The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [139]
At that point, Katelijne stopped looking in order to breathe. She could hear Phemie wheezing beside her, and even Master Gregorio, although he had picked up the broom she let drop and started forward with it. Someone threw the net, but not high enough; it came down and coped the cage and Dame Betha together. Looking up for a second, Katelijne saw the astonished, sensible face of the Earl of Orkney’s widowed daughter appearing in strips through the bars like cut cheese. Then the ladder started to rock.
They rushed to steady it, but circumstances were against them. Beating at the flapping bird on his chest, Hearty James had dropped lozen and hammer and forgotten, for the moment, where he was. His slipping weight pulled at the ladder and dislodged the mirror which had been resting partly against it, and partly upon the Pisalike tower on its human foundation. The King’s uncle started to fall. The ladder slipped sideways. The mirror, heavily tilting, was saved by a series of scrambles by M. de Fleury who, scuffling below, managed to engage the help of the wall to support part of it.
The ladder crashed. The King’s uncle fell, his doublet gaping, and was safely caught by many assiduous hands. M. de Fleury, teetering about, hands outspread, chin upraised, came slowly to a halt, the mirror resting perfectly balanced between the uncertain pile on his head and the wall. It could be seen that his mouth was open. Someone – Phemie? – started a round of applause. Katelijne’s ribs hurt.
The parrot landed, with a thud, on the top of the mirror. The man below made a slight move, compensating. The parrot looked down. Then it sprang across and posed on the pyramid, its tail spread, its great oyster beak confronting the mirror. It pecked the glass, its eye lascivious, and pecked it again. ‘Hijita de mi alma,’ it said.
The King’s uncle, and those who were helping him, paid no attention. ‘It spoke!’ said his niece. ‘What did it say?’
Master Gregorio knew. His laughter fading, he opened his mouth. The Atlas under the hat spoke before him. ‘¿Salud, chiquito?’ said M. de Fleury, his voice astonishingly distinct.
The parrot pecked the glass anxiously, a thread of white encircling each pupil. It exclaimed, its voice raucous: ‘My treasured ones! Kiss me, my angels! Come to me, my little mice!’
Nicholas de Fleury moved without thinking. The pyramid tilted. The parrot, disturbed, slid muttering off. The mirror, inclining backwards, began to run down the wall at a speed which human flesh could not check and M. de Fleury did not try to. He stepped away, and the mirror – glass and white paste and backing – crashed to the floor. A stench of musk rose, causing the parrot to cough. While it was doing so, Dame Betha threw her handkerchief over it, and flung it into the cage. The door shut and latched. The parrot put a claw on its swing and shoved it petulantly. ‘¡Demonio!’ it remarked.
‘It swears!’ said the King’s sister.
A handbasin, a book-cushion, a book, and a pair of red stockings arranged themselves in a pile at her feet, followed by the remains of a hat. The contrite face of Nicholas de Fleury confronted her. ‘I am afraid,’ he said, ‘that this is not the bird that you wanted. Let me buy it back. A full refund for the bird and the mirror.’
Katelijne Sersanders prodded Master Gregorio in the back. ‘It’s not his fault. Tell him,’ she said. ‘He owes nothing. Tell him.’
She had to prod him twice. Then Gregorio said, ‘No. If he wants the parrot, let him have it.’ He spoke with punctilio, although his face was still glossy with laughter.
Katelijne said, ‘Why? Tell me?’
‘To make me happy,’ said M. de Fleury. ‘I always wanted a parrot. Do you need three eggs for anything?’
She was diverted at once. ‘They were to juggle with. Can you juggle?’
‘For you, anything,’ said M. de Fleury. ‘Put them back in the shells and I’ll amaze you.’
Chapter 20
THE PERFORMANCE being over, there followed the