"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 Birthday Ball
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."