Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” whispered Jack, looking gray. “All right,” he said, crouching down beside Rapunzel. “You have to let me help you with that ring.”

  “I’m getting better at it, aren’t I?” said Rapunzel, crossing her arms so that Jack could not touch her ringed finger. “I can do things by myself.”

  “Fine!”

  “Good! Then I want to travel back to Maple Valley alone and see if I can get there.”

  “You can’t wander all over Tyme alone — you could get hurt, or killed —”

  “You know who you sound like, don’t you?” said Rapunzel, and Jack shot to his feet and turned away from her, wounded and furious.

  Serge couldn’t follow the particulars of this conversation, but he understood its tone. “You’re both exhausted,” he said, inserting himself gently between them. “And hungry, I imagine. Can I get you something to eat?”

  Neither of them spoke.

  “At least let me introduce you to Prince Dash, Rapunzel. He’s very much wanted —”

  “Did you say Rapunzel?”

  Dash stood nearby with Ella, and when he saw Rapunzel sitting on the ground at Serge’s feet, he bowed low. She stayed where she was, with her face turned away. Serge thought he heard her sniffle.

  “Ella Coach,” said Dash, straightening up again. “Meet Rapunzel, who killed the witch and set me free.”

  “Hi,” said Ella, studying Rapunzel with a slight frown. “Nice to meet you. Everyone’s glad you could come…. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” said Rapunzel distantly.

  “Then would you like to dance?” asked Dash, and he offered his hand.

  Rapunzel finally looked up at his face. When she saw him, she turned pink.

  “Did you really come to my tower?” she asked him.

  Dash nodded.

  “And you cut my hair?”

  Now it was the prince who blushed. “Yes,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

  “Never mind. I don’t care.” Rapunzel wiped her nose on her sleeve and gave him her hand, and he pulled her to her bare feet and escorted her to the dance floor, leaving her mud-caked pointy slippers behind.

  Jack watched her go, his expression tight. “She’s right,” he said eventually. “She should do what she wants.” He pivoted away from the dance floor. “Thanks for the invitation, Serge — I think I’ll grab some food after all.” He made his way to the refreshments.

  Ella watched Rapunzel with Dash for a moment. “Well, she’s not what I pictured.” She shook her head and tucked her arm through Serge’s. “Go to Crimson,” she said.

  This caught Serge so by surprise that he had to blink rapidly to keep his emotions organized. “In six months or so,” he said. “I promised you a year. How many times —”

  “Look, I’m not trying to be rude, hey?” she said. “But I don’t want you to stay any longer. Not for me.”

  “Your mother wanted you to have my support.”

  “What more do I need?” She nudged him. “Anyway, we’re not contractual, remember? We’re official, you and me. And Jasper too. That won’t change just because you’re both in Crimson.”

  Serge was quiet, wrestling with himself.

  “He’s lonely,” said Ella. “His letters are awful.”

  “I know,” Serge murmured. “He’s so cheerful it’s depressing.”

  “Please go to Cliffhang and make sure he’s all right,” said Ella. She clutched his arm suddenly. “But stay for my speech first?” she whispered. “Don’t leave until I’m done.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Serge replied hoarsely. “And if you ever need me —”

  “I’ll call. I promise.” Ella touched the E at her throat, and Serge felt in his wings a throb of emotion that was both hers and his.

  “It’s time,” he said, pointing to the stage, where the Current had just stopped playing. The musicians cleared away as Maud Poplin climbed the steps to address the assembled party.

  “Here it comes,” Ella whispered. “Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need it,” Serge replied. “But good luck, Ella. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  He kissed her cheek. “Go on,” he said, and he gave her a gentle push toward the stage.

  SHE barely heard Queen Maud’s introduction. She saw Singer climb to the stage and was dimly surprised to see Dash go with him. He stood at the boy’s shoulder, and Singer pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and read his speech to the silent, expectant crowd.

  “Tonight’s party is many things,” he said. “Most important, it’s the official opening of the Poplin School for Children, which is a really special place. It’s where all of us who — lost people in the Jacquard fire —” He stopped. His chin hardened and trembled.

  Dash put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Where all of us who lost people in the Jacquard fire,” Singer continued in a whisper, “have found a home and an education. The garden we’re in tonight is dedicated to my brother, Raglan Mantle, who thought education was important. The Raglan Mantle Memorial Garden is a place where we can come to remember the people who loved us, and who died working for us. We’re so grateful for your donations to our school, and for everything you’ve done to support our futures. Thank you.”

  Healthy applause met this speech, and Ella saw that more than one pair of eyes was wet.

  Some faces, though, wore smirks — the Garters’ among them. They, and a few other old families, stood at the back of the crowd with arms crossed and noses high. As Ella climbed to the stage and Singer left it, their disdainful amusement was palpable. She felt like she was swimming through it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said when she reached center stage, “thank you for coming here tonight.” She would be steady. Calm. She had been in front of these people before, with more to fear than ridicule. She’d made it through the trial, and she’d make it through this. “I realize that this was a long way to travel,” she said. “I won’t take too much time away from the pleasantries — and I hope you feel, as you look around you, that your donations are going to an excellent cause.”

  “Miss Coach!”

  Ella looked into the crowd and saw, at the back, that a skinny scribe was waving to her. He was standing with Garb Garter. “Yes?” she said, because she had little choice.

  “I hear you designed that gown you’re wearing,” said the scribe. “That right?”

  Ella nodded, wary.

  “And you’re an experienced knitter, wouldn’t you say? You can spin too, can’t you?”

  She nodded again. “I’d be glad to answer any technical questions a bit later,” she began, but the scribe was talking again.

  “It’s just that you seem to be skilled at weaving together all sorts of things,” he said. “Silk thread, pretty gowns, social ladders that let you climb as high as the palace …”

  There were big laughs from the outer edges of the garden. Shocked ones from the middle. Ella was rigid. She sought an answer, but nothing came to her. Nothing she could say out loud. For a long, deadly moment, she was dumb, and the laughter in the crowd turned to murmurs. Entertained. Pitying.

  At the back of the crowd, she saw Serge’s wings flicker. At the front, Sharlyn and her dad were watching her with tense, anxious faces.

  “I appreciate the thought,” she replied, keeping her voice nice and even. Almost cheerful. “But it’s not quite accurate, hey? I wish I could say I’d climbed here myself. Maybe then I’d feel like I deserve all this. But no — I was lifted here. Queen Maud wore my father’s Cinder Stoppers, and Lady Sharlyn Gourd took interest in his genius, and my world changed. It was nothing but luck, really. I could just as easily have spent my life locked in one of those Jacquard rooms. That was my childhood, and I was inches from it being my whole future. I’ll never forget that.” She paused. “And what maybe you can’t understand is that I’d never want to.”

  She could hear the crickets singing on the dunes beyond the sch
ool, but in spite of the utter silence, she knew her answer had been a good one. At the back of the crowd, Nettie Belting scribbled furiously beside the skinny scribe who’d stuck his foot in it. He wasn’t leering now.

  “Nettie Belting has called me a hero,” said Ella, slipping straight back into her prepared speech. “But while you won’t find me contradicting anything else she’s written, I have to correct her on that. I’m a survivor, not a hero. Heroism doesn’t just happen all at once in an emergency — it’s a series of daily actions. It’s in the decisions we make that affect other people, and it’s within all our grasps.

  “The Garment Guild,” she said, “first made this country great.” She looked around at all of them. “The symbol of the Blue Kingdom is the spindle, because we rely upon it for the wealth and security of our nation. Your contributions to Blue, and your ancestors’ contributions before you, are immeasurable. Your families expanded this kingdom along the Tranquil Sea. You funded the military that kept us safe during the Pink wars. And today, you provide the largest and steadiest source of employment in the Blue Kingdom. Perhaps you feel that no more can be asked of you.”

  They waited, hanging on her words now.

  “But I’m asking anyway,” said Ella. “Because a tragedy like the fire at Jacquard can never happen in this country again. It sullied our name. The Blue Kingdom has a new reputation across Tyme — and it’s not the one we want. It’s not the kind this country has ever stood for. You’re the ones with the power to overcome it — you and your customers.

  “With that, I’d like to introduce to you a new label, for textiles and garments, that I’ve developed in partnership with your future monarch, His Royal Highness Prince Dash.”

  Ella held up a paper tag, and the people in the courtyard narrowed their eyes trying to see it.

  “This tag,” she said, “says ‘Fairest of the Fair.’ It’s a new way of communicating to your customers that you are heroic — that you care about your employees and you treat them with respect. This tag proves that you value your employees’ skills enough to pay them real wages. You give them leave when they’re ill, or when their children are. You don’t lock doors on them, or let the stairs rot out under them.

  “Our charter will be written by a board of business directors, as well as a new council of workers, who will be present to advise the board about the needs and concerns of laborers. Any Garment Guild business that can prove it meets Fairest of the Fair’s standards will be granted a special license to attach these tags to their products, as well the right to use a special symbol that can be stamped or sewn onto the goods themselves. This way, people will know when they spend their money that they’re supporting real heroes who believe in the dignity of labor. Better yet, they’ll get to wear the Fairest of the Fair symbol right on their clothes, and show off the fact that they’re heroes too.” Ella smiled a little. “So everybody benefits, hey? Because if you can make people feel heroic, then you’ll have customers for life.”

  Many people in the courtyard looked intrigued. Gratified. Ella waited for the whispers and murmurs to die down. “Thank you.”

  The crowd in the courtyard burst into applause. Not everyone joined in it — but most did. Far more of them than she would have expected.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Clover’s voice rang out from behind her, across the glittering courtyard. “This next song is dedicated to our little stepsister here. I’ve been threatening to write one about her for months — now seems like the right time to make good.” The audience laughed indulgently, and Ella froze. “You’ve all heard of the Cinder Stoppers,” Clover said, lifting her fiddle to her chin. “We call this one ‘Cinderella.’ ”

  Linden’s drumsticks came crashing down in a blaze of bright white sparks as the Current struck up a song — a triumphant, feverish tune that matched the excitement in the air. Their singer belted out the lyrics.

  I’m not here to please you, but I know how to save you

  And when I’m dead, you’ll come to plant the seeds upon my grave,

  And you’ll say

  Cinderella — royal blue

  Cinderella — let me follow you

  A wonderful, awful flush of heat consumed her. She left the stage and hurried to Dash’s side, where she tried to hide herself behind his height.

  “They listened,” he said quietly, beaming down at her. “You did it.”

  “We did it. We started, anyway — there’s so much more to do —”

  “And we’re going to do it.” Dash glanced toward the crowd, where scribes were fighting their way toward them. “Here they come. Are you ready?”

  Ella had no sooner braced herself than the scribes began to pelt them with questions — even a few real questions.

  “Who will be on the board of Fairest of the Fair?” one of them cried.

  “Has anyone already been licensed?” shouted another. “Who’s making the decisions?”

  “Your Highness! We saw you with Rapunzel on the dance floor! New romance brewing?”

  “Miss Coach! Will you reform Practical Elegance too? Or will you give your dad special preference?”

  Ella and Dash glanced at each other. They clasped each other’s hands. And then they turned toward the scribes and started talking.

  HE’D been fighting the brackling since midafternoon, and now the sky was red behind the high and peaked black rooftops that circled the crumbling courtyard.

  There was something in the wind these days that Jasper did not like. Something heavy and unquiet. It had troubled him since he’d returned to Cliffhang to fetch his grandmother. At first he’d thought he was imagining it — that it was just Cliffhang being horrible as usual — but then he’d returned to Quintessential for the hearing, and he’d felt it there too. An ugliness, faint but certain. It dragged at the edges of his wings. He could not determine what it was, or where it came from.

  So he focused on rooting out bracklings.

  The foul, well-dwelling beast that squatted before him was utterly revolting: a purple, tonguelike creature, densely wrinkled and pocked with flaring suckers that spat long, barbed tentacles at him every time he tried to advance. Jasper soared to the right to avoid another lashing and flung a handful of salt at the monster. The brackling scuttled behind the well, using its tentacles like spider’s legs. It clambered quickly up to the rim again and tumbled down toward the dark water.

  “Oh no you don’t —”

  Jasper lunged for the well, grabbed the flask from his belt, and poured lemon juice into the water below. The fresh draught of citrus repelled the beast; it screamed and leapt into the courtyard once more. Jasper poured his remaining lemon juice around the rim of the well so that the brackling had no way back in. The beast screeched in fury. “This is it,” Jasper said. “You’re going to shrivel. I’ve killed twelve just like you this month, do you hear me? This well is not yours! It belongs to these people!”

  The brackling skittered across broken cobblestones, through the glaring beams of the red sunset. Jasper soared after it and hurled salt down upon it. This time, he hit the creature dead on. Salt sank into its furrowed purple flesh with a burning hiss; fetid steam billowed from its suckers as it stiffened. As it died, it shot two tentacles up into the air toward Jasper, who dodged and missed one of them. The other sliced his face. He howled in pain and stood there, stung and panting.

  Another well clean. Another neighborhood provided for. There was certainly plenty of work to do in his grandmother’s miserable duchy. No end of vile creatures to weed from their shadowy corners, no end of mortals to rescue from peril.

  From atop one steeply tilting building that was missing its upper floors, a woman peeked over a ridge of cracked stone, watching him. For just a second, Jasper met her eyes and felt the frantic patter of her emotions.

  Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me. Please leave me alone.

  She ducked out of view, and misery cut him to his heart. The mortals of Cliffhang would never turn to him for help. No matter what he
did to prove he loved them, he would always be a Crimson fairy, and they would always, always be afraid.

  “Miss me?”

  Jasper gasped. Whirled.

  Serge stood in the dark, decaying courtyard. Against the gloomy silhouettes of the broken buildings, he was sharp and bright as the moon.

  “You’re here,” Jasper breathed.

  “Are you honestly surprised?”

  “I … am.”

  “I thought you’d sense me from leagues away.”

  “I should have.” Jasper absently rubbed his wounded cheek and winced. He’d forgotten the salt and lemon on his hands. “I was busy.”

  “I can see that.” Serge flung fairy dust at him, and in a moment he was dry, dressed, and neatly bandaged.

  Then Jasper glanced around and gasped. Serge must have been overflowing with fairy dust, as Jasper’s appearance wasn’t the only thing that his Blue fairy magic had set to rights. The cobblestones around his feet were smooth and bright. The well was mended — its rope and bucket were restored — the water that shone in the bucket was clean and pure.

  Tears sprang into Jasper’s eyes.

  “Here.” In his still-sparkling fingertips, Serge held out an unusual flower — crimson and black, with blue petals blooming at its heart. Jasper took it, realized it was knitted from silk, and clutched it to his breast.

  “Ella made this?” he whispered. “For me?”

  “And this one for me,” said Serge, tapping the knitted blossom in his buttonhole. It was pale blue, but the petals were edged in charcoal that exactly matched his burnt wing, and there was what appeared to be a crimson stain on one side of the bloom.

  “How is she? How was her speech?”

  “I recorded it for you with an Ora sponge. I thought you’d like to hear her for yourself.”

  “Oh —” Jasper threw himself at Serge and hugged him tight. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered. And then he felt, without meaning to feel it, exactly why Serge had come to Cliffhang. He pulled away, dismayed. “But you can’t stay,” he cried before Serge could say anything. “It’s a dreadful enough place to visit — I won’t let you live here.”