Mrs. Beast

by Pamela Ditchoff

  "Good afternoon, fellow traveler," says a man who has stepped from behind the boulder marking the crossroads.

  "This dang ass won't move," Blockhead grunts, applying his shoulder to Hermes rump. He raises his head suddenly and asks, "You smell something burning?"

  The man is finely dressed as a prosperous merchant. His broad-brimmed hat is unusually large of crown. He jiggles a purse of coins on his belt, which distracts Blockhead from noticing the man has hooves instead of feet.

  "It appears you're between a rock and a hard place," the man says.

  "Yes, sir, and this ain't the half of it," Blockhead groans. "I had to leave my sweet bride alone in our little cottage to track down Princess Beauty and give her this letter. Where do I start? She could be anywhere . . ."

  The man paws the ground impatiently.

  ". . . and Lord knows how long I'll be

  gone . . ."

  "Friend," the man thunders. Hermes kicks up his heels and tears for the woods.

  "If that ain't the frosting on the cake!" Blockhead squalls.

  "Did you say Princess Beauty? The same Princess Beauty of Kingdom Fleur de Coeur? I saw her but two weeks ago in Charmed Kingdom. I am returning to that very place today."

  "Yeah?" Blockhead mumbles, glaring into the woods where Hermes quivers behind a tree. The man struggles to maintain control and snorts ash out his nose.

  "There it is again," Blockhead sniffs. "I swear something's burning nearby."

  "I will take the scroll and place it personally into Princess Beauty's hands," the man offers.

  "I can't ask a fine gentleman like you to do my errand. Besides, you have no mule or horse and this letter is really, really important. It's a matter of life and death, could be my death if I don't run all the way . . ."

  "Please," the man thunders, and smoke slips from the corners of his mouth. "My steed is the fastest horse in Grimm Land." He whistles and a black stallion gallops from the forest. "I'll be able to reach Princess Beauty within a day, and you, my friend, can go back to your bride, spend a week together in your little cottage, and no one will be the wiser."

  Rusty wheels creak in Blockhead's brain. He extends his hand and says, "Mister . . ."

  "Mephisto."

  "Mister, you are sent from Heaven." Blockhead pumps the devil's hand, gives him the scroll, and then sprints toward his cottage, stalwartly yodeling.

  The devil drops the scroll to the ground, unbuttons his britches, aims at Runyon's letter and urinates a stream of fire.

  * * *

  Elora the Enchantress twists her blackberry lips and chortles with satisfaction. "Now Ole Fire and Brimstone will forge a letter from Runyon asking Beauty to meet him at Charming Castle."

  Croesus' eyes pop in surprise.

  "I know, he doesn't grant favors without expecting something big, like a soul, in return. He owes me a few."

  She raps her nails over the crystal ball. "Beauty's nearly at the end of her

  quest. Without this bit of deception, she might have passed through Charmed Kingdom without meeting Grimm Land's most famous fairy tale beauty."

  * * *

  Into the Lake of Longing, Harry the ferryman pulls his oars vigorously. Sweat beads on his bald head like an August watermelon. Trina sits next to him, ramrod straight and silent, feeling rejected and miserable imagining that Harry is smitten by Princess Beauty. It's going to be a long trip, Beauty surmises and directs her gaze to the mossy shoreline. Here and there an old woman smiles at a youthful reflection; an obese woman admires her svelte reflection; a pole thin woman vamps at her curvaceous reflection.

  "Why are there no men at the shore?" Beauty asks.

  "Now and then, a man will come," Harry answers. "Usually a prideful man with receded hair, twenty pounds heavier than in his youth, who has heard that the water reflects the form you long for. The lake's spell does cause a prideful man's reflection to change, but he still has wrinkles, receding hair, and twenty extra pounds; only his gender is changed to female. He scrambles from the shore thanking God he was born male, and he never returns. Most men don't need to look because we have rudders."

  Trina snorts and swipes her broad thumb over her nose.

  "What I mean is, we know where we're going and our appearance has no bearing on it, your highness."

  "Please, address me by my name as you did before. I'm the daughter of a merchant, I married a prince, and though I am a woman, I definitely know where I'm going."

  Beauty unfolds again the tale of her father's lost fortune, his encounter with the Beast, and how she learned to love him. As they near the northern shore, Beauty concludes, "I made up my mind to get my beloved Beast back. I've been traveling these past months in search of Elora the Enchantress to ask her to renew her spell."

  "By thunder, Beauty, I believe you'll do it!" Harry whoops and jumps from the boat to pull it ashore. Even Trina manages a smile and finally speaks. "Your dress is most unusual. I've never seen embroidery so finely sewn."

  "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever worn. It was made by the dwarf women of the Black Forest."

  "Hold onto your seats, ladies," Harry warns and yanks the boat ashore. Beauty's satchel tips sideways and the latch springs open.

  "Not as beautiful as that dress!" Trina exclaims, her lip sagging further down her chin. The sun has caught a piece of Beauty's yellow satin gown, the Beast's favorite gown, the gown she had planned to wear for their reunion. She pulls the dress from the satchel and three yards of buttercup-bright satin spill into Trina's lap.

  "A gift for your wedding," Beauty offers.

  "Do you mean it? This dress is fit for a queen," Trina blubbers.

  Harry jumps back in the boat and hugs his fiancé. "Trina, you are a queen, the only queen of my heart."

  As Harry and Trina bill and coo, Beauty slips away up the mossy shore, her eyes on the mist-shrouded peak of glass above Charming Castle.

  * * *

  Until she stands on the castle hill, Beauty won't be able to take in the continuous line of three hundred Mountain Ash trees surrounding Charmed Kingdom in a heart shape. Leaving the mossy shore, she meets the beginning of the kingdom's main thoroughfare, which is paved in pink quartz and runs from the tip of the heart, through the top and up to Charming Castle. Beauty ambles up the road, passing cottages painted white with pink trim and shutters. Neat squares of green lawns are enclosed by white picket fences. Charming citizens greet Beauty from their yards: "Hello. Lovely day." Laughter and music ring from each side street she passes.

  When she finally beholds Charming Castle, resplendent as the castle of all fairy tale castles should be, she also sees a richly dressed merchant astride a sinewy black stallion. In his hand he holds a scroll sealed with red wax.

  "Princess Beauty?" the man asks. "From the description Prince Runyon gave me, you can be no other lady. He sent this message for you." The man leans slightly in the saddle, extending the scroll. "Will you step off the charmed path and accept the letter?"

  Beauty recognizes Runyon's R seal. "When and where did Runyon give you this message,” she asks.

  "Two weeks ago when I passed through the Kingdom of Fleur de Coeur." The man smiles gratuitously. "Kindly take this scroll. I would bring it to you, but I have a devilish case of gout."

  "I prefer to stay on the path, Mister?"

  "Mephisto."

  "You may toss the scroll to me, Mister Mephisto.”

  The devil's eyes glow red, smoke rises from his ears, and he throws the scroll at Beauty's feet. She snatches it up, breaks the seal, unwinds the parchment and reads:

  Meet me at Charming Castle.

  Love, Runyon.

  No date for this meeting, nor day of his departure? He may already be at the castle waiting for me; Beauty turns the scroll over for further clues. "Did you speak with him, Mister Mephisto?" Beauty asks. But the devil and his stallion have sunk into the earth and are already halfway to Hades.

  Beauty's mind is in turmoil. What does he want? Do I want to
see him now, with my quest nearly complete? Will he insist on taking me back to Fleur de Coeur? Is he already at the castle? The mirror!

  As she fumbles with her satchel, a man on a white horse gallops to her side, whisks her into the saddle and spurs his mount toward Charming Castle. Though the road is uphill and the horse is galloping, Beauty is not jostled or jiggled; the man cradles her between his strong arms and stronger thighs.

  "Why did you do that?" Beauty huffs and faces her abductor.

  The king, for such he is, is breathtaking; his crown sits on a head of silvery hair; his eyes are the teasing blue of an Alpine stream; his skin is bronzed and creased from the sun; the corners of his mouth curve slightly upward framing lips that court kissing of their own accord. He is Brad Pitt at fifty. "To rescue you from distress, fair damsel," the king replies.

  "My name is Beauty, and I wasn't aware I was in need of rescue."

  "Dear lady, from yonder field I saw that beast and his horse rise from beneath the ground moments before you left the city. You would have seen his horns had he doffed his hat and seen his cloven hooves had he not concealed them in his stirrups. By the way, those are charming boar skin shoes you wear on your petite feet.”

  "Beast?"

  "Fear not. I am King Paul, and I welcome you to Charmed Kingdom."

  "I'm not afraid, and I do thank you for your noble intentions. That man gave me a letter from my husband, Prince Runyon of the Kingdom of Fleur de Coeur. His letter asked that I meet him at Charming Castle. Is my husband within?"

  "Your husband has not yet visited my kingdom, but you must be my guest while you await his arrival."

  As they approach the castle entrance, ten trumpets sound, and countless servants scurry to greet King Paul. A footman helps Beauty dismount while Paul remains in the saddle, gracing his servants with a dazzling, dimpled-cheeked smile.

  "Now, I must be away to ensure all is well in my kingdom. Princess Beauty, I leave you in the care of my wife, Queen Cinderella." Paul tugs on the reins, his steed rears, whinnies and paws the air. The servants, grooms, footmen, and trumpeters collectively exhale with adoration. At the top of the stair is a woman veiled in Chantilly lace from gold crown to gold shoes. On her shoulder perches an albino raven whose pink eyes roll suspiciously over Beauty.

  "I don't like the sun. Won't you come inside?" Cinderella squeaks in a voice like fingernails on slate.

  "Who in blazes are you?" the raven caws when Beauty reaches the top stair.

  "Mother, please be nice," Cinderella peeps.

  Upon close inspection, Beauty sees that the raven's white feathers neither gleam nor shine. Its beak is like a human fingernail, white at the tip and turning progressively pink until it meets the skull in a bloody crescent. Its legs and claws are scaly and snag in Cinderella's veil as it shuffles nervously on her shoulder.

  "I'm Beauty," she addresses the silhouette behind the veil. "I received a message from my husband, Prince Runyon, asking me to meet him at Charming Castle."

  "I'm sorry, Princess Beauty, your husband is not here." Beauty believes she sees a pair of pouting lips ruffle the veil.

  "Yes, King Paul told me, and he said I was welcome to be your guest until Runyon arrives. I don't know how long that may be, but I do know how to discover where he is at the moment. I was about to consult my magic mirror when . . . "

  The raven drops like a stone on Beauty's satchel, closes its claws around the handles, and flies into the palace. "Oh, no!" Beauty cries.

  "Do not worry," Cinderella squeaks. "Mother's simply taking it to your chamber."

  Beauty follows Cinderella slowly and impatiently inside Charming Castle because Cinderella moves like a toddler. After passing thirty thresholds, Cinderella peeping, "Moth-er" at every one, startling thirty chamber maids, each plain as dust, Beauty asks, "Are your feet causing you pain?"

  "My, no," Cinderella giggles. "My feet are so tiny, I have to take baby steps. Moth-er," she puffs at the thirty-first threshold, her voice exhausted and wavery. She leans against the doorframe, breathing rapidly. Beauty is about to insist on continuing the search on her own when Cinderella wheezes, "There it is."

  Beauty's satchel sits, latch open, upon an immense four-poster bed, its contents strewn over the damask spread. Beauty rushes to the bed and searches through the satchel. She lifts the spread and peers under the bed.

  "How considerate of Mother to put you next to Paul and me," Cinderella squeaks.

  "The mirror is missing," Beauty moans.

  "Mother's fond of shiny things. Don't worry, we'll find your mirror as quickly as possible."

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Mother

  "Bricklebrit. Someone's trying to use the mirror without rhyming," Elora curses upon seeing her crystal ball flashing red. Croesus yawns and three gold coins slide off his tongue. Elora snaps her fingers over the ball and a pale pink eye surrounded by white feathers stares back at her. "Leapin lizards!" Elora shouts. "It's Mother. Where's Beauty?"

  Elora snaps again and Beauty appears in the Charming castle's south wing, peering into doorways. "She's made it. Obviously, Mephisto delivered the phony letter and kept his shady paws off Beauty. And speaking of shady characters," Elora raps her nails on the ball and the pink-eyed raven pops into view. "Mother is one of the shadiest, literally."

  Croesus' ears flatten and he backs away from the ball.

  "She's been dead forty years. She's a shade, a specter, a spook, the ghost of Gertrude, Cinderella's mother."

  Croesus trots boldly back to the ball. The raven opens its ghastly beak and caws, Abracadabra. Hocus-pocus. Open sesame.

  "She'll never figure it out," Elora scoffs. "She won't give up either. I may be forced to intervene."

  Croesus wags his tail expectantly.

  "Now I know I've told you Cinderella's story. It's the oldest fairy tale in Grimm Land; the most cliché fairy tale metaphor in history."

  Croesus whines and paws the crystal ball.

  "No I won't show you. I want to keep an eye on that bird, but I'll tell you Cindy's tale in a nutshell. Happy little beauty; only child of Luther, a rich merchant, and Gertrude, a doting mother. When Cindy was ten years old, Gertrude came down with the pox. She called Cindy to her bedside and said, My dear child, be pious and good, then God will protect you, and I will look down upon you from heaven. Then she died.

  Cindy lay down on Gertrude's grave and cried four months straight. Then her father married Lavinia, a widow with two teenage daughters. Sweetness and Light were attractive girls with hearts like lumps of coal."

  Within the crystal ball, the raven blinks a milky white lid and caws, Show me where King Paul is.

  "The step-sisters stole Cindy's fine clothes, gave her rags and wooden shoes to wear, worked her from morning till night and made her sleep on the hearth. Three years passed and Cindy remained pious and good because she believed God and her mother were watching. Then one day, before leaving for the fair, Luther asked his daughters what he should bring them. Sweetness said, Beautiful dresses. Light said, Pearls and precious stones. Cindy said, The first bough, Father, that knocks against your hat on your way homewards, break it off for me. Sound familiar?”

  The raven asks, Is King Paul with another woman?

  "Cindy planted the mountain ash branch on Gertrude's grave. She cried buckets, and when she finally stopped, the branch sprang into a full-grown tree. On the top most branch sat Mother with blood in her eye.

  The raven caws, Make Cinderella eighteen again.

  * * *

  Cinderella is already seated in the smallest of Charming Castle's ten dining halls when a page escorts Beauty to dinner. The room is pale yellow, the place settings are gold, and the lights from three candelabras on the table create an ambiance as soft as butter. Queen Cinderella wears a short, translucent pink veil. Her hourglass figure is wrapped in a pink gown as wispy as cotton candy; pink kid gloves extend above her elbows. From her waist hangs a small hand mirror tied with white velvet ribbon
.

  "Has my mirror been found?" Beauty asks as soon as she's seated.

  Cinderella checks her reflection in the hand mirror. "Sorry, not yet." She extracts a powder puff from somewhere in the folds of her dress. "My, my, my, what a relief it is to have a quiet evening. Usually all ten dining halls are filled with guests. Paul knows we always dine at eight. He'll be here soon. I'll just have to compensate with my undivided attention," Cinderella gushes and douses her face with talc. "My life has always been gay as spring. When I was a tiny princess, my father and my mother arranged parties every day for my two sisters and me."

  Watching Cinderella speak, Beauty can faintly see white blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She guesses that the queen is close to her own age, perhaps a few years older. This would make her approximately thirty years younger than King Paul, which is not uncommon because many queens die in the bloom of youth and must be replaced with young fertile wives.

  Cinderella prattles on about her joyous childhood, and Beauty's stomach growls.

  "Oh, my, how embarrassing," Cinderella squeaks. "Perhaps you should have an hors d'oeuvre."

  Beauty helps herself to a caviar canapé. Cinderella lifts her mirror again and powders her nose. "I'll wait for Paul. I have the appetite of a bird. I haven't gained a pound since our wedding day. I notice you're plump as a pigeon"

  "I believe pregnancy becomes me," Beauty says with a blush.

  "You're expecting?" Cinderella turns to the footman. "Serve Princess Beauty at once. Tell cook to keep King Paul's dishes warm."

  The servant returns momentarily with a bowl of soup and Kaiser rolls.

  "While you're eating, I'll tell you how Paul and I met, it's so romantic," Cinderella squeaks. For the next hour, Beauty enjoys both the excellent cuisine and the sound of a happy human voice. Cinderella gaily chatters about every detail of their courtship, the presents he gave her, and the princesses from every kingdom in Grimm Land who competed for the privilege of becoming Paul's bride.