Upon a Time

by R. L. Stedman

  The next issue of A Charming Life had a full-page spread on the Charming Ball. This year the ball would be bigger and better than ever. The Charming Brands had had a record profit. There was an article about the number of candles and another about the special soloist who had been flown in from Italy to sing at the ball. The son of the founder, Princeton Charming, would be there in person! Bernice and Zelda sat in the coffee room, whispering together. Princeton was tall, handsome, dark-haired. And of course, fabulously rich.

  The following month’s issue had another announcement. Charming Brands wanted to thank the staff who had helped achieve such a wonderful result. Five staff would be selected to attend the ball! All expenses would be paid — their clothing, accessories. They would stay overnight at Craythorne Castle, where the ball was being held. They’d even meet Princeton Charming himself! Bernice bragged that she would be invited.

  It was ball season at the schools, too, so the shop was crazy. Some of the rich girls from my old school came in. Of course, I was the only one serving. They’d see me and try and pretend they didn’t know who I was; I played along. I preferred to be unknown.

  So I was busy serving, and for a while I didn’t notice her. But when the crowd around the counter cleared, I saw the woman with the jewelry, waving at me. She was still wearing leopard skin.

  “Hello. Do you remember me?”

  “Of course.” I smiled, and hoped she hadn’t returned to complain.

  “I got a dress,” she whispered. “It cost a fortune, but it’s worth it. I hope.” She peered behind me. “Are those other, um, ladies, here?”

  “They’re out the back.”

  “Do you still have any of those glass shoes? I’ve looked everywhere for something as nice, but I can’t find anything. I don’t want to get you into trouble. But those shoes were just so comfortable.”

  Suddenly I felt immensely angry at Bernice and Zelda. They were so selfish! “I’ll go and look.”

  I barged past Zelda. I grabbed a few boxes so she wouldn’t realize I was after one item in particular, and returned to the store, where my customer was standing just where I’d left her. Except now there was someone beside her – a tall, dark-haired man. Was this the younger date? He was good-looking. No wonder she wanted her dress and shoes to be just right.

  “Here you are.” I put the other boxes on the seat like a barricade, so that if Zelda or Bernice came out they wouldn’t see what I was doing. “Sit down,” I said. “We had better check they still fit.”

  “Oh, they will,” she said. “I’m sure of it. It was just like magic!”

  “It’s the new technology. Amazing, isn’t it?” I pulled them from the box, put them on the floor and she slipped her feet into them. “Look, they fit perfectly!” I laughed. “You shall go to the ball!”

  The man smiled. “You happy, Aunt?”

  She pouted. “Oh don’t call me ‘Aunt’, darling. You know it makes me feel so old.”

  “You’re his aunt?” I asked, stupidly. Like it was any of my business. My face grew hot.

  But the man laughed. “You were right. She is pretty, isn’t she?” He helped me to my feet. His eyes were intensely blue and, weirdly, he looked familiar. “What do you think, Ashley? Would you like to come to the ball?”

  “Me? How do you know my name?”

  “When my aunt told me about her experience–”

  “Don’t call me Aunt.”

  “… in this store, I looked up the staff records.”

  “How could you do that?” Only the head office had access. Perhaps a computer hacker might get in, but the Charming Brands were known for their security. Anyway, he didn’t look like a hacker. He looked like …

  “Well,” he half-smiled, “actually, I own the store.”

  “Oh my gosh! You’re Princeton Charming!”

  Princeton Charming, himself! In this store! He was much more handsome in real life than the photos. I was going to hyperventilate!

  “Princeton calls me Aunt,” said Cougar Lady, “but I’m not related to him at all. I’m Flora, his godmother.”

  “So you’re not going with him? To the ball?”

  Flora looked at Princeton. Began to laugh. “Oh, my dear! Oh, no! No. The man I’m going with is much, much, better looking.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Princeton.

  “And younger,” added Flora.

  I tried not to make a face, but Princeton did.

  Zelda and Bernice came into the store. There were red spots on Bernice’s cheeks.

  “See, I told you,” said Zelda. “She’s trying to sell them again.”

  “Ash,” said Bernice, “stop it. They’re …”

  She stopped. Zelda stopped. For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

  “Ah, yes,” said Princeton, charmingly. “These must be the other staff you mentioned, Aunt. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, ladies, but … you’re fired. I was going to send a letter, but then I thought – since my Aunt –”

  “Don’t call me that,” hissed Flora.

  “Sorry. Since Flora told me about her experiences here, I thought I’d like to meet you personally.”

  Zelda and Bernice stared at him, their mouths wide open. They looked like two stuffed fishes.

  “And Ashley,” said Princeton, “I’m giving you the afternoon off. Flora would like to take you shopping. For the ball.”

  “For the ball?” whispered Bernice.

  “You’re taking her?” said Zelda.

  “Of course.” Princeton took my hand. His fingers were warm and very gentle. “I look forward to dancing with you. You’ll have to wear the new glass slippers, Ashley. I know they’ll fit you perfectly.”

  Chapter Three

  Beauty is a Subjective Term

  Define: Fairest

  The Queen tapped her fingers on the marble dressing table. Click click click. Nails filed to a killing point.

  “Stupid Mirror. ‘Fair’ means ‘beauty’.”

  – Define: Beauty

  The last mirror had done what she’d asked. But oh no, the dwarves had talked her into this new one, saying magic words like “memory” and “voice activation” and “ram” and she hadn’t wanted to look stupid, not in front of a bunch of dwarves. And now look at this super-sleek mirror; so beautiful on the wall and yet so, so useless. How was she supposed to find Snow White without a working mirror? An upgrade, they’d said, as if an upgrade was a good thing.

  The Queen threw a crystal jar across her chamber. It shattered on the stone tiles, spilling musk-scented perfume. A serving girl scurried to clean it up, ducking low to avoid any other stray objects the Queen might throw.

  “I mean, you stupid mirror, is there anyone else in this kingdom more beautiful than I?”

  – Define: More beautiful

  The Queen paused. How does one define beautiful, anyway?

  “Girl?” she said over her shoulder.

  The maid paused in her cleaning. “Yes, My Lady?”

  “What makes someone beautiful?”

  Kneeling on the floor, the maid carefully placed shards of glass onto a folded piece of paper. “Like you, My Lady?”

  The Queen smiled. This girl was intelligent. “Exactly,” she purred. “Like me.”

  The girl scrambled to her feet, bending her head. “Beauty, My Lady? Ah, maybe something like clear skin. Red lips.”

  “Is that all?” The Queen was disappointed. “Why, you have red lips.”

  “Thank you, My Lady.”

  “There you are, mirror.” The Queen turned her back on the servant. “I want you to find out for me if there is anyone in the Kingdom with clearer skin and redder lips than I.”

  Behind her, the girl went to get a mop and bucket.

  – Subjective terms. Reframe your search parameters

  “Servant,” called the Queen.

  The girl was folding the paper into a funnel, ready to pour the glass into a small tumbler. “Yes, My Lady?”

  “What does it mea
n now?”

  The girl ducked her head. “I think, My Lady, it does not understand your question.”

  “Why not? I am perfectly clear.”

  Tap tap went the nails. The Queen’s hand twitched toward another glass bottle.

  The girl added quickly, “It’s a dwarf mirror. My ma works for them. They’re scientific. You need to use very specific terms to get their magic working.”

  “Specific terms?” asked the Queen grimly. “I’ll show them how specific I can be. With my wand, I can be very specific.” She sighed. “So. What should I ask this wretched mirror?”

  “May I, My Lady?” The girl indicated the space beside the Queen.

  The Queen nodded, and the servant stepped beside her. She smelt of musk perfume and bleach. Her face, what the Queen could see of it behind the fall of grubby hair, seemed pale. She was right to be nervous, thought the Queen grimly. Persons that got too close to her were apt to have a significantly shortened lifespan.

  “Mirror mirror,” said the girl softly.

  “I said that. Didn’t I say that?”

  “That’s just the start command.”

  “Oh,” said the Queen. “I knew that.”

  The girl cleared her throat. “Definition input.”

  – Inputting

  “Beauty = Fair. Beauty: blemish-free skin.”

  Amazing, thought the Queen. How does she make that noise in her throat? It sounds just like someone choking. She frowned, remembering: red apple, blood falling on snow.

  – Define: blemish

  “Definition input: crease, line, or wrinkles.”

  “Freckles,” whispered the Queen.

  The girl nodded. “Definition continues: moles, warts, lentigines, skin tags.”

  – Definition received

  “What is a lentigine?” asked the Queen

  “Like a freckle.” The girl pointed at a sunspot on the Queen’s hand.

  The Queen moved her hand quickly, hiding the imperfection.

  “So now, if you ask it to tell you who is the most beautiful in the land, it will tell you who has the clearest skin.”

  “Well,” said the Queen, looking pleased, “that’s very clever. Back you go, girl, clean up that mess. The perfume is giving me a headache.”

  The girl crept back to the floor and the scrubbing brush.

  The Queen stared up at the mirror’s silver screen, tapped her finger and asked: “Mirror mirror, who is the most beautiful in the land?”

  Faces appeared on the screen. They flickered in and out, changing too rapidly to recognize any individual. A montage of faces, from happy to sad, from fat to thin, in a rainbow of skin tones. All clear-skinned, all beautiful.

  All of them children.

  The Queen screamed, stood up, backed away from the mirror. She stumbled over the servant, still scrubbing the floor.

  “Your Majesty. What is it?”

  The Queen pointed at the mirror. The menagerie of children floated past. But never her own face, never her own!

  “Girl! Make it stop!”

  The servant sat back on her heels, called out: “Mirror. End query.”

  The screen faltered, the faces disappeared. The Queen slowly straightened.

  “Beauty,” she said crisply, “is in the eye of the beholder. And I behold my face, and I say I am beautiful. I do not need to ask any mirror anything.”

  The girl returned to her scrubbing. “That’s what my ma says. She says beauty isn’t that special. It’s what you do that counts.”

  The Queen sniffed and returned to her dresser.

  “When you’ve finished clearing up,” she said, “go and wash.”

  The girl wrung her perfume-scented cloth into the bucket.

  “That’s why she stayed with them. She’s never coming home. She’s no interest in your stupid kingdom. And we’re good at hiding. So stop trying to find us.”

  The Queen spun on her chair, stared at the servant girl, creeping backwards from the room with her mop and brush and bucket. She did look familiar; black hair, creamy skin.

  “Wait!” she called. “Wait!”

  But the girl had gone. Out into the corridor, merging with the other waiting staff. Hundreds of them, scurrying about like mice. Identical in their gray coveralls, hiding their faces. The Queen would never find her.

  The mirror! The mirror could tell her.

  “Mirror, mirror,” she said. “Show me …”

  She stopped. She would never succeed. Damn the dwarves and their technology! Only Snow White had ever managed to work with them.

  Chapter Four

  Ten Minutes to Go

  His breath stinks. I can’t wait to get out of here.

  The unyielding shoes pinch my feet, and – ouch! – again, he stands on my toes. Fortunately, despite their fragile appearance, the shoes are highly engineered and can handle the weight of his fat feet. The music stops. Thank God. How can one dance to the plucking of strings and the scraping of catgut? I prefer something with a beat.

  “Just one more waltz.” He wipes his face with his kerchief. I glance at the clock. Just ten minutes to go.

  “I’m very thirsty, sir.” I wave my fan at my face. When I curve my arm around the strong struts, the dimples on my elbows show.

  “My lady. I will provide.” He bows, one arm crossed over his chest. I suspect he’s trying to hide his stomach, but he’s not successful. How could you hide something so large?

  “How dare you?” A hiss from behind. It’s Seraphina, my so-called sister.

  “You little slut!” Madelina, the other “sister”.

  I smile and unfurl my fan. “My dear sisters. How lovely to see you. And are you enjoying this glorious evening?” I peer behind them. “And your partners? Are they absent, perchance? Or has …” and I close my fan with a snap, “no one asked you to dance?”

  They step toward me, nails outstretched. As if on cue, my partner returns and my sisters are suddenly all false smiles.

  “Oh thank you, Your Majesty,” I say, as the King hands me a glass of champagne. He glances at my sisters, blinking at the glare from their jewel-encrusted bodices. They are far richer than I, but have no taste; like magpies, they value things only for their shine. Life can be unfair; my father left them his fortune. How can you contest a will when you have no funds to do so?

  “Allow me to introduce my sisters. This is Seraphina.” She drops a curtsey. The girl is always untidy; this evening she has strawberry seeds caught in her buck teeth, giving her a most unfortunate appearance. “And Madelina.”

  The warts on Madelina’s drink-reddened nose are highlighted by the candle glare. She spreads her skirts, tries to curtsey, but her balance is worsened by wine and she stumbles. Reaching for support, she pulls on the King’s arm.

  “Madam!” Horrified, he steps back. His glass goes flying, spraying champagne over me.

  “My Lady Ella.” He appears distraught, and waves for a lackey. “Shall I show these creatures out?”

  My sisters gasp, and for a wonderful moment I savor their humiliation. But business is business, after all, and the interruption is very convenient, so I smile up at him most sweetly. “My Liege, I am sure it was an accident. If you could show me where I can freshen up?” I glance at the clock. Three minutes. I need to get out of here.

  As the rest room door closes, I heave a sigh of relief.

  Two minutes. I struggle out of the lace confection of a dress, throw the uncomfortable glass footwear in the trash, and fling open the window. The cool night air smells faintly of roses. These balls are so stuffy; poorly ventilated, and full of ill-mannered, upper-class idiots speaking in drawling accents. Really, I won’t miss them at all. Unraveling the rope that’s been tucked between my shoulder blades, I throw the weighted end out toward the castle ramparts. I’ve practiced this often, and like a dream, it catches first time.

  Inserting the groove of my carbon fiber fan onto the rope, I climb onto the windowsill. Don’t look down, Ella. I fling myself out the w
indow, holding tight to the struts of the fan. The breeze blows my hair into my eyes as I skim across the courtyard. My skin is dark, and clad as I am in black leather undergarments, it would be hard to spot me against the night. I clamber over the ramparts unremarked.

  At the other side of the wall, the coach is waiting. “Good timing,” says a cracked voice. “Drive on, Jerry.” The whip cracks. We lumber away.

  “The glass slippers?” my godmother asks.

  “I left them in the trash can, like you said.”

  “Good. Your sisters are there? And the King?”

  I nod, then because it’s too dark to see, add, “Yes. All three.”

  “Excellent,” she says cheerfully and brings her wand down with a thwack! Stars leap from its tip, out into the night, reaching over the ramparts and into the castle, earthing in the special glass of the slippers, that promptly …

  Explode!

  As I say, these are very well-designed shoes. Not comfortable, but oh, so beautifully engineered. Behind us, the castle is enveloped in flame.

  We drive off into the night.

  “The Prince will be pleased that tonight went well,” says my godmother. “He’s promised us a bonus once the will goes through. Speaking of wills, this is likely to please your father’s lawyers, too. They always felt leaving the house to your stepsisters seemed unfair.”

  Godmother leans back against the cushions. “I think I’ll settle down.” She pushes back her hood and I can see her smile in the reflected light of the fire. “Grow pumpkins or something.”