Jem muttered some cusswords as he stalked out the door.

Vanda felt a small measure of relief. One accuser down and two to go.

"The second suit?" Roman asked Laszlo.

"Yes, sir." The secretary fumbled through his papers. "Reckless endangerment at the workplace. This plaintiff also wishes to go by his stage name." Laszlo fiddled with a button on his lab coat. "Peter the Great, Prince of P-P-Peckers." The button popped off and rolled across the table.

Roman's wife covered her mouth. The sound of snickering drifted about the room. Even the priest was smiling.

Gregori leaned close to Vanda and whispered loudly, "How many pickled peppers did the Prince of Peckers pick?"

Vanda snorted and elbowed him in the ribs.

Roman lifted his gaze with an exasperated look as if he were asking God, Why me? He schooled his features and regarded the crowd seriously. "Is Mister…Prince here?"

"Yeth!" A slender man in the back row stood. He flipped his long blond hair over one shoulder. "I'm the Printh of Peckerth."

"You were injured at work?" Roman asked.

"Yeth," Peter continued with his lisping voice. "I wath danthing when I thlipped in a puddle of water."

"He wanted the water," Vanda interrupted. "Peter wanted to pull a chain and have ten gallons of water fall on top of him."

"You asked for the water?" Roman asked.

"Yeth. All the little water dropleth were glithening on my bare thkin. I wath incredibly beautiful."

"I'll take your word for it," Roman muttered. "And then you slipped?"

"Yeth! It wath awful. I fell on my nothe and broke it."

"You broke…what?" Roman asked.

"His nose," Vanda explained. "But we fixed it, and it's perfectly normal now."

"It ith not!" Peter planted his hands on his hip. "Now my voithe hath a terrible nathal quality to it, and everyone laughth at me."