Satisfied, Ettiene begins to tell us about the estate. Beau listens, his eyebrows knitting every now and then when his mind tries to free itself from the ogre’s magic. So far, I don’t believe he’s been successful. The ogre asks many questions about the sea, and Beau is happy to oblige him with answers.
Instead of listening, I take in the room. A large chandelier hangs central over the table, and more candles flicker from its scrolling iron branches. The draperies are velvet, black, and drawn, shutting out the evening air. There’s a stillness in the room, the feeling of being closed-in. Like, perhaps, the windows are never opened to the fresh air.
Two human guards stand at the entrance of the room, waiting to attend their master should their services be required. We’re served by dwarven women—stout, handsome females. They wear their hair plaited under caps; some have twisted the braids into tidy buns, but more wear the tails long, falling down their backs and landing near their waists.
“It was very good,” I say to one as she comes to take my plate.
“I’ll tell the cook, mademoiselle.” Her eyes dart to my face, but she quickly looks back to her hands, where she efficiently wipes a stray crumb from my setting and places a bowl of hot water with a slice of some sort of citrus in front of me.
At a loss, I look to Beau for guidance. Subtly, he meets my eyes and dips his hands in the water. After he’s swished them around a bit, he takes the tiny towel and dries them. The dwarf at his side whisks the bowl away and then places yet another bowl. This one, I’m sure, is filled with soup.
I follow Beau’s lead through the meal, watching him the entire time, waiting for him to overcome the magic. There are several times I think he’s quite close.
Finally, dinner comes to an end. Ettiene excuses himself, leaving yet another dwarf to lead us to our rooms. Before we leave the dining hall, I look again for Puss, wondering what has become of him.
“This way,” our dwarven guide says.
She walks with purpose, striding out of the dining hall at a brisk pace. We follow, lingering as far back as possible.
Beau matches his pace with mine, close enough our shoulders rub. “I have a horrible headache. I feel as if my brain is in a fog.”
“Ogre magic,” I answer at a bare whisper, glancing around to see if there are any ears nearby.
Now that I know there are fairies and dwarves, it’s hard to tell what lurks in these halls.
The moment I say the words, Beau’s mouth drops open, and he clenches his eyes shut. When he opens them again, the horror that he was deceived by the magic is plain to see on his face.
“I was taken in by it as well,” I assure him.
We follow the woman the rest of the way in silence. As we go, I take in the castle. The interior isn’t nearly as welcoming as the courtyard. Though the halls are lit by sporadic candelabras atop tables, the darkness prevails. Art hangs on the walls, but it’s too dim to admire the paintings or tapestries. Everything, however, every nook and cranny, is spotless. Before we arrived, I had imagined dust and cobwebs, spiders and rats. There is none of that here.
“Here you are, monsieur,” the woman says, finally stopping in front of a simple door in what seems to be an endless, dark hallway. She inserts a key in the lock, swings the door open, and then hands the key to Beau. Without another word, she nods for me to follow her farther down the hall.
I glance over my shoulder, looking at Beau. His mouth is set in a firm line, but he nods.
We walk farther than I expect. I had hoped my room would be close to Beau’s, in the same hall if not next door. It seems that is not to be. We take several more turns. Just when I think we may have made one large circle and are about to find ourselves in the entry, the dwarf stops. Just like before, she unlocks the door, hands me the key, bows her head, and then leaves.
Nervous, I watch as the light the woman carries grows dimmer then disappears altogether as she turns a corner. Once she’s out of sight, I push my way into the room. Thankfully, another candelabra sits on a table near the bed, flickering, if not cheerfully, efficiently at least. This chamber is nothing like the light and airy blue room I occupied in the king’s castle. Here the furniture is heavy, solid, and the bedposts tower to the ceiling. Atop each post, a wooden gargoyle perches. No matter which way I step, it seems as if their eyes are focused on me. The canopy is made of a thick damask, ornate and dark burgundy, and the bedding has been made to match.
There is a fireplace, but no fire, and a window, but like every other, the drapes are closed. Immediately, I cross the room and pull them back. I am high, several stories in the air, and there is no balcony. How will Puss reach me? Will I be here, alone, all night?
This dim, still room terrifies me.
Just as my throat begins to close with panic, my eyes land on a table near the bed where a second candelabra sits. There’s something there. Curiosity quelling my fear, I go toward it. A tiny confection, some kind of fruit tart, sits next to a note and a pair of thick stockings.
“Thank you for your kind words,” it reads. “The castle grows cold at night. I thought you might have a use for these.”
“Kind words?” I muse out loud though there is no one to hear me.
And then it comes to me. The cook. I complimented her food. These must be from her.
I stroke the soft, thick stockings and then clutch them to my chest. My heart swells at the simple gesture that I so needed tonight. These gifts, they can only mean one thing. I bite my lip, my excitement and wonder overwhelming my fear.
I have made friends with a kitchen brownie.
CHAPTER TWENTY
We finally find Puss in the courtyard, hiding in an overgrown kitchen garden. The frost has yet to kill the herbs, and the air is thick with basil, rosemary, and lavender.
“Where have you been?” I demand as I scoop him into my arms and nuzzle the soft fur at his neck.
Puss struggles against me for a moment, more for show than anything, and then settles against me and purrs. “The ogre isn’t overly fond of cats.”
“You should have warned us about his magic,” Beau says, sounding disgruntled.
The cat turns his eyes on him. “I told you he’s enchanted this land. What more did you need to know?”
Beau crosses his arms. “That we could be affected by it. I thought it was a onetime spell, affecting those present at the time of the curse. Not us, not now.”
Puss turns back to me and rubs his head against my hand. “Now you know. Once you become aware of it, it’s easier to fight. Whether I told you or not, you would have struggled at first.”
From the corner of my eye, I see another childlike fairy flit toward us, taking cover in the foliage of a lilac bush.
“Puss?” I ask, interrupting their conversation before they begin to quarrel. I drop my voice to a whisper. “Why are there fairies in the garden? Dwarves in the house?”
The cat leaps from my arms and jumps on the back of an iron garden bench. “They are prisoners, collected by the ogre.”
“Why do they stay? What keeps them here?” Beau asks.
Puss licks his paw and then begins to groom his face. “It seems that they are locked in by an invisible boundary.”
My blood chills. “Are we as well?”
Done grooming, the cat puts his paw down. “Try to leave, and we will see.”
We find ourselves in the courtyard. It seems a different place than yesterday. Last night, the roses were welcoming; now they appear sinister. Humans and dwarves look tired, their eyes hooded with shadows. Those who cluster together whisper quietly as if they are afraid of being overheard. There is no laughter, no playing. The children are nowhere to be found.
It was an illusion.
Puss stays to the bushes, trying to keep from drawing attention to himself. “Go on, cross the bridge. If you cannot pass, then you’re a prisoner with the rest.”
I look at Beau, unsure.
He holds up a hand, stopping me. “No. I’ll do it.”
As he walks toward the castle’s exit, I clasp my hands to keep them still and hold my breath. No one stops him as he steps onto the drawbridge. No one and nothing stops him as he strides across.
And then he’s on the other side.
I let out my held breath.
Beau, too, looks relieved, and he walks back over the drawbridge without incident. We make our way to a less inhabited area of the castle grounds, Puss being careful to stay out of sight. Monsieur Mattis is absent this afternoon, and Beau and Puss begin to talk strategy as to how we’re going to rid the estate of the ogre.
None of their ideas sound plausible. Bored, I wander the gardens alone and find many splendorous things: more fairies in the trees, winged fawns in the stables, water sprites in the ponds. The dwarves don’t pay me any attention, and I stay out of their way.
I watch them, though. Do they miss their mountains, miss mining for their precious jewels?
As I wind my way down the moss-covered stones, I spot a flash of brown cloak ahead of me. A short figure darts from the vegetable patch, dropping several fingerling potatoes as she flees. One moment she’s there; the next she’s gone.
To my growing list of fantastic creatures, I add kitchen brownies in the garden.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
I whip around, clutching my hand to my heart, trying not to imagine the monster behind the man. “Monsieur Ettiene.”
“I’ve startled you.” The man looks contrite. As if to make up for it, he offers his arm.
The very last thing I want is to stroll the garden on the arm of a thieving, black-hearted ogre, but I don’t see how I have a choice.
The magic hiding his identity is strong; it doesn’t waver once. I’m glad for that.
A fairy peers at us from a bush, her already large eyes wide. She flies away as soon as Ettiene glances her way.
“Timid things, aren’t they?” he says.
“Why…I mean, how is it you’ve come to have so many fantastic creatures in your care?” I ask.
“They make me happy.”
I wait for him to go on, to give me some excuse as to what they’re doing here, but he doesn’t continue.
We walk in silence, him taking in the gardens with great interest, tutting when he sees an overgrown topiary. For some reason, the quiet sound of discontent chills me. I wonder what creature will suffer for the plant’s lack of care.
Ettiene turns to me abruptly. “I’m glad you’ve come. I hope you and your”—he pauses and gives me a knowing smile—“brother will stay.”
My smile freezes on my face. He doesn’t clarify how long he hopes we’ll stay, and a heavy feeling settles in the base of my stomach.
“I don’t believe we have immediate plans to rush off,” I say, trying to laugh lightly.
At odds with the creature I know him to be, the man pats my hand gently and smiles with kind eyes. “I’m glad to hear it.”
After several more moments, he excuses himself and strides down another garden path, disappearing through a curtain of willows. The light shines just right, illuminating the leaves, and I can see him through the foliage. Thinking he’s just out of sight, Ettiene glances both ways and disappears into a side door leading into the castle.
Wondering what he’s up to, I hesitate for only one moment before I decide to follow him.
“Where did Etta go?” I ask, suddenly realizing I can no longer see her.
Bored with our planning, she began to explore the garden, but she never ventured out of sight. I scan the walkways and nooks, wondering how far she would have gone. A cool, prickly sensation slides up the back of my neck.
If we were anywhere else, if this weren’t an ogre’s stolen home, I wouldn’t worry.
But this isn’t anywhere else.
Puss sniffs the air.
“Are you a dog now?” I ask, my voice testy with worry.
The cat glares at me. “I’ll have you know cats have a much more sophisticated sense of smell than humans.”
“Well, Rufus, do you smell her? Is she close?”
“She was,” he answers, ignoring my jab. Then he lets out a low hiss, and the hair on his back stands on end. “And I smell it.”
He doesn’t have to clarify further. I know whom the cat is referring to.
Puss takes off first, but I’m right behind. The gardens are larger than I imagined, the whole estate is, but we rush through them. It still hasn’t quite hit me that this is my land, my castle. It’s far more than I expected. Eventually I may sit down and ponder it, but for now, I only want to find Etta.
The cat darts under the low-hanging boughs of a weeping willow, and I push my way through. He stops in front of a door, one so well hidden by ivy and moss that I wouldn’t have known it was here if I hadn’t been looking for it.
“They went in through here?” I demand, already trying to find the handle. I find a latch and tug on it. The door opens easily, without so much as a creak. My fingers twitch against the hilt of my rapier, eager to be done with this mess but anxious that I might have to use my blade when Etta is involved.
The door opens to stairs and I run up them, feeling an urgency I can’t explain. As fast as I move, Puss is faster. I’m almost to the top when a blood-curdling shriek echoes from the chambers above and down the stairwell. I race up the last few stairs, taking them two at a time. As I pass Puss, I draw my sword and burst through the door at the landing.
I slam to a halt, and Puss crashes into my legs. No longer disguised, the ogre stands before us in all his grotesque glory. He towers over me, a giant of a being, and his skin is as sallow as Puss promised. His eyes are black, the whites barely visible, and his hair resembles the bristles of an old, worn broom.
He’s backed Etta to the wall and pressed a dagger to her throat. She looks at me with wild eyes, and the color has already drained from her usually lovely face.
“You should tell your ‘sister’ that curiosity isn’t a virtue.” The ogre pulls the dagger back abruptly.
Etta draws in a shaky gasp, and her hand flies to her throat. I extend my sword and jerk my head, signaling her to come behind me.
The ogre lets out a series of loud guffaws, grabbing his belly as if it pains him. “You are a Carabas, boy. There is no doubt.”
I swallow, but I don’t lower my sword.
“You’re the brother, aren’t you? The one the marquis promised would avenge him? You’re younger than I expected.”
Beside me, Etta stands tall. If I expected her to cower at my back, I was wrong.
“What happened?” I ask her, not taking my eyes off the ogre.
“He was acting suspicious,” she says. “So I followed him and saw him change into that.”
The ogre crosses his arms and smirks, showing off two jutted tusk-like incisors that rise from his bottom jaw. “You think it’s comfortable wearing that human cloak day in and day out?” Neither Etta or I know what to say, but it doesn’t matter because the ogre’s eyes drop to Puss, and he snarls, “Thought I smelled a mangy cat.”
Puss hisses and puffs his fur until he’s an orange and brown ball of cotton fluff. Not terribly intimidating, to tell you the truth.
“I am the nephew,” I interrupt before Puss can do something stupid, like lunge on the monster who could eat him in one bite. “And, yes, I have come to avenge my family’s name and take back what is rightfully mine.”
The ogre’s attention returns to me. Despite the vulgarity that is his appearance, there’s a disconcerting air of humanness about him. He sizes me up, and that smug look returns to his face. “The nephew? If you’re here, then I suppose it’s safe to assume that your dear father is dead?”
Lengthening my sword, I nod.
The creature sits against a massive wooden desk, studying me. “What would be more tragic…killing the last remaining heir to the Carabas line? Or imprisoning him here for the rest of his short, sad human life?”
A chill runs through me, but I refuse to show weakness.
&nbs
p; Slowly, the monster smiles. “Imprisonment it is.” He turns and waves us out the door. “You’re free to go.” He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Not too far, of course, but you’ll figure that out on your own.”
Seeing my chance, I lunge forward. The ogre no more than turns and my sword flies from my grasp, clattering harmlessly against the wall and falling to the floor.
“That’s a parlor trick, boy,” the ogre says, his eyes and voice somber. “I am the most powerful being that has ever set foot in this kingdom. I do not suggest you test me.”
My hand is still extended, and I stand frozen, shocked at the magic that stole my rapier from my grasp. Slowly, I lower my arm.
With a flick of his hand, my sword lifts from the ground and levitates over to him. He holds it gingerly in his gnarled grasp. “Belonged to your father?”
I clench my jaw, refusing to answer him.
“They always do. It’s good to keep that poetic tradition alive.” He pulls his eyes from the blade and meets my gaze. “Just think of what a prize this will be should you ever best me and win it back.”
My temper escalates, hot and impulsive. I’m about to rush him, armed with only my fists, when Etta grasps my arm, pulling me back.
“Not now,” she whispers firmly.
Still seething, I turn to her, ready to argue.
Etta’s eyes are soft, understanding, but there’s a firmness there. A promise that this isn’t over. And then she turns to the ogre. “I’m keeping my cat with me from now on.”
The ogre smiles and holds out his hands in placation. “I’ve nothing to hide from him.”
She scoops up Puss, who still resembles a livid dandelion, turns abruptly, and marches down the stairs that lead back to the garden. I follow, but before I leave, I glance over my shoulder at the monster I will defeat in the near future.
He looks back, meeting my challenge, and I close the door behind me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Puss without Boots: A Puss in Boots Retelling (Fairy Tale Kingdoms Book 1) Page 14