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

by Liz Braswell

  Without straining, the Beast reached over with a casual paw and took the tart from her as if it were no larger or heavier than an egg. She laughed and he smiled, overcome by the little moment’s absurdity.

  “Dinner is served,” Belle announced grandly, marching into the dining room.

  The Beast watched her carefully as she put the food out on the table and then served herself, using all the proper implements—then sat there for a moment before realizing she wasn’t going to serve him.

  He quickly grabbed a ladle and did the best he could, spilling only a little.

  Belle took hearty sips, pleased with her cooking. She hadn’t had to skimp or switch out ingredients like she often had to at home.

  “It’s very good,” the Beast said. “Élémentaire,” he added, quoting the stove. As if he thought it was a compliment.

  Belle raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I don’t like fancy stuff,” he went on quickly, suddenly realizing how it sounded. “I like…meat.”

  Belle slumped a little. So much for her attempt at haute cuisine. Well, I’m enjoying it, she thought.

  The Beast’s eyes widened in horror.

  At first she thought maybe he bit down on a peppercorn—wasn’t there something about dogs hating pepper?—but then she saw that he was staring at something in particular, above the table.

  Rose petals.

  Black rose petals were falling softly out of the air. They made a little pile in the middle of the table. All in utter silence. Against the dark wood of the table and the shadows on the walls, it was like a Dutch still life made real—one of the somber ones, with a skull or the like in the background.

  “Not…very…romantic…” Belle tried to joke weakly.

  But in the back of her head, she was counting.

  Wild roses had five petals, generally; cabbage roses could have as many as one hundred. A normal “fancy” rose had between twenty-five and forty. Ten had fallen already, and the look of alarm was growing on the Beast’s face.

  Nineteen…twenty…

  Insomuch as the Beast could turn pale, he did; frozen with his mouth open in purely human apprehension.

  Belle started to get up, to try and grab them….

  Twenty-one.

  The petals stopped.

  Of course. Twenty-one, for his age when the curse is completed.

  Where they landed on the table was now a sizable heap of velvety-black tatters.

  “I’ll just…” Belle said, rising to brush them off, away from him. The part of her that wasn’t also transfixed by the terrible apparition was mildly stunned at her own reaction. While her first instinct was to be terrified, her second was to comfort the Beast and protect him….

  But as she touched the petals, they glittered and vanished—just the way the original ones had.

  The Beast sat perfectly still this whole time, but something about the way his claws gripped the table made Belle think he was about to bolt.

  “Maybe it’s my mother, trying to tell me something,” she offered.

  “Maybe it’s just more effects of the curse,” the Beast said darkly. “The castle grows more haunted, reminding me of my doom.”

  “All right,” Belle said, taking a deep breath. She thought quickly, trying to come up with some topic to take their minds off the horrible apparition.

  Or…not. They had to figure out how to break the curse. This was a not-so-subtle reminder of that. She might as well grab the elephant in the room by its tusks.

  Or something.

  “Let’s review the facts. One, my mother cursed you ten years ago. We do not know if she is dead or alive. She’s feeling a little…ghostly, though, I have to say. We do know that she had a symbol next to her name in the record book, and everyone else who did seems to have disappeared. We know Alaric Potts disappeared…damn. I forgot to check next to his name, to see if there was a symbol. I was too upset. We should do that right after dinner.

  “How am I doing so far?”

  The Beast shrugged. But he seemed to have relaxed a little. “Sounds right. Not sure how it helps.”

  “I don’t know either, but there’s a ton of mysteries here, like boxes inside of boxes, which are just begging to be solved,” Belle said, sighing. She scraped at the bottom of her bowl, playing with what remained of the gravy. “At least…now I know that all of your servants were…people. That means we can ask everyone here about what went on before the curse. Makes things a whole lot easier.”

  “It never even occurred to me to talk to them before,” the Beast said thoughtfully. “Mother and father always told me…servants were tools…possessions, almost. To not get too attached to them because then they would use you…That’s why they were so mad about me and Alaric….”

  “Oh. Huh.”

  Belle put a bite of chicken in her mouth while she thought of something else to say. Could you blame someone for their views if that was the way they were raised…and then turned into a beast for ten years? Frozen in time, in some ways? Did her mother understand that was a possible result of her curse? That it wouldn’t fix anything—and maybe make things worse?

  The faults of all the parents involved…

  “Your mother and father don’t sound very…enlightened,” she eventually observed. “Or modern.”

  The Beast twitched his shoulder uncomfortably.

  The words from the vision came back to her: There is no love in your heart at all, Prince—just like your parents.

  “What were…the king and queen…like?”

  “They were my parents. They ruled the kingdom,” he said with a shrug.

  “But…like…How did they rule? What did they do during the fever? Can you remember?”

  The Beast stopped eating and looked bleakly at his dish. “They locked up the castle and had everyone stay inside, safe. With priests and…no, there were no doctors. I don’t remember why. I remember the incense and not being allowed to ride my horses.”

  “Did they do anything for the people? To help alleviate the suffering?”

  The Beast gave her a blank look.

  “They…closed the borders,” he said slowly. “I was upset because I couldn’t have the fresh berries from the north that I liked so much. No one in or out, for any reason. To try to contain the sickness. To keep it from spreading.”

  “Well, that was smart. But did they…build makeshift hospitals? Provide food for those too afflicted to leave their homes?”

  The Beast shifted his feet under the table.

  “Did your parent give anything, like…”

  The Beast roared, suddenly standing up and throwing his chair backwards.

  “They gave everything!” he snarled in her face. Belle turned away and put her hands up to protect herself, suddenly terrified of his yellow teeth and murderous look.

  And then, without another word, he leapt away—silently, on all fours, tearing his way through the castle.

  Belle looked at the ruined remains of dinner, sloshed all over the table.

  A little stunned, she began to take a napkin and slowly wipe up the mess.

  Never forget he’s still a beast, she told herself sadly.

  By the time she was done cleaning, Belle was beyond exhausted and all alone in the silent kitchen. The stove seemed to be asleep, frozen in his unlit off position. The furniture was also hushed or otherwise unmoving.

  For the first time in the haunted castle, Belle began to feel lonely. Not scared or desperate for some other sign of life, but just lonely for companionship. Things had seemed to be going so well with the Beast….What had set him off so dramatically?

  She peeked into the servants’ dining hall. To her relief, most of the senior house staff and some of the more prominent junior staff were sitting around the table, enjoying the large banked fire at the end of the room. Mrs. Potts, Lumière, and Cogsworth sat together at the head. The rake—presumably the former gardener—and the shaving strop were trying to play a game of cards. Dustmaids and a parasol gossipe
d.

  “Hello?” Belle ventured.

  They all immediately stopped what they were doing and looked over at her.

  “Oh child, is your dinner over already?” Mrs. Potts asked in concern.

  “I think I…pushed him too far,” Belle said wearily. She indicated an empty chair. “May I?”

  “It’s highly—” Cogsworth began.

  “Yes, of course,” Lumière interrupted, leaping down and pulling it out for her.

  Belle sank into the chair gratefully. “Apparently, I just…rush into things…” Totally not like my mother. Rushing to curse someone, rushing into a creepy castle…Totally not the same thing at all. “I may as well apologize to all of you right now. If you haven’t heard yet, it turns out my mother was the one who cursed your master and all of you. And, of course, it’s me who brought the curse to fruition. I am so very, very sorry.”

  Those who knew at least some of it already, like Lumière and Cogsworth, studiously didn’t react. The rest dropped everything in shock.

  “I feel terrible. I can’t even describe how sorry I am. I didn’t realize when I first came here…that you were all human once. I thought maybe you were just…things that were animated to life.”

  “I am a Christian,” Cogsworth said indignantly. He pronounced it Chris-tee-an. “A man with a soul, trapped in this unforgivable clockwork prison.”

  “Oh, I’d say it’s fairly forgiving of some of your less attractive features,” Lumière said casually.

  “We were all people once,” Mrs. Potts said sadly. “Even my boy, Chip. He was just a lad when it all happened. And he still is, after all these years. Maybe, in its own way, that’s a blessing.”

  “So you are the great Enchantress’s daughter,” Cogsworth said thoughtfully. “I find it…very odd that you came back here….”

  “Magic always comes back on itself,” Mrs. Potts clucked. There were general murmurs of agreement and nodding of headlike appendages around the table.

  “What?” Belle asked.

  “Oh, it’s just something Mr. Potts used to say,” she said, shaking her spout. “Every curse, every charm, every little bit of kitchen magic, comes from somewhere and doesn’t go…away when it’s finished. There’s always a price to pay—and it usually involves the one who cast the spell.”

  “Was he an enchanter?” Belle asked politely.

  “Him? No,” Mrs. Potts chuckled. “He wasn’t one of les charmantes. His only magic was with animals, and it wasn’t magic magic, if you know what I mean.”

  “Wait—les charmantes?” Belle pressed, suddenly alert. “What are those?”

  “It’s just a general term,” Lumière explained with a candle-like shrug. “It means anyone…just a little bit touched. By magic.”

  “Could be the ears and tail of a wolf,” Mrs. Potts said. “Could be a tendency to float rather than walk. Could be a great enchantress, a kitchen witch, or that strange little girl at the market who never aged and always had those lovely mushrooms in the fall.”

  “Fairies,” Belle said in wonder, remembering what the Beast had said. “Les charmantes. They lived here.”

  “We were famous for it,” Cogsworth said with a sniff of pride. “At one time.”

  “So…my mother…was one of those charmantes,” Belle said slowly. “That funny mark next to where my mother’s name would have been in the record book…I wonder if that’s what it meant. Did the kingdom keep track of les charmantes?”

  Everyone looked a little uncomfortable.

  “Not…officially,” Cogsworth said delicately. “All, er, minority groups have had…good and bad relations with the crown…at different times in history. This particular reign was not…overthrilled…with the idea of people with potentially greater strength and power than their own soldiers….”

  Belle racked her brain for other names that had the symbol next to them.

  “Have you heard of…Girard? Francois Girard?”

  Everyone looked blank.

  “Aimi Dupree?”

  The little objects gave various versions of shrugs as their anatomy allowed.

  “Christophe Lambert?”

  “Werewolf,” Lumière said immediately. Several other people around the table nodded. “And what a drinker! The whole family was a bit touched. With drinking, I mean. Mostly harmless, except for that time with the sheep. He tended to go on a spree before the full moon and then decamp to the hills. It was quite a sight, some nights.”

  “I wonder what happened to him,” the old gardener said. “You used to hear his howls—some hated it, but I thought it were rather lovely. Forlorn and magical, like the old days.”

  “Oh, they were all mostly gone by the third year of the fever,” the shaving strop added.

  “That was a bad time,” Mrs. Potts said, shuddering. “I was in bed for a month, do you remember? And I was one of the lucky ones! A fever so high you’d like as to burn your thumb feeling a patient’s forehead. And just wasting away with terrible, shallow breathing.”

  “Less than half the kingdom was left when it was over,” Cogsworth added bleakly. “It ran us through. Didn’t matter if you were a peasant or a king or a queen.”

  Belle’s throat went dry.

  “King…or…queen?”

  “Yes, it took both of them, poor things,” Mrs. Potts said, clucking. “Left the master an orphan at age ten.”

  “Oh, oh my God…” Belle rubbed her face with her hands, feeling panicky and nauseated. “The plague killed them. That’s why he was so upset and rushed out. And there I was, just chattering along about what terrible people they were for not helping…I am an idiot. I am such. An. Idiot. I need to go find him and apologize…” She started to get up.

  “Don’t bother,” Lumière said gently, grasping at her sleeve. “If he is in one of his…fits…it would just be best to leave him alone until he calms down.”

  “Wait until tomorrow morning, dear,” Mrs. Potts said, nodding. “It’s for the best.”

  Belle reluctantly sat back down. Research, ask, investigate, she told herself. That’s what you’re here to do, so do it!

  “All right…But you said there were almost no charmantes left by the end. The records tend to indicate that it wasn’t the fever…”

  “Ha! Non,” a dustmaid spoke up. “It didn’t touch them at all. Because it was started by them. It was started by a witch!”

  “Pish and nonsense,” Mrs. Potts said. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, child.”

  “It was a terrible, deadly disease, plain and simple,” Cogsworth added firmly. “There was nothing magical about it. It didn’t discriminate in its victims.”

  “So what happened to them?” Belle pressed.

  Suddenly, the room grew very quiet. The objects became still, only Lumière’s flames flickering and Cogsworth’s dial ticking.

  “Look, I think it might have something to do with breaking the curse,” Belle said, pleading. “I think it might have to do with my mother’s leaving us, or disappearing….I really think she’s trying to tell me something. But if we’re going to try at all, you need to tell me!”

  “Besides…our king and queen…not everyone…liked les charmantes,” Mrs. Potts said slowly.

  “For obvious reasons!” the dustmaid said with a snort, indicating everyone in the room.

  “There’s always been tension in the principality, as I said,” Cogsworth put in primly. “Usually everyone got on all right. But…there have been periods…when people were on…worse behavior than usual, let us say. Right before the curse was one of those periods. There was an incident involving the death of a normal boy at the hands of one of les charmantes. Violence ensued. Many people already believed les charmantes were the cause of all the trouble in the kingdom. Whenever there was a drought, or a crop failure, or livestock weren’t breeding…”

  “Or a plague,” the dustmaid put in icily.

  “Some said they were leaving, going back to the Fair Lands or wherever they came from,” Mrs
. Potts said with a sigh. “But in reality, they were probably being disappeared. One week you’d hear of a goodwife being beaten half to death and the next week the nice man with the claws who sold the lovely China silk would be gone, just gone, nothing else missing. It doesn’t take a lot of guessing to figure out what probably happened.”

  “If you weren’t a charmante, there was nothing to fear,” the dustmaid pointed out.

  “That’s foolishness,” Mrs. Potts said. “Think of Mr. Potts. He went the way of the rest of them, and he wasn’t magic.”

  “Bah,” the dustmaid said. “You prove my point. He was well known for his views. If he wasn’t so friendly to those freaks of nature, maybe he would be fine. And do not forget that it was one of les charmantes who cursed you! Who cursed all of us! You see how they are all insane and powerful! How can you forgive them?”

  “It was one person,” Cogsworth said patienty, “who had to watch as her people were…harassed and hunted down. In her own twisted way she was doing what she thought was right to protect them and save what was the rest of the kingdom. And you cannot blame an entire group for the actions of one.”

  “But…”

  “We are all ‘charmantes’ now!” Lumière said, pounding a brass fist on the table. It was the first time Belle had seen serious, strong emotion in what seemed like an otherwise laid-back little guy. “It doesn’t matter anymore! It’s just as well the rest of the world has forgotten about us, because if they hadn’t people would swoop in and kill us for being tainted by the devil or lock us up in a circus!”

  All of the creatures looked around at each other and then at the ground awkwardly after his outburst.

  “I don’t understand,” Belle said, resting her weary head on her hands. “No one in the village where I grew up even believes in magic. The village right over there, across the river. From all of this. And my mother disappeared after we moved there. So it couldn’t have been some…sort of…witch hunt…right?”

  “It’s a lot to take in for one night,” Mrs. Potts said kindly, waddling forward. She seemed tired, like just moving took effort.