Beauty (7 page)
There it was. She almost gasped as she heard it; a faint low howl. It sang to her, so full of melancholy and yet so strong. Her heart fluttered. Her skin tingled. She stared out into the night. ‘Where are you?’ she whispered. ‘
What
are you?’ The howl came again. Animal and human rolled into one. Without a thought to anyone who might hear her, she tilted her head back and answered the call. The creature, wherever it was, let its voice join hers, and she was sure she could hear her own excitement in the sound as their cries mingled in the night. Her feet yearned to run down the stairs and out into the strange city night. The huntsman could find this Rumplestiltskin. She would be on a different search.
T
he sheets were a tangled mess around their legs and the serving girl, whose name it turned out was Nell, lay on her side next to the huntsman, her hair tumbling over one shoulder. She took a sip of wine and then handed him the glass. ‘You must be thirsty.’
He laughed a little and drank, enjoying the sweat cooling on his body and then leaned forward and kissed her. She had an earthy beauty and a full voluptuous body that might one day swell into fat but for now was young and firm. She smiled and then settled down against his chest, both of them content in the enjoyment they’d taken from each other. They hadn’t done much talking, their needs too urgent, but now they were sated they shared that comfortable space that only exists between two strangers who’d just had good enough sex to be at ease in each other’s company. Their bubble of intimacy and affection might not last, but it would at least remain as long as their nudity did.
‘How long have you worked at the castle?’ the huntsman asked, his fingers trailing through her hair and running down the soft skin of her back. She had been no virgin, her forward behaviour had made that clear before anything she’d done, but she was young – no more than seventeen or eighteen – and a bright enthusiasm shone in her eyes.
‘Only two weeks.’ Her warm breath tickled the hairs on his chest. ‘I used to work at the dairy out on the edge of the city. Been there since I was twelve, when my parents were taken by the flu.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the huntsman said.
‘Don’t be. It was years ago and the women at the dairy were good to me. I can’t complain. Lots of girls there had no families for one reason or another. I wasn’t alone in that and it was a good place. The work wasn’t too hard once you knew what you were doing, and they weren’t too strict.’ She giggled a little and then glanced up at him, her eyes full of remembered mischief. ‘I used to sleep in a dorm with six other milkmaids. Some nights there were as many men in our room as maids. Some times
more
.’
‘I thought you’d learned a few tricks from somewhere.’ The huntsman pulled her closer, enjoying her uncomplicated warmth. Her past sexual encounters didn’t bother him – and wouldn’t have even if he had loved her. He had no time for bedroom double standards. It didn’t fit with his internal logic and just struck him as stupidity. They were all just animals, after all, and why should a woman deny herself pleasure simply because an insecure man might think less of her? If no women gave in to their lusts then his own life would have been much duller – women were by far the more sensuous sex but most men didn’t know how to keep those feelings alive in them. Most men made them feel ashamed of their desires rather than delighting in them and then wondered why everything died and dried up between them. It would not be like that for him, should he ever find the girl in his dreams.
‘From the dairy to the castle seems a big leap for an orphan girl,’ he said. He was probing her but he couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d got here his hackles had been up and soon he would have to go and hunt a traitor – a job he didn’t relish if he was working in a situation where he felt blinkered. He was no soldier who could simply obey orders. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘A few of the dairy girls have come to the castle over the years,’ she said. ‘The first minister visited and he chose me himself. So I packed up my things and here I am. I sometimes miss the dairy though. Even though life is easier, everything’s so much stricter here.’
‘You still seem to manage to find your fun, it seems,’ he said.
‘Well when a handsome stranger comes visiting I have to make the most of it.’
‘So life in the kingdom is good then?’ he asked, sipping wine thoughtfully.
‘Yes, why?’
‘There are so many soldiers everywhere. The castle is so heavily guarded. I thought you must have recently been attacked by another kingdom. They’re always fighting, after all.’ He paused. ‘When we arrived and you were all sleeping, I saw the dungeons. Some of the equipment in there is . . .’ It was hard to find an appropriate word for it. He hunted and killed as a way of life, but he made every death as swift and as painless as possible. The things he’d seen here were designed, as far as he could make out, to cause the maximum agony while keeping someone alive. It was the dungeon of a tyrant king, not of a beautiful, happy queen. ‘Barbaric,’ he said in the end.
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’ She tensed slightly in his arms. ‘And there’s been no fighting. I think there are so many soldiers because of the dark days. We haven’t had one for a month or so. There must be one due.’
‘Dark days?’ he asked.
‘We’re not meant to speak of them. No one is. It might upset the queen and no one wants that. She’s such a gentle soul.’ She sat up, crossing her legs and wrapping the sheet around her for warmth now that their sweat had cooled and heat faded. She took the wine glass from him and sipped. He didn’t press her with another question but waited as she drank.
‘They say that the queen was one of twins, but her sister was born mad and cruel, and lives locked up in apartments high in the castle. She’s been there ever since her father locked her away for the safety of all. Sometimes at the queen’s insistence, because she is fair and good and kind and loves her sister despite her wickedness, they change places. The queen locks herself in the apartments and her sister takes control of the castle. A bell rings out over the city and we are all to lock ourselves away until it’s over.’
‘And what does this other queen do during her time free?’ The huntsman was troubled and intrigued in equal measure.
‘No one really knows. There are always huge thunderstorms overhead that turn the roads to rivers. They say the other sister has her mother’s magic. Sometimes there are parties at the castle.’ Her face was animated but not without fear. ‘I’ve heard carriages pass through the streets on those nights. But soon enough the sky clears and the bell sounds again and life carries on as normal.’
‘How often do these days happen?’ he asked.
‘It depends. Although I’m sure they happen more often than they used to.’ Nell shrugged. ‘Like I said, we don’t talk about them. No one would want the queen to know, and she’s so kind to everyone. Perhaps there are so many soldiers because the ministers worry that someone might try and hurt her sister?’
It was the same thought the huntsman had. Nell was earthy but she wasn’t stupid. A voice cut across the room.
‘Well, my dear, now that you’ve given our visitor a potted history of our city’s ridiculous rumours, perhaps you could get back to work?’
The huntsman had reached across the bed for his hunting knife before he realised that the speaker was the first minister. He stood in the corner of the room, his mouth tight with disdain. How long had he been there? It wasn’t like the huntsman not to sense a stranger nearby. Maybe they hadn’t closed the door to his room properly as they’d tumbled inside.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Nell leapt from the bed, her head down, the sheet wrapped round her as she dropped into a clumsy curtsey.
‘She didn’t do anything wrong,’ the huntsman said, still lounging on the bed, forcing his body to relax so as not to give the statesman any clue how much his sudden interruption without knocking had irritated him. ‘I didn’t really give her any choice.’
The first minister looked at Nell who, having gathered her clothes, was shuffling to the bathroom door in order to dress with some modicum of modesty. ‘Yes. I’m sure,’ he said, his tone heavy with irony. ‘She looked entirely
coerced
when I came in.’
‘I have very strong powers of persuasion.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ The minister drew himself up tall. ‘I hope your hunting skills are as impressive. It’s time for you to go and find Rumplestiltskin. Remember, I need him alive.’ He paused. ‘And remember that your prince is still in the castle.’
The huntsman got up and stretched, enjoying the minister’s discomfort at being presented with his nudity, before reaching for his trousers. ‘Was that a threat?’ he asked. ‘When he is so beloved of the queen?’
A sneer crossed the minister’s lips. ‘Her safety is more important than her happiness. Sweet she might be, but I know her better than she knows herself.’
‘But it’s still a threat.’ The huntsman smiled, his eyes twinkling. He had no time for anything other than plain speaking. The first minister shrugged. ‘I prefer to think of it as a reminder of the balance of our relationship.’
‘Don’t worry,’ the huntsman said, pulling his rough shirt over his head. ‘I’ll do my best.’ He tucked his knife into the sheath on his belt and picked up his bag. He wasn’t leaving the diamond shoes behind: there was no one here he trusted not to go through his things, not even the prince. He headed towards the door, deliberately brushing past the older man’s slight frame. Not enough to nudge him, but just enough to let him know he wasn’t intimidated by him. The huntsman might not have been educated in castle politics but he understood that power play amongst men worked in many different ways, and being the stronger of two was a primal strength.
‘One more thing,’ the first minister called after him. ‘The soldiers.’
‘What about them?’
‘Don’t assume they are friendly.’
The huntsman frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t guarantee they are all loyal to the queen.’ The minister steepled his fingers together under his chin. ‘Let’s just say that there may be some amongst my number who are my enemies. The soldiers are ordered to deliver the traitor to the whole council. There are some there who would use him to try and discredit me. That would not be good for the safety of our queen.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Or, by extension, of your young prince. I think we can both agree that the boy is too blinded by love to see anything other than wonder in the world at the moment.’
‘That will be no problem,’ the huntsman said. ‘I’ve yet to meet someone here I trust. If I find your Rumplestiltskin alive, I’ll bring him back to the castle. You have my word.’
He turned his back and strode through the door. He’d be glad to get back in the fresh air, even if he was to be confined by the city. At least most of the population would be asleep and he and Petra would have some peace from the wily ways of the strangers they had awoken.
Plus, despite the addresses and maps the first minister had so thoughtfully provided for them, the huntsman had a pretty good idea where to look.
A
s they walked through the silent streets Petra could almost convince herself that the city was enchanted again. She wondered how the residents could bear to sleep after their hundred year slumber, but it seemed the whole kingdom had fallen straight back into their daily routine. For them, after all, only a moment had passed.
Night was not that far from day and the sky was shifting to a midnight blue from black above them. Never having been in a city so big before, Petra felt as if she was in a maze. Only the castle dominating the skyline behind them giving her any sense of direction. The huntsman, however, was moving confidently.
‘Are we going to this Rumplestiltskin’s house?’ she whispered. She was back in her own clothes, and she pulled the hood of her red cape over her head as a sudden sharp breeze cut through an alleyway. For the first time she wished her beloved coat was black or grey or some colour that would blend into the buildings around her. In the dawn, with all the colour stripped from the air, she wouldn’t escape attention, no matter if a soldier or the traitor they hunted only caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. Not to mentioned drawing attention from the creature whose howls danced with her soul. Fascinated as she was to discover it, her heart raced with the danger. She knew only too well how wolves could rip weaker animals apart. Perhaps the colour of her coat was prophetic.
‘Would you be in your house if you were him?’ The huntsman answered quietly. ‘I think not.’
His tanned face and dark eyes were lost to her as he kept in the shadows, but his feet moved with purpose. Petra trusted him. They made a strange trio – the prince with his adventure and need for a fairy tale ending, the huntsman who was clearly with him under duress, and then her, the forest girl, drawn by a rare sound that should terrify rather than attract her. Three outsiders with no common aim and only their need to get home uniting them.
‘But we might find a clue there. To where he’s hiding.’