Beauty and the Beast (14 page)

Three days pass before the doctor returns. “I apologize for the delay,” he says, wiping his brow as he hurries into the library. “I had to travel far and wide for the correct ingredients. They are quite rare, you see.” No stranger to rare ingredients, I am curious as to what he used. I open my mouth to ask, but shut it when I realize that while Prince Riley is familiar with the alchemical arts and the wares of the apothecary, the beast most likely is not. I cannot risk raising his suspicions.

The dark purple, sludge-like potion certainly smells bad enough to work. Since the pardoner's bone did nothing (in fact, upon further consideration, I am pretty certain it was a chicken leg), this is my last chance. “Cheers,” I say, and shudder as the foul liquid makes its way down my throat. And then I wait, hoping not to empty the contents of my stomach upon the fancy carpet. The doctor and Godfrey inch closer. My family probably does, too, but who can tell?

“Hmm,” the doctor says, pinching my forearm between his pudgy fingers. “Perhaps you are a bit less furry now?”

I am not.

“Your nose,” he says, the hope evident in his voice. “It is a little less pointy?”

I reach up to touch it, then shake my head.

His face falls. “I am truly sorry to have failed you,” he says, and I think he actually means it. Of course, he is probably afraid I will eat him now.

“It is not your fault,” I assure him, even as my last ray of hope burns out. “Perhaps no man can undo the curses of a witch.”

The doctor stumbles backward, grabbing his medicine bag and clutching it to his chest. “A witch! You said nothing of dark magic afoot. There is only one man I know of who knows the secrets of a witch's power.”

Hope flutters in my chest. “Truly? What is his name?”

“Moravian S. Pilsner is the name,” he replies. “But —”

“Can you tell me where to find him?” I ask, not wanting to hear any
but
s. “I shall reward you heavily.”

“He is twenty years dead and gone,” the doctor replies. Then he gives me one curt nod and scurries from the room. I sink into the nearest chair and rest my head in my hands.

The library is completely quiet. My fate, and all our fates, appear sealed. I debate crawling back into bed and dramatically throwing the blanket over my head, but truly, what good would it do? It would only upset my parents. They will lose me to the witch in a few short months. I need not make them worry more.

Father clears his throat. “I believe we have but one option left.”

“What is that?” Alexander asks. “Flee to the countryside and hide in the forest for the rest of our lives?”

“We are the royal family,” Father avows. “We do not flee or hide. What we shall do is quite simple.” He pauses here for effect, then says, “We shall simply find a girl to fall in love with Riley.”

At that, Alexander bursts out laughing. I would laugh, too, but I no longer seem capable of it.

“Where would we possibly find such a girl?” Mother asks. “She would have to be blind. No offense, dear,” she says, patting me gently on the arm.

“None taken,” I mutter.

“She does not have to be blind,” Alexander says. “Only really, really, horrifically ugly. If Riley was her only hope of marriage —”

“I need some fresh air,” I say, standing up abruptly. This results not only in the chair falling backward into a large vase but also in making me dizzy. Not willing to show weakness, I press on through the library doors, then pause on the stairs. I wait to see (or rather,
hear
) if they are following me, but the hallway remains quiet.

I am alone and glad of it.

Sadly, I cannot actually get any fresh air, at least not on the castle grounds. As far as I know, the tower balcony is still locked. Not that it would look good for a beast to be lording over the land from such a high vantage anyway. I shall have to make do with sitting by an open window.

I have not visited my lab since the explosion, nor have I given my experiments any thought. In light of what has happened to me, everything else — my bagpipes, my research into the unknown, even my interest in the stars — seems most unimportant.

But I now find myself eager to be in a familiar, comforting space that is all my own. I hurry up the two flights, careful not to trip over my own large feet as I ascend the narrow stairs. I still manage to bash my forehead against the door frame as I enter the lab. Thicker-headed now or not, I can already feel the swelling.

The lab seems larger than I remembered. After looking around, I realize it only appears larger because so many of my belongings are gone. All burnt to cinders, or shattered into tiny shards of glass and ceramic. Why did I ignore the first lesson Master Cedrick ever taught me?
“Always know the properties of your ingredients before you use them.”
So what does Prince Riley, famous alchemist, do? He finds three unmarked bottles, mixes them together, and then heats them. I rub my wounded forehead.

The furnace is gone, of course, having crashed to the ground below, and a brick or two is still missing from the wall. The carpenters who fled upon the sight of me never returned to complete the repairs. They must have figured since the queen was missing, there was no reason to risk being a beast's dinner for one last brick.

All the rest of my worms are gone, too. Whether they were casualties of the explosion, or of the maids' brooms, I shall never know. It is just as well, since immortality will have to wait. I certainly do not wish to live forever in this condition.

The view outside the laboratory window is both familiar and strange. I am used to seeing much activity on the Great Lawn. Squires training, or children playing tug-of-war or leapfrog or lawn bowling, the sound of their laughter reaching me all the way up here. Not to mention all the workers who would normally be coming and going, busy with their daily tasks. The grounds are quiet now, as though someone spread a blanket over them. I allow myself to take a few deep breaths of air, grateful the winds are blowing away from the dung heap. I never realized how much I loved my home until now, when I am essentially a prisoner in it, unable to even claim my own name. I shall sorely miss it when I truly do become the prisoner of a witch talented enough to make me want to dance.

Me, dancing willingly! It is unnatural!

I turn to what is left of my stacks of notebooks and page through the hardened parchment. So many hours spent here, so many small discoveries, insights, tiny mysteries unfolded. My dreams of being a true scientist will never come true now. Of that I am sure. I lose myself in the notebooks as the shadows lengthen on the walls. It is nearly dinnertime, but I am not hungry.

A squeeze on my arm alerts me that I am no longer alone. I have long since stopped jumping at the unexpected touch or voice at my side. “Hello, Mother,” I say, certain it is her by the scent of lilac and jasmine. At least someone in my family continues to care about their personal hygiene. Father has been getting pretty ripe.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” she says, which are words that in all my years I have never heard from her. Everything is so changed now.

She takes a deep breath, and I steel myself for what is coming. “I advise you to take a long soak tonight, and perhaps allow Godfrey to do some … grooming?”

I sniff under my arms. Perhaps Father and Alexander are not the only ones to let themselves go.

“I am making some finer clothes for you,” she continues, “and I expect you to be on your best, most charming behavior.”

Did I miss something? I was never charming as Riley; I am much less so as the beast. “Why am I doing all this?”

Another deep breath. Then, “Because tomorrow you have a date.”

“A
date
?”

“Three, actually. Godfrey went into the village and found three girls willing to meet the beast.”

I am stunned at this turn of events. “But Godfrey can barely find the nose on his face.”

“Alexander went along. He was Godfrey's eyes. He had been begging to get out of the castle anyway.”

I groan. This day could not get any worse.

“Oh,” she says, “and bring your dancing shoes.”

The sun will soon set on our third day at The Welcome Inn, and we are quickly wearing out our welcome. Veronica has complained to the innkeeper about the uncomfortable beds, the lack of lanterns in the hallway, the lack of soap in the latrine, the blandness of the stew, the rowdiness of the alehouse downstairs, and the general absence of anything interesting to do in this town. So far all the innkeeper has done to remedy the situation is to instruct the cook to toss a few chunks of meat into the stew. Considering their appearance coincided with the ceasing of the wild dogs' barking, we leave them on the bottom of our bowls.

Veronica has made an unlikely friend in the enormous bodyguard, Flavian. He said Veronica reminds him of his own daughter, who he had to leave behind in his search for work. Every time Veronica storms down to the innkeeper to complain about something, Flavian, clearly amused, slips her a ginger candy.

Although I would be hard-pressed to blame it on the innkeeper, this town truly is quite boring. We have been in every shop four times and visited every stall at least as many. While the baker here does make very delicious cinnamon buns, we were asked not to return due to Handsome being unable to keep telling the baker all the things he was doing wrong. We did stumble upon a lovely field of wildflowers, though, and have now amassed quite a large collection of lavender and lilies, and sprigs of sage, thyme, and rosemary. The sweet smell has successfully chased the dank one from our room.

But mostly our days have been filled with wandering the streets to see if anything on the map lines up with our surroundings. We have examined the map from all angles. We have held it close, stood far away, turned it in every direction, even held it up to a mirror to see if it revealed anything. It remains maddeningly undecipherable.

Besides the crowded dining hall, the only common area of The Welcome Inn is the few chairs set up before the large hearth near the front desk. For the past two nights, Flavian has kicked out whoever was sitting in the chairs so that we could warm ourselves by the low flames.

“I think this should be our last night here,” Handsome says as we huddle close to the fire. The nights have gotten progressively cooler. “Even without the map's guidance, we must venture forth.”

Veronica nods. “We shall leave after breakfast.” As usual, she has the map spread out on her knees, as though it will suddenly start to make sense if she stares at it long enough.

A commotion behind us makes us all twist our heads. A tall, thin man in a fine waistcoat and stylish stockings relentlessly presses the innkeeper's bell while his groomsman drops one trunk on top of another. A boy who looks around my age orders the groomsman to be more careful.

During our time here we have seen many travelers come and go, but never any wealthy ones. Or if they were, they were wise enough to disguise their wealth.

The man takes a break from ringing the bell to storm over to the hearth. “Do any of you children know where the innkeeper is? My son and I have been traveling all day and we need a room for tonight. I need to know where to park my carriage. I need to eat. I need a bath.”

“I hope you brought your own soap,” Veronica mutters.

Handsome stands up. “You can park your carriage behind the inn. There are posts and water for the horses, too. I suggest you tip the guard well. He can be cranky.”

The man goes out to his carriage while his son leans up against their pile of trunks and looks at us. Looks at the map, to be more precise. “What is that?” he asks, managing to sound both bored and interested at the same time.

“None of your concern,” Veronica says, holding it away from the boy.

“I shall be the judge of that,” he says, stepping toward her. She holds it farther away. I do not think she realizes how close her hand is to the fire behind her.

“Stop!” Handsome yells, stepping between Veronica and the boy. The boy looks shocked that someone would speak to him in such a manner, but he halts his approach. The two boys are so busy staring each other down that neither of them see what I see.

The map. It is … changing.