Beauty and the Beast (13 page)

A knock on my door awakens me for the second morning in a row. “Mother?” I ask, pushing myself up as the door inches open. “Is the doctor back with the elixir already?” The door closes again, and I get a whiff of something I cannot identify. Is Mother bringing me breakfast in bed?

“It is Alexander,” my brother whispers. “Mother and Father slumber still.”

A glance out my window shows me that dawn has not yet arrived. I lie back down on my pillow. “What do you want, brother? I did not sleep well. I blame the leeches.”

“I have something for you,” he says.

“No, thank you,” I reply, turning over. “The last time you said that, you gave me the measles.”

“I was five!” he protests, pulling at my shoulder. “Sit up.”

I groan. “What is it?”

He places the candle in a brass holder on my nightstand and I hear him rustling in a pocket. “Hold out your hand.”

I am too tired to argue. He drops a small object onto my open, gloved palm. I bring it closer to my face. The faint candlelight reveals something that looks like a small bone, like a finger bone. Like a
person's
finger bone. Fully awake now, I quickly yank my hand away and the hard white object drops onto my bed. It gives a little bounce before settling into a fold of the blanket. I sit up and scoot a bit away from it. “What
is
that?”

“It's a finger bone,” Alexander says plainly.

I stare at the spot his voice is coming from. “
Whose
finger bone?”

“Some saint, apparently. I got it from the pardoner last night. It cost me forty shillings, so it better work.”

My eyes widen. “You left the castle?”

“Shh! Mother will hear you.”

My mattress flattens as he sits down on the bed. “I went to visit my horses down at the stables,” he explains. “I wanted to make certain they were being cared for properly. When I got there, I found the pardoner out front, selling pardons like they were the last plum pies on May Day. I was lucky he had any left.”

“But how did you talk to him without revealing yourself?”

“It was the dead of night and easy to hide in the shadows,” Alexander says. “The pardoner is well used to dealing with people who are unwilling to show their faces.”

“I still do not understand. Who is buying all the pardons?”

He doesn't reply. The bed creaks a bit as he shifts.

“Alexander?”

In a low voice he says, “Everyone. And from what I overheard, it is because of you.”

“Me?”

“Not
you
, of course. The beast.”

“But I
am
the beast.”

“All right, then. It
is
because of you. Sorry, brother.”

“But I still do not understand.”

“Well, from what I could gather, the townsfolk want to cleanse themselves of any wrongdoings in the hopes that you will spare their lives. I watched the cobbler purchase a whole shank bone! I am fairly certain that was from a cow.”

“For what did he seek forgiveness? For making uncomfortable shoes?”

“He did not say.”

Staring at the hollow bone, I ask, “But why did you buy
me
a pardon?”

“I figured if the doctor's elixir does not work, a pardon for your sins could be your only hope.”

“My sins? What sins?”

He pauses for a moment. “Well, you are not a very good dancer. And you do not always pay attention in your lessons. And, well, you eat a lot of pies and nutbread.”

I roll my eyes. “Those are not sins the last time I checked.”

“True, they are not as bad as spreading falsehoods, or thievery, but … well …”

I put my hands on my furry hips. “You think I did something to deserve this, do you not?”

Silence again. It is becoming quite infuriating. “Alexander!”

“Honestly, brother, I do not know what to think. Why did the witch girl pick you, then? Why not me? Or Father?”

Now it is my turn to be without words. For I had not thought to ask that question of myself. I had figured it was simply bad luck. Could it have been more than that? Could I have done something to deserve this punishment? I did sneak an extra piece of ginger candy that Mother had laid out in the Great Hall for important guests. And I have led more than a few worms to an untimely death through my experiments. I clear my throat. “What do I have to do to earn the pardon?”

The mattress rises as Alexander stands. “You must bury the bone before dawn today. You must face southeast, whistle three times, and spit upon the ground.”

“And my sins — if I have any — will be forgiven?”

“That's what the pardoner promised.”

“Very well, I shall do it. But how will we get outside? Parker seems not to ever leave his post.”

“The same way I did earlier,” he says, lifting the candlestick holder from my bedside table. “Through the kitchen window.”

 

Even if I were twice as short and half as wide, I would not come close to fitting through the kitchen window. Fortunately, the kitchen door is unguarded. Parker himself cannot watch every exit, and truly, I see no need at this point. Not one person has attempted to enter the castle since word of the beast apparently spread through town like wildfire.

“Shh,” Alexander says as I close the kitchen door behind me. “Do you have to be so loud?”

“I am not making any noise,” I insist.

“Your every step is like thunder,” he whispers. “You lumber around like a giant. A giant on stilts.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I am not the most graceful of creatures, but when was the last time you bathed? You smell like old cheese.”

“I suppose it has been a while since I filled my tub,” he admitted. “But the cistern is empty with no staff to fill it, and I would have to travel out to the well and then heat the water and lug it upstairs. Since no one but our parents can see how I look, I figured why go to all the trouble?”

“A small thing called consideration for those around you,” I reply, making a show of pinching closed my beaklike nose. “I may not be able to see you, but I can still smell you.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I shall bathe tonight. Now let us get on with this. The sky is growing brighter.”

I glance at the horizon, now empty of all but the brightest stars. Even without the stars to guide me, I know where southeast is. I face the carriage house, and step (
not
lumber!) over the dew-covered grass until I find a patch of loose, fairly dry earth. Kneeling down, I pull off my gloves and begin to dig. Finally, I have found a use for these long nails.

“Hurry,” my brother says, his breath urgent (and smelly) in my ear.

I scoop out one last pile of dirt and place the bone in the hole. “How am I supposed to whistle without anyone hearing?”

“I shall make birdcalls at the same time,” Alexander says. “That should mask the sound.”

I nod. Alexander can imitate any bird with great skill. He begins to trill like a lark, and I jump in with my whistling. Turns out my pointy nose makes an excellent flute.

“Good work,” he says as I quickly pack the dirt back into the hole. “Now spit upon the ground and let us be off.”

I do as instructed, glad that Mother is safely in bed. She cannot abide spitting. An extra glob appears beside mine.

“I could not resist,” Alexander says. “I have few pleasures these days.”

I gather the saliva in my mouth, then spit once more. “One can never be too careful when hoping to be pardoned for one's wrongdoings.”

Once again, a glob appears beside mine. “I agree,” Alexander says.

“How long am I supposed to wait to see if it worked?” I ask.

“I had hoped it would have happened by now,” he admits.

We wait beside the buried bone, taking turns spitting upon the small mound. Nothing happens. The sun is clearly visible above the distant fields by the time we sneak back inside, our mouths dry. I am still in my beast form, but at least the ground has been watered well today.

Our room is so dark that we have no choice but to wait until daybreak to test my theory. We sleep fitfully, taking turns peeking out our window for the arrival of dawn. When it is obvious at one point that we are all awake, Handsome asks Veronica what the map will reveal, if we find it.

“I know not,” she admits, her voice sounding tired. In the darkness, it is easier to remember how young she truly is. “My mother set out northeast, with two things — a copy of the map and her crystal. She did not return, and neither did they.”

By the time dawn breaks through the shutters of our room, we are sitting on the floor, the book and Handsome's sharpest knife set out before us. The others elected me to do the cutting since I know the most about how books are made, and am less likely to cut through the map by mistake.

With a nod from Veronica, I lift the knife by the hilt, and dig the point into the top right corner of the front cover. I have learned from experience to hold the leather away while slicing downward in one long stroke. This gives me the greatest chance of keeping the leather in one piece. I then move left along the bottom until I reach the spine. Veronica reaches over and tries to grab some of the material inside, now made visible.

“Wait,” I instruct, pulling back a bit. “Sometimes the padding is glued to the top. You do not want to rip it.”

She pulls back and lets me continue. I finish the last cut. The leather is now attached only to the spine. I hold the book out to her, and she tentatively lifts off one strip of rag after another. A few scraps of parchment with splotches of ink follow, and then we are down to the oak binding. She sits back on her heels, her eyes filling with water.

“Do not despair of hope,” Handsome says. “We still have the back.”

Before any of her tears can fall, I am already cutting into the back cover. My heart starts beating a bit faster as I go, because I can already tell that whatever hides in this side is different from the other. This side has pockets of air around the edges, leading me to believe whatever is inside does not reach all the way to the corners.

This time even I cannot wait before reaching inside and pulling out the contents of the back cover. A single piece of parchment, folded in half, comes out in my hand. I hand it to Veronica, who takes it with just her fingertips, as if she fears breaking it with her very touch. Ever so slowly, she lays it on the floor, opens it, and smooths down the crease. Handsome and I lean over. If it is a map, it is the strangest map I have ever seen. Lines lead to nowhere, halves of words dot the page, strange symbols appear in no clear order.

“Is this the same one your mother had?” Handsome asks.

“I was only two,” Veronica snaps. “I do not recall her map.” She jumps to her feet (she is the only one amongst us who can stand fully upright in the room) and begins to pace. In the case of our tiny room, this means she walks three steps, turns around, and walks three back.

I hold the map (if it is a map) up to the sunlight, now growing stronger in the room. Whoever made this used a very old piece of vellum. The fine goat hairs add to the confusion of what is drawn upon it.

Handsome leans over my shoulder and we examine it together. “What do you think this means?” he asks, pointing to a large design that takes up the left side of the page.

“I do not know. A path through the woods?”

“I think it more resembles water,” he says. “A river or a lake?”

“An underground city, perhaps?”

Veronica has stopped pacing to listen.

He beams at me. “Yes! And this large blob here with the zigzag through it? That must be a dragon guarding the gate!”

“For certain!” I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

Behind us, Veronica groans. “There be no such things as dragons!”

“So evil witches and tiny gnomes and magic boots exist,” Handsome teases, “not to mention fairies. But you draw the line at dragons?”

“Just give it to me,” she says, snatching it from our hands. “I shall figure it out.”

“Suit yourself,” he replies, lying back down on his pallet and closing his eyes. “Wake me when you know where we're going.”