Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  She doubled over and cried into her skirt.

  Jasper looked at Serge, who shook his head, perplexed. He had heard many outbursts from many children, but this was something new. “When you say that you said bad things,” he said, leaning against Ella’s wardrobe and folding his arms, “what precisely do you mean?”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “This girl, Chemise Shantung, wore Ubiquitous shoes tonight. Her family is nearly out of money, I guess. Her shoes crashed in the middle of a dance and burned her feet, and it was awful — she was crying — and they just laughed.”

  Serge knew the Shantung family. He had been Challis Shantung’s godfather a decade ago, and he knew that Shantung Silkworks was in decline, but he hadn’t realized that the situation had deteriorated as far as this.

  “The prince was the only one who tried to help — the rest of them don’t care. They don’t have a stitch of feeling. Their employees drop dead of roop, but they just keep going to parties, and living in castles, and slapping their servants, and laughing. And nobody stops them, ever.” She looked at Serge. “My mum worked twelve years for Jacquard, spinning silk.”

  He started.

  “She died two years ago, during the roop outbreak in Fulcrum. Did you know there’s been another one, in the workshops up in Coldwater? Near sixty people are dead.”

  Serge glanced at Jasper. Both of them shook their heads.

  “Nobody around here knows,” said Ella. “It’s not in the Criers, because nobody cares if peasants die — peasants are just dirt to step on.” She looked from Jasper to Serge. “You’re fairies,” she said. “Can’t you make things right? Can’t you stop Lady Jacquard and the rest of them?”

  “Stop Lady Jacquard,” Serge echoed.

  “You’re powerful,” Ella insisted. “My mum said Blue fairies could do so much to make this country better if they’d bother, but instead —” She halted.

  “Go on,” said Serge, pushing himself away from the wardrobe.

  “No,” said Ella, her eyes still on Jasper. “You’ll turn me into a swan or something.”

  Jasper regarded her thoughtfully. “You’ve heard that story?”

  “What, about the six brothers who got turned to swans by that fairy queen in Crimson?” said Ella. “ ’Course I have. Mum told me when I was little, to scare me out of messing with magic folk. It’s probably not even true.”

  “It’s absolutely true,” said Jasper. “The fairy who did it is my grandmother.”

  Ella gaped, and even Serge could not help staring. The grandson of the dreaded Queen Opal of Cliffhang — that made Jasper one of the Crimson royals. He hadn’t just left a country behind, he’d left influence. Position. A throne.

  “We’d never hurt you,” said Jasper. “We’ll help you, Ella.”

  “With what, hair and shoes?” Ella replied. “Because I don’t want that.”

  “What do you want?” asked Serge.

  She sat up straight. “I want the Garment Guild shut down,” she said. “I want Jacquard ruined. Jacquard and Garter and everyone else.”

  Serge blinked. “If the wrong people hear you, you really could end up in prison,” he said. “You didn’t say that at the ball, did you?”

  “No.” She chewed her bottom lip a moment. “But I called them all murderers.”

  Serge and Jasper drew a simultaneous breath.

  “And I have to go back to school with them next week,” she whispered. “They hated me already. Now it’s going to be ten times worse.”

  “All right,” said Serge. “From the beginning. Tell us every word.”

  Ella told them her story, beginning with her childhood at her mother’s knee in a miserable Jacquard spinning room. She told them about her mother’s slow death and her father’s quick remarriage, and how he and her stepmother had demolished Ella’s old home to make way for Practical Elegance. She told them about her burned schoolbag, Queen Maud’s ring, her old friend Kit, and the job in Salting that she’d had to leave behind. She spoke for half an hour, her hands in fists, pacing from her bed to the window and back again. Finally, she told them every detail of what had happened at the ball, where she had exploded just like Chemise’s shoes, shouting at the nobles of Quintessential that they were White-hearted witches.

  At the end of her story, Serge sank into a chair by the window. When Jules had reformed the List to serve only the Jacquards of the world, he had done nothing to stop the change. Not one thing. He’d feared angering her. He wasn’t willing to risk his reputation, his inheritance, his position at the top of the pile.

  Ella was.

  He uncrossed his arms and flexed his hands — then blinked at them in surprise. Fairy dust. A healthy layer of it. He hadn’t even tried.

  “You can’t shut down the Garment Guild without throwing every one of their employees out into the gutter,” he heard himself say. “Tens of thousands of people depend on that work. It’s the largest industry in Blue. The workshops may be terrible, but half the labor class would starve if you got your wish.”

  Ella sagged and sat down on her bed. “You’re right.”

  A moment of quiet passed. She scrubbed a tear from her cheek.

  “So nothing can change,” she said. “People either work themselves to death or starve. Those are the choices.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Serge replied. “But you can’t deny that most people will take a bad job over no job at all.”

  “Yeah.” She looked down at her hands and rubbed her fingertips together. “What should I do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do I fix it?” She looked over at him. “Can it be fixed?”

  “I truly don’t know,” said Serge. “But if you want to try, then I want to help you.”

  “Do you mean it?”

  Serge nodded. He did mean it. More than he had meant anything in quite some time. But this was not a problem he could solve with fairy dust. For the first time in decades, a worthy dilemma was before him, and he had not the first clue how to approach it.

  “You know, my grandmother likes to say that people will do anything they want to do,” Jasper mused. “The trick is getting them to want what you want. Of course, her methods aren’t exactly legal…. But she has a point.”

  Serge and Ella both looked at him in perplexity.

  “What we need,” said Jasper, “is to convince the members of the Garment Guild that they want better lives for the working class. If they want to change things, then they will.”

  “But why would they want to?” asked Ella. “There’s nothing in it for them.”

  “I don’t know,” Jasper admitted. “We’ll have to think about it. Work on it.”

  Ella looked crestfallen.

  “But even if we can’t change Quintessential overnight,” said Jasper, “we can still do something. You mentioned your friend Kit. Couldn’t we help her family?”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.”

  Ella dug under her bed and came up with a dilapidated fishing boot. Out of it, she pulled her Glass Slipper contract.

  “Didn’t know what to do with this,” she said. “Do I sign it?”

  Serge came to himself at the sight of the scroll. “Don’t sign anything,” he said. “You’re, er — a special project.”

  “You’re illegal,” Jasper whispered. “We’re not supposed to be helping you, because your mother couldn’t pay, so this has to be completely secret.”

  “Jasper!”

  “What? We have to tell her so she can keep it secret too.”

  “You’re sneaking around to help me?” said Ella, looking somewhat cheered. “Really?”

  Serge smiled in spite of himself. “Take my hand,” he said. “Let’s make this official.”

  “But you just said it couldn’t be official.”

  “It’s not contractual,” said Serge. “It’s still official.”

  “Can we make glass slippers for her?” asked Jasper, getting up from the carpet.
r />   “No slippers,” said Serge. “If anyone sees them, we’ll be found out. We’ll charm something else.” He studied Ella. “Something you wear all the time, if possible, so that you can call us from anywhere. A ring, perhaps?”

  Ella’s fingers found the golden E charm on her necklace. “It was my mum’s, though,” she said protectively.

  “We won’t change it,” said Serge. “I promise.”

  Ella unclasped the necklace and handed it to him. He took it in fingertips that were thick with fairy dust. The last time he’d made this much effortless dust, he’d been standing in a Ubiquitous shop with Rapunzel.

  “Hold out your hand,” he said, and when Ella did, he wrapped the golden chain around her outstretched palm, coating the chain and her skin with soft blue glitter. He cupped one of his own hands beneath Ella’s so that he too was touching the chain, and Jasper laid his pale hand on top of hers, connecting the three of them.

  “This magic is old,” said Serge. “It’s what Blue fairies used to do, long before slippers or contracts — I’ve only done it a few times myself, under special circumstances. Ready?”

  Ella nodded, her eyes fixed on their three hands.

  “Ella Coach,” said Serge. He closed his eyes and felt the energy of compassion move through him, into his hand, into the chain that wrapped Ella’s hand. The gold grew hot but did not burn. “I take you as my godchild. I take you as my godchild. I take you as my godchild.”

  Throughout this invocation, Jasper shivered madly. Tears sprang into his eyes. As they spilled over, they turned to tiny, silent fireworks. “Ella Coach,” he said solemnly. “I take you as my godchild. I take you as my godchild. I take you as my godchild.”

  A zinging sensation moved through Serge’s fingers as the Crimson magic pulsed into them, and now it was his turn to shiver.

  Ella made a high-pitched noise. “My hand,” she whispered. “It feels like it’s humming.”

  “Now you,” said Serge, nodding to her. “Serge and Jasper, I take you as my godfathers.”

  “Serge and Jasper,” whispered Ella, “I take you as my godfathers. I take you as my godfathers. I take you as my godfathers.”

  The gold chain glowed brightly, lighting their faces. When it faded, he and Jasper withdrew their hands from hers, and Serge unwrapped the chain. Ella took it and replaced it around her throat.

  “So warm,” she said, touching it with a fingertip. “It’s really magic now?”

  “It has the power to summon us,” said Serge. “Call our names three times. Wherever we are, we’ll feel your call, and we’ll come to you as quickly as we can.”

  Ella looked a bit dazed. “All right,” she said. “But when should I call?”

  “Anytime,” said Jasper. “For anything. If you want to talk with us, or plan with us — or if you’re in trouble and you need our help. Don’t ever hesitate.”

  Serge took the contract from Ella’s desk. “We won’t be needing this,” he said.

  “All right … but could I keep my mum’s letter?”

  He detached it for her. Fairy dust smudged the corners and the writing on the letter glowed with faint silver light. His eyes followed the illuminated script across the page.

  She’ll change the world if she gets her chance, I know it.

  Since I can’t anymore, please help her find her way.

  Serge hoped that he could.

  EACH morning, courtesy of the Exalted Council, Town Criers boxes in locales across Tyme filled up with stacks of magically reproduced parchment covered in whatever news the Council deemed relevant to each particular city or nation. People often said they were glad to live in the time of Town Criers rather than a century ago, when news had been harder and slower to come by.

  Dash disagreed. Having been the object of the Criers since his birth — and Quintessential boasted the most boxes of any city in Tyme — he could not marvel at them. A few mornings after the royal ball, when it was time to return to C-Prep, he sat in the royal carriage and stared straight ahead at the upholstered wall in front of him. His father’s guards flanked the royal carriage on horseback as it passed through the palace gates. As the gates swung shut, the scribes closed in.

  “Do you have nightmares about Envearia?” called one voice.

  “How long before you propose to Lavaliere Jacquard?” cried another.

  “Who’s Queen Maud having an affair with?”

  Dash ignored them. As the royal carriage rolled northward along Highborn Avenue, the scribes began to give up. One by one they peeled off, until only the most persistent still rode alongside him.

  “Were you offended by Elegant Coach’s insults at the ball?” cried a man’s voice.

  Dash made the mistake of glancing left. Through the window, he met the eyes of the scribe, a skinny man with a leering smile.

  “Is that a yes?” the scribe asked eagerly. “Some people are calling it disloyal, the way Miss Coach was talking. They say she’s dangerous. Do you agree?”

  Dash hadn’t heard her outburst, but he knew every word. After making sure Chemise was safely in the care of her mother and the royal Hipocrath, he’d come back to the ballroom to be accosted by Paisley and Dimity, who recited Ella’s litany of insults. He’d listened in disbelief. Never had such a thing happened at Charming Palace. Ella had seemed like a decent person when they’d been dancing; he could not imagine what had possessed her.

  He ignored the scribe the rest of the way and finally arrived at school. The first morning back at Coterie was an endless and exhausting string of social interactions. Mathematics was his first class, followed by Natural World, and by the time he dismounted from his horse at the end of sports hour, he was drained. He asked that his meal be brought to him in the carriage, where he ate alone.

  After lunch, he made his way to Fundamentals of Business with the guards at his heels.

  “Your Royal Highness.” A stout middle-aged woman bowed to him outside the classroom door. “I’m Professor Linsey-Woolsey,” she said. “The ball was absolutely splendid — very kind of His Majesty to include the professors in his invitation. A delightful treat. Don’t forget to take a smock…. Good afternoon, Miss Kalamkari. Did you catch up on the reading?”

  Dash entered the classroom, leaving the guards outside. The chamber was lofty and bright, with high, arching windows along two walls. Within it were rows of slate-topped tables just big enough for two, most of which were already full. Garb and Paisley sat together at one, Loom and Mercer at another. Sari Kalamkari chose the seat beside Tiffany, who reddened and angled her chair away from Dash as he passed her.

  Lavaliere sat alone at the head of the class, at the table next to Paisley’s. She cast a glance over her shoulder, smiled when she saw Dash, and ran her fingertips over the back of the empty chair beside her, telling him it was his. Then she turned back to Paisley and continued her quiet conversation.

  Dash grabbed a smock, made his way to the front, and sat beside Lavaliere.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, turning to him. She actually looked anxious.

  “I’m fine.”

  She shook her dark head. “The way that awful girl behaved at your home. She completely spoiled the ball. I felt terrible about it — I told my mother we shouldn’t have invited that family.”

  “New money never knows how to behave itself,” said Paisley, patting her intricate braids.

  “My father says they won’t last half a year in this town,” said Garb, leaning past Paisley to get in on the conversation. “After that display, Practical Elegance will lose all sorts of business. My father’s even considering canceling their wool contract.”

  But he won’t, thought Dash. Lord Garter would never turn down a profit, no matter how badly someone’s daughter behaved.

  “She should be grateful to be invited to a royal ball at all,” said Garb with a toss of his head. “Given her history, it’s a massive honor that you’d let her anywhere near Charming Palace. You did her a real favor, dancing with her. Not that
she’d know a favor if it slapped her in the face.” He sneered. “You saw the way she treated me, I’m sure.”

  Dash frowned. He wondered what Garb meant by Ella’s history. The way he said it, it sounded like she was some kind of criminal.

  “We did wonder,” said Paisley, eyeing Dash. “Why you danced with her, I mean. Not that anyone would question your choice, of course. It’s just … interesting.”

  Lavaliere turned her big gray eyes upon him, and he realized too late that he should have concocted an answer to this question in advance. Of course his friends would want to know why he’d sought out Ella at the ball.

  His mouth dried up as he attempted a reasonable lie.

  “Her bag,” he managed. He licked his lips. “The fire last week — just checking to —” He took a deep breath and forced out the rest of the words. “Make sure she wasn’t injured.”

  Poorly delivered as the falsehood was, it seemed to satisfy them all.

  “That was gallant,” said Lavaliere. Under the table, she briefly touched his hand. “She didn’t deserve it.”

  “What do you think of the fit she threw?” Dimity asked from behind him, leaning forward over her desk. “Are you simply furious?”

  This question was far easier to answer. “She should have more respect for the kingdom,” Dash said, and Lavaliere nodded her agreement.

  “She’s in this class,” said Dimity. “Ella Coach. Just to warn you.”

  “She wasn’t at archery today, though,” said Paisley. “Maybe she’s been expelled.”

  “We can dream.” Dimity wrinkled her nose. “Either way, at least she doesn’t board here anymore. Honestly, I can’t believe I had to room with that beast for four months.”

  Dash glanced around the room, but Ella was not there. Neither, he realized, was Chemise.

  “Do you know if Chemise is all right?” he asked Lavaliere.

  Her expression tightened. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Such a shame about her family.”