by RH Disney
For young book lovers everywhere
Copyright © 2018 Disney Enterprises, Inc. All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, 1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019, and in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto, in conjunction with Disney Enterprises, Inc. Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN 9780736439251 (trade) — ISBN 9780736482646 (lib. bdg.) ebook ISBN 9780736439268
rhcbooks.com
v5.3.1
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Belle ran her finger across the colorful spines of the books on a bottom shelf in the royal library, hoping to find one she’d missed. But no, they were the same books as when she’d last checked.
The library in the Prince’s castle was so grand it seemed possible it could contain a copy of every book ever written. Yet there were only a few books on its towering shelves for the children who came to Belle’s weekly story time, and Belle had already read them aloud several times.
She’d also shared with them her favorite childhood book, The Kingdom in the Clouds by Pierre LeFaux, which she had brought with her when she and her father moved into the castle. The book was about a girl named Marie who traveled by dragon to a palace in the sky. Belle had now read it to the village children often enough that they knew it nearly as well as she did.
Belle brushed a strand of brown hair out of her eyes and gazed around the giant library. It seemed ridiculous to say, considering the hundreds of volumes in view, but she needed more books. That was why she’d asked the Prince to fund the construction of a library in the village. She planned to stock it with dozens of new children’s books. But although the library was nearly complete, no books had yet arrived. There were only a few printing presses in France, and when you lived in a small village like Villeneuve, you had to wait.
Belle wished there was something more she could do to get books for the village children. She slid the library ladder to another set of shelves. Maybe there was a children’s book she’d missed, misfiled among the books on science and the biographies of adventurers.
She’d just begun to climb the ladder when—
BOOM!
The walls of the library shook from a blast. Belle gripped the ladder to keep herself from being thrown off.
A moment later, Cogsworth, the head of the castle’s staff, burst into the room. “Your father—he is—I can’t—” Cogsworth stammered, his pencil mustache twitching furiously. “He has to stop. This cannot—”
“I’m sorry,” Belle said as she climbed down. “I warned you when Papa moved his work-shop here—”
“I have a castle to run, mademoiselle!” Cogsworth tugged on his vest self-importantly—or rather, he tried to. The vest hugged his considerable belly so tightly he could barely get a grip on it. “But I can’t run it if it’s blown up!”
“I’m sure it was just a little explosion,” Belle assured him—though when it came to her father, Maurice, she knew there was no such thing as a “little” explosion.
Belle urged Cogsworth to return to his work and promised she’d talk to her father. She dashed up the marble staircase, then hurried through the cavernous halls of the East Wing to the Prince’s former nursery, which had been transformed into Maurice’s workshop. Near the back wall, Maurice and the Prince were examining a huge metal contraption, too caught up in their task to notice their visitor.
Both men appeared unharmed—although the same couldn’t be said of the room, which was littered with springs, sprockets, nuts, and bolts. The doors of the cupboards lining the walls had been flung open, and the Prince’s childhood toys and games were thrown everywhere.
Chip, the four-year-old son of Mrs. Potts, the castle cook, appeared in the doorway behind Belle. He gaped at the mess, but Belle just shook her head. “What went wrong this time?” she asked.
Maurice looked up from his invention and smiled. “Belle!”
As he ran to greet her, Belle noticed that his clothes were dripping with dirty water. “Papa! You’re soaked!”
“A little problem with the steam-release valve,” Maurice explained. “The water in the pipes got too hot, and…well, you know what happens when you get ‘boiling mad’ and can’t ‘blow off steam’?”
“You explode?” Belle asked with a wry smile.
Maurice tapped his nose to indicate that Belle had guessed correctly. “The side of the boiler blew right off! Then one of the pipes hit the tool rack. The rack fell onto the cabinet with all my spare parts—and the next thing I knew, there were brackets and clamps everywhere!”
“That’s power!” exclaimed the Prince, who was also drenched. His shoulder-length auburn hair hung in wet strips over his ears and forehead. His blue eyes gleamed with excitement.
Belle had inspired Maurice’s latest invention: a steam balloon. She’d told her father about a novel she’d read in which the heroes traveled the world in a hot-air balloon. Although the book didn’t explain how the machine worked, she knew there was no stopping her father from trying to figure it out.
“I almost forgot the best part!” Maurice said. “Tell her, Your Highness!”
The Prince rapped the side of the boiler with his hammer and grinned. “The Magic Stone works!”
The Magic Stone had been Belle’s idea. The Prince had gotten it from an Enchantress, along with a Magic Mirror and a Magic Atlas. The same Enchantress had put a spell on the Prince that turned him into a Beast, until Belle had come along and broken it.
The Magic Stone was a glowing rock that remained fiery hot, no matter how chilly the temperature. It had helped to keep the castle warm during the kingdom’s cold winters. When the steam balloon needed a lightweight energy source to heat the clouds, the Stone seemed like the perfect solution.
“You were right,” Maurice told Belle. “It’s exactly hot enough to turn the water into steam, but not so hot that it causes the water to boil away too quickly. As long as there are clouds, the balloon could fly forever!”
“And as long as you can prevent the balloon from blowing up before it gets off the ground,” Belle said. She picked up Maurice’s blueprint for the steam balloon and studied it. She’d learned a lot working at her father’s side and was good at making the adjustments needed for his plans to work.
“Can I see?” Chip ran over to join Belle, who lowered the blueprint so he could look at it. “How does it work?” he asked.
Maurice pointed out the parts. “The suction valve draws in the clouds, which become water and flow into the tank. The Magic Stone heats the water and turns it into steam, which rises and fills the giant silk balloon. That keeps you flying. A pull cord opens a flap at the top of the balloon, to let steam escape so you can come back down to ea
rth.”
“Wow!” Chip said. “It’s like something out of a book!”
Belle and Maurice exchanged a smile. “It’s exactly like that,” Belle said.
“How come it exploded, though?” Chip asked.
“I haven’t quite figured that out,” Maurice said.
Belle examined the boiler, which was easy to do with one side blown off. She studied each part, using her imagination to picture the boiler working. She mentally followed the steam as it rose through the pipes….
“I’ve found the problem,” Belle told her father. “You need more space between the steam valve and the ceiling of the boiler.”
The Prince looked at Belle in surprise.
“Did you forget I used to be my father’s chief assistant? Until you stole my job,” Belle teased him.
“It looks like we need you back,” the Prince replied. “Unless you’re too busy with the village library.”
“I can do both,” Belle said—and she could. But a tiny part of her wished she could do more. Ever since she was a little girl, Belle had dreamed of traveling to faraway cities and exploring the world. While she loved working with her father and overseeing the library, she still craved adventure.
“Look, Belle! A toy pirate ship!” Chip held up a carved wooden ship with a tiny Jolly Roger flag attached to one mast.
“Take anything you like,” the Prince told Chip. As Chip continued sorting through the toys, Belle, Maurice, and the Prince went to work repairing the boiler.
Just as they were finishing, tinkling music sounded from across the room. It was coming from a box in Chip’s hands. The Prince turned and walked toward Chip, taking slow, deliberate steps, as if mesmerized.
“The music box…,” he said.
Chip held it out to him, but the Prince’s arms remained at his sides. Curious, Belle took the box from Chip. It was made of ebony and inlaid with gold and silver geometric designs. Inside, a silver angel pirouetted on a spindle at the center of the box.
“It’s beautiful,” Belle said.
The Prince snatched it from Belle, his eyes flashing. “It’s not mine.” His voice was low, with a hint of his former beastly growl. “It belonged to my mother. I haven’t seen it in years.”
A moment later, his shoulders slumped. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I’d forgotten all about it….” The music slowed to its last few plink plink plinks and the angel stopped turning. “No. I didn’t forget….” He closed the lid. “I buried it away.”
“I understand,” Belle said gently. “I know what it’s like to miss—”
“You don’t understand at all!” Before Belle could respond, the Prince stormed out of the room, taking the music box with him.
“Did I do something wrong?” Chip asked, his eyes wide with worry.
“Of course not.” Belle patted Chip’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine.”
“Belle’s right,” Maurice said. “He just needs time alone. He’ll be back to his cheerful self by dinner, I’m sure.”
Belle nodded. “He’ll definitely be fine,” she said. She hoped that by repeating the words, she would convince herself as well.
The Prince didn’t come down to dinner, however. He stayed locked in his sitting room all night and into the next day. Mrs. Potts had Lumiere, the castle’s maître d’, deliver the Prince’s breakfast to his room the next morning—but Lumiere soon returned with the meal uneaten on the tray.
“He says he is not hungry,” Lumiere told Belle when he returned to the kitchen. “And I think he growled at me.” He set down the tray and flipped his ponytail over his shoulder. “We should have left the hay bed in there.”
“Balderdash!” cried Mrs. Potts. She waved a spoon at Lumiere. “I hope you’re not implying that the master is turning back into a beast.”
Although the rail-thin Lumiere towered over the squat cook, he knew better than to make her angry. “I only meant, ma chère Mrs. Potts,” he said quickly, “that at least he’d have a place to sleep, since he hasn’t left that room.”
“I don’t think we need to worry yet,” Belle reassured them. “Seeing the music box made him think of his mother, and it upset him. We just have to give him more time.”
Belle headed to her father’s workshop, having returned—temporarily—to being his chief assistant. The Prince would come out soon; she was sure of it. He was as excited about the steam balloon as Maurice was. There was no way he’d be able to stay away for long.
When another day passed, however, and the Prince remained locked away in his sitting room, Belle began to worry. He had continued to refuse his meals, even after Mrs. Potts made potato stew, his favorite meal.
Belle decided they’d given the Prince enough time to come out on his own. She knocked on his door.
* * *
“I said I’m not hungry!” the Prince barked after Belle had knocked. Barked or…growled? Was Lumiere right after all? Had the Prince turned back into a beast?
“It’s not Mrs. Potts. It’s Belle,” Belle said.
“Belle…just go away. Please.”
“I’m not leaving. Let me in.” She paused and waited, listening closely. “You know I’ll stand out here all night if I have to.” Finally, she heard his footsteps, and a moment later the door opened.
Belle was relieved when the Prince, not the Beast, appeared in the doorway. He was still human, but he looked beastly all the same. His eyes were tired and sunken, and his clothes were a wrinkled mess.
The room was dark, lit only by a single candle next to the chair. Curtains covered the balcony doors, blocking the sunlight. The music box sat silently on the mantel above the cold fireplace.
The Prince returned to his chair by the hearth. Belle recognized the ornate hand mirror he placed on his lap. It was the Magic Mirror from the Enchantress. The Beast had used it to keep watch on the world outside his enchanted castle.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Nothing,” replied the Prince, placing both hands over the mirror.
“Please,” Belle said. The Prince sighed and lifted the mirror. Its silver frame glowed with an otherworldly light, tinged with green. Sparks of gold circled the rim as a small, desolate peasant village appeared in the glass. The sky above the village was gray, and the roads were muddy. Shacks made of dirt and hay sat hunched next to each other as if trying to keep warm. The outline of a castle stood in the distance, wrapped in ominous shadows.
“Where is this?” Belle asked. “Is it nearby?”
The Prince stared down at the village grimly. “It’s a place I ruined.”
“I don’t understand. How could you have—”
The Prince turned the mirror facedown in his lap. “I was so selfish, Belle. I didn’t care about anyone else. That’s why the Enchantress cursed me.”
“But you paid the price for all that,” Belle said. “You’ve changed. That’s why you were able to become the Prince again. You care about me.”
The Prince shook his head. “I don’t deserve to be this kingdom’s prince. I don’t deserve to be a prince at all.”
Belle sat down across from him and reached out to take his hand. “Whatever you did, we’ll fix it,” she said. “We’ll use the Magic Atlas and go there, together.”
The Prince pulled his hand free. “The Magic Atlas can’t take me back in time, and that’s the only way I can fix things.”
“I’m pretty good at solving problems,” Belle insisted. “Didn’t I figure out the problem with the steam balloon?” The Prince looked up at her. His eyes were still haunted, but Belle detected a glimmer of curiosity in them. “I can’t help, though,” she continued, “unless you tell me what happened. Does it have something to do with the music box?”
The Prince nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you. Because if you can help,
it would be—”
“Belle! Monsieur Maurice needs you!”
Chip leaned through the doorway, gesturing urgently. “He’s trying to attach the basket to the boiling something-or-other, and he can’t find the bolt to the hinge—or maybe it was the hinge to the bolt—but anyway, he says you know where it is.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute,” Belle said. Chip nodded and darted off.
“It’s all right, Belle,” the Prince said.
“Papa will wait,” Belle said. “This is more important.”
“No, go on,” he insisted. “I just realized how hungry I am, and I’d rather tell you my story on a full stomach. Is there any potato stew left?”
Belle grinned. “Mrs. Potts saved some for you.”
The Prince smiled. “Go help your father find the bolt, or the hinge, or the whatever. I’ll eat lunch and meet you in the workshop.”
Belle felt relieved as she headed to the East Wing. All signs of the Beast were gone. The Prince was back.
“Papa!”
Belle burst into the workshop to find her father bent awkwardly over the steam balloon. Chip tugged vainly on his waist.
“What happened?” She raced to the balloon. Her father’s arm had gotten trapped between the balloon’s boiler and a cedar basket that now stood crookedly atop it. It was where the passengers would ride.
“I—uh—dropped—”
“Hold on, Papa.” Belle slipped her hands under the bottom of the basket and used all her strength to lift it. Chip and Maurice fell backward as Maurice’s arm was freed from its trap. Belle gently helped her father from the floor.
“I was lifting the basket onto the boiler,” Maurice explained through gritted teeth. “But I didn’t line it up right, and my arm got caught.”
