by Wendy Mass
She throws the book to the ground, where it skids to a stop under some rotting leaves. “Nothing! Or else someone has taken it already! We stole the book from the monks for nothing!” She storms off, stomping her boots and flailing her arms.
“Um, do you think we should point out that we also stole two robes?” Handsome asks, lifting up the edges of the robes we both still wear.
“We may want to wait until she calms down.”
Veronica storms past us again, kicking up leaves and dirt and muttering swears normally not heard outside of an alehouse at closing time.
“And when do you think that will be?” Handsome asks, eyeing her warily.
“Hopefully before nightfall. I do not relish sleeping in the woods.”
Finally, Veronica’s anger and frustration turn into quiet tears. Handsome scoops her up into his arms, where she soon falls asleep. I slip the discarded book into my own bag, then strap both my pack and hers around my shoulders. Onward through the woods we trudge. Map or no map, we are on a quest. And we are not quitters.
Three days have passed since I was turned into the beast, and I have left my room only to eat. I have not even visited my lab, or the library, or the tallest tower to gaze at the heavens. Mother says I am depressed and has instructed everyone to “give me time to adjust to the shock.” I do not know that one can ever adjust to the shock of looking into the mirror and seeing a wholly unfamiliar — and utterly beastlike — face staring back.
Before I saw myself in the glass, I had imagined that although my facial features were changed, I still resembled my old self. But that is not the case. Mother swears that when I smile, the old me comes across. But I have not smiled, so I cannot attest to the truth of that.
Meals have been very silent occasions. My family cannot talk, of course, since although the door to where we eat is closed, the occasional servant scampers in or out to clear the plates. Parker must be paying them a goodly sum to do this job. Never has one of them looked me in the eye, or questioned why I wanted so many plates and ate so quickly. I am certain they never guessed they were actually feeding four people.
Even Godfrey has left me alone, coming in only to bring water or the occasional book that goes unread on my nightstand. When he alerted Parker that Godfrey would be staying, Parker tried to get him to change his mind. But Godfrey stood firm, declaring that he would not feel right if Prince Riley were to return home to the castle only to find him gone. He would serve the beast in the hopes of learning more of the royal family’s whereabouts. Parker finally relented, loading Godfrey’s arms full of enough weapons to hold off a small army. They lie piled in a corner of my chambers.
The door creaks open. “It is only me,” Mother announces. She and Father have held good to their word, always making their presence known. Alexander has been less obedient. Once he snuck up behind me at the dinner table and stuck a celery stalk into my ear. Even Father admonished him for that.
I force myself to open my eyes and rub the sleep out of them. I no longer scratch myself by mistake, thanks to the gloves I now wear at all times. Mother tried cutting the long nails, but they grew right back. Same with shaving the fur off my arms, cutting my wild mane, or trimming my bushy eyebrows.
My bed groans as I push myself into a sitting position. I have already broken two beds. We have reinforced this one with extra wood, but I still fear I may wind up crashing through it.
“Is it time for breakfast already?” I glance out the window and see that the sun has only just risen. Concern floods me. “Is everything all right? Has something happened?”
The bed creaks as Mother sits down and takes my gloved hand in hers. “We are fine, do not worry. You will shortly have company, however.”
I quickly draw the blanket up to my chest. “Company? But I thought no one is supposed to see me like this.”
“Do not be nervous. It is only the castle doctor. Godfrey has gone to fetch him from his home in the village. He will warn the doctor to uphold the same level of respect and confidentiality that he would give a real member of the royal family.”
I am less than encouraged at this news. “But what if he gives me poison in the guise of medicine? I am certain no one would punish him for ridding the kingdom of the fearsome beast.”
“He shall not give you poison,” she promises. “We will be certain of that. Our hope is that he knows of some remedy for your, er, situation. Also, I have sewn you some proper attire. I am no seamstress, and have no wish to use a needle ever again, but they shall do for now.” Mother places a heavy pile of clothes on top of my lap. As they leave her hands, they fade into view. It has been three days, but I have not gotten used to that sight. Early on, Father had tried to amuse me by having me guess what random object he would “pull from the air” next, but even that could not make me feel better.
“All right,” I tell her. “I shall hope for the best. Thank you for the clothes.”
She chuckles and pats my leg before standing up. “’Tis good that you cannot see the bandages on my fingers.”
We feared it would be too hard to explain to the doctor why the beast chose to live in my room instead of the much grander chambers of my parents, so I am now awaiting his arrival in the library. It feels a lifetime ago that I last hid in here, wearing that horrid Harvest Ball outfit. My invisible family is hiding somewhere amongst the rows of books. I haven’t been able to focus on reading since my transformation, but seeing all these books now is truly making me miss it. The shelves are full of handsome leather- and velvet-bound books, some with clasps of silver, some tied closed with threads of fine silk. A yellow sun and white moon dance in the colored-glass windowpane, and I stand anxiously beside it. Or should I say, above it, since I am now taller than the top of the window.
The doctor, who has attended me since the day of my birth, takes one look at me now and backs away until he is up against the farthest bookshelf. The handle of the leather case he always carries slips from his hand, sending it thumping to the ground. He wraps his crimson cloak tight around his large belly and stares. I have never seen this usually arrogant and decisive man quiver before any challenge in the past. Between Alexander and me, we have presented him with all manner of rashes, coughs, broken bones, and wounds so deep we feared they would never stop bleeding. He always managed to heal us, or at least he usually did not make us worse. Probably I should not be so hard on him. I doubt “How to Cure a Beast” was taught in his medical texts.
“I had heard the rumors of a beast in the castle,” he says, his voice cautious. “I had thought the tales exaggerated. I see they were not.”
“He will not hurt you,” Godfrey assures him. “He asks only that you try to restore him.”
The doctor’s eyes widen. “Restore him? Restore him to what? Did he used to be a person? Who is he?” He inches a bit closer to me.
Godfrey makes a sound, then closes his mouth. I can tell he is worried that he has said too much. I clear my throat and the doctor’s attention snaps back to me. I make my voice as deep as possible so he does not recognize it. “I hail from a faraway land and have hidden away in this castle for reasons of my own. I mean you no harm, but I do demand that you do everything in your power to heal me. To un-beastify me, as it were.”
The doctor inches closer. “If I give you aid, will the royal family be returned safely?”
I hesitate, not sure I can promise to restore the others to the visible world. The doctor picks up his bag and turns to leave. “Wait. I can promise you they will be unharmed. That will have to suffice.”
The doctor pauses. “I suppose if I can un-beastify a beast, my name will be known far and wide. I might even gain a position in a kingdom much larger and more prestigious than this one.”
Across the room, a book falls off the shelf, and we all jump. I have no doubt one of my family members did not approve of the doctor’s comment. Godfrey hurries over to replace the book.
“That is certainly true,” I am quick to reply, “and I will persona
lly sing your praises far and wide as I travel the world.” I almost choke on those last words, for I have no doubt that if this ordeal ever ends, Mother will not let me stray farther than the grounds of the castle for many years to come.
“I shall do my best,” the doctor says, flipping open his medical case. He directs me to lie down on the large rug in the center of the library floor. Godfrey places a pillow from the couch under my head.
The doctor kneels down beside me and inspects my body from head to foot. “Never seen anything akin to this,” he says over and over. “Hair like a lion’s mane! A nose like a hawk! How truly bizarre.”
“Yes, yes,” I say, “I know. I am a one-of-a-kind monster. Can we move on with the healing, please?”
With one last lingering gaze at my long fingernails, he reaches into his bag and pulls out his astrolabe. It is not as fine as my own, but I am used to him consulting the stars before determining his healing method. “If I were here at night, I would check the stars’ positions for you,” he says, “although I am not sure if your kind is even governed by the movement of the stars.”
I bristle at being referred to as “your kind,” but I say nothing. He leans over and tentatively lays the back of his palm against my forehead.
“You feel a bit feverish. I shall give you something to lessen it.”
Before I can explain that all this hair makes me hot, he has reached into his bag and pulled out a tin of lemon balm. He rubs it on my forehead, which quickly begins to tingle. It smells pleasant enough, although my entire face is now beginning to sweat. What is in that stuff? He reaches back into his bag and fishes around for another moment. The sweating worsens. Finally, he pulls out a glass jar filled with, gulp, leeches!
“This will not hurt,” he says, pulling off the lid. The leeches twist and turn in the jar, causing my stomach to do the same.
“Well, it will not hurt much,” he amends his statement. “The leeches will suck out the impure blood. When your humors are balanced, you shall be healed. Hopefully.”
I shut my eyes tight as he places the leeches on my arms and legs. Fortunately (or unfortunately), only my face is pouring water, so the leeches have no trouble holding fast. I grimace, expecting the usual discomfort. But my skin must be much thicker than it used to be, for it truly does not hurt at all. I open one eye and peek down at my arm. Three leeches suck greedily from spots between the patches of fur. Their once lean and flat bodies grow round and plump as I watch. In fact, the leeches are filling up so quickly, they lose their hold on my body and begin to fall off.
“Er, is that supposed to happen?” I ask.
The doctor reaches to the floor and grasps one between his thumb and forefinger. He places it in his palm, where it immediately twitches its little sucker things and rolls over, dead. He bounces it in his palm. It remains dead. “Fascinating!”
I have a hard time agreeing with that assessment.
“It should take hours to fill up,” he says, picking the rest of the dead leeches from the rug. “Perhaps I need larger ones.”
I sit up. “Perhaps we need to try something else.”
“How are your bowels?” he asks.
My face grows even hotter at his question. I have to push the now-stringy and wet mane of hair from my eyes. “Excuse me?”
From the back of the room I swear I hear Alexander stifling a laugh.
“Your bowels,” he repeats. “And your urine?”
I am used to the doctor asking me these questions when I am ill, but I am not usually surrounded by my entire family at the time. Will the humiliations never end? “They are fine, I guess.”
“All right, then.” He begins repacking his bag. “I shall visit the apothecary in the village and return tomorrow with a special elixir. It may not taste very good going down, but if you can keep it in for even a few moments, it just might work.”
I nod, although the thought of swallowing one of his stomach-turning concoctions does not thrill me. Alexander has a theory that the worse it tastes, the better it works. We shall see.
Godfrey escorts the doctor back downstairs.
“You have earned a new title,” Alexander says, suddenly close by my side. “Prince Riley, Leech Killer.”
I growl as I wipe the sticky balm off my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt. “When you expect it least, I shall sit on you.”
“And how do you expect to find me?” he teases.
“Easy. I shall simply follow the stench of the sausage you ate for breakfast.”
Alexander and I start playfully pushing each other like we used to when we were kids. Or more accurately, I am pushing him, while he cannot budge me an inch.
“Well,” Father says to Mother as we tumble past them, “at least he’s out of bed.”
The path through the northern woods takes us to a small clearing, ringed with apple trees. I immediately recognize the mermaid fountain in the center of the clearing. The setting sun turns the water a brilliant orange. Papa brought us to this town once to pick up a shipment of books. I had said the fountain seemed a waste of water, and he said that art was never a waste. This had surprised me coming from him, since I have never seen him crack a book open other than to inspect it for sale. But since then I have always stopped to admire fine craftsmanship when I come across it.
We rest on the low stone wall around the fountain and watch the water rush from the mermaid’s mouth. Carved from some kind of white stone, she appears to rise out of the sea, the waves foaming beneath her.
“It is lovely,” Handsome says. “I have not seen its equal.”
“Nor I,” Veronica says. These are the first words she has said since discovering the map was missing from the book. Even when we had stopped for lunch she sat by herself, eating from her pack in silence. Handsome had asked what her plan was, now that she did not have the map to guide her. But in response she had just turned her back. We decided it best to keep heading north, since that is how we started out. This is the first town we have come to.
“I visited this spot with my father once,” I tell them. “He said the fountain was here before the town was even built.”
“How is that possible?” asks Handsome. “Who would have built it, then?”
I shake my head. “He did not know.”
“I do,” Veronica says softly. “I know who built it.” She leans forward in that dramatic way of hers and says, “The fairies.”
“The fairies?” Handsome repeats. “That truly is something.” I can tell he is trying to keep the doubt from his voice. He does not believe in that stuff any more than I.
Veronica reaches into the fountain and lets her hand trail through the water. “Grandfather says carving statues is a favorite hobby of fairies.”
“I did not realize fairies had hobbies,” I say, keeping my eyes away from Handsome for fear he will make me laugh.
“Oh, yes,” she replies. “And they like to dance.”
“Like this?” Handsome says, grabbing Veronica’s hands. He starts twirling her around the fountain, across the rough stones with the weeds growing up between them. She tries to pull away at first, but he holds firm. I start clapping to the soundless music, and eventually she gives in and allows herself to dance along with him. At one point he stops, but she keeps going. Around and around the fountain she dances, such a tiny little thing, so graceful. Her feet barely graze the ground as she bends and twirls. As she passes me, I see her eyes are closed.
Handsome sits beside me and we watch together. “How is she not hitting the sides of the wall?” I whisper.
“I do not know,” he says, his voice hushed, too. “I did not know she could dance like that.”
“I did not know anyone could dance like that.” Faster and faster she goes, her brown hair whipping around her head. Then she suddenly bumps right into the side of the fountain, bounces off, and lands on her bottom. Handsome and I jump up to help her, but she pushes our hands away.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. “Master Werlin gave me a suppl
y of ointments and bandages.”
“I am fine,” she says, standing up and dusting herself off. “Let us be on our way. I want to settle at an inn before suppertime.”
We each take our own packs this time, although we both offer to help Veronica with hers. As Handsome’s compass leads us into town, I turn to Veronica. “You never mentioned you could dance like that.”
“I cannot dance,” she replies.
“Pish-posh!” I say, which is one of Clarissa’s favorite expressions. “I have never seen anyone dance as well as you.”
She grunts. “Then you really must get out more.”
“You do not accept compliments well, do you?”
She shrugs. “Grandfather is the only one to compliment me. And he loves me, so it is hard to take his words as truth.”
“Well, I am not even certain I like you, let alone love you, so you can trust my words.”
The corners of her mouth twitch into a smile.
As we approach the main street, more people appear. They look us up and down but do not seem surprised to see us. As though reading my mind, Handsome says, “This town is on the trade route between two larger villages. They are used to strangers here.”
Men and women shout out as we pass. “Best eel in town! New shoes! Hair ribbons!” We pass them all by, although I would not have minded some fruit. I stop to admire a particularly bright red apple, but Veronica drags me away by my elbow.
We look up at the signs above the shops until we find the one with a picture of a bed. “Here we are,” Handsome says. “The Welcome Inn.”
Papa had warned me that innkeepers were a slippery lot. “They will promise you a room worthy of a palace, but it will turn out to be nothing more than a wooden plank on the floor, next to twenty others.” He also made me promise to insist on a room with a lock, and never to tell anyone what room we are assigned. He gave me a list of a few inns to avoid at all costs. “Taking your chances with the bandits in the woods would be a safer bet.” But a few received passable marks, including The Welcome Inn.
