Whatever Happened to Cinderella’s Slipper?, Page 2

  She’s sweet; she can't be more than twelve, bless her.

  I glance back at the swiftly retreating coach, still gleefully chuckling that it had all been so easy yet again.

  Then I glance back at the girl.

  I frown in puzzlement.

  ‘Who are you?’ I ask her.

  *

  Chapter 4

  ‘Apsara,’ the girl says innocently in answer to my question.

  She’s a pretty little thing. She reminds me of…no, no! That can't be possible.

  I mean, I only saw her riding off with the prince – but this girl is far, far too young!

  A sister, maybe?

  But she didn't have any sisters, as far as I’m aware of – despite what that fairytale would like you to believe!

  ‘Yeah, but what I mean is,’ I say, clarifying my question to the young girl, ‘what’re you doing here?’

  ‘You didn’t ask that; you asked who–’

  ‘Yes, yes: but now you’ve answered that – so now, what’re you doing here?’

  ‘Well, this was only as far as I could afford to travel.’

  I look about me, taking in the dark shadows of the thickly crowded trees.

  ‘To here; in the forest?’

  ‘They said they’d take me until there was somewhere safe to drop me off. So when we stopped, I thought this must be it.’

  ‘Safe? With me? Didn’t you just see me robbing everyone?’

  ‘Did you?’ Her eyes widen in shock, ‘I wasn’t watching,’ she admits, ‘I was getting my bag down, and no one was helping me.’

  Her wide eyes drift towards the small bag on the floor by her feet.

  ‘That’s it? That’s all you’re traveling with?’

  She nods.

  She smiles.

  She isn’t going to last an hour in this forest.

  I sigh.

  I don’t want to really tire Bess out forcing her to carry us both. (Would it tire Bess out? I’m not sure it would, come to think of it – but I don’t want to take the risk.)

  Then again, I don’t want to tire myself out walking alongside Bess as she carries this little girl.

  Being tired is dangerous in my profession.

  ‘Look, if I had an extra horse–’

  ‘Isn’t that one over there?’

  She points off towards the edge of the road.

  A fully saddled horse is grazing there.

  Of course; it must have followed me, Bess and the hounds after I’d had to dispense with her master.

  ‘Oh, yeah, yeah; it is,’ I say

  ‘A horse, and already saddled for me!’ the girl exclaims elatedly. ‘What a truly wonderful, magical forest this is!’

  Yeah, that’s one way of describing it.

  Although personally, I wouldn’t use the word ‘wonderful’.

  *

  ‘Why didn’t you kill him?’

  I’ve insisted it’s too dangerous to ride along the road; too dangerous for me, actually, as the king’s men will be out looking for a highwayman who robbed the Mail Coach.

  ‘Kill who?’ I ask in reply to the girl’s question.

  ‘The guard; I’d noticed earlier that he had a crossbow. But he still looked alive to me when they rode off.’

  ‘He’s just doing his job; although in his case, thankfully, he didn’t do it too well, did he now?’

  She returns my grin.

  ‘So you’re not quite as bad as you’d like to think you are, are you?’

  ‘Hey, last I remember, I didn’t put an ad in the paper saying there was a vacancy for my conscience, right?’

  ‘Isn’t there some other way you could make a living; I mean, other than by taking things off people?’

  ‘See, you’re already acting like you’re my conscience? So, maybe you can come up with some other way of getting on in this cruel world?’

  ‘Well, can’t you, you know: set up a shop, maybe? Selling nice things people want?’

  I frown.

  I was wrong about this kid.

  She won’t last five minutes out here.

  *

  ‘Where’re you heading?’

  I’m curious: what was such a young girl doing travelling alone on that mail coach?

  ‘To seek my fortune in the world!’ she replies brightly.

  ‘Hmn, you don’t exactly look like your setting out to explore the world,’ I point out, taking in her pretty little white dress, her dainty shoes. ‘Haven’t you got anything more suitable to wear in your bag?’ I ask her helpfully.

  ‘I’m not sure; what do you advise I wear?’ she asks demurely, handing me her bag.

  I peer inside the bag. If there are any clothes in here, they’re tucked away in the bottom. It’s mainly full of a number of objects, not one of which looks to be ff any use to someone who’s just popping across the road to buy a quart of milk, let alone setting out on a mission to earn their fortune.

  A mirror – already vain, bless her.

  A ring – yet another object of vanity.

  A necklace – ditto.

  A small cup – wow, something useful at last, I suppose.

  A dagger – at last! Oh no, wait: it’s a letter opener.

  A candleholder – worse than useless, especially as there isn’t a candle with it.

  A flower vase – minus any flower, naturally, and probably, surprisingly, the most useless object of all in here, even though it’s up against some pretty stiff competition.

  Ah, a book! A book on survival tips maybe?

  Er, no: a book called The Glass Kingdom.

  Yeah, I used to have that too when I was little; stories of legends, witches, goblins and what have you.

  Then, finally, crumpled breath all this junk, a few spare items of clothes.

  A pretty little white dress and dainty shoes.

  ‘Wow; who packed this for you?’ I ask. ‘Some evil stepmother, who just couldn’t wait to be rid of you?’

  ‘Oh no, no!’ she blithely replies. ‘I didn’t bring these things with me; I bought them!’

  ‘You bought junk? Wait, wait – let me guess. To sell in your shop, right?’

  She nods, her eyes elatedly sparkling.

  ‘I’ve got to start with some things to sell, don’t you think? You’ve got to spend to accumulate; isn’t that what shopkeepers say?’

  Oh gawd!

  This girl would have no hope of surviving a birthday party, let alone this forest!

  Am I really so cruel that I’ll just drop her off as soon as we reach somewhere relatively safe?

  Well…it’s not like she’s really safe with me, is she?

  She’ll be okay; I’m sure.

  I lean over in my saddle to hand her bag back, telling her that she’s dressed just fine after all; we should be approaching a farm or maybe even a village I can leave her at in less than an hour, surely?

  She smiles pleasantly back at me as she reaches out to take the bag’s handles; but one of us (and I’m sure it isn’t me!) fumbles it a little, the bag slipping out from between our hands.

  She manage to grasp the bag’s handles before it crashes to the floor, but as it falls between us and our mounts, it strikes the flank of Apsara’s horse hard.

  With a panicked neigh, the horse rears a little, almost unhorsing the poor girl; and as she lets go of the reins and makes a grab instead for the saddle’s pommel, her mount fearfully snorts and breaks into a terrified charge.

  Worse still, the silly mare charges off deeper into the forest.

  Maybe…maybe she’ll be all right, don’t you think?

  Even my three hounds look up at me accusingly, like they know what I’m thinking and they can’t believe I’d being just so amazingly discompassionate.

  I sigh.

  I spur Bess into following after the rapidly retreating Apsara.

  What ever did I do to deserve meeting her?

  *

  Chapter 5

  The road – well, track would be a better word, as no wo
rkman ever dared work too long out here – running through the forest is bad enough.

  The narrower, winding riders’ tracks branching off it are even worse, entering areas of the wood that are so densely packed, it’s dark throughout the whole day.

  Worse still, however, are those bits of the forest where the trees and undergrowth are relatively lightly spread, yet the darkness still hangs over it all, like it’s caught in a semi-permanent night.

  It's a darkness caused by things other than the simple absence of light.

  It’s parts of the forest like this that even I studiously avoid.

  Even the king’s men avoid it. Even when fully armed, and riding around in a large force.

  So, sometimes, admittedly, I have used that fact to my advantage.

  Whenever a patrol has got close to catching up with me, I immediately point dear Bess towards areas like this.

  I make out, naturally, like I’m foolish enough to keep charging headlong into the darkness.

  In reality, I use that darkness to leap down off Bess and bring both her and the dogs into a huddle beneath any low hanging undergrowth that will hide us from anyone idiotic enough to follow after us.

  Thankfully, the soldiers are idiotic enough to think I’ve ridden deeper into the wood.

  They think I’m finished anyway.

  So they turn around, heading back for home, telling themselves they’re leaving me to a well-deserved fate.

  Today, thanks to Apsara, I really am riding ever deeper into one of these impossibly darker areas of the forest.

  Like I’m tired of living.

  Like I’m impatient to meet up with my own death.

  *

  Apsara’s horse is grazing, but it nervously glances up and about itself everywhere now and again, like it’s quite rightly fearing an attack any moment now.

  There’s no sight of Apsara.

  Doubtlessly, she’s been thrown by her mare. But not anywhere back along where I’ve just ridden.

  I can’t see any sign of her bag either. Which means Apsara dropped it earlier; or, more likely, has picked it up and taken it with her.

  When I slow down to ride alongside the mare and take up her reins, she almost seems glad of the company. She follows on alongside us, trotting along amiably.

  I’m sure Apsara can’t have got far.

  Not in those shoes, anyway.

  And not carrying a bag of complete junk.

  Just a little way ahead, I find myself heading towards a house; a small one, one with a sloping roof and tall chimney, the smoke of a fire twirling up from its uppermost stack.

  Now, that’s just what you don’t want to see in these parts.

  A house means someone’s living here.

  And anyone living here has got to be…well, pretty damn mean, really.

  Not someone you’d like to meet on a dark night.

  Even less so on a dark day.

  Wait – please don’t tell me Apsara went in there!

  But…I already know the answer.

  Yeah, she would, wouldn’t she?

  *

  Chapter 6

  I leave the horses and the bags with the hounds.

  ‘Stay here; but be ready to come when I call,’ I tell my dogs.

  They obey, as they always do.

  Like Bess, the dogs always display the most amazing loyalty to me; and yet, also like Bess, I’d simply come across all four of them wandering around unclaimed and, apparently unloved.

  Then I head up the garden path, wondering if this is the most dangerous, most idiotic thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  No; it isn’t.

  It's when I knock on the door.

  That’s really foolish.

  ‘Coming,’ someone sweetly trills from inside.

  And the door’s opened by one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

  ‘Darling!’ she squeals excitedly, throwing her arms around my neck and bringing my lips towards her for a long, lingering kiss.

  ‘You’re home at last!’ she says, taking me by the hand and – with a glorious twirl of her lithe body that sends her dress spinning out about her legs – leading me indoors.

  ‘Yes…yes, I am, darling,’ I say a little unsurely at first, but adding brightly, ‘Yes – I’m so glad to be home!’

  *

  I’m such a lucky man to be married to such a beautiful wife!

  My sweet, sweet Belinda.

  As I enter through the doorway just behind her, the moths she’s disturbed in my ancient clothes fly up before me, rushing into the room, fluttering towards the blazing orange flame of a limply tilting candle, placed within the centre of a table.

  Belinda turns, whirling around on her dainty feet ever so delightfully, and hugs me tightly once more.

  ‘It’s so good to see you safely back, darling!’ she whispers in a way that’s both a sigh of relief and yet also amazingly seductive.

  From my clothes, another set of moths rise up, swooping like the others towards the bright flame, painfully extinguishing their own lives for what they believe will be a brief moment of pleasure.

  I can’t remember where I’ve been, for some reason.

  To the market?

  To the wars?

  And just how long have I been away?

  It doesn’t matter; I’m home now.

  Our cat, lazily laid out before the fire, glances up at me with a look of complete disinterest.

  In the corner of a room, Belinda has trussed up a small calf. Its eyes are wide with terror, as if the poor thing is aware that Belinda is intending to use her as a feast welcoming my return.

  To stop her panicked bleating, Belinda has had to muffle the calf’s mouth.

  For some strange reason, Belinda has also dressed the calf in a pretty white dress, a dress that curiously reminds me of something…but I can’t quite remember exactly what, for some strange reason.

  A moth fizzles out in the orange flame.

  *

  Chapter 7

  Belinda has stepped back from tightly hugging me to give me a puzzled frown.

  ‘A girl? Dressed as a man?’ she says curiously.

  Before I can ask her what she means, she raises a hand, opens it; and a fish slips out from within her palm. It swims out into the air, swimming about me, circling me. Its silvery scales glitter in the light, reflecting a whole spectrum of colours, colours that whirl around me, entrancing in their gorgeousness, their calming effects.

  The calf in the corner is far from calm, of course; she’s struggling to free herself from her bonds, grumbling noisily as if attempting to call out a warning to all her friends.

  ‘Now, before I go any further,’ Belinda says coolly, leading me back towards a chair, ‘I want you to tell me what you can remember about why you chose to dress as a man.’

  As I sit down in the chair, with the fish still calmly swimming about me, Belinda stares deeply into my eyes: but, for some strange reason, I don’t think it’s because she wants me to return her love for me – at least, not at this particular moment.

  She wants me to explain…to explain why I’m dressed as a highwayman.

  ‘A man called at my father’s castle; a handsome highwayman. But he vanished, leaving his clothes behind. So I wore them and left home.’

  ‘Why did you leave home? Were you unhappy there?’

  ‘The slipper; I must find the glass slipper.’

  ‘Ah, yes, yes; I’ve heard of the queen’s slipper. But why is it so important to you?’

  ‘The story lies; I want people to know the truth.’

  Belinda paused while she considered this.

  ‘Which part is a lie?’ she asks. ‘The slipper…you’re searching for that; so you must believe that part of the tale is true?’

  I nod in reply.

  ‘Then the way it was used to find our queen; is that true?’

  I nod again.

  ‘And some people cheated, cutting off their toes, yes?’

  �
€˜I didn’t cut off my toe!’

  ‘I didn't say you did. Unless…are you…no, you couldn't possibly be; you’re far too beautiful.’

  ‘The story makes out I’m an ugly sister, if that’s what you mean!’ I say helpfully.

  ‘But you said you didn’t cut off your toe? So, you’re the other sister?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I mean it was the slipper that cut off my toe: it had a broken rim!’

  ‘Well, that’s what comes of making slippers from glass, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s what the servant said!’

  ‘You’re big toe; very painful,’ Belinda says, but with an amused chuckle rather than an emphatic frown.

  ‘My little toe; if you slice off someone’s big toe, they can’t walk. I’ve seen it myself – you know, when it’s the only way to get people to talk.’

  She nods sagely, like she does know what I mean.

  Our cat – I can’t recall its name, for some strange reason – has risen up from its place before the fire and is now glaring hungrily at the swimming fish.

  ‘Ah, all this talk of toes has made him hungry; his favourite dish,’ Belinda announces with a satisfied smile. ‘I think I’ll have to ask you more; but after we’ve eaten, I think, darling.’

  Like the good, caring housewife she is, Belinda kneels before me and begins to quickly unlace and slip one off one of my riding boots. My sock quickly follows, almost carelessly cast aside as she replaces it in her hand with a large knife that appears from nowhere.

  ‘Ah, I see it was a toe from your other foot that you lost,’ she observes with a giggle, obviously noting that I have five toes as she delicately runs the knife’s gleaming blade along them.

  ‘No, it was this little toe I lost,’ I point out dreamily.

  Belinda frowns in puzzlement once more.

  She opens her empty hand, allowing the fish to deftly swim back into it. The fish vanishes as soon as Belinda closes her fingers.

  ‘Strange,’ she says, ‘the Fish of Truth should ensure you can’t lie…’

  She angrily rises to her feet, letting my own foot fall a little painfully to the hard floor.

  ‘Little lies always put me off me off the smaller aperitifs! Let’s have something a bit more satisfying, shall we?’

  She grabs my hand, splaying it out; and with a swift swish of her blade, she slices off my index finger.