Depravity: A Beauty and the Beast Novel (A Beastly Tale Book 1) (6 page)

Near the road, I paused to bend and catch my breath.  Four times I’d stood within the walls of the estate and escaped with my life; and now, with his offer, I’d ensured my safety if I should ever find myself within those walls again.

After a few moments, I wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on my brow and started my journey.  The letter from my father rested within the bag that lay limp against my hip.  I wished I had something with which to carry water, for I sorely needed a drink and my journey had just begun.

Recalling Father’s request to return before dark, I lengthened my stride and followed the road from the estate northwest.

*    *    *    *

The roar of rushing water announced the Deliichan River, which bordered the hilltop village of Water-On-The-Bridge.  Eager to deliver the message, I strode forward around the last bend in the road and caught my first glimpse of the water-slicked bridge.  In winter, the spray from the water that crashed upon the rocks below froze on the thick, wood planks to create a treacherous trek across.

For as long as anyone could remember, there had always been water on the bridge, the reason for the village’s name.  They’d tried moving the bridge, but the river didn’t tolerate additional bridges well, and they usually fell to ruin shortly after their completion.  Only this one remained steadfast with very little repair needed.

Because of the precariousness of the bridge, many merchants ended their routes at Water-On-The-Bridge, not bothering to trade with Konrall.  The baker made the journey once a month for his flour from the mill while the tinker only rode this way when his supplies ran low.  The seamstress and the candle maker dealt with the single traveling merchant who still traversed the bridge.

My footsteps echoed hollowly on the planks and fine droplets settled on my cheeks as I crossed.  The mill stood as a tall sentinel on the opposite side of the river, its elevated floors hovering a few feet above the water, steady on the thick stilts sunk deep into the riverbed.  The waterwheel that turned the stone grinder spun slowly in the swift current, but I knew its power and the fine powder it turned out.

The road on the other side of the river suffered deep ruts due to the constant traffic from the town to the mill.  I took care to traverse the shoulder so I could view the bustling trade without fear of being run down by horse or wagon.  There was much to observe.

Water-On-The-Bridge presented a larger variety of trade than Konrall, including things a proper lady shouldn’t stare at.  However, without my father accompanying me, I took the opportunity to watch the alehouse women, whom I knew if asked, would serve more than a drink.

A tall brunette laughed loudly, throwing her head back to expose her neck.  It made her look pretty, smoothing the lines of her loose skin and bringing a natural flush to her mottled complexion.  Her customer, a man at ease while he sipped ale at a table, watched her chest with interest.  Her dress pushed the tops of her pale breasts up on display much as my dress did.  The man reached forward and pulled her close with a tug on her skirt.  She leaned down to hear what he said, and he buried his face in her cleavage.  She laughed harder as I passed from their view.

The scene made me distinctly uncomfortable with my own display, but I persisted forward, knowing the house I sought was highly respectable.  Mr. Jolen Pactel, the current Head, lived past the House of Whispering Sisters, which I found entertaining since his purpose was to maintain the peace and theirs was to bring peace, but in completely different ways.  As Head, Mr. Pactel settled disputes and set down judgments in place of the Liege Lord, an absent fellow for near fifty years.  The title of Head wasn’t an elected one, but an inherited one; and the Pactel family had held the position of Head for the last forty years with fair rulings.  The House of Whispering Sisters brought peace, one client at a time, with their sweet smelling smoke, veiled faces, and unveiled bodies.

With nothing to trade and no coin, I suffered the delicious aromas of simmering stews and baking pastries as I walked through the market district.  The cloying smoke from the Whispering Sisters house fogged my head briefly as I caught a glimpse of a pale, slim torso and a grey veiled face through an open window.

Away from the noise of commerce, I stepped under the arched stone wall that bordered the two-story house of the Head.  After a single knock, the dense oak door swung open, and a thick-armed man greeted me with an impassive look.

“Good day.  I have a message for the Head from Mr. Benard Hovtel of Konrall.”

The man stepped aside and bid me to enter.  I willingly stepped into the spacious entry and admired the smooth sanded plank floor covered with a pretty, woven rug.  Spring flowers adorned the side table, scenting the air sweetly.

“This way,” the man murmured, leading me toward a small room near the back of the house.

A smaller man sat behind a desk there.  Sitting in a chair in the corner near the door through which we walked was another thick-armed man.  I understood the business of the Head and knew men strong enough to help keep the peace were needed.

“She has a message for the Head,” the man announced behind me once I entered the room.  Without waiting for a response from the man behind the desk, my escort left.

The short, thin man at the desk looked up from his papers, and with a pleasant smile, he stood when he saw me.

“Good day, dear lady,” he greeted me.  “Mr. Pactel is currently occupied elsewhere in the Water. May I be of assistance?”

“I’m not certain,” I said hesitantly.  “My father sent me here to deliver this message to Mr. Pactel.”  I reached into my bag, heard the man in the corner shift behind me, and quickly withdrew the sealed letter.  When I glanced over my shoulder, the man was just settling back into his chair, eyeing me critically.

“And you are?”

“Sorry,” I said, remembering myself.  “Benella.”

“I am Tibit.  Would you mind if I read the letter?”  He didn’t reach for the letter I held out, letting me decide first.  Since I had no idea what it contained, I didn’t know what to say.  Though my father trusted me, at least I thought he did, he knew to what extent I could protect his letter and surely wouldn’t write anything of significant importance.

“I think that would be fine, Mr. Tibit.”

“Just Tibit will do,” he said politely, reaching for the letter.  He broke the seal and scanned the contents.  “Ah, yes.  The school master.”

“My father,” I clarified.

Tibit looked up at me with a half-smile.

“Tell your father the offer still stands, and we are pleased to hear he is finally considering it.”

With that, he moved back to his desk, effectively dismissing me with not one offer of refreshment or further explanation.  I kept my disappointment from my face and thanked him for his time before taking my leave.  A hint about the offer after which my father had inquired would have been nice, but a drink much more welcomed.

*    *    *    *

After some time on the road, the rattle and clink of a wagon sounded ahead.  Cautiously, I moved aside.  Traffic from Konrall was rare, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.  Perhaps the baker was heading toward the mill for his flour.  I quickly fled the road.  The mist welcomed me as I slipped through the trees in the direction of the wall.  The rattle of the wagon grew louder as it neared.

Peeking through the trees, I sighed in relief when I spotted the traveling merchant’s wagon but didn’t step out to greet him.  I didn’t want to startle the horses.  Exhausted, I trudged the rest of the way home to arrive before dinner and Father’s return.

“Where did Father send you?” Bryn asked, opening the cottage door before I could knock.

“Please, sister,” I said.  “I’m tired, thirsty, and hungry.  Let me in so I can sit.”

She scowled at me but moved aside so I could shuffle into the dim cottage.  The sky had grown increasingly dark during my journey home, and now a thick, light grey blanket of clouds covered the sun.  With no candles to spare, Bryn had lit a fire in the hearth to try to brighten the kitchen.  I sat in a chair and sighed when she sat across from me.

“Well?”

It wasn’t that I expected my sister to wait on me.  I’d just thought she would have the courtesy to offer to get me a drink after knowing I’d been gone all day.  Tiredly, I stood and fetched myself a cup of water.

“Benella.  Really, where are your manners?  I’m asking you a question,” she said.

“Water-On-The-Bridge,” I managed to say between gulps.

“How unfair,” Bryn cried.

Blye stepped into the room from our bedroom, two panels of fabric in her hands and pins in her mouth.  Bryn spotted the question in her eyes and explained.

“Father sent Benella to Water-On-The-Bridge.”  Bryn turned back to me.  “We’re both older.  We should have been allowed to go.”

I set down the cup with a laugh.

“You would have walked twelve miles and back in a single day without any food or water?  I doubt not.”

Bryn had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.  “I thought Father sent you in a wagon.”

“With what coin?” I said, exasperated.  Her face took on a flushed hue, and Blye’s eyes rounded.  “I’m tired,” I said quickly before she could respond.  I turned to head to our room.

Blye spit the pins out into one of her hands.

“You can’t go in there.  I’m using your bed to lay out my dress pattern.”  I stared at her.  Using my bed to make another new dress for herself?  Perhaps, if I hadn’t been so tired, my temper would have sparked, but I couldn’t find the energy.

Instead of answering, I turned and let myself into Father’s study, closing the door behind me.  His chair wasn’t very comfortable to sleep in, but the rug before his hearth would suit me fine.  I lay down on the floor and closed my eyes.

“Bini, child, wake up,” Father said softly, touching my hair.

The shoulder pressing into the rug ached with cold, and my eyes felt hot and gritty as I blinked them open.  Outside, the wind blew, rattling the branches, and a slight breeze came down the unlit chimney in Father’s study.

“Come eat some warm soup,” he encouraged, helping me to my feet.

In the kitchen, Bryn and Blye waited at the table.  The unusual sight gave me pause.  They never held dinner for me.  As soon as I sat, Bryn started serving a thick vegetable soup.

“I assume everything went well at the Water, Bini?” Father asked while we waited.

“The Head was absent, but Tibit said they were pleased you were considering their offer.”

“What offer?” Blye inquired.

“A private teaching position.”

Bryn paused in her ladling. 

“That’s the one you considered before we moved here, isn’t it?  Four years is a long time for a position to remain open.  What’s wrong with it?”

“The position is fine.  The pay is slightly more than I make now,” he assured us.

I watched my sisters’ eyes glimmer with excitement, but I felt wary.

“Why didn’t you take it four years ago, then?” I asked.

Bryn passed the soup around.  It filled the void in my stomach and warmed my blood.

He gave me a slight, sad smile.

“The cottage is not fit for a family of four.”  Before my sisters could ask how he meant for us to live there if there wasn’t enough room for all of us, he added, “But now you are of an age to marry.”

Blye clapped her hands with a huge smile.

“You’ve accepted the baker’s request for Benella, then?”

My stomach dropped, and the soup I’d recently eaten soured in it.  Surely, he wouldn’t force me to wed the Baker after what I’d told him.

“Benella is still too young to wed, just as you were too young in my mind four years ago.”

Blye’s face turned to stone.  “Surely, you don’t expect one of us to wed the baker.”

“I will not force a groom onto you if you have no care for him.  That said, are there any you care for?”

“I’d accept Tennen if he asked,” Bryn said demurely.

“I’m afraid that match wouldn’t suit you, dearest.  The Coalre family is as out of coin as the rest of us, and I would not have you going into a marriage with false ideas or hopes,” he said calmly between sips of broth.

I stayed focused on my own meal, but from the corner of my eye saw my sister’s face flush at Father’s blunt words.  Part of me wanted to cheer him in his softly worded criticism of her shallow nature, but I squelched that part, knowing it unkind to Bryn.  As Father stated, she did work hard, most of the time, to keep the cottage a home.  What would happen when she and Blye both wed?  Who would mend for Father and cook for him?  I could do a fair job at a meal if a person didn’t mind a lack of variety.  Mending bored me to tears, but I could sew a straight line.  I’d never have the skill of either Bryn or Blye, though.  Unless my future husband was a tailor, I didn’t see that my lack of skill would matter.

“If you have no preferences, I’d like to announce your intent to marry and see what offers we receive,” Father said into the silence.

“How soon?” Bryn whispered.

“In the morning, I’ll talk to the baker.  By evening, the rest of the village should know.”

*    *    *    *

A flat-faced sheep farmer from the south came to offer for Blye after Father returned home.  The short, muscled man spoke plainly of his need for someone who could weave and sew well and promised himself to be a soft-spoken, gentle man.  Given his propensity to gaze at the ground when speaking to Blye instead of meeting her gaze, I agreed with his self-assessment.  After listening to his offer, Blye kindly declined.

Bryn consoled Blye after the man left, saying at least someone had come for her.  Though Father had discounted Tennen, I felt sure Bryn still held out some small hope that he would appear and offer for her nonetheless.  She quietly served another dinner of vegetable soup; and I knew, dress or no, I needed to attempt to set traps the following day.

*    *    *    *

I crept from bed during the twilight hour when the birds sang gustily before the dawn.  Shaking out my dress, I frowned at its dingy, pale blue color.  It needed a washing desperately, but I put it on anyway and hustled out the door before Father rose from bed.  The cool air prickled my skin; and I set out toward the estate, carefully placing traps on my way, to check the enchanted dirt that spilled from the wall.

When I reached the rough patch of soil, I wasn’t disappointed by barren earth.  A single line of turnips thinly dotted the expanse, starting from the edge to lead toward the tumbled rock.  The row didn’t stop there but continued with uprooted turnips lying on their sides over the rocks and into the darkened woods within, a blatant invitation that struck me as very wrong.  I stared at the roots while biting on my lower lip.  My stomach growled.  I wanted the food, no doubt about it, but I wasn’t willing to fall into some sort of trap, which was how it appeared to me.  I recalled all of the other times I’d harvested there and walked the boundary, looking to pluck any bounty I could find.

Rifling through my bag, my hand clasped around a spare ribbon I used to tie back my hair.  The color had faded and the ends were frayed, but I laid it down on the ground anyway.

“It’s not much, but all I have,” I whispered, “for the things I’ve taken in the past.  Thank you.”

Before I changed my mind, or my hunger changed it for me, I darted away.  Behind me, I heard the vines moving and ran faster, hoping the estate wouldn’t hold a grudge over everything I’d taken.  It was the only explanation I had for its odd behavior.

I should have known I couldn’t outrun magic.  The vines flew along the ground and caught me by the ankles while others stretched down from lofty heights within the canopy to curl around my upper arms and lift me high.

“Please,” I whispered as they shuffled me back toward the wall.  “I meant no offense.”

Ahead I saw the turnip filled dirt and crumbling wall.  The vines didn’t set me down there.  They kept shuffling me forward over the wall and through the dark misty trees as the sky began to lighten.  Finally, before a large gnarled oak growing at the edge of a pond, they released me.  I landed with a splash in the waist-deep waters and scowled.  Dripping wet, I stood weighed down by my heavy skirts.

“Confounded dress,” I muttered, struggling toward the shore.

The tree groaned, a low noise of wood rubbing on wood, then gave several small splintering cracks as the surface of the trunk began to shift.  I stopped my approach and stood still in the knee-deep water to watch with wide eyes as a face formed within the wood.  Rough, slashed bark eyes squinted at me, and a great long nose twitched as if the eyes couldn’t believe what they saw.  Below the nose a wide mouth opened slowly, looking as if the tree was breaking and about to topple.  Instead, it spoke.

“Teach him,” it said in a series of cracks and groans.  The leaves above trembled with its effort.

“Who?” I whispered, fear and awe having stolen the volume from my voice.

“Free us,” it continued as if it didn’t hear me.  The trunk tilted forward again as the mouth closed and the nose sank back into the bark, leaving only the slitted eyes until they too winked out of existence.

Looking around at the woods, I waited for more, but nothing else happened for several long minutes.  Shivering, I climbed out of the water and walked back toward the wall.  This time, I took the turnips, every one of them.

From the traps, I managed to gather two rabbits, which pleased me until I wondered how to skin them without dirtying my dress.  After my dunking, it was clean once again.  While I contemplated my dilemma, I continued home, glad to see a faint glow in the kitchen window.  Bryn willingly surrendered her apron, only raising a brow at my damp state, and I set to work, eager to eat rabbit for breakfast.

Father stepped from his study as I handed over the dressed game to Bryn along with her now dirty apron.

“Father, do you know of the estate’s history?” I asked, ignoring Bryn’s peevish glance.

He shook his head.

“Only what we know from the villagers, that the beast guards the estate for the Liege Lord to prevent theft and whatnot,” he said absently, looking in our food storage for something to eat.

He was right. The information he knew was nothing I hadn’t already heard.  When we’d moved here, I’d been young enough that I hadn’t cared about the beast or the estate beyond the need to stay away from them.  However, since both the estate and the beast seemed to have taken an interest in me, I needed to learn more.

“I’ll bring some of the rabbit to the school when it’s ready if you’d like,” I said to him.

He nodded his thanks and left as I moved closer to the stove to dry and enjoy the scent of cooking meat.  Bryn left to milk the goat and check for an egg from our single hen.  In the warm silence, I contemplated which of the villagers might know more regarding either the estate or the beast.  Miss Medunge, the baker’s sister, loved gossiping and probably knew everything about everyone, but I didn’t want to chance meeting up with the baker.  The butcher hadn’t lived here as long as we had, and the seamstress didn’t have any interest in anything other than her cloth and customers.  The Coalres were out of the question for obvious reasons.  That left the candle maker.

*    *    *    *

After taking a covered plate to Father, I cautiously hurried to the candle maker.  I’d yet to face Tennen or Splane after their last attempt to have the beast kill me and wanted to keep it that way.

The candle maker’s bell above the door rang as I let myself in after a brief knock.  He looked up from his work with a smile.

“I hadn’t thought to see you so soon,” he said.  “But I’m glad you’re here, nonetheless.  I have something for you.”  He stood with a grunt and shuffled to a low shelf near the back of the room.  Lying on the rough board, a blunt silver glimmered in the daylight.  He plucked it from the wood between two time-twisted fingers and shuffled toward me, wearing an excited grin.

“Timmy couldn’t believe the primrose candle,” he said, handing me the coin, which I took reluctantly.  “If you find more flowers, bring them to me and there will be more silver for you,” he promised.

I fisted the silver but didn’t turn to go.

“I was wondering if you could tell me a little about the history of the estate.  Or perhaps, something of the beast.”

“It would brighten the rest of my morning to spend it telling you stories from my youth.  But, come, sit.  I can’t forget my work while we talk.”

He nudged another chair close to his worktable, and I willingly sat with him.  The candle maker’s cottage was always pleasantly warm.  He checked his strings and started his tale.

“I was about your age when the Liege Lord disappeared, but I remember the years before that well enough to be glad of his absence.  He was a man far too concerned with his own pleasures than that of the people who looked to him for protection and justice.  Justice,” the candle maker scoffed.  “Back then it was a mockery.  The Head at the Water used the position to swindle the businesses and bully the people he didn’t like.  The Liege Lord did nothing.  He couldn’t.  He was too busy strutting from bed to bed, not caring what women occupied it with him.”

I kept quiet, afraid he’d recall his audience and stop his open retelling.

“I shouldn’t say that,” he said.  “He did care.  Only the pretty ones.  Young.  Old.  Single.  Married.  He made no distinction.”  He snorted disgustedly.  “I’m ahead of myself.  The estate has been there over three hundred years and has passed from father to son.  While the last Liege Lord’s father had lived, things were peaceful and prosperous.  After his father died, the Liege Lord started his whoring.  His mother, too ashamed of her son, retired to the South and died there not long after.  The young Lord just sank deeper into his depravity.  Things were getting to the point where I was thinking of heading south, too—the southern liege lords are good to their tenants—but then he disappeared. He just stopped going to the villages.  Stopped his whoring.  The Head went to the estate but found it empty.  He thought to make himself a little coin and take a few things, and that was the first time the beast made himself known.  Oh, that Head ran down the road, here, screaming something fierce.  Took several men to hold him down and pour ale down his throat before he calmed enough to tell what happened.  ‘Course no one believed him, and a group went to the estate to see for themselves.”

He cackled at the memory.

“That’s when the legend of the beast really started.  The Head went back to the Water, but soon came with all sorts of people interested in trying to kill the beast to get to the Liege Lord’s treasure.  But that beast protected it something fierce.  Many men died trying to get past the gate.  As time passed and the flow of would-be pillagers slowed, some folks managed to get in the gate, but never very far.  I think the beast knew they were just curious for the most part and didn’t harm them.  But those that return for a second visit, well, he doesn’t treat them as well.”

“What about the Liege Lord?  Where did he go?”