“Three French hens.  Two turtle-doves.  And a partridge in a pear tree.”

“Three French hens.  Two turtle-doves.  …AND A PAAARTRIIIDGE IN A PEAR TREEEE.”

The strains of the song floated up the Tower of London to the ears of its latest incarcerate.  Walter’s voice could be heard above that of the penguins.  They were all singing in the same language, in fact it was the language that had gotten Rosa thrown into the tower.   Apparently since Rosa and they had parted, not only had they made it to England, but Walter had taught the penguins Spanish. 

But Spanish was not a popular language in the court of Queen Elizabeth.  It may be the universal language of the courts in Europe at that time, but there one admitted to knowing it.  Anyone speaking it was suspected of being a spy.  And since it was the native language of the new daughter of the Queen, Rosa was thrown into the Tower.  She tried to plead her case in Pig Latin, but Admiral Watanabe pretended not to understand her.   Also, her pan was impounded.  The royal weapon’s inspector was examining it, trying to figure out how it worked.  So far in his investigation, he’d asked for three eggs and some kippers.

Upon arriving, she found the initials C.M. + R.R. carved into the table and her heart skipped.  But it was ridiculous to imagine that Chris had ever been in the room.

“This is your fault,” she told the frog that was thrown in with her.

Of course, the frog understood not a word of Spanish, either.  He was sitting in Rosa’s water glass – as green as ever - sulking.  “Lying peddler,” he muttered.  “I probably never was a prince.”

“Yoo-hoo!  Oh Yoo-hoo!  Walter, look up here.  It’s Rosa.”  She picked up a small stone that a previous resident had chipped out of the wall in an escape attempt.  She tossed it out the window.

“Ouch!” said Walter.

“Dibs!” said Four and Four.

“Walter!” she called again.

“Rosa?” came the reply.  “What are you doing in Paris?”

*     *     *

 “I wonder where Rosa is right now.  I bet she’s having a good time and forgotten all me…er…I mean us.  Now that’s she’s royalty, she’s probably thinks she’s too good for me…us…that is,” complained Chris, as he sat on a pier piling, within view of the Tower.  He was supervising the lashing of the last battering ram onto the bow of a dinghy.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Randolph, as he tugged on the crutch to test it.  “She thought she was too good for you before she was royalty.”

Ekaraj kept complaining about having to give up his crutch until one of the sailors made a derogatory comment.  “If I could blow it out my nose,” the elephant replied in a nasal tone, “I wouldn’t need the crutch.”

Randolph explained to them all Drake’s plan. “We’re to harass the Armada with small, fast boats with maneuverability and ramming power.  That will drive them out of their crescent shape formation they use for protection and allow the rest of the navy to pick of the Spanish galleons one by one.”

 “How fast do you think these can go?” asked Bruce.

“If we row hard, I think we can make five or six knots.”

“Really?” asked Llywarch, as Randolph cast the boat off.  “Have I ever told you about something in the future called water skiing?”

  “Don’t give up on Rosa,” Gretel consoled Chris.  “I personally know it’s possible for a princess to fall in love with a sailor.”  Then she waved at Randolph, who was starting the shakedown cruise of the dinghy.  Most of the river traffic quickly diverted to the other side of the Thames.

“Did you mean the feminine princess or is that prince – as in more than one?” asked the second frog, who had tagged along to London.

Chris stood up and kicked the frog into the river.

“In the future, they’ll do that with a black and white ball,” Llywarch informed him

*     *     *

Walter finished taking a long drink out of Rosa’s water glass and turned, just as the flipper of a green frog disappeared down his gullet.

“That frog is supposed to stay a prisoner in the Tower.”

“Then why didn’t he say so?” demanded Walter.

“He was screaming and hollering.”

“Well,” said Walter.  “I don’t speak French.”

“He was an English bull frog,” replied Rosa.  “Walter, you’re in London.  He was hollering in English.”

“Oh!  Now it makes sense.”

“London!” said the penguins, who had managed to climb the side of the tower using the ice picks in their packs.  The littlest one looked at Walter in accusation.  “You promised to introduce us to some French hens…Oh…Hi, Rosa.”

To Rosa’s disgusted look, the others replied, “We get lonely.”  “Blasted!  I drop my pick,” said one of them in confusion.

“How did you learn Spanish so fast?” asked Rosa.

“Superior intellect,” responded the penguin sergeant.

“They don’t call us ‘bird brained’ for nothing,” added another.

“Do you think you could help me escape?  Now they’ll probably accuse me of frogicide.  How did you get here?”

“We’re good swimmers,” replied the sergeant.

“You swam all the way to England?”

“That was a mistake,” the little one admitted.  “We were headed for France,”

“I told you we should have turned left at Isle of Wright,” insisted a four.

“And Walter?”

“I’m a good swimmer, too.  I think it’s the web feet.”

“Chickens don’t have web feet.  That’s ducks and drakes.”

“Really?” said Walter, looking at his talons.  “It’s a good thing I didn’t know that at the time.  So do you have anything else to eat around here?”

“I’ll get some bread and water in a little while.”

“I think I smell kippers.  Hey!  This door’s locked.”

“Yes,” replied Rosa sarcastically.  “And they forgot to leave me the key.”

“No matter,” said Walter.  And with a few pecks of his beak in the keyhole, the door swung open, almost crushing the brown hen hiding behind it.

*     *     *

“I wonder what William’s up to,” said Chris, holding his cheek as a third woman come out onto the pier and slapped him.

“You promised to give me diamonds and take me to Paris,” she yelled, shaking her fist, before stomping off in a huff.

Inspired, Ronnie reached over and slapped Bruce.

“Ow!  What was that for?”

“Oh!  I’m sorry.  I guess I got carried away.”

“Why did you stow away on the elephant,” Bruce asked.

“You promised to take me to London.”

“When was that?” asked Gretel.

“Last night when he asked me to marry him.”

Gretel turned to Chris.  “See that’s how you do it.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” replied Chris.  “But Rosa disappears a lot.”

“I promised to take you to London if you married me,” Bruce explained.

 “Well…now I’ve been to London.  If you want to marry me, you’ll have to take me to Paris, instead.” 

“But I wanted to show you to a Shakespearean play.  It would be fun”

 “Just make sure there aren’t any goblins in the audience,” Chris warned him.

 “Women!” muttered Ekaraj to himself.  He was lying at the end of the pier, soaking his trunk in the river.  “I offered her my heart, but she said she could never love me, because my ears were too big.  Now wonder they call her a monster.”  He sighed, “Why do all the cute ones have personality problems.”

“Listen,” Bruce took Chris aside.  “Are you interested in Ronnie?  Because I don’t mind telling you that all I want is her happiness, and if you are then I’ll gladly…”

“Don’t tell me you’ll be noble and step aside.”

“Don’t be daft, man.  I was going to say that I’ll gladly kill you.”

 “Oh,” said Chris.

“Are you two crazy?” said Randolph, who had just rowed up.  “Ronnie’s an obnoxious pest.”

Bruce wisely said nothing.

“Then you can have her,” said Chris.  “I’m already involved with an obnoxious pest.”

Silently a hen slipped out from beneath the pier and took flight.

*     *     *

The carpet carrying Hombre and Colleen to Ireland, as well as Harley, the sword, and the stone set down in a patch of green clover next to a bog in southwestern Ireland.  Before them was timbered hunting lodge that would one day be turned into the Blarney Castle.

The sword let of another stream of Gaelic.

“It was not,” insisted Colleen.  “That landing was a light as a feather…Oh…Hello, Shamus.”

An angry looking leprechaun in a three-piece suit with an oversized bowler on his head and a watch fob dangling from his waist pocket rapidly approached the carpet with his hands clenched.  His ears were the only things preventing the hat from slipping over his eyes.

“Is that the pompous bag of wind?” Hombre asked.

“Ssh!” he was told.

“Shamus O’Flannigan, this is Hombre…Er…Do you have a last name,” she whispered.

Hombre thought for a moment.  “Mann,” he said.  “Let’s call me Hombre Mann.”

Shamus O’Flannigan let off a stream of Gaelic.

“Hey!” said Hombre.  “Don’t talk like that in front of my fiancee.”

Shamus repeated the Gaelic, which translated, “Hey!  What are you doing with my fiancee?”

“I’d like to introduce you to my fiance,” said Colleen, which were the only words everyone understood and which two of them took mean themselves.

“Arrest that man,” said Colleen’s father, as the King of the Leprechauns emerged from behind a bush, “for kidnapping my daughter and stealing the Blarney Stone.”

“You arrest him,” said his guards, as they sized up at the enormous dwarf standing before them.

“Nobody’s arresting my fiance,” Colleen insisted, as she gave her father a kiss on the cheek.

“He didn't mean me,” answered Shamus.  “He meant that monster you brought home with you.”

From behind other bushes sprang forth about fifty leprechauns brandishing pitchforks, hoes, and shovels, and a push broom.  They were all well dressed.  It rained a lot in Ireland.

“Blasted bog!” cursed one of them, as he got his blue suede shoes covered in mud.

“Bring the torches,” one of them shouted.  “We have a monster.”

Hombre wasn’t sure exactly what was said, but he’d seen the pitchforks before.  He asked Colleen, “Are you going to start throwing road apples at me?”

Shamus O’Flannigan grabbed Colleen by the hand and said, “I completed the quest set forward by your father.  I won the right to marry you.”

Colleen freed herself.  “But Shameless…Er…I mean Shamus…I don’t want to…

Her father interrupted, “Now that we have the stone back, you two can be married over it and Shamus can be crowned the new King of the Leprechauns at the same time.”

“Papa, I don’t want to marry Shameless.  I want to marry Hombre.”

“Who’s Hombre?  Does he have a last name?”

“Er…It’s Mann, Hombre Mann.  This is Hombre.”

“The Princess wants to marry the monster,” the stunned crowd whispered to each other.

“Do we get to burn them both?” one younger leprechaun asked.

“But Shameless…I mean Shamus has to marry you.  How else can I retire?  Did I ever tell you about the sandy beaches in Barbados…”

“Hush dear,” said Colleen’s mother, the Queen.  “You can’t force love.  And this dwarf has kind eyes.”

“Er…Thank you, Queen.” Hombre replied.  He wasn’t sure why he understood her.

“But I completed the quest,” insisted Shamus.  “And I did it with my shoes on.”

The Queen explained, “Shamus inventoried your fathers pot’s of gold.  No one has been able to do that before…I knew we had more than twenty.”

 “But he’s not our kind.  You know how I feel about mixed marriages” the King interrupted.

“There’s nothing mixed about my feelings for Hombre.”

“Remember, dear,” the Queen said to her husband.  “My father didn’t want me to marry you.”

The King sputtered…”That’s another matter entirely.”

“I counted,” insisted Shamus.

“Who ever replaces me will have pretty big shoes to fill,” argued the King

“Blimey!  Look at the feet on that dwarf,” said one of the Leprechauns.  “I’ll bet those are size one and three-quarters.”

Suddenly it started to rain.

“Blasted,” said Shamus.  “Now I have to start counting all over again.”

While Shamus was gone, Colleen knew it was time to press her point.  “Hombre’s willing to do a quest,” declared Colleen.

“But I’ve already got an accountant,” replied the King.

 “What’s a quest?” asked Hombre.

 “Something to prove you’re capable of taking care of me.”

“Oh sure,” said Hombre.  “How about pig farming?”

 “No.  A real quest, like the knights of old riding off on their noble steeds, to prove their valor and bravery.”

“Harley does have a pedigree,” Hombre admitted.

“All right,” replied the King, as the rain stopped and a rainbow appeared above him.  “If you want to marry my daughter, you must prove your valor and bravery.  Bring me back the Golden Harp that’s in the possession of the Giants of the Pyrenees.”

“What?” said Hombre, after Colleen translated this for him.  “Shameless only had to count.”

“How high can you count with your shoes on,” the Queen asked him.

“All right!” Hombre muttered.  “The blasted Pyrenees it is.”

As the carpet took off headed south, a brown bird winged its way back to England.

*     *     *

 “I clipped these from that flying carpet when no one was looking,” said the Countess, holding up a handful of carpet threads.  “I figure if we add them into some throw rugs, we can make them fly.”

“That makes perfect sense,” agreed the ladies of the knitting circle.

Suddenly…from outside there arose such a clatter, that they sprang to the window to see what was the matter.  And what to their wondering eyes did appear, but a battered sled and a decrepit reindeer.  Then, in a twinkling, they heard, on the roof, prancing and pawing.  Was that a reindeer hoof?  They drew in their heads, and were turning around; when through the chimney…Helga-Aberdeen and her aunt fell down – along with bits and pieces of broken sled.

“This is my sister, Helga,” Aberdeen introduced her to the ladies, as Helga stood up and dusted herself off.  Aberdeen handed her a boom and dust pan.  “And my niece, Aberdeen-Helga,” she added, handing her a mop.

“Her name’s Helga-Aberdeen,” insisted her sister.

“You can call me Ma’am,” the younger witch informed the ladies.

Helga reached back into the fireplace and handed her sister a bag of coal.  “We brought you a gift,” she told her.  Then two new witches started to clean.

“They cook also,” Aberdeen added.

“That is wonderful,” said the countess.  “Then all three of you can train us in combat cookery.”

Soon the women of the clan were assembled in the courtyard of the castle for lessons in kitchen warfare.  Their numbers grew, because when the other women went home to collect utensils, their husbands forbade them from returning. Now there were thirteen.

“Now we have to invade England,” the Countess rationalized.  “We must help Rosa.”

The other ladies agreed that Rosa must be rescued.  Who would want to be an English princess?  “Plus, we can go shopping,” one of them added, as they threw their energies into their training.

 “I prefer to grip the handle of the frying pan in my left hand, and then place my right hand above – like holding a broom.  And when I swing, I turn my wrists at the last moment, like so,” Helga-Aberdeen instructed them.

All the women practiced swinging.  Along with the frying pans, there were some fireplace pokers, a kettle, and a bottle warmer.

Randolph’s mother was grudgingly impressed when Helga showed them Gretel’s poker technique and told of her success with goblins.  “Now if we can just get the English army to run around in stocking feet.”

Soon the woman with the bottle warmer was proudly demonstrated the method she developed for slinging stones.

No one notice a chicken land on the bridge and watch them intently.  Its beady little eyes shifting back and forth as it took in the entire panorama of field training.  It clucked quietly and shook its beak.  She had seen enough.  It took off and in a few moments she was just a speck the sky.

It was during afternoon tea, when the women had finished retying the rugs, that they almost admitted defeat.  One by one the women sat on a rug and commanded it to lift.  But none of them got more than an inch off the floor.  And most of them sagged in the middle.

“I have been a little off my diet,” the countess admitted.  The other ladies, red-faced, refused to admit to anything.

“I’ve an idea,” Helga-Aberdeen told them.  She went into the kitchen and returned with a jar of yeast.  Using a wooden spoon, she spread some on the rugs.  Slowly they began to rise.

*     *     *

Off the coast of Scotland, the pirate ship, The Swan, was anchored in the North Sea.  In the captain’s cabin Don Swan was holding a council with the Devil Chicken committee of HEN.  Reporting in were chicken spies from all over the British Isles.

When a hen told the frog’s wish for Rosa and the Knitting Circle’s planned rescue, Swan replied. “So that’s where she disappeared to.  That’s a lesson for you - never send a frog to do a chicken’s work.  Where is ‘Princess’ Rosa now?”

“She’s in London.  They had her locked in the Bloody Tower,” answered a slightly bruised hen, “Now she’s escaping with Walter and ten very militant-looking fowl.”

“I’ve always loved a bird in uniform,” sighed one of the hens.

“That might be a problem,” said Swan.  “Didn’t we kick Walter out?”

Now most of the hens clucked in disagreement.  “I’d never kick him out of my nest,” one of them added.

“Don’t worry about him,” insisted the HEN leader, who had fired him – as much for jealousy as for incompetence.  “I can wrap Walter around my little finger.”

“I’d find that more reassuring if you had fingers,” replied the pirate, while the other hens snickered.  “Since you kicked him out, I’m counting on you to get him back – or if he can’t be gotten back, then I expect you to neutralize him.”  Then he made a chopping motion at his neck that caused all the fowl to cringe.

“Yes sir!!” replied the HEN leader.  And she flew off to do her duty, leaving the others to sigh with envy.

“Why is William back in England, did we kick him out too?”

The chickens all twittered.  “He was really incompetent.”  “Worse than Walter,” replied another.  “He was nothing to crow about,” added a third.

“What was the problem?”

“He ran an honest table,” the first chicken finished.

“No!” snorted Don Swan.  “That’s horrible!  Nevertheless he’s been useful in the past.  Other than that, he’s still an amoral liar and a thief, isn’t he?”

The hens all looked at each other.  “We think so,” the first hen replied.

“Good!  Let’s figure out a way to use him.  Let me think on it.  “Now,” he continued.  “What about the dwarf and the sailors?”

When the hens informed him of the plan to send rowboats against the Armada, he decided, “That’s where we’ll use William.  Tell him to get into a dinghy and sabotage that operation.”

“Are you sure he’ll be willing to help us?”

“Here.  This should convince him.”  And another chicken took off with a bag of coins in its beak.

He was pleased to learn that Hombre had left Ireland and on his way to Southern France,  But he still had  some concern.  “That dwarf can be a huge problem.  Fortunately I think I know what to do.”  He pulled out a sheet of parchment out of a drawer in his desk and started writing – folding it and tying it to the leg of a chicken.  “Henrietta,” he told her, ”I want you to take this to…” and he whispered the destination.

Frustrated, the butterfly spying, upside down on the ceiling, decided it would hear not more.  It unfolded its wings, slipped out a crack in the deck.  Flying low to avoid detection, it swooped over a rowboat just as the dingy ran into the side of the Swan.  In it was a hideous old sea hag in dirty crimson robes, with a black raven on her shoulders.  As the butterfly hurried off, a porthole opened and Don Swan was heard to exclaim, “Mom!  What are you doing here?”

*     *     *

“You’ve found Rosa.  But now she’s the daughter of Queen Elizabeth,” the Mysterious Stranger questioned the butterfly.  “And she’s locked in the Tower of London?  That’s hard to believe.”  The reason Huberto Alonzo Miguel Rojo found this hard was that, as Rosa’s father, he felt certain that he would have remembered if the Queen of England was her mother.

He continued as his companion stroked the butterfly and fed it cookie crumbs.   “I can’t believe it!   First Swan causes Rosa to lose her Royall Spanish inheritance when those chickens steal my collections - and I’m arrested in for tax theft.  But now, when she stands to inherit all of England, she may lose that too because of that pirate.  I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to think Don Swan is not a nice person.”

“No!  You don’t believe that, Senor Rojo.  You see good in every one.  I bet it was a wish,” said Naught.  “They often go wrong.”  He shifted in his feather suit, trying not the crease them.

It was a wish that paired him and Huberto.  Believing that he’d already used his wish on stingerless bees, he offered a toast to Rosa the night before, as the dwarfs and their wives, the Lavender Fairies, sat around the table in their oak tree.  They were fending for themselves because Helga-Aberdeen was off visiting her aunts.

“Here’s to Rosa’s happiness.  I wish that eventually she be reunited with her father.”

WHOOSH!

There was a flash of lightning, a cloud of smoke, and the roar of thunder…  And to everyone’s surprise, Chevy showed up.  He was holding a piece of birthday cake, getting ready to blow out the candle.

“Oh hi,” he said.  “I didn’t realize Irving had invited you to my twenty-first birthday party.  Is this some kind of surprise party?”

It took them awhile to convince him that she hadn’t – and that he was back in the Black Forest.

“But if you’re twenty-one, that explains it,” said Thirty-nine.  Now you’re a full fledged wizard.”

“Surprise,” said Lucky.

“Wait a minute,” said Negative-one.  “Then what happened to the bees?”

“But I don’t want to be a…”  He stopped and sighed.  “You’re right.  I can feel the power of the amulet.  What was the wish?”

Naught answered.  “I wished that Rosa would eventually be with her father,” he admitted, repeating his toast.

 “You said ‘eventually’ – not ‘right away’?” Chevy asked.

“Well…” hemmed Naught.  “I didn’t want to seem pushy.”

“Uncle Larry’s right, people just don’t know how to make a proper wish.

“It sounded like a good wish to us,” the others insisted.

“Horse Feathers!” snorted Chevy.

WHOOSH!

There was a flash of lightning, a cloud of smoke, and the roar of thunder…

Chevy went home to his party.  But Naught ended up at the end of the Navy pier - in a suit covered with feathers - standing next to Rosa’s father, who was there to meet with a British admiral.  Surprisingly Huberto and Naught could understand each other.  “You must be like a son to me,” was the only explanation that Huberto could think up.  But in reality, Naught understood Spanish as a part of the wish.

“That’s the largest parrot I’ve ever seen,” remarked Admiral Watanabe, as he completed his secret negotiations with former tax collector.

“It could be worse” Huberto said, later as he plucked a few molted ones from Naught’s back.  “What is it wasn’t a suit?”

“I didn’t say anything about feathers,” Naught grumbled.  “He did!  It may be Chevy’s first time, but he shouldn’t complain.  I don’t think he’s any better at granted wishes than I am at making them…You don’t suppose these are really from a horse, do you?”

*     *     *

 “I think we should go this way,” said Rosa, as the escapees crept down the back stairs of the Tower.

“But the kippers are over here,” insisted Walter, and he heading deeper into the prison.

“What’s this?” said the little penguin, as he came to a standstill before a room overflowing with jewelry.

“C r o w n   J e w e l s,” Rosa read the letters on the door individually, not knowing what they meant.  She looked inside.  “Oh, it’s only diamonds.”

“Can we take some,” one of the fours asked.

“I don’t see why not,” replied Rosa.  “It’s not as if they were coal.”

Walter was disappointed and Rosa was incensed, when they stumbled onto the weapon inspector’s kitchen and found the kippers eaten, with Rosa’s pan sitting in a sink.

“Some people are just plain selfish,” Walter complained, as Rosa started to wipe it clean with a dishrag.  “What’s this?”  He poked his head into a side room and found three people sleeping off a good meal.

“That ones the royal weapons inspector,” Rosa informed him.  “The one in the middle is Admiral Watanabe, and the tall one with his feet sticking out is Sir Francis Drake.”

“Drake, huh?” replied Walter, after they moved on.  “His feet aren’t webbed either.”

Before she could answer, they came upon a door marked “Egress”.

*     *     *

Queen Elizabeth was feeling guilty about locking her daughter in the Tower.  Beheading cousins was one thing, but Rosa was her own flesh and blood – even if she couldn’t remember having met her before.

Perhaps she should tuck her in.

As the Queen climbed the Tower stairs, Huberto was scaling the outside using an ice pick he found lying at its base.  He was determined to rescue her and save her new inheritance.  Naught had different assignment.  Huberto asked him to send butterflies to all of Rosa’s friends to see if they would come and help.

“Maybe we’ll get more replies,” Naught suggested, “if we send messages to anyone who admits knowing her.”

Huberto was so intent that he didn’t notice Devil Chickens fly in the window above him carrying a folded square of canvas.  And leave shortly thereafter with the lumpy canvas rolled up - kicking and screaming.

As Huberto stood in the center of the empty cell, eyeing the overturned bed, a broken table, and shattered glass; thirteen ladies on rugs that smelled strongly of fresh baked bread, and three witches on a swaybacked reindeer, flew into the room

“We’ve come to invade England,” the countess told him, while patting her hair back into place.  “But I suppose we could clean a little first.”