by Wendy Mass
“You are the one who calls himself Beast?” she asks.
I nod. Who else would I be? “It wouldn’t have been my first choice for a name,” I reply, trying to be charming. “But it seemed to fit.”
She reaches across her chest and into her pack. “Sorry about this,” she says, pulling out a long, silver dagger. “Nothing personal.”
Then she throws it directly at my heart.
If I had not been so shocked when I realized the heat of the flames had caused lines to appear on the map, I would have laughed. We had tried everything but setting it on fire, and then it turns out that was exactly what we had needed to do. When Handsome sees my expression, he turns to see what has me so enthralled. It takes him a moment to realize what he is looking at. Then he grabs Veronica and the map and runs from the room. I follow close after them, glancing back only to see the boy sneer and turn away.
“It is magic!” Veronica says breathlessly when we shut ourselves back in our room.
I lean close to the paper and sniff it. “I am pretty certain it is lemon juice.”
“Whoever made this map,” Handsome says, ducking under a beam to reach for it, “went to a lot of trouble to protect it.”
We use the last rays of sun to examine it. Now the parchment clearly shows the woods; long, windy roads; a cliff; a seaport; and then a group of buildings—not quite a castle, more like a fancy estate where a high-ranking nobleman would live. At the very bottom of the map lies the mermaid fountain. At least we are in the right starting place.
Veronica is so happy that she does a little jig, kicking up her heels and clapping her hands. I do not relish ruining her mood, but I feel I must point out that nowhere on the map does it tell us what her mother’s destination was. The buildings? The fountain? Somewhere in between?
Handsome leans closer to me and whispers, “I do not want to frighten Veronica, but I think that boy saw what happened with the map.”
My eyes widen. “Do you think he would try to take it?”
“I do not know,” Handsome says. “But he seems the sort to get what he wants.”
“That he does,” I have to agree.
“I can hear you,” Veronica says, continuing to dance. “And you do not have to protect me. I am not a child.”
Handsome and I share a small smile. Of course she is a child. He and I are not much past that ourselves.
Just then hushed voices outside our door bring her dance to a swift end. We spring into action. Handsome double-checks that he had pushed the lock closed. Veronica and I run over to the wall and each peek through one of the eye-sized knots in the old wood. The holes are only waist high, so we cannot see too much. Still, it is enough to recognize the boy and his father. No one else around here dresses like that. They are each holding a towel and a ball of soap.
“The innkeeper refused to reveal their room number to me,” the boy is saying. “But judging from their ratty clothes, they are in the poor section.”
“We were lucky the best room at the inn was still available,” his father says, reaching down to violently scratch his leg.
Veronica barely stifles a giggle.
“Shh!” Handsome warns, but he is smiling, too. His smile quickly fades with the boy’s next words.
“I want that map.”
“What makes you think it is valuable?”
“The way the girl protected it. If it were not a treasure map, she would have let me see it.”
“All right,” the father says, now scratching the other leg. “After we bathe, we shall find the children. Every innkeeper has his price.” And off they go.
We step away from the wall, no one daring to speak until we hear the latrine door close firmly behind them.
“We must leave tonight,” Veronica says. Neither of us argues with her. We rush to repack our bags. Veronica stops my hand as I am about to shove the monk’s robe into my pack. “You should wear that. You, too, Handsome. In case the boy and his father are only pretending to bathe, or if their groomsman lies in wait.”
“You are right,” Handsome says, pulling his out.
“But where will we go once we leave the inn?” I ask, slipping the robe over my head and shoulders. “Darkness is soon upon us, and this is the only inn in town.”
“I do not know,” Veronica replies, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “We shall worry about that once we are clear of this place.”
Handsome unlocks the door and peeks out. He steps through and waves us along. “One thing I must do first,” he whispers, motioning for us to stay in the doorway. He tiptoes down to the end of the hall toward the latrine. I hold my breath. He is so close to them!
He slowly pushes the bolt across the door, successfully locking them inside. “Just buying us some time,” he says with a wink.
“Nicely done,” I say, nodding appreciatively.
And so one little girl and two hooded monks sneak down the stairs of The Welcome Inn, trying to look casual and no doubt failing miserably. Flavian takes one look at us, rolls his eyes, and waves for us to follow him. Having no better options, we let him lead us out the back door, where the horses and carriages are stored.
He holds open the door of the most opulent of the carriages. The doors are gilded with gold leaf, and the cushions are plush and firm. “Get in,” he orders. “You can stay here until morn. When they come down to speak with the innkeeper, I will tell them you left long ago. They will never think to look in their own carriage. And the map? Nothing but a guide to the best places to collect berries.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask, hurrying inside after Handsome.
“It is my job to know everything that goes on at the inn.”
Veronica steps onto the carriage stairs and gives Flavian a hug. “You should go home to your daughter,” she whispers into his oversize ear. “She would rather have you over whatever coin you make here.” Then she slips something into his hand and jumps inside the carriage.
I wake to Handsome shaking my shoulder. “Time to go,” he whispers. “Daybreak will soon be here, and we do not know when the boy and his father will be leaving.”
I nod and stretch, feeling surprisingly well rested. The carriage was cozy and warm, and the bench as soft and plush as it had appeared. I do not know how much coin Veronica gave Flavian last night, but he not only stood guard outside all night, he brought us crescent rolls and warm butter for breakfast.
Veronica has decided that the group of buildings on the map is the place her mother most likely sought, so that is where we are headed. The first leg of the journey consists of miles and miles of road, which would take us weeks if we were to attempt to walk it. So instead we climb from our plush overnight lodging to a barely-holding-together-at-the-seams carriage-for-hire.
The new carriage comes with a grouchy coachman and a very gassy horse, but we are putting distance between us and The Welcome Inn, and that is a good thing. Veronica must have a seemingly endless supply of coin, because the coachman agreed to drive us as far as we need without asking questions.
We stop only when the coachman or his horse gets tired. One night we even sleep in a barn, with nothing but some scruffy farm animals to keep us warm. If I thought our horse had a bad odor, that was before I spent the night with a cow sleeping not an arm’s length from my face.
On the third day, Handsome tries to make the time pass faster by making up stories about the welcome we shall receive when we arrive at the grand estate. Never mind that we do not even know who lives there, or why Veronica’s mother wanted to go there, or even if that truly was her destination. “Splendid gardens and babbling brooks await us,” he promises. “Feasts of grilled lamb and peach pies and cold cider. Private bathhouses where the water is topped with fragrant rose petals, and towels as soft as velvet. Servants to dress you in fine linens and —”
“And my mother shall be there to greet us,” Veronica finishes.
Handsome hesitates, then says, “I hope you are right.”
Time slows
to a creeping halt as I watch the dagger grow ever nearer. I can see both edges spinning in the air, sharp enough to cut stone. I may be thicker skinned now, but I am not made of stone. It finally dawns on me to question why anyone would show up for a date when it is barely time for breakfast.
Some beastlike instinct I did not know I possessed takes over. I spring to the side, then leap upon the girl, holding down her flailing arms. Valerian finally springs into action as well. He places his boot on her chest and blows the whistle around his neck. While he waits for another guard to arrive, he yells down at her, “I do not like the beast, either, but that does not mean you can kill him!”
She raises her head and spits at his boot. “I have been hired to avenge the deaths of the royal family. You should let me finish the job.”
Valerian shakes his head, keeping his boot right where it is. “My cousin told me the royal family is not dead yet. Had you killed the beast, you may have been responsible for their deaths.”
I bend my head closer to the girl. “Who hired you?”
She struggles, but it is of no use. I am incredibly strong.
“A group of loyal villagers, if you must know.”
I can hear the pounding of hooves around the side of the castle. The guards will be here any second. The girl continues in vain to free herself.
“But why did you tell our guard you were here for a date?”
“That is what they told me to say. Apparently, some old man has been going through town asking for dates for the beast.” She looks me up and down. “You may want to set your sights lower.”
“First you try to kill me, then you insult me?”
“Enough chitchat,” Mother hisses from my side. “Get back in the castle before the other guards see you and kill you themselves!”
The girl whirls her head to the side. “Who is there? I demand you unhand me!”
After being sure Valerian has her under control, I hurry back through the castle door. My parents soon arrive at my side and each place a hand on my back. “How bad is it?” Mother asks, the worry evident in every word.
Only then do I realize the dagger scratched my arm after all. “How bad is what? The wound or the date?”
Father chuckles.
“The wound hurts but a little. The fur protected me, I think. But I would have to say that was the worst date in the history of mankind.”
“I would have to agree, son,” Father says, sitting down beside me. “She is the sheriff’s problem now.”
“Let us hope he was not one of the ‘loyal villagers’!” I reply.
“When Parker returns,” Mother says, “he will have to remind the villagers that the royal family’s safety depends on the beast.” She dresses my wound (which truly would have been much worse had I been the old Prince Riley) but does not mention how I defended myself. I think my parents are a bit unsure how to handle that. I am, too. Had I not been wearing my gloves, I could have sliced her into pieces. I shudder. Not a nice thought.
“If you don’t mind,” I tell them, “I’d like to be alone.” They do not argue, and I pull my sleeve down over the bandage and head up to the library. I run my gloved fingers along the spines of the books, trying to recall where I left it.
“Looking for this?” a small but steady voice asks.
I whirl around to find Freddy, the young page, standing before me, grinning. He holds out the book I had been searching for. I step backwards and an entire row of books tumble to the ground. Neither of us makes a move to pick them up.
“Why are you still here, in the castle?”
He shrugs. “I had nowhere else to go.”
I remember his sad story. He really didn’t have any place to go. “Why are you not scared of a beast such as myself?” I ask. “Rumor has it I eat people.”
“Oh, you would not eat me,” he says. “For I bring the book you seek. That, and the fact that we are friends, Prince Riley. It would be most unkind to eat a friend.”
I smile, not even minding that the point of my nose digs into my lip. “How did you know it was me?”
He nods. “I was not completely sure until just now, when you came to find the book. I have been listening to you and your family, but the walls muffle your words. I believe I have put the story together now — you’re a beast and your family is invisible and you need to find a girl to love you. Am I correct?”
“Indeed, that is the sorry state of my life these days. Remember when my biggest concern was looking foolish at the Harvest Ball?”
He laughs and I join in. I am so pleased he has shown up. I am in desperate need of a friend. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”
He points to the tapestry beside the one window. “There is a passage underneath that leads to a series of tunnels. I have been living in the tunnel behind the kitchen. It is quite cozy, actually.”
Well, at least that explains how he always sneaks up on me. I wonder what else I don’t know about my own home! “How come I have not heard of these tunnels?”
He shrugs. “The staff uses them to get around without bothering the royal family or their guests. I mean, your guests.” He bows his head slightly. “You are still the prince, of course, although you do not look much like him.”
I reach out to shake his hand. “I am very, very glad to see you, Freddy. Thank you for not running away from me like everyone else. You are much braver than you think.”
His cheeks flush at the compliment. “I am glad to have a friend like you. I care not what shape you take.” He steps back to size me up. “Although I must say you are quite the sight! I cannot wait to hear the story of how you became this way. But first let me give you this.” He hands me the book. It feels much smaller in my huge hands. I open the front page and see Pilsner’s name right there in big letters. I was right! He did write this! “Thank you! This will hopefully help me break the spell the witch cast upon me. You will have to start believing in them now.”
He sighs. “I suppose I must. But I hope you will not pin all your hopes on that book.”
“Why not?”
“Take a look.”
I lay the book down on a table and turn past the author’s name to the first page. Instead of words, strange symbols swim before my eyes. Numbers and triangles and many-sided figures, in no recognizable pattern. I flip the book closed.
“Rats.”
By our fourth day of travel, I feel like I have been cooped up in this stuffy carriage for half my life. With nothing but dirt and trees and one another to look at, it has been quite tedious. At midday, the coachman pulls into a village square around the size of our own. I see an apothecary shop outside my window and feel my first longing for home.
The coachman instructs us to find lunch and return promptly. Veronica catches me glancing at the apothecary shop and offers to get the food with Handsome so I can go look inside. For one so young, she has a gift for knowing what people need.
As I approach the shop, a blind man with a cane pushes the door open. I reach out to hold it open for him. I could swear I hear a male voice say thank you, but the old man’s mouth did not move. I wait for someone else to come out behind him, but he is alone. Perhaps too many days with the same people simply has me wishing for the sound of new voices.
This apothecary shop is much smaller than Master Werlin’s but even busier. I have to wait for the apothecary, a much younger man, to finish pulling a rotted tooth from a woman’s mouth. I notice he does not bother to numb the area first by having her chew tarragon leaves. But unlike Handsome at the baker’s, I am able to hold my tongue. Until the poor woman yelps in pain and I blurt it out.
Then, just like Handsome, I am promptly escorted outside.
Two more days on the road and we finally reach the port town shown on the map. It feels good to stretch my legs and breathe the salty, fishy sea air. I have never seen such a large body of water and am both enthralled and overwhelmed by it. Papa has been to port towns before, and has told us tales of the blue waves bobbing up and do
wn and crashing on the shore, and I have seen it in paintings, of course, but no one described the smell.
We easily scamper down the large rocks along the side of the cliff and walk along the sandy beach. The buildings from the map loom in the distance atop a cliff, too high and too far away to see in any detail. We watch the boats come and go, tilting our faces to the sun and feeling the warmth on our cheeks.
Veronica is the first to break away. She sits down on a large rock on the shoreline, unties her boots, and dangles her feet in the water like it is the most natural thing to do. I take a step back. Handsome hangs back, too, then unties his boots, rolls up his pant legs, and runs in!
“You must try this!” he cries, splashing like a child on a hot summer day. “It is lovely!”
I shake my head. I have spent many hours playing in the narrow river outside our village, but this is quite different. It is too deep, too vast.
Veronica takes out the map. “Do you think we should cross the sea, or go around the peninsula? The woods look very dense to me, perhaps impassable.”
“The sea,” Handsome shouts, scooping up water with his hands now.
“The woods?” I suggest, knowing already that I am outnumbered.
“The sea it is!” Veronica says. She folds up the map and heads down the shoreline to talk to the fishermen.
Handsome splashes around while I dig through my pack for any leftover mint or ginger to chew. We used up most of it during the endlessly bumpy carriage ride. Had I thought ahead to the boat portion of our travels, I would have doled it out more sparingly.
When next I look up, it is to find Veronica dragging a rowboat along the shallow sea. She stumbles and splashes every few steps but has that determined look on her face that I have grown to know well.
“No one will take us,” Veronica announces when she reaches us. “Too many strange happenings, so they say. Sailors not returning. Noises and lights at odd hours.”
“So you stole a boat?” Handsome asks, helping her drag it onto the sand.