“I suppose the castle isn’t really on our side,” said Goldie. It made my chest pinch to see Goldie so forlorn. She was like a butterfly without its wings.
“We’ll find another way out,” I said, trying to sound cheerful and not at all worried. “And while we’re looking, we can explore the castle. Not everyone gets to see inside a castle, especially an enchanted one.”
Goldie brightened a little. “True. I’ve always wanted to live in a castle, though as a princess, not the prisoner of a beast.”
“Picky, picky,” I chided.
A door to our right opened up with a creak that almost sounded like an invitation to come inside. We entered an enormous sitting room with lots of cushioned chairs and intricately carved tables. On the tables sat vases filled with withered roses.
“You’d think the beast would at least bring in fresh flowers,” said Goldie. “He certainly has enough.”
“Red! Red! Red!” a voice squawked. I turned around to find a very colorful bird inside a golden cage. I’d never seen a bird like this. She was green with blue-tipped wings and spoke much like a regular person would speak. “Red! Red! Red!” she squawked over and over.
“She knows your name!” said Goldie.
“Goldie! Goldie! Goldie!”
“Galloping grasshoppers! She knows my name, too! I wonder if she can tell us how to escape. Please, pretty bird, can you tell us how to get out of the castle?”
“Trapped, trapped, trapped!” the bird said. “Red! Goldie! Red! Goldie! Trapped!”
“That’s not very helpful,” said Goldie.
On the west side of the room was a large stained-glass window with a picture of a beautiful woman. Dark, soft curls framed her face. She wore a blue gown and a silver crown with a sapphire at the center of her forehead. The late-afternoon sun poured through the panes, spilling colored light on the dusty floor of the castle. There was something strange about the woman in the window, as though she were somehow enchanted, too. Her eyes were too lifelike, her gown seemed softer than glass should look, and the sapphire sparkled like a real stone rather than colored glass. I wondered who she could be.
I walked around, gazing at the odd little figurines, instruments, and curious boxes, but I was careful not to touch anything. I could feel the magic coursing through the walls. It tingled in my fingers, buzzed in my ears, and made my hair stand on end. There were dozens of enchantments and spells in this room alone, all woven together, and tugging at just one string might unravel a tapestry of chaos.
“Red, look at this!” Goldie pointed at a peacock-feather quill that was writing all on its own. It dipped itself in an inkpot and wrote in elegant calligraphy on cream-colored paper atop a small desk.
Supper is served in the dining hall. Your master awaits….
Goldie reached out for the quill.
“Goldie, don’t touch it!”
Too late. She balled her fist around the quill and began scribbling on the page. “Are you a ghost?” She spoke aloud as she wrote. “Can you help us escape— Ouch!” The pen had wrenched itself free of Goldie’s grasp and poked her hand.
Do not keep the master waiting. The consequences can be quite nasty. Speaking of nasty, you have a booger hanging from your nose. You will find a handkerchief in the drawer of this desk.
Goldie’s hand flew to her nose. “How rude! But do I really have a booger hanging from my nose?” She lifted her chin for me to see.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Goldie opened the drawer and found a white handkerchief with a rose stitched onto the corner. She wiped her nose and began to place the handkerchief back inside the drawer when the pen wrote again.
You may keep it. I,m not fond of gifts from the nose. Only from the heart.
“It’s a rather impertinent pen,” said Goldie.
“But smart,” I said, quite fascinated with the writing pen.
Goldie sighed. “Let’s find the dining hall. I’m hungry, and something smells good.”
Just as she said that, a door swung open to our right, and the smell intensified, strong and inviting. Roasted meat and herbs and onions. Garlic. Butter. Bread. We were led by our noses until we found the source of the delicious smell.
We arrived in an elegant dining hall. The table was loaded with a dozen different dishes, all of them steaming and fragrant. Silver plates had been set out, and flickering candles lit the room.
The beast sat at the head of the table. He had already begun to eat, tearing into a leg of lamb and crunching on the bone while the juices ran down his matted fur. When he noticed Goldie and me, he wiped his mouth with a furry paw.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the two seats on either side of him.
When we sat, a silver tureen lifted off the table and ladled steaming soup into our bowls. It was a red tomato soup.
“Eat,” the beast commanded.
Goldie began to eat hers immediately, but I didn’t. I didn’t think it was poisoned, but I didn’t like the way the beast ordered us about, expecting us to obey like dogs.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
“Yes, she is,” said Goldie. “We’re starving. We haven’t eaten since this morning with the dwarves, and they eat rocks.”
I glared at Goldie and clenched my jaw. “I’m not hungry.”
The beast glared at me. “Eat,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I said nothing, only glared back. He didn’t look away, and neither did I, so we were caught in a glaring contest. I have never lost a glaring contest, and I thought I was winning until the beast roared so loudly and fiercely that a wind rushed at my face and blew out several of the candles. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t frighten me, but I couldn’t show it. This was a battle of wills. I took my silverware as though to eat, but as soon as the beast started to relax, I stabbed the knife and fork into the table and folded my arms over my chest.
The beast jumped upon the table, upsetting dishes and goblets and the tureen of tomato soup. He shoved his face inches from mine. “You think you’re brave, do you?” he said. “But only those with the deepest fears come for my roses, so perhaps you’re not so brave after all?”
I flinched involuntarily. Goldie had frozen, her face splattered with tomato soup and her spoon perched on the tip of her tongue.
The beast clambered down from the table, crushing a pie and demolishing a loaf of bread.
A tense silence filled the room. The beast went back to attacking his food while glaring at me. After a while, Goldie chirped up with her usual chatter.
“This food is delicious,” she said. “Did you make it?”
“No.”
“Then you must have a wonderful cook,” said Goldie.
“No.”
“Your mummy?”
“No.”
“Your wife, then?”
The beast choked on a bone. “No. My castle provides everything I need.”
“Ooh, how wonderful! Could your castle by chance make golden apple tarts? My mummy makes the most wonderful golden apple tarts. I doubt even a magic castle could make them better.”
The beast scratched at his furry chin, clearly unsure what to make of Goldie.
“What’s your name?” Goldie asked. “You never did tell us.”
“Beast,” said the beast.
“Of course, but what is your real name? The one your parents gave you. Surely they didn’t name you Beast.”
The beast growled, showing sharp teeth.
“Beast is a perfectly suitable name.” Goldie slurped her soup. When her bowl was empty, a knife and fork sliced some mutton and placed it on her plate while a spoon scooped her some potatoes and beets. My stomach growled noticeably, but I still did not touch the food.
Goldie asked a dozen questions about the castle—how it worked, what other things it could do besides cook, and if Beast thought the castle might be able to make her mummy love her. The beast mostly answered “No” or “I don’t know” with increasing
agitation, until I feared he would explode again, so I changed the subject.
“How long do you intend to keep us, Beast?” I demanded.
“Until I get what I want,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“The return of what was stolen from me.”
“But I didn’t steal anything. Your gargoyles took the rose.”
“Yes, the rose,” he said. “You wished to bring one to your granny, The Witch of The Woods, you said? And if she is truly a witch, wouldn’t she know of such magic herself?”
“Yes,” I said. “But she’s too ill to perform such powerful magic.”
“And you, her granddaughter, cannot perform such magic? Did she not teach you?”
I felt my face heat up. “She hasn’t taught me everything.”
“Red’s very afraid of magic,” Goldie said with her mouth full of bread. “She nearly killed her granny!”
Beast’s ears twitched. “Nearly killed your granny! How charming.” He tore off a final strip of meat and tossed the bone aside. A pitcher poured wine into his goblet, and he guzzled it down.
“What will you do with us?” I asked.
“Make you my servants, of course.”
“Your servants?” I said. “What for? You just told us your castle takes care of all your needs.”
The beast casually observed one of his claws. “An enchanted castle takes all the fun out of being in charge. I miss giving orders and having them grudgingly obeyed. You two will fill the hole in my heart.” He rose from the table, brushed some bread crumbs off his fur, then brushed all the scraps from the table onto the floor.
“Now clean up this mess.” With a swirl of his cloak, he strode out of the dining hall. The doors shut behind him.
Goldie and I sat still, trying to make sense of the bizarre moment. “At least he’s not going to eat us,” said Goldie.
My stomach screamed. With the beast gone, it didn’t seem beneath me to eat something. I reached for my spoon, but it slid out of my fingertips. I tried to lift my bowl to drink from it, but it jerked and splashed soup in my face.
“Grrrrrr!” I growled and clawed for any food within my reach, but it all jumped and slid away from me. The knife and fork crossed themselves in front of the mutton.
“I guess supper is over?” said Goldie. “I think we’re supposed to clean up.”
“That beast can’t make me do anything.” I huffed to the door and turned the knob, but it didn’t open. I marched to the door on the other side of the room, but it wouldn’t budge, either. It wasn’t until Goldie started stacking dishes on a tray that a door clicked and swung ajar. That door led us to the kitchen, which was piled high with pots and pans waiting to be washed.
I groaned.
“It’s not so bad.” Goldie pushed up her sleeves. “We can get this done quick as pixies if we work together.”
But washing dishes in an enchanted castle was not as easy as Goldie had predicted. When we started to wash them, the dishes wrenched themselves out of our hands and smashed against the walls and ceiling, spraying shards of china all over. We tried again, with the same result.
“I think they’re ticklish,” said Goldie.
They were definitely something. We had to wash them only in a circular motion with just the right amount of pressure, otherwise they went mad and we had even more of a mess to clean. But the worst was washing the pots and kettles. I accidentally scrubbed too hard on a big black kettle, the kind in which Granny would brew a potion, and it turned itself over on my head, drenching me with dirty dishwater. Goldie burst into giggles. My only consolation was that she slipped up with her own pot and got the same treatment.
After the dishes were washed, we were guided by the castle back to our room. On the beds lay two white nightgowns, one with red roses and one with yellow roses stitched on their hems.
Goldie went behind the screen to change and exclaimed, “There’s a hot bath back here!” I heard her plunge into the water. “Oh, this feels glorious! It’s been ages since I had a warm bath. I’m getting all the dirt and grime off me.”
“Don’t forget the boogers,” I said.
Goldie paused for a moment and then said, “Thank you, Red. You’re a true friend.”
After Goldie had finished washing, the bath was drained and refilled with clean, steaming water for me. I wanted nothing more than to simply collapse on the bed and sleep, but I was horribly dirty, and I knew I’d sleep better if I bathed. Also, I probably didn’t smell like roses or anything. I soaked and scrubbed off the dirt and dunked my head beneath the water. I lathered my skin with rose-petal soap.
When I got out of the bath, Goldie was already in bed and fast asleep, her damp curls spread out on her pillow. I dressed in my nightgown, then sat by the fire and dried my hair with a towel. A brush rose from a table of its own accord as though to comb through my tangles.
“Forget it,” I said, and it fell back to its place.
I got into bed, which was soft as feathers and satiny smooth. This room didn’t look or feel like a prison. I had been well fed, and I smelled better than I had in…probably ever, but all these comforts had a suffocating effect. I would rather rot in a dungeon than be fed and pampered while Granny lay dying. I was so close to saving her. Just outside this castle were The Red Roses, but how could I get them without the beast or his gargoyles attacking me?
Far away, a wolf howled, high and mournful. My heart leapt. I slipped out of bed and ran to the window. I couldn’t see him, but it was Wolf, of that I was sure. He was calling to me and mourning at the same time.
Come! he howled. I could feel the sadness in his cry. He felt he had failed me. And I had failed him. Who would protect him now?
I pressed my nose to the windowpane. “I’m safe,” I told him. “Keep yourself safe, friend.” I tried to send my message to him, but my words came out a whisper.
Sleep did not come easily. I kept spinning the events of the day in my head. The roses. The beast. Granny. I suspected the beast would have let us go if I hadn’t mentioned Granny’s name. Something about it had sparked his interest, and I wondered if perhaps the beast had imprisoned me here for ransom. He said he wanted something. Something that had been taken from him. What could it be? Whatever it was, it seemed he needed magical help to get it back—Granny’s help.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Prankster Palace
In the morning, I woke to Goldie standing over me. She was so close I yelped and flinched. “Goldie, don’t do that!”
“Did you know you slobber in your sleep?” asked Goldie. “Mummy calls it slobber-sleep. It’s not very ladylike.”
“I don’t give a pig’s snout what your mummy thinks. Didn’t she ever tell you it’s not very ladylike to stare at people while they’re sleeping?”
“You’re grumpy in the morning,” said Goldie.
I scoffed. “Aren’t you a smart one?” I threw one of the feather pillows at her, which she caught and hugged to her stomach.
“I’m hungry.”
“Were you planning to eat me?”
“Last night when I said I was hungry, the door swung open. I keep saying it over and over again, but the door won’t open this time. I tried to go out the door, but it’s locked, just like last night. I don’t think anything will happen until we’re both awake, so wake up.”
I groaned, rolled over, and flopped out of bed. The door stayed shut, but as soon as I was on my feet, a bell rang on the other side of the room, next to a little door in the wall. Goldie opened the tiny door.
“Breakfast!” She lifted a tray with bowls of porridge drizzled with cream and—
“Honey!” cried Goldie, sniffing the sweet scent. There were also fresh strawberries, ripe and red and fragrant. The smell made me homesick for Granny.
Goldie scooped up a spoonful and was about to shove it into her mouth when I knocked it away.
“Hey! What did you do that for?”
“We’re prisoners, remember? It could be p
oisoned.”
“Our food wasn’t poisoned last night,” said Goldie.
“Of course it wasn’t. The beast was eating that food, and anyway, you can’t always tell right away.” I sniffed at the porridge. Most poisons left a bitter aftertaste and sometimes had an odor.
“Red, I’m starving,” Goldie whined.
I lifted the spoon and took just a tiny lick. I smacked my lips and tried to detect anything sour or bitter, but all I tasted was sweet cream, and it awakened my ravenous hunger. My stomach growled. “I guess it’s okay.”
Goldie dove for her spoon and devoured the porridge. I ate mine almost as quickly, and then we smashed the strawberries in our mouths.
When our bowls had been licked clean, we found that our clothes had been washed and mended and folded in neat piles on the ends of our beds. Once we were fully dressed, the door clicked open.
Beast stood in the doorway, as though he’d been waiting with great anticipation.
“I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess in the foyer,” he said, and he led us to the entryway near the stairs. Muddy paw prints covered the floors, tables, and chairs. A broom, bucket, and mop presented themselves and gathered around Goldie and me.
“Get to work.” Beast sang the words with wicked glee, and left us.
“Oh, ghastly goiters, chores are worse than imprisonment,” said Goldie.
“Hmph,” I said. “A broom can’t make me clean up.” I went to step around the broom, but it shifted to block my path. I stepped the other way, with the same result.
“Cheeky, huh?! But you’re still just a pile of sticks!” I backed up and ran to leap over it, but the moment my feet left the ground, the broom swept me back so that I tripped over the pail, which flipped up in the air and landed on my head.
Goldie stifled a giggle. “Are you hurt?”
I lifted the bucket off my head and threw it against the wall. “Curse all cleaning supplies!” The broom bopped me on the head.