few poison apples

A Few Poison Apples

    "I want to order one poison apple," said the Queen.
    "I'm afraid that would violate the Orchard Keepers' Conventions," I pointed out. "As the duly appointed Chief of the Royal Orchards, I'm bound by those."
    "How does my simple poison apple violate the Conventions, Mr. Blowhard?" pouted the Queen.
    I pulled out my old, dog-eared copy of the Orchard Keepers' Conventions.
    "Let's see. I think this clause here would be pertinent."
    "Where?"
    I pointed to the bold, all-caps legend in the middle of the page:

             NEVER KILL A CUSTOMER!

    "Oh, that," pooh-poohed the Queen. "That doesn't apply here at all. I'm the customer, and I'm not the one who's going to get poisoned. So you see, it's perfectly all right."
    "I'm afraid that isn't all, Your Majesty," I said. "There's more."
    I flipped through the document until I found the paragraph I was looking for:

          No poison fruit shall be sold, given, or in any way dispensed to the public.

    The Queen sniffed dismissively. "That doesn't apply, either," she said. "You see, I'm not the public. I'm the Queen. The Queen, I might add, who pays your salary and can fire you at will. Besides, this isn't just fruit. It's an apple. It doesn't say anything specifically about poison apples, does it?"
    "Well, that argument about my job is certainly persuasive," I conceded. "And I guess it doesn't refer specifically to apples ... Whoops! Oh, yes, it does. Right here. Definition of fruit: 'Fruit shall include apples, oranges, pears, peaches, pomegranates, apricots ...' Actually, the list is quite lengthy."
    "This is an exception to the Orchard Keepers' Conventions," wheedled the Queen. "This is a matter of National Security, a Fairest of Them All issue. What would happen to the queendom if some vulgar little snip were declared fairer than the Queen herself?"
    "W-w-well, ..." I stammered.
    "Keeping in mind the common good, your employment status, and my overweening ego, of course," said the Queen helpfully.

*****

    Which brought me to my appearance before the Dwarf Commission...
    The Commission Chair looked severely up at me. Even his elevated chair couldn't bring him up to eye level.
    "Mr. Phineas Q. Blowhard," he intoned, "As Chief of the Royal Orchards, how do you explain the chunk of poison apple that was dislodged from Ms. White's throat?"
    "I don't know anything about any poison apples," I replied. "Are you sure it was a poison apple?"
    "Mr. P. Charming, who first discovered the offending fruit shard, had it analyzed at our subterranean laboratory," said the Chair. "There can be no question."
    "Then it must have come from some other kingdom," I said. "We don't do things like that. Only evil foreigners poison apples."
    "The Dwarf Commission demands answers!" barked the Chair. I think his name was Snoopy. "Don't think you can stonewall us! The poisoned apple chunk still had this sticker on it."
    He handed me the sticker. I looked up and down the seven severe little faces before me. There was no sympathy in any of them. The sticker said this:

              Product of the Royal Apple Orchard, Phineas Q. Blowhard, CRO

    "'CRO' means 'Chief of the Royal Orchards,'" added the Chair helpfully.
    "Could be a forgery," I said.
    "Then how about this document here?" asked the Chair. "It reads, in part, 'The Queen is above the law, and her need for poison apples in cases of extreme vanity override the Orchard Keepers' Conventions.' It's an opinion signed by ... Do I have to tell you?"
    "Oh, that," I stuttered. "Just theoretical stuff, you know. Wouldn't really put that into practice. Not if anyone would be likely to find out ..."

    So here I am. Can't even stand up in this crummy dwarf cell. You know, there are bound to be a few poison apples in any orchard. How is that my fault?