You can arrest me."
Suok spoke very calmly. The small hand holding the huge pistol hung limply at her side.
A shot rang out.
It came from the tunnel, where Prospero had shot the panther.
The Guards crowded round the pot, knee-deep in the lake of syrup.
One of them peered into it.
Then he stuck his hand down and pulled at something.
Two other Guards helped him.
With a grunt they pulled up the dead panther by the tail.
"He's dead," one of the Guards said, mopping his brow.
"He's alive!
He's alive!
I've saved him!
I've saved the people's friend!"
Suok cried with joy. Poor little Suok, in her torn dress with crumpled golden rosebuds in her hair and on her slippers.
She turned pink from happiness.
She had done what her friend Tibul the Acrobat had told her to do: she had saved Prospero the Gunsmith.
"So!" one of the Guards said, taking Suok by the hand. "Let's see what you're going to do now, you famous doll.
We'll see."
"Take her to the Three Fat Men."
"They'll sentence you to death."
"Idiot," Suok said calmly, licking a sweet blob of syrup from the pink lace of her dress.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ONE-TWO-THREE THE DANCING MASTER
We do not know what happened to the doll.
It is not yet time to explain many other puzzling things, such as, for instance, what sort of parrot was sitting in the tree; why the old animal keeper, who might still be hanging from the tree like a shirt on a clothes-line, became so frightened; how Prospero the Gunsmith escaped from his cage; where the panther came from; how Suok got to be on the gunsmith's shoulder; who the monster was that spoke to Suok in a human voice; what sort of board the monster gave Suok; and why it died.
Each of these questions will be answered in good time.
I can only say that no miracles took place and that there was a reason for everything that happened.
Now it is morning.
A wonderful change has taken place in nature.
The air is so pure that even a mean old lady who looked just like a goat stopped grumbling for once.
The trees are not rustling, they seem to be imitating the happy voices of children.
Everyone feels like dancing on such a morning.
No wonder then, that the ballroom of One-Two-Three the dancing master was crowded.
You can't do much dancing if you're hungry.
Nor will you dance if you're sad.
But the only ones who were hungry and sad were those who were gathering that morning in the workers' quarters to storm the Palace of the Three Fat Men again.
The fops and grand ladies, the sons and daughters of the gluttons and the rich were feeling fine.
They did not know that Tibul the Acrobat was mustering the poor and hungry working people into an army; they did not know that the little circus dancer Suok had freed Prospero the Gunsmith, whom the people had needed so; they paid little attention to the disturbances that were taking place in town.
"Nonsense!" said a young lady with a sharp nose as she put on her dancing slippers. "If they try to storm the Palace again, the Guards will destroy them just like they did before."
"Certainly!" a young fop chirped as he chewed an apple and inspected his frock-coat. "Those miners and those dirty workers have no rifles, no pistols and no swords, while the Guards even have cannons."
One after the other the smug and carefree couples came up to One-Two-Three's house.
There was a sign on the door that read:
Mr. ONE-TWO-THREE Dancing Master
I teach not only dancing, but refinement, grace, agility, good manners and a poetic outlook on life
Payment for ten lessons IN ADVANCE
Inside, on the honey-coloured waxed floor of the round ballroom, One-Two-Three was in charge.
He played a black flute which seemed to stay at his lips by some magic, for he was continuously waving his hands in lace cuffs and white kid gloves.
He bowed and twirled about, rolled his eyes and tapped his shoe in time to the music. Every few minutes he would rush over to the large mirror to see how handsome he was and to check whether his many bows were in place and his pomaded hair was as shiny as it should be.
The couples circled about.