Four - THE PREPARATIONS
I didn’t even know this chapter existed until I began the ‘good parts’ version. All my father used to say at this point was, What with one thing and another, three years passed,’ and then he’d explain how the day came when Buttercup was officially introduced to the world as the coming queen, and how the Great Square of Florin City was filled as never before, awaiting her introduction, and by then, he was into the terrific business dealing with the kidnapping.
Would you believe that in the original Morgenstern this is the longest single chapter in the book?
Fifteen pages about how Humperdinck can’t marry a common subject, so they fight and argue with the nobles and finally make Buttercup Princess of Hammersmith, which was this little lump of land attached to the rear of King Lotharon’s holdings.
Then the miracle man began improving King Lotharon, and eighteen pages are used up in describing the cures. (Morgenstern hated doctors, and was always bitter when they outlawed miracle men from working in Florin proper.)
And seventy-two—count ‘em—seventy-two pages on the training of a princess. He follows Buttercup day to day, month to month, as she learns all the ways of curtsying and tea pouring and how to address visiting nabobs and like that. All this in a satiric vein, naturally, since Morgenstern hated royalty more even than doctors.
But from a narrative point of view, in 105 pagesnothing happens. Except this: ‘What with one thing and another, three years passed.’
Five - THE ANNOUNCEMENT
The great square of florin city was filled as never before, awaiting the introduction of Prince Humperdinck’s bride-to-be, Princess Buttercup of Hammersmith. The crowd had begun forming some forty hours earlier, but up to twenty-four hours before, there were still fewer than one thousand. But then, as the moment of introduction grew nearer, from across the country the people came. None had ever seen the Princess, but rumors of her beauty were continual and each was less possible than the one before.
At noontime, Prince Humperdinck appeared at the balcony of his father’s castle and raised his arms. The crowd, which by now was at the danger size, slowly quieted. There were stories that the King was dying, that he was already dead, that he had been dead long since, that he was fine.
“My people, my beloveds, from whom we draw our strength, today is a day of greeting. As you must have heard, my honored father’s health is not what it once was. He is, of course, ninety-seven, so who can ask more. As you also know, Florin needs a male heir.”
The crowd began to stir now—it was to be this lady they had heard so much about.
“In three months, our country celebrates its five hundredth anniversary. To celebrate that celebration, I shall, on that sundown, take for my wife the Princess Buttercup of Hammersmith. You do not know her yet. But you will meet her now,” and he made a sweeping gesture and the balcony doors swung open and Buttercup moved out beside him on the balcony.
And the crowd, quite literally, gasped.
The twenty-one-year-old Princess far surpassed the eighteen-year-old mourner. Her figure faults were gone, the too bony elbow having fleshed out nicely; the opposite pudgy wrist could not have been trimmer. Her hair, which was once the color of autumn, was still the color of autumn, except that before, she had tended it herself, whereas now she had five full-time hairdressers who managed things for her. (This was long after hairdressers; in truth, ever since there have been women, there have been hairdressers, Adam being the first, though the King James scholars do their very best to muddy this point.) Her skin was still wintry cream, but now, with two handmaidens assigned to each appendage and four for the rest of her, it actually, in certain lights, seemed to provide her with a gentle, continually moving as she moved, glow.
Prince Humperdinck took her hand and held it high and the crowd cheered. “That’s enough, mustn’t risk overexposure,” the Prince said, and he started back in toward the castle.
“They have waited, some of them, so long,” Buttercup answered. “I would like to walk among them.”
“We do not walk among commoners unless it is unavoidable,” the Prince said.
“I have known more than a few commoners in my time,” Buttercup told him. “They will not, I think, harm me.”
And with that she left the balcony, reappeared a moment later on the great steps of the castle and, quite alone, walked open-armed down into the crowd.
Wherever she went, the people parted. She crossed and recrossed the Great Square and always, ahead of her, the people swept apart to let her pass. Buttercup continued, moving slowly and smiling, alone, like some land messiah.
Most of the people there would never forget that day. None of them, of course, had ever been so close to perfection, and the great majority adored her instantly. There were, to be sure, some who, while admitting she was pleasing enough, were withholding judgment as to her quality as a queen. And, of course, there were some more who were frankly jealous. Very few of them hated her.
And only three of them were planning to murder her.
Buttercup, naturally, knew none of this. She was smiling, and when people wanted to touch her gown, well, let them, and when they wanted to brush their skin against hers, well, let them do that too. She had studied hard to do things royally, and she wanted very much to succeed, so she kept her posture erect and her smile gentle, and that her death was so close would have only made her laugh, if someone had told her. But—
—in the farthest corner of the Great Square—
—in the highest building in the land—
—deep in the deepest shadow—
—the man in black stood waiting.
His boots were black and leather. His pants were black and his shirt. His mask was black, blacker than raven. But blackest of all were his flashing eyes.
Flashing and cruel and deadly . . .