Beauty (10 page)

‘He’s probably gone to the kitchens,’ the king said. His face was a picture of forced normality, his smile stretched across his face as if it were on a rack. ‘Maybe he wanted some milk.’

‘That’s probably it,’ Beauty said, but Rumplestiltskin could see the worry on her pretty face for her missing pet. ‘I just wish I knew where he was. I don’t remember him leaving.’

‘He’ll be back,’ Rumplestiltskin said cheerily as he sat on the bed. ‘I’m sure of it.’ Inside, he felt a small part of him die with the lie, the first of what he feared would be many, many lies, and life in the castle had changed that day. Of course the change in her had been magic. But it was a magic that she held. This was nothing to do with the witch and her talk of spindles. Beauty was cursed from within.

Beauty was inconsolable for weeks when Domino, rotting in the orchard, failed to return to her. Everyone searched for him, but the little cat was of course not found, and although she missed him terribly Beauty had the resilience of a child and her nature was too full of joy to hold onto her sadness. Eventually she stopped asking after him and life moved on.

The king and Rumplestiltskin remained watchful and stayed close to the princess as best they could to watch for the signs of change. The instances were at first so rare that, for a few years, they did not cause too much consternation, the two men simply sweeping up the child and locking her in her rooms until the skies outside cleared of rain and they’d know that their good girl had returned to them.

They chose her maids carefully but even so, after a while, there were rumours that another child was in the castle, a blonde girl uncannily like Beauty but who huffed and puffed and stamped her foot.

Being a wise man, and knowing in his heart that now that a door had unlocked inside Beauty it would stay that way, Rumplestiltskin didn’t try to quell the rumours. Instead, he added one to circulation – that there had been two babies born to the king and queen. Twins. But the second girl was a difficult child who needed special care and the king had chosen, for her own sake, to keep her out of the limelight that came with being part of the royal family. When the rumour was whispered back to him he knew he’d been successful. Should anything untoward be seen then Beauty would not be blamed and that was all that mattered.

The king hoped that as Beauty grew her changes would become less frequent, but it was a false hope. The princess reached puberty late, but as soon as she woke, bloody, just after her fifteenth birthday, things grew worse.

The changes became more frequent. And when the other girl was in charge, she now had all her mother’s repressed magic at her fingertips. It was no longer possible to lock her away in a room until the moment passed, and instead of simple thunderclouds in the sky, blue lightning would crack across the city and rain would flash-flood the streets. She was wild, this blonde girl who ran, laughing and dancing wantonly through the castle corridors, tipping trays of food from servants’ hands as she went.

She whipped the stable boy to within an inch of his life for not polishing her saddle well enough, and the king caught her half-naked with one of his ministers.

The man went to the dungeons for that.

That was a mistake.

The princess followed. Not to save him, but to watch the punishment.

She liked blood.

Rumplestiltskin caught her once in the butcher’s yard at the back of the castle, her hands buried in the hot entrails of a freshly killed deer. Her eyes were glazed, and as he pulled her away she licked her fingers. He didn’t tell the king that. His precious Beauty, Rumplestiltskin feared, was also a monster.

The changes did not last long, a day or two at the very most, but they were impossible to hide. Rumplestiltskin amended his rumour to say that Beauty insisted her sister had the run of the castle in her stead for a few days here and there, and although some in the kingdom believed that, the king could not keep the secret from his ministers any longer. But there was no other heir, and for all her wildness and streak of cruelty, the Beast, as she became known on those days, still loved her father, and was always affectionate towards him and Rumplestiltskin as if Beauty, locked inside her, had that much control over both of them.

The king had a bell installed high in the castle roof, and proclamations were sent out around the kingdom that when it rang all the people should go to their houses and stay inside until it was rung again. The criers claimed it was to protect them from the terrible blue lightning that spat at the ground during these times, and the dangerous floods, and although it was the nature of the people to do as they were told, rumours were still rumours and there was talk of a monster in the castle and magic at play.

It worked for a while. Several years passed and the kingdom and the castle settled into their new routine. Beauty became a young woman her father could be proud of and everyone continued to love her. She was still kind and thoughtful and full of joy. Young men came to court her. One kissed her and fell so passionately in love that when she told her father she didn’t love him the boy hanged himself.

When a second kissed her and also fell completely in love with her – although with less disastrous consequences when she rejected him – Rumplestiltskin and the first minister broached the subject of magic once again to the king. Her mother’s magic was not just contained within the Beast. Her kisses put men under a spell, and perhaps, although none could argue that she was not the sweetest of girls, there was a little magic involved in the unconditional love everyone who met her felt.

They decided this was a good thing. It would protect the princess from any who might harm her because of the Beast, and the king took to touring the city with her to ensure that she had all of their subjects’ love. There was, he reminded them all, no other heir for the kingdom, and the king refused to even consider marrying again. Things continued in their strange new normality.

But as with all things that we pretend are not so bad as they seem, there comes, for each man or woman, a breaking point.

For Rumplestiltskin it was the poisoning of the king.

He had been growing sicker for a while. At first the changes were not noticeable; just a day or two of feeling off colour, a general tiredness, a reluctance to ride. These times came and went and none of the ministers thought anything of it. He grew thinner. Rumplestiltskin and the first minister noticed that the Beast, when she was in residence, was more affectionate towards her father and this caused them both to be suspicious. They kept her from the kitchens when his food was being prepared and she was followed at all times to ensure she did not go near his wine or water.

They saw nothing suspicious. Perhaps the king was just going through a bout of ill-health.

It was a summer’s day when Rumplestiltskin found Beauty in the orchard picking apples from a tree. He did not look down at the flattened piece of earth close by where her forgotten childhood companion lay buried. She smiled at him as he asked her why she needed so many as she carried in her basket, and said she was baking apple cakes for her father and had been doing so for weeks. He liked them and that made her happy. Her eyes were clear and her face shone. She was innocent. She was sweet.

Rumplestiltskin was suspicious. For if Beauty lurked within to protect her father and Rumplestiltskin when the Beast was in charge, logic dictated that the Beast likewise lurked within Beauty.

He watched her from the shadows beyond the kitchen door as she baked. She sang sweetly to herself as she peeled and cored the ripe fruit and prepared the dough. He chided himself for his dark thoughts. There was nothing amiss here – she was still entirely their Beauty. He lingered though, for he was a thorough man, and as he loved Beauty he also loved his best friend, the king.

Just as the cakes were ready to go into the oven, with Beauty’s face covered in an endearing dusting of flour and sugar, a dark cloud passed across sky and the room darkened. Beauty frowned, suddenly confused. She had opened the heavy oven doors and had the tray in her hand, but she paused. She turned, returned to the table and put it down. Her eyes were glazed and lost as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial of liquid, tipping a tiny drop of brightness onto each cake. Once the vial was again out of sight, she picked up the tray again.

The cloud passed and life returned to Beauty and she began to hum once more, closing the door and letting the cakes bake. She smiled, content in her work.

Rumplestiltskin slipped silently away, shivering in horror, his worst fears confirmed. He did not blame Beauty. She didn’t know what she had done. But still, the danger was there. As she grew, who would win the battle there? Beauty or the Beast? He could not watch her forever. One day he would not be able to foil her efforts.

Separate batches of apple cakes were made that the king could eat in front of his daughter to keep her happy without being poisoned, and when the bell rang and the Beast came, he would walk a little hunched over and feign some illness.

But the king was troubled. He had grown into a wise king and he knew that above all else his loyalty should lie with his people. There were talks long into the night of what should be done. The Beast grew wilder and less controllable, and her visits more frequent. The king knew that she went to the dungeons and arranged terrible punishments for the prisoners there, then bribed the guards not to speak of it. None would argue with her. It only took one guard to be punished to show the rest that she was not to be disagreed with. She had magic, after all. Worse, there were those among the nobles, Rumplestiltskin could see it, who almost admired her ruthless nature and brought their sons and daughters in to be her companions, and curry her favour. As Beauty herself was divided, she was also dividing those around her. The good and bad in people became more pronounced and factions grew in the court where there had been harmony before.

The king loved Beauty, but he could not love the Beast. He wept for the water witch and for what their love, which should never have been, had created. When his tears were dry he summoned Rumplestiltskin, his most trusted friend, and asked him to go to the witch in the tower and beg her to help Beauty. Perhaps magic could fight the dark magic in his daughter – perhaps the witch would have a power to ensure that the dark days ended. He told Rumplestiltskin to give her whatever she demanded in return, if she could find a way to free his daughter from the curse of her nature.

It was the end of summer when Rumplestiltskin left, taking his own daughter with him. She was uncomfortable in court life and although she had been friends with Beauty when she had been little, after Domino’s death Rumplestiltskin had slowly removed her from the princess’s company and sent her to a school on the far side of the city. Now she was grown she was out of place amid the stylish confidence of the nobles, and he feared this would mark her as a victim for the Beast while he was away as she took great pleasure in taunting those whom she perceived to be weak.

It was a long journey to the white tower that rose above the trees in the distance, one not without its own adventures, and as they drew closer both Rumplestiltskin and his daughter were in awe of the height of the edifice. There were only two windows they could see, one halfway up and another far away at the very top that would no doubt be lost from sight in the misty days of winter.

There was no visible door and after exploring the perimeter and seeing no way in Rumplestiltskin called up to the window in the hope that the witch would hear him and come down. He shouted himself hoarse, but there was no response. He began to think that perhaps this was a wild goose chase and the witch was long gone or dead within the impenetrable walls. He sat on a rock, ready to give up, and then his daughter shouted for him, begging the witch to show them mercy and hear their plight.

A door, previously invisible, swung open in the smooth curved wall. The witch smiled and invited them in. Rumplestiltskin was not sure what he had been expecting, but she was unchanged – an ordinary middle-aged woman. As they followed her up the winding stairs inside, however, he caught glimpses of artefacts and objects that were hundreds of years old. She noticed his glance and smiled.

‘A witch’s years are different to a man’s. I’ve stopped counting them.’

She fed them a hearty broth, settled Rumplestiltskin’s daughter down on a soft couch to sleep, and then listened to his tale of Beauty and the Beast. The witch was thoughtful after that. She hadn’t been out in the world since the king had summoned her, before Beauty’s birth, and after hearing his tale she was glad of it.

‘A water witch’s daughter,’ she mused, ‘should only be born from a water bed. This trouble is one anyone could have seen coming.’

She sat by the fire for a while and watched Rumplestiltskin’s daughter sleep, as if that sight brought her some clarity or peace, and then made her decision.

‘Can you help?’ Rumplestiltskin asked. ‘I fear for our land if the Beast can’t be controlled.’

‘Come with me,’ she told him. They climbed two more flights of stairs until they came to a room with several locks. ‘I have something for you.’

It was full of spinning wheels and spindles of different shapes and sizes and Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened. ‘Spindles. Beauty’s curse.’ The witch smiled. ‘They are each bewitched or blessed or cursed, depending on how you use them.’ She walked between them, her fingers lovingly caressing the wood of each until her hand settled on one. ‘I cannot change her nature,’ she said, eventually. ‘She is who she is, and no magic is strong enough to change that. But I can save your kingdom from her inevitable tyranny.’