“I know.” She nodded, “Erik, he’s gone. I don’t know where, but they were just going to keep me there, as a prisoner. They’re saying I’m a witch.” She confessed nervously, “I don’t know if they still burn witches around these parts, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Oh, is that why I’m risking my neck for you? Witchcraft?” He asked, amusement in his tone. Isabelle smiled in spite of herself. Peter drew her to him and slipped an arm under hers to steady her.
“If that kind of power was within my grasp, I promise you I would have at least paused to bewitch myself some shoes.” She hobbled despite his help, and he whistled sympathetically.
“And you’ve come all the way from the castle, like that? It’s nearly an hour travelling by cart."
“Well, you were going to walk all the way up to collect me.” She pointed out, taking pains to try and walk normally.
“Aye. But I have boots on.” He grinned.
“But you didn’t know that the Beast was away. For all you knew he could have been in the forests right now.” Isabelle argued, and though Peter opened his mouth, he closed it again silently.
Isabelle smirked triumphantly and the two began their slow walk to the city.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The city was both exactly what she expected, and completely unimaginable. It was small, perhaps the same size as Lomsen, but it was encompassed in the same enormous, old walls that the castle was. Though here, they were in a sorrier state, crumbling, some all-out broken. The back of the city edged against the mountain, a steep steel grey cliff which created a beautiful, impenetrable wall. It glittered in the sunlight, dazzling. Tall trees miles above, thriving on the cliff edge. There were houses and buildings which gradually inclined upwards, the entire place was on a steep road which twisted into the mountain. In the distance, higher still, she could see ranches and farms at seemingly impossible angles, it was a triumph of adaptability that the people could survive here.
They followed the main road in. As they met the buildings, it began to fragment into other well-trodden, cobbled paths, twisting through tall houses and backstreets. It was like something from the pages of history. Windows were open, and people bustled back and to, there was more life here than she had seen in months. Isabelle was worried that she might stick out and was grateful for the dark cloak Peter had afforded her. Her makeshift curtain-cloak had remained in the woods, covered in her scent, hopefully by the time Erik began hunting her, she would be long gone. If not, then it would be a feeble distraction.
“Keep your head down and move quickly, we must talk inside. I have a room at the inn.”
“I see how it is.” Isabelle teased, but Peter shook off the suggestion and took her hand. It seemed silly to be so cautious whilst there were so many people milling about, after all, nobody here knew what she looked like.
It was hard to make their way through the throngs, they were pushed and shoved every which way. Isabelle grew less concerned that she would be noticed with each and every step, it was almost as if she and Peter were invisible.
Eventually, they ducked in through the open door of the inn and Isabelle finally dared to let herself breathe. She didn’t say a word as they stooped through the tiny door and into his private room.
She raked her eyes over the space in dismay. There was a little cot, with barely a blanket on it, a small chest of drawers, a stout stool sat by a squat, rattling window. The window was one of two, the front was the only one that let light in, the other was entirely overshadowed by the steep cliff behind.
“It’s not much,” Peter confessed.
“It’s like something out of a museum.” Isabelle was still picking her way around when she came across the bucket in the corner, “tell me that’s not...”
“The toilet. One and the same.” He gestured to it distractedly.
“Yuck.” She grimaced and gave it a wide birth.
“I didn’t picture you for the squeamish type.” It was his turn to tease her and she glowered at him for his trouble.
“Why do you stay here?” She asked, sitting down on the cot.
“It’s the only inn in the city. Nowhere has plumbing. At all. It surprised me too when I first arrived.”
“It’s abysmal. Even the castle has plumbing.”
“It does?” He sounded surprised and she nodded. “Maybe they thought it was a passing fancy that the city could ignore. But look, I have a lot to tell you. And we don’t have much time.”
“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked as she moved to the window. The view of the bustling street beneath was comforting, it had been a long time since she had been among real people. “Are they always like this?”
“No. There’s some sort of celebration happening tomorrow.”
“Celebration? I wonder if it’s because of Kari’s birthday.” She mused softly. It was something Isabelle couldn’t shake. Whether it was the symmetry of it being her birthday too, or something else, she didn’t know. But it was playing on her mind a lot.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Probably nothing. This room is so small,” she got up and opened the window “and stuffy. Can we go back outside?” But before she had even finished her sentence he had hurried over and closed the window, and the curtains, Isabelle looked affronted.
“Peter? What are you doing-”
“Izzy-” He put his hands on her shoulders and directed her back to the cot. He pulled the stool away from the window and sat facing her.
“My dad used to call me Belle. It means beauty you know." The light smile on her face evaporated at the thought of her father. “I made him stop as I grew up, people used to hate me for it. They’d call me conceited. I think I like Izzy better.”
“There’s something off about this place." Peter said, ignoring her anecdote entirely, "All of it. I’ve been digging around, I went to the library after I left you, looked at old newspapers”
“Old newspapers?”
“Well yeah, that’s something else that’s weird. They don’t have a paper. Haven’t in hundreds of years. The printed paper that was made here is centuries old…”
“How many?” She asked, and he scowled, surprised at the interruption, “how many centuries?” She clarified insistently, “three?” Isabelle asked, perching herself down on the end of the bed. At Peter’s questioning glance she took a breath, “that’s when Erik - the beast, was cursed.” His mouth formed a silent ‘oh’ and he ran a hand along his chin in thought.
“That’s not even the weirdest part. The papers that I found, they’re all still in the library-”
“Really?” Isabelle’s eyes lit up, perhaps that would give her more insight into Erik’s family,
“Isabelle would you listen, please?” She dropped her gaze apologetically and he continued, raking his hands through his hair. “This sounds crazy enough to my own ears, I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud, but the pictures in the paper, the names, they’re of people I know. The people I’ve known for years, the butcher, the guy who runs the horse farm up the mountain, the women selling flowers in the street. They haven’t changed. At first, I thought it was coincidence, but they had this one picture on the front page. A funeral, some big lavish thing.”
“It must have been somebody from the palace, Erik’s family.”
“What? There are others, like him?” He asked, looking up sharply.
“No. Never mind. I’ll explain later, go on…”
“There was a picture of the carriage being drawn through the town centre. It had a reference to a portrait here in town. I found it. Belle, the people here, they’re the same. The town is exactly the same. Not a thing has changed in three centuries. It’s impossible and crazy and-”
“I believe you.” Peter stopped mid-sentence; brow creased in confusion.
“I found a picture of the castle servants, from back before the curse, a portrait of all of them. They’re exactly the same as they are today, to the wrinkle. Peter don’t you see? They’re all curse
d, not just Erik. They’re all in on it. I’ve been so stupid. I thought I was hallucinating, the fever, and exhaustion, but-”
“We have to get you out of here. If they are all involved, then they’re all going to be looking for you.” He realised, he stared blindly at the wall until Isabelle suddenly sat up straight.
“Oh God, I break the curse.”
“What?" He blurted, "How?”
“I’ve no idea, they thought I was the key, it’s why they brought me here. I thought I’d failed and that’s why everything has suddenly changed, but what if it’s not? What if they need me?” Isabelle stood and began pacing back and too in the tiny room. “Peter, we have to get out of here. It’s not just about ridding themselves of the beast, it’s about freeing all of them. And it has something to do with me.”
“Lord.” He exclaimed, burying his face into his hands before pushing himself off the bed. “Right. We can’t take you out of here during the day, the entire town is out and once they know you’ve escaped…we’ll leave tonight. I’ll go now, you hole up here, I don’t think anybody saw us coming in- word from the castle probably hasn’t even reached them here yet.”
“Are you sure?” She hated the idea of being left in the little stuffy room on her own. Trapped again.
“Everybody is pretty nosey, if they’d have seen us, they’d have said something.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and Isabelle almost apologised for putting all of this on him, instead she pursed her lips and stayed quiet. “I’ll go now. I’ll get us a horse, but we’ll leave the wagon, it will draw too much attention and we’re going to want to be fast.”
“I can ride” she offered, but Peter shook his head.
“One horse. We might have to disguise you as we ride out. Under a cloak or…” he trailed off, “I’ll think of something. You stay here. Ok? Don’t go near the window. Don’t draw any attention to yourself. Don’t make any noise. We can’t leave together, but if you keep my cloak...” he was thinking aloud, and his words trailed off until he spoke again sounding much surer. “Meet me at the edge of town tonight, just after dark, stay on the backstreets, when you reach the edge of the forest, I’ll be there waiting. Don’t be seen. Okay?”
“Okay.” Isabelle nodded solemnly, rather too grateful to say anything else.
“I’ll get you out of here, I’ll get you safe. I promise.” At this, he scooped up her hands,
“I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armour.” She intoned, “we’re in this together.”
“No, we’re not. I could walk away now and go home. You can’t. You can play down how much you need me, but you do.”
“Thank you.” There wasn’t much she could say to that. She would be indebted to him, and she had a sinking feeling that she understood exactly what that meant. It was emphasised when he leant in and surprised her by pressing a kiss to her lips, astonished and a little awkward, Isabelle didn’t move. He smiled as he pulled away and she mimicked it, though every part of her was suddenly worried.
Was she trading a physical prison for a social one? She didn’t want Peter; she didn’t have feelings for him. He wasn’t Erik. But that was a battle she suspected she would be fighting with herself, for the rest of her life.
Erik didn’t love her.
Erik didn’t want her.
“Try not to do anything stupid whilst I’m gone?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Isabelle retorted, a playful smirk on her lips. She could play the part; she would worry about the rest later.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The afternoon stretched on for an age. Isabelle paced like a caged animal, she didn’t like it, being stuck up here when she could be down there, finding out everything there was to know about Erik. She wondered if there were pictures, she longed to know what he’d looked like before the curse. Anything, in fact, that could tell her more about who he was, and why he had to endure such a brutal curse. It was a hard-fought war, but common sense won out in the long run.
As the sun began to set, Isabelle almost cheered in relief. It wasn’t quite dark, but close enough as she edged down the stairs. She got to the last one before it creaked, loudly, and she froze for a long moment.
Nobody came. Breathing a sigh of relief, she bolted for the door.
The streets were as empty as the inn had been. It was dark now, but she had still expected there to be some noise, some sign of life. The voices of people winding down from the day, revelry, anything. For a short while she kept to the backstreet, but it was very dark, there were no torches burning, not inside or out. There was no din, no conversation, it was like death had already encompassed them. Finding it eerie and unsettling, Isabelle did what any sensible person would do. She picked her way off the back street to see if the main street was any busier.
Danger or not, being out here alone in what felt like a vacuum, was disorientating and frightening.
What if Peter had fled and left her here?
The main road was no better. It was just as lifeless, but from the cobbles of the main road, she could at least see where everybody was. Her eyes followed the road to the castle, which from here snaked through the forest like a dark river. Halfway up there was a procession of torches, hundreds, a bright orange glow trampling along the horizon. They were going to the castle. Why?
It didn’t seem like much of a celebration procession, more like an angry mob.
Isabelle swallowed thickly, what was supposed to happen tomorrow?
A nagging voice in the back of her head remembered reading about medieval witch trials and she shuddered.
Isabelle decided, reluctantly, that it was probably best she didn’t know. Focusing her attention on more relevant questions, Isabelle went back to looking around.
Where was Peter?
Was nobody left in town?
Were they truly safe?
Did she have time to find the library?
A hand grabbed her arm and Isabelle spun around quickly to find the face of Peter shushing her, she punched his arm for emphasis. That answered one question.
“Don’t shush me, and don’t sneak up on a woman in the dark.”
“I told you to stay at the backroad!” He chastised,
“Nobody's here.” She waved her arms around vaguely.
“Yes.” He nodded, but he didn’t sound as excited as she. “I had noticed that. I doubt everybody has gone though, so come off the main road and follow me. The sooner we’re away from here, the better.”
“No wonder the journalists were so curious,” Isabelle spoke as they ducked back into the narrow, winding street between the backs of the buildings. “You don’t have to spend more than five minutes here to know that something isn’t right. It’s creepy.”
“I always thought it was kind of charming.” He interjected, shrugging. They walked on for a little bit in silence, eventually, it got so dark that he took her hand, so he wouldn’t lose her again. Isabelle had begun to suspect that he didn’t entirely trust her not to get them in more trouble.
“Hey!” A familiar voice barked in the darkness, “Isabelle?”
“What?” Isabelle snapped; her tone crotchety because he was treating her like a child.
“Huh?” Peter muttered, lost in thought.
“You said my name.” She insisted in the face of Peter’s confusion.
“No I didn’t-”
“It was me. Down here.” Isabelle and Peter looked at each other for a long time before looking around. Eventually, just up from the floor, they found the source of the voice through a small grate. A pale face stared out at them. “How are you out of the castle? They’ve all left, you should be-”
“We know,” Peter responded before Belle could.
“Thomas?” Isabelle pulled from Peter’s grip and she practically heard his teeth clench. She fell to her knees before the grate. “What are you doing in there?” Her stomach clenched at the notion that this might be her fault.
“They put me in here after the master banished me fr
om the castle. All of them, mother, father, Maggie. They just stood there whilst the others locked me away. Can you let me out?” His eyes were hard, angry, Isabelle’s guilt manifested in her immediate need to help him. “The beast, they’re going to let him – he’s not around – when he comes back…they want him to execute me. Please, you can let me out…”
“No.” Peter shook his head and made to tug Isabelle along.
“I can help you; you want to get out of here, don’t you? I can tell you; I can tell you everything. About him, about the Master. King Erik. I lied before. We were told to, Isabelle, I know everything. Including what they’re going to do to you.” The bright eyes which she had grown to know over the last few months stared back at her, but the gentleness from his face was gone, in its place there was a deranged desperation. Here was a man who had lost everything. And it was her fault.
“How can we trust you?” She asked. Peter threw up his hands in annoyance.
“Because I have nothing left to lose.”
“What’s wrong with the town, why does everybody look like they did hundreds of years ago.”
“We’re all cursed, locked in time.”
“So everything is part of the curse?”
“We are.” He nodded solemnly. Isabelle didn’t know what to ask first, she wanted to know what he’d meant by do to her, though she’d already come to the conclusion that the fate that awaited her wasn’t going to be nice. But there was something far more important at stake.
“I want to know about Erik.”
“Of course. I can tell you everything. About his mother, father, the curse. I can tell you it all, but not from in here. You must let me go, let me have a chance at getting out of here. If you’re leaving and all hope is gone…I can’t stay.”
“Isabelle it’s too damn dangerous, he could be a trap,” Peter muttered furiously.
“We can’t just leave him!” Isabelle turned angrily, eyes wide, “it’s all my fault that he’s locked in there in the first place.” Was there an end to the lives she’d inadvertently ruined? First Thomas’, then Maggie’s, the Hands’, now Peter’s? Leaving Thomas locked down there to rot was not an option.
The Beast Queen Page 20