by Drew Hayes
Cinderella was the only one who could muster up the courage to speak.
“Is it...is she gone?”
“Most of her. Frank and Marie should have all the leftovers bagged soon.”
“Beg pardon?” Cinderella stared at the smiling man, and for the first time she stopped to ask herself, in the fits of panic and desperation just what sort of people she had brought into her home.
“Probably better if you don’t know,” Jack said. “Let’s merely say that Frank is an expert in some…unusual technologies, and that we found a way to deal with your fairy problem. The main parts of her, anyway.”
“You caged her?” Cinderella began walking up the stairs with Jack, her mother and stepsisters keeping a long distance. Even Truffetta, who had seemed so keen on him just the day before, watched with uncertain eyes at every step her stepsister’s savior took. When Jack had merely seemed dangerous in a roguish, charming sort of way it was one thing. Now, after hearing the screams and feeling the house rattle, there was no allure in the danger he represented.
“That’s essentially correct.” Jack paid no mind to the fearful glances coming from the others. He’d been on the job for many years; he understood how most people reacted to seeing what his team did. “Given Cinderella’s untimely discovery, we had to use a bit of an unconventional method, focusing more on certain pieces of her than binding the whole, and blowing each bit off took some time, so we ended up… Forgive me, perhaps I’m going too much into the details. Regardless, the sun has risen and none of us is dead, so it seems to be holding.”
“Then…it is finally over.” Cinderella felt a tremendous weight lift off her shoulders, and for the first time since she’d danced with the prince at the ball she allowed hope to enter her heart. That feeling was quickly snuffed out as Jack clamped a powerful grip on her shoulder. Cinderella did not yelp, but she did let out a small involuntary squeak of surprise.
“No.” Jack locked eyes with her. His smile dimmed, although never quite vanished, and Cinderella saw the weariness in his face that he hid with the endless grin. “What we have done today is a stall, nothing more. Fairies are immortal. Eventually, someone will free her, and when that happens her wrath will be a thing of horrific splendor. This is far from over, Cinderella. But, if we are all very fortunate, we will be long dead by the time she is freed.”
“What if she comes after our children then? Or others of our lineage?”
Jack released his grip on her, and began walking out the cottage’s front door. Cinderella followed, noticing the ramshackle cart situated in the road. On it, the one who wore a large cloak to hide his face and had stitches running across his arms loaded the last of what appeared to be three iron containers. They were rough and misshapen, clearly crafted with either hurry or apathy by their smith, but they seemed solid. Each was roughly the size of basket, and Cinderella couldn’t imagine how a fairy could be fit into one of the small containers. Then she remembered Jack’s word, leftovers, and a chill ran through her despite the warm morning air.
“When she gets free, she will undoubtedly come for those of our line,” Jack said at last, surveying the loading being done on his cart. “Which means we have only three options. The first of which is to have no children, to let our lineage die out entirely. As a future princess, I doubt that choice will appeal to you or your eventual husband.”
Cinderella nodded. Life at the castle was surely wonderful, but she was not so removed from royal politics that she didn’t understand the need for an heir. Even were that not the case, she could not imagine spending a life with the man she’d already fallen in love with and not bearing a child.
“Your second choice is to make sure they know what is coming. Prepare your children, and see that they know to prepare theirs as well. Keep iron and elderlilles nearby, and, if one of you should fit the calling, perhaps take hold of a weapon that can slay a fairy. Of course, as time goes by the threat will seem less real. Within two generations, it will be regarded as a silly tale their grandparents used to tell. That leaves us with one more option.”
From behind the cottage, Marie came around carrying a medium-sized sack. Cinderella saw the damp stain across its bottom, and made an instantaneous decision to believe that it was from the morning’s dew in the grass. She didn’t stop to wonder why the dew would impart such a dark hue; it was a question for which her mind could likely not bear the answer. Not now, not after so much already.
“What’s the third option?” Cinderella’s voice came out scarcely above a whisper as she saw Marie load the sack into the cart along with the iron containers.
“We hope that when that day comes, there are more people like me and mine to deal with the problem.” Jack turned around, and when he did she saw that his smile had brightened once more. “If you’ll excuse us, we have some things to bury. We’ll return by the next new moon to collect our payment. I trust that will be suitable time?”
Cinderella nodded, perhaps more fervently than she needed to. Jack had done nothing to try to scare her, had gone out of his way to keep her from seeing anything truly terrifying. Yet still, now that the danger was past she wanted him gone. Him, and his strange friends. There was no doubt in her heart that she would pay his fee, if for no other reason than she longed to be rid of him and to put this whole nightmare in the past.
Of course, that would never truly happen, for Jack’s words were those of wisdom and experience. He had spoken true when he told her it was not over, and for the rest of her life Cinderella would always start, just a touch, at the sound of wings.
The Tale of the Caged Women
“This is ridiculous,” Marie hissed under her breath. She twirled the parasol in her hands carefully, doing all she could to appear incompetent and uncertain. It was a difficult series of emotions to convey through the movements of a glorified umbrella, but she tried nonetheless.
“Shhh.” Jack leaned out a few inches from his perch behind a barrel in the alleyway. He was there, ostensibly, to intervene if anything should go awry. That was true, in the sense that Jack might be able to suppress minor problems without alerting the whole village to their presence. If things should take a turn for the truly troublesome, then Marie would be forced to intervene, and her presence was not a thing that anyone was likely to miss. That would mean losing their lead, and she had no inclination to go back on the hunt.
Marie turned and looked down the long stretch of deserted road. It was hard for most to see with nothing more than starlight to guide them, but to Marie the world was as crisp and clear as if the sun were shining right overhead. This part of the curse lingered about her, much like her heightened sense of smell or increased strength. It was a constant reminder that no matter how she appeared, she was far from an ordinary woman. Turning her gaze to the alley where Jack’s barrel was located, she saw clearly that he’d leaned out too far and made himself visible, even to one without her night vision.
“Get covered.” Marie turned the parasol in a way that she hoped would keep any would-be watchers in the forest at the road’s edge from seeing the movements of her mouth. “It’s bad enough that you’ve had me walking this same stretch for half the night; if anyone spots you, then we’re as good as discovered.”
Jack hurriedly tucked himself back behind the barrel, vanishing from sight so quickly it was as if he’d never been there at all. He was the better choice for a job like this one; Jack had a gift for slipping about in places meant to hold him. Unfortunately, of the three, Marie was the only one who fit the criteria enough to make a useful decoy, so she was stuck parading about in a frilly dress and a garish parasol, hoping to draw the skulking eye of some yet unseen villain.
She pivoted on her heel and turned away from where the forest met the road. This was ludicrous. Even if she had spent a week in the village as a traveler, talking freely of how she loved to go for midnight strolls when sleep evaded her, no one would possibly believe she would be out walking this long. Any criminal with even a modicum of sense w
ould see her here, then stop to observe, quickly realizing that she was lying in wait for their arrival. Marie didn’t care what Frank’s theory was, there was no way someone would take such obvious bait. For once, her pale companion was going to be proven—
“Dammit.” Marie heard the hoofbeats storming up from her behind her and winced internally. They were coming too fast to be a traveler, and it was too late at night for the foolish young men to be holding races, which meant only one thing: Frank was right yet again. It wasn’t that she begrudged him his keen judgment; it was merely that he could be such a pain about it when doubted, and Marie had very vocally questioned this plan from the beginning.
After waiting long enough to where a normal woman would have finally noticed the hoofbeats, Marie spun around in time to see the cloaked rider atop a black horse bearing down on her. She let out a high-pitched screech, nothing like the call she used when actually meeting an enemy head on, and then made a show of trying to run away. Her clumsiness here was not as feigned as she’d anticipated, since Frank had insisted she wear the clunky high-heeled shoes popular with noble ladies in the area. Marie made it about ten feet forward before she felt the powerful arm close around her torso, scooping her effortlessly off the ground as the horse rode by.
No sooner was she grabbed than the rider slung her over his horse’s back, into a leather mechanism that coiled around her. The rider pulled a strap tight and it sealed Marie in, to where she could scarcely move, even with her strength. With a single fluid motion the rider hooked the strap onto his saddle, then fastened a golden lock in place. Just like that, Marie realized she’d been captured.
Dirt was still drifting through the air in the spot where Marie had been taken, her parasol left precariously in the road. Jack scooped it up once the rider was out of sight, twirling it nimbly in his hands as he stared into the empty night. While many might have been fearful about the kidnapping of their companion, Jack was elated.
The first part of the plan had gone off without a hitch. Now, if Frank was able to track them, they could have Marie sprung by morning. Of course, if the criminals managed to evade Frank’s watchful eye, or tried to get too fresh with Marie, then she’d have to liberate herself. Jack truly hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
The reward paid double if the criminals were brought in alive.
* * *
Marie’s ride was not a gentle one, as her kidnapper favored haste over comfort in his effort to get her as far away from town as possible. He’d turned only once to face her, stuffing a rag in her mouth as she feigned distress with wailing screams. Honestly, she was thankful for the gag, it was far less annoying than having to keep up her prattle all through the ride. Besides, it meant the kidnapper wasn’t paying her any attention, and that made her job far easier.
As they rode through the night, Marie would periodically kick a small latch hidden in the thick heel of her shoes. Each time she did so, a small metal ball would drop from a compartment in the footwear, falling to the ground, all sound muffled by the powerful beats of the horse’s stride. Though these balls were little more than shined spheres, Frank assured her that he would be able to track her so long as she left a reasonable trail. Aside from the ones in her shoes, she also had spheres stuffed in the sleeve of her dress, since they’d had no idea exactly how she’d be restrained. It was a risky strategy, that was certain, but one that had the chance of paying off the best if it succeeded.
It was nearly sunrise when the horse finally began to slow. Marie wiggled her head around, noting that they’d gone quite deep into the forest. Large, ancient trees wound around them, and the sound of a stream could be heard not far in the distance. The rider continued forward, following a narrow path of stone that ran along the stream’s side, winding down a half-hidden slope. It was only when the horse passed through a grove of massive tree trunks that Marie caught sight of what had to be their destination. The mouth of a large cave loomed before her, previously invisible through the foliage and now impossible to miss. The rider let out a high-pitched whistle, the first sound she’d heard leave his mouth aside from breath, and he pushed forward across the rocky terrain.
When they entered, Marie saw another man in dark clothes, but he was holding a well-made bow and watching the path to the entrance fervently. Her mind raced, realizing that their entry system was one of both recognition and a password, or passwhistle in this case. That showed the sort of forethought she wasn’t used to encountering from mere ruffians. This lot might be a step above the usual crowd. She hoped they were, anyway. Dealing with mere humans always felt a touch unfair. At least the magical foes had a fighting chance.
Her rider dismounted easily from his saddle, thick black boots thudding at they struck the cave’s stone floor. He reached over to the cord that bound her and unlocked it, then took it in his hand and kept the grip tight. With his free hand, he produced a single worn dagger from under his cloak. To his credit, he didn’t do anything so overt as pressing it to her throat. The mere act of drawing it was enough of a threat.
“I am going to release you.” His voice was old and rough, a stark contrast to the youthful strength and energy he’d demonstrated in her capture. “Do not attempt to run. We have no desire to mar your body, but we will choose less profit over letting you escape entirely.”
That was all the preamble he gave before Marie felt the bond holding her grow slack, and discovered she was able to move freely once more. She used this freedom to lift herself off the horse and get carefully onto the ground. It required a concentrated effort, because her arms had gone numb and she had to pretend to cower. Technically, now that she knew where their hide-out was, the assault could begin, but she’d promised Frank and Jack a day’s peace before catching up with her. Besides, not even Marie wanted to pick a fight when her enemies were braced for it. She preferred the element of surprise, for the brief moments she could grasp it.
The kidnapper roughly grabbed her shoulder and began marching her down one of the cave’s tunnels. It twisted as they walked; only torches lit at periodic intervals made it possible for those without her gifts to see. Marie appreciated the torches as well; she didn’t fancy having to stumble about in these shoes to mask her night vision. Within a few minutes the tunnel opened up once more. This chamber was large but contained, the tunnel being the only visible way in or out. Inside it was a massive metal cage, one that was far too large to fit through the tunnels. Marie knew that either made it magical or meant it was assembled on site, and she was hoping for the latter. Magical barriers could be a bit tricky to deal with.
Aside from the cage, the only other things in the room were a third man in dark clothes, though this one wore no cloak over his scarred face, and three young women inside the cage. Their tired eyes took in Marie’s arrival, but none made any attempt to scream or yell at the kidnapper. Marie had been to more than one prison in her time, and she knew the look of those who had lost the last vestiges of hope. Deep in her gut, a growl tried to rise, but she pushed it down. Now was not yet the time. She needed to know exactly how many there were, and to see if other girls were waiting down a different tunnel.
“Got another,” her kidnapper said.
The jailer nodded, picking up a large wooden club and walking to the cage’s door. He glared at the girls inside, watching for the slightest sign that one of them would dare to make a move for freedom. None so much as twitched, but still his gaze remained on them as he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Marie felt herself being shoved forward, and she nearly lost her footing as she stumbled across the cage’s threshold.
A loud clang filled the air as the door was slammed shut behind her, followed by the sound of the lock being turned. Reaching up, Marie carefully extracted the rag from her mouth and dropped it on the ground. Silence had been a useful tool for her capture, but now she required the use of her tongue. There was much she needed to know, and precious little time to learn it. Either her friends would show up, or her bubbling anger at these men would overf
low. Whichever event started the chaos, there was no happy ending for the men who had been stealing these girls.
Marie intended to see to that personally.
* * *
“There.” Frank pointed over Jack’s shoulder, gesturing to a small twinkle of light reflecting from the ground. They trudged across the damp grass of early morning until they reached the object. Frank bent down and picked it up, cradling it between pale fingers as he examined the sphere. “Definitely one of mine. She went this way.”
“I don’t how you can spot those things,” Jack said with a shake of his head. The shuttered lanterns Frank had built were great for directing beams of light across the ground, which made spotting the balls quite simple in the night. Now, though, with the sun shining down around them, it was more difficult to find the spherical breadcrumbs that Marie had left behind.
“I’ve got an eye for details,” Frank replied. “Besides, these are more confirmation than anything. The trail isn’t a subtle one. The only reason I couldn’t find it without Marie was how well-traveled these woods are. It’s crossed over three different fresh trails just since we’ve been tracking it.”
“Place gets a lot of foot traffic for a village off the nearest kingdom’s roads.” Jack had also noted how many of the shops in the area seemed to conspicuously avoid advertising their wares, and the way that many of the locals avoided looking at him or Frank. Jack had a lingering hunch that this place had a booming industry in the sorts of things no proper kingdom would allow to be sold, which was why they’d called in the Bastard Champions instead of sending for some knights to deal with the kidnapping. Jack’s company didn’t care about what was being done behind closed doors; they merely took the job and asked no questions beyond what was relevant.
“It does seem to be a surprisingly busy little hamlet,” Frank agreed. “Which, I suppose, is why someone thought they wouldn’t miss a few of the many maidens frequenting the streets.”