The Birthday Ball (13 page)

What he saw was very strange. Seated next to his small pupil Liz was a hideous man dressed in green. His head, from which was thrust a thick spikey wad of reddish-brown hair, was on his plate, and he was sobbing loudly.

Liz, he saw to his surprise, was patting the man's cheek and murmuring to him.

The king droned on, and the schoolmaster leaned forward to try to hear what Liz and the hideous man were saying to each other.

"I'm so ugly!" the man wailed. "I never knew!"

"It don't matter," little Liz was saying in a soothing voice.

"I never knew at all until I entered the castle and there was a whole phalanx of courtiers carrying mirrors!
Mirrors!
I never saw one before! I had no idea I was so ugly!" The man burst into fresh tears.

"Stop it," Liz said firmly to him. "I fink you're sweet. It don't matter about ugly."

The man snuffled.

"But you do need to brush your teef," she told him. "And I'll help you wiv that mess of hair."

"You will?" he asked, and lifted his head.

Across the table, the schoolmaster saw another odd sight. A thin man wearing makeup and dressed entirely in black was grabbing utensils, one after another. He had overturned a goblet and a candlestick by reaching frantically across the table to grab things. He was muttering at the same time.

"Wouldn't let my mirror bearers in, eh? No room for a hundred mirror bearers? What kind of domain
is
this? I must see myself! I must
always
see myself!"

He grabbed a silver soup ladle and held it in front of his own face, peering at the bowl of it as he tilted the ladle from side to side. His nose in the image grew huge, then receded to become a miniature nose atop a mammoth lopsided mustache. He had one huge Cyclops eye and one small, slitted piggy one.

"Valet!" he called out desperately. "Someone, summon my valet!"

(But the valet, sensing an opportunity, had slipped through a back door of the hallway and found his way to the kitchen. There he had already introduced himself as Hal to the head housekeeper and applied for the next available job.)

The man in black, while the schoolmaster watched, threw the silver ladle to the floor. From his seat he leaned forward across the table, squinting and mumbling and trying to see his own image in the base of a many-tiered silver candelabra.

With a whoosh of flame it ignited his thick hair lubricant so that for a moment he appeared to have a halo. Then two villagers adroitly doused the flames with their drinking water, and the man sat, defeated, confused, with no eyelashes left, and bald but for a singed fringe around each ear.

"I need my valet," he announced piteously. "I need to have my dandruff whisked."

The elderly peasant woman who had poured water on him glanced sympathetically his way and explained, "Yer gots no dandruff, sir. It's burnt off."

The queen could not hear the bits of commotion at the end of the table. She sat smiling blankly as the king droned on. The king heard nothing but his own voice. He hated parties, hated speeches, hated making toasts. But he did love the princess.

"So," the king concluded. "That's that. Daughter, butterfly. Birthday. And in a minute, a special song, right?" He looked at the triplets. They blushed and nodded.

"And then the choice. The princess makes her choice. Chooses from the suitors, gets a husband. Law of the Domain, that's what it is.

"To the choice!" he said loudly, and held up his goblet.

The guests all rose and echoed the phrase. "To the choice!"

The schoolmaster was beside himself with dismay and disappointment. He rose to his feet out of respect for the king, but he could not bring himself to repeat the words of the toast. Standing silently as the guests raised their glasses to honor the occasion, he glanced at the young woman he had known for such a short and hopeful time as Pat. He wondered whether she felt a disdain for his stupidity, a smugness that he had been so easily fooled.

But to his surprise, he could see that the princess was terribly sad.

The king nodded to the trio of serving maids, and they curtsied together and began their song.

***

Tess, from her place on the pulley tray, could not see much, but she heard everything. She had listened with a smile to the king's loving words about his daughter, but her face fell when he mentioned the choice and made the toast. How could her beloved princess choose among the three—or four, if the conjoint counts were considered two—equally repulsive suitors?

Tess had heard the duke sobbing, and the orphan's words of comfort. She had glimpsed a tiny bit of the flustered excitement when the prince caught fire. But she couldn't see the conjoint counts. They were seated in a specially built double chair not far from the queen, just out of the chambermaid's range of vision.

She began to hear them mutter, though, when the serving girls began their song.

"What're they, twins like us?" Colin poked his brother and pointed to the serving girls.

Cuthbert poked back. "Quit it!" He leaned forward to get a better view. "Nah. Not twins. There's three of 'em!"

"Are they joint?" Colin asked.

"Nah. Holding hands."

"We can sing as good as that, I bet. We're joint."

"Shhh!" The villagers held their fingers to their mouths. "We want to hear the song."

The counts both put their tongue between their lips in order to make their usual rude noise. But they forgot to. Their attention was caught by the trio, who had begun their song.

"
Tonight's the night of the Birthday Ball,
" they sang.

"
Ball,
" said Count Colin aloud. But he wasn't saying it to be rude. He was—well, he was singing the word along with the girls.

"
Dinner first in the banquet hall,
" they sang next.

"
Hall,
" sang Colin and Cuthbert together.

"
Banquet hall Banquet hall Banquet hall!
"

"We can't do that part 'cuz we only got two of us, blast it all," Colin muttered to his brother.

The girls now performed a special chorus they had rehearsed, to go between each verse. It had no words, just a lyrical melody that they hummed in harmony.

Hummmmm. Hummmmm. Hummmmm.

Count Colin elbowed his brother. "
Bummmmm,
" he sang, and raised an eyebrow naughtily.

"Don't," Count Cuthbert said. "
Bum
is rude."

"But—"

"And
butt
is rude, too! Stop it! Sing right!"

They were both silent for a moment, but one of the triplets glanced over at them and grinned. So the conjoint counts began to sing. They sang in harmony, one tenor, one bass; the three girls felt their way into the same harmony, and they completed the song together. The audience applauded. The three girls curtsied, and the counts lumbered awkwardly to their feet, and bowed, side by side.

"Now," said the king, when the applause subsided, "the gifts from the suitors, and the choice."

18. The Choice

"Wipe your nose," the orphan instructed.

They had announced the Duke of Dyspepsia first. Obediently he took the napkin the little girl had handed him and wiped his streaming eyes and nose.

"Hold my hand?" he implored. Gently she placed her small hand in his, and he stood. He had entirely forgotten the speech he had intended to make. Something about how the princess would be lucky to have him? Had that really been what he had planned to say?

"I'm Duke Desmond," he said, and sniffed back fresh tears. The little girl squeezed his hand. "Duke of Dyspepsia," he added.

"Ugliest man in the world!" he wailed.

Liz stood up. "Is not!" she said loudly. "He only needs sumbody to take care of him and make him brush his teef every single day! He's
nice!
And he brung a nice gift, too!

"Show it!" she told the weeping duke.

He wiped his eyes again, leaned down, and lifted the small bamboo cage that he had placed under his chair. The guests leaned forward in their seats, trying to see what might be inside the cage.

"I can't hear a word he's saying," the queen said irritably. "What's that he's holding?"

"Shhh," said the king. "It's a cage of some sort."

"Tell about it," Liz whispered to the duke. "Speak up nice and loud!"

So the duke, choking back tears, for he could not stop thinking about how ugly he felt, explained how he had sent searchers for the rarest of butterflies as a gift to the king in exchange for the hand of his daughter.

"And this one came from Africa," he said. "I forget how to say its name.
Chara
... Well, something."

"
Charaxes acraeoides?
" The king was on his feet.

"That's it," the duke replied. "Look!" He lifted the small golden latch and opened the door of the bamboo cage. An amber-colored butterfly with black decorations on its wings fluttered free.

"Blimey, it's beautiful!" the little girl said. "And lookit it go!"

The rare butterfly, the most powerful flier in the Congo, swooped the length of the huge head table, circled the head of the amazed king, lifted itself into a long upward glide, and disappeared through the open window.

"That were sumfink to see!" Liz exclaimed, clapping her hands.

The king, his mouth open, sat back down slowly. "It's gone," he said.

Duke Desmond, still holding Liz's hand, sat down as well. "Yes," he said. "Free."

The queen tapped her crystal water glass with a silver knife to order quiet. She had not understood much of what had just occurred. "Next?" she called.

The thin bald man in black stood up slowly. "I am Percival," he said, "Prince of Pustula." He picked up a butter knife, held it in front of his face, and examined what he saw. No mustache. No hair. He felt destroyed.

"I brought a gift," he announced. "But it is useless now."

He reached into his back pocket, removed the small silver box, and tossed it toward the place where the princess sat. "Here," he said contemptuously. "Do what you want with it. I'm so out of here."

Then he stalked from the room and they could all hear his footsteps as he descended the staircase.

Curiously the princess reached for the container. She opened its lid, looked in, chuckled, and removed the gift. It was a pair of mirrored glasses, the frames encrusted with diamonds. She reached across the table and handed them to the orphan. "Try them on," she suggested. "They might be fun."

Liz unfolded the glasses and balanced them over her ears and nose. She giggled. "Everyfink's dark!" she said. "But I can see you!" she added, turning to the duke.

He looked at her, saw himself reflected, and burst into tears again.

"You stop that right now!" Liz said. "You just get used to it! Becuz I'm goin' to put these spectacles on every day and you can see your teef gettin' better and better iffen you start brushing regular!"

"Every day? But I'm going back to my own domain—"

"And you be takin' me wiv you! 'Cuz I'm a norphan and got no home!"

"You'd go with an ugly thing like me?" he asked in surprise.

"Iffen you let me bring a kitten," Liz replied with a grin.

The queen tapped again on the crystal glass. "This is all going on much too long," she announced. "There is still dancing planned. Can we have the final suitor at once?"

But amazingly, the conjoint counts refused to come forward. They were in the corner with the triplets, quietly practicing harmonies, planning new five-part songs.

Hmmmm.
Hmmmm.
Hmmmm.
Hmmmm.
Hmmmm.

"Counts?" the queen called. "We're ready for your presentation now!"

Count Cuthbert looked over. "We're busy," he replied.

***

"Father? Mother? Villagers?"

The princess, who had been seated and silent, rose from her chair. Everyone turned toward her end of the table. Liz put on her new spectacles and looked up at the princess with a grin. "Not now, Liz," the princess admonished her with a smile.

From her perch on the pulley tray, Tess leaned forward. Soon, she knew, she would be lowered. But she wanted to hear this moment, to know whom the princess would choose.