Sparkie and the Vertically Different Brotherhood: Part II

Had Sparkie been anything other than herself she could have lived quite happily with the Vertically Different Brothers. But since she was herself, and physically incapable of leaving well enough alone, a few weeks later her stepmother opened her back door in the morning to see a brightly-coloured flyer lying on the mat. She picked it up.

“Equal Representation for All Vertical Communities in Parliament,” the flyer proclaimed. Scarcely believing her eyes, the good lady examined it in greater detail, and read, “Join the Movement for Vertical Equality,” and “We Want Heights of MPs on a Normal Curve.”

Forcing herself not to seize a green bottle that lay nearby and start chewing it, she picked up the phone, asked the operator to scramble, and called the High Consul of a little-known country whose chief export was undetectable poisons. When she was done with him she called the National Academy of Theatre.

The next day, when the Vertically Different Brothers had left the chapter house on their various pursuits, and Sparkie was in her room drafting a petition for the inclusion of a nominee of the Brotherhood in every government committee, the doorbell rang.

Answering it, Sparkie saw a wrinkled woman, bent with age, with a basket of apples on her arm and another balanced precariously on her head. Had she looked closely she might have seen the true face beneath the makeup, but nobody had ever accused Sparkie of being observant.

“Yes?” she said helpfully.

“Be you the young woman who helps the underrepresented obtain their rights?” asked the old woman.

Sparkie beamed. “Yes, of course. Are you underrepresented?”

“I’m an apple seller, miss,” the old woman said. “Know you how many of us there be in Parliament? I will tell you. There be none. There be none of us in Parliament, none in a high position in any government office, none in any Parliamentary committee or sub-committee… We are woefully underrepresented, miss. Will you have an apple?”

If the sudden change of subject startled Sparkie, she gave no sign of it. But instead of taking the proffered apple she took another one from the basket.

“What's the matter?" she asked the apple seller between bites.

“Only that you took the wrong apple,” said the old woman. “And therefore it is time for Plan B.”

Sparkie never saw the man who emerged from the bushes to her left, put a pipe to his mouth and blew.