The Beast

by Lindsay Mead

  The ceilings were high, higher than even her cathedral’s. Her head tilted back in awe of the arched peaks. Her boots stepped from elaborate marble floors to lush red carpets. The walls in the entry hall were of the finest masonry with simple flourishes designed to turn the eyes upward.

  “Go tell General Kogsworthe another has arrived,” one of her escorts said to a waiting servant boy.

  Belle’s heartbeat quickened. Another has arrived. Someone else had come before Belle! It had to be Henri.

  With a nod, the boy turned and rushed down a long hall. Silence fell, but Belle’s mind screamed with relief. She glanced at her captors. They remained turned away from her. Almost as though they mistrusted the sight of her.

  While the chance was available, Belle swept her hand across the button at her hip. It unlatched and her skirts dropped, hanging to her ankles. One soldier looked back at her. She pretended not to notice his attention and smoothed her dress. She leaned forward, catching her reflection in a mirror. Her hair had fallen down in several places. She tucked back a strand or two, but there wasn’t much she could do to save it.

  Abruptly, the soldier behind her approached. Belle saw him coming in the mirror and made to move away. He grabbed her arm, preventing her retreat. Then, with his free hand, he worked at undoing the clasps at her shoulder. He watched her closely, his eyes glowering at every inch of her face. The buckle came loose and the knife harness slid from her chest. The soldier took the knives and harness and rolled them up, then haughtily tucked them beneath his shoulder. Only then did he move back to his previous position.

  An unbearable amount of time continued to pass in silence. Belle shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. It disturbed her that they did not take her cloak or offer her something to drink, some place to sit, while she waited. She had broken no law, but their treatment thus far made Belle feel less than welcome.

  A stout man eventually walked into the hall accompanied by the servant boy and two other soldiers. He had a full, brunette beard and hair cut short. His uniform was pristine, as were his many medals and symbols of rank. At his side was an officer’s sword that was not just for decoration. On his back was a white fur cloak edged in brown with no hood. The medallion holding the cape in place was a gold rose.

  General Kogsworthe, Belle presumed, had a stern demeanor. His movements were simple, precise. She straightened as he neared and didn’t blink or blush as he scrutinized her.

  “These were found on her person.” The soldier handed over her knives, guns, and sabre. “She carried a shotgun on her saddle, as well.”

  “Thank you. Dismissed.” General Kogsworthe’s voice was gravelly and harsh. He gave no other reaction.

  The soldiers left. A gust of cold wind raced in at their departure, tousling her loose locks and cloak. General Kogsworthe signaled for the soldiers he brought to flank Belle. With nothing more than a reproachful look, he began walking away.

  Guessing that he meant for her to follow, Belle started after him. The soldiers stayed close but did not stop her. The General said nothing as they walked. He stayed two paces ahead and never once looked back. Lifting her skirts, Belle ascended a great staircase in pursuit.

  It was wide and curved. The ceiling here was domed in the arches with gold crown molding. She wanted to stay in the stairwell and marvel at its craftsmanship, but when they moved on to a new floor, Belle found herself in awe once more. It was similar to the entry hall in many ways. It had the same high ceiling and simple, but elegantly shaped walls.

  Suits of armor stood along one wall, looking like eyeless guards. The opposite wall was lined with mammoth-sized windows. They reached to the ceiling, curving softly at the top, and their width was the length of several paces. The rich-colored draperies were a marvel of amplitude and fine quality. Satin ropes pulled them back, opening the room to the mountains beyond—Snowcapped, rugged, and impassable.

  They walked by many closed rooms and portraits of former kings and queens. At the far end of the long hall, just before the end, they turned down yet another hall. From these windows, Belle could glimpse the courtyard below and the windows in the opposite wing. The marching seemed endless. Despite Belle’s highly active life, she wasn’t used to this sort of exercise; nor was her corset made for it.

  “Pardon me, sir.” Belle finally said, keeping with the Vakrein tongue. “I’m only looking for my father. I believe he might have come to this castle.”

  General Kogsworthe didn’t respond and neither did his men. They continued on as though she hadn’t said anything at all. Belle decided not to ask any more questions. Clearly, they didn’t have any intention of helping her. In fact, she didn’t really know what their intentions were.

  At the end of this hall were two more armed guards. They stood at attention until one opened the door for them. Belle’s stomach clenched at the sight of where she was headed.

  A narrow, stone staircase spiraled upward. The steps were thin and steep, only providing enough room to walk single file. Kogsworthe went first. One of Belle’s guards stepped in between her and the General. The other remained at the back, staying close as they stepped into the small space. The stone walls were moist and mold grew in the cracks.

  The only light came from the occasional inset niche where a candlestick was placed. They ascended for some time, all the while the staircase wrapping up and up. Belle was in no hurry to reach the top though. She knew where they were going now. A staircase like this only led to one place…A tower dungeon.

  They reached the top landing and, after the confines of the staircase, it felt like freedom—briefly. It was dark and dank. The room opened into two spaces; one was a cell with the only window, too high to be reached, to provide natural light for the entire dungeon. The other space was mostly hidden by darkness, but Belle could make out chains and cuffs hanging from the walls.

  The idea of being locked up here terrified her. She wanted out as fast as possible. She wanted back down to the main floors where lush carpets and handcrafted sculptures hid the horror above.

  Kogsworthe and the Vakrein soldier positioned themselves around the room, facing the cell and blocking the staircase. A groan came from the cell, making Belle notice the bundled up man huddled against the bars. Without seeing his face, she knew who it was. Henri was hunched into himself, struggling to keep his cloak pulled tightly around him. He visibly shivered, his breath forming in the air.

  “Père?” Her voice faint, she stepped closer.

  Henri tilted his head. Surprise lit his eyes. “Belle?”

  “Oh Père, you’re alive.” Forgetting about the armed men at her back, she dropped to her knees next to Henri. She grasped his hands around the bars. Through both his gloves and hers, she felt the chill in his hands.

  “What are you doing here?” he rasped. “You can’t be here.”

  “I came to find you, Père, and take you home.” Feeling her anger rise up at this clear mistreatment, Belle turned to the General, “Why is he imprisoned? What crime has been committed?”

  Kogsworthe did not answer, making her blood boil. A glint of light caught Belle’s attention. She squinted her eyes, trying to make out what was in the dark, empty space behind the General. There was something there, something with texture, but she just couldn’t see it.

  Henri pulled at Belle’s arm and she turned back to him. He gripped her sleeve, fear emanating through his features. “This place is wrong Belle. They aren’t like us. They’re hiding something. Something evil.”

  “What do you mean, Père?”

  He inhaled deeply to answer and his breath rushed out in a cry, his hand jerking to his side. Reaching through the bars, Belle moved about his clothing till her fingers came back red. She looked beneath his cloak and found he was covered in his own blood. He was badly wounded on both his arm and his chest.

  “He’s injured. Why hasn’t he been treated? I ask again that you justify this imprisonment!” Belle glared at each man, daring them to continue ignoring her.

>   “What is your name?” General Kogsworthe said in English, his true British accent coming out.

  Belle answered through clenched teeth. “Belle LeClair of Glace and this is my father Henri LeClair.”

  His thick eyebrow tipped upward. “Why are you here?”

  “My father was missing. I came looking for him,” Belle said quickly, relieved that they were finally talking. “He’s in bad condition. He needs—”

  “How are you still human?” Kogsworthe asked.

  The question surprised her, cutting off any quick answer. How was she still human? Belle might have asked him the same thing. But it was clear he wasn’t going to answer her questions, let alone help Henri. He expected explanations from her though and that gave her an idea.

  “Let my father leave with everything he arrived with and I will willingly tell you anything you want know.” The General raised his chin, showing just a hint of surprise. She continued, “But if you don’t, than I won’t say a word.”

  Kogsworthe scratched his beard, weighing her claim. “We could torture it out of the two of you.”

  Something in the other corner growled. Fear ran up her spine. She squeezed Henri’s hands. The sound stopped so abruptly, Belle questioned if she’d heard it at all. Or if the darkness of this tower was already getting to her. There was something wrong with this place. That much was certain.

  “You could torture me, but know that I have a surprising tolerance for pain. So does my father.” She turned back to Henri; afraid that if she stared at the General too long her true fear would show. Henri’s face was pale with a green tint. He wasn’t well and in his weakened state, sickness was inevitable. He needed to be home. Licking her lips and stoking her courage, Belle said to the Vakrein General, “Besides, why go through all that trouble. Just let my father go. Without treatment, he’ll be dead in a few days anyway.”

  General Kogsworthe considered this, then turned to his soldiers. “Take the man, put him on his horse and send him through the gate.” Look at Belle he said, “The woman goes in the cell.”

  Relief washed over Belle, but a rattling fear followed. She stood as the soldiers came over. At the clanking of keys sliding through the cell lock, Henri became alert. He glanced around in confusion. “What’s happening?”

  “They’re letting you go, Père. You can go home and get better.” She tried to smile.

  “And you?” He grabbed the bars, attempting to pull himself up as the guards walked in. They gripped his arms, half carrying, half dragging him out.

  She secretly clenched her skirts, trying to control her fear. “I’m staying.”

  “No. No, Belle. You must leave!” Henri’s distress shone in his eyes and the lines of his face. He seized the bars, stopping the progression away from the cell. Then, with unexpected strength, Henri jerked from the guards and lunged for Belle. His arms wrapped tightly around her. She hugged back, memorizing his scent of machine oil and metal. He whispered pleas in her ears, bringing tears to her eyes. “Belle. No. Don’t do this!”

  Her father was ripped away from her. The soldiers lugged him toward the staircase.

  “Wait,” she said, sadness and fear bubbled up inside her. “Please. Just a moment.”

  Moving to embrace her father in one last au revoir, Belle held up her hand. Kogsworthe blocked her path. She pulled up short, refusing to touch him. The soldiers pulled Henri out of sight, their boots thudding violently. His shouts echoed against the stone walls.

  General Kogsworthe swept his hand toward the cell. Belle hung her head in defeat, averting her eyes. Below, the door slammed. The silence was jarring. Henri was gone. Without protest, Belle walked into the cell.

  The General pulled the door shut and locked it. Listening to him leave, waiting till he was gone, she grabbed the cell bars. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her head rested against the rusted steel.

  Lord, guide my father home.

  Hours and hours past; day turned to night. The only light came from a single candle placed within an iron lantern. It dangled on a chain from the room’s center. Belle watched the flickering flame.

  She was perched on moldy, soiled hay, leaning against the moist wall. This portion of the castle was not heated and the wind seeped through the stone. Belle clutched her cloak about her in the same manner that Henri had.

  Sleep evaded her. Worry and random thoughts filled Belle’s mind. Will her father make it home? Will he survive if he does? How were these Vakreins still human? Why hadn’t they made themselves known before and why was she being held captive? What exactly was the evil Henri had spoken of?

  And occasionally, she wondered what was hidden in the corner.

  From time to time, Belle thought she heard movement, scraping against the stone floor or a sigh-like huff of air. No matter how hard she stared, she saw nothing. If she had her revolvers, the dungeon wouldn’t be getting to her already.

  Belle sniffled. The continuous cold was making her nose run. Her back ached from the improper position and her eyes were raw from tears. Resting her head against the wall, she tried to sleep.

  The dungeon door creaked open and shut with a shocking bang. Belle quickly stood. She attempted to smooth her clothing and hair. She didn’t want them to see her looking weak. Finally, they were going to question her. She was surprised it took this long.

  Candlelight bounced with each clop of the person’s heels. At first Belle expected General Kogsworthe to return, but the steps were too light. They lacked the heavy thud she would associate with the military man’s boots. Belle clasped her hands before her as the stranger appeared.

  The man was tall and slim. The candlestick he carried cast a yellow glow over his long chin and nose. His hair was pale blond and wavy, despite being pulled back. His clothes had been hastily put together; the corner of his white undershirt stuck out of his pants. The heaviness of his eyes suggested that he’d only just awoke, but it wasn’t yet late enough for anyone to be rising.

  He stopped before her cell and finally looked up at her. His eyes widen for a brief moment and he looked behind him into the shadows of the other cell. Turning back to Belle, he introduced himself. “Mademoiselle, greetings. My name is Laramie Petit.” He bowed. “I am his Royal Highness’s Offisielle Rådgiver and Keeper of the Royal Seal.”

  “And what is an Offisielle Rådgiver?” she asked, forgoing the correct response to his introduction. Belle always followed the rules of society, but so far her treatment had not been warranted and she no longer felt the need to be polite.

  Laramie thought for a moment, possibly searching for the correct French words to describe his title. “I am the Official Adviser. It is my job to take an interest in all things that concern his Royal Highness.”

  “I suppose a person in need doesn’t warrant his concern then.” Belle pursed her lips, letting the ice flow in her tone.

  “Not so.” The thin man touched his pointed chin, considering his response. “But it is whether you are, in fact, a ‘person’ or even ‘in need’ that we were unsure of.”

  Belle had no idea what he meant by that. Of course, she was a person, what else would she be? She said nothing though, taking a lesson from General Kogsworthe, and allowed no confusion to show on her face.

  Looking away from her, Laramie pulled a long key from his pocket. It slid against the cold metal. The lock screeched as he turned it. Clunk, the bolt unhitched.

  “However, the matter has been put to rest,” Laramie said and opened the cell door. “I have come to see you settled into a proper room.”

  Belle hesitated briefly. It was all so odd to her. Afraid this was a jest—that he’d suddenly change his mind—she stepped out of the cell. Monsieur Petit closed the door behind her; the bang echoed off the walls. Belle watched him from the corner of her eye and he gestured for her to take the stairs first.

  Gathering her skirts, Belle made her way down the stairs. The descent was slow. She kept one hand up, ready to brace herself against the walls should she fall. Laramie f
ollowed quietly behind, holding the light up to help her see.

  The silence was becoming agonizing, and she blurted the first question that came to mind. “Why would you need to settle the matter of whether I am human or not, Monsieur Petit?” She tried not to let her voice echo. “What else could I possibly be? Certainly not a hellhound.”

  “Hellhound…Is that what you call them?” His soft tone was curious.

  “Of course.” Belle reached the bottom of the steps and moved aside in the tiny area to let Laramie reach the door. “You call them something different?”

  He knocked twice on the hard wood, then said to Belle with complete seriousness, “We call them cursed.”

  A soldier guarding from outside opened the door. Laramie nodded to him as they passed and led Belle down the hall. The lighting within the castle had been dimmed considerably since she last walked through. It cast everything in a foreboding shadow. Monsieur Petit still carried the candlestick and Belle’s pace kept her just within the flame’s glow. “You never answered my question before.”

  Laramie didn’t respond right away. He was the sort of man who considered everything he said before he said it. “It is not a question for me to answer, but you will get your answer in time. In fact, I would say that many of your questions will be answered quite soon.”

  They didn’t speak as he led her back to the grand staircase and ascended to the third floor. Belle relished the lush, red rug and wide steps as they went. Her hand rested upon the thick banister. Already the dark tower dungeon felt like only a brief nightmare.

  The idea to turn and dash to the front door crossed her mind, but she shoved it away. That would have been the most foolish action for her to take. If somehow Belle made it past the front guards, she’d then have to get Charming without the soldiers catching up to her. Not to mention that they still had her weapons, and she was not leaving without her revolvers. Gosh, Belle missed their weight at her side.