by R. A. Gates
“I wanted to see all of my castle!” she interrupted. She didn’t seem to understand her peril.
The growl he uttered must have hurt his throat. It hurt mine to hear it. “This isn’t your castle. It’s my castle.”
“Then why don’t you act like it?” She gestured grandly at the sparkling mess around them. “How can you allow this to happen?”
Uh-oh. His roar shook the books on my shelves, making them dance in place. “This. Is. Not. My. Fault.”
Juliette opened her mouth, but he didn’t let her interrupt. He raised his voice in a bellow that made Robert tremble against me. “It’s that wicked fairy. The one who cursed us. Blame her, not me. We had to shut that wing years ago.” He roared again. Roared like a beast.
“Why would you shut up an entire wing of your castle?” Juliette seemed more appalled by that then any of his roaring. “That makes no sense!”
He was panting with irritation as she forced him to remember what none of us could endure to think about. “One of the servants disappeared in the East Wing years ago, when she was trying to clean out the sparkles,” he bit out. “They kept increasing in there. Piling up, clogging the hallways.”
One of the servants. He meant Rouge. Rouge had gone into the East Wing many years ago and never returned. We had never been particularly close, but we’d enjoyed each other’s company. Back in the days when we were human she’d been Queen Marie’s personal maid, and we’d often spent time together. For reasons known only to that horrible fairy, Rouge became a black tea towel when we were changed. Many, such as I, were unable to move about, so it fell upon others, like Rouge, to do the work of maintaining the castle. She’d gone to the East Wing years ago to dust and was never seen again.
The thought of being buried alive in glitter made me shudder hard enough that my every right angle creaked.
His Highness raked his claws through his mane. “We sent in search parties after her. The first two couldn’t get through. The second group, some of my favorite servants, said they were barely able to fight their way back out. I should have paid attention. I should have given up. Instead, I sent in a third search party, determined to keep what belonged to me.” He glared down at her, voice filled with bitterness. “I’d already lost so much. I couldn’t bear to shut up an entire wing of my castle.” His shoulders slumped, and he briefly closed his eyes. “That last group never returned. The stable boys, the steward, my favorite knights. They’re lost, all of them, and presumed dead.”
I had no idea he felt so badly about those that had been lost. If you’d asked me before, I would have said he cared nothing for any of his servants.
He gave a mighty shake, as if to dislodge that thought. I don’t know if it helped clear his mind, but it did dislodge thousands of the glittering bits. Juliette shot His Highness a disgusted look. “You should call some of your seemingly non-existent servants to come and groom you.”
Sparkles rose into the air and swirled about before dropping in untidy piles onto the floor. Unfortunately, many were still stuck all over the Beast’s fur. So many it would take hours, and a great deal of painful effort, to get them all out.
Juliette glared at the mess, then turned and flounced from the room, more sparkles falling from her clothes with every step. Robert gave a low moan at the sight.
The strangled sounds leaking from the throat of His Highness made me worry that he was about to choke. Or worse, that he would manage to get the words stuck in his throat out and scare the foolish girl away. After all, she was probably just upset at nearly being trapped by pink and gold glitter.
No doubt she’d be better with some time to relax.
I was sadly mistaken.
Juliette swept into the great room the next morning, interrupting a pleasant talk I was having with Robert. He barely had time to slump against my side before she burst in muttering, “I refuse to wait. I’ll turn this castle into a showplace, no matter what that wretched beast says.”
She wrenched the painting off the wall with a muffled cry of triumph and stumbled back under its weight.
If you didn’t know the story behind it, you might think the painting didn’t belong in that room. Queen Marie had been working on it with Rebecca Tempera’s assistance. It was a labor of love, up until she grew too ill to continue. I remembered the cry of satisfaction His Highness gave when he found it where his father had shoved it in a dark and dusty corner of the study, only a few years before the curse was cast.
His Highness had actually seemed content for a short time after finding it. He had placed it over the mantle with great reverence, and the painting had been in my line of sight ever since. I often wondered what it would have looked like if Queen Marie had been able to finish it.
Juliette staggered from the room. I heard her throw open a door, followed by a series of bangs and thumps as something (the painting, I presumed) tumbled down the stairs into the basement. A moment later, she marched back into the great room. I watched in horror, unable to do anything to stop her, as she tore the gold brocade curtains down from the windows. They ripped as she pulled and cursed at them, coming apart in several pieces.
Thank goodness none of the servants had been changed into curtains. But what if she decided to attack my books next? Or to re-upholster Theodore?
Quillsby took that moment to enter the hall to watch to spectacle. He perched on top of me, an itchy and annoying presence. I would have asked him to move, but just then Juliette stopped, placed her fists on her hips, and looked around the desecrated room, a smile of satisfaction playing on her lips.
I heard His Highness coming, even though it appeared that Juliette did not. When he entered that violated space, he stopped, momentarily frozen, then threw back his head and howled like a wounded animal.
Juliette narrowed her eyes at him, then pouted and fluttered those lashes again. “They were hideous.”
“Now they’re ruined,” he growled.
“I did you a favor,” she insisted, unrepentant. “You can never put those horrible things back up now. You’ll have to get new ones.”
“New—” He stopped dead, staring at the empty wall over the mantle. “Where is the painting?”
I had forgotten just how frightening the Beast could be. He was practically foaming at the mouth, rage barely contained.
“That thing?” Juliette sounded disdainful now. “I couldn’t leave something like that in my gathering room where my guests could see it. It’s a shame. The painting might have been nice if the artist hadn’t been too lazy to bother finishing it.”
“Lazy? Lazy?” He growled deep in his throat. “Where is it?”
Oh dear, his voice was nearly inaudible. Dangerously quiet. He reminded me of a great cat watching a mouse, preparing to leap upon it.
“I threw it in the basement,” she said. That was far worse than how his father had ever treated the painting. Juliette finally seemed to realize her error. Her eyes widened as she took in the rage contorting his face. He was, at last, the epitome of a frighteningly hideous Beast.
I realized I hadn’t seen him like this for many years now, so it was all the more shocking.
“You threw it in the basement.” His words were filled with barely repressed violence. I was impressed that Juliette was able to remain standing there, rather than running in terror. It was enough to make me shake so hard the books jiggled on my shelves.
Juliette nodded slowly and hunched her shoulders as if to make herself smaller. For once there was no flirtatious smile. No pout or flutter of eyelashes. “Yes, I did, but I—”
The Beast drew himself to an imposing height; stretching up and out until the gold buttons on his dark green coat gave with a series of popping sounds, curved horns gleaming in the sun streaming through the uncovered windows. His eyes bulged as he thundered, “Enough! How would you like to be thrown into the basement?”
“N…n…n…” She stuttered.
“I expect you to pick up those curtains, repair them, wash them, and rehan
g them. After you put the painting back.”
Juliette goggled, then spluttered, “You expect… Me? Wash them? Sew? Who do you… Uh! I certainly will not.”
“You will.” His Highness could have frozen a raging river with that voice. But it was his paws, curling and uncurling, each claw extended as far as it could go that held my attention. He hadn’t let his claws show like that in decades. Not since he’d destroyed half of the South Wing in a fit of frustration.
What would become of me if he destroyed this part of the castle?
“I came here to save you from your curse,” Juliette said haughtily. “But now I see you deserve it. That you could think a Beast — a Beast! — has the right to question me like this, after everything I’ve put up with. I… I…” She swung around, grabbed a large vase off the end table and threw it straight at his head.
His Highness had excellent reflexes in his beastly form. He ducked out of the way with no trouble and the vase shattered against the wall, adding even more mess to the ruined room. Next to me, Robert made a sound like a stifled sob.
The Beast looked at the shards of hand-painted glass. “What if that vase had been alive?”
I had expected him to be angry at the destruction of more of his possessions. I was surprised that his first thought was of us servants.
That surprised Juliette too. “You’re crazy!” she shrieked. “It’s just a vase. And an ugly one at that.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Did you really think I was here all alone? Look around. You are surrounded by my faithful servants.”
“I will not stay here with a crazy beast,” she shouted, red-faced and shaking. Though whether it was from fear or anger, I couldn’t tell.
Juliette grabbed her rose-pink skirts in both hands, stepped over the torn curtains lying in forlorn heaps on the glitter-strewn parquet, and stalked to the front door. “Nothing is worth this,” she shouted. Then she muttered, “I might enjoy being married to a wealthy merchant. I’ll make him dress me better than any of my sisters. They’ll all be jealous of my wardrobe. And my jewelry. I’ll be the prettiest of them all!”
“You are just like my father, only interested in status and position. But I see what’s important now. You are only pretty on the outside,” His Highness yelled after her. “On the inside, you’re about as appealing as…as…moldy bread!”
Well, so much for True Love.
Chapter Eight:
This Can’t Continue!
In which a mop attempts to sweep away serious concerns
T
he argument had already raged for close to an hour. I knew many of my fellow servants were angry about being stuck as these confining objects after all this time. I would never be comfortable as the long, skinny mop I had been using when the curse hit. Why hadn’t I been dusting the gallant, if somewhat stiff, suit of armor instead of Darwin? But even though I understood their frustration, I was surprised by the level of rage some were expressing.
“If the Beast can’t control himself,” Quillsby said ominously as he fluttered onto Theodore’s high back, “we’ll have to take control for him!”
I started to speak, “I really think—” But no one paid me the slightest attention.
“It was clearly the Beast’s fault,” Charles stated loudly, his strings vibrating with the force of his displeasure.
“That’s not really fair,” Theodore said reproachfully. He shuffled forward on his four stiff legs, nearly toppling Quillsby. “He did try. He’s learning. But that girl pushed him too—”
“That girl was greatly misinformed on what a masterpiece looks like,” Rebecca called from the music room. “How dare she throw Queen Marie’s painting in the cellar.” I wondered briefly what colors would be showing on her canvas.
“Rebecca, I haven’t seen you in ages,” Archambault said. He’d turned so fast at the sound of her voice that his feathered hat, tattered with age, nearly fell from where it hung at the top of his tall coat rack body.
“Well, you could come and visit those of us back here once in a while,” Rebecca responded, but there was no reproach in her tone.
All of us who could move easily had managed to jam ourselves into the front hallway to discuss this latest debacle, while the others listened from the rooms where they were trapped. The Beast had locked himself in his rooms on the second floor, so everyone felt free to share their feelings without the slightest constraint.
Perhaps a bit of constraint would have made things more productive.
Many blamed the Beast for the angry departure of the girl. I understood their disappointment; I was just as tired of being a mop as the rest were of being coat racks and easels and chairs.
Well, perhaps not as much as some. I rather enjoyed my opportunities to speak to Lady Jayne. In her human form, she had been far above my station. She and I would likely never have spoken at all. But as a bookcase and a mop, matters of station didn’t seem so important. I would miss our talks when we were Robert the Footman and Lady Jayne the Secretary once again. If that ever happened.
“You can’t blame the Beast for the disastrous outcome with that girl,” I said. And this time I managed to make myself heard.
Quillsby fluttered in anger where he still perched on Theodore’s back. “I most certainly can! He—”
I interrupted quickly, “You were there, Quillsby. You saw what happened. The Beast acted with considerable restraint.”
Behind me, someone yelled, “It has been three times already. How long do we have to—”
Whatever else they might have said was drowned out as Charles drew his bow across his strings in a shrieking dissonance. “Restraint?” he bellowed. “He threw her out. How can you call that restraint?”
“You didn’t see her destroy the curtains his mother had chosen,” I chided. “You didn’t hear her talk about throwing the portrait his mother painted in the basement. You didn’t hear her disparage everything he cared about. And you didn’t hear how much he cares about us.”
“None of that is an excuse,” Quillsby stated imperiously. “Not when he knew how important she—”
“She refused to listen to him,” Lady Jayne said sharply. “She’s lucky he went into the East Wing after her. He could have just left her in there, lost forever like Rouge and the others.”
There was a moment of complete silence. Rather like everyone in the room was holding their breath. No one was prepared to talk about those we had lost.
I scrubbed my way between the others until I was at the center of the angry mob. It was one of the advantages of being a slender object. I shook my mop strings with enough vigor that some of the others took a step back. “Besides,” I said quickly, determined to keep this discussion on the important facts, “he didn’t throw her out. She chose to leave. It’s not like he could chase her down and drag her back.”
“Oh, really?” Quillsby demanded. “That sounds just like something he would do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Theodore said, impatiently bouncing on his front legs and nearly knocking Quillsby off in the process. “Do you really think she’d ever fall in love with a Beast who refused to let her leave? That makes no sense, Quillsby.” He finished this pronouncement with a derisive snort.
Darwin bit out, “Well, she’d have learned to forgive him. Someday.”
Quillsby positively quivered with indignation, the feather on his quill fluttering wildly. “She’d see how desperate he is; how we all are. Anyone should understand that.”
“No woman in her right mind would fall in True Love under those circumstances,” Lady Jayne offered primly.
I edged a little closer to her, grateful for her calm, gentle support.
“He shouldn’t have acted so…beastly,” Quillsby insisted. “Then she wouldn’t have left. We all know the truth. The Beast is out of control.”
“Yes! The Beast is out of control and something must be done.”
I twisted around, trying to see who had said that, but couldn’t tell. “What ex
actly are you suggesting?”
For a moment no one answered, then a timid voice whispered, “Ahem. I think someone needs to speak to him about his temper.” Archambault ducked behind Theodore when all eyes turned to him. As if his bright pink coat wasn’t still clearly visible. He added mournfully, “It is better than it used to be, but it’s still not good. He does need to control it, or we’ll be stuck like this forever.”
“He loves books,” Hugo called from his painting in the library. “A pleasant surprise, I must admit. But what he needs is to read some good old-fashioned romances. South wall, shelves 19 through 22. They can inform him of the best ways to sweep a young lady off her feet.”
Unbidden, a thought leapt into my mind. Maybe if I were a broom instead of a mop, I’d be able to sweep Lady Jayne off her feet… I quickly shook myself back to the matter at hand. “It has to happen soon,” I said. “The sparkles are multiplying and may someday grow beyond my control. What happens to us if the entire castle fills with them?”
Arguments broke out all around me, punctuated by shouts and rising voices. I couldn’t make out what everyone was saying, though that wasn’t truly necessary. Their anger and frustration were palpable.
Then, in a strange break in the wall of sound, Darwin’s voice rang out clearly from deep within the suit of armor. “The Beast had better fall in love with the next girl who walks through that door. Or else!”
Or else what?
Chapter Nine:
Beau
In which a fourth visitor causes a loyal armchair great consternation
I
t was winter again.
When I had been human—Theodore Bartleby, butler for his Highness—I had loved the snow. It had been a respite to my duties, an escape to remembered childhood when I traipsed through the gardens. Now, as a large armchair, the snow terrified me.
