As Old As Time: A Twisted Tale (Twisted Tale, A)

by Liz Braswell

  “I think I was made to forget her,” she said slowly. “Everything she touched seems utterly forgotten. I think there is magic involved—in the same way no one knows about your kingdom, or you.”

  “That was…the end of the curse. She said: ‘If you do not learn to love another—and be loved in return—by the time the last petal of this rose falls, you, your castle, and all within, will remain cursed and forgotten—forever.’”

  It was the most the Beast had spoken yet. He recited it perfectly, closing his eyes in pain at the memory.

  Belle felt her heart clench. True, he had thrown her father into a prison cell. But…since they had sort of…come to terms with their situation, he hadn’t shown any signs of being the kind of monster that might cause an enchantress to curse a little boy.

  Can an eleven-year-old even truly understand the concept of that kind of love?

  The silence dragged out. The Beast eventually opened his eyes and went back to looking at his book, and she to hers.

  “Hey, hey, Belle, hey,” he said after a moment, tapping her on the knee with one of his claws.

  “What?” she demanded, surprised out of her concentration.

  He gave her a grievous look. “I think I found something,” he said piteously.

  “I’m sorry. Please share it. That’s great news.”

  The Beast cleared his throat and held up the book, delicately indicating his place with one claw while he read.

  “…‘And the long-failing spring on the western side of the town at Parson’s Rock was restored to its original vitality by a local woman of sorcerous nature known to many. It was said she was the most powerful of all hereabouts and thus entreated to carry out the job. Whether or not all the stories concerning her are true, everyone agreed that her magical abilities were only exceeded by her beauty; her golden hair and green eyes that caused some to call her Angel.’…

  “You see?” the Beast said excitedly. “Golden hair and green eyes. It has to be her!”

  “Fantastic!” Belle said, grinning. “What else does it say about her?”

  The Beast’s face fell as he scanned the text. “Nothing. It’s mostly stories about fairies and woods people, folk doctors who could heal better than city doctors. It’s all sort of mixed up…someone was collecting interesting local legends and personages. But at least we know this was real. It happened around the time I was born.”

  “But…hang on…just…” Belle’s mind spun dizzily. “Besides my mother the Enchantress, there were…ah…just, like, fairies and stuff? Around here?”

  “Sure,” the Beast said, shrugging. “Not a lot. And I guess they were dangerous. I remember my mother and father talking about how they just wished they would go away.”

  At first, that sounded utterly horrible and barbaric to Belle. Wishing for fairies to go away? Belle had spent most of her young life wishing to see one, and reading every book about them she could get her hands on. And they were here all along!

  And yet…

  If they were all like my mother, powerful and ready to dispense curses at the drop of a hat… Well, she could sort of see the king and queen’s point. Was whatever her mother had been angry about worth what was essentially the destruction and erasure of the last magical kingdom in the world?

  “Maybe we don’t have to find my mother,” Belle said slowly. “Maybe we just need to find another powerful enchanter.”

  The Beast shrugged. “There aren’t any. Anymore. I remember people saying she was the last.”

  “Of course. I should have guessed. All right, back to looking for Maman, then….”

  “What was her name? Maybe we can find more about her in one of those books of tax records.”

  Belle put her book down and drew her legs up into her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted in a small voice.

  “WHAT?” the Beast roared.

  But it wasn’t that which made Belle shudder. It was her realization. She felt cold and strangely terrified. Maman and Papa. Maurice and…?

  How could she not know her own mother’s name?

  “I don’t know her name….I don’t know why, I just don’t. Remember the whole ‘magic’ thing? I would bet it has something to do with that…and forgetting….”

  The Beast stared at her for a long moment.

  From frozen in shock to blurry motion, he let out a roar of rage. The books she had just been looking at were suddenly sliced into ribbons of paper and leather. She gasped and drew back her hands—but his claws had been nowhere near them.

  “That wasn’t very helpful,” Belle said as soon as she got her voice back.

  “Neither is looking for a woman whose name we don’t know!” the Beast roared. “THIS IS USELESS!”

  “DO I LOOK HAPPY ABOUT THIS?” Belle shot back. “I’m not! This is the first time I ever even realized I don’t know her name! How strange and horrible is that?”

  The Beast lowered his eyes, and his ears drooped.

  “youreright,” he mumbled.

  Belle shook her head and rubbed her temples. “All right. We know she used to live here and was, obviously, well known. We know I was born here, from what I saw in the broken mirror. So if we search the census books we should be able to find some record of my birth or baptism, and my father’s and my mother’s names.” She took a deep breath. “And possibly the record of her death—and its cause. I don’t know what knowing that will get us, but it’s something.”

  “That…makes sense,” the Beast said grudgingly.

  “You can start with that one right there,” Belle said primly, pointing at the ruined mess. “Try to figure out at least what years it was for.”

  Meekly, the Beast obeyed.

  At first it all looked the same to Belle…rows and rows of taxpayer names, peasants who apparently didn’t even merit being named at all, and an absolutely astonishing number of people named Jacques and Francois.

  On top of that she realized that only very rarely were older women recorded at all—it was mostly only male heads-of-household.

  The handwriting of the archivist was so tight and cramped and crowded that Belle often missed when a season turned, and it was from this that she had to figure out when the year changed.

  But long before she got to her own birth, about twenty years before the curse, she noticed something that had nothing to do with what they were looking for. Some of the people listed started getting the addition of funny little symbols next to their names. Curious, Belle flipped back and forth between different seasons, trying to see if it meant an increase in tax, a change of life status, or some other thing that would have been important to the castle’s treasurer. Nothing.

  The only thing that linked them was that generally the people who received these symbols didn’t show up anywhere later—either as a death or anything else.

  They were all different ages, both sexes, and held different occupations. She couldn’t see any connection between them.

  “Found it!” she suddenly cried, forgetting the symbols for a moment. “I found me! My birth record!”

  The Beast swooped over in his silent, unbelievably predatory way to stand behind her on the couch and peer over her shoulder.

  “‘Belle, female, born to…’ Oh.” Her face fell. “Maurice. Nothing else.”

  The Beast started to let out a roar. Without looking, Belle put her hand up over his mouth to stop him.

  “What is it about your mother?” he demanded around her fingers. “It’s like she doesn’t appear anywhere.”

  “She erased herself, somehow. For some reason.” Belle sighed. “I guess this is what happens when you have an enchantress in the family. But look, here’s something. This little symbol I’ve been seeing everywhere. It’s in the place where my mother’s name would be. Like it was supposed to be associated with her.”

  “So?” the Beast said.

  “So does it mean anything to you? Do you recognize it?”

  “No,” h
e said, frowning.

  “It must be something important. Everyone who has one by his or her name disappears from the records eventually. See?” She flipped back and forth to show him a few examples. “Where did they all go?”

  “There was a plague,” the Beast said bleakly. “When I was a child.”

  “No,” Belle said, shaking her head, gazing back and forth between two books.

  The Beast gave her an incredulous look.

  She suddenly realized how awful that “no” sounded.

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to seem so callous. I just meant that doesn’t explain these people all disappearing from the town records. Look: here it clearly says the person died of fever. And here, and here. There are hundreds of entries that say that. The people with the symbol don’t…die of anything. They just don’t appear again.”

  “Maybe they moved, like you did.”

  “All of these people? I think, despite the world being made to forget about your kingdom, someone would have noticed a mass exodus around these parts. The peasants in the village where I grew up don’t like anything new or strange. They would have at least complained about it.”

  The two lapsed into a depressed silence. Belle felt like there was no solidity anywhere, that even the chair she sat on was just going to tip her over and disappear. Nothing made sense; there were no facts to hold on to. Only a pile of ancient paper confetti on her lap, words and information now rendered useless.

  “Alaric,” the Beast suddenly said.

  Belle looked up. He was staring into the space in front of his head.

  “Alaric, the stablemaster. He disappeared, a few years before…before the curse. See if he has one of those little marks next to him.”

  “What exactly do you mean, disappeared? What do you remember?” Belle asked, pulling up one of the undamaged books.

  “He just…didn’t show up for work. And his family didn’t know what happened to him, either. My parents said it was my fault. They said I was too nice to him and now he was leaving us and his family for a new life—the way ‘his type’ always did whenever they had a little gold.”

  “That is a terrible thing to say to a child,” Belle said, aghast.

  “I did sneak him coins,” the Beast admitted. “And little treasures. Just like I snuck carrots and sugar to the horses. I didn’t think I was hurting anyone.”

  This was a child “with no love in his heart”?

  “You gave sugar to the castle horses on the sly?” she asked with a smile.

  “I loved them. I always loved the horses,” the Beast said sadly. “When…this happened…I let them all go free. They were terrified of me in this form.”

  That was a strange image: the big monster opening up a bunch of stalls so his childhood companions and pets would go away forever now that they couldn’t stand him anymore. Not a beastly thing to do at all.

  “Well, let’s see if Alaric is in here,” she said, trying to sound businesslike again. He looked so sad….“What was his surname?”

  “Potts.”

  Belle stopped, blinking.

  “What?” she asked, unsure if she had heard correctly.

  “Potts. Alaric Potts.”

  “Like…Mrs. Potts?”

  “Yes. That’s his wife. Or…widow.”

  Belle dropped the book.

  “All of those creatures were real people? Cogsworth? Lumière?”

  The Beast looked at her as if she was an idiot. “Of course. They were all my servants. What did you think?”

  “And all of these…people…were turned into what they are because of your curse?”

  “Yes, the entire castle was enchanted,” he said, still confused by her reaction.

  “My mother turned an entire castle of people into furniture when she was punishing you?”

  “Well…” The Beast thought about it. “I suppose the idea was to freeze them in time or something so they wouldn’t age while the curse lasted. Maybe? Why are…why are you so upset?”

  “Cursing a spoiled eleven-year-old prince is one thing!” Belle groaned. “I mean, it’s terrible. But what did these people do to deserve their fate?”

  “I never thought about it before,” he mumbled. “They were just…servants.”

  “‘Just servants.’ Well, thanks to me, your ‘just servants’ will remain wardrobes and candles forever! God’s BLOOD!”

  She collapsed into the couch, pulling a pillow over her face. Tears begin to roll down her nose.

  “It’s not—” the Beast started.

  “You didn’t,” he tried again.

  Belle knew she was being self-indulgent. Feeling bad wouldn’t help the servants. Only somehow breaking the curse would help them now. She took a deep breath.

  Then she forced herself to sit up, crushing her hands into her eyes, making the crying stop.

  The Beast had his face shockingly close to hers, she noticed when she could see again. His jaw was working, still trying to find something to say.

  A small voice below them cleared its throat.

  They both looked down. Cogsworth was standing there, wringing what passed for his hands.

  “Just thought I would ask if there were any preferences for the dinner menu tonight,” he said with a meek cough.

  “We—we were just about to see Mrs. Potts ourselves. We will talk to her about it,” Belle said with as much dignity as she could muster.

  She quickly rose and walked out of the room, before looking at Cogsworth any longer caused her to break down again.

  Belle made her way back to the kitchen, the Beast silently keeping up with her. Cogsworth awkwardly waddled behind them, obviously unsure whether to address his master or leave well enough alone.

  Lumière appeared from behind a curtain—Belle could have sworn she heard giggling—and cocked his middle candle inquisitively at the expressions the strange little party had on.

  “Everything all right, mon chéri? Enjoying your stay?” he asked, making a magnificent little bow.

  “As much as I can,” Belle said politely, trying not to sniff. “You were right about the library—it is fantastic. I’m enjoying it immensely.”

  She tried to see the human in the little three-branched candelabrum, but when he was still, he merely looked like a normal, if misplaced, taper holder—albeit with an arm twisted askew. There were no discernible eyes or features, not even in his flames. His name couldn’t possibly have been Lumière before the change, could it have been? Belle had read in books by Defoe and others that in England, masters of great houses often renamed servants when they entered their hire. Manservants went by the names John and James far too commonly to have been just randomly called that by their mothers. Had the Beast taken away his name once the Enchantress had taken away his body?

  “We’re on our way to the kitchen,” she said gently, kneeling down. “Would you like to come with us? I can carry you…”

  “Oh, no, Mademoiselle,” Lumière said with another little bow. “I am on my way…elsewhere…duties…”

  Belle could actually hear the giggling behind the curtain this time. She tried not to smile nor imagine what furniture could do behind closed doors. She would never look at a writing desk the same way again.

  Cogsworth was still, his face pointed at Lumière. Belle wondered if he was frowning sternly.

  “I didn’t realize you…We’re trying to find a way to break the curse,” Belle began awkwardly. Things had become so much more desperate and complicated now that these peoples’ lives depended on her as well.

  “Of course you are!” Lumière said gamely. Was it just projecting, or did she hear a little bit of strain in his voice? “Where there is life there is hope, no? Come along anyway, Cogsworth. Let’s let these young people…work. And please, let us know if there is anything we can do, mon chéri.”

  “Of course,” Belle said. It was all she could promise.

  The two little creatures hopped off together, what passed for their heads pressed close,
like two old soldiers hobbling off into the sunset. They whispered as they went, strange, high little sounds that both chilled and saddened Belle.

  The Beast just waited expressionlessly for her to move again, and followed behind her.

  The kitchen was cheery and warm, a welcome relief from the dark hall and the sad revelations in the library. The stove was murmuring to itself, stirring the pots on its hob and occasionally popping open its oven to adjust the temperature and check what was going on in there. Bright orange firelight sparkled against the spotless glass on the cabinets, and a bubbling tub full of soapy water had a brush that was vigorously scrubbing cups in it.

  “Goodness,” Mrs. Potts said, spinning around from her perch on the prep table where she was addressing a cohort of silverware, surprised by her master’s appearance. “I just sent Cogsworth after you to see if you had a hankering for anything in particular for dinner. It’s so nice to have a real guest after all this time!”

  She moved and bounced and burbled. Belle could have sworn there was a pink glow to her rounded cheeks.

  “We saw Cogsworth,” Belle said politely, “but we were coming down to talk to you anyway.”

  “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Potts practically hopped up and down, coming perilously close to the edge of the table to get closer to Belle. “Was the tea cold? I know we’re not supposed to serve biscuits in the library but if you had asked, maybe—”

  “What really happened to Alaric?” the Beast interrupted a little impatiently.

  Belle shot him a look. Could he really be that rude?

  Mrs. Potts also gave him a look. It was harder to read her because she had no eyes or mouth, but if Belle had to guess what expression it was, slack-jawed stupefaction seemed likely.

  “My…Mr. Potts?” the teapot stammered.

  “Yes. Your husband. Alaric Potts. The stablemaster. What happened to him?” the Beast said.

  “What I think he’s trying to say,” Belle broke in, “is that we’re working on a…different angle to break the curse and could use whatever information you have about any disappearances that may occurred some years ago.”