Cinderella: Ninja Warrior

by Maureen McGowan

  The sun had set hours ago, but her stepmother had used a magic spell to cast a bright light on the courtyard, and was sitting at the back of the house in a chair she’d made Cinderella carry out. Her stepmother couldn’t use her own magic for the heavy lifting, oh no.

  Agatha and Gwendolyn were seated beside her, snickering on and off, as Cinderella studied the goblets and tried to devise a plan. Max had disappeared as soon as they’d come outside. Which was just as well; it wasn’t as though he could help.

  She turned to her stepmother. “May I have more than one goblet on each level?” she asked. A pyramid-type structure might work. Perhaps the challenge was more of a puzzle than anything else.

  “Don’t be stupid,” her stepmother snapped. “I said end on end.”

  “May I use paste?” If she were granted access to the kitchen, she could make some paste using flour and water. It still wouldn’t help build a tower strong enough to climb once its top grew out of reach, but it was her best idea so far.

  “I’m losing patience.” Her stepmother shot out of her chair. “Are you ready to admit defeat?”

  “No.” She turned away. There had to be a way to do this.

  She glanced across the garden and spotted Max near the edge of the woods. He’d been obsessed with that spot the past few nights. “Max,” she called to him, “be careful—the wolves.” If he ventured into the trees, the wolves would surely snap him up in a second.

  Gwendolyn giggled, and Cinderella tried to hide her anger. Her laughter was cruel, whether it was aimed at her talking to her cat, or at the idea that he might be eaten by wolves.

  Max pawed the dirt and then leaped in the air several times, doing somersaults before landing. Crazy cat.

  Cinderella transferred her attention to the goblets. Might as well get started. She could think about possible solutions to the problem as she worked. She first selected a water goblet, since they were the largest type, and placed it on the X. Then she picked up a second one. The only way to stack it on top without using other materials in between was to put the second goblet upside down so the narrow round rims of the two goblets touched.

  Inhaling to steady herself, she focused with her ninja concentration and added the second goblet. That was easy enough.

  Carefully, she placed all the water goblets base to base, rim to rim, until the stack reached her eye level.

  A wolf growled, and she snapped her head toward the garden to see Max come running out of the woods.

  “Max, come.” The silly creature was going to get himself killed. What was it about that particular section of the woods, anyway? He’d been pawing there last night, too. There must be mice or moles living nearby.

  She took the first wineglass and set it on the base of the last upside-down goblet, careful to center the smaller base perfectly inside the larger. Another wineglass, and then she’d no longer be able to reach the tower’s top.

  Still, she wasn’t ready to give up.

  A wolf snapped in the distance, and she turned to see Max running at the edge of the garden. But instead of coming back toward the house, he shot back into the woods, climbed a few feet up a tree trunk, and then leaped backward, doing a somersault to land on the same spot where he’d started.

  The wolves went crazy, snarling and snapping and leaping up to try to catch him as he hit the tree on each pass. If those wolves could take even one step into the garden, they’d have cat for dinner.

  Max repeated this bizarre move several times, and Cinderella considered stomping over there to pick him up and move him back into the cellar.

  Her eyes opened wide. Max, you clever cat. That’s brilliant! As crazy as it was to think he’d purposefully offered a suggestion, and as nearly impossible her idea might be, it might prove to be her only chance.

  She turned to the wall, about eight feet from her tower, and studied its round stones and mortar. It might just be possible, but only if she kept her focus and concentrated fully. And only if she executed leaps off the wall many feet higher than she’d ever tried before. Best to try a practice run without a goblet in her hand.

  She did breathing exercises, using her diaphragm and lifting her arms to pull in more air, then lowering her arms and squeezing her solar plexus to force the air out. She repeated this several times until she felt centered, and then considered the height of her current tower and the distance from the wall.

  She ran toward the wall and took a few running steps up the stones before springing up and back. Finding and keeping her eyes focused on the tower, she flew through the air, executing a backflip and ensuring her body was upside down as she passed over the tower of crystal. She landed on the other side of it and crouched, hiding the grin on her face.

  She’d have to be lightning-quick. She’d have to concentrate as she’d never concentrated before, but she could do this. Her magic skills might not be well developed, but her secret ninja training would pay off tonight.

  “What are you doing, you stupid girl?” Gwendolyn said, jumping up from her chair. “Even if you’ve given up, you don’t need to break the goblets. They cost money, you know.”

  She ignored her stepsister, picked up a wineglass, drew three deep breaths, and then started off running toward the wall.

  One foot planted, two, she scrambled up the wall’s surface, then pushed off and flipped back over her tower. She reached her arm down as she passed above the top of the tower, and set the goblet in place. Her task done, she rotated in the air and landed bent-kneed behind the tower. Max, no longer obsessed by the woods, had run back while she was placing the wineglass and now rubbed against her leg.

  She glanced over to her stepmother and stepsisters. Agatha was staring at her with wide eyes, astounded, but both Gwendolyn and her stepmother scowled, more angry than impressed. With eight more wineglasses to add to the tower, she couldn’t allow any distractions.

  Over and over, she added more wineglasses to the tower, end on end, until she was ready to move on to the smallest glasses of all, those for cordials. The diameter of each cordial glass was little more than an inch, and her movements would have to be that much more precise.

  Her stepmother was now wringing a handkerchief in her lap as if she wanted it dead. Clearly she hadn’t expected to find Cinderella a mere six cordial glasses away from success.

  The tower was more than twice her height now. She’d have to run faster to build up more speed, take more steps up the wall, and spring from it with more force and careful aim than before.

  It was hard to believe she could do it, but what did she have to lose? The worst that could happen would be broken glasses, some cuts and bruises, maybe a twisted ankle if she landed badly.

  She picked up a cordial glass, looked up at the tower sparkling in the light of her stepmother’s illumination spell, and then started off at a quick run.

  After one, two, three, four, five scrambling steps up the wall, she threw herself up and back, eyes focused on her target, visualizing herself placing the base of the small goblet delicately in the center of the last wineglass she’d placed upside down. She floated through the air, strong, confident, centered.

  And then the snowstorm started.

  Huge flakes of snow clouded her vision and struck her face, melting as they landed. She ignored the white spots and concentrated on her objective, placing the cordial glass cleanly before completing her backflip’s rotation and landing once more on the courtyard surface.

  She spun toward her stepmother, who was now standing up, her wand outstretched, a sneer on her lips. “You didn’t think I would make this easy, did you?” Her cackle carried like sleet through the night air. “I’m only doing it for your own good. How are you going to learn if you’re never challenged? The royal wizard will devise many tests even more challenging than this.”

  Cinderella heard a wolf yelp and glanced over to the woods. Max had returned to his pawing, in the same place just inside the trees. What had gotten into that cat? He’d been acting strangely ever since the i
nvitation from the palace had arrived, but she couldn’t worry about him right now. She had to complete the tower of glass or she’d never have the chance to win the lessons with the royal wizard.

  She picked up the second cordial glass and held it, ready to set its rim on top of the one she’d just placed. Given the height she’d achieved and her success despite the short blizzard, the same velocity and trajectory of her last leap should do it. She prepared herself, visualized her objective, and ran as fast as she could.

  This time, as she sprang off the wall, a driving wind slammed into her and pushed her off course. She adjusted in midair, flinging her arm across her body to spin herself laterally, and after twisting her body around twice as she passed the tower, she landed on the grass next to the stone courtyard—the cordial glass still in her hand.

  She stomped toward her evil spectators. “That’s not fair,” she told her stepmother. “This isn’t the test you set out. We had a deal.”

  “How dare you.” Her stepmother stood, wand raised. “I don’t make deals with insolent, badly behaved girls.” Her stepmother’s eyes glinted red in their centers and bore into Cinderella’s heart, filling her with fear.

  This was no longer about completing this test. If she angered her stepmother further, it might be about saving her own life. Never before had she felt so certain that her stepmother was capable of murder.

  Agatha rose from her chair and said, “Mother, you did agree.”

  Her stepmother spun toward her daughter and an unseen force pushed Agatha back down into her chair. Agatha ducked her head as if protecting herself from further punishment, and Gwen shook her head and rolled her eyes, as if disgusted with her sister’s behavior.

  “Go on then,” her stepmother said. She waved her hand at Cinderella. “Or do you give up?”

  Cinderella tamed her rage and got back to work. One by one, she added the cordial glasses, focusing intensely on her task so that nothing her stepmother threw at her interfered. She merely adjusted her speed and height to compensate for the wind, the rain, the flashes of lightning—and now a swarm of moths. Only once was she forced to abort her flip and not place a glass.

  When Cinderella placed the next-to-last cordial glass on the tower, her hair brushed the glass below it. She squeezed her eyes shut, but did not hear a crash. After landing, she squinted one eye open.

  She’d done it. Only one more.

  Fighting the pride and excitement threatening to distract her, she picked up the last glass and ran toward the wall at full speed, then leaped high toward the top of the tower. Surprised that there were no added challenges, she carefully placed the last glass and then stretched her body out straight, preparing to land.

  But the instant that her feet touched down, the ground trembled beneath them.

  An earthquake.

  The tower shook, swayed from side to side, and then crashed, every goblet shattering into tiny pieces.

  She turned to her stepmother. “I did it. Agatha, you saw, right? It’s not fair to cause an earthquake to knock it down after I finish.”

  Agatha looked away. Her stepmother rose and shook her head. “So unfortunate, Cinderella. I thought you might have finally overcome your clumsiness, but it looks as though you won’t be going to the competition—or the ball.”

  Can Cinderella change her stepmother’s mind?

  If not, can she figure out a way to escape the entrapment spells?

  Will she ever see Ty again?

  To find out, turn to section 4: Unexpected Assistance (page 107).

  Section 3

  HARD WORK REWARDED

  3

  Cinderella carefully set the two gowns onto the dress forms in her stepsisters’ shared dressing room that spanned the space between their grand bedrooms. She felt light, more alive and happy than she’d been in a very long time.

  It had been smart to say no to the ball, even if it had been impossible at the time to tell if her answer had pleased her stepmother. Since then, she’d worked hard to complete every task and chore she’d been given, like always. But completing these gowns was different, and her stepmother was going to be both shocked and pleased. Although Cinderella knew it was wrong to expect a reward, she certainly deserved and hoped for something—maybe a few hours outside during daylight.

  Hearing the clack of her stepmother’s and stepsisters’ high heels coming up the stairs and crossing the wooden floor, she stepped out to greet them. “I have a surprise,” she announced.

  “Oh, goody.” Agatha clapped her hands, but then Gwendolyn bumped her sister with her hip and Agatha wiped the smile from her face and said, “Yeah, whatever.”

  Cinderella couldn’t let her sisters spoil this moment, for her or for them. As soon as they saw the dresses, they’d squeal with glee, and her stepmother would marvel at her speed and skill. After buying dresses in town for the girls, her stepmother had handed Cinderella huge sacks of beads and sequins and feathers yesterday with an evil glint in her eyes and had insisted she sew every single embellishment onto her daughters’ dresses by tomorrow, the day before the ball. By staying up all night, Cinderella had finished a day early.

  At first, Cinderella had cringed when she saw all the beads and feathers and sequins. Not so much because sewing on every single item would be tremendously hard work, but because she didn’t want to ruin her stepsisters’ ball gowns with all that sparkle. But she’d figured out a way to save the dresses.

  “Well?” Her stepmother frowned and then snapped, “We don’t have all day, girl. What is your so-called surprise?”

  Cinderella flung open the doors to the dressing room to reveal the gowns she’d spent all night embellishing. The light from the window across the hall and the skylights above caught the crystal beading and sent sparkles shooting everywhere. She lifted the fabric of one of the skirts to show how lightly she’d applied the tiny feathers to the hem and how ethereal they’d make Gwendolyn appear as she glided across the dance floor.

  “Oh!” cried Agatha, who ran forward to touch the beading at the bodice of her dress. Her face was beaming, but then she turned and glanced at Gwendolyn for guidance.

  Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed as if she thought Cinderella was trying to play some kind of trick. Of what sort, Cinderella could not imagine.

  Her stepmother walked into the dressing room and slowly circled the dresses, her face frozen and expressionless. She examined the dresses carefully, even checking inside, and grunted when she saw Cinderella’s even stitching and the lining she’d added under the intricate beading to protect the threads and ensure that not a single bead could get snagged.

  Cinderella had never felt more confident in her own work and although she knew it was conceited to be so incredibly proud, she was. She’d worked all night and had the bandages on her pricked and sore fingers to show for it.

  Still, in spite of her utter confidence that this was good work, her mouth dried and her smile grew heavy. Her stepmother hadn’t uttered a word, and the woman’s silence and scrutiny chilled the air.

  Suddenly, her stepmother raised her head. Cinderella jumped and clasped her hands in front of her apron.

  Her stepmother stepped forward, towering above Cinderella like a hammer over a nail, ready to strike. “Where is it?”

  “What?” Cinderella backed up, fear flooding every crevice previously occupied by pride and joy, not to mention the hope that she might be offered a reward.

  “The wand.” Her stepmother clenched her hands. “To do this so quickly, you must have used magic.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She wished she had her mother’s wand or possessed the powers to have done this with magic. Then she’d have been able to catch a few moments of sleep last night.

  “You expect me to believe that you completed all this in one night?” her stepmother asked, her voice hard and spiked. “Without magic?”

  Cinderella nodded and swallowed hard.

  “Let me see your hands.”

  Cinderella offered her hands to her
stepmother, who yanked them forward, hard, pulling Cinderella off balance. Her stepmother wound the bandages off her hands and then frowned and grunted when she saw the pricks and blisters from the needle and the redness on the sides of her fingers where the chafing fabric had rubbed Cinderella’s skin raw.

  Her stepmother twisted Cinderella’s hands, flipping them over and over, studying them as if they weren’t even attached to her arms.

  When she finally dropped them and stepped back, her expression had molded into a smile of sorts, but this new expression injected more terror into Cinderella than any scowl. Cinderella knew that smile. Long ago, she’d learned never to accept it at face value.

  No longer expecting a reward, Cinderella wondered how her stepmother would punish her and what excuse she’d devise to make her punishment seem just.

  “I’m impressed, Cinderella,” her stepmother said, stepping back and keeping the hard smile on her face.

  Cinderella knew staring at her stepmother was beyond rude, but she had to wonder if she’d lost her touch at interpreting the woman’s expressions. There was no punishment yet.

  “When I saw the completed dresses and how you’d used every single bead,” her stepmother continued, her voice even and calm, “I assumed you’d used a wand, or the services of a powerful wizard to finish this in a single night. But now I see you used only your hands and your patience to complete this difficult task.”

  Cinderella waited for the “but.” When her stepmother doled out praise, there was always a “but,” and experience had taught her to expect a big one at a time like this.