large, and frankly adorable, baby blue eye.

  “I don’t know about inappropriate, I mean it was shining right in my face. So it seemed appropriate to the situation.”

  “And when she expressed a desire for you to stop asking said questions, did you stop or continue?”

  Jabber frowned. It was hard to think with the rays from the halos constantly flashing in his eyes. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow before saying. “Well, I found it fascinating. Her name is Angelica is it not? And she suddenly shows up with a halo. So I was wondering if maybe she had some kind of angelic ancestry that skips a generation and suddenly popped out of her head as that halo? I’m human after all . . . I don’t know how these things work exactly. Do you know sir?”

  Mr. Huggins frowned in distaste as he ground his cigar out. He looked towards Commissioner Gorgon with an expression that said, this man is clearly guilty. The Commissioner asked him if he had any further questions.

  “No, I think I got everything we need from the witness,” Mr. Huggins said with a smug smile towards Angelica.

  Commissioner Gorgon stared at the magician with open dislike and said, “Indeed . . . well if there are no further questions, you are free to go Master Jabber.”

  At this Mr. Phew interrupted. “If I may, I actually have something I would like to ask the witness as well.” The commissioner signaled for the barrister to continue.

  Mitchel Phew, Esq. cleared his throat, adjusted the curls on his head, took a sip of water, and then stared straight into Jabber’s eyes.

  “Sir, I would like to remind you that this conversation is being recorded and that you are under oath. Do you understand that?”

  “Well, yes, I do,” Jabber replied in confusion as to what Mr. Phew was doing.

  “And do you swear again to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  “Yes,” Jabber replied.

  “Did you come of your own volition to answer these questions posed to you today without any coercion and of your own free will because the truth is important to you and you want it to be known?”

  “Yes, sir, that is correct.”

  “Is it not the case that you were in the law offices of Phew, Getta, and Boutit between the hours of 4:30 and 5:15 on the afternoon of September 23rd?”

  “Yes, I was . . . you know that, I was with you.”

  “Please just answer the questions,” Mr. Phew insisted.

  “Fine, go ahead.”

  “And is it not also the case that you had an urgent need to use the restroom while you were in my office?”

  “What is this?” Jabber asked in shock, suddenly realizing what his lawyer was getting at.

  Mr. Phew’s voice was raised now. “Did you or did you not, use my private bathroom while you were alone in my office?”

  “I . . . I” Jabber looked around for support but all eyes were on him, waiting for his response. “I admit I did have a slight urge to relieve myself during that time, but, um,” he gulped down a sudden dryness in his throat, and then, forcing himself to stare directly into Michael Phew Esq.’s radiant and irritated face without blinking as his eyes smarted and watered from the piercing beams of his lawyer’s halo, croaked out, “I did not.”

  Mr. Phew placed both hands on the table, stood, and leaned over the magician. “I grow tired of repeating my questions, sir!” he said in a loud voice. “Did you or did you not use MY BATHROOM?!”

  Jabber gulped, shrugged in despair, and then let out a whimpered, “No?”

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