Beauty

by Sarah Pinborough

  She felt happier when she found the smaller, more ordinary rooms where servants were working. In one long corridor boot boys slept over pots of polish, and in the kitchens the tables were full of half-made pies and pastries, the cooks and maids crumpled on the cold stone floor. Despite the huntsman’s orders not to touch anyone or anything, Petra dipped her finger in an open apple pie and then tasted it. The filling was sweet and fresh as if the mixture had been placed inside only minutes before. She ate some more. At least they wouldn’t starve while they were here. There would be enough food in the city to keep them going for several hundred years.

  An echo of a shout carried its way to her and she frowned, abandoning the pie and running back towards the centre of the building, her shoes slapping against the floor and raising dust in her wake. Was that danger? The shout came again. Closer this time.

  ‘I’ve found something. I need help!’

  She almost collided with the huntsman as she rounded a corner into the central hallway and without pausing they both ran up the sweeping staircase, taking the steps two at a time, following the prince’s shouts until they found him in a set of luxurious apartments in the middle of the castle.

  Petra stood in the bedroom doorway and her mouth dropped open.

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ the prince said. ‘We’ve got to help.’

  Petra cautiously followed the huntsman inside the vast room. At its centre was a large four poster bed, covered in sheets and blankets of pure, soft white. Sheer linen curtains hung around it, tied back to the posts with ribbons like curtains. In a glass by the bed, a single red rose sat in water, all of its petals scattered around the glass save the last one which drooped low but still clung to the stem. A beautiful young woman lay sleeping on the bed. She was fully dressed in a blue silk gown and jewels sparkled at her neck. Her full lips were parted slightly as if something had just surprised her, and her hair, jet black apart from two thick blonde streaks on either side, spread out across the pillow in glossy waves. She was beautiful, but she was also incredibly pale. Given the state of the floor around the bed, that wasn’t a surprise to Petra.

  Blood. It was everywhere. A pool of it, thick and crimson, had spread beneath her and now almost circled the large bed. The girl’s right hand hung over the side of the bed and as Petra stared at it a single tiny drop of blood fell from her forefinger to the floor.

  ‘It’s her finger,’ she whispered. ‘Look. She must have pricked her finger.’

  ‘Have you got any bandages?’ the huntsman asked. ‘Any salve?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Petra yanked the small bag her granny had packed from her shoulder and tipped the contents out over the end of the bed, taking a careful step to avoid the blood. ‘Is she still alive? She must have lost nearly all her blood.’

  The prince leaned over the bed and placed one hand on the girl’s chest. ‘Yes!’ he exclaimed, smiling. ‘She’s breathing. Just.’ He didn’t lift his hand though, but ran it up the sleeping beauty’s body. ‘I’ve never seen a girl like her,’ he whispered. ‘She’s perfect.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be touching her like that,’ Petra said as she handed the huntsman a small jar of her granny’s natural antiseptic. ‘She’s asleep. You can’t go around touching girls when they’re asleep.’

  The prince either wasn’t listening or chose to ignore her, because as the huntsman cut a strip of sheet from the bed, the prince stroked the girl’s face. ‘I should kiss her,’ he murmured.

  ‘No you really shouldn’t.’ Petra glared at him. ‘That would be all manner of wrong. If someone kissed me without my permission – handsome travelling prince or not – I’d punch them.’

  The huntsman laughed. ‘She has a point.’

  ‘She’s a princess. I’m a prince. I’m supposed to kiss her.’

  ‘We need to talk about the dungeons—’ the huntsman started.

  Two things happened at once. The huntsman wrapped the strip of cloth tightly around the tiny salved cut and stopped the next tiny droplet from escaping the wound; the prince ignored Petra’s warning, lowered his mouth to the sleeping princess’s and kissed her.

  A sudden tremble ran through every stone in the building, and then, as the prince lifted his lips from hers, the girl on the bed gasped and then coughed, and then her eyes opened.

  ‘She’s waking up,’ Petra whispered. In the glass by the bed, the rose came into full, beautiful bloom.

  A clattering noise came from somewhere close by, followed by a brief exclamation. Outside, a horse whinnied.

  ‘Not only her,’ the huntsman said, getting to his feet. ‘They’re all waking up.’

  ‘We’ve lifted the curse,’ the prince said, his hand still holding the princess’s.

  As the city came alive around them, all three travellers stared at the beautiful girl on the bed who was slowly easing herself into a sitting position. Colour was rushing back into her face as if with the curse lifted her body was restoring itself to perfect health. She looked at them, her eyes bleary.

  ‘Who are you?’ her voice was soft and sweet. ‘What happened?’ She looked down at her bandaged finger and the blood on the floor below and her eyes widened, her confusion gone. ‘There was a spindle! Rumplestiltskin!’

  ‘I’m a prince from a faraway kingdom,’ the prince said. ‘My father had heard legends of your city’s plight and we came to save you.’ Petra could clearly see that the young prince was in the process of falling head over heels in love. ‘I woke you with a kiss,’ he finished.

  The woman on the bed smiled at him and either chose to ignore the fact that the bandage was more likely to have saved her than a stolen kiss, or wasn’t awake enough to think it through properly.

  ‘How long have I been asleep?’ she asked.

  Petra thought of the lines that had been scratched into the statue at the centre of the sleeping city.

  ‘We think nearly a hundred years,’ she said softly.

  The princess said nothing for a long moment and then, just before the soldiers burst into the room, she muttered that one word again.

  ‘Rumplestiltskin.’

  5

  ‘Tonight is for celebration’

  As it turned out the princess wasn’t a princess at all but a queen, and her name was Beauty. As the city woke from its slumber she declared the day a holiday and ordered the kitchens to prepare a great feast to celebrate. She was a whirlwind of light and laughter and the huntsman saw that the prince was dazzled by her. She, in turn, seemed quite taken with him, and she kept her arm linked with his as she walked through the castle with her guests.

  ‘My poor father, the king, has only been gone six months,’ she said. ‘We were a city in mourning but now we must put that behind us and look to the future.’ She looked up at the prince and smiled. ‘And I can’t thank you enough for saving all of us from this terrible curse.’

  ‘We— I –’ the prince said, ‘– am your humble servant. I would have slain a dragon to save you.’

  ‘But why would anyone want to curse you?’ Petra asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Beauty answered. She frowned. ‘I can’t remember. I just know that it was Rumplestiltskin.’ Her voice was soft and her frown deepened into puzzlement. ‘Uncle Rumple.’

  ‘Your uncle?’ the prince said. ‘But that’s terrible. He must want the crown for himself.’

  ‘I called him my uncle,’ Beauty said, ‘but he wasn’t a blood relative. He was my father’s closest advisor.’ Her frown dissolved into sadness. ‘I thought he loved me.’

  ‘Everyone loves you, your majesty.’ A middle-aged man dressed in heavy, fur-lined robes swept along the corridor towards them. ‘You must never forget that.’ When he reached them, he bowed deeply. His dark eyes were sharp under his bushy eyebrows. ‘Let your faithful advisors worry about such things. He will not get close to you again, that much I personally guarantee. For now, you should put it out of your head and be glad that such a dashing prince has restored all to order.’

&nb
sp; He smiled at the prince who beamed back, happy to be at the centre of such adulation, but the huntsman caught the sharp edge to the older man’s smile and the hint of nervous energy escaping from him.

  ‘Thank you, First Minister.’ Beauty said. ‘You have always been so very good to me.’

  ‘That’s because I know and understand you, your majesty. Let your council worry about such things; you should all be bathing and preparing for the feast,’ her advisor continued. ‘Tonight is for celebration!’

  ‘You’re right.’ The queen rose up on tip toes and gave the man a kiss on his bearded cheek. ‘You are so often right. I just wish I could remember. There are always so many things I can’t remember.’ She clapped her hands together, her smile restored. ‘But let us retire to our rooms and prepare. Later there shall be music and dancing and everything will be well in the world again.’

  The huntsman let the small group walk ahead and hung back with the advisor. ‘What does she mean when she says there are things she can’t remember?’ he asked. ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘No, no,’ the first minister said smoothly, picking up his pace to return the huntsman to the group. ‘She has had occasional small memory blackouts since she was a child. They are nothing unusual. Nothing to concern you.’

  The huntsman smiled and followed him, but his skin prickled. He might not be a man of court, but he was pretty sure that whenever someone said there was nothing to concern him, it meant exactly the opposite.

  The huntsman did not take much time preparing for the dinner, choosing to keep his own clothes on after washing rather than wear the fancy shirt and trousers left for him in his room. These people were not his people and while he would be polite and respectful, he had no desire or need to impress them. As far as he could tell his job was nearly done. He just needed to get the prince safely home again.

  He catnapped for half an hour or so and then wandered the castle and grounds for an hour. After the stillness and silence of their arrival it was strange to see the people suddenly active, like dolls brought back to life. Did they even know how long they had slept, he wondered, as women scrubbed dust from the floors and men polished windows. Most were laughing and talking excitedly, but here and there some cast suspicious looks his way and kept their heads down as they scurried to their next task.

  In the central corridors of the castle he passed groups of gentlemen and ministers, each dressed like the first minister but with perhaps less fur and finery on their robes. A few were huddled in deep conversation, only breaking away and pretending mirth and laughter as he went by. Were they plotters, he wondered. The young queen was sweet and kind; were these old men trying to take her kingdom from her? He tried to push the thought from his mind. This was not what he was here for. This kingdom’s problems were none of his business.

  He climbed high up into one of the turrets, wanting to get a view of what lay to each side of them, but as he reached the summit he was stopped by two soldiers. They were not boys, but men; thick set and gruff. Beyond them, a large black bell hung in a recess.

  ‘You’re not allowed up here,’ the largest of the two men said. ‘Everyone knows that.’ His hand was on his sword, and the huntsman raised his hands slightly.

  ‘I’m just a visitor,’ he said. ‘I wanted to see the view.’

  ‘Then use the windows. This tower is out of bounds. Only the ministers are allowed up here.’

  They took a step forward and the huntsman retreated back down the stone stairs. Why would a bell need guarding? Why did he get the feeling that this castle was filled with secrets? There was only one person who could give him the answers: the traitor Rumplestiltskin, wherever he was.

  The moon was full that night and the windows were wide open to let the light shine through; the feast was a merry affair. The sumptuous banqueting hall had been decorated with flowers and candles and every table was filled with more food than the guests could possibly eat. The huntsman and Petra sat to either side of Beauty and the prince, who really only had eyes for each other and spent most of the evening holding each other’s hands and feeding each other sweetmeats.

  Petra, dressed in a beautiful red gown and looking every inch the court lady, was talking to a minister seated on the other side of her while the huntsman, not one for small talk at the best of times, ate and drank while quietly watching the gathered guests. They were mainly older men and women and although they smiled and laughed, he noticed that they did not look often to the main table where their queen sat.

  ‘Some more wine, sir?’

  The huntsman looked up to see a pretty serving girl smiling at him. He nodded and she leaned forward to refill his glass, angling her body so that her ample cleavage was clearly on display should he choose to look. Being a hot-blooded man of the forest, he did. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Who are all these guests?’

  ‘Ministers and their wives mainly,’ she answered. ‘Friends of the old king. Why do you ask, sir?’ She continued to lean forward intimately and he could smell her clean warmth and her young skin was clear and bright.

  ‘They just all seem a little old for the queen. Where are all the young men of the court?’

  ‘Oh, they don’t come to these dinners, sir. They come to the balls. I don’t serve at the balls so I can’t tell you about them.’

  The flirtation in her voice was replaced with a slightly defensive edge, but the huntsman squeezed her hand and winked and the blush returned to her face. Suddenly he felt the need for something simple and uncomplicated and this girl was clear about her attraction to him.

  ‘Perhaps, after the feast,’ he said, ‘we could drink some wine and I could tell you a few things about my homeland.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ The girl grinned. ‘I’ll find my way to your rooms then.’ She turned and bustled away and the huntsman smiled after her. Courtly intrigue he could live without.

  ‘Hey.’ A finger tapped his shoulder and Petra snuck into the seat beside him. ‘The forest hasn’t opened up.’

  ‘What?’ The huntsman was still wondering how the serving girl would feel beneath him. Petra nudged him again.

  ‘The minister I was talking to. He said that the forest wall is still there. The curse or whatever it is can’t have been broken fully.’ She paused. ‘Is it just me, or does everything seem a bit odd? Bits of this castle just don’t make sense.’

  ‘It’s not just you,’ the huntsman muttered. ‘I saw the dungeons—’ But before he could say any more the prince got to his feet, tapping the side of his crystal wine glass with a small spoon. His face was flushed and his eyes sparkled.

  ‘Firstly, I would like to thank you all for this wonderful hospitality you have shown me and my travelling companions. We are honoured and humbled at the kindness you have shown us.’

  There was a smattering of applause and the huntsman nodded awkwardly at the guests who caught his eye.

  ‘But my biggest thanks must be for the beauty that you have brought into my life.’ The prince looked down at the smiling woman beside him and suddenly the huntsman knew where this speech was going. The prince was headstrong and impulsive, he’d already known that, but foolish was about to be added to the list.

  ‘From the moment I saw her asleep on her bed, I knew I would love her forever. I had never seen anyone so perfect,’ he said. ‘I have asked her if she will marry me,’ he smiled at the guests, ‘and she has said yes.’

  A few gasps ran round the room and then the assembled ministers burst into applause. The huntsman watched as a few of the men exchanged glances as they clapped. Behind their smiles, they weren’t entirely happy with the news.

  ‘And so,’ the queen got to her feet, ‘let there be music and dancing!’

  It was when the young couple were on their third dance that the first minister signalled the huntsman and Petra to follow him to an ante-chamber and closed the door behind them. He poured them each a glass of red wine and then sat behind a heavily inlaid desk. The huntsman wondered if the young prince realised who re
ally ran this kingdom. It wasn’t the pretty girl he was dancing with, that was for certain.

  ‘I want you to undertake a task for me,’ he said. ‘Your prince has said I may count on your agreement.’

  For the thousandth time since leaving his home, the huntsman once again silently cursed the prince.

  ‘My job,’ he said, leaning against the wall and sipping his wine, ‘is to protect the prince and ensure his safe return. Nothing more.’

  ‘Then you will do as I ask. For I imagine his safety depends on it: you must find Rumplestiltskin and bring him to me.’

  ‘Don’t you have soldiers who can do that?’ Petra asked. ‘You do seem to have a lot of soldiers here.’

  ‘The soldiers are looking for him too. But I have my reasons for wanting you to find him rather than them.’

  ‘Why?’ the huntsman asked. He thought of the dungeons but didn’t mention that he’d seen them. Somehow he thought that might blacken his card and, as Petra had pointed out, there were a lot of soldiers in the city. It wouldn’t be difficult for the first minister to dispose of a travelling huntsman. And nor did he want to end up on the wrong side of one of those cell doors.

  ‘Just to be certain,’ the first minister smiled, hiding an impatient flash of an expression behind it. ‘You don’t think he was working alone,’ Petra said.

  ‘You want names from him.’

  ‘My reasons are none of your concern. Suffice to say that I want him brought to me and the spindle he carries destroyed.’ He took a thick piece of parchment from the desk and handed it to the huntsman. ‘Those are the addresses of his home and other places he frequents. Perhaps you’ll find clues to his whereabouts there.’

  The huntsman took it and tucked it into his belt. ‘We’ll try, but we don’t know your city or its people. The soldiers will have more luck.’

  ‘You’re a huntsman,’ the first minister purred. ‘Hunt.’

  ‘We’ll wait until the city is asleep,’ he said, ‘and go then.’ He opened the door for Petra and they left the minister behind.