Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  "Help me," he ordered the trembling Captain of the Guard, as Guerrino knelt to slip his arms under the prince's heavy shoulders. The younger man, barely out of boyhood, only stared at him in mute incomprehension. "We have to get him out of here," Guerrino urged. He tugged at the prince's prostrate form in demonstration, but the useless boy merely shook his head in terror, backed out of the castle into the rain, and darted off into the night.

  Guerrino sighed in frustration and tugged at the prince more forcefully. The prince had not been light as a human man, and the addition of a thick coat of fur, heavy hooves, and boar tusks had not made him grow any lighter. Fortunately, Guerrino had been a strong man before his life with the royal family, and age and easy living had not softened him too much. With a great deal of pulling, and stopping for a few short breaks, he managed to drag the sleeping prince into the side hallway that led to the stairs of Guerrino's personal tower. He met no one along the way; the shrieks and clamor drifting through the drafty walls seemed confined to the guest chambers and servant quarters.

  At the foot of the tower stairs, he laid the prince out on the hall floor and paused to catch his breath. Guerrino decided he could not drag the sleeping prince up the spiral staircase without one or both of them getting seriously hurt; the climb was too steep and the stairs too sharply cut. As he evaluated their tenuous situation, he noticed the prince stir fitfully on the stone floor. He aimed a tentative kick at the prince's leg and the prince's eyes flew open in panicked response.

  In the dim hallway, Guerrino was disconcerted to note that even the prince's eyes had changed. The pupils had expanded so that his eyes were almost completely black, ringed by only the smallest sliver of their previous brown coloring. Those black eyes glinted in the weak light of the hallway, making the prince look wild and unhinged. "Your Highness must come with me," Guerrino ordered in a stern voice, and the prince was too befuddled to do anything but obey him. Clumsily, he staggered to his new feet, and Guerrino ushered him into the stairwell.

  The two men climbed the stairs silently and with great difficulty. The prince's clawed fingers dug into the stone walls for support, and Guerrino kept his hand on his back to steady him. Twice, the prince's hooves slipped on the steep stairs and he stumbled; the second time, his claws swung out instinctively and nearly raked Guerrino across the chest. Trembling with exertion and fear, Guerrino coaxed him into taking the steps on all fours and that went better.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Guerrino slid around the prince to open the wooden door to his chambers. He ushered the young man into the room and the exhausted prince collapsed into a faint on the floor. Guerrino stepped over the inert form and barred the door. He placed his fingers firmly on the wooden bar and concentrated. "What power is in me, so seal this entrance," he pleaded, pouring as much raw power as he could muster in his exhausted state. Once he was sure it would take a battering ram to budge the wooden planks, he gingerly moved over to his bed and lay down fully clothed. He glumly hoped that he could gather his energy before the eventual search party was organized, but he wasn't optimistic.

  Guerrino shifted on to his side. In the dim light of the guttering candles he scowled at the misshapen prince. When he'd promised Prince Domenico that he would look after his son, Guerrino hadn't imagined the boy would be stupid enough to bring something like this on his own head. After Domenico had saved Guerrino from the noose and brought him to his court to practice his craft in safety, Guerrino had done his best to earn his keep. He had dispensed advice to his benefactor and his son, and taught them what he could of the invisible world and of the spirits that could bring them help or harm. "Clearly, the oaf didn't listen to my teachings," he thought sullenly, glaring at the prince. Guerrino could not fathom what had caused him to strike the fata, but he seemed lucky to have escaped with all his limbs intact, even if they were greatly changed.

  "I thought after Domenico died I might retire to the country," Guerrino thought mournfully. That dream was shattered; he was now in more danger than ever before. He had managed to build a respectable reputation in the elder prince's household as an advisor but now that magic had struck the castle, people with long memories would recall his questionable past. He sighed and closed his eyes, but sleep would not come. Every sound that floated up from the castle below caused his muscles to tense as he waited for the end.

  As the candles died out into the night to be replaced by the rosy glow of dawn, Guerrino began to realize with relief that he had been overly cautious. The dreaded knock on the tower door never came, and the only activity in the castle seemed to be that of people fleeing as quickly as possible, with as many of their possessions -- and, he guessed, as many of the prince's possessions -- as they dared stop to pack. Unless his ears deceived him, the first of the carriages rattled hastily out of the stone courtyard almost as soon as the storm gave way to sunrise. This departure triggered a wave of desertion as each panicked voice below vowed not to be the last to leave.

  From the tower window, Guerrino cautiously watched the last of the guests leaving in the cold morning light. The stillness that descended on the castle convinced him that he and the prince were completely alone. The ground was a morass of mud and fallen branches, but no one had wanted to stay long enough for the roads to dry. From his vantage point in the tower, he could see two carriages stuck fast and he smiled thinly at the sight of the beleaguered drivers laboring to pull their heavy coaches out of the deep mud. No doubt the castle servants spreading out over the estate lawn on foot would find employ in the services of the stranded nobles, as it would be cheaper to hire a score of servants to push the carriage home than to abandon the expensive vehicle on the road.

  He squinted into the sunlight and realized with astonishment what the final spell of the fata had wrought: a tall, unbroken hedge of dark thorns and thick brambles now ringed the edges of the estate. The hedge was covered in a thick profusion of roses, and pushed against the tree line of the forest that stood between the valley and the outside world. The sight was stunningly beautiful; hundreds of bright red roses sparkled with dew in the morning light. It would be impossible to count the vibrant blossoms, but Guerrino eyed them sadly, wondering how long it would be before the last rose died. Even if he hadn't heard the curse of the fata or felt her parting spell sweep over the estate, he could have had no doubts as to the origin of the roses, for only magic could produce such flawless flowers, to say nothing of their rapid overnight growth. "They represent the limit of his time," he thought glumly. Such were the ways of the fata.

  He wondered anxiously how the departing guests would get through the rose bushes, and if he should warn them against damaging the blossoms, but relaxed after a moment's consideration. The superstitious guests and servants were already terrified that merely staying another night in the castle would bring curses on their own heads. Certainly they would avoid disturbing plants so clearly grown with fairy magic, and would carefully pick their way through the single opening where the road ran through the thick hedge.

  A low moan sounded behind him and Guerrino turned from the window to see the sleeping prince stir fitfully. The creature moved jerkily, and again came that strange moan: not quite feline, not quite porcine, but definitely not human. Guerrino hesitated to disturb him, but he felt alone in the abandoned castle, and imagined that now was as good a time as any to wake the young man.

  "Your Highness?" he called softly, backing a little further away from the restless form. Those claws were deadly, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end if the prince suddenly started lashing out at nightmares. "Your Highness," he urged a little louder, and the young man moaned again, stirred, and slowly opened those wild eyes.

  "Where ... where am I?" the prince asked in dazed confusion, as he pushed his spindly body from the stone floor and managed slowly to bring himself to his feet. Guerrino noticed that the sleepy young man seemed to be moving entirely on instinct; his movements were far from graceful, but were definitely more fluid than they had
been last night during their struggle up the tower stairs.

  "You're in my room, Your Highness," Guerrino offered cautiously, still keeping his distance. Drawn up to his full height on those thin goat-like legs, the prince was now two heads taller than Guerrino. His waist, arms, and legs had all lengthened significantly, and his muscles ran like thick cords over thinned bones and under coarse hair. Guerrino guessed that a single swipe of those long claws could disembowel him; a closed punch would probably kill him outright.

  "I ... Your room ..." The prince's voice trailed off in confusion. Distractedly, he touched his throat with the flat of his fingers, as though he could not understand why his voice sounded so deep and full of gravel. His black eyes wandered the room restlessly until they fell upon a shaving mirror that Guerrino kept by a basin near the far window. The prince stumbled awkwardly toward the little mirror, but even from a distance he could see his strangely changed reflection staring back at him. He whirled around to face Guerrino, eyes wide with panic. "My dream!" he howled in despair.

  To Guerrino's relief, the prince dealt with this distressing realization by sinking slowly on to the floor and wrapping his arms over his head. Rocking back and forth, with deer-like ears poking between his folded arms, the young man looked touchingly vulnerable. "He doesn't understand what has happened," Guerrino thought, moved to a touch of pity for the miserable young man. "Your Highness," Guerrino said softly. His voice trailed off; he couldn't think of anything useful to say. He stepped closer to the poor creature, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder comfortingly. "It will be all right," he offered, lamely.

  "All right?" The prince's head shot up and swung around to scowl at him. His eyes were narrowed with sudden rage and his voice was like the deep guttural growl of an angry cat. He struggled to his feet, and Guerrino had to tilt his neck uncomfortably to maintain eye contact with the towering creature. Claws spread, the prince gestured at his own terrifying form and demanded, "How is this going to be 'all right'?"

  Guerrino stared at the prince, silently seething. "Fine. You are a spoiled ingrate with no one to blame but yourself and you are most likely stuck this way. Is that what you want to hear?" He had to bite his lower lip to keep from voicing his immediate reaction; snapping at the young man would not be the wisest course of action. He briefly considered backing away from the prince, but immediately decided that this show of submission would only fuel the prince's agitation.

  Fervently hoping he was not making a mistake, he adopted his firmest voice and said, "Your Highness, remember your childhood lessons. Do you recall my teachings that fata walk the earth cursing mortals who offend them?" This was uncomfortably close to blame, but his scholarly tone produced the desired effect. The prince's animal face furrowed in concentration and he nodded slowly. "Anyone can be cursed," Guerrino continued in gentler tone, "for almost any reason, but the curse always has a counter-curse: a way to return everything to its natural state."

  His words jolted the prince out of a trance. Those black animal eyes went wide with excitement, and he stepped forward uncertainly on wobbling hooves. "You mean everything can go back to normal?" he asked, his excited voice carrying an undercurrent of pleading.

  Guerrino grimaced with irritation. Now the boy wanted to be told that everything would be all right. He answered cautiously, "If we can figure out the counter-curse to your curse, yes. The process is not usually simple, though." The prince's face fell -- obviously he'd been expecting some immediate solution -- and he sank glumly back to the stone floor, his long arms wrapped around his knees. Guerrino hesitated and added, "The counter-curse is laid out in the language of the curse. Therefore we will write down the language of the curse as nearly as we can remember it."

  Guerrino moved briskly towards his worktable, hoping to convey with his body language a feeling of purpose. "At the very least, it will give him something to focus on," Guerrino thought. He carefully opened the grimoire that lay on his worktable, and flipped to the empty pages at the back. The prince rose to his feet unsteadily and slowly came to stand behind Guerrino so that he could watch over his shoulder. Seeming lost for something to do, the young royal reached out his fingers to the edge of the open page, but after a despairing frown at his elongated claws, he awkwardly tucked his arms behind his back in a comical posture of study. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Guerrino picked up a slender quill and inscribed in long, neat letters:

  You shall take a form as beastly without as you are within.

  You must find that love which is willing to sacrifice everything.

  Without such love made manifest before the estate-roses die, a beast you shall remain.

  When he had finished writing, the prince stood in silence for such a long time that Guerrino finally cleared his throat and said promptingly, "I believe that was the substance of it."

  "I think so too," the prince said quietly and Guerrino turned to see that his eyes were closed in concentration, his head cocked slightly to the side as if listening to some faraway sound. He suddenly broke from his reverie, his eyes flying wide open with excitement. "But don't you see?" he urged cheerfully, "This is perfect!" Guerrino frowned in confusion as the prince continued excitedly, "We were just about to announce my engagement to Adelina. All we have to do is move forward with the wedding as planned."

  "Your Highness," Guerrino said slowly, hating to interrupt. The prince's excitement was so brittle that it could snap into a rage at any moment. "Your Highness, I don't think that Adelina's family is still interested in the marriage."

  The prince stared at him, his face frozen in an excited smile that was especially disturbing on that beastly face; sharp teeth were visible under the feline nose and extruding tusks. "What?" he asked Guerrino, his voice sharp with denial. "No, that's impossible. Her parents want my titles and Adelina will understand once you explain the curse to her. Then we'll fall in love and everything will go back to normal."

  "Lady Adelina and her family," Guerrino said, emphasizing the words carefully, "left the castle this morning, at sunrise." He braced himself for another emotional outburst, but the prince only seemed perplexed by this announcement.

  "They're gone?" he asked, wonderingly. "I didn't ..." his voice trailed off. "Well," he said finally, speaking hesitatingly, "the curse didn't say it had to be Adelina, right?" Guerrino nodded cautiously. "That's fine, then," the prince decided briskly, "I'll just have to marry one of the servants. It's a drastic step, but probably the best option under the circumstances."

  It was all Guerrino could do to not press his hand to his forehead to massage the headache that was forming under his temples. He was certain that the innocent gesture would be taken as a sign of exasperation by the agitated prince. With a composed tone, hoping he wouldn't sound as frustrated as he felt, he said, "Your Highness, all the servants have left along with the guests." The prince blinked at him, uncomprehending. "We're alone," Guerrino said bluntly.

  The prince's eyes widened as he considered the implications of this announcement. When he spoke, his voice held an edge of panic. "What do we do?" he asked quietly. All the haughtiness had fled from his voice, and now there was only fear. "Do we ... should we leave, too?" he asked.

  "You can't leave," Guerrino said, as gently as he could. "Anyone you met, in your current state, you must understand ..." His voice trailed away. The prince stared at him with blank eyes. "You'd be viewed as a monster," Guerrino finished awkwardly. "You'd be killed."

  "A monster ..." the prince murmured, and he ducked his neck, crouching into his body as though to make himself smaller. He began to pace the room in panicky little steps. Suddenly he stopped and turned to Guerrino, pleading, "So we just stay here? Alone?" His voice was almost bleating with fear. "How will we survive?"

  Guerrino stared at the prince sadly. He had been asking himself that question all night long, even as he coaxed the prince up the stairs, while he barred the doorway with wood and magic, and as he'd wracked his brain trying to remember the fata'
s curse as accurately as possible. Suddenly very tired, he walked over to the bed and sank down onto it, resting his arms on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. He could feel the pleading eyes following him. "He's on the verge of hysteria," Guerrino realized.

  This wasn't the life Guerrino had planned. When Domenico died, he'd hoped to live out the rest of his life comfortably with a pension from the young prince, maybe even moving away to a country cottage under a new name. In a single night, all his plans had been undone, and now his future looked bleak. Even if he ignored his debt to Domenico in favor of pragmatism, where would he go? He was no longer strong enough to earn his living as a field hand or hired servant, and he didn't dare return to a life of living by wits and magic. "One shot at the hangman's noose was enough," he thought ruefully. If it weren't for the curse, he could have found a place in another royal household, but no one would be his benefactor after last night's debacle.

  He looked up at the prince, who was once again sitting despondently on the floor with his head in his arms. Wearily, Guerrino weighed the prince's own options. The young man couldn't possibly leave; he'd be eventually seen and then hunted like an animal. Nor could he stay on his own. Even if the servants hadn't raided the castle larder, there hadn't been much left after the harsh winter, and Guerrino was doubtful that the prince could forage enough to survive. "Even with only one person to feed, the stores will run out fast," he thought.

  Guerrino gazed out the tower window. The roses were still there, winking at him in the morning sunlight. The thought crept into his mind that the situation could last only so long: either the prince would find a lover to break the curse, or the time limit would run out. "If we can trap a woman here and coax her into falling in love ..." He glanced at the prince again, and doubts swirled in his mind. Yet if they could, the curse would be broken and the prince would be restored to himself. His claim on the land would be honored, and Guerrino could have an assurance that he would be provided for. And if not ... Guerrino chewed on his lip, considering his alternatives and weighing the danger represented in those sharp claws. "I can always leave later," he decided. And it would be much easier to leave when the prince had calmed down somewhat.