The King, his fork uplifted in his hand, was observing the entire scene with utter complacency.
Once the two doors were shut, and the room had regained its tranquillity once again, he took a second bird onto his plate, and began to eat it.
“You are not having anything?” he asked his son, who was staring pensively at the donkey’s head above the gold-leaf cabinet.
“I am thinking, father, that we must go down to Cunningson’s house,” replied the Prince, “search his cellar immediately, and find the things that he stole from us. We must sell these at once, so that we might, with the florins we shall get in return, arm our nation—”
“Stop! Enough is enough — I am fed up with you! Since early this morning I have dragged myself everywhere with you!” the King interrupted dispiritedly. “Leave me in peace awhile. I don’t know what’s got into you!”
He rose from the table and went to lie down on the sofa.
“You may go where you wish,” he added more calmly, “as long as you leave me be.”
And turning his back to all and sundry, he fell asleep.
From where it hung above the gold-leaf cabinet, the donkey’s head was still staring at them, with its broad, sardonic grin.
In her back kitchen, however, Little Irene and the equerry Polycarpus, chatting and laughing, were rinsing and drying the glasses and the plates. This is where the Prince found them.
“Little Irene,” he said, “I will be going to town. Will you come with me?”
She cast off her apron on the spot, and followed him.
“We are going to Cunningson’s house,” he said.
And he told her the contents of Faintheart’s letter, and what great need there was for them to find immediately the stolen treasure, so they could purchase arms.
They descended the mountain and reached the town; they went straight to the High Chancellor’s house. The door had been left wide open.
“This is strange!” said the Prince. “Could he have gone out last night without locking his door?”
They went inside, and into all the rooms. Yet they found nothing but some old wooden furniture. They pulled out all the drawers, and opened every cupboard, but they were all empty.
Little Irene stepped on something hard that was lying on the floor near the door. She bent down, picked it up and showed it to her brother.
“A jingle bell,” she said.
The Prince took it and looked at it.
“It belongs to the jester,” he replied. “You can still make out the royal crown embossed on it, even though the gilding is gone. It wouldn’t be so strange if Cunningson had found it and taken it, in the hope that it too would be worth something. Now let us go to the cellar.”
They went down a narrow stone staircase, and came before a small iron door.
The Prince examined the lock carefully.
“He hid his treasures well!” he said. “We shall need a blacksmith to open up such a door…”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Little Irene, “here is the key.”
And she picked up from the ground a small, elegant key that fit the lock just right.
“It is as though he dropped it here on purpose, so we might find it more easily,” she added, laughing.
“Just as he left the door ajar, so we might enter the house unhindered. It all seems too easy,” muttered the Prince.
He turned the key and the door opened.
The room that the two siblings entered was small, with a low ceiling and no windows.
There was a lantern still burning on the ground, and its flickering flame lit up the four bare stone walls.
Beside the lantern, there was an empty wooden chest, its lid gaping wide open.
The Prince looked around him.
Lying in a corner on the floor, there was something white against the darkness. He lifted it up to the light of the lantern and examined it.
It was a small baton, its gilding tarnished, with a doll’s head at one end and trimmed with ribbons and jingle bells.
“What have you found?” asked Little Irene.
“The thief’s signature,” replied the Prince. “In other words, the jester’s sceptre. We have come too late, Little Irene! The treasure is lost!”
“What are you saying!” cried his sister.
“I am saying,” answered the Prince, pointing to the plaything he had found, “that this explains the open door, the jingle bell on the floor, the little key by the cellar door, the unextinguished lantern, and the empty cellar. It also explains to us the jester’s presence by Cunningson’s corpse. The dwarf was no fool; on the contrary, he must have either suspected or known about the existence of the treasure in the High Chancellor’s cellar, and, first thing in the morning, when we were going out unsuspecting to find food, he himself was after a different sort of bounty. He was going down the precipice to find the key, exactly where he knew he would find it, namely inside the dead man’s shirt…”
Little Irene stared dismally at the jester’s sceptre.
“So what now?” she asked.
“Now we must go and ask whether anyone has seen him, and which way he was headed. I do not believe it would be possible for me to catch up with him. But I would like to try.”
They locked up the cellar and went out.
Across the street from the house, by the door of a derelict grocer’s shop, there stood a young boy, beggarly looking and pale; he was munching away at a small chunk of hard black bread.
The Prince went up to him and asked if he worked there.
“Yes!” said the boy. “This is my uncle’s place, and when he is at the tavern I keep shop for him.”
“Tell me,” said the Prince, “do you know, perhaps, if the King’s jester passed this way earlier this morning?”
“That he did! He came to the house of His Excellency Master Cunningson.”
“Did you see him leave the house? Was he carrying anything?”
“Yes! He had a haversack slung over his shoulder.”
“You did not ask him what was in it?”
“Who, me? I would not dare! He’s been to Master Cunningson’s several times in the past, laden with things, but he always got so angry if anyone asked him what was in his sack. How could I ask! He is nasty and sneaky.”
“And where did he go?” asked the Prince.
“He headed towards the vale. He was in a hurry, running fast.” Brother and sister thanked him and took their leave.
“So, that’s that, he was Cunningson’s accomplice,” said the Prince. “He must have been the one who carried the plunder to him, stealing a few items at a time from the palace.”
“Do you think we may be able to catch up with him?” asked Little Irene.
“Who knows?”
They hurried on towards the vale.
“And yet, luck is not on our side,” said Little Irene sorrowfully. “If only we had arrived a little earlier, we would have found the treasure!”
“I see no place for either luck or misfortune in all that has happened,” answered the Prince. “Luck is on the side of the man who can steer his ship out of a storm. If I have lost the treasure, it is my own fault, and no one else’s… And do you know what I am thinking, Little Irene?” he continued, disheartened. “That I shall never achieve my purpose, because I do not know how to read and write! Last night, when I found Faintheart’s letter, if I had known how to read, I would have gone after him at once, perhaps I might have caught him. And then I would have stopped him from going over to our enemies to betray us. Had I been able to read, I would have come immediately to Cunningson’s house, broken down the door of the cellar and found the treasure, which is so vital to us, if we are to reassemble our army once again and buy weapons for its soldiers. Then, I could have still had time. Whereas today, when father finally read the letter, it was too late! Faintheart was far away, the cellar empty. And by now, Faintheart will have arrived at the kingdom of the King our Royal Uncle, and will have already betrayed us. And who knows what storms will fall upon our long-suffering, miserable land, storms I might have averted, if only I had known how to read and write!…”