Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  She pulled a bit of parchment out of her bag and wrote, I know the vendors my dad uses, but if we’re going to do this right, we can’t buy silk from Jacquard or wool from Garter. If we want companies who really treat their people properly, we might have to look outside of Blue.

  She pushed this across the table to Dash, whose jaw tensed when he read it. She’d insulted him again. Insulted the country. Before she could try to fix it, Lavaliere was beside them — Dash crumpled the note in his fist not a moment too soon. Lavaliere looked narrowly at his closed hand.

  “I need help finding the ethics section,” she said. “Show me?”

  “Ella knows where it is,” the prince replied. “I don’t.”

  Lavaliere tossed her tail of hair and waited.

  Dash rose and followed her in among the bookshelves, and the two of them vanished from sight. Behind Ella, Paisley laughed softly. “You can change your shoes,” she murmured. “But you can’t change your birth.”

  “As if I’d change my birth,” Ella snapped, and she bent over her notes. With angry energy, she filled a sheet of blank parchment with columns and rows, and she began to list as many cost categories as she could think of, deliberately driving everything out of her head except for the business budget. There were loads of costs to consider — soon she needed another sheet of parchment, and then another. The task almost kept her mind from wandering back to Dash and Lavaliere, off behind the bookshelves, doing whatever they were doing.

  The prince returned at the end of the hour, his face expressionless, his hand clasping Lavaliere’s. He slung his schoolbag over his shoulder.

  “I’ll do a budget this weekend,” he said. “Will you do a vendor list?”

  “I already started the budget,” Ella replied.

  “Then I’ll do the vendors,” said Dash, never meeting her eyes. He turned as though to leave, but before he could take a step, Lavaliere leaned in and kissed him. Dash seemed to freeze for half a second, and then, unmistakably, he kissed back.

  Ella looked out the window at the athletic fields, her heart beating hard. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care who he kissed, but that was a lie and she knew it. So she told herself instead to get over Dash Charming — fast — before her feelings got any stronger.

  She just wished she knew how.

  LAVALIERE would not come unglued from his side. She was worse than having guards.

  “We can share a carriage to school next week, since I’m not boarding here anymore,” she said before they parted ways to their own carriages that afternoon. “What do you think?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “I obviously would,” she teased. “So just say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced at him with laughing eyes. “So you’ll pick me up?” she prodded.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll drop me off again after school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good; let’s try a harder one. What should we do this weekend?”

  “I don’t care.”

  He said it too loudly; she squeezed his hand hard. They had an audience — a few dozen students were lolling about on the yard in front of the Admissions building, waiting for carriages.

  “I mean —” He focused hard to force out the lie. “Whatever — makes you happy.”

  Lavaliere relaxed. “My mother got us tickets for a matinee tomorrow. Will you take me to the Curtains?”

  “Yes.”

  She kissed the corner of his mouth — for the benefit of the onlookers, he was sure. He fixed his mind on Ella’s note, and the idea that they would have to look outside the Blue Kingdom for vendors who treated their employees with respect. It couldn’t be true that not one single member of the Garment Guild was ethical. Some of them must have been doing the right things. He’d ask the Royal Librarian for records.

  He walked Lavaliere to her carriage and helped her in. “See you tomorrow,” she said, looking pleased as she sat back.

  At home, the library didn’t have what he wanted, although the librarian did give him copies of international labor laws and various other labor records that had been Relayed by the University of Orange. Dash would have to ask his father for the Blue Kingdom’s records himself. He stayed in his bedchamber for an hour after dinner, rehearsing what he wanted to say so that he wouldn’t draw suspicion, then found the king in his office, writing.

  “I need help with school.”

  His father did not look up. He looked wild with sleeplessness. His hair was unkempt, and his eyes were unusually dark. “Ask the librarian,” he said. “I’m busy.”

  “The library doesn’t have what I need.”

  “Then how am I supposed to help?”

  Here it was. He had to be smooth now. “I need information on the Garment Guild,” he managed in one breath.

  Now his father stopped writing and looked up sharply. “Is this about the Coach girl?”

  “No, it’s for class,” said Dash, who had anticipated this.

  “You need Garment Guild records for class? Why?”

  “Just to find vendors. For our business,” said Dash, forcing out the words. “So we can — get a decent score.” He was sweating. He hoped his father wouldn’t ask more questions.

  The king bent his head and kept writing, apparently satisfied. “Fine. I’ll call for some papers. When do you need them?”

  “It’s due next week,” Dash said.

  The king snatched a fresh sheet of vellum from a golden tray. “Not that you have a lick of sympathy,” he said, “but I’m sending a copy of this letter to every person I can think of who might be harboring Maud. Wherever she is, she’ll hear what I have to say.”

  Dash stepped forward to look at the pile of letters. The one on top of the pile was addressed Care of Queen Claret of the Olive Isles, and there was nothing Dash could do to stop it being sent without giving his mother’s whereabouts away. He only hoped that when the letter arrived, she would ignore it and stay where she was.

  “How is Lavaliere?” his father asked. “Happy with you, I hope. Her mother hasn’t set the House of Mortals upon me, so I assume you’re behaving yourself.”

  “I’m taking her to the theatre tomorrow.”

  “Good boy.”

  The next night, Dash was sitting up in bed, reading carefully through the labor records from Commonwealth Green, when messengers delivered a stack of large crates filled with various kinds of information on the Garment Guild. He got out of bed at once and went to his study, where he opened one crate and then another until he found what he wanted. Each company licensed by the Garment Guild reported not only their financial details every year, but also the total number of citizens they employed. Employee numbers were arranged by workshop locations, areas of skill, pay rates — and ages. There were plenty of fourteen-year-old apprentices listed among the employees at Aglet Laceworks. There were thirteen-year-olds too — even a few twelve-year-olds. Dash frowned at this, but he supposed it was to be expected that some children would start working younger than was strictly legal.

  The report from Batik Dyes, however, was worse. Of the five hundred Batik employees in Quintessential alone, almost a hundred of them were children, some as young as nine.

  He paged through the other files to see if anyone else hired young children and was dismayed to discover that some were worse than Batik: Garter employed children as young as eight, and when Dash found the record for Jacquard Silks, he had to stand up and walk away from his desk. What could Lariat Jacquard possibly want with six-year-olds? What could a child of six do in a workshop?

  When he was king, he would forbid it. He couldn’t believe that no Charming before him had ever done anything to stop this.

  He went to his father’s chamber and found him drinking by the fire, staring out the window at the sea. Queen Maud’s glass slipper sat on the table beside the crystal decanter, glimmering in the firelight.

  “I thought fourteen was the legal working age.”


  His father turned his head sluggishly. “Hmm?”

  “Fourteen. I thought you had to be fourteen to start an apprenticeship in this country.”

  “Ah.” The king drank deeply. “You’ve been reading labor reports.”

  “Isn’t it illegal to hire small children?”

  His father gave a lazy shrug. “Illegalities only matter if they are enforced,” he said. “To maintain the peace, we turn a blind eye to our friends’ failings.”

  “You let the Garment Guild do whatever they want, you mean.”

  “Why shouldn’t children find apprenticeships as early as they can?” The king drank again. “Their families might need the income.”

  “Six-year-olds, Father. That’s not apprenticing, that’s — that’s —” Dash shook his head. He had no word for what it was.

  His father laughed somewhat sadly. “My boy,” he said. “You are the first Charming in one hundred and fifty years who will rule this kingdom without the curse over your head. You have a chance at happiness. Don’t spoil it by becoming an idealist.”

  “Other governments enforce their apprenticeship laws,” Dash pressed. “Commonwealth Green — Yellow Country — I requested their records. They don’t allow this.”

  His father focused on him, and for a moment he appeared completely lucid. “This is the Coach girl’s influence,” he said softly, smiling. “It is, it is …”

  And it was. Dash said nothing, afraid of what might slip from him if he spoke.

  King Clement picked up the queen’s glass slipper and caressed the heel with his thumb. “Never mind,” he murmured, turning his gaze once more to the sea. “You can’t help what you feel. I know.”

  Dash left him there. He went back to his chambers, where he paged through every recent Guild record, taking notes as he went. He didn’t realize how long he’d been working until he had to call for more candles.

  Hours later, dawn broke, just as Dash replaced the Zori file in the final crate. He sat back in his chair, overwhelmed. There were so many wrongs. So many problems to be solved. He caught a sudden glimpse of his future — saw himself as king as he had never seen himself before. Not the mighty occupant of a throne, but a person hard at work, grappling with the Garment Guild. Ideals might be impossible to achieve, but he would try. What did it matter if he was the first Charming who could have a happy marriage? Why should that be his priority when so many in his country were suffering? When his kingdom was not all that it should be?

  He looked down at his pile of notes. A measly beginning, but maybe Ella could make something of it.

  At least she would see that he was on her side. Even if he had to stand at Lavaliere’s.

  WHEN the new week began, she walked into business class to find Lavaliere and Dash standing in the aisle between the desks, Lavaliere smoothing down the front of Dash’s uniform jacket with slow, deliberate fingers. Ella hung back by the smocks, unwilling to go closer until Lavaliere made her way to the front of the classroom.

  Dash sat heavily in his chair. Ella slid behind him and into her seat.

  “I made up some numbers over the weekend,” she said. “Costs and profits and all. They’re not real, but they’ll do. Did you decide anything about vendors?”

  Dash pulled a sheaf of vellum out of his schoolbag. There must have been twenty pages of closely written notes, all in his handwriting.

  “What’s this?” Ella asked as he placed the stack on the desk in front of her.

  “Numbers,” he said. “Vendors.”

  Ella picked up his notes and began to read as he watched her. She read and read, turning page after page of detailed research. Profits, skill groups, ages, payment — everything she could have wanted to know about every member of the Garment Guild except for the physical conditions in their workshops, which could be seen only by visiting them in person. She sat engrossed, reading the columns on Shantung Silkworks, and she didn’t realize that her mouth had opened or that her fingers were jittering until the prince asked:

  “Is it — useful?”

  “Useful?” she cried. From the front of the room, Paisley turned to glare at her. Ella was too excited to trust her voice; she picked up the chalk.

  It’s brilliant, she wrote. Where did you get all this so fast?

  “I can get things,” he said, blushing.

  “We should have put that on your list of skills, hey?” she whispered. “I can do a real business proposal now — not just for school. I can make this into a serious plan for my dad’s business and actually try to get him to follow it.”

  He grinned, dazzling her. And then he picked up her chalk and wrote swiftly on the table:

  Happy?

  Ella gestured for the chalk. Their fingertips brushed. They looked at each other, and she flushed hot and cold together.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”

  THE way Ella looked at him — it made him feel like he was really someone. Which he was. People had admired him all his life.

  But not like this.

  She pulled her hand away from his. On sudden impulse, he grabbed it.

  DASH seized her fingers, and she jumped. Stared at him. He pulled her hand under the desk and held on to it. His palm was hot — or maybe it wasn’t; she couldn’t be sure. Her insides had gone up in flames.

  What was he doing? Was he serious? They were in class — and he had a girlfriend. She had to pull her hand away.

  She couldn’t make herself do it.

  WHAT was the matter with him? Ella Coach was out of the question. He couldn’t do this — he had the Jacquards to please. His future throne to save. They were in the back corner of the room where nobody could see them, but still, he was chasing trouble. So much trouble.

  Ella gave his hand a tiny squeeze. Dash squeezed back.

  “And how are we coming along?” asked Professor Linsey-Woolsey, pulling up unexpectedly in front of their desk. Dash yanked his hand into his lap and choked. He couldn’t issue a sound.

  “Nearly done with the draft.” Ella spoke much too rapidly. She handed over their outline. “Still have to put the numbers in, but here’s our notes.”

  Professor Linsey-Woolsey glanced through Dash’s research.

  “Very thorough,” she said, and she left them again.

  “I’m … surprised about Shantung,” said Ella, after a moment. Her eyes were still fixed on his notes, which she clutched much harder than was necessary. “They don’t hire anyone under age fourteen. Now I want to shop there and see what their silk’s like. I bet Sharlyn will take me, if I ask.”

  Dash thought of the six-year-olds at Jacquard. The idea still sickened him.

  “What do the smaller children do?” he asked, his voice a rasp.

  “What, in the workshops?” Ella’s mouth twisted in a joyless smile. “They unroll cocoons,” she said. “They have little fingers. Kids as young as four do it.”

  “Four!” he exclaimed, shocked out of his embarrassment. “How?”

  “You catch on fast when someone hits you,” said Ella, rubbing her fingertips together. “And you’re tied to the chair so you can’t mess anything up.”

  “You’ve seen them? Tied to chairs?”

  Ella looked askance at him, and Dash realized his voice had risen. At the table in front of them, Loom and Chelsea sat working quietly. Too quietly. He shut his mouth.

  Children are cheap, Ella wrote. Apprentices get half wages.

  But four-year-olds can’t apprentice, Dash wrote back.

  “They can if nobody stops it,” Ella muttered. Shantung pays better than Jacquard too, she continued on the slate. It’s why they’re out of money. Who’s going to buy Shantung when they can get Jacquard for less? Even my dad buys Jacquard.

  “But — your mother.”

  Ella glanced at him. “Yeah.”

  Together, for the rest of the hour, they filled in their business plan. They worked mostly without talking, pointing to various charts and notes to get their ideas across. When class was done, Lavali
ere rose and packed her schoolbag. They were nearly out of time.

  Dash glanced at Ella. He wanted to speak to her — wanted to see her. Alone. Without Lavaliere, without guards. He was mad to consider it; there was no point in pursuing this.

  But he would. Somehow he would.

  “Tomorrow,” he blurted. “I’ll see you.” It was all he could think of to say, and then Lavaliere was upon them.

  HOW was she supposed to stop feeling things when he only got better every day? He listened, and he cared, and he’d given her massive piles of restricted financial information, and she was going to make something real out of it. She was going to make a business proposal for her dad and Sharlyn, and they were going to listen to her, because she’d have every single number worked out. Maybe Jasper was right and she couldn’t change the whole Garment Guild overnight. But she could start small. With Practical Elegance.

  She made a fist in her lap with the hand Dash had held. Why had he grabbed her hand when he was with Lavaliere? How could he kiss Lavaliere? He knew it was wrong to hurt people and starve them and put little children to work in shops — it didn’t make sense that he’d tangle himself up with a Jacquard, not even if she was beautiful and plush. He was better than caring about all that. He was.

  Ella watched Dash leave the classroom. He was stiff-backed. Wooden. His face had no spark in it. He held Lavaliere’s hand, but only just politely, like holding hands with a dance partner he’d been assigned.

  He didn’t like her at all.

  Ella felt suddenly sure of it. Dash didn’t care two stitches about Lavaliere Jacquard. So why was he always stuck to her?

  “Stare at him a little longer, why don’t you,” said Dimity, pausing next to Ella’s desk. “You’re pathetic.”

  “Shut your trap,” Ella muttered. Dimity sauntered out of the room.

  “Everything all right, Miss Coach?” asked Professor Linsey-Woolsey, who was the only one now left in the classroom with her. She peered at Ella from her desk.