I try to let what she’s implying sink into my increasingly dulled mind.
She’s saying I don’t get my protective sliver of glass.
Which means I’m not going to recover from this wound.
Which probably means I’m dying.
*
Chapter 42
As soon as we feel we’ve left any pursuers far behind in the darkness, Apsara dresses my wound as best as she can manage, using some of the layers of her already overly short and flimsy dress. (‘It’s a little tight now anyway,’ she says brightly.)
‘It will stem the blood loss a little; no more,’ she says despondently.
‘There’s nothing anyone else could do?’ I ask hopefully. ‘Someone with more experience in such things?’
‘Sure; let’s visit someone with that kind of knowledge, hoping they haven’t heard how the prince’s ball was brought to a sudden end to hunt down a bunch of assassins.’
‘Ah well: at least the Fairy Godmother had no chance of undoing your good work with the prince, eh?’
‘You’re not taking this seriously enough–’
‘I’ve never had to before; the slipper’s sliver always protected me!’
‘Then, that’s the answer; we have to make sure you get that sliver back inside you.’
‘So, I’ve got to lose my toe?’
She nods.
‘Which means one of us is going to have to be the one who puts the chipped slipper on her foot…’
‘I’m too weak; besides, I’ll recognise me.’
‘Then it will have to be me…’
*
Getting out of the castle had been relatively easy; no one’s expecting someone to want to break out.
Besides, there’s an old, secret tunnel. One that’s a last route of escape if the castle ever suffered an overwhelming attack (did my parents use it, I wondered, when the queen’s armies had laid siege to it?). One so narrow that Bess, if she’d been a normal horse, would have struggled to make her way down.
I’d taken the key to the hidden door with me, and not simply to ensure no one would find the key and use it; we’d already planned on heading back into the castle, hoping to steal the slipper from the prince’s retinue and make our way back to our own time.
Inside the castle, the tunnel opens up inside the very filthiest areas of the stables, where no one is likely to be hanging around simply because they’ve got time on their hands.
As it is, our boots are soon caked once more in the sort of mess that's only completely cleared out every year or so.
Ah well, never mind; we need to swap our clothes for servants’ costumes anyway. And we’ll find those in the laundry.
You’d think we’d have plenty of times to arrange things, wouldn’t you?
I mean, how long would it be before the prince and his men ended up here, with all the other castles and palaces they have to visit before – at last – arriving here?
Well, we hadn’t wanted to hang around that long before we had an opportunity to steal the slipper back. So we’d sort of left a sort of clue as to where the prince should start his search. We’d stuck the embroidered emblem from one of mum’s handkerchiefs (again found in the laundry) in the slipper – you know, so it sort of looked like a label?
Besides, the servants and maids in a castle rise early, so we need to find a couple of outfits and wigs that fit us well before anyone’s around to disturb us. We need the very finest, cleanest, most perfectly starched livery, the uniforms worn by the most respectable and honoured of the servants. Our own clothes, I store away in a far, unused cupboard in the surgery, the stench from my boots and Apsara’s shoes being too strong to successfully hide them on the laundry shelves.
I pull my wig as far forward as I can to shade my face, hoping no one recognises me. It also covers my wound, and helps hold the makeshift bandage in place, one that’s thankfully a little more substantial than the one originally tied by Apsara, as we’ve had materials from the surgery to draw on.
Apsara’s wig isn’t quite so easy to fit into place on her head. First we have to painstakingly gather up her tumbling locks, holding them all together with any hairpins we can find. Then we just about squeeze the wig over what is a not inconsiderable pile of hair, holding it down with yet more pins. Thankfully, the servants wear fashionably high wigs, otherwise this would have been completely impossible.
When everyone begins to wake up, we spend the morning rushing around, making sure no one ever gets a good look at us, or has a chance to call us over; we’re far too busy pretending to take down pictures, or move tables, or clean the vast (and very dusty!) tapestries hanging from the walls.
It’s made easier than we might have expected, as everyone’s working in an excited atmosphere: a royal messenger had ridden hard through the night, informing the palace that they must prepare for an early morning visit by the prince and his entourage.
Every now and again, however, I have to take a rest.
I’m weakening.
I need the prince to get here as soon as possible!
*
Chapter 43
The arrival of the prince is heralded by a blast of the castle’s trumpets as soon as he and his small band of followers are spotted galloping over the rise of a nearby hill.
He has forgone his usual, languidly moving train; similarly, he has insisted all usual protocol is abandoned, as his mission is urgent.
As per the commands delivered by the earlier arriving messenger, he and his retinue are hurriedly shown into the castle’s state rooms, where my parents and sisters – hurriedly garbed in their very finest clothes – are waiting to receive him.
Only the most elegantly dressed servants attend such important events, and Apsara and I make sure we join them, ignoring the odd puzzled stare of anyone who has the time to wonder when these new attendants had been taken on.
It’s a strange feeling for me, seeing my parents so close, yet unable to speak to them. If I attempted it, they’d naturally believe I was mad; for aren’t their daughters actually gracefully sitting before them, eagerly anticipating the arrival of their prince?
The prince’s entry into the room is preceded by only two of his entourage, and their imperious announcements are of the very briefest kind, the barest minimum that can be allowed without risking any interpretation of insult to the hosts.
Following this lead, the greetings of my family are equally swiftly run through on the entry of the prince, his eagerness to move on to other, more important matters plain to see.
My family stood to greet the prince, and now my father offers him and his friends a seat, a handful of the castle’s servants carrying high backed chairs drawing up behind each one of them. As politely as he can, the prince waves the offer aside, and so everyone remains standing.
He has already quickly taken in the appearances of my sister and myself, frowning in puzzlement and disappointment.
Even so, unlike his arrogantly sneering companions, the prince at least makes the effort to treat everyone with respect despite his obvious need to quickly resolve the issues troubling him.
‘Sir,’ he says, ‘I’m sure you must be aware of the reason for my arrival here; it is your daughter Cinderella whom I have come to see, and yet I see that she is not here!’
Everyone in my family exchange mystified glances, my father eventually sternly declaring that ‘These are my daughters, My Liege; and no one by the name of Cinderella lives here.’
The Prince frowns once more.
‘Then I wonder if you can tell me anything about this?’ he says, with a wave of a hand commanding someone standing behind him to step forward.
The man is holding out before him a plump, blue velvet cushion; and safely nestled amongst its folds there lies the Glass Slipper.
It sparkles iridescently, the multi-coloured light playing about it more glorious than the air of rainbows created by the most entrancingly designed stained glass.
It’s beautiful.
/> It’s strangely, wonderfully reassuring to see it once again.
My sister gasps.
She’s not just awed by the slipper’s beauty.
She recognises it.
*
I doubt if it would be possible to read every emotion so swiftly passing over my sister’s face.
But I can guess.
This is the slipper that had been offered to her, with the promise that it would capture the prince’s heart.
And she had turned it down, dismissing such promises as nonsense.
She looks a little, sick; a touch peeved.
Even so, she raises her head regally and confesses to having seen the slipper once before.
‘I saw it here yesterday; it belonged, I believe, to a young girl I saw wandering about our garden!’
The prince almost leaps for joy.
The slipper does come from this castle!
It does belong to a girl living here!
‘This girl; describe her to me!’ he says expectantly.
‘She was pretty,’ my sister replies. ‘About twelve years old.’
‘Twelve?’ the prince chuckles nervously.
This isn’t working out as easily as he’d hoped, obviously.
Then again, it isn't working out as I’d hoped, either.
Is he even going to insist everyone tries on the slipper?
‘She told me that anyone wearing the slipper would entrance the prince!’ my sister says.
‘Entrance?’
One of the prince’s friends sound scandalised by my sister’s comment.
‘Are you saying the slipper is magic?’
The prince’s entire retinue now appears anxious.
The prince dismisses their worries with an irate wave of a hand, conjuring up the impression that this is a conversation he’s tired of having.
‘No, no! I’m not stupid! The girl was real; she was no enchantment! Her beauty was perfectly natural!’
The prince’s men hide their disbelieving, disapproving frowns, naturally reticent to unnecessarily anger him any further.
Even so, it’s quite obvious that they believe the prince has dragged them all out on a fool’s errand, and a potentially dangerous one at that if witchcraft is indeed involved.
‘Sir, may I suggest,’ one of them grandly announces, ‘that one of these girls here try it on? For then we can see if it is the slipper’s magic that has tricked you into–’
‘It is not foolishness!’ the prince storms.
‘I’m sure, Sir,’ another one of his entourage confidently declares, ‘that either of these two girls would be more than happy to try on the slipper.’
Noticing that my sister doesn't look at all entranced by the idea of putting on a magical slipper, the me that I used to be steps forward to more closely inspect the slipper.
‘It looks too small, even for us.’
‘The girl – she said it would fit anyone who tried it on,’ my sister says.
The old me raises her eyebrows, intrigued by this.
‘Then it is indeed magic!’ one of the prince’s horrified men exclaims assuredly.
‘What use is it as a test if it fits anyone?’ another one bellows.
Every raised voice seeks to dissuade the prince from continuing his search. There are even accusations that it is my family who are seeking to trick and entrap him.
‘This is magic I’d like to see!’ the old me firmly declares, sitting back in the nearest chair even as she slips off one of her shoes, revealing a stockinged foot.
Thankfully, Apsara thinks and moves quicker than I do.
As the prince’s man holding the cushion and slipper steps forward with the obvious intention of keeling before the seated me, Apsara hurriedly strides towards them both. Standing rigidly yet mutely in the way, she holds out her hands for the shoe; thereby giving the unmistakable impression that it is the custom of the household for servants to undertake any task involving the mistresses.
My family, not unnaturally, are a little surprised by this. But the prince and his companions seem to accept it as being a perfectly acceptable convention, and make no protest when Apsara carefully picks up the slipper.
She demurely slips to her knee before the old me.
She cradles my heel in her hand as she brings foot and slipper closer to each other.
As she slips the shoe onto my foot, Apsara gives it a forceful tweak.
‘Oww! My toe!’ the old me screams.
*
Chapter 44
The blood pooling in the Glass Slipper glistens.
‘She’s cut off her toe to make it fit!’ one of the prince’s men screams in horror.
I recall that, although I had felt the sharp edge of the glass slice into my toe, I had not realised at first that my whole toe had been removed.
So, at first, the old me is simply aghast at the outrageous accusation.
‘I have not cut off – oh My God! He’s cut off my toe!’
When I see the severed toe lying in a pool of its own blood within the Glass Slipper – as if proudly, if a little morbidly, on show within a unique display cabinet – I’m angry that the servant before me has been so inept and careless.
When everyone else begins to realise that my little toe has indeed been sliced off my foot, the room erupts, a chaos of distressed wailing from my mother and sister, of rage from my father, of confusion and helplessness from the castle’s servants.
‘Well, that’s what comes of making slippers from glass, I suppose,’ I say, if only to draw my incandescent father’s ire – for suddenly, he doesn’t know which servant to be most angry with; the idiot who’s just sliced off his daughters toe, or the crassly impertinent one who’s spoken out of turn and so dismissively.
Apsara wisely utilises my father’s confusion and the horrified commotion taking place about the chair to deftly mingle with the similarly dressed servants, who are suddenly milling everywhere as they ineptly attempt to address the problem. They’re mopping up the blood spilling on the carpet, calling on maids to assist their injured mistress, or helping my sister and parents hurriedly aid my painfully hopping self to exit the room and head for the surgery.
No one seeks to apologise to the prince and his men. For their part, the prince’s companions seem a little bemused by the commotion, even a touch angry that their mission has become unnecessarily complicated. Some of them are urgently beginning to look around the room for the Glass Slipper, realising that it appears to have mysteriously vanished.
Of course, Apsara still holds it, tucking it close against her stomach, using her back to shield it from the view of the prince’s men. She’s heading for the door, apparently part of the group of servants following on behind my swiftly retreating parents and sister.
Seeing that she has the slipper, I begin to follow on after her, hoping that I’ll begin to swiftly recover now that my toe has once again been removed, now that I once again have a sliver of the slipper swimming somewhere around inside me.
The truth is, I’m not yet feeling much stronger, any much less delirious.
If anything, I still seem to be weakening, if not so rapidly as before.
Maybe I'm in such a poor state, it’s going to take me a while to recover.
Even so, I can’t believe our good fortune.
Somewhat miraculously, we seem to have got away with both slicing off my toe and stealing away with the Glass Slipper.
I can still hear the other me wailing in distress as my family hastily retreats down the corridor, heading towards the surgery; and there was me, flattering myself I’d shown great fortitude when it had happened.
The sounds of commotion outside the room, however, are actually increasing, not decreasing. Cries of anger, even angry scuffles, drawing quickly towards the room’s open doors, not away from them.
These are heavy, booted footsteps, too, coming from the opposite direction to the one taken by my family.
A couple of heavily armed men stride into
the room, taking up positions either side of the doorway, threateningly raising an arm towards anyone seeking to leave the room, preventing anyone else from leaving.
Directly behind the men, the Fairy Godmother sweeps into the room, her diamond studded cloak a starburst of blazing light.
*
Chapter 45
More well armed men follow on behind the Fairy Godmother, dominating the room with their stern-faced presence.
Without a break in her stride, the Fairy Godmother walks confidently towards the bewildered prince.
Neither the prince nor his men seem to be in any way offended by or wary of the intrusion; the Fairy Godmother, after all, is a beautiful woman, one who must have created quite a stir when she’d arrived at the ball, even if the ball was being rapidly brought to a close.
It’s a relatively short walk for the Fairy Godmother to take, despite the vastness of the stateroom, but unfortunately it’s one that takes her almost directly past Apsara, who had almost reached the door.
Apsara’s back might shield any view of the slipper from the prince’s entourage, but the shoe is on plain display to the oncoming Fairy Godmother.
The lady snatches at the shoe, raising it high into the air as she continues striding towards the prince.
‘You have been tricked, My Liege!’ she loftily declares. ‘I possess another slipper, which I will prove–’
‘You!’ the prince exclaims in wild delight. ‘I’ve found you!’
*
Chapter 46
Even the Fairy Godmother is brought to an astounded halt by what could only be taken as the prince’s declaration of love, so heartfelt is his announcement that he has at last found the girl he seeks.
‘Oh, you recognised me,’ she begins, uncharacteristically abashed, ‘I didn’t think you’d–’
She brings her remark to yet another abrupt halt.
She’s seen that the prince’s adoring gaze isn’t fixed on her, after all. He’s gawping, rather, at someone behind her.
The Fairy Godmother angrily whirls upon her heels.