“Warn him?” Maurice asked in confusion. He sat slumped in a corner. He looked worse than he had when he was a prisoner in the Beast’s castle. His clothes were disheveled and his hair was sticking up in every direction. He had scrapes on his palms from falling on them, and exhaustion hung heavy on his shoulders. “How did you get away from him?” The last he had known, Belle was being held prisoner by the very beast she now wanted to protect.
Belle stopped pacing. She turned to her father and took his hands in hers. “He let me go, Papa,” she said. “He sent me back to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Reaching into the small pouch she had taken from the castle, Belle pulled out the rose-shaped rattle. Maurice recognized it instantly. His hands began to shake as Belle told him how the Beast had taken her to Montmartre and had shown her their old home. Maurice took the rattle and moved it from one hand to the other as the realization of what it meant, what Belle now knew, hit hard.
“Belle,” he began, “I had to leave your mother there. I had no choice, I had to save you—”
“I know, Papa. I understand.” Belle’s kind eyes met Maurice’s. “Will you help me now?”
Maurice struggled to hold back tears that threatened to spill out of his eyes. His daughter had always been so caring and so forgiving. He just hadn’t known until now how much he had needed her forgiveness.
“But…it’s dangerous,” Maurice said.
“Yes, it is,” Belle answered bravely. She waited for him to argue. But her father simply smiled and nodded. Then he clapped his hands.
“Well, then,” he said as he looked around the tiny wagon cell, “it looks like we need to find a way to get out of here so you can go save your beast.”
Belle smiled. “Thank you, Papa.” Then her smile faded. “But I’ve already checked. There’s no way out.”
Maurice shook his head. If he had learned anything over the years, it was that there was always a way out. He peered through the small window at the lock on the wagon door. Its makeup didn’t look unlike some of his music boxes.
“I think I might be able to pick the lock, if only I had—”
Maurice suddenly saw the hairpin Belle was holding up in front of him. There she was, anticipating his every need again. They shared a grin.
Then Maurice got to work picking the lock. When it finally clicked free, they slowly pushed the wagon door open.
“What are you waiting for?” Maurice whispered to his daughter. “Go!”
Giving him a grateful smile, Belle took off across the town square, not stopping to see if Monsiuer D’Arque had spotted her.
She made it to Philippe and hopped on the horse’s back. Giving the big animal a strong kick, she pulled on the reins and steered them out of the village. Behind her she could hear D’Arque’s angry shout and her father’s happy cheer. Leaning forward, Belle urged Philippe on. They didn’t have time to celebrate this minor victory. They needed to get back to the castle.
As they galloped through the thickening trees, Belle could only hope that they would get back in time. She didn’t want to imagine what Gaston and his bloodthirsty mob might do when they came face to face with a beast larger than anything they had ever seen before. Then her thoughts turned to Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, Cogsworth, and little Chip. They would be defenseless against the mob.
“ATTACK!”
Mrs. Potts’s voice rang out through the foyer. On her command, the furniture around her came to life.
Despite Belle’s fear, the staff members of the castle were far from defenseless. Or rather they were trying to be. As soon as they had seen the approaching mob, they had sprung into action. While Cogsworth had been trying, and failing, to get the master to stop wallowing and fight, Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, and Plumette had come up with a plan. It was simple—barricade the door—but it was a plan nonetheless.
They had tried to block the door, but when the villagers started breaking it down with a battering ram, they knew it was fruitless.
So they had decided to flee their post at the door and play to their strength, lying in wait, as still as real furniture, while the unsuspecting villagers poured in. Finally, Mrs. Potts yelled the signal, and the objects sprang into their surprise attack.
Chairs kicked. Plumette and the other dusters waved their feathers in villagers’ faces until they started to sneeze. Candles shot their flames high into the air, blinding some and giving the backsides of several unsuspecting villagers quite the burn. As the furniture advanced, the mob shrieked in fear and the villagers tried to defend themselves. But the castle staff had the element of surprise.
Standing amid the chaos, Gaston tried to make sense of what was going on. He knew how to fight other men. He had done that plenty of times. He knew how to hunt animals. That, too, he had done. But a roomful of furniture that could walk and talk? That was something he had never encountered before.
“Gaston!”
Hearing LeFou’s warning cry, Gaston turned to see a tall coatrack pulling back one of its “arms,” preparing to hit him. Gaston didn’t think. He just acted. Grabbing LeFou by his collar, he held the little man up in front of him. The coatrack’s punch landed squarely in LeFou’s midsection.
LeFou grunted. A moment later, things got worse as a large harpsichord stood on its back legs and fell forward. Once again, Gaston used LeFou as a human shield. There was a muffled shout as the harpsichord fell onto LeFou.
“Sorry, old friend,” Gaston said, not bothering to help LeFou up, “but it’s hero time.”
“But…we’re Le Duo….” LeFou’s voice grew weaker as the weight of the bookcase bore down on him. A moment later, he passed out.
Gaston took one last look at LeFou. Then he looked down at the mirror he still had clutched in his hand. He could see the Beast sitting on a turret somewhere high above the foyer. “Hero time,” he repeated under his breath. He turned and raced through the furniture. He ducked out of the way as a small teacup blasted by him on the back of a serving trolley. He moved to the side as a credenza tried to trip him, and he avoided falling over a small bench that barked at him like a dog.
Moments later, he was bounding up the grand staircase as the noise of battle faded behind him. He kept climbing. His battle was somewhere ahead; he knew it.
Then, as if to prove him right, Cogsworth appeared at the top of the stairs. The small clock was descending from one of the turrets, his expression glum.
“My, my, what are you doing all the way up here, clock?” Gaston said. “Is there a beast up there?”
Cogsworth gulped. He had just inadvertently given away the Beast’s position. Before Cogsworth could do anything to stop him, Gaston swung his leg back and kicked Cogsworth down the stairs. As Cogsworth thudded away, Gaston once again set his sights on the top of the turret stairs. Now that he knew the Beast was somewhere up there, it was only a matter of time before he had another trophy to mount on his wall.
Far below the turret, the household furniture continued to push back the villagers. Mrs. Potts poured boiling tea out of her spout while Chip, riding Froufrou, drew a dozen annoyed villagers toward the kitchen, where Cuisinier was waiting, pots of grease also ready to be poured. As soon as Chip was safely past, Cuisinier dumped the grease on the floor. A moment later, the villagers entered the room and instantly began to slip and slide. They fell into a pile on the floor.
Unbeknownst to anyone, a new figure was making her way through the chaos: Agathe the beggar woman. Though she wore her usual rags, she looked different than she normally did in the village. Her face was clean and the hair underneath her hood was formed into soft curls. She walked calmly past the droves of fighting villagers and objects, and ascended the staircase that led to the Beast’s lair.
Meanwhile, Chip headed back to the foyer. He arrived just in time to see villagers flooding out the front door, screaming in fright. He was about to let out a triumphant shout when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother swinging on the chandelier. Hot water continued
to pour from her spout, spraying the fleeing villagers.
Suddenly, she slipped and fell through the air.
Mrs. Potts yelled.
Chip gasped.
And then, just when it looked like Mrs. Potts was going to shatter against the hard ground, a hand reached out and snatched her from midair.
It was LeFou! The little man had saved her! They stared at each other, both surprised by the sudden turn of events. “I used to be on Gaston’s side,” he said, shrugging apologetically. “But I’m just tired of being treated like an object, you know?”
“I do know, yes,” Mrs. Potts said, smiling. “Now, shall we get back to it?”
As Mrs. Potts hobbled off to help the others, LeFou, feeling lighter now that he had finally shaken off his abusive partner, peered around the foyer. Only a few villagers remained inside. Most had run away, and those who had stayed were being funneled out the front by a large talking candelabrum and his army of candles. LeFou watched as the front door slammed behind them. A moment later, the castle staff shouted triumphantly. The castle was saved!
And then Belle burst through the door.
The girl was breathing hard. Her brown hair fell about her face in waves, and her cheeks were red. But her eyes were cold and hard. Instantly, LeFou knew exactly who she was looking for. “He’s upstairs,” he called. Turning, Belle gave him the slightest of nods. Then she raced toward the grand staircase. “Oh, and when you see him, let him know that Le Duo is over,” LeFou shouted at her back. “I’m Le Single now!”
When Belle had ridden through the castle’s gate, she had been sure she was too late. She heard people shouting and saw villagers running. But she suddenly realized that they were running out of the castle. Hope had flared in her chest, and when she had finally made it through the front door, she had been thrilled to see that the castle staff, her friends, had won. They stood around the foyer, cheering and congratulating each other, as the villagers fled, proverbial tails tucked between their legs.
Then she had realized something was missing: the Beast was nowhere to be seen.
And the bad feeling in her stomach had rushed back.
Now, as she raced up the stairs, her heart pounded. All she could think about was getting to Gaston and stopping him before he could do something awful to the Beast. What-ifs flooded through her mind: What if I had never left? What if I had just kept the mirror hidden? What if I’m too late? What if I never get to see the Beast again? Her eyes filled with tears and she stumbled on the top step. She knew that if the Beast was gone, she would have no one to blame but herself.
She had seen where the Beast was when she flashed the mirror in front of Gaston. She had recognized the large stone statues that lined the castle’s highest turret. Since he hadn’t been downstairs, and since LeFou had seemed confident Gaston was up there somewhere, Belle had a pretty strong feeling that she would find both Gaston and the Beast on that turret. Picking up the pace, she plunged down the long hallway and onto the walkway that led to the tower. Then she skidded to a stop.
She had been right. The Beast and Gaston were on the balcony. Their backs were to her, so they didn’t see her arrive.
“Hello, Beast. I am Gaston,” the hunter said smugly. “Belle sent me.” He was holding a large gun, the barrel pointed straight at the Beast. Gaston’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Were you in love with her?” Gaston asked, his lip rising in a sneer. The Beast said nothing. Instead, he turned his back to Gaston. “Did you honestly think she’d want you?” the hunter taunted.
Still the Beast said nothing.
And then Gaston fired.
Belle cried out as the Beast dropped over the edge of the turret. “What have you done?” She ran over and tried to push past Gaston. The large man reached out and grabbed her arm. She struggled to free herself, but his grip was too strong.
Staring down at her, he asked, his voice full of disbelief, “You prefer that misshapen thing to me…when I offered you everything?” His fingers dug into her skin, turning it red. Belle cringed. Gone was the patriotic war hero. The man standing in front of her had finally revealed himself as the true monster he was. “When we return to the village, you will marry me. And the Beast’s head will hang on our wall!”
“Never!” Belle shouted. Perhaps Gaston’s hand slackened for just one moment. Or perhaps shock made him temporarily weaker. Or perhaps it was something more magical than any of that. But whatever the reason, Belle was able to yank her arm free. Pivoting on her heel, she grabbed the barrel of Gaston’s gun. Then she kicked him in the shin and yanked the weapon from him—hard.
Gaston wasn’t about to let go of his gun, even if the person on the other end was his supposed future wife. He hung on to it as Belle swung it closer to the turret’s edge. His feet slipped and slid as he struggled to find his footing on the cold surface. But the stones were slick from the snow that usually blanketed the castle, and some were even loose. Gaston cried out as his foot landed on one loose stone. Releasing the rifle, his hands flew into the air as he stumbled backward over the edge of the turret. Belle gasped, sure that she had just sent Gaston plummeting to his death.
But Gaston hadn’t survived the war by sheer luck. The man had lightning-fast reflexes. Just in time, he managed to swing himself to safety through a window below. With a grunt, he landed on the spiral staircase that led to the turret. His rifle, in the meantime, continued to fall and finally came to rest on a stone footbridge a few stories down.
Instantly, Gaston was on his feet. He glanced out the window. He saw Belle running toward the spiral staircase. For the briefest of moments, he thought the worry and fear he saw in her eyes was for him. But following her gaze, he saw the real reason for her fear: the Beast. The hulking creature had survived his own fall and was climbing slowly down around a slightly lower turret than the one Gaston had just been on.
A fresh wave of anger washed over Gaston and he quickly began to run down the stairs. He heard Belle shout as she gave chase, but he ignored her, pulling his bow and arrow out of the quiver strapped to his back. Pausing at another window, he took aim and fired.
The arrow struck the Beast’s thigh, burrowing deep.
The Beast roared in pain. Gaston started to smile, pleased his arrow had hit home. But his pleasure was short-lived, as the Beast reached down and pulled the arrow out. Then he disappeared around the turret and out of Gaston’s view.
Suddenly, Gaston felt something—or rather, someone—tugging at his back. His attention momentarily distracted from the Beast, he whipped around to find Belle tearing at the quiver. Her thin fingers pulled at the leather holder as she desperately tried to break it free. When that didn’t work, she resorted to grabbing the arrows. She began to snap them in half one by one.
Gaston raised his hand to strike Belle away but stopped himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the Beast had reappeared and was leaping down from one parapet to another. His going was slow due to the wounds Gaston had inflicted. Each time he landed on one of the low stone walls, he groaned in pain. Still, he kept going.
Shoving Belle away, Gaston once again took up the chase. His footfalls echoed off the stone walls as he raced down the rest of the staircase. When he reached the bottom, he ran onto a bridge. Across the way he saw the Beast, paused, ready to swing himself onto another parapet. If he made it, he would be as far away from Gaston as the mazelike roof of the castle allowed.
The Beast reared back on his haunches…and leapt.
At the same time, Belle reached the Beast’s lair. Racing out onto the balcony, she frantically searched the roofline for the Beast. She found him just as he jumped.
He flew through the air, his arms stretched out in front of him to grab the side of the stone wall. He barely made it. His grip started to slip.
And then Belle screamed, “No!”
“Belle?” the Beast said, turning as her cry echoed over the castle’s roof. Their eyes met, and in that instant, the Beast was filled with a strength he didn’t
know he still had. He pulled himself to safety, then made his way toward Belle, leaping from parapet to parapet.
Unfortunately, he was also making his way back toward Gaston, who was lying in wait. The hunter had ducked between the gargoyles that lined a landing not too far from the Beast’s rooms. He watched with disgust as Belle called out to the Beast, and he sneered when the Beast seemed to revive suddenly at the sight of Belle. Wrapping his hands around a thin stone spire, he pulled it until it broke off. Once again armed, Gaston waited for the Beast to come to him.
He didn’t have to wait long. Focused on reaching Belle, the Beast didn’t even bother to look around as he landed on the gargoyle-lined walkway. His long legs swept him across the stones, his eyes locked on the terrace where Belle stood.
Gaston waited until the Beast was just past him, and then he roared. Jumping out of the shadows, he brought the spire down on the Beast’s back.
The Beast roared in pain but kept going.
Seeing the Beast’s determination, Gaston felt another rush of anger. “Fight me, Beast!” he shouted, following him. He hit him again and again. With every blow, Gaston managed to slow the Beast, but no matter what he did, he could not stop him. It made him furious and he swung the spire harder. Finally, he managed to knock the Beast off balance. The Beast staggered down a small set of stairs and out onto another stone footbridge.
Gaston jumped down behind him and continued his assault.
Under the combined weight of Gaston and the Beast, the footbridge, which had not been used in years and had fallen into disrepair, began to shake and crumble. Neither man nor beast paid any attention. Gaston had seen something lying at the far corner of the footbridge—his rifle. And the Beast had seen how very close he was to Belle. If he could make it to the end of the footbridge, he would be in the cupola that stood parallel to his rooms. From there it was just one giant leap between him and Belle.
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