For Mary

Chapter Five

Chapter Five: Stolen Treasures

It was an unusually dark night in Lokta once the celebrating had ceased. The citizens were unaware of a carriage that was racing towards the markets edge. The horses huffing and snarling alone would alert anyone of the maleficence within. The carriage, a dark wood with brick-red trim, came to an abrupt halt, hoofs dragging up the stone like chalk dust.

The door opened and out stepped Princess Carrion. Like one of her own servant’s she offered her palm out to the darkness within the carriage. A wrinkled, sickly hand broke the black veil and took Carrions’ porcelain fingers. The Princess slowly assisted as the skeleton of what once was a woman climbed down.

Her hair was as dark as the empty void within the carriage she had stepped from, the occasional curl of grey shimmered under the moonlight. Her eyes were red, but not fiery like one would expect from someone so wicked. They were a brick, dim shade, like the carriages trim. She was Crima, the dark witch of the Umbra forest.

“Is this the house?” She sounded like a sickly toad. Carrion nodded and they crept up to the window. The house was pitch black except for one corner lit by a lantern. Belles had fallen asleep mending a coat. Those brick eyes scanned the room for anyone else. She appeared to be alone and the house seemed still.

“I want her…” Carrion hissed. The witch crept to the door and pointed her mangled digit at the lock hole in the door. She whispered an odd word and something clicked. The door cracked open and the witch grinned to Carrion; jagged, yellow teeth beaming in the moonlight.

Belles’ eyes shot open. It took her a moment once she raised her head to focus on the faces hovering over her. By then it was too late. The witch twirled her finger and uttered a nasty sounding word. Suddenly Belles went rigid. Despite her will and fury she couldn’t raise her arms to fight or kick her legs to stand up.

“Don’t bother binding her throat.” Who was this voice? “She’s a mute.” The voice was clearly mocking her misfortune. Finally seeing her face, Belles recognized her as one of the Princess’s from the ball. Why was she doing this? What could have Belles done to make such hateful eyes look down upon her like that?

The Witch grabbed her arms and dragged her from the chair. Carrion grabbed her feet and Belles went flat like a board and light as a feather. With little effort they carried her towards the front door. They carried her into the street and a gust of wind slammed the door shut. Carrion hissed at the careless act, but Crima just kept walking.

They tossed the wooden, girl into the carriage and she was lost to the darkness within. The door slam had startled Margaret to rise, but once she pieced the nightmare together and rushed toward the front door, the carriage was already racing down the street and into the void of night. Dust filled the street, making them impossible to see, but Margaret could hear the crashing of hooves on bricks. Each clop making her heart beat faster. Belles was gone.

Decebal could hold off no longer. She waking he had paced his quarters. At one point he had attempted to read, but read the same lines over and over again. When was it appropriate to call upon her? Wilbur warned him that even for a Prince, being too forward, too hasty, could scare off her affections, but by noon he broke down and could take it no longer. Ignoring Wilbur’s’ plea’s he went to the stables and raced into town.

The scattered townsfolk along the ride were more than happy to help their frantic, but glowing Prince as he searched for Belle’s home. It was easy enough since she was the only mute girl in the town and her sweet smile was well known through all ages.

Finally finding the shop, MARGARET’s MENDING, Decebal dismounted from his horse and without even tying him up he raced to the door and knocked hard three times. Regretting such a startling sound, Decebal stepped back from the door and clasped his hands behind his back.

Margaret quickly opened the door. At the sight of the Prince she began to wail; her face already painted with salty lines and her eyes streaked with red veins. She drifted back into the house. She didn’t bother to address Decebal or even close the door behind them. With no reluctance the Prince followed her. He orbited her slowly, hovering like a black cloud as she dropped down into an old chair.

“Where is Belles?” His eyes searched the room over, but once more Margaret wailed. A hole began to dig itself into his gut. Each second that passed a new inch deeper. Where was Belles? He took the woman’s cheeks in his hands, feeling the salt where soft skin should be. “Where is Belles?”, this time demanding the information.

Margaret raised up, compelled by the terror in his eyes. She forced herself to speak, though her voice still shook. “They took her..”, she started. “These women in a carriage took her!” The red of his cheeks drained out, leaving only moon white skin. Why would anyone take her? How could any even think to harm such a dove?

Decebal rushed out of the still open front door. In a single swoop he mounted his horse and with two swift kicks he was gone. In a blur of colors and time Decebal reached the castle. He raced through the halls and burst into the sitting room where the King and Queen were having tea. “They’ve taken her!”, he yelled, now clinging to the tables edge for support. His breath came in heaves. The Queen gasped at all the sudden commotion, hand clasping at her chest. The King stared in bewilderment.